Chapter 22
I woke the next morning in my own bed. A small note and a beautiful orange autumn leaf rested on the pillow beside me.
The note read:
I hope you slept well and do not mind that I tucked you into bed after you fell asleep. I found this leaf while walking the gardens, and it reminded me of your beautiful red hair. I cannot wait to dance with you at the Moon Festival, as you already are the sun in my life.
A smile tugged at my lips. Muriel’s words were sweet, and yet... a little voice whispered in the back of my mind. As much as I enjoyed my time with him, something about the way he acted felt like he was trying too hard. Guilt settled in my chest. He had been nothing but kind and attentive, always thoughtful in his gestures.
There was chemistry between us—undeniable, even. At the inn, it had been obvious. And at other moments, I could feel his desire, his fondness. But love? That was something else entirely.
There was warmth, yes. Friendship. But I never sensed the kind of deep, feelings that would make his sweet message true. And that was what made his words feel hollow. That was why I felt like he was forcing something that wasn’t quite real.
But maybe I was being unfair. He was making an effort, and I couldn’t fault him for that. It wasn’t like I was any better—I enjoyed his company, missed him when he was gone, but I wasn’t head over heels for him, either. Then again, it hadn’t been long yet.
I was fine with taking things slow. Seeing where it led.
And yet, I couldn’t help but wonder—would things feel different if I didn’t have my gift? If I couldn’t sense his emotions, if I didn’t instinctively know the truth behind his actions, would I’ve been swept away? Or would I still feel this detached, this rational?
Frigga’s words echoed in my mind. Your ability is both a gift and a curse.
I hadn’t thought of it as a curse before. Not really. But maybe... maybe it was.
The next few days passed in a blur.
Between packing and last-minute arrangements, I barely had a moment to breathe. Loki had me store all kinds of supplies in my void dimension—enough to make it seem like he was preparing for a three-month expedition.
Muriel and Loki, however, were the real source of tension.
They had been on edge around each other, their interactions stiff and awkward. At first, I couldn’t figure out why. Then it hit me—this would be the first time they were returning to Alfheim together.
Would it dredge up old wounds?
They had been getting along better, but I wasn’t sure how much of that was for my sake. At least I could sense that, little by little, the tension between them was starting to ease.
That afternoon, Muriel found me in the library, curled up in the bay window with a book.
He approached quietly, handing me something small and leather-bound.
I looked down at it, surprised. The book was delicate, handmade. Opening it, I found beautiful handwritten pages filled with intricate illustrations. My breath caught as I flipped through them. It was a journal—a detailed guide on different fighting styles, this one focused on knife combat. The movements were sketched out in precise, fluid strokes, almost as if the drawings themselves were alive.
"Muriel, this is beautiful," I murmured, tracing my fingers over the ink. "Is it handmade?"
A slow smile spread across his lips as he took a seat beside me.
"Yes," he said. Then, with a flick of his wrist, another book appeared in his hand—almost identical to mine, though written in Elvish. The cover was older, the leather worn with time.
"When I turned two hundred and fifty, my father gifted me this," he said, tapping the aged book. "It’s part of a series of journals passed down from father to son, generation after generation. Each one is dedicated to a specific weapon or fighting style. My ancestors—seasoned warriors, all of them—recorded their lessons and techniques so that their knowledge would never be lost. Every warrior has a preferred weapon, a style that feels most natural to them. These journals ensure that each generation learns, improves, and preserves those techniques.
"During my training, I had to study them all and choose the one that suited me best. Once mastered, I had the honor of adding my own knowledge, continuing the tradition. It is both symbolic and practical—a way to carry the wisdom of those who came before us.
"Every father teaches his children how to fight, how to protect themselves. These journals are required reading when we’re young, though true mastery takes years of rigorous training."
He glanced at me. "But I know you have the ability to absorb information when you read, just as you did with the Elven dances."
I looked up, realization dawning.
"So you think… if I read this, I could learn to fight the same way?"
Muriel nodded.
