CHAPTER 3
1180 Words
RAVNHOLD’S SHADOWS
Night settled over Ravnhold like a heavy cloak, draping the kingdom in quiet uncertainty. Torches flickered along the palace walls, their flames fighting against the icy winds sweeping in from the coast. Ingrid stood at her chamber window, staring at the distant flicker of lights from the Drakkarvik camp outside the gates.
Ragnar and his warriors had not been invited to sleep inside the palace that night.
A deliberate choice.
Skaldheim paced behind her, wringing her hands. “My lady… you should sleep.”
“I am not tired,” Ingrid replied softly.
But she was lying.
Her mind was exhausted—spinning with questions, doubts, and a strange pull she could not name.
“What do you think of him?” Skaldheim asked cautiously. “The prince of Drakkarvik?”
Ingrid’s grip on the window frame tightened. “I think he is dangerous.”
“That is obvious,” Skaldheim muttered, folding her arms. “Everyone says he was trained to fight wolves bare-handed. They say he—”
“Stories,” Ingrid cut in. “Every kingdom shapes their heir into a myth.”
But even as she spoke, a chill ran down her spine. Ragnar wasn’t just a story.
He looked… real.
Too real.
Powerful, perceptive, unyielding—he was a storm wearing a man’s skin.
Skaldheim hesitated a moment before adding, “There is something else, Ingrid… Ulfgard has been speaking with some of the king’s advisors. She is unhappy. I fear she may stir trouble.”
Ingrid’s jaw clenched. “Let her try.”
---
At the same hour, outside the palace…
Ragnar sat by a crackling fire with his brother, Sten. The younger man—a head shorter, leaner, and more spirited—tossed a stick into the flames.
“Well?” Sten asked with a sly grin. “Is she as terrifying as they say?”
Ragnar didn’t answer immediately. He stared into the flames, his mind replaying every detail of Ingrid—the defiance in her eyes, the sharpness in her voice, the way she refused to step back from him.
“She’s different,” Ragnar finally said.
Sten snorted. “Different how? Because she looked you in the eye instead of running?”
Ragnar’s jaw tightened. “She isn’t afraid.”
“Is that good or bad?”
Ragnar didn’t respond, because he didn’t know.
Ulf, their father, approached the fire with slow, deliberate steps. His expression was grim, as always. “This alliance must hold,” Ulf warned. “Ravnhold is weak. Their lands are rich, but their defenses crumble with every season. We cannot afford failure.”
“And the girl?” Sten asked.
“A puzzle,” Ragnar muttered.
Ulf shot him a look. “She is a duty. Nothing more. Your task is to secure the alliance, not form opinions of her.”
But Ragnar wasn’t listening—not fully. He kept seeing Ingrid’s stubborn strength, the way she stood beside her father with her head high. She didn’t want this union either… yet she didn’t shrink from it.
He respected that.
He hated that he respected it.
---
The next morning
Ingrid stood in the throne room beside her father. The hall buzzed with hushed conversations as the advisors of both kingdoms gathered around the long stone map table.
Oil lamps cast golden glows across the carved runes and miniature wooden fortresses marking the lands of Drakkarvik and Ravnhold.
Chief Einar gestured. “Let us speak plainly.”
Ingrid clasped her hands behind her back, observing everyone silently. She needed to see how Drakkarvik’s leaders behaved… how they thought.
Ulf stood tall, broad, and stone-faced. “Our ships can guard your waters. Our warriors can fortify your borders. In return, your harvests will sustain our people.”
Einar nodded. “And the marriage will signify this unity.”
Ulfgard stepped forward suddenly, her voice sharp.
“With respect, my Chief… how can a marriage be agreed upon before we consider other options?”
A ripple of discomfort shot across the room.
Ingrid lifted her chin slightly.
Here it was.
Ulfgard’s first attempt at rebellion.
Einar’s brows lowered. “What are you implying, Ulfgard?”
She folded her arms. “Ragnar has been promised to Drakkarvik’s strongest families. He should have the right to choose.”
Ulf’s eyes darkened. “This alliance is larger than personal desires.”
“And what of compatibility?” Ulfgard pressed. “What of what is best for Drakkarvik?”
Ragnar, who had remained silent at the back of the room, finally spoke.
“Ulfgard.”
His voice wasn’t loud—but it cut through the hall like a blade.
Ulfgard stiffened. She turned slowly. “Yes, Ragnar?”
“You speak out of turn.”
Her mouth parted in shock. “But I—”
“Enough.”
The single word echoed through the hall.
Ragnar stepped forward until he stood beside the map table. His presence alone commanded silence. Ingrid watched him carefully, trying to read the emotion behind his eyes… if there was any.
He placed both hands on the table.
“The alliance stands,” Ragnar said. “And I honor it.”
His words fell with finality.
Ulfgard’s face twisted with humiliation and fury. She bowed stiffly and stepped back, but her eyes—sharp and furious—locked onto Ingrid.
This was not over.
Not by a long shot.
---
After the council
Ingrid made her way toward the training grounds—her sanctuary within the palace. Skaldheim hurried beside her, muttering under her breath.
“That woman is trouble,” Skaldheim warned. “You must be careful.”
“She is noise,” Ingrid replied. “I will not be shaken.”
She stepped into the training yard, inhaling deeply as she picked up a wooden practice staff. The cold air stung her cheeks, refreshing her mind.
But she wasn’t alone.
Ragnar stood at the far end of the grounds, his cloak undone, revealing the scars that lined his arms. He was training with two warriors, moving with fluid precision. Every strike, every block, every step was disciplined and lethal.
He noticed her instantly.
Their eyes met.
The world seemed to pause.
He handed his staff to one of his warriors and approached her slowly.
“You train?” he asked.
Ingrid didn’t look away. “I always train.”
Ragnar studied her for a moment. “Good.”
“Good,” she echoed, refusing to give an inch.
His lips curved—not a smile, but something like acknowledgment.
The tension crackled like frost beneath sunlight.
“Perhaps,” Ragnar said quietly, “our marriage will be less dull than I feared.”
Ingrid lifted her staff. “Or more difficult than you expect.”
A breath—was that amusement?—escaped him.
“Yes,” he murmured, stepping back. “I imagine it will be.”
And as he walked away, Ingrid realized something unsettling:
She didn’t know if she wanted him closer… or farther.
Both possibilities terrified her equally.
- Writer
