Njord snorted.
“Get out. All of you. Now.”
The young servants scrambled to obey, practically fleeing from his chambers. Andora was the last to leave, pausing at the door to cast him a worried glance he decided to ignore. The door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving him alone with Asgard’s stupid presents.
Njord stared at the boxes with rising fury. Did Frigga really think his forgiveness could be bought? Did she think gold and weapons and whatever other treasures she’d sent would make up for what Asgard had cost him?
He should burn it all.
He should throw every single box into the sea and watch the waves swallow Asgard’s pathetic attempt to—
A thump came from his bedroom, and Njord looked up to find the door half-open and the trail of packages leading there.
Njord bristled. The sound had been too loud, too heavy to be a box settling. Someone was in there.
His hand went to his belt, closing around the hilt of his dagger as he moved silently toward the doorway. Norns, if this was some Asgardian assassin he’d let them taste his wrath.
Throwing the door open, he stomped into his sleeping chamber, ready for violence. But the scene that unfolded in front of him made Njord freeze in his tracks.
Someone was sitting on the rug, next to a particularly large overturned crate.
Norns.
Thori shook his hair from his eyes, longer now after weeks of growing it out again and falling almost to his shoulders. He looked up at Njord, a soft smile on his lips, and shifted until he was kneeling properly.
“My Lord Njord.”
Thori bowed his head, and Njord spotted the collar around his neck, the golden bracelet he’d bought for him gleaming around his wrist. And his clothes—
Whales and waves.
Thori was shirtless, wearing only trousers of soft blue silk. Njord’s colors and nothing else. He looked stunning. He’d put the collar back on, and he’d dressed as though he belonged to Njord.
“My lord,” Thori said, not looking up. “I apologize for the unannounced appearance.”
“Norns, what are you doing?”
Now, Thori did glance up as if unsure for a second, before he seemed to remember that he was planning to act all seductive. It was equal parts ridiculous and endearing.
“I told you, I accept your punishment. I wasn’t planning to run from your justice.”
“So you came back after weeks and weeks of no word? To do what, exactly?”
Thori lifted his chin, flushing a pretty pink.
“To offer myself to you. As your thrall. As your sworn warrior. As whatever you want me to be. I’ll serve you in any way you demand if you’ll have me.”
Desperate hope bloomed in Njord’s chest, but he couldn’t allow himself to be fooled. This could only be a trap. Asgard’s golden prince on his knees, offering submission. It couldn’t be real. Because if Thori really wanted to return to him of his own free will, he could’ve done so weeks ago. So, what were the Asgardians playing at?
“Did Frigga send you?” Njord asked, his tone more angry than he would’ve liked. “What kind of scheme is this?”
“No!” Thori said quickly, sounding almost panicked. “Mother doesn’t know, and Father…he’s still ill. Freyja helped me to come here.”
“And why would the heir to Asgard’s throne come here to pay his debts? I thought theÆsirwere above simple honor?”
“I would’ve come sooner, my lord,” Thori said, edging closer, as if he wanted to reach for Njord but thought better of it at the last second. “But I needed to get something for you first.”
“What are you talking about?”
