“Like me? I’m a fucking slave, Ari.”
“No,” he says as he steps forward, holding my shoulders in each of his hands. “You are Kilda the Wild.”
Freya help me, I want to believe him. I want to lean into the lie. Iron chains tell a different story.
“And you’re Ari the bastard skald. Why can’t we just disappear together then?”
“I can’t… I can’t betray the Queen.”
There it is. Clear as day. This is where he stands. Blood simmers in my veins.
“Oooh, the Queen? What are you her secret lover? Her little sex Jotnar?”
“Very funny, Kilda.”
“I’m not being funny. I’ve heard of the velvet-clad southern queens and princesses… of their appetites.”
Of course, he’d rather sleep in the lavish bed of a southern queen. Why would he want to be with a runaway slave? A murderous runaway slave. The Queen wants him for his body, for his endearing smile. His smell.
Ari just laughs. Without humor, just disbelief.
“She only hungers for power.”
Hunger for power? Does that not translate to hunger for flesh? Vidar is proof of this. A queen dominates. She dominates Ari.
“Come on, be honest! Who can resist a man like you?”
Gods, I sound pathetic. A tragic tale, old as time. The woman left to rot after a good night’s fun in the orchard of flesh. He surprises me with a playful grin.
“I knew you liked me from the start.”
“I’m not fucking joking, Ari!”
Unbelievable. Here I am with this bastard skald. Thyra’s body isn’t even cold yet, and he’s focused on stealing some ring for his whore queen? He can’t be serious. And me? I’m not even mourning, I’m just breaking apart from this man sticking a knife in my heart. Or in my back, rather. He opened a door within me, now he’s slamming it shut. Shit-toothed mangy crow. He sighs and sits down again.
“Neither am I,” he says.
“So, tell me, why can’t you betray the mighty queen?”
He stays silent. I can hear my own breathing. My chest is puffed and my arms crossed. I’m not the most supportive. But for fuck’s sake, what’s this man thinking?
He still doesn’t speak. Just sits there like he’s thinking some deep poetic thoughts. I push his shoulder.
“Tell me!”
“She… She will hurt someone dear to me.”
My mouth gapes. Is it true? Here I am raging about imagined infidelities. Infidelities done before he even met me. Is this queen extorting him? He’s probably fucking lying, the sneak. Protecting someone else, what a surprise. I’m just here to support him when he needs it. Is there any man in Midgard who stands for his word? My father, Vidar, Ari? Fucking liars the lot of them. Spineless bastards.
I wait. He doesn’t even look at me. Doesn’t explain or defend himself. He doesn’t say who. His lover? His child? His mother?
Probably his fucking lover. Or his lover and their fucking child. It’s so unfair. It’s probably some southern beauty with soft hair and golden anklets. A woman he actually chose, not a slave he’s forced to protect by guilt. Or it’s the gorgeous well-behaved child he has with the gorgeous well-behaved woman. Or…
“You’re lying,” I whisper, voice weak like a child.
His jaw tenses. I struck a nerve, it would seem. Finally. Here I am, desperate, alone. It’s about time he had a reaction of his own.
“I don’t lie.”
