“Good ‘morrow, Brigida,” he purrs. “Our Lofðungr requests that you bathe and tend to his captive, before his return.”
She nods her understanding at Magnus. I notice the secret smile they exchange and the warm tingling between my legs swells a little.
“You may rise and follow Brigida,” Magnus says, gesturing to me.
I get up slowly from my tired knees and approach her. As I move toward them, Magnus steps into my path and meets me with a predatory smile. “Remember your place,” he says quietly as he leans down toward my face. “I will take you over my knee at the first stirrings of trouble.”
I flush, but say nothing, waiting for him to move so I can pass. After a moment he does so in a leisurely and unhurried nature. Brigida spins on her heel, sending her flaxen hair sailing in my direction. I drop behind her, anxious at least to be free from the whims of Magnus for the time being.
As before, Brigida is brisk and efficient. My bath—already drawn—is warm and it is a good feeling to be clean again, but her pious stares leave me ragged with frustration. She speaks not a word to me, except to instruct when to get out of the water and to offer me means to dry myself. The whole time she stands watching me as I self-consciously wipe the water from my body, and at length, she walks behind me and begins to unpick my hair, the braid now virtually disbanded. Taking a large brush, she runs the thing over my scalp, pulling and yanking at my tangles. I wince at the force she uses and yet I am secretly relieved she has attended to my dark tresses. After some work, she arranges my raven hair over my shoulders, seemingly pleased with her effort.
Shortly afterward she returns me to the pavilion, the bathing room being just away to its western edge. We pass through the large hall, her dressed in blue robes and me padding barefoot and naked behind her. The sides are lined with a number of guards, most of whom eye me with obvious hunger as we pass. Had it not been for their presence, I would have surely considered breaking away from Brigida. She is a slim, fair little thing and I am certain I could outrun her, although where I could go in this state and what would happen to me, I do not know. As we approach the heavy drapes that separate the hall from Anders’ private quarters, she slows to a halt. Reaching to her right, she pulls a rope that hangs from the space over her and a deep clanging bell chimes from overhead.
Magnus appears within an instant, pulling back the heavy drape and acknowledging Brigida with that same smile. Then, looking past her, he spots me and his grin widens. He beckons me with one finger as he addresses Brigida in their own tongue. She nods to him and departs, offering me one final look of disdain as she passes. I walk over to him and to my relief he drops back beyond the drape, allowing me a route back into Anders’ room. I slip past him, all too aware of my nudity and skip forward to be out of his reach.
In the far corner of the chamber I spot Anders, towering high over the furniture that separates us. My eyes acknowledge him greedily, recalling every inch of his body as I had seen it last night. Now dressed in his fine clothes and battle ready again, he seems even larger than I remembered.
He regards me with a wry smile, as though he too recalls my complete submission to him and for a second I seem unable to catch my breath. I am caught entirely in the net of the contradiction. I want my liberty and a return to my position. I miss my home and my people. My rational mind has no wish to be this naked thing I have become—someone’s property. Yet at the same time, my desire for Anders is unexpectedly compelling, and I find I am consumed by the desire to dominate his time and attention. The fact that I am also seemingly so utterly aroused by his authority over me astounds me even further, although there is little point in denying it to myself. Never before had I considered Aurelie of Donrose this way. I am a woman of rank and power. My position brought me privilege and influence over others, a fact I had readily enjoyed. I had never thought that my own subjugation could be so rewarding and I squirm as I recall how I had felt when Anders had used me as a footrest and then a table. I was not just enduring the ordeals; a part of me had truly loved them, relishing the ignominy in both and needing to be his. He moves from his desk toward me, capturing my attention.
“My captive,” he says, running a finger across my jawline.
I hold my breath, feeling my nipples budding between us at his touch. “My Lofðungr,” I reply almost breathlessly, amazed at my response to him.
“I hope you behaved yourself whilst I was away?” he asks, raising his voice for Magnus’ benefit. I tense, wondering how I should reply, but hear his response even before I can decide.
“She was eventually compliant, my Lofðungr,” says Magnus. “I had to remind her of her place a couple of times though.”
“Really?” responds Anders in front of me, his left eyebrow rising at this news.
“I did everything that was asked of me!” I plead, looking to Magnus for clarification on this point.
“The threat of a spanking did encourage her!” he laughs.
I turn back to Anders for his verdict, his blue eyes acknowledging me.
“There will be time for that later,” he says whimsically. “Right now we have a parade to attend.”
I breathe a sigh of small relief. “A parade, my Lofðungr?” I ask quietly.
“Yes,” he replies. “A celebration of our conquest here! My men need to know what they have achieved, and you—my little captive—are my finest prize!”
He waves his arms dramatically as he announces this and my stomach lurches at the prospect, wondering what he has planned.
“Magnus, go and check the final preparations,” he orders over my head. “We will join you shortly.”
I turn my head to see Magnus bowing and then departing the room, leaving me at last alone with Anders.
Chapter Fourteen: Preparations
“You must be prepared for the parade,” says Anders.
The dark twinkle in his eyes sends shivers down my already naked skin, although I cling to the hope that this ‘preparation’ might involve at least a shred of clothing. He rounds my body, gathering things from about the place as he continues. I watch him from my spot on the rug.
