Sigurd and the Valkyrie: an Adult Fairy Tale Romance Read online

  It had taken her a year of careful prying and investigation to determine the foul little cretin wearing the crown had ordered his best warships to take every foreign vessel suspected of harboring mages, and everyone on the gulf knew the best mages came from Eisland and Samahara.

  Bryn had no respect for liars. And were the kingdom not counting on her, were they not in need of her steady head alongside their warmongering king, she would have long since divorced him and moved home to Koldgrun.

  Sigurd’s sunny smile dragged Bryn from her morose thoughts. “I received your message, my queen.”

  “I’m glad Arden found you. We’ll have snow tonight. I did not want you to be caught far from home when the blizzard came.”

  “But the sky is so clear. It’s…it’s the end of summer!”

  Grateful to have something else to think about besides her husband, she smiled as Sigurd fell into step beside her. “Sometimes an unusual summer snow storm sweeps in from the east. The frost never lasts beyond morning. Only time will teach you how to watch the skies and read the wind. You’ll see.” She imagined by now the rest of the Epleberg family would be lighting heat lamps and lanterns in the orchards to save the fruit.

  “I look forward to such lessons.”

  She glanced at him, wondering at his words. There were times she sensed interest in him, though he never acted upon his lust.

  Two men couldn’t be more different, Sigurd and Gunnar, in more ways than one. The former Eislander made her laugh, he discussed her interests with genuine curiosity, and rarely, if ever, turned any conversation back to himself. She imagined, were he her husband, he would have mourned beside her each time she lost a child; offered more than fleeting comfort before finding his way into his consort’s bed.

  “My queen?”

  She blinked, drawn once more from her wandering thoughts, and gave him a quick smile. “Forgive me, I was lost in my own head for a moment.”

  “That’s all right. You seem troubled lately, Your Majesty. I was only asking if we should place a wager regarding the snow.”

  “You think my weather sense is wrong?”

  “I think it’d be an interesting exercise, is all. And a chance for one of us to come out with a prize. Let’s say…loser has to give up their portion of Arden’s apples for the week.”

  “Then be prepared to lose, Sigurd, for there will be snow tonight and I will win our bet.”

  He smiled and ducked his head, his laughter both a welcome and familiar caress against her senses. She smiled, already more at ease, and when they reached her chambers, she lingered in the doorway.

  “Is there anything I can get for you this evening? Tea? Wine?”

  Company, she wished to say. Instead she dropped her chin a fraction and shook her head. “No. I think I’ll retire early tonight with a book.”

  “Then I’ll bid you goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, Sigurd.”

  He bowed again and turned to leave. Before he made it more than a few steps, she quickly called out after him, “However, I’d enjoy that tea in the morning. We can share a pot while I enjoy your share of the apple fritters I requested from the kitchen.”

  He looked back over his shoulder and grinned. “As you wish, my queen.”

  Chapter 2

  It had snowed, laying a pristine blanket of diamond glittering from one edge of the horizon to the next. It was during her early brunch with Sigurd, in which she’d generously shared her apple fritters instead of rightfully laying claim to the whole bounty, when a pigeon arrived bearing a message from Lagertha.

  Bryn’s growing network of spies served her faithfully, a newly established coalition of shield maidens and thralls bringing her juicy tidbits from the distant corners of the vast kingdom. The former respected Bryn as their queen-sister, while the latter adored her, especially when she treated them like free men and women, paid them well for their service, and doted on them like friends.

  Much like the shield maidens serving under her banner, the thralls were her friends. Each one of her servants, although branded, had become someone she trusted, and she saw the brand as little more than a mark of her protection, a symbol of her love for them that safeguarded them from ever coming to harm.

  Sigurd’s words crept into her thoughts.

  What right do you have to own another man?

  At the time, she’d told him it was merely how their world had always worked, a law instituted generations upon generations ago. Sometimes, though, she wondered if he might be right.

  Sometimes it gnawed at her and kept her awake at night.

