Oh, but the gods did have a sense of humor. Of all the things they could have conspired against her, it was Tyr's appearance she expected the least.

Then again, she really ought not have been surprised. She and the Gudrun heir were not close friends -- in fact, they did not know each other very well at all -- but she did know a few things about him. Such as the fact that he was one of the most driven, determined, unshakeable males her mother had ever known. She also knew that he was one of the most exceptional trackers in the land. It was said that Ullr himself, god of hunting, and Váli, god of vengeance, had blessed Tyr with his remarkable talents for tracking. Gifted by the gods themselves, destined for glory, greatness, and leadership, and possessed of the kind of strength, valor, and beauty that storytellers sang about for centuries, Tyr was every female's dream. Salene had been thrilled when the Gudrun chief had accepted her offer, pleased endlessly that her daughter would be mated to such a fine male, destined to be queen of the Gudrun Clan and to bring peace to their clans after generations of strife.

But Sigrún had had other ideas. And Tyr did not take rejection well at all.

So when his voice, dark and rich and seething with a subtle, dangerous passion, came to her from the shadows amidst the trees near the rivershore, she froze, a sea of conflicting emotions bubbling up within her. At first she was stunned, completely struck dumb that he was even here. But then a sense of inevitability sank in, reminding her of who she was dealing with and that she shouldn't have been surprised at all. And then confusion came, unable to make sense of how he had managed to find her across the endless miles she had put between them. Perhaps the stories of the gods' blessings upon him were true after all. A brief, almost instantaneous flash of fear shot through her, knowing he must be furious beyond reason and seeking something from her she did not intend to give.

And then finally, anger. Anger that her effort to distance herself from her old life had been in vain. Anger that, regardless of how far she ran, she might never be in control of her own destiny. Anger that, in spite of all of this, they still had the thrice-cursed audacity to presume to command how she should live her life, as if she were property to be bartered with. The anger took hold, sweeping aside her other emotions like so many dried, scattered leaves, and she turned eyes of frigid sea ice toward him, meeting his simmering, gold-fire gaze. She bristled then, a low growl rumbling in her chest as scarlet-painted lips twitched threateningly. "Tyr." It came out a dry hiss, devoid of emotion, and hung suspended on the tension that buzzed between them like an electric current.