THE VIKING KING'S BRIDE

⚔️ THE WEDDING DAY

"The slackened jaw, the widened eyes, the weeping over dead bones. If I were a lesser man, I would have thrown you a copper coin and kicked you out of my sight." King Roosevelt said.

He tossed the stained cloth onto the table, his gaze dropping to her bleeding knees and hands, then back to her eyes... her eyes that were no longer vacant, but hyper-focused, flashing with instinctual brilliance.

"But a half-witted scullery girl does not instantly calm her pulse the moment a monster leaves the room," Roosevelt continued, leaning in until Alice could feel the heat radiating from his chest.

"A gutter rat does not possess the structural grace of a high-born lineage under the grime. And most importantly... a common peasant cannot read ancient northern runes."

Alice’s breath hitched.

Her eyes darted to the strategy table behind her. The treaty parchment she had unrolled earlier was slightly askew. Now she finally knew, that she had been caught.

"You left it turned to the third stanza," King Roosevelt murmured, his amused smile playing on his lips.

"The stanza detailing the hidden silver vaults beneath the mountain. Tell me, girl... how does a nameless refugee from the fish markets learn to read the sacred script of my ancestors?"

Alice knew the time for groveling was over. Her brilliant mind locked into survival mode. She stopped shaking, squared her shoulders, and met his icy glare with an unyielding intensity that made his smile widen.

"If you intended to execute me, King Roosevelt, you would have let the Seer touch my face," Alice said, her voice dropping its cracked peasant whine, returning to its natural, and entirely royal cadence.

"You protected me from him. Which means you either need me, or you find my survival amusing."

"Both," Roosevelt admitted, his grip on her arm tightening just enough to remind her of his physical dominance.

"I dislike being lied to, but I despise being manipulated by blind zealots and power-hungry princesses. Your sister Margaret is a snake, but she is a predictable one. You, however... you are a ghost. And you are going to tell me exactly whose ghost you are, before I decide whether to put you back in the scullery or throw you into the harbor."

Alice looked at the man who held her fate in his hands. She could feel the hard edge of her father's pouch pressed against her thigh beneath her rags. To survive, she had to play her highest card. She had to trade her greatest secret.

"My real name is... My name is Alice Carpio," she said clearly, her voice echoing in the quiet chamber.

"I am the youngest daughter of the King you just defeated. My sister Margaret paid the Seer to murder me in the mountains." Roosevelt’s expression froze, the amusement instantly vanishing from his eyes, replaced by a deep, shock.

"So, you are the dead princess," he breathed, analyzing the pieces as they fell into place.

"Yes," Alice said, leaning forward, her sharp mind weaving a web around the conqueror.

"Margaret thinks she is marrying you to inherit a throne. But she doesn't know that I am alive, and she doesn't know that I know about the silver vaults. You want the wealth of this kingdom, King Roosevelt? My sister doesn't know where those vaults are. Only my father and I hold the map. Keep my secret, protect me from the Seer, and I will give you the wealth of the mountains. Refuse, and you marry a puppet queen who brings you nothing but a crown of ashes and a court full of lies." Alice makes a detailed explanation.

King Roosevelt stared at her, the silence stretched between them like a bow holding it's arrow.

The Viking King had come to conquer a city, but as he looked at the brilliant, and poor princess defying him in his own chambers, he realized he had just found something far more dangerous, and far more captivating than an empire.

---------------

The next day, morning sun came with a cold and heavy fog.

Inside the cathedral, the air was thick with the scent of burning fragrance oil and the terrified bated breath of the conquered nobility. King Roosevelt stood before the high stone altar, looking at everyone like a predator. He wore his finest black iron scale armor, a massive crimson mantle draped over his shoulders.

Right beside him stood Princess Margaret, her elaborate white bridal gown trailing along the stone floor. Her face was completely pale, only covered by dark make ups. A tight artificial smile plastered onto her lips. She believed she was successfully executing her grand ascension to the throne, entirely unaware that the young king beside her knew every single one of her treacherous secrets.

While behind King Roosevelt’s frame, there she stood Alice. She was dressed in the dark, simple wool clothing of a royal cupbearer, her head bowed and her silver pitcher resting in her hands.

To Princess Margaret, she was just the filthy peasant from the kitchens who had survived Roosevelt's arrow the night before.

As the high priest began to recite the ancient marriage vows, the heavy oak doors at the back of the cathedral burst open.

It's the blind Seer, who stepped into the sanctuary, his gnarled wooden staff slamming violently against the stone floor.

Thud. Thud.

"Stop the rites!" the Seer croaked, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings.

"The spirits of the north are restless! A deep deceit walks within these walls! The lineage offered to the High King is fractured!"

Princess Margaret gasped, her hand flying to her chest. She glared frantically at the Seer, terrified that her own secret, the murder of her sister Alice was about to be exposed to her new, terrifying husband.

King Roosevelt did not even flinch. He slowly turned his frame toward the Seer, his hand casually resting on the pommel of his broadsword

"You interrupt my wedding, old man," King Roosevelt growled, his voice vibrating through the stone pews.

"Speak plainly, or your head will decorate the cathedral gates before the sun reaches its peak."

"The girl behind you!" the Seer shrieked, pointing his long, bony finger directly past Roosevelt toward Alice.

"She is no simple scullery maid! The gods whisper her true name in my ears! She carries the royal blood of the Carpio line! She is the ghost from the mountain!"

Princess Margaret’s eyes went completely wide. She whipped her head around, her frantic gaze locking onto the stained cupbearer for the very first time with true, piercing clarity. Beneath the dirt, beneath the tattered hood, she finally recognized the delicate jawline and the brilliant, unmistakable eyes of her younger sister.

"Alice...?" Margaret breathed, her voice cracking with pure, and unadulterated horror.

"No... you're dead! I sent you to..."

"You sent me to the men .. and wish that I couldn't survive the frozen mountain full of merciless people right?" Alice answered her.