Cnut's head tilted to the side in curiosity as he observed Ragnar's stunning sister. The Saxon priest swiftly guided the young redhead out of the kitchens, down the hall, and led her upstairs, presumably to a private room behind closed doors.
Cnut had overheard the priest inquire about whether they were going to "talk," as he passed by the kitchens outside the corridor.
However, he couldn't say for certain if their purpose was a genuine conversation or if the priest was of a mind to hump Ragnar's strange beauty of a sister.
A flicker danced along the fiery edges of the Dane warrior's long fiery red beard, and his lips curved into a semblance of a smile as he witnessed the priest leading Ragnar's sister through a set of closed doors at the top of the winding stone steps in the hall.
Just before the door closed, she almost turned, sensing someone's gaze upon her and the perceived intimacy with the priest.
The priest's hand hovered near her small waist, causing her to flinch.
In that fleeting moment, their eyes met, and Cnut, Ragnar and Thyra's first cousin, had a clear view of her face. He blinked, carefully studying the features of his lovely cousin, who truly was a vision, now that the madness within was gone.
Thyra Ragnarsdottir possessed fair, almost ghostly pale skin, nearly bone white. Her blue eyes radiated vulnerability, unlike anything he had witnessed in a woman for a long while. Yet, she exerted a great effort to appear strong, a fact that nearly amused Cnut.
Cnut purposefully averted his gaze, not wanting to witness the intimate moment between Thyra and the priest. With a deliberate turn, he began walking in the opposite direction, heading towards the dungeons where the Saxon boy Prince, Lord Aethelwold, had expressed a desire to speak with him.
The reason for the meeting's location remained a mystery to Cnut.
As he made his way, Cnut's thoughts were consumed by his cousin. Stories of Thyra's tragic past echoed in his mind. She had been betrothed to Anwen, a promising Danish boy of good strong stock hailing from a neighboring family that dwelled across the field from Earl Ragnar's domain.
However, their hopes for a union were shattered on the night of her wedding when Anwen's life was ruthlessly taken. Kjartan and his son, the infamous One-Eyed Sven, sought retribution against Earl Ragnar for a past transgression. When Sven was just a young boy, Ragnar punished him by taking one of his eyes. The reason behind the severe reprimand was Sven's audacity in glimpsing Thyra when she had been partially unclothed, an act that Ragnar deemed disrespectful.
Sven and his father had ruthlessly abducted Earl Ragnar's daughter, wreaking havoc on their lands. They burned down their barn, destroyed their crops, and mercilessly slaughtered all of Thyra's kin, except for Uhtred and Ragnar. The tragic events had a profound impact on Thyra, pushing her to the edge of sanity.
Whispers of assumed madness surrounded her as she was imprisoned in a dungeon cell beneath the very castle they now stood in. Confined to a cage, she fed her hounds' venomous thoughts of vengeance, longing to bring justice to her family's brutal demise.
After years of enduring torment, Thyra finally exacted her revenge, or so Cnut was told by Jackdaw. It was she who unleashed her hellhounds upon Sven, forcing the dogs to devour him from cock to throat, ensuring a gruesome fate for her family's tormentor.
As for Kjartan, Ragnar himself sought revenge, relentlessly beating him until his face was unrecognizable, reducing him to a bloody pulp.
Cnut couldn't deny that Thyra Ragnarsdottir had become a figure of fascination, with tales and legends swirling around her.
However, he maintained a skeptical view, considering stories to be little more than entertainment for those willing to believe. Without proof, he refused to digest the exaggerated tales spun by men in his cousin's army, as they sat around the fire, regaling one another with drink in hand.
Nevertheless, Cnut couldn't help but acknowledge Thyra's striking appearance. Her flowing red hair, reminiscent of the hues of autumn, captivated the eye, and her face possessed an undeniable innocence. However, Cnut was well aware that Thyra was not a warrior like her friend Brida, who possessed a fierce spirit and combat prowess. The thought of Brida unexpectedly invaded Cnut's mind, leaving a lasting imprint that caused him to stiffen, almost scowling at the intrusion.
