I shot a glance at Askeladd from my spot by my chest on Thorfinn's boat, feeling the wood's damp chill seep through to my bones as night descended on us as we drifted out at sea. He was perched in his usual place at the bow, slouched like some half-bored Norse god, a horned cup dangling from his fingers as though it might entertain him if he tipped it overboard. His legs were splayed wide in a careless sprawl, knees jutting out like he was trying to mark his territory, while he chuckled at some half-witted jest from one of his men—a sound as smooth and slippery as that sly grin plastered across his face.
The bastard.
It had been a month since our last exchange—a month since he'd lingered in my space, his words skimming over me like fingertips, stirring up trouble just to see if I'd bite. When we hit landfall, he went back to treating me like yesterday's smoke, drifting off as though the flirtation had evaporated with the sea mist. Even when he gave orders to me and the other archers on another mission of his, his gaze barely glanced off me, a mere flicker of acknowledgment—just another body he had to command, nothing more.
To say it irked me would be a charming understatement. It scratched at my patience like a persistent itch, one you can't quite reach, the kind that keeps you up at night wondering if it's you or the itch that's real.
I knew it was all part of his game, as obvious as the smug slant of his grin. After our last exchange, I'd raked through every word, sifted the pauses as if they were tea leaves, looking for hidden meaning. He'd flirted, all right, but his eyes had a razor's gleam to them, like a fox peering out from the brush, already calculating the distance to the nearest target.
It didn't take a soothsayer to see that he wasn't charmed by me. No, he was studying my reactions, poking at the edges to see where the cracks might form. Testing the waters with a sly toe dipped in the shallows. But why?
Why, why, why?
I shouldn't have played along, of course. But there's something about the magnetic pull of curiosity, the way it drags you toward danger with a finger crooked and a whisper of, 'Come on, it'll be fun'. I wanted to see just how far he'd push, what kind of endgame he had tucked up his sleeve, and if I could catch a glimpse of it before he laid his cards down. So, I resolved to wade in, take it slow, trade barbs and smiles, see if I could tip the game in my favor.
Could I make him start to like me, even a little?
Not a snowball's chance in Hell.
But if I could make him think I was softening to his charms, make him believe he had me dangling on a hook, then maybe I could steer this game in a different direction entirely.
The question was, which way was I trying to turn the tide?
Thorfinn was one place to start. If I could lift even a fraction of the burden from his shoulders, it would be worth the trouble. If toying with Askeladd's game could nudge Thorfinn back toward his father's path, then why not?
After all, a gamble is only foolish if you've already lost—and the dice hadn't even left my hand yet.
Besides, what was the worst that could happen? Rape was still a possibility, lurking like a shadow in the corners of my mind. Not from Askeladd—no, he had a different kind of malice in him, too clever for that. But his men? That was another story. Yet even there, I had a peculiar sort of assurance. Askeladd had made it clear where he stood when he backed me over Aksel, putting the man in his place, helping me, in a way, to win that fight.
He wouldn't order his men to cross that line—not out of kindness, but because even in cruelty, Askeladd preferred his own rules.
Death was another possibility, though Askeladd wouldn't send his men after me for that—at least, not unless I royally screwed up and turned him into a worse enemy than he already was.
And I wasn't about to make that mistake.
No, I had nothing to lose here. Not a damn thing. There's a certain freedom in knowing the house doesn't expect you to win.
But the moment I finally decided to play Askeladd's game? Nothing. Radio silence. Not so much as a sidelong glance. He went from wading into my space like it was a game of cat and mouse to acting as if I'd vanished into thin air.
I knew he wasn't second-guessing himself. Askeladd never made a move without weighing it from all angles, like a chess player who'd thought five steps ahead before the first piece even hit the board.
Was this part of his plan, then? Did he want me to make the next move, to step into his orbit and close the distance myself?
That seemed the most likely scenario. But why? Was he still testing me? No, I had already proven my usefulness to him. He wasn't blind to that. Resourceful enough that he'd want to keep me around, maybe even use me in Thorfinn's place—spare the boy from the suicide missions he kept sending him on.
