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The boy took his time cleaning Hakon’s face, his gentleness only adding to Hakon’s confusion. The physical closeness and the warmth radiating from the other’s body had him reeling. Why would a leader bother showing kindness to a captive whose sole purpose was to grant his clan a marriage? Hakon didn’t understand. But maybe this was the way of the Vanir ? Who was he to understand the reasoning of a lineage of gods who, while not as powerful as the dreadful ?sir , were also much older, according to the legends? They were peculiar beings from a time before the creation of the Nine Worlds, wielding strange magic. So why did he expect anything different than oddity?

Finally, the boy had the decency to step out of Hakon’s space. Opening a huge trunk, he searched for a fresh tunic. Hakon breathed a little easier, but his gaze lingered on the boy’s broad shoulders and the muscles that rippled across his back. An impressive warrior, Hakon had to admit, and not hideous to look at either. Not for the first time, he wondered if he had done Anya a disservice by taking her place.

“Like what you see?”

Looking over his shoulder, the boy sent him a knowing smirk. It made Hakon feel like he’d been caught doing something forbidden, although he couldn’t say what.

“Just assessing your strength.”

The boy rose from his crouching position with a swiftness and grace that reminded Hakon of a predator in the icy wilderness. A snow fox or a wolf. Green tunic in hand, he didn’t bother putting the garment on right away, but stepped close to Hakon again.

“And?” So close were they, Hakon felt the boy’s breath ghosting over his lips. “Does my strength satisfy you? Am I a suitable husband for a prince of the Jotnar ?”

“I told you, I’m no prince,” Hakon snapped.

The boy’s words didn’t sound like mockery, but what else could they be? What did it matter what Hakon thought about this blasted union? For most of his life, marriage simply wasn’t an option he’d ever considered. Hakon couldn’t recall his father outright telling him, but for as long as he could remember, he’d known that princesses and noblewomen were married off to legitimate sons, and marriages of mutual courtship were meant for free men who wouldn’t sire more children to grow up and claim a right to the throne. Besides, he’d never subject a child to the life he’d lived, always an outsider, never truly belonging. The path of a warrior didn’t favor relationships anyway, and he’d never been one to chase the maidens’ skirts. The thought of being naked and vulnerable in front of another person had never held appeal to him. He could’ve easily left it at this as long as he lived and simply endured the troubling dreams of rippling muscles and strong hands holding him down. But now he was stranded in Vanaheim with their crazy chieftain hell-bent on marrying him.

With a shrug, the boy put on his tunic and combed his hands through his hair to tame his dark curls. He took Hakon’s hand and, to Hakon’s bewilderment, pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles.

“You will be a prince once you’re married to me.”

A shiver ran down Hakon’s spine. The Vanr seemed so unconcerned about marrying Hakon as if he was, in fact, looking forward to it. How could he be so unworried that Hakon wouldn’t attack him? He didn’t even bother with guards. It was the same cocky attitude the boy had shown as he defended the citadel all those years ago. Most other leaders would’ve hidden inside the fortress and exposed the lower town for the raid. But not this man who’d stopped a dangerous attack with his seier and courage alone. Hakon couldn’t help but admire that. Few rulers would have been as successful if they traded places, and certainly not at the age of just twenty-two winters.

Wait a minute—

“You aren’t Prince Rune,” Hakon growled, now surer about it than ever. He’d seen the young crown prince of the Vanir after all, although many winters ago, a man more around Hakon’s own age, maybe a little younger, but certainly not as young as twenty-two.

The boy smirked at him, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. “Not only beautiful, but also clever, I see.”

A fluttering feeling bloomed in Hakon’s belly, not unlike the one he usually felt before riding into battle. Weird.

“So, are you going to tell me who you are, or do I have to marry you without even knowing your name?”

“We wouldn’t want that, right?” Chuckling, the boy gave his hand a squeeze. The touch evoked a pleasant, tingling feeling Hakon couldn’t quite place. Maybe he was being enchanted. “My name is Talvi.”

Talvi . Yes, that’s what Frekegar called him. But where had he heard that before? Pleased to be given a name so freely, Hakon didn’t get the impression that he was being lied to. But, at the same time, he couldn’t make sense of the boy’s actions.

“So now that you know my name, are you ready to be married?”

“Oh, in Hel’s name! Stop asking and let’s be done with this blasted ceremony already.”

“As you wish,” Talvi chuckled. Holding on to Hakon’s hand, he guided him toward the doors and down a corridor. Being led through a maze of hallways, battlements, and courtyards, Hakon did his best to memorize their path, but he knew his attempt would be futile. The citadel was a labyrinth, and even in the unlikely event that he managed to escape his captors for a moment, his chances of finding his way down to the harbor town were slim.

They set off in silence, both apparently lost in thought, when Hakon suddenly remembered why the name sounded so familiar.

“Talvi as in Talvinen! You are the youngest son of Queen Vellamo,” he spluttered out, stumbling to a surprised halt.

He hadn’t heard the name in years, and he was pretty sure Bergelmir considered him dead, but it explained everything. Of course, the Vanir would support him .

