The first problem occurred before they'd even mounted.

Árdís captured the reins of Gunnar's chestnut and tried to swing her foot into the stirrup, but the mare was having none of it. She snorted and sidled to the side, her eyes rolling. Árdís was knocked off balance, and the mare nearly bolted.

Haakon caught the bridle with a grimace.

"It's the smell," Gunnar said, and spat on the docks as he folded his arms across his enormous barrel chest. "Hela knows the girl isn't human."

Out of all of his men's horses, Hela was the calmest. Usually. Haakon ground his teeth together.

"Fine. You can ride Snorri," Haakon snapped, tugging the fat little baggage pony they had forward. Snorri dug his heels in and extended his neck as far as it would go in protest, until he was practically dragging him across the cobbles. "We can reassemble the bags."

"I am not riding that thing," Árdís said, echoing Gunnar's stance. "It looks like a carpetbag with legs. And it hates me. Look at it glaring at me with those beady little eyes. I don't trust it not to dump me in the mud. Or bite me."

"Then bite him back. You seem to have a fondness for such a thing," Haakon said, through his teeth. "Snorri is bred for this terrain. And we're running out of choices. Unless you'd prefer to walk?"

"Then you ride him," Árdís said, crossing to Sleipnir's side. "And I will ride your mighty steed, who seems to like me better."

Sleipnir snorted, his eyes rolling toward her, but he was an ex-cavalry mount. He'd been trained to ride right into gunfire and not flinch. Or directly at a dragon, come to think of it. And while he might not precisely like the idea of Árdís sitting on his back, he was clearly not about to suffer a fit of vapors like the rest of the horses.

That wouldn't be at all manly, and the stallion had a reputation to protect.

Haakon's eyes narrowed. Traitor. He already wanted to tear his hair out. "Gunnar, you might as well remove Hela's tack. Take her with you. She's going to be useless."

"I don't think I like the idea of you riding off alone with her," Gunnar muttered.

"Yes, but a pair of riders is going to attract less attention than a handful of dragon hunters. None of us look like farmers or merchants," Tormund said quickly, slapping Gunnar on the shoulder. His fingers locked there, as if to restrain the man. "This isn't going to end in a fight, if Haakon uses his wits. He knows what he's doing. And one or more riders at his side isn't going to be able to drive a dreki away. We'd need the entire company and the ballista for that, and we might as well burn a massive beacon and drag it along behind us."

Haakon ground his teeth together and glared at his cousin. I don't have a fucking clue what I'm doing.

Tormund flashed a quick smile. Then waggled his eyebrows up and down.

Curse him. This wasn't going to go the way Tormund expected.

The next few days stretched in front of him.

Alone. With Árdís.

And the nights....

Pure bloody torture.

And now she insisted she wasn't going to ride the baggage pony?

Tethering the reluctant pony to Sleipnir, he shifted his saddlebags, relocating some of the straps. This was not a major problem. He could work out a solution. His willpower wasn't going to fail at the thought of having her in his arms.

"So you are going to ride the carpetbag?" Árdís looked brightened by the prospect.

If Sleipnir could handle this, then so could he. It was just a few days in close proximity to her.

She was the one who'd be getting a sore backside.

"No," Haakon snapped, swinging up into the saddle and adjusting his seat as the stallion danced. His sword and crossbow were going to be a problem, but he could manage. "You're going to board the ship while I ride out of Reykjavik alone, just in case anyone is watching. I'll meet you five miles north of the town, where Tormund can row you ashore. Then you can ride behind me."

He nudged Sleipnir forward, nodding at Tormund. "Make a fuss out of taking her aboard. Make sure she's seen, so if anyone comes offering gold around, they'll happily say she boarded a ship. I'll see you in a couple of hours."

"See?" Tormund said, offering Árdís his arm. "Your husband is a strategic man. You'll be safe with him."

Haakon met her eyes as he reined Sleipnir in a tight circle.

Who was going to protect him from her?

* * *

It swiftly became clear Árdís had few allies aboard the ship.

Marek had vanished inside Haakon's cabin, and sought the bed, proving Haakon's assessment of his condition correct. Most of the men ignored her, a few gave her curious looks, but Gunnar outright scowled.

"Stay there," he snapped, pointing to what he called the bow of the ship. "And don't move. Don't speak. Don't get in the way."

Then he turned and strode away.

"Have I done something to offend you?" she called.

Gunnar paused in mid-step. "Did you not hear me?"

"I think the not speaking rule is a trifle overwhelming." And she had her pride, after all. She was dreki.

