They sat at opposite ends of the large wooden table at the Hall of Konungur Steini, the keep of regaining house Jagontá. The kastala, Brúviður Castle was still a day's ride away, so meeting at such a mid-way point was well suited against threats. King Haraldur, sat heavily in his wooden throne, his face aged greatly in the passing months and his breaths coming raggedly. His pale eyes falling sunken into his wrinkling face, no longer the fine, chiseled features of a man in his prime. No longer the great, immortal king fools once thought he was, I thought bitterly from my place hidden high out of notice. I smirked at the 'grand king'. His dusty brown hair shedding in chunks and silvering. The once hardened muscles of his body filled with the soft fat of a withering man. His oldest son by a mere minute and a half sat healthily at his side. Lucky little brat. If only he knew that those who rise highest the quickest fall twice as fast.
The cropped hair had grown an inch or so, slightly curling in its dirty blonde nest. His strong jaw darkened with the promise of a beard to come. Piercing blue eyes observed the room cautiously, as a long fingered hand strummed over a full bottom lip in thought. Under pristine, well-kept clothes lay the hardened muscles laid over strong bones of a solider. The stronger one born from the twin boys. His right ear bore a thick steel earring through half way up the helix, near the auricle. He had the handsomeness of his father but the striking wit of his mother.
Ah, the beautiful queen, intelligence lingered within large, doe eyes, undistinguished in dark colouring. Her skin was so flawlessly pale in comparison to the tanned bodies of the rooms other occupants. Her lips were small, pressed and painted a dark rouge. Her hair once, naturally, shone a darker shade of blonde, like her children's, but I had taken to bleaching it to a pale lightness, as it was comely in fashion. Queen Willow was a woman known throughout her lands, known and feared. With the removal of hundreds of lower, poor citizens from their homes on the rudeness of being unable to pay their monthly taxes. She stared acidly at the other mother siting at the opposite end, she raised her chin and smoothed out her caped, black woollen gown. Her wide golden jewellery contrasting majestically.
In comparison to Willow's collective calmness, Queen Bellatrix, third of her name, was red eyed with tears. Her violet speckled blue eyes were blood shot, tragically rimmed with sore red skin. On other days she was known to be truly beautiful, yet on this day her heartbreak drowned her. Her light mousey brown hair was coiled in tight curls, pooling from the ends of her braids. Her gentle, tanned skin reddened with her motherly distress, fading the tiny freckles upon her cheeks and across the bridge of her straight, Viking nose. Her curved, pouted lips were frowned as she listened to her husband selling her youngest child away. She was the fifth wife out of eight of the tyrant King Lucifer, first of his name, a man well thought of for being heartless as well as merciless. Fading marks upon his wife's face proved just how pitiless he was. I smiled, I've heard so many fascinating and detained stories of the occurrences and ongoing within that king's castle.
A silvery mane of straight hair flowed down his strength hardened back, fixed, piercing pale slivers of blue eyes gazed across the wooden length. Features of dark, unforgiving beauty tricked the eye. Thin lips grimaced a square jaw from a long, sharp nose. He thrived on authority and dominance; build up upon his vanity and power. He turned to his wife with a sneer, "Stop that squabbling! The girl has brought this upon herself, with her stupidity and cockiness. You should be pleased that I even bothered to come here to settle her comfort." He snapped. His wife turned to him, her face tightened with bitter loathing hidden so carefully under a tight smile. The gods favour brave women, and Bellatrix was one of the bravest. She certainly was.
Her tone was sweetly disciplined, "Of course, beloved husband. I apologize for my weakness. I simply wept with the thought of being so far." Her gaze turned to the coughing king, bent wheezing him his chair, "My dear King Haraldur, Queen Willow, as you have three children and a daughter of your own, you'll understand that I'm a mother of five. Onyxia is my youngest of my second pair of twins. I love her as dearly as you love your own children, I beg you to allow me the comfort that she's safe and happy. If I could just see her-"
"Out of the question!" The shrill voice crowed, the rival queen sat up in her chair glaring at the other woman. "We are not fool enough to allow such tricks! You could turn her into your spy! Oh, is it perhaps you already have?"
