Page 54 of The Magic of Vanaheim

The shoreline was dotted with rocks that seemed as if a troll had thrown them there in a fit of rage. They sat down on a particularly large one, and Talvinen started unpacking the lavish food the mistress of the farm had prepared for them. Moving closer, Håkon tried to help him set up their meal—he was flustered enough that Talvinen had carried everything himself all the way up here—but his husband nudged his hands away.

“No. I’m attending to you tonight.”

“But—”

“No buts,dróttning. Why don’t you lie down and rest a little while I prepare the food?”

Talvinen pulled his coat out of the bag he had carried over his shoulder and spread it out for Håkon to lie on. Sending the bag a suspicious glare, Håkon got comfortable. On their way up here, the bag had looked full, sure, but how inHel’sname had Talvinen managed to fit all this stuff in there?

“Did you enchant it?” Håkon asked, gesturing accusingly at the offending item.

“Only a little bit.” Talvinen grinned. “Now relax and enjoy the view.”

So Håkon did.

After sharing their meal, they just lay next to each other, looking out over the lake. A deep feeling of peace and contentment enveloped Håkon, and he reveled in the soft, innocent touches Talvinen showered him with; holding his hand, brushing through his hair, or just idly caressing Håkon’s chest. He couldn’t get enough of it.

It was past midnight by now and the sun had vanished behind the mountains, leaving the land shrouded in the bluish light of dusk. It wouldn’t get any darker, but this strange place between night and day, between light and darkness, had an almost magical quality to it.

“I love your hands,” Talvinen said, cradling one of Håkon’s hands reverently in his. “So strong, yet elegant. The way they curl around a sword’s hilt—”

Bringing his hand up to his lips, Talvinen kissed him again. His palm, the tips of his fingers, his knuckles.

“Wait a minute… What’s that?” Talvinen suddenly stopped his caresses and stared at Håkon’s hand.

“It’s a—it’s a ring,” Håkon stammered. After all these weeks, he had hoped that Talvinen wouldn’t recognize it. Håkon had grown fond of the gift Talvinen had given him as a child, and after years of wearing it on a chain around his neck, he had turned the little thing into a real piece of jewelry by an Utgardian blacksmith. After the Battle of Saeborg, after Talvinen had haunted his dreams for weeks, it had only seemed fitting to have the small ring with the delicate green stone set in a larger golden band. Wearing it had been a small gesture of defiance against his father, the only acknowledgment of his desires that Håkon had ever allowed himself. It had been safe because no one knew where the ring had even come from.

“You kept my ring,” Talvinen purred.

Håkon’s face grew hot. “I—”

“Thank you.” Beaming, Talvinen kissed his hand again. “Do you want to take a closer look at the mounds now?”

It took Håkon a second to follow Talvinen’s sudden change of topic, but he was only too willing to talk about anything else than Talvinen’s ring on his finger. Excitement and a sliver of fear made Håkon rise from his relaxed position. Disturbing the rest of the kings buried here seemed like a risky idea. His husband, on the other hand, seemed completely at ease.

“You want to go inside the stone ring? Isn’t it forbidden?”

“Forbidden? You’re adorable. The inhabitants of the mounds may have been kings or queens of old, but we’re their living rulers. If anything,theyshould greetuswith reverence.”

We.

We’re their rulers, he said.

On a whim, Håkon leaned in for a kiss. Talvinen met him halfway, his hands coming up to cup Håkon’s face and his thumbs caressing Håkon’s cheekbones. Sighing, Håkon parted his lips to allow his husband entrance. To claim his mouth. To mark him as his, like the ring he’d been wearing for years.

When they parted, Håkon felt a little dazed, as if his world had shifted on its axis.

Tracing Håkon’s bottom lip with his thumb, Talvinen looked oh so pleased. He pressed another quick kiss to Håkon’s lips before getting up.

“Ready?”

He wasn’t ready for either another display of Talvinen’s recklessness or his affection. Wandering between the mounds in the ominous half-light was thrilling—and slightly creepy.

“Are you sure we’re supposed to be here?” Håkon knew he sounded like a coward, but thedraugr, the walking corpses of the mounds, weren’t to be trifled with.

Taking his hand again, Talvinen pulled him a little closer. Håkon didn’t mind.

“Uncle Njord used to take my brother and me here when we were younger. Jökull bathed in the lake, and we wandered around among the standing stones, pretending to decipher the inscriptions.”