They know not of what they speak, Solveig said.
“Your Majesties, if I may—” Conalle started.
“That will do, Lord Conalle.” Aelfsi shot him a warning look. Conalle cast an apologetic glance at them.
Solveig stepped forward. “The debt owed is mine to claim, and I will not allow justice to be served without the facts laid before you.” Westley’s gaze darted between daughter and mothers’ silent standoff. Solveig shrugged. “Perhaps execution is too lenient.”
Thanks for that, Westley threw her way, not entirely sarcastic. She was doing what she could to stall his death, and for that he was grateful, even if her reasons were beyond his understanding.
“Very well. They do not speak until we have this sorted,” Koa ordered. They were hauled to their feet and ushered down a corridor. Westley tried to look back at Solveig, but she was already out of sight.
I will accept any punishment you deem fit, he thought. He didn’t know if she heard him before they began to descend a dark stairwell. The guards led them to a dungeon, throwing them in separate cells.
Noren shifted to see him through the iron bars, mouthing,Shit.
Westley couldn’t help but agree.
Solveigwatchedastheguards led Westley and Noren away before turning back to her adoptive mothers.
“He didn’t put up a fight,” Koa remarked with a tilt of her head.
“I would suspect that stupidity is not one of his faults,” Aelfsi mused.
Solveig smiled broadly, wishing they’d said that in front of him, if only so he would see her laugh at his expense. “I could make a case against that.”
“Come, Solveig, we must discuss.”
Koa and Aelfsi led her into the palace, Gerrie falling into step beside her out of habit, while Conalle and the queens’ guards took up the rear.
“You and the prince seem ... closer,” Gerrie muttered under her breath as they walked through steel and silver doors to the polished interior. The gilded marble hallway was a glaring contrast to the rough, natural stone of the exterior.
The queens led the way to their personal chambers, where they would have the most privacy.
“We’ve reached a truce of sorts.”
Gerrie waggled her eyebrows. “Is that what we’re calling it now? If that’s the case, I can’t wait to tell you about the amazing truces I’ve struck since I arrived.”
When Solveig snorted, Koa turned to look at the pair, amusement in her eyes. Solveig shook her head discreetly, elbowing Gerrie when Koa bent to whisper something to Aelfsi. Gerrie just snickered as Solveig hooked her arms through her friend’s, tugging her in close.
“You’re truly okay?” Solveig whispered.
“If you call training a bunch of useless noble younglings okay, then yes, I’m alright.” Gerrie studied her. “You seem different.”
“I feel different,” Solveig admitted.
Gerrie started at her frank response. “What, no dismissal? No pretence of strength? My, Solveig, you are becoming soft,” she teased.
“Fuck you,” Solveig retorted with a grin. Gerrie was right though—she was going soft.
She decided to blame the prince for that.
Guards remained outside the queens’ quarters as Koa and Aelfsi led Solveig, Gerrie, and Conalle into their sitting room. Solveig took a deep breath, the familiar scent of her mothers washing over her. Expecting the scent of home, she was surprised to find only comfort and familiarity.
Not home.
Had something changed? The same deep reds and golds contrasted against the cold marble floors, heavy carpets adorning the surface. Nothing was different about the configuration of the room, no new furniture that she could discern, and yet something had changed.
Thick gold curtains opened, revealing a view of the city below. The heavy doors shut behind them and the silence of the room pressed in on Solveig.
