The words made his heart clench, because she spoke the truth. “I do.”
“If you know that, why go to such lengths for her?”
The words were on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to shout that she was his mate. But he couldn’t.
That had to stay locked inside. Solveig needed to make that choice for herself, without pressure from him. He would live with the consequences of whatever she felt was right for her and her people.
He was saved from having to answer when Noren and Viggo appeared, still haggard from their rough night.
What was once funny a moment ago no longer held humour for him as they made their way down to the stables.
“There you are. I thought you’d tried to pack yourself in Solveig’s trunk,” North teased upon seeing him emerge from the palace. Westley prayed for patience.
He loved his sisters but had rarely spent this much time with them outside their home since he’d moved out.
“That reminds me, Solveig asked me to give you this.” Easta took a small, folded letter out of her satchel.
It was an effort to school his features. His heart took off, galloping away from him. He didn’t need them to see how excited he was about a damn letter, giving them more fodder to taunt him with.
“Thank you,” he said with what he hoped was an unaffected smile.
Westley walked into the stables to read in private, ripping open the seal as quickly as possible without shredding the paper within.
Prince,
You may think I am infallible, and during our time together, you have known me to be stubborn to an extreme. But I must admit something to you. I am a coward. I cannot face you while telling you this, so instead, I am hiding behind a letter. My purpose in going to Alfheim is not so simple. I am to be wed in an arranged marriage with an Elven to unite our people. It is not my wish, but I must do as my queens ask of me. They have their reasons, and I trust that they are not only for the good of Asgard but for all realms.
There can be no mistaking that we share a connection, and it pains me more than you know to sever it now, before we even truly had a chance to begin. I cannot, in good conscience, marry another when I have the taste of you on my lips and the feel of you in my heart. You are a prince, leader of your own army. I know you will understand that duty must come first.
Forever your captive,
S.
Westley held the letter tightly in his grasp, nearly ripping the thick parchment as he read the words again and again until he could recite them from memory. Every painful word.
North called his name impatiently and he shoved the letter into his vest pocket, keeping it close to his breaking heart.
His magic, his bond, roared at the news but he buried it, stiffly striding out of the stables to mount Njord.
“Let’s go,” he whispered to his steed, ignoring the questioning looks sent his way.
Njord took off, racing towards the front gates as they opened for him, leading him away from Asgard—away from his soul and into the scorching sun, where the heat burned the tears from his face.
Solveigwatchedfromherrooms as the prince took off like the speed of the sea itself. He did not look back, nor did she expect him to.
Her unbidden tears followed the tracks down her face. She’d had to rewrite the letter three times so no tears stained the pages. It was so new, this ... this feeling for him.
So new and yet doomed from the very start.
Her heart broke as a sudden blast of pain overwhelmed her, mixing with her own. It vanished as quickly as it had come. The prince was blocking himself from her. She almost sent her own pain back but kept it buried, not wanting to make the separation harder than it already was.
Instead of wondering why this was so difficult, she buried the questions deep within herself. It would do no good to dwell on what could not be.
Without meaning to, she thought of Latham. When she had a similar conversation with him, he fought her. He blamed her, argued, guilted her. His feelings were more important than anything else, even more than her own decisions.
Before, she’d thought it had been a sign that he loved her too much. But now she knew—it was because he was selfish.
The prince’s affection—she would not think of the word he’d said—was built on respect, and so he’d left without argument. He may hate her for it, but after the dust settled, she knew he would understand, even if he didn’t like it.