I'd made it clear I was willing to help, offering myself up as a buffer if it meant keeping Thorfinn out of the bloodshed.
But when Thorfinn figured it out, he'd be furious.
I'd already begun thinking of ways to divert his anger. After all, Askeladd wouldn't kill Thorfinn himself—he needed him. And that's what I was counting on.
"Oi, Fiadh, mind lending us your ear?" came a voice from across the boat. My gaze slid lazily over to the voice—Bo, sitting across from me with three others like they were holding court. Their eyes flicked to me, flat and disinterested, but Bo had a spark of curiosity in his.
Bo. A towering man with a long, braided beard that swung with the motion of the boat. Not exactly the type you'd picture plundering with a Viking crew. He had two little girls back home, and his wife? The kind that made a house feel warm, like bread fresh from the oven. I'd spent a couple of weeks under their roof—hearty meals (thanks to me), a good ear for my stories, and more enthusiasm for his kids' bedtime tales (that I offered) than even they had.
I stretched lazily, shifting from my spot, my legs uncrossing and then crossing again in a move that felt more deliberate than it should've been. Arms folded across my chest, I leaned back as if the entire weight of the conversation rested on my shoulders. "Yeah, Bo? What's up?"
His eyes widened, like I'd spoken in tongues. And, technically, I did, because he looked to the sky for good measure. I smirked, amused. "What is it you need?" I offered, letting the words hang with a bit of bite.
"Oh, uh, me and some of the men were wondering," Bo started, a little awkward but getting to it, "why hasn't a decent woman like yourself settled down? Why are you"—he made a vague, sweeping gesture to the boat and everything beyond it—"here?"
I almost snorted at the decent comment.
The question hung in the air, as if it had weight, and for a second, I swore even the waves quieted down to listen. I let out a quiet sigh, not loud enough for anyone to notice, then flashed a smile.
It was always this question with men like them. Always.
"Guess I'm just not cut from the cloth that makes a good housewife," I said, shrugging, like the answer was as simple as the sky being blue. "The sea suits me better." The words rolled off my tongue easily, like I'd rehearsed them a hundred times—and in a way, I had.
But there was something in the way his eyes lingered, like he was waiting for more. Maybe an explanation that would fit neatly into his world, the kind where women stayed warm by the hearth, knitting or something equally virtuous. Too bad I had no intention of giving him that. "Nothing wrong with wanting a little more salt in the air I breathe, right?" I added with a smirk, letting the question dissolve in the breeze.
"Besides, I doubt any man could keep up with me," I tossed in, just to see if it would land. It did, drawing a few snorts and smirks from the men nearby.
Bo blinked at me, clearly not swayed. He tilted his head, that same old question still lingering in his eyes like he was trying to solve a riddle I wasn't about to make easy for him. "Don't you want kids? A family? Don't you feel that pull?"
I arched a brow at him. "A pull?" I echoed, letting the word hang in the air like a stray feather. "Because I'm a woman, right?" I sighed then, the kind of sigh that comes with years of answering questions that miss the point entirely. "Well, there's your problem. I wouldn't make a good wife. A wife gives a man children, yeah?"
He nodded, predictably, like we were going through some ancient script he'd been handed at birth.
"Then I'd fail spectacularly as a wife."
Bo frowned, his own head tilting now. "How so?"
Ah, here we go. If Cillian could hear this conversation, he'd be lining these men up for a tongue-lashing, if not worse. But Bo had asked, and sometimes when people ask, they deserve the truth. Or at least the kind of truth you're willing to hand over.
"Well," I said slowly, locking eyes with him, not giving him the chance to look away. "I can't have kids."
The boat seemed to shift just slightly, as if the weight of my words had added something new to the already unsteady world around us. There was a flicker of surprise in Bo's eyes, but I stayed still, waiting. You learn a lot from what a man says next—or what he doesn't.
