“Likely not. That was a while ago,” Astrid said. As long as the conversation was veering away from the event itself, she’d be fine. “When it came down to it, I was in the right place at the right time, that’s all.”
Alvor laughed. “I am sure Torden does not see it that way. Why would they elect a queen who just happenedto be there?”
Astrid bit back a bitter response. Why indeed?
“Queen Astrid is a great ruler,” Freya said.
Alvor jumped in surprise. Like most, she hadn’t noticed Freya.
“She’s hardworking and cares deeply about her people, and that would be true whether she’d shot the arrow which gravely injured Ulfur or not,” said Freya.
“Of course,” Alvor said, eyes flashing.
Tassi and Guthmar looked their way. Oh, stars, they’d been listening the whole time. Astrid shuffled her feet under the weight of their full attention.
“So humble, too,” Guthmar said, and though Astrid was fairly certain he meant it genuinely, there was a sharpness to itshe disliked. She took it that Guthmar was not generally one for humility.
Thankfully, Guthmar’s interest turned to history and the rulers who’d served before Astrid. Time passed slowly, but it passed.
The longer Astrid was there, the more the bustle of bodies became too much. On another day, Astrid might have retreated to her favorite nook of the library as a peaceful sanctuary, but she could not escape there now. What a violation to make this sacred, quiet space so boisterous.
By the time most of the scholars had left, going back to their rooms to prepare for dinner, Astrid was left alone with Guthmar’s retinue, her félag, Freya, and a few stragglers.
“What’s this?” Guthmar was saying across the room.
“A recreation of the ceremonial crown,” answered Hedda tightly. Astrid froze in horror as Hedda excused herself from the library.
“Well,” Guthmar said to Tassi, “that was abrupt.”
“Why a recreation?” Alvor asked Vera.
Vera smirked. They’d nearly been in the clear, but now Astrid wished more than ever that she could skip the rest of the day to hide in bed.
When Vera launched into a fictional account of how the original crown had been destroyed, Astrid had no energy left to stop her. They’d come up with a reason for its destruction that wasn’t so inflammatory as the truth—the scholars would know the difference, and ultimately, it was not worth hiding from them.
Astrid slumped against a bookcase, allowing herself a moment of being Astrid, not Queen Astrid, if such a person existed anymore.
“My Queen,” Freya said, so softly Astrid almost didn’t hear.
Astrid turned her head a fraction. “Yes?”
“May we speak privately?”
Anything to get away from Guthmar and his curiosity. “Of course.”
Astrid did not hear Freya leave her side, but she felt her absence, the coldness left in her wake.
She caught sight of Freya’s boots turning the corner around a giant wall of bookshelves just in time. Excusing herself from a lingering scholar who attempted to engage her in conversation while clinging to his monocle, Astrid followed Freya into a small nook with a single chair surrounded by books.
“What is it?” Astrid asked. The enclosed space gave her a sudden sense of claustrophobia. She grabbed at the collar of her dress, tugging it loose from her sweat-drenched neck.
“Do you feel safe?” Freya asked.
Astrid examined her. Freya’s eyes were open, earnest, curious. Concerned. A dangerous thing to be around Astrid, whose life was politics and people she’d never met both loving and hating her from faraway lands.
Freya was someone Astrid almost never needed to worry about. Why was she so concerned with Astrid’s well-being of late? Astrid did not feel any more susceptible to danger than she usually did during these events.
“I am protected,” Astrid said judiciously.