He turned on her. "I've spent the last seven years at Haakon's side, hunting for you. He never gave up hope, until last month when your brother told him the truth of your deception. He went mad. Tore apart his room, shattered furniture like it was made from sticks. We had to chain him up for days, so he wouldn't mount an armed assault on your dreki court by himself. You did that to him. Men died because of your lies. I've lost good friends to dragons’ teeth because you decided to toy with Haakon's heart on a fucking whim."

She was taken aback. "It wasn't a whim," she said softly.

"That's enough, Gunnar."

Tormund. The only one who seemed to be on her side. The bearded giant stepped between them, twitching a brow at Gunnar. "And it's not entirely true. Bjorn, Gunnar, and I are here for Haakon, but the others like the scent of gold. Dragon gold. Those men that died knew the risks when they signed on, and they chose to attack a dangerous beast because of their greed. Lay what you want at her feet, Gunnar. But not that."

Gunnar's face turned red. He didn't appear to be breathing. Without another word he turned around and stomped away.

"Thank you." Árdís eyed the large man. She remembered his face. "You're Haakon's cousin. You were there, at the...."

"Wedding?" He cocked a brow. "Can't say it, Princess?"

She turned to stare out at the waves primly. "It's just a word."

"Aye." He leaned on the rail at her side and grinned at her. A handsome man who towered over all the others, his beard was several shades darker than his long hair. Brown eyes twinkled at her. "I was there at the wedding. I'm surprised you remember me. The pair of you barely took your eyes off each other. You danced all night in Haakon's arms, and you smiled at him like you'd just discovered an entire hoard of precious gems nobody had seen for centuries. Brunhild was certain you'd give her grandchildren a mere nine months later. It's the only time I've ever refused to accept a bet."

Children. Always children. Her hands tightened on the rail. "You don't seem to despise me like the others do."

"Gunnar's only mad because he owes me fifty kroner."

She'd felt the truth vibrating in Gunnar's words. "No. He hates me for what I've done to Haakon. But you don't."

"That's because I'm smarter than Gunnar." Tormund made a muffled grunting sound, and scratched his beard. "My mother said there's always a reason for the choices people make. I told you. I remember that wedding. You were so in love with Haakon you could barely see anyone else. Your choice to leave him makes no sense to me." He turned his head to look at her, and she realized she wasn't fooling this man at all. "If Haakon could see straight right now, he might realize that. You loved him. And then you left him. And I don't think you've told anyone the reason why. And there is a reason. I'll wager you fifty kroner—no, I'll wager you a handful of emeralds—that something else drove you from his side."

"You don't have a handful of emeralds."

"No, but you do." His smile widened. "And I'm not going to lose this wager, am I, Princess?"

* * *

The rowboat rocked as Tormund heaved against the oars, salty spray splashing over Árdís's lips. She watched the ship grow smaller, feeling a little nervous. Every delay narrowed her chances of escaping.

Claus would have been found by now.

Her rooms would have been searched, and Malin discovered.

No doubt her mother had sent her dreki guards into the sky. Árdís had seen no sign of wings on the horizon, but she had no doubt they were out there. Somewhere.

"Nearly there," Tormund promised, as they began to crest the breakers closer to shore. "I'll keep an eye on your servant for you."

"Thank you."

She turned to face the bay. A solitary figure waited on the beach, the fur-lined cloak on his shoulders flapping around his calves. Cliffs lined the bay, and in the distance snow-capped mountains gleamed.

For a second she let her gaze rove over him, and she didn't bother to hide the feelings inside her when she did.

Haakon.

Once upon a time, he'd been all she'd ever wanted.

And it hadn't simply been lust, though that was tangled in the mix of emotions inside her. No. There was so much more. And she'd never even realized it until the night of their wedding, when he'd finally made love to her, and they'd lain in each other's arms, spent and panting.

Being in his arms felt like home in a way the court had never been. She belonged there. Nothing could touch her when Haakon was there. No one could ever hurt her. All she'd ever felt was happiness.

Until her mother's shadow began to brush against the edges of her little world.

Árdís sighed as Haakon made his way down the beach toward them. She was no longer welcome in his arms.

He strode into the foamy surf, helping to haul the boat in closer. The sharp cut of his cheekbones looked particularly foreboding, and his eyes glittered with ice as he looked at them. "You're late."

"The winds weren't in our favor," Tormund called. "And you're welcome."

It took her a second to compose herself, when Haakon turned that hot-eyed stare upon her. It always did. But Árdís had spent years playing her court-appointed role. He wouldn't see the longing in her eyes. Or the vulnerability in her heart.

