Jealous, witch?
She doesn’t need to be rooting around your shirt. I know exactly where both daggers are.She raised a reprimanding brow, scolding him for lying.
Westley didn’t hide his smile this time as Solveig slipped her hand into his shirt, holding his gaze. She felt him clench as her cold fingertips grazed his stomach. The corner of Solveig’s mouth turned up when she caressed his soft skin, reaching around his abdomen.
Gripping the hilt of a dagger, she may have accidentally dragged the tip across his stomach as she slowly brought it out. Small beads of blood trickled from the superficial cut. Westley’s eyes darkened as he held her stare, the only reaction he showed.
Her hand left the warmth of his clothing and a hint of surprise crossed his features before he could school them.
You didn’t take the other one.It was not a question.
Just in case, was all she said before shutting down her mental walls. She handed the dagger to the guard and took a step back, giving herself space.
Footsteps from the stone corridor to their left tore her attention away from the prince as a streak of dark skin and a bare head emerged from the tunnel. Solveig stood frozen with shock when the figure came barrelling towards her, arms opening wide.
The embrace was so powerful and Solveig’s knees so weak with relief that the two females crumpled to the ground.
Gerrie.
Westleywatchedthefemalescling to each other. The emotion on Solveig’s face held him captive as her confusion turned to complete and utter joy. He could feel it in his soul and never wanted another day to go by without Solveig experiencing that much happiness.
The guards were still surrounding him and Noren, now unarmed save for the dagger Solveig had let him keep. His skin still tingled from her touch but he tried not to think about it. Instead, he focused on the females who were getting to their feet.
Solveig gripped Gerrie’s forearms, amazement on her features. Gerrie gave her a funny look.
“I’m glad to see you too, Sol, but it’s only been a few months.” Gerrie laughed as Solveig pulled her into another hug.
“What happened to you, Gerrie? Where did you go? When did you get back?” Solveig’s questions tumbled out without giving Gerrie a moment to answer. Her shieldmaiden appeared confused.
“What do you mean? I’ve been here since I left the Southern Wilds.”
It was Solveig’s turn to be confused. “But the letter said you were gone,” she explained.
“What letter?” A regal voice, hard like palace stone, came from the top of the solid quartzite stairs to their right.
Everyone in the courtyard, including Solveig, immediately lowered to one knee, their right fists crossed over their chests to greet the Queens of Asgard.
It was Queen Aelfsi who’d spoken.
She stood tall, the tip of a Fae ear distinct against the shaved side of her head. Her ear was covered in silver jewellery, the cold metal complementing the queen’s sun-kissed skin. Long black hair hung to the side in loose flowing waves that cascaded down her chest, one silver streak weaving through the dark tresses, matching the silver crown atop her head.
Westley would’ve thought her gown had a high neckline had he not seen her before. As the queen stepped forward, the light revealed tattoos that covered her arms and shoulders up to her neck, bleeding into the black silk gown that fell over her body like a waterfall.
Ink and fabric swirled together, creating the illusion of a more modest dress.
Fear struck his heart as Queen Aelfsi turned her violet stare on him. She was ethereal, moving like a cloud of smoke as it drifted from a dying fire.
Aelfsi’s arm was linked with Queen Koa’s as the mates descended the stairs. Now that he knew she was Solveig’s half-sister, Westley looked for similarities. But the only resemblance he found was the guarded expression she wore, which did not quite conceal the curiosity in her eyes.
Pale blue irises danced like the wind, playful and knowing, stealing secrets from the breaths of those around her.
She did not have Solveig’s copper hair but long blond curls that swept away from her face, coiling like snakes behind her back. Her whitedress with gold stitching billowed behind her when they reached the base of the staircase.
Her features were all soft angles—even the light lines that marked her face with age were delicate, barely there. The points of her golden crown absorbed the light of the sun, casting her in a golden glow.
She, too, fixed Westley with an intense stare.
Where Aelfsi was dark smoke, Koa was the light breeze of a summer day. His mood lightened as she approached, but her golden brows, which held Solveig’s disdain, furrowed like she found him lacking.
