“You heard your father,” he said, “your bag is packed for you. We will see you off.”
Without a word, Hafporir threw on his cloak and stormed out of the room. I looked to Ulfvaldr. The lines around his golden eyes seemed to have deepened in just these few moments.
“Sometimes, I wish the she-wolves had been born first.” He glared at the window, as though it were the sun that aggravated him.
“Hafporir will be a good king, and his sisters will be excellent advisors,” I said.
Ulfvaldr snorted, “I miss teaching him to hold a sword or letting him ride on my back like a horse. That was good. This,” he held up his hands in exasperation, “he is a grown man and we have completely spoiled him.”
“I hope not, not completely,” I said.
Ulfvaldr wrapped his other hand around mine and led me downstairs. I tried to hide it, but the heat that rose behind my eyes betrayed my feelings. Spoiling him be damned. My son was leaving home.
Chapter 2
Hafporir
I struck flint and iron together and the sparks caught on the small pile of leaves and twigs. They smoked, then flamed, and the small clearing where I sat glowed with orange light. I sighed, ready to settle into a warm fire. Then, it went dark again. The twigs were soaked and the wet branches above them sizzled and smoked. Nothing was going to catch beyond leaves. I kicked the wood away with a growl and shouldered my pack. The forest, with its trees coated in ice, and crunching white snow underneath, was bitter cold after sunset. It extended in all directions for days of walking, and according to the maps in my fathers’ castle, made up the vast majority of our kingdom.
It had been a long week of walking, and I might have made the journey by now, but a choice rabbit had practically begged me to catch it, and then there was the matter of an afternoon nap.
In short, I was in no hurry to get to some old codger’s hut to learn about my ancestry. I rolled my eyes and picked up the rabbit. I had only eaten uncooked meat a few times when not in wolf form. Those times were on hunting trips with my father, Ulfvaldr, when I was very young. My sisters were always hunting with bow and arrow and eating their kills, but there was something wild about them. I thought of Gilda and Grenda, blood dripping down their lips, laughing. There is nothing wrong with preferring more human ways, I thought to myself, after all, our royal family ruled over man and wolf.
“And learning to rule requires more time in the palace. They’ll never have to worry about that. They’re just warriors,” I muttered and turned the rabbit over in my hands.
I leaned against a tree. Maybe I should try building a fire again.
“Only warriors? A warrior is a great thing to be, and a great warrior a difficult thing to be.”
The rabbit hit the snow with a crunch. I spun with my sword out and teeth bared. The sword collided with a tree.
“No-”
It fell from my hand onto the ground in front of me. I looked up to the intruder and turned red.
It was no intruder, but a wolf tribesman. His chest was bare, despite the cold night, and his beard braided and twined with wooden beads. My eyes snapped to his hands that were broad and strong, up his muscular arms, across his tatooed chest and back up to his face and his silver eyes. He was tall, towering above me by a head and a half. His shoulders were so broad, he could sling me across them like a sack of grain. My throat grew dry and my pants tightened at the thought. I picked my sword off the ground.
“What are you doing, spying on me?”
“Can’t a man see what is being so noisy out on his land?”
“Oh,” I looked around at the wood, “Is this your land?” I shook my head and remembered who I was, “No matter. I am the Prince, Hafporir, and I may tread where I please in my kingdom.”
He shrugged, “I never said you weren’t welcome. As you’ve said, you may go where you like. But, if you desire a fire to cook that rabbit over, I’ve been expecting you since the King sent word of your arrival.”
“You’re not,” I looked him over again, “I thought you would be older!”
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, “My home is not far from here.”
I picked up my bag and slung it onto my back with a sigh and sheathed my sword. I picked the rabbit up.
“Well, are you going to show me?”
The words came out with more irritation than I meant. Still, he deserved it for making me look like a fool. I was smarting from dropping my sword in front of him. I never did things like that on the practice field. Each time I remembered that miserable moment; I squeezed the hilt of my sword and groaned in my head. It would not be so bad if he were not so handsome. That’s the key. He’s just good looking. Imagine if he were not. You are a prince. You would have no reason to care how you looked. They have no choice but to adore you.