“Usually my servants would attend to these things, but with you, Aurelie, I enjoy the more… personal touch.”
I blush, hearing the tenderness in his voice. Memories of his hardness plunging into my needy body fill my mind. I remember the smell of him against my skin and the taste of his climax on my lips. Every fibre of me is caught in the recollection, and for a moment I am lost in those memories.
“Aurelie?”
His enquiring voice brings me back to reality and I realise with trepidation that I have not been listening to him.
“Yes, my Lofðungr,” I say softly, hoping to recover the situation.
“Did you hear me?”
I blush more deeply, feeling the colour rising in my cheeks and realise that he already knows the answer, so lying is futile.
“I am sorry,” I begin, watching his face as anxiety twists in me. “I missed what you said.”
“Do you have something more pressing on your mind?” he asks, stepping forward toward me. That menacing tone has returned to his voice and I feel my heart rate increase exponentially.
“Yes, I mean… No!” I answer, shifting my weight between my legs.
He moves to within an inch of me, but does not touch any part of my trembling body. Those eyes burn into my face, smouldering with an intensity that even last night did not present.
“You will learn to obey me, Aurelie,” he says, his voice lowering to little more than a growl. “I have been merciful up until now, permitting you to choose your service to me, and showing you favour.”
There is indignation in his voice and a deep regret fills me.
“I know and I am sorry,” I answer, imploring him with my eyes.
He smiles, sending a chill through me. “You will be, my captive,” he says softly. “You will be.”
He presses himself against me at last, sweeping me up with ease. His
large hands cradle my buttocks as my thighs stretch around his torso. I gaze at him, already panting before his mouth crashes down into me. He claims me with confidence, the tongue that had given me so much pleasure, seeking me out aggressively and giving us what we both need. Once he is satisfied, he pulls back, leaving me literally gasping for more of him.
“You will be punished for your transgression. I hope it will teach you to pay attention to your master in the future.”
“Are you going to spank me again?” I ask, my voice filled with both fear and arousal at the prospect.
“I am,” he resolves. “But first, you will be paraded through the camp. All of my people will know who now owns Aurelie of Donrose.”
My throat dries at his words as he places me down onto the rug. He returns to his small collection of items and I eye them intently, looking for a dress or robe of some sort. My heart falls in disappointment as I find only leather straps in his hands.
“These will be yours for the parade,” he says evenly. “They will serve to decorate you and mark you out as mine. Everyone will see them and understand their meaning.”
He drops them unceremoniously to the floor between us. “Kneel down,” he orders.
Unwilling to upset him any further at this juncture, I fall to my knees in haste and look up at him just to see the first length of leather approaching me. I notice its width and a small silver fastener as it passes in front of my eyes, and feel the cool material as Anders wraps it around the back of my neck. He crouches in front of me to secure the leather at the front. With one small click it is done and he pulls my hair gently from the leather.
“Raise your arms,” he instructs next, as he reaches for another strap and rises to a standing position. I do so, allowing him to secure the small leather cuffs around my wrists. As he does so I take in the feel and the effect of the thing at my neck. I realise with shame that it is little more than a collar—like the sort I would have put on a slave or an animal. The knowledge that this is how he sees me fills my mind as he secures the first, and then the second wrist cuff. The scent of leather rises from my neck, filling my nostrils and reminding me of the gag he had used the night before.
“Good,” he says, assessing me. “Now just these two on your ankles and you are ready!” He waves the remaining two much larger cuffs in front of me as he speaks. “Kneel on all fours on the edge of the bed,” he instructs, and I scuttle toward it as quickly as I can.
He moves behind me and I am instantly reminded of our coupling, recalling the deep feeling of fullness and surrender as I kneel here passively. Once the second ankle cuff is secure, he stands to my rear, wordlessly watching me. As fast as lightning he moves forward onto the bed, kneeling over me as he had done the previous night and surrounding my body in his chainmail-clad body. I gasp at the chill of the metal, but say nothing further, genuinely grateful to have his attention again in this most intimate way.
He twists his body over mine, bringing his head around to the right to meet my face. “Are you sore from where I have taken you, Aurelie?” he asks in a whisper.
I clench the muscles between my thighs and feel the tender ache there. “Yes, my Lofðungr,” I reply, mesmerised by the intensity in his eyes.
“Good,” he says, kissing me lightly on the forehead. “Every time you move and it hurts, I want you to remember who caused you that pain.”
I swallow hard, understanding his meaning.
“And,” he continues, “I want you to think about how it will feel later when I bury myself into you again.”
I blink up at him, marvelling at his dominance. I feel my thighs dampening at the mere idea and want nothing more than to kiss him again.
Ignoring my needs, he moves backward, away from me and off the bed. I watch over my shoulder as he arranges his clothes and then regards me.
“Down now,” he says, pointing to a spot next to him. “You will join me.”
In silence I comply, coming to stand next to him. He moves behind me and takes my right wrist in his hands, pulling it back behind my body. Next he draws the left wrist back in the same manner, securing the leather binds together.
