Chapter 18
Ragnar
As I walked into the backyard, a skin of beer clutched in my hand, my thoughts traveled to Freyja. Aye, sweet Freyja. Her scent of cinnamon and honey wrapped around me until I forgot what the air smelled like.
By the gods. What I would give to have her beneath my furs. To mark her. To claim her as mine. I know I shouldn't have these thoughts of her, not when me and my men planned to use her to break our curse. My lips pressed into a straight line.
"Oy, Ragnar!"
"There he is!"
My men bellowed at me. 'Twas that time of the night when everyone was asleep, and my cursed men decided to cause some merry chaos.
Many of them were functionally drunk from beer and mead. I found Ivar standing with a servant girl in his arms. If Lagertha caught this, she'd have his manhood cut off.
The rest of my Bastards men were singing with him, horns held high, breath thick with beer. I chose to ignore their madness and sat myself down beside Astrid. Face hard, she was dragging stone across her arrowhead.
"What? Who stung you with thorns?" I asked.
"This arrow's for Ivar," she growled. "If he spits one bit of nonsense about me again, I'll loose this arrow straight into his cock."
I chuckled. Ivar never learned to stay away from Astrid.
"Ragnar Lothbrok!" Ivar roared. "The noble King of the North sits amongst us! And he reeks of the Fellur Princess!"
The men roared in laughter, drowning themselves in beer as they stared at me. I drank from my horn, trying to disappear into the drink.
"He smells so much of her! Makes me wonder if he already beds her!"
I cursed under my breath. Aye, these bastards were mad.
If Harald knew they were speaking about his daughter, he'd send us all North 'fore dawn's rise. My men are fools, all of 'em. They can't hold themselves when drunk.
"Come here, Ragnar! You goat!" Ivar shouted.
"Leave him be! He'll not come. He broods over his Princess."
"Let's sing a song!" Ivar shouted.
"A song for our fair Fellur Princess!" they all roared with him.
I growled, rising to my feet. "Speak no word of her, you bastards!"
But they didn't listen. They locked arms, swaying and spinning, singing merry songs in Norse about Freyja.
My hands clenched into fists, and I stormed towards Ivar, determined to knock some sense into him.
"Coward!"
"What? Don't ye like our songs, eh? But 'tis to honor you and the Princess. You, the bold mighty wolf who tamed the Princess!"
"Ye'll get us all in trouble! Harald's men sleep not far from here."
"They're all drunk asleep."
I drove a blow into his stomach, and he staggered backward, laughing and pouring beer from his horn.
"By the gods, her scent clings on ye so much! It's inviting!" he smiled. "Had I known, I would've claimed her myself."
"Most likely claimed her with his cock!"
"For god's sake, I did not fuck her," I growled. "And this talk about her should end now."
"But you are so drenched in her scent, brother."
"Hold yer tongue, lest I cut it from yer mouth," I said in Norse.
He threw his hands in the air and backed away, burying himself in the neck of the maid.
Turning around, I sat back down with Astrid. She was with Vargi, who held a cup of mead but looked far too sober.
"How fares the Princess girl?" Vargi asked. Astrid looked at me with curiosity, the arrow now forgotten in her lap.
"She really does bear the mark of the gods," I muttered. "On her lower back."
"Ohh, Ivar was right," Vargi grinned.
I gritted my teeth. "But she thinks 'tis the devil's mark. That's what they made her believe."
"Devil's mark?" Astrid scoffed.
I turned to her. "Aye. They say those who bear the mark of the gods be possessed with demons."
"What in the gods' name did I just hear?"
"They tie 'em on poles and burn 'em, calling them witches," I said, shaking my head, remembering everything Freyja told me. I remembered the pain in her eyes.
Vargi frowned deeply. I could feel his anger.
"With how many gods-born they burned, I imagine having the mark is more common here," I said.
"By the gods... how many of our people have they slaughtered?"
"Being born with power is now a sin?" he added. I could feel his fury. His eyes glowed red.
"What if they did the same to Freyja?"
"Vargi," I said. "Ye need to be calm. They won't touch Freyja as they did with the others. They're unaware of the mark. I also have things under control."
"In control," he nodded. "But be fast, because time passes swiftly and her wedding to that warrior king draws near. If ye don't act fast, I'll steal her myself and sail North."
I poured more beer in my horn. "There be things drawing my attention."
"What things?"
"The Church attack... 'Twas not from Werewolves but vampyres."
At the foul name of vampyres, Vargi's eyes flared. "Vampyres," he spat.
"They tried taking Freyja amidst her praying."
"Does this mean words be spread 'bout the Princess?" Astrid asked.
"Aye. How those bloody creatures heard of her, I know not," I replied. "But I think they seek her as we do."
"If the Queen—"
"The Queen knows naught," I cut in. "The vampyres need Freyja to break their curse too."
The vampyres bore a cruel fate like the werewolves. They were cursed. If they step under the sun, it burns their flesh, melting them down like wax.
"She's no longer safe here. What if they snatch her away at night?"
"They won't," I growled. "She's under my watch."
We drank and entertained ourselves by watching the men stagger around under the brightness of the moon.
I rose to leave, but Vargi gripped my shoulder.
"In all your chase to win the Princess, make sure ye don't lose yourself by falling for her."
I met his cold eyes. Without saying a word, I shook his hand free from my shoulder and walked away.