Avina stumbles over the dense snow building along the ground.
Wed to Sigvid?
What a far-fetched idea from this little girl who tells the cows about her day.
“Avina!” She turns to see Thrain hailing her.
“Go on.” She opens the carriage door so Thora can climb inside and escape the cold.
And Thrain.
“Your Highness.” While facing him, she paints the most sincere smile that can fashion upon her chapped lips at a funeral in winter in Salt.
King Thrain’s Second in Command allegedly confessed to murdering Sven. Shortly after his apprehension, Thrain privately beheaded him. Both the confession and execution were managed solely by Thrain.
Sigvid and Avina mutually found the ease of finding the murderer suspicious. Without proof of the Second's misdeeds, there is no way to know if he had been the killer. Or if his death hides a shadowy secret.
“How are you holding up?” he asks, his large black cloak billowing against his muscular frame.
Once again, his features render her speechless. His appearance is so much like his brother's, but it’s more than the facial structure and their identical chestnut-colored hair. A stirring ofseidrreassures Avina that she can trust anything he says—except his mean smile. And then there is his tone, which holds a sharp edge no matter how friendly he seems.
“Always a little anxious at large gatherings.” She mutters.
Why am I admitting anything to him?
He nods in understanding. “I imagine Queen Avina experiences unkind glances in Salt.”
“When Prince Sigvid is around, the attitude is more gentle.” Her eyes search the crowd for him in an act that does not go unnoticed.
“‘When he is around.’ I see.” He repeats her words as if they speak volumes. “Will you attend the feast later? I would be honored to dispel the myths surrounding you.”
“Myths?” She snorts.
“For one,” he closes the distance between them and rakes his knuckles over her temple, “you are not an ugly beast.”
“Am I not?” She squeaks with a swallow at his closeness. Unable to shake how much he looks like his brother.
“No, you are stunning like the moon on a clear night.”
He is not Sigvid.She repeats the mantra.
“Sigvid!” She gasps, surprised at his sudden appearance and grateful to douse the Salt King’s Sacred Stone ability.
As if summoned by her mental chants, Sigvid approaches from behind, slapping his brother in the back of the head.
“Right now is not the time or place, but I will deal with you later for touching her.” He growls. “What are you trying to fuck with now, Thrain?”
“Brother!” Thrain’s genial grin maintains. “Nothing untoward. I am only extending an invitation to your beautiful guest for this evening. If she stays here indefinitely, our people should learn to be more welcoming.”
“I am only staying until the Solstice.” She pipes up, wanting both brothers to know and acknowledge that information.
Sigvid partially blocks his view of her. Grim’s words suddenly filter back into her mind like an annoying gnat.
“No shit, Avina is attending the feast. And asmyguest, she will attend onmyarm.” He twists his head over his shoulder to meet her eyes. A flicker of pain crosses his gaze.
What is that about?
“And she will be leaving after the Winter Solstice. There is no need to parade her to all the townsfolk.” Sigvid’s voice lowers to almost a whisper before turning back to his brother.
