it was a hard fought victory, but he had known victory was inevitable.
already, his forces have taken to claiming the capital city. its treasures are their to plunder; its life theirs to ruin. the smell of burnt straw wafts from the city below. the cries of civilians and soldiers alike fills the throne room, filtering in from the opened windows. it's too much for these poor nobles; of that, rivin is sure. they look away as he crosses the room. they flinch as a woman's scream breaks the heavy silence. they are not used to his iron fist.
they will be, though. they will learn. yes, he could shut the windows and plunge them into silence. yes, he could give them verbal instructions of how his rule would change this little kingdom. but what good are words, when actions work just as well? he will show them his iron fist. all they need is a little demonstration.
the large man, positioned next to the delicate throne, stands as he is addressed. he crosses the distance to his newly crowned jarl, one hand wrapped tight around the upper arm of his master's new prize. anna, she is called; the so-called "jarl's" precious daughter, a beautiful gem. and the example he will make in front of all these english nobles. her hands are bound in front of her. the crown sits beautifully on her dark hair. he cannot wait to ruin her.
"there you are," purrs the viking. he extends his hands, resting one each on her upper arms. his smile is thin, dangerous. his eyes rake over her body, hungry and predator. "the english pig's daughter. it is nice to see even a swine can produce pearls, when necessary."
his left hand releases her arm, only to grab the soft trim of her body and pull. the sound of fabric ripping has a noblewoman cry out. his guards are quick to silence her. rivin, however, does not turn his gaze from the woman's face, not even as that bruising hand grips the now-exposed breast, thumb brushing over the nipple.
"i suppose a pearl will have to do."
