Chapter 3
Freydis
After I finished taking my bath that morning, I heard a knock on the door and Siggy came in.
"My lady," she bowed her head. "Breakfast is ready."
"I'll be there shortly," I said, turning back to the mirror as I continued braiding my hair. I stared at my reflection. I had long golden hair and frozen blue eyes, like my mother.
Arriving in the dining room, I walked in to see my father and mother already there.
"Heil faðir," I greeted, turning to my mother and greeting her as well.
Then I sat down across the table from where they were seated. There were different types of food on the table—from venison to beef, ale, and fine white bread.
Just as we finished praying to the gods, the door opened and Ragnar came in.
He was tall, with long dark hair and strong features that made him look like a god. He wore a dark leather tunic, finely stitched to suit his sinewed muscles.
His trousers were made of soft dark wool.
Unlike my father, he had pale skin from living under the snow in the North. When he sat down at the table and grabbed the horn filled with ale, I saw the veins and muscles in his arms bulge.
He had broad shoulders that curved into his tunic. His hair was so long I had the urge to run my fingers through it. He had low, dark, arched brows, and his eyes were as black as the night sky.
I could tell that every woman in the North would be enthralled by him.
I stared at him, and just as I was about to look away, he turned to me. In that moment, I felt my breath stolen away. I was defenseless under the intensity of his gaze.
But when he finally looked away, all my senses returned. I looked down in embarrassment, taking a bite from the piece of beef on my plate.
How am I supposed to control myself when he's staring at me with those eyes?
I swallowed those thoughts and tried my best to focus on the food in front of me. I could only pray to the gods that he wasn't still staring at me—my cheeks were flushed now.
"Tell us about the North," Father broke the silence. "Is it always snowing?"
"Gods," Ragnar swore. "It's always damn cold in the North. And the burden of being king…"
Father laughed.
"I've been thinking of leaving everything behind and staying here with you in Fellur," Ragnar jokingly said.
"I believe you mean it, Ragnar," Father smiled.
"I do," Ragnar nodded. "What do you think, Harald? Just you and me, hunting in the woods and raiding villages again?"
"We could," Father said. "But I have a family now. We're not the boys we were many years ago."
"You never saw yourself as a boy, Harald," Ragnar said. "You were always the one with more women in bed. What was her name again? The one with red hair? By the gods, I knew how much you loved her. She was one of a kind. You told me her name once. Was it Lagertha? Or Porrun? Don't look at me like that. You know who I'm talking about. The thrall you impregnated?"
The smile on Father's face faded.
"Ragnar."
"It must've been Porrun," Ragnar said. "Tall and fair. You always liked them tall. You fucked her, and she became pregnant."
"You don't speak of her here," Father said.
After Father made my mother the Queen of Fellur, he left with Ragnar to continue the war. Mother said he wasn't there during her pregnancy and that she thought he was dead. But he came back five years later, and she barely recognized him. She hugged him, crying—but when he brought her a boy almost the same age as me, she wept again.
He told her everything—about his relationship with the thrall, Porrun.
Porrun wasn't always a thrall; she knew how to treat wounds. When she was captured during the war and made a thrall, she helped Father care for his injured men. That's how they grew close—and how she got pregnant.
But during labor, the gods turned their backs on Porrun and my father. She died giving birth to her son. Before she died, she made my father promise to take their bastard home.
My mother prayed when the boy started living with us. She refused to look at him and begged the gods to take him away. Fortunately for her, the gods heard her prayer. The boy fell ill with a fever and died a week later.
"The only woman who ever drove you insane," Ragnar said.
Father slammed his fist against the table. "Leave it, Ragnar. For the love I bear you, do not speak of her again—or I swear by the gods, I'll carve out your tongue and feed it to the crows."
"You scare me when you're angered," Ragnar said, placing a hand on Father's shoulder.
"I am the queen here, and you will not disrespect me in front of my husband, Ragnar," Mother said. "Speak one more word against me, and I'll curse you so deeply Harald will forget you ever lived."
She stood up, her food untouched, and walked out of the room.
Once the door shut, Ragnar burst into laughter—and Father joined him.
I shook my head.
"By the gods, I'm afraid of her, Harald."
"I fear her too," father whispered with a laugh, and both men drank from their horns.