I cringed. “I wouldn’t phrase it that way.”

My stomach twisted at his insinuation. Did Aleksei just want to get a rise out of me? Or was his behavior about something larger—meant to unsettle me, throw me off course?

“Goodness, you women.” Aleksei smiled, but it was a hard expression, cadaverous. It tightened the lines of his face, emphasizing the curve of the skull beneath his pallid cheeks. “Anya lets Alfödr’s drengs chase her hem and tortures Bragi endlessly, and you shy away from the word tame. A heartless beauty and a shrinking violet.”

I squirmed and looked away.

Aleksei sighed, abruptly serious. “You ought to know what things are really like in Asgard, Selah. Don’t let squeamishness get in the way.”

When I turned back to Aleksei, his expression was still sour, but he suddenly looked tired, and very young. I studied him, torn between suspicion and sympathy. “I think I like it here,” I said tentatively.

“Of course you do,” Aleksei said, smiling bitterly. “Because you haven’t made a mistake yet and been forced to taste the consequences.”

Alfödr had thrown Aleksei out of dinner in front of everyone for what could’ve been an honest mistake, or—more likely—a joke in poor taste. I’d been publicly humiliated often enough lately to imagine quite clearly what it must have felt like.

I chose to let sympathy win.

“You sound like you’re having a bad night.” I smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe things will look brighter in the morning.”

“Maybe the sun will rise in the west.” Aleksei rolled his eyes as I left him.

Wincing, I hurried to the fireplace where Torden stood talking with Fredrik. They stopped speaking as I approached, but their faces were pained.

Fredrik furrowed his brow at me. “You look like someone just told you a dirty joke and then explained the ending when you didn’t get it.”

Torden grimaced and nodded back at their brother, who was busy now with a trio of pretty girls. “She looks like she’s been talking to Aleksei.”

“Or that.” Fredrik bobbed his head.

I rubbed my eyes, abruptly weary. “His, uh, party tactics are something.”

“Aleksei loves to stir the pot.” Torden sighed, rubbing his neck. “Let me walk you back to your room.”

He wrapped a heavy arm around me as we walked out Valaskjálf’s doors. “You look beautiful tonight.”

I smiled, grateful for his warmth; my shoulders were bare, and the corridor was chilly. “Thank you. You look nice, too.” I paused, studying his downturned mouth, his tired eyes. “Is something on your mind?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, suddenly guarded.

I hesitated. “You look . . . troubled. You said I could trust you. I don’t want to pry, but you can trust me, too.”

Torden paused, considering, cautious longing in his face. “If I tell you, will you tell your companions?”