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

9. Avina

9

AVINA

Three Winters Ago

Year 97, 9th Era

Sapphire Palace, Ridge Province

F ireworks burst in a dazzling display of vivid hues over the Sapphire Palace as the entire Ridge Province celebrates His Majesty King Rendel Manchineel of the Timber Province's engagement to their own Princess Avina Bloodstone.

Out of the entire country of Treland, only one person remains unimpressed with the union.

Princess Avina stares blankly into the full-length gilded mirror. A false smile upon her crimson-painted lips reflects out to those in the room who choose not to acknowledge her misery.

“You look lovely, Your Highness.” An elderly maid gushes from over her shoulder.

Her cousin, Duke Bertram “Bertie” Alexandrite, has convinced her to wear a navy ball gown accented with tiny diamonds in the corset. Avina’s messy curls now sit straightened in a stiff bun atop her head. The showstopper of her outfit is a heavy diamond necklace her father gifted her from the Bloodstone Family’s royal collection. The damned monstrosity feels heavier than it should as it rests on her clavicle.

This young woman in the mirror is a stranger to the princess—a pretty doll dressed to the nines for the amusement of others, namely her father and soon-to-be husband. If only the elaborate costume she wears did not need to sit upon her chubby form.

“You do look lovely, Shadow. Doesn’t she, Viktor?” Bertie shrieks, his hands fusing over the skirt.

“She will steal all of their hearts.” Viktor gushes as he snakes an arm around Bertie’s waist, tugging him away from Avina’s increasingly nervous expression. Quickly, her cousin readjusts his meticulously maintained golden hair in the mirror over her shoulder.

In the reflection, she meets both their prideful looks. She wants to feel the glee the rest of the kingdom holds for the union. After a brief moment alone with Rendel two weeks ago, she wishes her father had married her to one of the Thordsson brothers.

Sons of such generous and kind-hearted people would not behave toward her with such disrespect as Rendel already has. And now it was their engagement soiree, at which she must profess her happiness to all of Treland.

‘Happiness,’ which churns her insides.

When was the last time she felt happiness anyway?

“There she is, the woman of the hour.” Her father, King Ceowald, sweeps into the room in long, periwinkle robes that match his eyes.

“May I speak with my father in private?” Avina addresses the room. The maids, her cousin, and Viktor all bow before slipping out of her bedchamber. She nervously curls a loose strand of hair that manages to escape the tight bun atop her head.

“Father—” She spins around to find him watching, looking as if they are about to discuss courtly matters rather than her unease over Rendel.

Before King Thord’s untimely passing, the Salt King would gaze upon her with a mixture of emotions that took her many years to process–pride, excitement, and a twinkle of something else. It was as if the man thought Avina was special, worthy.

However, that is never how she would describe the look in her father’s cold eyes, unlike hers. He looked at her as if she is a well-developed contract—an item of significant value he was selling for higher than it was worth.

“Do you understand what is at stake in marrying King Rendel of Timber?” He clasps his hands behind his back.

“He is a King of Treland-”

“Must you allow your naivety to show on every occasion?” He spits.

She recoils from the jab and remains silent.

“Your mother’s filthy Redwood blood still stains the opinions of those who matter in Scarwood. You must cultivate a positive impression on the people of Timber.”

“Are the Redwoods not the true heirs to the throne of Timber and Treland?”

She recalls her readings on Treland’s history before the split into three distinct provinces. At that time, the Bloodstones of the Ridge grew tired of protecting the sacred stones while the Redwoods benefited from the seidr .

The revolt tore the country apart.

“That was centuries ago. Bringing up your Redwood bloodline while in Timber is ill-advised.”

She sighs as she paces in front of the mirror. “Father, must I marry Rendel?” The question whooshes out of her mouth, leaving her instantly edgy for his response.

He plucks an apple from the silver bowl on the small round table in her chambers. “Do you not care to merge our kingdoms?”

“What of the Thordsson brothers?” she asks hesitantly, afraid he did not hear her.

But, oh, he does catch that question. He freezes with the flesh of the fruit against his lips.

“What did you just ask me?”

She swallows and begins frantically curling the loose hair around her pointer finger. “I only meant that they are also princes. Well, Thrain is King now,” she mutters. “Perhaps we could unite with Salt instead. Thord and Frida have always been kind to me. I can only imagine the demeanor of her sons. ”

Her father slowly lowers the apple before tossing it back into the bowl. A wildness flashes behind his irises that make her feel queasy.

