Chapter 11 Aura
AURA
Blackwood Forest, Treland
Every day reveals something new about Calder. Today, he offers nothing more than scowls and glares. Even now, he walks beside her in silence, wearing a blank expression.
Like everything else in her life, she feels lost with the Iss Drengr.
As much as she adores and admires her Papa, his Drengr are everything. They would do anything in his name. Calder’s presence in the Inner Circle signifies that his loyalty lies solely with her father.
She glances over and, just as when they first met, her stomach twists with longing from his rugged appearance.
He looks strange in Salt, devoid of his great axe and armor.
He is dressed only in his black tunic, with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing faded Skalor knot tattoos.
They resemble those in Salt, but they lack the flair of added embellishments.
A seriousness permeates his steadfast mood. Yet beneath all of his coiled muscle, trauma, and tension lies a darkness that draws her in.
With all of Isabel's uncertainty, being in his presence soothes the pain, even though he is both a coil ready to spring and a man who could bring a woman to her knees with a single word.
And a devious part of Aura dreams of pushing him to his limits just to witness his response.
Yet, here they are, two weeks after her dear father blacklisted her among the Drengr. It is laughable to think Calder holds any concern about the Princess when he is also twice her age.
At least she can find bitter solace in knowing that no matter how much she yearns to approach him, a man of his age, who is loyal to her father, would never think twice about touching someone so wildly forbidden.
Although he did watch her touch herself…
Damn the Norn for settling her with the quintessential Drengr. One of her father’s first-ever pledges.
She shakes off her thoughts as they trudge silently along the treeline of Blackwood Forest until they reach the Guardian Mausoleum.
Taking him here is a poor idea. Remember the last time you shared a piece of yourself with another?
Calder is different, she argues with herself. Besides, he needs something adorable in his life.
They hike behind the circular stone building. Yet another part of Treland life for which the gods did not choose Aura. Thora was selected as the next Keeper after Mum, while the gods had yet to guide her father in choosing his replacement. As his direct descendant, that role should fall to Aura.
Should.
She plops down on a log next to a rushing stream. An enormous stump sits at one end of the fallen tree. She pats the space beside her, allowing him the comfort of the stump. “Stay quiet, and our friends will appear.”
Calder's massive form gently lowers beside her, scanning the bank. “How long until they show?”
She presses her forefinger to her lips, adorned with the four stacked runes. She swears that a hint of a smirk from the Iss Drengr lingers on his face.
The rustling wind against the tree branches and the trickling water over the smooth stones soothe her soul. The woods are her sanctuary of contentment, where she feels most comfortable and whole.
As she shuts her eyes and inhales the scent of fallen rain clinging to the leaves, she remembers her childhood days with her father sitting beside her on the muddy earth, pointing out every creature.
He could imitate any sound, from the giant bear to the tiniest swallow.
Her mum and Bjorn spent half the day reading while Aura happily drew on the ground beside them.
Even Thora found some serenity in the woods that did not involve bodily harm.
Her thoughts remind her of a happier, simpler time in her life.
Once, she shared this cherished place in her heart with Isabel. They had barely settled upon a boulder when her so-called friend threw a knife at a chipmunk.
Thankfully, Aura pushed her, causing her to miss.
Yet, that act of boredom, followed by her fury at missing the mark, never sat well with her.
Why do I always disregard the signs? Pops may have had a point about my sad ‘liaisons.’
As more time passes, her creature remains elusive.
Her hands clutch the leather-bound notebook she found propped on the pillows of her bed two days after her nameday. Engraved on the cover of the meticulously smooth tan hide is the nautilus shell of Treland, with her name in runes beneath.
A note on the front page, in barely legible scratches, reads, "Princess, you deserve happiness."
It was such a considerate gift that it left her a blubbering mess. However, at the center of the first page is an intricate snowflake that is cold to the touch. It does not permeate the page, nor does it appear drawn.
Yet another hidden compartment of the mysterious Iss Drengr.
After not sleeping well the previous week, with the weight of the realms pressing down on her shoulders, her body sways, and she inadvertently leans against Calder’s side.
He wraps an arm around her lower back, and she can hear him inhale the scent of her curls. His side muscles relax, which, for the Iss Drengr, is the most significant gesture of calm he can demonstrate.
