Page 12 of Mastered By the Viking King

Tove’s mouth was dry and she licked her lips. Her parents had never behaved this way. Was it normal? Was that why no one else was taking any notice? Or was it just Arne and Gert who behaved like this and everyone was used to it?

She had no idea.

Their coupling was intensifying, Arne grinding in hard, as though on a mission to fell a tree or hunt down a wolf.

Tove could tell that nothing would stop him finding his pleasure now in his wife’s punished body, the man taking what he wanted.

But Gert too was gasping and crying out. Her hands had locked in his long hair and she was moaning. The tempo was frantic.

Tove pressed her legs together. Heat was growing between her thighs. It went upward, to her sex, to her belly, the sensation exciting, expectant, anticipatory.

She knew their climax was coming, that their feral, noisy coupling was about to reach a crescendo.

And then it was there. Gert cried out. A long, pleasure-soaked wail that seemed to go right through Tove too.

Arne let out a string of praises to the All Father that ended on a long groan.

They stilled, Arne sprawled over his wife with his face buried in her neck.

She tenderly pushed his hair aside and kissed his ear.

“Tove, girl. Eat your broth.”

Tove tore her attention to Wanda. “I… er… yes. Thank you.”

“As you can see,” Wanda said, leaning close, like a conspirator. “If you get chosen you will need your strength. And my nephew Arne, he’s a butterfly in comparison to the king.”

Chapter 3

The Great Hall thudded with excited conversation and merriment. Even from the outside Tove could feel it vibrating through her chest.

It didn’t help her nerves, not one bit. She was terrified of coming face to face with King Njal.

The two other girls at Wanda’s house had spoken of his warrior prowess and his keen strike with a sword when it came to removing enemy heads. His voice was a roar, they said, and with his giant hands and feet, his godlike vision and hearing, he was the king of kings.

Tove wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep upright if he directed that roaring voice at her. Her knees were weak just thinking about it. She’d rather face a pack of wolves than a giant, angry king.

And to think of him the way Arne had been…and her on the receiving end. She couldn’t even imagine it.

She swallowed, hoping she wouldn’t be sick.

Stick to the plan, Tove.

She would keep her head down, hands clasped, and not speak a word. What could go wrong if she did that? Nothing. He wouldn’t even look at her. He’d go straight to Princess Hilda and take her as his queen.

How could he not want her?

The timber door to the Great Hall was flung open, and the small man who had greeted Princess Hilda flapped his arms in the air. “You are to enter now. The king awaits. He will choose his new queen this very night.”

A cheer went up and the crowd parted, making a pathway for the three girls.

Movement behind her caught Tove’s attention.

“I will enter first, make way for your new queen.” Princess Hilda strode past, her green woolen cloak flowing in her wake. Her hair was adorned with sparkling jewels, the thick locks caught by the wind.

Tove stepped to one side, as did Wanda along with the other girls.

“Of all the…” Wanda muttered.

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