Svanhild had not heard a single thing from Hakon, or from her children, since she had left the inn. The brine of the sea had greeted her and led the former Queen towards another inn, where she slept uneasily during the night but at least managed to get some hot soup into her system, knowing she would needed it for whatever was to unfold that day.

They were meant to go to Paradisium, and she did not know what to expect; so she'd prepared for everything. Early in the morning, before the agreed hour to leave, she had travelled back to Astoria's castle, sitting near one of the exterior halls, staring aimlessly at something far in the horizon. Winds tore at the coast, reaching her nostrils which flared with the smell of salt and death and war.

The world could not end. They had to keep running, keep going on borrowed time, at least until her children had a fair chance of winning the conflict they had come to face so bravely for their young ages. She knew her time was borrowed anyway, had known it from the moment the war had broken. Demons had become their enemies again, publicly and expressed at least, and the possibility of dying at the hands of her own friends had grown.

But she had nothing to lose anyway. She would go down fighting, if that meant future generations, her children, would have a brighter, better future. A better life, without so much hardship, so much greed and malice. Svanhild's heart pounded with determination, moved by her own desires and wishes, but that all fell apart when she heard his footsteps down the far end of the hall.

Svanhild could pick that cadence apart from miles away. The weight he put on his feet, how it was slightly more noticeable on his right leg because it was his dominant side, the speed he usually carried. Calm, collected, but strong. The cadence of a King. Bile rose in her throat, but Svanhild swallowed it down, bracing a hand on the stone arc she had found herself peering out from, feeling them bite into her calluses. She would have to face him, eventually, whether she liked it or not. Raising her blue eyes from the shadowed landscape, the woman stared him down, looking at him from over her nose even though Hakon towered over her. And Svanhild had never been a short woman.

"Your Majesty" she greeted, nothing warm or comforting in her voice, just the coldness of a warrior awaiting orders. She turned her body to face him fully, standing tall and proud, her chest puffed in the posture of a soldier even though she felt as if though it would cleave in two. Sketching a slight bow, it hurt to think she was acting as if thought they had never married. But it was better that way. Better to ignore and move on and feign indifference, than express the extent of her hatred and agony. He was still her King, after all, whether she liked it or not.

Hakon's lips were a tight line of tension as his attention fell upon the shining blonde hair at the end of the dark corridor. He could recognize her anywhere, regardless of his feelings for Svana; after all, he had awoken for years with that same face at his side, with the same powerful body tangled amongst the sheets. It was curious, how different all three women in his life had been. Astoria, silver and sultry, her fair skin a stark contrast with her dark hair. Issa's own golden flesh, burnt the colour of caramel by the sun of her lands, the mass of dark curls in her head. And Svanhild's golden mane, her skin sunkissed and flecked with scars. All of them so different, with barely anything in common.

He didn't know what he had expected their meeting to be like, just as he hadn't known what to feel as he'd read the letter left undoubtedly for him. Reading over the words inked there, on their nightstand, beside the golden wedding band and diadem left there, his stomach flipping over.

I know the truth.

How had she known? Who had told her? Or perhaps he had been stupid enough to believe a woman who had only known battle and blood all her life, would not see through his intrigues. Had believed her to be stupider than the other two women he had tangled himself with, both born into the snakes of a court.

Regret and guilt flashed in his eyes then, as the cold, distant words rolled off her tongue, bowing down to him as nothing more than a soldier. He eyed the armour clenched to her body, the leathers that hugged her skin beneath the shining parts. A woman ready for battle.

But was he ready for the battle they'd have there? Standing together, with nothing left between them but regrets and pain? She'd changed my love, Hakon, My King for... Your Majesty, just as she'd changed from Stormblade to Osouf in the blink of an eye.

He'd thrown it all away in the blink of an eye, and would take most of it back.

"Svana..." he began, conflicted, his mouth agape like that of a fish as he fumbled for the right words. For anything he might say that could perhaps tear through her iciness, down to the woman he had known. But the sound of her name on his lips made her want to throw up, remembering how she'd purred and loved and gasped at that melody so many times. Remembering how much she'd given to him, had laid bare for him to see and touch and use.

