With another glance around, and Westley’s patience dwindling, Conalle sighed, saying, “She was, or is—well, it’s complicated. SolveigTordottir is the Vanir Asgardian General. That’s why we’re here.” He lowered his voice and leaned in. “They thought she was dead. She was captured during a raid a few months ago. No one expected her to return, but she did.”
Westley froze, shocked.
She.
Notthatfemalescouldn’tbe great leaders and warriors—his sisters were proof of that—but the way the Southern Wilds general was whispered about just made it sound like she was a male.
The identity of this warrior, of General Tordottir, had always been a mystery, though he never knew why. Clearly, the legends were exaggerated, becauseshehad obviously not strangled fifty men with her beard. Unless she had a beard. He would have to dwell on this further.
A stocky male dressed in all his finery came to greet them. Westley tilted his head to assess the newcomer, and the little magic he had in his veins recoiled slightly. He instantly mistrusted the witch, who had a weak chin and shifty eyes.
With a wide sweep of his arm, his bow was much too dramatic and when he spoke, Westley couldn’t tell if he was putting on a deeper voice to elevate his masculinity. It seemed false.
“Welcome to the Southern Wilds! We are quite surprised and honoured to have a Fae prince join us here. We hope your stay will be most pleasant.” In addressing the prince, the male projected his voice so the whole crowd could hear. Westley raised his brows at Conalle, who did not meet his gaze, though the corner of his mouth quivered.
The witch continued. “And who, may I ask, do we have the honour of welcoming to our camp?”
Westley didn’t want to be rude, he’d been raised with the strictest of manners, but he had no words. Luckily Conalle was the picture of perfect etiquette and took over the introductions.
“Allow me to introduce His Royal Highness, Westley Erikson, War Prince of Idavoll. Your Highness, this is Captain Latham Arlanson of the Southern Wilds Legion.”
Latham offered him another dramatic bow. “Prince Westley, it is an honour to meet you.”
“Just Westley will do, thank you.”
The captain nodded and looked like he was about to continue so Westley cut him off. “If you will excuse me, I’d like to get my horse to the stables and acquire provisions for my soldiers.” He turned to Conalle. “If we could arrange a meeting with the contenders for general, that would be much appreciated.”
“If I may, Your Highness.” Captain Arlanson stepped in front of Westley. “We can have a stable lad see to your horse.” He snapped his fingers and a young witch of no more than thirty came running over. Westley did not relinquish his reins.
“That is a kind offer, but Njord here is highly temperamental and will not allow strangers to groom him. If you show me the way, I can take care of him myself.”
“Of course, Your Highness.” The snivelling male bowed again. Dear gods, he was insufferable. “I will show you there myself.”
Conalle gave Westley what he supposed was a reassuring grasp of his shoulder before the male named Latham guided him towards the stables. He hoped it wasn’t far.
Westley cleared his throat, rusty with the pleasantries his position called for. “Thank you for your hospitality. I understand it has been a difficult time for your legion.”
“It is our pleasure, Your Highness ...”
“Just Westley, please.”
“Of course, Prince Westley.”
Westley sighed. “So, Captain Arlanson, tell me—what do you think of the candidates for general?”
“Well, Your Highn—I mean, Prince Westley, I’m not sure I’m the right person to ask,” he said with mock humility.
“Why not?”
“Because I am one of the candidates.” He stood taller, but the top of his head was still barely level with Westley’s chin.
“Ah, very well.” Westley didn’t know what else to say. He hoped the others vying for the position were more agreeable. The stables came into view and Westley tried not to let his relief show. “Thank you for showing me the way. I’ll take it from here.”
“Oh, it’s no trouble at all, Prince Westley. I can show you where everything is.”
“I assume your stables are much the same as every other stable I’ve been in. I’m sure I can find my way around. I’ll shout if I get lost.”
The witch gave him a fake laugh that was much too loud and smacked his arm. Westley looked down at the spot and frowned. That was a quick switch from grovelling to friendly jabs.
