Mist & Moonlight

Chapter 3 | Secrets in the Shadows

Freydis sat in the stillness of her chambers, her cheek still burning from Jarl Arlick's blow. She had never felt so small, so trapped. She touched her face lightly, wincing at the sting, and the humiliation pressed on her harder than the pain itself. She closed her eyes, trying to steady her breath, when the soft creak of the door broke the silence.

Princess Sigrid stepped into the room, her footsteps as light as the breeze. Freydis looked up, meeting her eyes, a pale blue that marked her bloodline. Sigrid was tall and slender, with golden hair that fell in soft waves past her shoulders, the picture of noble beauty. But there was something different in her eyes today—a knowing sadness, a quiet strength.

"You shouldn't have spoken," Sigrid said gently, her voice low but sympathetic. She closed the door behind her and crossed the room, kneeling beside Freydis.

Freydis said nothing, only lowering her head slightly as Sigrid gently touched the red mark on her cheek, examining the wound. She sighed softly and moved to the table, taking a cloth and dipping it into a bowl of cool water.

"He often treated my mother the same," Sigrid whispered, dabbing the cloth softly against Freydis's skin. Her touch was gentle, careful. "Especially when she failed to give him a son. It got worse after that. Everything did."

Freydis turned her eyes toward Sigrid, feeling a sharp pang of pity, mixed with fear. "I had no idea."

"No one did," Sigrid replied, her voice tinged with bitterness. "He kept it behind closed doors. His anger, his disappointment. But I saw it, all of it. The beatings. The way he cast her aside like she was nothing when she couldn't give him a male heir. He didn't even mourn her death."

Freydis clenched her jaw, the weight of Sigrid's words settling in her chest like a stone. She touched her belly, where her child grew, a child whose sex was still unknown. A flicker of fear stirred within her, deep and primal.

"He's already angry with me for speaking out," Freydis murmured, her voice trembling. "I don't know what he'll do if..."

"If it's not a son," Sigrid finished softly, her gaze turning serious. "That's why I came to warn you. My mother—she thought she had time. She thought she could reason with him, soften his anger. But it only got worse. You need to bide your time, Freydis. Pray to the gods that you carry a boy."

Freydis felt a shiver run down her spine. "And if I don't?"

Sigrid's eyes darkened, her face grave. "Then he will have no use for you anymore. Once he knows you can't give him what he wants, you'll be like my mother—cast aside, ignored, or worse. But if you give him a son... then you'll have the only thing that holds power over him."

Freydis swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. She had never considered how precarious her position was, how fragile her future could be in the hands of one man's ambition.

"And what happens after - if give him a son?" Freydis asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sigrid's eyes softened, her hand gently covering Freydis's. "Then you'll be safe. He'll turn his attention to the child. You'll be able to live quietly, out of his sight, away from his wrath. That's all we can hope for—quiet survival."

Freydis looked at Sigrid, reading the pain in her face, the quiet acceptance that had settled there after years of witnessing her father's cruelty. She could see the same future stretching out before her, a life of silence, of stepping carefully around the anger that lurked in every corner of Arlick's keep.

"I don't want to live in fear of him," Freydis whispered, her voice breaking slightly.

Sigrid squeezed her hand, her expression filled with sympathy and something darker—resignation. "None of us do. But until we find another way, we survive. Pray for a son, Freydis. And pray the gods hear you."

Sigrid rose, smoothing her pale blue dress as she prepared to leave. She glanced back at Freydis one last time, her voice soft but firm. "Strength in this place, often means knowing when to stay quiet."

Freydis nodded, her mind swirling with fear, anger, and confusion. As Sigrid slipped from the room, the weight of her warning hung heavily in the air. Freydis stared out the small window, where the darkening sky mirrored the turmoil within her. Her hand rested on her belly, feeling the faint stirrings of life within.

She closed her eyes, offering a silent prayer to the gods, her heart filled with desperate hope. She had never felt so powerless—so bound by forces she could not control.

But even as the fear gripped her, deep within, a flame still burned.