"Yes, I learned a great deal from these journals and am a proficient teacher, though I do not have children of my own yet. As far as I can tell, knives would suit your abilities best. I hope this journal gives you a basic understanding so you can defend yourself if necessary.
"However, I strongly advise against practicing alone. Train with me or Loki—corrections must be made instantly. Bad habits are difficult to unlearn once they take root."
He exhaled, his expression softening.
"But most of all, I hoped you would do me the honor of reading this before your trip. At the very least, it would give me some peace of mind."
I frowned, sensing his worry.
"Muriel, are you concerned about me going to Alfheim? Is there something I should know?"
He hesitated, then shrugged.
"You will be safe in Alfheim, especially as a guest of my father. I will be there to help you navigate its court.
"But your journey there… that concerns me."
His fingers curled slightly, as if holding back an impulse.
"I do not know why. Perhaps it is simply because I will not be with you.
"I trust Loki, Thor, and the others to keep you safe, but…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "I remember how easily I bruised your hand. And I realize how fragile you are compared to them."
His words carried no malice, only quiet concern.
He tapped the journal gently.
"I suppose that is why I ask this of you. If you read it, it would calm my mind considerably.
"I regret that it was not ready sooner—it took me quite some time to translate and transcribe everything. Not to mention recreating the illustrations." A small smile tugged at his lips. "But I am pleased with how it turned out."
His last words took a moment to register. When they did, my eyes widened.
"Oh my gods, Muriel. You made this? By hand? Even the drawings?"
He nodded, but there was something almost sheepish in his expression, like he couldn’t quite decipher my reaction. As if he wasn’t sure whether I liked the gift or not.
I didn’t give him a chance to wonder. Without thinking, I threw my arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.
"Thank you so much." My voice was thick as I pulled back to meet his gaze. "Really, thank you. The time and effort you put into this… it makes it so much more special.
"I promise I’ll read it as soon as I can. And I’m honored you’d share something so personal to your family with me."
Emotion surged, and before I could stop myself, I leaned in and kissed him.
The feeling that followed was warmth, relief, happiness—not just from me, but from him as well. He had been uncertain, hesitant, but now? Now he was simply glad.
Before the kiss could deepen, we pulled away, adjusting our positions on the window seat to appear a little less... intimate.
Muriel smiled.
"You are very welcome, Aurora." Then, with a reluctant sigh, he stood. "I must leave you now. I have a meeting with Frigga to finalize the last few items for your Elven wardrobe."
That caught my attention. The Elven dresses…
I had been dying to see them, but they were keeping them a closely guarded secret. I had even tried prying information from Yara, but all she had told me was that it would be a surprise.
I opened my mouth to press him for details, but he only shook his head, smirking.
"You already know what I will say." His grin widened. "You will see them when you arrive in Alfheim—not a moment sooner."
I huffed and sank back against the cushions, pouting as he laughed and walked away.
Typical.
Still, my frustration didn’t last long. My fingers brushed over the leather cover of the journal, and a soft smile found its way to my lips.
I couldn’t believe the effort he had put into this. Every page, every illustration, every word had been meticulously crafted by hand. He had even infused the drawings with magic so they moved, demonstrating the techniques in elegant, fluid motions.
Snuggling deeper into the bay window seat, I pulled my legs up and opened the book.
It was beautifully written, explaining each detail with remarkable clarity. It covered the different types of knives, their uses, and how to handle them. How to block, fight, throw, and even properly care for them. It described how a knife’s balance should match the wielder, how to choose one that felt like an extension of the hand rather than a separate weapon.
Then, something else caught my eye.
Scattered throughout the text were small, handwritten notes—Muriel’s personal input.
I smiled.
His notes were directed specifically at me, suggesting how certain techniques might work better given my strength and speed compared to the elves. But he also made a point to tell me to study the original Elven techniques as well, so I would understand how a faster or stronger opponent might think in a fight.
I was completely absorbed, already a third of the way through when I became aware of someone watching me.
I glanced up.
