The Treland throne means more to Thrain than her.
My little one, what have you done? Come to me, and I shall fix this. We can undo this mistake together.
His chest aches as if someone clutches his beating heart with the force of ten men.
Once Thrain has drank enough power from the poor, ignorant citizens of Toftlund, he kisses Avina’s cheek to a shrill of excitement from the women watching. A sudden urge to rip his brother’s lips off and shove them down his throat takes root.
As she steps off the dais, her vacant, deep blues look desperately to Sigvid.
“You wish to move in with me?” Thrain asks with far more authority than a simple question.
She quickly shakes her head. “I made a deal with Sigvid, which I will honor. Thrain, do you not think this announcement is too early?” Her voice quivers with fear.
“I’m sorry.” He cups her cheek, but she flinches the tiniest of movements. “I can offer you better than a dungeon, broom cupboard, or where you sleep at my brother’s lodge.”
“I have lived alone all my life. It’s not too bad.”
Why hide you slept against my side since our arrival to Toftlund?
Gunter waves to Thrain, gesturing for him to join him around the front of the dais, where several citizens wait to speak with him.
“I will call upon you later, my Queen, to check on you.” A hidden warning is shrouded in Thrain’s seemingly innocuous words.
She nods, inching down the alley beside the tavern, away from Thrain.
Sigvid reclines against the tavern's side, watching her back away almost within his grasp. The rough masonry rubs enough against his back to keep him grounded. Red twinges his sight, an imminent threat that he might berserk and steal her away to another fucking country.
He hears Skalor is nicely uninhabitable this time of year.
Once she nears him, he begins a slow, sarcastic clap. “What a great fucking show, Queen Avina.” Sarcasm oozes from his pores as he strides closer to her, still clapping. “When did you and my dear brother have time to rehearse such a display?”
Her arms wrap around her chest protectively. Her cheeks have a haunted, hollow look about them as if someone has beaten her. “Not now, Sigvid.”
“I cannot leave this alone.” He growls, moving until he dominates her form.
How can she do this to him? After everything they have gone through, he thought she had begun reciprocating his feelings. “Where did this come from?”
She head tilts away from him, her focus on the snowy ground. “Because you and I are different people. When will you not understand that?” Her words are breathy and distant, as if spoken by someone else.
“That does not suggest you run to Thrain instead of me.” He can hear the ringing hurt in his tone. He could give a fuck if he sounds like a weak fool chasing after a woman.
How could she do this to me?
She shakes her head, still not meeting his gaze. “You talk of duty andhonor. Well, I have a responsibility to the people of Treland. The King of Salt asked for my hand, and I accepted.”
Lies!
Sigvid’s eye twitches. “You are with the wrong man. He cannot be what you need. Thrain will never be a strong enough King of Treland.”
“What choice do I have?” She hisses. “The people have been told.”
“You still have a choice, and the people can be told again. You belong to me! Not to Thrain.” He squeezes her shoulders until his knuckles whiten, and she whimpers. “What is making you do this?”
Her top teeth bite so hard into her bottom lip that blood drips down her chin.
Anger and desire morph within his chest, and he reacts. Sigvid grips her throat with one hand and pulls her close. His tongue runs along her lip, savoring the blood pooling at the puncture point.
His hand slides over her mouth, covering most of her face with his size. She tugs on his wrist, her lips mumbling adorable yet futile pleadings.