I rolled my head back and watched the sun start to peek through the clouds and tree branches. A clump of snow fell from a tree onto my head. Twigs cracked. A squirrel dashed away from us on tree branches.
“Impudent creature,” I grumbled and wiped off the snow.
The wolf leading me snorted. I stared at his shirtless back. It was covered in tattoos like his chest. They were like my father’s, done in greenish blue ink, but they were very different. Runes and ancient symbols I did not know were scrawled on his flesh in intricate, swirling designs. They compliment his physique. I shook my head. I had to banish those thoughts. This wolf was supposed to teach me. I let out a long sigh.
He looked back at me with an eyebrow raised, “It is not so far. Surely the prince who may tread wherever he likes has the stamina to do so.”
“Look, you may be my teacher, but I am prince and heir to the throne, and you should show me respect.”
I stopped walking and so did he. He turned in place.
“You can go.”
“What?”
“Go.”
“N-no, I can’t. What are you saying?”
“If you do not wish for me to teach you, if you will not listen to me,” he closed the gap between us in a few swift steps, “if you will not obey, as an apprentice does his master, then you can go. You are always free to go.”
“I-” my stomach was clenching into knots, “I cannot go back. My fathers, or at least, one of them, would be furious.”
He folded his arms and looked down at me with a stare that made me feel naked.
“Say something!”
“What is there to say?” He turned around and walked away from me, “If you are going to follow me any further, it will be with the obedience a student owes his tutor, and if you are going to return to your fathers, I will trouble you no further.”
I released a breath I did not realize I was holding, and rubbed my temple. Anger thumped in my chest with every heartbeat. He should really learn his place, I thought before following him. He is a dog that thinks he is above the Wolf-Prince.
Smoke curled up from the treetops not far ahead. Sure enough, my tutor led me into a clearing that contained a small hut, with an even smaller structure for storing firewood beside it. The hut was made in the old style, of earth packed in a mound with a sod roof. Green grass poked through the snow at the top where the warmth from the stone chimney had melted some of the white blanket of snow and ice. A short, wooden door looked like the only way in or out. In the distance, I could hear a small brook. A deer hide was stretched on poles made from saplings.
“This is-”
His sharp turn in my direction was enough to keep me from finishing with it.
“-pleasant,” I finished, hoping he would not catch the pause.
He nodded, “We will not need much for our purposes. Come. Let us cook that rabbit.”
He opened his door to reveal the inside. I bent over and was forced to brush past his broad chest. He smelled of wood-smoke, musk, and pine. It made me salivate and remember with a pang of longing in my stomach how I longed to mate, how my fathers had forbid anything but fondling and shallow trysts until I was wed,
and how I was not likely to even have an opportunity to relieve myself while I was here. The situation made me wish I had taken a little more advantage of my travel time.
He shut the door behind us. It shut out the cold. A fire smoked in a small stone hearth at the far end of the hut. It measured no wider than my twice my height along the floor, which lay in a circle. The lowest point of the roof grazed the top of my head, and my tutor had to duck. In the center, the slope was just a few inches taller than his head. The walls were hung with the most rudimentary peasants’ tools. A scythe, a hammer, and an axe hung from racks made of antlers.
He sat in front of the fire in motion that seemed more cat-like than wolf for its litheness. He left me standing there, feeling the fool. I opened my mouth, and realized I did not know his name.
“They call me Draugr,” he held his hand out.
I stared at his empty hand, “That’s not a name…”
“I said, that is what I am called. Your name, which you give away so freely, is a source of power, for you, or for others.”
I looked at his hand again.
“The rabbit?” His silver eyes glinted as he held his hand up higher.
