On the morning of the third day someone tentatively knocked on the double doors. One or two servants had wandered in like ghosts every now and then, bringing refreshment, but nobody dared disturb the Empress in her bedchamber. This time, however, urgency overcame fear. She ripped open the door to confront the person standing before her, the words of outrage catching in her throat when she recognised the serious expression, the proud eyes, the arrogance she always found so infuriating.
“I need him.”
She whirled around and Maniakes came in behind her, casting his eyes across the dishevelled, the floor littered with items of clothing, bedding, upturned furniture. He looked up to watch his empress slip off her thin robe and stand, naked, in front of the spread-eagled Hardrada, deep in sleep.
