Chapter 12 Queen Emeline
Twelve
Queen Emeline
“We knew you’d come to your senses,” says the weasel Lord Rufus as I sit at my desk, my ealdormen and soldiers gathered closely around me.
They are all on guard, waiting for me to retaliate.
The stack of paperwork that sits before me has been drawn up in Aethelbald’s favor. Although I am still queen, I am merely a puppet, an ornament to sit and not speak.
Speaking, however, won’t come any time soon, as I still wear the scold’s bridle. Just another way to humiliate me.
I have renounced my title as queen of Mercia and appointed Aethelbald as its new king. The church has abdicated King Beornwulf of his titleship due to rumors spreading about his sexuality because no heir has been reared.
Eventually, he will have no other choice but to stand down because his soldiers will not side with a king whose interests stray off the path of what is considered “conventional.”
Most of England will be under Aethelbald's rule. No one will question this decision by me because Aethelbald is a man. It does not matter that he is a monster and corrupt. All will be overlooked because of his gender.
It’s overlooked that we women bear children, run a household, and are expected not to speak but merely obey, when we know men are, in fact, the inferior race.
This is why I did what I did, for I was a voice for every woman subdued by any man who thought he could siphon her light, all because of what was shriveled between his legs.
I feel I have failed not only England but also every woman out there.
So when I sign away my freedom, I can’t help but feel I am dooming every female out there, too. And what makes this even worse is that this is happening because of three of the strongest women I know. They sided with a man, and look what has happened.
The fight in me has perished. I do not have it in me any longer.
All I want are my children and Skarth.
But I know I will not be granted such luxuries for some time to come because this is merely the beginning. Aethelbald will not be content until I am nothing but a husk of who I once was.
As much as I hate to confess, I am halfway there.
Sigrith’s betrayal was so unexpected. It has destroyed me and made me question everything I thought I knew. I cannot imagine what it has done to Skarth.
I wonder what they have done to him.
Never in my entire life have I ever felt this helpless, and that’s because it’s not only me who is suffering. It’s the suffering of those I love that eats away at me. So many people are affected, and ironically, the only way to save them is to surrender to evil.
Aethelbald sits beside me, relishing the attention of the ealdormen who want to be his right-hand man. He watches everything I do, clearly not trusting me. And he shouldn’t.
I sign document after document, briefly reading over each one. But even if I didn’t agree, I don’t have a choice. These changes are all in Aethelbald’s favor. Each signature is signing away England’s freedom.
The last parchment is the most important, and the tension is high when Lord Rufus presents it to me.
It’s signing my throne over to Aethelbald.
I read over the terms, my heart sinking because this is worse than I thought. If I sign this, I will be Aethelbald’s slave. I will not have a say over anything, my freedom included. The clause of him selling me like I am nothing but cattle has me curling my fists on my thighs in anger.
“What’s the matter, sweetling?”
All I can do is glare at him.
Even though I don’t have a choice, there is no way I’m signing this without a clause of my own.
So underneath the last line, I add my own term. If it is not fulfilled, then we have no deal. I present it to Aethelbald. He reads it over, his jaw clenching. The men gasp. Some cross themselves, hoping to save their souls from exposing their eyes to such sins.
I merely challenge them to deny me.
The silence is deafening, and Aethelbald does this as a scare tactic. But little does he know that when someone has nothing left to lose, they become dangerous.
“This is your only clause?”
I nod.
He picks up the quill and dips it into the black ink. He presses the tip to paper but doesn’t sign. He is doing this for dramatic purposes.
I am not moved in the slightest because I have dealt with far worse villains than this snotty-nosed little boy.
He senses my apathy and sighs.
I quietly let out the breath I was holding because my clause was that if I were to announce Aethelbald as king of Northumbria, then he was to release my children and Skarth. I will not contest any of his decisions and will dethrone myself.
But I will not concede unless I see my children first.
And if he doesn’t meet his end of the deal, then I will ensure every Dane will wage war against England, avenging me and the wrongdoings done to my family. To prove to him that I am serious, I have written a passage using runes.
It’s an ode to Odin, asking for his protection.
Christian men are superstitious, which is why no one questions what I wrote. They just know that if defied, a wrath no God can save them from will befall them and their families.
The royal seal is stamped in red wax, sealing our fate forevermore.
I feel nothing, for I really am defeated.
The men congratulate Aethelbald, who gloats in victory.
He won.
I never take my eyes off him because we had a deal.
Once the men are done lapping at his arsehole, he saunters over, coming to a crouch before me. “Once I am coronated, your sons and your Viking will be set free. I am a man of my word.”
He condescendingly pats my cheek. “Until then, your new lodgings will be in the tower. Under watch, of course. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to you…my queen. I will alert the kingdoms of the news. I expect all of England will want to witness history being made.”
He leans in close and whispers, “You were nothing but a fool to believe you could change what was fated by the Lord, for it is called history for a reason. You’re nothing but a woman. You are feeble and weak and only good for bearing our sons.”
Without thought, I headbutt him in the face, breaking his nose thanks to the metal of the bridle I wear.
