The Beast of Salt (Saga of the Gods #1)

3. Avina

3

AVINA

August 4th, Year 100, 9th Era

Scarwood Citadel, Timber Province

A vina wraps the cloak tighter around her chest as the sound of Sigvid’s fury raises every hair along her body. Once she reaches the guard station of the Scarwood Dungeon, she begins kicking and punching the stone wall as furious tears brim in her eyes.

All I had to do was heal him. Ready him for another round of torture.

She screams as her knuckles split open against the grimy stone.

Ladies did not take what they wanted, especially when the man in question is a savage criminal. The taste of his seed still lingers in her mouth, mocking her rare, bold actions. How dare he put her in that position to desire him like some common whore! Not that her figure would stir any genuine desire in the hulking warrior.

But she had to know if he was the same stranger whose touch ignited an inferno deep within her soul all those years ago.

At her engagement party to Rendel, of all places, a mysterious Salt warrior found her in a mess. That man was the only person whose desire for her was pure and unshakeable.

How could it be that the man who haunts her dreams after three winters is Sigvid Thordsson?

He was the prayer she whispered in the darkest corners of the night—a silent plea to the Goddess Maeve to rescue her from her miserable existence under Rendel. Her eyes burn as the sheer farce of this situation makes her sick.

Sigvid pillaged Timber farms.

Sigvid destroyed families.

Sigvid was the stranger who made her feel seen…

As she rounds a corner, realization grips her chest, stifling her breath. Numbness spreads from her heart as cold understanding seeps into her being. All those frantic prayers she had sent to her Goddess to rid Treland of that despicable Rendel did lead to his demise… at the hands of Sigvid.

When the guards released her from Rendel’s prison, she discovered that Sigvid had inadvertently saved her life. His blade allowed her to escape death at the Timber King's hand even if all it accomplished was exchanging her executioners–Rendel for Sigvid.

Regardless of her fate, her chest swells with rare pride in her abilities. After only a year, she brought her enemy to heel. Rendel had not even forced Lord Commander Sigvid to rethink his plans, let alone capture and subdue him.

But why did she insist on being the one to heal him tonight?

Truthfully, she allowed herself to be overwrought with guilt upon watching his torture session with the excruciating fire extract. After they left him bloody and broken, she begged Lenzo to be the one to heal his wounds.

And then to indulge him sexually and expose my appearance to him! What fresh horror can he inflict on me now? Oh, Goddess, what have I done?

“You see what you have done to me.”

His once seductive words now taunt her steps. Every sweet word has been a game, further confirming no one could ever desire Avina. She was born alone, and she would die alone.

She removes the thick cloak once she reaches the castle's Great Hall, far from the judgmental eyes plaguing her in the dungeons. Silence—a welcome old friend to the lonely girl–greets her as she winds her way up through the vast hallways of Scarwood Citadel.

Moonlight filters through the soaring windows, illuminating the detailed mosaics along the castle walls. On the left is a floor-to-ceiling depiction of the Timber Sacred Stone.

She traces the tiled petrified wood illustration, which emits a green glow into the artistic rendering of the forest canopy. The stone must have been gorgeous before its rumored destruction.

The following tiled image is of that very tragedy. A necromancer, the Queen herself, had imprisoned her Consort and their children. She allegedly shattered the sacred Timber stone, fearing someone else would remove her power. The act obliterated the original Scarwood Citadel and the Queen herself.

Timber never recovered. Royal men still look distastefully at women, especially those who hold titles alone.

But a broken stone does not mean the gods forgo their bestowment on a worthy individual.

She drags herself away from the past and walks directly into Duke Samson Manchineel. His deep-set brown eyes narrow at being disturbed.

“Watch where you are walking… oh, Your Majesty?” His tone shifts quickly from outrage to faux concern. “What in the blazes are you doing up this late?” He massages his temples with his right hand, and the gaudy ring he wears is on full display.

“I can not sleep.” She grits through her teeth.