“Oh-” I dropped the rabbit into his hand, and after looking around, found a place on the floor. The entrance to the hut was packed earth, as surely most of the floor was. The rest, however, was covered in woven reed mats, and in some areas, there were piles of furs and pelts. The space was small, but I was glad for the warmth, at least.
I slid down into a cross-legged sit and watched my tutor - Draugr, which meant ghost, and was a very strange thing to be called. He extended a single, sharp and gleaming claw from his thumb and slashed a circle around the rabbit’s neck. Two short tugs and he had the fur peeled off. Another slash brought the blood from its neck, which he collected in a cup, and a final cut took the head off. The head found its way into a bubbling pot. The rest of the carcass he gutted and spitted over the fire. He wiped his hands on a scrap of cloth and placed it back by the hearth.
He leaned his back against the wall of his hut and looked me over. Draugr’s stare had the brightness of the sun, and left me feeling like I was exposed in daylight. I shrugged my wet cloak off onto the floor and tried to brush some of the snow off my tunic.
“You know that cloak will dry better if you hang it up.”
I looked down at the cloak on the floor and huffed. Of course there were no servants here, not in this tiny hut in the middle of nowhere. I picked it up and hung it on an empty peg by the door. Draugr watched me the whole time.
“Mind if I sit, now?”
He gestured to the floor. He picked up my rabbit and in a few movements had it gutted, the entrails set aside in a pot, skinned, and spitted over his fire. The instant the skin began to char, my mouth started to water. He sat on the ground, his legs folded and took a steaming kettle from the fire with a thick cloth. His hut was so small everything was within reach. He pulled two wooden cups from a low table and filled them with the boiling liquid. He handed one to me. It stung my nostrils with bitter scent.
“Nettle tea,” he answered and blew on his cup.
“I’d rather some mead.”
He shook his head, “Not while you’re here. It clouds the senses. Nettle tea is good for the body, and for the mind.”
“Mm,” I listened to the flesh of the rabbit crackle over the fire and took the cup in my hands. I let the warmth seep into my hands. Draugr turned the rabbit, reaching into the flames to grab the flesh and spin it on the spit. He licked his fingers. I caught my eyes wandering over his tongue and his fingers until he caught my look and I had to avert my gaze.
“There are rules.”
I looked back to him. He sipped his tea. The house rattled in the cold wind.
“Today you rest. We go to sleep at sunset. At dawn, we rise. Every day, unless I tell you otherwise will be the same. Rise, exercise, bathing, food, work, food, sleep.”
“I’m not a dog. I don’t need to be trained.”
“That is exactly what you need. You’re undisciplined. You’re here because you chose to be. Leave at any time. Go back to your fathers. But I can tell you, they had progressed much farther in the way of the warrior by the time they were your age. Varghoss is a warrior and leader, brought up with hatred and hardship and Ulfvaldr a fighter, raised in starvation and danger, and they both became kings, loved and revered. They will not tolerate your childish laziness for much longer.”
I put my tea down on the floor and glared at him.
“Is there a place I can sleep?”
“You should eat.”
My mouth was ashy. I didn’t want the food. I shook my head.
He pointed to a bundle of furs in the corner, “Suit yourself. The morning comes early.”
I moved to the furs and kicked off my boots. I knelt down and could already feel the hardness of the dirt floor and the cold of the earth through the furs. I pulled one over myself and rolled to face the wall. The wind whistled on the other side. The pink of sunset bled through cracks in the mud and loam wall. I watched a spider crawl up the corner, its shadow cast long and thin by the flickering light of the fire.
I listened to Draugr taking the rabbit off the fire. I heard him tear it and eat with soft, closed-mouth bites. My stomach felt like a cavern within me. Maybe I should have just eaten with him. It was my rabbit after all. I curled up deeper into the furs and willed myself to sleep.
Chapter 3
Hafporir
Cold rabbit and plain porridge were not my favorite, but I ate. Draugr did not even salt his porridge, so I didn’t ask for any for mine, but I longed for the sticky-sweet honey, berries, and cream that would have been set before me had I condescended to eat porridge at home.
