“Huginn and Muninn had done extra research,” he said quietly. “Your official biography was marked with their notes—‘quiet,’ ‘withdrawn,’ ‘bookish.’ Their interpretation of what their contacts reported.”

Shots of white and gold rang through the sky. I grew very still at his side.

Torden’s voice was a low rumble when he spoke again. “I told myself it was nothing more than chivalry. You would lose the chance to be queen, but I could not watch a gentle, unsuspecting girl be crushed under the weight of Týr’s thoughtlessness.”

I remembered his older brother that first night at dinner, shouting and shoveling food into his mouth. I could never have reciprocated his feelings—if he’d managed to produce any.

“Pappa had almost convinced Týr—after all, he might never find a wife so easily again. He was nearly ready to move forward.”

Move forward. As though I were a village to attack and the oldest Asgard brother were organizing troops. “So what happened?”

Torden wet his lips. “I asked Pappa to let it be me, instead.”

A pause. My voice wobbled treasonously. “What?”

“I asked Týr to defer to me,” Torden said. “Potomac was furious, because plans had already begun, but in the end, they conceded.”

In the end, I thought, it had mattered most to Alessandra that I go.

“The visit might end in nothing, but I hoped at least to spare you two hideous weeks with Týr. He is not very inclined to marry, so he agreed. Pappa just looked at my black eye and said that maybe a woman would do me some good.” Torden cracked a grin.

My humorless laugh echoed off the rocks as I shifted away from him. “I guess it’s lucky for Týr and me that you felt sorry for me.”

“Stop,” Torden said evenly. “Wait for the end. You promised.” His arms didn’t restrain me, but his tone held me fast.

“Fine.” I avoided his eyes, choking on confusion and embarrassment. “Finish.”

“I called it chivalry in the beginning because I didn’t know any better,” he said. “I didn’t know how it would be.”

“How what would be?”

“How everything would change when you arrived,” he said heatedly. Torden scrubbed a hand through his hair, gleaming red gold in the sunrise. “Your portrait was a weak still life. But when I saw you face-to-face . . .” He shook his head. “It was all over for me.”

The sun stole over the horizon, stretching across the water, and Torden dragged in a breath as though he were coming up for air. “I never needed anyone before. Not me, on my own,” he said quietly. “I had my brothers, my kingdom. But you told me that first day you would listen to me. You let me lean on you, and not because you had to.”

My blood stuttered, but I held my silence, fearful to speak and break the spell.