The sickly king cut down his wife, "Silence! They have come as guests to seek peace in our long clashing rivalry. I will not have such a vital opportunity risen for the good of my kingdom wasted due to your simpleminded, womanly opinions!" His wife bristled. The king turned back to the monarchs. "Queen Bellatrix, you have my word that your daughter will be safe and well kept. A marriage between my oldest son," He gestured a hand towards the young man to stand, "Prince Alexan, my heir and future king, to your beautiful Onyxia will do more than aid the troubles in my realm, but also mend a long living rift between our houses. You have my permission to stay the week of courting and attend their wedding at the weeks end." He paused to catch his fading breath, "Such is my humble pleasure."
Her smile was more natural now, "Thank you." She clasped her thin hands in her dark blue gown, before moving to tug her fur pelted cloak around her.
Alexan observed her carefully, as he observed the entire meeting. Remaining standing, he frowned to ponder a thought before settling upon it. "Your Highness, if it pleases you I could arrange for you to see your daughter after such agreements and the marriage contract should be signed and authenticated?" He ignored the displeased look of his mother and the appearance of shocked surprise from his father. It didn't feel right to deny this woman from being comforted with the knowledge of her child's health. He nodded in acceptance at her mother's grateful appreciation and thanks. It was not only her daughter that was being sold here; he didn't like the thought of him being the prize bull to breed out heirs' ether.
For the remainder of the meeting, the prince sat boredly at his sire's side lost in absent thought. The words of arguments and threading of contracts and terms being sewn together hummed in the echoing air within the barely occupied room. When both sides were fairly satisfied with their gains and losses, the viking D'Luna's rose gracefully to depart. With the promise of meeting later, Bellatrix retired to her cabins to gather the belongings of her most loved daughter. The thought seemed to warm the heart of the prince, as it showed much care and devotion to witness such a thing by this woman.
The figure of a reedy, thin woman appeared at the large doors and slithered into the room. The long flowing, golden hair of the scandalously dressed harridan, a Xanthippe, swayed as she moved to wrap an arm about the prince's neck. Kyarah, a high priced courtesan, she's taken to the vigour prince's bed for years. I wonder how she'd take being kicked to the side when this Viking demon became his wife. Bringing his head down for a passionate kiss, one that made it vivid of the fact they were long time lovers in front of their small audience. No longer ashamed to be public. The disgusted huff of the king broke the blunt display.
"I will not have a son of mine whoring about my kingdom with such...unseemly company!" The woman gasped in outrage and his son glared up at his father. "If you want to be the next king...." He paused to cough violently into his hand, discreetly hiding the blood mixed in with the yellowy phlegm. "...To be the next king...hmmph...you'll have to do a lot more than rut every girl you see! It should be this Viking brat that you'd be bedding, putting your seed and my blood legacy into her until she pops out an heir. It's shame that your brother is too sickly and weak to be of use to me! A damned shame!" He slumped down on his chair heavily, "Go and get that little beast ready, her mother will be back here soon."
Alexan PoV
I laced up the front of my breeches and buckled my belt; Kyarah seemed content to linger in her unadorned state within the alcove to catch her breath. She was beautiful; A green eyed, flaxen haired vixen. Her hair was long, waved, it poured down her back like liquid gold. Her lips were perky and small, reddened from kissing. Her satisfied smile displayed unspoiled, white teeth. Her body was long, thin and reedy. It's been three years, and she still occupied my bed. I took one last glance at her striking, radiant face before pushing out of the curtained area. Now, I needed to take care of the little savage. I touched my flank gingerly, it was still healing.
As I walked down the stairs to the lower quarters I spotted my uncle and aunt, bunch of sun wrinkled people, I gave a nod of acknowledgement but didn't make any further effort. I knew they didn't take not being in line for the throne well, the intense, fixated stares of my uncle, my mother's brother, illustrated that well. I reached the thrice-locked door, sighing before I entered.
