8. Magnar

1000 YEARS AGO

Acold wind blew in from the north and my chestnut stallion, Baltian, whinnied in soft protest beneath me. I patted his neck absentmindedly as I continued to watch the road.

The sun was bright in the blue sky despite the time of year, and I was fairly certain it would keep the parasites out of sight until nightfall. Not that I’d be against killing a few if they showed up.

My small band of warriors waited anxiously behind me on their own horses. To have been given charge of the six of them, despite my sixteen years of age, was a great honour, and I was determined to prove myself.

Father had promised me a surprise if I managed to complete my first assignment to his satisfaction, and I was intent on not disappointing him.

As the day wore on, I pulled my furs closer around my neck. It wasn’t like the Sacred Followers to deviate from their route. They believed their passage was assured safety by the false god they worshipped.

The evergreen trees were dense around us, concealing us from view where we waited for our prey, the heavy blanket of pine needles making for a soft surface under hoof. We were as inconspicuous as it was possible to be. Shadows wrapped in secrets. Waiting.

The landscape surrounding us was dominated by the dark green pines, making up a forest which was interspersed with lumps of grey rock where the ground was too barren for the trees to take hold. We were south of the mountains here, but the icy chill of the wind still reached us from their snow-crested peaks. Come winter, all of this would be dusted in snow, white for as far as the eye could see, and it would be far harder to hide our tracks in that weather. Harder still for those we hunted.

My lip pulled back in distaste as my mind wandered to the Revenant, Miles. He may have thought himself a god among men, but I was determined to burn every last altar to the ground.

I would have been tempted to release his Followers from this earth too if I didn’t have to follow the sacred laws set out to govern the way of the slayers. No human shall die by my blade lest my life itself is at risk. I snorted in disgust. The Sacred Followers dreamed of becoming vampires. No doubt I’d be killing them in the end anyway. Why wait for them to gain immortality and become more difficult to dispatch?

Those were the rash and brazen thoughts of a child, according to my father, and as irritating as it was, I pushed them aside, trying to remember who I was and what our purpose was too. Miles was my target. Only him.

I sighed as I forced my mind away from the thoughts I’d had a hundred times before. I had tried voicing them to my father and his response had been clear. Our laws would be followed. Our personal opinions were not relevant. Taking the vow meant forfeiting my own thoughts or feelings on my actions. I was a weapon to be wielded now. And I would follow orders.

My brother was the only one who I could share my thoughts with on such subjects these days. Though my opinions never meant that I would deviate from my path, I needed an outlet for the injustices I saw in our work. So many of the slayers followed the path blindly. I was adamant that I would always keep my mind open, despite knowing I couldn’t choose my actions. I would still own them. And I would still question them. I would be no one’s blind pawn, not even the gods’.

A faint noise sounded around the corner as a wagon drew near.

I pointed to Casper and Eldred, indicating for them to head further up the hill and cover us with their crossbows. The two warriors followed my directions without complaint even though they were both over ten years my senior. No one questioned the word of my father, but I suspected it was more than that. They believed in me and I was determined to see that faith rewarded.

Bells sounded and the Sacred Followers began chanting, their voices becoming a single rhythmic cry that rose then lulled repeatedly. I beckoned for the remaining four warriors to follow me and nudged Baltian into motion beneath me.

The chestnut stallion had been a gift from my mother for my thirteenth birthday. He had been as wild as a storm; untameable by the three men who had tried before me.

The clan had laughed when he was presented to me, yanking against his lead rope and frothing at the mouth in his desperation to be free. No one had thought I would be able to saddle him. They believed my mother was playing a trick on me, making me look a fool. But I knew better. She was giving me the opportunity to show them my mettle. They were the fools to doubt me, and they soon learned it.

No one had questioned my grit since that day, and no other man could ride my horse. I smiled at the memory as we waited for the carriage to draw closer. I was about to prove myself again.

