. . .
Part II: Obedience
. . .
"You wished to see me?" asks Gyda on entering Aslaug's private chamber – what had only days before been her mother's. But every single trace of Lagertha is already gone, from the items she'd left behind to her subtle sweet scent. New fabrics now drape the walls and furniture while the cloying aroma of burnt herbs fills the space.
Aslaug turns from gazing out a window. Her wide mouth forms an almost-smile, cat-like eyes perceptive to the point that Gyda finds she cannot meet them. She casts her own to the floor.
"Yes, Gyda. Come here, child."
Gyda complies, gaze remaining downcast until Aslaug's hand cups her chin, forcing her to look up. The princess's grip is gentle enough, yet Gyda feels the hint of steel behind it, and knows an attempt to extricate herself will be met with resistance.
For a long moment, Aslaug says nothing. Only looks at her with those unnerving eyes. Searching for something.
Finally, she smiles. A flash of white teeth in the gloom. "I would like us to be friends, Gyda."
Gyda swallows thickly. She thinks of her mother. The anguish etched on her face when she thought no-one was looking.
"I would like that, too," responds Gyda in what's barely more than a whisper. Her gut wrenches. She feels like a traitor.
Aslaug releases her chin, lowering the hand to her swollen belly. She caresses it, much as she had done in Lagertha's presence. Taunting. "Good. I would like your help when the time comes. Will you give it?"
Gyda suddenly knows what it is to be a cornered animal, trapped and afraid, but fights not to let her discomfort show. Instead, she bows her head. The picture of obedience.
"Of course."