Over the weeks of preparing their armies for the impending march against Wessex, to dethrone the feeble King Alfred and take Wessex in the name of the Danes once the king's pup of a son, the young prince, Edward was crowned king, they would slit his throat and rule Wessex, and Brida would be marching alongside the men, just as capable as any of the men.
Cnut found himself nursing a forbidden desire for the formidable female warrior. Yet, he understood the impossibility of pursuing such feelings, as Brida was bound to his cousin.
Ragnar possessed the fortune of having a woman by his side whom he could both love and fight alongside. However, it pained Cnut to witness how Ragnar treated Brida, subjecting her to constant humiliation and shame.
He took advantage of every opportunity to engage in promiscuous behavior, seeking to sire children with other women, as Brida was unable to bear his children. Despite her unwavering loyalty and commitment, Brida was treated as nothing more than disposable.
Cnut recognized the injustice in Ragnar's actions, disregarding Brida's worth and disregarding the deep bond they shared.
It was a cruel irony that the very woman who fought alongside Ragnar, proving her strength and loyalty, was subjected to such mistreatment simply because she could not carry his pup to term.
Cnut made his way toward the dungeons, traversing the dim and gloomy steps. Along the way, he crossed paths with several of Ragnar's loyal men, individuals he respected.
However, lost in his thoughts consumed by Brida, he couldn't muster the courtesy or presence of mind to acknowledge them with a smile. His mind was occupied with thoughts of Brida, contemplating the possibility of winning her affection if only she would give him a chance, even if it meant abandoning her life and future with Ragnar.
The sound of Cnut's boots reverberated through the damp corridors of Dunholm's dungeons, their steady rhythm leading him forward as if guided by their own volition. His feet followed the well-worn path, familiar with the way despite the darkness that enveloped the surroundings. However, a sense of curiosity welled up within him, questioning why Lord Aethelwold had specifically requested their meeting to take place in the depths of the dungeons, of all places.
Deeper and deeper Cnut ventured into the abyss of the dungeons, meticulously inspecting each cell along the way. Step by step, he made his way down the corridor until he reached the very end, where he discovered the boy confined in the last cell. However, to his surprise, the boy was not alone within the confines of the cage.
Alongside the boy, a man of similar age to Cnut, perhaps a few years younger, stood confined within the same cell.
There was an unremarkable quality about him—his mouse-brown hair cropped short, his face bearing an ordinary countenance.
However, it was the man's eyes that caught Cnut's attention. They held a pale, colorless grey hue, devoid of emotion, yet flickering briefly to meet Cnut's gaze as he announced his presence with unintentional noise.
The boy-Prince had his back turned, seemingly engrossed in a crouched position, fixated on a dark figure that huddled in the farthest corner of the cage.
This peculiar sight intrigued Cnut, for it was unusual for a prisoner to receive such attention from a prince, especially one who appeared to be kneeling before an obscured presence.
"Enter, Lord Cnut, you will find the gate unlocked," the Saxon Prince called out, his voice carrying a distinct lack of fear and resonating with a smooth, buttery purr.
The invitation, though seemingly welcoming, sent a shiver down Cnut's spine, instantly putting him on edge.
Cnut cautiously stepped into the cell, allowing his eyes to acclimate to the darkness within. Once his vision cleared, he turned his gaze toward the corner of the cell, where the boy Prince and his companion were so engrossed. Curiosity piqued, Cnut sought to discover what had captivated their attention so intensely.
As Cnut maneuvered himself to stand beside the Prince's associate, their accidental brush causing the individual to stiffen and almost recoil, a chilling sensation crawled over his skin. The faint clinking of chains reached his ears, accompanied by the emergence of a white, almost purple-tinged hand from the darkness.
Slowly, it slithered forward, revealing itself to the occupants of the cell. The creature's gaze fixated curiously on Cnut, its owlish blinks betraying a sense of vulnerability. A whimper escaped its lips, reminiscent of a mistreated hound being chastised by its master, before retreating further into the shadows of the cage.
