Sapphire and Steel

by Violet Froste

  “Your impostor wife,” she replied wretchedly, her voice breaking into a sob of pleasure as he flattened his tongue over her.

  “My true wife,” he said, his voice low and fierce, his eyes boring into her. “My dauntless wife. My sword-wielding wife. My warrior wife. My fucking goddess wife.”

  And then his mouth closed over her, sucking her languorously into his mouth. His tongue found the centre of her pleasure and teased it cruelly, first with swift, light strokes, then with deep, torturous laps. She whimpered, the anguish of her building pleasure mingling with the pain of her wounds as she fought to remain still beneath his mouth. She longed to grasp his hair, to buck into him, to undulate against his tongue and find her pleasure on his tongue. But the pain in her gut was too unbearable - and her pleasure too near.

  But now that he had her in his arms, in his mouth, Svagnar seemed unwilling to ever let her go. He took his time, licking and lapping, suckling sweetly, his hands grasping the tender flesh of her buttocks. Her pleasure quickened and built until she was so close to the crest of her climax that she cried out: “Gods, Svagnar!”

  Her voice broke, and she tried again, beseeching: “I beg you, gods, please… please, Svagnar.”

  “Yes,” he murmured, his eyes like a wolf’s, dangerous and ravenous. “Yes, my wife, my Aster. Come for me.”

  And his tongue rolled and flattened against her, building a hot, moist, steady rhythm. Aster cried in shock as she crashed headlong into ecstasy. Her stomach spasmed and her thighs clenched around Svagnar’s head as her hips twitched uncontrollably, writhing against his mouth.

  Soon, the violent waves of pleasure receded, and the pain in her side became too much to bear. Aster fell back into the furs, breathing hard. Before she could say anything, Svagnar released her legs, laying her down gently. He slid up against her, capturing her mouth in a wet kiss.

  “I don’t care who you were. Princess, soldier, captain of the damn guard… you could have been the vagabond bard of Veritier and I still wouldn’t care. You’re my wife now, and the gods themselves couldn’t wrench you from me.”

  If Aster was not still caught in the shock of her pleasure, she would have wept for his words. Hiding her face into his neck, she said: “I only how to fight and curse. I never trained to be a wife. I never trained to be a ruler.”

  “Arkavik is a land of blood and ice. It deserves a warrior queen.”

  “The war,” Aster said, pulling away, suddenly brought back to the reality of their situation. “Listen, Svagnar. I spoke to Adrienna. She said she will stop the war.”

  “How?”

  Now Svagnar sat up. He seemed to have internally prepared himself for war, but her words lit a beacon of hope in his grey eyes. He listened avidly as she spoke:

  “She is married to the prince of Karscha now. She said that if Veritier should move against Arkavik, Karscha itself will come to its defence.”

  “How? Karscha will never wage war against Veritier. It relies on it for trading routes.”

  “No - Veritier will never wage war against Karscha. The Empire is too powerful for Owayn. And Adrienna… Adrienna believes she can stop the war. She has gone to meet her father already.”

  “What about the mercenaries?”

  “Owayn sent them in advance. Owayn himself is still on his way. Svagnar. There is hope. If Adrienna swears she will defend Arkavik, then she will.”

  Svagnar rubbed his face in his hands and pulled himself upright.

  “I must go meet with King Owayn and his daughter, then.”

  With a rueful grin to Aster, he said: “It will be strange, meeting the woman I thought I married.”

  Aster felt her cheeks burn.

  “She is a lot more like a real princess than I am.”

  “No bruises on her legs?” Svagnar asked with a lascivious grin.

  “Or cuts or arrow wounds,” Aster said, smiling weakly.

  Gunnar appeared into the tent without announcing himself, making Aster start and pull down her skirts.

  Raising an eyebrow at Svagnar, Gunnar said sardonically: “The yelling coming from this tent is not the yelling I expected, Svagnar. Especially given your wife hit you with an axe and escaped into the woods.”

  Aster tried to sit up and explain: “It’s not what you think, Gunnar, I-”

  “There will be time for your tale later, little jarl,” Gunnar said, raising a warning eyebrow. To Svagnar, he said: “Svagnar. Owayn has arrived on our shores, and Byram is with him. They wish to talk.”

