He could not allow their bond to be completed. He would not be selfish and tie her to him for eternity, though he would never belong to anyone else.
Before Solveig left the fringes of his mind, she sent a question. Through thebond. His stupidity struck him again.
Is it possible that it’s true?
The pain in her voice was barely concealed. And the longing. It twisted in Westley’s gut and though he yearned to comfort her, to tell her the truth, beg for her, he couldn’t. He would do this for her—bury it so she never had to know. So he sent one word back.
Yes,came Westley’s answer as he faded out of Solveig’s mind.
After the initial shock, Solveig batted the answer away. He had to be lying. But for what purpose?
How could a nineteen-year-old mortal be the mate of a centuries-old Fae warrior prince? It was impossible, impractical. It was the ramifications of letting a spoiled girl run away with her imagination.
But he said it could be true.
She thought back to their conversation when Westley had told her he hadn’t found his mate, that the gods had not made one for him. Was it possible that she simply hadn’t been born yet?
Solveig’s nose wrinkled at the thought. Even the gods weren’t that cruel.
Her attention returned to the mortal girl in front of her. Koa was still questioning her, but Solveig had a better idea.
“I can feel the magic of others,” she said calmly from where she leaned against Koa’s throne. Attention snapped to her.
“How is that possible?” the mortal president asked.
“I have access to my magic,” she explained. The mortals’ shock revealed their treachery. Or more accurately, Ragnvald’s. Solveig could scent it.
Given all John Davis had told her, the mortals’ deal with the King of Hel promised that the magic of the other races would never return, with their race the only one to wield it.
Treachery smelled a lot like fear.
“How?” Nina breathed. Solveig shrugged her shoulders.
She stalked towards the mortal girl, letting her anger and pain fuel her magic as it grew within her. This mortal girl had no claim on the prince. Solveig didn’t know what ruse this was—to breed magic into mortal bloodlines? To get close to the prince in order to kill him?
The most logical was to divide the Fae even further, stoke the flames of the discontent between Idavoll and Asgard.
Whatever the reason, Solveig would not let these mortals claim him, would not let this girl claim him. Something predatory growled in her soul.
“If you’ll allow me, I can reach my magic into you and search for your source,” she said to the girl.
“Absolutely not,” Hugo said, fuming.
“You do not trust our daughter?” Koa asked, the warning behind her words clear.
“Of course we do, Your Majesty, it’s just that ...” Nina’s voice trailed off as she looked for an excuse, finding none.
“Just that what?” Solveig asked. “If you are indeed the prince’s mate—”
Dayana cut her off with an indignant, “I am. He is to be mine, witch.”
Solveig continued like the girl hadn’t spoken. “Let’s prove this miracle beyond the shadow of a doubt, don’t you agree, Princess North?” Solveig glanced over at Westley’s sister, hoping she’d have an ally.
North studied her for only a moment before stepping forward. “Yes, Idavoll agrees. We accept Princess Solveig’s test.”
A cough came from the other side of the hall. King Erik stood tall, Alvida at his side. “You do not speak for Idavoll, North. As king, I do not need to test this theory. We trust the integrity of Midgard. If they say their daughter is a Seer, we believe her. The gods do not lie,” he said boldly.
The king’s speech reeked of Ragnvald’s involvement.
