Unlike her first wedding feast, there were no jokes or cheers, no bawdy pushing of the bride and groom towards their bedchamber. Her people looked up at her with pity and dismay in their eyes and she swallowed the weight of their gaze.
I have disappointed them.The thought cut her like a knife and she balled her fists, hating every moment of her shame. Tonight, she would be bedded by the new King and she’d never felt less human.
Once again, she was a trophy to be owned and coveted. But this time she was fully aware of it.
With as much dignity as she could muster, she raised her chin and turned away from him. She heard him follow her, his footsteps heavy and calm. She refused to glance back as she made her way off the royal dais. She walked in front of the benches, her people lowering their gaze as she passed, while Agnar’s warriors smothered looks of amusement.
It was a slow and humiliating walk out of her hall, leaving as a queen, but knowing the following day she would return as a wife…lesser. Her discomfort didn’t ease as she continued down the corridor to the King’s chamber. Heimdall had carried her on their wedding night, his men making lewd comments, until he’d been forced to kick them away and rush them into her chamber with a laugh.
In contrast, Agnar followed her like an unwelcome shadow, the darkness of the corridor closing in on her as she headed towards the open doorway of the chamber. A couple of torches were lit within, the curtains pulled aside, the bed as imposing as it had always been.
Heimdall’s bed.
She turned quickly in the doorway of the chamber, almost knocking into Agnar who she hadn’t realised was quite so close. Her hands instinctively pushed against the soft wool of his tunic, a scarlet red that matched his banners and the stain of poisoned wine.
‘Is there any need for this?’ she whispered, glancing back down the corridor, grateful to see no guards or warriors watching them.
A muscle jumped in Agnar’s jaw and his green eyes softened with sympathy, almost giving her hope until he said firmly, ‘Yes, there is.’
Chapter Ten
Skadi’s head lowered, her hand not leaving his chest, her fingers splayed open in a desperate plea that he’d immediately denied. ‘I had hoped never to do this with another man,’ she said quietly and his heart dropped like a stone.
The heat of her touch was spreading across his chest, like the roots of a tree, sending out threads of awareness throughout his body. His senses answered like the wind in the trees, swaying towards her with desperate yearning.
Did she realise how powerfully she affected him? Her words cut deeply to the bone, even as he leaned into her touch, wanting more of her. His chest tightened and he clenched his fists at his sides to stop from pulling her back, as she turned and walked into the room with a miserable sigh.
Yes, he had been foolish to think she would welcome him.
After meeting her again, he’d realised how pragmatic and proud she could be. He’d not expected her to relish the prospect of sleeping with him, but hearing her say that she’d hoped never to do this with another man had affected him far more than he would have imagined.
It reminded him that Heimdall had been her husband for nearly twenty years—most of his lifetime—she had slept beside Heimdall, became a mother to his child… Agnar had taken that peace from her and, for the first time, as he followed her into her husband’s chamber, he actually felt as though he deserved the nickname Sven had given him:Usurper.
A handmaid rose from a stool in the corner and put down some needlework. She hurried forward as Skadi sat in front of a table and began to gently remove the Queen’s crown from her head.
Stubborn and sanctimonious! Spoilt and brazen!
So many insults came to mind when he argued with her, but he couldn’t seem to find the courage to say them. He’d seen the flash of outrage and pain earlier when he’d called her a puppet queen. Did she truly not realise how badly Sven and Heimdall had manipulated her?
Part of him was reluctant to hurt her again.
Which was oddly ridiculous—she had caused him and his mother so much heartache that he should hate her. Any other man would have cut off her head and certainly wouldn’t have lowered himself by marrying her.
The hard work, the risk, everything he and his mother had done to ensure his success, all of it had come to fruition and he should be celebrating his triumph.
Instead, his feast had been as sombre as a funeral and his bride had tried to poison him mid-meal.
But then…had he honestly thought she would welcome him with open arms as her saviour?
Yes…he had.Even when she’d tried to distract him by dropping her knife, or had touched his arm, he had stupidly thought that each touch held a secret meaning. That she might want him as much as he wanted her.Idiot!
The handmaid used a cloth and cleansing balm to remove the kohl from Skadi’s eyes, the black softening to a messy smudge. It reminded him of his mother, who had used the ash from his father’s funeral pyre to smear her face and show her grief, not only for her husband’s passing, but for the loss of her son’s protector.
Was that why he felt no ill will towards Astra? Because he’d also been a fatherless child, his inheritance and safety also threatened by grown adults who should have protected him?
Was Skadi grieving for Heimdall? He hated the idea, but he knew it was likely.Would he be as callous as Sven had been to his mother? Demand she forget her husband and move on immediately?
It seemed wrong. But he also needed to consummate their marriage and, of course, he wanted her. Desperately, as if his body yearned to have her as much as his obsessive mind had been fixed on reclaiming his birthright.
