Page 44 of Alien Viking's Passion

Aretha yawned. “Pretty good, once he stops talking like a medieval king. He got me away from those trolls and got knocked out for his troubles. Lost part of his memory for a while, then became himself again. I don’t think most princes would be as happy as he was about eating berries and building boats. But he acted like he’d never done anything else. And he…” She wasn’t sure how to go on.

“And he was better than you thought,” Josie said quietly, “so much better that you’re starting to think about what it would be like to stay here. With him.”

Aretha looked away. “Something like that. Crazy, I know.”

“Maybe we’re both crazy, but isn’t that what love is? It’s not supposed to be rational. Anyway, I know how you feel. That was my process, too. And we can all see that Craxon is into you. His face changes and goes all soft whenever he spots you.”

“And then he runs away,” Aretha pointed out.

Josie shrugged. “He’s a prince from a foreign land. The way I know him, he must have a good reason to be that standoffish. I don’t think he’s shy, exactly. Pretty reserved, I guess. Cold, some say.”

“He’s kind of icy, but once he thaws, he’s sweet and funny and caring. As long as nobody sees him. Is that it? He couldn’t be seen with me? Because I’m an alien, maybe?”

“I suppose it could be the alien thing,” Josie pondered, scratching her chin. “Bragr says that the Ragnhildroses are more conservative than the people here. But Craxon doesn’t strike me as the bigoted type. At all.”

“Me neither. I guess we’ll see what happens. Today isn’t really the time for flirting, while the pyre’s still burning. But if he’s serious, he can’t keep running from me.”

“That’s right,” Josie agreed. “It’s a sad day. And you look really tired. Sorry, I won’t keep you. I just wanted to check on you. I know you knew Eira better than I did.”

“She made sure I got away,” Aretha said as she got up, draining the horn of myod and putting it down on the table. “I realize now that she knew that would kill her.”

She trudged up the stairs to her room. It had only been a couple of days, but it felt like someone else had lived there. A strangerwho hadn’t been out of her prison.

She went to the small window and looked out. Eira’s pyre was casting its flickering light over much of the jarlagard, and the Vikings were quietly grieving their sister in arms. She spotted Craxon right away, standing beside Bragr with his hands on his belt. She thought she saw his gaze darting towards her, but of course he couldn’t see her when she was in a dark room.

The sadness over Eira couldn’t completely overshadow a bit of excitement. She may have come back from the wilderness with the most incredible boyfriend in the universe.

The myod and the exhaustion were both making her drowsy. She was getting ready for bed when she heard a voice from right outside her door.

“Aretha of Earth,” someone rumbled, and her butterflies took off. She knew that voice.

She opened the door.

Craxon towered over her. He was wearing leather armor and a wide, golden ring around one horn. It was his formal attire, showing him both as a prince and as a warrior. “The pyre is still burning. Come and toast Eira’s life and heroic death!”

Aretha looked up at him. “Are you sure they want me there?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Iwant you there.”

“Wait, I have to put my boots back on.”

“Be quick. They are waiting for my speech.”

When she was ready, he took her hand and led her down the stairs, across the yard, and over to the pyre. It was now burning with smaller flames, but it gave off immense heat. The shape ofEira’s body could no longer be discerned among the wood. Only her ax glowed a defiant red.

Hundreds of warriors and shieldmaidens were standing around a table with three barrels of myod, each with a mug or a drinking horn in their hand. The mood was somber, but it looked like the drink was helping loosen it up.

Most of them barely reacted when Craxon led Aretha over to stand next to Bragr and Josie and pressed a horn into her hand.

Josie gave her an astonished look and mouthed “wow!”, and Aretha smiled back, having to remind herself that this was a funeral and she shouldn’t be grinning.

The Ragnhildroses stared at her.

“It was fitting,” Craxon rumbled, “that Huskven Eira was to face her final battle so close to her home. Thus we can drink to her honor in her own homeland even while she’s getting drunk in Valhalla. Her last act was to protect her land, her people, and her chief from a host of enemies. And she made sure that her friend would escape those cowardly enemies! Of course, those of us who know the women and men of Hjalmarheim also know that any other option would never cross a huskven’s mind!”

The only sounds were the crackling from Eira’s pyre and the occasional sniffle from the crowd. The light from the fire flickered over their faces.

Craxon was still holding Aretha’s hand, and she knew what it meant when a prince was being this public about it, especially during a function where he was representing Ragnhildros: he was making them official. Her chest swelled from pride and joy in a way she hadn’t felt since childhood.

---