22. Avina
22
AVINA
November 2nd, Year 100, 9th Era
Somewhere in the Salt Province
“ H ere.” Grim slips into Sigvid’s tent, a small bundle clutched in his hand. “I thought you looked peckish, Your Majesty.”
Avina smiles as she finishes assembling the cot. She plops on the stretched canvas and accepts the food wrapped in the thin cloth with a sigh. “Thank you, Grim. I would starve if not for you.”
He crosses his arms over his chest and glances through the opening slit of the tent where the Drengr Army continue their rapid camp setup. Based on the last two evenings, they would spend much of the night cackling while they drank heavily.
“We should arrive in Toftlund soon.” Her hands tremble with hunger, thirst, and an uneasy sense of the unknown. She plucks a shaky piece of the dried meat into her mouth.
“What will he do with me?” The terror and exhaustion over the last few days trembles the tenor of her question .
Before Grim can answer, the imposing form of Sigvid Thordsson appears shrouded in the entrance.
“You are to serve me in any way I see fit.” His attention pivots to Grim with a growl. “Leave.”
Grim passes the Salt Prince on his way out with a side-eye.
“Did I allow you to have food?”
She pauses mid-chew as she glares up at him, wondering if he understood the meaning of the word ‘compassion.’
“Grim offered me some extra from his pack. I have not eaten since we left the Arena.”
“I cannot allow you to have that much energy.” He rips the bundle away from her quivering hands and munches on the dried meat.
Her eyes brim with tears.
Why is he such a cruel, heartless man? No, he isn’t a man. He isn’t even the same person I met in the Sapphire Palace.He is what everyone has insisted on, what he embodied in the Arena: a mere beast.
“Why am I here, Thordsson? You cannot possibly believe you can kidnap the Queen of Timber and not reignite our war.”
“You are here because I want you to serve me, my little Queen.” He strokes his beard thoughtfully while watching her with those intense blue eyes. “Without Timber’s fearless leader,” he gestures to her as he chews, “No one will start a war with me. Your favorite generals, Tyo and Elsrith, cannot hope to defeat me.”
“You think far too highly of yourself.” She emits a ‘hmph’ noise.
He finishes off the meat, crumbling the fabric and stuffing it into the pocket of his trousers. He broadly smiles at her, “You were the only one who could think of a way to stop me. Without you, they are hopeless.”
She purses her lips and leans back on the cot.
He has a point.
Avina discovered the Azure Bloom trick on berserkers, allowing her to capture the great Lord Commander. If she wishes to escape his clutches, she must trust herself.
Easier said than done.
“Stop ignoring my question. Why am I here? Toftlund has plenty of young women willing to serve you on their knees.” With a lip curl, she adds, “Why must it be me?”
He presses closer until he cages her on the cot, her chest heaves beneath his. “I have yet to decide your fate.” His growling voice reverberates along her skin. “I might slice that beautiful neck,” his fingertips leave goosebumps along her neck column, “or I might keep you on your knees. Either way, I will decide your future when we arrive home.”
“Please,” she breathes, “what have I done to deserve this?” His presence is somehow all-consuming and horrifying.
His lips tickle the shell of her ear, causing her breathing to hitch in her throat. “I own you.” His gruff words are a sick promise. “Your mind,” she whimpers as two fingers trace her temple, “your body,” his possessive grip gropes along her curves, forcing her to strangle a moan, “and your spirit.” He presses his hand on her chest between her breasts.
Their eyes meet, and she swallows hard.
His hand tangles in her curls. Her heart thumps as she anticipates he will dip his head and kiss her. Instead, he withdraws abruptly, leaving her cold and empty. When he returns, he bears the familiar rope to bind her to the cot for the night.
“Please, no.” A choking sound wrecks from Avina as she scrambles away from him. Not that a night of freedom will offer her a restful sleep. She is desperate to track their progress to flee at the right moment.
