“You are weak,” his father sneered.
“Don’t you dare talk to him that way,” Solveig snapped at the Idavoll king.
“Solveig—” Westley started, grateful.
“Fuck you. I’m livid.” She shut him down.
“At me? For respecting your wishes?” he exclaimed, his anger rising again.
“No, for being such an asshole about it,” she spat back.
“How was I an asshole?” he reared back.
“West,” Easta muttered under her breath, “you didn’t tell her.”
“Why the Hel would I tell her?” he yelled.
“So that I’d know I was giving up my fucking mate by getting married. So that I had all the information I needed to make the right choice!” she yelled back.
He tried to control his anger. He was about ready to snap. “And what choice is that?”
“The Hel if I know, Westley, gods.” Solveig threw her hands in the air. He took a step towards her, his anger starting to soften. But she stepped away.
She glared. “Don’t you dare.”
“What?”
“If you come any closer, I’m going to rip your fucking head off,” she warned.
“Oh really? You think you could?” he challenged, his body alight with magic and rage.
“Do not test me right now, West.” But he was already stalking towards her. Her hands glowed, the energy in the room crackling. Magic swelled between them, the acknowledged bond trying to break through their binds with brute force.
“Are you threatening me?” he hissed.
“Yes.”
He lunged.
Westley launched himself towards her. She responded the moment he moved, grasping him midair by the throat and slamming him down hard on the table. Everyone leapt from their seats, moving to line the walls. Westley swung himself around, narrowly missing the fist Solveig threw at his face.
“Is that the best you’ve got?” she taunted.
He conjured a wave, and she raised a shield to block it just in time. He tried to do what he’d done to the mortal president and wrap her in water, but her light and energy burned through his magic.
She blasted him across the room, his body crashing into the wooden chairs, splinters flying in all directions. He jumped to his feet, recovering quickly.
His body collided with hers, and he overpowered her with sheer force. He pressed her back against the wall, trapping her with his form. His hand closed around her throat, gripping hard enough to keep her there without hurting her.
She bared her teeth, striking out with her legs. He coiled water around her limbs, trying to keep her still. Her magic fought back against his, and their violent dance electrified the room, steaming up the glass of the windows.
Solveig managed to free her leg, kneeing him hard in the groin. He hissed in pain but didn’t release her, squeezing her neck a fraction tighter. She snarled and his canines extended, aching to taste her.
A hand yanked at his shoulder, and in his frenzied state, he snapped at whoever dared to interrupt him. North jumped back quickly, narrowly avoiding Westley’s wrath.
She pinned him with a glare.
“Westley Erikson, I order you to stand down,” North said, the note of authority hard to miss. It had barely any effect on the fog in his brain.
