RAGNAR’S POV

The great hall buzzed with anticipation as my people prepared for the feast. Tradition demanded it, and even I couldn’t ignore the old ways completely.

When a jarl or a Viking King took a bride, especially one from a conquered village, it had to be announced properly. The other clans needed to see that Ragnar Thornegrim had claimed what was his.

I stood at the head table, watching my men arrange the benches and set out the drinking horns. The fire pit in the center of the hall crackled with fresh logs, casting dancing shadows on the carved wooden pillars that held up the roof.

Everything had to be perfect. This feast would be talked about for years to come.

My mind kept wandering to the girl upstairs.

Astrid.

She’d been locked in one of the guest chambers since we arrived, refusing to eat or speak to anyone. The women I’d sent to tend to her said she just sat by the window, staring out at the sea like she was hoping a rescue ship would appear on the horizon.

Part of me almost admired her stubborn spirit. Most captives would have broken by now, would have accepted their fate and tried to make the best of it.

But not this one. She had fire in her blood, and fire was something I understood well.

The sound of heavy footsteps made me turn. Jovna the Red, my second in command, approached with a concerned expression on his scarred face.

“The girl refuses to come down,” he said quietly. “The women say she won’t put on the dress or let them fix her hair. What do you want us to do?”

I felt my jaw clench. I should have expected this. Of course she wouldn’t make things easy. Nothing about this arrangement had been simple so far.

“Tell her she has two choices,” I said, my voice carrying the edge of steel. “She can come down dressed appropriately, or she can come down as she is. Either way, she’s coming down.”

Jovna nodded and disappeared back up the stairs. I turned my attention back to the hall, trying to focus on the final preparations.

Representatives from three neighboring clans had already arrived, along with several merchants and ship captains who traded with us regularly.

Word had spread quickly about my new bride, and everyone wanted to see what kind of woman had caught the Wolf’s attention.

The truth was, I wasn’t entirely sure myself. She was beautiful, yes, but I’d seen beautiful women before.

There was something else about her, something that had made me accept her father’s desperate bargain when I should have just taken what I wanted and burned the rest.

Maybe it was the way she’d stood up to me in that healing house, protecting those people even when she knew it was hopeless.

Maybe it was the intelligence I’d seen flashing in her green eyes, the quick mind that was already calculating how to survive this new reality.

Or maybe I was just getting soft in my old age.

The hall was nearly full now, the air thick with smoke and the smell of roasted meat.

My guests were getting restless, drinking mead and casting curious glances toward the stairs. I was about to send Jovna back up to drag the girl down bodily when I heard the soft whisper of footsteps on wood.

I looked up, and my breath caught in my throat.

She was walking down the stairs like a queen descending to greet her subjects.

The deep crimson gown I’d ordered for her fit her perfectly, hugging every curve and emphasizing the womanly shape that had been hidden beneath her simple village dress.

The color made her pale skin glow like moonlight, and her dark hair had been braided with silver threads that caught the firelight.

But it was her face that truly stunned me. She’d painted her lips the same deep red as her dress, and her eyes had been lined with kohl that made them look larger and more mysterious.

She looked nothing like the frightened girl I’d dragged from her village. She looked like a woman who belonged in a king’s hall.

The entire room fell silent as she made her way across the floor. Every eye was on her, every conversation stopped mid-sentence. I felt a surge of pride that caught me off guard.

This was my woman walking through my hall, and she was magnificent.

She came to stand beside my chair, and I could see the tension in her shoulders despite her regal bearing.

Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, and she kept her eyes fixed on some point in the distance rather than looking at any of the faces staring back at her.

“My people,” I called out, my voice carrying easily through the hushed hall. “I present to you Astrid of Bjornstead, my chosen bride.”

A cheer went up from my warriors, though I noticed it was somewhat forced. They were still getting used to the idea of their jarl taking a wife, especially one from a conquered village. But they would learn to accept it, just as she would learn to accept her new life.

The feast began in earnest then. Platters of meat and bread were passed around, mead flowed freely, and the conversation gradually returned to normal.

But I noticed that many eyes still drifted to Astrid throughout the evening. She sat rigidly beside me, picking at her food and saying nothing.

I tried to draw her into conversation a few times, asking about her healing skills or her life in the village, but she answered in short, clipped sentences that made it clear she had no interest in talking to me.

Her coldness should have annoyed me, but instead I found it intriguing.

She was playing a dangerous game, showing defiance in front of my guests, but she was doing it with such dignity that it almost seemed like courage rather than foolishness.