It had been a week since I’d taken my vow. No warrior younger than eighteen had done so before. But I’d known my own destiny since I was a boy, and when the leader of the Clan of Prophecies had visited us three moons ago, I’d asked her to show my father my future. She had foreseen my rise to greatness, my path as a leader of men and destroyer of vampires. My future was entwined with that of the bloodsucking Revenants so completely that even my father had had to agree I was ready. I was never going to be anything but a slayer, and there was no need for my vow to wait.

Despite the assurances of the prophet, I refused to leave my future up to fate. Each day I worked harder than the last. I would prove to all men that I deserved my place among our people. No doubt would ever follow my rise.

Miles was about to learn of me too. I’d spoken to my father of my hatred for the Sacred Followers, and he had given me permission to discourage their worship in any way I saw fit. So I might not have been able to take the life of a mortal, but I would happily take everything else from them.

The chanting and ringing of bells drew closer and the carriage appeared on the road. I eyed them, noting the flowing white robes they all wore, some of them riding in the back of the carriage which was drawn by a pair of tired looking mules. Others walked around it, ringing those bells and chanting, their ornamental weapons strapped to their waists. I doubted any of the silver swords would stand a blow from a slayer blade, they were pretty and pointless, unlikely to cause so much as a scratch, even by accident.

I silently drew my blade from the sheath on my back and my warriors followed suit. Tempest hummed with promise in my fist, my sword ever eager for a fight, though it seemed almost confused as it failed to sense any bloodsuckers nearby. Next time I drew it, perhaps I would offer it the tainted blood it thirsted for.

As the carriage passed our hiding place, I finalised my count. Twenty-four Sacred Followers to seven slayers. It almost didn’t seem fair.

A savage smile pulled at my lips, and I indicated for my warriors to move into the road behind the carriage as I pulled Baltian around. I kicked the stallion into a canter, and we sped through the trees to the front of the group of Sacred Followers, their sounds of startled panic bringing a smile to the corners of my lips. They heard our approach and recognised the threat of the fate thundering closer to them.

The stallion leapt onto the dirt road and reared up, sending the two cart horses into a frenzy of panic, and making the man who held their reins squeal in alarm as he fought to get them back under control.

The road was narrow here. To one side, a steep rockface sloped up at an angle which was utterly impossible for the cart mules to even attempt, and the forest where we’d been hidden lay on the other, the trees too dense for any chance of the carts passage between them.

I’d selected this spot well. And with my men pouring onto the road at their backs, their only slight chance lay in getting past me. One boy on the verge of manhood perched atop the biggest warhorse any of them had likely ever laid eyes upon. And yet one look at me would be enough to tell them that I was far from the easiest of paths that now surrounded them.

I pointed Tempest at the man driving the cart and smiled the gods’ smile; the one I was certain Loki offered to those he tricked, and Thor handed out while in the midst of battle.

“We’ll be taking everything you have,” I told him simply, begging him to challenge the authority of my words with that taunting look in my eyes. “I suggest you don’t resist.”

The Sacred Followers were recovering from their shock, all of them huddled close to the carriage, but some straightened their spines and drew their flimsy weapons.

My smile widened.

I may have offered them the option of surrendering quietly, but I was born of the Clan of War, my blood was heated in the fires of Brokkr’s forge, and I was always hoping for a fight.

Shouts of alarm and confusion started up as the Sacred Followers fell into panic. A few of the braver men ran at me with their ridiculous swords raised while others made a dash for the forest.

I batted their strikes aside almost lazily, knocking the first sword from its owner’s hands with a bark of laughter before striking another with enough strength to snap the blade in two. One of the motherfuckers got too close to me, gripping my ankle and trying to haul me from the saddle, but I yanked my leg free and kicked him squarely in the face, knocking him into the mud.

His white robes were splattered in brown filth, a cry of pure terror falling from his lips. I broke a laugh at him as he flailed around, scrambling to get up while trying to avoid Baltian’s stamping hooves. No doubt the angry brute was aiming to break the man’s legs and I didn’t have it in me to try and curb his fun.

