ASTRID’S POV

The innkeeper’s grateful tears were still fresh in my mind as we left the inn behind us. The poor man had been so relieved when Ragnar chose mercy over vengeance, sparing his life despite the poison plot that had nearly cost my husband everything. I could still see his shaking hands as he promised to send word if any more of Harald’s men came through his establishment.

“You did the right thing,” I said to Ragnar as we mounted our horses in the inn’s courtyard. “Killing him wouldn’t have made us any safer.”

Ragnar’s jaw was still tight with controlled anger, but he nodded. “The real enemy isn’t some terrified innkeeper forced into betrayal. It’s the king who gave the orders.”

We rode out of the inn’s courtyard as the sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and red that reminded me uncomfortably of fire and blood. The road ahead wound through dense forest, the kind of terrain that made me nervous even under the best circumstances. Too many places for enemies to hide, too many blind corners where death could be waiting.

“How much further to the royal court?” I asked, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.

“Two days, maybe three if we’re careful,” Ragnar replied. “But we’ll need to find somewhere safe to spend the night. I don’t want to be caught in the open after what happened at the inn.”

The trees pressed close to the road on both sides, their branches forming a canopy overhead that blocked out most of the remaining daylight. The horses’ hooves made soft sounds on the packed earth, and I found myself listening intently to every noise from the surrounding forest.

That’s when I heard it – a sound that didn’t belong. The soft whisper of steel being drawn from a sheath, coming from somewhere in the trees to our left.

“Ragnar,” I said quietly, not wanting to alert any hidden enemies to the fact that we had noticed them.

But it was too late. The attack came from all sides at once, a coordinated assault that spoke of careful planning and professional execution. Armed men burst from the forest, their faces covered by dark cloth, their weapons gleaming in the fading light.

“Ambush!” one of our warriors shouted, but the warning came too late to do much good.

An arrow whistled past my head, close enough that I could feel the wind of its passage. Another struck the warrior riding behind me, sending him tumbling from his horse with a cry of pain. The road erupted into chaos as horses reared and men shouted orders and steel rang against steel.

I tried to control my terrified mare as she danced sideways, her eyes rolling white with fear. All around us, our small group was fighting for their lives against overwhelming odds. These weren’t random bandits – they moved with the discipline of trained soldiers, their attacks coordinated and deadly.

A masked attacker appeared at my horse’s side, reaching up to drag me from the saddle. I struck out with my riding crop, catching him across the face, but he barely flinched. His hand closed around my wrist, and I felt myself being pulled inexorably toward the ground.

That’s when Ragnar appeared like an avenging god, his sword cutting through the air in a silver arc that separated my attacker’s head from his shoulders. Blood sprayed across my horse’s neck, and the headless body crumpled to the ground.

“Stay close to me!” Ragnar shouted over the din of battle. “Don’t let them separate us!”

But even as he spoke, more attackers were closing in. These men were skilled and determined, and they seemed to have one specific goal – to take me alive while killing everyone else. I could see it in the way they moved, the way they tried to surround my horse while engaging our warriors at a distance.

An axe blade whistled through the air where my head had been a moment before. I ducked instinctively, feeling the cold touch of steel part my hair. My horse stumbled, and for a terrifying moment I thought we were both going down.

Ragnar was fighting like a man possessed, his sword moving in patterns too fast for the eye to follow. Bodies fell around him like wheat before a scythe, but there were always more enemies to take their place. I could see the desperation in his movements, the way he kept glancing toward me even as he fought for his own life.

“The woman!” one of the attackers shouted. “Take the woman alive!”

So I had been right – this wasn’t about robbery or random violence. This was another of Harald’s traps, another attempt to use me as a weapon against my husband. The realization made my blood run cold with fury as much as fear.

A spear thrust toward my horse’s flank, and I yanked on the reins, trying to wheel us away from the point. But the mare was panicking now, her movements erratic and uncontrolled. I felt myself sliding in the saddle, my grip on the reins weakening as exhaustion and terror took their toll.

Another attacker lunged at me from the opposite side, this one carrying a net instead of a weapon. He was trying to entangle me, to bring me down without causing serious injury. The sight of that net made something primal and desperate surge through me.

I would not be taken. I would not be used as a pawn in Harald’s games.

I drove my heels into my horse’s sides, spurring her forward with desperate urgency. She responded with a burst of speed that caught our attackers off guard, carrying us past the reaching hands and grasping weapons.

But our escape was short-lived. More enemies emerged from the trees ahead of us, blocking the road with a wall of shields and spears. We were trapped, surrounded on all sides with nowhere to run.

That’s when I saw the archer.

He was positioned in the branches of a large oak tree, his bow drawn and aimed directly at me. The arrow was already nocked, the string pulled back to his cheek. At this range, he couldn’t miss.

Time seemed to slow as I watched his fingers release the string. The arrow flew toward me with deadly precision, its iron point glinting in the last rays of sunlight.

I tried to throw myself sideways, but I was too late. The arrow was going to hit me, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Ragnar appeared between us, his body intercepting the arrow’s path. The iron point struck him in the shoulder, spinning him around with the force of impact. He hit the ground hard, rolling to absorb the fall, but I could see blood spreading across his leather vest.

“No!” I screamed, jumping down from my horse without thinking about the danger around us.

Ragnar was already struggling to his feet, the arrow still protruding from his shoulder. His face was pale with pain, but his eyes blazed with fury as he faced the remaining attackers.

“You want her?” he snarled, drawing his sword with his good arm. “Come and take her.”

But instead of coming, they all fled.