Page 8 of Mastered By the Viking King

“Aye.”

“You’re in luck.” He nodded to the right. “She’s my wife, you’ll find her yonder, near the boathouse. Look for the red flag.”

“Red flag…”

He frowned. “You’ve come for the king’s lineup?”

She swallowed and nodded. “Aye.”

He raised his eyebrows, and let his gaze slip down the length of her body and back up again. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-two summers.”

“Don’t look it.” His gaze dropped to her flat chest.

She didn’t answer and folded her arms.

“Where you from?”

“Cativad.”

“You walked from Cativad today?” His heavy browed eyes widened.

“Aye, sir.”

“Snow is nearly here. Long way for a slip of a thing like you.”

“I know. It’s why I’m here. My mother doesn’t want me wintering with her. Life is hard, food is scant.”

“There’s food here if you’re willing to work. Which is what I must do.” He bashed the length of iron. “Best get yourself washed up. Line up at sunset.”

Tove watched him resume beating the iron, her stomach rumbling. The mention of food did that to her.

Suddenly, a horn sounded, blasting through the chill air.

At the same time, a frantic woman pushed past Tove. Quickly moving from a walk to a run, she let out a squeal. Long red hair flew out behind her and she gathered her tunic as she made for the shadow of the buildings.

“Gert! Get back here so I can tan your disobedient hide.” A warrior, tall, gruff, and with a beard laden with treasures raced after her. “Gert!”

“No!” the woman threw over her shoulder before disappearing.

Tove watched him chase her. What had the woman done to deserve a spanking? And surely running would only make it worse.

The horn sounded again.

Tove turned in the direction of the wooden pier. High baskets of fire lined its length, and longboats bobbed at its side, sails down, their mastheads carved with serpents, horses, and dragons.

A boat rounded the headland, oars rhythmically pushing through the rippling water. The yellow- and red-striped sail ballooned in the wind, and a white wake followed behind.

Around her, townsfolk stopped to stare at the newcomers. They jostled and pointed, speaking in loud voices.

“Who is it?”

“Do we know that sail?”

“A princess for the king’s lineup, perhaps?”

“Aye, that’s who it is. A princess.”

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