Baltian aimed a kick at another asshole who tried to circle around behind me. He was damn lucky the horse missed him; Baltian was a savage bastard and a solid kick from him could break a man’s ribs, or worse.

I spun towards the man as he tried to stab Baltian’s flank, aiming for my horse instead of me; a coward’s tactic which only incurred my wrath. I bellowed a battle cry and swung my blade around, knocking his weapon from his hand, spilling blood as I cut into the meat of his arm. He ran from me, screaming in terror as he raced back towards the rest of his twisted congregation, those who had tried to flee already herded back into place by my warriors, all of them now cowering in or around the carriage.

I bared my teeth at him like a beast; no man would harm my horse and live to tell the tale. Laws be damned. If he had managed to strike Baltian, his head would have parted company with his shoulders. He should thank the gods he’d missed.

At a sharp whistle from me, my warriors surged in behind the carriage, blocking any of the Sacred Followers who tried to run, though it seemed as though the fight had already gone out of them, several of them sobbing now while others stared glassily on in some paltry display of defiance.

I whistled a signal and Casper and Eldred loosed arrows from their positions at the top of the huge rock to my left, striking the wooden carriage. The heavy arrowheads buried themselves deeply within the frame of the cart and several of the Sacred Followers screamed in fright. That was the last warning I’d be giving them. They were surrounded and staggeringly outmatched. This would only end when I decided it was over.

“Those who surrender won’t be harmed!” I shouted loudly enough for all of them to hear me over their own panicked cries.

Despite my personal feelings about the pieces of shit who cowered before me, our laws were clear, and their deaths wouldn’t come at the tip of my blade unless they ever succeeded in their quest for immortality and managed to become like the monster they worshipped. If that day ever came, I’d gladly show them how short-lived an immortal life could be.

The Sacred Followers hunkered together, many of them throwing glances at the man who sat at the reins of the cart. I assumed that meant he was the leader of this branch of devotees, their final, waning hope for help. The Sacred Father.

The man’s eyes darted between my warriors fearfully, and I could tell he was wondering why I was the one addressing them, his gaze shifting from me to them, scouring the group, no doubt hunting for the one he thought might be the true leader among us. I wasn’t insulted. I thrived on people underestimating me. It always made it all the sweeter when I proved myself to them beyond reproach.

“I may be younger than my warriors, cretin, but I assure you, I am more than a match for any one of them. You would do well not to disrespect me by looking to them for help,” I growled.

This was my first mission against the Sacred Followers, and I couldn’t expect them to know who I was yet. But they would. Soon they would all cower at the sound of my name and turn from their vile master rather than risk crossing me.

“Don’t you know who we are?” the man asked incredulously. “Don’t you know whose protection we are under? We follow the Immortal Creator, giver of eternal youth. He drinks the blood of those who deny him his offerings!”

“I should like to see him try,” I taunted. Immortal Creator, was it now? The last I’d heard, Miles called himself the Benevolent Saviour. Perhaps one egotistical lie wasn’t enough for him.

I signalled for my men to start stripping the Followers of everything they owned and watched the process unfold from Baltian’s back while I oversaw their work.

As most of the Sacred Follower’s belongings were already loaded on the cart, it didn’t take my warriors long to gather the rest. They forced the men and women to place everything, including the clothes from their backs, onto the cart, then directed them to stand by the side of the road. I barked a command for the bells to be wrapped in some of the blankets, not wanting to have to listen to that incessant jangling for the entirety of our journey home. We’d melt them down and make good use of the gold eventually and silence would finally fall over them for good.

Holbard jumped up into the cart, inspecting the haul, making sure everything was loaded securely. His foot thumped down on the wooden floor of the cart and he paused, raising his head to meet my gaze, stamping his foot down once more, the hollow noise reaching me now too.

