Sapphire and Steel

by Violet Froste

  Svagnar groaned, the pleasure of her tight sex swallowing his cock unbearable. She began moving in a slow, excruciating motion, moaning as she sought her own pleasure on his cock. He watched greedily as her back arched each time he filled her, her breasts thrust forward through her gaping bodice. She began moving faster, gasps and moans spilling from her lips, her tits bouncing with each movement, each ragged breath. Svagnar stifled on oath, no longer able to bear this sweet torture.

  Grabbing her by the waist, he flipped her in one quick motion so she lay beneath him on the bed. Pinning her wrists above her head, he felt her thighs clench around his hips. He began to fuck her with beastly abandon, thrusting hard and fast, spearing her with his cock. Her moans turned to uncontrollable cries of pleasure as she teetered on the edge of her orgasm. Svagnar had never known a sweeter sound. He had never known a sweeter sight than her flushed cheeks, her wet lips, her arching body. A sudden yell of shocked pleasure burst from her lips, and Svagnar groaned as her inner walls spasmed and pulsed around his cock.

  Burying his face in her neck, inhaling the sweetness of her smell, he slammed into her furiously, seeking his own pleasure. Their bedchamber filled with the sounds of gasps and grunts and slapping flesh. Soon, he felt himself ride the crest of a hard and brutal pleasure.

  Looking down at his wife, he saw that her eyes were wide open, desperate with need. Wild words fell breathlessly from his mouth:

  “I love you. I love you, hellhound, and - fuck!”

  With one final thrust, he impaled his wife, spilling his seed deep inside her, his hips moving as violent ecstasy shattered through him.

  Soon his hips stilled and he lay, breathing hard, his lips pressed to the skin of her neck. He felt his cock soften inside the tight, moist sheath of her sex, but he could not bring himself to move. The moment was too perfect to be broken so soon. He lay against her, regaining his breath, his palm lazily caressing the small breasts he adored so much.

  Raising his head, he looked down to see that tears had pearled upon his wife’s lower eyelashes. He opened his mouth to ask her why she wept, but she interrupted him when she whispered: “I love you too, Svagnar Odliefsen.”

  She spoke brokenly, yet with utter sincerity. Her words pierced Svagnar, his love for her like pain. Gathering her to his chest, he pressed his mouth against her eyelids, kissing away her tears, and held her close. They lay in silence, savouring each other’s proximity. Svagnar wished that this moment would never pass, that the gods would stop time and leave this moment untouched.

  “You’ve said it now,” he whispered against her hair. “You may never take it back, hellhound.”

  “I don’t wish to take it back,” she replied gravely.

  Later, as they lay entangled on the bed, the princess sighed and said: “I’m thirsty. Would you fetch me my cup of wine?”

  “Of course, hellhound. I am your servant in all things,” Svagnar said with a grin, kissing her nose before rolling off the bed.

  He dragged his trousers on and walked to the table where she had left her goblet. With the unhurried, indolent movements of a well-fed feline, he picked up the jug of wine, refilling her cup. He heard the quick padding of footsteps. Before he could look up, he saw a shadow rise on the wall in front of him. He frowned.

  And then something hit him, hard and swift and true, on the back of the head. He keeled forward, and could not even utter a sound of surprise before everything went black.

  Chapter XV

  Aster the Unforgivable

  Aster made herself cold and hard as steel as she watched her stolen husband crumble to the floor. She stood utterly still, the pommel of her axe held aloft. She banished her shame, her guilt, she banished the urge to kiss him one last time.

  Her time as Princess Adrienna, the loved and loving bride of Jarl Svagnar, was over. Now, she was Aster. Low-born Aster, battle-trained Aster, bastard Aster who must put aside every emotion, ever selfish urge. The Aster she knew best: decisive, calculating, unflinching.

  She threw on the fur-lined mantle Ylva had given her in anticipation of their hunt on the morrow. There would be no hunt now - except the hunt for Aster. But she would be gone from Fjersfell by then. Taking a deep, calming breath, she hid her stolen axe beneath the folds of the mantle and hurried from the room.

