Page 117 of Long Live the King
I could see the shadows of other men outside the room. Waiting, guarding. My arms were screaming. I wanted the pain to stop. I was so scared. I wanted more than anything to get this evil dude out of my room.
And one thing was in my mind, my training:survive the encounter.
He hadn’t hurt me, but I could see it in his eyes that he could, without a moment’s hesitation.
And I had somehow been moved to Scotland without realizing it. How?
What had happened to me?
If I signed it I might survive.
It ran through my mind,This contract will never stand up in a court of law.I was signing under extreme duress, I could just do it. Just sign.
Also, maybe the contract would have some information on it: a date, an address, this guy’s name, something I could tell the police as soon as I got away.
“You must have drugged me to get me to Scotland — what else did you do to me?”
He shrugged. “Nothin’, we hae plenty of time tae get tae know each other.”
“You disgust me, you better not have done anything to me.”
I shook out my arms again, then said, “I’m not walking over there to sign while you’re sitting there. You need to move away.”
He said, “Of course.” He got up and walked over to the door and stood there with his back to it. He was only about ten feet away. I knew it was dangerous, but I couldn’t think of what else to do.
I went up to the contract, holding the spike in my left hand and looked down on the paper.
It said at the top in decorative script:
Marriage Agreement
and under it:
I, Queen Ash,
wife of Asgall I, King of Scotland, agree to his terms.
“I can’t sign this, it doesn’t say anything. What am I agreeing to?”
“You are agreeing to live here for a time, tae be the Queen of Scotland. Then you get to go home. I already explained this.”
“This is nonsense, you want me to live in this hovel pretending to be a queen? Is this some kind of Ren Faire? Wait, is this a reality show? Are you filming this? I am not giving permission to be filmed, under no circumstances. Is this porn? Is this an Only Fans? I will not be filmed. Period.”
“I am not filming ye.Sign.” The way he said it. Short and clipped, like a command, set a chill up my spine. I picked up the pen, pushed the button on the back to expose the point. “How do you want me to sign this bull-hockey, with my full name, or this made up cockamamie ‘Queen Ash’ BS?”
“Sign it Queen Ash — ye hae high thoughts on yerself for someone named after the ash in a fireplace.”
“I am not, I am named after the Ash tree, the Tree of Life, Yggdrasil.”
He shrugged. “Sign.”
“Where is this place? Usually when signing a contract, one signs the date andplace.”
“This is my brewery.”
“The name?”
“It daena hae a name, tis a brewery.”
