I’ll take care of your family.
Three fresh graves in the potato field stood testament to how well Nøkkyn had fulfilled that vow.
“No!” I screamed. Several of the white-clad women standing behind Angrboða turned to gape openly at me. “Don’t trust him!”
Angrboða’s eyes fell on me for a heartbeat, deep and penetrating. I had the sense I was being evaluated in some hidden, invisible way, but her beautiful face remained perfectly composed, and I could only guess at the verdict she reached.
Nøkkyn waved two fingers lazily at the guards who flanked his throne. “Gag her,” he said.
I shrank from the enormous guard who approached me, his face a blank mask of obedience. He was young, with close-cut dark hair and a haunted, distant expression that left me feeling very cold. He reached for my throat. I froze, certain he was about to wrap his hand around my neck and choke the life out of me. I would die here, in front of a resplendent and impassive audience.
Instead, the guard grabbed a fistful of fabric from what was left of Týr’s shirt and ripped. The weathered cloth gave way easily, exposing my breasts to the entire room. I flinched. His hand closed around another fistful of fabric, and he ripped a thick swath from the front. Only then did I realize he meant to gag me with my own shirt.
I turned my head away from his impassive face as he bent low, but his fingers closed around my cheeks like a vise. He forced my mouth open, then stuffed my shirt between my lips. He pulled the fabric so tight around the back of my head that my lips watered. Keep going on like that, and you’ll vomit, Svensen had told me, when I first started to struggle against the gag. You’ll choke and then suffocate.
I tried to force myself to breathe slowly, through my nostrils, as I closed my arms across my stomach and pulled what was left of Týr’s shirt over my bare chest. Dimly, I realized Nøkkyn and Angrboða were still conversing.
“—merely to negotiate,” Nøkkyn said, spreading his hands wide in a magnanimous gesture. “Fenris and I have much to discuss. More wine?”
Angrboða pressed her dark, plump lips together. For a moment, as her brow creased and her eyes darkened, she almost looked like Fenris. Then she raised her eyebrow, and the moment vanished.
“Oh, yes,” she purred. “After all, you’re such an expert at negotiations. I’ve seen the evidence of your superior negotiations. Their skulls are all rotting on iron stakes lining this castle’s walls.”
Nøkkyn moved so quickly I forgot to breathe. One moment he was sitting opposite Angrboða, his hand on the pale wine bottle, and the next he was on his feet, his arm pressed against Angrboða’s pale neck. Something silver flashed in his fist.
“You bitch,” he growled.
The room rumbled with activity. Angrboða’s soldiers stepped forward in unison, and the white-clad women dropped their flower bouquets, revealing wicked curved scimitars.
Angrboða raised her hand and flicked her fingers casually in almost the exact same gesture Nøkkyn had used to summon the guard who had gagged me. Her soldiers hesitated.
“Do you want to start a war, Nøkkyn?” Angrboða asked in the same calm, slightly bored tone she’d used to suggest money or a replacement.
Panting, Nøkkyn shifted, then lifted his weight from Angrboða’s chest. Her hand came up to dab at her neck with a dark piece of fabric.
“Because, if you do, King Nøkkyn, rest assured my husband’s armies will crush you.”
Nøkkyn barked a laugh, short and harsh. “Your husband! That’s right, Angrboða. Don’t forget, you stupid whore, you’re just a woman. All this—” he raised a hand to gesture at the soldiers and the women behind her, the collection of beautiful men and women poised for battle “—is only through your husband. Once King Agnrr dies, you will be nothing. Less than nothing!”
Nøkkyn spat on the floor between them. “Your days are numbered, bitch.”
Angrboða wiped her hands on the dark fabric she’d held against her throat, and then dropped it on the floor as though it were something extremely unpleasant. “Once my beloved Agnrr dies, dear Nøkkyn, I will be Acting Regent until a suitable heir is discovered.”
Nøkkyn laughed again. “Yes, except you’ve managed to murder any suitable heirs, now haven’t you? But how long can you hold off the dogs barking at your heels, you worthless cunt? A woman can’t rule, and you have no legitimate heirs. And I’m betting it’s not because King Agnrr refuses to stick his cock in you.”
