The Arctic Ch 03

Eira paced the room, rage only building as more time passed. How dare he lock her in a room again! Not that she planned to venture out alone, but it would have been nice to have the choice. After their marriage, she was supposed to have more freedom. She folded her arms as she sat down on the edge of the bed. She should have listened to Ingrid. He had lied, about everything. But why did that surprise her? Her father had always said Nicholas was a selfish beast. Tears rolled down her face and she wiped them away furiously. After several minutes of contemplation Eira stood and began to go through the trunks. She began searching through items, dumping them on the floor as she looked for anything she could use to escape. It was two chests later when she heard the lock to the door begin to wiggle. She stood, hands on her hips, ready to give Nicholas an earful, but when the door swung open she was surprised to find the two men who had harassed her earlier in the market, the one named Arlen holding the key in his right hand. Both grinned as they walked into the room, shutting the door behind them and then began walking in opposite directions, intent on trapping her between them.

"How did you get the key to my room?" She tried to keep the fear out of her voice but she was failing miserably.

"Nicholas gave it to me after I told him that I have always been curious what it feels like to have my cock buried inside an elf," he confessed, smiling wickedly. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and her stomach knotted in dread as she looked around quickly for an escape route.She took a step back but that only brought her closer to the other man whose stench filled her nostrils from clear across the room. He was in desperate need for a bath.

"He would never do that!" Eira argued, shaking her head at the thought. Sure they had argued, but Nicholas would not have done this in response, would he?

"How else would I have gotten the key? Told us he was tired of your mouth, said all you do is bitch and moan. Bard and I told him we could take care of that, set you in your proper place."

"Get out!" she demanded, no longer giving the illusion of being polite. There was several minutes of silence before Arlen spoke again.

"Are you aware that your father once sent teams of assassins to slaughter my entire clan in the middle of the night?"

"Liar!" she spat. The man was across the room in a matter of seconds, if she had blinked she would have missed it. In her attempt to get away, she tried to jump over the back of the couch and ended up tripping over her own skirts. She crashed to the wooden floor and as she started to get up Arlen jumped over the couch, grabbed her by the bicep, and lifted her onto her feet, slapping her.

"You dare to call me a liar? Can you believe this ignorant troll, Bard? You have no idea the things your father has done." The other man closed the distance and Eira whimpered, trying to relax in his grip in hopes that he might loosen it.

"My father did many things I was unaware of. If you say he did it, then I believe you. But he is dead and his reign is over." Her voice was softer now, not wanting to anger him any further.

"It would only be of comfort if he were to have died by my own hands, and since I cannot take my revenge against him; I shall have to settle with taking it out on you." Before she had a chance to protest or scream his lips pressed against hers. His beard was short and scratched against her face as he kissed her.

She pressed both hands against his chest in attempt to push him away but he was too strong. His arms tightened as his tongue forced its ways past her lips, tasting of ale and greasy pork, making her gag. But he liked the fact she was struggling, the more she thrashed around in an attempt to get free, the more excited he grew. Arlen forced her to walk backwards where he lifted her up and sat her down on a table, quickly bunching her dress up to her knees. Eira finally managed to swipe her nails across his face, leaving behind small bloody scratches. The Wolf pulled away, bringing a hand to his face. When he glanced down at the blood on his hand, the look on his face made Eira's heart skip a few beats. A deep hearty growl radiated from deep within his chest before he grabbed her legs, yanked her onto her back and pulled her snug against him.

Eira screamed and he punched her so hard white lights danced in her vision as she reached out for her magic, trying to recall the words to the curse she had been prepared to throw at Eerikke earlier in the dining hall. Arlen punched her in the gut, and she felt her very breath being ripped from her lungs. He took a metal collar from Bard and slapped it around her neck, immediately locking it into place.

"I do not think so Elf, magic will ruin all the fun I have planned for you, Queen Eira." She tried to reach for her magic again, but cold emptiness greeted her. She had never not been able to feel her magic, even in all those years she refused to use it, she had still been able to feel it. Even if she could recall the words to the curse, she was now completely defenseless. The shorter man was breathing heavily as he leaned forward and grabbed her arms, pinning them down to the table. The stench that permeated off of him reminded her of a dirty pig pen that had baked in the sun too long.

