''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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"Welcome back, my dear ..." Judith's fake smile terrified her.
All around seemed to be slowly fading away, disappearing.
Evelline did not know if she wanted to cry, scream or just run away.
Maybe all of the options.
The girl always thought Judith was a cold strategist; just as a Queen was supposed to be; however, it corrupted her soul to know that in the Queen's eyes she was so easily replaceable.
For the affectionate treatment of her mother-in-law since her arriving at the palace, Evellíne always had the impression that Judith liked her like a princess, after all, she was doing her royal duties well, not disappointing Judith nor Alfred.
But the girl's innocence did not make her realize that the game of thrones was the most important thing to their rulers.
The focus had suddenly been diverted thanks to Hvitserk.
Some men enraged so much by the loss of loved ones in the battle of York; such a battle that he fought beside his brother; and by the fact that he was reportedly an accomplice of Ivar, that they decided to attack instead of just trying to stop him, holding him abruptly.
They began to pick up rocks from the ground, throwing it with violence against Hvitserk, who tried to defend himself by putting his arms in front of his face, but the brutality of the English men was so intense, that a young guy and an old man held the poor Lothbrok backward preventing him from any minimal defense. They did hit him right in the eye.
Distracted by Judith, at the sound of Hvitserk's cries, Evellíne did not think twice and headed toward him, trying to stop the attackers from hurting him even more.
After a lot of stops's ignored, the princess threw herself in front of the boy like a human shield.
''I DEMAND YOU ALL TO STOP!'' she shouted fiercely.
Lowering their hands and surrendering, one by one let go of the stones, throwing it to the floor, everyone indeed surprised by the girl's reaction.
Hugging him with one arm, she tried to comfort him. With the hem of her dress, she wiped the blood from his forehead and lips.
"Forgive me ... you were right. I should not have let you come here. Forgive me ..." she whispered.
"It's not your fault," he whispered back, trying to make a mouthful of a smile to calm her.
One of the attackers, a tall bald man, snorted loudly mocking the two.
Turning back, she noticed the disbelieving looks of disapproval of her people. As much as it hurt, she could not have left Hvitserk at their mercy.
And at that moment, that the princess realized that he was as much at risk in Wessex as she was in Kattegat.
"Hvitserk," she said in a tone so low and so quickly that the boy had to concentrate in order to be able to hear clearly, "pretend you do not speak my language fluently. Pretend you can only speak your language. " He stared at her in confusion.
