by S. T. Bende
“Help me up, for starters.” I retrieved my gear, and pushed myself to my feet.
“I wouldn’t want to interfere with your . . . independence.” Narrik looked down his narrow nose at me.
“No.” My knuckles whitened as I gripped my books. “It’s not like you to interfere with things.”
Narrik’s nostrils flared. He arched one brow, no doubt intending to launch into whatever tirade he was riding that day. But before he could speak, Eunice’s head shake caught my eye.
“Do not engage,” she mouthed. “Please.”
Fine.
I drew a slow breath, and turned toward the exit. Without another word, I marched through the door. When I was outside Constance’s office, Narrik chuckled.
“Leave us, Eunice,” he said quietly. “The queen and I have things to discuss.”
“I don’t have you on my agenda.” My grandmother’s voice trembled over the final word. Was she . . . afraid?
“Well, you are on mine.” Narrik’s words carried a hint of a threat. “Leave us, Eunice. Now.”
“Yes, minister.” Eunice’s footsteps scurried across the polished floor. I slowed my steps as the door clicked closed behind me. When I turned around, I caught my advisor’s worried look.
“What’s that about?” I whispered.
“It’s not my place to ask. Nor is it yours. Don’t you have an exam to attend?” She ran a hand along her graying hairline.
“I do.” And Alfheim Academy was a solid twenty minute’s jog from the royal residence. But for this, I’d cut it close.
I inched toward the door, and pressed my ear to the wall.
“Crown Princess,” Eunice admonished.
“Shh!” I held a finger to my lips. “I’m regent-ing.”
“Absolutely not.” Narrik’s angry voice pierced the quiet. “As far as I am concerned, this matter was resolved weeks ago. I won’t be addressing it again.”
Eunice’s brows knitted together in worry.
“I am your regent.” Constance’s pitch betrayed her frustration. “And as an appointed member of my cabinet, you would do well to—”
“What I’ll do well, Your Majesty, is exactly what you brought me on to do—keep the wolves at bay. At least for a little while longer.”
“What does that mean?” Constance asked.
Sharp footsteps moved toward the door. I stepped back as it opened just enough for me to catch Narrik’s hushed threat.
“Need I remind you how easy it would be to replace a monarch?”
Eunice’s sharp inhale pulled my attention from the door. With her wide eyes and white-knuckled grip on her notebook, the woman perfectly reflected my own feelings. What the Helheim was going on between Constance and Narrik? And why was the queen letting anyone talk to her like that?
As I debated whether to burst in and defend my grandmother’s dubious honor, the door opened fully and Narrik slipped through. He paused briefly as he passed me, his cold, soulless stare holding me in its icy grip. My insides clenched. Was I the monarch he intended to replace? Right then?
But he kept walking, moving down the hall in clipped strides until his figure disappeared around the corner.
When he was gone, I turned to Eunice in shock. “What. The. Actual. Helheim?”
Narrik’s hold on Constance had never made sense. When I’d asked her to replace him as minister of state with literally anyone else, she’d claimed doing so would violate constitutional protocol. But after what I’d just heard, perhaps her thinking was grounded in something less . . . governmental. Maybe the reason Constance kept Narrik on the payroll was because he had something over her.
My eyes narrowed at the open door. It was time to find out what Granny dearest was hiding.
I marched determinedly into the queen’s office. “Constance,” I demanded. “What was that about? If there’s something you’re not telling me, so help me Frigga, I’ll—oh, my gods. Are you all right?” My anger dissipated as I ran to her side.
The queen’s normally pale skin was ghostly white, and lined with a thin sheen of sweat. Her hands shook, and her wings, usually ramrod straight, drooped around her trembling shoulders.
Without another word, I gently guided her into her seat.
“What did he do to you?” Eunice whispered from the doorway.
Constance’s head snapped up. “You shouldn’t have heard that.”
“Well, we did,” I pointed out. “And it was awful. Did Narrik threaten to kill you?”
“It’s not the first time,” Constance said.
I knelt so our eyes were level. “We have to get rid of him. We can’t have someone like that poisoning the world we’re trying to build.”
