Sophie Ealhmunding, a young woman enslaved and thrust into the world of the Vikings, quickly captures the attention of every man in Kattegat, especially the gaze of Ragnar Lothbrok, the king of Kattegat. Will she endure his cruelty, or will her rebe...
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SOPHIE GAZED UP at Ragnar as he approached with brisk strides. Strong hands pulled her to her feet, escorting her outside with force, causing her to stumble along with his rapid pace. This was it, she feared; he had grown tired of her blunders and was ready to exact punishment.
She didn't resist; there was little point in doing so. She knew he would overpower her easily. She silently hoped that Helen could find her before he did any harm, but realistically, what could that woman do?
Once they were outside, Ragnar finally loosened his painful grip but still held onto her, pulling her farther away from the crowd and the noise. The night was dark and cold, and Sophie shivered, unsure if it was from the cold or the fear of what might transpire.
Suddenly, Ragnar stopped, and Sophie violently wrenched her arm out of his grasp, almost tripping over her own feet and nearly meeting the muddy ground. Ragnar, however, grabbed her cloak by the neck, steadying her.
She averted her gaze from him, fighting back tears, refusing to cry in front of that heathen. She felt so vulnerable out in the dark with no one to protect her from him. Her heart pounded, desperate for protection.
She felt his touch on her cheek, causing her to flinch, but he paid little heed as he gently cupped her face before leaning closer. Every fiber of her being urged her to run as far as she could and never look back, but she remained frozen, praying he might be the man Helen had told her about.
He didn't act like it, though, forcing her to look at him by tilting her chin up, his surprisingly soft eyes locking onto hers.
"Don't be afraid," he whispered before burying her face in his chest, while she stood still, experiencing an out-of-body sensation, losing the battle with her tears. He pressed his lips to her forehead gently before speaking again. "He deserved it," he said with a chuckle. "But don't tell him I told you that."
Sophie's brain struggled to process what was happening. Was Ragnar forgiving her for humiliating his son in front of everyone, or was this one of his tricks?
"Your services are no longer needed tonight," he said, snapping her out of her reverie before letting go of her. "You can go." He simply walked away, leaving her standing there in the cold like a lost puppy.
"Sophie?" a voice made her flinch as she turned away from Ragnar's retreating form to find Helen walking towards her. "What happened, my sweet child? Why are you crying?"
Sophie had no words as she buried her face in Helen's chest, sobbing loudly. "Oh, my poor child, let's get you inside, shall we?"
Sophie recounted the events to Helen, who assured her that King Ragnar meant no harm and that what he had told her was no trick. Despite that, Sophie still cried herself to sleep.
The sun rose over Kattegat, promising a new day. Sophie hoped it would be better than the last. Her eyes felt heavy from all the tears she had shed, tears she had been fighting since her arrival in this foreign land. But they all came pouring out in vain when she uncontrollably cried in front of King Ragnar. She felt weak and cursed herself for it.
Had she not started that mess, she wouldn't have looked so pitiful in front of a hall full of pagans who reveled in the humiliation of a Christian. But what was she supposed to do when that heathen had pulled her into his lap? Was she supposed to sit there looking like a whore while he enjoyed his way with her? Absolutely not.
Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she noticed everyone's stares as she emerged from where she had been sleeping. Their eyes lingered for a moment, then went about their business, except for Margrethe, who waited impatiently to bombard her with questions.
"What happened last night after King Ragnar pulled you outside?" she asked, something Sophie had anticipated.
"Nothing," Sophie sighed, walking away, but Margrethe persisted, following her.
"What did he do to you?" she asked nonchalantly. "I thought I would never see you again. He looked so angry at you, I thought he would-"
"Enough, Margrethe!" Helen snapped. "Leave the girl alone."
"I have to know," Margrethe insisted.
"Why do you care what happens to me?" Sophie asked the blonde slave. "Or do you wish I was dead so you can have all the brothers, who I really don't care about, to yourself?"
This time, Margrethe was left speechless as she walked away with a defeated air.
"Don't mind her, my child. She-"
"Stop calling me that, Helen!" Sophie interrupted, her tone harsher than intended.
"I understand your frustration, and I apologize," Helen spoke softly, as if afraid to upset the young lady further. She knew Sophie had a rough night and didn't want to push her any further.
"No, I'm sorry," Sophie sighed. "I didn't mean to be rude. You just keep calling me a child, as if I'm some stupid, naive girl. Which... perhaps I am."
"No, don't say that, my chi-" Helen stopped herself before continuing. "You just have some temper issues, and we can work on that."
Sophie chuckled involuntarily at the older woman's words, a memory of home invading her mind. She had heard that phrase countless times from both her father and her brother, telling her that anger was not a good trait in a lady. But she never cared for that until now.
She couldn't bear people humiliating her and was struggling now that she was a slave, forced to remain silent unless granted permission to speak. It was doing her no good, and she knew that eventually, she would reach a breaking point.
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