"How long does it take for a realm to search its vaults?" I ask impatiently, frustration evident in my voice. "It's been a full week, and I grow weary of waiting. Is the vault of Vannaheim truly so vast that it takes this long to search?"
I turn my gaze to Joben, my trusted guard and ally, hoping for some answers. However, he simply shrugs his shoulders, his expression betraying his boredom with the topic. Determined to get a reply, I sit up in my chair and give him pleading eyes, silently begging for an answer.
He rolls his eyes at me and lets out a deep sigh of exasperation. "For an entire week, every moment has been filled with discussions about the Queen of Vannaheim," he grumbles. "While she may be captivating, I fear I'll die of sheer boredom if I have to listen to you describe the exact shade of her hair or the blue of her eyes—"
"Not just any shade of blue, Joben," I interject, irritated by his oversimplification of Annalise's appearance. "Her eyes are like sapphires, reminiscent of the deepest ocean that could drown even the most experienced sailors. Yet when you look into her eyes in bright sunlight, you see the—"
"Yes, yes, I know," he cuts me off, clearly annoyed. "You see the blue of every dancing sky revealed, I've heard it before."
Confusion washes over me as I glance his way. "I've mentioned this before?" I ask.
"Only every waking moment," he retorts sharply.
"Perhaps I should describe her lips instead?" I suggest, about to launch into a description of her smile. However, Joben's sudden stand interrupts my train of thought, and I listen as he recites words that sound all too familiar.
"Her lips, a soft and kissable shade of rose. Her fiery hair, cascading in tussles past her ample bosom, glowing like an inviting sunset. Her creamy skin, a backdrop to that one beauty spot behind her ear, teasingly beckoning me..." He pauses and looks at me. "Do I need to go on?"
It dawns on me that maybe I am constantly talking about Annalise. But I cannot help it. She consumes my thoughts, her presence lingering in every corner of my mind. She, this captivating beauty whom I miss dearly.
"Shall I move on to describing the feel of her inner thighs next?" Joben's words snap me out of my reverie.
"Perhaps you're right," I say, feeling a tinge of embarrassment. "Let's discuss another topic..."
Joben's sigh of relief indicates that he's glad to be off the subject of Annalise and Vannaheim. He takes a seat beside me, moving the small table with the chessboard between us.
"I'll start first, and no magic, my king," he declares resolutely. "Any hint of green this time, and you forfeit!"
I offer him a sly grin, realising that he must have caught a glimpse of my mischievousness during our previous round. I make sure to be more careful and not reveal my trickery so easily next time.
Joben makes the first move, and as the game progresses, it isn't long before my mind continues to wander to Annalise. I should have received a formal letter by now, stating she had found the orb, but as of yet, none has come. Is she ignoring me? Breaking our deal because she has been proven wrong? I can't wait much longer; the longing to see her again weighs heavily on my heart. When should I depart to retrieve her?
"Checkmate," Joben grins triumphantly.
I frown, looking at the chessboard. When did I make any of these moves? My mind has been so lost in thoughts of Annalise that I can't even recall playing.
"Well played, Joben," I commend, but the persistent urge to bring up Annalise tugs at me. "So, should I draft a letter? Perhaps send her more flowers?"
Once again, Joben sighs, slouching back against the plush sofa. He knew it wouldn't be long before the conversation circled back to Annalise.
"Every day you send the queen various flowers native to Jotunheim, with no reply. And now I see you've even carved her an intricate ornament." Joben looks to the seat next to me and eyes the little figurine carved out of a Lirra tree, the bark luminous at night. "Lirra is as sought after as rare gems, even more so. Other realms would pay a hefty sum just to catch a glimpse of our glowing trees. Yet you give her a piece of it willingly."
"It's a gift, one I believe she'll appreciate," I reply, acknowledging the preciousness of Lirra in Jotunheim, known and sought after by many.
