Chapter 2 #2
Saga sighed, staring down at the table. She knew she ought to be grateful for what she had; that the people of íseldur were going hungry amid a grain shortage.
But this kasha was not the same as íseldurian porridge, and the blackcurrants were strange and tart.
And róa…gods above, what she’d give for a nice cup of spiced róa to warm her from the inside out.
“Perhaps you might like the Zagadkian sbiten,” drifted Kassandr Rurik’s voice from the doorway.
Saga gripped the table’s edge, trying to ease the jagged beat of her heart.
“Or if you are truly missing íseldurian róa, we can heat water and throw in some sticks to give to you the bitter taste of it.”
Saga knew he was baiting her, but she could not keep herself from reacting.
Her nostrils flared and her gaze flew to him.
Kassandr looked irritatingly handsome as he leaned in the doorway—his posture so casual it was easy to forget the predator lurking beneath.
But Saga refused to forget. She lifted her eyes to his, and a jolt ran down her spine.
Green.
Green like the beast that had stared her down in the depths of that ship.
Green like the man she’d thrown caution to the wind for.
Gods, she was such a fool. How could she not have realized this man’s nature was anything but human?
There was the way he’d smelled her blood the day they’d met; the strange growl that had scared Jarl Skotha’s hound away.
And then there were the impossible moves he’d displayed while fighting Thorir the Giant.
If she’d missed such glaring signs, could she really trust her own intuition?
“What do you want?” Saga now asked, loosening her grip on the table.
The moment of silence in the wake of her words told Saga that Rurik had expected her to send him away as she had every other time he’d come to see her. But the man recovered quickly. “I want many things,” he drawled, pushing off the doorway and strolling into her chambers.
Saga tried to ignore how his structured jacket emphasized the breadth of his shoulders; how the power of his strides hinted at something barely leashed within.
She stared at his hands, searching for any sign of those strange, creeping tattoos, but there was nothing but sun-kissed skin marred by the occasional scar.
The clank of boot buckles punctuated each step he took, and Saga’s foolish heart instinctively took off at a gallop. She silently cursed herself—the man could likely hear her heartbeats with his inhuman abilities.
His fingertips landed on the table, and Rurik leaned closer. “Above everything, Winterwing, I wish to know how you fare. Is room to your liking?”
He sank into the chair across from hers and folded a leg over his knee.
Nothing about you stealing me is to my liking! she wanted to scream. Instead, Saga scowled, and asked, “Must you lock my door?” She forced herself to meet those green eyes. Cunning and dangerous, much like a mountain cat’s, she’d once thought. Little had she known, she was not far off.
Kassandr took the small pot of honey, leaning over the table to drizzle it over her bowl of kasha.
“As I have said.” Rurik reached for the bowl of blackcurrants next.
“It is for your safety, moya koroleva.[*1] Until you meet the high prince and have his protection, none may enter your chambers but myself, Rovgolod, and Alasa.”
He spooned the blackcurrants over her kasha before nudging the bowl closer. “Eat.” Rurik leaned back in his chair, and Saga could finally breathe.
Begrudgingly, she took a tentative bite. The sweetness of the honey contrasted with the sour berries, all mixed with the chewy, nutty grains. It was nice enough, but still…it wasn’t home.
“What about you?” Saga asked after swallowing. “You’re not safe for me, either.”
Kassandr cocked his head to the side. “If you wish for me to apologize, I’m afraid I will not. I took you to keep you safe. Here, you are under my protection.”
“Here, I am caged!”
The words came out louder than she’d expected, echoing off the timbered walls.
A frown marred Kassandr’s stupidly beautiful face. “I am sorry you think that, Saga. Perhaps, in time, you will see truth.”
Saga trembled with rage as she stared at the man before her. But her anger quickly fizzled to despair. Because with those words came the realization—this sculpin truly thought he was doing the right thing.
“I must return to íseldur,” she said quietly. “I need to find my sister.”
She could feel Kassandr’s assessing gaze upon her, but the irritating man ignored her pleas. “The high prince is wishing to meet you. I have told to him you are ill from sea voyage, but with each day, he grows more…eager.”
“You mean,” she seethed, glaring at him, “the high prince wishes to see his new pet.”