Cnut could hear the creature's coughs, grunts of pain, and trembling breaths. It took several moments for Cnut to process the truth that the Saxon Prince had managed to keep concealed from his cousin since his arrival in Dunholm. How such a secret had been guarded remained a mystery to him, leaving him both intrigued and unsettled.
Struggling to contain his simmering anger, Cnut spoke with a voice that barely contained his throttled fury.
Through gritted teeth, he growled, "How?" The question hung in the air, a demand for answers, as he directed his intense gaze toward the Prince. The scoff that escaped the Prince's lips only fueled Cnut's smoldering rage. "All this time... it's... alive?" Cnut's voice was laced with a demanding tone, reflecting a mix of disbelief and frustration as he flicked his gaze back toward the Prince's pet.
He couldn't help but feel anger at the unfolding situation, aware that the boy's presence in the dungeons would inevitably become uncontrollable. It was only a matter of time before someone ventured down and discovered him, unraveling the carefully kept secret.
Cnut's expression hardened, his gaze sweeping over the barely visible features of the wretched figure in the shadows. Though only a glimpse was afforded to him, it was enough for Cnut to discern that the man had only known hardship and pain.
The Prince responded with a tone that dripped with apathy, almost sounding bored. "That's what it claims," he drolled, rising to his feet and rolling his neck to alleviate some stiffness. As he turned towards Cnut, he exhaled sharply, scowling at the venomous gaze coming from Ragnar and Thyra's first cousin.
The intensity of Cnut's glare felt like a barrage of daggers, directed squarely at the Prince and pinning the boy in place. Cnut's scowl deepened as he recognized the familiar face of this wretched creature, now reduced to a grimy and malodorous state.
The boy's appearance was a stark contrast to what Cnut remembered—no longer the clean and vibrant presence, but rather a figure engulfed in filth, his clothing reduced to rags stained with mud, vomit, and blood, among other unknown substances.
Sharing Ragnar's hair color, this boy was believed to have perished alongside Ragnar's family on that fateful night when Kjartan and Sven's men attacked.
But now... A pang of mercy welled up within Cnut, almost compelling him to end the boy's pitiful existence. The shock auburn hair atop the boy's head was disheveled and in desperate need of a trim. However, beneath that unruly mane, the wretch's face was a twisted and deformed sight.
Misfortune had left no part unscathed—burns, cuts, and disfigurements adorned every inch of his visage. A prominent slit marred his brow, and his left ear was entirely severed. Chapped lips bore the telltale signs of years spent biting and picking at the skin until it bled. Most distressingly, his right eye had been plucked from its socket, leaving Cnut to wonder about the circumstances that led to such a fate. The thought of Kjartan's men being responsible for this lingered in Cnut's mind.
Cnut was jolted from his thoughts and his fixed gaze upon the creature huddled in the corner of the cage by the smooth, buttery sound of Prince Aethelwold's voice.
It reminded him that the boy owed him an explanation for how he had managed to locate him in this wretched place. Almost as if the Prince could pluck the thoughts from Cnut's mind like pages from an open book, he responded in his characteristically plain tone, nearly succeeding in suppressing the chills that crept up Cnut's spine.
"My associate Tidman and I stumbled upon him in the forest while on our way to Dunholm," the Prince explained. "He was practically left for dead in the snow that had fallen along our path. Initially, I entertained the idea that he might be a divine apparition, conveniently headed toward Dunholm as well. Thus, we decided to keep him alive. Those markings you see on him were not my doing, I assure you. We found your devil just as he is, apart from the rope bruises on his wrists, of course. We had to ensure he wouldn't attempt to escape, didn't we?" The Prince's impish smile, reminiscent of a troll, was notably absent as he turned to face Cnut.
Cnut recalled the moment in the bailey of Dunholm when the Saxon priest and Ragnar's captivating sister had arrived through the gates, and the Prince had displayed that mischievous grin. However, to Cnut's surprise, despite his youthful countenance, the boy's dark brown eyes burned with a fierce desire for bloodshed.
