Chapter 43 Shield-maiden
Magnus
The morning was bright. The sky outside the tall arched windows was clear and blue. Sunlight streamed in and spread across the stone floor in wide bands. Dust drifted in the air, visible in the light.
But it did nothing for me.
The brightness did not warm the room. The stone walls and floors stayed cold, holding the chill of the night. The air felt still and dry. Even with the sun pouring in, the chamber felt distant and empty, as if the light were only there because it had to be.
I sat at my desk, already dressed in my blue robes. The fabric was smooth and pressed. My sigil was pinned neatly to my chest. The orb rested against my neck, cool against my skin.
I reviewed everything in my mind. Every report I had received. Every order I had given. Every outcome that had failed to meet my expectation. There had been minor progress, but nothing decisive.
Too many delays.
Too many errors.
Not enough results.
Elian entered without knocking—his privilege after so many years of being my steward—and set the tray down with practiced quiet. Bread, cheese, a small bowl of stewed plums, tea and the inevitable goblet of watered wine. He straightened, hands clasped behind his back.
“My Lord. The Small Council convenes tomorrow at the tenth hour. Your presence is requested, though not required.” A careful pause. “You have the day otherwise.”
I waved a hand. “Good. I have business beyond these walls.”
He bowed once and retreated without another word. The door clicked shut, and the room returned to silence.
Perfect.
I needed to return to Ashwood. I needed to stand in front of Ryven and look him in the eye. I wanted him to remember how fragile his control truly was. Rowenna remained safe because I allowed it. That safety could end the moment I chose.
Ryven worked best when pressed. Left alone, he delayed. He questioned. He tried to find his own path. But fear removed hesitation. Fear forced decisions. It pushed men to move faster than loyalty or reason ever could.
I finished the bread and tea, left the wine untouched. I walked to the tall mirror framed in dark wood.
My reflection stared back. My jaw was tight. Shadows had gathered under my eyes—shadows I could no longer ignore. The sigil of the crown and serpent was pinned to my chest, a mark of rank that had never felt like an honor.
I pressed two fingers against it.
Cold blue light burst from the sigil. The air tightened and shifted. Five Imperial Enforcers appeared before me in a straight line. Their cloaks fell into place around their armored bodies. Not a single one spoke.
Their helms were smooth and silver, polished to a dull shine. There were no visible faces beneath them. Only thin slits where the eyes should have been, dark and unreadable.
I spoke without preamble.
“I need you in the borderlands where the Cursed Forest spills into the Coal District. Five scouts are already deployed there—link with them. Your sole objective is to capture a girl: eighteen years, red hair, green eyes. Unharmed. Do not attempt to enter the Forbidden Forest itself. A prior team tried. None returned.”
They answered in unison, voices flat and metallic.
“As you command, Imperial Advisor.”
Another flash, and they were gone. A faint warmth lingered where they had stood, then slowly faded.
Silence settled again—until it didn’t.
The door burst open. Elian, breathing hard. “My Lord, the Emperor requests an audience.”
I turned slowly. “Did he say why?”
“No, my Lord. Only that he awaits you in the throne room whenever you are… free.”
I exhaled through my nose. The usurper. Always the usurper. Even now, when every hour counted, he found ways to force himself in, slowing everything down.
“Tell His Majesty I have departed for the Academy on urgent archival business. I will see him upon my return.”
Elian hesitated only a fraction of a second—long enough for me to notice, short enough to pretend I hadn’t.
“Very well, my Lord.” Another bow. He left.
I touched the small, pearl-like orb against my chest. The world folded inward—walls and floors compressed into light, distance disappearing—and then snapped open again.
I was back at rebel headquarters, tucked in the heart of Ashwood Forest. The first thing I noticed was the smell: damp earth, pine resin, woodsmoke. Familiar, in the same way danger can be familiar.
I went straight to Aldo’s hut.
He sat at a rough-hewn table, surrounded by enough food for six men. A half-eaten haunch of venison. Wheels of cheese sweating in the humid air. Bread torn into thick chunks. He chewed with bovine slowness, grease shining on his chin.
“Magnus,” he greeted around a mouthful of food. “Your visits grow frequent. Almost like you enjoy the scenery.”
I didn’t sit. “Any word on the girl?”
Aldo picked at something caught between his molars, extracted it with a finger, examined it briefly, then flicked it to the wooden floor.
“We encountered a problem.”
I waited.
