Chapter 7

Valley of the Shadow

Be The Man by Wilder Woods

Baldr Palace

The Year of our Lord 3045

We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken.

– Of Mice and Men, John Steinbeck

Solveig was just fourteen years old when she first met the newly appointed Stallari–just a year before she would be sent to live in the Forest of Víðarr. He was unlike anyone she had seen before. Radiant, platinum blonde, made of pure confidence–he was captivating. And terrifying.

Sitting on the dais across the throne room from the towering, hand-carved oak doors, Solveig could not still her twitching fingers. She had already counted all the leaves on the mosaic of Yggdrasil, the world tree, set on the floor. Her mother reached across the arm of her throne to grip Solveig’s hand tightly. She leaned in close to whisper in her daughter’s ear. “It’s normal to be nervous. I know your father felt the same way when first meeting Kare,” she attempted in a comforting tone, though she was as nervous as Solveig. Her thick accent clipped her words, only adding to their collective anxiety.

The heralder announced the arrival of their long-expected guests. Solveig clung tightly to her mother’s hand. The King straightened, dismissing the advisor buzzing at his ear. Pushing his glasses up the brim of his thin nose, he shot Solveig a reassuring smile. Her back was ramrod straight as the doors swung wide. Two men strode across the floor. Neither one acknowledged the few advisors allowed in the room. Their eyes were locked on the throne.

The older of the two men was broader but stood several inches shorter than the younger. His tanned arms were muscled and covered with tattoos. He walked with the ease of a man confident in his position. Less than a decade older than the King, the man had neatly trimmed hair and beard that had already gone silver and iceberg-gray eyes. Though she had never seen him, Solveig knew this man to be Kare–her father’s Stallari. But she hardly looked at him. For it was the younger man who truly captured her attention.

Her Stallari.

You did not need to know anything about the man to see he was dangerous. Standing head and shoulders above every other person in the room, his lean body, clad in a white tunic tucked into a pair of black leather trousers, had been sculpted by years of training. Solveig couldn’t tear her eyes away from his face. High cheekbones, a prominent jaw, and a slight scar just above the bow of his lip. The monochrome of white hair and fair skin was a perfect canvas for his deep-set, shimmering ochre eyes. Neither the firm line of his mouth nor the rigid set of his shoulders could dampen the warmth radiating from him. He was the sun on a frozen winter’s day.