Her skin has an opalescent quality that catches the light, her hair is a beautiful mix of blue and silver and maybe even some purple. Her fabric of her green gown looks almost liquid, shifting and flowing with her slightest movement. She is stunningly beautiful in a way that defies human standards, and I find myself staring despite my best intentions.
Nimue's fingers tap a rhythm against her wine glass, each tap resonating like chimes. "At last." The words ripple through the air with an unsettling melody that raises the hair on my arms. "I was beginning to wonder if the rumors of your death were true after all since no one would allow me to see you."
"Rumors of my death," I say dryly, "have been greatly exaggerated." She probably doesn’t get the reference, but I’ve always thought it was a great line.
Fen's lips twitch, suppressing a smile, but he smoothly takes over the formal greetings. "Queen Nimue, I apologize for the delay. We needed time to prepare properly after our journey."
Of course," Nimue replies, her eyes never leaving my face. They're calculating, like I'm a puzzle she's determined to solve or a weapon she's assessing for usefulness. "I simply wished to verify with my own eyes that you survived, Astrid Mathieson."
I meet her gaze evenly, though my wolf bristles beneath my skin. There's something in the way she says my name—like she's tasting it—that makes me feel less like a dinner guest and more like an item on the menu.
Years of interrogation training help me keep my expression neutral, but I can't shake the sense that she sees far more than I want her to.
Frigga gestures to the empty seats across from Nimue. "Join us. The meal is ready to be served."
We take our places as servants appear with platters of food, and my stomach growls audibly. Meats in rich sauces that make my enhanced senses sing. Vegetables in colors I've never seen before. Breads that shimmer with spices I can't identify. I eye each dish as it passes, cataloging what I want to try first while trying to maintain the dignified demeanor expected at a royal table.
Wine flows into goblets, deep red with hints of gold, and I find myself leaning forward slightly, already calculating how quickly I can politely start eating without looking like a starving wolf—which, technically, I now am.
I pop a small piece of roasted meat into my mouth and struggle not to moan embarrassingly.
"I must say," Nimue continues once the servants withdraw, "when my siren reported the severity of the chimera venom, I feared the worst. Their poison is particularly lethal to humans."
I pause mid-chew, the sweet meat suddenly tasting like ash in my mouth. Yeah, lethal is putting it mildly. My death wasn't exactly pleasant.
Odin lifts his goblet in a subtle toast, his single eye catching the firelight. "Astrid Thorsson," he speaks for the first time, voice rumbling like distant thunder across the table, "is no longer human."
The quiet authority in his tone makes his statement not a revelation but a simple, immutable fact. As though he's merely commenting on the weather rather than my entire transformation of species.
I take a sip of wine to hide my discomfort at being discussed as if I'm not present. It's rich and complex, nothing like anything I've tasted before.
Nimue traces one iridescent fingernail around the rim of her goblet, creating a high, crystalline tone that shivers through the air. "A drastic measure. One very rarely bestowed." Her eyes flick between Odin and me with cold calculation. "But considering what's at stake, I assume it was absolutely necessary."
Odin's knuckles whiten around his knife handle, the only outward sign of his irritation. "I did it for my grandson and his mate, not you, Nimue." He cuts into his meat with deliberate precision. "Not for some grand scheme."
I set my fork down with purpose, years of interrogation training kicking in. The diplomatic dance around the table reminds me of high-level GUIDE briefings. They’re always full of loaded statements and veiled implications. Time to cut through it.
"What exactly is at stake, Queen Nimue?" I ask, meeting her gaze directly. If I'm going to navigate this new world, I need information, not vague allusions to centuries of history I've not been read into yet.
Nimue smiles, revealing teeth too white and slightly too sharp to be human. Great, I'm having dinner with a shark in an evening gown.
"The future of all eight realms, of course," she says. "The quest to find all the Knights' mates. Our goal to reunite Earth with the other seven planets."
I lean forward slightly, resting my elbows on the table in a deliberately casual pose that puts me closer to Nimue. "Why is finding the Knights' mates so important to you?" I ask, watching her eyes for the micro-expressions that often reveal more than words.
Nimue spears a piece of purple vegetable with precise, deliberate movement, examining it for a moment before placing it between those too-sharp teeth. She chews thoughtfully, dabbing the corner of her mouth with a napkin.
"Balance," she finally offers, but her pupils contract slightly. A tell I've seen in suspects who are simplifying complex truths. "The realms exist in delicate equilibrium. When the soul-mate magick was broken, that balance began to fail. Earth's door was locked and everything became worse."
Her left eyebrow twitches almost imperceptibly when she mentions the door. Another micro-tell suggesting personal investment beyond what she's admitting.
"Finding and bonding all the Knights with their mates is the first step toward restoration." She sets her fork down with too much care. "That and opening the door."
"The first step toward what you want," Odin interjects, his tone deceptively mild. "Opening the doorway to Earth permanently again."
The temperature in the room seems to drop. I've sat through enough high-tension briefings to recognize the shift from diplomatic conversation to strategic confrontation. Nimue's expression doesn't change, but something flashes in her eyes—frustration, perhaps, or determination. Her fingers curl inward slightly, like she's restraining herself from making a fist.
"The doorway should never have been closed." Nimue's fingers spread across the table, as though mapping invisible territories. "Separating the realms was always meant to be temporary. Until the corruption of magick on Earth could be corrected."
