Her rage was an inferno, and she set her sights on the one who’d lit the flame.
Latham stood with a group of males outside the dining hall. They were laughing and joking around in the deserted camp, with most of the clan inside the hall or eating in their tents. Little did they know a storm was headed their way.
Solveig was vaguely aware of the dining hall door opening and the prince and his companions exiting the building. She immediately sensed his eyes on her, but her course was set on Latham.
She didn’t attempt to hide the sound of her pounding footsteps. Latham’s back was to her, but the faces around him fell and they took a step backwards before he twisted to face her.
Lathamhadamomentto register before Solveig advanced, smashing her fist into his face. He buckled over in pain. Before he could recover, she hit him again with so much force she knocked him on his ass.
“Get up,” she growled.
He scrambled to his feet, glancing around. “Solveig, what the Hel?” He narrowly avoided another blow to his face but didn’t see the uppercut to his jaw quickly enough.
“You filthy traitorous piece of fucking vermin, you are a coward!” she roared.
His face flamed with heat. How dare she insult him in front of his subordinates had him drawing his sword.
Solveig growled and reached behind her, her stance widening.
Surprise lit him up, she came here for a fight. He smiled. “It’s about time you accepted my challenge, Sol.”
When she didn’t unsheathe her sword, doubt crept in, his steps faltering. Solveig was about to bring her hand forward when a body appeared, standing between them.
The prince towered over Solveig, trapping her wrist in a tight grip before she could throw the dagger she had pulled from its hiding spot. Latham’s mouth dropped open.
“What the Hel, Solveig?” he asked again, but no one answered.
Solveig and the prince were having an intense staring match, making Latham’s blood boil. The prince whispered something to Solveig, her eyes narrowing as she whispered back. She tried to wrench her wrist from him, but he held it in the air, his body visibly tensing at whatever she’d said.
Latham swore he saw a crackle in her eyes, but it was probably just a trick of the light.
When Solveig took a step away from the prince he followed her, still holding her wrist above their heads. He whispered something else, and Solveig rolled her eyes, her arm slackening. The prince finally let go and gave her another lingering look before turning to Latham.
He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it was not the prince’s fury.
“If you know what’s good for you, you will sheathe your sword,” the prince said slowly, every word ringing with authority. Solveig didn’t stay behind the Fae but moved to stand at his side like they were some united front against him. Latham didn’t know what to make of it, but his mouth tasted bitter.
“Getting others to fight your battles for you, Sol?” he sneered.
“I saved your life, Captain. Don’t make me regret it,” the prince retorted.
“He’s speaking for you too?” he said, ignoring the Fae entirely. Solveig bared her teeth and the viciousness in her face frightened him. He tried not to show it.
“Captain Arlanson, why don’t you take this opportunity to leave? Get your wounds taken care of,” the prince advised calmly. Latham bristled at the continued commands of the prince. He didn’t want to obey, lest he set a bad precedent.
Westley didn’t want to draw more of a scene. It was bad enough that Arlanson’s little band had witnessed the general’s outburst without the entire clan gathering around to see.
If he was honest with himself, she was a spectacular sight, even though it was completely reckless and would hurt her chances of maintaining her position. He was trying very hard to ignore the tightness in his pants after seeing her so beautifully vicious.
“I don’t take orders from Fae filth,” Latham spat, sword still drawn. The captain was walking on thin ice.
Westley didn’t think Latham grasped how much danger he was in. He could practically feel the general vibrating with rage beside him. He was about to speak again, but her quiet voice beat him to it.
“No, you don’t. But youwilltake orders from me. Leave right now, Latham, before I rip your serpent tongue out and shove it down your throat.” Her voice may have been low, but her sincerity was clear. A tingle ran down Westley’s spine.
Latham’s facade cracked, fear and anger deepening his already crimson face. “I won’t take orders from a crazed, unhinged female whoattacked me for no reason,” he said loud enough for his companions to hear.
It was the wrong thing to say.