“It was only a suggestion.” She backtracks, her heart racing at the strange fire in her father’s gaze.

“Rendel controls the largest standing army in the country, perhaps on the continent of the Endless Shore. With their rich farmland and vast population, Timber will make for an unmatched ally.” He pauses as if calculating his next move. “The newly crowned King Thrain could have made a solid match.”

She senses he is concealing information from her. But why? To what end?

“Prince Sigvid, the eldest son, is a monster. He is a vile barbarian, a berserker. You will never go near that man.”

She shakes her head, not understanding the sudden insistence of her father. “Thord always said-”

“Do not speak that fucking man’s name in my presence!” He bellows so intensely she stumbles into her armoire, clutching her pounding chest.

“I need some air.” She forces out a bow before running from her room.

She intended that conversation to get her out of this marriage. Instead, she only learns of her father's bizarre animosity toward Thord and his eldest son.

Immediately, a chorus of ‘Your Highness’ and curtsies are on all sides as she dashes into the corridor. She feels a familiar tightening around her throat, as if someone is determined to keep her from breathing. She rips the diamond necklace from her throat and tosses it into a potted fern, although the strangling sensation lingers.

Avina gathers the obnoxiously wide skirt of her dress before running the length of the hallway. At the end, she pushes through a set of heavy double doors and emerges onto one of the upper courtyards.

Trees dot the high garden, full of multi-colored roses and veins bursting with glistening gems. She designed this courtyard with the help of Queen Frida. Over the winters, her kindness and generosity toward Avina made her the closest mother figure she has.

She savors the sweet scent of the roses wafting into the night air and the trickling noise of the fountain dedicated to the Goddess of Wisdom, Maeve. Atop the smooth granite structure is an elegant statue of the Goddess garbed in a cloak with her fabled long flowing hair cascading down her back. She clutches a stack of books while gazing at the flowers with a wry smile.

The haggard sound of someone moaning rips her away from the brief serenity she found in the darkness of the evening. Glancing over her shoulder at the closed doors to the palace, she creeps closer, careful to linger in the shadows of the flickering torches spread throughout the terrace.

She rounds a corner to see a young woman in a figure-hugging green gown being taken from behind by none other than her soon-to-be-husband, King Rendel.

How is this the second time I have encountered this scene in two weeks? At least this is a different woman.

She is wracked with a pang of jealousy as she sees the woman’s face flush with pleasure as she rocks in time with his hips. It was not Rendel’s weak hands that cultivated jealousy in the princess. She’d give anything for a man of her choosing to touch her like she is the only woman in Treland. Or to lay her on an altar as he worships her like a goddess.

Rendel removes a cigar from his pocket, and lights over the harlot’s back. Occasionally, he glances at the sky as if bored of the affair. His rhythmic pounding continues until he freezes, pumps her harder three more times, and then withdraws himself.

“This one better stick. I am not a patient man.” His slimy voice echoes across the courtyard.

He takes another drag from the cigar, unaware Avina is loitering even though she can reach out and touch his back.

Rendel wears tailored white trousers, a thick red doublet with billowy sleeves, and a velvet black cape that makes his shoulders appear broader. His drab brown hair hangs loosely. Every inch of him is carefully manicured, from his nails to his clean-shaven face.

When he kissed Avina’s hand upon his arrival at the palace, she was disgusted to find his hands soft and cold, much like raw chicken.

Not quite the ruggedly handsome warrior prince she had always imagined marrying as a young girl.

Glancing at the goddess’ statue, Goddess of Wisdom, Maeve, grant me strength of mind.

“Will this be my life?” Avina throws out her hands as she approaches a somewhat surprised Rendel.

“Stalking me in empty gardens?” He quips.

“Pumping your harlots behind my back, hoping your seed can finally stick to something. Even if it is a bastard.”

“Jealousy is unbecoming of you.” He says in a flat tone while inhaling from the cigar.

She can’t do this anymore, not after growing up as a ghost of the Sapphire Palace. The thought of becoming one in Scarwood Citadel rips her soul apart.

What she wouldn’t give to have someone love her.

“I can’t do this, Rendel.” She shocks herself that she would admit her feelings to someone.

“I can’t marry you.” The words tumble out in a shaky voice she barely recognizes.

He smiles as he exhales a thick cloud of sweet smoke. “Did you think you were my first choice?”

