Freya was curled at the foot of Astrid’s bed with a blanket and pillow; the arrangement was premeditated. Her eyes were red with fatigue.
“You don’t have to guard me overnight. It’s not like I’ll be stabbed in my sleep,” Astrid joked.
She bent down to put a hand on Freya’s shoulder, and Freya jolted. There was no humor in her expression.
Did Freya think Astridcouldbe killed in her own bed?
She remembered what Freya had said last night about the possibility of harm coming to Astrid. Her dark joke about the action she would take. Astrid had no doubt Freya was fully capable of following through. Unfortunately for all of them, Guthmar did not deserve to die, and his death would be the start of an international incident. The last thing Astrid needed was enemies to the westandsouth.
“There are two guards outside the door,” Astrid reminded Freya, “and the rest of my félag down the hall. Not to mention you in the next room over. I’m well protected.”
“I know, Your Majesty.” Freya’s voice was scratchy. She smoothed down her hair, which had taken to sticking up every which way. Despite herself, Astrid relished in seeing Freya mussed and undone.
“I’m being extra cautious because of the ambassador switch,” said Freya.
Astrid didn’t know what to say. They’d already discussed the ambassador last night. How if he was a threat, he was a diplomatic one, not an…assassin.
The idea of an assassin in her apartments made her shudder. She searched for words of assurance—why didAstridneed to assure Freya that she herself wasn’t in bodily danger?—when someone knocked at the door.
“Hrothgar?” Astrid called.
“Yes, Your Majesty. Ambassador Guthmar is here, and he would like a tour of the castle.”
“He should have come on time yesterday if he wanted a tour,” Freya muttered.
Astrid waved her protest away. “I’ll get ready as fast as I can, Hrothgar. You can let him into my antechamber.”
Silence from the other side of the door. Freya shook her head in disagreement.
“He has brought his spouses and his bodyguards, Your Majesty,” Hrothgar said.
Fiveorcs crowding up Astrid’s antechamber. Just envisioning this made Astrid want to crawl back into bed. “Leave them in the hall, then,” she said. “I’ll be quick.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Hrothgar’s steps echoed away. There was booming laughter down the hall, unmistakably the ambassador’s, and both Astrid and Freya flinched.
“You should get ready, too, Freya,” Astrid said as she splashed her face in the basin.
“I’m going to follow you closely today,” Freya warned.
Astrid glanced up through her wet eyelashes. Always, Freya insisted on guarding Astrid as her duty. She rejected gifts and other displays of thanks, but Astrid felt gratitude well up in her chest anyway. “Why?”
“I don’t trust the newcomers, and I still have much to learn about them,” Freya said. She was standing now, and though she’d been sleeping a moment ago and was wearing only a light tunic, she looked ready for the day.
“You’ll let me know what you learn?” Astrid asked.
Freya didn’t look up to meet her gaze. The column of her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Of course, My Queen.”
The ambassador was surrounded by a small crowd when Astrid left her rooms ten minutes or so later. He was regaling the onlookers with a tale—or he would have been, if any of his words made it through his boisterous laughter. His wife and husband wore indulgent smiles, but the bodyguards he’d brought with him were stoic as could be, and Astrid’s félag wore the stony faces of those forced to pander to a small, petulant child.
It was going to be a long day.
“Is there anything in particular you want to see?” Astrid asked as they headed down the stairs. The light padding of Freya’s feet followed her, comforting and familiar.
“Oh, I’d like to see everything,” he said, and Astrid’s stomach nearly fell out of her ass. She recalled what Freya had said about his attendants:He wanted to stop for every little thing.
He actually, literally, meant he wanted to seeeverything.
Astrid brought him to the meadery first. It smelled of honey and yeast and reminded her of summer. She thought about Guthmar’s loose tongue last night, brought on by the mead. “Perhaps we should try some,” she suggested, and the meadery staff rushed to find something worthy to give an ambassador. Soon, everyone had a drinking horn in hand. Astrid pretended to politely sip at hers as the conversation went on.
