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...
She waited for a long time in that desolate storage place, her knees pulled to her chest and her arms wrapped around them, burying her head in her knees and weeping silently. Her tears were not for the man who had forsaken her that evening in the crowded Great Hall, nor for the man who had stared at her from the courtyard and risen his sword to her. It was for the man who had taken her into his lap and promised her that he would protect her from all the evil in the world, who had kissed her knees and hands after she had scraped them and who had told her stories of the ancient Romans and Greeks. She cried for the man who had given her her first bible and taught her how to read, who had winked at her when her mother had scolded her and who had never let her down until recently.
The night had fallen by the time the door to the storage room first opened, exposing her to the sound of feasting. She looked up at the person standing in the doorway, quickly realising it was one of Ivar's personal guards. Biting back a sob, she watched silently as the man closed the door again and disappeared, undoubtedly informing Ivar about her current location. She couldn't find herself caring, though she did a futile attempt to wipe the tears from her cheeks.
Deciding at the last moment that she didn't want Ivar to see her crying once more, before he would think her pathetic, she scrambled to her feet. Her legs were slightly wobbly as she did so, and frowning she tried to beat the dust from her black velvet dress. She leaned against one of the old tables, wiping the tears from her cheeks and realising that she still hadn't looked at the cut on her cheek. It had stopped stinging a couple of hours ago, but that wasn't necessarily a good sign. Making her way through the storage in search of a polished plate so that it could function as a mirror, she heard the door to the storage open again.
Even though she had been expecting Ivar, she still jolted ever so slightly as she turned around. He was leaning painfully on one of his crutches as he muttered something to the guards accompanying him, before closing the door with a thud harsher than was good for the already aged wood. He turned to look at her with a frown, obviously very displeased, but as soon as his eyes landed on her cheek, his face cleared up somewhat. Immediately, he walked in her direction, trapping her between the edge of the table and his body as he raised his hand and trailed his thumb over her cheek. An explosion of butterflies went off in her stomach and her legs turned more wobbly still as she felt his gaze glide over her face, before ending at her eyes.
"Who did this?" he asked, motioning with his head in the direction of her cheek. He was standing close to her, too close he knew, for he could feel her shaky breath on his face, because he couldn't bring himself to step away from her. He had been longing to be close to her ever since their first kiss in the room with all the old scrolls, to feel her lips on his once more. Ivar knew he was putting himself in a dangerous position, for loving someone was always a weakness. "Tell me, Alasia, who did this?"
