“That wasn’t a request.”
Before he could react, she leapt, her speed amplified byseiðr. Thori was slammed into the furs, coils of magic wrapping around his limbs like iron bands. His body was still weakened, his reflexes sluggish, and she took full advantage of it. No matter how much Thori fought back, he couldn’t break free. His vision shrank until all he saw was her predatory grin, his chest feeling tight as if she was choking him again.
“Save your strength for the ritual,” she cooed.
Her bell-bright laughter hurt his ears.
“I’ll kill you,” Thori growled.
Straddling his waist, Svanhild smeared her glittering oil all over his bare chest, rubbing it into his skin with slow, deliberate strokes. As she worked, she chanted under her breath, and the moment the substance touched Thori’s wounds, a searing pain shot through him. He gritted his teeth, refusing to give her the satisfaction of hearing him cry out, but his breath hitched nonetheless. She may not weigh much more than a child, but her weight still felt smothering to him.
“Ah, there it is,” she murmured delightedly. “Can you feel that? That will help you with your…performance when the time comes. We don’t want you to be unprepared for the ritual, do we?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I mean, that you’re going to be fucked like a little whore in front of everyone. I’ll make good use of your power to bless Vanaheim.”
“Never!” Thori growled, although he knew very well that he didn’t have a say in this.
Svanhild only snorted in amusement. She trailed her fingers lower, spreading the oil along his ribs, over his stomach, a mocking imitation of a lover’s touch. Thori wasn’t sure if he could ever enjoy a maiden riding him in a similar position again, or whether it would make him as sick as he felt now.
“I can’t wait to watch Lord Norrin use you for the ritual. I’ll make sure he drains your power so you’ll be only a shadow of yourself once he’s done with you. And everyone will know it was myseiðrbringing your ruin.”
“You can try. But I’ll curse your crops. I’ll let your barley rot in the fields and send thunder and lightning to destroy your oats and rye. TheVanirwill starve!”
Svanhild simply ignored his threats. Pulling another vial from her pocket, she uncorked it with a practiced flick of her thumb.
Thori eyed the deep red liquid shimmering in it with growing trepidation.
“Watch your mouth, thrall,” she said sweetly. “Norrin may have been foolish enough to soften the collar’s enchantment, but this will help to keep you in line.”
Thori turned his head away, pressing his lips together. By Hel’s tits, he wouldn’t drink her poison.
“Now, don’t be difficult.”
Svanhild grabbed his jaw, pressing her thumb and forefinger into his cheeks. He fought her stubbornly, but it was useless. She forced him to open his mouth and pressed the vial to his lips, the syrupy liquid flooding his mouth. Thori had no choice but to swallow unless he wanted to choke.
He coughed, the strange liquid burning all the way down his throat.
The potion took effect immediately. His limbs grew heavy, and he was drowned by dizziness, caught in a strange place between waking and dreaming. He fought against it, blinking rapidly, but the tent blurred in front of his eyes.
“There now,” Svanhild said, stroking his cheek mockingly. “Much better. Don’t worry, you won’t be unconscious during the ritual. You’ll still be awake enough to feel exactly what’s happening. Now for the rest of the preparations…”
Svanhild slipped from her position atop him to kneel by his side, and Thori desperately wished for her to leave. Hadn’t she gotten what she wanted?
With more strength than he would have given her credit for, Svanhild flipped him over onto his stomach. He couldn’t properly see what she was doing anymore, couldn’t move, the new position only adding to the panic expanding in his chest. The smell of her oil clogged his nose, making it hard to breathe. Thori fought to break herseiðr, shake off her poison, but no matter how hard he tried, his thunder stayed out of reach.
“Stop squirming,” Svanhild said, annoyance bleeding into her voice. “It’s no use, anyway.”
She slid lower, settling between Thori’s legs. Starting at the top of his shoulders, she dispersed the oil over his back. Thori hissed, her cursed touch feeling like a brand against the whip marks. His muscles clenched as wave after wave of searing heat burned his skin, and his vision turned fuzzy. Still, he stubbornly clung to consciousness, refusing to pass out. He had endured worse.
Her fingers slid beneath the hem of his trousers, and Thori’s stomach clenched, his breath turning to uneven gasps.
No! She can’t—
She pulled down the flimsy fabric of his pants, exposing him. And somehow this was worse than washing up and changing in front of her. Her hands wandered over the globes of his ass, spreading the oil around, squeezing…
“I should prepare you thoroughly. What do you think? Some oil to ease the passage? You’ll thank me for it later.”