Loki was sitting in front of me, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"You read like that’s the most fascinating book in the world," he remarked. "I’ve been watching you for nearly ten minutes, and you’ve barely noticed anything up. What could possibly be so captivating?"
Grinning, I held up the book.
"It’s about knives."
Loki blinked, caught off guard.
"Knives?" He arched a brow. "You? Reading about knives?"
I tried not to laugh at the sheer disbelief in his expression.
"Muriel thought that if I could learn to dance from a book, I might be able to learn some basic self-defense the same way." I tapped the pages. "He said knives would be a good weapon for me.
"At first, I thought it was an odd choice—I assumed you had to be up close to fight with them. But from what I’m reading, they’re actually ideal for defending against surprise attacks. They let you escape while wounding your attacker enough to stop them from following."
Loki tilted his head, listening.
"And now," I continued, grinning, "I’m on the section about using knives from a distance. Apparently, if you know what you’re doing, you can avoid getting into close combat entirely." I glanced down at the text. "Considering I don’t have the stamina to swing around a giant sword all day, this actually makes a lot of sense for me."
Loki studied me for a moment, then chuckled. "You are full of surprises, Aurora."
"All of what you say is true, but I know my books. There is not one book in this library that describes knife fighting in such detail that it would be helpful to you. Books about dancing? Yes. But as far as I know, we don’t have any step-by-step guides to learning how to fight."
I smiled. "That’s because this book is not from this library," I said with a giggle.
I motioned for Loki to sit next to me, and he did. As I showed him the book, I saw his eyes widen.
"Muriel made this for me," I said proudly, watching as he scanned the pages.
His reaction told me everything—he was impressed.
"He hand-copied this for me, drawings and all. It’s part of a series of old Elven journals, passed down and added to by each generation of his family.
"He even left me little notes suggesting where I could adjust things, since I’m not as strong as you all are. He thought I could read it and learn to defend myself if needed.
"He said he had a bad feeling about our trip to Alfheim. He knows you and the others will do everything to keep me safe, but this… this helps ease his mind."
Loki exhaled sharply, shaking his head.
"I don’t even know what to say," he admitted. "I never thought him capable of this level of thoughtfulness toward anyone.
"Not only did he create it specifically for you—pouring in all this effort—but I also know the kind of books these are.
"They’re supposed to be for his family’s eyes only.
"When we were close friends, I was never allowed to see them. He told me about them, but never let me read them.
"You know he despises his father, but this single rule? He always respected it.
"Generations before him treasured these books and kept them secret, and yet… he broke that tradition for you."
I felt my heart sink a little.
The weight of his words settled over me, and suddenly, the full depth of Muriel’s gift became so much more overwhelming.
And then… that annoying little voice in the back of my mind.
Of course, Loki noticed.
"What’s wrong?" he asked. "I can’t imagine why this would trouble you—you loved the gift moments ago."
I shook my head, uncertain.
Normally, I told Loki everything.
If this were about anyone else, I wouldn’t hesitate to confide in him. But this was Muriel.
Talking to Loki about this would feel like betraying him.
And I had promised Muriel I wouldn’t share what I sensed from his emotions.
Still, Loki was my best friend. Keeping things from him felt just as wrong.
I hesitated before finally giving him a weak smile.
"You know I never mind talking to you about things that bother me. But in this case… I think it’s better if I keep this to myself."
Confusion flickered in his expression, so I quickly added,
"I trust you completely—please don’t ever doubt that.
"But I struggle with balancing my empathic abilities with being in a relationship.
"You know how private Muriel is with his feelings. Before all this, I promised him I wouldn’t discuss things I sense from him with other people.
"So yes, there are things I need to work through… but I think I need to figure them out on my own?"
Loki studied me for a long moment, then nodded.
"I understand. You don’t want to risk breaking Muriel’s trust.
"But just know—I’m here if you ever need to talk. It would stay between us. He’d never know.
"I get why you want to handle this alone. I respect that. But you don’t have to."
I exhaled, relieved.
