Page 11 of Chosen

Chapter Eight

Sig

I’d been told she was a monster, a heartless woman with a hide as thick as mud. It sure didn’t seem like it when she was hugging against my tunic. I should have been satisfied; she’d denied any feelings for my uncle. It was clear she and my father had no love lost between them, and yet I felt terrible. I’d pushed her to the point of tears, and it was only our first conversation.

I stood in my bedchamber, nudging the logs with my boot. In no time at all, the fire was dancing and the room was comfortable. I reached up to take my tunic off, and a knock sounded at my door. I dropped my top and made my way to the door. I opened it to find my father standing smugly on the other side. I stepped back without a word, granting him entry. He strolled in and stood there gawking at the things in my room like he had lost something.

“What?” I hesitantly asked.

“Where is she?” He smiled.

“Who?”

He scoffed and studied me for a moment. “Truth!”

“I would imagine she is in her room. The hour is late,” I reminded him.

He grunted and frowned, “I’d hoped you two would hit it off better than that.”

“You thought I’d just drag her caveman-style back to the bedchambers?” I laughed. “She is a lady, not a slave.”

He grunted again and said much with his eyes. It caused my breath to catch in my throat. I didn’t mind marrying the woman, but that didn’t mean I wanted to be demeaned for having done so every time we spoke.

“She is the least likely, and yet she is the only one for the job,” my father quietly mused.

“What?”

“Truth. She is educated and pruned enough to make a presentable wife in the eyes of the Bay. Make no mistake about it, though, Siggy, she is Viking. She lived with us. She has the heart of our people and she will stand beside you when you take Ramir,” he quietly conspired.

I wasn’t sure what to say, so I made my way to the table and poured myself some wine. It tasted fruity and dry.

“This shit is horrible.” I gagged.

“You’ll be hard pressed to find good mead, unless you tell your wife to make it.” He smirked.

My expression dropped.

“I’ll leave you to rest. Just remember what I said and don’t blow it. You have the chance of a lifetime, my son.” Father gripped me in a hug of sorts and took his leave.

I snagged the wine bottle, closed my eyes, and chugged. I just wanted to feel it. I wanted the freedom of intoxication without everyone nagging in my ear.

A peck sounded at the door and for a moment, I contemplated throwing that bottle at it.

“What?” I groaned.

The door opened and my mother let herself inside. She was petite and so refined. My mother was a good woman, by any man’s standards, but she wanted nothing to do with Truth. My entire life had been spent listening to explosive arguments anytime that Truth’s name came up. My father sang her praises when he wasn’t belittling her. My mother on the other hand wished her dead.

“There you are, my Siggy.” She smiled and came to me.

We embraced and she stood staring up at me. I towered her by at least a foot.

“Siggy, I know your father has his heart set on you marrying this slave… but… you can stall. Eventually you will find someone who moves you—” she began.

I smiled and shook my head.

“I was oathed to this woman before I was old enough to utter a word. It is my destiny,” I said it as gently as I could, but it still wasn’t enough.

She burst into tears and clung to me like I was about to submit myself to sacrifice or something.

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