THE VIKING KING'S BRIDE

⚔️ THE RIDGE

"Agreed,"

Alice answered, her heart beating fast not from fear, but from the electric that formed between them.

Without wasting another second, Alice brought the charcoal down to the parchment, her hand transferred across the paper with absolute, and brilliant precision. She drew the winding hunter paths, the hidden mountain ridges, and the massive stone seals of the vault. As the candle flickered in the dark room, the Viking King and the ghost princess stood side by side, plotting a silent task that could put their lives into danger.

The midnight strike that would forever change the destiny of the northern lands.

The frost of the northern peaks did not merely settle, it bit into the bone, a relentless and a silent predator that claimed anything too weak to withstand its chill. The midnight sky hung above them like an expanse of black velvet, punctured only by the cold, indifferent stars.

The wind howled through the high passes, a mournful dirge that echoed off the jagged granite walls.

Alice pressed her thighs tighter against the flanks of her dark winter mare. She had cast aside the coarse, wet rags of the scullery, replacing them with a heavy clothing of boiled leather and a dense mantle of gray wolf fur, a spare set of gear that King Roosevelt had pulled from his own vanguard's reserves. Her face was clean now, the pale porcelain of her skin stark against the dark expanse of the mountain.

Beside her rode King Roosevelt, a shadow which atop the iron-shod warhorse. His black iron scale armor caught the faint, silver luminescence of the moon, clicking rhythmically with every stride of his mount.

Behind them followed a silent vanguard of twelve elite Viking warriors, all of them were men handpicked for their absolute discretion and lethal efficiency. They carried no banners, and their shields were wrapped in dark cloth to prevent any telltale glint of light from betraying their position to the scouts below.

"We are entering the pass of the Broken Spear," Alice spoke, her voice cutting through the whistling wind.

It was her natural tone now, like the entire royal, carrying an authority that had long been buried under the court's perception of her frailty.

"The main thoroughfare lies below us, but it is watched by the border sentries who still owe allegiance to my father's old guard. If we remain on this ridge, we bypass their sight entirely, but the path narrows. A single misstep will send a horse into the chasm."

Roosevelt pulled the reins of his warhorse, slowing the beast to match her pace. His piercing, icy gaze swept across the treacherous ledge, then turned on Alice’s. A dark, dangerous amusement flickered in his scarred left eye.

"You navigate these cliffs as if you carved them yourself, Princess," King Roosevelt said, as he gravelly rasp against the cold.

"Yet the tapestries in your father's hall depict you as a fragile bird, a creature meant for silk cushions and soft music. Tell me, did you spend your youth sneaking into the frost while your sister practiced her curtsies?"

Alice did not look at him. She kept her focus fixed on the treacherous path ahead, where the ice had formed a slick, and dangerous sheen over the rock.

"My sister Margaret sought the company of flatterers and politicians. She believed power was a prize won by wearing the heaviest crown and smiling at the right lords. I knew better. I knew that crowns can be stolen and lords can be bought. True power lies in knowing the anatomy of your kingdom. I studied the land. I learned the paths where the smugglers used, the depth of the winter snows, and the hidden veins of the earth. While Margaret dreamed of a throne, I memorized the foundation it was built upon."

"A dangerous but smartest education," King Roosevelt observed, as his dark smile sharpened.

"A mind like yours is a threat to any ruler. It makes a man wonder if he is leading a guide into the mountains, or if he is walking willingly into a trap."

"If I wanted you dead, King Roosevelt, I would have let the Seer touch my face last night," Alice replied smoothly, finally turning her head to meet his gaze.

Her brilliant eyes flashed with an unyielding intensity that rivaled the cold stars above.

"You are here because our ambitions align. You want the silver to cement your conquest across the sea. I want the cancer excised from my home. The treaty you signed with the Seer was a leash, whether you admit it or not. By taking the vaults tonight, we will cut that leash." Alice said.

King Roosevelt let out a short, rough laugh, his voices swallowed instantly by the roaring wind. "You speak with the tongue of a conqueror, girl. Perhaps I should have invaded your lands years ago, if only to find an adversary worth the iron of my blade."

Before Alice could respond, her mare suddenly pinned its ears back, its breath coming in short, panicked snuffs of white steam. The massive warhorse beneath King Roosevelt reared slightly, was its iron hooves striking the frozen gravel with a sharp, echoing ring.

Behind them, the lead Viking warrior raised a hand, his iron-gloved fingers gripping the pommel of his axe.

"High King," the warrior called out, his voice tense.

"The wind has shifted. There is the scent of old fat and unwashed wool on the breeze."

Alice’s sharp mind instantly calculated the variables. The scent of unwashed wool means only one thing in these high passes, they are near from the lawless, and starving villagers territory of the mountain. But these were not simple peasants looking for scraps.

Suddenly, a resonant, metallic twang cut through the howling gale.

"Ambush!" Alice shouted, throwing herself forward against her mare's neck.

A heavy, jagged arrow sliced through the air where her heart had been a heartbeat prior, embedding itself deep into the trunk of a frozen pine beside the trail. From the dark crags above, there are some shadows materialized against the snow. And now dozens of ragged men, armed with crude hunting bows and heavy, notched swords, swarmed down the steep slopes.

"For the Princess!" a harsh, familiar voice roared from the darkness.

"The high-born witch is alive! Kill the Vikings men and take her head! Margaret will pay tenfold for the proof!"

Alice’s blood ran cold as she recognized the leader. It was Freddy's second-in-command from the mountain pass, one of the assassins who had survived the avalanche she had triggered days ago.

He had not crawled back to the slums, he had rallied the remnants of the lawless mountain clans, hungry for the gold of Margaret had promised.