Chapter 4
Ragnar
I stood in front of the mirror, staring at my bearded face that needed trimming. Viking men loved having long beards, as they were seen as a symbol of bravery and masculinity. But I preferred mine shaved clean and neat.
I carefully ran the blade through my beard, shaving the hair off my face. Then I dipped the blade into the bowl of water before returning it to my jaw. I repeated the steps until I was done.
I ran my fingers through my hair, still staring at my reflection. Then I slowly took off the tunic from my body. My muscles were hard and toned from all the labor I endured as a warrior.
Scars lined my skin—a reminder of the wars I had survived.
Just then, I heard a knock. When I turned, I saw a thrall walk in.
"I brought you ale," she said in a sweet, seductive voice.
She walked closer, grabbed the horn from the table, and poured me some ale.
Then she stepped toward me, bowing her head before handing me the horn.
I took it from her, sipping the ale. It had a rich taste—fruity, with slight bitter.
As I raised my head from the horn, I noticed her eyes fixed on my chest. Her big brown eyes were alluring.
"What else would you have me do, my King?" she asked.
I gulped down the ale before grabbing her neck firmly. A low sound rumbled from her throat.
"My King?" I asked, raising a brow.
"You are a King," she said. "King of the North."
"I don't rule in the South. You have a King here."
"I know, but—"
"What do you want?"
"I can do anything," she said, turning bold and tracing her fingers down from my torso to between my legs.
I clenched my jaw, feeling my manhood harden from her touch. I couldn't blame the little man—it had been a long time since I'd lain with a woman.
"Anything?" I asked.
"Anything," she repeated.
I let go of her neck. She dropped to her knees, about to pull me out when I shoved her head back.
"I want you, my…"
"Be a good thrall and get out of here."
If this had been a few years ago, I wouldn't have hesitated to shove myself down her throat. But I was a changed man now. A lot had changed me.
I wasn't here to bed a thrall in my brother's house—I was here for something more.
"You need me," she said, staring at my arousal.
"Leave," I growled through gritted teeth. She was beginning to irritate me.
Then she did something bold—and stupid. She stood up and began taking off her clothes.
Without warning, I grabbed her neck and slammed her against the wall.
"Defy me again, and this will be the last face you see before you die," I warned with a deep growl.
When I released her, she fell to the ground, coughing and rubbing her neck. She quickly adjusted her clothing and dashed out of the room.
Once the door shut, I walked into the bathing chamber and knelt in front of the bucket of water.
Dipping my hands into the water, I splashed my face, washing away the hair and dirt.
I had come to Fellur for one reason—Freya.
I was a beast, and I needed her to break the curse on my pack. But I also needed her for something else.
I couldn't get her out of my mind. She had grown into a beautiful woman, and I was surprised she was still unmarried.
Women were usually married by the ripe age of fifteen. But I was glad she wasn't—because I needed her. I would take her to the North with me when I leave here.
After I finished washing, I left the room and headed to the training hall. There, I saw Freya sparring with a warrior, both wielding axes.
She fought well—never missed a shot.
Spinning, she threw her axe, exhaling as it struck the warrior's shield with a sharp sound.
"Nice shot," I said as I walked closer, grabbing an axe from the stand.
She turned around, breathing heavily, a smile flashing across her face.
"Uncle Ragnar," she said.
I twirled the axe.
"You've gotten better over the past few years," I said, turning to the warrior, who stumbled from her last blow.
Her smile widened. "I had to. I want to be a warrior like you and Father. I also need strength to rule Fellur. Men won't respect a Queen who swings like a girl."
I chuckled, stepping closer until we were inches apart. "You swing like a warrior. But let's see how good you've become."
Her brow lifted. "Are you challenging me to a fight, Uncle?"
I nodded. "I am."
"You sure?" she chuckled. "You don't look as strong as you used to be."
"I'm ten times stronger than your father. Even stronger than this warrior," I said. "But I'll go easy on you."
"Don't," she frowned slightly. "Show me your full strength."
Then she attacked. I blocked her blow with the shield on my left arm. Our weapons clashed, the sound of combat ringing through the hall.
She was fast—faster than I expected. She lowered herself, twisted, and moved behind me. Just before she could strike, I swung my axe and she dodged.
"Hmm. Good."
"Just good? I almost split your ribs open!"
"Almost," I said. "But 'almost' doesn't win a battle."
She smirked and stepped back. Without warning, she charged at me. This time, I didn't dodge quickly enough. Her axe sliced into my arm.
I gritted my teeth and stepped back.
"You're wounded," she said.
I looked down. No blood. The wound was gone.
Freya's eyes widened. "I just struck you," she said.
"You were bleeding."
"You saw it wrong," I said. "There's no wound."
"No," she moved closer, touching my arm where she'd hit me. "There was blood. I saw the wound."
"There's no wound," I repeated.
She shook her head. "Am I seeing things?"
"Maybe," I said, grabbing her wrist and pulling her to a corner, away from the warriors.
"Uncle Ragnar?"
"Ragnar."
"What?"
"Call me Ragnar," I said. "May I ask you something?"
Her blue eyes stared into mine. I tried to read them—but they were blank.
"What?" she asked, her voice low.
"How do you feel, as a Princess living in this house?"
She looked surprised at my question, then her shoulders dropped.
Her lips parted, and her eyes softened. The spark in them vanished. For a moment, I saw the pain she was trying to hide.
"I'd say it doesn't look good for you here."
"Not at all," she shook her head. "As the successor to the throne, I can't enjoy the feeling of being normal being. I'm never allowed outside unless I sneak out. And even then, people recognize me and treat me differently. I can't even get a taste of what it's like to be normal. It's…"
"How about I take you out in the middle of the night when everyone is asleep?" I asked. "Just me and you. You could dress as a thrall to hide your identity, and we'll go alone."
She blinked at me before laughing. "Me and you? Out alone in the middle of the night? Are you trying to court me?"
"No… no, not at all," I said quickly. "You're my.....—I would never think of such a thing. I just want what's best for you."
I placed a hand on her shoulder. "Think about it, and tell me how you feel."
I waited a moment for her response. When she didn't say anything, I walked away.