Her fatigue from encountering new foes washes over her. She forces a fake smile and gives a friendly wave. “Good day.”
“Aren’t you a bold one, addressing me without an honorific?” He leans against the wooden wall with a half-smile. “You must be that new girl whom the Jarl dragged off the ship yesterday.”
“I am Jarl Calder’s pleasure slave.” She repeats in a bored tone.
Averting her gaze like a proper slave is nearly impossible when the instincts instilled by her parents scream for her to focus on his actions.
“Fascinating.” He appraises her with an unsettling longing.
Discreetly, she slips a foot backward, edging her way back to the bedchamber. “Fascinating?”
“Jarl Calder doesn’t keep slaves. He is vocally against the practice.Those who keep them tend to end up dead or worse.” He pushes off from the wall, stalking her closely. “The Iss Drengr keeps a hushed bed. If I hadn’t seen a woman leave his house last winter, I would have thought he was celibate.”
She shrugs noncommittally. “I only just met the Jarl.”
Warning horns blare in her mind. Something about this man curdles her stomach.
“So the good Jarl hasn’t tested you out yet, sweet thing. Hmm?”
“Oh, uh, no. I mean, yes, he has.” She overemphasizes her nod, striving to believe the lie. “His cock barely fits inside me.”
He grabs her neck and slams her into the wall, evoking a shocked squeal. “You address me as Lord Harvart. Or,” he inhales her scent, sending a wave of cold chills along her skin. “You tell me the truth, and we can skip the pleasantries.”
“Truth?”
He pins her to the wall with his body. “You may fool the others, but the crown pays me well to report on Calder, slave. Or should I say, Princess Aura?” He whispers her name, and her struggles intensify with his laughter.
“You are wrong! I was a working girl in Salt, a Drengr!” She spits.
He shoves her into the bedchamber. “Right, a Drengr.” He mocks as he kicks the doors shut behind him.
Frantically, she searches for a weapon, but Harvart tosses her back onto the bed, eliciting a scream from her. He straddles her waist, removing his member from his pants.
“No! Help!” Her shriek is piercing enough that his hold loosens. She slams her fists into his chest, forcing him to stumble back with a grunt.
Scrambling to her feet, she shoves the table between them, scattering parchment and spilling the contents of the whiskey bottle onto the floor.
Dammit, that was a good year.
“You can lie all you want, Princess. The Queen told me the truth. You seduced our good Jarl and plan to take control of Skalor for Treland.”
“You are delusional!” She shatters a chair against the wall, plucking two splintered legs off the ground. With a yell, she lunges, stabbing him in the crook of his arm.
Suddenly, the room doors burst open, and she darts to the safety of the corridor. A thick arm catches her before she can slip out. Calder’s warmth and reassuring scent envelop her tightly. She clutches his side, burying her head into his tunic with a gasp of relief.
“My Jarl!” Lord Harvart removes the chair leg, discarding the bloodied wood onto the floor.
Aura shivers as the air grows colder, more frigid than the darkest winter night in the Salt Province. The Iss Drengr’s unflinching gaze does not avert from Lord Harvart, who tugs his cloak tighter around his lean figure.
“I demand,” Harvart wipes his face with his hand, “a punishment from you to your slave to make amends for her assaulting me.”
Aura’s heart sinks.
What an excellent manipulation tactic.
If Calder refuses, Harvart will accept that as further proof that she is not a slave, but a Treland Princess. A situation that would jeopardize everything and attract Lavinia's attention.
If he agrees to the demand, Harvart will force his hand to harm her publicly. An act to stir ire with her father, who, thanks to Isabel, likely already believes his Inner Circle member has ulterior motives.
