Calder’s hand slips along her back, his thumb grazing her neck before his fingers firmly wrap around her column.
“Gather your men, Harvart.”
Confusion thrums in her veins as Calder guides her into the central room.
I have done nothing wrong!
Laughter dies when they appear. Aura shudders from the indifference in the man clutching her to his side.
Gunni turns away from a group engaged in a boisterous conversation. He trips over himself to reach his Jarl, who leans down and whispers into the ear of his Second.
When he pulls away, Gunni’s face pales. He scrutinizes him as ifthe Jarl might change his mind. Instead, he shoves Aura forward, her bare feet scraping off the dirty floorboards.
His throne looms closer, and she knows where this will end.
As he pulls her onto the dais, she glances into the crowd and sees half of the waiting townsfolk fleeing. Gunni dances around the tables, tapping men and women on the shoulder, prompting them to scramble to the main double doors.
She wanders along the platform, recalling how her life changed the last time she stood atop such a stage at the Farewell Feast, when Jarl Guy took her for a walk, thrusting her onto a path to Skalor.
Calder slumps onto the throne behind her with a grunt, his long legs splayed. He gestures with two fingers for her to come closer.
“What is happening?” She is unable to meet his gaze. The mere thought of his disapproval cuts deeply.
Without acknowledging her fear, he tugs her across his lap until her head is down and her behind is up. One hand clutches her upper arm closest to his chest while the other brushes along her inner thigh.
“I am ready for this, Jarl Calder!” Harvart strides out and flops into a seat between two elegantly adorned lords.
Arguing at the front doors draws Aura’s attention to her sister, who has her hands on her hips and points an accusatory finger at Gunni’s face.
Even from the throne, she can hear Thora’s aggression. “...You get my little sister the fuck out of there, or I’ll gut you like a stuck pig!... no, fuck you, Gunni!”
He shoves her outside and slams the doors shut, leaving Calder and Aura alone, along with a dozen of Harvart’s men and the Lord himself.
Uncertainty quivers over the Princess, who can sense the Iss Drengr’s coiled muscles beneath her body, much like a predator considering its prey.
But the question is, which prey is he to devour? The lords or Aura?
He dangles a scrap of black fabric before her eyes. She hardly hastime to process it before he secures it around her head, obscuring her sight.
His rough fingertips caress her cheeks, gathering her curls away from her face. “I have you.” His voice is a distant whisper.
He is not upset with me?
The sound of crackling between her wrists signals her cuffs fusing in hisseidrice, quickly followed by her ankles.
He envelops her in a foreboding sense of peace. To settle her racing thoughts, she focuses on the whispers and thunks of the pewter flagons within the longhouse. The thud of her heart increases as she senses something looming above her.
And then Calder's fingertips circle against her clit.
Despite the leering crowd, his rough fingertips evoke soft moans from the Princess. Lazily, he pleases her in a manner so passive that she wonders if she is imagining his touch.
“What is this, Iss Drengr?” Lord Harvart shouts. “Are we to watch you finger the girl?”
Harvart’s complaints waiver as if he is shivering. “You,” he commands, likely to one of his men, “throw a few more logs on the fire. It’s as cold as a wench’s tit in here.”
Like in the Blackwood Forest, Calder’s touch feels distant, as if he is not present in the moment. Still, he is masterful at arousing her body in a way that pushes her to the brink. As she teeters on the edge, she emits a low gasp in anticipation of her release.
That he denies.
