There were only a few horses housed in the stable, but Helle steered herself to the farthest stall, putting as much distance as possible between her and the others. As they passed, a golden stallion stuck his head out to greet them and then gave a loud, deep whinny.
Helle started stamping her feet before Solveig could get control of her.
“Here we go,” Solveig whispered. “Get your horses into stalls as quickly as possible,” she told the others just as Helle smacked her head into the golden horse.
The stallion tried to snap at Helle, but she was faster, getting a decent chunk of his neck in her mouth and clamping down in a show of dominance. He whimpered and backed off, allowing Solveig to regain her grip on Helle’s reins.
“You’re worse than a Vanir with that temper,” she said as she brushed her down. “Do not”—Solveig tugged on the reins to look her horse in the eye—“I mean it, Helle, do not wreck this stable. He’s over there and you’re over here and it’s only for one night.”
Helle let out an angry puff of air and Solveig patted her face. “You’ll be fine.”
They fed their horses and left the oddly tense barn, making their way to the small cottage.
“What the Hel was that about?” Noren asked as they trudged through the snow.
“They have history,” Solveig replied.
“The horses?” he asked, incredulous.
“In case you haven’t noticed, Asgardian horses are not built like regular horses. They are intelligent and emotional.” She turned to Westley. “You should know, Njord probably gives you all sorts of trouble.”
Westley stared. “Excuse me? Njord is not an Asgardian horse. He came to me from Jotunheim.”
Solveig snorted. “He’s no more a Jotunheim horse than I am. He’s Asgardian through and through, Prince.”
They reached the front door of the cottage and paused, waiting for Solveig’s instruction.
After a moment she banged on the door twice with her fist. Snow sprinkled down from the force of her knocking. Westley quirked a brow at her frowning face.
“I haven’t seen the resident of this cottage since Helle and that stallion had their last dalliance. I’m not sure if he’s still upset with me,” she told him.
The door swung open, showcasing a tall male dressed in nothing but a towel draped around his waist.
Glistening muscles ribbed his pristine chest as drops of water rolled down the length of his pale body. Piercing blue eyes widened as he took them in, his long blond hair piled on the top of his head. A cropped beard lined his square jaw, his sharp cheekbones creating a harsh expression as he assessed who stood at his door. His eyes only flicked to Solveig’s companions once before a slow smile spread over his face, transforming his features.
The mischievous smile of someone who knew her well.
“Solveig!”Theresidentofthe cottage moved to embrace her, but Westley stepped in close, canines flashing. The male’s face turned amused as he took in the scene.
“Hoenir.” Solveig greeted him with a sigh, stretching out the syllables, making his name sound like warning. “Let us in.”
“Just the same I see.” Chuckling, he took a step back and let the four of them enter his cottage.
From the outside it didn’t look like they would all fit, but as they stepped inside, a wide expanse of space opened up, showing hallways and staircases leading to different parts of the house.
The front room was draped in luxurious fabrics along the walls. Rich, tufted furniture on one side framed an ornate fireplace, while the other side opened to a circular room, where walls lined with bookcases centred around a dark oak dining table crowded with mismatched chairs.
Though it was disjointed, it all somehow worked in the space.
Hoenir stepped into one of the halls and returned an instant later with a tray full of cakes, fruit, and large mugs of steaming liquid. He set the tray down in the dining room, gesturing to them to hand him their coats.
All while still in a towel.
The group stripped off their outerwear with varying degrees of apprehension.
Solveig sat and began to eat the offerings, Conalle right behind her. Westley remained standing, his posture primed for a fight as he faced off against the male, Noren hovering at his side.
“Who are you?” Westley demanded.