  She had learned and practised the quickest path to the stables, and she reached them swiftly, drawing no attention. There, she had already saddled and prepared a horse. She hadn’t stashed away any rations of food, but it didn’t matter. She planned to travel light and fast. She pushed the door to the stable open just enough that she could slip through it on a horse and quickly mounted the young mare she had saddled.

  She left Fjersfell castle without casting a single look behind. The book of her life in Fjersfell was to be closed and buried. And in the pages of that book were Ylva and her lovely smile, the brave shieldmaidens, Gunnar who had felt almost like a father and young Kylan with his salacious jests. And Svagnar, and Svagnar’s grey eyes and scarred face and the heat of his body. And his bed and his kisses and his tender words. She would bury it all away somewhere deep and secret within herself.

  Aster rode through the night, trusting her horse to lead her safely through the mountains. A great path was carved between two peaks north of Fjersfell. It was there that Aster headed, towards the fjords that separated her from the northern shore where Byram had told her to meet him. It was not the seventh day yet, but Owayn would be here sooner. She had only one hope left: that somehow Byram had found Adrienna, that somehow he had brought her back earlier, that somehow they could fix the harm Aster had done.

  No matter what happened, she could never undo the harm she had done to herself. Lying with Svagnar on their wedding night had been impetuous and foolish. Lying with Svagnar before leaving had been selfish and hopeless. Telling him she loved him had been unforgivable and catastrophic.

  By telling him this single truth she had broken something inside herself that would never be mended. She should have known better, she should have done what she did best: lie, to him and to herself. But she hadn’t even been capable of that.

  Smiling in contempt at her pathetic thoughts, Aster dug her heels into the mare’s sides. Her body jolted in the saddle as the mare galloped through the snow. She was already sore from the saddle, sore between her legs, sore in her heart and mind. She wanted to arrive at the northern shore, to know the truth, to know if there was still hope. But she rode on, and the darkness of the Arkaviki winter was no darker than her mind.

  It was twilight by the time she reached the fjords Byram had mentioned. The sky was dark and blue as sapphires, stabbed with the white-hot pinpricks of stars as far as the eye could see. The full moon was high in the sky, staring down like an unblinking eye, touching everything it saw with silver light. The fjords were magnificent: nestled between colossal mountains; they shone like mirrors in the moonlight, reflecting the snow-covered crests and glaciers.

  And as she rode past the mountains and around them, a sight of resplendent beauty took the breath from Aster’s breast. Trembling and swaying low in the sky were ribbons of green light, curling and coiling in on themselves. Beyond the green lights, the sky was dappled with translucent purple, and beyond it, Aster could see more brilliant stars than she had ever seen in her life.

  Fighting the urge to slow down, to admire this country for the miracle of beauty it was, Aster rode down, descending the slope that would lead to the shore. Thick woodland of towering evergreens shadowed the foot of the mountains, separating her from her goal.

  Once she reached the trees, she realised she could not carry on: the dense canopy of pine and cedar leaves was far too thick to allow any light to permeate. The heavy branches created an archway of nebulous darkness beneath the trees. There would be no getting around the woodland - Aster would need to wait for dawn.

  Sliding from the saddle, she tied her horse to a pine. She knew she should get some rest, for her troubles were not over yet, and she would need
to be quick and strong and alert. Though her mantle was lined with thick fur, it could not protect her from the icy wind. It whipped so hard against Aster it seemed to cut her. So she climbed back on the horse and flattened herself against its back, curling her arms around its neck. The mare was warm enough to keep her from freezing, but not warm enough to stop her from trembling with cold.

  Eventually, Aster fell into an uneasy sleep. She did not even realise she had slipped into unconsciousness until she awoke to the sound of distant calls. Jolting upright in the saddle she listened carefully: voices called and answered behind her. Svagnar must have come to and sent a search party. She needed to leave. Quickly.

  She cut the reins loose from the tree, not wasting the time it would take to untie it. Urging her horse onwards through the woodland, she kicked it into a brisk gallop. Dawn had come, pale pink and blue and grey smearing the horizon. The gloom of the pines was still thick, but she had no choice. Whoever Svagnar had sent after her would be on horseback, and the Arkaviki were formidable warriors. Her horse would be easy to track, and her only advantage was that she was further ahead than they were.

