The Will Of The Gods Ch 05

Regina did not know how long she had laid in the bed. The only thing that marked time was the buzzing of her thoughts as she muddled through. Alone, she could process the past day.

A slave doesn't give her master permission.

The first moments passed in confusion. Her words had angered him. She did not fully understand why. She tried to be what the gods had willed her to be, a slave in whatever capacity Gregar wanted her. Never in her life had she thought to anger the gods. Or anyone, really. She tried to be compliant and complacent. A good princess. A humble fiancé. A doting daughter. A faithful follower of the gods' will.

A slave doesn't give her master permission.

Her confusion began to anger her. Why would he be mad? How dare he? He had taken everything he wanted. Her pleas, her pleasure, her permission, all were at his fingertips and yet he asked for more. The Ceremony meant that she was his, but no one said she had to be perfect. No one expected for her to give so readily. Her stomach soured as anger nestled itself in the tightness between her shoulder blades.

No.

She would not be compliant and easy. Where had it gotten her before? She had moved from a fiancé who used her as a pawn to Gregar who, although able to rip unparalleled pleasure from her, wanted the same. She was a trophy. A pretty prize. A figurehead. A symbol of the conquest he desired. She would not let him have her.

——

Gregar left Regina in his tent and went to find Ivan. His thoughts were racing. She was exactly where he wanted her, and yet he had abandoned the beauty just as she gave in. Something in her supplication made him uneasy. It wasn't anger that made him leave the tent. It was that feeling of disquiet that comes when something that should be hard is too easy.

He had been so sure of himself when they made the plan. It was Ivan's idea, the egg of it anyway. He had joked that putting the princess through the Ceremony would be a surefire way to win the war. Gregar had laughed then, but the idea needled its way into his thoughts until he had eventually formulated the means. Once it was solid in his mind, he pursued it with dogged enthusiasm, unable to be swayed.

Now that he knew her, though, had glimpsed the way she lived with her father and fiancé, the way they pushed her about like a tethered thing, the way she took it, he found himself wanting more.

Regina did what was expected of her, said what she thought people wanted to hear. It wasn't enough. He didn't want her begging because it was what he wanted. He wanted her begging because the need he had woken inside of her had overpowered her ability to think about, to want, anything but him. It was a tall order.

Gregar had never been comfortable in the world of slavery that Eldon lived by. When he took a slave, he bored quickly and moved on. He'd always preferred a free woman, the give and take. Regina's enslavement was a means to an end. He hadn't stopped to consider her as a person.

Now, when he had her cloying in the palm of his hand, he found himself feeling guilty.

"She's a slave," Ivan said matter of factly when Gregar shared his thoughts. "If she's boring you, get a new one. I'll use her if you're not up for it."

Gregar bristled at the thought.

Ivan gave a soft chuckle. "Not bored quite yet then."

"Not just," Gregar agreed.

"Whatever you do, be careful. She's still the enemy, even in silks."

——

Buried in the weight of her thoughts, Regina did not hear Gregar come into the tent, missed his soft footfalls as he padded to the bed. With the blindfold on, she could see nothing. Suddenly, she felt hands on her blindfold. She jerked.

The blindfold fell away so that she was looking up at her master. Her body tightened as he reached for her, but instead of the forced caress that she had readied herself to resist, he unfastened the bindings on her hands, freeing her wrists. Immediately, she flinched away from him.

"Turn around and kneel the way I showed you last night."

The softness in his words made Regina's blood boil. He was talking to her like a frightened animal. She scrambled to the far side of the bed and jumped to her feet.

"Fuck. You."

Gregar smiled. "You already tried that one, wren."

Regina felt a flush of fear run through her, but anger steeled her. "Fuck you."

Gregar chuckled, clucking his tongue. Inwardly, he was pleased. Regina bounced between her father and fiance, hanging off of their every word, vying for approval and giving in at even the slightest hint of displeasure. Beneath the surface, he could tell there was more. She let the desire to please override her own wants and desires. Technically, that would make her an easy slave, but it bored him. He wanted her to give in to him and him alone. It should not be so easy.

"So, there is some fight in you after all?" He quirked his eyebrow. "What changed?"