  Now those wonderings would at last bear fruit.

  “What is it?” Sigurd asked while she deciphered Lagertha’s codework.

  “News that I should investigate. I am sorry, Sigurd. I must go.”

  He dusted crumbs from his hands and rose from the table. “Do you need me to come with you?”

  Bryn shook her head. “No. Stay here.”

  “I can fight beside you, if there is trouble.”

  Leaving nothing to chance, Bryn held the paper scrap over a candle flame and let it burn to ash in a dish. “I know you can, my friend. But not now. Now I need to speak with someone.” Bryn kissed his brow. Be my eyes and ears in this castle.

  Of Bryn’s many shield maidens, she trusted none more than Lagertha. She hadn’t expected the captain of her guard to return so swiftly from overseeing operations in the east and traveling between the two halves of their kingdom as a go-between.

  They met at the Epleberg orchard, in the shade of a tree overflowing with unripened emerald fruit. Over the next few weeks, they’d become the best apples in the region. Bryn loved their orchard, she loved the family who owned it, and had their express permission to visit whenever it suited her. As they had varieties of apples ripening from late spring until fall, she rarely went without. During the winter, gallons and gallons of preserves and cider consoled her until the next harvest.

  “What is your news, friend?”

  “It is bad,” Lagertha said. Her blue gaze darted left, then right. The orchards were empty save for a few furry animals scavenging the occasional fallen fruit and a pair of ravens sitting above them in the branches. “You were right to suspect the king lied to you, Brynhildr. At this very moment, Gunnar provokes war with Samahara. Once again, he has raided one of their villages in the south. He lost two ships during this reckless venture; the world serpent and her new husband sank them to the depths.”

  Bryn gasped. “No! How many lives lost?”

  “Over two hundred of our sailors gone, for nothing. Jörmungandr shows no leniency. She has no mercy. And her prince is as bloodthirsty as she is. These are not the only losses suffered on the seas this year. There are many more, each of them a lie he has told you.”

  “More than what you’ve already unraveled?”

  Lagertha’s features hardened. “Even more.”

  “Leave nothing out.”

  “Then let us begin with the truth regarding Queen Gothel and our alliance with Eisland during her reign.”

  * * *

  Night had fallen by the time Bryn returned to the castle, the stars sparkling above in the moonless sky. The distant orb couldn’t be seen, the nearer one shrouded in darkness. It was rare that both new moons coincided.

  A poor omen.

  Brynhildr shook off her unease and dismounted from her mare outside the stable. Horsemaster Hugi’s apprentice took the reins.

  “Shall I brush her down, Your Majesty?”

  “Yes, please. I have no time for it this eve. Thank you, Knut.” She forced a wan smile for the boy and strode into the palace.

  Finding Gunnar wasn’t difficult. Her husband was in his war room, where he preferred to spend most of his time poring over maps of the known world. The kingdoms beyond the seven nations of the gulf were vast and powerful indeed, but mysterious, for traveling abroad to them required crossing a treacherous ocean filled with electrical storms and great sea beasts.

  Gun
nar sat at the head of the war table, surrounded by his men, his top advisor standing beside him. Bryn disliked Frode at the best of times. At the worst, he was a scavenging crow awaiting the morsels left by his wolfish brother. As the fifth-born child after Gunnar, he’d never had a chance at the throne.

  Over the years since their marriage, all his other siblings had perished, leaving only Gunnar and Frode. They were laughing over something, the men taking no notice of her at first.

  “This Narkanth is a powerful kingdom in the east. They’ll make strong allies. Better allies in the coming war. They can be trusted to keep their word, unlike the treacherous Liangese. They’re good men who fear and obey their god.” Gunnar looked like a shark in the water, hungry for blood.

