Chapter 4
Chapter Four
RAGNAR
Trolls scattered around him. They all lunged in different directions, their chests bare and their tusks on full display. Ragnar and his brother strode through them, hearing the calls of “Troll wife” in their language.
The humans called it the black tongue. They were so afraid of what the trolls were saying in their deep voices and their chanting calls, they assumed it was dark magic that would threaten their lives. Or perhaps steal their souls right out of their bodies. The humans feared everything the trolls did, though. They feared his people for just existing.
The air in the castle was thick with smoke. It coiled out of sconces on the walls and made it hard to breathe. Black smudges darkened the walls. Not to mention the ever present scent of body odor that clung to these people. They tried to hide it with perfumes and bundles of herbs they wore around their necks, but he could smell it.
He bared his teeth, flashing tusks at women who fainted at the sight of him. One of them, who wore a bright yellow dress that puffed up around her body like some kind of crazed flower, toppled right into the man behind her. He caught her for a moment, only to freeze when Ragnar caught his gaze. The man released his hold on the woman and allowed her to fall onto the floor with a hard thud.
It was hard to hear over the chanting calls of his people, but he did. Humans weren’t even capable of protecting their own kind. How was he to endure one as a wife?
Gunnar grinned as they made their way up to the podium where King James stood. Ragnar had never met the human king, but he knew what the man looked like. Silver hair. Angry eyes. A crown on top of his head that had been poured out of gold stolen from his own people. Not to mention the gemstones on it that had been set by troll hands.
Beside him stood a smaller figure. She wore the customary white that he had been warned she’d be in, but her face was covered by a veil.
It was strange. He’d figured his bride would be tall and willowy, and had expected the lithe body of a nearly half elven woman. Instead, the woman he saw was rather broad shouldered. She had strong arms revealed by the dress she wore. Her biceps were remarkably defined for a woman of her lineage, and he had to wonder what had given a princess arms like that. Although, he supposed, he knew very little about her people.
The veil rustled with her breath. In and out, a little too fast. There was the fear he had expected. The terror that he was going to eat her alive.
Some part of him found a thrill in that. She should fear him. He was massive in comparison to her, strong arms or not. The king barely came up to his shoulders, and this woman only came up to his chest. She should tremble knowing that it would take so very little for him to snap her neck or rip her head clean off her shoulders if he wished.
He did not, though. Because his own king would be livid if he killed the princess that was supposed to end all this fighting. At least for now. Perhaps someday King Egil would give him leave to rid himself of her shackles.
The human king had his arm behind his daughter with a smile on his face that didn’t reach his eyes. “It is an honor to meet the troll worthy of my daughter.”
Ragnar tilted his head to the side, knowing the sconces on the walls would gild his sharpened tusks. “Is it?”
Again that veil annoyingly shuddered. Had he said something wrong? Somehow, he felt like he was making all of this worse. But that wasn’t entirely his fault. The two of them had to marry each other, and she was a human woman who knew nothing about his people. Of course she would think him blunt and callous.
Gunnar nudged him from behind. And that was another sign that he was being too gruff, but he didn’t even know this woman’s name. So he ground his teeth together and bit out, “Princess, it is a rare treat for one such as me to be before one such as you.”
The veil stilled. There was no sound at all now. Not even the sound of her panting.
The calls for his troll wife died down, and there was sudden silence. Just him, staring down at this woman in white with her face hidden from him. What did she look like beneath? He hadn’t been at the meeting between kings, nor had anyone even offered to tell him about her appearance.
He hoped her hair was at least dark. If she had black or perhaps even deep brown hair, he could suffer through this. At least then, if he turned her around, he could pretend she was a troll.
The king lifted one of his hands and raised his voice. “The trolls have arrived! From this day forward, with a marriage to my daughter, our kingdoms will be united. No more fighting. No more war. Together, we will walk into a new era.”
