"*Completed*"I froze the first boy I ever kissed. And I don't mean he got cold feet..."
Megan is pretty unhappy when she's forced to move to a tiny, freezing town in Canada. It's going to be totally boring, right? Things heat up when she discovers t...
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The rumors had been circling for the past week, but they came to a head on the night of Harvest end. The hall was packed, overflowing with my father's noisy guests from the country.
My father the king was in fine spirits, and the mead was overflowing at every table, spilling out of tankards and onto the floor in sticky rivers. King Sutr, the name was repeated through the room as people toasted to his health, jokingly calling him "the black one" or in his friend, Halthar's case "great hairy beast".
It wasn't until the second course that the more serious talk occurred at the head table, and I leaned over my plate, straining to hear my father speak to his adviser.
"Next week I'll send someone out. We can't know for sure what the lass is truly like, can we? But I suppose it matters not," my father rumbled.
His adviser, Rankin, spoke over the top of his goblet. "Indeed. She could be the warmest personality in the world but if she gives Niflheim a figurehead to unite under, she's better off six feet below."
I grimaced at my plate, resisting the urge to pick up my leg of lamb and sling it straight at his head. Bad enough that my father was listening to the thin, reedy little man. But now Rankin was suggesting we kill some innocent girl. Half human, likely she had no idea about any of this.
And worst of all, my father agreed with him.
I could tell by looking at him, darting sideways glances while I pretended to be engrossed in my plate. My father leaned back in his chair, regret written on his ruddy features.
"Well it pains me to give the orders, I'll tell you that. I'll lose sleep over it."
I put my tankard down a little too sharply, and he glanced over at me. "Loki, boy, don't think for a moment that I don't see you eavesdropping."
I flashed him a wide, careless grin, masking my irritation well, as I always do. "It's hardly eavesdropping when you're discussing your plans so loudly the entire castle can hear them, father."
Now others were beginning to listen in.
Beside me, Brenna frowned, placing her elbow on the table. Her black hair fell in waves around her face, and she pushed it aside impatiently, brows raised. My sister was seldom impressed by the court politics and back stabbing that went on, and already she was tense with anticipation.
She was right to be worried, this wasn't going to be good.
On the other side of her sat Uncle Bowdin, his curls slicked back under a thick layer of gel. He leaned forward, like a shark sensing blood in the water, eyes darting between my father and his adviser. I couldn't help but think, as I always did, that his house name suited him. House of Wolff. Lord Wolff. A strange man, my uncle, to take on his wife's surname, but not unheard of, especially because House Wolff has always been powerful. After mother's death, Lady Wolff would have been my father's bride, if my father hadn't turned her away within the first five minutes of meeting her.
