Page 41 of Soul of Fire

I rolled my eyes as I slipped from the room, expecting to find Jorgen and Branka waiting for me.

They were not alone.

“What are you doing here?” My words were flat as I stopped dead before the door and pulled it closed behind me. It shut too loudly, but there was nothing to be done about it, and I had no intention of letting my brother get past it.

Or me.

“I hear your woman is unwell,” Edvard drawled, his dark hair falling over his brow as he sat sprawled in one of the plush armchairs by the fire.

He was dressed in the clothes I remembered him preferring—finely tailored black velvet with gold brocade. He was always the more refined prince when compared to me, bearded and tattooed and unkempt. It was no wonder my father had named Edvard as his heir and sent me to Ironholm.

Jorgen and Branka stood with their arms crossed against the opposite wall as if waiting for him to strike, and their matching scowls would have been amusing if my brother’s presence didn’t put me on high alert.

“She’s fine.” I crossed my arms in a mirror of Jorgen and Branka and leaned against the doorframe. Edvard had some nerve showing up here after throwing such vile words at my mate yesterday, but he always had more bravado than sense. “Why are you here?”

“I thought all of you drage were immune to common illness,” Edvard drawled, purposely avoiding my question. His eyes met mine, the same steely gray as my father’s, shifting to a darker brown in the firelight. “Perks of bonding a dragon, no?”

I swallowed a snarl. I was in no mood to play, nor to be polite, and Edvard fucking knew it.

Easy,Baldur growled as I ground my teeth.He’s trying to bait you.

It’s fucking working.

Baldur snorted impatiently.Do not let it.

Slowly, I relaxed a breath and unlocked my jaw. “What do you want?”

He shrugged, rising fluidly from the armchair. “Father wants you.”

“Father can rot in Helheim.”

“I don’t disagree,” Edvard drawled. “Especially with the shit he is planning. But we both serve at his pleasure.”

I frowned. Edvard had always thought himself to be far wiser than my father when it came to politics, and he was probably right. The king was a battering ram where Edvard was a finely honed blade.

“I don’t have fucking time for this,” I growled, scrubbing a hand over my face. I needed to talk to my mother and get back to my mate.

But I also needed to know what in the hells my father was up to.

“Fucking gods take me,” I muttered. “What shit is he planning?”

Edvard smirked as he pushed his hands into his pockets.

“I’ll let him explain. Maybe then you’ll see that we have similar interests for once.” He strode toward the door, but looked back once he reached the threshold. “Coming?”

“A moment.”

Edvard rolled his eyes and turned on his heel. I didn’t take my eyes off him until he’d closed the door to the sitting room behind him.

“How long was he out here?”

“Perhaps ten minutes.” Jorgen’s posture relaxed a fraction from its defensive pose, but I could tell he was still on edge. Perhaps because Sigurd could sense my anger through Baldur, and his instinct was to shield his mate. He raised an inquiring brow as he regarded me. “He wouldn’t leave without speaking to you.”

“Then you should have thrown him from the window,” I growled, easing my back against the solid wood of the door as I felt the adrenaline rush out of me. “He deserves nothing less than defenestration.”

Jorgen barked a wry laugh. “I’d rather keep my head on my shoulders, thanks.”

“I second that.” Branka had moved to the table, where the remains of a breakfast tray sat, and she offered me what looked to be a half-eaten slice of toast on a delicate floral plate. “You should eat something.”