Picture by Translucid on Deviant Art.

The rumors had been circling for the past week, but they came to a head on the night of Harvest end. The hall was packed, overflowing with my father's noisy guests from the country.

My father the king was in fine spirits, and the mead was overflowing at every table, spilling out of tankards and onto the floor in sticky rivers. King Sutr, the name was repeated through the room as people toasted to his health, jokingly calling him "the black one" or in his friend, Halthar's case "great hairy beast".

It wasn't until the second course that the more serious talk occurred at the head table, and I leaned over my plate, straining to hear my father speak to his adviser.

"Next week I'll send someone out. We can't know for sure what the lass is truly like, can we? But I suppose it matters not," my father rumbled.

His adviser, Rankin, spoke over the top of his goblet. "Indeed. She could be the warmest personality in the world but if she gives Niflheim a figurehead to unite under, she's better off six feet below."

I grimaced at my plate, resisting the urge to pick up my leg of lamb and sling it straight at his head. Bad enough that my father was listening to the thin, reedy little man. But now Rankin was suggesting we kill some innocent girl. Half human, likely she had no idea about any of this.

And worst of all, my father agreed with him.

I could tell by looking at him, darting sideways glances while I pretended to be engrossed in my plate. My father leaned back in his chair, regret written on his ruddy features.

"Well it pains me to give the orders, I'll tell you that. I'll lose sleep over it."

I put my tankard down a little too sharply, and he glanced over at me. "Loki, boy, don't think for a moment that I don't see you eavesdropping."

I flashed him a wide, careless grin, masking my irritation well, as I always do. "It's hardly eavesdropping when you're discussing your plans so loudly the entire castle can hear them, father."

Now others were beginning to listen in.

Beside me, Brenna frowned, placing her elbow on the table. Her black hair fell in waves around her face, and she pushed it aside impatiently, brows raised. My sister was seldom impressed by the court politics and back stabbing that went on, and already she was tense with anticipation.

She was right to be worried, this wasn't going to be good.

On the other side of her sat Uncle Bowdin, his curls slicked back under a thick layer of gel. He leaned forward, like a shark sensing blood in the water, eyes darting between my father and his adviser. I couldn't help but think, as I always did, that his house name suited him. House of Wolff. Lord Wolff. A strange man, my uncle, to take on his wife's surname, but not unheard of, especially because House Wolff has always been powerful. After mother's death, Lady Wolff would have been my father's bride, if my father hadn't turned her away within the first five minutes of meeting her.

At the time, Uncle Bowdin had just banished his first wife for outright treason. The ink was barely dry on the order as he was down on his knee proposing to that harpy. It was a mutual benefit to the both of them. House Wolff had enough money to make things happen, and Uncle Bowdin had royal blood. A fearsome combination.

As for Lady Wolff, she sat by her husband, as still as any hunter before the strike, her eyes cold and calculating. And next to her my step-cousin, Darri had his elbows on the table, his head tipped sideways as if to hear better, his thick black locks, done in rough dreadlocks, shielded his face from me.

I deliberately leaned on my elbows, stretching myself out to block his view of my father. I had no doubt the little bastard could read lips. And probably pick locks. And anything else that would help him and his cut-throat mother get ahead in court.

"I'll put out the call tomorrow." My father spoke into his tankard, voice echoing hollowly. "No one who will enjoy it."

"Surely no one—" Rankin faltered, and I rolled my eyes. His voice was dripping with false sincerity. He knew as well as I did that we had warriors under this roof who would enjoy dispatching a frost giant of any kind. It mattered not if she was part human and little more than a girl.

Silently I called down the curses of every god I could think of on the head of the mad queen. If she hadn't been experimenting with humans in the first place, my people wouldn't be in this situation.

Act quickly and cruelly and save ourselves, or dole out mercy and perish.

It was no choice at all.

The next day I made sure to be lingering in the great hall when the time came.

The remainders of the feast had been cleared away, the tables pushed to the side, save for the head table, which my father sat at, Rankin by his side.

The thin-lipped adviser was waving each new jotun past as he scribbled their names down.

The line-up was mercifully short, though it made the back of my neck prickle to see Darri at the end of the line, shifting from foot to foot as he waited.

