Chapter 25
Freydis
The morning of my wedding, my room was crowded with different servant girls, including Siggy. They were all preparing me for the ceremony.
"Freydis," Siggy called, and I turned to her. "Do you like this wreath?"
She held up a wreath woven from silver-threaded vines, with white roses symbolizing purity. Delicate blue flowers were tucked between the blooms and along the silver threading. Overall, the wreath was beautiful. My lips pressed into a straight line when I realized I wasn't marrying Ragnar.
I nodded and turned to the other girls. They drew runes of sooty oil on my arms while I sat on the fur-covered chair near the hearth.
"See, Princess? This gown will suit you well," one of the maids said, bringing out dresses for me to choose from.
My shoulders slumped.
Siggy walked over to the maids. "She'll wear this one," she said softly, taking the gown from her as she spared me the burden of choosing.
After the preparations, I was dressed in a blue gown. The sleeves were long and tapered with silver thread that danced in ancient Norse patterns. Around my waist, a silver belt was cinched, the end trailing down the front of my vines.
The neckline was decorated with tiny glass beads that resembled frozen droplets.
"Princess, it's time," Siggy said.
I wrapped my arms around her. Harald had refused to let me take Siggy with me to Eastland. Hugging her like this felt like it would be the last time. A sob broke from my lips as she patted my back.
I pulled away, sniffing back the tears, not wanting my face to be stained with kohl.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My hair was braided down, but the braids felt too tight. My head hurts. I wanted to tell the maids to take it down, but maybe the pounding in my skull would drown out the thoughts.
Then the door opened and Lagertha walked in. Though she was still angry about what had happened at the hall yesterday, she approached me with a white fur mantle. She hung it over my shoulders with a stiff smile.
"A gift," she said. "Brok will be pleased."
...
Cold air slammed against my face as I stepped out of the longhouse. I was glad that my wedding sleeves were long and thick enough to shield me from the cold. The people of Fellur had all come out of their homes to watch the wedding.
"Freyja," I heard my father's voice. When I turned around, I saw him standing tall.
"Father," I called, bowing my head to him.
"You will not disappoint me," he said. "You will not disappoint Fellur."
"Nay."
"This is my gift," he said, revealing a sword.
I stared at the long sword sheathed in its scabbard. Harald didn't know I could fight, so why was he giving me a sword as my wedding gift?
"Thank you," I murmured, taking the sword from him.
"Aye. I'm sure Brok will be honored to wield it."
The stiff smile quickly fell from my face.
"Aye," I forced it out of my mouth.
"Freydis," Lagertha called. "The wedding has started. Brok should not be waiting."
The urge to turn around and tell her to shut up filled me. I gritted my teeth, managing to keep my anger in check.
The crowd had doubled. Brok was standing close to the priest who would conduct the ceremony. I took a deep breath, imagining what it would feel like if this were Ragnar. What it would feel like to marry the man you had fallen in love with.
In that moment, Brok's face disappeared from my sight, replaced by Ragnar's.
My hand clenched at the hilt of the sword, the sword that was supposed to be gifted to my husband. Ragnar.
....
The ceremony ended shortly, with both Brok and I saying our vows and exchanging gifts. The gift he gave me was a small dagger, newly forged and sharpened. I felt a hole in my heart, knowing I wouldn't be able to escape from this anymore. I was already married to Brok, and soon we would leave for his home.
"Let the feasting begin. Come let's eat and drink before the food gets cold," Harald said, and we all followed him inside the hall.
Mouth-watering scents of food filled my nostrils as I entered, yet my appetite faltered. The table was decorated with food and drinks. There were roasted boars, golden in color, their mouths stuffed with apples. Trays of venison, skewered together and glistening with honey, filled the hall with scent. Creamy, rich stew filled with smoked meat and mushrooms sat beside loaves of bread.
There were grilled fish, pickled vegetables, cabbages, and so much more.
The drinks were horns of mead, sweetened with honey. These weren't as strong as the Northern brew. Wines were also present, spiced with cinnamon, cloves, and slices of orange.
I sat down at the table next to Brok and Tove. People came one after another, offering their blessings and gifts to us.
After we filled our bellies with food, music began, and the people started to dance. Children danced in the corner, and old men sat, already drunk from the first round.
Brok stood up after drinking his fifth horn of wine. Taking Tove's hand, my mouth fell open as he led her to the dance floor. My eyes widened as I watched the two dance.
I stood in the corner with a horn filled with wine, and as I drank, I heard a deep, familiar voice.
"Will ye grant me this dance, milady?"
I slowly turned around, eyes widening to see Ragnar. He was dressed in a black fur cloak. I looked around, everyone was too busy eating, drinking, and dancing to notice him.
"Ragnar?"
"May I?"
I smiled, taking his hand. He walked around me, leaning closer to sniff my hair.
"Ye smell of flowers... like a fresh spring bloom, though your face clings with sadness."
I swallowed hard.
We began to dance, but it wasn't the kind of dance the others were doing around us. His hand slid around my waist, and he held me, kissing my neck. I closed my eyes, shivering as his lips brushed my skin.
"Ragnar, if we're caught…"
"I should have come sooner. Before ye said your vows. I should've stolen ye, and made ye mine."
My heart swelled with happiness. He cared. He really cared.
"I wanted it to be you," I said, glancing around.
"No one's watching," he murmured.
I looked at Brok and Tove. They both held hands dancing and smiling as the crowd cheered for them. They acted like the bride and groom.
"This marriage is a farce. He dances with another on her wedding night. What kind of groom does that?"
"Brok was never a fine match for ye. He'll bring naught but misery to ye, that's if ye aren't killed the moment your feet touch Eastland soil."
"Then take me," I leaned closer, feeling his breath touch my face. "The vows are said but the marriage isn't consummated. Take me while there's still time."
He smirked.
"I know you didn't come alone, Uncle. You're surely armed with your men."
My hands reached up, touching his chest, then his throat. He was here. He was really here.
"Steal me from this wedding before anyone notices. Take me to the North and make me your wife."
He leaned closer, grabbing my neck with his warm hands. Just when I thought he was about to kiss me, the music stopped abruptly, and I heard Harald's loud voice.
I turned around, Ragnar's hand leaving me.
"Now comes the time to seal the vows," Harald announced. "The marriage must consummated, and everyone here will bear witness with their ears."
I bit the inside of my cheek, turning my head, but Ragnar was gone. My heart sank as I looked around the hall, searching for him. But he was nowhere to be found. He was gone.
Tove didn't look happy or pleased with what was about to occur, and she did little to hide it.
You can do this, I told myself. Just pretend your groom is Ragnar. You'll survive Freydis.
I moved to Brok, his hand closing around mine. He lifted me from the ground, and the men raised their horns, cheering with laughter. He carried me out of the hall, Tove following behind us. Brok opened the door to the room he shared with Tove. Every instinct in me screamed to run, to get far away from here. But how far could I run before I was caught?
The door shut behind us, and I closed my eyes, trying to silence the thoughts in my head.