I nod again, knowing just the feeling without knowing it at all.
“However, as you grew older Shar became more jealous. Even though she had been raised the same as you - was as intelligent, as well-trained and as quick as you - she always knew that she would never be able to put her skills to use. She would never be queen, as you would. The injustice of it began to burn at her, every day, until the relationship between the two of you grew bitter and full of rage. Shar had always had everything that you had, and now here was the greatest prize, completely out of her reach.”
In my mind’s eye I see the golden-haired dream-sister, her face contorted with rage. She slaps, kicks, punches, fights, bites me, screams in my face. Even though she is the younger sister, I know in my heart that she is stronger than me. There’s an echo in my mind, like the memory of an emotion - why me? Why not her?
“Maybe Shar would have been a better ruler anyway,” I hear myself saying. Ysulte smiles sadly, and shakes her head.
“If only it were as simple as that, my lady. Our throne is not merely a question of politics and might. The laws of our succession are bound by a deep magic. Only the eldest child can keep peace in our kingdom. If the power of the eldest child is not allowed to rightfully reign, there will always be chaos in our lands.”
“So it’s not really about me,” I say, barely noticing that I already half-believe what she’s saying. “It’s about some magical law that has nothing to do with who I am.”
Ysulte shakes her head. “You’re not thinking about it the way we do, my queen. Just as your father was both a king and a god, just as you are both a queen and a goddess, the laws that govern our kingdom are both magical and practical. Magic dictates that you are the only one who can rule, yes. But because of this, you are the one more suited to rule.”
I shrug, not really understanding what she means. Besides, I’m still trying to understand her story. “So what happened? When Shar got so jealous?”
“Shar was always clever, and ambitious. When she reached grown age and came to fully understand that she would never be your equal, either in power or in status, she turned away from everything and everyone. She left her family - your family. I’m sorry to say, my queen, that the sorrow of it killed your father.”
That last sentence hangs in the air between us. I don’t know what to say.
“Shar searched out the dark masters of our land and learned terrible arts. She travelled far north, to the land of her mother’s people, and sought out the magi, the witches, those who had gone further in magic than the wise would dare to go. And she used the powers she learned there to banish you.”
I blink. “But that doesn’t make sense. You’re saying that all of this happened long ago. And I’m here now. You said that this country was part of the old land.”
Ysulte shakes her head. “No, my queen. Shar did not banish you to a different place. Her art was far subtler than that, and far crueler. No, dróttning.” She lowers her voice into almost a whisper. “Your sister banished you - to another time.”
The fire glows brighter than ever, and a faint noise flares in my ears. It is the sound of a high, cruel, laugh. Behind Ysulte, the figures of four Viking men start to appear out of nothing. I feel comforted, somehow, as I look up at the four men. They are gathered around, listening intently as if awaiting orders - my orders?
“But why am I here? Why are you here? Why are they here?” I gesture towards those four men, whose faces have grown so familiar and whose presence is still so strange. My questions sound more ridiculous every moment. Do I believe any of this crazy story or not? My head says no, but my heart knows it to be true, far more clearly than I know my own name.
“You are here, simply, because your sister wanted you out of her way, and the only way to do that without inciting open rebellion from the people was to erase your very existence.”
Her words make me shiver. This has all become too odd, too terrifying.
“So she sent you here, to be born in this time. As far as anyone in our land knows, Shar is the oldest daughter and the rightful successor to your father. There was never any Rhea as queen, only Shar.
“As for why I’m here - well - in every land, in every time, there are people like you and me. People who can understand what lies beyond the things that can be seen, heard, touched. You might call those people mediums, or witches. We call them sages, or wise women. Some use their powers for good, as you do - or rather, as you will, when the time is right. Some use their gifts for evil and domination, as Shar does. But the balance is always weighted towards those who do good. Shar’s eyes are veiled, seeing only what will bring her more power and prestige. She fails to understand the kinds of magic that bring balance, peace, prosperity. She craves only might.
“The sages, or witches, or whatever you will, can see through the veils of time, can discern the difference between what is and what is meant to be. Because of this, my queen, I could always sense that there was something wrong with your sister as queen. I knew in my soul - the way our kind know things - that Shar was never our intended queen. With this knowledge I searched until I found the dark ones who helped Shar to banish you, and gained some of their knowledge for myself to bring myself here. And here I am.”
She says it so matter-of-factly that I have no choice but to trust what she’s saying.
“And these… these guys?” I try to sound light as I wave my hand towards the four Viking men. They stand up even straighter at the movement of my hand. Ysulte smiles.
“These men are bound by magic to serve the true queen. They cannot serve your sister truly, because she is not the rightful queen, and so they are lost, following you wherever you go. They have always been with you, it is only that now you are able to see them. The same magic that makes you queen, that binds you to your fate, binds them to theirs. Their destiny is to serve you, in every way that it is possible to serve.”
