Chapter 11 Queen Emeline #2
Skarth accepts and, still reciting what sounds like an incantation, he places Loki’s eye into the hole before running his blade close to his scalp and shearing off some hair.
He then slices his blade across his palm.
He squeezes his hand into a tight fist, the blood pouring from the deep wound over Loki’s eye and his hair.
He then places the flower in his palm, staining the white petals red, in a trance as his words grow more forceful.
The contrast between white and red sends a shiver down my spine because whatever Skarth has done, there is no turning back now.
He places the flower atop the eye and covers the hole with the dug-up dirt.
He has made an offering to the gods to ensure the safety of our sons, and I know what this is.
Himself…
* * *
Skarth, Aric, and I ride to Northumbria.
Ulf is nowhere to be found.
But this was never his battle, so I have no hard feelings.
Benedict rides to Mercia to inform King Beornwulf of what has happened. I do not know if that decision is wise, but I cannot worry about anything other than getting to Northumbria and ensuring my children's safety.
My mother’s death was perhaps a godsend, as she lost a part of herself when I destroyed her husband and her son. Her only daughter singlehandedly ruined her family, and for me to remain and rule, I always knew she resented me for my stubbornness.
She forgave me, but her loyalty to her husband was always a rift between us.
Her death saddens me, and I will mourn accordingly, but in some ways, I am relieved. She was a reminder of a past that I wished to forget.
This is heartless, but I have accepted that perchance I am.
We cannot ride to Northumbria with an army in waiting. I will not risk my sons and Catherine this way. Aethelbald has won.
I will give him anything he wants.
Even if that is me as his bride.
I have not told Skarth of my decision because he would not be willing to ride into this scenario. But all that matters is the safe return of our children.
This mindset was never learned from my parents. And that’s confirmation that I am nothing like them. I do what I want, and that is why I will relinquish my throne and become Aethelbald’s slave, for love is far more important than power.
As my castle comes into view over the hill, I look at Skarth, fearing this will be the last time I see him because I cannot predict what fate befalls us.
“Save yourself, for it is me he wants.”
Skarth’s jaw is taut as he weighs over my words. “Do not say such things because where you go, I go. Whatever awaits us, we do so together.”
“But I will happily do what Aethelbald wants, biding our time as you find our boys.”
“That is not our fate, my love. If they were to be discovered by the gods, we would have found them by now. This is the path the gods wish for us to take. I will not leave your side ever again. We ride into death together, if that is our destiny.
“For it is your face I wish to see when I enter the gates of Valhalla.”
I understand his thinking because Aethelbald will know of our plans if Skarth does not ride with me. We are a package deal, and for him not to come with me means he would be planning an attack, and our sons will suffer the consequences.
For the first time in our lives, both Skarth and I surrender all for the name of love. And we wouldn’t have it any other way.
The air grows thick the closer we ride to the castle walls because soldiers stand guard, not bothering to conceal themselves, because they know we are outnumbered. The men who cannot meet my eyes were once my faithful subjects.
Now they serve under a new ruler.
I do not hold a grudge, however.
The same cannot be said for Skarth, as he mocks them. “You cowards. You cannot even look at your queen, for shame swallows you whole. A plague on your houses and those inside for generations to come!”
Some men are affected by his words, but in the end, there is no loyalty. Only self-preservation.
And this is evident when my once ealdormen, Lord Rufus, steps in front of us, preventing us from advancing. I asked Lord Louis to torture him until he cracked. But the fact that my sons are still missing means it was all in vain.
“The queen finally returns,” he mocks, not hiding his disgust. “You shame the Lord by consorting with that barbarian.”
“You shame your mother by opening your mouth,” Skarth bites back.
“My mother and family are thankfully safe, no thanks to your whore.”
Skarth doesn’t even hesitate as he withdraws his knife and tosses it, embedding it into Lord Rufus’s thigh.
Lord Rufus drops to the ground, howling in pain.
“Oh, you weakling, it’s just a flesh wound. Get up and stop embarrassing yourself.”
“Guards!” Lord Rufus screams. He sweeps his arm toward us, indicating they’re to capture us.
“I love thee,” I say to Skarth as I am dragged down from my horse.
“As I love you.” He, too, is pulled to the ground and instantly disarmed. His arms are shackled behind his back.
