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The Troll Queen's Bride Blooming Thorn
Asmodeus' cruel face softens. “I don't mean to pry, Janet, but don't you tire of resisting? It must be exhausting. Loving someone you despise. Let go of that hate, crown jewel. It is only keeping you from flight.”My wing stains ache. I nearly knock my tea cup over in anger. “Who said anything about love?” I demand. I have never told a single soul besides Samael that I love him. It is a secret I desperately keep. How sad, a tithe in love with her Fairy King. The Fairy King wound up being Tam Lin, trapped by his own enchantments. True, he is in ensnared by me, but our magic goes both ways.Asmodeus whistles low. “Raw nerve, eh? There's no use hiding your desire from me, Janet. You were built for him. Your very DNA has Samael etched on it. Fetal contracts and all that. Your signature is your wings.”“I was built for no one besides Proust’s vast corpus of literature,” I say haughtily.Asmodeus assumes a patronizing look, as if he is indulging a petulant child. I hate it. “Don't lie to yo
The Troll Queen's Bride Prologue: A Flowering Thorn
Thick ebon blood boiled in the veins of the Troll Queen, black as congealed tar.The Beast's curse was bearing fruit.Queen Jarngrimr of the Sorrows waited on the frosty tip of Utgardr's tallest mountain, her steed - a blue roan marked with a white death mask, the gallows itself incarnate - whinnying as the Troll Queen's awaited visitor hiked past the mountain laurel and fir, the girl's stang helping with her belabored, fitful steps."I am here, dearest Jarnja. I brought you Lady Freida's most sacred treasure, stolen from the sanctum of her hall Folkvangr in Valhalla for a terrible price. It is all for you, in return for protection for my three children. This cursed rose is my only possession after this godsdamned truce, sweet Jarnja of the Sorrows, daughter of Wotan the Raven and Sithgunt the Seeress, guardian of the Isa tribe of my land of the midnight sun. Please. I have nothing left to give but the petals of this godsvow."The princess
The Troll Queen's Bride Hagalaz
As I stand in the Beast's rose garden, years down the line, I remember my first love. The thorns are aflame, the sky is scorching, and my heart is torn in twain:Between the Troll Queen, and my first love, once mortal, now a handmaiden of the warrior goddess.This is how my tale begins:We were sixteen summers old, but time for me, and my soon to be Valkyrie, was never enough.We strayed to the banks of the Maroon Sea Bay by midnight, my best friend and true heart's companion, the stable lass Yolanda, glimmering under Mani's moonlight like a Valkyrie of Mother Freida the Wanderer's own dauntless making. She was chosen by the Goddess for glory, after all.My sweetheart, the Lady of Love and Luck's fierce devotee, was bold and free and wild as she rode aback her stallion like a sunburst striking the gods' rainbow bridge of Bifrost, high in the stars above.Yolanda's long, wild, velvet black hair was a curling bear's man
The Troll Queen's Bride Spirited Away
That was the night - the first rosy night that my Beast began to call on me, and never, ever, ever did my monstress queen cease drawing me down submerged in to her unholy, trollish web.Now, I am never alone.By the candlelight after Skadhi had carried me to my room, me unable to stand, I slit my wrists that gloaming, my prayers to dead mama, Queen Aslaugh, unanswered.I could not give up the ghost. No, I was the Troll Queen's draugr – an undead scion, cursed. Now, I was of the zombie armies that had eaten father's berserkers alive.A grave of a girl. Belonging to none other than Jarngrimr of the Sorrows from mother's ill-fated curse, last of the Cunningfolk witches.The Beast peered back at me in my looking glass, the Troll Queen's red dead eyes cold and lustful. She smirked, a yellow fang agleam as she watched me with wicked delight and decrepit fascination.I picked at the black, black clots of blood, ignorin
The Troll Queen's Bride In the Grimnr Shadow
"Come back with my letter from Dominic! Don't you dare read it," Yuri squealed, chasing Rosy out of my room at high horsepower full throttle down the tower hall.The windows had opened of their own volition, and a ferocious winter gale picked up, blowing my door slammed shut behind my wee sisters.The mourning dove's holly berries began to bleed, and the well fed bird discarded the overripe succulents onto my floor.The mourning dove fled to the peal of an elfin horn:"What was that call, just now? And that insurmountable wind like lindworm breath?" I murmured to myself, shuddering as I looked out the window:In rode a terrible train of huldre, Jotun, alfar and dokkalfar, dwarves, nixie, mara and trolls of the Dark Court from the depths of the woods. The Cunningfolk's allies in the Northern Holds of Utgardr, and Arcadia's sworn enemies.What were they doing here? How in Helheim did they get past mama's Magick barrier
The Troll Queen's Bride Skadhi
I was in a blue huntswoman's dress with red and white trim, the traditional Isa attire coupled with brown snowshoes, standing atop an icy fjord as winter snow piled high and impenetrable onto the mountain's blue gray peak.My patroness stood before me, ells tall like the wall around Asgard, as icy as the snow itself.The As goddess Skadhi, lady of the hunt, winter and skis, with her white wolves stood sentinel over me, and I knew it a familiar dream. Skadhi was the ancient patroness of my mama Aslaugh's Northern Cunningfolk tribe, the Isa. Known for her icy demeanor, wry humor, and frosty dominion, she was unparalleled among huntresses, and always made sure I knew it, too. She grew up saying she had hunted my soul from the Maroon Sea, and claimed me as her mead dark priestess, just as she had mama years before.Skahdi came to me in dreams often to teach me of my Magick, and as I stood in Northern Cunningfolk garb atop the glacial terrain, my breath s
The Troll Queen's Bride Mara
I jolted awake. There was a heavy weight on my chest, and damp soily hands squeezing my throat. My larynx popped."Oh, so the ridiculously clothed blonde awakes. Praise the gods, it's about damn time. Really, you're wearing minx of all things? Have you forgotten your Cunningfolk roots, what my kind and your kind are? We wear reindeer and leather and bearskin. We are wolves among sheep. We are lions among lambs. We are lindworms among caterpillars. And yet here you are, the simpering teenage princess the Queen is so infatuated with. You sleep as hard as if someone hit you over that thick skull of yours with a horse! Wotan's old eight-legged Sleipnir, in fact. Either that, or Wotan hurled Gugnir into your head and knocked you out!"I struggled for breath.She continued, my strangling demon: "Dear scheming Jarngrimr hasn't stopped blathering on about you since you were conceived. Tithe to Utgardr, she says, your blood the bridge between Arcadia and the
The Troll Queen's Bride Helvegen
Rosy clung close to my skirts as Fylja opened the long ebony doors to Jarngrimr's feast hall. Inside was a crystalline long hall lit by celestial blue Isa fire and otherworldly elfin plants that gave off strange, translucent glows. Nixies, fossegrim, wili, mara, dwarves, alfar, duergar, dokkalfar, and trolls danced among the huldrefolk and luxuriously dressed Northern Cunningfolk. A fossegrim fiddled on a golden violin, and there was a great frenzy of mead in horns as berserkers celebrated the capture of the princesses with their shieldmaidens in a tarantic reel, stomping the ground, feasting like the fire god Logi devouring an entire boar in Loki's eating contest.Jarngrimr of the Sorrows loomed over the long hall atop a lindworm bone throne, the great dragon skull carved at the snout to sit her beastly form. She smirked, her eyes collier fire, and watched me languorously, predatorily tracing the slight, delicate curves of my gown with her slit pupils like iron claws. Sh
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