Page 49 of Heart of the Wolf
Once dried, Astrid worked on Brielle’s unruly hair while Liv flittered in with a handful of garments Brielle had never seen before. Ornate, rich fabrics that made her lips part with a stuttered breath. Flecks of jade glittered in Liv’s dark eyes.
“A gift from Úlfr,” she said. “Fit for a Dróttning. His Dróttning.”
The scent of crisp pine and cedar carried through the home, stretching out from the hearth. While Brielle stared at the garments draped in Liv’s arms, Astrid tugged on her linen dress. The soft silk whispered along her supple skin as she moved. Both ladies helped her into the gown Leif had gifted her. It was made of the finest wool, dyed a deep indigo, and embellished with golden threads and intricate embroidery that she couldn’t stop tracing.
Strong fingers fastened the outer dress with ornate brooches, each one carved with a symbol that Liv explained as she went. One was for Freyja, the Goddess who had guided them. Another for Odin, the God who had strengthened them. One was for Leif, a wolf, the sigil of his house, and another for Brielle, etched with the setting sun.
Astrid finished the final braids, securing them atop her head in a crown. She bent down, retrieving an iridescent headpiece that glowed in the firelight. Astrid secured the piece, humming as she stood back to admire her work. Livdraped a richly adorned cloak over her shoulders, thick and lined with ashen furs. Runes etched in golden threads shone on the back. They symbolized harmony, fertility, balance, and commitment.
The weighty furs and their duality hung over her. The warmth they provided lined with the duty she now carried. Not as heavy as Leif’s, but unmistakably important.
That first day, Astrid had told Brielle she was important. And now, standing where she was, no words had ever been truer.
“Now, you are a Dróttning,” Astrid said, her voice laced with warmth and pride.
***
Snow crunched below her leather boots as the women guided Brielle to the grove beyond the village. The same one where Odin had appeared to Leif and granted him his wolf.
A great pyre blazed at the heart of the valley, embers swirling into the sun-speckled sky. People were scattered among the snow, some on benches, some standing. The entire settlement and all the outlying clans were in attendance to celebrate their union. A joviality that replicated the night of the feast permeated the crisp winter air.
Try as she might, Brielle couldn’t spot Leif in the crowds. Instead, their guests all greeted her as Liv steered her toward where she assumed Leif waited.
Many wished her words of congratulations, some of mirth, and others of well wishes. And others passed her their half-drunk mead, expecting her to partake. Luckily, Liv handled it, drinking in her stead or passing the horns off to someone else.
As the sea of people parted, her gaze connected with Leif’s. Shadows from the fire fell over half his face, making her stomach tumble. An older man stood beside him, supporting his weight on a wooden cane.
“The Gothi,” Astrid said. “Our priest. He will join you with the blessings of the gods.”
The garble of voices hushed into a quiet din until every thought was consumed by him. Woolen bottoms wrapped snugly around his hips, guiding her eyes up to the silken tunic poking out from beneath his cloak.
The wool was dyed indigo, matching her gown and lined with ash and timber furs, highlighting his perfect porcelain skin and angular jaw. Threads that glittered like gold in the light of the fire were embroidered down the sides, depicting runic symbols of unity, power, and prosperity.
It matched the brooch that secured his cloak, his house sigil engraved into the metal. Rings Brielle hadn’t seenbefore adorned his fingers, matching the ornaments in her headpiece.
A pure gold circlet sat atop his head, and beads adorned his braids, keeping them in place even with the breeze. A massive sword swung on his hip, one too large to be practical. Ruby and emerald stones accentuated the gold filigree inlaid into the leather hilt as the steel of the blade flickered with specks of obsidian in the sunlight.
Astrid and Liv stayed back as Brielle took the final few steps until she was face to face with Leif. Her vision clouded around the edges, blurring to a dull haze as Leif became her sole focus, the rest of the world disappearing until it was only the two of them.
“Hjartað mitt,” he said, taking her hands in his. “You honor me. I am not worthy of your light.”
“Light cannot exist without darkness. They are intertwined.”
Her heart galloped in her chest at the look he gave her, communicating so much in the silence between them. Rough hands cradled her face, pressing her mouth to his in a soft, tender embrace that almost made her forget where she was.
Cheers and laughter pierced the quiet hum of her mind, and a throat cleared beside them. Blush painted her cheeks a pale pink at the unamused look the Gothi gave them.
“You are skipping parts, Konungr,” he scolded, his wiry brows pinched.
“My apologies,” Leif murmured, looking as contrite as a reprimanded child.
A hand slapped over her mouth, trying to hide her smirk. Her surprise at the Gothi knowing English words vanished quickly under his admonishment of the Konungr.
The Gothi raised his two gnarled hands toward the sky, effectively quieting the village with his silent command.
A powerful, vibrating voice left his lips, the Norse words echoing over all assembled.
Leif led her effortlessly through the ceremony, his eyes welcoming her like fresh snow on the forest floor. His bright teeth beamed at her as he gently took her hands in his, holding them firm between them as his thumbs brushed over her knuckles. The Gothi wrapped a thick violet cord around their joined hands, chanting a verse that the crowd spoke back.
