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February 7 - February 8, 2025
“Look at you,” he breathed. “It’s like you’re carved from ice, frigid and perfect. There are so many things I’d rather do to that body than carve it up, but… you being who you are…” a predatory gleam lit his eyes.
“If I hear rumblings again of my choice in bodyguard,” said Elma, catching each of her guests’ eyes one by one, “I will personally see to it that you’re silenced.” Rune stepped forward into the light and leaned arrogantly over her chair, practically draping himself across it, smiling viciously. “She means I’ll cut out your tongue.”
“You should put on a show for the citadel. Call it Queen Elma, The Raging Bi—” “Where in your contract,” Elma cut in, “does it state that you are to make obnoxious commentary in addition to your physical services?” Rune chuckled, settling himself into Elma’s chair. “Physical services. Don’t give me arrows if you don’t want them loosed upon you.” “You’re a boor.” “I know.” A grin split his handsome
“One more joke,” said Elma, “and I’ll have an addendum put in your contract: no sarcastic remarks on pain of death.” “Don’t be silly,” said Rune, rising from his chair, “you adore my japes. One day you’ll outright laugh at something I say and hate yourself for it.” His eyes shone. “I can’t wait.”
“The offer stands,” he said, keeping up with her easily, their gaits evenly matched. “I’m not above fucking my enemies. And you could use a distraction.”
“Look at it,” Rune said, disgust in his words. “It’s been dyed, the color bleached out. And don’t worry, I took the liberty of checking the hair between his legs before I turned his body over to your men. It didn’t match.” “You mean you have white—” Elma said, then bit her tongue. “Yes,” Rune said impatiently. “I’ll show you later, you depraved thing.
His words were low, his lips faintly brushing her hair as he spoke. “One day, you’ll let me in on those twisted thoughts of yours.”
“I don’t barge,” protested Rune. “I’ve never barged in my life.”
“God, you’re soaking,” he murmured, dragging his teeth along her thigh where he’d kissed her. “Sweet, depraved creature. I’ve never met anyone with such bloodlust.”
“Stop talking,” she said, “and do something useful with that tongue.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Say anything about what? How good you taste? The sound you make when you come? How much I want to kill whoever’s outside your door and lay you out on the bed just so I can hear that sound again?” He smiled serenely. “I won’t say a word.”
“Don’t be like that,” Rune said. “I meant what I said. I don’t like the idea of you leaving me so soon, not yet. And I suppose, if you must die, I’d prefer to be the one to kill you.” “How poetic,” Elma said. “Not to mention,” he said, the corner of his mouth curling. “I revile the idea of that sweet, wet pussy going forever unplowed.” “For god’s sake,” Elma spat, scrambling to her feet in annoyance. “I hate you.”
“I’m being completely serious,” Rune said. “Your father was an effective king. His people feared him, and he defended his walls mercilessly. Rothen stands on the foundations that your father and his ancestors created, blood-soaked as they are. But you…” Rune looked at Elma as if she were the only thing that existed in that moment. “You could be loved, Elma Volta. You could grow a garden.”
“If that’s what my bloodthirsty queen so desires.” She glanced at Rune sidelong. “I am anything but yours.” He grinned, but something tugged on the corners of it, weighing it down. “If it makes you feel any better, Majesty, I am nothing if not yours.”
“I’ll be a thorn in your side, Queen Elma, until I have every reason to believe that Rothen will not invade my kingdom. Until the enemies in your midst are dealt with, until I decide I’m good and ready, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”
“I beg you,” Rune said to his mother, “at least refrain from harming my ego until after we’ve eaten.”
You could puncture me full of holes, Your Majesty, and I’d only beg for more.”
“If he dies,” she had said, her voice thick with blood and spit, “I’ll rip the flesh from your body with my bare hands and shove it down your throat.”
don’t want to kill you,” said the woman in black, grinning. “But I’m going to. You may as well surrender. What’s the point of drawing this out?” Too out of breath to speak, and weighed down by her armor, Elma didn’t respond. Three coppers, she thought.
“Well, you can’t just… die,” Elma sobbed, not caring that she sounded like a petulant child. “I love you.”
“Elma,” he said, interrupting. She could feel the heat in his voice, his excitement in the languorous way he nuzzled her neck. “Home? What do I care about home? I could never see Slödava again and die happy, just for the chance to spend a week of nights in your bed. Even for one night, really. I mean, all you’d have to do was ask. Want me to declare war on my mother? I’ll do it.”