Used. She felt used, and the betrayal and pain that surfaced in her expression was real, breaking through the seams of her façade. She angled her body again, rotating a shoulder back and yielding a step, as if he might try to reach for her physically. But she'd cried enough at the inn that morning, and wouldn't show him anything to feel pity for.

"Are we leaving?" she questioned, her voice calm even though it had turned gruff with the tightness in her throat, unwilling to speak about what they both felt. 

"Svanhild, please" he begged, lifting a hand to ran it through his hair, lowering his eyes to the ground as he kept looking, kept trying to say something and yet failed again and again.

Where had his kingly speeches gone now? Where had his golden tongue, the tongue that had built her castles and entire worlds of love and desire, gone? Perhaps to the same place where her wedding ring had gone, leaving behind a white band on her finger, testimony of the years she had worn it for. Never taking it off.

It thrummed in response to his gaze, and Svanhild clenched her fist behind her thigh, her armor cracking gently as the metals scraped. She pursed her lips, brows furrowing to keep her face from anything that wasn't pure discomfort.

"I don't want to talk about it, Hakon. We don't have time. Leave me alone, and let's just go. Please", and now she was pleading, but not with desperation; it was exhaustion that hummed there, beneath her words, clenching her jaw and lifting her face a little more to look at him. A pilar of conviction, even though he'd ripped a chunk of it apart.

"I wish I-" he insisted, disbelief clouding his features, reaching for her as she'd known he'd done. As she had seen him do many times, when conflict and anger had simmered in her body language but she'd held it in. But Svana dodged his strong, rough hands and pulled her own arm out of the way, lifting her hand beside her face, movements laced with pain and power.

"Save it" she interrupted him, a growl surging from her throat, teeth bared at the troubles that swam within her. Svanhild didn't want to forgive him, yet his voice broke a little more of her apart.

She loved him still.

"Save it, your Majesty. I don't want to hear it. You have nothing to say that-"

The tension in that hallway could have been cut with a needle, as despair began to erupt from Hakon, seeping into the air around them and making his eyes wide with panic. With what to say, what to do to make it better, to make her look at him as she had done for years, and not like this. Not like the emissary his father had sent all those years ago. It wasn't even the same gaze, for that one at least had been filled with respect and reverence and loyalty. This time, there was nothing there but calculation and resignation, cold and bitter.

So it was his turn to interrupt.

"I'm sorry! I regret what I did, and if I could take it back, then maybe you would not have been hurt. Perhaps I was unsure of what I wanted, because I was young and stupid and brash-" he blurted, a roar reverberating in his chest.

But then Svanhild exploded as well, a mirror to his own volcano.

"I said I don't want to hear it! I don't want to listen to you justify what you did, and try to place the blame on your younger self. If you regret wedding me, look me in the eye and say it. Say it loud and clear" she spat, snarling in anger, her eyes lined with silver as she took back the step she had reversed, coming closer to him with nothing but hostility radiating from her.

Shock rippled in Hakon's expression, but he shut his mouth with the click of his teeth. He didn't regret it, he didn't regret the family and the children they had made together, didn't regret the Heirs they'd raised or the governors they had given Wuunvar. Yet he couldn't deny... couldn't deny the feelings in his heart.

Svanhild's pain grew, like a wave reading to hit the sandy shore. But she swallowed it down with an audible gulp, her throat bobbing, and with her hands in fists at her sides, averted his gaze once more, her breathing jagged. But not out of passion or ecstasy, but out of wrath and sorrow.

"I insist. We should get going if we want to get a head start, Your Highness" she hissed, her voice barely a breath as she leashed her feelings back in, tried to collect herself and descend into that cool corner of herself. That killing calm.

Hakon wanted to disappear. To escape that moment, to forget the sadness and hatred in Svanhild's blue eyes. To forget the tears he had seen had threatened to spill over her cheeks a second ago, to forget what he had done.

He wanted to regret it. Wanted to hate himself for it. But couldn't.

There was nothing left to hate.

—————

A brief look at what I pictured would happen next </3

savy-lowkey

Xandra_Dee