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After everything that had happened, Signild wasn't sure she even wanted to be married anymore. True, time had lent her perspective on her relationship with Frjokorn and she didn't burst into tears at the thought of him, but whatever else might have been false in that relationship, her feelings for him had been real, and those were still tender at times.

Still, arrangements had been made, and by the warlord's daughter no less, so Signild had to at least show up.

Actually, Signild wasn't quite sure why Aarre had felt this was necessary. It wasn't as if the two of them knew each other all that well. In fact, they'd only met once before Aarre informed her that she'd set up a meeting with a lion Signild might find interesting, and would she please humor her and go along with it. It was all very strange.

Sandur was not sure why, exactly, he had received an unheralded visit from one of the warlord's daughters, Aarre, other than the fact that she apparently wanted him to meet with some lioness he'd never met because she thought the two of them might get along well.

Why she should care was a mystery. To his knowledge, he had never met Aarre before that moment, and there was no possible way she could know even a little bit about what sort of lioness he might get along with, but the look she had given him had brooked no argument. She might have gotten that look from either parent. Warlords and healers both had a way of fixing people with a glance.

So here he was, meeting a lioness he didn't know because another lioness, who he also didn't know, had told him to. Reason was dead.

Signild didn't like that she was late, but she'd dragged her feet, unsure about whether she'd keep this appointment. Eventually she had decided it wasn't fair to the lion Aarre had roped into coming if she stood him up, but she wouldn't be staying beyond the time it would take to apologize for Aarre's oddness and make it clear she hadn't asked for this set-up.

Oh, gods. What if he had? That was a possibility she hadn't considered until she was almost there, at which point it was probably too late for her to turn back. Damn.

Signild stiffened her spine and completed her walk to find that, yes, she had arrived late, and the lion she was supposed to meet with was already there. Well, she wasn't going to apologize for tardiness. Things came up and he would have to deal with it.

"One day I will kill you," she greeted him.

Sandur's first thought was to recoil at the tone in which he was greeted, but she didn't seem angry otherwise. Maybe she was just huffing a bit because she had hurried to be there one time and was a bit out of breath. He'd give her the benefit of the doubt.

"Not today," he replied. "I'm Sandur Tyrson. It's good to meet you...?"

The way she was looking at him, like she was studying him, wasn't entirely comfortable. Sandur knew that he was not in the best shape and he certainly didn't look like a model reaver. Stormlords. He wasn't even a reaver. She probably wouldn't think much of that. Lionesses didn't, in his experience.

Then he reminded himself that he didn't have to care about her opinion. She was a stranger to him, and might well remain so. It didn't make much difference.

"Signild Magnusdottir," she supplied.

Well, that answered that question. He definitely had not been the one to request this meeting. Unless he'd noticed her and been taken enough with her good looks that he wanted to get to know her, and so had asked Aarre to arrange a meeting? That seemed far-fetched to Signild, who was a basically sensible lioness.

"It's good to meet you, too, although I confess it would not have occurred to me to do so, left to my own devices. Do you know why Aarre would have decided we needed to meet?"

That was definitely not the most flattering way she could have phrased that question, Signild realized, but after pretending to be sweet and basically brainless for so long with Frjokorn, and things then going so badly wrong with him, she preferred not to begin any new acquaintances based on a false representation of her personality.

So she hadn't been the one who wanted this meeting, and instead believed that they had been gathered together based on a whim of the warlord's daughter. Well. That seemed more likely. He didn't know the warlord's daughter well at all, but the brief impression he'd gotten of her when she ordered him to attend this meeting was that she was both imperious and capricious.

"I really don't," he told her a little brusquely. "But it seems like you know her better than I do, so since neither of us requested this meeting, I assume you are in a better position to speculate as to why we're here than I am."

In truth, he definitely could have been nicer, but he was matching his tone to hers, and the fact that she was clearly not that interested in him as a person, as much as a piece of the puzzle that was this meeting irked him more than a little. So he wasn't a reaver. He was still an intelligent lion who wasn't bad to look at and had a decent personality. She needn't be so high handed in addressing him.

Signild narrowed her eyes at Sandur, liking neither the tone of his voice nor the way he was looking at her like he was expecting a fight. She hadn't come here with a mind to fighting, but if Sandur kept on like this, there would certainly be a fight, and she didn't plan to come out of it the loser.

"I suppose either one of us could speculate," she said snippily. "My guess is that Aarre was under the impression the two of us would get along."

She glanced over her shoulder and under her breath she muttered, "A mistaken impression, obviously."

When she turned her gaze back onto Sandur she met his eyes without flinching, even knowing that he had undoubtedly heard what she'd said. However he responded, she was about to vanish.

The fur down Sandur's spine bristled at Signild's obvious indifference to whether or not he heard her low opinion of him. At least he had kept his reservations to himself.

"Has anyone ever told you that you are incredibly rude?" Sandur asked. "Seriously. Are you like this with everyone you meet, or have I done something in particular to earn this treatment?"

He was so infuriated. He could actually feel his claws sliding in and out of their sheathes, scraping the ground beneath his paws. Not that he was having any thoughts of hurting the unpleasant lioness. Well, no serious thoughts along that line, anyway. But he was still eager to be quit of her company as soon as possible. Well. Just as soon as he found out why she was such a b***h.

Signild frowned at Sandur, unsure exactly what he meant by "this treatment." Presumably he felt he was being abused in some way? Well, maybe if he hadn't been so belligerent, Signild would have made more of an effort to be pleasant. It wasn't as if she'd been unpleasant.

"I think you must bring it out in me," she decided. "After all, you've done nothing except glare accusingly at me and imply that left to your own devices, you wouldn't want anything to do with me."

Aarre had definitely been mistaken in thinking that the two of them would get along well. On the other hand, Signild had already decided that she would not say anything to the warlord's daughter though. It seemed likely that complaining about Sandur's suitability as a companion would only encourage the gold striped lioness to set-up another meeting with someone else.

"So think you'll agree it's for the best if we go our separate ways and never speak to one another again. Don't die in bed."

Sandur could hardly believe what he was hearing. She thought he had been the one blatantly expressing disappointment? Stormlords balls! She was the one who was muttering under her breath like a sulky adolescent. Not to mention the way she looked at him like he had lice or some other sort of distasteful vermin.

"Yes, let's do that," Sandur growled. He didn't bother to return her farewell.

Instead he stomped past her, his fur in irritated disarray, and made his way toward the beach, where he intended to collect and then sort seashells until he was no longer in a mood to do violence to rude grey lionesses. Or maybe he should go to the sparring sands. Probably he should do that. If he ever wanted people to stop looking at him like a bug, he'd have to be a reaver, which meant impressing some captain enough to get himself invited viking, which meant being seen fighting.

He heaved a sigh and changed direction. This had been a complete waste of his time.