He was not hard to like.
The same stories that had captivated her father were equally enthralling to her.
Prince Eric, following in his king-father’s footsteps, had taken to the sea at a young age. He had seen a great many places: Denmark, Frisia, Saxland, Scotland, Wales, Ireland, France, Lapland, and Bjarmaland. In fact, it was more difficult for Disa to name places he hadn’t seen, shores he hadn’t walked, and courts he hadn’t visited. At the age when most boys are learning to plow the barley fields and tie knots, Prince Eric was sampling the fine southern wines and flirting with Danish princesses.
He had traveled since he was a boy. The men beside him were his crew. They were his family when the sea separated him from his true kin. His men, Olav and Sigtrygg and Frode and Torgils and Rorik, lent the tales a color and passion the prince was too humble to add. To a woman who had never traveled beyond the Trondelag coast, his stories were grand.
“Aye, the draugr, my lady!” said blond Frode. “When it cries, you fear your ears might be bleeding or your bones breaking. As for myself, my heart nearly stopped, it did, but our good prince… Well, he faced that kindling man and killed it good and proper!”
“I cannot believe you have actually seen draugr.”
The more Disa expressed polite skepticism the more enjoyment the men had trying to convince her. “Draugr, indeed! And frost giants!”
“Frost giants!” Frode’s good friend, Torgils, interrupted. “I was ever-so-pleased when our encounter with that giant was only from afar! The earth shook beneath its feet, my lady. And don’t be making that face. It shook, I tell you. Tell her, Rorik.”
“It shook,” grumbled the huge man, nearly a giant in his own right.
“But surely not giants. The jotun were banished from Midgard centuries ago.”
“Which is mostly true,” explained Prince Eric. “But when the rainbow bridge opens in the north, the jotun have been known to venture into our world. That’s how we found Rorik, you know.”
She tore her gaze from her prince to glance at the giant riding behind him. He was such a massive brute that the only horse that could carry him was three hands taller than any of the other ponies.
He met her gaze and his thick eyebrows dropped low over his beady eyes. White scar tissue covered one side of his forehead. His left eye did not open completely, and half his left ear had melted away. Far from handsome, he was difficult to look at.
“Is he”—she spoke in a whisper so he would not hear—“jotun?”
“Who? Rorik?” Frode barked with laughter. “Jotun killer, more like. Go on, Rorik, tell her what you were doing when we first found you.”
“Killing jotun.” The half-giant turned his head and made no other indication of continuing.
“He beat us to it,” Prince Eric explained. “Bifrost had opened a portal to Jotunheimr. And rumor reached us of a jotun roaming the ice fields. We tracked it deep into the arctic wilderness, living off raw seal blubber and melt water. We followed its trail for weeks, but when we found it at last, there was nothing left but its huge corpse bleeding in the snow.”
Frode took up the tale where the prince left off. “And if you think Rorik’s hideous now, you should have seen him perched on the giant’s shoulder, clutching his axe and covered head to toe in the creature’s blood. And the blood! It formed icicles in Rorik’s beard, there was so much of it.”
Prince Eric nodded fondly at the memory. “He was a fearsome sight indeed. I asked Rorik to join us on the spot. Any man who can survive the northern climes without gear or companions is remarkable enough. But to kill a jotun in one-on-one combat? He has been my man ever since. Haven’t you, Rorik?”
“I suppose.”
“All of them are.” Prince Eric gestured generously to his other men. “Every one of them has their own harrowing tale, and their own particular value. I found Frode deep within a draugr-infested ruin. He had broken his leg climbing down into a cairn. He kept himself alive for near a week by eating moss and lighting fires from the limbs of the draugr he killed.”
“Fifteen,” Frode remembered with a grim smile. “Fifteen draugr. I burned their corpses and had a right bonfire going, I did. It wasn’t difficult for the prince to find me.”
Trogils snorted. “Tell my story next. It’s much better than Frode’s.”
When he found himself the recipient of the lady’s curious stare, Trogils gave her a wink and mouthed, “Wights.”
“You have seen many things,” Disa said as she met Prince Eric’s ocean-blue eyes. “But why seek out such danger?” She didn’t admit it—not aloud—but she feared what this would mean for her as his future wife. How often would she be left behind to tend the house while he and his men explored the tundra and battled these horrors?
“Because they possess what we mortals do not: swords that always find their target, ropes that never break, ships that fold to fit into pockets.”
Here Disa had to laugh. “A ship that what? How ridiculous. Surely you
don’t—?”
“Yes, it’s ridiculous, but then I have seen enough of the world to know nothing is impossible. Be it a tiny, folding ship or an enchanted belt.”
“And you wish to find these artifacts? Why?”
“I will be high king, as you know. But I have brothers, twenty-two brothers. My father intends to split his kingdom between them when he retires. He’s brought war to our country establishing our kingdom, and now in the very same generation he’ll tear it apart. Why? Because he fears what my brothers might do to me otherwise. He does not think I can govern them without evoking jealousy and rebellion.”
She had never heard of one man having so many brothers. No father could nurture them all. “Surely they would never wish you harm. They are your brothers.”
“Twenty-two brothers, Lady Saldis. Of those twenty-two, it only takes one idiot to turn us all against each other. If even one of them attacks my claim to the throne, then the others will surely panic. My father’s promiscuity has weakened the kingdom, and it’s up to me to hold my family together. I will make us strong again.”
“And have you had any luck? Finding these relics, that is.”
“No,” Prince Eric said, chewing his tongue and clenching his jaw. “I have found only the footprints of those that preceded me. Wherever there is a rumor, I’m too late. Some other warriors has already arrived and stolen it away.”
“Not that it does them much good,” Frode spat. “What’s a farmer need with a cursed sword, I wonder?”
“Or a blacksmith with the greatest weapon ever forged?” The prince added, casting a narrowed glance over his shoulder. Disa followed his gaze, but not quickly enough to see who received the look. Fat Olav sniggered, blond Frode spat again, and monstrous Rorik grumbled.
Despite this sharp his rebuke, the prince was soon grinning again. His eyes locked upon the mountains looming ahead and softened. “But my time’s coming. The gods are finally smiling on me.”
“Why is that, my lord?” Disa asked breathlessly.
His eyes were still warm when he turned to her and answered, “Because I have you, my love, and your purity shall lead me to the greatest glory of all.”
His men must have heard, but none of them laughed. There was no irony or humor in the way the prince looked at her, and for the first time since that night in her father’s mead hall, she felt desired. Whatever harm her brother had caused to her reputation, it could not forever dampen the prince’s feelings for her.
She would surely spend the rest of their life together pondering what she had done to earn such devotion.
“Is it love, sire? Your greatest glory?” she asked in a hushed voice, still afraid that his men would hear and laugh at her silliness.
He paused, and she saw his gaze slide sideways towards his men. They were quiet as he answered, “Yes. Yes, love.”
He urged his horse sideways, and their knees touched as they rode. He paused again, glanced over his shoulder again, and then he reached out to cup Dis
a’s burnt cheek in his hand.
His fingers were big and firm, but his thumb was soft and gentle as it caressed her skin. She would have thoroughly enjoyed it if not for the five men watching and hearing everything that passed between them.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said, unable to think of anything better to say. “I shall strive to earn your affection.”
He dropped his hand but remained close to her as they wound their way into the foothills and the ancient evergreen forest that blanketed the steep terrain.
Chapter Eight