“I cannot allow you to escape me.” He stands over her and removes his cock. He forces it into her mouth while he binds her wrists to a leg of the cot.
Her eyes water as his head hits the back of her throat. Despite securing her, he does not relinquish his assault on her mouth. She kneels on the ground, helpless, gagging, and crying around him.
He grips her hair, holding her head still and stroking her cheeks. “What is this hesitation? You took me like a fucking whore when I was at your mercy.”
She glowers at him, loathing herself for allowing his touch to stir anything within her.
At least, not anymore.
“You are a pleasure slave, not a Queen. You will take my seed like we both know you can. ”
Before she can fight back, he relentlessly pounds into her mouth. She chokes and drools as he restrains her head.
“Swallow it all. Do not lose a drop.” His guttural command arrives moments before he unloads at the back of her throat.
She sputters and chokes. His taste mocks both her twisted desire and the trapped situation.
When he steps away, she spits at his feet, glaring upward with drool and cum coating her chin and neck.
He grabs her chin, forcibly tugging her so close that she can feel his hot breath caressing her face.
“I am going to enjoy you.” He pats her cheek before settling onto the cot with a groan—a routine that keeps her imprisoned through the night.
“If you get any ideas about escaping me, I have Drengr stationed around the tent tonight.”
“You will find I have my methods of avoiding their notice.”
Like invisibility.
He barks a laugh. “Run, Avina. Run away and see how long you can escape my wrath. If you manage to leave this camp, understand this,” he pauses.
She looks up to see he has shed his tunic and lies shirtless. His inked muscles are on full display on the cot.
“I will take you in front of every single one of my warriors.”
She pales as her body goes numb. Despite his glistening burly chest, the thought of being used before the two hundred Drengr is nauseating.
“You have yet to know my vengeance for capturing me and weakly allowing another ruler to pass judgment. You can not even comprehend what torture you will face at my hands.”
“You are despicable. A truly evil man,” her lips quiver as her anger frustratingly stumbles out as tears. “ You will never understand what you once meant to me. I hope the wretched early winters in Salt take me to the Golden Citadel.”
The cot creaks, and he shifts toward her.
“I will never defend your beast again.”
He catches her cheeks in one hand, squeezing so hard she whimpers. His eyes pierce into hers even through the growing darkness outside the tent.
“Look at me, Avina! If you thought I was a good man, you are sorely mistaken. I am the sadistic beast of your worst fucking nightmares. You have no idea what savagery you unleashed upon yourself.”
He smiles so she can see his teeth before he sinks them into her neck. She screams, thrashing in her bindings as he chuckles darkly against her column. When he pulls away, she can feel sticky blood mix with his drool as it trickles down her shoulder. Genuine fear of him shakes her to the core.
“I am the villain in this fairytale. No hero is riding in to rescue you from me. Gods help anyone who would try. I will tear any man or woman apart who dares to touch you. Do you understand your life belongs to me now?”
He relinquishes his hold and stomps from the tent, leaving her trembling. A tiny cry bursts from her lips as she rests her forehead on the canvas of the cot. To think she once spun fantasies of this man as a knight in shining armor. If she can not escape him, then she will die on her knees.
Tomorrow is my last chance to free myself from Sigvid’s clutches before he traps me in Toftlund.
November 3rd, Year 100, 9th Era
Somewhere in the Salt Province
A vina sways in time with the midnight stallion's trot. Each jerk of her body lands between two thick, inked arms. The pull of bracing muscles is felt against her back as she collides to the side once more.
The tip of Sigvid’s curling beard tickles her nose, jolting her consciousness. Her curtain of dark lashes lazily drifts open to see the passing of towering pines.
Oh no! How long had I been out?
She had been dutifully following their path through Salt, carefully planning her escape until she passed out. She must have missed the break they took at one of the small villages where she planned to steal a horse.
Her sudden shift to sit upright draws the attention of her captor.
“Evening.” His voice is gruff and strained.
