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

  “Now he plots with his council behind my back to conquer the world. Nothing will ever be enough to sate his bloodlust.”

  “I’m sorry.” Mindful not to slosh water over the rim, he reached over and brushed a freshly fallen tear from her pale cheek. “I know I’m still learning your ways, but no marriage should be built on deceit, no matter the kingdom.”

  “When he first chose me from among a thousand shield maidens, I thought myself lucky to have the attention of a man like him. So young and stupid.”

  “Naïve,” Sigurd gently corrected her.

  “Stupid to fall for his lies. He told me everything I wanted to hear and then went behind my back, inciting trouble, working with that black witch Gothel when he claims to hate all magic. How could he ally himself with her?”

  “Greed and lust for power, Bryn. It turns even the best men into monsters.”

  “Or maybe he was a monster all along.” A moment of silence passed between them as Bryn hugged her arms against her stomach and leaned forward, rocking on her seat. “I do not know what to do. If I leave him, I sacrifice everything. I won’t be Queen Brynhildr anymore. I built this kingdom alongside him. We brought the rest of the drottin together as a team. How do I walk away from so much?”

  When her voice broke, Sigurd couldn’t linger in the bath a moment longer. He slipped from the water, noticing the way she tucked her chin. Was she shy? He’d never taken her to be bashful at all, certainly not when she’d propositioned him for sex on multiple occasions in the past.

  Bryn rose swiftly, back to him. “I should—”

  Before she took a step, he caught her and spun her back to face him. “No, Bryn.” He locked gazes with her. “Don’t walk away.” His pulse picked up speed and his stomach did a strange flip before tightening harder than an iron ingot. “I’ve watched you with the drottin. King Gunnar isn’t the one they respect, and he certainly isn’t the one they love. You call those meetings. You bring them to order. You may not have been born high queen, but they treat you as one.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Gunnar’s bloodline has the rightful claim to the throne and they will not forsake tradition, lest they invite Odin’s wrath.”

  “Is that what you think?” As her shoulders shook with quiet sobs, he slid both arms around her and brought her close against him. Bryn sagged without fighting it, burying her face against his throat.

  “Tradition and honor are everything to us.”

  “So is strength. Your people have a long-standing tradition of taking through strength and battle, don’t you? Of earning favor from the gods? I see no better way to earn favor than saving your kingdom from a madman.”

  “How?”

  “Speak with the drottin. The ones you trust. The ones who feel as you do regarding this senseless war against Eisland and Samahara. One kingdom cannot stand against the entire world, and that’s what Gunnar is trying to do. In the end, it won’t be only him who loses. It will be your people.”

  Chapter 3

  As Brynhildr’s most trusted companions, Sigurd and Lagertha became her cohorts in the scheme to take the Ridaeron Dynasty from its mad high king. She spent the autumn season feeling out weaknesses among Gunnar’s court, sending either of her two trusted companions to speak on her behalf to the jarls rumored to express doubt and dismay.

  Sometimes Bryn rode out herself to hold these meetings.

  Such as now, as she sat in the receiving hall of Jarl Ragna with the scent of the sea thick in the air. Bryn hadn’t paid a visit to Havluft Keep since she was a girl and Ragna’s father was the ruler of the region. The impregnable castle overlooked the water, situated on a high cliff.

  When Prince Joren and his allies sacked the coast, Ragna had taken much of the blame. But how could she alone protect hundreds of miles of coastline? The other coastal lords had been too occupied with sacking the helpless, raiding the Wai Alei islands, and selling their own people.

  “I know what I ask of you is great, Jarl Ragna, but we cannot succeed without your help. We require forces on the water if we’re to reclaim the region.”

  Jarl Ragna stared at Bryn over her cup of mead. The woman had the breadth of a fortress wall, the height of a giant, and the temper of a southern valley bulldog. Petitioning her for help had been risky, but necessary if they were to have naval aid on the water in the event of ships interfering from Liang. “You wish to do what?”

  “I will not waste your time beating around the bush. I know for a fact you have balked at supplying men—”

  “We have given too many!”