The evening wore on, and the mead began to take effect on my guests. Conversations grew louder, laughter more raucous.

Several of the younger warriors had started arm wrestling contests, while others were trading stories of their latest raids.

That’s when Hakon Ironbeard arrived.

I should have known he would show up eventually. The man had a talent for appearing wherever he wasn’t wanted, usually with some scheme or insult designed to cause trouble.

He was the emissary for the Raven Clan, our neighbors to the north, and he’d been trying to undermine my authority for years.

He swaggered into the hall with his usual arrogant grin, his iron-grey beard braided with bone ornaments that clicked when he moved.

Behind him came two of his warriors, both looking like they’d rather be anywhere else.

“Ragnar Thornegrim!” he called out, his voice already slurred with drink. “I heard you’d taken a bride, but I had to see for myself. Where is this beauty who’s tamed the great Wolf?”

I felt my muscles tense, but I forced myself to remain calm. Hakon was looking for a reaction, hoping to goad me into doing something stupid in front of witnesses from multiple clans. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“She sits beside me,” I said evenly. “Astrid of Bjornstead.”

Hakon’s eyes moved to her, and I saw them narrow slightly. He walked closer, circling our table like a predator sizing up potential prey.

Astrid kept her eyes straight ahead, but I could see her knuckles turning white where she gripped her eating knife.

“Hmm,” Hakon said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “She’s pretty enough, I suppose. Though I have to say, Ragnar, I’m surprised. I always thought you liked your women a bit more… agile. This one looks like she’d crush a shield if she sat on it.”

A few nervous chuckles rippled through the hall, but most of my guests had the good sense to stay quiet. They could feel the tension building, could sense that something ugly was about to happen.

Hakon wasn’t done. He leaned closer to Astrid, his voice carrying clearly through the suddenly quiet hall.

“Tell me, girl, do you even have the wind for childbearing? Or will you tire out before the Wolf’s even finished with you?”

The sound that came from my throat was barely human. I was on my feet before I realized I’d moved, my hand crushing the silver drinking cup in my grip.

The metal screamed as it bent and twisted, mead running between my fingers like blood.

The hall was dead silent now. Every person in the room was staring at me, waiting to see what I would do.

Hakon had crossed a line, had insulted not just me but my chosen woman in my own hall. In the old days, such words would have meant death.

“You will apologize,” I said, my voice deadly quiet. “Now.”

Hakon’s face had gone pale, but he was too proud to back down completely. “I meant no offense, Wolf. I was merely—”

“Now,” I repeated, and this time there was no mistaking the threat.

He looked around the hall, seeing nothing but hard faces and hostile eyes.

My warriors were already reaching for their weapons, and even the representatives from other clans looked disgusted by his behavior.

“My apologies, Lady Astrid,” he said stiffly. “My words were… poorly chosen.”

I stared at him for a long moment, letting him feel the weight of my displeasure. Then I slowly set down the ruined cup and returned to my seat. The message was clear: anyone who insulted my woman would answer to me personally.

The feast continued, but the mood had changed.

Conversations were more subdued, and I noticed several people making early excuses to leave. Hakon and his men disappeared shortly after the confrontation, no doubt eager to spread word of what had happened.

I found myself stealing glances at Astrid throughout the rest of the evening. She hadn’t reacted visibly to Hakon’s insults, but I could see the subtle signs of distress in the way she held herself. The bastard’s words had affected her, even if she was too proud to show it.

As the night wore on and the last of my guests finally departed, I made my way upstairs.

The hall below was quiet now except for the crackling of dying fires and the occasional snore from a warrior who’d drunk too much mead.

I stopped outside Astrid’s door and listened. No sound came from within, but I could see the flicker of candlelight beneath the door frame. She was still awake.

I pushed the door open without knocking and stepped inside. She was sitting by the window again, still wearing the crimson gown but with her hair now loose around her shoulders. She turned when she heard me enter, and I saw fear flash across her features before she quickly masked it.

For a long moment, we just stared at each other across the small room. She looked so small sitting there, so vulnerable despite her earlier show of strength.

But I could still see that spark of defiance in her eyes, that refusal to completely submit that had drawn me to her in the first place.

I moved closer, my footsteps silent on the wooden floor. She didn’t move, didn’t try to run or hide, just watched me approach with those wide green eyes.

When I was close enough to touch her, I stopped. Close enough to smell the scent of her skin, to see the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Close enough to see the pulse beating frantically at the base of her throat.

I leaned down until my lips were almost touching her ear, and whispered the words that would seal both our fates.

“You are mine.”