Bridal Price

Your Prince

If he were being honest, he had tons of women. Ones with large breasts and wide hips, ones with an amazing tongues and tight little or wide bodies. It was all a matter of time whose tastes were on his tongue at a given time.

"Sigurd has Margrethe tonight?" Hvitserk bumps his shoulder with his brother's own. Ubbe, having been left out, had his own plans.

"Yes. So Revna is mine." The first to stake his claim— of course Hvitserk had to respect it. He was the oldest after all, he should have had first choice. That didn't mean that Hvitserk was happy about it. Hvitserk bobs his head in a nod, lips flatly pursing together.

"Signe is raiding with Harald and Halfdan." He laments bitterly. "That means I am left with her. What is her name?"

Ubbe shrugs his shoulders. "You should ask her, brother. It isn't like she sleeps with me."

"We all have our prizes, brother. I'm hers." He beams, teasing the chocolatey rim of his tunic trim to his slender body. Since she made it for him, all the women had been throwing Hvitserk sultry looks. It was made more than finely.

"Tell her to make your brother one." Ubbe tilts his head so slightly, raising his brow to crease his forehead just so. Hvitserk laughs as he walks away on his heels.

"Find a wife brother!"

Luta? Mjoll? No, no that was the one with snowy skin. Soma. That was it! Wait... Not knowing a woman's name was offensive enough. But pouring more salt on the wound was the fact that as he walked into your shop, your father was there. He was a merchant by trade. Not at all Viking even though he was native to Kattegat.

"Young Hvitserk. Are you here for a new tunic?" He folds his toned arms. "The one (Y/N) made you went over well."

(Y/N); that was it.

"Here to see your daughter. I was missing her." He smiles cheekily.

"Not enough to ask about her mundr." Geir, your father, fell aside a little bitterly. Hvitserk pushes into the room, seeking out where you were setting away your things in their proper placement. There were tons and tons of tunics, dresses and trousers all hung up like a fine line of laundry in arrays of colours.

"Fadir, I finished the Earl's– my prince!" You squeak, taken up by Hvitserk's slender but toned muscles winding around your waist. You know it is him by the scent– sweet fruit, ale and sweat of battle on his skin. He nestles his button nose into your long hair, laced in braids and loose strands.

"Your prince, I love it." Hvitserk muses gently. He forces the name over and over again in his mind. (Y/N), (Y/N).

"What are you doing here, Hvitserk?" Your hands find his long fingers sliding across a finely made dress. Fine because of course– you had made it.

"Come to see the best little seamstress in Kattegat of course. To model this." He spins you around so that you might look at your work. If it looked good pinned up, it looked better on him. Your hands crawl their way up to Hvitserk's shoulders where they rest.

"It looks amazing!" You reply.

"Lets go out." Hvitserk reaches down lower, gripping those hips that were shamefully hidden behind your woolen dress. A sin! If ever the Christian's had anything right!

"But Papa..."

"He has your ugly sisters to help him." Hvitserk's mouth cups over your neck, swirling small suckling marks across your neck. "I missed you."

"I missed you too." You look around, finding that of course your father is there with folded arms, jaws knit tight and a foreign frown glistening behind his dark eyes.

"Go ahead." He says, threading his hand through his aging hair. Hvitserk doesn't waste a second lacing his fingers with yours, rushing you out of there and finding somewhere different to go. Your laughs filter out of the shop and away from your longhouse. He ran with you for your favourite place– the river. Your naked body slips out from underneath heavy woolen fabric, revealing the curves he hadn't seen in weeks. His eyes snap up toward you, pulling you into a hungry kiss.

Kisses that lead to wadding deep in the salty water. Your naked breasts dipping against his chest as he guides you onto his hips. The smooth buoyant water helping guide his dick in and out of your body with ease. The adorable part of your lips as you took him without complaint.

This was the part Hvitserk loved the most.

When he leaves on raids, it is easy to say goodbye to his brothers. Mother never seems more proud to see him off, holding him as tight as she must have when he was in her womb. Over her shoulder, he does manage to catch a sight of something else. It shows upon his shamefully proud face when Sigurd turns.

"(Y/N)?" He watches as you flush and turn away, waving softly to sweet Hvitserk on the hopes that maybe he would wave back too. He doesn't.

"She's a mess." He laughs. "Keep an eye on her for me, brother."

Sigurd nods, arms one over another. "She doesn't sleep around."

"I'm not so sure." Hvitserk looks away, beginning to board the boat after Bjorn. "Women are fickle."

Things changed. Feelings could be hot and excited one moment and hateful another. With all the women he fucked, it was important to know which ones were planning something. It wouldn't be the first or last pregnancy scare he had with a woman.

"Bye Hvitserk!" You wave after him, less than shyly waving at the boat. He knew that you wouldn't cheat. For one sole reason– you were obsessed with him. His kisses, his soft touches, him. All of him. It was easier to say you would than face having an actual good woman on his hands.

Marriage was serious. Fucking... that was easy.