"I must admit, perhaps it would have been more merciful to end the wretch's life when we stumbled upon it in the woods, sparing it from further misery," the Prince stated. "But I chose to keep it alive. And now, Lord Cnut, I propose that we ally, thereby lessening the burden on both of us. Pledge your loyalty to me, and I can grant you your desire. You could have Brida, Ragnar's woman, as your own."
Cnut's visage hardened, and he was certain that even the Prince's associate, Tidman, could perceive the inner turmoil brewing within him. The loyalty he held for his lord now clashed fiercely with the desire to rebel against the very notion presented before him. Every fiber of his being, the essence of the Dane warrior, was torn between internal defiance and begrudging obedience. The very thing he desired most seemed to be within his grasp, almost effortlessly handed to him on a platter.
This Saxon boy-Prince, with his smooth, silver-tongued rhetoric that likely wagged at both ends, now sought Cnut's cooperation and his sword.
Cnut's agitation swirled within him, evident in the venomous glare he directed at the Prince. The thought of plucking out the boy's eyes and feeding them to Thyra's dogs, locked in their cages nearby, briefly flickered in his mind. However, instead of succumbing to his initial impulses, Cnut tilted his head, his curiosity piqued.
He wondered how the Prince believed he could fulfill such a promise and grant Cnut his deepest desires. Cnut's snarl resonated with fury as he locked his gaze on Prince Aethelwold. The calm and composed demeanor of the Prince only intensified Cnut's rage, his satisfaction with himself evident even before laying out the details of his plan.
"Brida would never come to me as long as my cousin lives," Cnut growled with seething determination. "You suggest killing Ragnar yourself? My cousin is hell-bent on your demise, Prince, and he regards you no higher than a clump of dogshit stuck to the sole of his boot. If you truly wish to rid us of him, you had better do it while he lies defenseless in sleep."
The Prince paused, his demeanor briefly reflecting a moment of contemplation, his shoulders tense and his body rigid. After composing himself, he turned his gaze back to Cnut, his expression void of emotion. However, his voice held an earnest tone as he dismissed Ragnar's cousin's assertions with a wave of his hand.
"Indeed, matters are rarely straightforward when it comes to your family, Lord Cnut," Aethelwold snarled, his voice laced with indignation as he huffed and crossed his arms over his broad chest. "We must also consider Ragnar's woman, Brida, along with my uncle's advisor and that Danish bitch who has become entangled in this affair."
Cnut's ginger brows knitted together in a frown, his curiosity piqued.
"What Danish bitch is that, boy?" he grunted, though deep down, he had a suspicion about the individual in question.
Prince Aethelwold glared at Cnut, his expression filled with frustration.
"Your cousin, Lord Cnut, Uhtred, and Ragnar's sister, Lady Thyra, arrived here with my uncle's wretched holy advisor," Aethelwold snapped, his anger simmering just beneath the surface.
Cnut grunted in response, unimpressed by the Prince's savage snarls and attempts to intimidate. He met the Prince's glare with an unwavering gaze.
"What about her?" Cnut questioned, his voice laced with indifference.
Aethelwold's face twisted with disgust, his nose scrunching up in contempt. The undeniable truth seemed to repulse him.
"She's beautiful!" Aethelwold's words dripped with disdain as he spat them out. "And Father Beocca, that pious old fool, could never satisfy her. My uncle's advisor has always kept a watchful eye on me, knowing my deep aversion towards my uncle. He would stop at nothing to thwart my claim to the throne in Wessex, and now, to see him garner the attention of Uhtred's beauty of a sister, it vexes me, Lord Cnut," he growled through gritted teeth. "It vexes me greatly to see. The father, he does not deserve such a privilege. She would be wasted on him, Lord."