  “I know. He comes to you first, using your close proximity to the sea and your legion’s knowledge of the waters. He abuses your loyalty. He abuses your people. What do you say to him sacking those villages along the coast and taking what he will of fisherman to fuel his slave quarries?”

  “He what? That is nonsense! I would know if the king had done such a thing. No one but pirates did that.”

  “No, Ragna. It was not the pirates. It was not James Hook or any other scourge of the sea. It is our king. He ordered a strike against Holmavik merely because he heard there were magical children born to the women there. He wanted them.” She laid down a map across the table. Next, she stretched out a testimony documented and verified by Lawspeaker Calder.

  “This has the lawspeaker’s seal.”

  “It does. He knows what I seek to do, and he would end these injustices himself if he had the power. But he does not. He is merely the voice of tradition, but we must be the first to see that his words are upheld. Now, will you join us, Ragna? Will you aid us in restoring to this dynasty the honor we once held?”

  “What exactly do you ask of me? To command my men to fight their own brothers?”

  “No. Unless their enemies are Liangese, I ask them not to fight at all. Rather, I ask them to stand aside and do nothing if allies come to our aid.”

  “You wish to allow the Eislanders and those savage…those…filthy beastmen on our soil again?”

  “To stop worse? Yes, Ragna. I do. I will let them onto this soil if it means Gunnar is no longer allowed to sacrifice our people in vain. If it means he will not allow these other foreigners from across the ocean to fight our battles for us. It is better to trust the Hel we know than a stranger capable of anything.”

  Bryn’s heart thumped in her chest. What she spoke to Ragna, along with the message she had carried to the other jarls of the east, was nothing short of treason. Only one other jarl, a wise old man named Ivar, had turned her away, though he’d sworn on his integrity as a man of the Eastern Veld that word would not return to the king.

  She trusted Ivar, as both a jarl of the stronghold neighboring her father’s lands, and as a close friend of her family.

  “All right,” Ragna said after a moment. She clasped Bryn’s arm. “If this is what is right, may the gods forgive us.”

  * * *

  Sigurd watched Bryn pace back and forth across her study, tempted to take her by the shoulders and drag her against him in a tight embrace. But if he was honest with himself, he wouldn’t want to stop with a hug. With Lagertha present, it was doubly inappropriate. She’d returned from her journey to the southwestern coast only that evening, exhausted from the ride and dead on her feet.

  At a glance, he determined that the cost of securing Jarl Ragna’s allegiance hadn’t been cheap.

  “It’s not enough,” she said, finally dropping into a chair. “I won’t get enough jarls or their men to help me.”

  “Are you sure? Support appears to be split, my queen.” He stretched out a map on the table and ran his fingers over the various territories. They didn’t dare mark the page, lest it be discovered by Gunnar or one of his thralls, but he had memorized the names of everyone Bryn reached out to in her quest to save the kingdom.

  “Maybe, but will they hold true when the time comes?”

  “They’ve given their word, haven’t they?”

  “Yes, I suppose they have,” she said, but her shoulders sa
gged.

  A fire roared in the hearth, crackling and filling the room with the robust aroma of spices roasting in the tin hanging above the flames. Usually Bryn calmed when she came here, but not today. Sigurd abandoned the map and crossed to the cabinet where Bryn stored her stash of cider. After filling a mug, he brought it to her, crouching down beside her chair.

  “Brynhildr, don’t lose hope. What you’re planning is the right thing to do. Don’t lose sight of that.”

  “I’m not. I only—”

  Liran’s timid knock rapped against the door, announcing him before he entered. “Forgive me, my lady, but King Gunnar requests your presence in the—”

  “No,” Bryn barked, tone harsher than he’d ever heard her speak to gentle Liran.

  The thrall shrank back a step. “In the great hall, my queen. He wishes to meet with you in the great hall.”

  “Ah.” Bryn sighed and raised both hands to her temples. “Forgive me, Liran. That was harsh of me.”

  As his initial surprise faded, understanding surfaced on Liran’s face. He knew. All of the thralls knew, as well as Sigurd did, of the king’s failed attempts to bed his wife. “It is all right, my lady. Shall I tell him you are coming?”

