Page 12 of The Magic of Vanaheim
Nowadays, they knew so little about the other realms and their inhabitants. If it had been up to Håkon, he would’ve sent delegations and spies to every court they were still in relation with. How could Bergelmir hope their raids would bring rich plunder and that Jotunheim would be protected from their enemies if they were so oblivious?
Inclining his head silently, Håkon returned the warrior’s welcome.
“It’s customary to bow to a princess of Jotunheim,” Gudrun chided. “As is a formal introduction.”
“Oh, my bad,” the man said mockingly. “I’m Arngrim Frekegar, Captain of the Guard, and I’m honored to welcome you to Vanaheim, Princess Anya.”
Frekegar, oh yes. Håkon darkly remembered him from theþing. They might’ve even dueled on occasion, but that must’ve been many winters ago.
“My lady is tired,” Gudrun said, unimpressed. “Won’t you lead us to her quarters?”
“My chieftain wants to have a word with his betrothed first.”
Gudrun sent him a questioning glance. She’d surely thought that they would have some more time in private to talk. Maybe she’d even hoped to convince him to run, but he’d never let Anya down. Håkon was relieved that he’d meet his fate in the form of Vanaheim’s ruler soon.
He nodded firmly.
Frekegar regarded him with a strange look, probably wondering if theJotunnprincess sent to wed Prince Rune was foolish or mute. But then he merely shrugged and led the way.
They were led through the lower town, where the citizens of Saeborg gawked at them openly. It came as a welcome surprise that theVanironly stared at them instead of hurling curses and rotten vegetables their way.
When they finally entered the citadel, Håkon’s breath caught in his throat. He’d known that theVanirpossessed riches—the whole point of his father’s raids and marriage schemes was to fill their treasuries with the gold of the sorcerers, after all. And Håkon had almost set foot into the citadel that fateful night when Brogar cowardly retreated and their raid failed. But he had never imagined the large halls decorated with marble and intricate silverwork so magnificent. No wonder Bergelmir desired to rule here.
They reached a massive oaken door, guarded by two shieldmaidens. TheVanirallowed women in their ranks. Another reason Bergelmir considered them inferior to theJötnar.
“The prince regent’s private chambers,” Frekegar said, making an inviting gesture.
Håkon’s chest tightened with the familiar giddiness that came over him before battle. His fingers tingled with the urge to pull out the knives hidden under his coat, but not yet. He watched the double doors opening as if by magic. The chamber behind was flooded with sunlight, looking out over the harbor and the fjord. A round table covered with maps dominated the room and there, bent over an intricate model of the Nine Worlds,hestood. Håkon’s step nearly faltered.
“Did the princess already arrive?Oh—”
Curious green eyes fell on Håkon, and for a second he could’ve sworn the boy saw right through his disguise.
Håkon’s heart was pounding. Was this supposed to be the prince regent? He had grown a few inches since they had last seen each other, and his shoulders and chest had bulked up over the past few years, but it was undoubtedly the boy who had thwarted their raid. There was no mistaking that face in all the Nine Worlds. But Håkon wasn’t here to slay a random boy. Where was Prince Rune?
“Welcome to Vanaheim… Princess Anya.”
The boy bowed respectfully, and Håkon’s heart sank. Perhaps this marriage wouldn’t have been so bad for Anya after all. Who knew which horrible suitor Bergelmir would choose for her next? And here was Håkon, robbing Anya of the opportunity to marry a dashing young prince. But it was too late for such regrets now. He’d chosen this path, the strings of his fate aligning accordingly.
Inclining his head in return to the boy’s greeting, Håkon weighed his options. He could attack theVanrright here while everyone was still oblivious to the threat Håkon posed, but he would have to be fast. The boy wore no armor, so maybe Håkon could land a deadly blow. Subtly shifting closer to his game, Håkon readied himself for attack.
Mirroring Håkon’s movement, the boy watched him with curiosity. Against his will, Håkon was fascinated by his confident posture, the way he never took his eyes off him. The boy from a few years ago had grown into a warrior, and he was as alert as a leader should be in a situation like this.
“My lady is tired,” Gudrun tried again. “Our journey was strenuous. Can’t we retreat for a moment, so she can rest and get presentable for the wedding ceremony?”
Not-Prince-Rune stepped closer still, his eyes raking over Håkon’s body. His intense focus made an excited shiver run down Håkon’s back.
“Your ward looks more than presentable. Bergelmir has indeed sent us Jotunheim’s most precious jewel.”
Pretty words. Håkon had to grant him that. Only instead of Håkon’s beautiful sister—the real jewel of Jotunheim—theVanirhad gotten an assassin disguised as a woman. And spouting this obvious nonsense about his alleged beauty had a cruelty all its own.
“What do you say to a shared meal before the wedding? You must be hungry,” the boy said. His friendliness disquieted Håkon.
Shaking his head, Håkon tried not to fidget. By the Norns, he’d expected the ruler of Vanaheim to be a weak sorcerer, an easy kill. He wasn’t prepared to wait for an opportunity when he was finally alone with his prey; when theVanrlet his guard down enough to allow a deadly strike. How was Håkon supposed to stay undetected for so long? He couldn’t talk, his voice would give him away immediately. And a meal would mean lifting his veil, and clean-shaven or not, he wouldn’t pass as a woman for one second in that case.
“No?” Stepping closer, the prince tried to catch Håkon’s gaze.
“If you won’t give my lady a moment to collect herself, we should get the handfasting ceremony over with quickly,” Gudrun interrupted. “We’ve traveled far. Princess Anya is exhausted.”