Its rarity only adds to its allure. Yet, the radiant beauty of Lirra dims in comparison to the beauty I see in Annalise. I am captivated by her, and the desire to make her happy surpasses any material value Lirra may possess. I would give her the world, even the most cherished secrets of our realm.
"Do you think she'll like it, Joben?" I inquire eagerly. "Or perhaps I should remake it using the precious metal extracted from our deepest ice caverns instead?" I gaze at him, hoping for an honest opinion, but Joben abruptly stands up in frustration, toppling over the chess pieces.
"You would risk your men's lives to acquire silver from the Gorken Caves? ... You, my king, are hopeless. And whatever plans you harbour, they're futile," he exclaims.
Taken aback by his outburst and accusation, I attempt to conceal my true intentions. "I would risk no one but myself! And I have nothing planned," I lie.
"No?" Joben arches a brow, studying me suspiciously. "Then why invite her here? What does her coming here do for you?"..
My pulse quickens as I'm put on the spot. While I've described Annalise in every detail, I haven't revealed my plan to steal her away from her king, to win her heart at any cost. I've even considered schemes to remove the king from the equation entirely, an accident near the treacherous slopes of Jotunheim can easily be disguised as a tragic incident.
"I want to make Vannaheim pay for denying me the glory of breaching their walls," I reply, attempting to deflect. "What better way than to invite them to Jotunheim and subject them to its harsh climate?"
Joben snorts, shooting me a knowing look. "Oh, please. That excuse won't fool me. You forget that I know you well, my king. There's another agenda at play, and I've been kept out of the loop."
"So, that's why you're acting so fussy. You want to know my deepest desires. Is nothing private anymore?"
"Not between friends," he counters, and I fall silent. I feel guilt for keeping my intentions hidden from him, but if I were to voice them, they would sound absurd, and perhaps hearing myself say them out loud would make me see sense. The sense that Annalise can never be mine.
The thought is hard to grasp, and I shudder. I don't want to give her up so easily, not when I haven't even tried.
"You're pursuing her, aren't you? A married queen," he asks outright.
I gulp, anxiety coiling in my stomach.
"Over seven billion people reside within the nine realms, and you think I'm going to chase the one I can't have? The one who doesn't want me?" I declare.
Joben looks at me quizzically before answering. "That's exactly what you're going to do aren't you?"
I stand up sharply, smoothing down my leathers, and meet his gaze head-on.
"You're darn right I am."
Another sigh of exasperation bellows from Joben, but then he surprises me with unexpected gratitude.
"Thank you for being honest with me."
His calm demeanour catches me off guard. I had anticipated a scolding; it's what I would have done if our positions were reversed. However, my relief is short-lived when he continues, his tone less accepting.
"This is a fruitless quest. She is beautiful, I give you that. But her beauty has already been claimed by another man. Why attempt to pluck a forbidden fruit? Leaving your heart unguarded for rejection."
His words pierce through me, the thought of being rejected by Annalise causing a pang of pain.
"Because when I close my eyes, I see her. And when I open my eyes, I miss her... What does that tell you?" I ask, my voice strained with emotion.
"It tells me that you have an unhealthy obsession with a wedded queen," he replies coldly.
"No!" I snap, frustrated and angry that he doesn't see it. Doesn't feel what I feel. "It should tell you that this is love. What is happening to me is love, Joben."
"How can you be sure? Maybe this infatuation stems from the desire to take something from the king of Vannaheim, and now you have it in your mind that you want his queen."
Adamant in my conviction, I plead my case, "Love is not a feeling of wanting, but a feeling of giving. And I have never desired to give away my heart as much as I do now."
"Even if it means facing rejection, ridicule? Love should not be hard to attain," he argues.
I smile wryly, my hand clutching Annalise's blue ribbon concealed within my pocket, my thoughts consumed by her.
"There is no such thing as a simple love story, Joben. If it's easy, it's not love. If it's love, it will be complicated. True love must be fought for. Because once you find it, it can't ever be replaced. And I have found it, Joben. I have truly found it."
