Chapter 6: Her first payment

Valdman’s POV.

The bitter taste of wine lingered on my tongue as I departed the great hall, leaving the celebration of our victory to the men who had earned it.

Drums thundered behind the great doors, accompanied by drunken laughter and the voices of warriors boasting of the blood they had shed upon Wakefield soil. I had granted them their revelry, and they were welcome to indulge themselves until dawn. Thirteen years had passed since our enemies had brought ruin upon my people. Tonight, the Iron Bloodline celebrated their conquest, and no man could deny them that pleasure.

But I had other matters awaiting my attention.

Azalea Wakefield.

Even the thought of her name stirred the hatred I had nurtured since my youth. She was the daughter of the bastard who had butchered my father, slain my pregnant mother, and delivered me into the hands of Rogues who had spent years tormenting me for their amusement.

I had taken his head, destroyed his kingdom, and enslaved his people. His daughter was the last possession he had cherished, and she would suffer the humiliation of serving the very man her father had sought to destroy.

Thirteen years of suffering could not be repaid with the death of one man.

And Wakefield had perished too swiftly for my liking.

My servants still informed me that the princess had been bathed and dressed in preparation for my arrival as I walked to my chamber.

A bride, they had called her, with all the foolish excitement women possessed when speaking of marriage.

I wondered if they had forgotten whose daughter they were dressing.

The heavy oak doors to my bedchamber stood before me. I pushed them open and entered, my boots striking the stone floor as I surveyed the familiar furnishings. A brazier illuminated the chamber, its flames casting an glow upon the tapestries and the great bed draped in thick furs.

And there, in the middle of my chamber, stood the Wakefield princess.

I halted.

They had washed the dirt and blood from her skin and combed her golden hair until it flowed freely down her back. Her gown was made of fine red wool and silk, embroidered with silver thread along the neckline and sleeves. A leather girdle secured the garment at her slender waist, while its flowing skirts brushed the stone at her feet.

Such finery upon the daughter of a defeated Alpha.

For an instant, I could almost imagine the satisfaction those servants had taken in adorning her. They had dressed her with the same consideration they might have afforded a noblewoman entering a marriage of honour.

Had they forgotten that she was my captive?

That I had dragged her from the ruins of her father's kingdom and ordered her flesh scourged?

My gaze travelled over the costly embroidery once more, and the sight offended me greater than I dared to admit.

The women of my bloodline had been stripped of their garments and their dignity before being slaughtered or sold into servitude. My mother had been denied even the honour of a proper burial, and here stood Wakefield's precious daughter, arrayed in silk upon the very soil her father had sought to conquer.

I shut the doors behind me and advanced towards her.

At my approach, her amber eyes lifted to mine. She did not speak, though I observed the tension gathering in her slender frame as I stopped before her.

I took hold of the embroidered neckline between my fingers, examining the costly workmanship with growing disgust.

"Tell me, girl, who granted you the privilege of wearing such finery in my presence?"

She offered no reply.

I tightened my grip upon the cloth.

"Your father left my mother to perish in her own blood. He delivered her son to men who treated him worse than a beast, and for thirteen years, I suffered indignities that no living creature should endure." I brought my face towards hers, unwilling to permit her to avert her gaze. "And here you stand, arrayed in silk, awaiting me in the manner of a cherished bride. Do you imagine your father's daughter deserving of such honours?"

Her lips parted, but I had little patience for an explanation.

With a pull, I tore the neckline of her gown.

The fragile embroidery split under my fingers, and I continued until the costly material was ruined. Her sleeves tore at the seams, and the red skirts gathered about her feet in disordered folds. I stripped away the last garment, leaving her exposed before me.

I had wanted to see her pride stripped from her as thoroughly as the garments that proclaimed her noble birth.

But as I regarded her, I found no satisfaction.

Her skin bore the injuries of the journey and the punishment I had commanded. The marks of the lash had scarcely healed, and there were bruises upon her slender limbs. Beneath the splendour of her father's household, she had possessed a life untouched by the cruelties that had shaped mine.

That life was mine to destroy.

I took her by the throat, my fingers securing her neck as I compelled her backwards towards the bed. She stumbled when the wooden frame met her legs, and I pushed her down upon the furs, watching her golden hair scatter over the coverings.

She was frightened. That much was plain from the way she watched my movements and struggled to steady her breathing.

I had heard the same terror in countless voices during my years amongst the Rogues, though recalling such things served no purpose tonight.

I released her throat and stood over her.

My cloak was the first garment I discarded, followed by my sword belt and tunic. I placed my weapons aside and removed the rest of my clothing, allowing the brazier to illuminate the scars upon my body.

There was scarcely a portion of my flesh that had escaped the cruelty of those years.

I had endured their torments as a boy and returned from their dens a man whom even the mightiest Alphas feared. I had conquered kingdoms, slain rulers, and made warriors kneel before me.

But the scars were mine to endure until death.

And tonight, the daughter of the man responsible would begin to understand the misery that had purchased my crown.

I approached the bed once more.

She watched me without speaking, her amber eyes fixed upon my face. Her fingers had gathered the furs into her palms, and I observed a slight tremor in her arms as I climbed onto the mattress.

I seized both her wrists and restrained them above her head.

She struggled under my grip, though her efforts accomplished little against my strength. I forced her legs apart and positioned myself over her, intending to claim the bride I had taken as my prize of war.

But my body would not obey.

I frowned.

For years, I had seldom experienced such difficulty when satisfying my appetites. Cade understood my needs, and his companionship had afforded me pleasures that other lovers could not. Even on those occasions when my memories threatened to intrude, his familiarity had made the act bearable.

This was different.

I regarded the princess, searching within myself for the desire that ought to have accompanied my intentions.

There was none.

Her beauty did not tempt me. Neither did her helplessness awaken the appetite I had expected to satisfy through her humiliation.

I was a king, a conqueror, and an Alpha whose commands had brought entire armies to their knees. Surely I could master my own flesh.

But however fiercely I willed it, my body would not respond.

Anger stirred within me.

I despised weakness, particularly when it concerned matters I had struggled for years to master. I had thought myself victorious over the miserable boy who once wept in the Rogues' dens, begging men without mercy to spare him.

Had I conquered nothing after all?

I would not suffer such humiliation before Wakefield's daughter.

Abandoning my attempt to force my body into obedience, I resorted to my hand, determined to complete the violation I had intended.

She resisted and began to plead, but I forced my fingers inside her despite her distress.

A cry escaped her lips.