RAGNAR’S POV

The taste of her still lingered on my lips three days later. Three days since the blizzard, three days since I had held her trembling form against me and felt something shift inside my chest like ice breaking on a winter river. Three days of trying to convince myself that what happened meant nothing.

But it had meant something. That was the problem.

I found myself watching for her everywhere I went. In the great hall during meals, hoping she would look my way.

In the courtyard when I trained with my men, wondering if she might pass by on her way to the healing hut.

Along the walls during my evening walks, remembering how her hand had felt under mine that night before the storm.

She was avoiding me just as deliberately as I was seeking glimpses of her. When our paths did cross, she would nod politely and hurry away, her cheeks flushing pink in a way that told me she was remembering the same things I was.

The careful distance we had maintained before was nothing compared to the awkward space between us now.

It was maddening. I was Ragnar Thornegrim, the Wolf of the Northern Seas. I had faced down armies and conquered settlements.

I didn’t pace around my own stronghold like some lovesick boy, distracted by thoughts of a woman’s soft lips and the way she had whispered my name.

But that’s exactly what I was doing.

The change in my behavior didn’t go unnoticed. My men had served under me for years, and they could read my moods better than I could hide them. I caught them exchanging glances when they thought I wasn’t looking, saw the way conversations stopped when I approached.

It was Jovna who finally had the courage to say something.

“You’ve been different since the storm,” he said one morning as we stood watching the younger warriors practice their sword work. “Distracted.”

I kept my eyes on the training ground, watching two men circle each other with wooden weapons. “Have I?”

“You know you have.” His scarred face was serious when I glanced at him. “The men are starting to notice.”

“Let them notice,” I said, though my jaw tightened. “They have their orders. That’s all that matters.”

But even as I said it, I knew he was right. My attention had been scattered, my usual sharp focus dulled by thoughts that had nothing to do with raids or strategy or maintaining my position as jarl.

Just that morning, I had snapped at Erik for a minor mistake that I would normally have ignored. Yesterday, I had spent an entire council meeting thinking about the way Astrid’s hair had looked spread across my chest.

It was getting worse, not better.

That afternoon, I was reviewing supply reports in my private chambers when I heard raised voices from the courtyard below. Something in the tone made me set down the parchment and move to the window.

Astrid was there, speaking with one of the village women who had brought her sick child to the healing hut. But it wasn’t the conversation that caught my attention.

It was Magnus Ironfist, one of my newer warriors, who was standing too close to her, his posture aggressive and threatening.

I couldn’t hear what he was saying from this distance, but I could see the way Astrid had stepped back, could see the fear that flickered across her face before she masked it with that careful composure she wore like armor.

My feet were moving before I realized I had made the decision to intervene. I took the stairs three at a time, my hand instinctively moving to the hilt of my sword.

By the time I reached the courtyard, Magnus was jabbing his finger at Astrid while she stood perfectly still, refusing to be intimidated.

“Is there a problem here?” I asked, my voice cutting through the air like a blade.

Magnus spun around, his face flushed with anger and ale. “Just having a conversation with your foreign whore, Jarl. Telling her what I think of healers who think they’re better than honest warriors.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. The world went red around the edges, and I felt my control slip away like sand through my fingers. No one spoke about her that way. No one.

“What did you call her?” My voice was deadly quiet, the kind of tone that usually made grown men take a step back.

But Magnus was too drunk and too stupid to recognize the danger. “You heard me. This foreign bitch thinks she can—”

He never finished the sentence. My fist connected with his jaw with enough force to lift him off his feet.

He crashed to the ground, spitting blood and teeth, but I wasn’t done. I was on him before he could recover, my hands around his throat, pressing him into the dirt.

“Say it again,” I snarled, my face inches from his. “Call her that again and see what happens.”

Magnus clawed at my hands, his eyes bulging as he struggled to breathe. Around us, a crowd was gathering, but I barely noticed. All I could see was the fear in this man’s eyes, all I could hear was the memory of his insult echoing in my ears.

“Ragnar.” Astrid’s voice cut through the rage like a cool breeze. “Ragnar, stop. You’re going to kill him.”

Her words penetrated the red haze that had consumed me. I looked down at Magnus, saw that his lips were turning blue, saw that he had stopped struggling. A few more seconds and he would have been dead.

I released him and stood up, breathing hard. Magnus rolled to his side, gasping and retching as air flooded back into his lungs. The crowd around us was silent, watching with wide eyes as their jarl struggled to regain control.

“Get him out of my sight,” I said to no one in particular. “And if I hear him speak of my wife with anything less than complete respect again, I’ll finish what I started.”

Two warriors hurried forward to help Magnus to his feet. He was conscious but barely able to stand, blood still trickling from his mouth.

As they half-carried him away, I heard him mutter something under his breath that made my hands clench into fists again.

But it was the look in the eyes of my other men that made me pause.

They were staring at me like they had never seen me before, like I had just revealed something they hadn’t expected. There was surprise there, and something that might have been concern.

I had overreacted. I knew it even as the rage began to fade, leaving me feeling cold and hollow. Magnus was a drunk and a fool, but his words shouldn’t have affected me so strongly. A year ago, I would have disciplined him for disrespect and moved on. I wouldn’t have nearly killed him for insulting a woman I claimed not to care about.

But I did care about her. That was the truth I had been trying to avoid for weeks. Somewhere between her defiant slap and her gentle healing touch, between her stubborn courage and her soft kiss, she had become more than just a political pawn or a beautiful prize.

She had become important to me. And that made her dangerous.

“Thank you,” Astrid said quietly, moving to stand beside me as the crowd began to disperse. “You didn’t have to do that.”

I looked down at her, seeing the concern in her green eyes, the way she was looking at me like she was trying to figure out what had just happened. “Yes, I did,” I said simply.

She studied my face for a long moment, and I wondered what she saw there. Whatever it was, it made her expression soften slightly.

“Are you hurt?” she asked, reaching out as if to touch my hand, then stopping herself at the last moment.

“No,” I said, though my knuckles were already beginning to swell from the impact with Magnus’s jaw. “Are you?”

She shook her head. “Just words. I’ve heard worse.”

But the fact that she had heard worse, that men had spoken to her with such disrespect before, made the anger flare in my chest again. I wanted to ask who had dared to insult her, wanted to find them and make them pay for every cruel word.

Instead, I just nodded and walked away, leaving her standing in the courtyard looking confused and maybe a little hurt.

I could feel the weight of watching eyes wherever I went. My warriors were careful around me, more deferential than usual, but I could hear their whispered conversations when they thought I was out of earshot.

“Did you see how he looked when Magnus called her that name?”

“Nearly killed him with his bare hands. I’ve never seen the Jarl lose control like that.”

“She’s got her claws in him deeper than we thought.”

She’s his weakness now.

The phrase repeated itself over and over, and the worst part was that I couldn’t deny it. Magnus’s insult had cut me deeper than any sword because it had been aimed at her.

The thought of anyone hurting her or speaking to her with disrespect made me want to burn down the world.

In trying to protect her, I had revealed the truth that I had been hiding even from myself.

Astrid had become my weakness. And in a world where strength was everything, weakness could get us both killed.