This was all just a nightmare. Freya was certain of it, for nothing else made any kind of sense. It was the byproduct of a troubled heart lashing out in sleep, of stress and grief working their black sorcery upon her mind to provide fresh torments, of the rich food and fine wine she’d indulged in during the night’s feasting. It was just a nightmare, and nightmares eventually came to an end. Soon, she would wake up, back to the cold marriage bed and the drafty halls and the knowledge that her path in life had been locked in by a father all too eager to sell off his only daughter to bolster his coffers, and this whole situation would be revealed as just another bad dream in a life that had seen far too many.
Yet reality stubbornly refused to conform to her wishes. The shackles, like bands of ice in the dank chill of the dungeon, remained locked tight about her elegant figure, binding her arms behind her back at the wrists and elbows and keeping her ankles secured. The weight of the iron collar about her slender neck was no product of her imagination, nor the jangle of the short chain that connected it to a bolt in the wall behind her and forced her to remain seated on the floor. She could not dismiss the awful stench of the muzzle sheathing her lower face in unyielding leather and swallowing up her every cry and protest, any more than she could ignore how the tattered remains of her crimson velvet gown exposed her breasts and thighs to the mercies of the cold. If this was a nightmare, it was a waking one, a real one, and she shrank before the unforgiving gaze of her husband, plaintive murmurs seeping through the gag. “Mmmmppgghh, mmmmpppggghhhh…”
“Do not give me that look, woman,” Aelfric, Lord of the Stormfens, snapped pettishly, eyeing his wife with all the sympathy a farmer might show a rat found in the granary. In the six months of their marriage, Freya could count the number of times he’d shown her genuine affection on the fingers of a crippled warrior, yet even by that dismal standard, the hostility on display was unnerving, sending fresh spasms of terror running along her spine. “This is what happens to faithless wives; they get punished.”
“Mmmmppggghh?!” Faithless? Freya inwardly recoiled at the accusation, deep blue eyes wide with shock and no small amount of wounded pride. How in the name of the gods could she possibly be faithless to him? She spent her days all but locked inside Castle Frostreach, unable to step outside into her husband’s greater fief, let alone the rest of Arkland. Within the grim, cold walls of the fortress, she was constantly escorted by her maids so that Aelfric might haven no cause to doubt her fidelity, an unnecessary measure given how rarely they ever received guests. The Stormfens were so remote that it took news of the uprising at the capital a full six months to reach them, and her husband’s coldness extended to more than just his wife, further discouraging visitors. Indeed, the night’s feast was the first time in recent memory the dark-haired beauty had come face to face any man who was not her husband, the flowery compliments she’d received met with cool politeness, lest Aelfric become offended. This marriage was not of her making, and an unhappy one at that, but to betray him like that was not in Freya’s nature. “Mmmmppppggghh!” she shouted in protest, willowy figure straining against her bonds as Aelfric stalked towards her, heart pounding in terror at the naked rage in his eyes. “Nnnnggghh, mmmppppggghh!”
“How long have you been betraying me?” the Lord of the Stormfens spat, meaty hand reaching up to seize her by the throat. “How long have you been spreading your legs for anyone who crosses your path, whore?”
“MMMPPPGGGHHH!” Freya screamed, long dark hair flailing about as she shook her head in denial, her protestations of innocence rendered to meaningless, garbled noise by the muzzle gag. Trough hands kneaded her breasts, and she twisted her head as far as her bondage would permit as Aelfric leaned in, breath rank upon her skin. “MMMMPPPPPGGGHHHHH!”
“Welcome to your new accommodations, my dear. You will remain in this cell for the rest of your wretched life, locked away from any poor fools you might lead to temptation. I will make your existence a living nightmare, your every waking moment spent suffering for your betrayal.”
Breathing deep of her terror, the nobleman’s voice dropped to a vicious whisper, thick with hate and lust in equal measure. “No one will ever see you again. No one will come to find you. And when I am done, the story of the nightmare I put you through will be all it takes to make my new wife as obedient as I please.”
“MMMMMPPPPPGGGHH!” The muffled scream rang out through the dungeon, and Freya thrashed about like a woman possessed, shackles biting into her soft flesh. “MMMMPPPGGGHH! NNNGGGGHHH! MMMMPPPPPGGGHHHHH!”
“Scream all you want, my dear, for no one will hear you either. Now, let your nightmare truly begin…”