I shook my head. “Father is out on a hunting trip. But…”
It didn’t matter who saw. Father would find out regardless.
“Then what’s the matter?”
“If anyone finds out… they’ll tell him… and…”
Týr leaned close. “And what, Valkyrie?”
My gaze flicked up to him, my heart stopping. He was not worried in the least. Hel, he even seemed quite smug to be found out what he’d done to me, as if that was something he wanted.
“And my father might…” I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. “He’ll think… that you wish to marry me.”
“Hmm,” Týr traced a line down my cheek. “Not a terrible assumption.”
I blinked and shook my head. “You don’t want to marry me.”
He tipped my head back and gazed deeply into my eyes. “Don’t I?”
My heart thumped hard in my chest. “There are so many more worthy women out there for you, Týr.”
He adjusted himself to lean over me. “There is no other woman more perfect and worthy to bring me to my knees than you.”
I swallowed hard. “I’m mortal.”
“I’d rather battle with you by my side for a mortal’s lifetime, than go through an eternity of glory never having met you.” Týr leaned in, his lips brushing mine. “I love you, Astrid. You are, and forever will be, my Valkyrie. Marry me.”
My heart hammered in my chest. He… he loves me?
A woman cleared her throat. I shrieked. Týr caught me when I unceremoniously half-jumped into him. We both snapped our attention to the fair-haired woman now standing in the room.
I relaxed when I realized the intruder was Freyja. Wait, why is she here?
Týr exhaled and mirrored my thoughts out loud. “Freyja, what are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry to interrupt this,” she said, vaguely gesturing to our current states. “But I wouldn’t unless it was important. You’re needed, Týr. Thor and Odinn are still out of control, and Loke is adding fuel to the fire, per usual.”
My pulse slowed. This didn’t sound good.
Týr scowled. “And why do I need to handle it?”
Freyja crossed her arms. “Because like the moron Fenrir is, he tried to deal with it alone and got his arm ripped off.”
My hands flew up to my face and I gasped.
Freyja passed me an apologetic look. “Don’t worry, Astrid, he’ll be fine. He can regrow it. It’ll just take a few hours, and it’s incredibly painful.”
That didn’t make me feel any better.
Týr’s mouth twisted in displeasure. “They have to ruin everything. I’m sorry, Astrid.”
I rested my hand on his chest. “It’s okay. This is important.”
“You’ll need these if you’re going anywhere.”
We turned to find my mother standing in the doorway. In one hand, she carried Týr’s previously wet tunic, trousers, and boots. In the other hand—my heart stopped—she carried what scraps remained of my dress.
Freyja choked on a laugh, my face inflamed, and Týr wasn’t apologetic in the slightest.
