Waltz

This flash piece is a rough draft of a scene from the prequel novel of The Prophecies of Ragnarok, a Norse mythology based new adult series I'm currently writing with Meri Benson. It may or may not end up in the final version of the novel. This was also written in response to 8Letters' #31Letters challenge, an invitation to write every day for the whole month of January.

Here are the shorts we've written so far for the prequel, in chronological order:

• Birthright
• Ice Queen
• Quiet Time
• Tyr Lends A Hand
• Big Sister, Big Brother
• Just Friends
• Admittance
• Prison Break
• Escaping Asgard
• Marriage Plans
• New Normal
• Hunting Trip
• Night Out
• Waltz (this story)
• Brother's Keeper
• Final Hour
• Better Off Gone
• Resistance and Steps
• Forsaken
• Revenge Served With Rage
• Goodbye, Good Friend
• Inheritance
• A Winter's Bargain
• Death Finds All
• Homecoming
• Reconnection
• The Hour of the Wolf

Hotel Fen, the first published book of the series, follows after this point.

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In Norse mythology, Hel is said to preside over an underworld realm where she receives a portion of the dead. She is referred to as a daughter of Loki, and is described as having been appointed by the god Odin as ruler of a realm of the same name, located in Niflheim. Her appearance is described as half blue and half flesh-colored, and further as having a gloomy, downcast appearance.

Hodr is the blind son of Odin and Frigg, who is tricked and guided by Loki into shooting a mistletoe arrow which was to slay the otherwise invulnerable Baldr, his twin brother.

(Wikipedia)

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This scene was written with Meri.

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Hodr had almost counted her out because of her red hair. But he knew those eyes, even if they were the wrong color now, mirroring his ice blue ones almost uncannily. And there was, of course, the silverfrost. Perhaps she'd only tucked them into her hair as an afterthought, but they'd made it impossible for him to ignore her.

So he kept to the shadows, and watched.

His chest ached a little as he took in how she'd grown in the years they'd been apart. There was a part of her he didn't recognize, the one who carried herself in nearly the same way Baldr did, with a blazing confidence and an easy smile. Though, much like his twin, he could tell just how tired she was from having to pretend. She'd never been one to schmooze, after all. They used to even make fun of Baldr for it.

A light coat of frost began to appear on the glasses of those around him as he noticed her flirting with some Fae lord. There was that telltale gleam of mischief in her eyes, and the way she rested her hand on the man's arm was oddly reminiscent of those times she'd done the same to him. It suddenly felt like his heart was hammering loudly enough for everyone in the hall to hear, so he ducked into the crowd, unwilling to expose himself just yet. Though he never let her out of his sight, keeping to her back as he tracked her across the floor.

His resolve crumbled the moment the said lord tried to pull her toward the dance floor. He was next to her in an instant, reaching from behind and grabbing her hand before the other man could. He spun her into his hold. His cold touch likely gave him away, but he didn't look at her yet, glaring instead at the Fae until he bowed and retreated to look for a different woman to entertain.

Hodr's eyes were dark when he finally gazed down at her, unable to hide the storm of emotions within them. He held her tightly enough to make it clear that she shouldn't even dare to pull away. "Funny finding you here. You weren't a festival kind of girl the last time I saw you."

"Excuse me?"

That she was feigning ignorance took him aback. Why would she wear silverfrost on her hair but pretend not to know him? He was suddenly angry. "You can drop it, Geiravor. I know it's you."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He was sure it's her. He wanted it to be her, even if it dragged the feelings of betrayal and abandonment back out from the depths of his being, along with the broken pieces of his heart. So he baited her in the only way he knew how: by being annoying. "Oh, come on now. Don't act like you were never in my bed. I still know how to make you moan and beg."

It was a crude remark, even for him, but it worked as intended. Her expression darkened, eyes flashing green for a few heartbeats before turning blue again. He smirked, victorious.

"You are full of shit, Hodr." Wow. She left him, and that's the first thing she says? She never even tried to contact him after she'd left. Not a word to him, just gone. "What are you doing here? On an errand for your father?"

"What interest could Father possibly have here past securing a wife for my brother, and a mistress for his bed?" She wanted to play cool, then. Alright. He knew how to play cool.

"Is Baldr looking, now?" She raised an eyebrow and glanced toward Baldr's direction. It was easy to catch sight of his brother. He was this shining beacon of radiant blah blah blah. "Maybe I should say hello. I'm searching for a husband myself."

So much for playing cool. He released her like he'd been scalded, his expression angry and wounded. Of course she would want Baldr, especially now that she was queen. What use did she have for the second son, for the spare? Did she ever even truly want him, or had it been all talk, when they'd planned to get married? Those years felt like an entire lifetime ago now. "Fine. Go say hello. See if he cares. See if I care."

He stalked off, frost trailing on the floor in his wake and some ways ahead of him, causing a Fae girl with gossamer wings to slip and careen into his direction. When he helped her up, he saw, out of the corner of his eyes, that Geiravor had indeed sauntered up to Baldr and asked him to dance.

"What the hell?" the Fae exclaimed, backing away, and for a moment he just stared at her in confusion as his heart broke all over again. Only a while later did he realize that his hands had frosted over, which had freaked out the unsuspecting girl.

