The evening was alive with fervor, the air thick with the scent of burning wood and roasting meat. Animal sacrifices had been prepared, their blood collected in bowls and used to mark each warrior with sacred runes, a plea for the gods’ favor and protection in the battles ahead. Massive fires burned up and down the beach and through the woods, casting flickering shadows on the faces of revelers. Women danced to the rhythmic beats of handmade drums, their movements enticing as they wove among men who drank sweet honeyed mead from their horns. Laughter and sparring broke out spontaneously as warriors psyched themselves up for the coming conflict, some drinking teas brewed from mushrooms that they believed would transform them into invincible berserkers. Tonight, they prepared themselves for war—or for Valhalla, should the Valkyries choose them.
In King Thorolf’s grand tent, the atmosphere was far more subdued but no less intense. The two kings, Thorolf of Norway and Svein of Sweden, sat at the head of a long wooden table, flanked by their Earls and advisors. A tense silence fell over the room as Ragda entered, his expression hard as he took a seat across from the kings. Even Aiya had been summoned, much to her surprise, after several Earls had insisted she deserved a voice among the leaders of the Norse. She sat stiffly beside her aunt Adia, the Earl of Egeskov Castle in Denmark. Adia’s son and heir, Iodine, stood behind her, his eyes sharp and observant as he took in every word.
Aiya avoided Ragda’s gaze, her chest tight with unresolved anger. His earlier outburst had humiliated her, and now whispers circulated the camp, accusing her of being wanton and unfit to lead. As the daughter of a king, her reputation mattered more than most. Unlike other women who were free to take lovers without shame, she was expected to remain above reproach—especially if she hoped to secure alliances and power. She gritted her teeth, determined not to show her pain.
King Thorolf rose to his feet, his imposing figure commanding the attention of the room. “As you all know, King Svein and I have plans to take Derby and Leicester, to reclaim our farmsteads and establish our presence here in the west,” he began, his deep voice reverberating through the tent. “These lands are lightly defended. We shall take them with ease and begin to rebuild what was stolen from us.”
Before he could continue, Adia’s voice cut through the room. “We hear Aiya Einardóttir has her own plans. Should we not hear them as well?” Her calm but authoritative tone left no room for argument.
Thorolf scowled but gestured for Aiya to step forward. “Very well,” he said curtly. “Speak.”
Aiya’s heart pounded as she rose, her palms damp with sweat. All eyes were on her, expectant and critical. Forcing herself to stand tall, she met Thorolf’s gaze. “I propose that we lay siege to Jorvik. York is the stronghold of the west, the key to controlling this land. If we hold it, we hold the power to negotiate with the King of Wessex on our terms.”
Thorolf’s laugh was sharp and dismissive. “We are here to reclaim what was ours, not to conquer all of England. Derby and Leicester will give us the foothold we need. Dividing our forces for your personal vendetta is a folly I will not entertain.”
The slight was obvious, and murmurs of agreement rippled through the room. Thorolf’s plan to undermine Aiya was clear; he wanted her to falter, to prove herself unworthy of the growing support she’d earned. But Aiya refused to be baited.
“I do not wish to divide our armies,” she said firmly. “But York is not a personal vendetta. It is strategy. Holding the city gives us leverage. Derby and Leicester are sparsely defended, yes, but they hold little strategic value in the long term. If the King of Wessex sees we control York, he will be forced to negotiate. My informants tell me he cannot afford another war.”
Her argument hung in the air, met with silence. She felt the weight of their scrutiny, the flush of heat creeping up her neck. At last, Thorolf shrugged dismissively. “Very well,” he said, “but know this: if you fail, the burden of that failure will be yours alone.” He waved her off and resumed his seat, his contempt palpable.
Aiya bowed curtly, retreating to the edge of the tent. From her vantage point, she could see the fires burning bright against the night sky and the shadows of revelers dancing in celebration. The weight of the room bore down on her, and her mind drifted to memories of Jarl Roel’s burial, of the faint image of Noah that had haunted her that night. She longed for the freedom of the open air, to escape the suffocating tension and Ragda’s piercing, judgmental gaze. Without a word, she slipped out of the tent, leaving the rulers to their plans.
The beach stretched out before her, quiet and serene in contrast to the chaos she had left behind. She walked until the fires and voices faded into the distance, her only companions the rhythmic crash of the waves and the cool night air. Pausing at the shoreline, she removed her boots and let the icy water wash over her toes, grounding her in its gentle pull. Slowly, she began to undress, the chill of the night biting her skin as she waded into the water.
The ocean enveloped her, its cold embrace stealing her breath. She dove beneath the black waves, surrendering herself to the depths. For a moment, the world above ceased to exist, and she felt at peace. But the need for air drew her back to the surface, where the harsh reality of her world awaited. Shivering, she returned to the beach, collapsing into the sand and staring up at the star-filled sky.
She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t hear the approach of footsteps behind her until it was too late. A rough hand clamped over her mouth, and she was dragged, naked and struggling, into the shadowy woods. The festive sounds from the distant fires masked her muffled cries, leaving her company on the beach none the wiser.
YOU ARE READING
Conqueror Queen
Historical Fiction✯Sequel to A Viking's Rage✯ Her whole life she had been mistreated, now it was her turn for revenge. She wasn't just a slave anymore, she was Aiya Einardóttir now, and she would conqueror the whole world if she had too. Now she seeks revenge on Lord...
