CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
SIGRID
“Shit, we have to get out of here. They’ll already have told the king that Vikings attacked.” I scrambled to my feet and started trying to pull my filthy, blood-soaked gown closed over wounds that stung a lot more now that my head was clear.
“What the fuck did we do to my gown?” I winced, adjusting the dress over the deepest gash along my flank.
“You said you wanted?—”
“I remember what I said.”
He smirked as he tugged his pants up, a man satisfied with his ability to fuck my berserker into submission. She hadn’t been this calm since she’d been leashed. It was like she’d gone to sleep, peaceful and content.
Why did she do that with him? I had a suspicion, but it was too terrifying to fully consider. I had a reason for being here, and I couldn’t fail Axel.
It was clear now that I couldn’t kill Bastian even if I wanted to. I loved this noble, strong, achingly soft prince. But if Eleanor was right, I was going to break his heart when I avenged my brother. Was it better to simply accept my fate and kill the king now before things got any worse?
If I bought Thorin much more time, it was only going to get harder to make the necessary sacrifice. I worried my lip with my teeth, wondering when I’d get word that Layla was safe.
Bastian watched me skeptically. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Come on.” I tugged him towards the door, but he used the momentum to pull me closer, kissing me deeply. An excited thrill kicked down my spine at the intimate familiarity of it.
These stolen moments weren’t reality, but I wished we didn’t have to open the door and face the aftermath of what had just happened. Or the harsh truth that no matter how sweet this was, I had a mission to complete.
“We have to prevent a war,” I said aloud, reminding myself what else was at stake.
Wounded Saxons still lay outside the maze, but there was a frenzy of activity as healers oversaw their care, bringing stretchers to move them to the castle. Most looked likely to survive, but a few were groaning in agony or worryingly still. I could’ve healed some of them if my berserker hadn’t been leashed. It drained me of strength, but I could extend my powers to another person to close a mortal wound or mend a broken bone. But there was nothing I could do for these men now.
I felt desolate looking at them, knowing they’d been injured because of me.
I’d been in more battles than I could count, but the only time I’d known this kind of devastation was when Axel died.
“Don’t,” Bastian said, his eyes soft with empathy. “It wasn’t your fault.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Except it was. If I’d sacrificed my life instead of theirs, they’d still be alive. Why do I have any more right to live than they do?”
He lifted my chin. “They stood and fought because it was the right thing to do. Your death would’ve started a war that would lead to even more bloodshed. But you’re alive to help me prevent it.”
It was going to take more than a few reassuring words to convince me their deaths didn’t belong on my conscience. I’d likely carry that burden until the end of my days.
But I could make it mean something.
The Banamaðr still lay in a heap, but soldiers were beginning to move them.
“What will they do with them?” I asked Bastian.
He looked dismayed. “Bury them I suppose?”
“Fuck that,” I said, striding over to pick up one of their fallen axes. I kicked the body over and swung at his neck, severing his head with one stroke.
“We don’t have time for this, Sigrid.”
I leaned on the axe while eyeing the soldiers around us. “Is one of you capable of bringing me their heads? There’s a fourth one in the maze. I want them all.”
I leaned the axe towards the man who looked least like he was imminently going to puke, and he took the handle as he said, “Yes, Highness.”
“Bring them straight to the throne room,” I said, nodding my thanks.