“Calder?” She whispers. “Do you have someone special back in Skalor?”
“Gunni, my Second-in-Command, is my closest friend and the only person I would consider ‘special.’ There is no one I consider an intimate companion.”
She muses on his answer. Is this lonely life intentional? Is it because of what happened to his ex-wife? When is it appropriate to ask about her?
Aura, she chides herself. Your connection to this man is merely an acquaintance at best. He is a Drengr, twice your age, a member of your father’s Inner Circle, and one of his closest companions! Any association is highly inappropriate.
“What about you, Princess? Aside from the Kilton girl, did you have any other intimate companions?” His breath tickles the shell of her ear.
“Define ‘intimate companion.’ If you mean passive bedfellows, I occasionally had Kjarton, although he always wanted more.”
A lot more.
To the extent that even her parents mentioned his name as a potential husband. “There were other men and women who don’t deserve to be named, especially since I read further into the situations than I should have.”
“Hmm,” he grumbles. “If you want more from your bedfellows, why reject the blacksmith boy?”
She opens her mouth to reply, only to snap it shut quickly.
If she is sincere with herself, it is the darkness in a soul that draws her in like a moth to a flame. Her pursuit of Isabel was an attempt to chase the illusion of connection, which ultimately consumed her.
Since the Trial, she has been unable to cease berating her decisions and desires.
Father’s words hit home that evening because finding someone who will truly love me is not in my future.
“I cannot explain what I seek in another person.” Her mouth dries as she tries to articulate this to the Iss Drengr. “But I know the emotions I want to experience with them.”
Calder tightens his arm around her waist. He lifts her off the log, evoking a gasp as he settles her onto his lap.
Oh, my gods!
A flutter of longing stirs in her belly, and she does not resist him.
His back presses against the stump as he gathers her dress to her navel, exposing her bare legs and undergarments.
“Tell me, Princess. What do you need?”
She swallows, unable to express a single thought. The physical sensation of his desire beneath her bare behind serves as a warning that they are walking along a precarious edge.
If they have not already fallen into the Depths.
“To be protected and worshipped,” she pants as his rough hand traipses along her inner thigh.
The pad of his middle finger slips into her undergarments in an act that arouses goosebumps along her inner thighs.
Roughly, he trails downward from her wet clit to her entrance and back at an agonizing pace, drawing out her pathetic whimpers.
His hot breath brushes against the shell of her ear, leaving her breathless.
Am I about to allow the Iss Drengr to grope me in the forest like a common harlot?
Yes, yes, I am.
“Do not stop, Princess.” He adds another finger as he continues to lazily drag his touch along her most sensitive area. This time, he applies pressure when he reaches her bundle of nerves.
Heat builds in her cheeks as she can no longer retrain her needy moans. “I don’t just want to be a woman pulled from a forgotten chest at the whims of my lover. I want to be the fantasy they breathe every day.”
Calder’s teeth tug at her earlobe, shooting a tingling sensation beneath her skin.
Her pleasure sounds foreign to her ears as his touch is a sharp contrast to anyone from her past.
“Did I ask you to stop, Princess?”
She forces the words out even as her mind muddles with desire. “I wish to be possessed to the extent that no other woman or man exists.”
The animalistic growl that erupts through his chest rumbles against her back.
“Calder,” she breathes his name in a futile attempt to disguise the guttural moan escaping her lips. “What do you offer to a partner?”
His lips curl into a sinister grin before he forcefully sinks two of his thick fingers into her cunt. She gasps as her walls flutter to accommodate them.
“I would possess her before she realizes she belongs to me.” Instead of the voice of a powerful Jarl, the sound emanating from his mouth is primal and uncontrolled. His other hand wraps around her throat, squeezing until she whimpers.
Alarm horns blare in her mind as he tightens his grip, stealing away her air. At the last moment, his touch releases, and she gulps in a breath that causes her lashes to flutter.
A strange gust of frigid air hangs around them, chilling her exposed flesh.
Despite knowing this affair is wrong, she groans like a wanton whore, and vainly attempts to squeeze her spread thighs together. Her arousal throbs with a need for the man she should not want.