With another glance down the hall where the queens had taken Solveig, she tucked her ruminations away. Solveig was in good hands. Gerrie needn’t worry.
She approached Viggo, her heavy gold dress trailing after her. She drank the tall Fae in.
Oh yes, tonight could still be fun.
Coming up behind him, she slid a hand up his spine, tugging him down so she could whisper in his ear.
He immediately shoved his glass into Noren’s hand and followed Gerrie out of the ballroom. With a glance back at Noren, she winked, hoping to convey an invitation to join them.
If it all went to plan, she would have some fun, release some of her pent-up energy, and have these two witless Idavoll Fae tied up by the end of a pleasurable evening.
Afaintknocksounded,interruptingWestley’s thoughts. He whipped his head to the door that joined his rooms with Solveig’s. The knock came again, but it hadn’t come from there. In her absence, disappointment and relief warred within him in equal measure as he went to answer his front door.
The queens stood before him, still in their regal ball attire, sorrow etched onto their faces.
Dread immediately overpowered all his other emotions, and he reached inside himself to make sure Solveig was okay. Once he was sure the bond was intact, he tucked it away again. “What happened?”
“The mortal who claimed to be your mate is dead,” Koa stated, watching his every reaction. She would only find genuine surprise and sadness for the young girl.
“How?”
“A shadow of dark magic found its way into her soul and Solveig banished it. The darkness had already rotted the girl. There was no saving her,” Aelfsi explained.
Westley let his jaw drop, unsure of what to feel. Relief was the first emotion that coursed through him, followed quickly by guilt. He shouldn’t be relieved that an innocent was dead.
“Dark magic?” Westley asked. He’d sort out the claim the mortal girl had made later.
“You did not feel her death?” Koa asked shrewdly, perhaps ignoring his question on purpose, he couldn’t be sure.
“Of course not.” His secret was on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t dare to let it out. He didn’t know what the queens would do or say if they found out that he was Solveig’s mate.
“Very well. Rest, Prince Westley. This is only the beginning,” Aelfsi warned, closing the door.
He wanted to ask more—the beginning of what? And what about the dark magic? But they were already gone. Falling back on his bed, he strained to hear anything from Solveig’s room as the thoughts swirled in his head. No sound. He fell into an uneasy sleep.
Westley woke with a pull at his bond to Solveig, though the sun had barely begun to rise. Only a faint haze of light shone through the heavy curtains on the open wall. That small bit of light would not be contained, no matter how hard the curtains tried to block it out.
Just like their bond.
It had unearthed itself while he slept and he could not put it back. It urged him to go to her. But when he followed its pull, it did not lead him to her room. Instead, he crept down the quiet halls of the slumbering palace and made his way outside.
The sun hovered on the horizon, painting Thrudheim in rich shades of pink and orange, like the whole city matched the fire that burned within him.
Burned for her.
The streets were quiet. The excitement of the ball’s abrupt end last night must have tired the people of Asgard. He passed no one as he wove down the winding streets towards the water.
Hot sand burned his feet as he ambled along the beach to the shoreline, the water’s effect on the power in his veins quick to cool the scorching temperature of his skin. He’d intended to make haste, but in the peace of the morning, he couldn’t resist the urge to slow and take it all in.
The events of the past year, it seemed, had altered the course of his existence. Nearly half a century and one simple year had changed everything. This moment of peace offered by the dawn was something his mind desperately needed.
At first glance, the change had centred around Solveig, but in reality, she had only been a catalyst. Of course, her presence in his life—his fucking mate, for goddesses’ sake—was upending in and of itself, but it was more than that.
Westley struggled to come to terms with how his heart had changed.
The male who had sat in the darkness that fateful night in the Vanir village and laid eyes on his mate for the first time was not the same male who strode along the shore of Asgard now.
Movement ahead caught his attention—a herd of wild horses racing his way. The majestic beasts of all shades moved together as one.
