''Some women fear the fire, some women simply become it.''
Evellíne embarks on a journey with her parents to England, as a request of Queen Judith and her son, King Alfred. They barely met and the connection between them is so strong that in a blin...
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''Are you ready?''
"I was born ready.''
Kattegat was full of people getting ready for the grand ceremony, which, through the excitement of the Northmen, seemed more like a party, a celebration.
Evellíne had heard terrible stories about the grotesque Vikings tradition of human sacrifices. But she could never imagine that one day she would be part of one.
When Hvitserk came to the girl in the middle of the night alerting her about Ivar's plans, Evelline knew that this wouldn't be the end.
"Whatever his plans are... I want him to know that I'm ready.''
The coward didn't have the courage to even tell her the news in person and instead, demanded that his subjects prepare her for the sadistic ceremony.
Her clothes were completely ripped and thrown into the fire. With mugs of hot water, two middle-aged women bathed her from head to toe. When she was clean enough, they brought her a long silk white robe to wear. With her bare feet sank into the dirty sand, suddenly a quick blow of an ax had cut the girl's long beautiful hair in the middle of her back.
Evelline felt in her bones the looks of the people around her, who were waiting for a reaction of despair or fear coming from her. But she kept the head held high as if nothing in this world could fright her. Her faith in life alongside Alfred and they beautiful future children assured her that Ivar could try whatever he wanted, but he would never succeed.
She could already hear the distant rumbling. Her heart throbbed in anticipation. By this time Evellíne already knew: the sacrifice was about to begin.
With each step she took towards Ivar, the drums sounded louder and louder, the scalding fire filled the landscape, everyone was staring, watching her, stalking her, even Ivar.
Seated on his throne side to side with his recent wife, the psychopath had his face totally painted in white, his eyes weeping tears of blood, the color contrasting with his chest completely soaked in red paint. A large flamboyant crown of some kind of gold weighed in his head. Freydis was also characterized for the ceremony; with the same painting of Ivar, the only thing that differentiated them was the color of the paint chosen for the eyes.
Being inches away from Ivar, the sounds of the drums roared with a stunning and almost deafening intensity.
With ease, he came down from his throne and walked over to the girl.
There was silence for a brief moment until Ivar laid a hand on Evellíne's chin, forcing her to look him in the eye.
"Why are you shaking, princess?" He intimidated her with a devilish grin.
"Because it's cold," she said, "I'm shaking because I'm cold. I'm not afraid, Ivar.''