Not like I really cared what he had to say next.
Bo's expression shifted, not quite shock, but more like he was sifting through a response that wouldn't make him sound like an idiot, or claim I was useless waste of space if I couldn't do the one thing women were meant to do: bear men children. Not that I expected him to go with the latter. Bo was too nice of a man, despite being a Viking. Too nice to his own people is probably a better phrasing.
His mouth opened, then closed, as if words had failed him for the moment. Odd. It wasn't like this revelation had any magnitude to it.
Finally, he scratched at his beard, a habit I found in most men, when they were buying themselves time. "Huh," he muttered, his voice low, like he hadn't expected that. Then, after a beat, "I suppose that'd make things… simpler on some fronts."
There was a ripple of awkward laughter from the men around him, but Bo wasn't laughing. He was still watching me, eyes thoughtful. "But still," he went on, "family isn't always about blood. Not always about kids. Plenty of men would still want a woman like you by their side, kids or no."
It was a decent answer, as far as answers go. I could tell he meant it, though the look in his eyes also carried that familiar flicker of pity. Like he was imagining some softer version of me—one that fit neatly into his picture of what a woman's life was supposed to look like. I didn't bother correcting it. Let him keep that if it made him feel better.
"Well," I replied, a smirk creeping onto my lips, "I've yet to meet one who could survive me long enough to find out."
And Cillian? He'd kill them all on principle, whether they could keep up with me or not.
"Besides," I added, letting a sly smile curl my lips, "no fear of kids or that whole pregnancy fiasco hanging over my head. Makes things a lot more fun, don't you think?"
Bo blinked, caught off guard (which was strange considering I always make innuendo jokes on a daily basis), the men around him shifting uncomfortably, but I could see a few of them trying not to grin. Maybe they liked the idea of fun without consequences…
Not like I was going to give it to them.
Someone dropped into the empty space beside me, pinning me between him and the coffer to my left with all the subtlety of a landslide.
"What's this about fun?" Bjorn asked loudly, a smirk curling at the edges of his mouth. His knee stretched out, nudging my hip like it had a mind of its own, while he tore into a strip of dried meat with the casual barbarity of a man entirely unbothered by his surroundings. One arm lounged across his knee, draping itself like a lazy dog stretched out in the sun.
Why do men always seem to expand like fog, creeping into every unoccupied corner of my personal space? There was a whole side of the coffer free for him to conquer, but no—he'd nestled himself right up against me, as if I were some cozy accessory in his afternoon tableau.
My glare bored into him, but Bjorn, blissfully detached (on purpose), kept gnawing at his dried meat, as though the universe beyond his bite simply didn't exist (again, on purpose). Across from us, one of the men broke into a sly grin, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Ah, just Fiadh here, letting us in on how she likes her fun without any worries of little feet pattering about in the aftermath."
Finally, Bjorn's gaze drifted my way, the faintest spark of amusement flickering in his eyes. "You know, you did mention not having to worry about all that once before."
Trust him to remember. Bjorn had a mind like a steel trap, catching every careless word and stowing it away for later. At first glance, he was all brute and bluster—a walking embodiment of raw muscle and reckless bloodlust, the sort who found pleasure in the clang of swords and the chaos of battle. Yet, beneath that rough exterior, there lurked something else, an attentiveness, an intelligence sharper than his blade.
Not that it made him any less the battle-hungry ox. He was still in it for the kill, savoring every clash and every wild-eyed thrill, like a man savoring the last sip of his favorite ale. But every now and then, he'd surprise you, like a wolf pausing to look up at the moon.
But it wasn't like I actually enjoyed his company. That's what it must have looked like, letting him sit this close without raising a fuss, like we were two half-broken pots, somehow fitting together at the edges.
But, then again, with anyone else I would have chewed then out for sitting this close to me.
