"By order of the Okpalaeze, acting Igwe of the Borjigin tribe: It is with great sorrow that we announce the death of the First Prince, Borji, slain by enemy hands while on a mission of peace.His body will be returned to the palace for proper rites.In recognition of his service and sacrifice, his name shall be entered into the scrolls of honour, and his spirit commended to the ancestors."
The embroidery frame clattered to the floor.
Her legs felt strange as she tried to stand, disconnected, as if they belonged to someone else.She took a step toward the window, toward the light, toward anything that might make this feel real.
Behind her, the servants dropped to their knees.
They bowed low, foreheads touching the floor, and when they spoke, their voices were a chorus of clarity.
"May the Ugoeze experience a thousand suns under Anyanwu's blessing."
Chidinma stopped.
Ugoeze.
She looked out the window at the sky and wondered if her sister was laughing.
Chapter 30
Theendofaman was always his own lasciviousness.Ragnar was more than aware of the consequences of such hedonistic delights.As a follower of Ukhel, it was expected to keep one's emotions in check, to draw a line in the sand.He could not love excessively; neither could he allow his rage to consume him.A clear mind is necessary to appreciate death and life.
And yet, he had failed, again and again, in the last few months, to maintain his composure, especially after the moon had risen and he was left to his own devices, or just before the sun rose and he was forced to deal with the consequences of his thawed heart.
Ragnar's eyes opened slowly, consciousness returning in fragments.His head throbbed—her eyes were too much, too overwhelming for him, even in his own imagination.Her hands felt smooth against his skin, and his own whimpers had felt so pathetic that he struggled to differentiate his dreams from reality.He blinked against the dim morning light filtering through the flaps of his tent.
He sat up, furs sliding off his bare chest, catching on something hard poking up from beneath.
He looked down, exasperation flickering in his eyes.
He was hard.
Painfully so.
Even in sleep, his mind had found a way to fixate on the woman he left at that shrine.
His mind suddenly felt hazy, thinking back to the night where she had sat on him, her body pressing against his thighs, hairpin to his throat.He couldn't tell if he was angry, or afraid, or thoroughly ruined by the way she forced him to seem so vulnerable.His body reacted of its own volition then; now he couldn’t simply blame an unconscious response.The numerous times it had happened since that night could not just be an unconscious response.
Ragnar's breath hitched as his hand finally found bare skin.The contact sent electricity straight through him, and he had to bite his jaw shut to keep from groaning.His cock was hard—gods, so hard it almost hurt—and the single stroke made his knees weak.
He imagined her eyes, the way they seemed to see right through him, to taunt him, to undress him."Fuck," he groaned, his other hand clenching as he stroked himself with increasing desperation.His mind painted pictures he didn't have the right to imagine—her hands on him instead of his own, her lips parted, that same terrifying smile that nearly sent him to Tengri.Her individual traits were nothing he couldn’t handle, but for all of it to accumulate in just one woman, how could he be expected to resist?
The gods had given him temptation too great to overcome, and now she would be his wife in name only.They must have laughed at him, for they knew he was willing to cherish any woman Zephyr blessed him with, but this one was simply too much.
Ragnar had always wanted a wife, but this particular wife seemed to be the rib from his ribs.
His hand moved faster, but it wasn't enough.Nothing would be enough now, not after she had given him hope.
The hunger that controlled him remained insatiable; he needed more.
"Khatun," he groaned hoarsely; he couldn’t bear to call her her name; he could only call her her title.
One he hadn’t even formally given her.
Now it was a title reserved for her and her alone.
His emotions built quickly, and he came with a strangled curse that he swallowed down.His hand was slick with his own seed, and the reality of what he'd just done left a bitter feeling in his heart.
The stream ran fast and cold through the heart of the Igbele, its waters untouched by the morning sun that filtered weakly through the leaves above.Ragnar stood at its edge, stripped bare, his breath fogging in the chill air.
