The world narrows to three things: Bjorn kneeling in blood-stained snow, Erik's blade steady at his throat, and every eye watching me.
Waiting for my judgment.
My mind reels through everything—Bjorn's betrayal, his cruelty, the violence he promised. The crowd's bloodlust is palpable. They want death.
But I can't speak. The weight of this choice presses against my ribs.
Bjorn's sneer cuts through my paralysis.
"Frigid bitch can't even decide how to kill me properly." His voice carries across the silence, sharp with contempt. "Still too weak to finish what—"
The words unlock something in me.
I walk forward slowly, deliberately. Each step crunches in snow churned pink with blood. Warriors part to let me through, their faces blurring at the edges of my vision.
When I reach the center, I kneel eye-level with Bjorn. Close enough to see the hate burning in those blue eyes, the sneer still twisting his handsome face even in defeat.
"You called me a broodmare," I say quietly. Deadly calm. "Property. Said you'd break my spirit on our wedding night. Make me understand my place."
His sneer falters slightly.
"But you couldn't even break my resistance." I lean closer, letting him see the truth in my eyes. "I gave my virginity to another man out of pure spite for what you represented. Let him touch me, claim me, take what you thought you owned." My smile is sharp as broken glass. "And I enjoyed it."
Red floods his face. "You whore—"
"No." The word cracks like a whip. "I'm the woman who survived you. Who chose pleasure over duty, agency over obedience. Who proved that all your cruelty couldn't make me yours."
I stand, turning to face Erik. His storm-gray eyes hold mine, unreadable.
"Death is easy," I say, loud enough for all to hear. "Quick. Merciful in its own way." I pause, letting the words settle over the assembled warriors. "Let him live."
Shock ripples through the crowd. Gasps, murmurs of disbelief. Even Erik's expression flickers with surprise.
"But banish him. Strip his lands, his titles, his honor. Everything he built on others' suffering." I step closer to Erik, feeling power flood through me with each word. "Let him live knowing he lost everything—not to death, but to his own weakness. Beaten by the woman he tried to break and the man he dismissed as a savage."
The silence is absolute now.
"I choose neither prize nor punishment," I continue, voice rising so every warrior can hear. "I choose myself. My voice. My power. And if I choose to stay in Úlfheim, it will be because I decided—not because I was won."
The declaration hangs in the cold air, heavy with meaning.
Erik studies me for a long moment. Then slowly, deliberately, he lowers his blade.
"Gunnar." His voice carries absolute authority. "Execute her judgment."
Bjorn struggles as warriors seize him. "You can't—this is against—"
"Against what?" Erik's smile is terrible. "You lost. The terms were clear. Winner takes all—including the right to show mercy or exact vengeance as we see fit."
One of Erik's warriors steps forward, face skeptical. "Jarl, letting him live is—"
Erik turns, and the man goes silent.
"She sees further than we do," Erik says quietly, dangerously. "Her gift shows possibilities we're too blind to imagine. Question her wisdom again and you'll discover I don't share her mercy."
The warrior backs away quickly.
I watch as they strip Bjorn of his weapons, his armor, his fine furs. Reduce him to nothing but a man in a torn tunic, shivering in the cold. His face twists with humiliation as they drag him toward the edge of the circle.
"You'll regret this," he spits at me. "Both of you will—"
A warrior's fist silences him.
They haul him away, and I watch until he disappears beyond the assembled forces. Watch until the man who tried to own me becomes nothing but a distant figure stumbling through snow.
Gone. Not dead, but destroyed in every way that matters.
The crowd begins dispersing slowly, both armies moving apart with careful watchfulness. The truce holds, but barely.
Then Erik is there, close enough that I feel his heat despite the cold.
"That was quite a speech," he says, voice carefully neutral.
"You disapprove?" I arch an eyebrow, still riding the power of what just happened.
"Disapprove?" His laugh is short, disbelieving. "I'm trying to decide if I'm aroused or terrified. Possibly both."
Despite everything, heat floods my cheeks. "Erik—"
"You just humiliated a man in front of two armies and made it look like wisdom." He runs a hand through his dark hair, and I realize his fingers are shaking slightly. "Then you claimed your own freedom with words alone. No weapons. No violence. Just..." He gestures helplessly. "You."
"I thought you wanted me to have power."
"I did. I do." His smile is crooked, strained. "I'm just discovering that watching you wield it is significantly more unnerving than I anticipated."
I can't help the small laugh that escapes. "The great Bloodwolf, unnerved by words."
"By you," he corrects. "There's a difference." His eyes hold mine with unnerving intensity. "You could conquer half the north with nothing but that sharp tongue and sharper mind."
"Is that a threat or a compliment?"
"Neither. An observation." He pauses, then adds with dark humor, "Also possibly a warning to myself about what I've gotten into."
"Having second thoughts about your prophesied seer?"
"Having first thoughts about surviving her." But there's warmth beneath the words, something almost like pride. "You make me want to be better than I am. I'm not sure I like it."
"Good." I meet his eyes steadily. "You shouldn't."
His expression shifts, becomes serious. The humor drains away, leaving only vulnerability. "You just claimed your freedom in front of witnesses—both armies, my war council, clan elders. Do you know what that means?"
"Tell me."
"It means whatever happens next is your choice." He steps closer, and I see vulnerability in those storm-gray eyes. Real fear beneath the warrior's mask. "Including whether to forgive me for the manipulation, the lies, the way I claimed you in that boathouse when I already knew about the prophecy."
The honesty steals my breath.
"You could leave," he continues. "Return to Ravnfjord with escort. Or stay as honored guest—your own chambers, your own life. Or..." His throat works. "Stay as my partner. My equal. Not because prophecy demands it, but because you choose me despite everything."
The vulnerability in those words cracks something in my chest.
Warriors still linger at the edges, watching. Waiting to see what the seer decides, how this strange drama concludes. I should be angry about the manipulation, the calculated seduction, the way he orchestrated everything from the start.
Part of me is.
But standing here in blood-stained snow, watching the Bloodwolf offer me power instead of taking it, I realize something: he's terrified. Genuinely afraid of what I'll choose.
"Then what do you choose?" His question hangs between us, heavy with everything unsaid.
I study his face—the sharp cheekbones, the scar, the storm-gray eyes that have watched me with calculation and desire and something deeper he won't name. This man who killed for me, who gave me power over life and death, who just honored my judgment even when it surprised him.
This man who manipulated everything but stands here now, offering me truth when it costs him most.
The answer catches in my throat.