For the first time, she feels a connection with him. “We can end this before we both suffer.”

“You misunderstand me, young princess. I only need your womb to produce an heir. Beyond that, you can cuddle all the broken animals and people your sad little heart wants.”

“You know nothing of me.” She seethes even if his words rang with truth.

She wants to help the unfortunate in her kingdom. Rendel and her father's reduction of her to nothing more than a mindless woman has left her feeling so cold and empty inside that she wonders if life can sustain itself within her.

“I see an entitled little brat who has had her head filled with childish notions. If you want to live, then you will give me a son. I do not need to hear you speak. I barely need to hear you breathe.”

Avina is so stunned she is unaware of the horrified tears slipping down her cheeks. “Do you find me pleasing at all?” Surely, she possesses any traits he might find appealing .

“Your father practically begged me to take you off his hands. And no, you are not marriage material. I don’t have time to train a weak-hearted woman. But I am frantic for an heir.” He is standing a breath away. “Know it will be painful to endure your cunt as I pump it full of my seed.”

She lunges at him with her sharp nails, snarling and crying. He blinks back in surprise as her nails slice across his jaw, drawing blood.

Rendel curls his hand back and slaps her violently. She is thrown to the ground, scuffing her palms and ripping her gown.

“When I look at you, I want to see a silent woman.”

She curls up on herself, sobbing into the ground, hating these situations she is somehow cursed to endure.

Rendel walks over her body with a ‘tsk’ noise before returning to the interior of the Sapphire Palace without another word.

Off in the distance, she can hear the faint string music of her party. She should throw herself from the garden's edge. Would that not please her father? Rendel? Would she finally find peace?

She steps backward, focusing on the open-air view of the villages surrounding the palace and wondering how long she will fall before reaching her Goddess. With a scream, Avina stumbles back and splashes into chilly water.

When she emerges, her hair unfolds from her bun and clings to her face in a curling mess.

So much for the straightening oil.

She wipes away her now runny makeup and emerges drenched in the courtyard, having fallen into the fountain dedicated to Maeve.

Thanks , she thinks bitterly. At least she has a valid excuse to step away from the celebrations.

She glances at the double wooden doors leading to the royal bedchambers. All she wants is to be alone, to change back into her nightdress, and return to her soft bed with a book.

Servants would still file up their staircase through the upper wings at this time. She could brave the chaos in her current state or slip into the quiet Academia Wing toward the library. Here’s hoping an unlocked study would yield a dry towel or robe.

She finds the Academia Wing deserted, just as she predicted. Avina ditches her leather shoes in the corner of the long corridor and pads along the smooth stone floor barefoot. Only one room sits with a door ajar.

Her father’s study has a single candle flickering on his desk. The disarray of papers suggests he only recently abandoned his work in favor of the soiree. She throws open a closet and finds a spare cloak.

She sighs as she dries herself on the silk fabric. A string of hair instantly curls like it has been waiting for the moment to reconfigure itself from its pin prison.

Movement in the shadows stops her breathing. All of Treland has been invited and will have free reign of the palace. Anyone can be in this room with her.

“H-hello?”

The shadow moves into the light of the flickering candle, revealing a man whose appearance alone stuns her into silence.

Judging by his runic tattoos along his forearms and fingers and the long, tawny braid running down the center of his head, he is a Salt Warrior. Silver rune-etched beads fill his russet beard resting on his chest. Expressing this man as ‘rough around the edges’ is an understatement. He wears a black tunic with faint Salt knots embroidered along the seams and matching trousers.

She notices his black bracers and leather vest.

Is he expecting trouble?

Visible scars mar his neck and hands. Indifference rolls off of him, and the lines on his face and haughty air suggest he is almost a decade older than her. Then there are his piercing blue eyes, which fill her with a strange and foreign longing.

“Who are you?” She spits as much royal forcefulness as she can muster at this stranger’s appearance far from the gathering floors below them.

He tilts his head to the side as if she is out of place and not him. “You are soaked.” His voice is deep and gruff.

She huffs. “Quite aware of that, thank you.”

She opens her mouth to ask why he is trespassing, yet stops. Like in a chess game, one should anticipate their opponent's moves. This stranger would likely counter and ask the same question, forcing her into a corner where she would feel compelled to tell him the truth about her identity.

And, right now, she is content receiving his full attention, even if that means she pretends to be anyone else but Princess Avina Bloodstone.

