Though he was irritated to leave Idavoll so soon, he was glad to be parted from the love fest that left his best friend a puddle on the floor. That would never happen to him. He’d be damned before he let some female have that much control over him—no matter how well she warmed his sheets.
Noren’s cold heart hardened as he stomped to the stables, finding three horses ready. North and Vali must have left them, and he appreciated that they didn’t have to wait longer than necessary.
They raced away from Idavoll, from the sounds of the throne room that would haunt him for years to come—the death of Queen Eir, North’s mate betraying her, and Solveig’s scream as she killed Maddock.
Viggo and Noren followed Gerrie through the snow-covered forest, travelling south.
They made good time, riding through the night, thankfully undetected. Noren wasn’t sure how, considering the forest surrounding the palace was crawling with Jotunheim guards. They seemed to have slipped right through their cracks.
Likely they were distracted with the other parties leaving—hopefully not Easta’s.
After three days of hard riding, they were in Vanaheim. He thought he recognized the way to the obliterated Southern Wilds camp, but he wouldn’t ask Gerrie for clarification. He was still angry about her leaving them tied up naked on the bed.
Noren took a breath of relief as he shed his wool coat. He grew up loving the Idavoll winters, but after a hundred and fifty years, he was glad to be rid of it for the time being.
“There’s a pub not too far from here,” Gerrie called, gesturing to the east.
“Is it safe?” Noren asked skeptically.
“I guess we’ll find out.” She didn’t seem fazed at all at the possibility as she led them through the thinning forest.
The pub was nestled in a tiny village a stone’s throw from the Southern Wilds. There couldn’t be more than six or seven crudely built buildings here, including the shabby looking pub. How he’d managed to miss it during his stay here, he’d never know.
He could practically see the glow of the chasm from where they tied their horses up. There was an unsettling stirring in his gut, though that could be due to the three days on horseback and empty stomach.
Or perhaps it was Gerrie’s insufferable company.
“It doesn’t look like much,” Noren grumbled.
Gerrie shot him a look of anger. He hated to admit, even to himself, that he was a little terrified of her.
“You listen here, Fae,” she said in a menacingly low voice, “there are good people in there who will feed, shelter, and hide us for the night. Be grateful.” She jabbed a finger into his chest. He waited until her back was turned to rub the spot, wincing. It hurt.
Viggo caught his eye, and Noren watched his friend try and fail to hide his laughter. He huffed, following Gerrie into the pub.
The interior was just as shabby as the exterior, but it was warm and dry. The rain had started falling about an hour ago and it was a relief to get out of the moisture. Gerrie nodded to the male behind the bar who pointed to a small empty table in the corner.
Gerrie shrugged off her cloak and slung it over the back of her chair, the two Fae males following suit.
Barely in their seats for a minute and they were already being served ale. Maybe the place wasn’t so bad after all. Noren took a quick swig. Gods damned, the Vanir knew how to make ale.
He had better watch how much he drank though. He was known to be a lightweight. Not that he’d admit it out loud, but bedding Gerrie was proof enough of what happened when he didn’t watch his liquor.
“So,” Viggo started, “what’s the plan?”
Gerrie jumped right to business, clearly not worried about being overheard. Noren observed the patrons of the small pub and noticed that the servers were young and pretty. He took another drink of his ale, his mood improving considerably.
He should get his cock into someone else so the last person on it wasn’t Gerrie. Shaking his head, he tried to pay attention to the witch.
“The Vanaheim castle is another two days’ hard ride from here,” Gerrie was saying.
“I’ll give you a two days’ hard ride,” Viggo said under his breath. Noren smirked at Viggo’s already half-empty mug of ale. He was a goner.
Gerrie smiled lazily, leaning forward. With the heat rolling off them, Noren thought they might fuck right here. But Viggo gasped in pain, dousing the mood. Noren looked under the table to see Gerrie gripping Viggo’s cock through his pants, squeezing hard.
“You listen here,” Gerrie said, as serious as Noren had ever heard, “we can fuck and screw around as much as you want later, but right now, we have to focus on this plan or the entire realm will fall, bringing yours and the others down with it. Is that what you want?”
“No, of course not!” Viggo said a little too loudly.