Panting and glaring, Nøkkyn took a step back. “No, dear Queen, I’d bet your womb is too fucking poisonous for seed from anyone but that lying bastard Loki.”
Their eyes met. For the first time, Angrboða’s dark gaze flared with anger.
“And the spawn you do manage to make with Loki are drunks and monsters,” Nøkkyn said.
Angrboða shook her head and clucked in disapproval, the kind of noise an old woman might make over some especially scandalous bit of gossip. “You would start a war over the loss of a single whore, Nøkkyn? Then it’s true what they say about you.”
Nøkkyn’s back stiffened.
“You’re a fool,” Angrboða said calmly. “And you’re ruled by sentiment.”
She came to her feet. I was surprised to notice she was nearly as tall as Nøkkyn. Her gorgeous chest and long legs were terrifying in their pale perfection.
“Even if I held my son Fenris chained and collared like that,” she said, nodding her head toward me. “And even if he had razed a hundred of your peasant’s farms, or raped a thousand of your whores, I would never turn him over to you.”
She took a step back, waving her hand in the air. The scimitar-bearing women fell into line around her, crushing their flower bouquets beneath their delicate feet.
“Angrboða!” Nøkkyn yelled. “You’ll regret this!”
She turned, facing him once again. Her dark eyes burned with fury, and her lips contorted into a frozen snarl.
“No, my dear,” she said in a whisper strong enough to fill the hall. “You will regret refusing my generous offer. I believe you may even live long enough to regret it deeply.”
Her soldiers closed ranks around her, and Queen Angrboða left the throne room of King Nøkkyn without looking back.
THE MONSTER AND THE PRISONER: CHAPTER FIVE
Nøkkyn turned to his guards. His eyes sparked with rage, and his hands formed fists so tight his knuckles turned white. Without a word, he spun on his heels and upturned the table. The blue bottle exploded on the smooth stone floor, sending shards of glass and ruby droplets of wine flying across the room. He snarled and kicked a golden goblet. It clattered across the floor, then boomed as it collided with a column.
“That bitch!” he yelled.
His snarling face fell on me. I looked away as quickly as I could, but I had the horrible feeling it was too late. Nøkkyn had seen me watching him.
“Hit her,” Nøkkyn growled. “I don’t want to dirty my hands on that worthless whore. Hit her for me!”
There was a scuffing sound behind me, and something hard struck me across my back, knocking the breath from my lungs.
“Again,” Nøkkyn yelled.
This time, the blow came to my face. My ears rang as my head rocked back, the collar pulling tight and keeping me from falling over. I blinked back tears as the guard’s face came into blurry focus. It was the same man who’d gagged me. His brown eyes still seemed like they were focusing on something far in the distance.
“Again!” Nøkkyn shrieked.
This blow split my lip. The sharp heat of blood filled my mouth. I pulled my knees tight against my chest, willing the guard to hit my face. Or my arms. Or my back. Anything but my stomach, where the life my husband and I had kindled lay buried, silent and secret deep within me. My muscles tensed as I braced for the impact of the guard’s next blow.
The room seemed very quiet. I could hear the soft hiss of the guard breathing above me. My heartbeat reverberated in my ears, making my head sound as vast and empty as the great throne r
oom. For a heartbeat I allowed myself the desperate fantasy that Angrboða would return, was perhaps only seconds away from throwing open the great doors, returning to the foot of Nøkkyn’s throne, and using that calm voice of hers to explain that I was married to her son and was therefore her daughter, a member of the royal family to be treated with—
“Bring her to my chambers,” Nøkkyn growled, interrupting my stupid reverie.
I opened my eyes and saw Nøkkyn standing above me, his dark eyes burning. He wiped his hand across his mouth and turned back to the guard. “I want to show that slut what she’s missing.”
The guard who had just beaten the ever-loving shit out of me bent to unfasten the chain on my collar. To my surprise, he offered me his hand as I tried to get my wobbly, aching legs to unfold beneath my body. I didn’t want to take it, but I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stand on my own. My stomach rippled with disgust as I grabbed his massive hand. He didn’t even look at me when he yanked me to my feet.