He removes a blackwood pipe and puffs a smoke ring over her head. “What happened to you?”

Is that a genuine concern?

The sound of a drawer shutting shakes her focus, and she realizes he has been snooping. He strides around to where she stands and leans against the desk. All without taking his blue gaze off her.

Avina trembles slightly at his unflinching stare. “I fell in a fountain.” She mutters. “Are you looking for something?”

“Yes, actually I am.” A half smile creeps across his features as he sets his pipe back in his mouth. “How does one accidentally fall in a fountain?”

She continues drying herself to avoid the man's piercing eye contact. Avina becomes unnervingly aware of him drinking in every inch of her wet form. The knowledge stokes the growing fire inside her chest, which sears her cheeks.

“I was not aware of my footing, so I tripped. What moron places a large fountain in a garden?”

I am that moron. I helped plan the renovations. What a stupid idea.

With a smile, he follows her motions as if her body can not flush more for him. “Poor planning, indeed.”

She shakes her head. “What are you looking for?”

He sighs. “Ceowald took something from me. I am looking for anything that might help me understand why.” His informality in addressing her father takes her by surprise.

“What did he take?”

“You are persistent, little one.”

“I would like to think I am.” She stands a little taller, her shoulders pulled back.

“Let’s just say he took something irreplaceable, and I plan to return the favor. ”

She nods in understanding, knowing her curiosity would be too dangerous with this Salt warrior.

She knew her father engaged in the shadier side of diplomacy. No matter how hard he struggles to keep her in the dark, she was still the shadow of the castle. Observing all that transpires within the chilly halls was part of her pastime.

“Was there no one to help you when you fell?”

Her mouth goes dry.

How can she answer his question and not admit more about her row with Rendel? “I caught my fiancé having sex with another woman in the upper courtyard. I was alone and flustered.”

He leaves the room, and she hears Byron’s study next door creep open. When he returns, he drops another cloak in Avina’s hands.

“Thanks.”

“Your fiancé must be blind.”

She furrows her brow.

“To have ever touched anyone other than you.”

Her cheeks burn at his boast of her beauty. He is the first person besides Bertie and the maids to recall her looks. She often wonders about her appearance, even if she is shorter and full-bodied compared to many of the slender women of the Sapphire Palace.

But, this warrior finds her pleasing.

She needs to shimmy out of this dress. Ignoring his previous compliment, she attempts to separate from the gown.

“Do you dislike parties too?” She changes the subject, uncomfortable with his closeness.

He strides away to a chair and perches on the arm with a creak of leather. “Loathe them. I am only in this wretched palace because my station considers it ‘polite’ when I show support.” He lets out a grumble and takes a long drag from his pipe. “What about you? I assume you are here because you are avoiding them, too?”

“You can say that.” She tries to slip off the gown yet cannot reach the corset strings. “You would think existing alone would excite me for gatherings and people. Alas, I much prefer the company of a dog or cat.”

She is aware of him scrutinizing her struggle with the dress.

“Do you need help with that? ”

His request elicits two simultaneous reactions from the princess. The first is a tense bristling about his motives, while the other is a relief that someone, anyone, noticed she is in distress. Weighing over both is that the gown is too snug and soaking uncomfortably against her skin.

Which ultimately wins out.

“Please.”

Stepping forward, he unties the wet strings. His hot breath caresses the back of Avina’s neck, sensuously stirring her core. Once she feels the weight shift, she steps away quickly, removing the gown and leaving her in only an underdress. Her cheeks redden under his admiring gaze. A fervent need warms between her legs as she responds to the gentle touch of his rough fingers.

“Do you feel unwanted by those around you?” His low voice suggests he already knows the answer.

“Yes.” She admits.

“Palace court. Snubbing those they do not care to understand.” He takes a deep breath and clenches his pipe tight. “People and their bullshit.”

Avina wraps the dry cloak around her body. If anyone were to enter and find them alone with her in hardly any clothing, things would not end well for either of them. Yet, that did not lessen the fluttering in her stomach.

“I did not think the Salt Province dealt much with palace intrigue like the rest of us do. Lacking a castle and all.”

He takes a deep breath. “Any amount of gossip and secrets is appalling. Why no one can say what they mean is beyond me.” He steps toward Avina, and she follows his eyes, looking her up and down. “You do not have to put that cloak on yet.”