“It’s not that simple.” Constance sighed. “Fyrs is a threat, yes. He’s ambitious and focused, and would gladly take the throne himself if our succession laws were different. But there are worse threats out there. Fyrs, well . . . I’m sure you heard him.”
“He keeps the wolves at bay.” I frowned. “What wolves? Who’s he holding back?”
“Who isn’t he holding back?” Constance’s laugh was brittle. “All the dark realms want me dead. Half the light realms want me dethroned. In the public’s eyes, I’m unredeemable. There’s no return from what they perceive I’ve done to Alfheim—never mind that I did it to keep them alive.”
“I know you think you acted for the good of the realm, but even you have to admit, what you did was horrendous.”
“If you say so.” At Constance’s raised chin, I stifled my sigh. Would there ever be a day when she saw things as they actually were?
“Why is everyone so afraid of Narrik?” I changed course. “What’s he got over them?”
Constance’s nostrils flared, and the whites of her eyes widened.
What’s he got over you?
“Fyrs has positioned himself advantageously. At the start of his ministry, he befriended key officials and placed them in compromising positions. He then used that collateral to leapfrog into higher posts, finally claiming the minister of state title. Once there, he was able to impose his will through questionable partnerships.”
“What do you mean? Isn’t he loyal to Alfheim?”
“Fyrs is loyal to Fyrs. He’s never outwardly declared fealty to another realm, but his practices rarely align with the values of this one. Many suspect he has off-realm benefactors. Though of course nothing has ever been confirmed.”
My jaw unhinged. “If you think that’s true, why haven’t you kicked him out?”
“I’ve told you. The regent does not have the power to unseat high-level ministers. An act of that magnitude would require confirmation by the senate.”
“Okay, so why haven’t they done it?”
Constance pursed her lips. “I believe they, too, have been compromised.”
Jeez. Was the entire government of Alfheim corrupt?
“At some point, we’re going to have to do a clean sweep of everyone who votes on anything ever.” Frustration roiled in my gut. “Our realm is clearly broken. We restored the crystal, we removed the barrier, and we’re working to reinstate merit-based admissions to the academy. But even with all of that, Alfheim’s still in crisis. The meadow elves have been trying to get a meeting for five months—five months, Constance. Their region is dying, and we’ve done nothing to help them.”
“The crown has—”
“I know the crown is busy. But what could possibly be more important to us than the needs of our citizens? How have we continued to fail them? And how the Helheim have we not kicked that monster Narrik out of office?”
“Keep your voice down,” Constance hissed.
“I don’t care if he hears me.” I crossed my arms. “I don’t care if anyone hears me. Things are not right around here. And if nobody else is going to step up, then I will.”
“What do you mean by that?”
The gentle chimes of the clock let me know I’d blown well past my welcome. Crêpes. “I have an exam to get to.”
> “Young lady.” The queen’s pitch rose. “I asked you a question.”
“And I told you I have a test. I’ll see you at the state dinner. We can talk after that.” With a nod at Eunice, who still clung to her notebook like a granny clutching her pearls, I turned on one foot and bolted from the queen’s office. I’d have to sprint all the way to the academy if I didn’t want to miss my final. And if I did . . .
Not an option. Run faster.
I lowered my head and pumped my legs. My heels kicked up dirt as I barreled along the road that connected the palace and the academy. Nobody had ever said being a student/princess would be easy. But I was determined to do right by my citizens, my realm, and my Verge training partner. I wasn’t about to let any of them—or myself—down.
Chapter 2
“CUTTING IT PRETTY CLOSE, huh, Princess?” Viggo nudged me with his shoulder as I slipped into line beside him.
I pointed to the clock that hung to the left of the climbing wall. “I have a full half-minute to spare, thank you very much. And stop calling me that. You know I hate it.”
“Whatever you say, Glitre.” Viggo’s dimple popped, and I rolled my eyes. A deep chuckle from my right made me look over, and I grinned at my cousin as he took his place beside me.
