“You didn’t say anything,” he whispered to her as he slumped against a wall, spent from unleashing so much emotion.
“I had nothing concrete to say about it,” Solveig said, voice soft. “And I was a little preoccupied with the whole ‘plot to get Solveig and Westley to mate’ and its fallout.”
Would their duty always come between them? She may not have known it was happening today, but she’d been aware of her mothers’ plans.
Westley stared at her face, the sharp angles shadowed by the dying light of the room. Her auburn hair had fallen from its updo, stray strands curling around her face and neck. Those copper eyes held so much—fear and apprehension still lingered, but there was more too.
Hope and strength.
Goddess, he loved her. Her eyes softened. He must have projected his feelings onto her, but he didn’t care. She was his mate, and he didn’t feel the need to hide anything from her, especially how he felt.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. And those words from her mouth didn’t sit right. He had much more to atone for than she did. This was a drop in the bucket compared to his crimes against her.
“Solveig—”
“No, let me apologize.”
“You don’t know what I was going to say.”
She laughed sadly. “Your every feeling is coming through the bond. But let me tell you something, please.”
Had she ever said please before? He didn’t think so. He nodded for her to continue.
“I do not have free rein to hurt you just because you have hurt me. Not in the way that this happened. Making you wait to mate is one thing, but this is outside of our bond.”
“Would you have told me, when we were settled?”
She didn’t speak right away, which made his heart constrict. “I will from now on,” she promised.
It was all he could ask of her. This, between them, was still so new. They had to figure out how to work with each other.
Westley reached out and twirled a soft curl of her hair around his finger, letting his knuckles graze the scar on her cheek. His anger flared again—at Booth for everything he’d done to her, and at himself for everything he sat by and let the bastard do. Solveig leaned into his touch.
Come on, let’s go up to bed and I’ll let you help me take this gods awful dress off.
He chuckled and nodded. She helped pull him to his feet, but he couldn’t leave his parents there, open-eyed and cold. Giving her hand a squeeze, he let go to kneel on the cold stone floor. He closed his father’s eyes and then his mother’s before singing the death prayer.
His low bass voice carried through the dining hall, filling its cold corners.
“I forgive you,” he whispered to his parents before rising and making his way over to Solveig. She stood quietly watching him, tears rolling down her cheeks. He wiped one away with his thumb, and she smiled sadly.
“You truly are my perfect match,” he whispered to her, leaning into her strength.
“I did beat you that one time,” she teased.
He laughed lightly then looked at her seriously.
“The world is not so black and white as I used to think. You see that—you see that my parents were your enemies, but they were also good people who loved me and my siblings. Both things are true,” he said sadly.
Solveig wrapped her arms around his waist and after a moment, his arms curled around hers. He buried his face in her hair and let the fresh wave of tears soak into the coppery strands.
Idavollwasdivided.
North stood on her balcony, observing the dissent in the streets. Her followers had rejoiced at the king’s and queen’s deaths, excited by the prospect of change. Change for the better.
But there were those who struggled with North’s agenda, still believing they were the superior Fae.
She had tried, over the decades, to reform her parents’ outdated and hurtful rule.