  Svagnar nodded and threw his discarded cloak over his shoulders: “Let us meet them and end this war once and for all, Gunnar my old friend.”

  Aster heaved herself up with a grunt of pain.

  “I’m coming with you!” she called, struggling to pull herself to her knees. Her side was sending lances of pain through her, and her arms ached dully. Svagnar stopped her with a frown, pushing her gently back into the furs.

  “Listen to me, wife. Whatever you think you owe your princess, or myself, or Arkavik - you have done enough. You’re not alone in this world, and the world does not rest upon your shoulders. You have brought the princess here, you have done your best to save Arkavik. But now it is time for you to rest and let others do the fighting for once. Do you understand?”

  “I’m useless here,” Aster said, lying back reluctantly. “I don’t want to be useless.”

  “And I don’t want to drag my wounded wife through the mountains. Now stop being an infernal hellhound and get some rest. You will be safe here, and I will send for some help from the castle.”

  Leaning down, he kissed her, hard and deep.

  “When I see you next, this war will be over.”

  She nodded and closed her eyes. Her eyelids felt impossibly heavy, and the pain was making it difficult to fight Svagnar’s comforting words. Especially not when she so sorely needed to believe him. She watched him leave with Gunnar, listening to the sound of fading voices and footsteps. Soon, only the crackling of the fire remained and the howling of the mountain wind outside.

  Aster felt herself slowly drift into sleep. She would sleep enough to regain her strength. And as soon as she was strong enough, she would sneak out of the tent, find a horse, and go after Svagnar. His words to her had been right - she had done all she could. And yet she could not help but dread his meeting with King Owayn. Owayn was a cold and ruthless man. If doing something heinous and underhand got him what he wanted, then he would not be afraid to stoop low. And Aster feared how low he would stoop to take Arkavik.

  She might no longer be the captain of a guard - or a guard at all. She might be exhausted and injured and useless… but she could still fight for the man she loved.

  Chapter XVIII

  Svagnar Steel-Heart

  Svagnar rode towards the beach and prayed to all his gods and goddesses to let him end this. He prayed to the god of war to turn his back on Arkavik for now, and he prayed to the goddess of death to give his people respite. He prayed the twin gods of the sky and the sea to both keep his country safe. And he prayed to Freja - the goddess of the home, of the hearth, of the marriage bed and of the heart - to let him live, to let his wife live, to let him have peace, finally.

  In the distance, the Veritian fleet stood balanced darkly on the sea, waiting like poised beasts. Smaller boats had brought the king to shore, and a tent had been raised in the midst of the beach to house the meeting of rulers. On one side of it, Veritian soldiers stood in two lines: disciplined, organised, still as iron trees in their heavy armour. On the other side of the tent stood Svagnar’s warriors: furs thrown on their shoulders, black kohl around their eyes, axes and shields in hand. They did not stand in lines, but they surrounded the entrance in a crescent, awaiting their jarl, readying themselves for death if they must.

  When Svagnar reached them he slipped from his saddle, handing Artor’s reins to a young warrior. Gunnar followed suit and the men exchanged a nod before pushing into the tent.

  Lanterns hung from the ceili
ng, casting the room in flickering lights. A table had been raised in the centre, bearing wine, maps, paper and inkpots. An elderly man stood at the table, ready to scribe, and next to him stood King Owayn.

  Svagnar took his measure quickly: a tall man, pale and hard-faced, his dark beard streaked with silver, groomed to a point. His hair was short, and an ornate crown lay on his head, heavy with jewels. His eyes were pale blue - cold, watery eyes. He stood wrapped in a magnificent mantle, lined with ermine fur, hemmed with gold. Jewellery sparkled on his hands and at his breast, and his skin was devoid of any scar or mark except the lines decrying his age.

  This was a king used to politics, to delegation, to giving orders - but not to combat. A ceremonial sword was at his hip, encased in a sheath of gold and emeralds. But King Owayn had probably never once grasped its handle for anything other than knighting.

