ASTRID’S POV

The stone floor was cold and rough against my cheek as I slowly regained consciousness. Again. This was the second time today that I had fainted, my body giving out despite my efforts to stay strong. The dungeon cell spun around me as I tried to sit up, my head pounding with a pain that seemed to come from deep inside my skull.

I pressed my back against the damp stone wall and tried to take inventory of my condition. My dress was torn and filthy, stained with things I didn’t want to think about. My hair hung in greasy tangles around my face, and I could taste blood in my mouth from where I had bitten my tongue during one of my fainting spells.

But it was the strange weakness in my body that worried me most. This wasn’t just hunger, though I hadn’t been given any real food in days. The guards would occasionally throw me a crust of moldy bread or a cup of stagnant water, but never enough to sustain me properly. This felt different, like something was wrong deep inside me, something that went beyond simple starvation.

My insides were in complete disarray. I felt nauseous most of the time, but there was nothing in my stomach to bring up. Sharp pains would shoot through my abdomen without warning, making me double over and gasp for breath. Sometimes I felt dizzy and feverish, while other times I was so cold I couldn’t stop shivering despite the heavy furs they had grudgingly provided.

I couldn’t figure out what was causing it. Was it just the lack of food and the stress of my imprisonment? Was it some kind of illness brought on by the damp, filthy conditions of the dungeon? Or was it something else entirely, something I was afraid to acknowledge even to myself?

The cell door was made of thick oak reinforced with iron bands, and it had remained stubbornly locked since the day they had thrown me in here. I had lost count of how many days that had been. Time moved strangely in this windowless pit, marked only by the changing of the guards and the occasional meal that reminded me I was still alive.

Harald had visited me once, shortly after my imprisonment began. He had stood outside the cell bars looking smug and satisfied, explaining in his smooth, cultured voice exactly what my future held. I would remain here until I agreed to marry Jarl Eriksson. If I continued to refuse, well, there were other ways to break a stubborn woman’s spirit.

I had spat at him through the bars and told him exactly what I thought of his offer. He had smiled and walked away, but not before instructing the guards to reduce my already meager rations. That had been… I wasn’t sure how long ago. Days blurred together in this place.

Now, as I sat on the floor trying to marshal my strength, I was beginning to understand just how precarious my situation had become. My body was failing me, and I didn’t know how much longer I could hold out. The rational part of my mind whispered that maybe I should consider Harald’s offer, that marriage to Eriksson might be better than dying slowly in this cell.

But every time that thought crossed my mind, I pushed it away with fierce determination. I would rather die as Ragnar’s wife than live as another man’s possession. Even if Ragnar was dead, as Harald claimed, I would not betray his memory by giving in to his murderer’s demands.

The thirst was the worst part. My throat felt like it was lined with sand, and my lips were cracked and bleeding. The small cup of water they had given me yesterday was long gone, and my body was crying out for more.

I crawled across the cell floor on my hands and knees, every movement requiring tremendous effort. The distance to the door felt like miles, but I forced myself to keep going until I could reach out and bang my fist against the wood.

“Please,” I called out, my voice hoarse and barely recognizable. “I’m thirsty. I need water.”

The guards on the other side of the door burst into laughter. I could hear them clearly through the wood, their voices mocking and cruel.

“Listen to the princess begging,” one of them said. “Not so proud now, is she?”

“Maybe she’s ready to be reasonable,” another suggested. “Maybe she wants to send word to the king that she’s changed her mind about marriage.”

“I need water,” I repeated, ignoring their taunts. “Please. Just water.”

“Water’s for people who know how to behave properly,” the first guard replied. “You want to drink, you know what you have to do.”

Their laughter faded as they moved away from the door, leaving me alone with my thirst and desperation. I slumped against the oak planks, feeling tears of frustration and weakness running down my cheeks. How much longer could I endure this? How much more could my body take before it simply gave up entirely?

I must have dozed off again, because the next thing I knew, I was lying on the floor with no memory of how I had gotten there. My head was spinning, and there was a metallic taste in my mouth that I didn’t recognize. The strange pains in my abdomen were getting worse, and I was beginning to seriously worry about what was happening to me.

That’s when I heard it. A sound that made my heart stop and then start racing with hope and terror.

A loud scream echoed through the castle above me, followed by the thunder of running footsteps and the distinctive sound of steel clashing against steel. Then came the deep, resonant boom of the warning gong that meant the castle was under attack.

But this wasn’t just any attack. The pattern of sounds, the way the alarm was being raised, told me exactly what was happening. This was a rescue attempt. Someone was fighting their way through Harald’s defenses, cutting down his guards and smashing through his supposedly impregnable fortress.

And I knew, with absolute certainty that came from somewhere deeper than logic or reason, who was leading that assault.

Ragnar. Ragnar was here. Ragnar was alive.

The reports of his death had been lies, just as I had suspected. Somehow, someway, my husband had survived Harald’s trap and made it back to save me. The knowledge filled me with such overwhelming relief and joy that I actually laughed out loud despite my weakness and pain.

The sounds of battle grew closer and louder. I could hear men shouting orders, the clash of weapons, the screams of the wounded and dying. It sounded like a small war was being fought in the corridors above my head, and I pressed myself against the cell door, straining to hear every detail.

Heavy footsteps pounded down the stone stairs that led to the dungeon. Multiple sets of feet, moving fast and with purpose. I heard voices calling out, searching, demanding to know where prisoners were being held.

Then, suddenly, they were there. The footsteps stopped right outside my cell, and I heard the familiar sound of Ragnar’s voice, rough with emotion and exhaustion.

“Astrid? Astrid, are you in there?”

“I’m here!” I called out, my voice cracking with relief and desperate hope. “I’m here!”

There was a moment of frantic activity as they worked to unlock the cell door. I heard metal scraping against metal, the sound of keys being tried, muttered curses as they struggled with the ancient lock. Then, finally, the door swung open with a grinding creak that sounded like the most beautiful music I had ever heard.

Ragnar stood in the doorway, and he was the most wonderful sight I had ever seen. He was covered in blood and dirt, his clothes torn and his hair wild from battle, but he was alive and real and here. Behind him stood another figure I recognized with shock and overwhelming gratitude.

My father. Bjorn the Wise was here too, his weathered face creased with worry and relief as he saw me alive.

I tried to stand, to run to them, but my legs wouldn’t support me. Instead, I stumbled forward and fell into Ragnar’s arms, feeling his strong embrace surround me like a shield against all the pain and fear of the past weeks.

I broke down then, all the strength and defiance I had maintained throughout my imprisonment crumbling away as relief and exhaustion overwhelmed me. I cried against his chest, great heaving sobs that came from the deepest part of my soul, while he held me and whispered words of comfort and love.