Leave me alone, Samson .

Confessing she healed Sigvid Thordsson and then took his cock in her mouth seemed too much of a revelation to any other living soul.

Perhaps ever.

To think she once denied Rendel that very act, and, in retribution, he refused her meals for a week.

“Allow me to escort you to your chambers, Your Royal Highness.” He places a hand on her lower back, guiding her in the direction she has already been walking.

“Thank you.” But unneeded.

He tousles his bronze, naturally windswept hair. Most women found Samson’s general demeanor charming and handsome, especially with his chiseled features and lean form, but Avina found his personality unnerving. He is like a spider lying in wait to claim his next victim.

“There’s something I have meant to discuss with you, and now seems as good a time as any.”

Avina’s heart sinks. Those words never end well for anyone.

“Yes?” She answers, sarcasm lacing her tone.

“Your Highness, you are a Queen without a King.”

Her skin crawls with distaste.

“I notice your displeasure at dealing with the court, not to mention your insistence on eliminating palace traditions. You are ill-informed and have done little to cultivate our traditional ways in Timber.”

She steadies herself with a deep breath. “I am exhausted, Samson. If you cannot reach your point quickly, then please leave.”

They stop walking.

Samson focuses on her with a forced sentiment. “Wed me, Queen Avina. I will handle everything. The province’s progress has remained stagnant since your marriage to Rendel. But, unlike my cousin's failed attempt, I will correctly guide you.” He caresses her cheek. “Consider it a much-needed re-alliance.”

She bristles at his insinuation that she has done nothing in her two winters as Queen—one of those alone.

“I stopped Sigvid Thordsson.” She ignores his marriage proposal.

Samson waves her off with a chortle. “No one can control that beast.”

“My law permitting education for all women has already seen fruitful earnings in our lower class. I have run the country and fought the war against the Salt Province. I am actively working to protect the stray cats that are being fed alive to the hunting hounds. Not to mention the improper housing structure the nobility has been using to exploit the-”

Samson grips her arms, no doubt to cease her words. He never did like women thinking for themselves.

“Our Province needs a womb from its Queen. The last time a woman thought for herself, we had a necromancer. What we need are male heirs to carry on the Manchineel family name. What use is a woman if not to give birth to children?”

Her fists squeeze so tightly that her nails bite into her palm. “I had never thought what use a man would have without his cock.” Sarcasm oozes from her pores.

“Avina, how inappropriate.” His eyes widen to saucers before abruptly softening as he remembers something crucial. “I forgot you spent much of the day in the dungeons with that despicable man. You must have heard terrible things spew from his wretched mouth.”

She felt alive in the torturer chamber. Prince Sigvid did not dismiss her just because she is a woman. He respected her mind and authority even if he is an asshole.

When Avina closes her eyes, she visualizes his soul-penetrating eyes. She can feel the coarseness of his curling chestnut beard against her fingertips.

“You are exhausted. Sigvid,” he rolls his eyes, “ Prince Sigvid is a menace who shall soon meet his justified end.”

“Justified end?”

His expression is punchable. “Council has decided to deliberate his fate in about a week. Why do you think your father traveled south to ensure his sentence is nothing short of death? That beast has much to answer for between our two provinces.”

“He is my prisoner.” Her fists shake at her sides. “No one else has a right to intervene.”

How did she not know the Council would oversee his sentencing? She is the Queen! Why does it seem these older men shift the governance rules each time she gains a foothold in the province?

And she is not done with Sigvid.

Samson takes a hesitant step backward as she fumes. “I believe many thought your wrangling of him noble, but now a firmer, more masculine hand needs to intervene. To ensure he pays the price for his barbarism.”

Why do these men seek to govern me like a child? Avina paces across the marble floor.

“It is understandable for you to feel overwhelmed when dealing with a man like him. You are emotional, like all women. ”

That did it.

