Page 6 of Mastered By the Viking King

“He did have one.”

“And where is she now? No, don’t tell me—she’s with the gods, her head sliced from her neck.” She made a cutting motion at her throat.

“No, she was banished north for taking a wanderer into her bed and deceiving the king.” Ingrid spat on the floor. “A well-deserved fate. Traitor.”

Tove pulled a stool her father had made nearer to the fire and sat. The longhouse was cold, and she could see her breath. “Did she give him sons?”

“Yes, two—Knud and Frode. They are not yet men.”

“So, maybe he won’t want more sons with his new wife, just a woman for Knud and Frode to call Mama. Perhaps he would not desire sex.”

Ingrid huffed. “All men want sex as well as lots of sons, kings even more so.”

Tove knew that was true. She also knew her only hope of escaping a life of service to a giant king was to not be chosen in the lineup.

But how could she do that? She was bony and small-breasted, but she wasn’t ugly. Often enough her father had told her she’d bewitch men when she was older with her long white-blonde hair and eyes the color of the summer sky.

“We’ll mend the red tunic,” her mother said, studying Tove’s face. “And get you looking as pretty as a spring morn. He won’t be able to resist you.”

Tove frowned. Sometimes she could believe her mother read her thoughts. “I don’t want to be a spring morn. I want to stay here. I can hunt for us. I can—”

“If it comes to that then, yes, you will have to try and hunt for us both. But I am going to make a sacrifice to the gods that King Njal chooses you. For I wish my dear daughter to be a fat and warm queen, and the mother to many royal sons.”

Tove’s mouth hung open as she shook her head. “What are you going to sacrifice?”

“The chicken.”

She stood. “No, I forbid it. We have only one chicken left. The wolves took the others.”

“And when you become queen, Tove, you will buy me more chickens and pay for a good fence to protect them. You will buy me more of everything.”

“And if I don’t become queen?”

“You will.” She set her lips in a determined line. “You will. I know it in here.” She pressed her hand to her heart, then stirred the pot of boiling turnip chunks.

It was clear the conversation had ended. Tove would go to Halsgrof when the full moon came, and throw her destiny at the feet of a giant king. A king she had no intention of serving or obeying.

Why the hell should she? What had he ever done for her and her family?

* * *

Tove watched the stars filling the sky above the longhouse. Like small pricks of Valhalla’s crowning light shining down through a black blanket, they filled her vision.

She wondered if she’d be better off making her own deal with the gods. Sacrificing herself so her mother wouldn’t have to worry about her.

Because she wouldn’t be chosen by the deviant brute King Njal.

There was no chance she would be his new queen. Despite her mother’s best efforts with the red tunic, she still would be the poor, thin peasant girl in the lineup. She had no fine brooches, or jewels to adorn her hair, and her boots were old, leaky, and cracked.

On top of that, she’d decided not to smile at King Njal, or even talk to him if he addressed her. That way he’d think her stupid and mute, and not worthy of sitting on a throne beside him or lying in his bed. How could a brainless, silent woman be a mother to his sons?

She pulled her cloak tighter and stepped back into the longhouse. In the morn, at first light, she’d rise and walk the frozen path to Halsgrof. Her mother wasn’t accompanying her; her legs were too weak for the journey. Besides, there were things to do to keep their tiny farm ticking along, and the goats couldn’t be left to the mercy of the elements and the wolves.

“Here.” Ingrid handed her a horn of warmed goat’s milk. “Drink this. You will need strength for the walk.”

“Yes, Mother.” She’d stopped arguing about going to Halsgrof. It was a waste of breath.

“Drink up.”

---