Despite growing up on Svartalfheim, Ondyr had settled right in at Alfheim Academy. Within weeks, he’d become one of the stars of the Verge program, resumed his easy friendship with Viggo, and managed to steer clear of the hormonal horde of Styra—the realm’s resident mean girls, who’d made no secret of their desire to stake a claim on him. Instead, he was going to the Solstice Dance with Jande—my Elementär friend, who was partial to crystal rings, flowy scarves, and recent Svartalfheim transfers with a wicked sense of humor and a mean right hook.
I’d waited a lifetime to get a cousin. Thank gods he’d turned out to be awesome.
“Glitre?” Ondyr arched his brow. “Sorry, I still don’t get it.”
“Ondyr’s later than me.” I stared Viggo down. “What do you have to say to him?”
“Hei, man.” Viggo reached over and rapped his knuckles against his friend’s.
“Hei.” Ondyr grinned at Viggo. “You ready for today?”
“Readier than she is.” Viggo angled his head toward me. “She told me last night she’s still having a hard time with the aerial sequence.”
“I did not.” I glared. “What I said was that I was going to wipe the floor with you on aerials. And you said ‘wanna bet,’ and I said, ‘loser has to take on Verge cleaning duty for two weeks,’ and you said—”
“If you’re quite through, we can begin.” Aunt Signy marched across the training room. We all snapped to attention, facing the wall of windows with our feet shoulder-width apart and our hands folded behind our backs. Signy paced in front of us, scrutinizing everything from our posture to our uniforms, scribbling notes on her clipboard as she rendered her judgment. I pulled my shoulders taut and stared straight ahead, doing my best to ignore the soft laughter coming from either side of me.
Boys.
“Today’s exam will count for a third of your final grade.” Signy paused in front of Viggo, and the laughter stopped. “I know how hard all of you have worked, and I hope you know how proud Headmistress Herliefer and I are of each and every one of you. The Verge discipline is strenuous, and requires the highest standard of physical and mental acuity. Only our top graduates will earn places as Protektors, warriors, and members of the royal guard. So, go out there and give this your all. You will have fifteen minutes to warm up. Will that be enough?”
“Yes, Professor Bergen,” chorused the class.
“Very good. I want each of you to make yourselves proud.” Signy dismissed us with a wave, and we hurried to our spots. Since Viggo and I were the only winged Verge, we’d been assigned to the outdoor field. There, we’d work on our aerials—a series of evasive maneuvers that ended with an airborne version of a standard hand-to-hand attack. During Sunday’s practice, Viggo had outmaneuvered me in seven out of ten sessions.
I was determined to level the score. Two weeks’ worth of cleaning duty—not to mention my pride—stood on the line.
“Try not to hurt him too badly,” Ondyr called over. He and his training partner, a fiery redhead named Zara, followed us to the field. They each carried a broadsword, which they twirled comfortably as they walked. “We’re supposed to rehearse our History of Alfheim presentation after this, and I need him in one piece.”
“I can’t make any promises.” I shrugged.
Zara grinned. “Give him Helheim.”
“Thanks.” I returned the smile.
“Enough chatting,” Signy yelled from inside. “Get to work out there!”
Ondyr and Zara crossed to the far end of the field and drew their blades. They were equally matched in strength and dexterity, though Zara had the advantage of two-and-a half additional years of the academy’s stringent training. Ondyr’s style was less refined, but he’d quickly adapted to the Verge techniques—and managed to find workarounds for sequences that proved difficult for his more aggressive form.
“Aura? We doing this or what?” Viggo’s deep voice pulled me back to the field. He’d already popped out his wings, and they now fluttered behind him: two massive silver appendages waving in the early afternoon breeze. My gaze stalled on the sword-shaped mark at the tip of one. It was the mirror image of mine . . . and the telltale sign identifying us as mates. When I’d first discovered the Norns had paired us up for all of eternity it had freaked me out. But now—
“Aura?” Viggo repeated.
“Right. Let’s go.” I fisted my hands and drew my shoulder blades down, releasing my own wings. I flapped twice, rising above the field before calling out. “You coming?”