Cnut's smug grin widened as he watched the color drain from the Prince's face. "So, you desire my cousin for yourself, boy? Has she ensnared you as she has the priest?" he taunted, his smirk unwavering. He remained unfazed as a flicker of fear darted across the Prince's face, a fleeting moment of vulnerability that was quickly concealed.
The Prince's associate, Tidman, shot a questioning and disgusted look towards the Prince, but it vanished almost as swiftly as it appeared.
After a brief pause, Aethelwold awkwardly cleared his throat before retorting with an edginess in his voice, causing Cnut to freeze. The anger surged within him, his face frozen and his muscles tense. He longed to draw his sword and sever one of the boy's arms, but his curiosity prevailed, compelling him to listen to the Prince's plans.
Cnut grew increasingly silent, his body coiled with tension. He took satisfaction in how his piercing gaze seemed to sicken the Prince. He maintained unyielding eye contact, refusing to back down.
"The last thing I want is to expose myself to anyone in this wretched castle, particularly Beocca, the priest is the one whom my uncle trusts the word of the most above all else in his service, and if the priest gets wind of my intentions, my head is on a pike in Wessex," Aethelwold replied in a hoarse voice, glaring at Cnut with annoyance.
His associate, Tidman, looked on with an almost listless disinterest, his colorless grey eyes fixated on the whimpering creature in the corner. Cnut couldn't help but wonder why the Prince kept such a seemingly compassionless man around. Cnut's attention snapped back to the Prince as he continued speaking.
"It is crucial, especially when it comes to my uncle's advisor, to divert his attention. His new paramour is simply not enough to accomplish that," the Prince growled, clenching his teeth in anger. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, a sudden bitterness coursing through him.
Cnut noticed that the boy Prince appeared unwell, a hint of sickness creeping into his features.
Cnut responded loftily, his voice carrying a nebulous tone, "And if Father Beocca grows suspicious? You mentioned he keeps a watchful eye on you."
The Prince turned away briefly, his fair-haired visage hidden in the shadows, rendering his expression unreadable.
Without hesitation, Prince Aethelwold replied, his voice steady, "He will not suspect a thing because..." His index finger rose, pointing towards the cowering wretch in the room, eliciting another whimper. "...that will serve as a distraction. Uhtred and Ragnar's sister will undoubtedly be distressed by its condition, capturing the attention of my uncle's advisor and the rest of Ragnar's men within this bloody castle. While they are occupied, Ragnar's guard will be lowered. I will slit his throat while he sleeps, and then Brida will be yours and there would be no other man to stand in the way of that," Aethelwold declared confidently, nodding as if already assured of the success of his plan.
Aethelwold faced Cnut, who was now fully attentive, his mind racing as he contemplated the intricacies of the plan. Sensing that he was nearing his desired outcome, the Prince decided to take a chance.
"If you pledge your protection to me once I kill Ragnar, your wish can be granted," Aethelwold proposed, his voice filled with anticipation. "Of course, this assumes you are committed to your course against your cousin. If not, I will not hold it against you. However, I must warn you, Lord Cnut, Ragnar, and his men would not take kindly to your treachery if they were to discover your desire for his woman. Either way, once caught and exposed, you will be deemed a traitor and cut off from them."
In that fleeting moment, Cnut felt a familiar chill run through him, separate from the coldness of the dank dungeon cell they currently stood in.
He couldn't quite determine if it was excitement or fear bubbling up in the pit of his stomach, but one thing was certain—he wanted this. Brida for himself, and Ragnar dead. The Saxon boy Prince had requested his temporary cooperation, and Cnut found himself nodding, a glint forming behind his eyes.
Prince Aethelwold, satisfied with Cnut's response, turned on his heels and signaled to his associate, Tidman.
As soon as Aethelwold gave a nod, Tidman stepped forward and proceeded to release the creature from its restraints.
Cnut ground his teeth together, his discomfort growing as he heard the pitiful creature emit an inhuman, primal howl before darting out of the cage in a blur of movement. Observing closely, Cnut noted how the ruined and now monstrous wretch of a boy desperately clung to the shadows, as if afraid to expose himself to the light.