  She rode on furiously through the tree, her mare nervously leaping to avoid the trunks. Aster prayed to her saints, to her saintesses, and she prayed to Svagnar’s gods and goddesses. She prayed to whoever was listening: to let her get to the northern shore, to let Byram be there, to let Adrienna be with him, to let Arkavik be saved.

  The voices were amongst the trees now. She could hear the barking of dogs, too. They would track her with lethal accuracy. Her heart was in her mouth, her stomach clenched so tightly she would have thrown up had she eaten anything the day before. But Svagnar had called her dauntless, and so she forced herself to be so. To be dauntless, and strong, and keep riding no matter what.

  When the trees grew sparser and eventually scattered into a flat expanse of tundra, Aster gave out a hoarse shout of triumph. In the horizon, past black shrubs and fields of snow and gentle hills, lay a pale grey beach. And beyond it, the Arkaviki sea: blue as its sapphires, blue as the sky it met in the horizon.

  And as Aster rode faster and closer, crossing the tundra and ascending the gentle slopes of the hills, she saw the beach more clearly: its grey pebbles, the white waves that crashed upon it, and the tents. The large, red tents, ornate and pointed, and beyond them the huge ships moored out to sea. They jutted out against the immaculate sky: black ships, with enormous crimson sails swelling in the icy wind. And upon those sails the white, leaping lynx - sigil of the Karschan Empire.

  Aster pulled on the reins, slowing her horse. Her heart hammered wildly. Why was there a Karshan fleet on Arkavik’s shore? Had they allied themselves with Owayn to help put an end to his campaigns once and for all? But why would they have made camp on the very same beach where Byram had vowed to meet Aster? It could not be a coincidence. And Byram had said that Adrienna might be in Karscha. Had Adrienna married the prince after all?

  She had no choice but to carry on. If Karscha had come to wage war on Arkavik then Arkavik would topple. The Karschan Empire was the greatest military force in Westmere: none could withstand it. It was the very reason Owayn had been so eager to marry Adrienna to its prince. And now, they were here, on Svagnar’s shores. Aster swallowed hard and rode on slowly down the hill. There was no going back now. Only forward.

  Slowly, she rode along the beach and into the camp. They had spotted her, for she saw soldiers gather around the camp, forming a semi-circle around her path. They sported the traditional Karschan uniform: dark armour and visors, long spears and kite shields painted with the leaping lynx. Aster’s hands trembled around the reins she clutched as she rode into the camp.

  Then a running figure appeared from amongst the soldiers. Aster’s eyes burned. Her breath was cut - she felt as though she might suffocate. She slid from her horse and almost fell, and she stumbled as a veil of tears obscured the world.

  Then she was collapsing into warm arms, her face pressed into dark, fragrant hair. Adrienna’s arms caught her, but she was not strong enough to carry both their weights. She dropped to her knees, Aster collapsing into her. And Adrienna embraced Aster so tightly that the breath was crushed from her breast, and she gasped, and she realised that she was weeping.

  “Adrienna! Adrienna…”

  She had been holding tears for so long, for so many reasons, that she felt she would never stop. Her face buried in Adrienna’s hair, she let her tears flow, savage sobs wracking her body. Adrienna held her close, stroking her head and her back, kissing her temple.

  “Aster, I thought I would never see you again, I thought…” Adrienna was blabbering, half-laughing, half-crying herself.

  Eventually, Aster’s tears stopped, and she was helped to her feet by a strong hand. Looking up, she saw Byram, who was looking as earnest as ever. She embraced him just as tightly and murmured her thanks against his ear. He nodded and she pulled free, and Adrienna led them both back into the largest of the crimson tents.

  There, she poured a glass of what looked like water and handed it to Aster. It made Aster’s eyes water just to hold it close to her face. When she took a sip, it burned a path down her throat and into her stomach. She felt revived and suddenly warmed.

  She looked around: the tent was decorated with gold embroideries, and the floor was covered with thick furs. A bed had been built in the back of the tent, but in the front where they stood was a table, maps with navigational tools, and low seats surrounding it.