Avina screeches in anger as her Sacred Stone power ripples across her skin. Her cloak and nightgown flutter to the ground as she shreds them from her now naked, albeit invisible body. Avina bolts up the long stretch of stairs to the Queen’s Chambers in the north tower.

Once safe, she slams shut and bolts the thick mahogany door of her bedroom.

Damn her strange ability. However, she had no other way of leaving that would not involve him making advances on her.

Long ago, the Sacred Stones of Treland’s three provinces were the center of grand ceremonies granting seidr– unique, unforeseen abilities–from the gods to citizens. Timber wasn’t the only region to lose its Sacred Stone. The Ridge, her homeland, also lost its stone.

Of all the provinces, Salt still retains its stone. Prince Sigvid Thordsson’s berserker ability is a testament to their stone’s might.

For the other two provinces, special abilities are granted seemingly overnight to chosen children of thirteen winters, like Avina’s invisibility–a power she loathed. Those of the Ridge typically received Sacred Stone seidr related to intellect, wisdom, and artistic endeavors.

Not Avina.

Despite having lived her life haunting the halls of the Sapphire Palace as a shadow, the gods still granted her a means to conceal herself from the world.

Invisible from the rest of the world, she hears a faint “meow.” Glancing down, she smiles wide as a tiny midnight black kitten struggles to rub against her invisible ankles.

For years, she drifted into a sea of loneliness with only her heart to remind herself that no one loved her. That is until Nellie entered her life. Her tiny rescued kitten with a feisty yet precious personality has filled Avina’s world with rare happiness.

“Nellie.” Sne scoops the kitten into her now visible arms. “How are you, sweet bee?” She nuzzles her nose against Nellie’s soft fur before setting the kitten into a basket beside her bed. As she digs for another nightgown, Nellie cries and squeaks.

“Hmm? Mmmhhh. Really?” She feigns understanding to her pitiful cries while she tugs on a new nightdress.

Once she lights the pillar candle beside her four-poster bed, Avina glances to see Nellie spin in a circle before collapsing with her wide green eyes closed tight.

She has never bore a child, but more than anything, she wanted a family—like the ones she encounters throughout the country, who love and support one another without reservations. Like the maternal connection she developed with the dowager Queen of Salt or cousin Bertie.

For now, Nellie is her world.

The thick mattress meets Avina’s back forcefully. She huffs, glaring up into the thick plum-colored canopy, her thoughts begrudgingly on Prince Sigvid. Something sinful and wrong stirs within her core when she thinks of his warrior build and endless fury.

His inability to answer her questions before the torture began had her blood boiling. Why had he chosen to cause so much pain and misery all for gold?

Her chest heaves as she ruminates on her hostility toward him. The hotter he left her under the collar, the more she ached to feel him inside her. Not just take her to bed softly but use her body in ways that one could only describe as vile and degrading.

Against her better judgment, she slips her hand between her legs to find her hatred betrayed by her wetness. Roughly, she circles the bundle of nerves with all the anger Sigvid’s taunting brewed. Her breathing catches in her chest as she presses harder until her nails dig into her sensitive lips. Despite the light pain, a moan slips out.

Her mind conjures a fantasy of him slamming her against the grimy wall in his cell. His throbbing cock shoves deep inside her while their heaving chests press against one another. The imaginary pain and pleasure he wreaks from her mind are exhilarating.

“Good girl.” His words still leave her hot and wanting to please him.

What would happen if she released him from the dungeon? The thought of those strong arms fulfilling his threats of violence has her increase the speed of her fingers, her hips thrusting against her hand as if it were Sigvid’s, nearly twice her size.

He is her beginning and will likely be her end.

“Where have you been my whole life?” His words trickle down to her toes.

She gasps as her fingers press relentlessly against her stimulated clit. She feels the release wreck her body as she cums with a fierce intensity. Her walls collapse, desperate for Sigvid’s cock, as she whimpers from the additional ache the orgasm leaves. Avina lays panting on her bed as the fantasy melts into the cold reality of her life.

