49

Torden stayed with me long after he should have left. We sat in the quiet of the laundry, burrowed in a pile of sheets, hip to hip, knee to knee, his arm around my shoulders.

I never wanted to stop touching him. I ran a finger down his forehead, over his nose, across his cupid’s bow, over his lips.

“I feel like I’m dreaming,” I whispered. “I’ve been dreaming so much since I’ve been here, I can’t believe any of this is real.”

“Are any of your dreams this good?” Torden laughed softly.

“No. Most of them are—” I swallowed, cutting myself off before I said nightmares.

Most nights I dreamed of my father, of his body shriveling up until it was nothing but bones. Some nights I dreamed of Potomac’s fields aflame, of Arbor Hall’s trees turned to pillars of ash.

Only once or twice had I dreamed of Torden, our bodies weightless in the lake above the Lysefjord, his hands hot on my waist despite the cool of the water.

“How did you even get here so quickly?” I asked quietly.

Torden studied our joined hands. “Huginn and Muninn got wind of your arrest within about two weeks of your being taken.” His throat bobbed. “And I was on my way within hours.”

“You just left?” I breathed.

“I should never have let you go in the first place.” Torden’s voice was low, frustrated. “I should have stood up to my father. Treason,” he scoffed.

“Well.” I cleared my throat. “It turns out Lang and the crew were ferrying arms from the zŏngtŏng to the resistance here in the Imperiya. They hadn’t told me about it, but . . . I don’t think they were wrong to do it.”

Torden went very still. “Your ship was bearing weapons, and you didn’t know about it?”

I shook my head, grimacing.

“Your captain—Lang—he brought contraband aboard, at the commission of a foreign power, and put you at risk without informing you or your family?” He started to rise, but I pulled him down, only just stifling a weary laugh.

“Torden, he’s hundreds of miles away. What are you going to do? And—besides, I’ve already dealt with this. And I’d do it all again.” Despite my protests, his eyes still burned with anger.

I expected him to pull away—to shift sideways, to need space to cool off. But Torden couldn’t seem to get close enough to me. He gathered my legs across his lap and wrapped his arms around me, touching his forehead to mine. “If anything had happened to you because of him—” His jaw clenched. “Selah, I couldn’t bear it. I would’ve never forgiven him.”

“Shh.” I took his hands in mine. “I’m fine. I’m all right.”

“You are serving Baba Yaga at her very table,” Torden said. Remorse was in every line of his face. “You are not all right. Aren’t you afraid?”

I ran my fingers over his arms, breathing him in, thinking.

I’d told Torden once I was afraid of being made foolish. I’d run from England, from Bear and his family, who’d humiliated me. I’d run from Norge, too, from Konge Alfödr and his wrath.

Neither king worried me anymore. I had seen and suffered too much. And love had grown stronger than my fear of either.

“I was afraid I might never see you again,” I whispered. “And here you are. My prayers answered. The hint of a happy ending already.” I ran my palm over his cropped hair, smiling wanly. “What did you do while I was gone? What—what happened after I left?”

Torden sighed and settled me in closer to him. “I was running faster than ever. Beating Bragi and Hermódr in hand-to-hand, outshooting Fredrik. I worked with my hammer, Mjolnir, nearly every day—fought with him on the practice field and worked with him in the forge, in the Flørli outpost. That was the other change,” Torden added. “Per the valkjrya’s recommendations to fortify a place downriver from Asgard, we sent men there to work, to watch, and to monitor messages from the radio tower. I worked there with the dvergar, learning to forge weapons.”

I gnawed on my lip. “It sounds like you did pretty well on your own.” My voice was thin.

It was ridiculous. I hadn’t wanted him to suffer. I shook off my pettiness.

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Pappa drove Anya out because she loved someone else, and Aleksei had gone to the devil to spite my father, and you were destined to be bride to some other man. My family had crumbled before my eyes. And I could do nothing about it.” His eyes shifted to mine. “So I tried to work, and tried to forget.”

I wet my lips. “And did you?”

I was almost afraid of his answer. Because—what if he had? What if he was here only out of duty, out of guilt over what his father had done?

Torden’s hands stole, possessive, around my waist. He shook his head, dark eyes sparking. “I felt you gone like a hunger,” he said. “You were the first thought I had when I woke. The last when I went to sleep. I was trying to sweat you out.”

My breath grew jagged. His eyelashes were rose gold in the light of the fire, bare inches away. Unbidden, my hand reached for his cheekbone, skating over the freckles on his pale skin and the copper stubble of his beard.

Torden bent, his nose brushing my jawline, and pressed a kiss soft as a breath against my neck. “I will never want anyone the way I want you.” He kissed me once more, lingering over my fevered pulse as his fingers slipped into the hair at the nape of my neck. He worked at the snarled knots until he slid my ring free. “Ask me again. Ask me if I forgot you.”

His kiss was like a burn. I wanted to let it scorch me alive.

But the feel of his lips on my skin made me think of the last person who had kissed me.

Sour guilt replaced the heat burning beneath my skin.

I swallowed. “I have to tell you something. I— For the sake of honesty.”

Torden frowned. “You sound worried.”

He was still concerned for me. Did I even deserve it? Had I betrayed him?

I gathered my courage. “After I left Norge, in the Shvartsval’d, something happened with Lang. It’s—hard to define exactly what was going on, but I think there was always something there. Between us.” I trained my gaze on my hands, afraid to look at Torden. “He kissed me before I left to come here.”

I resisted the urge to justify, or explain, or apologize.

“Are you angry?” I lifted my eyes to his, preparing myself. “Does this change things?”

“His interest in you was always clear,” said Torden. He toyed with my ring, his chest rising and falling, his mouth growing sulky. “Or it was to me, anyway.”

“I haven’t spoken to him since I left.” Then an odd idea struck me. “Are you jealous?” I asked in a whisper. “I thought you’d be angry at me.”

“I’m angry at him. I’d like to fight him with my bare hands and see if he tries to put his on you again,” Torden said immediately. He paused. “So, yes, I think this is jealous.”

Torden. Jealous. It gave me a wicked thrill.

His throat bobbed, and he began to braid the ring back into my hair, his fingers tender against my neck, sending bolts of heat and chills over my skin.

When he was finished, I gripped his hand. Our threaded fingers dug into the sheets piled around us as I leaned close and pressed a slow kiss to the corner of his mouth.

We were in danger every moment we stayed together. But I was a maiden in a tower and the dragon was watching every moment and he, my prince, had come to put a sword in my hand.

And I could not help but feel powerful at the way he wanted me.