Page 30 of The Crown of the Last Fae Queen (The Heartless and the Wicked #4)

Astrid and Yrsa remained crouched on the floor, their faces downcast. Kolfinna wondered if they too could feel the oppressive, heavy haze of his mana; it seemed to crush her, but she was slowly becoming accustomed to it.

“What other duties?” she asked slowly, bitterness seeping into her voice. “Like razing cities? Conquering villages? Seizing territories?”

He didn’t answer, and instead glanced down at her two guards. His expression didn’t change. “You two may leave.”

“Yes, sir,” they both said in unison, before leaving the two of them alone.

Kolfinna shifted on her feet. Vidar continued to stare into the fire; there was something sad about him in that moment, and she wondered if something had happened. But she quickly pushed that thought away—she couldn’t think of him like that. He was a monster, and he would remain as such.

When he didn’t say anything, she gingerly went to the couch adjacent to his and sat down, her gaze flicking over to the hearth.

Flames licked at the dry logs hungrily. She had expected a training room, or somewhere for her to wield the cursed blade—not this.

And she certainly didn’t expect his silence.

“How did you receive your scars?”

Vidar turned to her slowly, red eyes meeting hers.

Kolfinna licked her lips; she didn’t know what had possessed her to ask such a question, but maybe her curiosity had gotten the better of her, or maybe she just hadn’t been able to bear the awkward silence continuing.

“Is that why you always wear a helmet?” she blurted, pointing to the black helmet beside him. “To hide them?”

“Do they bother you?”

Taken aback, she shook her head.

His pale hand stretched over the giant, faded scars.

They covered half his face, spreading down to his neck, where they disappeared down the collar of his black leather uniform.

They looked old, but with his healing abilities, they could have been newer.

But then again, she remembered Vidar being called the scarred elf in the diary she had read all those months ago.

“Your mother hates these scars,” he murmured, red eyes shifting from the fire to her face, but he was somewhere else—somewhere distant. Sorrow burned in his gaze. “It pains her every time she sees them.”

Discomfort grew like thorns within her, and she didn’t like this conversation; she didn’t want to see his grief. She wanted to see an unemotional, powerful commander who was incapable of love or joy.

“Why?” her voice was barely a whisper, the word wrenched out from somewhere deep.

“I protected her life and earned these scars.” He clamped his mouth shut and turned to stare at the fire once more. His fingers brushed over a tear-shaped sapphire pendant. She hadn’t noticed it until that moment; it was beautiful, and the firelight danced over the faceted edges of it.

An ache formed in her chest, a chasm seeming to yawn wider and wider, and with it, her uneasiness. She motioned to the piece of jewelry. “Was that hers?”

“Yes.” He lifted the necklace and the pendant in the center swung for a moment, catching in the light.

The gold chain was delicate and fine; it appeared too simple to belong to a queen.

Even the sapphire set in the center was small, maybe only the size of Kolfinna’s pinky fingernail. “This was my wedding gift to her.”

She looked at the pendant with renewed interest; it wasn’t grand in any way, and she wondered if it meant he hadn’t come from a wealthy family.

“All fae males must present their wife with wedding gifts,” he supplied, running his thumb along the small gemstone, the faraway look still in his eyes. Maybe he was remembering the day he had given it to her. “I could not afford anything better than this, but Aesileif accepted it nonetheless.”

Kolfinna swallowed down the thickness in her throat. It took her a moment to speak, and when she did, her voice trembled. “You … you love her.”

It wasn’t a question.

Vidar’s eyes grew sad once more. She had thought Vidar and Aesileif had married for power, not for love, and yet Vidar seemed to be deeply in love with his wife. Had they married for love, power, or both? Did she love him too? Had … had Kolfinna been born from love, not from duty?

For some reason, something shattered within her at that thought. The half-elf commander and the wicked queen were a duo made of evil, darkness, and all that was terrible—they were supposed to remain as monsters in her mind.

“I have loved her the moment I laid my eyes on her,” Vidar murmured, turning to look at her.

Something dark washed over his face—a determination she was all too familiar with.

“Which is why I will do everything within my power to ensure she wakes from her slumber. I cannot live without her, and if this world does not accept her, then I will burn it down and build an empire for her from the ashes.”

Kolfinna shivered at the ominous promise; she wanted to ask more questions, but Vidar rose from his seat, his wings flaring behind him. He tucked the sapphire necklace within his pocket and held his hand out to her.

“Come. We shall go to your first trial.”

“My trial?” She scrambled to her feet, ignoring his outstretched hand. “What do you mean by that?”

“Exactly as it sounds.” He picked up his helmet and placed it beneath his arm, beckoning her to follow him. She wasn’t too keen on whatever trial was awaiting her, but she trailed behind him nonetheless.