She acted as I thought she would. The second I walked into that barely furnished secured room, the curled mass cradled in the corner burst at me. Her long nailed fists of fury, clawed, punched and swung at me. I turned her away from me with ease, tightly pinning her hands to her heaving chest and holding her forcibly against me, her back to my chest. Her determination to refuse food had left her weakened and fragile, yet she struggled and fought against me. The rub of her body had the common effect on my own. She stilled immediately, regarding me over her shoulder to give a deadly glare. I rolled my eyes, "It's not my fault! You were rubbing yourself against me, it does that instinctively." I defended.
She rolled her eyes and strained again to mêlée, growing more and more frustrated. "What are you? A Pict? Scot? Gaul? Saxon? Jute? Not Viking, that's for sure. You must be a Celt then." No, not a Viking. The woman in front of me was every bit an illustration of the wintry lands that she came from. Like snow living. Her skin was icy and pale. Her hair was as white as her teeth. Her eyes were an inhale of the night sky; a deep blue it could be mistaken for black. Overall, she was breathtaking. And mine.
I smiled, "Quick witted, I see. Yes, lítill víkingur, a Celt, I am." I unwillingly inhaled her salty scent of the North Sea, lilies and a natural smoky odour. Tensing in my arms for a moment, she subdued, and then burst in a frenzy of ferocious thrashing, kicking my shins and stepping on my booted toes.
After her old blood-spattered clothes were taken she was left with nothing but my tunic that reached past the middle of her thighs. Against my height, she seems small in comparison. Her body though was long limbed and tight from training since she could walk. She scarcely reached my shoulder. My patience was running out, and in my irateness I suddenly jerked her. "Would you stop acting like a horse's ass?! Be still, I'm not here to hurt you." She halted, but turned back to give me a narrow look. Her fascinating eyes were covered with an overly long fringe of virtually white hair. I gave an entertained smile, freeing one of my hands to tweak the oddly waved hair from her face. It wasn't quite curly, it was just.... crinkled. If I was going to save myself from being kneed in the balls or have my throat slit in my sleep I needed to prove myself trustful. Even if that's all we have right now. "You need to stop fighting me. I'm just as weary and blood sickened as you are."
She scoffed, still seething. "If I still had energy in me I would have fought you further. I would stick my axe in your brain!" She still had vivid results of the injuries I gave her on the battlefield. I wanted to highlight her bruises, mark her skin, so everyone knew she belonged to me. I wanted to brand her, to scar her, to wear her blood as a blatant warning to any man who ever looked in her direction. It made me feel excited to know this woman was mine, I knew none like her to equal.
She blinked at me in disbelief as I pitched my head back and laughed, "Yes, valkyrja, I know. I believe you. It's beautiful." That day upon the battlefield, I faced a shieldmaiden so fierce and agile, it was as if the Gods had sent one of their own to battle me. She was strong, an unbelievably respectable fighter. She'd bare me strong children, that is why my father pushed this so. One look at her face and I recognized that she thought me mocking her, far from it. I was in awed admiration. I let her go, she kneaded her arms gingerly. I reached into my belt and pulled out a dirk, feeling her cautious eyes upon me, slicing my palm. "Give me your hand. Come on! Now, skjöldur mær." She gave it to me, suspicious, I cut her palm and forcefully held her hand in mine, uniting our blood. With my unrestricted hand I brought the bloody bade to my lips, kissing it. "With this vow of blood, I do so give my word to never lay a finger on you in any harm. You shall have my protection, respect and trust. And I, in return, shall give you acceptance of your own trust." I cocked a brow at her in question, "Do you accept this vow, skjöldur mær? Do I have your trust if I offer mine?"
For a moment, she just glanced from me to the blood oozing from our seized palms. Narrowing her eyes assessively, before giving a curt nod. I nodded in return, letting go of her hand, permitting the trickling wound to dry up and clot to heal. I opened my mouth to speak but there was a knock on the door, I passed her the knife as a sign of this truce between us and opened the door to allow her mother to hasten in.