  “Adrienna, what happened? What’s all this?” Aster asked, gesturing around her, not knowing where to start. She wanted to ask Adrienna a thousand questions, she wanted to know everything that had happened since they were separated, but there was barely time for anything. “Your father, he’s coming to Arkavik, he will attack, and-”

  Adrienna took her hand and said: “Byram has told me everything, you mustn't worry, Aster, you mustn't worry.”

  “No, you don’t understand, the jarl of Arkavik, he- he thinks his country is saved but-”

  Once more Adrienna interrupted her, prompting her to take another sip of the burning liquid. Aster drank reluctantly, shuddering with every sip. As she did, Adrienna spoke calmly: “Listen to me, Aster. You’ve been so very brave, so loyal - you’ve done everything you could to protect me. Now is the time for me to be brave and loyal. Now is the time for me to protect you.”

  Aster stared at the princess: something had changed her. Her hair was shorter now, hanging in feathery strands over her shoulders, and her eyes were smiling and confident, and a dark gold crown was upon her head. She wore a dress in the Karschan fashion: the bodice stiff and ornate, the skirts long and straight, richly embroidered in patterns of flowers and arabesques. Filigree gold and rubies sparkled on her fingers and ears and throat. She no longer looked like a princess. She looked like a queen.

  “How did you get here? Why are you in a Karschan camp? How did Byram ever find you?” Aster asked, unable to choose only one question.

  Adrienna smiled and looked up at Byram: “Byram found me on my wedding day. I am a wife now, Aster, look.”

  She showed Aster her hand, where rings and jewels glittered. Aster felt her heart sink. Her own wedding ring had been too large, and she had tied it on a string about her neck. She looked at the rubies upon Adrienna’s fingers, at her golden crown. If Adrienna was married, how would she marry Svagnar? How would she save Arkavik?

  “Oh, Aster, I have so much to tell you, and we have so little time. I will be quick, for we will soon talk at leisure: after you were taken by the jarl of Arkavik, two of his men took me and Althius. I believe they intended to return us to Hawksmoor. They weren’t barbarians as I thought they would be, and they told us they had taken the princess but that she would be safe. I knew you had taken my place, Aster, I knew you would have done whatever it took to save me from danger. I kept your lie, as did Althius, but we knew we would soon run out of time. The moment we would arrive at Hawksmoor the Arkaviki would discover your deception a
nd perhaps kill you for it. So Althius and I made a plan to escape, to retrieve the rest of my guard and to follow in your tracks, to get you back.”

  Adrienna paused there, her face drawn, a sad smile on her face as she gazed at Aster.

  “I was so afraid, Aster, I was so afraid something would happen to you. If you died for me I knew I would never forgive myself, I could never accept it. But Althius told me to be strong like you, and we waited for an opportunity to escape. Then one day, the Arkaviki warriors were attacked by one of our patrols, and Althius and I ran when we had the chance. He found us some horses, and we rode back to our camp, but everything was gone. I didn’t know what to do, Aster, I thought I had lost you forever. And that’s when the Karschan men found us, for Sergevni had been awaiting our arrival, and when we did not come, he came to look for us.”

  Aster raised her eyebrows at Adrienna’s casual use of the Karschan Prince’s name, but before she could ask a question, Adrienna continued: “Sergevni brought me and Althius back to Sevalensk, his home. He was not at all what I expected - I will tell you all that passed between us in much detail someday, Aster. The Emperor was eager to ally Karscha to Veritier, for Veritier would open up many trade routes to the Empire. I knew I could use this to my advantage. I told Sergevni what had happened to you, and I made him swear my wedding present would be a fleet to retrieve you. He agreed… after some persuasion. And I married him, Aster and-”

  Adrienna glanced up at Byram, a faint blush upon her cheeks.

  “And you were right about Karschan man, my dear Aster,” she said more quietly, leaning forward conspiratorially. “But we shall speak more of this later. After the wedding, Byram arrived, and he told me you were alive, and he told me you, too, were about to be wed. He told me everything: that it was he who had told Jarl Svagnar of my father’s plan, of my whereabouts. I am afraid I was very cross at him.”