I frown. Surely she doesn’t mean…
Ysulte nods, as if reading my thoughts. “Yes, my queen. These men are your knights, your sworn bondsmen. They would die for you in battle as your servants, but the bond goes far deeper than that. In our lands it is not the custom for the queen to marry, as we know well that a husband would try to exert too much influence over his wife. It is far better that the queen’s affections should be divided, so that power cannot sit in any single place. As long as there have been queens in our land, there have been the Queen’s Warriors - four men who watch over the physical safety of the queen, who defend the honor of the queen, who serve at the pleasure of the queen. They serve you, not because they must - but because they love you more than life itself.”
I look up at the four men, half-expecting them to blush at this description, but they’re just looking steadfastly ahead.
“Do they… do they understand what you’re saying?” I ask tentatively. It seems like a stupid question to ask, but it’s really hard to stress enough how beautiful these men are. I’ve never even spoken to men who look like this, men who could be gods themselves. Nice as the idea of them all being in love with me is, it’s also… weirdly intimidating.
Ysulte shakes her head. “They’re not really here, my queen,” she reminds me gently. “They’re drawn to your presence through time, but they are not of this time. They can read your whims, can sense your desires, but they cannot understand your words. Not where we are. Not in this world.”
I nod. It’s a relief to hear that they can’t understand me, but the idea of them being able to sense my desires makes my body warm all over. My eyes want to roam over their faces, their bodies - but maybe later. Not while Ysulte’s here.
Besides, I still haven’t asked the final question. The most important question of them all, really.
“Suppose I believe you. Suppose all of this is true. None of it makes sense, but for some reason that doesn’t stop me from believing it. But even if I do believe you - what is it that you want from me?”
A smile cracks across Ysulte’s ancient, we
athered face. She reaches out to take my hand.
“I want you to come back with me. I want you to make things right.”
My first response is the most ridiculous response that you could ever give in a situation like this.
“But… what about my job?”
Ysulte laughs. Even though she claims to be from a different time - maybe even a different world - it seems like she can still spot a good joke when she sees one.
“Your job, my queen?” But she grows serious, sensing the real question behind the question. “Your life here is not your true life. It is not the life where your connections will be at their most real. You will never know true joy, true fulfilment, true love, in this life. It is not meant to be. Your life here will fade away into nothingness. You will never have existed.” She looks at me gently. “No one will mourn you, if that is what you fear.”
It sounds like a terrible thing to hear, but the truth is that her words set me free then. I step away from my thinking mind and let myself feel - the kind of feeling that I’ve been cultivating in my last weeks as a medium, the kind of feeling that seems to point me down the right path in a way that I couldn’t possibly explain.
I know that what she’s saying is true. I know that my life here feels like it’s made of cobwebs and dust, glued together with ritual and routine but without any of the joy or meaning that part of me has always craved so deeply. I feel sad at the idea of leaving it, but maybe not as sad as I should do. Ysulte takes me by the shoulders, looking me in the eye. She looks at me in a way that makes me feel like I’ve never really been seen by anyone before. And, come to think of it, maybe I haven’t. If what Ysulte is saying is true, then maybe I’ve never really belonged in this world.
“Dróttning,” she says softly, “I know that it is a great thing to ask of you, to take this leap of faith with me. I know that I am asking you to leave everything that is familiar to you, and to step into a world where the stakes are far higher, where life and death depends on you. Therefore, I ask you to remember - not in your mind, but in your soul, the part of you that never changes - what your father taught you. You grew up the daughter of a king and a future queen, and you have always understood that it is your duty to put the needs of your people before yourself.”
She takes my hand. The fire turns deep red, and I can hear that music again, just faintly. The Viking men gather closer, all around me and when I inhale, I can almost swear I smell the rich scent of them. It steals my attention for a moment and my thoughts are only interrupted by Ysulte’s continued speech.
“I ask you this because I know that your soul is not ruled by blind ambition as Shar’s is. I know that you will always do what is best for your people, not just for yourself. Shar is a vicious and tyrannical ruler, and our lands will never have proper peace while a false queen sits on the throne. Therefore, dróttning, I beg of you, not just for your own sake but for mine, for your Warriors, for your kingdom - to come back to us. To make things right.”
The moments that follow feel like the longest of my life. Time slows down. There is nothing in existence but the crackle of the fire, the smell of woodsmoke, the deep green of Ysulte’s eyes as they reach into mine, into my body, into my heart.
“Yes,” I say. “I’ll come back with you. I’ll do my duty.”
Then suddenly, with my words, the fire swells up and engulfs us, and I can see nothing but red and then black.
I am lying on grass. Or at least, it feels like grass. I can hardly see a thing - the whole word is pitch-black, except the silvery light that comes from the full moon above us.
A flame flares up, though I don’t know how it appeared. Ysulte is standing over me, the light from the fire distorting her face so that it looks like a carved statue.
I can sense movement on all sides, silent, like the movement of bodies that have been trained to move like shadows. I make to stand up, and a hand reaches out of nowhere to pull me to my feet. It is a large hand, a strong hand - not Ysulte’s.
