Sigvid slips the blackwood axes into his belt before accepting the smooth, rune-etched ones that elevated him to legendary status.
His piercing eyes fall on Avina’s naked form, and she becomes uncomfortably aware that behind his eyes, his mind is twisting.
She looks away to his Drengr, who usher him down the corridor.His calloused hand wraps around the base of her neck and roughly guides her toward the back corner of the cell.
Using one of his old, worn axes, he presses the cold blade across her clavicle.
“Kneel.” His stern command trickles goosebumps across her skin.
She purses her lips, refusing to give him the satisfaction. Even if her knees weaken in both arousal and intimidation at his murderous appearance.
“Make me order you a second time, and we will see where this axe can squeeze.”
“I owe you nothing.” Her would-be strong voice wavers under the fury rolling off his shoulders like a suffocating tidal wave.
A scream wrecks from her lips as he snatches a handful of her curls in his unyielding grip.
“Last time, kneel before me.”
She spits at his boots.
He tears her hair forward, compelling her away from the grungy stone wall. The force of his aggression positions her head to the ground with her backside in the air.
Shivers sear her skin, and she wonders if he will wrap her in the same furious embrace he had a month ago.
She fights against his control to watch him examine one of his old worn axes.
No…
Bile fills the back of her throat as waves of nausea tug her under.
Sigvid is going to kill her.
It was only a matter of time before he tired of their games. What transgressions has she committed other than the war to arouse his hatred? It was he who killed Rendel! The war and capturing him were all simply what she thought was required of her as the Queen. To protect her people against this brutal man.
Then there were her heartfelt letters and the gifts, not to mention the first time they met in her father’s study. Perhaps none of that means the same to him. The burn in her throat is a warning she must gather her emotions or risk crying on the floor of this dankcell.
He releases his unrelenting grasp on her hair, allowing her to gaze at the ground in haggard gasps. She can hear his heavy footsteps behind her and knows the end is near.
She shrieks when his hand connects with the tenderness of her backside.
She closes her eyes.Goddess of Wisdom, hear my prayer and safeguard Nellie if I should ascend to your Golden Citadel. Oh, Mother of Treland, grant me balance to survive his brutality.
She inhales deeply after her final thought in time for something rigid and unyielding to shove into her, thankfully wet core. She cries out from the sudden ache and strange pleasure which contort around her pulsating fear.
“What are you doing?” She cries out.
“Owning you, Avina.” He pushes the object further inside her. She suspects it is the handle of one of his axes. “Your life, be it long or short, is mine to control.”
Oh, Goddess!
She wants to be furious with him. Instead, the smooth wood fills her openness, stoking the fire for him buried deep within. As the shaft rubs along her fleshy walls, she feels the ridges from his carved runes. The rougher penetration builds the budding sensation of a not-far-off orgasm.
He moves the axe faster, “Look at that pussy fucking drenched for my axe. You belong to me, Timber Queen. Soon, you will exist as nothing more than a plaything for my desires. My prisoner of war. My whore.”
Whore?What about the respect he always showed her when they were at war? She must return home to Nellie and her people, not live in Toftlund on her hands and knees for Prince Sigvid.
Worse than the prospect of such a future is the heat building in her stomach from his words.