"Thank you. I’d rather not break someone’s trust in me unless I have no other choice. For now, I think it’s best if I try to sort this out myself. But I appreciate knowing I have you to fall back on if I need to."
A silence settled between us—not exactly uncomfortable, but different.
I hated the feeling. Loki and I never had secrets. Probably another side effect of our bond. But I had to learn to live with it.
One day, Loki would find someone he loved, and inevitably, there would be things in his relationship he wouldn’t share with me, either. Maybe this was just something I needed to accept.
Thankfully, he changed the subject, pulling me back to the present.
"So, how about you study a bit more, and then tonight after dinner, we head to the training yard? I’d like to see what you can do with a knife."
I actually liked that idea.
I was curious to see if I’d retained anything from the book.
"That sounds great. But… will there be a lot of people?" I asked, remembering the crowd from last time. "I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of all the guards."
Loki smirked.
"I promise—there will hardly be anyone at night. And if there are, I’ll send them away if that makes you feel better."
I smiled, reassured, and agreed.
He left, and I refocused on my book.
It was nearly dinnertime when I finally glanced at the clock. My stomach grumbled, reminding me just how long I’d been sitting there.
I had spent hours rereading sections that caught my interest, studying the more intricate parts, absorbing every detail in the images.
As I closed the book, I looked up—only to find Muriel leaning against the wall, watching me.
I jumped slightly.
"I really need to be more aware of my surroundings," I muttered. "You’re the second person today who’s snuck up on me while I was reading."
He chuckled.
"Normally, I would agree—awareness is important.
"But I must confess, it’s rather soothing to watch you so engrossed in your reading.
"Your face is an open book when you’re lost in thought, and I’m glad to see you’re enjoying my gift."
He walked over and offered me a hand, pulling me from my seat.
"People missed you at the dinner table. So I volunteered to fetch you. Loki mentioned he would take you practicing tonight. Do you mind if I come along?" he asked.
"Of course I don’t mind," I laughed. "Just don’t get your hopes up about my skills. The book is detailed and lovely, but it’s a lot harder to master than a simple dance."
Muriel chuckled. "Do not worry. I know. It takes years to master these things. I only wish for you to know the basics."
Before we reached the stairs leading to the library, he suddenly pulled me into a darker alcove, wrapping his arms around me. His lips met mine in a deep, lingering kiss. When he finally pulled back, I gazed into his eyes, feeling the warmth of his breath against my skin. He gently brushed a lock of hair from my face and placed a soft kiss on the tip of my nose.
"Aurora, when we are in Alfheim, I must act differently towards you," he confessed, his voice low. "Not only must I appear more disinterested in front of Thor and Loki, but I must also be more formal with you. I fear it will be difficult, but I hope you will not take it personally."
I could feel the tension in his words, the worry tightening his frame. Slipping my arms around him, I pulled him into a comforting embrace.
"Muriel, I understand. You need to be an Elven prince when you're there. You’ve told me about the formality of the Elven court. I get it, and it’ll be hard for both of us, but I’ll do my best to act more formal with you too. I don’t want to cause trouble for either of us in your father’s court."
His grip on me relaxed, my words soothing the worry from his face. He took my arm, and together we descended the stairs, heading toward the dining hall.
After a moment of silence, he sighed. "Thank you. It is... stressful to return. I know now is the best time—I have declined my father’s summons for far too long. Yet I fear what awaits me when I am confronted with the life I tried so hard to leave behind."
I glanced at him, squeezing his hand in quiet reassurance.
"I carry a great deal of resentment toward my father," he admitted. "Living in Asgard, I have allowed myself to feel more freely—to embrace emotions I once suppressed. But in Alfheim, I must bury them again. I fear I will lose my composure, disgrace myself by Elven standards."
