“Is it so difficult? Perhaps I should wear another dress.”
Damn Mara for finding her true love.
Instead of filling her time with locating spare rooms for a tryst, Freya had spent the last month distracting herself with what she was best at—gathering intel, preparing for any possible outcome.
Freya had spent less and less time around Astrid, always making sure to leave her with trusted members of her guard. To Freya’s relief, moving Hrothgar to captain of the félag had been a good decision. Freya hadn’t needed to worry about Hedda’s bursts of anger weakening the queen’s defense.
There had been no plausible threats as of yet. Still, Freya was almost positive the incoming ambassador was the cause of Astrid’s future “loss.” She would have to keep diligent watch from the second he stepped through the castle gates.
But first, this complicated dress. Freya removed her gloves and wiped sweaty palms on her trousers. “I’ve got it,” she said, her voice unusually husky.
She powered through the laces by pretending she was tying up a prisoner, tie after tie and knot after knot. The resulting effect was… Well. Efficient, if not beautiful. She realized when she was done that some of the ribbon was intended to be tied into bows.
Astrid turned in the mirror. Her loose braid of thick, brunette hair swung as she moved. Though Astrid had a muscular build—not inherently soft, or Freya had never thought of her as such—there was a grace, a smoothness, an elegance to her step.
Stop noticing her movements, you fool.
“Oh, it’s not so bad,” Astrid said. “Thank you.”
“Of course, Your Majesty. He’s supposed to be here soon; shall we go?”
“No putting it off, I suppose,” said Astrid, shooting such a soft, trusting smile at Freya that she was left flustered.
Freya opened the door for Astrid. The queen’s dress swished against Freya’s boots as she filtered past.
Chapter Four
The ambassador was late.
Astrid waited with her retinue at the castle gates as her hands grew numb with the cold. Her guards had no qualms about hiding their impatience—they shuffled so frequently, Astrid’s determination not to shiver bothered her like an itch.
She glanced to her side at Freya, who faced directly forward with her arms crossed, eyes straight ahead like she could see something Astrid couldn’t. Freya had sent her falcon to the ambassador’s entourage, so they knew precisely when the ambassador was set to arrive. To cover their bases, Freya had also consulted Brenn to be sure of the time.
And yet he was not here.
They’d been waiting for nearly two hours. The general chatter that accompanied a large group of people had ended twenty minutes ago when everyone realized they would be out here for a long time. Every now and then, someone’s stomach grumbled loudly.
Astrid’s eye twitched.
“I am old,” the steward said, breaking the silence, “and I am going to the dining hall to eat.”
“Yes, of course,” Astrid said, ashamed she had not thought to let him go. “Anyone outside of the félag may go to dinner.” She bit back an apology on the ambassador’s behalf.
“Thank the goddess,” the elf librarian, Vera, muttered. Astrid had hoped to use Vera as a kind of cultural liaison, as she was worldly and educated about Sydlig’s history. Torden and Sydlig had much in common, certainly, but Astrid had found oversights in her knowledge of Sydlig in the past, and she was terrified of stumbling upon one now, facing this ambassador.
Her upbringing had taken her around orc country and occasionally into the Elven Islands, traveling with her merchant family, but she had never paid much attention to politics until it was apparent she was a serious contender for queen.
It wasn’t like she had expected to rule a country.
She continued to wait with the félag. Freya remained at her side in spite of being dismissed. She’d acted odd earlier, Astrid thought. True, Astrid did not often make Freya complete the maid duties Freya had technically signed up for, but Freya had seemed uncomfortable when faced with the back of Astrid’s dress. Was it unprofessional to request that Freya lace up her clothing? The urge to ask her was strong, but the embarrassment Astrid would feel at the answer was stronger.
She remained quiet.
They waited some more. The hour stretched on, leaving Astrid with little sense of the passage of time and a cold ache in her bones. The sun set magnificently, orange and pinks and purples reflected on bits of jewelry—armbands, the rings of the félag, gleaming sword and axe pommels. Her own simple crown left a crenelated half-circle of light around her, and only when she noticed it did someone whisper under their breath, “Thankfuck.” She was fairly certain it was Hrothgar, who as far as she knew was not prone to swearing.
In the distance, the ambassador’s retinue was visible in silhouette. There weren’t as many of them as Astrid had feared—a smallish group, maybe a dozen or so horses. The horses were overburdened with baggage, but it could have been much worse.
Astrid finally allowed herself to shift, to subtly shake out her limbs, as they got closer. The sun finished setting and left them in the dark, and the cold turned brittle.
