Rise of the Valkyrie

In the Fire

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I N T H E F I R E

Song: Soldier - Fleurie

"I am the blood of the dragon. I must be strong. I must have fire in my eyes when I face them, not tears."

― George R.R. Martin, A Storm of Swords

G W Y N

The words tasted sour on her tongue and Beron's barely suppressed delight made her stomach turn with nausea. He took a satisfied gulp of his own tea, then his lips turned down at the corners in approval. She tried to allow herself to appear reassured by his blessing, slipping on a mask of relief when she felt anything but.

    "I'll need your help in learning him better. The spymaster is unpredictable to say the least," Beron said with a sneer. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand then set his teacup down on the coffee table separating them. "Now," he leaned back on the sofa. "Why did he visit his High Lord today?"

    His disregard for the High Lady did not go unnoticed by Gwyn, and mentally she smirked at him for his poor job of convincing her she'd be little more than a puppet to him were she to become the High Lady of Autumn.

    "He said it was to inform them that I was your heir and that the reasons for our visit have... changed. I suspect it was also to relay that I've expressed a fondness for Autumn... and for you," she lied. "I think he suspects I may be unwilling to return to the Night Court. I fear he may be aware that I'm trying to..." she made a show of glancing at the door, as though to check if Azriel was listening, "that I'm trying to leave him finally."

If she'd have blinked, she would have missed it, the glimmer of satisfaction in Beron's otherwise vacant stare. He was eating the entire act up. His eagerness for power had made him hungry to see exactly what he wanted. A simpering, cowering female desperately in need of her grandfather's "guidance."  Guidance that would surely be beneficial to Beron.

Subtly maintaining her control over the conversation, Gwyn asked in a quiet voice, "On the topic, did you have any matches in mind for me?"

Beron stroked his beard for a moment before speaking, the gears in his mind clearly turning, though he'd no doubt already prepared his response, whatever it would be. "I'll begin searching now that you've officially accepted my offer. I also need to find something to do with Eris now that he's no longer heir," he mused. "In the meantime, my dear, you need to begin introducing your mate to the idea of you parting ways. Permanently."

The way her eyes widened was not for show. At the request, Gwyn heard Eris's words replaying in her mind.

"His devotion to you will be an obstacle."

    Would Azriel be able to play along if she introduced this facade of them separating? Or would his protective instincts get in the way?

    Trying to set the problem aside until she was alone, Gwyn bobbed her head nervously. "I'll have to figure out a delicate way to do so. He does not appreciate suggestions that our bond is not meant to be."

    Beron smiled at her, a hollow expression. "There you have your solution, Lady. If he becomes irate at the mention of your union being ill-advised, you have found his weakness. You need only find the right string to pull and the whole tapestry will unravel. He may be a beast, but even a beast can be run back to its cave – forced to lick its wounds while you grow stronger."

    Gwyn hummed at that, hand coming up to grasp the topaz amulet so tightly that her palm ached. She bit her tongue so hard she tasted blood. The tangy liquid pooling in her mouth, she had the greatest urge to spit on the High Lord and strangle him for the way he spoke of her mate – act of war be damned.