At last, the guards approach. He offers out his wrists with a grin. “I know, I know. I will be chainedtonight.”
Later that Evening
September 19th, Year 100, 9th Era
Treland Arena
Sigvid perches on the bed in his cell. He stretches his corded arms blackened with ink to glower at the shackles encircling his wrists and linked to heavy steel chains.
At least he will sleep well, knowing Rendel, Face, and Pretty Boy are no longer wasting air.
Champ pressed him for reasons why he annihilated both men on behalf of his enemy, and he couldn’t quite say. In his mind, he likes to justify his actions as ensuring no one else will kill The Timber Queen or harm her before he gets to lay hands on her.
Sigvid still couldn’t decide whether he wants to fuck her until she screams his name like it is the only word she knows or if he wishes to torture her life until she begs for mercy.
He will settle for both at the same time.
Footsteps echo in the corridor outside his cell, which sits beside a stone wall at the end of the hall. From his bed, he glances through the bars of his door to see a shadow shuffling toward him.
A wobbly shadow.
He saunters toward the cell door until the chains on his wrists tug sharply, reminding him of his place.
The intruder's familiar feminine voice is poorly singing an old Ridge hymn to the Goddess Maeve. “…and I will find my way….” Hiccup.
Sigvid raises an eyebrow. He would recognize her voice anywhere now that he made a fucking point to assign it to his bloody soul.
The lit sconce across from his cell illuminates Queen Avina's golden curls. Accentuating her thick curves is a short black dress with cuffed sleeves over her shoulders. Her skirt flows out at her waist to settle at her knees, and that sweetheart neckline exposes the tops of her bouncing breasts, stirringallof Sigvid’s primitive desires.
How fucking dare she traipse down to his cell!
Singing no less.
And all to mock him?
She sold him into this wretched Abyss, and here she is, drunk as a skunk and fucking singing?
The young Queen may have bested him once, but Sigvid is a terrible loser and never one for playing fair.
Tonight, I return you to your Goddess, Avina.
His eyes glare at her uneven footing, wanting to slam her head against the wall.
“Prince Sigvid Thordsson.” She slurs his name.
Ah, we have been overindulging.
Her hand hugs a green bottle of nearly empty Timber wine. “Get out of my head!” She seethes as she stumbles into his cell door.
“From the looks of that bottle, I am not what is in your head.” He watches her as she fumbles, trying to gain footing as she slips around on the smooth stone.
“I am a good girl, Sigvid. I read and follow all the rules; I am,” hiccup, “always there for my people. I deserve a moral, upstanding man instead of thinking about war criminals.”
This is too precious.
His maniacal smile widens.
It's too bad Kar and Slode aren’t here to witness this.