The burst of German was far too quick for me to catch or even translate, but its intention was clear. I silently stood in a corner and watched. She was like a bee, buzzing about her daughter firing questions at her to retrieve the brief replies. I guess most of them were inquiring about her health, how she's been treated, is she alright. And gaining a short yes or no. Besides the driven retorts before, I've come to notice that the little savage seems to barely talk at all. More of a wise owl than a fluttering peacock.
"Meine tochter, du bist so dünn! Haben sie nicht gefüttert oder?" Bella exclaimed, taking her daughter in with one look of inspection.
That I understood, "That's her own doing!" I snapped, "She refuses to eat anything we send her! Don't look at me like that you! You have."
She glowered at me, her lip twisting and fists clenching. Flinching when her nails found the fresh slash on her palm. Extracting her mother's attention to it, being the intelligent woman she was she noted the wound on mine as well. She looked at me, inquisitive, with one eyebrow raised. I understood what she was asking. I nodded curtly in response. "Good." She grinned. She turned to her daughter, but no longer bothered to speak in her own language now knowing that I knew it. "He will make a good husband, meine liebe, mein kind." Blue eyes assessed me considerately, I folded my arms self-consciously. She derided, "He seems sturdy enough, he is agreeable enough on the eyes. I'm sure you'll pleasure my daughter well enough, young prince?" I felt heat surge up my neck.
"But I don't want to marry him! I don't want to marry anyone!" The pastel-haired banshee yelled, "He's not even of the same kind!"
Her mother rolled her eyes, "My love, you've done this to yourself, whether you like it or not. You were the one who made the boast and vow that whoever bests you in battle has your hand in marriage." I smirked; so many young bucks all over the kingdom had beamed at such a challenge. Seeing her wealth and the connections to her father as a worthy prize. I didn't care much about a boyish shrew across the sea, but my father had pushed and I had won. I'm surprise I hadn't yet been poisoned out of jealousy. Shaking that slender body by the shoulders, Queen Bellatrix leaned towards her daughter. "Don't make the same mistake I did. Please, I beg you." She whispered urgently, obviously I was not meant to hear. "He made a vow to you, yes? A promise? Look at him, he has been nothing but kind hearted. This is good, Onyx! He won't beat you. Your father- Never mind that. Just promise that you'll take this fate the Gods have given you, we are Viking, and our destiny is set from the day we arrive on this planet." My jaw compressed, and my mind voyaged to her taciturnity uncommunicativeness. She didn't make a sound when I cut her, not one squeak. Any other woman would have wailed or at least gasped. Something was happening here, I was very suspicious and apprehensive of it. A girl of seventeen doesn't resist pain so silently unless she's adapted to it.
I cleared my throat, and stirred to her side. "I have given you my word and my vow along with it. We shall be married at the weeks end; your mother and family have been granted permission to stay until we are married then they must return home. You have been given these things, I would not take them for granted if I was you." Onyx gave a tenacious expression before ordering me to leave. Tiring of her company, I obliged. Bowing formally to her mother first then to her. I paused at the door, "You have twenty minutes remaining of you visit here, Your Highness. Then the guards will escort you back. We'll have everything of the princess' taken up to her rooms at Brúviður Castle, my home. We shall be moving there on the morrow."
I lay restless in my bed; Kyarah rode me to her own pleasure as it rapidly fell into a one-sided affair. My head was far too depleted in preoccupied thought I scarcely paid attention and found my arousal tremendously lacking. Not that she noticed or cared. But the rampant thought had struck me hard and struck me dumb. The burst of realization shocked me into senselessness. At the end of the week I shall be both proclaimed as king in my father's down step, and have a wife who every man desired to have as trophy and that I only really knew from tales I've been nourished. At least they were accurate on her beauty and talents as a shieldmaiden. I peeped up at the shrieking concubine and remained unsuccessful to envision the pale haired, she-wolf taking her place. Kyarah wasn't my only mistress, but she was the closest thing that I can associate to a wife. Though I was pretty sure my soon-to-be wife could undoubtedly hear my mistress from where she slept. I just hoped she didn't scream as deafeningly when I have to bed her.