At first, I am afraid, but then that fear turns into the kind of nervousness that unravels a woman from the inside out. I take his hand into mine, fully aware of where the smooth skin is interrupted by callouses. Aware of just how tightly, but gently he grips my hand. Aware of all the butterflies that circle in the very pit of my stomach.
“My queen.” His voice is deep, male, very very quiet and yet seems endlessly loud in the stillness of the night. If words weren’t so complicated, I would have spoken. I would have told him how great it is to see and to feel him in the flesh. I would have told him how much deeper I can feel the connection between us now. But my tongue is heavy, my mind spinning a million miles per minute and so, like a silly school girl, I smile wordlessly.
When his hand leaves mine, it’s as though all air has left my lungs right along with it.
Ysulte lifts the torch higher, creating a small circle of light in which I can see all four Vikings now kneeling in front of me.
Their translucent quality is gone. Now they’re flesh and blood - more real than any other people I’ve ever seen before.
“Welcome home, dróttning,” Ysulte says.
I nod. Even my movements feel different - infused with power, grace, like the movements of the queen I’m just starting to believe I am.
I draw in a sharp breath. My senses are heightened - the smell of the grass is purer and truer than any scent that’s ever met my nose before.
My jeans and zipped sweatshirt are gone, and in their place is a sleeveless dress of some light, woven material - like linen but far softer, far brighter. It’s hard to see in the lamplight, but the color of the dress seems to be a sky blue. A silver necklace circles my neck and dips between my breasts, wrought like a wriggling snake. Two bands of silver wrap around my upper arms, and on my feet are slippers of light, strong leather. The cold night air dances on my skin like clear spring water. I feel bright, shimmering, completely alive.
Now that I’ve felt the cold, I start to shiver. One of the Viking men springs to his feet and in an instant his cloak is around me, still infused with his body-heat. I breathe in, and smell the animal of the furs, and the deeper musk of his body. And I know this scent. Down to the core of my bones I know this scent. But I don’t know him. Not by name and not by memory.
“Thank you…” I tail off waiting for him to fill the gap where his name belongs.
“Eirik, dróttning,” he says, with a bow of his blond head. It’s a formal enough answer, but the way he looks at me is anything but formal. Within seconds his hand is on me again, this time embracing my face, touching me, as though to figure out whether I’m really real or just a figment of his imagination. I smile up at him and his gaze focuses on my eyes once again. Even then, he doesn’t drop his hands. Instead, he brings me closer and presses his forehead against mine.
“I know this may be against a lot of rules, dróttning,” he says, “but I just…I can’t believe you’re really here.” When his lips touch mine it’s as though heaven has settled in the center of my chest. There’s no tongue involved, no aggression of a passionate lover, but the caution of newness. It’s as though he’s testing if what he knew about me back then still applies now. And though memory doesn’t come full force at that moment, I can’t deny that the kiss brings with it familiarity.
When Eirik pulls away, I gasp for air and in the same breath, I gasp for him. He steps back to join the others and my eyes follow him there too, moving from one man to the other.
I take in a few moments to look at them closely, to take note of the things that make them different from each other. Eirik the shortest of the four (though that’s not saying much, as they all tower over me), the one that I’ve thought in the past looks like he’d have a twinkle in his blue eyes. I can see it now, in the torchlight. He is looking at me with the same intense expression that they all share, but I think I can see behind that just the ghost of a dry smile.
“Thank you, Eirik,” I say. The words feel entirely natural in my mouth. I know,
without needing to be told, that we are speaking some other language now, some language that I cannot identify but know in my heart to be my mother tongue.
I turn to the rest of them, drawing myself up into the queenly poise that I subconsciously know they expect of me.
“And the rest of you? What are your names?” I can’t just keep calling them the Viking men, not now that I know how deeply they are bonded to me, how important their service is.
The three remaining men are still on bended knee. One by one they remove their gaze from the grass to look me in the eye and speak their names aloud.
“Johan.” He stands to greet me, raking his fingers through my hair. And though my mouth longs to feel the touch of his kiss, he doesn’t give me that satisfaction. He steps away too soon, allowing for the next Viking to step forward.
“Haki,” he says, and takes me into his arms. It’s the kind of hug, more erotic than being spread eagle on a pastor’s desk. But nothing compared to the actions of the next warrior.
“Karsi.” The name leaves his lips like a song. He has his hand held out, waiting for me to take it. When my fingers brush against his, it’s not with gentleness that I am faced, but with need and passion and intensity. He pulls me into him, crashing me into his chest. His lips follow suit, as does his tongue. There are no words to explain the way he handles me. No words to explain how moist my nether regions become in anticipation of…well, in anticipation of what he’ll do to me when things are how they should be.
I almost squeal when his hand grips my ass, nails sinking deep into the flesh despite the layer of clothing covering me. “Welcome home, dróttning.” He whispers the words in my ear but I feel them all the way through to my toes.
He moves back and again, they’re standing a few feet away from me, looking good enough to eat. I push away the dirty thoughts and focus on them.
Viking Queen_A Reverse Harem Romance Page 4