“Do you need me here for this?” she asked as they started excitedly discussing food and guests.
“Not at all,” Aelfsi said, barely sparing her a glance.
“May I go release the prisoners?” Not that she minded picturing the Fae squirming in the dungeon, but it would probably not do well to enrage a new ally.
Her mothers stopped talking to stare, assessing. Koa narrowed her eyes. “I do not think it wise, Solveig, to trust them.”
“I think it’s less wise not to see this as an opportunity to show trust. To rebuild the bonds that you have strived for,” Solveig countered.
Aelfsi quirked a brow. “You have no other motives?”
Again, there was an undercurrent to her mother’s question. A nagging feeling told Solveig she didn’t want to know their schemes.
“While they may deserve to remain in the dungeon, it would be better to place them where we can watch them. See if they can earn our trust, and when they betray us, we’ll be ready,” Solveig reasoned.
“Whenthey betray us? You expect them to?” Koa asked.
“I’m not sure what to expect, if I’m being honest.” Solveig put her head in her hands.
There was a long pause. “Very well, you may go release them. I would like Noren in the rooms across from Gerrie, and the prince can stay in the suite next to yours.”
Solveig stared at them. “You wantmeto keep an eye on him?”
“It should be easy, since his eye is already on you,” Koa said with a knowing look.
“Do you have a problem with that arrangement?” Aelfsi asked, lifting her teacup to her lips.
Solveig shook her head. Meddlesome mothers.
“Very well. I’ll retrieve the prisoners.”
Westley lay on his back, arms behind his head, staring at the inside of his cell. What could be taking so long? Noren’s loud snoring rattled the bars of the neighbouring cell. How his friend could sleep anywhere was a mystery to him.
Days had passed and he’d seen Conalle only once, the day they’d arrived. None but the guards who delivered food and took away their waste buckets had been down to visit them.
His mind wandered back to the courtyard. He’d met the queens before but had never felt the effect of their full attention. During their visits to Idavoll, or his parents’ visits to Asgard, he’d always remained in the background.
As third in line for the throne with no desire to rule, he wasn’t of much consequence to them.
Not anymore, it seemed. He’d forced himself into their line of sight. Aelfsi’s haughty expression and Koa’s piercing gaze sent shivers down his spine, filling him with dread and disappointment. If he was ever going to get on their good side—for the sake of Idavoll, of course—he had his work cut out for him.
He meant what he’d said to Noren. He had to get to the truth, and he knew it lay somewhere in these walls—he just had to get out of this fucking prison cell first.
Footsteps sounded on the stone steps leading to the dungeon, jerking Noren awake. He scrambled to his feet, disoriented by sleep. Westley didn’t bother—he knew by the tread and lack of magic that it wasn’t Solveig.
Conalle rounded the corner, a frown on his face.
“What’s the matter? Are they letting us out?” Noren asked eagerly.
“I’m not sure,” the lord told them, coming to stand between their cells. Conalle’s brow remained uncharacteristically furrowed.
“What is it?” Westley inquired from his uncomfortable position on the floor.
“The queens are scheming. They keep sending me away,” he said quietly.
“That’s nothing new, monarchs are always scheming,” Noren said, deflating.
“I guess you’re right.”
