My brother had pulled out a basket I’d stored by his chair. Inside was a piece of clothing I’d been working on.
“It’s nothing.” I tried to sound as casual as I could.
“Doesn’t look like nothing to me.”
He pulled the tunic out of the basket, and I groaned internally. Why can’t he leave well enough alone? “It’s nothing, as in nothing special. Just a new tunic I’m working through.”
“Looks nice.” Leif looked it over more. “Too big for father or me.”
My gut clenched. I’d hoped he didn’t notice that. “I messed it up. I have to fix it.”
Liar, liar, Loke for hire.
My brother’s gaze flicked up to me, and he smirked. “You really think I’d believe that?”
My jaw clenched.
“Your face is growing red.”
“Because you’re looking at something I didn’t want anyone to see. I don’t like people looking at my failures.” Gods, I wasn’t even believing myself.
My brother rolled his eyes. “You can admit it’s for Týr, Astrid.”
“It’s not.”
His brow spiked. “He’d like it. It’s nice. I’d love a tunic this nice.”
“I heard that,” Frida muttered from the other room.
My stomach churned and knotted. I didn’t like this conversation, least of all with my brother. “Why would I make Týr a tunic?”
Leif sighed and dropped the tunic back in the basket. “Astrid, I know you think you’re cursed, but you’re not.”
Except I was. Three failed almost-marriages, and now my heart yearned for a god I couldn’t have. If that wasn’t a curse, what was? “I’m nothing special.”
“The hel you’re not. A king wanted you to marry him. And you’ve got a god following you around like a well-trained hound. How do you not see that?”
I worked my jaw. Týr was around a lot, and he insisted on giving me a number of gifts. My favorite two so far hung around my neck and slept on my bed, curled up and purring louder than Thor’s thunder.
But I honestly didn’t understand why. Why would I be anything special to him? I wanted to be. Gods, did I want to be. And yet, when I was with him, I felt that distance between us—that barrier I, the puny little mortal, wasn’t allowed to cross.
“Father is waiting for him to request your hand,” Leif said.
I blinked. “What?”
He gave a half-laugh. “Did you really not suspect it, Astrid? All the rejected proposals? Not just from random families, but also a jarl for his son and even the king himself? The king, Astrid!”
My gaze fell away. I knew it was strange when he refused Jarl Rune’s request to marry me to Bjarke, especially after I found out they had made some sort of deal when we were younger.
And I should have questioned my father why he agreed with my rejection of the king. No other father would have done that. There wouldn’t have been a better alliance opportunity than with the king himself. Unless you were certain your daughter had the only alliance worth even more than that.
My chest constricted. And my curse struck again—cursed to die alone.
“Astrid…” my brother said softly.
The front door swung open and my mother strolled in. I’d take it.
I let out a deep sigh. “Thank the gods you’re here.”
