“So, are we headed for execution or staying here to rot?” Westley asked.
“No idea, though I doubt Solveig will let them execute you,” he told them.
“They are the queens of Asgard. Solveig doesn’t dictate what they do,” Noren scoffed.
“You underestimate the kind of power she wields,” Conalle reprimanded.
“She doesn’t even have full access to her magic.”
“I wasn’t speaking of her magic,” Conalle said with a censuring look.
Conalle continued. “You’ve only ever known her as your captive, as a person healing from a grave injury to her soul. You haven’t seen her as she was meant to be.”
Westley dared a glance at Noren and was surprised to see his friend’s discomfort. He’d not expected him to care about the harm they’d caused Solveig. Maybe Noren was coming around after all.
He swallowed, squirming uncomfortably. He’d seen glimpses of the person Conalle described. He knew her reputation, knew her power. The illustrious War General of the Southern Wilds was legendary, cowering at nothing and no one. The epitome of fearlessness.
Shame and regret warred within him as one of those responsible for stifling her. He swore to himself he would help ignite her again, ignite the spark he’d witnessed so she could burn unendingly.
Finally, Westley’s magic surged and he jumped to his feet, straining to hear her coming down the stairs. But her footsteps were too light. He couldn’t make them out.
She appeared around the corner without warning.
Gone were her leathers and travelling clothes. Instead she was dressed in tight cotton pants, boots that hugged her calves up to her knees, and a deep burgundy shirt layered with a supple leather bodicelaced loosely in the front, cinching her waist. The sleeves billowed off her shoulders, tapering at her wrists. Her hair was freshly washed, hanging in loose auburn waves down her back.
The sight took Westley’s breath away—he barely recognized her. Conalle chuckled and Westley snapped his jaw shut.
Look who cleans up nicely, he thought.
Solveig dragged her gaze down the length of his body and back to his face, taking in his ratty travel clothes and what he assumed was a mess of unkempt hair. His beard was itchy.
Wish I could say the same about you.
“Alright, Fae, the queens have made their decision,” Solveig said out loud. “You’re being released and placed in comfortable rooms, but be aware—you’ll have guards posted outside your doors who will follow you wherever you go. Trust must be earned.”
“Sounds fair,” said Conalle, though Noren looked less than thrilled. It was more than Westley had dared hope for.
Solveig extended her hand to one of the guards, who gave her the keys without question. She unlocked Noren’s cell first. Westley rolled his eyes as she took her sweet time in front of his cell, sifting through the ridiculous number of keys one at a time.
Admit it, you like seeing me behind bars.
I can think of more fun ways to have you chained up, Prince.
Westley choked on his next words, not expecting that kind of response. She smirked as she finally swung his door open.
Leaving the confined space, he stretched his limbs and took a deep breath, as if the air was somehow cleaner in the dungeon hall. Conalle excused himself, saying the queens would need his assistance.
With what, Westley didn’t know.
SolveigledWestleyandNoren up the dungeon staircase and into the palace, guards trailing behind them.
When he’d visited Asgard, Westley had only ever been in the council rooms and main dining hall, so when she brought them to a grand marble staircase, he was pleasantly surprised.
It was vastly different from the palace in Idavoll, which was built as though it had grown from the forest, the pillars like tree trunks and the walls packed with moss and gilded branches. The earth magic that had helped make his home took centuries, as the history books told.
In contrast to the woodsy halls of his home, the towering white and gold halls with arched columns echoed with their footsteps as they walked down the corridor. Large windows allowed the brilliant sunlight to brighten their way as it crested over the cliffs.
Westley had the sudden urge to swim when the ocean came into view with her golden beaches and loud crashing waves. His water called to him. The sea demanded he return. It had been too long.