  “No need, Liran. I’ll head there now. Go and enjoy a warm drink in the kitchen.”

  After Liran had gone, Lagertha turned a concerned gaze to the queen. Sigurd hadn’t much chance to get to know the stoic woman aside from the occasional bout in the training ground and now in their schemes to aid Bryn.

  But what he knew of her spoke of a deep sisterhood between the two. They were both daughters of Koldgrun, the stronghold ruled by Brynhildr’s father, and loyal to the eastern territories.

  “Come, we should go before he seeks us out,” Bryn said, rising. “All of us.”

  Sigurd fell into step behind Bryn and Lagertha, silent as they traversed the long corridors. He studied Bryn, noting the tension in her spine and shoulders as she walked, likely wondering what request her husband had. Perhaps worrying that he had found out about their plotting. But if he had, they were strongest together, with enough soldiers loyal to Bryn that they stood a fighting chance of escape.

  As it was too late to safely reassure his queen, he followed her inside the great hall and took his place beside Lagertha near the wall. Gunnar sat on his throne, while two of his hunting dogs lay at his feet with meaty steer bones trapped between their enormous paws.

  “Ah, there you are,” he called with a grin.

  “You asked to see me?” Her jaw clenched as she gazed up at him.

  “I did. It occurs to me I have been a taciturn ass when it comes to plans for the kingdom. You were right to be angry with me. I should have included you in the meetings. You are my queen, and it is only right that you be a part of everything.”

  “Thank you,” Bryn replied stiffly. The steel in her spine eased.

  Sigurd narrowed his eyes. The man never apologized, no matter the perceived slight or misdeed levied against him. Worse, Sigurd couldn’t tell if Brynhildr was falling for the cretin’s charming manner.

  “I have a gift for you, Brynhildr. It is my hope you will take it, with my apologies. I know things have been strained between us of late and I wish to make amends. The time apart has given me much opportunity to think, time to consider my past actions and the hurt I have caused.”

  “That isn’t necessary.”

  “It is. Please.” He clapped his hands and two thralls entered bearing a large chest. They set the gleaming trunk down where directed and opened the lid, revealing the gift inside.

  Sigurd recognized hesitation in her face, but the king seemed at ease, even eager. Bryn relented and stepped over, kneeling beside the trunk. She lifted the molded leather cuirass first, running her fingers over the swirling knotwork design. Once she set it carefully aside, she removed the other pieces from a soft bed of jade-green silk. Even Sigurd had to admit the craftsmanship was some of the best he’d seen.

  “Try it on, my love. I gave them your exact measurements. This armor is for you and no one else.”

  “I don’t see Hildran’s mark on these.”

  “I did not give the commission to Hildran. I wanted this gift to be special, as well as a surprise. You’d have seen him crafting it, as often as you go to watch him work.”

  When Gunnar clapped again, two thralls moved in to assist Bryn. Beside him, Lagertha pressed her lips into a thin line, distaste readily apparent on her youthful features. He imagined he wore a matching expression. How poorly they failed to disguise their dislike of the king.

  “What do you think?” Bryn called, turning to address them both while the thralls strapped on her greaves.

  “It suits you nicely,” Lagertha replied. “Of course, we will need to see how it holds up in battle. Perhaps a bout later.”

  “Yes, I need to test Sigurd again,” she said, eyes twinkling when she turned her gaze on him. He resisted the urge to puff out his chest, aware of the king’s scrutiny. He bowed instead, with an elegant flourish that was a holdover from his noble Eislandic heritage, knowing it drove Gunnar mad.

  “At your convenience, my queen.”

  Bryn grinned back at him, eyes twinkling with mirth. She thought it was charming, and they’d laughed in the past about Gunnar’s disdain for anything related to his former home.

  The thralls finished their work and backed away, while another pair stepped forward with a tall mirror. Bryn admired herself, turning back and forth as the armor flashed gold and silver in the light slanting through the windows.

  “It’s beautiful,” Bryn murmured. She glanced up at the king, who stood there with a beatific smile on his face.