He falls backward, blood pouring from his wound. His fingers are coated in red, and I relish the sight because perhaps I still have some fight left in me after all.
* * *
I sit by the small window so high up I feel as if I can pluck a twinkling star from the night sky.
The darkness has always allowed me to hide, but tonight, I just wish for it all to end. It’s hard to imagine that I’m looking forward to this coronation because that means this will all be over with. I can finally be with my family.
Shame will follow us, but falling in love with a Dane and having his children means I will never fit into society’s norms.
I do not know where we will go.
But honestly, I don’t care.
We make a home wherever we go because family is what makes a home, not a place or the structure. Skarth will want revenge, but I think we’re both tired of fighting a war we cannot win this time.
We only truly have one another.
Suddenly, my stomach drops.
What if Aethelbald was so accommodating to my terms because he plans on changing that?
The door opens, and Sigrith enters. There is no tenderness in her eyes. That time has come and gone.
My scold’s bridle has been removed, yet, I don’t bother with small talk because the reason she’s here will be revealed all in good time. And the time comes when voices echo from outside. Peering below, I see soldiers with flaming torches escorting a prisoner into the square.
It’s Skarth.
So reminiscent of a time when I was a mere babe. The ironic thing is that now, as an adult, I’m just as helpless as I once was.
Skarth doesn’t struggle when they tie him to a post in the middle of the square.
“Sigrith, please,” I beg, turning to look at her, hoping to see some humanity. “He’s your brother. Help him!”
“I am helping him,” she ambiguously replies. “I am also helping you to see that in the end, Danes and Saxons do not belong together.”
Tears sting my eyes when I turn to see Inga and Bodil enter the square wearing sheer gowns. The flames highlight their naked flesh beneath. This is nothing but a human sacrifice, but the sacrifice is Skarth.
They undress him, ensuring they do not block my view.
Once Skarth is disrobed, they wash him, paying tender care to his face and chest. He stands rigid, but moves his cheek when Inga tries to kiss him.
“Enough,” I whisper, a tear trickling down my cheek. “Have I not conceded? What more does he want?”
Sigrith watches on with no emotion as her two friends molest her brother.
Bodil removes her gown and presses her breasts into Skarth’s face.
When he attempts to turn, Bodil presses her lips to his.
Inga drops to her knees and begins pleasuring Skarth with her hand.
When she lowers her head and takes him into her mouth, vomit rises, and I run to the corner of the room and am sick.
Sigrith turns her lip, disgusted. She wrestles with me before dragging me back over to watch the finale. “Is he worth the heartache? Your beloved is getting his prick suckled whilst you cry. You are weak. What happened to the princess I once knew? Your love has made you feeble.”
“Go to hell,” I curse, her words wounding me deeply.
Inga is now bent over, arse poised in front of Skarth. Bodil grips Skarth by the waist so Inga can back up onto him and begins riding his cock. He is still tied and unable to move, but Inga is the one doing all the work as she bounces back and forth on his manhood.
Bodil stands in front of Inga, who slows down her movements so Inga can eat Bodil’s sex. Inga still gyrates on Skarth’s cock as Bodil reaches around and rims Inga’s behind, giving Skarth quite the view.
Skarth turns his cheek, but the fact that his cock is hard and inside another woman has me wishing to rip out his eyes. Yes, this is a forced act, but he is still aroused enough to fuck Inga.
I have been raped and humiliated. I understand that sometimes, our bodies respond in ways we do not want. But seeing this has just killed my last shred of hope.
“Any warm body will do,” Sigrith says, standing beside me and watching as Inga and Bodil swap positions.
Bodil now is the one who slides up and down Skarth’s cock. Inga stands by and watches as she pleasures herself.
This is pure debauchery.
Bodil’s movements become wild and fast, and I know what is about to occur. It’s a man’s natural response. I understand it’s biology, but I still feel betrayed. I still wish to cut off Skarth’s head and disembowel both Inga and Bodil and play with their innards and bathe in their blood.
I turn my cheek, but Sigrith grips it, forcing me to watch. She appears hypnotized, whilst I want to burn this entire kingdom to the ground.
She forces me to watch Skarth’s people rape him, only for him to spill his seed inside Bodil. Such an oxymoron, but alas, it is true.
Once Bodil is done, she slides off Skarth and runs a finger down his chest. His chin droops to his chest, Shame dancing off his skin.
They leave him naked and bound, a reminder that we are at the mercy of those who were once friends.
Sigrith leaves, pleased that her point has been proven as she locks the door behind her.
A point has been proven indeed. And that is, I will never surrender. Yes, the odds are not in my favor, but I would rather die fighting than do nothing at all.
Inga and Bodil will pay dearly for what they did.
I clench my fist around the hairpin I slyly unfastened from Sigrith’s hair when she wrestled me. A rookie move on her behalf.
Aethelbald believed forcing me to watch Skarth being molested would break me.
But all it’s done is fuel the fire that lay dormant for a little while.
Now, however, it has possessed a rage that will not end until I kill every person who has wronged us.
Who am I kidding? Surrender has never been in my nature, for I am Queen motherfucking Emeline.
Godspeed.