Kassandr’s expression hardened, and he leaned across the table, taking her hand in his. “You are no one’s pet, Saga.”
His thumb smoothed along the scarred back of her hand, and for a moment, she was back in a rain-swept garden, letting him hold her, kiss her, comfort her.
But the moment passed, and Saga jerked her hand out of his grip.
“You took me from my home, against my will. Keep me in a locked room. Just what do you think that makes me?”
He pursed his lips, gaze skimming over her reverently. “You, Saga, are a queen without her throne.”
Words escaped her, and Saga stared at him blankly.
“You are fierce,” continued Kassandr, “and beautiful, and one day, I will see a crown upon your head. But first, we must plan. We must be clever. First, you must come to speak with high prince. Explain to him about the Urkans. You will need to be convincing to get them to act. My father will be upset, but perhaps his anger can be tempered.”
Saga struggled to comprehend, a thousand questions battling for dominance. Explain what about the Urkans? And what, precisely, did his father need to be convinced of? But the words that fell from her lips were “Tempered how?”
Immediately, she regretted her question. And when Kassandr’s gaze shifted to mischief, she wanted to snatch it right back.
“Saga Volsik,” he said, “rightful queen of the Kingdom of íseldur, most beautiful woman I have ever met, I ask for your hand—”
Saga leaped to her feet, her chair toppling back behind her. “I hate you!”
Kassandr cocked his head to the side. “Ty pytayesh’sya menya soblaznit?[*2]” he said with a sly smile.
“What does that mean?”
His smile remained, yet something flashed behind his eyes. “It means I wish for you to become my wife.”
“I will never marry you!”
“If you marry the heir to Zagadka, none will act against you in violence—”
She picked up the bowl of blackcurrants and flung it at him. Kassandr dodged it with irritating ease, and the bowl smashed against the wall, dark berries smearing the weathered planks.
“You missed,” he said with a smirk that snapped something deep within her.
Before she knew what was happening, Saga was around the table, the knife from her bodice gripped in hand.
She was a being of pure emotion, fueled by a week’s worth of pent-up rage.
She wanted to show this arrogant man he could cage her, he could take away her freedom, but he would never control her.
Saga drove the knife into the flesh of his shoulder.
She’d expected a reaction. A cry of pain, perhaps. But Rurik’s face flickered with amusement. And then his hand wrapped around her own, pushing the knife even deeper.
“Teper’ ty tochno pytayesh’sya menya soblaznit,[*3]” he rasped.
“What does that mean?” she demanded in a shrill voice.
“It means, ‘Again, you have missed.’ ”
She gaped at him. “I stabbed your shoulder!”
A slow smile crept across his face. “It seems you have not the heart to kill me.” He glanced at the knife and tutted. “We must get for you better knives. Come with me to red room at end of corridor. There you can choose from many.”
Saga stored the detail about the red room away for later and made to yank her hand free from him, but Rurik’s unyielding grip slid to her wrist. His eyes darkened as they caught on something, but they met hers again and Saga couldn’t look away.
Slowly, he lifted her hand to his lips, his tongue sliding along her index finger.
For a single, disorienting moment, Saga felt the wet heat of his mouth in places she should not.
But then her senses swarmed back, and she yanked her hand away.
“You must be more careful,” Rurik said, nodding at her hand. A thin trickle of blood ran down her palm. Saga identified the source as a small nick on her index finger. The index finger Kassandr had just licked.
Cradling her hand to her chest, Saga backed away from him.
He’d just licked blood from her finger, and it was the reminder she needed that he was half beast—that he was impulsive and violent, and always got what he wanted.
Her despair returned with new force. She was in a foreign land without allies.
She could not speak the language. Could not reach her sister mind-to-mind.
A small whimper broke free at the realization: She was trapped.
Rurik’s gaze was unreadable as he moved toward the doorway. “Tell to me when you are ready to say yes, Saga. I will marry you that very day.”
A scream built low in her throat, and Saga didn’t think. She reached for the bowl of kasha. Hurled it at him with all of her strength. But it only collided with the closed door.
And as the sticky grains slid to the floor, the dead bolt scraped shut.
Skip Notes
*1 My queen.
*2 Are you trying to seduce me?
*3 Now you are truly trying to seduce me.