Daughters of the King |✓|

Chapter Fifteen

"Where were you?" Gunnar asked when I got back, exactly like a true husband would.

Kissing savages, I didn't say. Exactly like a guilty wife.

Bjorn had held me in his arms, had kissed my face and my neck with nothing but trees for an audience, and I had let him. He wasn't gentle, wasn't graceful like Gunnar had been, but I didn't mind it. I'd smiled at him, because I had finally claimed the upper hand. I even told him I would do as he asked, that I would be a spy for him, and he foolishly believed me, too distracted by lust.

I'd thought that I wasn't like my mother, but I was exactly like her. At least, when it came to men like Bjorn, I was.

I wouldn't do the same to Gunnar, though, and I couldn't explain why. Not even to myself.

"I know why he's keeping us here," I told Gunnar, and I thought he'd be pleased.

He wasn't.

"You were with him? Again?"

His response caught me off guard, and I frowned. "Don't you want to know why he's keeping us here?"

"No," he said. "I want us to go. Now. Tonight, if we can."

"Don't be stupid, Gunnar."

He jerked his head to the side, as though I'd slapped him.

"You actually want to stay here?" he asked. "With him?"

"No," I said, standing closer and lowering my voice below a whisper. "We will go. Soon. But first, he has to think it's his idea."

"Fine," he said, but he didn't look at me and I could tell he was resenting me.

...

Bjorn laughed with all his teeth showing. "You're a terrible shot," he said as he came towards me, but he sounded like he was proud.

We'd gone out hunting early that morning, just the two of us with one of the dogs, but I was making sure to miss every shot. The morning air was crisp, and it felt chill against the bare skin of my neck, since I'd let one of the old ladies tie my hair up in a collection of braids, some small some big, so it all piled atop my head in a crown of waves and spikes, with a black feather stuck in. Bjorn had said I looked like a true huntress, a true warrior princess, but I just laughed and kept shooting at nothing, wasting bullets.

So far, Bjorn had caught two pheasants, and I'm sure he could have caught more, since he was an excellent shot, but he wasn't very focused.

He put down his gun and his birds, and then gathered me to his chest. He smelled like woodfire smoke, and his beard grated against my skin as he descended his mouth on mine in a bruising kiss. He was rough in nearly every way. His clothes, his hands, his manners. But he was attractive and strong, although quite older, and he was dumb. Dumb enough to believe any damn word I said, as long as I was letting him touch me. He was such a sinful man, drunk on the belief that I was cheating on my husband. Sometimes, I felt like that was the truly irresistible part for him. Not so much me, but the sin.

"What's your name?" He asked me suddenly, his voice hoarse in a different way than usual.

"Lightening girl," I joked.

He indulged me by smiling, flattening his hand to mine, palm to palm. "Look at you. Look how small you are next to me."

"I'm even smaller next to my husband," I said, and he grinned. He didn't mind when I mentioned my supposed husband. In fact, I got the impression he preferred it.

"How old are you, anyway?" he asked next.

"Nineteen," I said.

"You must be the youngest person I've ever met." He looked serious. The loss of youth was no laughing matter these days.

"I won't be the youngest for long."

He smiled. There was a woman back at camp that was pregnant, which was obviously a source of great pride to him.

"She's the first pregnant woman I've ever seen," I said.

"What a life." He shook his head sadly. "What an ugly world. But I'm looking forward to bringing my child into it."

"Your child?" I asked, not immediately understanding. Did he call all the people of the camp his?

"Yes. Fay is carrying my child."

He was still holding me when he said it, hands on my hips. He was still smiling, looking down at me, waiting for a reaction.

I felt hot all over but fought not to let it show. So, this is what these wild men were like. I don't know why, but it made me feel small. Shrunken, somehow. Because I didn't actually mean anything to Bjorn. I was an amusement to him—he was amused with most things, it seemed—and he was enjoying the fact that I was cheating on my husband, and enjoying my youth, but that was it.

It shouldn't have surprised me, or even bothered me, but it did anyway. I wanted to tell him; I'm not your plaything! But I told myself not to be a hypocrite, since he didn't mean anything to me, either, and perhaps he even knew it—perhaps that was the point here.

"Are you jealous?" he asked, smirking.

"A little," I confessed, because I knew he'd like that.

He kissed me again, before releasing me to pick up his game, and he said, "Should we head back to camp?"

I forced a smile onto my face and let him lead the way. I watched him from behind, at one with his wilderness, walking the forest like he owned it, a gun at his side and two fat birds flung onto his shoulder.

Soon, he'd send us on our way. I felt sure of that. He'd have his fun with me, but once he was certain that Gunnar and I were fit enough, he'd send us back to our king with the intention of having us spy for him—having me spy for him. It was only a matter of time, and I found myself feeling anxious for it. I was looking forward to the day when I would be rid of this place and these dirty savages.

But then, I'd be back under the control of my conspiratorial mother, and most probably forced to live the life I'd lived before, full of lies and schemes. Because there was no way she'd married the new king out of love, I knew her better than that.

There was no winning, in this world.

Bjorn didn't speak again until we were almost home. "Lightning girl," he said with a wicked smile. "Kiss me now before your husband sees us."

And I did. And I hated him again.

Gunnar wasn't in the hut when I returned, and there were no guards at the door. He was strong, and much recovered, so once or twice already, they'd come to him for help with things around the camp. They were building a new hut closer to the river, and he'd gone to do work there before. Perhaps that's where they had taken him now.

I took the opportunity to do a quick count of our belongings. More specifically, the belongings I could claim as my own. I figured Gunnar wouldn't be in want of much, since he could return to his unit and find everything he needed, so I gathered up most of what we had and filled the pockets of my jacket again.

I felt certain the savages would still try to send Gunnar back to his king with orders to spy for them. They might keep him here longer than planned, after I was gone. To secure his loyalty. But Gunnar was already at war with his beliefs, and I figured it probably wouldn't be too difficult to make him turn.

It would safeguard his life.

As I prepared to abandon him, I felt confident that I'd gotten to know the area well enough to make a successful escape. I laid my jacket flat in the layers of wool blankets that constructed my bed on the floor, so I could slip it on easily in the night, and I made a plan to sleep with my boots on.

When Gunnar returned, he probably wouldn't notice the change—wouldn't notice that I was planning something. He was barely speaking to me, these days, and for this reason I hadn't yet told him what Bjorn's plans were, nor had I mentioned my attempts at manipulating him. He was jealous enough already, which is something I didn't understand. In the forest just now, Bjorn had asked me if I was jealous, and I'd said that I was. But all I'd really felt was a loss of power.

Gunnar's behavior wasn't like that. He wasn't like me in any way, actually, and it was difficult for me to decipher him. His jealousy was something foreign to me, his resentment unrelenting, and he was slowly becoming impossible to be around.