Gina felt Mitch tense at her side. The others seemed skeptical as well, even though Gunnar’s tone had held no doubt whatsoever. One of the Guard stood and faced Mitch.
“Gustavsons are always d’or. Were you born blanche?”
It was an older woman who asked the question. She had battle scars and looked as if she had served many years as a Royal Guard. Her tone was curious, not accusing, so Gina took her question as a good sign. These people wanted to know more about Mitch before they made any decisions. After living under Gisli’s rule for so long, she didn’t blame them one bit.
“I’ve always been golden,” Mitch admitted, clearly uncomfortable. “Until a couple of weeks ago. I was poisoned in battle and nearly died protecting another monarch, as was my duty. Princess Gina saved me and the first time I shifted fully, I…changed.”
“Goddess touched,” the same woman breathed and then sank back to one knee. “I will accept you as my king,” she went on in a firmer voice.
“Now wait a minute.” Mitch held up one hand, palm outward, already backpedaling.
Gina had a feeling he meant to renounce the throne, but she didn’t want him to be hasty. Her father wasn’t here, and if given a chance, she doubted her dad would want to come back and rule. He’d given up on being king of the Clan a long time ago, and she thought she knew him well enough to be able to say that he’d made peace with his decision. He wasn’t power hungry. He didn’t really want the throne. He just wanted peace and prosperity for the Clan and safety for his family.
Mitch had accomplished the latter by defeating Gisli in battle. The terror her uncle had imposed on her family for so many years was finally at an end. But what would happen next was unclear.
She put one hand on Mitch’s arm to halt his words. “Emotions are high,” she said in a strong voice that she knew would carry to the assembled Guards. “Let’s take stock of where we all stand before any more decisions are made. We first must deal with Gisli’s defeat and the impact on the Clan. Everything else can be decided later.” She looked at the kneeling Guards. “For one thing, I understand that none of you have been given leave to be with your families in the village for weeks.” Many of the Guards couldn’t hide their hopeful expressions as they met her gaze. “Any of you who want to go home, should. Come back when you can. We will be sorting out the mess my uncle left behind. Anyone who can assist in that task is welcome. The Clan comes first.”
Gunnar rose, smiling brightly. “Spoken like a true queen,” he complimented her as the other Royal Guards stood as well.
About half of them didn’t wait another minute before shifting shape and running for the village. Their families were waiting, she was sure. And word would spread from them as to Gisli’s fate.
“Should we go see what’s become of the stronghold since your father’s time?”
Chapter Twelve
Surrounded by the core group of friends who had come with them from America and the rest of Gisli’s Guard, they entered the stronghold. Gina held her breath. She had been born here, but she wasn’t sure how the memories of her childhood would measure up to the reality.
She shouldn’t have worried. It was even more majestic than she remembered. The fissure in the ice wall created a narrow passage that went up for hundreds of feet until it met in the solid block of glacial ice far over their heads. They moved down the small corridor, heading toward the series of chambers that led eventually to the heart of the stronghold, deep inside the mountain.
Ice and sleek black volcanic rock blended to create something utterly unique in the world. As they moved deeper inside, the floors under their feet went from ice to basaltic rock that had flowed as if directed by the hand of the Goddess into perfectly flat, level sheets. The deeper they went, the more rock formed the walls of the chambers in fluted spires that joined seamlessly with the ice that soared high above their heads. Circuitous, winding shafts here and there allowed for air exchange, while the purity of the water let light to filter through the translucent ice and reflective snow to illuminate the halls deep beneath the surface.
In the great audience chamber—the largest room of the stronghold—the soaring arched walls were made of deceptively strong, delicate-looking columns of stone that had flowed into precise geometric shapes to mesh with the thick glacier in an arrangement that was nothing less than magical. Black and white, the room was a study in extremes and contrasts, yet somehow it formed a thing of intense beauty.
“This place is amazing,” Mitch whispered as he stopped short just below the dais where two thrones of obsidian and ice rose from the floor created of the same shiny black, volcanic glass.