Shivering, I pulled my arm out of his hand and tried to tug what was left of Týr’s battered shirt over my breasts. The attempt to preserve my modesty was so futile it almost made me laugh out loud.
“Can you walk?” the guard asked.
I tried to picture the alternative. Would he carry me like a child? Swing me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes? Something bitter rose in the back of my throat, and I tried to swallow it. Vomiting with this gag would kill me. I met his eyes and nodded.
“Good. This way.”
KING NØKKYN’S CHAMBERS were up several flights of stairs and through three sets of heavy metal doors. They were more comfortable than I’d expected, with large windows that showed the last streaks of red fading from the evening sky and several luxurious looking sedans and couches. Four lamps blazed from ornate fixtures on the walls, casting a warm, flickering light over the chamber and filling the room with a delicate, almost floral perfume. An enormous bed carved from purple oak and wreathed in red velvet curtains dominated the far side of the room. Without a word, the guard tugged me toward the bed.
My stomach rolled and my legs stumbled. Nøkkyn said he’d show me what I was missing. His earlier offer to have his guards hold my legs down so Svensen could rape me flashed through my mind. If Nøkkyn commanded this guard to hold my legs down, I had no doubt he would comply. Probably with that same blank, distant expression on his face.
I locked my knees and the chain between us snapped taut. The heavy collar around my neck cut into my skin. The guard turned around, his brow furrowed.
At that moment, a door to my left opened and Nøkkyn entered the room dressed in a dark robe. He was barefoot, which struck me as exceedingly odd, although of course we were in his bedchamber. Still, the sight of his pale feet and long toes made him seem strangely vulnerable.
“Just chain her under the window,” Nøkkyn said, waving his hand dismissively. “And take your post.”
The guard led me past the bed, so close I could have reached out and run my fingers through the folds of the heavy velvet curtains, and then he pulled me to the wall. He had to kneel to pull the chain through a metal ring beneath the window; that action forced me to my knees. Once the chain was fast in the ring, the guard stood and walked back to the door. Then he faced the room with the same blank, distant expression; from the way he looked at me, I might as well have been one of the silken couches.
I shifted on my knees, trying to get comfortable. The chain attached to my collar was too short to allow me to lie down, or to fully stand. The most comfortable position I could manage was sitting against the stone wall, with my legs pulled to my chest. From where I sat, I could see the door and several of the couches, but little of the bed. The gag around my mouth bit uncomfortably into my lips and cheeks, and the bruises swelling on my face and arms ached. I leaned back against the wall, trying to forget where I was.
With my cheek resting against cold stone, I noticed a second guard in the room who was standing silently next to the door Nøkkyn had used. He was dark skinned and smaller, but his face carried the same impassive expression as the enormous guard who’d chained me to the wall. Nøkkyn ignored all of us as he strode around the room, first washing his face in a delicate robin’s egg blue wash basin and then pouring himself a glass of something dark from a large crystal decanter.
There was a knock on the door, and the taller guard cleared his throat.
“Yes, yes,” said Nøkkyn. He sank into the couch directly in front of me and brought the glass to his lips.
The guard opened the door. A tall, stately woman in a glossy red dress stood on the threshold. Her face was lined and her hair streaked with gray, but the tight bodice of her dress revealed a shapely figure. She bowed very low, showing off impressive cleavage.
“My lord,” she said, in a voice as thick and soft as the velvet curtains around Nøkkyn’s bed.
“You’ve brought them?” Nøkkyn asked.
The woman smiled as she stood. “Of course.”
The woman in the red dress stepped back and waved her arm. Three women entered Nøkkyn’s chamber. The sodden fabric of my gag drowned out my surprised gasp. They were all but naked, all three of them. One wore what looked to be a web of delicate golden chains which were almost the same color as her long, golden hair. Another wore a tight dress of gauze so thin I could see the dark circles of her nipples, and the triangle of hair between her legs. And the third wore pearls, hundreds of strings of pearls, both around her neck and around her waist. Against her dark skin, they were almost luminescent.
All three women were extraordinarily beautiful. I imagined they’d been carefully arranged. Their eyes were darkened with kohl, and their lips shone red and plump. They moved carefully, like dancers. How they would shame proud Maddie Eriksen, I thought, with their sensual beauty, and the wealth so carefully draped around their exquisite bodies.