A pretty speech, but not one that Ragnar readily believed. None of the trolls did. This was a bid to perhaps see if the humans could keep their word. Did the trolls believe it was the end of fighting with them? Certainly not.
The king moved behind his daughter and another man stepped up. This one wore a long black robe with a stiff white collar around his neck. The man looked at Ragnar’s bare chest and gulped.
“We are gathered here today to witness a ceremony of binding. Together, these two individuals will walk into the future, hand in hand, soul with soul.” On and on he droned more useless words about giving and taking in life. Yet, he was right. A relationship was a give and take, but in his case... well, it would mostly be take.
He turned toward the woman beside him instead of the priest. She kept her gaze firmly on the floor, which he found to be rather odd. There was much to look at beyond the pattern on the floor.
Ragnar was a troll standing beside her, and she wasn’t even curious about him. He’d at least expected her gaze on his claws that flexed at his sides repeatedly with stress. He wanted this all to be over with, and he’d never been particularly good at hiding how he felt. But no, she didn’t look at his claws or his bared skin, or even the tattoos visible on his massive thighs.
She was covered far more than he was, and he found himself ready to see what she looked like.
Gunnar leaned over beside him, lips nearly touching his ear. “Do you think she’s hideous?”
“What?” he hissed.
“Is that why they covered her face?”
By all the gods, he hoped not. “She’s half elf.”
Elves were beautiful creatures. They were lithe and cunning, but they were mostly known for their stunning beauty that nearly blinded anyone who looked at them. A princess with such high elven blood content would be just as beautiful as a natural born elf.
Right?
But then he found himself staring at the veil and trying to see beneath it. Was that a pretty, sharp nose? Or was it the blunted end of a snout?
The priest continued on until suddenly everyone was staring at him. Silence rang through the room yet again, and he realized he hadn’t been listening to a word the man had said. He looked over at his brother, who was trying hard not to laugh.
“The priest asked you to kiss your troll wife,” he said in the black tongue.
Kiss her?
He felt all the color drain from his cheeks. That was the very last thing he wanted to do. He didn’t want to kiss the creature before him, no matter what she looked like. Besides, he was quite certain she was repulsive, and that was why the king was so ready to give her away.
Even the king seemed to hesitate. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“Your highness, it is tradition,” the priest blustered.
But it was the little princess in front of him who answered for all of them. He was surprised to hear her voice at all. The raspy tones didn’t fit the elven bloodline, which should have made her voice sound like the tinkling of bells.
“It’s fine,” she breathed. “I’ll do it.”
As if it was something she had to endure. At least they both shared the same mindset.
He reached forward and lifted the veil from her face, slowly revealing a long neck that was both graceful and beautiful. For a moment, he was reassured that he would be getting a bride with high elven blood. At least then he knew what to expect, even if he didn’t find their kind physically attractive.
But then he revealed... spots. Dark little flecks that spread across her jaw and even dusted over her far too red lips. Her nose was a little crooked, something he’d only seen in his own kind after they’d been in a fight. Dark eyes, faintly green and faintly brown, looked up at him. They were a little too wide set on her face. And red hair. Bright, flame colored hair that framed her face. They’d clearly tried to tame her curls, but already a soft halo of baby hairs had escaped.
She was... fine, he supposed. As far as humans went, she could have been a lot worse. But she wasn’t what he had expected, either.
She looked up at him, her chest rising and falling more quickly the longer he stared at her. Perhaps he was making her uncomfortable. It was just that he wanted to know every inch of his troll wife’s face before he bound himself to her.
Those ruby red lips parted, and she whispered, “Did you not want to?”
“He does,” Gunnar snarled, before giving him a hard shove between the shoulder blades.
But he didn’t. And she didn’t want to either, he could tell. Kissing her in front of all these people felt wrong. That was a private act. Even worse, if she was against it.
Her eyes widened a bit, and he wondered how much of his thoughts had been plastered across his face for her to see. She swallowed hard, and then a tiny hand landed on his chest.
