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“I need to see Ari.” I blinked, refusing to cry while everyone was watching.
Smiles faded. Gunnar nudged the small of my back toward Gorm’s longhouse.
“What am I supposed to do with him?” Stefan asked, tugging on Bo’s rope.
Frey clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll show you where Lord Gorm keeps prisoners.”
Inside the longhouse, a familiar hint of pine wood and leather struck my nose. Incense and herbs drifted into the dim corridor from nearby rooms. Pressure tugged in the center of my chest, like a tether kept shortening its slack until I was pulled forward without thought.
As though my heart sensed his nearness.
I rounded the corner and nearly slammed into Cuyler.
His pale eyes widened. “My Queen. You’ve returned.”
Gorm and Bjorn stood in front of Gorm’s chamber doors. The moment Gorm saw me, he grinned.
“I need to see Ari,” I said, a little breathless.
“Yes,” Gorm said. “What else would you need to do first?”
“Who have you brought to us, Saga?” Cuyler asked, glancing at Calista and the others until Gorm smacked the backside of his son’s head. “Gods, what the hells, Father?”
“Address her properly.”
“It’s all right,” I hurried to say. “I have no title right now.”
“Queen,” Gorm said, matter-of-factly. “Queen is your title, My Lady. It is one of those titles that does not come and go.”
“I like this blood fae,” Junius muttered to her husband. “Direct. No lies.”
Gunnar muffled a rough laugh.
“Right,” I said, shaking my head. “Thank you, Lord Gorm, for explaining.”
“It is my pleasure.”
I turned away from the huddle in the corridor. My hand paused on the knob to Gorm’s chamber, then held there for ten breaths.
“Down, My Lady. You simply pull the knob downward and it clicks open,” Gorm said as he demonstrated how a knob might work.
“Thank you, Lord Gorm.”
“Again, my pleasure.”
Cuyler bit his teeth into his lip at my side, hiding his smile. On my other side, Gunnar offered a reassuring grin. I blew out the air from my lungs and stepped into the room.
A window was open, allowing the breeze to filter the room. Clove and rose incense burned, bringing a calming warmth to the space.
“Saga, you’re back.” Rune shot to his feet from a wooden stool. He looked weary: slumped shoulders, disheveled hair, a red rim around his lids that stood out against his dark eyes. “I’ve, well, I’ve looked out for the Ambass—the king’s—room.”
He forced a smile, but the pain of all that had happened gleamed through the shadows of his eyes.
“Thank you for keeping watch, Rune,” I whispered, a crack in my voice. “Um . . . we’ve captured Bo.”
Rune drew in a sharp breath. “What?”
“He’s being taken to Gorm’s prison, still very much lost.”
