I took her in the haze of my great hall, mead fumes thick as war cries.
She stood there, wrists bound from some rival's desperate bargain, eyes like shattered steel-daring me to try.
I expected screams, curses. Got them in heaps.
What I didn't expect? The way her fury hooked into me, pulling at the soft rot I'd buried under years of blood and blade.
Our binding rite was no gentle vow.
Torch shadows danced over sweat-slicked skin as I pinned her down, her teeth grazing my shoulder in futile war.
She bucked, clawed, spat venom that only made me harder.
Claimed her there, rough and unrelenting, bodies slamming like armies in clash.
But gods, in that tangle, her gasps twisted into something hungry.
Loathing? Aye. But laced with a surrender she hates herself for.
Days bled into nights by the roaring hearth, furs heavy with our scent, winds howling outside like jealous ghosts.
She fights me still-words sharp as daggers, body arching away even as it arches toward.
I've slaughtered kings for less defiance, yet with her, that hidden ache stirs.
The tenderness I hide from my men, it slips out in the dark: a hand steadying her after rage, a growl promising safety amid the chaos.
She's my ruin, this bride who was never meant to be more than trophy.
Worse? She feels it too-the pull dragging us under.
One slip by the thunder-mad river, blame flying like hurled spears, and she nearly shattered us both.
Push too far, and her pride snaps clean-freedom she clawed from betrayal, gone.
Self carved from pawnhood, dust.
Or mine breaks wide: the warlord unmasked, tenderness bared to axes and laughs.
Her resistance is a blade at my throat.
Will it carve us into enemies eternal, or forge the savage want neither can deny?
