“As do she and I,” Steffen countered with a wicked grin, much to Vali’s surprise. He looked to Solveig to confirm, but her face gave nothing away. She was dying inside, but at least she could have fun with these two.
“Be that as it may,” Vali continued, though not as confidently, “Solveig is a serious person, and she has no need of a partner who makes light of every situation.”
“That’s exactly why I would make the better suitor. She needs someone who can brighten her day, help bring some joy to her life,” Steffen countered.
“You could always share her!” Conalle interrupted. Solveig and the two princes turned on their horses to face the lord, varying displays of amusement in their expressions.
“What?” the Fae lord exclaimed. “Why choose, Sol?” he asked with a waggle of his brows. Why choose indeed?
Solveig flashed a wicked smile in his direction before turning around.
“I think,” Gerrie interrupted from beside Conalle, “that it depends entirely on who is better in bed. You are both fine Elven and would make great husbands, so it all comes down to your skills in the bedroom. Solveig, which one was better?”
But Solveig was no longer paying attention. Her mind was elsewhere, following the beating heart of another who moved farther and farther away with each of her rapid breaths.
“Solveig?” Conalle’s voice jarred her from her thoughts.
“Sorry, what?”
“Nothing,” Vali and Steffen muttered at the same time.
Solveig needed some space to breathe. Her magic was weak and her current emotions were not enough to fuel her power. The pull of the prince grew fainter until it was only a yearning beneath her skin.
This must be done, she repeated to herself as many times as it took to banish all thoughts of him.
Her walls came up, funnelling her emotions to her magic without letting them touch her heart, as she had taught herself to do long ago.
She gave Helle her head and they flew across the desert expanse of Asgard towards Alfheim.
Westleyandhiscrewmade good time, reaching the eastern docks in only a handful of days. They’d need to wait a few more for a ship to be readied to take them to Midgard.
North had tried many times to talk to him about the general, but he’d shut her down. He was quiet and morose, and two days after leaving Asgard, Easta had had enough.
“Okay, spit it out,” she said one evening over dinner. They had stopped at a pub in a small village and were seated far away from the other patrons.
“Spit what out?” Westley asked over his bowl of cold oats. Nothing but the worst for the Fae.
“You’ve been moping since we left,” North commented, looking around to make sure no one could overhear them. Viggo, Noren, and Brenna were seated a few tables away, subtly guarding the royal family.
“I have not been moping,” he muttered.
“Oh, please,” Easta said with a wave of her hand. “You are one level away from downright sulking.”
“West, please talk to us,” North said calmly.
“It’s just the mission,” he lied. “I’m wary of what we’ll find in Midgard.”
“Oh, so it has nothing to do with being separated from your mate?” Easta asked with a raised eyebrow.
Westley’s spoon clattered to the table, his mouth falling open. “That’s not ... How did you ... I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“So convincing, brother.” North chuckled. “You thought you could hide this from us? It’s so obvious.”
“Not obvious enough apparently,” he said with a sigh.
“She doesn’t know?” Easta asked in surprise.
“How would she? She’s not Fae. I didn’t even realize until the night of the ball.”
