Page 48 of The Magic of Vanaheim

At least Håkon seemed a little more comfortable being touched, often gravitating toward Talvi until their shoulders nudged or their knuckles brushed together. And when they settled down at night, Talvi only had to open his arms for Håkon to snuggle close to him. Small mercies. Watching Håkon train had become a favorite part of Talvi’s day. Today was no exception. Fondly, he watched how his husband held Thyra and three of her guards at bay to the cheers of the other warriors.

“Can’t you see how dangerous he is?”

Arngrim still wasn’t over his lost duel.

“I married the best warrior in the Nine Realms. Are you complaining?”

Uttering an angry, dismissive sound, Arngrim started to pace. “I’m serious, Talvi. Bloodaxe is going to get you killed.”

“I know my fate.”

“You don’t! Not even the Queens did.”

The mention of his mothers hurt like a stab to the gut. How could Arngrim use their absence against him? Talvi had planned to talk to Arngrim in private and dispel his concerns about Håkon. But his friend had avoided him, going out drinking in the taverns of the lower town every night. And Talvi wasn’t willing to leave Håkon alone for a whole evening to search for his petulant mentor, only to find him too drunk to talk properly.

“What are you hinting at?” Talvi hissed. “What didn’t my mothers know?”

“Their death. They could neither foresee nor prevent their own demise.” Arngrim’s eyes shone with anger and sorrow. If Talvi hadn’t been so angry himself—how could Arngrim spout such nonsense?—he would’ve felt sorry for him.

“My mothers aren’t dead! Have you forgotten who they are? Goddesses of the sea. They don’t die. They can’t.”

“Don’t be naïve, my prince.” Grabbing him by the shoulders, Arngrim’s voice turned pleading. “Everything is fleeting. Even gods and goddesses die. Can’t you see? You’re the last ruler of Vanaheim, and if you die—”

Sensing that Håkon had stopped sparring and walked over to them, Talvi looked up. Only now did he realize their quarrel raised more attention than he’d planned. The guards had stopped their training, and everybody was watching them. Not good.

“He won’t die,” Håkon said loudly, rushing over to them. “Aren’t theVanirthe gods of old? Isn’t Talvinen the God-King of Vanaheim?”

“This is none of your business, frosty locks,” Arngrim spat.

“Isn’t he?” Håkon repeated, sword still in hand and obviously ready to go another round against Arngrim. Seeing him like that made Talvi crave to drag him to their chambers, to take his time preparing him for hours, and fuck him senseless afterward.

“Of course he is!” Arngrim stepped threateningly in front of Håkon. “And your honorless father will never conquer the second realm.”

Calmness filled Talvi’s being, just like the night of the raid. He took Håkon’s hand and nudged his husband to stay half a step behind. The temperature around them had dropped tangibly, and Talvi smelled snow.

“My mothers are alive, and the queens won’t appreciate your fretting.” His voice sounded strange to his own ears, carrying and otherworldly. He could feel Håkon shudder. “We’reVanir. We’re the gods of old. And we do not die.”

Stumbling back a step, Arngrim’s eyes grew wide. He looked almost scared. This wasn’t what Talvi wanted. He wasn’t a ruler who wished to be feared, but he would put just about anyone in their place if it meant he could make Håkon feel safe.

“Of course, my lord,” Arngrim said, voice hollow. “I—I don’t know what came over me.”

“Very well. Håkon, would you continue the training for me? Arngrim and I need to talk.” Hoping to convey that he didn’t want to hear any complaints later, Talvi scowled at Thyra. However, after Talvi had made clear his displeasure at his husband’s treatment on his first day in Saeborg, and especially after Håkon had defeated Arngrim, the guards grudgingly paid their respects to Håkon.

“As you wish, my lord,” Håkon said, still as wary of everything Talvi did or said as if he expected a cruel test of his loyalty at every turn.

“Thank you,dróttning.” Pressing a swift kiss to Håkon’s lips for everyone to see, Talvi turned to Arngrim.

“Come.”

Arngrim trailed after him with a sour expression. Heading to the battlements, Talvi climbed a steep flight of stairs and slipped through a narrow passageway into the inner walls of the citadel. He headed to the small courtyard, where he and Arngrim used to spend their days practicing when Talvi was younger.

“What do we want here?” Arngrim asked, arms crossed in front of his chest. The golden sunlight falling through the leaves of the mighty oaks framing the courtyard made his red hair glow like flames.

“He’s the love of my life.”

“He—what?”

“It is what it is. I won’t change my mind.”