Heavy breaths stuck to her ribs as she splayed a hand over her thrumming heart.
A throat cleared behind her.
Elara gasped, spinning with a jolt, prepared to run away.
Alruna stretched her massive mouth, pearlescent fangs glittering in the sunlight as she flexed her claws in the earth before lying in a puddle of shadowy fur on the ground.
Long silver braids framed the scarred face of the Konungr, his impassive features unnerving. Though she had shared his home for the last few days, their paths rarely crossed.
Elara spent most of her time with Brielle.
A hint of icy blue swirled in his steely eyes.
“Enamored with the warriors?” he asked, his voice a gravelly growl more wolf than man. “Orawarrior?”
Elara stammered, unsure of what the protocol was since they were no longer in the privacy of his quarters.
The Konungr wasn’t simply a chief, but a being mixed with myth and legend. And the father of the man she couldn’t stay away from.
“Konungr,” she finally managed, bowing her head awkwardly.
Eventually, she righted herself, glancing at him.
The corner of his mouth twitched. Her heart still thumped in her throat, but at least blood had worked its way back into her fingers.
“Let us talk, lítil völva.”
He didn’t wait for her reply, simply walking toward a secluded alcove, tucked away from prying eyes. The man moved with elegance, lowering himself onto a bench beneath a flowering tree, gesturing for her to join him.
Elara moved, gooseflesh pebbling over her arms.
Settled in the spot beside him, she clasped her hands tightly in her lap, absentmindedly picking at her cuticles, wishing the earth would swallow her.
“Should I address you as Konungr or Úlfr? I’ve overheard many use the latter.”
His throat vibrated with a soft chuckle, the sound shifting the air around them.
“Either is appropriate. In private, you may call me Leif or Pabbi.” Elara’s brows raced into her hairline. “For you have chosen my son and he has chosen you. Even if you are hesitant for now. You are as much my daughter as my own blood. We have no need for such titles when we are alone.”
Emotion clogged her throat, making it hard to breathe as her hands trembled.
Huffing, she forced them to still, a muscle in her jaw jumping. Her stomach lurched at the term “pabbi.”
While she sat here, worrying about titles, destiny, and the future, her father suffered alone in the home he once shared with her, her mother, and her brother.
All alone.
Perhaps she could convince Njáll to let her see her father once more.
Maybe even allow him to join them here.
A slight figure draped in a fur cloak glowed like polished amber, backlit by the awakening sun.
Brielle moved closer, her thick curls blowing in the breeze. Bright white teeth flashed in Leif’s broad smile as his wife slid her hand into his much larger one.
“Hjartað mitt,” Leif hummed, crashing his lips to hers in a fierce kiss. “Come to join us?”
“Dróttning,” Elara squeaked.
