Being in the wrong place at the wrong time was all it took for Adelasia's whole life to turn upside down. After being captured by the heathens raiding her city and taken all the way to the cold North, the youngest Ragnarsson takes an interest in her...
A/N: an extra chapter for the 1k reads, yayy!! I would really appreciate it if you guys could let me know what you think of the story so far, but either way, I hope you enjoy this chapter ((:
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With a seemingly permanent frown plastered on her face, she watched the way the two rings, about to be exchanged between husband and wife, as they were dropped in the blood of a goat the priestess had slaugthered earlier. She was not able to resist the urge to scrunch up her nose as she spattered some of the blood on Ubbe's and Margrethe's faces as well, wondering why on Earth somebody would smile at the feeling of probably still warm blood being spattered on their faces.
Alasia was relieved to see that at least none of the blood had spoiled Margrethe's dress. It had been her finest creation yet, made from the finest linen she managed to find, the deep blue colour matching with the crown of flowers she was wearing. At her waist she had embrioded an intricate pattern of flowers with golden and red thread, accentuating her small figure. Overall the dress fit her like a glove, and she had expected nothing less for all the hours of work she had spent making it.
After seeing the wedding dress Margrethe had spontaneously invited her to the wedding and she had accepted hesitantly. She had heard rumours about Northern weddings and though the actual wedding wasn't as bad as the horrors she had heard in Naples, all the blood still made her a little squeamish.
"You look a little pale," Hvitserk whispered suddenly, bending close to her. "Don't faint, huh."
Alasia rolled her eyes, resisting the ruge to give the Viking standing next to her a nudge since she didn't want to interrupt the ceremony. Ivar, who was seated on a log in front of her, turned his head, his blue eyes snapping from her to his brother, before returning to the wedding. Though he hid it well, as he always did, from the colour of his sclera she could tell that he must be in a lot of pain.
Once the ceremony was over, making Alasia very grateful for the way they wed a man and a woman in the south, everybody went to go to the Great Hall. Just as she was about to follow, closing the procession as the last person, fitting of her status, Ivar grabbed her arm, effectively halting her. Turning her head with her eyebrows raised in question just as Ivar let go of her, she suddenly realised that the loss of his touch filled her with an unfamilar sense of regret.
"I have to show you something," Ivar simply said, before dropping himself to the ground with a grace and carelesness she could never have pulled off.
Wondering what the Prince had to show her exactly, especially as the wedding celebration of his brother was about to begin, she followed him swiftly. It always surprised her to see the ease with which he dragged himself from one place to another and though she knew from first-hand experience precisely how capable Ivar was, she couldn't help but feel a slow burning pity in her heart, always reminding her of her sister.
