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

39. Avina

39

AVINA

November 28th, Year 100, 9th Era

Blackwood Inn, Salt Province

A vina stands at the top of the staircase, spiraling to the main floor of Blackwood. Below her, Frida’s voice reaches the dusty rafters.

“You are not taking your axes! Sigvid, you are attending a gathering at your brother’s home. What do you anticipate will happen?” Her voice is tense, unrelenting.

Not unlike her eldest son’s.

His annoyance is palpable. “Mother, I always carry my axes. With what we have been dealing with lately, I believe keeping some protection might be worthwhile.”

“Sig, listen to me. We are attending a night of merrymaking. No one will attack us. Leave the damn axes, take your beautiful Queen, and enjoy the night.”

“Fine!” He hisses.

Avina hears him stomp across the floor, and his weapons crashing onto a table echoes up to her.

“Are you happy now, Mother?”

“Quite.” She smiles, her heels clacking loudly across the floor. “I am leaving to have tea with Ingirid and some other friends. Pierre, my footman, will bring me home.”

The front door slams, and Avina can hear a huff from Sigvid.

“Avina!” He bellows, shaking her knees.

She steels herself as each step quivers her bones. Frida is correct, and Avina needs to find her confidence as Queen.

With conviction she does not possess, and a tight silver circlet with sapphires matching the Sacred Stone hung brazenly between her lifted breasts, Queen Avina Bloodstone descends the stairs where Sigvid awaits.

Her heels clack along the wood, pulling his focus from the fireplace to her form.

When their eyes lock, they both waver.

His russet locks are unbound, cascading in shiny waves down his upper back. He has even tamed his beard and woven it with tiny silver runes. Instead of armor, he wears a matching black tunic and trousers with a silver vest embroidered in the knotted Salt Style. The flickering fire illuminates the rune tattoos on his hands, clutching his pipe outside his gaping lips.

There is handsome, and then there is Sigvid’s piercing blue eyes drinking in her appearance like a horn of mead. Her skin feels lit aflame with a fire that makes sure to lick between her legs, stoking the familiar yearning for him.

He is strength incarnate–a warrior who seizes his desires with little regard for the opinions of others. She has never wanted to see a crown on another man’s head.

She clears her throat and continues wordlessly down the stairs until she stands opposite him.

“Avina,” he gazes at her as if she is a dazzling piece of art he can’t quite describe. “You look… incredible.” He gives her a crooked smile while he clutches his pipe between his teeth. He holds his arm out for her to take.

Somehow, his musk is more intense and delectable than usual. He is sinking through her senses, smothering her in an arousing pool .

As he guides her to the front doors, she catches his orbs lingering on her again.

“Avina,” he stops them both. She can almost see his mind pining for the right words. “I am not normally left speechless, but when you descended those steps,” he searches her face, “I thought my cold black heart had stopped beating. My little Queen, every moment I get to savor you, I am convinced you can not become more alluring. You are my deepest fantasy, ripped from my mind for the gods to taunt me with.”

She cannot look away from his gaze, which holds her captive with a fierce intensity.

No one has ever spoken such moving words about her mere appearance. Most men have nothing kind to say about her thick curves, and she questions whether he knows it is Avina he speaks of.

He tucks a stray curl around her ear, “I would be lying if I said it is only those soft, golden curls or that infectious smile that has me wrapped up in you like you are the godsdamn air I need to breathe. You are like a puzzle I have been trying to solve in the pit of my stomach. Resolving who you are and what you mean to me.”

She smirks slightly at the irony that she feels the same about him.

“It is as if someone shattered your image, and now it is my role to pick up the pieces. And fuck if it is not a thrill to uncover another treasure of you.”

“My lord?” Calder–one of his young Drengr who already bore the form of a massive warrior–enters, having been paid to act as their footman this evening.

Sigvid tightens his hold on her face, a growl issuing low and deep in his chest. “What, Avardsson?”

“Carriage is ready, my Lord. We must leave now to arrive on time.” Calder hardly flinches at his tone before leaving them alone again.

Sigvid seems to want to say more, but his hand drops, leaving her cheeks uncharacteristically cold.

The ride to Thrain’s home in Toftlund is uncomfortable as they hide from each other.

“Who all is attending?” She breaks the silence only when he helps her to the steps of Thrain’s house.

“You, I, Mother, and Thrain will be present. Kar and Ingirid are my parents' old friends so they will attend. That is how he became a Drengr. Thrain’s new Second, his guest, and the rest of my inner circle will also attend.”

