Despite the warm atmosphere filled with friends and family, Aura’s mind disappears back into the city garden, where he broke her heart. The memory of his voice pierces her stomach, and she swallows hard to suppress the pain. At the same time, the way the Iss Drengr grips the ale horn ignites her yearning for him as his muscular, veiny arms flex.
It was all a lie, just like Isabel.
After what must have been several war stories, Uncle Grim leavesCalder to his ale. His icy gaze scrutinizes the Princess as he lights his pipe. Her core tightens at the intensity of his cold indifference.
She hears movement behind her, but before she can react, someone grabs her arms. She jumps and swats the hands away.
“You looked too comfortable,” Thora cackles as she plops down on Sigvid’s throne. She cannot be bothered to walk the extra few steps to sit in her own seat. Bjorn emerges on her other side with two drinking horns. He perches on the arm of her throne instead of sitting in his own beside her. Aura does not miss how his attention flicks toward the Iss Drengr and back to her with a knowing glance.
“What were you looking at with such intensity?” Thora reclines on their father’s throne. “I’ve lived in Toftlund my whole life, and I recommend about three people to take to bed.”
“Gods, Thora!” She huffs, sinking into her seat.
“She has a point, Aura.” Bjorn hands her the spare horn.
“You should listen to us.” Thora belches so loudly that those nearby raise their drinks to her. “We are older and wiser. You can always move to another kingdom. I am sure Steinlund or Pradacia would have someone that Uncle Sig would allow between your legs.”
Bjorn and Aura both wince at the vulgarity of her words.
“Now that you mention it,” he tosses back a gulp of his mead. “We finally met with the Steinlund group. Turns out the capital city of Ravengarde is in the midst of a rebellion. The Rebel Commander intercepted Pops' invitation to the Conclave and requests assistance in uncovering the Draemonium at the heart of their government. Pops asked me to go on a covert mission to their court. I will miss the perfection that is Salt Mead.”
“What?!” Both Thora and Aura shout at once.
“You cannot leave!” Aura isn’t sure who she is more upset with: her father, Bjorn, or these rebels. And why was she not asked when her siblings both have duties within the Drengr?
“How is this fair?” Thora appears ready to squeeze the life out of someone. “I should be the one traveling on missions to other countries!”
“Thora, you are in charge of the deadliest army on the EndlessShore,” he states thoughtfully. “I’m sure Pops wouldn't allow you to leave.”
“That’s bullshit,” Aura interjects. “Thora is about as subtle as a rampaging male elk during mating season.”
“Oh, and would you be a better option?” Thora crosses her arms. “You would fuck your way through like a rampaging male elk during mating season.”
Aura’s face burns. Yes, she has experienced terrible endings to relationships, but she does not throw herself around like a common harlot!
Bjorn adjusts his vest. “When it comes down to me or the lustful male elks, I am the superior option. Father intends this job to be a discreet mission.”
Aura fists her hands in her lap. “Glad to know he thinks so little of our abilities.”
Thora stomps off the dais in a rare gesture, leaving Bjorn and Aura without her final word.
“Now you have done it,” Aura sighs.
“You know that was not my intention.” He lights his pipe while scanning the crowd. “I hate what this Isabel situation has done to both of you. You both deserve better from Pop and your self-esteems.”
“I am not sure I will ever crawl out from under it. Thora still beats herself up over the Death Match. It will take more than time to rectify this,” she whispers.
He stands and gently pats her shoulder. “Join me in Steinlund.”
“You cannot be serious?” She radiates joy and nearly jumps from her throne.
“Details are still developing. As long as you follow my guidance and don’t act like a rampaging male elk during mating season, I don’t foresee any issues.”
“Thank you, B!” She jumps up and down.
He kisses her forehead. “Keep your chin up, sis.”
She forces herself to sit back on her throne and calm her excitement when Jarl Guy appears, prompting her brother to slip away.
