His Queen | Book 1

Thirty: Völuspá

The ale in Sigvard's cup is still. Held in his left hand, his right tucked behind his back. A heavy frown on his lips. His eyes follow Princess Sigyn and Prince Loki as they perform the first dance of the night together in the centre of the banquet hall. Fire brasiers light the golden hall and chandeliers hanging from the ceiling drip candle wax.

The band beats the drum to the same pace of his heart. Slow and steady, but fierce. Bragi's deep and mellow voice melting into the fires. His throat singing and deep hum brought a mesmerising capture to his audience. He has them completely in a trance. Mouths agape, hands loosely holding their mead and ale horns. Eyes locked on the wedded couple. The silence of the hall was more deafening than the Hall of the Forgotten in Helheim.

He sang about something to do with the nine realms and being intertwined as lovers for eternity.

Sigyn's dress sweeps the floor as she and Loki interlock arms, palm to palm, elbow to elbow, they circle each other swiftly gazing into each others eyes. They must be happy, he thinks spitefully. His gaze looks down the long table where Odin sits at the head - then back to the dance.

(The one she is intended to marry.)

The seeress told his truth. Now what claim does she have to the throne of Asgard? Sigvard sips from his cup, gritting his teeth.

Claps of cheer bring his attention back to his sister and her new husband. The dance is over. Now others join them. Sigvard turns away as his sisters pass him to dance as well, declining when Gersemi asks him to join them. She frowned turning away.

Baldur turns Nanna in the air and she squeals, the twins having found some poor souls to entertain for the night and Forseti was enjoying himself dancing widely between his mother and father with wicked moves.

"He gets that from me!" laughs Baldur, making some young ladies swoon.

Plated at the centre of the long table is a roasted boar so large it could have been mistaken for a giants plaything. Fruits and assortments of bread surround the roasted boar. Cheer of mead and ale are demanded. Servants scurry around the royals. Warriors guarding each entrance. Girls dance wearing exotic clothes and the men feast to satisfy their hunger.

Fandral is surrounded by girls as he talks about his shiny armour. Volstagg is sitting at the long table feasting upon the food shovelling as much as he can into his mouth - when he reaches for the boar. "Nay!" a voice thunders.

It is Thor. He claps his hands onto the shoulders of Volstagg who jumps. "Do not be tempted, my friend, the first cut is to be made by the bride and groom!" he warns, laughing. "It would be bad luck if you took the first bite."

Volstagg laughs. "Then tell them to hurry and cut the damn thing!" he gestured a hand at them. "We are all watering at the mouths like rapid dogs to taste its meat on our tongue."

A wave of shout come from the men.

"That will be up to the All-Father and I would not want to make him angry."

Volstagg thinks for a second. "You're right." he nodded, putting cheese into his mouth, and he smiled with large rosey cheeks. He then saluted his cup to Odin.

Sigvard moves through the crowd where he finds himself a wall in the far corner of the room. There he watches - drinking his ale. He watches and he listens. His eyes jumping from person to person, his sharp ears tuning into conversations.

"The entire realm is shocked to learn of this..."

"Is the alliance still as strong with them two married? A second son to a Princess who will inherit nothing. Not even the throne of Vanaheim. "