The throne of Idavoll was legendary, made of pure silver crafted by the Dwarven to never tarnish. Its ornate design was that of a wolf and a tree—of Fenrir and Yggdrasil. Idavoll represented the fall of the realms, the death of the gods, and the rebirth of the new world. For if it hadn’t been for Ragnarök, the Fae never would have come into existence.
The emerald-green eyes of the silver wolf glinted in the early sunlight, and for a moment Westley felt as though the wolf was staring directly at him.
No, not him. At Solveig.
Recognition of the wolf, of Fenrir, flashed through her and with it, a shadow of power danced between them. A shiver ran down his spine. It was the same wolf that marked his torso and arm. The one she had traced with her fingers and lips. The one that intrinsically linked them.
A different kind of shiver moved through him as he gripped her by the waist and brought her flush against his chest. He elicited his favouritebreathy gasp from her, sliding his hand across the front of her gown, grazing her breast with his knuckles.
Gods, that gown.
She was a goddess stepping out of his history books—right out of Asgard of old, a living flame in the darkness of his soul.
Why did you bring me here?she asked, the voice in her mind whispering as though the bustling servants would note their presence if she spoke aloud.
He had no such qualms. He pressed his lips to the shell of her ear. “I wanted to show you the throne.”
Solveig pulled back so she could study his face. “But I’ll see it later today. Why now?”
He sighed and rested his forehead against hers. “This is a piece of me, a piece of my upbringing. This throne symbolizes my blind obedience, and I wanted to see it one last time before it changes.”
“Can you tell me about it? The throne has been shrouded in mystery. It is quite stunning. Why Fenrir?”
Wolves in general were revered in Idavoll. They had festivals celebrating the majestic creatures. The animal was chosen to symbolize their connection as Forest Fae, their unending loyalty and protectiveness. That was what everyone outside the palace believed. In reality, it went far deeper.
“The royal families of Idavoll have worshipped Fenrir in secret since the days of the split. The great wolf has been a symbol of our revenge. It’s why I got this tattoo in the first place, as a reminder of why I fought.”
“But why Fenrir? Why not Skoll or Hati?”
It was a fair question. He’d learned extensively about Skoll and Hati—the wolves who had chased the sun and moon relentlessly, catching them during Ragnarök. But it was Fenrir, their father, who was considered the ultimate being of strength and revenge.
“Fenrir was kept by the Aesir because of his power. And when he continued to grow rapidly, they decided to restrain him, to keep him from wreaking havoc on the Nine Realms. Though they eventually succeeded, the Dwarven chains they’d trapped him with couldn’t hold him in the end.”
“The first Idavoll Fae saw themselves like the wolf?”
Westley nodded, lost in lessons of his youth. “The Aesir feared Fenrir because they knew that eventually, he would seek his revenge.”
Solveig was quiet for some time. Eventually, the commotion of the throne room died down until they were the only two left.
The silence wrapped around them, allowing Westley to bask in her closeness. Sharing this piece of himself, of his history, was another chain breaking. Each link weakening until he could completely shake them off.
But it wasn’t revenge he sought. It was forgiveness.
“Vidarr killed Fenrir in the end,” Solveig said, breaking through his thoughts.
Westley smirked. “Allegedly.”
She returned his smile and nodded in acquiescence. “We’ll never truly know what happened during Ragnarök, will we?”
“I don’t think even the Aesir knew what happened. They were all supposed to die.”
It was something that had been on his mind. What truly happened to them? The texts from Asgard claimed they roamed Yggdrasil, powerless. And yet, if Idavoll’s history could be rewritten, so could the beginning of days.
“Loss of magic is a kind of death,” Solveig speculated. They shared a meaningful look. It had felt a lot like death when their magic had been stripped from them.
“True, their essence and dominion over the Nine Realms was destroyed. They were ripped from their world.”
Solveig’s gaze trailed back to the silver wolf. “What will North do about Fenrir?”
