ASTRID’S POV

We laid in each other’s arms, until my stomach began to growl. Ragnar stood up immediately.

“Let’s get dinner.”

I nodded as we got dressed and stepped out to the common room for dinner, taking a table in the corner where Ragnar could keep his back to the wall and watch the entire room.

Our guards sat at a nearby table, close enough to help if needed but far enough away to give us the illusion of privacy.

We ordered our meal and a drink, but a horrible feeling stirred inside of me. I still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

As the innkeeper approached, I watched him. He was nervous and smiling too much.

The meal was simple but well-prepared – roasted meat, fresh bread, and vegetables from the inn’s garden.

The innkeeper settled the wine down on wooden cups filled with what looked like mulled wine. The liquid was dark red and steaming, with the scent of spices that made my mouth water.

“Drink up,” the innkeeper said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s my special recipe. Travelers always say it’s the best they’ve ever tasted.”

He lingered by our table longer than necessary, watching as Ragnar lifted his cup toward his lips.

Something about the man’s expression made alarm bells ring in my head. There was an intensity in his gaze, a barely concealed excitement that seemed completely out of place.

I caught Ragnar’s wrist before the cup could reach his mouth.

“Wait,” I said quietly.

Ragnar looked at me with surprise, but he lowered the cup without drinking. “What is it?”

I couldn’t explain the sudden certainty that gripped me, the instinct that screamed danger.

But I had learned to trust those instincts during my training as a healer. My mother had always said that the body knew things the mind hadn’t figured out yet.

“May I?” I asked, reaching for his cup.

He handed it to me without question, though I could see the confusion in his eyes. I brought the cup close to my face and inhaled deeply, trying to identify the scents mixed in with the wine and spices.

There – underneath the cinnamon and cloves, barely detectable but definitely present – was something else. Something that made my blood run cold.

Bitter almonds. The telltale scent of poison.

I had smelled it before, during my training. My teacher had shown me various plants and substances that could be used to harm as well as heal, warning me to always be alert for the signs.

This particular poison was made from crushed cherry pits, and it was deadly in even small amounts.

“Don’t drink this,” I said urgently, setting the cup down on the table with more force than necessary.

Ragnar’s expression sharpened immediately. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s poisoned,” I whispered, leaning closer so our guards and the other patrons couldn’t hear. “I can smell bitter almonds. Someone has added crushed cherry pits to the wine.”

For a moment, Ragnar just stared at me. Then his gaze moved to the innkeeper, who was still hovering nearby and looking increasingly nervous.

The man’s face had gone pale, and sweat was beading on his forehead despite the cool evening air.

“How certain are you?” Ragnar asked quietly.

“Completely,” I replied. “I’ve been trained to recognize these things. If you had drunk that, you would have been dead within minutes.”

The look that crossed Ragnar’s face was terrible to behold. It was the expression of a predator who had just realized he was being hunted, and it promised violence to whoever had dared to threaten him.

But when he looked at me, that fierce anger transformed into something else entirely. His ice-blue eyes softened, and he reached out to cup my face with one large hand.

“You saved my life,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.

“We don’t know for certain,” I started to say, but he shook his head.

“We know,” he said firmly. “Your instincts have never been wrong before.”

He was looking at me like I was something miraculous, something precious beyond measure.

Like I was a gift from the gods themselves instead of a woman who had simply been paying attention to the wrong details.

The innkeeper had backed away from our table now, his face a mask of guilt and terror. He knew we had discovered his treachery, and he was calculating whether to run or try to bluff his way out of the situation.

Ragnar made the decision for him. In one fluid motion, he stood and grabbed the man by the front of his shirt, hauling him close enough that their faces were inches apart.

“Who paid you?” Ragnar’s voice was deadly quiet, the kind of tone that promised terrible consequences for the wrong answer.

“I don’t know what you mean,” the innkeeper stammered, but his eyes were darting around the room like a trapped animal looking for escape.

“The poison in the wine,” Ragnar said patiently. “Someone paid you to kill me. I want to know who.”

Our guards had noticed the commotion now and were standing, their hands on their weapons. The other patrons in the common room were watching with wide eyes, some of them starting to edge toward the exits.

“Please,” the innkeeper whimpered. “I have children. A wife. They said they would kill my family if I didn’t cooperate.”

“Who said that?” Ragnar demanded.

“Men who came through here yesterday. They knew you were coming. They knew exactly when you would arrive and which room you would take.” The words tumbled out of the innkeeper in a rush. “They said if I didn’t do what they asked, they would burn down my inn and everyone in it.”

Ragnar released the man, who stumbled backward and nearly fell. “What did these men look like?”

“Big. Armed. They wore the king’s colors but…” The innkeeper trailed off, realizing what he was admitting.

“But they weren’t really the king’s men,” Ragnar finished. “Someone is using Harald’s name to set traps along the road.”

I felt a chill run down my spine. If someone was willing to go to these lengths to kill Ragnar before he reached the royal court, it meant the danger was even greater than we had imagined.

“We need to leave,” I said quietly. “Now.”

Ragnar nodded, already moving toward the stairs. “Get our things,” he called to our guards. “We ride tonight.”

As we hurried to gather our belongings, I caught Ragnar looking at me again with that same expression of wonder and gratitude.

It was the look of a man who had just realized how much he had to lose, and how close he had come to losing it.

“Thank you,” he said simply as we prepared to leave the inn.

I reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently. “We protect each other,” I said. “That’s what we do.”