“That’s good,” he says, circling me again. “Keep them above that pert little bottom.”
Coming to stand before me again, he smiles and reaches for my chest.
“Magnus is correct—your breasts do look good this way.”
I blanch at the thought that they had been discussing me, but say nothing. He plays with my nipples, ensuring they are both hard buds before commanding me to follow him. With a sigh of resignation, I do so, horrified at the thought of what may await me at the parade.
Chapter Fifteen: The Parade
I follow Anders beyond the dark drapes and into his throne room. Guards salute as he passes them, with nearby servants falling into bows to acknowledge their prince. Most regard me with little more than disdain, although some of the men more than absorb my naked curves as we make our way past. Being exposed this way in front of all of these strangers is even more mortifying than I’d imagined. Being nude in front of Anders, Magnus, and Brigida had been bad enough, but I already knew that this was to be a whole new excruciating humiliation.
Anders strides just beyond me, taking long yet casual steps and comes to an abrupt halt at the entrance to the pavilion. I wait behind him nervously, skipping from one foot to the other as he confers with his guards. My inability to conceal my bosom is proving to be a real frustration; my arms forced back this way means that my breasts are fully protruding from my chest. After a moment Anders turns to me, the guard behind him eyeing me as he does.
“You will walk behind my stallion,” he tells me matter-of-factly. “Make sure you keep up with the pace.”
I blink at him, trying not to imagine the ignominy that is about to unfold. “But how can I keep up with your steed, my Lofðungr?” I ask quietly.
He smiles; an expression that twists the ball of anxiety within me. “You will be given the correct motivation,” he says, chuckling to himself.
I blanch at this, too scared to ask for clarification. As I stand there agog, Magnus appears at the entrance.
“All is ready, my Lofðungr,” he exclaims, casting an eye over me as he does so.
Anders nods. “Thank you, my friend,” he replies, moving toward Magnus. “You are ready to manage Aurelie as we discussed?”
Magnus smiles the way a shark might do before the first bite. “It will be my pleasure, my Lofðungr.”
He moves toward me as Anders leaves the pavilion, heading out into daylight. My mouth dries as Magnus takes me by the right arm, tugging at me to follow him outside. The light hits me like a fireball. Having been kept inside for many hours, my eyes are totally unprepared for the intensity of the daylight. Unable to shield them with my hands, I dip my head and look to Magnus as he moves us forward.
The next thing that dawns on me is the feeling of my bare feet on the ground below me. The invaders have set up in lands much further north than I would usually go and the earth, though grassy, is cold and unforgiving. The blades of grass against my toes feel unkind and intrusive, yet in the bare, worn areas the ground is even colder. I have never walked beyond the castle barefoot and the stark reality of the sensations beneath my feet makes me feel all the more exposed and vulnerable. My attention turns to the ground as Magnus moves me forward, watching the hard mud below me as we pass over it.
The next realisation is the temperature out here. Although it is a warm, dry spring day, the feeling of the sunshine against my skin feels meek in comparison to my nudity. Goosebumps pimple over my flesh, my already hard nipples contracting further. As Magnus manoeuvres me in a new direction, I am finally able to look up for the first time. We are in the middle of the camp with much smaller pavilions and large tents erected in every direction. The large ropes that secure them are anchored all around us, and at that moment I am grateful that I have Magnus here to guide me through this labyrinth of trip hazards. Then I notice the people about me. Th
ey are mostly men—soldiers—nearly all in battle dress and helmets, although there are a handful of women carrying linen and fruits scurrying from tent to tent. Their strange eyes acknowledge first my nudity and then my bondage. Many of the men cheer and shout comments to Magnus that I do not understand. Magnus laughs and shakes his head at them, but thankfully does not slow his pace.
We make a left turn and find ourselves at a makeshift stable block. There are five strong-looking horses grazing there, all dressed in finery with the Viking emblems emblazoned about them. On the furthest horse—a gigantic black stallion—Anders is already mounted. He wears a tall metal helmet, part of which covers the bridge of his nose and yet I know it is him, even from a distance. He watches us as Magnus pulls me in his direction, calling to his man to hurry.
We make it to where he is mounted and I am amazed by the sheer size of the horses around me. They make these already giant men seem all the more foreboding. Men I do not know mount three of the horses behind Anders, all stopping to eye my exposed flesh as they do so. Magnus reaches for the reins of Agneta, but before he climbs, he stops to address me.
“You are to follow behind my Lofðungr’s steed,” he instructs, moving my hair from my face. “Stay a few paces behind in case the horse rears, but do not allow your pace to flag.”
I watch him as he speaks, noticing the soft hairs around his mouth. Despite my embarrassing situation I am amazed at how my mind still returns to the most carnal thoughts, and I wonder absently what that hair would feel like against my body.
“I will be riding behind you and there will be two other royal guards to your left and right. They are there to protect our prince, but will also defend his property if it is required.”
I lower my head, watching my chest rising and falling as I contemplate his words. For the first time in hours I am seriously worried about my own safety, and coupled with my current predicament, I am struggling to control the anxiety within me. Magnus moves away, catching his foot in one stirrup and mounting his horse as he looks down upon me.
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