“Run its course?” His voice trembled with barely constrained rage. “You think you can divorce me?”
She kept her back to him. “I do. I will if I must.”
“You’ll be nothing without me. Think you’ll remain High Queen Brynhildr without me? You were nothing before I chose you. A lowly shield maiden from a useless, unknown region. And that is all you will be again. I made you who you are. I made you a queen. Without me, you’ll be nothing but a dusty hag in Koldgrun, reminiscing about the time when you did mean something to the people.”
She froze.
“Yes… Now you remember. This keep is mine. This kingdom is mine and so are you.”
“Frigga grants every wife the right to leave if she is abused. I can divorce you. I will.”
“You can, but what will happen to Epleberg if you do? What will happen to your little projects if you leave? I certainly do not have the time to guarantee the harvests carry on.”
“You are threatening the livelihoods of hundreds, if not thousands, because I plan to leave?”
“I threaten nothing, wife. I plan, and I will act.”
“You are slime,” she hissed.
“I am your king.”
Unwilling to waste another breath, Bryn pushed from the room and left him behind.
A soft click roused Sigurd from his near-doze in the bath, followed by the sound of familiar footsteps. Only one person ever entered his chamber unannounced, but he certainly hadn’t expected a visit from Bryn at such a late hour.
The moment she stepped around the corner and spotted him, her eyes widened and her gaze dropped to the tub, where the bubbles had long since dissipated.
“I’m sorry. I can return when you’re done.”
“No, no,” he rasped, before clearing his throat. “No need to leave. I must have drifted off.”
After she’d left their brunch, he’d taken a long day out in the courtyard with the guards, sparring and training alongside them. At some point during the months of his captivity, he’d managed to befriend several of the soldiers and build a grudging acquaintance built on respect.
And on bashing each other with shields.
Sitting up, he kneaded the fading bruise left by one of Bryn’s shield maidens. The Ridaeron combat style varied greatly from what he was accustomed to in his native Eisland. There, the men fought with single-armed weaponry, preferring longswords, cutlasses, and rapiers. In Ridaeron, the men preferred plank-sized two-handed blades and morning stars with meteor-sized spheres swinging from the end.
He’d seen one of Bryn’s shield maidens take down a trio of guards without ever unsheathing her weapon. Her shield had been enough. When he’d faced her, suspecting he would fare better, she’d planted him on his ass.
Bryn had done the same multiple times, but he’d grown accustomed to that.
What he was not accustomed to, however, was the sight of his queen with tears on her face.
“I will re—”
“What is it? What’s happened?”
“I…” Her proud shoulders sagged and she lowered to sit on the stool beside his bath. “I cannot do this anymore, Sigurd.”
“Do what? Bryn, please, tell me what happened.”
“Gunnar,” she said in a shaky breath. “All he wants from me is an heir, which he’ll never get. From the beginning he has lied to me, and I…I have been foolish enough to believe his pledges to change.”
Never had they spoken about her marriage, nor the fact that she had no children. When he had first been brought to the castle to serve as a thrall, the queen’s frequent visits and long vigils at the shrines had been a mystery to him. Since then he had learned more about their customs and their gods. He had listened to the whispers carefully uttered amongst the other servants when neither the king nor queen were present. Now he understood their childless home, and he knew of the infants she had lost.
“Now he plots with his council behind my back to conquer the world. Nothing will ever be enough to sate his bloodlust.”
“I’m sorry.” Mindful not to slosh water over the rim, he reached over and brushed a freshly fallen tear from her pale cheek. “I know I’m still learning your ways, but no marriage should be built on deceit, no matter the kingdom.”
“When he first chose me from among a thousand shield maidens, I thought myself lucky to have the attention of a man like him. So young and stupid.”
“Naïve,” Sigurd gently corrected her.
“Stupid to fall for his lies. He told me everything I wanted to hear and then went behind my back, inciting trouble, working with that black witch Gothel when he claims to hate all magic. How could he ally himself with her?”
“Greed and lust for power, Bryn. It turns even the best men into monsters.”
“Or maybe he was a monster all along.” A moment of silence passed between them as Bryn hugged her arms against her stomach and leaned forward, rocking on her seat. “I do not know what to do. If I leave him, I sacrifice everything. I won’t be Queen Brynhildr anymore. I built this kingdom alongside him. We brought the rest of the drottin together as a team. How do I walk away from so much?”
When her voice broke, Sigurd couldn’t linger in the bath a moment longer. He slipped from the water, noticing the way she tucked her chin. Was she shy? He’d never taken her to be bashful at all, certainly not when she’d propositioned him for sex on multiple occasions in the past.
Bryn rose swiftly, back to him. “I should—”
Before she took a step, he caught her and spun her back to face him. “No, Bryn.” He locked gazes with her. “Don’t walk away.” His pulse picked up speed and his stomach did a strange flip before tightening harder than an iron ingot. “I’ve watched you with the drottin. King Gunnar isn’t the one they respect, and he certainly isn’t the one they love. You call those meetings. You bring them to order. You may not have been born high queen, but they treat you as one.”
“It doesn’t matter. Gunnar’s bloodline has the rightful claim to the throne and they will not forsake tradition, lest they invite Odin’s wrath.”
“Is that what you think?” As her shoulders shook with quiet sobs, he slid both arms around her and brought her close against him. Bryn sagged without fighting it, burying her face against his throat.
“Tradition and honor are everything to us.”
“So is strength. Your people have a long-standing tradition of taking through strength and battle, don’t you? Of earning favor from the gods? I see no better way to earn favor than saving your kingdom from a madman.”
“How?”
“Speak with the drottin. The ones you trust. The ones who feel as you do regarding this senseless war against Eisland and Samahara. One kingdom cannot stand against the entire world, and that’s what Gunnar is trying to do. In the end, it won’t be only him who loses. It will be your people.”
Chapter 3
As Brynhildr’s most trusted companions, Sigurd and Lagertha became her cohorts in the scheme to take the Ridaeron Dynasty from its mad high king. She spent the autumn season feeling out weaknesses among Gunnar’s court, sending either of her two trusted companions to speak on her behalf to the jarls rumored to express doubt and dismay.