“Avina…” He snarls down at her.
She huffs like this is a lover’s spat and not her risking her damned life in the frigid cold of Salt’s winter. Only when her gaze drops to her feet does he recognize the strap of a burlap sack hung over her shoulder. Sigvid rips the bag from her back and digs inside to find multiple pairs of clothes and food.
“Give that back!” She spits far too late.
He tilts his head, examining her thick trousers and tunic designedfor long travel. Even her hair is bound in a golden plait over one shoulder.
Scarlett red flashes over his gaze, and his chest heaves. “You have until I count to ten to explain this, or I will chain you in our bedroom.”
“It is December the twenty-second. The Winter Solstice is over. Our deal, Sigvid, is over.”
He steadies his breathing and grits his response, “And?”
She rolls her shoulders back and meets him with a level stare. “I must return to Timber. I am their Queen and cannot abandon my people. The Manchineel family will have another man in line to replace Samson. Each is as vile as the next, I fear. Please, take care of Nellie while I am gone.” Her fingers twist in knots, and her foot taps nervously.
“What is this really about?” He hooks a finger under her frozen chin, lifting her eyes to his.
She values her role as Queen of Timber. But, she must understand that life ended when I tore her from the Arena.
“I am a disgrace. My people need me, and here I am inSalt.” She shifts under his touch. “Power is addictive to those who should abandon it. Thrain is no different from Rendel, Samson, or my father. If I remain here longer, I put everyone in danger of a war.” Her words falter, leaving only misery.
“Ceowald wants this arrangement with Thrain to succeed, and we both know he will bypass your decisions,” Sigvid adds gently.
Her lips quiver, and he knows she will continue this beratement of every aspect that makes her an exceptional woman, Queen, and lover. She will mentally torment herself over situations beyond her control simply because she finds herself at the center of others’ fuckery.
I will never be this woman’s hero. However, I can be her villain.
“Avina,” he tosses the sack over his broad shoulder and grabs a handful of her curls. “I hate to fucking disappoint the people of Timber, who are oh so understanding, but you are the fucking captive of the Prince of Salt.”
Her eyes widen, and fuck if her fear does not make his cock twitch. He licks the shell of her ear, relishing her trembles.
“We are at the brink of war, and if you think I will graciously step aside to allow my brother to take you as his own, you are gravely fuckingmistaken. Besides, you must know who saddles up to my brother tonight.” He gives a hollow chuckle. “Trust me, little Queen, you will need to summon that massive fucking Timber army sooner rather than later.”
She twists against his hold, only leading to her shrieks as he tightens his grip. He digs a hand in her curls and yanks her head back. As she whimpers, he brushes his lips to hers.
“You aremine.” He growls. “I carefully watch every fucking moment of your existence. There is no way you can escape me. Therefore, I forbid you from feeling guilty because you are my prisoner.” He bites into her neck, sucking her soft skin into his mouth while she whimpers.
“I forbid you from feeling guilty for holding a passion for your captor.” He bites the other side of her neck, savoring her rose and lavender scent while his rough hands plunder her curvy body as if she is treasure stolen from the Timber people.
“I forbid you from feeling guilty because you grew fond of Salt.” He thrusts her against the tree, pinning her wrists above her head while he rips her tunic down the center, exposing her bare breasts.
“And I forbid you from feeling guilty for loving me.” He shoves her tit as far into his mouth as he can, lapping at her hardened nipple while she squirms.
She grasps his braid, tugging him closer as he sucks on her heavy breasts while he tightens his hold on her waist.
He sweeps her into his arms, cradling her against his chest as he moves them into Blackwood.
December 23rd, Year 100, 9th Era
South Sea Beach, Salt Province
“Little one?” Sigvid glances over his shoulder once more to ensure no one follows them. “I trust your instincts explicitly. However, are you sure we need to do this now?” He yawns loudly.
Avina does not acknowledge his question and continues to plow onward.
As they approach a stretch of craggy beach along the southwestern edge of Salt, Sigvid wonders again if this is all a dream or perhaps spoiled milk, leading to her unsettling urge to trek across the countryside in the middle of the night. Their thick fur cloaks billow in the biting wind whipping off the South Sea.
Moonlight streams across the water, granting them enough light as they carefully maneuver the dunes.