"I'm the princess," she spit back. "I will not be humiliated. I tried to play your game-do what the gods seemed to want, but it's wrong."

"The Ceremony-"

"Bullshit." Regina wanted to throw something. She wanted to rip the covers off his bed, shred them to pieces with her bare hands. "I'm not a toy. I'm not a symbol of your claim to the throne. Any priest worth his salt would render the Ceremony invalid. I'm the princess, and I will be queen of Eldon. When I get home, which I will," she snarled. "I won't eat or sleep until your head is on a spike. I'll make sure they place it so I can see it out my window."

Arching an eyebrow, Gregar nodded slowly, taking in her words for a moment before speaking.

"No," he said finally. "No you won't. You'll go back to your fiance and you'll cry and you'll lie about how terrible I was to you, and he'll tell you that the Ceremony isn't real, and the two of you will deny it. You'll braid your hair back into coils on the top of your head, and you'll hold his hand and do whatever he says."

As he spoke, Gregar began to move around the edge of the bed, circling her slowly. "You'll pretend that I tricked you. You'll pretend that you only responded because I made you. You'll ignore that aching need inside of you that I awoke. You'll ignore the fact that you are, at your core, mine. I know it. The gods know it."

Regina's lips tightened into a thin line. Gregar was getting closer, still cautious, but closing. For a moment, she thought of giving in again. Life was easier without conflict. But giving in meant letting him tell her who and what she was.

She raised her chin. "I am the princess of Eldon."

"You are my slave."

Gregar leapt at her. At the same moment, Regina threw herself toward the fire. Even as Gregar's arm wrapped around her waist, yanking her to the floor, she felt her hand close around the fire poker. She jammed the poker into the meat of his arm where they wrapped around her waist.

Regina felt the metal connect, dig. Giving a groan, his grip on her loosened. She yanked herself out of his grasp. Raising her arms high, she cracked him over the head with the butt of her makeshift weapon, hitting the base of his skull. He went still.

---

"We're going out again." Gregar smacked his fist on a flimsy table. By the end of Regina's first day gone, the entire camp had packed and left. Gregar had refused for the first few hours, but finally relented to Ivan's more pragmatic line of thinking. Gregar's force was split into small factions, allowing them to move easily when needed. If Regina got to the castle and was able to describe their location, the regiment would be well away by the time the Trandon army came. Gregar had stayed with a detail of men, including Ivan, to find her.

"This is absurd," Ivan insisted. "You're injured. She's gone. She's at the castle by now-probably arrived before the rain started. You need to leave. The Trandons could arrive at any moment."

Gregar stood from the table, grabbed his sword and went to loop it around his waist. He gave a soft groan, rubbing his arm. The poker had gotten him good. It would be a while before he healed. "Do you know what's in those woods, Ivan? She's been spoiled and pampered her entire life. Even if she went hunting, they would have found the animals for her. Gods he damned, she could be dead by now for all we know."

"So you're wasting men and resources and risking your life for what? A slave? A good fuck? A corpse?"

Gregar's hands tightened on his sword, knuckles going white, but Ivan continued.

"If she's made it back to the castle, there isn't anything we can do until we take the kingdom. When we do, we'll show her brand and legitimize our cause. Then you'll get your slave back. If she's dead, we have an easy claim without a Trandon heir. Then, the only thing you're losing is a slave. I'm sure we can find you another redhead if that's what you're after."

Gregar crossed the tent in two strides until his nose was almost touching Ivan's. Despite Ivan's size, he back-pedaled slightly from the anger radiating from his lord.

When Gregar spoke, his voice was a snarl. "Get out."

Ivan's eyes widened. "You can't seriously still be considering-"

"Not of my tent. You're off the detail. Take a horse and go back to the men."

"Your highness-"

Gregar turned from him. Ivan left.

Once he was gone, Gregar sank back into his chair, resting palms against his temples. More than once, Gregar had wished that Ivan's talent for cold, dispassionate logic would somehow rub off on him. Why did the thought of Regina dead in the woods make his chest tight? She was, as she had said, a means to an end. Yet, the image of her in the cart, reluctantly giving in to the ministrations of his fingers flashed before his eyes. Her coos against his ear, soft and fluttering, unable to stop herself from making the noises. The way that, when she let herself give in, she relaxed in his arms despite herself.