She'd make sure of it.

"Ready?" He held the boat steady and gestured to the foot of water surrounding them with his other hand.

Árdís clambered to her feet, swaying as the waves rocked the boat. In the past, he'd have never demanded this. He'd have carried her, so she wouldn't get her boots wet.

But that man was long buried beneath this imposing half-stranger.

And she'd be damned if she'd give him the pleasure of seeing her falter.

Grabbing a fistful of her skirts, she tried to plant her boot on the edge of the boat. Haakon offered her a hand to help her, at least, but as she shifted her weight forward the boat suddenly rocked and she found herself thrown forward with a squeal.

Hard arms locked around her, and Árdís slammed against Haakon's chest as he caught her.

A soft curse broke from him as her breasts pressed against his face. Her arms locked around the back of his heavily muscled neck automatically, and for a second, she inhaled the scent of warm, clean male.

Her male.

Oh, gods. She nearly groaned. She'd never been good with temptation, and this was only a reminder of what a strain on her willpower these next few days would be. She could feel the silk of his hair against her hands and wanted to curl her fingers through it.

"Sorry," Tormund called, sounding anything but.

"Son of a bitch," Haakon muttered. He shot a glare over his shoulder, and Árdís suddenly realized it hadn't been a wave that sent her falling, but one clearly unrepentant matchmaker.

Haakon growled under his breath and swung an arm under her thighs. He hauled her up into his arms, and Árdís grabbed at him inelegantly as he juggled her.

It seemed he'd changed his mind about making her walk through the water.

"Ride safe, Princess," Tormund called. "And remember our bet."

"What bet?" Haakon's gaze cut to hers.

Árdís's cheeks burned, as he started to carry her toward the beach, striding through the skim of waves. "Nothing."

Behind her, Tormund merely laughed as he began to haul the boat back out to sea.

* * *

The second challenge came later that night, when they stopped to set up camp. They'd covered only a handful of miles with all the subterfuge with the ship, before Haakon insisted upon pulling off the road and finding a secluded place to sleep.

He'd barely spoken to her all day.

Despite what Tormund had told her on the ship, there was no sign of the man who'd married her. Nor the one she'd met again in Reykjavik. Haakon wasn't mad with fury, nor boiling with frustration. He was cold. Closed off.

A part of her wanted to break through those walls that locked him away. Ever since Tormund had spoken of their wedding, she'd been unable to think of anything else.

"There's only one bedroll," Árdís pointed out as she finished building the fire.

Haakon continued to roll the bedroll out, his movements quick and sure. She'd always liked that about him—he was constantly moving, constantly doing some chore. The only time he'd ever been still had been those moments when she'd managed to talk him into lingering in bed, or those rainy mornings when he was trapped in the house they'd shared and they would talk or read together.

"Are we sharing that too?" she dared to ask.

Haakon's hands paused, and then swiftly resumed the task as if it had never happened. But she noticed.

"No."

"Then how are...?"

"You're taking the bedroll. I'll keep watch."

He was making good on his promise not to touch her.

It was sensible.

It was... frustrating.

"You need sleep too," she pointed out.

"I'll wake you when it's my turn."

Then he turned and tugged his bow from the pile of baggage. "Stay here and don't leave the fire. I'll be back."

He vanished long enough to return with a rabbit for dinner, and then roasted it in silence once he'd finished skinning it. The quiet between them was beginning to irritate her.

"Are you not going to speak to me?" Not touching her was one thing, but he would barely look at her.

"I'm speaking." Using an old rag, Haakon cleaned the blood from his knife.

"Yes. You've mastered the art of the terse reply. It's going to feel like the longest journey I've ever been on, if you insist upon continuing in this vein."

There. There was a hint of emotion tensing his shoulders. Haakon stabbed the knife down into the log he was sitting upon.

His eyes flashed. "What do we have to speak about?"

"You're not curious? About why I fled?"

"I thought it was to avoid a mating ceremony," he said curtly, oh-so-curtly.

Fat sizzled as he turned the rabbit on the spit.

She couldn't reach him. It ached through her, and her hands fell uselessly into her lap. A foolish sort of pain, for she shouldn't even be pushing at him like this. If he was going to remain walled-off, then perhaps that was for the best?

But a part of her still remembered the stirring arguments they'd always had. He'd always challenged her to think in other ways—pushed at her to be more than a spoiled princess who had dreki males falling at her feet. This quiet, contained Haakon was a stranger. She wanted the one who growled back at her. The one who got that certain look on his face when the argument intensified, and they were no longer merely arguing over something, but yelling just for the sake of it.

