Mastered By the Viking King by Lily Harlem

Prologue

“Ido not wish to see her face or hear her name spoken again!” King Njal roared. “She is no longer my wife, no longer mother to my sons.”

Halfdan shook, as did the pots on the table next to him. The king’s fury rivaled any bear that roamed the mountains.

“Aye, my king. I will ensure that she is never spoken of again.”

“I should have her head. Have her swinging from a rope. His too.” Njal drew a line over his throat. “Dead, that’s what they should be for this.”

“The wanderer has gone.” Halfdan wrung his hands together. “Fled before dawn.”

“I will have a bounty put upon his treacherous head.” Njal stomped to the table and poured a horn of mead. His blood was on fire—not the fire of war, but of betrayal, and it burned especially bright, stinging like a swarm of summer wasps. He drank his mead in one gulp.

“I will see to your bidding now,” Halfdan said, rushing to the doors of the Great Hall. “And ensure she is banished from the town walls.”

“Aye, and be sure she knows if she returns she will be sentenced to a traitor’s death. A blood eagle.”

Halfdan paused with his hand on the door.

Njal knew he had shocked him. Women didn’t suffer that fate; it was the law of the gods. But Njal didn’t care. His anger knew no bounds, even at the cost of upsetting the All Father.

“Oh, and…” Njal clicked his fingers. “Bring me more women before nightfall. I will need a new wife. A new queen.”

“Aye, of course.” Halfdan disappeared into the cold morning.

Njal stomped to his throne and sat. He’d given Halfdan a tricky task. The daylight hours were short now that winter was rapidly approaching. Soon the first snows would fall, lakes would freeze, and the fjord would pitch and toss as though boiling.

But Njal felt sure his faithful manservant would find him a line of women to choose from. He’d never failed before to fulfill his king’s bidding.

“Thor, Odin, Loki, Freya, what did I do to deserve this?” He held his hands to the ceiling. “My gods, you are playing a wicked game with me.”

His emotions were stretched tight, bows holding arrows, and each arrow held the pain of anger, jealousy, deceit, and revenge. The queen’s cheating ways had as good as slashed him from throat to belly, exposing his insides to the world.

Wrapping his arms around himself now, he hunched forward and squeezed his eyes shut. His sons would never see their exiled mother again. Harsh as that was, it was necessary.

And made it all the more important for Njal to find himself a new wife and mother for them.

Three hours later the Great Hall began to fill.

Njal sat watching the arrival of the townsfolk and wishing his brother Leif was at his side. But Leif had traveled west some time ago. Journeying to Wessex to meet with King Egbert. His return was overdue. This made Njal’s temper all the sourer.

“My king,” Halfdan said, standing before him. “I have sought beautiful maidens for you to choose from. A new wife is here. A new queen is in this room.”

“That is for me to decide.” Njal slammed his fist into his palm. “Bring them out. Bring them to me.”

A murmur of conversation rippled around the crowd as they parted, allowing three women to emerge.

Njal narrowed his eyes and studied them. His heart was tight, his breaths hard in his lungs. The very blood in his veins had been laced with the acid of his wife’s disloyalty.

The first woman was petite with braided hair, big blue eyes, and delicate lips. A first glance at her sea-green tunic adorned with buckles and buttons and he guessed she was of good stock. Likely her father a warrior or hunter.

His attention moved to the next woman. Older, silver-streaked hair, a gaze that would not connect with his.

I’ll knock Halfdan to the other side of the hall for that one.

Finally he studied the last woman. Short, round, cheeks like cherries, and eyelashes that fluttered.

His cock stirred. Perhaps she’d do. But then again, the first one had potential, too.

He stood, wishing again that he could shake the cloak of dishonor his wife had laid there. He hoped she was afraid, cold, alone, hungry…

“Wench,” he muttered, striding to the first woman. “What is your name?”

“Bae.”

“Age?”

“Eighteen summers, my king.”

He walked around her, the sleeve of his wolf fur brushing her shoulders. “And you are from Halsgrof?”

“Just yonder, to the south.”

“Your father.”

“A hunter.” She wrinkled her nose and sneezed.

“A fine hunter?”

She sneezed again. “Aye.”

Njal peered closer at her face. Her eyes were misting as if about to weep and her bottom lip trembled.

She sneezed again, and again.

“What is the matter with you, Bae?”

“It is the wolf pelt, my king. It always… does this to me.”

He frowned, irritation warring with his other emotions. “What is this, Halfdan?”

“I do not know?” He held out his arms. “What shall I do?”

“Get her out of here.” Njal pointed at the door. “What good is a woman who sneezes in the presence of fur? My bed, the bed I wish to lay with her on, is covered in fur.”

“I am sorry, my king.” Bae stepped back, sneezing once more. “I don’t know why…”

“Get out!” Njal roared.

The woman seemed to jump within her own skin, then turned and melted into the crowd with her palm covering her face.

Njal held out his hand. “Mead.”

A full horn was passed his way. He drank then handed it back. This had not started well.

“You.”

The second woman seemed to shrink into her clothing.

“Name.”

“Mina, my king.” Her voice was naught but a whisper.

“And how many summers are you?”

“I do not know, my king. I cannot count them.”

“Which means you are of too many,” he roared with his face close to hers. “You will not give me sons, will you?”

A sob caught in her throat.

Njal growled and turned to Halfdan. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“No. I am sorry. I was given on good advice that—”

“You are not to take advice, Halfdan, not when I seek you to provide me with a new queen. You use your own counsel, do you hear me?”

Silence descended, Njal’s fury seeming to fill the space, weaving around the townsfolk and rising to the lofty ceiling.