"Muriel, I get that it’s hard." I looked up at his troubled expression. "When you exist between two cultures, you carve your own way through them. But in the end, it might feel like you don’t fully belong to either. Just remember—you’re not just an elf or just a prince. You are you. You are Muriel. That’s all you need to be. I know you’ll be forced to act differently in Alfheim, but in the end, you shouldn’t have to suppress who you are. If you get angry, people will have to deal with it. It’s not wrong to be different, even if it feels that way sometimes."
He considered my words, his expression thoughtful. Slowly, a small smile curled at the corner of his lips.
"You have a wonderful and kind perspective," he murmured, taking my hand and pressing a kiss to my knuckles. "It is difficult to break free from a mold that has suffocated you for centuries. And yet, once you do, there is always a whisper in the back of your mind—a nagging voice that tells you life would be easier if you simply stopped resisting, if you played the part others expected of you. Pretending to be someone else just to be left alone. But I understand your words, and I thank you for them."
I smiled, squeezing his hand once more as we stepped into the dining hall. Most of the guests had finished eating, with only a few lingering. Frigga and Odin had already left. Thor, seated at the king’s table, gestured for Muriel to stay, and he did.
The meal was lighthearted, filled with laughter and conversation. We discussed the details of our upcoming journey, and I was relieved to hear that we would be departing for Alfheim the next day. Thor and Loki had matters to settle with Odin in the morning, so we would leave around midday.
After dinner, Loki and Muriel escorted me to the training yard. The far end, where a few practice dummies stood, was mercifully empty—only the three of us remained.
Loki turned to me with a knowing smile. "Muriel and I have been deliberating on the best type of weapon for you. We agree that small throwing knives, concealed within your sleeves, would suit you well. Additionally, Elven fighting knives are a weapon you could master over time. They are long, elegant, and used by both men and women. They require close combat, and while your strength is lesser than that of an elf, the techniques will still serve you well."
I nodded, absorbing the information. I had read about these weapons, and I could see the wisdom in their choice.
With a flick of their hands, Loki and Muriel summoned something wrapped in velvet. Muriel stepped forward, holding it out for me.
I peeled back the fabric to reveal a beautifully crafted box. Inside lay eight slender throwing knives, their blades gleaming under the torchlight. The silver kris-style blades were elegantly curved, resembling the sinuous form of a serpent. The golden handles bore intricate Elven leaf patterns, the delicate vines trailing down toward the tip of each blade.
I let out a breath. "They’re beautiful." I lifted one carefully, admiring its weight. "Almost a shame to throw them at anything." I laughed, glancing at Muriel.
He grinned. "Do not worry. They have been enchanted to resist damage and remain perpetually sharp. You will not need to maintain them." He gestured toward the box. "For now, I suggest storing them in your void dimension. Loki will teach you to summon them instantly, so you do not need to reach for them manually."
I nodded and carefully placed them within the void space before turning back to Muriel. A mischievous grin crossed my lips as I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him.
"You should be careful," I teased. "If you keep spoiling me like this, I might become an actual bratty, stuck-up princess."
Loki, standing behind me, let out an amused chuckle. "Aurora, you could not be a spoiled princess if you tried. Trust me—we have met some."
Muriel nodded fervently, his expression one of full agreement.
Turning back to Loki, I noticed he held another gift. As I unwrapped the second velvet bundle, my breath caught. In his hands lay two exquisite Elven fighting knives, each about 30 centimeters long. Alongside them rested matching black leather sheaths. The design mirrored that of the throwing knives—gold and silver, with the same intricate leafwork. But as I studied them closer, I noticed tiny serpents hidden among the foliage, their emerald eyes gleaming like secrets woven into the metal.
I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head. "Of course." I looked up at Loki, grinning.
He smirked, eyes twinkling. "A personal touch."
"Loki, they are beautiful!" I exclaimed, taking one of the knives from him.
It was unbelievably light, almost weightless in my hand. Muriel stepped forward, leather sheaths in hand, and knelt before me.
"If you would allow me," he said, looking up. I nodded.
