Solveig blinked at him. Then burst out into laughter. Her body shook and she bent over, bracing her hands on her knees. When she met his gaze, he was staring at her with awe before schooling his expression into a mere smile.
“You cannot be serious!” she exclaimed.
“Oh, I’ve heard these and other rumours several times.”
Solveig wiped her eyes as her laughter died down. “I know most assume I’m male—I prefer it that way. But this? Oh, you must tell me more.”
“Maybe I will,” he said with a shrug and then raised his sword, beckoning her. Before she could hold it back, she gave him a genuine smile.
His eyes widened and her smile turned wicked as she unsheathed her sword in one slow movement. The ache in her arms long gone thanks to the Drink.
“You asked for it,” she taunted.
Instead of waiting for him, she made the first move, feigning a lunge forward and then quickly slashing to the side. He jumped out of the way, but not before she cut a slit in his tunic. He raised his eyebrows at her smirk.
“If that’s how you want to play, General, let’s play.”
The clang of metal echoed through the trees as their swords met again and again. The fight was a violent dance set to the rhythm of their increasingly laboured breaths. They slashed, twirled, and dodged around each other. He was stronger, but she was faster.
Only Gerrie ever challenged her like this, and she had to admire his skill. Even with his muscular frame, he was light on his feet and moved with grace.
His eyes were set in fierce determination, sweat trickling from his brow down his face. Solveig’s magic pushed her on, enjoying the fight, revelling in the closeness of her blade to him. She wanted to be closer.
No sooner had she thought it, their blades came crashing together, crossing in front of their faces. As they locked eyes, something passed between them. Hatred? Respect? She didn’t know, but she didn’t like it.
She shoved away from him with all her might. A spark flew from her hands when her skin touched his, shocking him back.
“What was that?” he asked, chest heaving, staring at her.
“What was what?” she said, feigning ignorance.
The prince scoffed, seeing through her lie. “You know what. What was that spark?”
“I’m not sure.” It was only half a lie. She could guess it was her magic, but if so, she had no idea how it had escaped.
“I felt a shiver go through me, General.” His voice was lethally calm, and her hackles rose.
“Please excuse me, Your Highness, but if you’re experiencing tingling in your body, I can’t be held responsible,” she sneered. He raked hiseyes over her figure, his gaze lingering on her thighs and slowly dragging up to her face.
“You’re right. It would take more than a touch for you to make metingle.” That sounded like a lie.
Solveig kept her sneer in place, and he glared back. Moments stretched between them until he shook his head and turned away from her. Her eyes followed him as he stalked off, going straight to Njord.
When he mounted his horse, Solveig examined her hands, flipping them over.
She caught him staring when she glanced up, still feeling his presence. She stuck her middle finger up, hoping he’d been around mortals enough to know what that meant. He chuckled and pulled the reins, galloping away before she broke into a smile.
Irritationathisownweakness morphed into a foul mood on his ride back to camp. Though he’d tried not to think of it as running away, he couldn’t lie to himself.
He blamedher.
Who was this witch who could affect him with just a touch? Had he imagined the spark of light when her skin brushed his? His throat tightened as he thought of her cast in the eerie glow of the light filtering through the forest. The way his eyes had betrayed him, falling on her, unable to resist her pull.
When he reached the stable, he snapped at the lad who was only trying to help. Even brushing down Njord didn’t calm his temper. He stomped off through the camp, finding Noren and Conalle sitting on the steps of the dining hall, drunk off their asses.
“Did you save any ale for the rest of us?” he called to them when they were within earshot.
“Aye, highness, we tried, but ya know the ale was looking so lonely, we couldn’t leave ’er unattended,” Conalle said, slurring his words, his Asgardian accent thickening with each drink.
