He is at the spiral staircase before she utters another word, taking each step two at a time as his mother beckons him from behind. He tears down the packed dirt road to the city. Stress slithers into his gut, squeezing his insides until they threaten to burst.
Only two other moments in his life have worried him to this extent, and both involved Avina.
No, this is more profound than simple worry.
Sigvid is fucking terrified.
Afraid of losing her forever.
And he can not just blame her missteps this time.
How often has he refused to confess the peace that the depths of her eyes give him? Now, he drives her into the arms of fucking Thrain.
Toftlund is not overly humming mid-morning, which allows him to slip through the streets. He does not bother to knock when he reaches his brother’s house. He finds the home empty except for Thrain’s young female servant tending to the hearth. She scrapes into a bow instantly at the sight of Sigvid’s hulking form in the doorway.
“Prince Sigvid-” her words sputter as his runed hand tightens around her neck, cutting off her breath.
“You have three seconds to tell me where exactly Avina and Thrain have gone.” He hisses just before relinquishing his grasp. Her feet crumble underneath her as she collapses to the floor.
“Center.” She coughs. “Toftlund Center.”
Sigvid does not pause to consider the implications of Avina and his brother engaging in anything together.
His boots thump along the cobblestone. When he turns the corner toward the city's heart, he pauses in his stride to gape at the sight of nearly all of Toftlund gathered around a raised dais.
He shoves through the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd packed to the brim along the streets. Sigvid slips against a brick tavern, the establishment still closed from the previous night’s escapades.
Taking advantage of the lack of people on the block, he leans against the outer wall. From his spot, he watches the persons standing atop the raised dais.
Thrain’s new Second, Gunter, seems to be managing the crowd while Thrain is stroking a strand of Avina’s curls with that fake smile. As for his little Queen, her lips form the contour of a smile that does not reach her beautiful eyes.
“I now present your King.” Gunter steps aside so Thrain can take center stage amidst polite applause.
“Good people of Toftlund. Today is monumental and exciting for me, Salt, and Treland. Our divided country has existed in parts for far too long. As we prepare to embark on the tenth era, this singular act will mark a true dawn of an era of unity.”
Thrain steps to the side and spreads his arms out to Avina, who stands straight with her head held high.
A proper Queen.
That sad smile still twists upon her lips, driving Sigvid mad with desire to see an honest one on that perfect mouth. She offers a gentle wave to the crowd.
He has never seen her look more defeated.
“The Queen of Timber and the heir to the Ridge Province thronehas agreed to my marriage request. We seek to unite our country for the first time in almost a millennia.”
Thunderous cheers erupt from the crowd that extends down the main street, filtering down every back alley. Yet, the words of Thrain carry like a disease, infecting everyone with something that can not be true.
It should not be true.
A burning in Sigvid’s eyes and a gasping from his lungs force him to question if his body is attempting to drown him.
She belongs to Sigvid, not Thrain. Her life, her body, her fucking spirit are his! After everything he has done to mark her, to hide her away from the likes of his brother. How in the fuck did she end up on that stage?
Why did she not tell me of this?
“We will be wed after the first of the new year. At that time, the people of Salt will finally want for nothing!” Thrain bellows to a chorus of cries. He continues his speech, professing his plans for the future. Never once mentioning her name to the people she will supposedly rule.
Samson’s words about one Salt Prince were accurate.