  “They despise magic. Though, to reach them by ship, we’ll need to retake the frostlands north of the Eastern Veld, Your Majesty. All of the frostlands. Otherwise, the giants will only dash their ships to pieces as they sail to meet us. The bastards are fond of hurling their boulders, and sailing too far north we’d encounter the ice floes. We cannot navigate those waters. To take Samahara, we—”

  Her temper sizzled. “Gunnar, a word with you.”

  The chatter and amusement faded, and a dozen stares turned in her direction. “Can’t it wait?”

  “No. It cannot wait.”

  Her husband regarded her through narrowed eyes. “Gentleman, please give us the room.”

  As they filed past her, none dared to meet her gaze with the exception of Frode. Her brother-by-marriage smirked before stepping through and pulling the doors shut behind him. She wouldn’t be surprised if the weasel lurked with his ear pressed to the wood.

  “We did not discuss retaking Jotunheim.”

  “No, we didn’t,” he agreed, leaning back in the seat with his arms behind his head. “Didn’t know I needed your approval as ruler of this kingdom.”

  “I am your wife. You have always consulted me, asked for my opinions. Always taken my advice.” Until recent years, at least. “Why do you go behind my back, warmongering and creating strife where there is none? A war with the jotuns will throw our kingdom into chaos.”

  “They are a menace to our people, destroying farms and blocking our access to the eastern seas.”

  “You cannot war with the entire gulf, Gunnar.”

  “Who says I want to war with the entire gulf? I speak of retaking Jotunheim. Reclaiming the lands stolen by those stinking, frostbitten savages.”

  “Yes. So you may ally with your bullies across the ocean. For what reason? More war. Everything you do is driven by war. Every choice you make is to benefit another campaign. We have no reason to wage war against Samahara. There is peace now. We agreed there would be no retaliation against the other kingdoms. Njal, curse his filthy soul, picked that fight, and Eisland ended it by reclaiming their people. We decided—”

  “No,” Gunnar said. “You decided there would be no retaliation. The Eislanders have betrayed us. They—”

  “Allied with us under false pretenses.” Her mouth flattened into a grim line. “Do not lie to me, Gunnar. I know of Gothel now. You knew she was a pretender, that she…she stole the throne with necromancy and black magic. You knew this, yet you worked alongside her!”

  “Who told you these things?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “I would know what snake is hissing lies into your ears. I would know why you take a thrall’s word over my own.”

  “They are honest words and come from no thrall,” she shot back. “Don’t try to deny it. Tell me why I was not included in your schemes.”

  He stared at her, lips pursed and brows drawn together, almost as though truly seeing her for the first time. She lifted her chin, refusing to be cowed by his examination. Then a shrewd gleam lit his eyes and he smiled the cold, hard smile of a predator. She’d seen the look many times before, but never aimed at her.

  “Tell me, wife, why do you fail to perform your duties?”

  “In what manner have I failed? My shield maidens maintain their patrols, the countryside is safe, and our farms prosperous.”

  “Not your responsibilities to the realm. Your responsibilities to me and the throne. You haven’t joined me in my chambers for months.”

  “What point is there?” she spit back. “You have your bedwarmers.”

  “As do you.”

  Is that what he thought?

  The laughter erupted from her lungs. Once it began, it wouldn’t stop. She watched his heavy brows crease, confusion dawn, and eventually, when she didn’t stop laughing, fury arise in its place.

  “What’s so funny? Why do you laugh at me?”

  “I laugh because surely you are a jester now. You need only the face paint, the bells, and the cap. Perhaps you’ve hidden them up your brother’s arse, where your honor surely resides.” Bryn knew she was needling him, but she couldn’t help it. All of her anger suddenly flooded at once, as she leaned forward and spat, “I haven’t taken a lover in three years.”

  “Brynhildr—”

  “Not since we last lay together. Not since your last child bled from my womb.”

  “Your boy—”

  “Does not want me, and I shall not force him. I have no interest anyway. It’s gone, Gunnar. I thought taking a pet would…” She glanced away this time, breaking eye contact. “Losing our son has broken something in me. I scarcely crave intimacy anymore. I am—”

  Sorry?

