Once they are alone again, Sigvid turns his attention back to Avina. “Will we meet again tomorrow, littleQueen?” Her title falls out of his mouth in a sneer.
She lifts her head slightly so he can only briefly glimpse her full lips. Despite the pain that continued to wreck his body and his utter hatred for the woman, all he wants is to bite into those pink, plump lips. Smack his hand against their softness before he devours them. How would they feel wrapped around his cock?
“Sleep with the stone, Sigvid.” She repeats the Ridge goodbye she spoke yesterday before he succumbed to the Azure Blooms. It is such a quaint little phrase that it reels in his mind, leaving him wondering where and when he had heard that voice say it before.
June 27th, Year 100, 9th Era
Scarwood Citadel, Timber Province
Everything hurts.
Gory battles and creatures of the Abyss are nothing compared to the torture that bitch subjected him to. With no window to the outside world, it is impossible to determine how long he has been unconscious and supported by chains.
Without any other form of entertainment, he studies the walls. Carved names and tallies are commonplace in a jail cell such as this. Yet, a bit of scratching does catch his eye—the letters “Q.A.B.” followed by fourteen tick marks.
Queen Avina Bloodstone?
A foreign sensation slithers through his innards. Had Rendel…no, surely he would not have imprisoned his wife. What reason would he have to imprison his Queen? The initials must be a mere coincidence.
Wood creaking pulls him away from his thoughts as the cell door creeks open. A short, cloaked figure enters and sets a small lantern on the torturer’s table, basking his prison in an eerie glow.
“Back for more?” Sigvid’s voice croaks.
A cup presses gently to his cracked lips, and he eagerly pulls the water in as if he will never drink again.
“I am here to heal your wounds,” a faint feminine voice whispers. He is not paying much attention to this visitor in his painful stupor.
Despite his exhaustion, he catches her cloak fluttering to the ground. When his piercing blue eyes find the unmasked intruder illuminated by the pale light of the lantern, he is rendered speechless.
She is a spirit of the Briny God himself.
Her hair is sunshine in a meadow, curling into tighter ringlets to frame her fair features before cascading down her back. An urge to dig his fingers into her locks and pull her head back until she cries his name blazes in his chest.
My mind is playing tricks on me. She can not be real.
She steps hesitantly closer as if he will lunge. Then, he drinks in the beauty of her eyes—so blue the sea must weep with envy. His gaze travels along the voluptuous, thick curves of her soft body, which can no doubt withstand the punishing he can put her through.
Oh, the things that he wants to do to that body. If only she will be kind enough to unchain him. Alas, she seems unaware of his heated gaze upon her flawless skin.
Without a doubt, this woman is simply the most lovely creature he has ever beheld. In his addled state, a nagging voice reminds him of his words to a similar lady three winters ago…
She steps so close that he can taste her warm breath on his tongue. Her short stature forces him to angle his head to look down upon the top of her curls, stopping a head shorter than him.
So, she is not a figment of my imagination. Yet, she is memorable. I have dove into those eyes once before.
Her lithe fingers bury themselves into the two braids in his auburn beard with a hint of longing. The quiet, tender moment isunlike any the harsh warrior has ever experienced, yet it is uncannily familiar.
He turns into her touch, allowing his nose to rub against her wrist, resisting the urge to sink his teeth into her flesh. Sigvid is unprepared to inhale the sweet aroma of roses and lavender.
Who is this ghostly apparition taunting him in his time of need? And where had he smelled her scent before? The ache of the fire extract dulls his senses and distracts him from the warning tugging at the back of his mind.
She steps away from him and returns with a ceramic jar of foul-smelling ointment.
“This may sting.” She mumbles.
He closes his eyes while her fingertips trace his deep incisions with the healing balm. Despite his flinching, she persists until his body cools, relaxes, and mends itself. When she finishes, he surprisingly feels whole, his senses more alert.
She seals the ointment as her eyes trail across his body, stopping at the raised fabric around his hardened cock.
