Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
SIGRID
Don’t let them see you’re afraid.
“You’re shaking,” my new husband helpfully pointed out as we completed yet another silly Saxon ritual.
We had to share a massive flagon of ale behind a semitransparent screen as the whole crowd waited for us to emerge and fuck on the altar where we’d sworn our vows. For such prudish people, they had shocking wedding traditions.
The marriage feast had been entirely too formal, nothing like a Viking wedding, where the marriage was often consummated in a dark corner while the raucous party covered the noise. It had also been entirely too rushed, leaving me no time to find a way out of what came next.
“Shut the fuck up,” I snapped in response to Bastian, then took a deep swig of the saddest watered-down ale I’d ever tasted before passing it back to the prince.
The fucking prince. I’d known there was something off about him when we took him captive on Talon’s ship, but I hadn’t guessed he could’ve made a royal hostage until it had been too late. Now I was married to the noble son of a bitch.
Married. Again.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to fuck the Saxon prince—I’d damn near done it on my brother’s ship just to see what he looked like when his tightly wound control snapped—but doing it like this, on their terms and with people watching, was going to dredge up memories that needed to stay buried for all our sakes.
My berserker may have been magically leashed, but I still feared I’d lose control.
The consequences would be dire if I took the prince’s head before my oldest brother, Thorin, had time to rescue his mate. It would break Thorin if something happened to Layla.
I couldn’t lose another brother. My youngest brother had been killed five years earlier, in a Saxon ambush during my brother Talon’s wedding. A traitor in our midst had drugged the wine, and Axel had been killed in the immediate slaughter before we’d massacred the Saxon attackers.
I’d do anything to protect my two remaining brothers, which meant I had to master the memories making me shiver with trepidation.
“Sigrid, talk to me. I’m trying to make the best of this.” Bastian said it gently, like he was trying to calm an agitated horse. He’d have more luck with a rabid stallion. I’d never be a man’s docile possession ever again.
“We aren’t friends nor allies. You get to live as long as it takes for Thorin to find and secure Layla, and then I fulfill my vow.”
He passed the flagon back to me roughly. “I didn’t ask for this.”
“Neither did the pig they roasted at that feast.”
His eyes narrowed with betrayal. “That’s all you see me as?”
If I was going to survive this, I didn’t have space for his feelings. “No. The pig at least served a purpose.”
I tipped the glass up and chugged deeply, but Bastian pulled it away before I could finish it. “You don’t get to be the drunk one.”
I rolled my eyes as knocked the rest back. “If that’s enough to get you drunk, you’re even weaker than I thought.”
He slammed the empty flagon down on the table and circled around the screen to declare, “Let’s get this over with.”
I took my time following him to the altar.
I’d been raised as a warrior, trained since I could hold a weapon to exploit weaknesses and always find a way to victory…
but victory in this case meant buying Thorin time, not taking out the guard to the right of the door first because he favored his left knee, then disarming the other guard and using one of the thirteen exit paths I’d instinctively noted during the ceremony.
Victory meant shutting down every warrior instinct I possessed to somehow endure what had to happen now.
“Undress your lord,” said the smarmy shit of a priest, with a hand gesture towards Bastian.
If I lifted my hand, he was going to see it trembling. They all would. I couldn’t seem to shake the dread that had me by the throat. If I lost control, they’d kill Layla.
One step at a time.
I could undress him without an issue. Danes didn’t think anything of nudity, but the Saxons were always covered up like there was something wrong with a naked body. Except, apparently, at weddings?
Bastian cleared his throat when I didn’t move. “He’s talking about me, sweet. Your lord. You’re to undress me now.”
“Sweet?” My smile wasn’t feigned. I was going to enjoy making him suffer for that remark.
I stepped closer to Bastian, and he squared his shoulders, standing with his arms slightly raised from his sides, his palms up. It would’ve been so easy to sucker punch him in the stomach—satisfying too—but I resisted the urge.
Subtlety was key.
I unfastened his tunic, but when I went to strip it from his shoulders, I dug my nails into his skin.
He tensed but didn’t so much as flinch. I could say what I wanted about him, but he was made of tougher stuff than most of his people, and he fought more like a Dane.
If he hadn’t been a Saxon and the bloody prince to boot, I would’ve enjoyed taking him as a lover.