I was so fascinated with them it took me a second to notice how studiously the three women were avoiding looking at me, or at Nøkkyn. But the older woman in the doorway, who I now realized must be the madam of King Nøkkyn’s brothel, was watching me from beneath her thick eyelashes with a very odd expression on her carefully painted face. I was reminded for a moment of Angrboða, and the strange way she’d stared at me, as though she were assessing something about the dirty, naked, gagged woman chained to the base of Nøkkyn’s throne.
Then the woman in the red dress smiled, purred a goodnight to Nøkkyn, and swept from the room. The door closed softly behind her. The three girls she’d left with Nøkkyn stood in front of his couch, their eyes downcast, the flickering light from the lamps making the gold and gemstones on their bodies glitter. They were so close I could smell them; rosewater, soap, and sweet alder.
That would have been me. Cleaned and powdered and dressed in gems. Sent to stand naked before the king. The realization made me feel as cold as the stone wall behind me.
Nøkkyn drained his glass and set it on the floor. “You,” he said, pointing to the blonde covered with the web of gold chains.
She approached him carefully, her lips almost managing to twist into a smile, although her eyes remained fixed to the floor. “My Lord?”
Nøkkyn grinned. He parted the front of his robe, revealing a thick cock with a flushed, scarlet head. It was almost as large as Fenris’s, although it curved wickedly, almost as if it was trying to point back to Nøkkyn’s flat chest. My gut tightened at the sight of his manhood, and the naked woman standing in front of him. I didn’t want to watch what happened next, but neither did I turn away.
Nøkkyn gestured at himself, and the girl sank to her knees. She moaned as she took the tip of his cock into her mouth.
“Yes, girl,” Nøkkyn growled. He sank his hand into her golden hair. “Now, you two,” he snapped.
The other two girls flinched at the sound of his voice.
“Give me something to watch,” he ordered.
Silently, the two girls came together, dark arms intertwining with pale. Their red li
ps met in a soft kiss, and a strange but familiar heat blossomed in my core. There was nothing about the scene before me that was in any way similar to the intimacy I’d shared with Fenris, and yet my body responded all the same. My skin prickled as the woman in the thin dress turned her body toward Nøkkyn to allow the dark skinned woman’s hand to slip over her taut stomach.
The dark skinned woman pulled the thin gauze dress over her thighs and slipped her delicate hand between the brunette’s legs. The brunette moaned softly; the air filled with the sweet, subtle tang of her arousal. I shifted on my knees, painfully aware of the heat growing between my own legs. It seemed wrong to react to this tableau, but I couldn’t stop myself. My hands twitched, wanting to move between my own legs and imitate the soft rhythm of the dark skinned woman’s hand between the brunette’s legs.
“Yes,” grunted Nøkkyn. “Like that.”
I turned back to Nøkkyn, hoping watching him would distract me from my own sudden arousal. He’d dug both his hands into the blonde’s hair, and was now forcing her head back and forth over his cock. She had her eyes closed, and her face was set with an expression of grim determination. It looked like she was receiving very little satisfaction from this. My heart ached for her. How I’d loved taking Fenris in my mouth, teasing him, watching his body ripple from the movements of my lips and tongue. It had been another form of lovemaking, something that brought us both pleasure. It had been nothing like what Nøkkyn was now doing to the delicate blonde wearing chains of gold.
Still, my rebellious body ached for someone’s touch. I pulled my eyes away from Nøkkyn’s hard, naked torso and forced myself to look at the wall. The guard who’d chained me stood by the closed door, totally motionless, his face carefully blank. But his body—
I glanced down the length of his massive frame and saw an unmistakable rise where his legs came together. The sight of his arousal sent a scarlet shiver up my spine. I turned to the second door. The guard there was shorter and darker skinned. His face wore the same blank expression, but his eyes were carefully trained on the two nearly naked women embracing an arm’s length from his broad chest. And the rise in the crotch of his pants was quite impressive. If only I were closer, I found myself wondering. How would he react if I reached for his leg, trailed my fingers along his thighs, and closed my hand around the bulge in the fabric of his pants?
The Complete Fenris Series Page 26
