“Did you think I’d simply lock you away?” Njord held up a tunic made of deep green silk, inspecting it. “You’re the son of Odin, the Prince of Asgard. Your presence at my side sends a message about my power and reach. You’ll sit beside my throne when I hold court, accompany me to meals, and be seen throughout the fortress.”
The casual way he spoke of displaying Thori like a trophy reignited his anger tenfold.
“And if I refuse?”
“Then you’ll do it anyway, but in chains and with considerably less comfort.” Njord’s voice remained level, but there was no doubt he meant every word. “I’d prefer not to humiliate you unnecessarily, but I will if you force my hand.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, and Thori felt the weight of his situation settle on his shoulders. He was trapped here, dependent on Njord’s mercy, with no allies and no meansof escape. The smart thing would be to comply, to play whatever role Njord intended for him until an opportunity presented itself. Only Thori found it hard to act wisely.
“Fine,” he snarled, voice tight with suppressed fury. “I’ll play your pretty pet. But you better remember that you brought a warrior into your home.”
Something flickered across Njord’s face too quickly for Thori to identify.
“Spare me your threats, little godling. I expect you to be obedient.”
He tossed the green tunic to Thori, who caught it reflexively. The silk was incredibly soft, exactly the kind of garment his mother would say suited him well.
“Change,” Njord commanded. “Theþingwill convene in an hour, and I want you properly dressed.”
Thori wanted to refuse, to throw the expensive tunic back in Njord’s face and damn the consequences. But the memory of Svanhild’s cruel treatment was still fresh, and he found himself reluctantly grateful for Njord’s relative kindness. And wasn’t it his plan to play along with Njord’s demands until there was an opportunity to escape?
With stiff movements, Thori stripped off his travel clothes. He was all too aware of Njord watching him while he stomped over to a washing basin to get presentable. The green tunic fit perfectly, clinging to his shoulders and chest in a way that was undeniably flattering. Matching trousers followed, made of a dark, flowing fabric, along with soft leather boots that reached to his knees.
“Better,” Njord said once Thori was finished.
He approached with a golden chain in his hands, and Thori tensed.
“Relax,” Njord whispered, as one would to a skittish horse. “It won’t hurt.”
He attached the chain to Thori’s collar.
“This marks you as mine, just like the collar. No one in the fortress will harm you as long as you wear it.”
The haughty words should have infuriated Thori, but they sent an unwelcome shiver down his spine. He covered his reaction with scorn.
“How thoughtful of you. I guess you don’t like your property being damaged.”
Njord’s hand moved to rest lightly on the back of Thori’s neck, making his breath catch. The touch was warm, almost gentle, but it left no doubt about who held the power between them.
“Mind your tongue,” he said. “I’ve been patient with your defiance because you’ve been ill, but my people are watching now. I won’t have them think I can’t control an Asgardian princeling.”
Thori didn’t deign him with an answer, but he inclined his head slightly, almost against his will. There was something about Njord’s quiet authority that was hard to refuse.
“Good,” Njord said, hand lingering for a moment longer before dropping away. “Come now, it’s time you learned how justice is dispensed in my realm.”
twenty
Justice
Thori
The throne room was vast and majestic, carved from the same black stone as the rest of the fortress, but polished to a mirror shine. Veins of precious metals glittered in the dark rock, giving the walls and vaulted ceiling the appearance of a starry night sky. Where Asgard’s Great Hall was bright and golden, this one was cast in blue and green hues, created by the colored glass of the high windows.
It almost looked like Njord’s hall was underwater.
Thori shuddered. He was well aware of the low, seductive cut of his clothes, of Njord’s warm hand on his shoulder. As of now, they had the throne room to themselves, but that would surely change soon.
“Come.”
