RAGNAR’S POV

The second day at court was even more treacherous than the first. I could feel the web of intrigue tightening around us with every conversation, every seemingly innocent question, every calculated smile.

King Harald was playing a game that had rules I was still trying to understand, and the stakes were higher than just my own life.

I was in the castle’s armory, inspecting weapons with Lord Erik – one of the few men at court I still considered trustworthy – when she found me.

Lady Freyja, daughter of Earl Magnus the Bold, and a woman I had hoped never to see again.

She swept into the room like she owned it, her crimson silk dress rustling with each calculated step.

Her golden hair was arranged in elaborate braids woven with jewels, and her blue eyes sparkled with the same predatory intelligence I remembered from years past.

She was beautiful, undeniably so, but it was the kind of beauty that came with a price.

“Ragnar Thornegrim,” she purred, her voice honey-sweet and poison-laced. “How wonderful to see you again.”

Lord Erik took one look at her face and suddenly remembered urgent business elsewhere. The coward fled before I could stop him, leaving me alone with a woman who had caused me nothing but trouble the last time our paths had crossed.

“Freyja,” I said carefully, keeping my voice neutral. “I heard you were married to Lord Haakon now.”

Her laugh was like silver bells, beautiful and cold. “Married, yes. Happily? That’s another matter entirely.” She moved closer, her fingers trailing along the edge of a sword blade displayed on the wall. “But enough about my dull husband. I’m much more interested in hearing about your new bride.”

The way she said ‘bride’ made my skin crawl. There was mockery in it, and something else that set my teeth on edge.

“Astrid is well,” I replied stiffly.

“Oh, I’m sure she is.” Freyja stepped closer still, close enough that I could smell her perfume – roses and something darker underneath. “Such a sweet thing. So… innocent. So different from the women you used to prefer.”

I knew what she was doing. Freyja had always been skilled at finding people’s weak spots and pressing on them until they broke.

But I wasn’t the same man I had been three years ago, and she wasn’t going to manipulate me the way she once had.

“Times change,” I said simply. “People change.”

“Do they?” She was standing directly in front of me now, her hand coming up to rest on my chest. “I remember a time when you preferred women with more… experience. Women who knew how to please a man like you.”

Her fingers began tracing patterns on my leather vest, and I could see the calculation behind her seductive smile.

This wasn’t about desire or old feelings. This was about something else entirely – information, perhaps, or leverage she could use against me later.

“That was a long time ago,” I said, catching her wrist and gently but firmly removing her hand from my chest.

“Was it?” she whispered, leaning closer. “Because I remember it like it was yesterday. The way you used to kiss me, the way you would whisper my name in the darkness…”

I took a step back, putting distance between us. “Freyja, whatever game you’re playing, I’m not interested. I have a wife now, and I honor that commitment.”

Her eyes flashed with something that might have been genuine anger. “Honor? Since when does the Wolf of the Northern Seas care about honor when it comes to women?”

“Since I found a woman worth honoring,” I replied.

The words seemed to hit her like a physical blow. For a moment, her carefully composed mask slipped, and I saw the real Freyja underneath – bitter, calculating, and dangerous when crossed.

“We’ll see how long that lasts,” she said softly. “Young wives can be so… fragile. Especially when they discover their husbands aren’t the men they thought they married.”

Before I could ask what she meant by that threat, she was gone, sweeping out of the armory as dramatically as she had entered. But I had a sinking feeling that this encounter was far from over.

I was right.

During another elaborate feast, Freyja made her move. I was seated at the high table next to Astrid, trying to navigate the treacherous waters of court conversation, when Freyja appeared beside my chair.

“Ragnar,” she said loudly enough for half the hall to hear, “surely you remember the song I used to sing for you? The one about the warrior and his devoted lover?”

Before I could stop her, she launched into a haunting melody that I did indeed remember. It was a song she had sung for me during our brief affair years ago, full of intimate references that only the two of us would understand.

Her voice was beautiful and trained, and it carried easily through the hall, drawing the attention of every person present.

Including my wife.

I could feel Astrid tense beside me as the song continued, could see the color drain from her face as she began to understand what she was witnessing.

Freyja’s performance was masterful in its cruelty – technically innocent but loaded with implications that painted a picture of deep intimacy between us.

When the song finally ended, the hall erupted in polite applause. Freyja curtsied gracefully, her eyes meeting mine with triumphant satisfaction before she glided back to her own seat.

I turned to Astrid, intending to explain, but the look on her face stopped me cold. She was staring at me with a mixture of hurt and fury that cut me deeper than any blade.

“Astrid,” I began quietly, but she was already standing.

“Excuse me,” she said to the table at large, her voice perfectly controlled despite the emotion blazing in her green eyes. “I find myself quite tired.”

She walked away with her head held high, but I could see the rigid set of her shoulders, the way her hands were clenched at her sides.