Chapter 9 Queen Emeline #2
But now, I wonder if he merely fights to save our children and then flees.
Yielding suddenly doesn’t feel so awful.
“You are outnumbered.”
“Yes, but I would rather die taking as many of your arseholes with me than surrender,” Skarth stubbornly states.
His reputation is notorious, so this soldier knows he isn’t lying.
The throbbing in my arm continues to grow, as does the burning around the arrow. It needs to be removed. Raising my hand in submission, I gesture that I plan on doing just that.
“Emeline, no,” Skarth says, shaking his head.
I understand it will hurt, but his words have fueled a fire within. The soldier watches with skepticism, incredulous that I have the gall to do such things, which is why I take hold of the arrow, inhale slowly, close my eyes, and yank it out.
Muscle and tissue are severed, but I have sustained far worse.
Without delay, Skarth rips off a piece of his shirt and wraps it around my wound. Such a tender gesture. Perhaps he does care.
Ulf isn’t one for sentiments, however, and without warning, he tosses a hammer axe at a soldier, embedding it into the center of his forehead. The soldier wavers before collapsing to his knees with a thud.
Skarth rolls his eyes. “Always causing a scene.”
Laughter erupts from Ulf. “Let’s get this over with.”
That’s our cue to attack.
We charge at the soldiers, putting up a fight because if surrender is inevitable, then let us at least be captured with our heads held high. Picking up a sword from a fallen man, I engage in battle, the bloodshed animating me and making me hungry for more.
Anyone who isn’t on our side is the enemy, so I kill everyone who stands in our way. Blood coats my face, and the tortured screams of the dying are a salve to my nefarious soul. Ulf and Skarth never stray too far. But they know it’s in the violence where I thrive.
However, it’s not long before we are outnumbered and have no choice but to surrender.
“Surrender, or I will cut out your throat,” the leading soldier says, sword pressed to my skin.
It takes all my willpower not to retort, but I must yield.
Tossing my sword to the ground, I dare the bastard to do his best. And the best he does as he lowers his weapon, only to punch me in the face and knock me out cold.
* * *
I wake with a start, rising from my bed like a reanimated corpse. It is only when I attempt to move my arms do I see I’ve been restrained by my wrists and ankles.
Memories assault me because I have lost count of how many times I have been bound, but I quash them down as I have other pressing matters to deal with—like where in the buggery am I.
Aethelbald isn’t too far away. But am I in Wessex?
And where are Skarth and Ulf?
When the door opens, it appears my questions are soon to be answered.
In walks a man who is the spitting image of his father, the father I killed and would happily do so again. Déjà vu tackles me, but I rein it in as I do not wish for Aethelbald to see the effect he has over me.
I suppose some would find him handsome with his dark hair and blue eyes. He is tall and exudes an air of authority. But all I see is the repulsive bloodline that he carries within his name.
There is disgust when he looks at me, but there is also curiosity. I suspect that is because the woman he has heard so much about but barely remembers is the woman who ruined his life.
I would loathe myself too if I were him.
But I am not.
He takes his time examining me closely, walking around the bed, eyes never leaving me.
“I have waited what feels like a lifetime to meet you.” Aethelbald finally breaks the silence.
I don’t speak.
“Now that I have, I do not see what the fuss is about.”
“Where are my children?” I don’t care what abuses he uses. I just want to know where my offspring are.
Aethelbald grins, pleased he is in control. “Your children are weak…just like their mother.”
“Petty insults, I believed, were beneath you…I was wrong. Just like your father, it appears you underestimate me.”
If we’re going to behave like children, then I can give as good as I get.
Aethelbald’s calm demeanor is shattered as he storms over and slaps me across the cheek.
Licking the blood from the corner of my mouth, I smirk. “And just like your grandfather, too.”
Aethelbald inhales slowly, composing himself. “You cannot hurt me more than you already have. You destroyed my family. You stole my kingdom. My mother told me of the sins you committed. How you lured my father because you are nothing but a malevolent temptress.”
I cannot help but laugh. “I regret I showed you mercy when a babe. Your father was a monster. As was your grandfather. The same fate does not need to be bestowed on you, too.”
“Spare me the sermons,” he counters, eyes filled with loathing. “You made me.”
“The choices you made are yours alone. Do not blame me for the hatred in your heart.”
“If you were me, would your heart not be filled with hate, too?”
