𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐃 | Ragnar Lothbrok ¹

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

FEAR

    
IVAR HAD A HABIT of appearing from the shadows unnoticed despite the scraping of the metal buckles around his legs, making Sophie jump slightly as she almost dropped the bucket she was carrying.

"There you are," he said with a smirk. "Our little angry slave."

He waited for a reply as she fought to remain silent, knowing that she wanted to respond with something harsh.

"But Sigurd had it coming," he continued. This wasn't the first time she had heard that.

"Now you decide to remain silent?" he asked with an annoying smile as he tried to balance himself on his crutch.

Disregarding Ivar, she strode past him, prepared to resume her duties. However, he had different intentions, halting her by seizing her arm. "I'm addressing you," he snapped, his teeth clenched. "Slave."

"What is it, Ivar?" she demanded, glaring at the hand that imprisoned her before lifting her gaze to meet his malevolent eyes. There was a fierce intensity in her eyes he hadn't witnessed before. A spark, as if Thor, the God of Thunder, himself lived within her.

"Prince Ivar," he corrected her, matching the fierce glare she was displaying.

"And what can I do for you, Prince Ivar?" she emphasized.

"That's much better," he remarked, sidestepping her question while she waited, growing impatient. "My brothers and I are hosting a small feast tonight, and I require you to prepare the hall for us."

She had grown weary of feasts, especially those for the Lothbrok brothers. Her facial expressions inadvertently conveyed her thoughts, evoking a chuckle from Ivar. She shot him another intense glare, her fists involuntarily curling. "I'm busy tonight," she declared.

"Busy?" Ivar asked.

"Yes, busy," she retorted seamlessly.

"Well, make yourself unbusy then, because I wasn't asking." With that, he released his grip on her arm and moved unsteadily away from her.

"There are other servants available tonight," Sophie spoke up again, daring to question. "Why choose me?"

Ivar came to an abrupt halt, pivoting to face her. "Because I decided so," he declared in a commanding tone.

"I don't answer to you or your brothers; I only answer to the Queen," Sophie spat, sparking a growl of fury from Ivar.

"I will punish you," he threatened, jabbing his finger through the air between them.

"Go ahead, cripple," she challenged.

She could feel her anger escalating as her brain seemed to drown out all restraints. If she had taken a moment to think clearly, she might have found herself astonished by her own courage.

Ivar let out another growl as he advanced towards her, his movements eerie, dagger pointed directly at her. He drew so near that she could sense his breath on her skin, unable to ignore how towering he was, propped upright as he extended the dagger, pressing its tip against the delicate flesh of her neck.

"You are our property," he began. "You belong to us. You will obey our commands."

Property. The term didn't sit well with her, but she took no action as her anger slowly dissipated into the air, replaced by fear that intensified the longer she stood there at his mercy.

He grinned, baring all his teeth in a way meant to instil more fear as he picked up on the hints of discomfort showing on her face while he continued to torment her.

As he pressed the blade harder against her skin, Sophie couldn't help but gulp, her heart rate accelerating with the increased pressure of his dagger.

He knew precisely how much force to apply, easily piercing her skin with a small amount of pressure, causing a minimal amount of blood to pool around the small wound. She flinched, her chest rising and falling with each breath as she fought not to make a sound.

Suddenly, the pressure was released as he drew back his dagger and turned away from her. "See you tonight."

Sophie carried on with her duties in the hall, and later, every fellow slave who joined her could sense that something was amiss, her mind tangled with a thousand thoughts.

Heading back to the barn with a bowed head, Sophie noticed a figure standing ahead of her, and by their boots, she recognized it was King Ragnar. He maintained a silence, a smile playing on his lips, waiting for her to meet his gaze. She, however, avoided his eyes, turned right, and kept walking.

Of course, he trailed her, and just before she could enter the barn, he grabbed her arm, forcing her to a full stop. She huffed, having endured enough bullying from one Lothbrok and not prepared for another.

"I asked a favour of you while I was away," he said nonchalantly as if she was in the mood for him. "I was wondering if you saw someone visit my beloved wife?" Sophie remained silent, still looking down at her feet.

A whimper escaped her when he shoved her against the wall, his hand gripping her throat. Her nose flared, eyes welling up with angry tears as she glared up at him. His eyes seemed to soften, and he let her go, examining his hand now smeared with her blood.

Before she could utter a word, he had vanished.

Sophie felt lost, with no one and nothing to guide her, not even the Lord whom she had grown increasingly distant from in the past few months.

Everything around her seemed to echo paganism in a world filled with sinners, rapists, and killers. It made her question constantly if this was a punishment for her sins. But what were her sins compared to those of the heathens?

Helen never got the chance to learn about what transpired between Sophie and Ivar, regardless of how many times she asked her to open up. The girl felt the need to have some control over her life, even if it meant being her own guide.

She sat alone, contemplating Ivar's demand for the night. It wasn't a genuine request, as he made it clear.

How infuriating he was, always trying to display his superiority, compensating for his weak legs with extreme pride, using fear to exert control, which unfortunately worked, as that fear had a tight grip on her, blinding her thoughts. And contrary to what she had thought before, she indeed feared for her life.