  So, this was the man responsible for so many deaths. A lean, gaunt man, untouched by combat - and yet the master of countless savage slaughters. The king of Veritier himself, a gaggle of pages standing behind him like the chicks around a hen.

  It was only when she spoke that Svagnar noticed the girl standing on the other side of the tent.

  “Greetings, Jarl Svagnar Odliefsen.”

  His eyes moved from Owayn to the girl, and he immediately knew who she was: a pale girl with dark hair and blue eyes, a crown upon her head. This was Princess Adrienna, the woman he had intended to steal for his bride. She had the same colouring as Aster: dark brown hair and blue eyes, and yet she could not have been more different. She was smaller, more curvaceous, eminently graceful. Her features were soft and feminine, her gaze open and friendly. Where Aster was a sword, Adrienna was a flower.

  “Greetings, Queen Adrienna,” he said, bowing his head. “King Owayn.”

  He turned to face the king. Owayn watched him bitterly and spat out: “Do not attempt courtesy, Jarl Svagnar. I know you tried to steal my daughter.”

  Svagnar resisted the urge to grab the man by the throat. Instead, he said coldly: “And you butchered my new wife. Perhaps we are even.“

  “We are not even - you tried to abduct my daughter, to force her into an abject marriage.“

  “You left me no choice, Owayn of Veritier. I did what I had to do for Arkavik because you forced my hand.”

  “And yet you still failed,” Owayn sneered. “My daughter is married to Karscha now, as I wished.”

  There was arrogance in the king’s tone, but faltering in his eyes as he glanced up at Adrienna.

  “My daughter wished for us to meet. She has told me she had important news to impart to us both. I will hear her out - but after this, I will take Arkavik. I have fought too hard to give it up now.”

  “No, father,” Adrienna spoke calmly.

  She approached the table, resting both hands on it and leaning forward.

  “Let the scribe record everything I’m about to say, father, for you will do well to remember it.”

  Owayn was staring at his daughter with the hard gaze of a heart devoid of love. Svagnar had never seen a father so indifferent towards his own flesh and blood, and it chilled him to see it now. Somehow, it clarified the brutality and relentlessness of Owayn’s attack. How could he ever show mercy to others when he could not even show kindness towards his own kin?

  “I have married Sergevni, as you wished, father. I will rule Karscha at his side, and one day my sons will rule, too. But Karscha will never move to attack Arkavik at your side, not as long as I live - not as long as my sons will live.”

  “You’re being foolish and impetuous, Adrienna,” Owayn interrupted icily. “What know you of war?”

  “I know nothing of war, but I know something of blood, father,” Adrienna returned just as icily. “Jarl Svagnar,” she continued, turning towards Svagnar. “Your plan failed by the intervention of the captain of my Princessguard. You know this by now.”

  Gunnar raised both eyebrows, but Svagnar nodded at the princess: “It would seem so. I underestimated the dauntlessness of your guard, Queen Adrienna.”

  She smiled ruefully and said to the scribe: “Record this. The jarl of Arkavik married Aster - and in front of all of you and all the saints, I swear this: Karscha will never move against Arkavik as long as my half-sister is married to its jarl.”

  Now it was Svagnar’s turn to raise both eyebrows, and he exchanged a quick look with Gunnar.

  “Enough of this nonsense!” shouted King Owayn suddenly, jolting forward. “You’ve been lying to yourself for too long, Adrienna. You’ve always mistaken Aster’s role in our household. She is the captain of your guard, nothing more!”

  Adrienna gathered herself, glaring thunder at her father, and said: “You might deny her and throw her around like a thing because she is a bastard, father. But she is my sister whether you care to admit it or not. And as long as Aster is Jarl Svagnar’s wife then Arkavik shall be under Karscha’s protection.”

  Owayn opened his mouth but Adrienna leaned forward and said, her voice low and solemn: “If you should ever so much as glance in the direction of Arkavik, father, then I swear in front of all the saints that Karscha will strike such a blow upon Veritier that it will make the very stones of Hawksmoor shudder.”

  He blinked at her, shocked at the hostility in her words.