She wanted the one who kissed her when the tide finally turned, his mouth crashing down upon hers. His hands wrenching up her skirts as their bodies tumbled to the bed....

It was both a secret joy and a misery to be so close to him after all these years, and yet so far.

"When you left me" —he broke the silence— "where did you go?"

Árdís looked up slowly, her pulse beating thickly in her throat. It took her a moment to reorient herself. Haakon carved a slice of meat off the rabbit, passing it to her. He looked utterly disinterested in her answer, but at the last moment, their eyes met and she saw heat simmering there, before his gaze returned to the rabbit.

Not entirely impregnable then.

It gave her hope. She knew how to stir this man and breach his defenses.

Árdís chewed thoughtfully. Did she dare? The tension between them was becoming almost unbearable, and it felt like there was only one safe way to defuse it.

"I returned to court. I had no choice, not truly. My mother was furious with me for vanishing for three years without a trace. I've been there ever since. She barely takes her eyes off me. And you? Tormund said you were dragon hunters."

"I'm surprised he didn't tell you more than that," Haakon muttered.

"He did." She watched his face carefully. She'd been doing that all day, trying to map the differences. There was a faint scar above his lips. Another slashing through his blond brow. He'd turned from a handsome young hunter who'd left flowers on her doorstep and promised his mother he'd have her home by nightfall, to a hard battle-scarred warrior who looked like he'd throw her over his shoulder if given half a chance. Dangerous to rouse.

She wanted to rouse him.

Árdís moved a little closer, shifting along the log. "He said they call you Dragonsbane now. Haakon Dragonsbane."

Haakon's lips tightened. "They're fools."

"No, I like it. It's a worthy name. You've killed three dragons. There are few men who could claim such a thing."

"Hell, Árdís. I didn't do it for the bloody accolades—"

"I know." This was not going the way she'd hoped. "He told me you went mad when I left. You drank too much. You didn't eat enough. And you insisted upon rescuing me. You gave yourself over to hunting dragons and searching for word of me. Tormund had to ride along with you to keep you safe."

"Tormund rode along because he thought it would be a grand fucking adventure," Haakon snapped, "and he wanted to hear his name sung in the ballads they'd sing."

"There are ballads sung about you?"

"No. There are no ballads." A vein throbbed in his jaw. Firelight gilded the sharp slash of his cheekbone, as he turned to look at her. "If I'd known he'd dribble such foolishness into your ears when you boarded that ship, I wouldn't have bloody put you upon it. What did he do? Tell you everything that's happened in the last seven years?"

"Not everything." She twitched her skirts.

He hadn't, for example, answered the question of whether Haakon had ever had another woman in his bed.

"You want to know the answer to that, Princess, then you're going to have to ask him yourself."

"Bloody meddling fool." Haakon yanked his knife out of the log, and swung the rabbit off the fire.

"He did, however, bet me a golden crown and a fistful of emeralds that we're going to fall into bed together by the end of this journey."

Haakon froze.

His stormy eyes found her, but they didn't linger on her face. A swift glance dipped lower, stroking over her lips, her hands, her breasts. Then away. "I swear to the gods, I'm going to kill him."

A thrill lit through her. This was one way to fight his coldness. Árdís straightened, letting her cloak fall away from her shoulders.

"You didn't ask," she whispered.

"Ask what?" He tore a joint from the rabbit with impatient hands, and set it on a tin plate to cool for her.

"Whether I accepted his bet."

Haakon stilled. "Árdís. Are you trying to torture me?"

A flush of heat went through her, like the glide of heated honey across her skin. "I wouldn't consider it torture."

His eyes darkened. He'd finished separating the cooked rabbit onto a pair of plates, and licked his fingers and thumb. Slowly. "No? What would you call it then?"

Árdís bit her lip. She suddenly wanted to lick those fingers herself. "I would call it... an opening gambit."

Haakon straightened to his full height. The leather of his body armor flexed as he stiffened. "An opening gambit."

It was hard to gauge whether she was making any headway. If he were a castle, he might as well have just drawn up the drawbridge. But the soft way he repeated the words.... And the way he crossed his arms over his chest, while staring down at her, didn't feel like he'd slammed the cannons into the breach. Wary, yes. Defensive, yes.

But he was also listening.

Intrigued.

"Making amends, perhaps."

A muscle in his jaw ticked. "And how would you begin to make amends?"

"I could kiss it better," she whispered. "I could kiss it all better."