His stern eyes connect with mine, initially locking on with disdain. But after a brief moment, I see it—the softening of his eyes that show he relents, choosing to understand my plight and support my pain, my deep yearning.
He steps towards me, his arm outstretched, and places it on my shoulder. With more compassion in his words, he speaks.
"Then, my king, I suggest you send her a poem. Express in written words all that you have relayed to me. For nothing emanates romance more than a personal serenade on paper."
✦•······················•✦•······················•✦
⇩
"Do you think King Loki has forgotten about our deal?" I ask, peering into the face of my father, preserved by a spell that holds his lifeless form. I wait for a response, as though expecting him to answer, but as usual, his voice never appears. No amount of magic can bring his soul back.
Slipping my hand through the yellow glow of the magical barrier, I take hold of his hand. It is cold, stiff, his veins devoid of vibrant life. Yet, it is still a comfort to be able to touch him, to feel him next to me, even if I no longer receive replies.
"Perhaps King Loki has found the orb and now feels too embarrassed to admit defeat," I speculate aloud, grasping at rational thoughts to explain his absence. He was eager for the deal at the time, even hesitant to leave Vannaheim. So the lack of contact from him is perplexing.
A heavy sigh escapes my lips as a troubling thought flashes through my mind—Loki has broken the deal. The promised root no longer offered.
Disappointment settles in my chest as admittedly, I want this deal. Not the helmet, or the gold—I could dismiss those. But the opportunity to nurture my own tree from the root of Jotunheim's Yggdrasil tree is a prize I would give anything for.
Anger takes over as I reflect on my own behaviour, realising how eagerly I had revealed my deep desire for the root.
What a fool!
What happened to remaining stoic, a hardened rock that shows no emotion? I went against my own rule, quickly cracking as soon as the root was up for grabs.
It's no surprise that Loki changed his mind. He's probably laughing at me as I speak. What better way to hurt me and shame Vannaheim than to go back on a binding deal he knew I desperately wanted? By the gods, I am such a naive, gullible nincompoop. No realm parts with a piece of their sacred tree. What made me think that Jotunheim of all lands would agree?
My sigh transforms into a mournful groan as I squeeze my eyes shut and slump forward, resting my head on my lap in shame. "When will I learn to bury my emotions, father? I have ruined our chance to cultivate our own life tree by revealing my keen interest. I should have never negotiated with the Jotun's. Loki and his silver tongue speak nothing but lies."
Thoughts of Loki revelling in malicious laughter enter my mind, and I fight back the welling tears, unwilling to reveal my tear stained state to my father.
"How can I ever be a great ruler if I am already crumbling under my own mistakes? I need you, Father. I cannot navigate this world alone. And alone is all I feel."
My words sound muffled as I keep my face buried in my dress, allowing it to soak up the tears that flow relentlessly from my eyes. But I cannot stem their tide. For failure and grief are a terrible combination.
Doubt about my ability to rule consume me entirely, but amidst my torrent of grief-stricken sobs, a sudden warmth envelops my hunched form. The sun's rays, directly touching my skin, offer a glimmer of solace and causes me to stifle my weeping.
"I suppose it's for the best," I tell myself, attempting to regain composure. "With this deal void, Jotunheim have no need to reenter Vannaheim. They will leave us in peace. Thus, I have succeeded in my first significant mission as queen. Are you proud, Father?" I sit up straight, my red-rimmed eyes fixed on his serene face. "I only ever wanted to make you proud of me," I whisper, fresh tears stinging my eyes.
My thumb traces a path along his cold hand, and in this moment, I long to be where he is. It's a haunting thought, desiring to leave the living behind to join the dead. But nothing here anchors me anymore. My father was the last connection, my sole remaining family. Now, only duty compels me to stay—the duty to be queen to my people. But is it enough?
I exhale a deep breath as the haunting thoughts of ending it all linger in my mind, tempting me to surrender to them. Yet, as the rays of light suddenly blaze, their brilliance jolts me awake. The warmth infusing me with renewed determination. It whispers to the depths of my soul, assuring me that even in my deepest despair, I possess the strength to endure.