Viggo’s emerald eyes sparkled as he flew toward me. We generally kept our wings under wraps—I was still getting used to having mine, and the academy-issued blazers didn’t exactly accommodate additional appendages. But the racerback tank tops we trained in offered more flexibility, and the rare days we ran aerial drills had become my favorites. Flying was amazing—and when we paired it with combat drills, it offered an incredible blend of freedom and ferocity.
Plus, Viggo looked really good in the air.
“I’m running offensive this time,” I declared. “You good with defense?”
“Good enough to win our bet,” Viggo goaded.
I narrowed my eyes. “Oh, it’s on, Sorenssön. Get ready to get beat. Beaten. Whatever.”
It was hard to focus with his arms flexed and his wings flapping.
“On my mark, then.” Viggo ran a hand through tousled, chestnut waves. Not helping. “Three. Two. One.”
“Go!” I called. Viggo darted for the tree line, and I charged after him. He wove in and out of the purple-tipped pines, spinning to avoid a newly bloomed bush before shooting above the forest and heading toward the Verge center. I easily kept up with him, making sure to tuck in my wings as I rounded the tree-trunks. I’d learned the hard way how sensitive wings were—and I was determined to not repeat last week’s mistake. Ouch.
“Incoming,” I shouted as I barreled for the field. Viggo shifted up, throwing out his arm and hooking my elbow so we spiraled toward the grass. We were supposed to simulate a free-fall until the last possible second, then shift into an airborne gamma combat sequence—a series of punch-jabs, followed by roundhouses, then front kicks. Whoever stayed in the air the longest would be the winner. They’d earn ten additional points on the final exam, plus bragging rights and a week off cleaning duty.
Viggo was going down.
I released his arm as we ended our free-fall, then threw a sharp right hook at his torso. It struck with enough force to knock him off-balance. As he flailed, I delivered two jabs to his shoulder, pushing him closer to the grass. He recovered as my foot neared his ribs and he reached out, catching my calf mid-kick and wrenching it to the side. I tumbled through the air, flapping fiercely until I’d stopped my spin. T
hen I launched myself upward and dove, beelining straight for Viggo’s back. He turned just as I got close, wrapping his arms around my shoulders and angling his own so we spiraled for the ground.
“We’re going to hit!” I shouted. “Let go!”
“You yielding to me, Princess?” Viggo yelled.
“I told you to stop. Calling. Me. That!” I shoved Viggo and shifted, rotating so my knees skimmed the tips of the grass. My partner hit the ground with a loud thunk, and I quickly adjusted my trajectory so I flew toward him. I dropped down, straddling him and pinning his neck with my forearm. “Gotcha.” I grinned.
Viggo’s lazy smile quickened my heartrate. “You still have a few to go to beat my record.”
“Three more and then we’re even,” I reminded him. “And I can definitely do that three more times. Four if you keep flying that slow through the trees.”
“Bring it,” Viggo challenged.
I released his neck and offered my hand, helping him to his feet. As he rose, he tugged me forward so we stood chest to chest. His heart pounded beneath the thin fabric of his tank top, the sensation spiking my own pulse. My breath hitched as Viggo tightened his grip around my hand and leaned in to whisper in my ear, “That was hot, Glitre.”
My heartrate shot straight through the clouds. Things had been so crazy since I’d become co-regent, we’d barely gotten any time alone together. But being pressed against Viggo, breathing in his familiar mixture of sweat and cedar, his lips moving softly against my ear . . . I turned my head, intending to brush my lips against Viggo’s neck. But as I moved, he released my hand and leapt in the air.
“Now do that three more times,” he called as he soared straight for the trees.
With a groan, I stretched my wings and took off after him. He was infuriating. And intoxicating. And insufferable. And irresistible.
And I was going to destroy him in the next round.
I successfully pinned Viggo five more times before Signy and Headmistress Herliefer evaluated us. My meeting with Constance had left me with a lot of pent-up frustration, and I was only too happy to let it out on my training partner. By the time our professors declared me the victor, both Viggo and I were out of breath, covered in mud, and rocking twin pairs of torn pants. We’d steered too close to a tree on one of our descents, and since neither of us had been willing to yield, we’d gotten pretty torn up. But we’d both passed, thank gods. And we had the bruises to show for it.