Layers of cotton formed a vestlike underlayer beneath his tunic, so I circled around to his front, looked into his annoyingly beautiful blue eyes, and raked my nails down his chest as I slid the pieces of cloth off.
His mouth barely moved as he softly said, “Is that all you’ve got?”
I fought a chuckle. Just wait until we’re alone…
His upper torso was bare now, and I had to admit, it was an attractive sight. He may not have been built with the hulking thickness of a Viking, but lean muscle covered his tall frame.
He looked down at me with a devastating smile and widened his stance like he was bracing himself.
A challenge if ever I’ve seen one.
I scraped my nails along the tender skin of his lower stomach as I released his belt. He hissed through his teeth, but he didn’t flinch, didn’t move to stop me.
I looked up at him and slipped my fingertips into his trousers, readying to pull them down. He met my eyes with a look of defiance, daring me to do it.
I jerked them down to his knees with one swift move, scoring his thighs with my nails. His chest rose and fell faster, but he didn’t look away.
His rock-hard cock sprang free, and I arched an eyebrow in surprise. “Are you enjoying this, my lord?”
People gasped and muttered in shock at my comment.
“The lady will maintain decorum!” the king snapped.
I’d been so focused on tormenting Bastian, I’d nearly forgotten we had an audience sitting out in the pews.
“My turn,” he whispered in my ear as he circled behind me.
I smirked. He could burn my clothes off my body, and I wouldn’t react to the pain. I’d been too well trained for that.
He ever-so-gently unlaced my gown, letting his fingertips brush over my neck when he loosened the top. The light touch almost made my breathing hitch because it was so unexpected and intimate.
When the gown was open enough to be pulled from my shoulders, he circled in front of me and held eye contact as he loomed over me, a rare feat for any man, since I was taller than most. He slid his hands under the gown and gently pushed it off.
I wasn’t ready for the careful intensity with which he removed each garment.
When he released my stays, I could breathe normally again, but I was more focused on the warmth of Bastian’s hands, which I could feel on my hips even through the shift.
He wrapped the fabric of it into his fists, then lifted it over my head, leaving me standing there in nothing but a pair of hose.
I wanted him to look at my breasts, wanted to see the flash of lust when he laid eyes on them, but he didn’t look. He stayed focused on the task at hand, glancing at the wool that still covered my thighs.
He knelt in front of me, a man sure enough of himself that he still looked arrogant on his knees. The way his hands skimmed up my thighs to untie my hose was nothing short of reverent, and indeed, the look on his face was pure awe.
I could get used to being undressed by this man.
One side of his mouth kicked up like he knew exactly what I was thinking, damn him.
When I stood naked before him, his eyes finally skimmed my body, and his look of hunger made my heart race faster.
“The lady will lie on the altar,” the priest commanded in a ridiculous voice meant to carry to the back of the cathedral. It rankled to obey a man I could’ve snapped in half with hardly a thought, but his time would come.
I jumped onto the stone table and spread my knees wide. If they were all going to sit there and watch, I was going to give them a fucking show. It was only a shame they were sitting so far away.
“The lady will maintain decorum!” the priest barked, running to stand in front of me to block the crowd. Decorum didn’t stop him from taking a good look, though.
Bastian nudged the priest aside and took his place at the foot of the altar, between my spread legs. His eyes didn’t leave my face, the noble prick.
“Get on with it,” I said, fighting to keep my demons at bay. To keep Layla safe, I could do this.
The priest moved back to the first line of pews, giving us the barest hint of privacy, since everyone was far enough away to be out of earshot if we kept our voices down.
The table was too high for Bastian to simply stand there and do it, so he had to climb onto it. The second his body loomed over mine, I was transported back to memories of another wedding and another husband, to horrors I’d never endure again.
My body instinctively tensed to throw him off, but I managed to master it until his weight started to settle over me and his dick nudged at my entrance.
I’m going to lose control.
“I can’t,” I gasped. “Not like this.”
He frowned, lifting to put some space between our bodies. “You’re safe with me. I’ll be gentle.”
I gripped the edge of the table like it was going to help me keep hold of my reason. “If you climb on top of me and try to stick your dick in me, gentle isn’t going to help you. I’ll lose control and snap your neck before you’ve even gotten your dick wet.”