"Frigga said to enjoy ourselves for three hours," I remind her, stepping closer. Heat pools low in my belly as she tilts her chin up in that defiant way that drives me wild. "And she is the All-Mother."
A smile tugs at Astrid's lips. "Is that an order from your grandmother? To enjoy ourselves?"
Mine. The possessive thought crashes through me with such intensity. Her body, her smile, her spirit. All mine to protect, to pleasure, to cherish.
"More of a royal suggestion," I murmur, bending to press my lips to the mark on her neck. The taste of her skin makes my head swim. The bond between us flares, desire echoing between us in endless feedback.
She shivers, not from cold this time. I affect her as powerfully as she affects me.
"The water will get cold," she protests weakly as my hands slide down her sides to her hips. The curve of her waist fits perfectly in my palms, as if she was made for my touch.
"I'll keep you warm," I promise against her skin. I want to devour her, mark every inch of her body. Over and over and over.
We do eventually make it into the bath, though the water has indeed cooled somewhat by then. Astrid leans back against my chest as I wash her hair, my fingers massaging her scalp.
"Tell me more about what to expect with Nimue," she says after a while, bringing us back to the matter at hand.
I gather my thoughts, choosing my words carefully. "Just be deliberate. Don’t let her rush you."
"I've interrogated suspects before," Astrid reminds me. "I know evasion techniques."
"This is different," I warn. "Sirens can sense emotions. If you feel defensive, she'll know and press harder. If you feel confident, she'll try to undermine that confidence. The key is to remain neutral."
"Sounds exhausting."
"It is," I agree, rinsing the soap from her hair. "But necessary. Especially when we don't know her true purpose here."
"Which is why your grandmother is making her wait," Astrid realizes. "To put her off balance."
"Exactly,” I say, impressed at how quickly she grasps political nuance. "Nimue arrived unannounced, claiming urgency based on rumors. Making her wait demonstrates that while we acknowledge her status, we won't be manipulated by her tactics."
"Court politics," Astrid murmurs. "Not my strong suit."
"You’re doing well," I assure her, pressing a kiss to her temple. "You're already more observant than most who've spent centuries at court."
We finish bathing and dress in the clothes Frigga has provided. For me a pair of dark leather pants, a deep blue tunic embroidered with silver runes, and a black cloak clasped with my family's moonstone wolf sigil. It’s fancier than everyday clothing, meant to show honor for our royal guest.
Weeks of Earth clothes have left me unaccustomed to the formal cut, the deliberate weight of status woven into every thread. The prince returns. I roll my shoulders, feeling the material stretch and adjust. My body remembers this, feels at home in this, even if my mind has been elsewhere.
I catch Astrid watching me, curiosity in her gaze as she sees this version of me for the first time—not just her mate or the wolf-warrior, but Prince Fenrir of Asgard. The thought makes me stand straighter, chin lifting slightly.
For Astrid, a floor-length gown of silver-gray, cut high to allow freedom of movement while still highlighting the female figure. She eyes it dubiously at first but relaxes when she discovers leggings and soft boots included beneath the flowing skirt.
The gown transforms her. Not into something she isn't, but into everything she truly is. Warrior, woman, wolf. All aspects of her nature are perfectly balanced in the silvery fabric that catches the light with every movement.
My breath catches in my throat. She was born for this. The thought strikes with absolute certainty. Not just for me, but for this world, this life.
"What?" she asks, noticing my stare. "Is something wrong with it?"
Words fail me for a moment. How to tell her that she outshines every royal I've known in five centuries? That she wears the garments of my people as if they were made for her alone?
"Nothing's wrong," I finally manage, my voice rougher than intended. "You look... like you belong here. Always have."
My gaze catches on something glinting atop the carved wooden dresser. A silver chain with a familiar pendant. I walk over, lifting it carefully between my fingers. The small moonstone wolf gleams with inner light.
My grandmother's. She's worn this for centuries. It’s one of her favorites.
I stare at it, understanding the significance of Frigga leaving this particular piece. Not just protection, but full acceptance. Family. My throat tightens unexpectedly.