I interpret it as a sign, a message from my departed loved ones, reaching out to comfort me in my darkest hour. In this powerful instant, I am reminded of who I am—a daughter shaped by my father's legacy. I must find strength within myself to rise above the challenges that confront me.
I simply must.
"He is immensely proud of you, Annalise," Ivor's voice interrupts my determined thoughts having entered the room a while back.
"Do you truly believe that?" I ask, hastily wiping away the tears that betray my emotions.
Ivor's footsteps hasten towards me, and his warm hand gently rests upon my shoulder. "I know it without a doubt," he replies. "Come now, let us begin planning the burial."
I snap my head to meet the gaze of Ivor in astonishment. "Burial?" I exclaim. "I am not ready to let him go, Ivor. I can't. Not yet. Please, don't ask this of me."
Ivor sighs, a sorrowful frown etching itself onto his face. "It has been four weeks, Annalise. The customary period of mourning is one week. You still dress in black, barely eat, avoid social interactions. You hardly leave your room. We cannot delay laying your father to rest any longer. We must give him the dignified farewell he deserves."
"I understand. And I will. But I... I just need a little more time with him," I plead.
"When, Annalise? When can I send my king to Valhalla?" Ivor's voice carries both sadness and desperation. I realise then that my father was as beloved to him as he was to me. I have been selfish in my grief, holding back the entire realm's desire to honour my father in a grand celebration.
"Soon. I promise. It will be soon," I assure him.
He offers me a weak smile, and I mirror it with my own weary grin. Leaning down, I press a kiss to my father's cold cheek, a sensation that I will never grow accustomed to. The warmth he once possessed vanished.
"Speak soon, Father," I whisper, before linking arms with Ivor and beginning to walk from the room.
Curiosity sparks within me, as I know Ivor only interrupts my alone time with my father when he has news, so I quickly inquire, "What news do you bring? Has King Loki made contact?" I still cling to a glimmer of hope. I desire that root.
"About that, Annalise," Ivor begins, his expression shifting to unease.
My stomach suddenly tightens, and a wave of nausea washes over me. Hurriedly, I rush out of the room and step into the corridor, seeking an open window to fills my lungs with fresh air. "Just tell me the truth, Ivor," I breathe, taking deep gulps of cool air. I have no patience for evasiveness. If Loki has broken a binding, I want to know, so I can leave it behind and focus on ruling my realm justly, with Jotunheim as our foremost enemy. He will pay for forfeiting a binding deal."
Ivor's comforting presence draws near, his sympathetic gaze fixed upon my anxiety riddled self.
"Well, Annalise, for the past week, you have been receiving flowers and gifts from the King of Jotunheim," he reveals.
For the second time today, my head snaps to Ivor, my face registering shock. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I kept this information from you because there was no written note attached. No note meant no news of the deal. However, this morning, amidst the flowers, a parchment was discovered nestled within the blooms. It may contain details about the deal, and therefore, it is my duty to inform you."
"Note or no note, it is not your place to withhold such things from me, Ivor. Give me the letter. I wish to read it," I assert firmly.
Ivor nods and begins to walk away. When he realises I'm not following him, he turns around and beckons me forward. "Come along, my dear."
With my interest piqued, I trail behind him as he strides through the palace, leading me past the kitchen and toward the deepest part of the palace, a space typically used for curing fish and meats. I always despised passing through this area as a child, as the scent of aging meat made me nauseous.
In anticipation of the foul odour assaulting my senses, I pinch my nose tightly closed. However, as Ivor opens the dingy door that usually reveals hanging animal flesh, I gasp at the sight before me. Instead of poultry and smoked fish, the room is filled with an abundance of flowers in a myriad of colours. They adorn the space, transforming what was once dark and dank into a vibrant rainbow.
