“Prove it,” I said slowly. “Prove you’re loyal to me, and I won’t…have to use these.” I stroked the fine silk of the scarf ominously.
It was a pity I couldn’t sense his fears. I was never going to know what exactly he thought I’d do with a spoon, a scarf, and a bowl. I’d felt the deepest fears of thousands, and still the human mind found new ways to surprise me with ideas I’d never seen before.
“How?! Tell me how!” he pleaded, turning blubbery just like he had the night before.
When I hesitated, taking a moment to ponder how to play this, he dropped to his knees, clasping his hands together to plead for his life. I had half a mind to snap his neck simply so I wouldn’t have to listen to him anymore, but he deserved to suffer for what he’d done to Bastian.
“The king possesses a dagger with a handle shaped like this,” I said, pointing to the blue tattoo depicting Odin’s raven on my neck. “It’s a Viking relic with important powers, and I want it back.”
“I’ve seen it in his trove, but I don’t have that kind of access!” he whimpered.
“Then you’re going to get that kind of access. How can I trust you if you don’t have to risk anything? Retrieve the dagger. When I return tomorrow evening. I’ll either be collecting the weapon or collecting your soul to send it to whatever hell you believe in. But I won’t make it quick,” I added, fingering the edge of the spoon.
He nodded frantically, bowing his head and beginning to pray.
I didn’t say another word as I slipped from his room to return to mine. I didn’t need to.
He’d play his part, and with any luck, the king would walk into a trap of his own.
I was on edge, thrumming with a kind of reckless energy that would get someone killed. My berserker still paced, waiting to be unleashed. My skin felt too tight. My bones throbbed with pain. My very core ached with the need for some kind of release.
Fight or fuck.
I didn’t actually know which instinct would win out until I threw open the door to my chamber and found Bastian standing there with the gall to look relieved. Relieved I was safe, worried about where I’d been, tender and ever so domestic. He was barefoot and shirtless, and his hair was a disheveled mess like he’d been raking his hands through it with agitation, but that only made him look roguishly handsome.
When his expression softened into something deeper than relief, I had no choice but to punch him in the face.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SIGRID
“The fuck was that for?” Bastian demanded to know, rubbing his jaw.
“You told the king we didn’t fuck. He didn’t know until you caved like a godsdamned Saxon shield wall.” I punctuated the statement by slamming him against the door, but when I took another swing, he caught my fist and shoved me back.
“I’m aware he didn’t know! He’s hiding something, something important, and he’s not going to give it away unless I make him slip, which he’s more likely to do when he thinks he has us cornered and powerless.”
I shouted my frustration at these games upon games and swung at him again, but it was a sloppy, angry punch he easily avoided. Of course, he’d been aware of his father’s deceptions. I would’ve seen it if I’d been less focused on his fucking feelings. I’d been angry at the way the king was treating him, livid that Bastian had been just taking it.
The people I cared about had only ever been used against me. It was a weakness I couldn’t afford while those very people were still in danger. Being distracted by him would doom one of my brothers, and I’d suffered too much to protect them to risk it all on a Saxon prince.
His eyes flared with panic as he finally got a good look at the blood that coated my bodice and zeroed in on the tear in the fabric where the arrow had pierced.
This time when I punched him, he took the blow on the shoulder, letting it carry him straight back onto the bed, but he used the momentum to pull me down on top of him. Our hips collided, and my thighs instinctively parted to straddle his big body.
Yes. This is what I need.
He lifted one hand to trail his fingers over the bloody mess of my dress. “Sigrid, this needs stitches.”
Notwhat I need.
I grabbed a knife from the side of the bed and pressed it to his throat, but he ignored me and put his hands on my hips, holding me there as he ground up against me.
“Where the fuck were you?” he growled in a rough voice. He sounded deliciously like he was losing control.
Gods, I want him.
“None of your godsdamned business,” I snarled back.