Turning to face Hakon, the young man leveled him with an unreadable look. His hand came up as if he wanted to touch Hakon’s hair again, but pulled back at the last second as if thinking better of it.

“Does that surprise you? You expected to see my brother, right?”

“No.” Hakon shouldn’t answer him. He shouldn’t make the same mistake Talvinen was making by giving him any information about what the Jotnar did and didn’t know about their enemy. And Talvinen could afford to let him in on some secrets, because as soon as the wedding was consummated, Hakon would be killed anyway.

Biting his bottom lip, Hakon tried to keep his mouth shut, but talking to Talvinen was just too intriguing and he couldn’t help but hope that he’d find a way to survive this mess despite all odds.

“I thought you’d be an imposter who’d managed to ascend the throne,” Hakon finally said.

“Ah, someone who posed as my brother but wasn’t.”

“Something like that,” Hakon admitted reluctantly. “Who says you are, in fact, Prince Talvinen? You could be anyone.”

The boy laughed. Leaning in close, his lips almost touched Hakon’s.

“I could be. But I’m a real prince, after all.”

It was stupid to believe a word coming out of his mouth, but Hakon found it hard to distrust him.

“We’ll see,” he mumbled, feeling like Talvinen’s closeness might overwhelm his senses. He was wrapped in a scent that reminded Hakon of sunlit forests high on the cliffs above the ocean. Spruce and honey and the fresh salty air of the sea. Hakon wondered if his lips would taste the same, if they would feel as soft as they looked and—

Pulling back, Hakon blinked rapidly to break the strange stupor he’d found himself in. What in Hel’s name had that been?

“Are you well?” Talvinen watched him with a worried frown. He seemed so genuinely concerned that Hakon almost asked about Gudrun. He needed to know if she was still alive; he wanted to beg Talvinen to let her go. But if he gave away that he cared about her, he could endanger her more than help her. So Hakon kept his mouth shut.

“Yes,” he lied instead. “I’m fine.”

He tucked at Talvinen’s hand, suddenly eager to get moving again. If he dwelled too long on Gudrun’s fate, he might lose his nerve and ask about her. So, he allowed the prince regent to lead him further into the heart of the castle until they stepped through an archway into a beautiful hidden garden.

Hakon had expected to be married in front of a roaring crowd, maybe in Saeborg’s Great Hall or even in the marketplace. He’d expected to be treated as a spectacle, to be taunted and laughed at by the Vanir . Instead, the handfasting ritual was held in a secret garden, hidden in the heart of the castle. The place was beautiful in its tranquility.

Waiting for them under the overhanging branches of an ancient ash tree stood Perhonen, the Seeress, and the Captain of the Guard, but to Hakon’s surprise, no one else was present. Didn’t Prince Talvinen want as many people as possible to witness his captive’s humiliation?

Frekegar snarled at him, but the seeress greeted them with a gentle smile.

“You both look very handsome,” she said. Her demeanor towards Prince Talvinen was almost motherly, which had a creepy quality of its own. “Are you ready, Talvi?”

“Ready. Come here, Hakon.”

The notion was ridiculous, as he was still holding Hakon’s hand, but he seemed eager to pull Hakon even closer. It was weirdly endearing; as if Talvinen could hardly wait to marry him. But that couldn’t be true. Maybe Talvinen was bound by some strange Vanir custom that demanded respect toward his betrothed? But Hakon doubted he would show the same courtesy to an unwanted spouse.

“Hakon?” Talvinen gave his hand a little squeeze, pulling Hakon out of his thoughts. “It’s time.”

Stepping in front of Perhonen under the ash tree felt like a strange dream. In another life, if the Nornir had weaved the threads of fate only slightly differently, all of this could’ve been real. He could’ve been the real heir to the throne, wedding a noble wife. For some twisted reason, the image made him feel sick. There was no reality where he’d fit, not even the kind of fanciful dreams.

“I’ve got a gift for you,” Talvinen whispered, gesturing to Frekegar.

Hakon tensed. This didn’t bode well.

“Are you sure about this?” Frekegar asked. He didn’t look amused.

“Absolutely sure.”

“He wanted to plunge a dagger into your back as a wedding gift. You shouldn’t honor him with such a valuable present.”

Giving his captain a flat look, Talvinen made an impatient gesture.

“Fine, have it your way. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when you wake up with a knife between your ribs,” Frekegar grumbled, but offered Talvinen an object wrapped in fine linen.

Judging by its elongated shape, Hakon already knew what it was. But as Talvinen unwrapped the cloth, offering him a magnificent sword, Hakon stared at it uncomprehendingly, nonetheless.

“This is Isbani ,” Talvinen said, unsheathing the blade.

Hands clenching uselessly at his sides, Hakon braced himself. But instead of striking him down with a quick blow, Talvinen offered him the sword hilt first.

“It’s an heirloom of my dynasty, and it shall protect you, just as this family will protect you from now on.”

