Page 2 of Tamed for Her Pleasure

It is no small business setting oneself to war against a Hydornian kingdom. Mostly, they keep to themselves, and we keep to ourselves. But that is not an option when they have snatched a mated lass.

Word has been sent to the other clans, rallying them to our cause. I believe most will come. Even though it is late in the season and the passage becomes difficult at this time of year, there is safety in numbers and in presenting a united front.

We have supported Hydornia in its war against the Blighten for many years. Our young alphas head for the borderlands, for their enemy is also ours, and it is in everyone’s interest to keep the green-skinned bastards out of our lands. The Hydornians are happy to take our men to fight, yet still look down on us and our ways just because we place no boundaries on how mating, marriage, and love might manifest: whether that is more than one lass with a man or more than one man with a lass. As long as hearts and minds are congenial, that is our way.

When Lor and Aston mated Freya, a sacred bond was formed… regardless of whether questionable means led to her claiming or whether the lass in question was born in Hydornia.

Now she is ours, and we shall get her back, or all who live in the great city of Pershore will find themselves surrounded and under siege.

I have no intention of painting the city streets red. I am no heathen for all that I may be a barbarian. Even so, taking a walled city is no easy feat, and to try would be folly. It won’t come to that. The fancy king in residence will shit his pants when he sees a barbarian horde at his city wall. He will recognizes his mistake in taking a clansman’s mate.

But if he doesn’t… If we must…

Before the Goddess, Freya belongs to Aston and Lor.

Before the Goddess, they will be reunited, or our whole clan is ready and willing to lay down their lives in the trying.

Chapter Two

Penelope

Something is going on, and I’m determined to get to the bottom of it. That sniveling lord’s son, Marshel, is under guard in the north tower, and his family has fled the city. With warrants issued for their arrests and all their assets seized by the crown, I believe their future is as bleak as the turn in the weather.

Not that I feel any sympathy for their plight. Even before Marshal’s propensity for gambling, the family had lived beyond their means for years and ran up debts with half the city, including my father, the king.

I sigh heavily as I slip into a shadowy corner of the dungeon passages to wait for two approaching guards to pass.

My black form-fitting leathers, while beneficial for the art of sneaking, are a sore point with Papa, who is waiting for me to start behaving like a real princess and wearing gowns.

That will never happen. Gowns are the highest order of impractical, hamper movement, and, further, weigh me down.Although I have trained while wearing them, out of necessity, it is not a garment I wear by choice.

As his only daughter and sole heir, I recognize that my life is doomed unless I can persuade a male cousin, of whom there are many, to step up into my place. Unfortunately, all my cousins prefer the high life and have no interest in the responsibility of managing a kingdom.

My father is still young. I pray many years will pass before this burden is handed down to me. My mother died in childbirth when I was born, and he has sworn no other will take her place, even to beget an heir.

The truth is, I don’t hate my father—even if he does try to make me wear a gown and consider one of my many sensible suitors.

Nor does my father hate me and my rebellious ways. I am the image of my mother and, further, trained by the Raven Guild like she was. That is where the similarity stops, for my mama was an accomplished spymaster, working for the High King before she saved my father’s life. Under Papa’s relentless wooing, she agreed to be his wife. Then I came along, and her life was tragically cut short.

It is tough to grow up under the shadow of such an exceptional woman, and to know your birth led to her death.

It is little wonder Papa will consider no other wife when my late mother was so extraordinary.

“Aye, he’s a sour bastard,” the guard on the left mutters as they near my hiding place.

“Copped a fist to my face,” his companion says. “And all I was doing was putting down fresh water.”

“Don’t have no business keeping barbarians here,” the first says as they draw level with me. “‘Twill not end fucking well, mark my word. You know what they say about their kind.”

“That they are kinky and take on many mates?” his companion asks.

My ears prick up. How did I not know about this?

“Well, that’s true,” the second says with a huff. “But I was thinking more about how they…”

They move out of earshot, and I do not catch what comes next. Damn it!

As their footsteps echo into the distance, I slip back into the passage and hasten along, my tread silent, toward the dungeon cells. They have a barbarian down here. What I want to know is why.

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