Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 61469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Aksel had remained silent throughout, his presence a pillar of support at my shoulder. But I’d felt the weight of his approval, the fierce pride radiating from him like heat.
Now, hours later, we returned to the prime minister’s residence—my residence, now: for the moment I lived there technically just until the new prime minister was chosen, but I had no doubt that my vision would come to pass. The Sons of Odin and the Pretorian Guard had arranged it so that every thread in Yggdrasil led to me residing here for at least the next six years.
The security detail that had accompanied us melted away as we entered, leaving us alone in the grand foyer. My legs felt unsteady, the adrenaline of the day finally catching up to me.
“You were magnificent,” Aksel said, his hand settling on my lower back. The possessive touch, light as it was, brought a familiar heat down below my belly. Warmth crept into my cheeks, too, at the thought of how insatiable I’d become for my Herra’s hard tól inside me.
“I felt like I was going to vomit the entire time,” I admitted, leaning into his strength.
“That’s what courage is, little one. Doing what must be done despite the fear.” He guided me deeper into the residence, past the formal rooms where I’d played dutiful wife for so many years. “Come. I have something for you.”
In the private sitting room, I saw it immediately—a wooden crate, perhaps four feet long and three feet wide, sitting incongruously on the Persian rug. My heart began to hammer as I recognized the dimensions.
“Herra, what—”
“Open it,” he commanded softly.
My fingers fumbled with the catches, and when I lifted the lid, my breath caught in my throat. A bride saddle lay nestled in protective padding, but this one was different from the one at the safehouse. The wood was darker, polished to a mirror sheen, and intricate Norse designs had been carved along its length—serpents and ravens intertwining in patterns that seemed to shift in the lamplight.
“I had it made specially for you,” Aksel said, moving to stand behind me. His hands settled on my shoulders, his breath warm against my ear. “For the prime minister who is also my submissive bed thrall. It seemed fitting that you should have one worthy of both roles.”
“Here?” I gasped, heat flooding my face. “But anyone could walk in,” I protested, even as my pulse quickened at the thought of what he intended. “The staff, security, visiting dignitaries—Herra, this is too embarrassing.”
Aksel’s hands tightened on my shoulders, and I felt him lean closer, his voice dropping to that tone that made my knees weak. “If anyone sees it, you can simply tell them it’s an abstract work of art. A sculpture celebrating Nordic craftsmanship.” His lips brushed my ear. “No one will know what it’s truly for except you and me.”
I turned to face him, my cheeks burning. “But I’ll know. Every time I sit at my desk, every time I meet with advisors or coalition partners, I’ll be looking at the thing you use to—to—” I couldn’t finish the sentence, the words too mortifying to speak aloud.
“To what?” he challenged, his steel-gray eyes holding mine. “To train you? To remind you of your place? To make you come so hard you see the world tree? To use what belongs to me for my pleasure?”
“Yes,” I whispered, my face aflame. “All of that. Herra, please, it’s too much. Can’t we keep it somewhere private? Your safehouse, or—”
“No.”
The single word cut through my protests like a blade. His hand moved to grip my chin, forcing me to maintain eye contact.
“The woman who will lead this nation needs to remember what grounds her. What makes her strong.” His thumb traced my lower lip. “This stays here, in your private sitting room, where you’ll see it every day and remember that you belong to me as much as you belong to Jagland.”
I knew I should submit. Knew that arguing further would only earn me punishment. But something in me—that spark of rebellion that had never quite died despite all my training, in part because I knew my Herra valued it despite his dominance—made me try once more.
“I won’t have it here,” I said, lifting my chin despite his grip. “It’s inappropriate. Undignified. The prime minister can’t—”
His hand moved so fast I barely registered it before it cracked across my bottom. The sharp sting made me gasp, and I saw satisfaction flash in his eyes.
“There she is,” he murmured. “My defiant little vǫlva, hoping her Herra will put her in her place.”
My whole body went white hot—shame at being so transparent, and arousal at having been caught in my manipulation. I had indeed been hoping for this, I realized. Hoping he would punish me, would remind me physically of my submission before claiming me the way he’d promised.