He would have her back.

He stepped from the tent to find that the rain was letting up.

——

Four days.. It had been four days since Regina ran. The first day, she had been fairly certain that she was moving in the right direction, albeit slowly. It was easy with the sun out-on her right in the morning, at her left after she rested at noon. She hid in the cavern of a tree that evening and woke up sore and aching and drenched. Doing her best to fall asleep, she hoped the rain would end by morning.

That was three days ago. Determined to find her way, she continued moving. Her stomach clambered hungrily, but she ignored it, pushing herself on. Her clothes stuck to her body, drenched in mud. There was no sun now to follow. Nothing to give her any hint as to the right direction. The rain was a dense curtain so that she could only see what was directly in front of her. She forced her feet to keep moving.

It was early morning when she came across a slender, muddy road. As soon as she reached it, the rain that had been pounding at her for the past two days slowed to a soft drum. Regina jumped gleefully and swiped the wet mess of her hair from her eyes to peer left and right, wondering which way led home.

It was then that she heard the snarl.

She whipped around. In the dimness of the trees perhaps twenty yards away, she saw six pairs of hungry eyes trained on her. Heads low, ears back, teeth bared, the other wolves joined with the first.

For a moment, Regina found herself rooted in fright. The wolves began to move closer, circling her with the same predatory stealth that Gregar had. Two split from the pack, starting to flank her. As if in slow motion, her instincts kicked in. Her bare feet, raw from the forest floor, slapped against the muddy road. Darting across it, she made for the trees on the other side. If she could climb one, she could wait out the wolves.

But her moment of hesitation cost her just as she reached a tree with low branches. She felt teeth bite into her calf, dragging her down and backwards. Another jaw clamped around her abdomen, tearing the flesh and then biting again. Regina knew she was screaming, but could not remember when she had started.

She reached out, hands flailing along the ground to find something to use as a weapon. Another set of teeth tore into her thigh just above her knee just as her fingers closed around the base of a large stick.

With a wail, she smashed the branch down on the head of the wolf at her stomach. It released her, but immediately tried to bite again. Another scream and all of her strength drove it back. The next wolf she caught in the nose. She felt its teeth rip her thigh as it was jettisoned to the side. With what remaining strength she had, she struck the last one as hard as she could. It yelped, released, stepped back warily.

Brandishing the stick, she quickly forced herself into a standing position, leaning against the tree for support. Another wolf jumped forward to attack her again, but she managed to ward it off, swatting at it with the branch. This time, she caught the wolf across the chest. It went down to the ground. She struck out again, managing to land several blows in quick succession. Growling, the wolves backed off, slinking into the branches on the other side of the road. She could see them watching her from behind the treeline. They knew a wounded kill when they saw one.

Without taking her eyes off of them, she climbed. Pain nearly blinded her as she moved from limb to limb. She did not stop until she was sure they could not reach her. When she arrived at a formidable branch, she straddled it and tried to survey the damage they had done.

Blood was seeping out of every wound. She watched it leak from her, dripping down the waterlogged branch until it fell to the ground, disappearing in the mud at the base of the tree. Panting, she tried to still her thoughts. She did not know what to do with a wound. All she'd ever had were scratches and scrapes, and even those were few. Her hands shook as she tried futilely to press her flesh back together. It was no use. She leaned her head against the tree trunk, pressing her eyes shut, trying to pace her breathing as the pain threatened to overtake her.

——

It was well past dark, but Gregar did not call off the day's search. Not until his men all but mutinied did he finally agree to head back to the small camp they had made. His thoughts were dark. Images of Regina pounded through his head. She had fallen into a gully or met with a bear. Perhaps, instead, she had found the road only to run upon a slaver. She was halfway to the East by now or destined for a brothel nearby. The what-if's needled their way into his mind.

When they arrived back at their small campsite, they found it was already occupied. A messenger from another camp.

"Your Highness," he said, trying to keep the uncertainty off of his face. "I met Ivan on the way here. He said I should come to you with this."

---

"She's waking," said a voice that sounded like it was coming down a long hallway, echoey and distant.

"Don't let her move." This one higher pitched, concerned.

