“More than what you’ve already unraveled?”
Lagertha’s features hardened. “Even more.”
“Leave nothing out.”
“Then let us begin with the truth regarding Queen Gothel and our alliance with Eisland during her reign.”
Night had fallen by the time Bryn returned to the castle, the stars sparkling above in the moonless sky. The distant orb couldn’t be seen, the nearer one shrouded in darkness. It was rare that both new moons coincided.
A poor omen.
Brynhildr shook off her unease and dismounted from her mare outside the stable. Horsemaster Hugi’s apprentice took the reins.
“Shall I brush her down, Your Majesty?”
“Yes, please. I have no time for it this eve. Thank you, Knut.” She forced a wan smile for the boy and strode into the palace.
Finding Gunnar wasn’t difficult. Her husband was in his war room, where he preferred to spend most of his time poring over maps of the known world. The kingdoms beyond the seven nations of the gulf were vast and powerful indeed, but mysterious, for traveling abroad to them required crossing a treacherous ocean filled with electrical storms and great sea beasts.
Gunnar sat at the head of the war table, surrounded by his men, his top advisor standing beside him. Bryn disliked Frode at the best of times. At the worst, he was a scavenging crow awaiting the morsels left by his wolfish brother. As the fifth-born child after Gunnar, he’d never had a chance at the throne.
Over the years since their marriage, all his other siblings had perished, leaving only Gunnar and Frode. They were laughing over something, the men taking no notice of her at first.
“This Narkanth is a powerful kingdom in the east. They’ll make strong allies. Better allies in the coming war. They can be trusted to keep their word, unlike the treacherous Liangese. They’re good men who fear and obey their god.” Gunnar looked like a shark in the water, hungry for blood.
“They despise magic. Though, to reach them by ship, we’ll need to retake the frostlands north of the Eastern Veld, Your Majesty. All of the frostlands. Otherwise, the giants will only dash their ships to pieces as they sail to meet us. The bastards are fond of hurling their boulders, and sailing too far north we’d encounter the ice floes. We cannot navigate those waters. To take Samahara, we—”
Her temper sizzled. “Gunnar, a word with you.”
The chatter and amusement faded, and a dozen stares turned in her direction. “Can’t it wait?”
“No. It cannot wait.”
Her husband regarded her through narrowed eyes. “Gentleman, please give us the room.”
As they filed past her, none dared to meet her gaze with the exception of Frode. Her brother-by-marriage smirked before stepping through and pulling the doors shut behind him. She wouldn’t be surprised if the weasel lurked with his ear pressed to the wood.
“We did not discuss retaking Jotunheim.”
“No, we didn’t,” he agreed, leaning back in the seat with his arms behind his head. “Didn’t know I needed your approval as ruler of this kingdom.”
“I am your wife. You have always consulted me, asked for my opinions. Always taken my advice.” Until recent years, at least. “Why do you go behind my back, warmongering and creating strife where there is none? A war with the jotuns will throw our kingdom into chaos.”
“They are a menace to our people, destroying farms and blocking our access to the eastern seas.”
“You cannot war with the entire gulf, Gunnar.”
“Who says I want to war with the entire gulf? I speak of retaking Jotunheim. Reclaiming the lands stolen by those stinking, frostbitten savages.”
“Yes. So you may ally with your bullies across the ocean. For what reason? More war. Everything you do is driven by war. Every choice you make is to benefit another campaign. We have no reason to wage war against Samahara. There is peace now. We agreed there would be no retaliation against the other kingdoms. Njal, curse his filthy soul, picked that fight, and Eisland ended it by reclaiming their people. We decided—”
“No,” Gunnar said. “You decided there would be no retaliation. The Eislanders have betrayed us. They—”
“Allied with us under false pretenses.” Her mouth flattened into a grim line. “Do not lie to me, Gunnar. I know of Gothel now. You knew she was a pretender, that she…she stole the throne with necromancy and black magic. You knew this, yet you worked alongside her!”
“Who told you these things?”
“Does it matter?”
“I would know what snake is hissing lies into your ears. I would know why you take a thrall’s word over my own.”
“They are honest words and come from no thrall,” she shot back. “Don’t try to deny it. Tell me why I was not included in your schemes.”
He stared at her, lips pursed and brows drawn together, almost as though truly seeing her for the first time. She lifted her chin, refusing to be cowed by his examination. Then a shrewd gleam lit his eyes and he smiled the cold, hard smile of a predator. She’d seen the look many times before, but never aimed at her.
“Tell me, wife, why do you fail to perform your duties?”
“In what manner have I failed? My shield maidens maintain their patrols, the countryside is safe, and our farms prosperous.”
“Not your responsibilities to the realm. Your responsibilities to me and the throne. You haven’t joined me in my chambers for months.”
“What point is there?” she spit back. “You have your bedwarmers.”
“As do you.”
Is that what he thought?
The laughter erupted from her lungs. Once it began, it wouldn’t stop. She watched his heavy brows crease, confusion dawn, and eventually, when she didn’t stop laughing, fury arise in its place.
“What’s so funny? Why do you laugh at me?”
“I laugh because surely you are a jester now. You need only the face paint, the bells, and the cap. Perhaps you’ve hidden them up your brother’s arse, where your honor surely resides.” Bryn knew she was needling him, but she couldn’t help it. All of her anger suddenly flooded at once, as she leaned forward and spat, “I haven’t taken a lover in three years.”
“Brynhildr—”
“Not since we last lay together. Not since your last child bled from my womb.”
“Your boy—”
“Does not want me, and I shall not force him. I have no interest anyway. It’s gone, Gunnar. I thought taking a pet would…” She glanced away this time, breaking eye contact. “Losing our son has broken something in me. I scarcely crave intimacy anymore. I am—”
Sorry?
Was she sorry?
No. She would not apologize for what had never been her fault.
She would not apologize for no longer desiring a man who decimated their intimate connection to bed concubines and whores.
She would not apologize for falling out of love with a man who had reduced her existence to a single purpose.
Unable to continue suffering in silence, Bryn sighed a ragged breath. “I am unable to meet your needs. Bed your chamber wench tonight.” Bryn drifted to the door. “Perhaps our marriage has run its course, Gunnar, if you can no longer confide in me and the comfort of my body is all you seek.”