RAGNAR’S POV

I started to follow her, but King Harald’s voice stopped me.

“Let her go, Ragnar,” he said with false sympathy. “Young wives need time to adjust to their husbands’ pasts. I’m sure she’ll come around.”

The knowing looks and barely suppressed smiles around the table told me that this had been orchestrated.

Freyja’s little performance hadn’t been spontaneous – it had been planned, probably with the king’s blessing. They wanted to drive a wedge between Astrid and me, wanted to use our relationship as a weapon against us both.

But I couldn’t very well chase after my wife like a besotted fool, not with the entire court watching and waiting for signs of weakness. So I sat there, forcing myself to smile and make conversation while inside I was burning with the need to find Astrid and make her understand.

It was nearly midnight before I could escape the festivities and make my way back to our chambers. I expected to find Astrid there, probably crying or throwing things or both. Instead, I found the room empty except for a single object on the table.

My ring. The silver band I had given her at our wedding ceremony, the symbol of our union. She had left it there like a declaration of war.

I picked up the ring, feeling its familiar weight in my palm. The metal was still warm from her skin, and seeing it abandoned there made something twist painfully in my chest.

I found her in the castle gardens, sitting on a stone bench beneath the moonlight. She had changed out of her feast clothes into a simple dress, and her hair hung loose around her shoulders. She looked young and vulnerable and heartbreakingly beautiful.

“Astrid,” I said softly, not wanting to startle her.

She didn’t turn around. “Go away, Ragnar. Go back to your old lover and leave me in peace.”

“She’s not my lover,” I said, moving closer despite her words. “Not anymore. Not for years.”

“But she was.” It wasn’t a question. “She sang that song like she knew every word by heart, like she had sung it for you a hundred times before.”

I couldn’t deny it. Freyja and I had been lovers, briefly, during a time when I thought physical pleasure was enough. Before I understood the difference between wanting someone and loving them.

“Yes,” I admitted. “She was. Three years ago, before I knew what real love felt like.”

Astrid laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Real love? Is that what you call this? This arrangement between a captor and his prize?”

Her words hit me like physical blows. “You know it’s more than that now. You know what we’ve become.”

“Do I?” She finally turned to look at me, and I could see tears glittering in her eyes. “Because from where I sat tonight, it looked like you were remembering old times with a woman who knew you far better than your current wife ever will.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” She stood up, facing me with all the fierce pride that had first attracted me to her. “Tell me, Ragnar – did you love her? Did you whisper sweet words to her the way you do to me? Did you make her the same promises you’ve made me?”

The questions hung in the air between us, and I knew that my answer would determine everything that happened next. I could lie, could tell her what she wanted to hear. But Astrid deserved better than lies.

“I thought I did,” I said quietly. “At the time, I thought what I felt for her was love. But I was wrong. What I felt for her was nothing compared to what I feel for you.”

“How convenient,” she said bitterly. “How very convenient that you should discover the difference after you’ve already made me your wife.”

“Astrid, please. Let me explain.”

“Explain what? That I’m just the latest in a long line of women who’ve caught the great Ragnar Thornegrim’s attention? That when you tire of me, you’ll find someone new to whisper pretty lies to?”

“That’s not what this is,” I said desperately. “You’re not like the others. You’re—”

“I’m what? Special? Different? Surely you used those same words with her.”

She was working herself into a fury now, all the hurt and humiliation of the past two days finally finding an outlet. I could see her pain, could understand why Freyja’s performance had cut so deep. But I could also see that she wasn’t going to listen to reason, not tonight.

“Fine,” I said, stepping back. “If that’s what you believe about me, about us, then perhaps you need time to think. Perhaps we both do.”

I turned to go, hoping she would call me back, hoping she would give me a chance to make her understand.

But she said nothing, just stood there in the moonlight looking like a statue carved from ice and sorrow.

I spent a few moment walking the castle walls, trying to figure out how to fix what Freyja had broken.

With each passing moment, my anger grew. Not at Astrid – I understood her hurt, even if I wished she trusted me more.

My anger was for the people who had orchestrated this whole situation, who were using our feelings as weapons against us.

I couldn’t take it any longer so I made my decision. I couldn’t let this stand. I couldn’t let our enemies succeed in driving us apart.

I found Astrid in the same place, still sitting on that stone bench, staring at the sky. She looked exhausted, like she hadn’t slept any more than I had. Her eyes were red, and seeing her pain made something fierce and protective roar to life in my chest.

“Astrid,” I said, my voice rough from exhaustion and emotion.

She looked up at me with weary defiance. “Have you come to tell me more lies? To explain away another piece of your past?”

“No,” I said simply. “I’ve come to tell you the truth.”

I sat down beside her on the bench, close enough to touch but not quite touching. “The truth is that yes, I’ve had other women. The truth is that I’ve made mistakes, hurt people, done things I’m not proud of. The truth is that three years ago, I didn’t know the difference between desire and love.”

She was listening now, her attention focused on my words despite herself.

“But the truth is also this,” I continued, turning to face her fully. “You can hate me all you want for my past, for the man I used to be, for the things I’ve done. You can throw my ring away and refuse to speak to me and curse my name to anyone who will listen.”

I reached out and cupped her face in my hands, forcing her to meet my eyes.

“But you are mine, Astrid. And I am yours. That’s not going to change because of some jealous woman’s song or because of anything that happened before I knew you existed. You are mine, and I will fight anyone – king, court, or gods themselves – who tries to take you from me.”