The sheath fastened like a garter belt. Still dressed in my leather riding outfit, I stood still as Muriel lifted my coat and the top of my skirt to fasten the sheath around my thigh. Leather straps secured it snugly against my leg. He did the same on the other side, then demonstrated how a simple brush of my hand against my coat would shift the fabric aside, revealing the sheath.
"They are spelled," he explained, "so neither your coat nor dress will tangle when you retrieve them. You will not be hindered in an emergency."
I took the second knife from Loki and slid it into place. As soon as I let go of my coat and skirt, the fabric fell naturally back into place, completely concealing the weapons.
Loki watched as I moved, crouched, and tested how they felt. A mischievous smile played on his lips.
"You would never know they are there, would you?"
I laughed. "Is it normal to carry weapons like this instead of storing them in a void space?"
Muriel and Loki burst into laughter.
"Aurora," Loki said, wiping a tear from his eye, "nearly everyone in Asgard carries at least one concealed weapon at all times. I have at least eight on me, not counting my void storage." With a flick of his wrist, two throwing knives appeared between his fingers.
I stared at him in disbelief before glancing at Muriel, who nodded.
"I have four throwing knives and a larger blade." He grinned, smoothly reaching into the back of his boot to reveal a sleek dagger.
"I think I will never feel safe again," I muttered.
They both grinned.
Once the laughter died down, Loki suggested I test what I had learned from the book. Through our bond, he guided me through the spell that allowed me to summon my knives instantly from my void dimension. Within moments, I could flick my wrist and call a throwing knife into each hand.
"This works even if the knife is not in void storage," he explained. "If you throw one and need it back, you can summon it by focusing on the blade and using the spell. However, the further away it is, the more seiðr the spell will consume."
Muriel shook his head, watching us. "It never ceases to amaze me how quickly she learns."
I felt Loki’s pride in me through our bond, and I couldn't help but ask, "Is that not because I have a lot of seiðr ?"
Loki shook his head. "No, seiðr determines how many spells you can cast before depletion, not how fast you learn. More difficult spells require more energy, so someone with vast seiðr reserves can perform more complex magic, but mastery speed depends on the individual."
Muriel added, "I think," he glanced at Loki, "her ability to learn so quickly comes from her memory."
Loki considered this.
"She remembers everything with perfect clarity, allowing her to follow instructions exactly. With the right teacher, she could master nearly any spell in record time—so long as her body can handle the magical strain."
Loki nodded. "That makes sense." His grin returned. "Let’s see if this ability extends to physical skills."
He led me toward the practice dummies, standing beside me as he demonstrated how to grip the knife, the correct wrist movement, and how to gauge distance. Wind, force, and trajectory all played a role in ensuring the blade struck with its point instead of bouncing off.
I listened intently, recognizing the explanations from Muriel’s journal. Theoretically, it made sense, but I was eager to see if my hands could execute it.
Adjusting my grip, I felt the weight of the blade and mimicked Loki’s technique. My first throw landed squarely in the chest of the dummy.
A surge of pride radiated from Loki and Muriel.
For the next fifteen minutes, they had me practice different distances and angles. Though not every throw was as perfect as the first, I hit the target each time. The farther the distance, the harder it became. Occasionally, I missed, realizing I simply lacked the strength to propel the knife far enough.
After an hour, fatigue set in, and my arm trembled, making precise throws harder. Muriel and Loki assured me this was normal—more training would strengthen my muscles and improve my range.
After a short break, Loki swapped my knives for training blades—ones that stuck to their target without causing harm.
"This time," he smirked, "you will throw at me."
Unlike the practice dummies, Loki didn’t stand still. He ran, ducked, and dodged, forcing me to track his movements. This was far more difficult. Not only was he fast, but I had to anticipate his next move, aiming not where he was but where he would be. The calculations had to happen in an instant.
It took time, but eventually, I started landing hits.
By the time Loki approached, four knives were stuck in his armor, and he was grinning.
"I think that is enough for tonight," he declared.
I couldn’t agree more—my arms burned from the effort.
Loki turned to me, and warmth radiated from him. He was proud of me, and the sincerity of it settled deep within me. I loved that feeling.