  Sigurd had never wanted to punch a man in the mouth as much as he did at that moment.

  Just a moment ago, his Brynhildr had been smiling at him, and now those same beautiful blue eyes were directing a truly majestic smile at Sigurd’s most hated enemy.

  “You are beautiful, and worthy of a toast.” Gunnar snapped his fingers. At that, an older man bearing a silver tray, bottle, and two fine goblets approached. The king filled both and held one glass out to his wife.

  “Do you remember this vintage?” he asked.

  Recognition sparked in Bryn’s eyes. “I do. It was gifted to us when we united the southlands.”

  “Let us drink, and one day remember this moment as fondly as I remember that evening. You were never more beautiful than you were that eve, with the blood of our enemies on your shield. To us, my beloved, and a bright future as rulers of this proud kingdom. I vow to never keep you in the dark again, and to work alongside you each day forward. I have been a fool, a—”

  “Brother,” Frode called from the entry. “A moment of your time.”

  “Can’t you see I’m having a moment with my wife?” Gunnar barked at the obnoxious weasel. Disregarding the intimate scene, Frode crossed the room to him and shattered the newfound intimacy.

  At no time did Sigurd ever anticipate he’d find a moment to appreciate the foul little cockroach. Bryn rolled her eyes and raised the glass to her lips without waiting for Gunnar to join her. She took a long gulp of it, sighed, and drained the rest.

  Good. She wasn’t impressed with him or his brother. They’d annoyed her. Sigurd could read her mannerisms from a mile away.

  “Could this not wait?” Gunnar hissed at his brother.

  “It could not.” The two spoke in quieter voices while the servant refilled Bryn’s glass.

  Sunlight caught the emeralds and jade stones accenting the armor and turned the gems radiant. As she continued to sip, she admired her reflection, while Sigurd gazed, and thought if ever there was a moment he wanted to commit flawlessly to his memory, it was then. Bryn bathed in sunlight with the glint of it on her hair, the jewels in her armor like green fire.

  Then the glass tipped from her fingers, and she staggered back one step.

  “Brynhildr?” he whispered, catching her by one arm.

  “Bryn?” the king called. br />
  “Something is…something is wrong,” Bryn whispered. “Sigurd, help me.”

  “My queen?” Lagertha asked, at her other side in an instant.

  Pale and gasping, Bryn clutched a hand over her heart as she doubled over. “My chest. Something—it burns. I…” A low, agonized groan fell from her lips, and then she tumbled forward.

  “Brynhildr!” He caught her and laid her limp form gently on the floor, heart racing and palms clammy. Lagertha knelt beside them and ran frantic hands over Bryn’s face and neck, while the king stood over them. “Brynhildr, answer me!”

  “My queen,” Lagertha said, with fervent pleading in her voice, “what’s wrong? Say something, Bryn. Say anything, please.”

  “Brynhildr, please no,” Sigurd begged, crushed by the weight of his helplessness. He was no healer, unskilled in anything beyond basic medical aid. “Gods, don’t do this.” Don’t leave me. Then he thought, with equal desperation, Please don’t take her. To any god who listens, please do not take her. This cannot be her time. So much more awaits her. She has work left to do in this world.

  “She’s not breathing,” Sigurd.

  “What? Impossible,” Gunnar exclaimed.

  “It’s true, my king,” Lagertha whispered. She released a shaky breath and met Sigurd’s gaze. “She’s dead.”

  “No…” Sigurd shook his head and drew Bryn’s head into his lap. “No, she can’t be. She can’t be gone. She was just…” Only a moment ago she’d been walking and talking with such fire in her eyes.

  “It was him!” Frode shouted, pointing a long white finger at the thrall who had served the wine.

  “Me? But, my lord, I’ve done nothing.”

  “Treacherous Eislandic dog,” Gunnar snarled, flinging aside his glass of tainted wine. “You poisoned my wife.”

  “What? I would never—that’s preposterous!” the man shouted even as Gunnar drew his sword and advanced. Before anyone could stop him, he was upon the man, planting his blade in the servant’s chest.