RAGNAR’S POV

Sleep had become my enemy. Every time I closed my eyes, she was there. Astrid, with her green eyes blazing defiance, her dark hair loose around her shoulders, her small hand striking my face with more force than should have been possible.

The dream always started the same way – I would be standing in her doorway again, watching her by the window, and she would turn to look at me with that mixture of fear and courage that made my chest tighten.

But then the dream would change, become something else entirely. Sometimes she would smile at me, a real smile instead of the cold politeness she showed during the day.

Sometimes she would reach out to touch my face where she had slapped me, her fingers gentle instead of violent.

Sometimes she would whisper my name like it meant something to her.

I always woke up angry. Angry at myself for dreaming about her, angry at her for invading my thoughts even when she wasn’t in the room, angry at the whole situation I had created by accepting her father’s bargain.

It had been three weeks since that night in her chamber. Three weeks since she had struck me and I had walked away like some green boy instead of the hardened warrior I was supposed to be.

Three weeks of watching her move through my stronghold like a ghost, present but not really there.

She had surprised me with how quickly she adapted. I had expected her to spend weeks weeping in her room, refusing to eat, making herself sick with grief for her old life. Instead, she had emerged the morning after our confrontation dressed in the clothes I had provided for her, her hair neatly braided, her face calm and composed.

But I could see the effort it cost her. I could see it in the way she held her shoulders too straight, in the careful way she spoke to my people, in how her hands sometimes trembled slightly when she thought no one was looking. She was surviving, but just barely.

My warriors didn’t know what to make of her. They watched her with suspicious eyes when she walked through the great hall, whispering among themselves about the foreign woman who had somehow tamed their jarl’s temper.

Some of them still expected me to tire of her and send her back to her village, or worse. They didn’t understand that she had become something more complicated than just a war prize.

I didn’t understand it either, if I was being honest.

The cold morning air bit at my face as I stood on the wooden walkway that ran along the top of our walls.

From here I could see the entire settlement – the great hall at the center, the smaller buildings clustered around it like chicks around a mother hen, the docks where our longships waited for the next raid. It was a good life, a strong life, built with blood and steel and the bones of my enemies.

But lately I found myself wondering what it looked like through her eyes.

Did she see the strength in our walls, or only the prison they represented? Did she understand the honor in our way of life, or did she only see violence and cruelty?

I went back inside and a sharp knock came to my door almost immediately.

“Enter,” I called, expecting it to be Jovna with the morning reports or one of my captains with news from the night watch.

Instead, the door opened to reveal Astrid herself.

She stood in the doorway for a moment, as if gathering her courage, then stepped inside and closed the door behind her. She was wearing one of the dresses I had ordered for her – a deep blue wool that brought out the color of her eyes – and her hair was braided with small silver beads that caught the light from the fire.

I watched her quietly, taking in the subtle changes I had noticed over the past weeks. She moved differently now, with more confidence and less of the frightened rabbit tension that had marked her first days here.

Her chin was still raised in that defiant way that both irritated and impressed me, but there was something else there now too. A sense of purpose that hadn’t been there before.

“Good morning,” she said formally, the same polite greeting she had given me every day since our confrontation.

“Good morning,” I replied, equally formal. This had become our ritual – careful politeness that acknowledged our strange situation without actually addressing it.

But today felt different. There was an energy about her that I hadn’t seen before, a barely contained excitement that made her seem almost to vibrate with anticipation.

“I have a favor to ask,” she said without preamble, getting straight to the point in a way that surprised me.

I raised an eyebrow and gestured for her to continue. In the weeks since she had arrived, she had asked for very little. Clean clothes, which I had already provided.

Access to the kitchen so she could prepare her own meals when the rich Viking food proved too heavy for her stomach. A few basic supplies – thread for mending, soap that didn’t smell like fish oil, candles for her room.

“What is it?” I asked.

She took a deep breath, and I could see her steeling herself for whatever she was about to say. “I want to open a healing hut. Here, in the settlement. To help and treat injured soldiers.”

