My eyebrow quirks upward. "I thought you don't make armor for elves."
It's one of his strictest principles. A vow he's kept for decades.
"No, I'm not making it." Hrolf's gaze lands on me with quiet insistence. "You are."
He moves to the other side of the forge, selecting his tools.
I narrow my eyes. "Why help me with this?"
"I can't have her losing blood again," Hrolf mutters gruffly. "I'll have to donate more blood if she gets hurt."
Despite everything, I almost smile. "That's your reason?"
"Yes. Now let's clean this mess up first." Hrolf looks around the filthy forge. "Can't work properly in this disaster."
Garrett joins us and starts helping out. He organizes tools that were scattered during the flood, wiping mud off metal and setting them in proper order. Even Shade contributes, sweepingdebris from the corners and making himself useful in his own quiet way.
After a while, Garrett speaks without looking up. "The fae commander requested permission to bring his people here. The survivors from his legion—about three hundred warriors."
"Here? To Völundr?" I ask, eyes narrowing at the thought.
Garrett adjusts the forge temperature and nods. "They need sanctuary. Eirik's forces are hunting them."
I remember the Fae King's mistress turning on Landon and his legion. His warriors slaughtered by their own people.
I glance at Garrett. "Has she… allowed it?"
He picks up another tool to clean. "Aelfric says Landon's taking advantage of the mate bond, but whatever the reason, she has granted it."
Hrolf pauses his hammering. "Your wife can grant sanctuary to fae warriors?"
"Of course she can," Garrett says, confused by the question.
"But that's a major decision. Wouldn't she need approval from the Council or the queen?"
Garrett laughs, amused. "Hrolf, Rhianelle is the queen. She can do whatever she wants. There is no higher authority."
The hammer in Hrolf's hand lowers slowly. He turns to face me, eyes wide. "Your wife is Rhianelle Wiolant? The queen of Aelfheim?"
"Yes."
The dwarf stares at me blankly.
Wait, I'm sure I mentioned it before. But then I realize Hrolf has been stuck in this prison cell for months. During all our conversations, I never once said Rhianelle's name. I never told him who my wife actually was. He had no idea he was saving the Queen of Aelfheim when he gave his blood.
Hrolf keeps staring. His breathing changes, becoming shallow and rapid. The air feels heavy between us, charged with unspoken truths.
"Are you all right?" I ask, stepping a little closer.
Before he can answer, there's commotion from outside.
"What's that?" Shade moves to the forge entrance, the wolf following.
We join them, looking out toward the main plaza. People are gathering, hundreds of them despite the scorching heat of the sun.
Then my breath catches. She's there, alive and whole, standing in the sunlight.
Rhianelle steps onto the raised platform at the plaza's center. Her silver hair is loose around her shoulders and she's wearing a simple dress.
