Chapter 8

“You have to make a choice. The preparations are almost complete.”

Naomi turned her eyes to Yula, but the serving woman was not going to help her. She was standing by with the damned wedding gown ready for her.

“What can I do to make you believe me?” she pleaded.

“Nothing,” Lord Tavik replied.

“You’re going to kill me if I don’t marry you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“To cement my victory. You must either die or be taken by me.”

His use of the word ‘taken’ made Naomi’s stomach churn.

“This doesn’t make any sense. Why does this Lady Alyssa matter? You’ve clearly won. Just let me go.”

“Because that is not how it is done. My victory will not be complete unless the lord’s lady is either married to me or killed.”

“If I weren’t here, what would you do? Would you grab some poor random girl off the street and call her Lady Alyssa?”

Lord Tavik did not reply.

“Madam, just do as you’re told. It’ll go better for you,” Yula said.

“I’m not Lady Alyssa.”

“You’re either Lady Alyssa or the poor girl off the street I call Lady Alyssa and then kill. It’s your choice.”

Naomi froze. She didn’t really like either option, and it was her big mouth that had put that second, even more unappealing, option on the table.

“What if we compromise?” she asked.

“What?”

Yula stared at her in disbelief.

“I’ll marry you if we agree on one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“No sex.”

Yula dropped the wedding gown.

Naomi stared at Tavik and waited. Without comment, he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her out of the room. Yula scrambled to gather the wedding gown and followed at his heels.

Naomi tried to stop him, but her slippered feet slid along the stone floor.

“What are you doing? Let go of me!”

“Lord Tavik, she’s not properly dressed!”

Tavik ignored both of them and dragged Naomi down the corridor toward the hall. Naomi struggled against his hold. She kicked out at his feet to trip him up and pried at his fingers. All she seemed to do was annoy him.

Tavik stopped and turned to her.

“So I guess, you’re just going to kill me? Is that it? Well, I hope you rot in hell!”

Tavik picked her up and put her over his shoulder.

“Now, wait a minute!”

Tavik continued down the corridor.

“Put me down!”

Tavik still ignored her. Soldiers were already gathered awaiting the ceremony. They fell silent when Tavik entered the room. Naomi beat his back with her fists. Tavik’s pace did not falter.

“Someone tell him that I’m not Lady Alyssa!” Naomi screamed.

No one stepped forward.

Tavik stepped onto the dais and finally put Naomi down. Three men in grey robes stood on the dais beside a lit brazier. Tavik held her upper arm in a vice like grip. Naomi understood why he held on so tightly as she watched one of the priests pull a branding rod out of the brazier. The brand glowed red. It was a picture of Tavik’s mask. The priest stepped toward her. Naomi’s eyes widened.

"What's going on? What're they going to do with that?"

Tavik turned to Naomi. “Bearing my brand makes you mine."

Naomi’s eyes leaped to the priest who stood waiting with the red branding rod. "What?! This is a marriage ceremony? This?!"

"You still have that other option." He let her go, and she stumbled back.

She stumbled back and looked around the room at the crowd of impassive soldiers as she rubbed her abused bicep. “No, this is insanity. You people are barbarians. I will not do this!”

“You will do this, or you will die.”

“And if I agree to this, what happens next? What else are you going to do to me? There are worse things than death.”

Tavik reached out and jerked her to him. She looked up into his grisly helm. When she was that close, she could just make out his eyes. They were blue.

“I promise you that this will be the worst that you will suffer. After this, you will have my protection. You will be my wife.”

His assurance made her laugh. His wife! Oh yes, everything would be lovely if she’d just married this guy. It was better than death!

“Just do this, Naomi, please,” he whispered.

The plea and the use of her real name surprised her. She stopped resisting to think a moment. She kept her eyes averted from the priests and the glowing branding iron. Could she go along with this? Did she have a choice?

“What about the deal?”

His grasp tightened on her arm, and he pulled her toward the priest. She tried to stop him, but he was like a moving mountain. Her feet were dragged across the floor. He handed her over to two of the priests, who each took an arm. Her struggles did nothing. They held onto her stone faced. This was not happening. She was not here. “No,” she kept saying over and over, but no one was listening to her. The head priest handed Tavik the branding iron. Naomi eyes widened.

“No, don’t do this!” she begged.

Tavik showed no indication that he was listening to her. The priests turned her around and ripped the back of her dress open. She squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath. When the iron descended on her right shoulder blade, she screamed. She had never been hurt like this before in her life. She had never broken a bone or cut herself so badly as to need stitches. This then was the absolute worst physical experience of her life. The pain was so intense that she saw large black spots. Only the priests’ wooden arms kept her from collapsing. Everything was leeching gray. She tried not to think about the new smell in the air. An arm went around her waist and another under her knees. She was lifted up and carried off the dais. She looked up into the grisly helm of Tavik.

“You bastard,” she whispered and passed out.

Continue to Chapter 9.