He wondered if his anger would ever dissipate. Had he ever been so shamed, so hurt?

He didn’t think so. Pain had made itself at home in his bones.

“Please, my king, this is Helga.” Halfdan rushed to the third woman.

“Mmm.” Njal stood before her.

“My king.” Helga smiled and bobbed down then up. “I am at your service.” She licked her lips, her pink tongue leaving a sheen on them.

“As is everyone else in the Great Hall,” Njal snapped. “They are all at my service. Summers?”

“Twenty-three or maybe twenty-four.”

“See, that is good. And look at her, she has fine, fair hips.” Halfdan waved his hands around as though offering Helga as a worthy prize. “Everyone in this room can see what a pretty queen she would make.”

“I cannot see it.” Njal drifted his gaze to Helga’s chest. The firm flesh of her breasts rose and fell against the neckline of her tunic. “But I do wish to see it.”

Curling his fingers into the material, he yanked hard.

Helga staggered forward to the satisfying sound of her clothing being shredded.

Her large breasts spilled out, her nipples dark and round.

Njal didn’t let up. He wrenched some more, snatching the last of her tunic away and leaving her utterly naked.

There were a few gasps from the crowd. A couple of warriors stepped closer to her as if drawn by the sight.

Njal retreated a few steps but kept his attention on her. “You are a fine woman.”

The juncture of her thighs held a thick patch of black hair. The dips of her waist were highlighted by the flare of her hips. An image of a snake wound its way around her left thigh.

“You are pleased, my king.” Halfdan rubbed his palms together.

“I am as yet undecided.” Could he feel affection for this woman or had the previous queen tainted him forever? Would his cock rise for her, fully rise?

Would she be loyal? Would she obey?

“Turn around,” he snapped.

She swallowed. Her fists were clenched. Without clothes she wasn’t as confident.

“Turn around!”

“Aye, my king.” Quickly she spun to face the crowd.

Njal looked at her ass. Plump and pale, the flesh wobbling slightly as she moved from one foot to the other.

Shoving his hand down his pants, he gripped his stiffening cock.

“Bend over,” he said.

Helga hesitated, then tipped forward, exposing the lips of her sex and her asshole.

Aye, this could work.

Njal stepped up behind her and clasped her buttocks. They warmed his palms and his cock swelled some more. “Be still, like this until I tell you to stand.”

“Aye, my king.”

He licked his lips. Perhaps a good hard coupling would shift some of the angst from his body. Rid the tension in his mind. He could do it here and now. An audience wouldn’t concern him. He was the king. A brave warrior king with many needs.

Slipping his fingers to her cunny, he pushed into her wet heat.

“Oh!” She pitched forward.

He clasped her hip with his free hand. “Be still. You are mine.”

“She is not!” a voice to his right said.

“What do you speak of?” Njal glared at the woman who had spoken.

“I have seen her with Bjorn of Dalken many times.”

“What?” Njal turned to Halfdan. “What do you know of this?”

“I know nothing, King Njal. She told me she was unwed.”

“She is wed,” the woman said. “I saw it with my own eyes, the celebrations were two Winterfests ago. She is here for power and treasure to share with Bjorn when you are dead.”

Red mist descended over Njal’s vision for the second time that day. Not one but two women trying to deceive him—the first one with success, this one almost.

“Lying wench.” He withdrew his finger and delivered a slap to the round ass in front of him.

Her body jerked but he kept a tight hold of her hip.

“No, please!”

“Are you denying Bjorn is your husband?” Njal demanded to know.

A tremble went up her spine but she did not speak, just continued to stare at the floor.

He spanked her again, harder, and on the other cheek.

She cried out, and the crowd jostled to see the show.

“Take what you have brought upon yourself!” He slapped her again, and again. Each smack of his hand on the orbs of her buttocks relieved a fraction of his frustration. She’d earned this punishment by trying to fool him. Njal was no fool and would not be seen as one.

Red bloomed on her buttocks as he continued with the spanking. If he’d had his flogger within reach he’d have taken that to this traitor amongst them and really striped her ass.

“You see,” he bellowed. “What happens to you who are disloyal, who underestimate me, your king.”

The townsfolk had surrounded him, keen to see Helga’s burning ass. Her glistening cunny and her shaking limbs. They told of regret for her failed plan and of shame and humiliation.

Njal was glad, for that was what he felt too. Shame and humiliation.

“I beg you,” Helga sobbed.

“Begging is futile.” Njal slapped her sore behind with even more sting in the blows. The snap of flesh on flesh rang loud. He was delivering punishment to his unfaithful queen as well as Helga because he’d been unable to stand the sight of her face after he’d learned of the transgression.

“Oh… this is bad,” he heard someone say.

“She’ll not sit for a month.”

Good.

Gripping Helga’s hair, he set to spanking her lower on her ass, so he caught her cunny lips too.

Her high-pitched yelps were satisfying, but nowhere near enough.

Suddenly Njal had had enough. He stopped, released her, and pushed her away.

He banged his chest. “I demand to have a queen who is truthful, obedient, and loyal from the first moment I set eyes upon her. And I will have that!” He was breathing fast, his palm stinging. “Halfdan, you will set up a new line of women for me to choose from. Spread the word far and wide and this time do not fail me.”

With his blood pulsing in his ears and his broken heart aching, Njal stormed to his bedchamber, his broad shoulders barging into anyone and anything that got in his way.

The ex-queen had broken a part of him. Njal didn’t like that. He wasn’t used to it. He was a man who commanded respect from warriors and women alike.

But the gods had dished him up a feast of pain and humiliation, and sit before it he must even if he didn’t like the flavors.

Even if he never got rid of the taste.