“She is chosen by Freyja. As you are chosen by Odin. A foreign witch. I believe her the one our Völva foretold.”
If it weren’t for the imperceptible widening of his eyes, Njáll would have thought the Konungr hadn’t heard him. A stillness swept across the rigid lines of his face. The glow in his moonlit eyes sharpened, pinning Njáll in place.
“Defend your claim,” came the deep rumble of his command.
“A smoky panther with gold eyes guards her. Similar to a fylgja, but more. A gift from Freyja. She does not know of the old gods, but she carries the light of Freyja with her. She knows of the draugar, they call to her from the shadows.”
Nails scraped through his beard as the Konungr listened, his brows raising slightly as Njáll continued.
“Something binds me to her side. At first I thought it seiðr. Now, I am not certain. It may be Freyja guiding us, just as she brought you your Dróttning.”
The words fell from his lips before he could process them. Njáll froze, his brow pinched. No. Not Freyja. A spell. Nothing more. His eyes flicked to the side, and his heart beat faster at the sight of his flame.
Then he saw it, the minute his claim landed with the Konungr.
If nothing else would sway him, recalling the stories of how Freyja guided his steps to his queen might. Njáll always thought those tales were embellished. It was hard to deny the truth in it when some ancient ether drew him to his little flame. Something he tried so hard to dismiss.
He worried the Konungr might see her as a threat. While she didn’t want him, his vow to protect her still held firm. Njáll was duty-bound to keep her safe, whether she wanted him to or not.
“Your passion is noted. We will speak more on this.” The tension melted from his muscles. “In the coming days we will celebrate our Jarl’s victory with a feast.”
The assembled guests broke out in excitement, thrilled with the impending celebrations. A rare smile graced the Konungr’s weathered features, his hands raised as he dismissed the clan.
“Warriors. Rest. Return to your families.”
Joyous cheers returned as warriors took their lovers in their arms, exiting the longhouse to return to their furs.
Soon, the packed longhouse thinned until only a few people remained. His girl shifted closer to him, unconsciously seeking him out.
It soothed the weary pieces of his soul.
“Where will she stay? There are no empty homes,” Leif asked, his Konungr mask fading.
“With me.”
A soft laugh fell from the Dróttning.
“Would it not be more prudent to have a bedroll laid out for her in the longhouse?”
A growl rumbled in Njáll’s chest. The Konungr’s brows pinched, and Njáll bowed his head.
“Forgive me,” he whispered, knowing it was not his place.
The Konungr’s gaze found his queen’s, something passing in their unspoken words. His shoulder fell with a sigh.
“Very well. If you wish her to stay with you, so be it.”
“Thank you,” Njáll said, ensuring they were alone. “Father.”
His father’s expression shifted, his eyes softening as if Njáll’s words gave him permission to relax. His mother immediately came into his space, her softness a welcome reprieve.
“We’ve missed you son,” Brielle said, pulling him into a hug and kissing his cheek. “Are you well? Is your companion? What is her name?”
Njáll’s mouth lifted. “We are well. In need of a bath and rest. She hasn’t given me her name yet.”
A rolling laugh boomed from his father as he clasped a hand on Njáll’s shoulder.
“Freyja chose well then. Her spirit may complement yours, my son. I’m sure you are both tired. We will speak more in the coming days.”
