Sir Perrault must have seen the sheer cowardice in my eyes as I started toward an open bench nearby. “No.” He took my wrist. “The head table. Sit with the prins.”

I yanked my arm from his grasp and glared at him. Lang stepped between us, a dangerous look on his face.

“Do not repeat the errors you committed in England,” Perrault said. His voice was quiet—but his tone was almost pleading. I exhaled a long breath, gritting my teeth in frustration.

We were interrupted by Anya rushing forward, beaming at us. “Come and sit down!” Skop returned her lilting invitation with a blank stare and slack jaw, so I took his elbow.

Then I nodded at Perrault, begrudging, and followed Anya toward the boys seated on Alfödr’s right.

Lang watched me walk up the aisle and took the rest of the crew to the konge’s left, near the older of Konge Alfödr’s sons. As Cobie, Perrault, and J.J. followed him, I noticed the queen watching J.J., her expression unguardedly sad—almost hungry.

A stuffed, silently yawping moose head on the wall caught my eye as we wove up the aisle. “Unbelievable.” I shuddered, nudging Skop.

But Skop didn’t answer. His eyes didn’t leave Anya as she led us to the front of the hall, pausing here and there to smile and fill mugs from foaming pitchers scattered across the long tables. Glasses rose to her as she passed.

I nudged him again gently with my shoulder. “You’re going to burn holes through her, Skop.” He blushed bright red.

“She’s perfect,” he said, disbelieving.

“You met her three minutes ago,” I pointed out, not very helpfully.

“So? You only have two weeks at each court. Your time crunch elevates our whole situation.”

I had two weeks to succeed with Torden, if I hoped to avoid the Imperiya and get home to Daddy quickly. My pulse rose suddenly. “It’s protocol,” I snapped, “it’s not my—”

“Shush,” he cut me off. Anya stopped short, and I walked right into her. Right in front of Torden and his brothers.

38

I gawked at the five Asgard boys. “Evening,” Skop supplied, finding me temporarily mute.

Anya directed me to a chair across from Torden, and I pulled it out, wincing as its legs screeched.

“The queen seems glad to finally meet you,” offered one of them.

Dronning Rihttá was still stealing glances at J.J. at the far end of the table. If this counted as upbeat, her melancholy must be miserable.

“I’m glad—um . . .” I trailed off.

“Hermódr.” He winked behind his glasses.

“Right. Hermódr,” I repeated, serving myself from the platters of roast goose and cabbage at the center of the table. “This would be much harder if your mother didn’t like me.”