She twists from his grip to look up at him.
Yes, meet the actual source of your strange trust.
“Contrary to popular belief, the berserker power is not the onlyseidrgift to come out of the Salt Province. Destined to be the diplomat, Thrain received a rather uncommon ability.”
Sigvid holds her gaze, needing her to understand the gravity of the situation. “Thrain’s face is an illusion. An illusion to all who have not seen him before his Sacred Stone Ceremony on his thirteenth nameday.”
“An illusion?” Her mouth gapes. “I do not understand.”
“Theseidralters his features to represent someone the viewer finds attractive and, more importantly, trustworthy. Thrain never needs to cultivate confidence among our people. He only needs to look at them.”
“However you beheld my brother defines your perception of trust. He appeared to you as someone you would place your faith in, someone you have confidence in and respect to protect you.” He cannot help but notice a brush of crimson across her cheeks.
Her eyes cannot meet his. “Could you tell me what he looks like? I have my powers. Why can I not cancel his?”
He chuckles at her sound logic. “The Stones’ powers do not work that way, my little Queen. If it is any consolation, his features are relatively bland by Salt standards.” He pauses with a grin. “I did get the looks in the family.”
A genuine smile tugs at her lips before faltering. “Is his ability new? I have never read of anyone in Treland receiving such an ability from the gods.”
“It is ancient.” He does not elaborate.
Sigvid unbinds her wrists and repurposes the rope to a leash tied under her breasts.
Naturally, she spits in protest, but that does not stop him from dragging her up the stairs to the front door.
When they enter Thrain’s home, Sigvid is disgusted to see what he has done with the place in the last three and a half months. Somehow, his childhood home is now unrecognizable save for the long, low-floor hearth burning brightly. The same in-ground fireplace he once shoved a younger, upstart Thrain into.
“Welcome to my humble abode.” Thrain emerges from a side room wearing a black silk robe over his tunic and trousers. His bare feet give him a more down-to-earth and absurd appearance.
“What have you done to this pl-… why in the Abyss are you dressed like a Gothi on holiday?” Sigvid quips.
Thrain clutches his chest in an exaggerated hurt. “I invite you intomy home, and you instantly insult me. Tisk Tisk, brother.” Thrain strides over until they are eye-to-eye.
Slowly, he stoops to Avina, painting his smile wide. “We have not been adequately introduced, beautiful. I am King Thrain Thordsson. Although, I imagine you know that by now.”
Beautiful?
Sigvid counts down from five to calm himself but only reaches number four.Fuck I am going to kill him before the day is out.
“Q-queen Avina.” She stammers, twisting against Sigvid’s front.
She is caught under Thrain’s Sacred Stone ability, forcing her to see him as an honorable man, much like a spider lures a fly to its web to devour within its own time.
“Your Highness.” He bows low and then tilts his head to the side. “Please, my lady, dispel the rumors of your existence in my city as a mere interest in our architecture and not because you are held captive by Sig.”
“Do not call me Sig,” Sigvid snarls. “She ismyprisoner of war.” His grip on her neck and shoulder tightens until she whimpers.
“I can see that.” Thrain tears away the cloth over Sigvid’s mark on her arm. His nose wrinkles in the perfect appearance of disdain at the scarring. He stands to his full height with an expression of fucking pity.
“I look forward to discussing peace talks between our provinces. No matter what authority my brother feels he wields over you, know it is not more than mine.” Thrain drags his knuckles over her cheek. “You fear him, do you not?”
“I will not bow to his ferocity.”
Thrain licks his lips as if preparing to savor the choice cut of meat.
“Enough, Thrain.” Sigvid’s arm on her neck dips down under her heavy breasts, locking her against him.
Thrain’s eyes narrow to dangerous slits despite the gentlemanly demeanor he is faking for the Timber Queen’s sake. “As King, I can withdraw your control of the Salt Army anytime. Even your oath-bond friends would be no match. Father saw fit to sideline you in a support role…to play with your rocks.”