He poses a good question because he has every right to be bitter. I suppose in some ways I did shape him this way.
But I still do not feel guilty.
“The only guilt I carry is that I didn’t destroy your entire bloodline, you included. Because if I had, my children would be safe.”
Aethelbald tongues his cheek, barely holding back his rage. “Have your fun now because much awaits.”
He claps, and two ladies-in-waiting enter. They hold a wash bowl and a dress in their hand. Before I can object, he places a chemical-soaked cloth over my mouth. Once again, the darkness embraces me.
* * *
I wake because the lace high up my throat itches.
I attempt to scratch it, but once again, I see my wrists are bound to the arms of the throne I sit in.
“You wake, sweetling.”
Vomit rises because that voice, coupled with that pet name, reminds me too much of the past.
“I hope you burn in hell,” I reply, turning to look at Aethelbald, who sits on a throne next to me.
“I live it with every breath you take,” he counters softly, not wishing for his men to hear.
We sit in a room filled with soldiers. A meeting is about to take place. The fact that I am on a throne, in regal clothing, though, worries me. Regardless of the rope around my wrists, I am no longer a prisoner.
But what looms I know is far worse than being held captive.
The drugs Aethelbald gave me make me lethargic. A docile queen is what England wanted, so it seems Aethelbald is about to give them their wish.
“Men.” The room instantly quietens, awaiting further speech. “Today is a new day. England has suffered. She bleeds the blood of good men who fight for their country to be restored!”
The men cheer, arms raised in camaraderie. I simply roll my eyes, not touched.
“The England my family fought for is no more.”
“Thanks to the Viking whore,” slurs a man to the right.
I yawn as I’ve heard it all before.
“Bite your tongue, Peter,” Aethelbald warns, surprising me.
Why is he showing loyalty to me?
“Queen Emeline lost her way, but she is still the rightful heir of Northumbria. Just as I am of Wessex. There should be no division between the two kingdoms. Only unity…just as my grandfather and father wanted.”
My stomach drops because there is no way…
But when Aethelbald places his hand over mine, it’s as if his father and grandfather have spoken from the grave.
“Which is why we unite both kingdoms once again. Queen Emeline has accepted my marriage proposal. She will reign over Wessex as its queen. However, as God himself wanted, I am to be king over both kingdoms.
“Wessex and Northumbria are to be ruled under me.”
I am speechless because this can’t be happening.
Not again.
The worst thing about it is that if I don’t agree, my children will suffer. And Aethelbald knows I will do anything to save my offspring. But he is forgetting one small factor—Wessex already has a king.
Unless…
“What have you done?” I ask under my breath.
Aethelbald leans in close, whispering into my ear, “Never forget the blood which runs through my veins. If you were me, you would not have done the same thing?”
I hate that he’s right.
He is simply avenging his family, his name, just as I have done in the past. I cannot blame him, no, but I am regretful that his revenge is at my expense. So many people are in danger, and it’s all my fault.
“Where are Skarth and Ulf?”
Aethelbald inhales in victory. “There are simply no words. Come.”
He unties the rope around my wrists and offers me his hand.
I snicker, refusing the offer as I would rather cut off my hand than hold his.
The soldiers look on with confusion. No doubt they were anticipating my bloody murder, but I am more valuable alive than dead, and Aethelbald will ensure I suffer in ways unimaginable for revenge on what I did to his family.
And what better way than by destroying mine.
I hold my head high as I walk past the soldiers. They will never be loyal to me. But if I am to be the queen of Wessex, they will have no other choice but to obey me.
When we are out of earshot, I shake my head, eyes ahead. “There is no way I am marrying you.”
“You are in no position to be making demands,” Aethelbald replies smugly. “Your children’s lives depend on it.”
Without thought, I strike out and punch him in the nose. Blood pours from it. A small victory for me, but a victory, nonetheless.
As he passes a lady-in-waiting, she gasps, quickly offering him a handkerchief. He angrily accepts, the white cloth soon staining a bright red.
“Just a glimpse of what awaits you…husband.” My comment is rolled in sarcasm. “Surely, you can find someone a little closer to your age. A docile maiden who will make it her lifelong mission to be ever serving to her lord.
“Mayhap you have mummy issues? Do I need to feed you from my teat then?”
Aethelbald snarls, gripping my throat and slamming my back against the wall.
I smirk in response.
“You will obey me, or I will have your tongue.”