Chapter 23
Lorna
It took me a week to recover fully. Physically, anyway.
Mentally and emotionally… in at least one sense I knew I’d never be the same woman who had received that first message from the silver raven on my burner phone: the humiliating memories would remain with me for weeks, and what they meant would continue to change me for even longer.
“But Herra,” I would tell Aksel as he held me close, murmuring his apologies for what I’d gone through. “I won’t be the same, yes—I’ll be better. I’m a v?lva, now, and true wisdom only comes through suffering. Thank you.”
Tears would well up, and Aksel would kiss them away.
I spent those seven days at the Sons of Odin safehouse, under my Herra’s tender care.
It seemed hard to believe that the same man who could in his own way punish me just as severely as Horakovsky had done—though always with better reason and much more regard for my safety and well-being—could also nurse me back to health so gently.
I had already felt certain I loved him, but after the first day in his subterranean house, waited on hand and foot, fed delicious if simple meals, I knew why.
With my v?lva’s senses, I supposed, I had understood that beneath the stone front of his dominance and his utter masculinity lay the heart of a true caregiver.
It made me blush to think about it, but the most difficult part was doing without Aksel’s huge tól in my abused but still needy fisse.
To my mortification, I found I even wanted him in my bottom, my little r?vhul, if only to reclaim that sacred part of me from the brutal use of the warlord and his minions.
“No, little one,” Aksel told me when I begged him to fuck me on the third day. “I want you back to full health before I enjoy you again.”
“May I… may I suck your tól, though, Herra?” I asked in a desperate whisper even as the embarrassment of the request sent heat blazing in my cheeks. “Please? And… maybe I could ride your bride saddle while you use my mouth?”
I looked up at him through my lashes, trying to convey with my eyes how desperately I needed this—not just the physical relief, but the reclaiming of my sexuality on terms that felt sacred rather than violated.
His steel-gray eyes studied my face for a long moment, and I saw the war playing out behind them—his protective instincts battling with his understanding of what I truly needed. Finally, he nodded.
“Very well, little v?lva. But we go slowly. The moment I sense you’re in pain, we stop.”
Relief flooded through me as he rose from the bed where we’d been sitting.
I watched him move to the corner of his bedroom where the bride saddle sat—that ingenious device he’d designed himself, blending ancient tradition with modern engineering.
The smooth wooden seat held the secret of the bride’s consolation, positioned to stimulate without penetrating, and I felt my body respond with hot anticipation despite its battered state.
He positioned it carefully in the center of the room, adjusting the height with precision. Then he settled into the chair facing it, spreading his legs as he unfastened his trousers. The sight of his massive tól emerging, already half-hard, made my mouth water.
“Come here,” he commanded gently, and I moved toward him on trembling legs.
His hands steadied me as I positioned myself over the saddle, lowering myself with a sharp intake of breath as the ridge made contact with my still-tender flesh. The pressure was intense but not painful—more like a deep ache that promised relief if I could just find the right rhythm.
“Take your time,” Aksel murmured, his hand stroking my hair as I leaned forward, bringing my face level with his impressive length. “There’s no rush, little one.”
I wrapped my fingers around his shaft, marveling as always at the sheer size of him.
My tongue traced the crown, tasting the salt of his skin, and I felt him swell further in my grasp.
The movement made me shift slightly on the saddle, sending a spark of sensation through my core that made me gasp around his rigid tool.
“That’s it,” he breathed, his voice thick with approval. “Take what you need.”
I began to move in earnest then—my mouth sliding down his length while my hips rocked gently against the saddle’s knob. The dual stimulation was exquisite, building slowly as I found my rhythm. His hand remained gentle in my hair, guiding but not forcing, letting me set the pace.
But as I took him deeper, as my tongue worked along the underside of his shaft, I felt his control beginning to slip.
His breathing grew ragged, his fingers tightening in my hair.
The change sent a thrill through me—I wanted this, wanted to feel him lose himself in my mouth the way I was losing myself on his saddle.
“Lorna,” he groaned, a warning and a plea.
I hummed my approval around him, taking him as deep as I could manage.
His control shattered then, and I felt a surge of fierce joy as his hips began to thrust upward, his hand tightening in my hair to hold me in place.
He was fucking my face now, using my mouth with the same dominance he’d shown in every other aspect of our relationship, and I loved it.
This was what I needed—not the careful gentleness of the past few days, but the raw power of my Herra taking what belonged to him.
The change in his rhythm made me rock harder against the saddle, and suddenly I felt the knob slip backward slightly, pressing against my little flower, the place Horakovsky had used me so cruelly, my tiny r?vhul, with delicious pressure.
My face heated as I realized that the sensation was exactly what I’d been craving.
With a sob around my Herra’s thrusting cock, I shifted my hips deliberately, grinding my tender bottom-hole against the little bump in the leather padding.
The mixture of stimulation—the tól pounding into my throat while the saddle’s ridge pressed against my most forbidden entrance—sent me spiraling upward with shocking speed.
I felt his cock swell impossibly larger, and then my Herra was coming, flooding my mouth with pulse after pulse of his seed.
I swallowed frantically, taking everything he gave me, and the act of submission combined with the pressure against my still-sore r?vhul pushed me over the edge.
My climax hit like lightning, and with it came the silver branches.
I shot upward through Yggdrasil’s canopy with such velocity that I felt myself leave my body entirely.
The world tree spread before me in crystalline perfection, every branch and twig visible in stunning detail.
But this time, instead of merely seeing threads of possibility, I saw probability as well, and indeed near-certainty—the future unfolding with the clarity of memory.