For a moment I just stared at her, certain I had misheard. A healing hut? Here? The idea was so unexpected that I couldn’t immediately process it.

“A healing hut,” I repeated slowly.

“Yes,” she said, her words coming faster now as her excitement overcame her nervousness. “I’ve been watching your warriors train, and I’ve seen how many of them are walking around with old injuries that never healed properly. Broken bones that were set wrong, cuts that got infected, muscle strains that turned into permanent damage. I could help them.”

I continued to stare at her, feeling something that might have been admiration stirring in my chest. In all the weeks she had been here, I had never seen her show this much passion about anything. Her whole face was lit up with enthusiasm, and for the first time since I had dragged her from her village, she looked truly alive.

“I had no idea you were a healer,” I said, though even as the words left my mouth I realized how stupid they sounded.

Her green eyes flashed with something that looked like irritation. “You know nothing about me,” she said sharply. “You took me from my home, forced me to marry you, brought me to live among strangers, and you never once asked what I was good at or what I cared about. You know nothing about who I am or what I can do.”

The words hit me like physical blows, and I felt heat rise in my face. She was right, of course. In all my planning and scheming, in all my consideration of what taking her would mean politically and strategically, I had never once thought about her as a person with skills and interests of her own.

“You’re right,” I said quietly, and I saw surprise flicker across her features. She had probably expected me to get angry, to assert my authority and put her back in her place. “I don’t know anything about you. Tell me.”

She blinked, clearly caught off guard by my response. For a moment she just stood there, and I could see her trying to decide whether this was some kind of trap.

“I was trained by my village’s healer from the time I was twelve years old,” she said finally. “I know how to set bones, stitch wounds, mix medicines from herbs and roots. I can deliver babies, treat fevers, ease pain. In my village, people came to me when they were hurt or sick.”

As she spoke, I found myself seeing her differently. Not just as the defiant girl who had slapped me, not just as the beautiful woman who haunted my dreams, but as someone with real value beyond her face and her spirit. A healer. My warriors could certainly use one of those.

“Where would you want to build this healing hut?” I asked.

Her eyes widened, and I realized she hadn’t expected me to take her seriously. “There’s an empty building near the smithy,” she said quickly. “It’s small, but it would be perfect. Close enough to the training grounds that injured men could reach it easily, but far enough from the great hall that it would be quiet.”

I knew the building she meant. It had been used for storage, but we could easily clear it out. The location was good – central but not in the way of daily activities.

“You would need supplies,” I said. “Herbs, bandages, tools.”

“I could send word to my village,” she said eagerly. “My father could gather what I need, or I could make a list of things that could be purchased from traders.”

I found myself nodding, caught up in her enthusiasm despite myself. “The men would resist at first. They’re not used to being treated by a woman, especially a foreign woman.”

“They’ll change their minds quickly enough when they realize I can actually help them,” she said with a confidence that impressed me. “Pain has a way of making people forget their prejudices.”

She was probably right about that. And the more I thought about it, the more the idea appealed to me.

A healer in the settlement would be valuable for everyone, not just the warriors. And it would give Astrid something to do, some way to feel useful instead of just existing as my unwilling bride.

“Very well,” I said. “You have my permission to open your healing hut.”

The change in her expression was immediate and dramatic. Her face lit up like the sun breaking through storm clouds, and for a moment she looked like a completely different person. Young and excited and beautiful in a way that had nothing to do with fear or defiance.

“Really?” she breathed. “You mean it?”

“I mean it,” I confirmed.

Before I could say anything else, she let out a squeal of pure joy that was so unexpected and so genuine that I felt my own mouth curve up in what might have been a smile.

Then, without any warning at all, she spun around and rushed toward the door.

“Thank you,” she called over her shoulder as she yanked the door open. “Thank you, thank you! I have so much planning to do!”

And then she was gone, leaving me standing alone in my chamber with the echo of her excitement still ringing in the air.