“You did once. You fathered the late king of Idavoll—though you don’t seem too upset by his death.” Viggo shot her a warning look, but Ragnvald’s smile deepened.
“That son of mine was weak. He took after his mother, and yes it was a shame I had to lower myself to accept anyone but a goddess into my bed to create an heir. Pity she had to die after the birth.” There was not a single ounce of sincerity.
“You think a goddess would lower herself to your level?” Gerrie said with a laugh.
Ragnvald stood, darkness swirling in his eyes. “You dare speak to me in this manner? I will show you how lowly you are, witch.” He spat and gestured to the guards to replace her gag and lift her to stand. They dragged Gerrie out of the hall, following Ragnvald’s billowing cloak.
In the courtyard, the Vanir and Fae made a path for him, parting and bowing. Not out of respect, only fear.
He stalked up to a fresh post, and she gritted her teeth against the rough grip of the guards lifting her to the platform. To secure her, they wound ropes and chains of iron up the length of her body. When the ropes burned, the chains would remain and she could not attempt to escape.
She held in a smile. They’d made a mistake.
Her guards stepped down, revealing Ragnvald standing in front of her. He kept his back to the crowd, like he was not at all scared of being attacked from behind. He was right—the fear of his rule ran too deep, but Gerrie did not blame the people.
She blamed the male in front of her and the gods who’d given him power.
“Let this be a lesson to you all,” Ragnvald called, never taking his eyes off Gerrie. “Anyone who disrespects me will not get a second chance. Anyone found in service of Solveig Tordottir, the Asgardian queens, and the false heirs of the Idavoll throne will meet a similar fate.”
When he smiled, she grinned right back, surprising him. In her last moments here, she would have the pleasure of seeing fear in Ragnvald’s eyes.
He conjured a black flame in his hand, and it slowly transformed into a brilliant red and orange. Without hesitation, the pretender king threw the ball of fire at her feet, igniting the pile with a flash.
Heat rose to meet her, smoke curling its tendrils around her post as flames devoured the supply of wood. Flames licked over her feet first and she urged the fire on, needing it to climb high enough to ... There it was.
The ropes that wrapped around her body burned and soon the flames would reach her hands. Hands that were bound only by ropes, not chains.
She endured the fire as it ate her skin next, never taking her eyes off Ragnvald. His grin of pleasure at her suffering only made her plan more delicious.
A grin that faded when she didn’t give him the reaction he’d so clearly been aiming for.
The ropes on her wrists sparked, searing her skin as they burned, and soon the threads turned to ash, freeing her. She didn’t have time to heal the scalded flesh, but she glared right at Ragnvald as she brought her hands forward.
He stared, his look of satisfaction turning to confusion and then finally, finally morphing into fear as Gerrie let her true self shine for just a moment.
She knew her eyes turned gold as her vision glowed, seeing the souls of those around her. Ragnvald’s was so black, it was rotten to its verycore. His fear entered all her senses, and she raised her hands, taking satisfaction in seeing him flinch back a step.
Gerrie downed the golden contents of the first vial, trying to find Viggo and Noren. They may not be friends, but at the very least, they deserved a non-verbal apology for her trickery.
But only Ragnvald filled her vision. Her body reacted to the potion, humming with energy, and in one moment, Ragnvald’s fear turned to outrage as she blinked out of existence.
Theweddingwasasmall affair.
North convinced Vali this was the better option, not wanting to repeat what happened at her failed coronation in Idavoll.
Her heart clenched at the thought of it—of the lives lost and her people who she’d failed to protect. She would reclaim the stolen crown as soon as she possibly could. But first, she had to establish herself as Queen Consort of Alfheim.
They needed to be wed, Vali needed to become king, and then they would liberate her people. Though she wished her sister was with her.
North swept gracefully down the short aisle in the sacred garden of Frigg, goddess of marriage. Her skin pricked with the pressure of eyes on her, her back stiffening.
She could not make any missteps here, both in the aisle and in the realm. Not only were all eyes on her here, but she also felt the attention of the other realms, watching, waiting. Wrapping herself in the air of a queen, she steeled her spine, head held high.
Every Elven monarchy since the beginning of Yggdrasil had been married in this garden. Power surrounded her. She let it fill her, let it tasteher own loosened magic as flowers bloomed in her wake, gliding towards a priestess whose silver robes fluttered in the light breeze.
The aged female gave her an encouraging smile, one which reached her eyes and crinkled the skin of her face. Silver hair reached past her waist, blending into the shimmering robes.
For an Elven to show her age, she must’ve been at least two thousand years old. The papery feel of her skin as she clasped North’s cold hand confirmed it.
