THE VIKING KING'S BRIDE

⚔️ UNDER HIS COMMAND

"The silver won't stay hidden forever, Your Majesty,"

Alice replied softly, keeping her voice carefully formal, mimicking the emotional distance he so strictly maintained. "If Margaret finds Roosevelt's inner circle before we do, then my position will face a winter war that it cannot fund."

"Let the war come," the King said, though he didn't look at the map. He looked at her....

"My concern is the blood on your coat. It has dried. You need fresh garments."

"I am fine, Sire," she said, her fingers tightening on the edges of the map. "A valley girl is used too rough garments during winters."

"You are not grown in the valley Alice, you were born as a noble princess," the King replied.

The words were simple, but his tone dropped into a lower, dangerous register that made the space between them feel incredibly small.

The King reached across the table, his large, calloused hand settling over the map, just inches from her fingers.

Alice froze.

She looked at his hand, then slowly raised her eyes to meet his...

For a long, agonizing moment, neither of them spoke. The professional masks they wore so perfectly began to fracture under the sheer weight of what they were hiding. Alice saw the dark, volatile hunger swirling in his gray eyes, a silent, intense longing that he refused to put into words. He was a king, he could not afford the vulnerability of loving a broken princess with ties to his enemies. And she was a survivor, she could not afford to lose her head over a man who belonged to the throne.

"So, they hid it" Alice slowly drew her hand back, breaking the invisible thread connecting them.

"The eastern ridge trail is our best bet, Sire. I will lead the scouts at dawn." Alice explained.

The High King’s eyes turned cold, the brief flash of warmth locked away behind his royal defenses. He pulled his hand back, resting it on the pommel of his sword.

"The lead assassin will accompany you," the King commanded, his tone returning to a cold, business-like detachment.

"I cannot have the valley's best cartographer getting lost in the snow."

"Of course, Your Majesty," Alice answered, her heart aching with a strange, hollow pain as he turned his back and walked out of the room.

Now they were playing a dangerous game, hiding a fire beneath a mountain of ice. But as the winter deepened, both of them knew that it would only take one more spark to make the glacier collapse.

The departure at dawn had been quiet, but by afternoon, the mountain had turned treacherous. If not for the High King’s iron grip suddenly locking around her forearm, the wind would have swept Alice into the ravine.

He didn't ask questions. He simply dragged her through the blinding sheets of snow, his massive frame cutting a path through the storm until he located a narrow, jagged fissure in the rock face. They tumbled into the darkness of the cave, the screaming wind instantly muffled behind them.

Alice collapsed onto the cold stone floor, coughing violently as the freezing air escaped her lungs. She was shivering uncontrollably, her teeth chatting so hard as it pained her jaw.

The storm outside was like a death sentence, temperatures in the high peaks dropped fast enough to freeze a person’s blood in minutes.

The High King stood near the cave entrance, his broad shoulders blocking the worst of the incoming draft. He sheathed his sword, his breathing was heavy but controlled. He looked down at Alice, his sharp gray eyes assessing her condition in the dim light.

"Your cloak is soaked," he said, his deep tone cutting through the dark. "If you keep it on, the dampness will kill you before the storm breaks."

"I-I'm fine, Your Majesty," Alice stammered, wrapping her arms tightly around herself, desperately trying to maintain the professional distance they had strictly guarded since the cabin.

The King didn't argue. He walked inside the cave to check the area. His fingers brushed against the rough surface of the oldest stone, a heavily carved relic once used for cooking by the land's first inhabitants.

Alice watched him, entirely unaware that this man was forged by the unexpected. He was a survivor, intimately familiar with impossible methods of staying alive in the barren heart of nowhere.

The King turned, his eyes catching the dark glint of a big iron pan. An idea struck him. "Get the ice from outside the cave," the king commanded, his voice echoing softly against the stone walls.

"We are going to boil it."

Alice obeyed his instructions.

Once the water was steaming over the fire, he looked at Alice, his expression unreadable but firm. "Bathe. Use the warm water."

Alice blinked twice. "And after?"

The King just nod. "Under that rotting pillar of wood standing on the rock. I found five garments, put them on." the king said, gesturing toward the dim area.

Alice didn't argue, thinking that it's better to be safe behind him. The steaming water from the heavy iron pan offered a fleeting sanctuary against the biting chill of the cavern. Alice retreated into the deep shadows near the back of the cave, using the jagged stone walls and the thick veil of rising steam to shield herself from the King’s view.

As she poured the warm water over her frozen skin, a sharp gasp escaped her lips.. a mixture of intense relief and pain as the heat shocked her numb limbs back to life. Every drop felt like a luxury in the middle of this bleak wasteland.

From the entrance of the cave, the King remained perfectly still, his back turned strictly toward the fire. He stared out at the frozen expanse beyond the entrance, his mind heavy with thought, respecting her privacy.

"Is the water helping?" his deep voice echoed, cutting through the rhythmic of splashing.

Alice wiped the water from her face, her breath fogging in the cold air.

"It’s... it's the first time I've felt my toes in hours," she admitted, her voice trembling slightly from the ambient cold.

"But the air out here is freezing. I don't know how I'm going to dry off"

"Do not wait. The moment you finish, wrap yourself in the garments immediately. Do not let the frost settle on your skin." the king commanded quietly, his eyes still fixed on the outside.

Alice pulled the five garments from beneath the rotting wood, her fingers recoiling slightly at the damp, heavy fabric. They were strange, unlike anything she had ever worn, it's thick, crudely woven, and smelling faintly like ancient ash.

She turned back to face the king, clutching the bundle to her chest.

"You want me to wear this?" she asked, her voice tight with disbelief.

"They look like they belong from the grave." Alice said.

The king didn't blink. "They will keep you alive. That is all that matters."

"They're stiff as boards," Alice muttered, inspecting a heavy tunic laced with fraying leather cords. She looked up at him, a sudden wave of vulnerability breaking through her defensive posture.

"They aren't exactly my size, either. I’ll look ridiculous." Alice added.

"No one is watching you, but the cold," the king replied quietly, stoking the fire beneath the iron pan.

"And the cold does not care about fashion." he added.

Alice bypassed the heavier layers and reached for the thinnest garment in the bundle. She had no idea that this delicate, gossamer-thin fabric was a legendary war-shroud, woven exclusively for the king to wear beneath his armor whenever he marched into battle

He had secretly pulled it from his own pack and placed it there under the wood, ensuring she would find it first to protect her fragile skin.

As she pulled the silk-like material over her shoulders, an unexpected, radiating warmth instantly enveloped her. It felt as light as air, yet it completely blocked out the biting draft of the cavern.

The king heard the rustle of the fabric and glanced over his shoulder. Seeing her wrapped in his personal battle-garment, a rare, soft expression crossed his stern face before he quickly masked it.

"You chose well," he murmured, turning back to the fire.