"You talk about fun, but it's not like you ever offer us a taste," came a voice from across me, low and teasing, rippling with the kind of bravado that only grows in men after a few cups of mead. I turned to find one of them grinning at me, one of the men sitting with Bo, a smile a bit too loose, a bit too hungry—though, I had to hand it to him, he still had all his teeth, lined up like soldiers, eager and waiting. "All bark, no bite. Makes a man wonder just what game you're playing."
Typical. Here they were, treating my words like sweet bait on a line, while I held the reel and watched them circle. And yet, they never did quite understand—the thrill wasn't in the catch; it was in watching them wonder. Waiting. Not wanting to break whatever truce we had in case they could ever get that taste.
Men like these were as predictable as smoke rising from a fire—follow the scent long enough, and you'd always find the blaze. That's why I'd come up with little games, ones I could pull from my sleeve the way a magician plucks rabbits from a hat.
And these questions? They always came up, sooner or later.
"Oh, so you want a taste?" I asked, tilting forward, hugging my knee to my chest, letting my smile bloom sweet and unassuming. The picture of innocence wrapped up in curiosity, a honey-coated invitation that dangled just out of reach.
A different sort of bait, a hook lined with just enough promise to reel him in.
His eyes glinted, and he leaned in, drawn to the lure like a moth to flame, clumsy in his eagerness, unaware of the snare he'd willingly stepped into. It was almost too easy—like watching a fish swim straight into the net, oblivious to the hands waiting just beneath the surface.
His grin widened as if he'd just stumbled upon some hidden treasure. His gaze flicked over me, a mix of bravado and anticipation, though he couldn't quite mask the faintest trace of disbelief, as if he wasn't sure if this was a gift freely offered or a mirage just out of reach.
"Well now," he said, his voice thick with a newfound boldness, "didn't think you'd actually have it in you." He chuckled, glancing at the others for a moment, as if to revel in his apparent luck. "So, tell me, sweetheart," he continued, a touch too familiar, "what kind of fun are you finally willing to share?"
He leaned closer, clearly expecting something more—a game, a tease, or perhaps, in his mind, a victory he'd been chasing since he first found out I was a woman.
Some might say what I was about to do was a bit much—too brazen, too sharp-edged. They'd tell me to play the slow game, lure them in with little tugs, let them think they were winning before reeling them in for the final pull. But that wasn't my style. I preferred to cast the line straight to the heart of it, hit them with the kind of force that left them off-balance, scrambling to make sense of the hit.
It was more fun that way.
For a moment, my gaze slipped over to Thorfinn, slumped at the front of the boat with his back to the side of the boat, eyes closed, chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep. The perfect cue. With him lost to the world, I had all the green light I needed to carry on with my little game.
"How about this?" I leaned in, voice low and honeyed. "Beat me in a little game, and I'll suck you dry." My eyes drifted to his crotch, to punctuate my meaning. "Sound fair?"
The silence was punctured by a chorus of sputtering. Bjorn, seated right next to me, nearly lost his life choking on his dried meat, a hacking cough that sounded suspiciously close to a laugh. Around the circle, jaws hung open, the lot of them caught somewhere between shock and barely concealed interest, faces flushed like boys who'd wandered too close to a bonfire without realizing they'd get burned.
The man blinked, clearly trying to process what he'd just heard, his bravado flickering like a candle in a gust. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again as he tried to find words, a crooked grin stretching across his face as he leaned forward, eyes glinting with a mix of intrigue and disbelief.
"Well," he said, voice catching slightly before he regained his swagger. "Didn't think you had that kind of game in mind." He let out a low, nervous chuckle, trying to keep his cool. "But sure, sweetheart, if you're so eager to lose… I'm game." He looked around for a bit of backup, but the others just stared, still recovering from my words. Realizing he was on his own, he put on his best bravado and squared his shoulders, as if daring me to go through with it.
His grin widened, a little unsteady. "What's the game then? And why don't you be more specific on what exactly I'll be winning, and where I can collect my prize."
I kept my smile sugar-sweet, though it took all my willpower not to let a smug grin slip through as he swallowed the bait, hook, line, and sinker. "If you win," I murmured, "you can collect right here on this boat, with every one of these men watching, if that's what suits you."