Aric is knocked out cold and dragged away.
My hands are tied behind my back, and a collar is placed around my neck, which is attached to a rope.
I am then led to my palace by collar and rope like a rabid dog.
Skarth is punched and kicked when he tries to fight, but he never wavers.
He stands tall, ensuring his eyes never leave me, for he always watches, always guards me.
But when we breach the palace walls, we know our time together has come to an end.
Aethelbald stands in the palace square, donned in a red robe and gold jewels.
He reeks of power and control, but in case I missed his victory parade, my mother’s corpse hangs by her broken neck from the gallows.
Ravens feast on her rotten flesh, and maggots eat through the flesh from her distended abdomen.
Regardless of our rocky relationship, I feel sadness and guilt because she sat on the throne at my request. If I hadn’t asked that of her, she would still be alive.
I wear her death as well as the demise of the kingdom I tried so hard to protect.
“My queen, it is so lovely to feast my eyes upon thee.”
“The same cannot be said about you. I am here. At your mercy. Tell me what it is you want and stop with the melodramatics.”
Aethelbald is merely a youngster, but he breeds such hate. Such a shame, as he could have changed England for the good if he had a fiber of decency in his veins.
“You know what I want,” he replies, steepling his fingers in front of his lips. The gold rings he wears I recognize as my father’s.
Skarth’s mood instantly changes when he reads the victorious grin on Aethelbald’s wretched face. “You are pathetic,” he mocks in disgust. “But I suppose that the only way for you to gain love is through blackmail.”
Aethelbald conceals his rage, but I know he will ensure Skarth pays dearly for his smart mouth. “I want her, but you, you are disposable. Guards.”
“No!” I cry, struggling against my collar. “You have me! I will not fight you. Anything you want, it is yours. All I ask is for the safe return of my children and to let Skarth go.”
“You are no longer in any position to make demands. But I do have a soft spot for thee. First and foremost, I want what is rightfully mine. I will rule over Wessex as it was to be. You will renounce King Raedwulf’s reign immediately, and I shall be coronated to be Wessex’s king.
“Once that is done, then Wessex and Northumbria will be aligned in rulership and beliefs, for you will accept my hand in marriage, when I’ll rule over both kingdoms.”
“I am promised to another. Prince Ludwig, Duke of Miltenburg.” Never thought I’d be pleased to announce this, but this may be my saving grace.
I see that it’s not, however, when Aethelbald laughs.
“It seems the prince got cold feet and withdrew his proposal.”
I narrow my eyes. I knew this was what Aethelbald wanted, but I never thought I’d have to accept. But we’ve tried and failed to overthrow him. We are defeated because when my children’s lives are at risk, I will sacrifice all.
A small part of me hoped Aethelbald was bluffing, but he is not.
So with no other choice, I nod. “What else do you want?”
“I wish for England to be restored to her rightful religion. If the Danes wish to stay here, they must convert to our Lord. If not, they will be culled. There is only one God. If they do not want to follow the righteous path, then let them suffer the consequences.”
“You force my people to convert to your religion,” Skarth spits. “How is that choosing their own faith when you force-feed them with no choice? Your God you speak of is supposed to be all loving and accepting, but the problem is His men.
“You are the ones who incite a holy war we do not want! We wish to live in peace. But you are the ones who force our hand. My kind will not bow down to your false God.”
Aethelbald chuckles. “They already have.”
His words confirm just how dire our circumstances are when Danes appear, dressed in Saxon armor. They fight for Aethelbald, and when the leader emerges, everything makes sense.
Skarth shakes his head. “No, it cannot be.”
“Hello, Brother.”
Standing before us is Sigrith, Skarth’s sister and my once friend.
I don’t understand any of this. But it makes sense. For Aethelbald to get to the position he’s in, he needs an ally on the inside—someone who understands both Saxon and Dane. And who better than Skarth’s sister?
I wondered where she was, in hopes she would save us.
How wrong I was.
“How could you? You dishonor the gods! You dishonor me! He holds your nephews captive for his own personal gain, yet you fight for him? You turn your back on your people? Your gods? You are exactly like your mother.
“I will fucking kill you!”
Skarth storms forward, but a soldier punches him in the stomach. He isn’t incapacitated, and when within feet of Sigrith, she withdraws her sword and places it to the hollow of Skarth’s throat.