Page 32 of Soul of Fire

Edvard was no weakling. Beneath the fine clothes, he had some strength. I’d seen him ride, and I had no doubt he could wield a sword if called upon to do so. But Arik, honed by years of fighting in the Odemark and the physical rigor of being drage, made his brother look like a boy barely into manhood.

His voice was perfectly calm, his tone steady. “If you use that word again in my presence, I will cut out your tongue and hang itfrom the ash tree outside the gates so that every other fucking fool knows what happens when they insult my mate.”

Idunn purred in approval at the threat. It should probably worry me how much she was aroused by violence.

Not when it’s for you, Kjære.Arik’s voice was a caress, although his eyes remained fixed on his brother.She knows that for you, I would burn down this whole fucking castle.

Something in me roiled warm and approving at that.

As if Edvard could somehow hear our conversation, he laughed. “Oh, my dear brother. Youarein deep this time, aren’t you?”

“Why the fuck are you here?” Arne pushed in front of Arik, forcing Edvard to back up a step. “Get the fuck out, ye numpty.”

Edvard raised his hands as if in surrender and looked at Arik, his gaze almost…beseeching? “It’s been sixteen years. I had thought that we might let bygones be bygones.”

Arik stiffened, taking my hand firmly in his. “If you think there is a single fucking thing you can do to even the score between us, you are more of a fool than I thought.”

Edvard glanced at me, his gaze cold and serious before it traveled back to Arik’s. “Youwere a fool. To bringherhere.”

“Is that a threat?” Arne growled, taking a step toward the prince.

Edvard shrugged, a strange look passing over his face as he turned to leave. “Only the truth.”

Chapter ten

Eisa

Pummelingthelifeoutof each other must be a formative bonding experience for men, because after their display in the sparring ring, the soldiers in the barracks seemed to have accepted Jorgen and Arik as members of their own.

They had insisted we stay to eat in their dining hall, and I could swear I had heard about sixteen different retellings of my mate knocking out one of the commanders with his stick. Arik had been gracious enough to teach the move to anyone who asked, and the thwump of a male body hitting the ground, followed by uproarious laughter, punctuated the meal every few minutes.

“Ye should fucking murder the smarmy bastard.” Arne swallowed his ale in a single gulp, slamming the tankard on the wooden table with a grimace. “Tastes like a bag of wet wool.”

Arik sat next to me, his thumb brushing over the back of my hand as his uncle plotted his brother’s untimely death.

“Maybe wait to plot regicide until we’re not surrounded by witnesses,” Arik suggested, ignoring the admiring glances the human soldiers kept shooting his way.

“It’s not regicide if it’s the fucking prince,” Arne argued a shade too loudly. “It’s…” he frowned, hunting for the right word. “Princicide.”

“Eloquent.” Arik tipped his glass up and drained the contents, his eyes landing on my mostly full plate.You’re not eating?

I took a bite of my roll to placate him. Training and the confrontation with Edvard had taken a lot out of me, and I was more tired than anything else.Just not very hungry.

You should eat the chicken,Arik said into my mind as he nudged my plate closer to me.Protein.

I scowled and took a pointed bite of potato just to annoy him.

His beard twitched, and he nudged my plate again.

“I’ve half a mind to string him up the ash tree myself,” Arne continued, oblivious to the protein debate. “Beruffled shirts and all, the skunner.”

“Why are you still angry about this?” Arik sounded genuinely curious at his uncle’s fury, which I had gathered over the course of the day tended to be frequent but short-lived.

Except when it came to Edvard, apparently.

Arne lowered his voice and growled, “Because everyone in this godsforsaken hell hole of a kingdom knows thatyoushould be the fucking king.”

“If someone heard you—“