The little shit was barely out of his young years, already trying to accept any mission my father might dole out. If he could gain his favor he might be one step closer to trying for the crown.

The idea was ridiculous, but Lady Wolff and her brats never gave up.

On the outskirts a small crowd had gathered, and I spotted Sylvi lingering near the front, hands tucked into the sleeves of her long white dress. Lady Wolff stood just behind her, her hand on her daughter's shoulder.

White was out of fashion in the court, too close to what the frost giants wore, but Sylvi never could resist causing a stir. She knew the dress set off her dark skin and hair, making her look resplendent, a vision, almost like a bride. Though it was a bit daring for a bride, the collar a diagonal slash above her breast, dipping low and revealing one slender shoulder. For a moment I could remember nothing but running my hands over that smooth, perfect skin, tracing my fingers over her arms and back, feeling her full lips on my throat, trailing down my chest and stomach.

Damn her.

When she caught me looking she smiled, lowering her lashes to peer at me from under them, an expression that would have had my heart galloping in my chest no more two months ago. Now it made my mouth taste dry and bitter, like I'd been chewing ashes.

As if a few flirtatious glances could erase the picture of her pinning the stable hand up against the wall, practically devouring him as they kissed. Later she'd explained she merely wanted him to let her use the king's horse, just to try it. As if that made it better.

That was the way Sylvi's family operated. People were tools.

Briefly I wondered how many other offspring my aunt-in-law had running around the country. Children that didn't come with the marriage. Children Uncle Bowin had no idea about.

Not that it mattered.

I turned back to watch Darri step forward and say his name, proclaiming it like he was a gift from the gods. My fingers tightened into fists as I imagined him going after the human girl, Amora. It wasn't as if he would judge her fairly. He would see her as a job to get done, in order to impress the king.

That was all he cared about. Not if she actually deserved to die or not.

A spark of an idea had been lingering in the back of my mind, and now it flared to life completely.

Rankin scribbled his signature with a flourish. "Well if that's done, we should—"

I cleared my throat and stepped forward.

Someone might as well have cast a spell over the court, they fell utterly silent. My father's eyes went wide, and his head jerked up. It looked like he'd actually been nodding off, meaty hand curled around his mug of mead. "What?"

"I'd like to...apply." I layered the last word with heavy meaning.

To apply meant to get the job. I was no minor noble.

My father sat up straight, bushy brows drawing down low. He was livid, I could already tell by the way his neck started to turn a deep red, the flush travelling up to his ears.

He hid it remarkably well, considering subtlety is not my father's best trait. "Loki, my son."
He emphasis the last word, and it was not affectionately spoken.

I only smiled and stepped closer, clasping my hands in front of me, as if I had no idea how angry he was. "I think it's time I start proving myself, don't you, father?"

The wooden mug creaked as my father's grip tightened. His black eyes fixed on my face, glittering, and then traveled slowly over the room.

He couldn't deny me. It would make us both look foolish. Cast doubt on me, and by association, him.

If he expected them to accept me as king someday—

"Fine." He almost snarled the word.

There was a low murmur of displeasure from the other volunteers, and Cousin Darri actually looked as though he was going to pout, until a sharp look from his mother stiffened his lip.

Rankin blanched. "I...yes. As the king says..."

So it shall be done. He didn't say it. He didn't have to.

I expected a confrontation immediately after, but it didn't come from the expected source, my father. Instead, I was accosted in the hallway by Eluf, one of the hulking warriors who'd applied for the honor of slaying the human girl.

"Why did you volunteer?" Eluf leaned in close, and I did nothing to hold back my grimace of disgust as he pushed his flat nose—recently broken—nearly into mine.

"Have you thought about having that nose fixed, Eluf?" I turned, continuing down the hall to my chambers. "It might be killing your job prospects. Maybe that's why you didn't get picked tonight."

"Maybe it's because some spoiled little lordling stepped in at the last minute and snatched it up."

He continued to follow me, and I whirled around, making my eyes narrow, drawing myself up to my full height—which, granted, wasn't very tall compared to him. "Not a lordling, soldier. Never a lordling. And you'd do well not to forget it."

I could pull out the royal snobbery if I need to, and look dangerous besides, and Eluf backed off, looking sullen.

I waited until I couldn't hear his retreating footsteps any longer to retire to my bedroom.