“He could’ve left me anywhere but dumped me here,” I mutter.
Freya fixes me with a disdainful glare. “’Dumped’? He placed you on the forsaken path, the route of the damned and forgotten—a twisted act of protection,” she spits the word with disgust. “Enough whining.”
“Who is he, Freya?” I press, my voice firming.
“The lord of these lands, of course,” she replies, as if it’s self-evident.
✧
“If he’s the lord, we’re heading to him—why not take me there directly?” I ask, and she rolls her eyes with impatience.
“A prince rarely leaves his domain,” she says. Prince? My vision swims, my heart thudding against my ribs. A prince of Hell? A chill races up my spine before I meet Freya’s gaze. I recall his words: *My father deemed it fit.* God—or Lucifer?
“Leaving would arouse suspi