“And why is that?” She quips as she feels a crooked smile twist over her lips.

“Because I like you without it.”

Something reckless grips Avina, and without another thought, she sheds the cloak.

She stopped caring when she saw Rendel stuffing his member where it didn’t belong. She is sick of feeling alone and ignored by everyone, including her own father. Here is someone whose sole focus is on her, even if that is to make her a conquest.

An odd sentiment as she did not find herself desirable.

“You are a seductress. And no one tempts me.” His blue eyes darken until they are nearly black, hardening her visible nipples and leaving her self-conscious.

He presses his broad body against her thick, softness. He wraps an arm around her waist to grab her backside.

Avina squeaks at the pain of his nails digging into her soft flesh.

“You are beauty itself.” His large hands caress her curves, evoking a deep moan from her lips. Through his pants, she can feel how thick he has become for her.

She quivers in his arms, never having been intimate with anyone before. And wanting to please him in whatever manner she can.

He rips the thin fabric of her gown from her body and disposes the wet cloth onto the stone floor, leaving her bare to his clothed form. He smirks, biting his bottom lip as his gaze rakes over the figure she often finds so displeasing. The handsome stranger pulls her flush against him until she is drowning in the musk of his masculine scent.

She gasps as his hands tangle in her damp hair, and he leans in to press his firm lips to hers for a devouring kiss.

The first kiss of her life.

Avina returns his vigor with her own. Her lithe fingers grip his tunic in passion. She moans with a desire she has never known as his lips ravage hers with a grumbling ferocity.

What would it feel like to surrender to this man? Who cares if someone catches me?

Her hunger for attention overrides her sense of reason, and she leans into this touch. A tiny voice in her mind whispers to withdraw his cock from his trousers. She shakes with panic, realizing she is standing naked before a man for the first time.

“Am I your first?” His voice is barely human, more of a primal growl.

Embarrassment washes over her like ice, and she can only nod.

She feels the vibration of his guttural moan. He meets her eyes as he removes his member from his trousers and wraps her fingers around his shaft. He then squeezes her large, supple breasts before shoving his tongue down her throat as if claiming her for himself.

Avina strokes his cock, which barely fits in her hand. Noises she has never uttered in her life wreck from her chest.

As if fueled by her response to him, he lifts her onto the desk and slips two fingers into her wetness. Her mind goes blank as she gyrates against his hand. Somehow, his massive fingers navigate her core, striking the elusive spot within her womanhood. She gasps as he deepens his pressure.

She looks up at him, unable to believe this is happening.

“I have never lost my control with a woman before.” His beard tickles her ear, leaving her breathless. “But I have never desired anyone more than you, little one.”

Her heart pounds, imagining him rutting between her legs. Her skin is lit with a burning flame that only this mysterious man can tend to.

“Please.” Avina isn’t sure what she is begging for; she only knows she needs more of him.

Someone coughs at the door, shattering their tender moment. Avina lifts her head to see her cousin Bertie, hands deep in his pockets with a twisting look of disgust.

The stranger stops his machinations.

“My Lord, you are missed in the ballroom,” Bertie instructs with a clipped tone.

The Stranger lowers Avina back to the floor. His fingers tug into her curls as he whispers, “I will find you again, my lady. Know you are the most beautiful woman in all of Treland.”

“Sleep with the stone, Stranger.” Avina recites the Ridge goodbye.

With that, he vanishes into the hallway, leaving her alone with Bertie’s judgy, albeit furious expression.

“I cannot believe you! What were you thinking? This is beyond reckless! Your actions are downright stupid. Do you even know who that , cousin? Do you understand the gravity of what you have done?”

Avina shimmies back into her saturated ballgown, still reeling from her first kiss and the more sensual deeds bound to accompany it. She joins her cousin at the door to the now-empty hallway, her heart twisting in pain at the thought of never seeing her stranger again.

“Nope.” She says, emphasizing the last syllable.

Irritation is an understatement. Bertie ruined what could have been between her and her Salt Warrior.

But what could that have been?

For one, she was to be married, and two, she still didn’t get the stranger’s name. The kiss was nothing more than a secret moment they would share forever. She hesitantly touches her fingertips to her lips as a blush settles along the apple of her cheeks.

Someone liked me. For a fleeting moment, I was the center of the world for another person.

Bertie seems to relax that the stranger’s identity is a mystery to her. “Never mind who he is. You nearly caused a damned civil war.”