"Astrid?" Sigrid's voice carries through the trees, closer now.
I force myself to move, stepping out from behind the storage building before she can find me here. My torn gown hangs in tatters, but I smooth it as best I can, wiping the tears from my cheeks with trembling fingers.
"There you are." Sigrid appears through the trees, lantern swinging. Her eyes narrow, taking in my disheveled state. "I've been looking everywhere. Where have you been?"
"I needed air. Walked too far and got turned around in the dark."
She steps closer, studying me. "Your mother was so worried. You ran from the ceremony, and then disappeared…" Her lips curve. "How strange."
"The mead was stronger than expected."
"You look upset." Something knowing flickers in her expression. "Wedding nerves? Brides often overthink everything." She pauses, lips curving. "So much that could go wrong."
My hands clench. "What do you want, Sigrid?"
"Want?" She laughs, soft and musical. "I want my cousin to be happy. To have everything she deserves in her marriage. Though I wonder if you understand what you're getting. Bjorn is... quite demanding."
"You seem familiar with what Bjorn wants."
Her smile sharpens when she’s stepping closer. "I just pay attention. Unlike some, I notice things. How warriors seek comfort after raids. How a man's appetites work."
"And you've always been waiting in the shadows?"
"Not shadows, cousin. I simply position myself strategically." Her eyes glitter. "The wedding is in two days. Everything is decided. Your Father has made his choice. Bjorn has made his." She pauses. "Have you?"
The question hangs between us like poison.
"Good night, Astrid." She turns, then glances back. "Do try to get some rest. You'll want to look your best for your future husband."
The way she says 'husband' makes my skin crawl.
I should strike her. Should scream. Should do something other than stand here while she twists the knife deeper.
Instead, I turn and walk away, her soft laughter following me into the darkness.
* * *
Dawn comes gray and bitter. I haven't slept, couldn't with Bjorn's words echoing, Erik's kiss burning on my lips. By the time pale light filters through my window, I know what I have to do.
I have to stop this.
I find Father in his strategy room, surrounded by advisors debating grain stores and winter preparations.
He looks up when I enter, irritation flashing across his features at the interruption. "Astrid. This isn't the time—"
"Leave us." My voice cuts through the room, steadier than I feel. "Now."
The advisors exchange glances. Father's jaw tightens, but he waves them out with a sharp gesture. The door closes behind them with a heavy thud, sealing us in silence.
"What is this about?" he demands.
I take a breath. Then another. The words stick in my throat, but I force them out. "Cancel the wedding."
He goes very still. "What?"
"Cancel the wedding with Bjorn. Please, Father." And I told him everything—about finding Bjorn with Sigrid, with others. The cruel words. How he spoke of me like property, like something to be used and discarded.
How he plans to break me.
"He doesn't love me," I finished, voice cracking. "This marriage will destroy me."
Father listens without expression. When I finally fall silent, breathless and trembling, he moves to the window, hands clasped behind his back.
"Are you finished?"
The coldness in his tone makes my stomach drop.
"A man's appetites are irrelevant to alliance, Astrid." He doesn't turn. "Bjorn's behavior is hardly unusual. Men have needs. Your mother learned to accept this. So will you."
"But he—"
"He what? Takes lovers?" Now he turns, eyes like ice. "These are not reasons to dissolve an alliance. Bjorn is still unmarried. He’s ambitious. Ruthless viking. That makes him useful."
"To you. Not to me."
"You are my daughter. Your usefulness and mine are the same."
He moves toward his desk, already dismissing me.
"The wedding proceeds as planned. You should be grateful Bjorn agreed to marry you at all. A cursed girl who speaks with spirits, whose visions make other viking clans wary. Do you think I have an endless supply of suitors eager to bind themselves to that?"
The words land like blows. My gift. The thing I've always carried with such careful secrecy, suddenly weaponized against me.
"I thought you said it was a blessing…" I whisper.
"It could be," He returns to the window, voice flat. "But the reality is that your gift makes you unmarriageable to most. Bjorn was willing to overlook it for the alliance. You should be grateful."
"Grateful…" The word tastes like ash. "You want me to be grateful for a man who will hurt me? Who sees me as nothing but a broodmare?"
"I want you to do your duty!" Now there's heat in his voice, anger breaking through the ice. "This marriage secures our borders, strengthens our clan, ensures our people's survival through the coming years. Your happiness is a luxury we cannot afford."
"Then what was the point?" My voice breaks. "Of raising me? Of teaching me to think, to speak, to be more than just—"
"To prepare you for exactly this." He faces me fully, and something shifts. Almost softens. "Astrid. You are my daughter, and I love you. But love and survival are not the same thing. Your mother understood when she married me. Now you must understand too."
"Mother?" Hope flares, desperate. "Does she know—"
"Your mother knows her duty. As you will learn yours." The softness vanishes. "The wedding proceeds in two days. You will smile. You will perform. And you will be grateful this family has ensured your future."
He moves to his desk, begins sorting through parchments. The dismissal is clear.
"Father, please—"
"Dismissed, Astrid."
The finality in his voice shatters something in my chest. I stand there, trembling, waiting for him to look up, to see me, to remember that I'm his daughter before I'm a political asset.
He doesn't.
So all I could do is to turn and walk out on legs that barely hold me.
The compound feels too small and suffocating while I wander without direction, but with my father's words echoing.
My feet carry me toward the forest edge, toward the storage building. Memory floods through me with Erik's arms, steady and sure.
His voice promising violence on my behalf. The heat of his kiss. The way he held me like I was precious rather than useful.
Before I can stop myself, I'm moving toward the Úlfheim camp. Their tents cluster at the western edge, dark leather marked with wolf sigils.
This is dangerous, stupid, the opposite of what a dutiful bride should do.
But I'm not feeling dutiful anymore.
Warriors glance up as I pass. Some nod recognition. Others watch with predatory interest. My courage wavers, what am I doing here?
"Looking for someone, little dove?"
I spin to find a massive warrior blocking my path. Scarred face, pale eyes, smile like a blade. He's not like Erik—too broad, too fair, and too cruel in how he looks at me.
"I was just—"
"Walking?" He steps closer. "Dangerous habit, wandering near warriors' camps. Never know what beast you might encounter."
I step back. "I should go."
"Should you?" Another step, backing me against a tent pole. "Days before your wedding, prowling around other men's territory? What would your betrothed think?"
His hand reaches toward my face and was almost ready—
"Touch her and lose the hand."
Erik's voice cuts through space when he materializes from shadow, positioning himself between us.
"Just making conversation…" the scarred warrior says, but steps back.
"Make it elsewhere, Gunnar."
They exchange a long look, some silent communication passing between them. Finally, Gunnar shrugs and melts into the camp, but not before giving me one last look that makes my skin crawl.
Erik turns to me, storm-gray eyes dark with concern. "What are you doing here?"