  “I hope I’ve made Karscha’s position clear to you, father. Now, you have only two choices: you may claim Aster as your daughter and legitimise her. This might give you some connection to Arkavik, though Aster would rather fall on her sword than be your daughter. Or you may satisfy yourself with your new alliance to Karscha and forget about Arkavik. It will never belong to you.”

  Owayn looked from Adrienna to Svagnar, his gaze venomous. His greed made battle with his pride behind his eyes, and he finally ground out: “I will never stoop to make her my heir, Adrienna. Aster is a bastard, she is nothing, and she will remain nothing until she dies. Marrying a jarl will never change what she is.”

  Svagnar’s hand flew to the handle of his axe, his mind suddenly struck by a wave of black anger. But before he could even move, Gunnar had lunged forward, shoving the table aside and grabbing Owayn by his regal furs. He dwarfed Owayn with his stature, and when he spoke, his voice dripped with contempt.

  “Watch your mouth, kingling. You speak of the jarl of Arkavik. Bastard or not, she will never be nothing, and you will speak of her with respect or never speak again.”

  Throwing back Owayn from him with disgust, Gunnar stormed out of the tent. Owayn stumbled and regained his balance, his pale face reddening with anger. Now he tried to find his composure, and he said: “There is no more to be said, then. I will take my leave of you both and depart with my fleet.”

  Gesturing for the scribe to follow him, he made to leave the tent. Pausing at the entrance, he turned and spat out: “You’ve been a great disappointment to me, daughter.”

  “And you to me, father,” she retorted coldly.

  He left, and Adrienna exhaled in relief, sinking into a chair by the table. Svagnar, still half in shock at what had happened, joined her, facing her across the table. She gazed at him thoughtfully and then poured two cups of wine, handing him one.

  “Let us drink to the end of the war, Jarl Svagnar. My father will never attack your country again.”

  He drank deeply and asked: “Why did you do this? What do you stand to gain from all this?”

  She smiled, a sweet, sad smile that reminded him of Aster: “I did it for Aster. She has spent many years serving me, guarding it, protecting me. She has sacrificed much for me. I have always wished to do something for her in return. Thank her, somehow.”

  “By saving Arkavik?”

  Adrienna raised an eyebrow and said with a light smile: “Aster is always looking to save someone or something, it would seem. First, it was me, then your country.”

  Svagnar swallowed hard, looking down into his cup: “She has a strange soul, your captain.”

  “Yes, a strange soul indeed!” Adrienna laughed. “She
took my place when she thought you meant to harm me. And when she came to find me she intended to take me back to you. She wanted you to have the bride you wanted.”

  Adrienna paused, giving Svagnar a twinkling look: “But I do not think I am the bride you want after all.”

  Svagnar shook his head: “She has a way of making herself indispensable, your brave captain.”

  “Yes, she does. There are very few people in this world capable of giving so much of themselves for nothing in return.” Adrienna took a deep breath. “Jarl Svagnar, I hope… I think Aster has a chance at a new life here. A life of her own, not a life of servitude.”

  “She has proven quite a natural aptitude for rebellion here,” Svagnar said with a grin. “Perhaps this might be the right place for her to begin this new life, then.” He hesitated, then added: “I hope you do not resent me for taking her from your side.”

  She shook her head: “I love her - were I selfish, I would keep her at my side forever. But Aster served me for five years, and in those five years, she sacrificed everything, every chance at personal happiness, every chance at love or life. Now, I think she may find all those things - if you will let her.”

  “Queen Adrienna,” he said, looking straight at her. “Though it was I who abducted her, your Aster has made me her prisoner. I would-” he caught his breath. “I would lay my life at her feet if she willed it. She is not just queen of Arkavik now, she is queen of Svagnar.”

  “You could search every corner of Westmere and never find a worthier queen,” Adrienna said earnestly.

  She stood, and extended her hand to Svagnar across the table: “So long as my Aster is your queen, Jarl Svagnar, you will have Karscha’s protection.” Svagnar took her hand, and she kept a hold of it as she said: “But know this: if I should ever hear news that she has been hurt, or heart-broken, I will do everything in my power to obliterate you.” She smiled. “My father will seem like a kind-hearted grandmother compared to what I would become should any harm come to my sister.”