Scowling, he started to step away from the crowd and search for something more to drink, but some communal Fae dance had started and people were pushing their way through to join. Caught in the wave, he took a deep breath to rein in his emotions and wait for the rabble to clear, only to find himself pulled toward the thick of the revelry instead. Everyone around him was laughing. People paired up then pulled apart and swapped places. It was all very mind-boggling, but a Fae would helpfully nudge a girl to him or pull one away until he found his rhythm and his footing.

Try as he might to ignore Geiravor and the pain she'd once more brought to his heart, however, his gaze just kept straying to her. She was laughing now, loudly and without restraint, and she spun gracefully like she knew all the steps to the dance. He stared, mesmerized. He'd always liked that about her. That fire, that chaos. The way she thrived in the thrill of the moment.

And he liked that she was no longer in his brother's arms.

Through the sea of people, their eyes met. He wanted to be angry, to push her away. She had broken his heart. He should hate her. But he's never hated her. Even after all these years, even after she left him, he still loved her. Even after all these years, she’s still his.

He wouldn't stand her finding someone else. He couldn't. It might actually break him for her to move on.

So he moved through the crowd to reach her. Was it only wishful thinking, or had she been making her way to him as well? He caught her hand after what seemed like forever and spun her out with the rest, but when he drew her back to him, his hands settled on her hips to keep her close. Hers came to rest on his chest.

The music shifted then, into something slow and heavy with strings. A chunk of the crowd dispersed, but those that remained paired off, as they did. "Told you he's not interested," he murmured, and they were pressed close enough that his lips brushed her cheek.

"I knew he wouldn't be." Her voice held the amusement of their shared secret. They both knew Baldr's type.

"Why did you go, then?" He didn't mean to sound pouty, but the words were out of him before he could think to stop himself. "I will never be enough for you, will I?"

"I never said that."

"No." His tone came out much harsher than he intended. "You just left."

She stilled in his arms at that. He braced himself for her retaliation, knowing that he'd cut her with the truth and she wasn't going to let him get away with it. But what he did not expect was for her to just... walk away, like she did that night, all those years ago.

His anger returned. He stalked after her, both to give her a piece of his mind, and to stop himself from projecting his emotions into a room full of people. It would be bad enough if Baldr or someone in their entourage reported back to Odin that he'd been careless with his magic, worse if anyone would actually manage to put two and two together and realize that he'd seen and been with Asgard's most wanted.

They emerged in the gardens. They weren't alone, not by a long shot, but all the others lurking in the dark were long gone, already consumed by their passions. They wouldn't care, wouldn't even notice, if they heard them arguing.

"So that's it, then?" he called out when she still said nothing. "You leave without a word, looking like I betrayed you, then you come back after years of silence wearing that—" He gestured to the flowers on her hair. "—and act like nothing happened?" He was mad. But more importantly, he was hurt and confused.

She spun around, seething. "You chose your father over me."

What in the nine worlds? He let out a dark laugh, shaking his head in disbelief as the air around them grew colder. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't fast enough to decide and choose you before you were gone," he retorted, his tone thick with sarcasm. He stepped forward, crowding into her space, too riled up to let her accusation slide. Of all the things she could blame him for...

"I was going to come back for you." She tried to hold her ground, but she faltered and stepped back when he came forward. "I-I tried." She released a shaky breath, squeezing her eyes shut. "You don't know what it's like—"

"What don't I know? You left me, remember? You made me believe you’d actually seen me, cared for me. And then you just..." She'd told him nothing, helped him understand none of it. He'd had to learn from his father that she'd taken up the throne and became queen of Jotunheim, after all their talk of love and always being together. "No, all I know is that I gave my heart to you, and you shattered it."

His tone wasn't harsh, though. In fact, it was the exact opposite. Soft, pained. Because it still hurt.

"As did I."

"Whatever, princess." There's a slow breath, like he's deflating before she could give his heart another good kick. Then he took a step back. And another. He waited for her to say something, anything, but when she remained quiet, he finally managed, "You better go back to Jotunheim before Father gets word that you're here. You're not exactly being subtle with the silverfrost." He might be mad at her, but he wouldn't wish her dead. Not even after everything.

"Hodr, listen—"

"Goodnight."

He turned to leave, but then she made a loud, frustrated noise that stopped him in his tracks. "Dammit, Hodr, will you stop wallowing in self-pity for a second and just listen?"

"Oh, now I'm the one who's not listening?" He scoffed. "You're the one who's not saying anything!"

"Because you're not letting me speak!"

Ymir help him, this woman was the absolute worst. "You are insufferable, you know that?" he exclaimed in exasperation, letting out a low growl as he whirled around to face her again.

She'd marched up to him and was practically screaming at his face. "And you're so aggravating!"

Like he hadn't heard that one before. "Well, you like it that way!" He watched in satisfaction as her face turned nearly as red as her glamoured hair.

"Shut up!"

"Make me," he dared, and when her eyes turned purple and she puffed her cheeks in indignation, he knew he'd won.

His victory was short-lived, however. Because then she grabbed the front of his tunic, pulled him down to her, and kissed him.

Geiravor Lokisdottir was many things, and she, especially, did not like to lose.