Eira screamed again, kicking her legs but it only made Arlen more persistent. She feared for the worst when he pulled free his dagger from his belt, but he only cut her dress wide open.

"Never liked these things, I do not understand why elves wear such complicated clothing."

"Please; I am sorry for what my father did to your people, but I am not him, and I will not

rule like him!" She pleaded. She was trying to reason, but he was not listening to reason. He set his dagger aside as he gripped her long underwear and ripped them off, tossing them aside. Nothing would get in his way, not if he could help it. His pants fell as he unbuckled his belt, letting loose his arousal. The sight of it had Eira frightened and forcing herself backwards, trying to get away, even if it brought her closer to the smelly pig man. Arlen grabbed her around the throat, using his grip to push her back down while he shoved a finger inside of her. Eira grunted at the intrusion, tightening her legs to try and push him out but she only barely managed to keep him from getting any further.

Eira gasped as he squeezed a little harder, blocking the blood flow to her head making her feel lightheaded and dizzy. Her legs went limp and slipped from his body, dangling off the side of the table. Then suddenly she felt herself seizing as she was flooded with a wave of euphoria, and the wetness between her legs grew. Her body relaxed as her mind began swimming in bliss. He had compelled her body to an orgasm within minutes, leaving her in a confused haze. She was breathless as she watched him line himself up with her body and ram himself forward. She cried out, feeling herself stretched to her absolute limits. He wrapped a hand in her hair and leaned forward for another sloppy kiss. Eira bit down tasting blood, but instead of pulling away he growled and bit down on her bottom lip in return. He pulled away with a red smile and backhanded her, the knuckles bruising her cheekbone.

"Be grateful, you stupid cunt, I was nice enough to let you come," he spat. Eira looked away, no longer able to stare at his leering triumphant grin. She noticed the proximity of his dagger. She stared at the carefully carved handle as he pounding himself into her body, nearly moving the table with every thrust. She had never handled a dagger before, what if she wasn't fast enough? What if she wasn't strong enough? What if all she managed to do was make him angry and he then used the dagger on her? Without letting further doubt enter her head, she dug her fingernails into the short man's wrist until she could feel chunks of flesh and warm blood. It forced him to let go and she grabbed the knife, thrusting up; sinking it deep into his neck. Blood trickled out slowly at first, and a surprised look overcame his face while his mouth opened wide and their eyes met. she had not even been thinking, it was as though something else had taken over. Then, as fast as she plunged the blade in, she pulled it back out, blood gushing, covering her in a hot mess. She cried out as she tried to protect her face.

When the blood finally stopped she glanced down and discovered the damage. Not only was she covered in blood, so was her dress and the table they had pinned her to. He had bled out so quickly, there had been so much gushing out so fast. She started to wipe her hands on her dress, but it only made matters worse. As she glanced up at Arlen, all she saw was the flying fist right before it connected with her jaw. Arlen's large fist hit her so hard she fell off the table, dropping the knife and landing on the short dying man. The man's body was warm, and a scream escaped her. As Arlen approached her again, the door burst open a second time and she sat on the floor facing two of the Earl's warriors.

"I-I can explain..."

~

"Eira, Queen of Thirann, you stand accused of murder, how do you plead?" The Earl was staring down at her from his chair that sat facing the entire dining hall. He held his stock frame proudly as he drank more ale from his goblet. But instead of answering she simply stared down at her blood soaked hands, it had all happened so fast and yet every moment seemed burned into her brain. She had killed the pig man, with hardly a thought about it.

She was guilty of murder, of that there was no doubt. Her face was swollen and bruised, her dress was was still torn, exposing her naked bloody body; but none of that seemed to phase her. She was stuck in her own hell, replaying the look in his eyes as he realized he was going to die, the blood cascading down the knife and her arms; essentially splattering her naked body in red. The red seemed darker against her pale white skin. These people were animals, but she was the monster now. Her soft green eyes were half closed, vision blurry as they filled with tears and she hugged herself, trying to cover with the remains of her dress.

