“You will soon change your attitude, for I have everything you love in the palm of my hand.”
I refuse to show anger, so I remain stone-faced.
We walk the halls of the abandoned mansion Aethelbald calls home for now. But once his plans are put into place, no doubt, King Raedwulf will be ambushed and his throne taken. And what of Mercia? King Beornwulf, my friend, has shown nothing but loyalty to me, but I fear his kingdom will be challenged as well.
These men were put into power by me. Therefore, they are guilty by association.
These men will be killed if I don’t do what Aethelbald wants. This is the beginning of the demise of an entire monarchy.
The sweet child I once cared for is no more because Aethelbald is power-hungry and filled with revenge. That’s never a good combination.
We walk out to the gardens, and what I see makes me realize that, regardless of my reservations, I do not have a choice but to surrender. Ulf and Skarth are both strung up on crucifixes; a dishonor to their gods. Soldiers taunt them. They are bloody and beaten.
Ulf’s head is drooped to his chest, but Skarth keeps his head high. When we lock eyes, I see that defeat isn’t in both our natures. He could have given up, but he hasn’t. Beaten and bruised, he still reeks of victory because the only way for these men to subdue him is to shackle him.
Yet he still is far braver than every Englishman.
“Still refusing my proposal?” Aethelbald asks, looking at the macabre sight before us.
“The final words your father heard before I ripped his heart out of his chest were ‘I will do everything in my power to ensure your children never get on the throne. They will never know their birthright, for your name, your legacy, dies with you.’
“I always keep true to my word.”
Aethelbald screams, yanking me by the hair toward Skarth.
Skarth struggles, but the rope that binds him is tight. “You pathetic coward! Let her go and fight me like a man.”
“That is where you are mistaken, my beloved,” I say to Skarth, my neck craned to the side as Aethelbald holds me tight. “He is not a man. Our children are more men than his weak bastard.”
“My oversight, my love. You are right,” Skarth replies, grinning with a mouthful of blood.
“You will be my wife,” Aethelbald says between clenched teeth.
A hoarse laugh erupts from Ulf, who seems to have awoken from his beaten slumber. “Emeline is no one’s wife. Let history be a lesson for you. Not only is he weak and cowardly but he’s stupid too.”
I can’t contain my laughter.
This only infuriates Aethelbald more so, and he is keen to make an example of us all. “Get on your knees.”
“I bow to no man.”
“You will bow to me.”
Before I can object, he tosses me to a waiting soldier and storms over to Skarth, withdrawing his blade. Skarth doesn’t flinch and merely grins, daring him to do his best. My heart somersaults, and memories collide into me. My Viking warrior is back.
However, he was always there.
It seems I needed to be reminded that, regardless of the time apart, my heart, body, and soul belong to Skarth the Godless.
Aethelbald raises his blade and cuts through Skarth’s long hair. He hacks at it, slicing it off as he knows it’s a dishonor for a Viking to cut his hair.
I violently struggle against the soldier, but he holds on tight, chuckling as he watches the spectacle before us. “You bastard! Stop!”
But Aethelbald does nothing of the sort.
He severs through Skarth’s beard, shearing it short. When he cuts off a plait, he holds it high, a sign of victory. Skarth’s entire demeanor doesn’t change. But I know my Viking. He is plotting the many ways to destroy Aethelbald, just as he did to thousands of men before him.
Once Aethelbald is done, he turns to me with a victorious grin. “Bow.”
