The small woman huffed as she paused kneading the dough to wipe at the sweat on her brow with the back of her hand, leaving behind a streak of flour before returning to folding and punching the stick lump. She dropped the ball of uncooked bread into the wooden bowl, covering it with a piece of cloth before turning to the water bucket to wet her hands. She used the hem of her apron to dry her fists, pulling off the last strings of dough that stuck to her knuckles before leaning against the counter. That was the last loaf to set. Once it and the few others finished rising it would be time to bake. There was a big feast tonight to celebrate the men leaving to raid in the morning.
It wasn't long after being sold into King Ragnar's house that her talents for cooking were recognized. The oldest of the slaves, and mother hen to all the younger girls, who was named Aug promptly put her to the task of preparing meals. This became her main duties in the house, which she didn't mind. She enjoyed staying in the kitchen, never having to interact directly with any of the masters beside Queen Aslaug, who occasionally stopped into make sure the food was being done correctly.
That was until one evening when a younger thrall named Britt hurried in, searching for her. She was busy but the girl stated one of the Ragnarssons had asked for her specifically. She dropped the knife she was holding, as she felt an icy grip around her insides. She panicked, instantly worrying which of the four young men found it necessary to speak with her, and why. She heard the rumors about each of them and she feared that it was the youngest, Ivar who beckoned her fretting that he would have nothing good to say.
Following the the head of fine, blond hair bobbing through the crowded hall, the cook was lead to the main table. Never having been formally introduced to any of Ragnar's sons, she only vaguely recognized each of them by reputation and breathed a sigh of relief as she was lead past the dark-haired boy at the end of the table, stopping instead by the second oldest brother.
The long braids of his light-brown hair shifted on his shoulder as he twisted his head to watch the two of them approach. A smile settled on his lips while he leaned back in his seat, swallowing the last of the food in his mouth. Holding a hand out, he urged the cook forward, brushing his fingers against her elbow as he spoke quickly, in a jovial tone.
The slave just stared at him blankly before looking to Britt who gave her a loose translation of his praise for her cooking. She blushed looking back to him and bowing her head before stuttering out one of the only words she knew of his language, "Takk."
Ubbe and Sigurd finally let go and burst out laughing at their brother's big, puppy-dog eyes as he watched the girl nearly run back to the kitchen. Neither were surprised he'd set his sights on the plump slave who seemed to always be covered in flour.
"How can you woo her, if she can't even understand you?" Sigurd teased once Hvitserk returned to his food.
Language barriers did not stop the prince. He began to regularly pop into the kitchen for food, rather than sending a slave to fetch him something. Once there, he'd find a reason to hang around, watching her work. He would talk, telling her about his day or his father. At first she was flustered by his presence but she enjoyed the company, and calming cadence of his voice though she couldn't fully comprehend what he said.
Due to the fact of her immersion added with Hvitserk's constant babbling, she slowly found herself leaning his tongue. At night she practiced with Britt, but still kept mute around Hvitserk out of embarrassment at her novice skills of communication.
Finally one day, he was rambling about his youngest sibling's antics on the training field when she asked him, "Why is Ivar cruel?" He stopped in the middle of tearing off a piece of bread from the roll in his grasp to stare at her blankly, surprised by the sound of her voice.
A smile pulled at his cheeks when he shrugged, "Because Ivar is Ivar. He has always been this way."
Once Hvitserk knew she could respond their conversations were decidedly less one sided. She would respond to what she could and he did his best to help her understand when she was confused. Hvitserk also grew decidedly more flirtatious. Before, he had made flippant provocative comments off the cuff, knowing they'd go over her head. She'd still catch the way he'd watch her when she was bent over the hearth, checking on the bubbling broth.
Now he'd do whatever he could to make her blush. He loved the way she'd yelp in surprise when he'd sneak up while her back was turned, wrapping his fingers around her hips. "That smells delicious," he would comment in a low voice, his lips next her her ear as he took in the sent of her hair rather than the food she was preparing.
He was drunk the first time he backed her into a corner. His wisps of facial hair tickled at her sensitive skin while he kissed her neck, pulling giggles from her lips as her petite hands came to rest on his chest. Everything about her was soft and warm under his touch. He pulled her against himself, guiding his knee between her thighs before finally bringing his lips to hers. Hvitserk moaned as she molded her lips with his, eagerly welcoming him into her.
"What is going on?" Aug shouted, interrupting the pair.
Both were panting as Hvitserk straightened and looked over his shoulder. "We were just talking." He tried the excuse but it was obvious that Aug wasn't buying it. She glared at him in a way that said everything; he needed to leave the kitchen promptly and let the girl return to her duties.
Leaving the bread to rise undisturbed, the cook sighed as she sat on the short three-legged stool, leaning her head back to rest against the wall. She let her eyes shut while keeping time in her mind so the dough wouldn't sit for too long.
"There you are," a familiar voice spoke. She cracked open her eyelid and tried not to smile when she spotted Hvitserk in the doorway.
"I am always here," she stated, furrowing her brow as she rose to meet him, slightly confused by what he meant. His arms quickly found their way, snaking around her torso, pulling her in tight.
"Mm, yes that is why this is my favorite place to be," he hummed as his kissed along her cheek before capturing her mouth with his. She grew bashful with his praise, looking away as she blushed and gnawed on her lip. He nipped at the corner of her jaw, just below her ear, while his hands began to roam. The left left settled on her ass, cupping the cheek with the broad expanse of his fingers while the other tugged at the back of her thigh, drawing it up to line with his waist. "Right here between your knees," he mumbled between kisses as he took a breath. She smoothed her palms across his firm torso before tangling her fingers into the hair on the back of his scalp, bring his face back to hers.
Hvitserk pulled at her bottom lip before pausing to rest his forehead against hers. He took a deep breath through his nose, keeping his eyes screwed shut before he spoke. "I want you in my bed so badly. I want to feel you naked underneath me, calling my name as I make you come."
She let out a small squeak in response, shocked by the bit she could comprehend. Hvitserk pulled back in surprise for a moment, gazing down at her blushing cheeks. "Don't you want me?" he asked, misreading her expression.
"No, I do," she quickly replied, cupping his cheeks. "But I cannot."
"I'm a son of Ragnar and a prince of Kattegat, I can have whatever I wish, and no one can say different. Even if it's you that I want." He smirked as he pulled her closer, squeezing her bottom before continuing, "And Aug is busy in the main hall, I checked. She won't be bothering us."
The cook was already well aware of Aug's tasks for the day, she knew they would not be disturbed. She said nothing, instead gnawing on her lip in annoyance that he was missing what she meant, upset with her own inability to clearly communicate. "I cannot…" she blushed, looking away before finally admitting. "I cannot say your name."
"Really?" With a gentle finger on her chin, Hvitserk guided her to look back at him, "It's not hard, just try." He repeated the syllables slowly for her to repeat, drawing each sound out in example.
"Havetsick," she repeated him, giving her best attempt to mimic the sounds. He bit his inner cheek to keep from laughing but she could see the humorous glint in his eye. With a scoff she pushed against his chest, trying to wiggle her way out of his arms. "Is it so funny? The way I speak? Britt, she laughs at me, too."
"I'm not laughing at you," he quickly countered, holding her shoulders so she remained against him, leaning into his chest as he lifted one palm to pet at her hair. "I love the way you talk, I think it's adorable. I'm always excited to hear your voice."
"You mean this, truly?" she questioned in a breathy voice. He arched his head forward, rubbing their noses briefly before gently pressing a kiss to her lips. Hvitserk could feel the moment she conceded, smiling as she let go and melted into him.