“It’s all right,” she said quietly. “It’s all mostly for show, anyway.”
He’d make the decision for them then. He slotted his massive hand at her waist, hearing her sharp intake of breath, before dragging her against his chest. The harsh slap of both of her palms against his skin echoed in the church, but he used his free hand to hide her face from the crowd. He cupped her jaw, his fingers spanning most of her head.
Leaning down until their lips nearly touched, he realized these were the first words he was going to say directly to her. No one would hear what he said. No one would know what was shared between breaths.
“I am not your husband,” he murmured. “And I never will be.”
There it was again. That little gasp that made every part of his body crawl with revulsion. But then he leaned back and turned her toward the crowd, as though they had kissed after all.
Cheers from his people turned thunderous. They shouted their pleasure and pride that he had taken a troll wife. Ragnar wasn’t looking at his own people, though. He was looking at hers.
At the confusion on their faces. How some of their expressions were odd before being wiped clean, like they didn’t want any of his people to notice. When he looked down at the princess, however, she appeared dazed. Confused as well. Perhaps it was merely that he did not know how to read humans that well.
Gunnar leaned forward again, already walking back down the aisle. “Let’s not give them a chance to change their minds, brother. Take your troll wife and let’s go.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. Ragnar bent at the waist, jammed his shoulder into her hips, and lifted her. There was the faintest squeak from the princess as he tossed her over her shoulder, but even that sound was drowned out by the calls of his people.
King James did not argue. He merely stood there with his stolen crown on his head and watched as his daughter left.
A pit boiled in Ragnar’s stomach at that. What father didn’t say goodbye after losing his child? What father didn’t insist upon just a few more moments with the little girl he’d raised?
He would not pity this woman. He could not, and should not, entertain the thoughts in his mind that she might have had a hard life.
No, he had to focus on all the things he did not like. He was not here for a pet or for mercy. He was here because his king had bid him to do so, and now he had done what his king had asked.
Ragnar strode out of the castle with her on his shoulder. Not a single troll said anything until they had passed the castle walls and moved out into the open air and fields where his people were much more comfortable. Soon enough, they would disappear into the forest and be almost impossible to find.
With the woman still on his shoulder, and cleaner air in his lungs, he felt better. But still, he could smell her now. The musk of her body, the stink of her sweat, and the scent of fear that clung to her skin. Her people didn’t bathe often, from what he’d heard, they only bathed once every other week. And even when they did, they cleaned themselves with nothing more than a quick rinse of water only. A bath was in order. And quickly.
“That was too easy,” Gunnar said in the black tongue, appearing beside him with a frown on his face.
“I agree.”
“She’s the princess. They should have fought to keep her.”
Such was the reason King Egil hadn’t offered his own child. A son of a renowned general, yes. But his own son? Never.
Ragnar turned his gaze to the forest. “Perhaps we should run, then.”
“Prepare your woman, brother. I have a feeling she won’t like running in her current state.”
Right. She would be jostled on his shoulder, and the bone of it would jam into her shoulder and make her ill. He should tell her to prepare herself, because the journey would be long and grueling. What he said was, “Do not throw up on me.”
The princess planted her hands on his back and shoved herself upright. “Why would I throw up?”
She’d figure it out on her own. He was certain of that.
As he picked up his pace, feeling her jolting on his shoulder, he could admit he admired her spunk. Every jolt of his body rammed his shoulder into her stomach and likely stole the air from her lungs. She didn’t complain, she just wheezed and tightened her stomach muscles. Those strong arms helped prop her up a bit until he really started running.
“But wait–”
She almost slid off his shoulder twice before he planted his hand on her bottom. He could hold her in place like this, but he was surprised to find how plush her ass was. Soft enough to be tempting, and he’d never thought that about a human woman.
He was losing his mind already. He wasn’t tempted by a human. He pitied her. Because the moment he looked at her face again, all he would see was a disgusting creature that, somehow, he would have to fuck.