He is not among the men and women.
I don’t know where he is, but I can only hope that he will somehow appear, just as he always does.
Sigrith reads my thoughts and steps forward, slapping my cheek. “You have done nothing but string them both along! You can’t choose, so you have them both. They are weaklings for allowing you to play them like that.”
Skarth curses in Norse, words so imbued with hate and venom that the sun goes into hiding and dark rain clouds suddenly appear. Thunder rips across the heavens, the sound so loud that it can only be an act by Odin.
I peer into the universe and understand that we are not alone, for revenge will be had.
Skarth laughs madly. “You will face the wrath of the gods, systur, and when you do, I will stand beside them, ensuring you are never welcomed into Valhalla. You are no longer my kin. I disown you. When I am free, and you know I will be, I will tear off your fucking head, and then… then I will bathe in your blood.”
The women appear genuinely concerned because despite their conversion, they remain superstitious at heart. And this random act of nature can only be pegged down to the act of the gods.
“Take him to the dungeons!” orders Aethelbald, clearly having had enough of Skarth.
There’s no point arguing because I know he won’t hurt Skarth. He is collateral. If I don’t concede, then Skarth pays the price. He will be kept alive until he is no longer needed.
I take in the bedlam I have created, and from love has only sprung hate.
Therefore, I utter the words that condemn us all.
“You win…your lordship. Wessex and Northumbria are yours.” I slowly get onto my knees before Aethelbald. “I accept your hand in marriage.”
Aethelbald sighs in victory as he looks down at me like I am nothing but a helpless bug. “I always win,” he whispers, roughly pinching my chin and forcing me to peer up at him. “I am going to split you apart in so many ways.”
His threat isn’t empty.
Love has led me here.
I wonder if my death will end the same way.
My wrists are overhead, tied by rope to the posts of my bed.
So reminiscent of what Aethelbald’s father did to me time and time again.
I bathed and was dressed in a sheer white gown.
Now I wait for Aethelbald to no doubt pollute me with his seed, for men think this act is to defame a woman. But they are nothing but rabid dogs, and the moment he puts his disgusting prick near me, I will bite it off.
The door opens, and when Aethelbald appears, I can’t help the laugh that spills from me. Not the response he was expecting. He enters, and I am surprised he comes alone.
“Now you look like a queen,” he says, his eyes heating when they land on my naked form beneath the flimsy nightgown.
“There is no need for small talk. Please get this over with. I have played this game before. With your father and grandfather, to be precise.”
Aethelbald loses his temper when it comes to his family, which is his collateral. And I plan on exploiting it whenever I can.
He storms over to the bed and tears off my nightgown. The front of his pants grows tight. Disgusting, just like his kin. He begins rubbing over his erection, his eyes feasting upon my flesh. I show no interest, which infuriates him.
“Look at me!”
With contempt, I do as he says.
He unfastens his trousers, and when he exposes his manhood, I burst into hysteria. Tears stream from my eyes. “Well, I now understand why you need to force marriage because no woman in their right mind would settle for that tiny slug between your legs.
“At least your father had?—”
With a roar, he cuts the rope from one wrist and positions me so my head is hanging off the edge of the bed, where he forces his little frankfurt down my throat. Usually, I would gag at such an intrusion, but it barely touches the sides.
