King Ivar spends much of his time with his infertile first wife: neglecting his second wife, the mother of his children, a Freyjasdottir. Eventually, it catches up to him when a foreign King Sverri invades his lands.
tw: abuse, character death, etc.
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It was Kitta's weekend with Ivar.
Your sister wife deserved her time alone. She never once came complaining about your time with Ivar. But illogically... you felt jealous. He really should have been the one stroking your hair as you fought through waves of your stomach turning. A fresh new feeling where any time you ate, even when you didn't eat, you were sick.
"My lady I think you might be with child." Your thrall chimes, voice trilling in song. She was a baby faced girl with waving brown hair and gentle eyes. Obedient, quiet... she never made a fuss. The only time you saw her act out of turn was when she saw something she desired. A thrall, but a thrall with needs and wants. The day Ivar granted her to you, you saw her eyes glimmering like garnets at your dress. She had a love for rich blue fabrics. You gifted her a dress of one as you so appreciated her. At no more than twelve, you loved her.
"I think so too, Ragnhild." You curl on your side. She rushes to your side with slender strips of thin fabric patting down the beads of sweat on your head that felt muggy and hot.
"Should I get King Ivar? He will be so happy!" She suggests. You hush her with a bout of nausea overchurning your stomach.
"No, no... leave it. It is Kitta's weekend. Come lay in bed with me instead." You say through panted breathes, motioning her close. You would be damned if you would cut in on Kitta's time by your own fault. The last thing you wanted to do was to scorn the queen. There had been people killed for less. As young Ragnhild curls under your chest, you tuck her close, focusing on each breath until you fell into a restful sleep.
"Why did she not come to dinner last night? Or for breakfast?" Ivar digs his spoon into a rich porridge, glancing over to his brother. Hvitserk flips his spoon around a few times, tongue laving leftover grain from the inside of his fluffy cheeks. It had been eating him all night before. Yet, like Kitta said, perhaps you were not hungry. You much rather spend your time around Kattegat as the sweetest of rulers. Kitta had as cruel of a hand as Ivar. Everyone knew it. You, on the otherhand, were sweet.
"Maybe she is upset with you." Hvitserk suggests. Ivar scoffs, unable to find why you would be so irked with him. There had been no 'first fight' yet. He took care of you, had bought you new gold pieces and fine jewelry-- finer than Kitta's. It had to be. While Kitta came from a farming home, you came from something much more than that. You were the Princess of Faksi, a man that made himself king just like his father had. Everyone would question him if your jewelry wasn't fine.
"It could be that she wanted to give us alone time." Kitta says, swigging her chalice around. Drops of her drink spill over her hand. There's a very real possibility that it is true. Still, Ivar thrusts his spoon into the bowl with irritation.
"Is that a good reason to hide from me?" He asks, letting his hand rake under Kitta's chin. He grips her chin.
"Then go find her if you're so worried." Kitta sets her hands into her lap. "I'll stay with Hvitserk."
It wasn't only that you hadn't shown up. It was knowing another man had been with you. A nonsensical fear but a fear nonetheless. He worried who might try to sweep you out under his fingers and despite it only being a few weeks over a month since he married you— it nagged him. It wasn't as if that other suitor hadn't been still wearing on his mind. He presses into the room to find you fixing the curl in your hair by pulling it out of a braid. Of course there was no other man around, he never expected to walk in on someone under the sheets. It was more the itch that he needed to tend to every time he was away.
"Ivar? Why are you here?" You ask. Ragnhild tends to your bed, laying sheets down before furs. It was the last day of Kitta's time with Ivar before he would come back to warm your bed for two days.
"You haven't eaten with Kitta and I. Why?" He says, his eyes scarcely leaving yours. You motion him to come closer, turning in a long nightgown to face him. He stops in front of you as you battle with the right words. His eyebrow cocks, tipping his head to the side as your hands fiddle around your stomach.
"What is it?" He asks.
"Because I think... I think I'm with your child." You say in breathy, shaken puffs.
He just stares. He stares and stares until you reach out to shake him from his shock, your hands reaching for his. He gives into your touch, sliding his hand to the curve of your belly.
"Are you sure?" He asks.
"I haven't bled heavily since we married." You say matter of factually.
Ivar rubs his hand over your stomach. The corners of his lips pull up into a weak smile-- as if he wanted to trust that it would happen. Kitta never spoke to you about her infertility. Whether she lost children or couldn't become pregnant at all was nothing you would know about. But from the look etched over Ivar's face, it had been a fight of miscarriages with poor, sweet Kitta.
"Lay down." Ivar says, redirecting you back to your bed. You slide back onto the furs, glancing over as Ragnhild stands at attention beside Ivar. Ivar hands her his crutch, falling forward onto the bed and dragging himself on.
"Tell Kitta that she is pregnant, girl." He motions her to leave. As your sweet girl darts out of the room, you turn back to your husband with your lower lip tight between your teeth. Not only is this... unsettling for you, but you know that this was Kitta's time. It fills you with guilt to know you swiped it from her with only a few words.
"Ivar..." You say just as his ear meets your slightly distended stomach.
"I don't care what she says." Ivar says, his fleshy digits drawing spirals around your stomach. "Right now, I only care about my son, Uxi... and you."