Regina's eyes fluttered. She winced as bright light flooded her senses. Two faces swam in her vision. When she could finally focus, she found herself in a bed. To her side, a man hovered over her. He was in his fifties, graying and weathered. Near her feet, a woman of about the same age and appearance rested on the edge of the small bed where Regina lay. Their clothes were as tattered as the rest of their surroundings.

She seemed to be in a tiny bedroom. Her mattress felt as though it were stuffed with straw. Now awake, she could feel it poking at her skin. The furniture had knicks and cracks, as if it had been passed from generation to generation for quite some time. Shabby curtains hung at an open window, too sheer to actually block any light.

"Where am I?" She tried to sit up.

"Not just yet, dear." The woman's voice was firm but soothing as she gently pushed Regina's shoulders back into the pillow. "You've had quite a day."

Regina blinked. The last thing she remembered was climbing into the tree. "How did I get here?"

"Nigel here found you by the road this morning."

The man, who Regina took to be Nigel, nodded. "You were a sore sight."

"I was in a tree. How did you see me?"

"Not when I found you. You were in a heap next to one, though. I thought someone had lost a bag from their cart. Decided to see if it had anything that might be useful to us. Found you instead. You're just lucky Trina knows a thing or two about stitching wounds. Raised two little hellions ourselves. Always getting into places they shouldn't. None so bad as what you've got."

"Th-Thank you," Regina stammered. Her mind was reeling. When she climbed into that tree, she was certain she would die. Her left shoulder ached fiercely. She rubbed it.

"Dislocated," Trina explained. Regina did not remember dislocating her shoulder. It must have happened when she fell out of the tree. "I popped it back while you were asleep. Easier if you don't have to feel it slide back into the socket."

Regina grimaced at the thought. "Thank you," she repeated. "Thank you for everything."

Nigel winked. "For the Heilaun army? Of course."

Regina stiffened instantly.

"We saw the insignia once we washed your clothes in the river."

Gregar's clothes. They had his sigil stitched into the sleeves. It had not even occurred to Regina to take it off. Her only thought was getting as far away from him as possible.

"Our own boys are fighting with the Heilauns. Where is your troop stationed these days? Pretty close if you were out in the woods, hm?" Nigel was still talking, oblivious to the sudden tension that had overtaken the girl beside him. Trina, on the other hand, caught Regina's eye and gave her uninjured calf a comforting pat.

"Nigel," she said meaningfully. "Go get her some food. She's probably starving." When he left, she turned back to Regina. Fidgeting slightly with her hands, she brought her eyes to Regina's. "I saw your brand."

Regina's blood ran cold.

"It looks pretty fresh. Did you run away?"

Mouth dry, Regina found herself unable to speak.

"I can't say I blame you. It's not an easy path. The gods' will is the gods' will, but you ran away to join the Heilaun cause. Can't disapprove of that."

"I wasn't running t-"

"I won't say a thing," Trina assured her quickly. "Your secret's safe so long as no one else back at the camp sees."

"Back at the camp?"

"I'm sure you're eager to return. We'd say you could stay here, but we don't have the money to feed another mouth. Our boys send back what they can, of course, but that doesn't mean we can live off it. Not with the taxes."

"Taxes?" Regina asked softly.

"King keeps asking for more. Took half our crop last year, and we just got word he's taking more come harvest. It's unending. We're paying the king to fight against the only man taking care of us."

"Taking care of you?" Regina tried to follow.

Trina nodded. "I'm sure you know if you're heading his way. Every chance he gets, the Heilaun finds a way to give us money. It's not charity, mind. He gives us work. An opportunity to earn it. Last year, we told Bartholomew, our eldest, about the bad season. Next day, the Heilaun asks Nigel to come out to the camp to fix a cart. We were sure the Heilaun had his own people to fix carts, but Nigel obliged all the same. Can't likely refuse a man who might be the king, can you?"

"No," Regina's voice was choked. She certainly hadn't. Her mind flashed back to the tent, Gregar's hands dipping between her thighs. She could feel color rushing to her cheeks.

"Once he finished, the Heilaun gave Nigel twenty gold crowns. More money than poor Nigel had ever seen at one time in his life. He came home in tears. It was enough to get us through the season. Enough to buy a new plow and a new cart." She stared at Regina expectantly.