Chapter Seven

-Princess.

I found myself skulking at the back of the hall at the feast that evening, a cup of ale in hand. There were no celebrations to be had but I'd heard it was a final feast before what remained of my father's allies sailed back home. It was a show of hospitality to fill their bellies with a banquet of food and ale, and despite the direness of our defeat in Francia, and the absence of their King, the feast was in full swing.

Taking a careful sip, I watched as a dark haired woman lifted the ruffle of her skirts and straddled the lap of a scraggy looking man, his dirt stained fingers clutching at her thighs. She laughed as he buried his face into the pale flesh of her chest that bulged out over the top of her bodice. I blinked, wondering what it must be like so be so brazen, to act without any inhibitions.

"Would you join me for a- oh!"

The man beside me had cheeks reddened by the warmth of ale, his eyebrows arched and his mouth parted in surprise. He had deep set eyes and faint lines accented his forehead - he was at least twice my age. He wiped the froth from his drink off his top lip nervously and gulped. "Apologies."

And with that he scurried off, before I even had time to consider a response. I watched as he disappeared into another crowd, shoving past people as if he were running from the clutches of a death sentence. I knew he had reacted out of respect for who I was, what I was, the same as most townsfolk would. I thought about the panic frozen on his features when I'd turned my face towards him. Perhaps it was fear rather than respect. Perhaps it was a fine line between them both.

A scuffle of arms in the corner of my eye caught my attention then and I turned to see the small frame of a woman pinned back against the wall, two thick arms either side of her. She hugged a serving pitcher to her chest, her pale skin illuminated under the lantern above. It took me a moment to realise, but she was one of Aslaug's slaves. I remembered seeing her hurry past and disappear behind the partition. She stared up at the man who pressed his lumbering body against her, her eyes wide and glassy.

I found myself taking a few steps towards them, craning to listen to her faint voice.

"P-please, I have to serve-"

He leant down and spoke into her ear, his words too low and lost in the sounds of the feast around us. Whatever he was saying had made her stiffen and I jolted to a halt when her eyes met mine over his shoulder. She didn't do anything but look at me, but I felt something wrench inside me at what I saw in her expression.

"Hey." My voice came out as barely more than a rasp and I cleared my throat. "Leave her be!"

The man leaned back and turned towards me, and she slid across the wall as she took a step away from him. Thick eyebrows knitted together as he glared, taking a step closer so that I could smell the ale on him. The way his gaze dragged over me suggested his lack of soberness impaired his ability to recognise me straight away, as the man who approached me moments ago had. My throat dried up as he narrowed his eyes. I hadn't really planned this out.

"You heard me," I added, his stare unnerving me. "Now just, go on!"

He didn't go though. In fact, he took another step towards me and my fingers tightened around my cup. My gaze flickered to the woman and she stared back at me in disbelief, still pressing herself against the wall as if she hoped to disappear into it. It would be entirely unbecoming of me to smash my ox horn cup around his head in the middle of the hall but if he took one more step-

"If you like your head where it is on you shoulders, I would not take another step towards the Princess."

Princess?

The drunken man recoiled back when the curve of an axe appeared against his neck, pushing just enough to indent into the skin. We both looked in unison towards the figures beside us.

Harald Finehair gave me a long look as he stepped forward, his eyes bright, before blinking and turning away. He faced the now cowering man, his profile cutting a sharp outline. Behind him, Halfdan dipped his chin towards me in acknowledgment, his arm unmoving as he held his axe against the man's neck.

I was too stunned to say anything.

"I think he needs some fresh air, don't you think brother," Harald spoke again, not so much as flinching when the man gasped and started shuffling backwards.

"It will do him the world of good," Halfdan agreed, letting the hilt of the axe slide through his hand and away from the man's neck, tucking it back into his belt. He grabbed the man roughly by the back of his tunic and dragged him away, desperate slurred apologies fading into the crowd.

I swallowed, wondering what fate waited outside for him as Harald gave a nod to the slave - the possibilities not bothering me as much as they should of. She bowed hurriedly, still clutching the pitcher in between her arms, and made to dart away. I stepped forward, my hand outstretched to touch her arm but drawing it back when she flinched.

"Wait," I said softly. She stopped. "Are you okay?"

She looked as if I had slapped her and I dropped my hand to my side again, worried I had frightened her more. Her eyes went between me and Harald over my shoulder.

"Yes," her response was only just loud enough to hear. "Thank you, Princess."

That title again. It sounded strange and ill-fitting. I was King Ragnar's daughter, but I was no princess, I was The Seer's understudy. I had no clue what it meant to be something other than that.

