“Fuck.” Another Drengr looks away as if observing Avina would sear him.
“I don’t see the problem.” The man named Finn leans back in his saddle.
“Lord Commander left his ownership mark. He never cares enough for his whores to take someone home.” The youngest boy in the group nods at Avina. His brown hair is cropped to his skull, and he bears the beginning of a scraggly beard.
It’s not that I want anyone to harm me, but why does this matter to Drengr?
“Sig wants her clothed and then everyone inside to release the combatants,” Helga instructs quickly. The seven dismount with a collective whoop of excitement.
“Finn.” Helga stops the man whose eyes have yet to leave Avina. “How is Slode? Does he need backup?”
Finn slowly pivots his head from Avina toward Helga. “They swiftly wiped the Arena guards out while you and Kar went inside. They returned to our border to wait for Prince Sigvid’s command.”
“Ma’am?”
Avina jumps at the sudden appearance of the youngest Drengr, who mentioned the ownership mark.
“These are not your size, but you’ll be warm.” He places an oversized brown tunic and long blue trousers in her arms. His icy eyes look anywhere else but at her naked form.
“Thank you.” She swiftly dresses and is grateful when another Drengr drapes a thick wool cloak over her shoulders.
Soon, she is alone along the forest edge with Helga and Finn while the other Drengr leave to help their Prince.
“Who is this, Helga? Commander would hardly have us protect a mere harlot.” Finn whispers.
“Queen Avina.”
“Why aren’t we fucking killing her, then?” Finn snarls.
Avina’s fists whiten as she eavesdrops on the conversation.
“She is a gift to our Lord Commander, who claimed her as his own.” Helga’s words slice through her teeth in a venomous spray. Avina can feel the warning in her tone.
Finn snorts in derision. “Because of war with that bitch and her husband, we lost good fucking men.”
Finn lost someone in the war.
Avina feels her cheeks burn, knowing nothing she can say will console him.
“He made it clear she is to be unharmed.” Helga shakes her head. “I dare not cross him.”
Avina still grapples to glean what is happening.
Why is everyone afraid to touch her just because she bore his seed on her skin? Rendel did that inside her pussy and felt no closer to her than he did a glass of wine.
Maybe even less so.
She is an amusing toy and a source of revenge for Prince Sigvid. Somewhere between his threatening gaze and deep obsession, she struggles to understand what she means to him. A bounty from the war that he can hold with pride, perhaps?
“He fucked you, what, that one time? After you were drunk?” Intentional cruelty laces Finn’s words to Helga. “Was he that good? That you’ll defend his current bedfellows.” Finn sneers.
Helga’s face and neck flush a deep shade of crimson. Even her jaw clenches as if she is restraining herself from saying something.
“I swore a blood oath to Prince Sigvid. I would follow him to the ends of the world.” She puffs out her chest.
“Yeah, I swore one too.” Finn circles Avina. His hungry gaze holds a deadlier edge than Sigvid's. “But getting revenge for my father’s death is far sweeter than remaining loyal so he can play peek-a-boo with her holes.”
He steps close to Avina. His hand seizes her neck in an unyielding grip.