Something called Project Athena materialized first. I saw a massive installation spreading across the Canadian Arctic like a technological cathedral.
The hope of humanity, a celestial voice seemed to say.
I saw the underground sanctuary, its launch facilities, the space station’s power arrays gleaming beneath the northern lights.
The structure was magnificent, a testament to human ingenuity and the determination to preserve civilization against any catastrophe.
Then I saw her—a young woman named Mary O’Toole, and I knew that name though I’d never met her.
A girl… a fellow bed thrall and v?lva… with flame-red hair and startling green eyes, standing in what looked like a command center.
She wore the bearing of someone who had seen the world tree as I had, but with more experience.
Mary was speaking to two men—one I recognized as Sven, Aksel’s brother in the Sons of Odin, and another whose powerful presence marked him as someone significant in that other secret society my Herra had told me about…
the Pretorian Guard. Marmareus, I knew somehow, and a jolt of need surged in my pussy as I understood that Mary belonged to both of them—that she was shared between them.
The vision shifted, and I saw Takken and Horakovsky behind bars.
Not metaphorical bars—actual prison cells, their faces haggard and defeated.
The charges scrolled past my consciousness: corruption, human trafficking, conspiracy, attempted murder.
The evidence was overwhelming, much of it gathered from Berkut Station’s servers during the raid.
Mila and Katya… the Sons of Odin and the Pretorian Guard had set them up in charge of what remained of Horakovsky’s criminal empire, as allies.
Finally, the vision showed me myself. I stood in the prime minister’s residence, but everything was different.
The oppressive atmosphere was gone, replaced by something lighter, purposeful.
I wore a tailored suit, and through the windows I could see the gardens where I would soon address the nation—not as Takken’s wife, but as prime minister in my own right.
The vision crystallized with absolute clarity.
I saw myself taking the oath of office, Aksel standing just behind me, his hand resting protectively on my shoulder.
The Parliament erupted in applause, and I felt the weight of leadership settling onto me like a mantle—heavy, yes, but right. This was what I was meant to become.
My orgasm crested again as the final images flooded through me, wave after wave of pleasure mixing with the certainty of what I’d seen. The silver branches held me suspended for one perfect moment before releasing me, and I crashed back into my body with a gasp.
The saddle’s ridge was still pressed against my tender r?vhul, my mouth still full of my Herra’s softening tól. I pulled back slowly, swallowing the last of his seed, my entire body trembling with aftershocks. My legs had gone boneless, barely able to support my weight.
“Easy, little v?lva,” Aksel murmured, his strong hands gripping my waist to steady me. He lifted me carefully off the bride saddle, and I whimpered at the loss of pressure against my bottom. “I have you.”
He carried me to the bed as if I weighed nothing, settling me against the pillows before stretching out beside me. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me close to his chest, and I burrowed into his warmth with a contented sigh.
“You went very far this time,” he said quietly, stroking my hair. “I could see it in your eyes—you were somewhere else entirely.”
“I saw everything,” I whispered, still trying to process the flood of images.
My voice shook with emotion. “Herra, I saw Project Athena. This massive installation in the Canadian Arctic—it’s beautiful.
Like something from a dream. And Mary O’Toole, she’s there with Sven and someone named Marmareus.
She’s a v?lva too, isn’t she? I could feel it. ”
His hand stilled in my hair for a moment. “Yes. Mary is very gifted. She serves both the Sons of Odin and the Pretorian Guard.”
“I saw Takken and Horakovsky in prison,” I continued, the words tumbling out faster now. “Real prison cells, not just house arrest. They looked broken, Herra. Defeated. And Mila and Katya—they’re free now, running things for us.”
“All of that will come to pass,” Aksel confirmed, his voice warm with approval. “The evidence we gathered from Berkut Station was more than enough to ensure their convictions. The wheels are already in motion.”
I lifted my head to look at him, my heart suddenly hammering. “And I saw myself, Herra. I saw myself as prime minister.”
His eyes locked onto mine, and I saw something shift in his expression—not surprise, but confirmation. “Tell me,” he commanded softly.
“I was taking the oath of office,” I said, the memory of the vision still vivid in my mind. “You were standing behind me, your hand on my shoulder. The Parliament was applauding. It felt… real. More real than anything I’ve ever seen before in the world tree.”
Aksel’s hand cupped my face, his thumb brushing away tears I hadn’t realized were falling. “It is real, little v?lva. That future exists, and we’re going to make it happen.”
“But how?” I whispered. “Takken is still technically prime minister, even if he’s been arrested. The party—”
“The Sons of Odin and the Pretorian Guard have been working together,” he interrupted, his voice taking on the measured, analytical tone I’d come to recognize.
“Marmareus, Sven, and Mary have come up with a plan. They’ve been coordinating with key members of your party, building support, preparing the groundwork. ”
I felt my breath catch. “A plan? For me?”
“For Jagland,” he corrected gently. “But yes, for you. You’re exactly what this nation needs—someone who understands power, who has seen the darkness and emerged stronger, who has the gift of sight to guide us through what’s coming.
” His fingers traced along my jaw. “I had meant to wait until you’d fully recovered to tell you about it.
The plan is complex, and it will require everything you have to give. ”
“I want to start now,” I said immediately, surprising myself with the fierceness in my voice. “Herra, I’m ready. I need to be ready. After everything—after what I endured—I can’t just lie here recovering while the future waits.”
He studied my face for a long moment, and I could see the war playing out behind his eyes again—his protective instincts battling with his recognition of my strength and determination. Finally, he nodded.
“Very well. Tomorrow, we begin. But tonight, you rest.”