"I had them placed here," Ivor explains. "The scent of these flowers is the most fragrant I have ever encountered. The smoke rooms benefited from the floral aroma."
His explanation answers my unspoken question, and with a surge of bravery, I release my pinched nostrils and take a deep breath. I can hardly believe it. Ivor was right. The once noxious room now exudes the sweetest fragrance in the entire palace. I could lie down on the floor right now and imagine myself in a meadow.
"They are beautiful," I whisper in disbelief, walking toward a cluster of violets in full bloom. "Why didn't you simply inform me that he sent them? It is rude of me to have ignored such exquisite gifts."
"But acknowledging such romantic offerings would imply reciprocation of his affection, Annalise. And we do not want rumours circulating, do we?" Ivor warns.
"Affection?" I question. "You know the Jotun only enjoy the company of their own kind. There is no romantic sentiment behind these flowers," I assert with certainty. "The note will prove that."
Ivor approaches the most recent bunch of flowers, a vibrant bouquet of sunflowers. I gasp at their sheer beauty. They are as breathtaking as an oil painting, momentarily stealing my breath away.
"They arrived with this carved wooden trinket and this small envelope," he says, handing me both the ornament and the letter.
I first examine the handcrafted wooden artwork, admiring its meticulous details. Each blade stroke showcases the intricate patterns of the ancient wood, whose name eludes me. The bark alone is worthy of display, but the fact that it has been sculpted into embracing figures makes it even more captivating.
"Open the letter, Annalise." Ivor urged.
Carefully, I slip the ornament into my dress pocket and proceed to unfold the note, revealing the exquisite calligraphy on the parchment. My eyes scan the words addressed to me, and instantly my pulse quickens, a rosy hue spreading across my cheeks. I read and reread the note several times before Ivor's impatience breaks the silence and he inquires about its contents.
With my cheeks ablaze, I hastily conceal the note in my other pocket, guarding its secrets. "It's nothing of importance," I reply, swiftly pivoting on my heel and marching out of the room. I hear Ivor's hurried footsteps following me through the kitchen as he calls out my name.
"Your flushed cheeks suggest otherwise, Annalise. Don't withhold the truth from me. If he has written something offensive, I'll pen a scathing response and deliver it with a bag of our finest horse manure!" Ivor exclaims.
"Please have all the flowers sent to my personal chambers, Ivor. I yearn to wake up to the fragrance of meadows," I command. However, before I could proceed further, a firm grip on my wrist spun me around, and I find myself facing a concerned Ivor.
Before I could question his actions, he forcefully delved his hand into my pocket and retrieved the letter. Despite my protesting arms, waving manically in the air, hoping to snatch it back, his taller stature prevented me from reclaiming it. I could only watch in mortification as he scanned the words, his own cheeks gradually colouring as he read.
The short letter contains explicit and provocative descriptions of me, planting a vivid picture of what I taste like, what my bare skin feels like, and what Loki imagines my intimate moans sound like. His words though lewd in nature, capture my attention.
"You were right," Ivor admits sheepishly. "There is nothing of importance." He thrust the note back into my hands and hastily retreated. "Ensure no one else lays eyes on that letter, Annalise. We mustn't let scandal circulate throughout the realms. God forbid!" His voice trails off as he disappears from view, too embarrassed to address me directly.
Once alone, I retrieve the note again, unfolding it and reading each word slowly. Who would have thought? A Jotun, of all beings, possess the heart of a romantic poet. His words have me spellbound.
Should I compose a reply? What words would I choose? My stomach tightens with nervousness and I find myself smiling. But then I remind myself that he is a king who enjoys taunting and mocking. These beautiful words mean nothing; they are likely just another attempt to sow conflict and create rifts within my palace. I should simply discard it, crumple up the paper, and throw it away.
Yet as I approach the waste bin, my hand hesitates, reluctant to release its grasp. It's impossible for me to send words of art to the rubbish heap and so I carefully refold the note, returning it to my pocket. Such exquisite words, even if intended to incite trouble, deserve to be kept safe.