"I demand to see Nicholas," she announced, voice shaky.

"You do not make demands here, Elf." He spat the word as though it were bitter on his tongue. Eira felt her face burn at his mockery; his disrespect for what was her entire existence.

"However, that is a very good question. Where has our King of the North gone?"

"I am right here Earl, why are you arresting my wife?" Nicholas demanded as he pushed his way through the crowd. He arrived to the front to see Eira bound in shackles, a metal collar around her neck that kept her chained to the ground. The sight of her in such condition made his blood boil and he rushed to kneel in front of her. He began inspecting her, lifting her arms, her hair, looking for a wound to explain the amount of blood. She looked up into his grey blue eyes, and stopped him.

"It's not mine..."

"Your wife stands accused of murder, she has yet to say a word except to ask for you. We were just about to listen to the testimony of the witnesses."

"Who did this to you?" Nicholas demanded, gently cupping her face in his shaking hands so that he could look deep into her in the eyes, thumb lightly tracing the darkest bruise on her left cheek.

"He said you gave him the key." Nicholas's hand reached down into his pocket, only to find it bare. Someone had picked his pocket and assaulted his wife. Nicholas stood to face the Earl, Arlen standing beside him, the faint healing nail marks down his face giving him away. His eyes narrowed as he realized where he had seen the man before. He had run into him earlier, nearly spilling his ale all over the man.

"Did you even look at my wife?" Nicholas demanded, fury brewing beneath the surface, kept only in check by the sheer number of warriors he faced should he lose his temper.

"Yes, and I see her covered in the blood of one of our men. She has yet to speak in her own defense. I act on the word of witnesses who witnessed your wife's murderous intent," Earl Eerikke replied calmly.

"Whoever she killed it had to have been in self defense, you can see she was attacked. Her dress is cut, she has fresh bruises on her face; she cannot be held at fault."

"Blood has been spilled and blood must have blood, that is the way of our people; are you not part of our people?" Nicholas's jaw twitched at the subtle reminder of the purity of his blood.

"Then I shall take the blame. I am the one who left her unsupervised, I am the one who brought her to the Thing. Let my blood repay the blood that has been spilt, not hers."

"Are you implying that her life is worth more than Bards?" Eerikke demanded carefully.

"Of course not, my apologies; I am concerned any advantage we may have will be lost upon her death." Nicholas announced, careful with his words.

"What is this advantage you continue to speak of?" The question came from another man, this one impossibly tall. Eira was forced to lean backwards just to look at his face. The man's very presence demanded attention, his aura hummed with energy around him. Everyone took a knee as he entered the room and sat down.

"King Olaf, Sir. Eira is the descendant of Sol, through my ties to her we hold the power of the Sun."

"So you have said before, but you have yet to demonstrate this power you speak of."

"I am still figuring out how to access it," Nicholas confessed.

"Perhaps there is no power. I am beginning to think that it has all just been a ruse so that you can try and place yourself into a position of power. Your father was ambitious, as you may recall, and look where that got him." Nicholas's jaw went rigid as he struggled to hold himself back. Eira could see it in the twitching of his muscles, the way his nostrils flared ever so slightly as he tried to figure a way out of this.

"I am aware of my father's history, as I am aware of the hospitality you have extended to me by welcoming me among the wolves. I owe you my life, I would never make a suggestion if I did not truly believe it was for your benefit Sir." King Olaf glanced around the room, contemplating his words, gauging the reaction

of the audience.

"Despite your proven value to me,

Bard's family is entitled to compensation for the loss of his life. While she is your wife, she is still an Elf, as such she is a slave and does not hold the same rights as a free woman. Had they been punished for said crime, they would have paid the fine to compensate the damage as stated by our own laws. But I do weigh the words you have spoken and I am willing to let the Gods decide. Trial by hot stones, should she complete the task, and heal, then she has been judged innocent."

"But Sir..."

