Her mate staggered through the door in rags, his chest heaving.
She was frozen to the spot as she took in the sight of him. Though he’d always had a slight build, he was noticeably thinner, lankier. Chains hung from his wrists connected to the ones on his feet.
His gaze poured into her, and she could not take her attention from him.
That is, until another figure appeared behind him, coming to stand before her mate, blocking her view of him.
Ragnvald.
Solveigjumpedtoherfeet, hands flying to her daggers. She gripped the hilts and manoeuvred through the crowd to stand beside Westley, in front of North and her mothers.
Westley hadn’t been allowed to arm himself for the walk behind his future queen, so Solveig passed him one of her blades. He flipped it in his hand and braced himself.
“Munin?” North asked from behind Solveig.
The nondescript male gave Solveig pause as she took him in. His clothes were ragged, and at first glance, he appeared small and weak.
But his skin was clean and his eyes were alert. This was not a broken male.
Solveig narrowed her eyes, unease spreading rapidly through her as he looked everywhere in the room except at his mate.
Her magic stood on guard, hovering within reach should she need to strike quickly.
Ragnvald took another step towards them and clapped his hands together. “Oh good, I’m just in time.”
His chipper words were a stark contrast to the evil in his soul. As he took a step forward, the room grew colder, darker. The sunlight that hadbeen streaming in, warming the room, was replaced by clouds of swirling grey.
Solveig sent her magic out, but it was not strong enough to get a feel on him without direct contact. She would be damned if she laid a finger on him unless it was to cut his throat.
A low growl emanated from her, Westley’s warning rumble joining hers.
“What is the meaning of this?” North asked, much more calmly than Solveig would have thought.
“Yes, Ragnvald, we would also like to know,” Koa said coldly.
“I am not invited to my own granddaughter’s coronation, and you have the nerve to ask me why I’m here,” he said, his temper looming behind his words.
“You know why you were not invited,” Westley said through his teeth.
“Ah, my disappointing grandson.” He sniffed the air. “Still unmated I see.”
Solveig hissed.
“But not unprotected,” he amended with a cruel smile in her direction. “He managed to convince you of his innocence then? So kind of you to view naivety as a strength,” he condescended.
As he took another step inside, more followed after. Idavoll dignitaries and soldiers, as well as Ragnvald’s own guards from Hel. Bringing up the rear was Maddock and what looked like an entire Jotunheim legion.
All at once, severed heads were tossed on the ground. Solveig recognized them as spies from Asgard and Vanaheim. Her heart clenched at the thought of more of her people suffering for her actions.
“My son and his beloved wife were murdered, and I thought to myself, how convenient. There must be a grand plot afoot. And sureenough, we unearthed these traitors. I had no other choice than to save Idavoll from corruption,” he explained, his voice calm like he was speaking to younglings.
“You are treading on thin ice, Ragnvald,” Aelfsi said, her hands clasped together in front of her.
“I do believe you are mistaken, my dear Aelfsi. It is you who ought to watch where you step.”
More soldiers filtered in, the sacred throne room filled to the brim with violence waiting to boil over.
“What do you want, Grandfather?” North asked. Solveig was impressed at her attempt to keep her composure.