After her father forced her to marry King Rendel, her life has never been the same. She can not even allow herself to recall the disgusting acts he committed on her body. He would call her vile, inhuman names all because she had a thicker figure. Considering her lonely, younger life and the curses she suffered under her late husband, she can hardly look at herself in the mirror.

Sigvid may have been the only man to look at her with longing, but he is still a violent warrior carved of hard sinew and muscle, while she is different from the typical slender women the men of the castle sought. He is the Prince of Salt, the Lord Commander, and the most revered warrior in the country. No doubt, women lined up to lay with Sigvid. Unlike Avina, who had men beating down her door to abuse and subdue her so they can steal her crown.

Her cheeks flush in shame and anger as her emotions tumble to reality. Even alone in her bed, her secret thoughts feel dirty. Reprehensible. Sex produced heirs, and women certainly did not receive pleasure in the process.

“No!” She withdraws her wet fingers, glowering at them as if they had forsaken her.

This desire is wrong !

He is a monster, a villain from the fairytales she read as a child.

She reaches for her silver dagger on her bedside table and stabs the nearest pillow, releasing the agitation he evoked. Feathers burst around her bed as furious tears pour from her eyes.

August 9th, Year 100, 9th Era

Scarwood Citadel, Timber Provinc e

A vina stands in her Council chamber. After five days, they finally wish to consult with her on Prince Sigvid’s fate.

“What is your plan with,” he swallows loudly as if he cannot bring himself to speak Sigvid’s name, “the barbarian Prince?” That is a fair enough question posed by Count Borg.

He and the other Council members sit behind a thick semicircle surface crafted of smooth redwood. A twisted iron fence separates her from the men who want to thwart her attempts to rule.

“He is still a Prince of the Salt Province.” She keeps her tone even. “Even if he has shown unwarranted aggression against Timber, he admitted to a Ridge lord named Lord Leto paying him to murder King Rendel.” His life is no loss to Avina, although the circumstances around his death raised more questions than answers.

The Council exchanges concerned glances. A wealthy lord of a different province paying for a war with them is understandably disconcerting.

A drawl condescending laugh draws their attention to her father. His arms cross tightly over his forest green vest as he shakes his crowned head.

“Does King Ceowald Bloodstone of the Ridge wish to issue a statement?” Count Borg offers.

“My young, naive daughter led her first torture session.” He steps forward to lay a hand on her shoulder. The demeaning words leave Avina’s cheeks and neck nearly as red as her dress. “She forgets the lengths men will go to escape a position in a helpless situation.”

“But Father, I have no doubt he was sincere.”

Over the last year, she communicated with the Salt Prince via letters and even learned the man’s strategy, actions, and life. She knew more about him than anyone should—even the type of tea he takes.

Peppermint. He loves peppermint tea—a fact she hoped to use to poison him someday.

“Do you know what he did to the surviving men you sent to distract him?” Ceowald raises an eyebrow.

She hesitates, knowing any surviving men likely tried to flee the battle. And Sigvid detested cowards.

“He skewered them alive with pikes, leaving them to a horrific fate.”

Bile fills her mouth. The Council mutters at her back.

Avina stands as tall as she can in her short frame, pushing her chest out as she addresses the Council. “There is more information we can gain from him. I propose another torture session and then release him to his brother, King Thrain, as part of an agreement of peace between our three nations.”

“Counter.” Her father curls his fingers on the wrought iron fence separating them from the Council. “Make an example of him. He may be a Prince, but he has committed unspeakable acts against our men. Sell him to the Treland Arena. Let us earn back what he stole from us.”

“No!” Avina jerks into a frantic state.

Her father curls his lip, and his voice lowers while the Council deliberates. “This obsession with him ends now. He will not survive the Arena, and anyone foolish enough to follow in his footsteps will observe his death in excruciating detail.”

“We have reached a verdict.” Count Borg interrupts them. “Prince Sigvid Thordsson of the Salt Province is hereby sold to the Treland Arena. May the gods judge his fate.”