CHAPTER 7
978 Words
SHADOWS THAT WALK
The ride to Ragnar’s palace stretched long into the gray hours of morning. Ingrid sat straight-backed on her horse, Skaldheim riding a little behind her, her eyes sharp as knives. The woman had served Ingrid since childhood—first as a maid, later as a guardian—and even now she watched the world as though every tree along the road might be an enemy.
Ragnar rode beside Ingrid, the hood of his cloak pulled low. He said little, but she could feel the shadows clinging to him. Something was wrong, though he wouldn’t say what.
“You’re tense,” Ingrid murmured.
“I have reason to be,” Ragnar replied. “Nothing stays quiet in my father’s halls. Especially not the arrival of… you.”
A small wind curled around her. “Is that supposed to reassure me?”
Before Ragnar could answer, a horn sounded in the distance—sharp, shrill, and close.
Skaldheim leaned forward instantly. “My lady, stay alert. That is not a welcoming horn.”
Ragnar’s jaw tightened. “No. It’s the alarm.”
As they approached the towering iron gates of the palace, Ingrid understood why. Figures lined the walls, whispering, pointing. And standing at the entrance like a serpent claiming her nest was Ulfgard.
Her dress was dripping with jewels, her hair woven into a golden braid that nearly touched the ground. She smiled as Ragnar approached—a smile too wide, too perfect, like a mask designed to hide a festering heart.
“Ragnar,” she purred.
“Ulfgard,” he replied flatly.
Her eyes drifted to Ingrid then sharpened as if they had found prey. “And this must be the… girl you dragged from the forest.”
Skaldheim stiffened, ready to snap.
Ingrid did not bow.
She did not even blink.
Ulfgard’s smile twitched.
“Mind your tongue,” Ragnar warned.
“Oh, forgive me,” Ulfgard said sweetly. “I did not realize I was meant to give respect to a stranger. Especially one who arrives here with no proper introduction and no proof of her nobility.”
Ingrid stepped forward, her voice steady. “And yet you speak as though proof of character matters to you.”
A collective gasp escaped the guards. Ragnar nearly choked trying not to smile. Ulfgard’s perfect face cracked.
“You—”
But before she could finish, a deep voice boomed from inside the hall.
“Enough.”
Ulf, Ragnars father, strode out—tall as a mountain, shoulders wide enough to block the sun. His eyes were cold, unreadable.
Beside him walked Eirkog, Ragnar’s mother, her expression gentler but no less commanding.
Ulf studied Ingrid with a gaze as sharp as steel. “So. You are the one my son nearly died protecting.”
Ingrid bowed her head respectfully, though the weight of that gaze pressed on her lungs.
“I am Ingrid, daughter of Einar and Hjarnheim of the Skogheim clan.”
A murmur passed through the hall. Skaldheim stepped forward, confirming the truth with a practiced curtsy.
Eirkog’s eyes softened. “I knew your mother,” she said quietly. “Hjarnheim was brave. And kind.”
Ingrid blinked. Her mother had never spoken of that friendship. But before she could ask anything, Ulf spoke again.
“She may stay,” he said. “Under one condition.”
Ragnar stiffened. “What condition?”
“That she remains under guard,” Ulf replied. “There are already rumors spreading. Bringing an outsider into the palace during fragile times is dangerous.”
Ulfgard lifted her chin triumphantly, as though she had personally designed the decision.
“Father—”
“It’s final,” Ulf said. Then he nodded to Ingrid. “You will be safe here. But trust no one.”
His eyes flicked toward Ulfgard before he turned away.
No one missed it.
---
Inside the palace, the tension only deepened. Servants whispered. Courtiers watched Ingrid like she was a shard of glass in a room full of bare feet. Ragnar walked close beside her, Skaldheim even closer.
But in the grand hall, things shifted again.
A figure approached—young, broad-shouldered, eyes fierce yet warm.
Sten. Ragnar’s younger brother.
He grinned widely. “So you’re the storm girl everyone is talking about.”
Ingrid raised a brow. “Storm girl?”
“You came with Ragnar,” Sten shrugged. “He attracts storms.”
Ragnar rolled his eyes. “Ignore him.”
“Impossible,” Ingrid said, before she could stop herself.
Sten laughed.
And for a moment—just a moment—the palace felt less threatening.
---
That illusion shattered at nightfall.
A servant hurried into Ingrid’s temporary chambers, breathless. “My lady—your parents have arrived.”
Ingrid froze.
“What?” she whispered.
Skaldheim took a step forward. “Where are they?”
“In the lower hall,” the servant gasped. “They demand to see you immediately.”
Ingrid rushed through the corridors, her heart hammering. Ragnar caught up to her halfway.
“Ingrid, slow down—”
“I can’t,” she said. “If something has happened—”
They burst into the hall.
Einar and Hjarnheim stood there, drenched in rain, their faces pale.
Her father met her eyes.
“Ingrid…” he said, voice shaking. “We came because the forest clans… they are asking for you.”
Hjarnheim grabbed Ingrid’s hands.
“And because,” she whispered, “something is coming for all of us. Something we barely escaped.”
Ragnar moved closer. “What happened?”
Einar swallowed.
And his next words struck the hall like thunder.
“A hunter. One who kills royals. And he is searching for a girl with silver in her eyes.”
Ingrid’s blood turned cold.
Because only one girl had eyes like that.
Her.
- Writer
