The young boys were taken aback by Aiya's calm demeanor. Surely, she understood the gravity of her situation, yet she walked ahead of them with silent defiance, her hands bound tightly behind her back. Each step she took was steady and purposeful, as if the binds were inconsequential. The trees of Keller’s Forest whispered around them, their rustling leaves masking the boys’ hushed conversations.
When the trees began to thin, the sprawling city of York emerged in the distance, its fortress looming high above the village like a dark specter. The sight of it made Aiya’s stomach churn. Memories rushed in—of her days as a servant, of stolen moments with Noah, and of Hemming’s cruel reign over her life. This city had once been her cage, and now she was returning to it as a prisoner once more. But not for long. Hemming would pay for every scar he’d left on her soul.
Behind her, the boys chattered excitedly, their voices filled with the bravado of young men who didn’t yet understand the weight of their actions.
“We’ll be rewarded for bringing her to Lord Hemming,” Eadred boasted, puffing out his chest. “We’ve caught a Viking traitor!”
“She’s not a Viking,” Bothelm muttered, his chubby fingers clutching his small knife nervously. “She doesn’t even look like one.”
“She’s with them. That makes her a traitor,” Æðelræd shot back. “Stop questioning it.”
As they neared the village gates, villagers began to gather, their curious stares lingering on Aiya. Some jeered, others whispered among themselves, and a few simply looked away, disinterested. The boys, however, basked in the attention, shouting their victory to anyone who would listen.
“We’re taking her to Hemming Castle!” Eadred yelled. “Come see this heathen whore face judgment!”
The crowd grew as they moved through the streets. Wooden homes and market stalls lined the dirt roads, and the air was thick with the smell of livestock and damp earth. Aiya kept her head high, her sharp gaze cutting through the onlookers. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her falter.
The gates of the castle loomed ahead, flanked by two armored guards. They stepped forward as the boys approached, their swords gleaming in the pale morning light.
“What’s your business here?” one demanded, his voice stern.
Eadred shoved Aiya forward. “She’s from the Viking settlement near Durham. She claims to have been a servant to Lord Hemming. We’ve brought her back for him.”
The guard raised a brow, his eyes scanning Aiya with mild interest. After a moment, he gestured for the gates to open. With a creak, the massive wooden doors swung inward, revealing the courtyard beyond.
Aiya’s chest tightened as she stepped inside. The courtyard was just as she remembered—red dirt underfoot, meticulously arranged flower beds blooming with crimson and violet. Hemming’s “royal colors,” he used to call them, a ridiculous attempt to mirror the wealth of true kings. She hated how the place had remained unchanged, as if time had frozen in the wake of her suffering.
The boys led her through the castle’s main hall, its grand doors opening to reveal a cavernous space bathed in dim light. The room was as oppressive as ever, the air heavy with the smell of incense and damp stone. Tapestries depicting holy wars hung from the walls, their embroidered swords and crosses glinting faintly. Lords and ladies lined the chamber, their fine tunics and dresses in stark contrast to the rough fabric of Aiya’s clothes. Whispers rippled through the crowd as they watched her approach the throne.
At the far end of the hall sat Lord Jehan Hemming, his bulk spilling over the sides of his ornate throne. His pink, jowly face split into a grin as his sharp eyes fell on Aiya. Beside him, Lady Ardith perched like a vulture, her thin lips curling in disdain. Hemming rose slowly, his every movement deliberate.
“Well, well,” he drawled, descending the dais with a heavy step. “If it isn’t my wayward little servant.”
He stopped before her, his beady eyes scanning her face as if searching for something. Then, with a sudden burst of mock affection, he grabbed her chin and leaned in, his thin lips brushing hers in a grotesque parody of a kiss. Aiya jerked her head back, her expression filled with disgust.
Hemming’s laughter echoed through the hall. “Still so defiant,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement. “Do you know what this little wretch did?” He turned to address the crowd, spreading his arms wide. “She stole from me. Lied to me. Betrayed me. And now, here she is, back where she belongs.”
The crowd chuckled uneasily, some shifting in their places as Hemming’s voice grew louder. Aiya remained silent, her smirk unshaken despite the guards forcing her to kneel.
“And what’s this?” Hemming turned his attention to the boys. “My loyal subjects, tell me your names.”
“I am Eadred, my lord,” the tallest boy said, bowing deeply. “These are my brother and cousin. We brought her back for you.”
“How noble,” Hemming cooed, patting Eadred’s head with exaggerated affection. “You will be rewarded, of course.”
As the boys beamed, Hemming turned to his guards. “Remove them.”
The boys’ smiles faltered as they were ushered from the hall, their protests fading into the distance. Hemming returned to his throne, his gaze fixed on Aiya.
“And what shall I do with you, little thief?” he mused, tapping a finger to his chin. “Perhaps I’ll keep you as my personal servant. A reminder of your place.”
Aiya tilted her head, her smirk sharpening into something dangerous. “I’ll tell you what you’ll do,” she said, her voice low and even. “You’ll die by my hand.”
The hall fell deathly silent, her words hanging in the air like a blade. Hemming’s laughter broke the tension, loud and grating.
“Such spirit,” he said, his amusement barely masking his unease. “Guards, take her to the tower. Let her rot for a while.”
Before they could drag her away, a voice rang out from the entrance.
“Stop!”
All heads turned toward the doorway, where a tall figure strode into the hall. Aiya’s heart clenched as she recognized him.
“James?” she whispered.
Hemming froze, his face a mix of shock and delight. “Jago!” he cried, spreading his arms. “My son! You’ve returned!”
“Father,” James said, his voice calm and measured. “We need to talk.”
Aiya’s world tilted. Father? The word echoed in her mind as she stared at James, her shock quickly morphing into rage. He didn’t meet her gaze, his focus solely on Hemming.
“Guards, take the prisoner to the tower,” Hemming commanded, his excitement drowning out her protests. “Jago, come. We have much to discuss.”
As Aiya was dragged from the hall, her eyes locked with James’s. His expression was unreadable, his motives hidden behind an infuriating mask of indifference. The last thing she saw before the heavy doors slammed shut was his retreating figure, walking side by side with the man she had vowed to destroy.
YOU ARE READING
Conqueror Queen
Historical Fiction✯Sequel to A Viking's Rage✯ Her whole life she had been mistreated, now it was her turn for revenge. She wasn't just a slave anymore, she was Aiya Einardóttir now, and she would conqueror the whole world if she had too. Now she seeks revenge on Lord...
