He made it through, and Frigg spotted him.
"What's wrong?" she asked, moving to his side.
"Elle's been taken to Muspelheim."
A frightened expression planted itself on Frigg's face. "We need your father."
"I need to go. Who knows what is happening to her." He raised Mjölnir.
"Thor, wait." Frigg grabbed him. "You can't just show up there. You need your father."
"No," said Thor. "I need Elle." He threw his arm in the air and shot upward.
Elle stared out the window into the ashen fields of Muspelheim. In the distance, a volcano erupted, spewing ash and lava over the ground, much like Surtr had done the moment she'd set foot back in the castle.
It'd been Thadren's men who'd tracked her down and Thadren himself who had brought her back. Rather than be angry with her over her disappearance, he seemed amused. Surtr, however, had been anything but.
She'd only been spared a thrashing or death sentence because Thadren had promised to still take her as his bride. To which Surtr had immediately sent Elle to her room to be prepared for the wedding.
Elle stared off as the servants stripped her down and scrubbed her with coarse brushes. She didn't give them the satisfaction of seeing her shiver from the cool water they used. She stood, head held high, staring out the window.
She had considered fighting them. Considered breaking out of the castle and making a run for it, but where would she go? And more than that, what was the point? Thor hated her, and if she couldn't have Thor, it didn't matter what happened to her. At least with Thadren, she knew what to expect. And he'd not been violent to her like her father. But if he was... well, she wasn't going to take the abuse anymore. She may not be able to control her magic all the way, but she could control it enough to do some damage.
The servants pulled on white undergarments and a gown and tried to move Elle to a chair, but Elle resisted.
"If you want me to do something, you ask me," she snapped. "Politely. You don't shove me about like a farm animal."
The women looked at her, then at each other. One of them inclined her head.
"If you would sit, Princess Sutrelle, we will brush out your hair and braid it for you."
"You may brush it," said Sutrelle. "But I don't want it braided."
Again, the women nodded.
Sutrelle walked to the chair and sat, letting her long hair flow down her back. The show of assertion had Elle ready to bite the skin off her fingers; instead, she looked down at her gown. The iridescent dragonsilk fabric was some of the hardest in the nine realms to procure, and she was sure it hadn't been obtained by her father.
"Where did this dress come from?"
"Prince Thadren brought it for you."
"As a welcome home gift for your wedding."
Elle bit the inside of her cheek. She wondered if her father was aware he was marrying her off to someone so generous. He could have married her off to any number of monsters like himself, but surprisingly, he hadn't. Which meant one thing- Thadren was considerably more powerful than her father liked to admit.
"We've finished, Princess. Are you sure you wouldn't like us to braid it?"
Elle stood from the chair and walked back to the window. "No, thank you."
"Then we will take our leave if you don't need anything else."
The volcano continued to spew forth its destruction. If she got lucky, it would flow down to the border and destroy Muspelheim castle.
The door opened, and the two women's footsteps left as a heavy set of footsteps entered. She didn't need to look to know one of her father's guards had come in to make sure she didn't try anything. The most she could do now was take what she'd learned from Thor and Val and try to make the best of what was about to happen to her.
In the great hall, all the heavy stone tables had been angled sideways, and an aisle had been made through the center of them to the head table, where her father sat with Thadren. The hall reeked of sulfur and roasted meat, the air so thick with heat it pressed against her bare arms like a second skin. Torches of volcanic glass lined the walls, their flames shades of amber and deep crimson, throwing distorted shadows across the vaulted ceiling. The stone floor radiated warmth through the thin soles of her slippers, each step a reminder that Muspelheim's fire burned beneath everything, always. Rows of fire giants filled the tables on either side of the aisle- massive figures with skin like cracked basalt, their expressions a mixture of disdain and greed. At the head table, Sutr occupied his throne like a mountain refusing to erode. Surtr stood ten feet of menace, his skin split with veins of molten orange that pulsed at his jaw and knuckles. His beard smoldered, each ember-tipped hair curling against the black of his breastplate. Those burning eyes, twin furnaces set deep in a face carved from cruelty, fixed on her the moment she crossed the threshold. The only difference in the hall, besides the layout, was the addition of a familiar, smaller silver throne that sat next to Thadren's.
Mother's throne.