“You plan to leave us here, naked at the roadside?” the Sacred Father cried, the attempt to draw my attention away from Holbard’s discovery not working in the least.

“Perhaps your shrivelled cock will freeze in the frigid air and fall off,” I sneered at him, glancing at the flaccid, stumpy flesh which hung between his thighs, my upper lip curling back in distaste. “It would do the people who follow you a great favour, no doubt.”

I’d heard plenty about the sexual aspect involved in the so-called worship these desperate fuckers performed, and I had to assume immortality was far more appealing to them than anything else in this world if the cost of it included spending time fucking that particular specimen.

I nodded for Holbard to continue his investigation, and he dropped down, ripping the hollow-sounding wood apart, easily lifting the loose boards away. I sidled closer, my interest piqued, and a muffled scream sounded as he dragged a young woman out of a hidden compartment by the scruff of her neck.

A swathe of dark hair covered her face as she struggled against Holbard’s hold, but he simply tugged a gag from her mouth, allowing her to speak freely.

“Please, sir!” she panted desperately, her eyes seeking me out. “I am not a Sacred Follower. They took me from my village and hid me in there when I fought them. I don’t know where I am or what you want with them, but please don’t leave me with them.”

“The girl is ours,” the Sacred Father hissed. “Take the rest and be on your way, but she stays with us. Her father owes a debt, and she is the payment.”

I eyed him coldly, then beckoned for Holbard to bring the girl to me. He briefly checked her for weapons, then tossed her over his shoulder, leaping down from the carriage and depositing her before me by Baltian’s hooves.

The girl shrank back, clutching her white dress closer to her thin frame as she tried to avoid Baltian’s restless stomping, and I sheathed Tempest.

“Speak,” I instructed when she remained silent.

If she expected me to consider her request to take her away from the Sacred Followers, then I needed an explanation. Her long, brown hair hung over her face, but I could see that she was young enough to be unwed, pretty, probably several years older than me. The translucent white gown did little to hide her body, her nipples visible through it, though I was more interested in the red rims around her eyes and the terror which clung to her. I hadn’t heard of the Sacred Followers growing their numbers by force before, but there was something wholly honest in her terror which made me pause to hear her out.

“I am not a Follower,” she breathed. “They took me from my family to offer me up as a sacrifice. They plan to feed me to their master. The blood drinker; the demon said to lurk on the edges of the mountains…” Tears swam in her eyes, and I could see how desperately she wanted saving, her words nothing but pleading truth. She was willing to risk her chances with a band of wild warriors rather than stay with these people, and that spoke volumes of its own.

My attention whipped to the Sacred Father. “Is this true?” I demanded, grit coating my tone as I worked to keep my temper in check.

“Everyone knows that pure, virgin blood tastes the sweetest,” he replied, raising his chin as if that were an explanation. “Such an offering may be the last pledge I need make before the Immortal Creator awards me the gift of eternal youth.”

The man was already well into his sixties and didn’t appear to be in the best of health, let alone particularly attractive. I knew for a fact that Miles would never sire someone so old. He favoured the young and the beautiful to add to his collection of immortal monsters. The girl he intended to sacrifice was more likely to be offered immortality by the false god than he was.

Holbard struck the Sacred Father across the face, and he fell into the mud with a cry.

“Come. We’ll take you far from the reach of monsters like these.” I offered my hand to the stolen girl and hoisted her up onto Baltian behind me. She wrapped her arms around my waist, and I could feel her sobbing her relief into my battle leathers, my gut twisting with a mixture of fury and unease.

Miles was changing the games he played. This was new. And I didn’t like anything new when it came to the Revenants.

I nudged Baltian forward so I could peer down at the Sacred Followers where they clustered together, naked and pathetic in the mud. None of them was either young or beautiful enough to be a likely candidate for one of Miles’s ‘gifts’, so I doubted I’d be facing any of them as immortals in the future - though that simply meant they’d never meet death at the end of my blade. It was freezing out here and miles from any kind of shelter, let alone a town. Likely they’d all freeze to death before they made it back to civilisation, though perhaps a passing carriage would take pity on them. Either way, they weren’t my problem any longer.

