Several men exchange toothy grins at the prospect of touching thePrincess. To them, she is insignificant. A willing whore their Jarl will offer to their ready cocks. Anything they can squeeze inside.
“I decided what better way to break in a Treland slut than with a round of cocks.”
Their excitement fuels the darkest pit of his soul.
He follows close behind. Gunni averts his gaze before they enter the corridor, knowing all too well the depravity that awaits those who defy the Iss Drengr.
Unwillingly or not.
Uncertainty hangs in the air as they enter the main bedchamber and find it empty except for a bed, desk, and assorted furniture.
“She ain’t here!” The drunkard exclaims.
“Where is she?”
The conversations spiral as none heed the looming shadow of their Jarl at their backs or the doors closing, locking them inside. Ice creeps along the walls and ceiling, yet not a single one of them bats an eye at the flickering candlelight from the frosted sconces.
It is not until his ice crystals infect the furniture that the men exchange looks of horror.
They were doomed to the Abyss the moment they sought his girl.
Ice spikes shoot up from the floor, impaling each one.
Calder denies their salvation.
“I hate to disappoint you, boys. But Aura belongs to me.” He announces as the final man groans, bent over as ice encompasses his midsection, spikes bursting through his chest.
19
AURA
September 10th, Year 21, 10th Era
Kaldrgataness, Skalor
Skalor was not what she expected. Its dramatic snowy mountain ranges and rugged forests are as wild as they are breathtaking.
The seat of the Hold, uncreatively called Kaldrgataness, is a town less than half the size of Toftlund that harbors the crudest, most despicable people on the continent. All leer at her when she walks past wearing her slave cuffs. Most women scoff or look on with pity, while the men attempt to touch her.
She loathes their cruel glares and hungry glances.
The only person who can hardly look at her is Jarl Avardsson.
Since their first night in Coldheart Keep, he has kept her at arm’s length. He seems unable to decide what he wants from Aura, leaving her in constant frustration and bitterness.
Today, Thora disappeared to clear her head and spar with anyone willing to stand still long enough to let her attack.
The Gothi Temple of Kaldrgataness requested Edmund’s presence because–apparently–he has a role and must complete a myriad of other tasks that Calder summed up as “religious bullshit.”
Therefore, instead of sleeping late and exploring herseidr, she begrudgingly follows the Iss Drengr to the longhouse where she will spend the day in Gunni’s suite.
Thankfully, the day’s dreariness dulls the copper shade of her curls to a dark brown, allowing her to exit Coldheart without a hair wrap.
“Remember, you are a slave.” Calder grunts, lighting sconces in the old Jarl’s suite, now serving as Gunni’s home. “You speak when spoken to. Keep your pretty eyes downcast and, most importantly,” he tugs the front of her bodice so she presses against his soft chest, “wrangle that fire of yours.” His thumb ghosts over her lips. “Do not force me to punish you.”
“I promise.” Her pledge does not seem to comfort him.
In response, he gently shoves her onto the massive bed and returns to the desk to review the written citizen requests.
