Page 13 of Alien Viking's Passion

“Why are you always leaving?”

He flinched as if it struck. So she had noticed, and it had hurt her.

“I have no choice,” he told her, fighting emotion. “It’s too dangerous for me to be around you.”

“I won’t hurt you,” she said into his chest. “I promise.”

“You won’t hurt me,” he said. “But others will.”

“I won’t let them.”

“I know.” His voice wouldn’t carry. And this was not the time for explanations, he knew that much.

In the distance, the birthday celebration was still going on. He could see the torches light up the treetops around the jarlagard and hear the drums and the flutes and the occasional hoot from the horns, now definitely more than the one he had seen.

His physical need satisfied, the absolute craziness and total lack of responsibility of what he had just done started to hit home so hard that he gasped for breath, his hand shaking.

He carefully set Aretha down on the ground and collected her garments, placing them close to her. “I’m sorry, Aretha. I have toleave. If we never meet again, know that… if it could be anyone, it would be you.” His voice cracked again.

He pulled his pants up and walked away, fast.

“Craxon?” came the thin call from behind him.

His step faltered, wanting desperately to stop and turn around, to take her into his arms again and whisper that he would be with her forever.

He ran blindly into the woods.

- - -

“Highness, it is my duty. You know this. You came to your quarters very late and in a strange mood. You smelled of drink and of things I couldn’t place. Imustknow what happened.”

Lendkven Tyra looked up at him with her innocent, pale eyes.

Craxon sat down at the breakfast table, avoiding the Royal Chaperone’s gaze. She was always a pain, but he was usually able to deal with her civilly. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to draw his sword and cut the nag’s head off.

Pouring piping hotgrutinto a mug, he mobilized enough energy to restrain himself. The Council of Peers might never let him leave Ragnhildros again if Tyra gave him a bad review. But at the same time, she was annoyingly good at rooting out his lies. It was not for nothing that she was a lendkven, a high-ranking officer of his army — she had led many warriors into battle in her day, and now she was bringing her entire seventy-year life experience to bear against him.

“There was a woman,” he admitted, knowing there was no other way. “She caught my fancy for a fleeting moment and I acted on it, like you have taught me. It meant nothing.”

“Which woman was this, Highness?”

“It was a shieldmaiden in the company of Warrior Kjornar. I forget the name of her lendman. Indeed I forget her name. I’m not sure she ever told me.”

“Please describe this woman, Highness.”

“It was dark,” he reminded the chaperone as he started eating the breakfast that Bragr’s cooks had prepared for him. “She was cold to me the whole evening until she suddenly turned warm. Some of them are like that.”

“Please describe this woman, Highness.” Tyra was able to repeat her request with total authority and at the same time total respect and submission. It was quite a feat, but right now he just wanted her gone.

He tried to remember the shieldmaidens he had seen at the party last night. None of them sprung to mind. He had been entirely focused on Aretha, staying in the shadows and making sure she was fine. Until she was not.

“She was from the far villages,” Craxon said, making it up. “In the south, she said. She was blonde and strong. Not the youngest woman there, perhaps. I think she must have had a child.”

“That describes a third of the women in Hjalmarheim,” Tyra pointed out. “Can you think of anything more specific, Highness?”

Craxon picked at his breakfast. He understood the Royal Chaperone’s duties, and in her place, he would have been muchless diplomatic. Tyra had a great responsibility resting on her shoulders.

“Not really. I will never meet this one again and it wasn’t even that good. I assure you that I am not in love with one of Bragr’s shieldmaidens.”

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