Page 28 of The Magic of Vanaheim
The royal quarters lay silent and dark, butTalvinen ignited the candles and had a merry fire crackling in the hearth with a languid wave of his hand.
Håkon watched him as he kicked off his boots carelessly and shed his tunic again. Bracing himself, Håkon stepped closer. This could be worse, he told himself. At least Talvinen wasn’t hideous. Håkon’s gaze followed the smattering of hair on Talvinen’s chest to where it thickened below his navel and disappeared in a dark trail under his belt. Where other warriors were built like mighty oaks, Talvinen was like a birch, tall, lean, and elegant, but strong nonetheless. Håkon could imagine that he was popular with the maidens.
Realizing he’d been staring, Håkon raised his eyes to find Talvinen regarding him with a predatory gaze.
“You can touch me if you want,” Talvinen offered with an inviting gesture.
Håkon’s fingertips tingled with the desire to comply.
“What would be the point of that?”
“Pleasure,” Talvinen said earnestly. “This is about duty to you, I know, but I want you to enjoy yourself. If you tell me what you like, I can make this so good for you.”
“What I like?” Håkon echoed. Although he understood the dialect of theVanirwell enough, it felt like Talvinen was speaking a completely foreign language most of the time, with half of the meaning lost in translation.
“When you lie with a lover, what do you enjoy?”
“I—” Håkon faltered. He couldn’t very well tell Talvinen that he didn’t have a clue because whenever people started to get undressed, he left. “You know what… why do you even care? We have a marriage to consummate.”
Fiddling with the brooches fastening Anya’s gown, Håkon let the silky robe slip down his shoulders. He kicked off his boots next, so he stood bare-chested in front of Talvinen, the light fabric of the wedding gown only held in place by the belt around his waist.
Talvinen regarded the interlaced tattoos covering Håkon’s chest and spiraling across his arms and shoulders with open wonder.
“StupidJotunn,” Talvinen mumbled, but he sounded fond. “I care because of you. I want my husband to be happy.”
Lies and flattery, Håkon couldn’t afford to fall for that.
“Am I allowed to touch you?”
Yet again, Håkon had to doubt Talvinen’s sanity. He was avala, a king in all but name. He had to know about the magic-repelling tattoos of theJötnar. He had to know what danger they posed to any being possessing the gift ofseiðr. If Talvinen was in his right mind, he should order Håkon to put on a shirt that covered his arms and chest and get down on his hands and knees. But, of course, the boy had to play dumb.
“Be my guest,” Håkon said, throat feeling too dry.
Would the tattoos hurt or even kill avala? Håkon had once seen a berserker on the battlefield fighting a witch. He had pressed the woman against his bare chest in a bear hug, making her shriek as if she’d been engulfed in flames. She must have died that day, although Håkon couldn’t tell if it was because of the magic-eating touch of the tattoos or by steel.
Talvinen was his husband now. Should Håkon tell him it wasn’t safe to touch the tattoos? Murdering him like this wasn’t worthy of a warrior, but—
“Wait!”
Håkon caught Talvinen’s hand before he could reach him; it felt warm to the touch, callused like a swordsman’s.
“Yes?”
Curling his fingers around Håkon’s in return, Talvinen didn’t push to break his grasp.
“You can’t do this. It’s dangerous.”
“Are we talking about your tattoos?”
“You should know what they do to a being ofseiðr. How are you even alive, oblivious as you are?”
“Beings ofseiðr? Is that what Bergelmir told you we are?”
“Of course. You’reVanir. Sorcerers. You teach magic even to your men.”
Chuckling, Talvinen leaned in closer. “Male sorcerers. Scandalous.”
“It’s a woman’s business,” Håkon grumbled, embarrassed even by the thought. Sex and sorcery were inextricably entwined, and a man, a warrior, shouldn’t allow his body to be used and filled like a woman’s. But it was precisely this humiliation that awaited him.