“If you survive long enough to see your false god again, then you can deliver a message to him for me,” I spat. “Tell him that Magnar Elioson did this to you. He does not know my name yet, but he will be hearing it more and more often until the very sound of it fills him with dread. And once I am finished with his Followers, I will be coming for him and his brethren. I shall be a thorn in his side. An itch he can’t scratch. A voice promising death in his ear. And a knife through his heart which will cast him and all he is to ash. So send him my warmest greetings, and tell him I’ll be seeing him very soon.”

Holbard had gone ahead to take news of our success to our clan’s camp, and by the time we arrived with our haul, the drums were beating and a feast had been prepared.

I tried not to smile at the treatment. No doubt my mother had organised the celebration, and despite it being a little over the top, I couldn’t help but enjoy it.

The fire burned brightly in the centre of camp, and we made our way towards the rest of the clan with eagerness. Platters of food were laid out on a long table and the smell of it made my mouth water.

We handed the carriage off to some of the unsworn; younger members of the clan who had yet to take the vow and were in the process of proving themselves by serving those who had.

I dismounted a little way from the ring of clansmen who had gathered around the fire and held my arms up to catch the stolen girl as she followed. She stared around nervously, sticking close to me while observing the men and women who passed between the tents. I imagined we were almost as terrifying to her as the Sacred Followers had been. A travelling war camp wasn’t the most familiar of surroundings for a village girl like her.

“We aren’t as savage as we look,” I teased. “Stay by my side tonight, and tomorrow I’ll make arrangements to take you home. What’s your name?”

“Astrid,” she replied in a small voice, her wide eyes still taking in the strange surroundings mistrustfully.

“You shouldn’t trust a word out of Magnar’s mouth if you want to keep your virtue, sweet Astrid!”

I turned and grinned at my brother Julius, who was striding towards us, holding his hands out for Baltian’s reins.

“Don’t mind poor Julius,” I said in a low voice which I knew would carry to him all the same. “He’s just bitter because Father didn’t let him take his vow with me.”

“We can’t all be the great and powerful Magnar Elioson,” Julius sighed dramatically. “Some of us are only destined to be the forgotten younger brother. Thirteen full moons between our birthdays and you would think it was all the time in the world.”

Unlike me, Julius chose to cut his dark hair short, but we were similar in most other ways. Our bronze skin and golden eyes were mirrors of our mother’s, but we had our father’s warrior build. Despite our young years, we both towered over men twice our age already, and we weren’t finished growing yet.

“Julius is bitter because he has to clean up horse shit before he can join the feast.” I pulled Astrid under my arm, and she didn’t resist. Instead, she leaned into me, seeming grateful that I’d taken her under my protection.

Julius rolled his eyes and reached up to pat Baltian’s neck. My brother was the only other person the horse would allow to handle him, but even so, Baltian snorted irritably, bobbing his head in a move which could only be interpreted as insistence for us to hurry this interaction along. No doubt he was hungering for his own meal.

“Well, if the great and powerful Magnar wants to head towards the fire and warm his great and powerful ass while I do all of the work, then who am I to complain?” Julius began to lead Baltian away from us, then paused to look back over his shoulder.

“Father’s surprise has arrived for you,” he said, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Why don’t you take sweet Astrid to see what it is?”

“Why don’t you give me a clue?” I asked, sensing mischief in his teasing.

He knew something I didn’t, but he shook his head as he led Baltian away between the tents.

“I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise,” Julius called back to me, and that was that.

