𝑳𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 - 𝑰𝒗𝒂𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔

18

Meanwhile, Daenaera soared on dragonback, trying to forget Ivar's earlier attitude. She often took rides with Nyra, missing her sister dearly, but now that she was married, she decided to linger longer in the clouds.

⸻

Ivar and Hvitserk walked through the city as Ivar "explained" his latest plan.

"I don't understand," Hvitserk said.

"What is it you don't understand, Hvitserk?" Ivar asked, striding ahead.

"Why are you pretending to bury the bodies of our dead?"

"It's part of my plan!" Ivar snapped.

"Ah, a plan. What plan?" Hvitserk's annoyance was growing — Ivar never shared his plans with him.

"You really think I don't have one? Huh? Of course I do. I'm a cripple," Ivar said with a smirk, turning to face his brother. "Not an idiot. I learned something — the Romans were clever. My plan is based on that."

"What is it? I need to know," Hvitserk pressed, curiosity overcoming his irritation.

"You'll know, my brother, in good time." Ivar's mind drifted back to Daenaera. He missed her terribly and wanted to do anything to make things right, but wasn't sure what.

⸻

"Tegun."
(Land.)

Daenaera landed Sylvarion on a hill and saw the Saxons gathering below. She mounted her dragon and headed back to York. Upon landing, Sylvarion flew off as she made her way to their chambers.

She expected to find Ivar there—and she did. Shirtless, he lay on the bed.

"You're back?" Ivar asked, making Daenaera roll her eyes.

"No, you're hallucinating." She sat beside him.

"What's wrong?" Ivar sat up, concern softening his gaze.

"I saw the Saxons gathering," she answered, looking into his eyes.

Ivar grinned.
"You saw the Saxons and came to save your crippled husband? How sweet." He spoke ironically, but meant it lovingly. Daenaera slapped his chest.

"I told you a million times—I don't care, Ivar. Why do you always say that?"

He closed his eyes briefly.
"I didn't want to make you feel bad. I know I can't talk to you like that—it makes you sad."

"Yes, it does."

Ivar cupped her face gently.
"Then let me make it up to you."

He kissed her jaw, collarbones, and slowly moved down.

"Ivar." She warned softly, knowing him too well—he was teasing. She didn't want that.

"Yes, my wife?"

"Stop teasing." Her voice was firm, her eyes locked on his.

"I'm not teasing."

His tongue traced a slow, tantalizing path, making her mouth part involuntarily.

"No, no, no. I want to hear you, my princess. You have to listen to enjoy it."

Oh, the things that man could do with his tongue. For a moment, Daenaera forgot all about his earlier behavior.

"I was worried," Ivar murmured, fingers threading through her silver hair.
"I thought you wouldn't come back."

He whispered the last part. Daenaera tilted her head.

"Ivar, I would never leave you. I was just angry. I love you—that's why it hurt so much."

Though she had said it before, this time it hit him deeply—this marriage was real, and she was truly his.

"I love you, too. I'm sorry I made you feel that way." His voice was low, his pale blue eyes like ice.

Daenaera leaned in and kissed him.

"Don't you ever leave me again. Do you know how hard it is—not having someone who understands you?"

"No. Back home I had Daemon and Rhaenyra. Here, I have you. The only people who don't seem to understand you are your brothers. Are you sure they're not adopted? None of them get irony!"

Ivar smiled; she was his female version, and he savored every second.

"Unfortunately so. I had to be the smartest one." He scoffed playfully.

"I'm glad you're the smartest. And mine."

She whispered it close to his ear, making him hover over her, trapping her between his broad chest.

"What are you up to, Ragnarsson?" she smirked.

"Oh, you know."

He kissed her deeply. They didn't leave their room for the rest of the day, but many in the castle heard them.