Reluctantly, Hakon accepted the gift. The sword lay well in his hand, perfectly balanced. It was a prize befitting a king. If Talvinen meant what he’d said, he was crazy indeed. But a crazy ruler wouldn’t stay in power as long as Talvinen had. Which left only one other explanation: cruelty. Talvinen was toying with him like a cat with a mouse.

“Thank you,” Hakon said tonelessly.

He considered attacking his husband-to-be there and then, but with two powerful spellweavers watching his every move, his chances of dealing a deadly blow were none. He’d have to wait for an opportunity to kill Talvinen, hoping to stay alive long enough to achieve his goal. Not very likely.

“Don’t you like it?” Talvinen asked, almost as if he’d sensed Hakon’s gloomy thoughts. He even managed to sound disappointed. Hel, the boy would’ve made an excellent skald. “I know you prefer the battle ax, but the sword is a more traditional wedding gift.”

“A gift worthy of a king,” Hakon replied, trying and failing to swallow down the bitterness about his fate. He was used to being treated as inferior to the nobles and considered an outcast among the free men, but this mocking reverence had him bristling. It showed him too vividly what he could have had if the circumstances of his birth had been just a tiny bit different.

“A gift worthy of you,” Talvinen whispered, leaning in as if he were sharing a secret.

Hakon wanted to argue. Every instinct told him to protest, to emphasize once again that he wasn’t a prince and would never rule as king. He wanted to repeat all the assurances that had kept him alive at a court that saw him as a potential threat to the throne. But that had to be what Talvinen wanted, to remind him that this marriage was a dishonorable spectacle, and that Hakon was only a means of humiliating Bergelmir.

But he could play this game too. Giving the wonderful sword one last look, Hakon grabbed the blade just underneath the hilt and tossed the weapon to Frekegar, who was so surprised that he barely managed to catch it.

“Hold that for me,” Hakon ordered and turned toward the seeress.

“Step a little closer, will you?” she said, smiling her eerie smile.

Squaring his shoulders, Hakon followed her.

Talvinen took his hand again, looking oh so smug . This must be his ultimate satisfaction, the opportunity to humiliate the Jotnar and maybe even conquer the Frost Realm one day.

A gentle wind from the fjord rustled in the mighty branches of the ash tree and golden sunlight made everything around them glow. The seeress held the ritual with the seriousness she would have if she were marrying a real, loving couple. Hakon would’ve never expected that having even someone like Talvinen looking at him with false adoration in his eyes and promising him to protect and cherish Hakon until the wolves swallow the sun and the moon and the Ragnarok ends all worlds would affect him. Yet hearing these words, a huge sea of longing opened in his chest. His own vows tasted like ash in his mouth. He should’ve attacked Talvinen when he’d given him the sword. Better to die steel in hand than be cut down as soon as he’d fulfilled his purpose. But the hope of achieving his goal and riding home as a hero had blinded him.

Hakon closed his eyes in defeat. He’d been such a fool.

“Would you allow me a kiss?”

Eyes snapping open again, Hakon met Talvinen’s soft gaze.

“What?”

“A kiss to seal the marriage. Would you allow that?”

He didn’t understand Talvinen’s game, but what did it matter now, anyway? Hakon nodded.

Brushing featherlight over Hakon’s cheek, Talvinen’s hand came to rest on Hakon’s neck. Instead of feeling trapped, the gesture felt gentle, intimate. Hakon relaxed into the touch, almost against his will. Leaning closer, Talvinen nudged his nose against Hakon’s, his breath caressing Hakon’s lips.

“I waited my whole life for this,” Talvinen breathed.

What was that supposed to mean?

Hakon’s confused thoughts came crashing to a halt when Talvinen closed the last finger’s breadth of space between them. His lips felt impossibly soft against Hakon’s. Why did this feel so good? If Hakon had known that kissing was like that, he’d have tried it sooner.

Sweeping his tongue over Hakon’s bottom lip, Talvinen coaxed him to part his lips with a gentle sigh. He tasted like sweet apples. For a tantalizing second, they shared the same breath, Talvinen stealing the air right from his lungs, making Hakon feel floaty and lightheaded. Then he retreated, leaving Hakon blinking at him in confusion.

What in Hel’s name?

“So beautiful,” Talvinen whispered, smiling at him like he was the most precious thing in the Nine Worlds.

He lifted Hakon’s hand and kissed his knuckles as one would kiss the hand of a pretty princess. Feeling his face heat, Hakon didn’t know what to do with this inappropriate display of affection. Should he endure it or pull his hand away?

“I know a marriage isn’t what you planned for today.” Talvinen gave him a rueful smile. “But how about some mead to chase away your gloomy thoughts and a sumptuous meal to celebrate?”

Hakon wondered what Talvinen would do if he refused, but he was hungry, and if he got really lucky, he could find a knife to plunge into his husband’s gut.

“Why not?” Hakon shrugged.

He dreaded being shown around to be mocked by the Vanir , but that’s why he took Anya’s place after all, and the discreet handfasting ceremony was most likely the last reprieve he would get. Accepting his fate, Hakon followed his husband into the citadel.