When I’d taken my vow early, a small part of me had worried that my relationship with Julius would change. I’d worried that my elevation might leave a bitter taste in his mouth. The unsworn had to serve the slayers and help with a lot of the menial work around the camp when they weren’t training. Until last week, we had done so together, our easy camaraderie and competitive natures making the work fun, and I’d feared that might change when he was required to serve me instead. But when he continued to treat me exactly as he had before, my worries lifted. Nothing would break the ties between us. Especially nothing so petty as jealousy. No doubt he planned on taking his vow at the earliest moment possible and hoped to outdo me in every task I accomplished to prove his worth matched mine. I looked forward to the challenge he would present.

Feeling like I was on the back foot, I began to guide Astrid towards the fire. Her white gown trailed around her ankles, skimming her bare feet, the ends stained with mud. The light of the fire was making her body very visible through the sheer material, and I wasn’t entirely sure she had realised it, so I took the cloak from my shoulders and slung it around her, offering her a semblance of the modesty I was sure she would prefer to hold onto.

She clung to me fearfully as we approached the laughter and shouting that carried from the men and women around the fire, but I didn’t offer her the chance to head anywhere else. The safest place for her was right here by my side until I returned her to her village, so she would remain there while the night wore on.

Some of the warriors noticed our approach and began to call my name in greeting. I smiled at them, trying hard not to look as smug as I felt. The haul we had taken from the Sacred Followers was impressive, and the blow we had struck against Miles would be felt by him.

The crowd parted, leaving space for me to approach my mother and father who were sitting on the far side of the fire in chairs carved of solid oak, the tops decorated with antlers which cast shadowy crowns upon their brows. Many of the men and women we passed reached out to clap me on the back or offer words of praise for my first successful raid, and I kept my chin high, feeling my place in this world as perfectly as I could imagine any man might ever hope to.

“He’s here!” I heard my mother cry excitedly, though I’d lost sight of her between the press of bodies after that initial glimpse. The clan were all eager to speak words of encouragement and congratulations to me – especially those who had been foolish enough to doubt my early ascension.

Astrid held onto me in a way that was a little indecent, but I didn’t mind. I’d saved a maiden from the jaws of the vampires, and if she wanted to follow me around with her gaze full of wonder and gratitude, then I wasn’t going to stop her. Perhaps it was a little crass of me, but I was enjoying the attention, enjoying this first taste of destiny as I stepped up to claim the place which had been foreseen for me.

Finally, I made it past the throng of clansmen and found Mother and Father standing together, waiting for me. My father was a fearsome warrior, his long hair and beard braided with rune-covered beads and his blade, Venom, was strapped across his back like always. The only time he took it off was for bed and even then, it was never further than an arm’s length from him; he wasn’t a man who would ever be caught unprepared for a fight.

He wasn’t smiling; that wasn’t his style, but his eyes shone with approval, at least until his gaze travelled to the indecently dressed girl on my arm. His jaw ticked in disgruntlement, and I wondered why for a moment – our people certainly weren’t known for their chastity and decorum - but my attention was drawn away from whatever issue he had with it as my mother spoke.

“We hear you have had a great victory,” she said loudly, a radiant smile filling her beautiful face.

It was said that my father fought fifty battles to win her hand in marriage. But she didn’t accept his proposal until he had managed to defeat her too. The clan still told stories of the fight between them and of how he had barely won. Only his love for her had let him prevail. To this day, she still teased that she had let him win, wanting his hand as badly as he had wanted hers. I didn’t believe that though; my mother was not the kind of woman to lose a fight willingly, even if it was for the man she loved.

“It was only a cart driven by mortals, Mother,” I replied modestly.

Though I was proud of the way the day had gone, it certainly wasn’t as if I’d fought a battle against the vampires and returned stained with the ash of victory.

“Exactly,” my father rumbled. “The boy has done well, but there is no need to fuss, Freya.”

My mother smiled lightly, but I could still see pride shining in her gaze and it filled my chest with satisfaction.

“I hear I’m to have a surprise of some sort?” I asked, unable to resist asking any longer.

“Indeed.” My father gave me a penetrating stare, and I could feel the warning in his gaze. He didn’t think I was going to like this, and I fought the frown which was summoned by that realisation. Why offer me a surprise I wouldn’t like?