“Evening?” As she struggles to pull herself up, her cheeks burn as she realizes that sometime during their journey, he moved her into a side saddle position and cradled her in his arms.
As she comes to, she pulls on her wrists, remembering they’re bound tightly with rope against her waist. The thick, scratchy strand of material tied between her legs and under her breasts is a reminder of why she struggled to sleep. She is at least grateful for the oversized clothes they gave her, which are taking the brunt of the pressure.
She cannot stay in Salt a moment longer. One of her handmaidens, Joetta, cared for Nellie while she was away but is to be married on this day. Not only would she miss her wedding, but who would feed Nellie?
“We are stopping ahead to camp.” He nods to a growing mass of canvas and curling campfire smoke spread across a vast sea of frosted grass.
Reeling, she calculates that they are barely a day’s ride to Toftlund. A peek at his expression has her squirming. The determination set in his jaw and tired blue orbs is hauntingly beautiful.
Focus!
She needs to return to Nellie. If they stop to camp, this will be her final chance.
He dismounts along the fringe of the pine forest. She is led barefoot and bound to a small fire and the scent of cooking stew.
“Grim!” She smiles at his cheery face with deep laugh lines. His conversations have been the sole comfort during her captivity.
He bows his head respectfully, “You look more rested, Your Majesty. If you wait a little longer, I will have a halfway decent stew for us.”
Sigvid growls. “Stop fucking addressing her as ‘Queen.’ She is a prisoner of the Salt Prince now.” He drops the large saddlebags from his horse. “I need to make some rounds. Would you watch the captive?”
Her grumble earns her a dagger-like glance from Sigvid. He stalks toward her until they are nose to nose, his hand pushing her cheeks together so tightly she cries.
“Is there a problem? Would you rather me allow my prisoners to wander?”
“Fuck you.” She manages to spit out with her cheeks nearly touching.
His rough release forces her to stagger, tripping over a tree stump.
He and Grim exchange more logistical points, and then Sigvid abandons her as he did the other day at camp.
“I will untie you to assist me with the tents. If you run, I am afraid I may have to hurt you.” Grim holds up a mass of canvas.
Once unbound, she helps Grim assemble the tents. The long trousers she wears continue to get caught beneath her feet, threatening to tug off her hips. She never thought she would take clothes that fit for granted.
She is already annoyingly fond of Grim, who, she has learned, lost his wife, after which corrupt Timber lords forced him into the Arena. Even without asking, she is suspicious about who caused this upstanding man to lose everything. When she finds her way back to Scarwood, she will visit a certain Duke and ensure he lives his life in misery.
“Stew is nearly there. I hope you’re hungry.” Grim gives her another smile that warms her soul like a cup of honey tea.
She hopes Sigvid will not murder this poor man when she runs away from him.
“Why are you here?” She wonders aloud.
Why would anyone have followed the Beast, of all people, out of the Arena? Especially when he killed him. Or, well, tried to kill him.
“The Beast is currently my only friend.” Grim stirs the cast iron pot suspended over the smoldering fire. “We had each other’s back in that Arena. I trust he will deliver the scum who destroyed my life. I daresay I’m in a begrudging life debt to him.” He chuckles.
Avina twirls a curl. After the war, she was sure she knew everything about the Lord Commander of the Salt Province. However, Sigvid, the man, proved infinitely more complicated.
Why rescue a would-be enemy from the clutches of the Arena? While in one strike, he tortures a man to death for threatening her life. Yet, cages her as a prize to showcase once they reach Toftlund?
Sigvid is like all the rest in his view of women as a means of conquest.
He might be worse.
Grim hands her a bowl of stew that smells divine. Avina slurps a bite and melts into the bowl of root vegetables and hare meat. She slurps it down quickly until her stomach cramps. She needs all the fuel she can get.
“Do you mind if I urinate?” She asks the question far too energetically than she has been rehearsing. The words tumble out more bluntly than they should. But she counts on the fact that this morally upstanding, genial man will never demean her by questioning her motive.