He stops at the front door, glowering at the knocker as if it offends him.

“What is it?”

He huffs, “I hate people, my brother, and parties. Now, I must attend where all of those are combined.”

“Do you know what I desire, Avina?” His husky voice hungrily asks. “I yearn to carry you back to Blackwood and chain you from the rafters in my chambers. I would have your delicious body dangling with those perfectly pink lips silenced, so I can hear your helpless mumbles that stir my cock.”

He grips the back of her neck, pulling her until his breath falls onto her lips. His middle and forefinger trace her jaw, sending goosebumps flaring along her skin.

“I would shove these fingers up that tight pussy until your luscious cum drips down my arm. Do you want to know what I would do next to my filthy little slut?”

She perspires.

“I need your words, Avina.”

“Yes.” She chokes out breathlessly.

He grins. “Yes, my lovely little fuck toy. Are you my toy?” He growls.

“Yes.” She breathes her response on his lips.

He groans. “Fuck I need to take that tight little pussy while you struggle, bound in my arms. Gods, I want to see those heavy tits bounce as I slap your soft flesh until it reddens for me. When I finish with that cunt, I will unload my seed into your ass, and you will take it just like the good whore you are.”

She can feel her undergarments slick with her desire.

Yes, drag me back to Blackwood so we can fulfill your filthy fantasies.

He pulls away with that devious grin as he pounds on the door, which swings open almost immediately to music and a roaring hearth.

Her pulse races from his imaginings. How will she engage in the evening when all she can think of is the fire now ravaging under skin?

“I want you to think of me,” he whispers. “I want your eyes on me all evening.”

She whimpers, and then his hand is on her lower back, pushing her inside.

Strings of evergreen garland and warm candles flicker on every surface. A small string band strums in the corner, creating a cozy atmosphere. She spins around, inhaling cranberry and orange.

“Sigvid!” Slode wraps an arm around his commander while sloshing ale from his horn onto the pristinely swept floors. “Thrain has casks of that strong shit we lifted from the Ridge a few winters ago.”

While Sigvid drifts off with Slode, she smiles and takes note of the rest of the current attendees. Helga, a short, balding man she assumes is Thrain’s new Second, and a woman with the longest legs she has ever seen, play a card game at the smaller table.

Why is Helga here?

She slips off into the hall, which leads to the study she once meddled in. No, she is not avoiding Helga. However, her comfort level at the shindig extended solely to Frida, Ingirid, and possibly Sigvid. The former has yet to arrive.

Unlike the last time she was here, all the rooms are open and lit with candelabra. She dives into the first open doorway, a small bedroom with a few pieces of child-sized furniture, but it is otherwise plain.

“This is my childhood room.”

She spins around to find Thrain in the doorway. He nudges the wooden frame with the toe of his shiny black boot. As always, his near-identical face to Sigvid has her stumbling off guard.

It is only his seidr. She reminds herself.

Each time she lays eyes on Thrain, she can cut more through the seidr , seeing the appearance beneath. His nose's angular structure, elongated facial features, and high forehead give him a noble appearance compared to Sigvid’s grizzlier warrior build.

“I didn’t realize. I take it you sleep in your parent’s room now?” She clasps her hands at her front, twisting the smooth fabric of her skirt.

“Yes. Of course, my mother is eager for me to produce an heir as King and fill the available beds.” The longing laced in his voice is tangible.

Despite Sigvid’s warnings ringing in her ears, she edges across the rug toward the door. She knows leaving will mean she will pass by Thrain, whose eyes have yet to leave hers. But she senses a breath longer alone with him will not end well.

He strides closer.

The memory of Sigvid’s bawdy words still lingers in the heat between her thighs.

Not Thrain.

Never Thrain.

He cups her cheek, tilting her chin until she can no longer hide from his brown eyes. His overwhelming pine scent consumes her to the point she might retch on it.

“You misunderstand.” She swallows her lump of anxiety, catching in her throat.

I do not want you!

His eyes darken, and she feels him lean in closer. She panics and is unsure how to address him.

Ultimately, she decides to pose a question. “King Thrain, why did you have a copy of a marriage contract between Sigvid and me?”

That does the trick.

His breath brushes against her lips, bleeding onto her tongue. Despite how closely his seidr mask may resemble his brother, he is far from Sigvid in every way.

Suddenly, his eyes harden when she lifts her blue orbs back to the King. He looks less like the Salt Prince than before. Almost as if his illusion is melting under her discerning gaze.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His tone is firm and a bit unkind.