"What's your name?" I asked.

She fidgeted, looking as if she suspected it was a trick question. "Frida, my lady."

"Well I'm glad you're okay Frida," I nodded, offering her a smile.

The faintest, smallest curve ghosted her lips for a moment so brief I could of missed it. Then it was gone and her head bowed as she hurried away. I drew in a breath, attempting to steel myself before I turned to face Harald.

Unlike my brother and Halfdan and many other's I had seen, he appeared almost untouched by battle, aside from one small graze under his right eye. He looked clean, well dressed in a deep azure tunic hemmed with gold and his hair was braided neatly down his back. My dress felt dull and the braids in my own hair unruly in comparison.

"Thank you," I said. "I'm sure I would of had it under control otherwise."

His head tilted to the side, a bemused look on his face and I felt hot under his gaze.

"You are far too important to be involved in the quarrels of drunk men and slaves."

It was obvious we were under no false pretences for our second meeting. Halfdan had likely told him of our encounter, of how I blurted out what I had. He'd probably asked around and Harald seemed the type of man who always found the answers he wanted.

"I assure you, I'm not too important for anything."

I tried to mirror the same sureness in his voice, but it was for naught when a hand on my shoulder caused me to jump. Bjorn looked down questioningly at my reaction, but then his gaze skimmed across to Harald, his mouth setting in a hard line.

"I see you have met my sister Gyda, King Harald," he said, his hand still on my shoulder.

Harald seemed unperturbed by Bjorn's blunt tone and he smiled, his arms coming to lay across his front as he enclosed a hand over the other.

"We are acquainted yes," he replied cordially.

Bjorn eyed me but I pretended not to notice. He paused and then looked back to Harald, seemingly letting the moment slide. For now.

"I assume you are keen to sail back home tomorrow," Bjorn said, though I sensed a deeper meaning behind his words.

"Oh of course," Harald grinned, in a way which I'm sure was testing Bjorn's patience, and temper. "They say home will always call to you, as impressive as Kattegat is. Even with the absence of it's King."

It was if they were playing a veiled game with each other, hidden behind their words and I wondered how they had been the whole time away in Francia - it seemed well practised.

"Then I will not keep you from enjoying your last night here, there's plenty more ale to be had."

Bjorn gave him a curt nod and then strode forward, their shoulders barely brushing as he passed. I dipped my head to Harald quickly, realising I was meant to be following my brother, but his hand went to my wrist just as I was about to pass him. I stopped, my skin tingling under his touch. Bjorn hadn't glanced back, his tall form moving through the path that opened up in the crowds as he went.

"Gyda, it suits you much better than Margaret I must say," he murmured close to my ear.

His eyes glinted when I met them and I felt lightheaded. Suddenly he was moving further and further away, or I maybe it was me that was being pulled away? Every flickering candle must been of extinguished all at once as the hall around us seemed to dim and dull. Harald was on his knees now, so far away I could barely make out his face. There was someone else with him I realised, a woman. When had she got there? How had I got so far away?

I moved towards them, my steps silent. As I got closer, a glint of iron caught my eye and I noticed the woman was gripping the hilt of a sword, the sharp tip hovering right over Harald's heart. I was running then. I'm not sure if I'd meant to but my legs were carrying me faster towards them regardless.

"Wait! Stop!" I called, but my voice was barely a croak. Neither of them looked towards me.

I ran faster, my legs pumping under the skirts of my dress. They were closer now, close enough for me to make our their features.

I skidded to a stop, my pulse thudding in my ears. I knew that profile, the woman's, staring down at Harald fiercely. I recognised the waves of blonde hair and the way it braided around in a crown at the front, the rest wild and loose.

It was me.

I reached out, but suddenly the woman was drawing her sword back and I tried to call out. My voice withered away into nothingness as she- as I- drove my sword forward, aiming true for King Harald Finehair's heart.

A breath hitched in my throat and I blinked rapidly, the image of the hall painting itself around me again. The light of the candles returned and the warmth of the fires touched my skin. Harald stared at me intently, his fingers still at my wrist. I glanced around - everything was back as it was, as if not even a moment had passed.

Something curled tightly in my stomach and I suddenly felt too hot, too confined in the hall. I pulled my arm from Harald's grip and he released it without any resistance. Our eyes met for a brief moment and then without a word, I stepped forward and rushed to catch up with Bjorn, not looking back.

My head spun, the scene lingering in my mind like the weakened dregs of a poison. I knew what I had seen. A door had been swung open, and behind it had been Harald's fate.

His death. By my hand.