"I will leave you both now," Loki said with a small smile. "Aurora, sleep in tomorrow. I will see you at midday. Arturo will have Shadow ready, and Yara will ensure everything you need for Alfheim is packed. You will travel light—only what is in your void storage."
I nodded, stepping forward to hug him and press a quick kiss to his cheek.
He looked at me, surprised, as if asking what it was for. I smiled.
"I just wanted to thank you—for being an incredible teacher and for the beautiful knives."
Loki returned my smile and gave a slight bow before departing.
I turned to Muriel, reaching for his hand.
"So, did I do well?" I asked. "The book was incredibly helpful—I don’t think I could have executed those moves or made the calculations on the spot without studying first. Knowing why each movement mattered made it so much easier to get them right."
Muriel squeezed my hand, his expression filled with admiration.
"You did even better than I imagined, Aurora."
His words sent warmth through me, and I couldn’t help but smile as I melted into his arms, pressing my lips to his. I could feel his pride, his happiness, wrapping around me like a comforting embrace. But something was missing. The warmth I had felt with Loki… it wasn’t there.
I shoved the thought aside. Loki was Æsir. Muriel was an Elf. There were bound to be differences in the way their emotions felt through the bond.
Muriel pulled me closer, deepening the kiss until we finally broke apart, breathless. He pressed his forehead to mine, exhaling softly.
"I will miss this," he murmured.
"I will too," I admitted. Then, grinning, I added, "But it’s only for a short time… and then you’re free to have your way with me again. You never know where you’ll find a good tavern wall or something."
Muriel’s pupils flared, his breath hitching as my words sank in.
"Aurora," his voice dropped to a warning growl, "say something like that again, and you will not see Alfheim. I will throw you over my shoulder, take you to my room, and keep you there for two weeks."
Heat flashed in his gaze, and searing desire curled through him.
I swallowed, my body instantly reacting to the sheer dominance in his tone. Damn. I never thought I’d be the type to get turned on by this, but then again—I didn’t exactly remember my own preferences.
So I rolled with it. And I liked it.
The thought of him slamming me against a wall, claiming me right then and there, was enough to make my breath hitch.
But not tonight. Not when we’d be forced apart for weeks.
I leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, keeping it gentle even as he tried to let his passion take over. He resisted, barely, until I felt him regain control.
"I'm sorry, Muriel," I whispered, my lips brushing against his ear. "I didn’t mean to tease you like that. These next few weeks will be hard enough without making it worse."
His sigh was heavy, but he nodded.
Together, we made our way back to my room, the silence between us filled with unspoken longing.
When we arrived, I invited him inside without hesitation. Tomorrow would be chaos, my departure a public affair. This was our last chance to say goodbye in private.
The result? A heated makeout session on my sofa, the kind that left my lips tingling and my body aching for more.
We both knew better than to let it go too far, but that didn’t stop us from lingering, savoring every kiss, every touch, stretching time as much as we could.
Eventually, it grew too late. With obvious reluctance, Muriel bade me goodnight.
After he left, I spent some much-needed time with Yara. Since she would be staying behind in Asgard, it felt only right to catch up. We talked, laughed, and she showed me the sleeping gear and furs Arturo would collect in the morning. They’d be bundled for Shadow to carry, doubling as a makeshift backrest for my saddle. The rest—my travel clothes and essentials—was already packed into my void dimension, making the trip easier for both me and Shadow.
I tried to coax her into showing me the new Elven dresses, but she only laughed, shaking her head.
"Frigga and Muriel ordered them to remain a secret," she teased.
I pouted like a child, which only made her laugh harder. Before I knew it, we were both doubled over, giggling uncontrollably.
When I finally glanced at the clock, I sighed. It was far later than I had realized.
Yara wished me goodnight, and as I curled up in bed, anticipation buzzed in my veins. I felt like a child on the night before Christmas—excited, restless, too wired to sleep.
But exhaustion from training finally caught up with me, and before long, I was out like a light.