He blinked, clearly caught off guard by my boldness, but then he quickly masked his surprise with a swaggering grin, the kind that tried too hard to hide a flicker of nervousness. His eyes darted around the boat, to the faces of the men who were now paying close attention, and then back to me, weighing the stakes.
"Is that so?" he drawled, trying to keep the confidence in his voice steady, though I could hear the slight tremor beneath it. "Well, sweetheart, I'm not one to back down from a challenge, especially not one so... tempting." He leaned in, as if to make his words more private, though they rang out over the water, caught between the eager ears of our audience.
"You're on," he said, smirking, as though he'd already imagined his victory. "What's the game you want to play, sweetheart."
"Are you sure about this?" Bjorn murmured beside me, his voice low enough to keep the others from hearing. When I looked up, there was a spark of amusement flickering in his eyes, but caution had settled into the lines of his face.
I shot him a wink, letting my grin tilt into something almost conspiratorial. "Relax, Bjorn. It'll be fun. You'll see."
Bjorn huffed, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest as he shook his head, clearly torn between amusement and exasperation. "You're a dangerous one, you know that?" he muttered, though there was a hint of admiration beneath the gruffness. His eyes narrowed slightly, still studying me, as if trying to decide just how much trouble I intended to stir up.
"But don't come crying to me if this all blows up in your face," he added, smirking. "Though I'd pay good silver to see it."
I paused, his unexpected tone catching me off guard, but brushed it aside and rose, moving around to the other side of my coffer. As I stood, I felt the weight of a gaze on me, but I didn't need to glance toward the bow to know whose eyes lingered. This game wasn't for him.
"It's a simple game, really," I said as I opened the coffer, pulling out a wax-sealed package and a bundle of dried meat I'd stashed for a moment just like this. Back beside Bjorn, I spread out a cloth and arranged my spoils—a package of spice and the dried links, seasoned to perfection yet tough as leather.
I held up one of the links between two fingers, giving it a little shake. "The challenge is straightforward: eat one of these without making a face. Other than a smile, of course."
I set the meat back down and carefully cracked open the wax seal. Inside, a fine red powder shimmered like embers, a wicked promise hidden in its heat.
"But naturally, it has to be coated in this powder," I added with a smirk, tilting the package toward him like it was some prized delicacy. "Here, let me demonstrate."
This part was pure theatrics—adding a little spectacle to sweeten the bait. I opened the packet wide, letting the powder spill across the cloth, then rolled the link through it until it was covered, red dust clinging to the surface like embers on kindling. With a casual tilt of my head, I opened my mouth and slid the link down my throat, fighting the urge to cough as the heat hit the back of my throat. I forced it down without chewing, without wincing.
Basically deep throating the damn thing to make a point, and to entice the audience.
And without letting it touch my tongue. Most of it, anyhow.
After a heartbeat to chase the dryness away, I smiled triumphantly at the man across from me. "See? That simple. And don't worry, you can chew to your heart's content. No need to rush."
In fact, chewing would only make it better—at least for me. Norsemen like him had hardly tasted so much as a pinch of pepper, let alone anything with real fire. Their first encounter with spice was almost always… memorable. And never in a good way.
At least for them. For me, watching them squirm was the real prize, every time.
All eyes were fixed on my lips, their gazes heavy with anticipation, and I could hear the soft, unmistakable sound of gulps as they grasped that I wasn't joking. A ripple of excitement sparked through the group, palpable as a spark catching dry kindling.
Once again—hook, line, and sinker. Dumbasses.
"You really swallowed that in one gulp," Bjorn said beside me, somewhere between impressed and dumbfounded. Not that it mattered.
"That's it?" the man across from me chuckled, his voice laced with skepticism.
I only nodded, reaching for another link and rolling it generously in the powder. Predictably, the others leaned in, eyes bright with excitement, like children at a market stall. All except Bo, who sat up a little straighter, brows knitted in concern.