I squared my shoulders a little, relaxing my features into a mask of ease. The whole clan was watching us. I would have to keep my feelings in check if I was about to be disappointed. But I couldn’t for the life of me think why he would give me something he didn’t believe I’d want. And in front of the entire clan of all places.

“A prophet foresaw a chance for our clan to grow stronger,” Mother said carefully, her hand brushing my arm for the briefest of moments, a warning in that touch which only heightened my unease.

Something twisted uncomfortably in my gut, and I pulled Astrid a little closer under my arm.

“There is to be a union between our blood,” Father said loudly, his smile holding a hint of regret that only I could see. “Let me present to you your bride, my son. This is Valentina of the Clan of Storms.” He stepped aside and a girl moved forward, a shy smile gracing her lips as she assessed me with obvious interest.

My heart grew cold in my chest as I stared back at her. I was sixteen. I’d taken my vow only eight moons ago and already the gods had decided on my bride?

I tried to ignore the fluttering of my heart which beat like a bird trapped in a cage, desperate to fly free. I’d known that this was a possibility when I’d taken the vow, but it rarely happened. Arranged marriages were for the purity of our bloodline, and no doubt some future child of ours had beenforeseen doing great things. But all that I could see in that moment was a stranger who I was expected to share my life with. I was too startled to even note anything about her. My parents had married for love, their passion for one another was sung about over campfires, and I’d grown up watching their union with the greatest hope that I might one day find a match like theirs.

“It’s an honour to meet you, husband,” the girl said playfully, the glint in her eyes telling me this was no shock to her. Worse than that, she was excited, pleased, clearly more than happy with the assessment she had just made of me.

I clenched my jaw before I could say something that would embarrass our clan. I forced myself to look at her objectively. She was pretty in an obvious kind of way, her features fairly symmetrical, her eyes the same size as one another, lips in proportion to her nose. The cut of her dark blue gown was designed to draw my gaze to the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips. She was tall enough not to be dwarfed by me, and her dark hair was braided artfully. I wondered if she usually dressed that way or if someone had forced her to come here looking like an offering. She certainly seemed far more civilised than I had ever claimed or wanted to be.

I wondered if she was just as unwilling as I was to follow through on this marriage. But as I met her gaze, I could see that she wasn’t. She appraised me appreciatively and her eyes glimmered with excitement.

“It’s an honour to meet you too, my lady. But I am not your husband yet.” I forced myself to offer a teasing smile to take some of the sting out of my words, and I knew my father wouldn’t be happy that I’d spoken them at all. But I couldn’t help it. I wasn’t hers, and despite this news landing in my lap a matter of moments ago, I felt a strong and thunderous certainty that I never wanted to be hers either.

Valentina’s eyes fell on Astrid as if finally noticing I had a girl clinging to my side, and ice formed in them so suddenly that I arched a brow in surprise. It appeared she didn’t appreciate my scantily clad companion. The knowledge made me tighten my hold on the stolen girl as I struggled to think of anything else to say.

“I presume you are some years older than me,” I said, landing on the first thing that came to mind. “As you have already taken your vow.”

“I am twenty-two,” she replied with a small nod, and I could see that the information didn’t bother her.

“Well, let’s hope you can match the vigour of my youth.”

My mother coughed loudly and stepped between us, placing a hand on my elbow. “Magnar, you must be famished after your day on the road. Let us find you some food and you can get to know your bride while you eat.”

She led me away and I didn’t resist, grateful for the momentary escape she was offering.

“Don’t worry, my love,” she breathed in my ear, her touch gentle on my arm as she sought to comfort me. “The gods may have seen your union in the stars, but they said nothing of a date. This betrothal could go on for years and years. Who knows what might happen in such a span of time.”

She pressed a kiss to my cheek before leaving me to gaze down at a plate of food I had no appetite for anymore. But she had given me the one thing I needed. Hope.