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When Hvitserk awoke the following morning, he discovered that the furs on the bed had grown cold where Yvette, his wife, had been laying. He sat up in his bed, his mind racing as he pondered where she might have gone. Typically, she would be by the fire, preparing a meal for him before he started his day. However, on this day, she was nowhere to be seen.
As the young prince climbed out of bed, his thoughts were consumed by concern for Yvette. He hastily gathered his clothes and began to search for her. Just as he was about to leave the house, he spotted her silhouette by the fire. She was wrapped only in furs, her shoulders bare.
Hvitserk approached her slowly, kneeling in front of her with care. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice gentle and soothing.
Yvette replied, "I just got cold."
Hvitserk tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, lifting her chin gently. His eyes scanned her face, searching for any sign of what might be troubling her. He didn't care what it was; he only wanted to help.
"Yvette," he said softly.
Without warning, in the blink of an eye, it all unfolded so quickly. Yvette found herself on her feet, clutching the furs to cover herself as fury engulfed her face.
"You're not my husband, Hvitserk," she spat. "We may be married, but that doesn't make you anything to me!"
Hvitserk, still on his knees, stared at her with a mixture of bewilderment and hurt.
"Tell me," he said, his voice steady. Yvette turned to him, still clinging to the furs, afraid to reveal her body. In truth, she already had.
"Tell you what?" she whispered.
Rising to his feet, Hvitserk now stood before her, his voice as calm as ever. "Tell me you hate me."
What was he doing? This question raced through Yvette's mind as she tried to understand Hvitserk's intentions.
"What...?" she began, her voice uncertain.
"TELL ME!" Hvitserk's voice boomed, no longer calm as he raised it to the woman. In a moment of anger and without thinking, Yvette attempted to slap him. However, Hvitserk caught her hand with little effort.
"I hate you, Hvitserk Ragnarsson," she hissed, her words filled with venom.
"And you think that I don't hate you. That being with you isn't the worst thing that's ever happened in my life because it is. Odin knows I would give anything to rid myself of you."
A wave of fury washed over Yvette as she spat in Hvitserk's face. "You filthy heathen! Let go of me!" she cried, desperately trying to wriggle out of his grasp. She let go of the furs and lunged at him again, but Hvitserk caught her hand once more, leaving the young girl exposed and vulnerable.
Hvitserk stepped forward, forcing her to retreat until her back was against the wall. Trapped in his unrelenting grip, she could only glare at him, her body trembling with anger and fear.
"You're nothing to me, Yvette," Hvitserk declared, his gaze traveling over her exposed body. She could feel her cheeks burning as his eyes took her in, and she prayed that he wouldn't notice the effect he had on her. She desperately wanted to resist the desire for his touch, to feel repulsed by it, but she couldn't. No, she couldn't.
His hands, the gentle way they would stroke her breasts and the way his lips moved perfectly with hers as if they were made for each other and Yvette most of all hated how he felt inside of her, the feelings he'd give her; the gut tingling feeling as every thrust he'd make she whimper in pleasure. She wanted to hate him, she wanted to hate herself. How can a heathen give her this much pleasure but fill her soul with so much hate?
In a moment of self-awareness, Yvette caught her own thought and nearly gasped.
Hate.
"Hvitserk," she mumbled, her eyes now pleading with his. "I—"
"I know," he whispered, his lips moving closer to hers, igniting a fire within both of them. "I know," he repeated as his lips finally met hers, For a brief moment, Hvitserk felt Yvette tense against him, and he feared she would push him away. But as her hands relaxed and her mouth responded to his kiss, he released her hands, and she wrapped them around his neck, drawing him in for a deeper connection. His hands found her waist, pulling her body against his as he left a trail of kisses down her neck.
Yvette's stomach fluttered, her heart beating faster as she felt his hands slip between her thighs. "Hvitserk." She moaned with closed eyes, the air around them was thick. Hvitserk undid his pants dropping them to ground then lifted up Yvette's leg moving himself near her entrance. She felt him toying with her as he only allowed the tip inside.
Yvette moaned lightly, "Please."
Without warning Hvitserk thrusted inside her; her head falling back against the wall, eyes closed. Her whole body enlighten with a feeling of euphoria sending a shock wave of chills down her spine. His hands gripped her hips tightly holding her in place as he moved against her and she felt like her head was light headed but not in the bad way his movements against her were unlike any other pleasure she's ever had.
Hvitserk groaned against her neck has he pulled her hips against his. His own world feeling euphoric. His hands slide under her thighs picking her up and carefully taking her to their shared bed. He hovered over her watching as her eyes rolled back in pure pleasure, her nails digging in his back; Hvitserk thought that this might be the best feeling he'd ever experienced.
His feelings for this woman were evolving, and he couldn't pinpoint when or why. The thought of her telling him that she hated him nearly brought him to his knees. Yet, he found himself craving those words, as if he needed her to say it again. It was as though he wanted to hate her back, but he couldn't bear to hear it. In truth, he knew she hated him, and he knew he'd never be what she wanted or needed. In these moments watching her beneath him seeing how he pleased her and how his name rolls off her tongue he for a moment thought that maybe she didn't hate him. Maybe just like him her feelings had changed.
