Painted Blade || sihtric

1.

   "WHY must I always be the distraction?" Bemia complained, trekking through the misty woods of Deccet with her older brother, Lord Uhtred, and his men. "I would much rather keep my gown the way that it is."

And it was true. She rather did love the green gown Gisela had gifted her only days before.

Finan chuckled, leading the way. "I thought you hated gowns."

Uhtred held his hand out to Bemia, helping her jump over a small creek so she wouldn't ruin her dress as she said, "I hate gowns when we're not in Coccham. Why can't Sihtric be the distraction? He has such a pretty face," she cooed, glancing at Sihtric behind her who rolled his eyes.

Uhtred let go of his sister's hand as they continued on. "As much as you might believe that Bemia, we all know that it is you who can distract a man."

"Gods knows how many times we've seen you sweetly smile at a man before cutting his throat," Sihtric added with a deep chuckle.

Bemia huffed, patting her thigh to check the dagger was still sheathed there. "Well, I wish to change out of these clothes."

"And I wish you to kill Danes and survive the night," Uhtred countered. "We are the only chance the villagers have."

Screams sounded ahead and Finan halted, holding up a hand while crouching. Bemia lifted up the bottom of her skirts as she crouched down with the others, her ears straining to hear the chaos up ahead.

"They have begun," Finan quietly announced and then looked over his shoulder at Uhtred.

"Are you ready, sister?" Uhtred asked, glancing at her beside him.

Bemia smirked as she unbounded her silver hair, allowing it to flow freely around her. "I'm not kissing anyone this time."

"You can take their cocks instead," Sihtric snickered, earning a sharp look from Uhtred. "Or not. The choice is always yours, Lady Bemia."

Bemia rolled her eyes as she stood up, walking past a confused Finan. "Sihtric, you need to grow a pair."

"I—" Sihtric's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water as he gaped at her figure walking away. "She is the only woman that manages to bruise my heart."

"Just shut up and follow her," Uhtred muttered.

Ahead of the men, Bemia spotted a clearing, and in that clearing was a burning fire where two men lounged—exactly as she had been told. With one last check over her shoulder to see the men in position, she sweetly smiled and faced back to the Danes.

A soft song carried on the winds, Bemia's plump lips moving as she sang like a siren. The mist around the camp cleared her a path and when her skin was shown by the whispers of the fire, both the Danes seemed to be stuck frozen in place, watching only her.

An older large man with a horn of ale in hand sat up, lips parted in admiration. "What is she?"

"A gift," the young man, lying next to the fire breathed, lust captivating his eyes.

Bemia knew the words from her lips and the sway of her hips had sent the two Danes in a trance. And she loved it.

The grass was soft under her bare feet, a small cold wind brushing against her face and when she lowered herself down into the older man's lap, she felt only disgusted by him. His breath stank of ripe horse turd and stale ale. It took everything in her to not throw up as she brushed the tip of her nose against his, tracing her fingers down the side of his boiled face.

"Elgin," the man grumbled, harshly grabbing Bemia's hip and jerking her forward to sit right over his lap as he lowered himself down on the ground. "Go find somewhere else to be, boy!"