They were led through the stone house and down a narrow hallway lined with unmarked wooden doors leading to unknown rooms. It was a labyrinth, twisting and turning. An old trick designed to disorient them—Westley hated that it was working.
If he needed to escape, he’d have no idea how to get out.
Their guards stopped outside a nondescript door and shoved them inside. The room opened up to a thickly carpeted office, guards lining every inch of the walls.
Instinct took over and Westley catalogued the items, looking for anything that could be used as a weapon. Garish gold knick-knacks sat on dark bookshelves, good for throwing. The books themselves, though Westly abhorred the idea, could pack a hefty punch if needed.
Guards were armed with swords and large guns that were foreign to him. In any other circumstance it would be easy to overpower the mortals and confiscate their weapons.
But a cold shiver ran down his spine as something thick and oily coated his skin the deeper they went into the room. His magic felt further away than ever, his muscles weak and tired.
President Langley sat behind a large black stone desk in the middle of the room, arms crossed, eyes sad. He straightened in his seat as North, Easta, and Westley were lined up in front of him. Westley had no idea where they had taken the other Fae. Last he saw, Brenna, Viggo, and Noren they were being steered down a separate hallway.
“This visit is unexpected,” the president began coolly. “And without your parents.” He spoke to them as though they were faelings and not centuries older than him. If he meant to disarm them, he’d failed.
“They do not know we are here,” North said, her voice calmer than Westley’s would have been. As future queen of Idavoll, she had mastered diplomacy.
“They have been notified.”
“How?” Easta asked.
“That is not your concern, Princess,” President Hugo said, tone unforgiving and eyes full of hatred. Wasn’t Midgard supposed to be allied with Idavoll? Why all this hostility towards them?
He didn’t have to wait long for an answer.
“The death of our daughter has revealed that you have been conspiring not only against us, but against your own crown,” the president explained.
Shit.
“We may disagree with some of the decisions our parents make, but we are no traitors to our people,” North said firmly.
The president’s outrage rippled around the room. “And what of my daughter’s death?”
“The end of Dayana’s life was tragic, but Princess Solveig saved her from a fate worse than death.”
Hugo shook his head violently. “Those shadows were not something to be liberated from, they were a gift from the gods! You’d dare go against them?”
Westley hadn’t expected this line of questioning. If he recalled, the mortals worshipped other gods—or was it only one god? Understanding dawned as soon as the last thought brought his grandfather to mind. Fucking Ragnvald.
“You know not of which you speak,” Easta said, her face reddening. This was getting out of hand quickly. It was time Westley stepped in.
“It is because of the gods that we are here,” he explained. The president turned to him, his mouth turning down in distaste.
“A bold claim from a fourth-born heir,” the president spat.
Westley went out on a limb and said, “Everything we have ever learned about the gods, everything Idavoll has preached is a lie.” The guards, who’d remained unmoving so far, exchanged wary glances.
“That’s preposterous. What proof do you have?”
“Look around you, sir. Is this what the gods you know would want for your people?” North jumped in.
“We suffer for the greater good.”
“And what is this greater good that ends with you in Hel, despite all your efforts?”
“Mortals are no longer sentenced to Hel. A place in Valhalla has been reserved for our people.”
It was becoming much clearer. Hel had been the final resting place for mortals and unworthy magical beings alike. Nothing special, but a peaceful place for spirits to reside.