  Was she sorry?

  No. She would not apologize for what had never been her fault.

  She would not apologize for no longer desiring a man who decimated their intimate connection to bed concubines and whores.

  She would not apologize for falling out of love with a man who had reduced her existence to a single purpose.

  Unable to continue suffering in silence, Bryn sighed a ragged breath. “I am unable to meet your needs. Bed your chamber wench tonight.” Bryn drifted to the door. “Perhaps our marriage has run its course, Gunnar, if you can no longer confide in me and the comfort of my body is all you seek.”

  “Run its course?” His voice trembled with barely constrained rage. “You think you can divorce me?”

  She kept her back to him. “I do. I will if I must.”

  “You’ll be nothing without me. Think you’ll remain High Queen Brynhildr without me? You were nothing before I chose you. A lowly shield maiden from a useless, unknown region. And that is all you will be again. I made you who you are. I made you a queen. Without me, you’ll be nothing but a dusty hag in Koldgrun, reminiscing about the time when you did mean something to the people.”

  She froze.

  “Yes… Now you remember. This keep is mine. This kingdom is mine and so are you.”

  “Frigga grants every wife the right to leave if she is abused. I can divorce you. I will.”

  “You can, but what will happen to Epleberg if you do? What will happen to your little projects if you leave? I certainly do not have the time to guarantee the harvests carry on.”

  “You are threatening the livelihoods of hundreds, if not thousands, because I plan to leave?”

  “I threaten nothing, wife. I plan, and I will act.”

  “You are slime,” she hissed.

  “I am your king.”

  Unwilling to waste another breath, Bryn pushed from the room and left him behind.

  * * *

  A soft click roused Sigurd from his near-doze in the bath, followed by the sound of familiar footsteps. Only one person ever entered his chamber unannounced, but he certainly hadn’t expected a visit from Bryn at such a late hour.

  The moment she stepped around the corner and spotted him, her eyes widened and her gaze dropped to the tub, where the bubbles had long since dissipated.

  “I’m sorry. I can return when you’re done.”

  “No, no,” he rasped, before clearing his throat. “No need to leave. I must have drifted off.”

  After she’d left their brunch, he’d taken a long day out in the co
urtyard with the guards, sparring and training alongside them. At some point during the months of his captivity, he’d managed to befriend several of the soldiers and build a grudging acquaintance built on respect.

  And on bashing each other with shields.

  Sitting up, he kneaded the fading bruise left by one of Bryn’s shield maidens. The Ridaeron combat style varied greatly from what he was accustomed to in his native Eisland. There, the men fought with single-armed weaponry, preferring longswords, cutlasses, and rapiers. In Ridaeron, the men preferred plank-sized two-handed blades and morning stars with meteor-sized spheres swinging from the end.

  He’d seen one of Bryn’s shield maidens take down a trio of guards without ever unsheathing her weapon. Her shield had been enough. When he’d faced her, suspecting he would fare better, she’d planted him on his ass.

  Bryn had done the same multiple times, but he’d grown accustomed to that.

  What he was not accustomed to, however, was the sight of his queen with tears on her face.

  “I will re—”

  “What is it? What’s happened?”

  “I…” Her proud shoulders sagged and she lowered to sit on the stool beside his bath. “I cannot do this anymore, Sigurd.”

  “Do what? Bryn, please, tell me what happened.”

  “Gunnar,” she said in a shaky breath. “All he wants from me is an heir, which he’ll never get. From the beginning he has lied to me, and I…I have been foolish enough to believe his pledges to change.”

  Never had they spoken about her marriage, nor the fact that she had no children. When he had first been brought to the castle to serve as a thrall, the queen’s frequent visits and long vigils at the shrines had been a mystery to him. Since then he had learned more about their customs and their gods. He had listened to the whispers carefully uttered amongst the other servants when neither the king nor queen were present. Now he understood their childless home, and he knew of the infants she had lost.