"Can I join in on this game?" one of them piped up, another quickly following with a "me too!"
"Of course!" I replied, cheerful as a spring morning. I set down the freshly dusted link and picked up two more, rolling each one through the fiery powder. "But here's the deal—you've got to eat them at the same time, agreed?"
They nodded in unison, and it took every ounce of willpower not to break into laughter.
I handed each man a link, their faces a blend of bravado and gleeful anticipation.
Then, as one, they popped them into their mouths, chewing eagerly, blissfully unaware of the storm about to hit.
And oh, did it hit them.
In perfect harmony, they let out strangled cries, coughing and sputtering, each face flushing redder than a ripe tomato. One of them staggered to the edge of the boat, retching over the side, while another's eyes bulged as he desperately fanned his mouth, like that might do something to smother the fire.
It was magnificent.
My laughter spilled out, rich and unrestrained, as I watched them writhe in their self-inflicted misery, my grin spreading wide enough to rival the horizon. "Ah, the simple joys of watching you Danes roll in agony! But don't forget I gave you a chance for a taste! Too bad none of you could step up to the challenge," I chuckled, barely containing the glee as one of them chugged his mead in a single frantic gulp, only to stare at his empty goblet in despair, glancing around in vain for another drink to douse the flames.
See, it wasn't just the chili powder coating the links. I'd taken my time, dicing and drying an assortment of hot peppers into the meat itself, layering heat upon heat, like a devil's trap hidden in plain sight. The powder I could handle; chewing on one of those links, though—even I might struggle to hide the pain. Not that I'd ever put myself through it if I didn't have to.
And luckily, we'd be hitting landfall by tomorrow, because that link wasn't going to leave me quietly...
But, watching them flounder in their suffering? Oh, it was worth every second.
"You're a menace, you know that?" Bjorn muttered beside me, his voice low enough for only me to hear, though there was a hint of a chuckle beneath the words. He looked down at me with that glint of mischief in his eyes, half-impressed and half-amused. "One of these days, you're going to push them too far, and they'll turn on you. Not that I think you'd mind."
He leaned back, crossing his arms, clearly enjoying the spectacle despite himself. "But I'll admit, watching them squirm like fish out of water… maybe I get why you enjoy it."
I pointed a finger at him, my grin triumphant. "You get me!"
Bjorn looked at me, eyes narrowing. "How in Hel's name did that not hurt you like them?"
I gave him a sly wink as I started gathering my supplies. "Practice and patience," I replied, voice light, like I'd just shared a harmless secret.
Rising to circle back around my coffer, I felt that unmistakable prickling sensation, the weight of someone's gaze sharpening against my back. I couldn't resist glancing toward the bow, and sure enough, there he was, watching me.
Askeladd's gaze settled on me, sharp and unreadable, like the edge of a blade catching the light. His eyes held a quiet calculation, the kind of look that sized up a person from the inside out, peeling back layers with a slow, deliberate intent. His mouth was set in a slight, almost imperceptible smirk as it laid against his propped up hand, a trace of amusement ghosting across his face, but his eyes told a different story—a thoughtful, knowing glint that hinted at secrets held close to the chest. He didn't move, didn't so much as shift his weight, but there was something about the stillness, the way he watched me.
A shiver traced its way down my spine, though I knew I kept it well hidden. Instead, I flashed him a cheerful smile, before turning my back to stow my things in my coffer. But even as I carefully arranged each item, I could still feel his gaze fixed on me, steady and unrelenting, drilling into my back like he could see through skin and bone.
For the first time, a strange, electric thrill pulsed through me, threading its way up my spine, leaving a faint buzzing in its wake. It was as if something hidden within me had shifted, stirred awake by the weight of his gaze.
And I couldn't quite place it—a feeling that slipped through my fingers, elusive and unsettling, like a half-remembered tune. It lingered, caught somewhere between curiosity and discomfort, leaving me disoriented, as if I were standing at the edge of something I couldn't yet name.
Bastard.