Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Three days had passed since that fateful morning in the great hall when Aslaug had declared the fate of her son and his future wife. Yvette's life had been upended in those three days.
The news had spread like wildfire through Kattegat, and the town had grown even more hostile than before. People stared as she walked through the market, mocked her faith, and on her worst days, Yvette found herself trembling in fear for her life.
Yet Yvette was sharp and perceptive. She understood all too well what people were whispering behind her back—a Christian paired with a Heathen, a scandalous affront to their gods and hers. But in her mind, divine judgment was the last thing she cared about as she huddled in her bed, knees drawn up, tears streaming down her face like an unstoppable torrent.
Sharing me, they want to share me amongst themselves.
Her mind rambled that thought and she knew exactly what that meant. It meant she would become their whore, their plaything, their slave. She would become a pawn in a man's ruthless quest for dominance. Yvette's virtue, along with her very life, now lay in the hands of Hvitserk, son of Ragnar. The weight of her new reality crushed her, and the helplessness gnawed at her soul. There was nothing she could do to change her fate, and the suffocating fear of the unknown consumed her as she faced the bleak path ahead.
Yvette envied the women of Kattegat, who seemed to move through life with a freedom she could only dream of. They were free to live as they pleased, while she felt trapped, stripped of all choice and control. Her future lay in the cruel hands of fate, and the thought of it consumed her with despair.
"M'lady?" Seira's voice was soft and hesitant from the doorway. She moved carefully, aware of the distress etched across Yvette's face. In all the years of serving her, she had never seen Yvette so broken, her tears flowing endlessly, her sobs echoing through the room. "Can I get you anything?"
"Get me out of this marriage," Yvette said flatly, her voice a mixture of resignation and anguish. "I don't want this, Seira. I don't want to be bound to that Heathen. I can't bear the thought of losing my virtue to him, of feeling his touch on my skin. I already feel sullied; I can't stand the idea of being tainted further."
"Yvette, breathe," Seira said gently, moving to sit beside her. She opened her arms, and Yvette, in desperate need of comfort, curled into her embrace. "I know this is the last thing you want, and the thought of being his is unbearable. But we can't change what's already been decided. Maybe you should try to find some way to make peace with it. You don't have to love him, just try to get through it for the sake of your people and your father."
Yvette knew deep down that Seira's words were true. She realized she needed to make an effort toward some semblance of a relationship with Hvitserk. Perhaps if she gave him a chance, she might discover that he wasn't as dreadful as she feared. But the dread and contempt she felt toward these Heathens remained unshakable, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't dismantle the wall she had built around her heart.
Seira said nothing more; she simply held Yvette close, allowing her to weep until exhaustion finally claimed her. As Yvette's sobs subsided and she drifted off to sleep, Seira's heart ached with a fierce longing to rescue her from this nightmare. The handmaiden had always seen Yvette as a gentle, kind soul, and witnessing her so utterly broken tore at her own heart.
Hvitserk's gaze drifted over the village square and into the great hall, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of the woman he was soon to marry. His focus was elsewhere; he barely registered what he was looking at. He had always envisioned his future wife as a fierce shield-maiden, not this delicate Christian girl.
"What troubles you, brother?" Ubbe asked, slapping Hvitserk on the back as he appeared from behind. He had noticed Hvitserk's far-off stare and sensed that something was amiss. His brother never let a captivating woman go without making his move.
"Yvette... She's—"
"Beautiful, or do we have differing opinions on that?"
Hvitserk took a deep breath, struggling to find the right words. Yes, Yvette was undeniably beautiful, her porcelain skin untouched by the sun's harsh rays. He was drawn to her, but the stark difference in their faiths unsettled him. How could he ever love a woman who didn't share his beliefs? He couldn't—there was no way. His faith was everything to him, a guiding light he would hold onto until his last breath. But Yvette's faith was radically different, and the god she worshipped seemed to him a feeble excuse for a deity.
"She is beautiful, but I can't love her."
"It isn't about love, little brother," Ubbe said, his tone dismissive. "You don't have to love her; you can always find someone else. Once things are settled with Borjn and Rollo agrees to let you cross without interference, you can be rid of her. Then we can raid her father's kingdom."
Hvitserk didn't respond, letting Ubbe's words sink in. He had heard this before—Ubbe's comments about Yvette's beauty and his apparent attempts to keep Hvitserk distant from her. It was clear now that Ubbe's true intention was to keep Hvitserk away from Yvette. Hvitserk gave a slight nod, acknowledging the advice, and pushed himself up from the stool.
He made his way toward the cabin where a striking blonde maiden had disappeared. If he was honest with himself, he needed a distraction, and that well-endowed blonde would serve as just that.
