A Queen Named Victory

Chapter Eleven

Grendel rejected my pleas to send my family back into our world. He used their safety for his defense, but he had his own agenda behind his decisions. Ingrid and Ulf often sent messages about how happy they were and how much they enjoyed their new home.

The fates shoved me into chaos and demanded I prosper. My mornings began with my husband teaching me all Dimikyrian dialects necessary to communicate with his subjects. He enjoyed his morning tea while he corrected my mispronunciations or speech errors. His laughter filled the room whenever I did not properly mimic the low rumbling expressions of gratitude or if my voice cracked during a royal introduction. We mostly spent the mornings bickering rather than learning.

Then he left me with Sabre, the stern feline captain of the royal guard, for the rest of the day. She drilled me on protocols, instructed royal meetings with nobility, and introduced me to royal finances. By nightfall, I lounged in an empty bed until I drifted into a dreamless slumber. Tasks quickly grew tiresome. Hatred for my position evolved from a seedling into a garden. Nobles showed their true character during mid-day meals. They snickered at minor mistakes in posture or language mishaps. They intentionally spoke a different dialect than the one I learned from Grendel. That cycle continued as the days passed into months. Somehow, I found myself more lost than when I arrived.

The isolation from my siblings damaged my heart more than the nuisances attached to being a queen. Ingrid hosted meals and jolly affairs without caution. Fey creatures flocked to their estate. My grandmother enjoyed lively conversations over tables overflowing with roasted pigs, steaming onion soups, and expensive wines (which were bribes) gifted from Grendel. Little Ulf spoke endlessly of the new fey friends he met since his arrival.

"All of you will still enjoy this luxury back home, even if you leave now," I tried but my sister waved my words away from her ears.

Ingrid rolled her eyes, then replied in Dimikyrian, "You will not perfect this language if you avoid practicing."

Her attendant offered to refill her silver goblet. She swirled the content once before continuing.

"It is time for you to stop worrying about us. Leave me be, and go live your life."

Her unexpected confidence sliced through the ties we spent our entire life creating. I stared at her. Two months in this land magnified my sister's naivety so much she ignored my wisdom. She was bound to get hurt, and I was not about to let that happen.

"You're returning home," I asserted. "I will not have your blood on my hands."

Ingrid placed her goblet down, obviously displeased with my determination.

"What is your problem, Sigrid? Let us be happy."

"You'll be happy among our people."

"Don't you have other responsibilities to occupy your mind, like producing heirs? Spare me your lectures."

I tightened my grip on the knife and fork in my hands. "Would you care to trade positions? Say the word, and I'll slice your belly the way they did mine so you can be their queen," I warned, leaning closer so she could hear the venom past the veil. "Nobody would ever know we switched, not even the king himself." Two Dimikyrian ladies sitting at the other end of the table muttered about my whining tone. One used her hands to cover her mouth as she sneered about my inability to birth an heir.

I held my sister back when she tried to confront them from her seat. That part of our relationship remained intact. "Let them speak," I reassured her. "Their opinions mean little to me." I preferred it when high-ranking officials untethered their tongues. They assumed I was a stupid farm girl incapable of being a royal. They unleashed their true nature for me to judge freely. Sooner than later, they would give me the information I needed to ruin them.

All good things come with patience.

"My uncle will not acknowledge her. Just wait. He'll have no choice but to remarry," said one of the spindly guests.

"Your uncle is due soon. I bet twenty dwarven necklaces that he'll have the king marry your fat cousin. Oh, I can't wait," the other replied gleefully, then sipped her tea.

"I'm sorry," Ingrid said without facing me.

Guards saluted Sabre with a message from Grendel requesting her immediate presence, which I gladly allowed. I excused myself from my sister's company for her guest room. I delighted in my ability to lie again. Too much time with Grendel and Sabre left me incapable of hiding the truth from others.

I made my way to the stables after secretly tumbling out of her guest room window. Heidrun's whinnies welcomed my arrival. We both set off into the open fields bordering neighboring estates, free from the constraints that bound us. I tore my veil from my head.

Chilly mountain air caressed my face and tugged my hair loose. Heidrun galloped until Ingrid's estate was a speck on the grassland. She leaped over wooden fences and passed grazing herds of cattle and mountain rams. I slowed Heidrun's pace as we neared a young woman struggling to guide a distressed cow back to a far byre.

"You won't make it in time to the byre in that condition," I called, hoping that she'd welcome my aid.

The cow tugged away from the woman. Her bulging belly slowed her reaction to my arrival. The girl nearly lost the rope the second time the cow pulled away. I poured the last bit of my water pouch over my hands before I examined the cow's state. It was as I expected; she had a breeched calf. The young woman looked feverish at the sight of the birthing process but kept the rope in her hands. I was a child when I took part in my first breeched delivery.

I held the ropes while my mother reached deep into the cow's womb. "There's no turning back, Little Wolf. Hold her steady," Mama grunted. Sweat beads dripped from her dirty brow. Our cow released a painful bellow as she pulled the legs forward. Mama dispelled the calf in one swift motion, followed by slimy remnants and cow shit.

"Is the calf still alive?!" the woman called, dispelling my faint childhood memory. Two more men joined us.

"Ay," I answered as I checked for breathing. I turned to the men who joined us during the first delivery.

"We're not done yet. There's a second babe stuck."

"How do you know?" another questioned.

"I have a knack for sensing twins."

The four of us stood over two healthy calves by the end of the evening. Their company made up for the coldness I have experienced since I arrived in Montver. The young Dimikyr woman, named Ennie, and her brothers tended to their landowner's farm for food and housing. They opened their home for me without hesitation. I glanced at my disheveled reflection in the bathwater. Those snobs would drop over if they saw me now, bloodied, covered in dirt, sweat, and shit. Yet, I would do it over again to see the mother cow clean her calves with such tenderness. Their big eyes looked up at us with pure innocence.

Ennie's siblings extended their welcome to a comforting and humble dinner that was like our food in Dovre. We supped on a chicken stew simmered with herb-seasoned potatoes, soft-boiled eggs, and buttered toast. Ennie filled small ceramic mugs to the brim, and we chatted under the faint glimmering torchlight.

Piercing chills traveled down my spine, warning me of the beast on the other side of the cottage walls.

Three calm knocks stopped our conversation.

"I should take that," I said calmly as I arranged my dinnerware before rising. "My husband is here to ruin our wonderful evening." Grendel was as displeased to see me as I was to see him. My hosts jolted into a bowing position on the floor upon realizing my true identity.