“Do you need me to stand watch?”
Gods, bless this man . “No, thank you for everything.” She emphasizes the last word.
Once in the shrouded cover of the pine forest, she trudges forward until her bare feet pound against the needled undergrowth.
She has a few moments before Grim will investigate her whereabouts. By then, she needs to be long gone or hidden away.If Sigvid should discover her absence, he will likely lead the return mission himself. And, after what happened to Finn, she dares not think of how he might respond to Queen Avina if she escapes his clutches.
Dammit, what is his obsession with me? What is his motive other than to humiliate me? What will become of my kingdom and Nellie if he continues to keep me captive?
A shiver slides up her spine, imagining Sigvid catching her arm and whirling her around to confront his piercing eyes that seem to dive straight into her soul.
Will he take her body forcibly in the snow? Will he turn his axes on her for disobedience? Will he fulfill his promise to take her in front of his Drengr? A strangling sensation around her throat increases until she retches bile upon the ground.
The anxiety gripping her does nothing to alleviate the burning in her lungs from the icy winter air in the Salt Province. Suddenly, her plan to escape seems absurd. Without proper boots, she will not be able to travel long.
Avina groans, clutching her churning stomach and cursing herself for having thought her fear would not overtake every aspect of her body as she attempts to flee.
Sharp pine needles press into her knees and palms as her stomach convulses, and she vomits on the cold ground. When her gut is devoid of the beautiful meal Grim served, she shakily stands to her feet and shuffles along.
The nearly identical pines expand in all directions, and the ever-present fear of Sigvid’s retribution addles her usual level-headed brain beyond belief. Swiveling over her shoulder reveals a form barreling in her direction.
Grim .
She dives into the brush, lowering a widely splayed broken branch over her figure. The crunch of footsteps has her heart pounding, not helped by her heavy breathing. Through the pine needles, she can see Grim stomping around. His hand continues to rake through his dense spiral locks as he searches.
“Avina? Avina?” His deep, frantic voice tugs at her heartstrings.
He genuinely seems worried for my safety.
Finally, his shoulders slump in defeat, and he returns toward the encampment. She moves from her hideout and continues through the woods only after the silence drones on for thirty counts.
She continues through the forest when she arrives at a stretch of blinding white that expands on both sides as far as the eye can see. She walks along the edge, testing her weight against the ice.
Birds fluttering through the trees tug her focus back to the woods.
Something is coming near her fast.
She clutches her chest as her terror makes it a struggle to breathe.
Sigvid cannot have caught up with me yet. There is still time to escape.
The courage to plunge across the lake slips away as she looks at the expansive ice sheet. But the risk is too immense. One slip and the frigid water will swallow her whole.
Will I be such a loss? No one has ever wanted me enough to keep me safe .
Her cloud of despair chooses now to fog her mind.
A roar rumbles through the trees, causing her hair to stand on end.
The phantom squeezing in her throat from her anxiety forces Avina to double over and spew bile upon the snow.
She chances death over fate at his hands as she tests the strength of the ice—her stomach somersaults.
Avina winces with each step as the ice burns her bare feet. She has taken no more than seven steps when the roar is at her back.
Against her better judgment, she whips her head around to see Sigvid standing on the lake’s edge with a fiery rage in his blue gaze.
“Avina! Do not take another step.” He growls.
I will not allow another man to break me.
She ignores his response and takes her eighth step.
A heart-wrenching crack echoes over the lake. She is vaguely aware of him calling for her as she hesitantly steps forward. The ice sheet opens beneath her, and she plunges into the frigid water—the cold bites at her exposed skin. No matter how hard she fights, she cannot reach the surface.
And this is how I die , by sinking alone into the Abyss while the man I once dreamed about leers down at me, waiting to drag me back into his control. Never to be loved or desired.
Her eyes peel open in time to see a darkness obscure the sun, and she succumbs to the dark depths.