Once the creature had disappeared, its scuffling footsteps fading into the distance as it ventured to unknown realms, Cnut shifted his attention back to Prince Aethelwold and his silent associate. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps this man named Tidman never spoke at all, but he swiftly dismissed such musings, pushing them aside as trivial in the face of more pressing concerns.
"Now?" Cnut exclaimed incredulously. "You release it now when anyone could stumble upon it before us?" He fell silent and awaited a remark from the Prince on his plan.
"Yes, my Lord, now, now is the time to strike," the young Prince replied, a surprised tone in his voice as a malicious smile spread across his face. "Lady Thyra will be the first to encounter it, I am certain," he predicted, his dark brown eyes taking on an eerie glaze.
Cnut frowned, still not fully convinced. "How can you be so certain?" he demanded, raising an eyebrow in nonchalance as he turned on his heels, heading back towards the open cell door that the creature had hastily left behind in its desperate escape.
The Prince's expression turned solemn as he followed Cnut, his footsteps aligning with Tidman's. "It has mentioned her name a few times during our journey here," he explained quietly. "It seems to trust your cousin, perhaps one of the few individuals it feels safe with. I believe it will seek her out, and her alone," the Prince emphasized.
Tidman, the man standing beside the Prince, expressed his dissent with a derisive snort through his nose. Cnut's gaze flickered towards Tidman as he heard the man speak for the first time since he had entered the dungeons.
"'Trusts'," Tidman scoffed, unimpressed. "Lord, you should not speak of the Dane woman in such a manner," he grunted.
Cnut interjected before Prince Aethelwold could respond, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword at his hip.
"Like she's...?" he prompted, his voice dripping with dark sarcasm.
Tidman paused for a moment, and Cnut dryly filled in the blank.
"Like she's 'human'?" he muttered, his tone laced with bitterness. "But she is, boy," Cnut grunted. "We are all humans, just as you Saxons are. We are made of the same flesh and blood, we eat, piss, shit, and hump just like you, you frog-licking pieces of weasel shit. While I may wish for Ragnar's death, aye, I am not so savage a Dane as you would have me believe that I would raise a weapon against a woman, including my cousin. If Thyra is harmed in any way-" Cnut started to say, his voice growing increasingly menacing.
However, Tidman raised his hands in mock defense and rolled his eyes, completely unfazed by Cnut's snarling.
"Then, 'Lord', you may kill me in whatever manner you see fit," he retorted, chuckling mockingly. The twitch of a muscle in his jaw accompanied his narrowed-eyed glare.
"Have no doubt, I will," Cnut shot back, his attention returning to the Prince, who had remained silent during their tense exchange, but now appeared intrigued by the peculiar interaction that had unfolded before him.
Aethelwold took a few more moments before uttering a word.
"The tides are shifting, Lord Cnut, and you will not regret aligning yourself with me. I swear it, and for now, it would be wise for you to follow suit," he paused, indicating with a nod toward the creature that had scuttled away down the dim corridor outside the cell. "Make sure Lady Thyra is the first to see it with her own eyes and ensure that no one discovers your... involvement," he muttered. "Can I trust you to handle this discreetly?" he inquired.
Cnut nodded curtly.
"Very well," he grunted, turning on his heel to depart. "I will do as you request and keep you informed of Lady Thyra's reaction. I'm particularly curious to see how Ragnar will respond when he learns the truth..." Cnut's voice trailed off, but he refrained from further discussion as he crossed the cell's threshold and began to walk away. "Oh, and perhaps we should choose a different location for our next meeting, Prince," he added with a grunt. "You couldn't have picked a more conspicuous place for Ragnar, Uhtred, or anyone else to suspect foul play." He faintly chuckled to himself as he continued on his way, his words echoing in the air.
Cnut didn't dare glance back, leaving a somewhat troubled and disgruntled Prince lingering in the open doorway of the dungeon cell, contemplating his future ambitions and the necessary steps to claim the crown that rightfully belonged to him.