“Ansel—commander I put on her trail—is dead. Him and his entire squad. Ryven’s people say they chased her into the Forbidden Forest. Heard screams. Then growls. Wolves took them.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Your Enforcers too, by the way. Same wolves. Odd behavior. Never guarded the perimeter like this before.”
“They protect her,” I said.
Aldo shrugged, reaching for more bread. “Girl has strange magic.”
“She’s Dust-ranked. No magic.”
He gave me a long look—the kind that said we both knew the Great Ranking Orb could be manipulated with the right hands. “Trust me, Magnus. She has power. The forest knows it.”
I thought of Elian’s message. The Emperor waiting. Time bleeding away.
“Make haste,” I told him. “The sooner I have her, the sooner we rewrite everything.”
Aldo nodded, already reaching for another slab of meat. “Sending a team to intercept at Coal. Ambush.”
“I already have Enforcers there. Make sure your men do not clash with mine. Two of my squads have already been slaughtered.”
He grunted acknowledgment.
I turned to leave. “Ryven still at his hut?”
“After that little performance you gave with his girl?” Aldo snorted. “Probably out trying to find the redhead himself before any of us do.”
I left without replying.
Ryven’s hut stood at the edge of the clearing, half-hidden by ferns and low-hanging branches. I pushed the door open without knocking.
Dark inside. Heavy air. The faint scent of sweat, wood, and something sweeter—her.
A shape lay beneath the furs on the narrow bed. Dark hair spilled across the pillow. My pulse quickened.
I locked the door with a flick of my wrist. Robes loosened as I approached. Already hard. Already imagining her mouth, her reluctance, the way Ryven’s face would crumple when he learned I’d taken her again.
I shed the last of my clothing and slid beneath the covers. Skin warm. Soft. I pressed closer, hand sliding over the curve of her breast, thumb brushing the nipple. Ale on her breath—strong, recent.
Ale?
The body moved. A hand clamped around my wrist like iron.
Not Rowenna.
Yellowed teeth flashed in the gloom. A wide, predatory grin.
Before I could speak, another hand closed around my cock—fingers vise-tight.
Pain flared. I hissed. I tried to summon a spell—force, fire, anything.
She squeezed harder.
A woman’s voice cut through the quiet, low and rough. “Oh no you don’t, Magnus Ironside. Unless you want your pretty little prick decorating my mantel, you’ll stay very still.”
I yelped.
“That’s better.” Her grip loosened just enough to move—slow, controlled, along the length of my shaft. “So strong when little Rowenna cries beneath you. But not so strong now, are we?”
Humiliation burned hotter than pain. And yet—traitorously—my body answered the rhythm of her hands.
She shoved me flat on my back. The woman was massive. Shoulders broader than mine, arms corded, weight pressing me into the thin mattress.
“You like boys too, Ryven says.” A thick finger probed, found entrance, pushed inside without warning.
I gasped.
Another finger joined the first. Stretching. Invasive. Her other hand never stopped working my cock.
“Maybe you like sheild-maidens too.”
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think past the pressure, the friction, the sick heat building despite everything.
But as I neared the edge, she stopped.
Then she swung a leg over me. She was naked, completely naked. Her breasts heavy, nipples dark, stomach soft but powerful.
“No. Not yet,” she growled, positioning herself. “I’m going to fuck you.”
She sank down in one brutal motion.
I cried out—half pain, half something darker.
One of her hands collared my throat. The other pinned my wrists above my head. She rode hard. Relentless. Each downward thrust drove breath from my lungs. I thought she might snap my cock in half.
And still—still—pleasure coiled tighter. Unwanted. Unstoppable.
When I came it was sudden, violent. I screamed into the dimness as I spilled inside her. She stilled, inner walls clenching, milking every drop.
Then she leaned down, breath hot against my ear.
“I'm not done yet.”
She pulled away. I whimpered at the loss.
Rope appeared—rough hemp. She bound my wrists to the headboard. A strip of cloth forced between my teeth, knotted tight.
She sat back on her heels, admiring her work.
“You deserve this, Imperial Advisor,” she said, her voice dripping with mockery. "And strangely…” She traced a nail down my chest, over my spent cock, making me twitch. “…I think you liked it.”
She stood, wrapping a gray robe around her, then moved toward the door.
“Next time you touch Rowenna, “I’ll come to your precious palace chambers. And I won’t be gentle,” she said without looking back. "Stay here. I’m going to fetch us some ale.”
The door swung open and closed behind her.
I lay there—bound, gagged, heart hammering—alone in the dark.
Shame should have drowned me.
Instead, something else stirred. Curiosity.
And, gods help me, anticipation.