“After I killed Ives, I hid in your study. There was parchment sticking out of a drawer, and I opened it to fix it and found some items of interest.” She suspects there is only so long she can entertain him before he no longer finds her amusing.

“That old desk belonged to my father. Much remains the same since his death.” His response can not be more carefully crafted had he rehearsed it.

Or maybe he has.

She doesn’t know Thrain’s life.

“Thord’s signature was on the accord. I assumed he made a deal with my father. I want to know why. Why was it created and never used? Why was I married off to Rendel instead?”

More questions tumble out as her curiosity gets the better of her. Thrain likely will have no better answers, especially if Sigvid doesn’t know.

“As a Princess and a Queen, you should understand that agreements change. After meeting my brother, would you have wanted to marry the Beast you sent to the Arena?”

Avina flinches as if he has struck her.

How many of them believe she ordered Sigvid sold? When will she stop feeling shame for an act she did not commit?

“My hand did not send him to that miserable existence.”

If circumstances were different, the marriage contract would be in effect.

She pushes herself down that train of thought.

The one where she refuses to admit her heart holds even a little affection for the brutal warrior a room away. The man who saved her life, believes she is the most beautiful woman in all Treland, and who wrecks her world time and time again.

“My brother is ruggedly handsome, Your Highness. I have no doubt his passion is stirring, if stifling at times. But, he has never had an interest in a long-term affair with anyone. Marriage is far from his horizon. In fact,” he shakes his head as if suddenly plagued by the memory, “No, I shouldn’t say.”

She steps closer. “Please, King Thrain.” She uses his title on purpose—anything to hear more about Sigvid.

His shoulders slump as if her three little words defeat him.

“During the war, my mother and I urged my brother to hold peace talks with you. Forgive me, Your Majesty, but considering your unique position in Treland with the Ridge and Timber provinces, you hold more power than you realize. As a result, my mother and I encouraged him to wed you at different times. Now,” he holds up his hands, “I cannot speak for the accord struck with my father decades ago or why he could not make that work. But, when we broached marriage to you, my brother was far from enthusiastic. He was unwilling.”

Why does she feel sick?

She asked Sigvid about the contract, and he snapped at her. Everything he says is still a game. She is a possession, a toy to him. Not just sexually, but her existence is one big joke.

“Sigvid is not a good man, Your Highness. He wants to possess you completely, hide you away, and use you until he breaks you. His fury is his undoing.”

Thrain shifts under his shirt, removing his tunic and revealing a bare, sculpted chest painted in as many tattoos as Sigvid. He turns away from her to reveal horrifying scars spreading across his back, from his shoulder blades down to his waist.

“Goddess.” She breathes. “What happened to you?”

He tosses his shirt back on. “Sigvid. I was fifteen. He thought my prank was mean and threw me into the hearth.”

Avina shifts uncomfortably. She can believe Sigvid would shove his brother into the fire but also suspects there is more to the story. Since the war, she quickly learns he has never harmed anyone without reason.

“Not everyone feels such animosity toward you, my lovely lady.” He takes her hand, pressing his lips to the top. “Avina, allow me to crown you as my Queen. Together, we can rule Treland. You do not need to give me an answer now. Take to the Solstice to think on it.” He leans in and kisses her cheek.

Lingering momentarily, he adds, “I will never harm you. You would be safe with me.”

He leaves without another word, leaving her feeling like she needs to hurl the contents of her stomach until she cramps with pain.

He asked me to marry him!

The thought of taking Thrain’s hand and lying in bed with him night after night leaves an empty chasm in her chest. Ruling Treland was never Avina's thought. If anything, she has resigned her life as Queen of Timber to be subjugated to another Manchineel while, in the Ridge, a cold-hearted lord would stifle her to perpetuate his life of gold, women, and wine.

Remaining in Salt is the most appealing.

But not with King Thrain.

There is one man in Salt whose side she doesn’t wish to leave. Yet, after what Thrain has said, perhaps a life with him is still just the imaginings of a naive girl. No matter how he touches her heart or makes her feel like the only person alive, Sigvid never desires her as more than a slave.

What about saving Nellie and killing the Hound Master? His affectionate words before leaving Blackwood? You cannot deny there is something there. He may be a Beast, but he is your Beast!

That annoying emotion-lead part of herself argues.

No , the logical part wins out. Sigvid has yet to explicitly express interest in me as a partner or a wife—nothing beyond a favorite whore.

She paints a smile on her lips and struts from the bedroom, looking for all the mead she can throw back.