Perhaps it was the lack of sleep and the stress she’d been under, but her friend’s comment lit an angry spark in Astrid that made her snap back at Maarika. ‘Are you the Queen of Stromgard? Are you? No. It is I who must carry that burden, I who must try to investigate my father’s murder and exonerate my brother, all the while ruling my people and keeping them safe. So allow me to find help where I can!’

‘I’m sorry Astr—’ The shield maiden stopped and corrected herself. ‘I’m sorry, my Queen.’ She began to step back, but the hurt was clear to see on her face.

What am I doing? Astrid asked herself. This is Maarika. If I cannot trust her to tell me the truth, then who?

‘Wait,’ she said, halting her friend’s retreat and reaching out a hand in Maarika’s direction. ‘Please. It is I who should be sorry.’ She sighed. ‘You are my most beloved friend, and you have always done your best to give me good advice.’ She tapped the arm of the great throne with a ringed finger, the sound punctuating her thoughts. ‘But right now, I am unable to concentrate on farmers’ land disputes or the theft of a pig. My father trusted these men to think for him, and I don’t see why I should not do the same. For now, at least.’ She gave a sly smile. ‘Besides, I am not as trusting as you think. It’s like the Fool’s Guard we learned in sword-play: you allow yourself to look weak and vulnerable, inviting the attack, when all the time you are the one in control. This will show me who is truly loyal and who is not.’

‘That sounds like something your father would have said.’

Her friend’s words made her pause for a moment. It was true. She’d clearly learned more listening to the old king than she allowed herself to admit.

‘I miss him so very much.’

‘We all do.’

Astrid gave her friend a sad nod. Then, forcing a smile on to her face, she pushed herself upright in that damnable chair. ‘I would like to go hunting, Maarika. I feel the need to ride and shoot. Perhaps bag one of those troublesome wild boars we saw in the southern forests last month?’

‘Brant Skifrmunn is hoping for an audience with you. He’s waiting outside.’

Astrid sagged back down, a groan of despair escaping her at the same time. Brant had been good enough to leave her be for a short time following the death of her father. Now, having decided her mourning was at an end, the great warrior was pursuing her hand in marriage even more fervently than he had before. The man seemed incapable of taking the many hints she’d given to him that she was not interested. ‘I could go out the back way.’