This song would permeate his dreams. The way her body moved against his would haunt even his waking moments.
He’d never been a good dancer—he’d had lessons as a faeling like all the heirs did, but he never took to it. He was too big, and though his Fae heritage made him graceful, the music never moved him as he hadseen with other dancers. The movements always felt stilted and awkward, with him leading too forcefully or not enough.
But with Solveig in his arms, he led them through movements he didn’t know he remembered, and she followed his steps, adding her own flare to the song in his soul.
His grip on her tightened when he pulled her back in close, so close he could feel her everywhere, and still, it was not close enough. The lights flickered above them as the air charged with electricity.
Her stormy scent filled his senses, binding him in an inescapable hold.
The connection pulled taut between them, urging them closer.
They broke apart and came back together like a magnetic force. He leaned into her as she inhaled through their movements, twirling and swaying. The white and gold marble ballroom with its tables of decadent food and crystal chandeliers became a distant memory. There was only her.
She pressed in, breaking their heated silence.
“I hope you know, Prince,” Solveig said through clenched teeth, “I plan to make you pay for every second I spent in that cave under your watch.” She said it as though she needed to remind herself of their history.
Fervour filled her eyes and Westley drank it in, transfixed by the way her mouth moved.
He leaned closer so their noses were practically touching. “Do you promise?” he whispered with a wicked grin.
She inhaled, her gaze flicking to his mouth. “I promise,” she vowed, her voice husky.
Westley’s blood thundered through his veins, and only at the very last second did he remember where they were. He forced himself to takea step back, immediately missing the feel of Solveig’s body against his as the last notes of the song beat like a drum in his heart.
“May I have the next dance?” Vali stepped between them, offering Solveig his hand.
She didn’t take her eyes off Westley as he backed away, but she nodded and Vali moved, blocking Westley’s view of her.
He took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind on the way back to his sisters, refusing to give in to the violent need to punch the Elven prince.
“Um, excuse me,” Easta started, her eyes wide and mischievous. “What wasthat?” She jerked her head towards the dance floor.
“It’s called dancing,” he said, his throat still thick. He tore his eyes away from Solveig, unable to stand seeing another male’s hands on her. Both sisters gaped at him and he sighed.
“If that’s dancing, I feel cheated. I’ve never danced like that,” North teased.
“I have,” Easta said, her voice full of longing. “But we didn’t do it in public.” She elbowed Westley, winking. He needed to change the conversation.
“Noren filled everyone in?” he asked, hoping to distract them and himself from Solveig. He turned his back to the dance floor.
“He did,” North said with a strange lilt in her voice. She was staring at Viggo and Noren, who were laughing with Gerrie. “Though I know of the facts, seeing everyone come together is giving me a new perspective.”
“What do you mean?”
North paused, as if choosing her words carefully. “It seems like a very complicated situation. I’m assuming Solveig’s shieldmaiden knows who they are, and yet, they’re getting along.” She gestured in Gerrie’s direction where she stood with Viggo and Noren. “And you dance with her like the Norns themselves wove your fates with the same threads.”
“It is complicated,” Westley said simply, watching his friends with a frown. Even Noren was smiling at Gerrie, but that could have more to do with the empty wineglass in his hand. North’s words tugged at his soul, like it recognized the truth but had no words for it.
“Mother and Father also told us what happened in Vanaheim, though it seems it slipped their mind to tell us Solveig Tordottir was Asgard’s general. I wonder why?” Easta pondered, though by the sound of it, she didn’t actually wonder.
“Mother and Father have kept much from us, it seems,” Westley hinted. North caught his gaze and nodded in understanding.
“That they have,” she said quietly. “And you trust her.” It was not a question.
“I do.”
North and Easta shared a look Westley couldn’t decipher, and then their smiles turned evil as they looked behind them. “Oh, look.” Easta nodded towards the dance floor, a laugh in her voice. “Another strapping male is dancing with Solveig.”