The heat of his gaze had weight now. Firelight caressed him from head to toe. He shifted and she could make out the faint, hard shape pressing insistently against his leather trousers.

She liked them much better than the wool he used to wear. They did terribly tempting things to his strong thighs and firm backside.

The heat flickered. And died. "And just like that, the pain goes away, does it?"

One step forward.

One step back.

"What did I promise you on the docks?"

"That you were my guard," she said, "and nothing else."

She thought he was going to finish the conversation there, but he merely circled the fire, watching her the entire time. She'd seen dreki stalk their prey like that before, and her sex suddenly clenched in response.

How odd. She'd never thought of herself as prey before.

And she certainly hadn't expected to like it.

"So you're pushing at me to get a response?"

"I don't know," she cried, curling her fingers into fists. "We fight. We argue. We—"

"Fuck?"

The word slammed through her, leaving her breathless. "That's the way it's always been with you. I keep waiting for you to explode. I hurt you, but you're not angry enough. I don't know...." How to respond to this. She shrugged helplessly.

"Maybe I'm not the same man I used to be. And maybe our lack of communication was the problem, hmm?"

It unsettled her.

"Or not?" He cocked his head on an angle.

Árdís stared down at her lap, knowing he sought answers she couldn't give. "I liked arguing with you. And the aftermath."

"Aftermath?" His voice softened with a hint of a laugh. "That's one way to put it. Carnal warfare is another."

Her nipples pressed roughly against the linen of her chemise. The rough edge of his laugh held a hint of anger, and that always stirred her blood. She felt at ease now, for she knew how to deal with this.

"I wouldn't call it anything as civilized as that," she whispered, remembering times when he'd pinned her to their bed, their mouths clashing in a heated mix of teeth and tongues even as he jerked her skirts up. She'd leave little imprints of her teeth across his shoulder and throat, relieved to unleash the dreki within her, even if she couldn't tell him. Carnal warfare implied that at least one of them—if not both—had held any control over what happened in their bed.

He knelt in front of her, setting both hands on the log on either side of her hips as he leaned tauntingly close to her. "What do you think is going to happen here?"

"If I'm being perfectly honest—"

"Please do so."

"Then I'm not entirely certain I'm thinking right now, at all." She searched his eyes, holding perfectly still. His mouth was so close to hers, that a simple push forward would meld their lips together. One inch. But she couldn't read his intentions at all. Frustration churned through her. She wanted those hands on her skin, not beside her. "I know we said there would be nothing more between us until I got this bracelet off. But...."

"You want me," he whispered, his eyelids growing heavy as his gaze dropped to her mouth.

Árdís's heart pounded even as she watched the slow flush of red creep up his throat. She didn't dare move in case she broke the spell. But her fingernails were curling into her palms again. Touch me. Please.

She closed her eyes, unable to bear the look in his. "I thought we'd already established that in Reykjavik. I want you. I most likely always will. Nothing has changed."

If anything, the pain of unfulfilled lust only twisted the knot tighter inside her.

His breath stirred the sensitive skin of her throat. Árdís sucked in a sharp breath, her lashes fluttering. She wanted to take his hand and cup it between her legs, where it ached the fiercest. To push against him, and take what she needed.

Soft lips ghosted over her jaw. Árdís tipped her head back to grant him full access, her breasts feeling heavy and flushed. She sank her teeth into her lower lip.

"Does it ache, Árja?"

"Yes."

The answer came out softer and breathier than she'd expected.

One hand reached out, brushing a lock of her hair behind her shoulder. Árdís's breasts lifted as she breathed in. She wanted, very badly, to feel that touch on her skin.

She reached for him, but he captured her wrist.

"Good." The sensual languidness slid from him like a cloak, his eyes shuttering down firm and hard. Then he pushed to his feet and stepped away from her.

The course of lust slammed to a halt within her.

She was slower to react, her lips parted, and heat crawling all over her skin. She curled a hand around her throat. "You're playing a game with me?"

He picked up his plate, cool and implacable. "It's not very enjoyable, is it?"

Árdís slammed to her feet, gaping at him. "But I'm not—"

"Eat your dinner," Haakon insisted, flinging his fur cloak around his shoulders and stalking to the edge of the circle of firelight. "Then get some sleep. I'll wake you when it's your turn to keep watch."

"How am I supposed to go to sleep after that?" she demanded. He hadn't even touched her, and she felt ready to melt.

The ghost of a smile played over his hard mouth. "That's not my problem."

Árdís's eyes narrowed.

You, dear husband, just started a war.