"Enough! It has been decided, she has taken the life of one of our men, one of our pack. Witnesses have spoken, would you have me believe that you take the word of an Elf over that of your own people? Do you not believe the Gods are capable of judging your wife justly?" Nikolas tensed and Eira could tell it took everything in him to keep control. It was a game of politics, much like she had seen in her own court. Except things like this didn't happen in her court, she would have been kept safe from feral men like Arlen and Bard.

"Forgive me Sir, of course not. You have been merciful and I thank you. It will not be forgotten." But the way he said it sounded less grateful and more threatening toward the end.

"The trial shall be held at noon; she is to be imprisoned until her innocence has been proven."

Eira felt herself pale, she had heard about their trials; all impossible to beat. Even if she managed to grab the stones, there was no way she'd heal from the burns, especially with having no access to her magic. King Olaf dismissed them and left as quickly as he arrived. Earl Eerikke looked upset, but he was smart enough to keep his opinions to himself. Nicholas returned to kneeling before her, taking her dried bloody hands in his.

"Everything will be alright snowflake."

"Nothing is ever going to be okay again Nicholas. You brought me here, you trusted these animals! You locked me away and didn't think twice about it. You don't love me, you don't respect me as your wife; in this world, all I am is a slave!" Eira growled, ripping her hands from his grasp. He leaned closer, kissing her forehead, his breath warm against her skin.

"They will pay Eira, I swear to you every last one of them will suffer for what they have done," he whispered.

~

His words still echoed inside her head as she leaned her back against the wall of her prison cell. They had allowed her to bathe but no amount of scrubbing made her feel clean. She could still feel the blood as though it had been a second skin. A sign of the life she had snuffed out. Yes it had been in self defense but that didn't make the burden any lighter to bear. She had executed him with little thought or hesitation. She didn't feel like herself; this was not the person she had been raised to be. Had her father expected to live forever? He had kept her ignorant and docile and grossly unprepared for the world outside of her Kingdom. So much cruelty and hatred. Her world felt small in comparison and now her ignorance was going to cost her her life. Ingrid had warned her it was a mistake to marry Nicholas, she had thought she knew better than the Elder.

What a fool she had been to believe she was wiser than Ingrid. Eira burst into tears, burying her head into her arms. Never had she felt so alone and helpless; not even a touch of her magic to comfort her. She had spent, what felt like hours trying to connect with the warm energy that flowed through her veins. But ever since Arlen slapped the thin metal collar around her neck and now she felt a vast emptiness. It was blocking her magic and she had no idea how. The tiny window revealed the approaching daylight, a slow countdown to what would essentially lead her to her death. When the door finally opened a warrior she had yet to meet walked in; he held a lengthy piece of rope in one hand.

"We won't be having any problems today, will we Princess?" His free hand hovered near the dagger in his belt. Eira shook her head as she stood, holding both hands in front of her, ignoring the fact everyone continued to use her royal title as mockery. The warrior was the same height, but there was a strong energy surrounding his presence.

"Am I allowed to ask where you are taking me, Warrior?" The man smiled in amusement.

"I am Captain Ash of the Arctic Clan warriors, you may refer to me as such. As for where you are going, there is a boiling cauldron waiting for you," Captain Ash moved closer, pulling her by her own wrists. She studied him carefully as he secured her wrists together with the rope. His head was shaved on both sides, but instead of long braids like many warriors, Captain Ash kept his Auburn locks short that you would hardly notice the curls. Intricate tattoos crept up from his leather armor, covering his neck and stopping just below his jaw. His beard had grey highlights telling her he wasn't as young as he otherwise appeared. He tugged on the rope, tightening it. Her heart raced as he led the way out, forcing her to almost run to keep up with his long strides. The air was brisk and she shivered a little beneath her thin plain grey dress.

The frozen ground crunched beneath her bare feet but she knew better than to complain. Captain Ash walked with confidence and purpose as he dragged her along. Many clan members came out to witness and her stomach felt like it was filled with dozens of butterflies. Ash jerked the rope and she fell to her knees, a few wolves cheering at her cries of pain.