Home.
My fathers were so ungrateful. Here, they have the most princely heir they could think to have, and they cast him out into the world, far away from the center of the kingdom, far from where he could learn to rule. There was nothing out here by way of knowledge besides the skills of skinning a rabbit and building fires, and those were easily learned anywhere.
My spoon scraped the bottom of my bowl too soon. I set it down.
“So, teach me.”
The fire in Draugr’s hut had gone down to embers. He didn’t bother to stoke them and my breath came in plumes from my mouth. He ate, his eyes half-closed. The food either did not bother him or he liked it. I let my bowl clatter onto the table.
“Well, are you going to teach me?”
He set his bowl down next to mine. I watched his fingers leave it. I watched a little too long. He was sitting across from me, wearing nothing but a pair of deerskin pants and leather boots. His tattooed chest was bare, muscular, refined. It filled me with longing. I was disgusted with myself.
“There is a creek, not far north. A few minutes walk. Go there. Wash our cups from last night as well. Then, draw some water and bring it back.”
He got up and retrieved a basket from a hook on a roof beam and started to put the dishes in it. He also slid a clay pot toward me.
“For the water.”
“I am not some servant girl.”
He said nothing. He only took a broom from the corner and began to sweep the dirt around, or that is what it looked like. Draugr opened the door, and flurries of snow blew in. The sun was just cresting the tops of the trees. A few orange rays filtered through the pine branches and through the dusty snow that swirled in the air. Winter birds called out through the wood. A rabbit ran home to its burrow. My stomach grumbled. The porridge sat like a weight in my belly.
I looked at the basket of dirty dishes and the damned pot. Draugr did not look my way. He only pushed the dirt out the door and into the snow. When he finished, he returned to the fire and swept the ash away from it into a pan. This too he scattered outside in the snow. He wiped his hands on a rag and began to clean off the table. He seemed of no mind to speak to me. I stood, and put on my cloak.
“It will be nice to get out of
this hole for a moment, at least,” I said. I took the basket and pot, and left the hut, my cloak wrapped around me.
The snow made the world bright, even as the sun was still rising. The frigid wind whipped my cloak away from my body and got under all my clothes. I longed for something warmer. I should have worn my hunting furs, would have if I had known I would be staying in a shack in the forest with a man who, despite his looks, had all the charm of a crotchety old woman. That old witch in Orsholm was friendlier.
The trees scratched at the sky. Their midwinter branches were long and thin like the fingers of skeletons. I tramped through the snow and old leaves. The forest floor crunched beneath my boots.
The sound of the creek hit me before I saw it. Around the edges, ice clung to the rocks, but the center of the creek ran true. I knelt by it and plunged one of the porridge bowls into the water.
“Yagh!” I pulled my hands back out. It was freezing.
I muttered curses at Draugr under my breath and pulled some water out of the creek. I managed to claw the porridge scraps off the inside of the bowl and to rinse it off with touching the water as little as possible. I looked at the rest of the dishes in the basket and sighed. This was misery.
By the time I was done washing, and had drawn the water, my hands were shaking, too cold to even clutch the pot. I squatted down and blew hot air into my palms. My breath clouded in front of me.
A branch snapped. I spun around. A pair of eyes flashed in the trees.
“Who is there?”
I followed the sound, running up the bank of the river into the trees, leaving behind the pot and bowls. I climbed and climbed, but with no sighting of man or beast.
“Who-” I started to call when laughter sounded behind me, down by the river.
I turned. There was no one there, but the pot was upended and the bowls stacked upon its bottom. I had not done that.
I crept back down, ears pricking at every sound. I scented the air - there was nothing, and then, there was a smell like juniper berries and holly flowers, fresh and sweet. I looked around. In the dead of winter, there were no flowers, and fewer berries.
Claw and Crown Bundle: A Gay Viking Historical Fantasy Shifter Romance Series Page 14
