“If you come to the banquet, I’ll take you out to the woods later to train. Have you ever gone this long without holding a weapon?”
Her expression remained stony, but I didn’t miss the way her sword hand clenched.
“Fine,” she said flatly, but when her eyes swept up the lines of my formal tunic, she couldn’t quite hide the look of interest. Icy as she was, she still wanted me.
I offered my arm, knowing full well she’d reject it. And I didn’t bother to hide my smile when she predictably swept past it and opened the chamber door herself.
We crossed the corridors silently, walking next to each other but not quite touching. It was strange to feel out of place in what should have been my home. In the five years I’d been gone, the castle itself had hardly changed; every stone in every hallway still looked the same.
I was the one who’d changed.
As the quartermaster of a pirate ship, I’d lived a life of freedom from all the constraints of the Saxon court. My captain had been a woman, so it felt deeply uncomfortable to suddenly be around so many women who were expected to be silent and deferent. I’d never really noticed their treatment before, but now it was impossible to ignore. I wanted to shake them by the shoulders and tell them they were allowed to have a voice.
But the reality was that, in this court, they weren’t.
Few men even were.
As pirates, we’d all been equals. Every member of the crew had a vote. We all had jobs to do, but no one was considered less worthy than another. Our captain made the decisions in moments of crisis, but we could’ve voted for a new captain if she’d failed to fulfill her job adequately.
Here, all the bowing and scraping simply because of my birth was exhausting. Because I’d chosen to leave, no one here respected me, but still they called memy lordand bowed in my presence. It was an infuriating charade that I didn’t think I could play in forever. Already the frustration was festering, threatening to burst from inside me.
We approached a group of nobles who curtsied or bowed politely but kept their eyes cast down. As soon as we passed, they turned to each other and began to whisper in hushed voices.
Sigrid glanced at me. “I can’t tell if they hate me or you more. The Viking torture master or the coward prince.” She tilted her head like she was considering it. “At least they respect me.”
I had no witty response for such a stinging remark, and I couldn’t even blame her for it. I’d brought this upon myself.
She noted my silence and rolled her eyes. “Why do you give a fuck what any of them think? It’s liberating to be despised.”
“Because one day I’ll be their king.” The truth tumbled from my lips, and the acceptance of that expectation settled heavily on my shoulders. Now that I was back, I couldn’t simply abandon them again. If I hated what life was like here, I had an obligation to stay and fight for it to be better.
Sigrid let out a short laugh. “As though you’ll survive that long…”
I flashed her a glare, but she ignored me. In some ways, she was right. Assuming she and I found a way forward, I had no chance of changing anything nor helping anyone if I was friendless and isolated in my own court. If she didn’t follow through on her vow to kill me, the disgruntled nobles would surely try.
I missed my crew. But I could build trust with people here the way I’d had to build trust with my fellow pirates when I’d been a stranger to them.
A maid turned the corner, froze with an expression of absolute terror as she looked at Sigrid, then ran back the way she’d come.
Sigrid chuckled. “They act as though I’m a Banamaðr. It’s quite the compliment to know my reputation is intact, given that I haven’t even skinned anyone in years.”
“What’s a Banamaðr?”
She grinned, looking at me sideways. “A living nightmare. If people think I’m the worst thing they can meet on a dark night, it’s only because they’ve never encountered the Banamaðr.They’re a death cult in service of the Viking king, and they spend their entire lives preparing for one mission.
“When a Banamaðr completes their training, their eyes are sewn shut and tattooed with the mark of the All Father. In return, Odin blesses them with his sight, the ability to see precisely what they need to see to complete their task and nothing more. They can cast illusions and have the power of stealth. Once they’ve executed the person they were sent to kill, they vanish back to their mountain cave and return their life force to Odin.”
“So they succeed and they die?”
She nodded.
“And if they fail?”
She let out a laugh. “They don’t.” She tilted her head. “Except the one my father sent after me when I defied him and killed my first husband. I expected my father to try again, barely slept for weeks because I saw the assassin’s stitched eyelids and pointed teeth every time I closed my eyes. It turned out my father didn’t want to waste another precious Banamaðr on me when he’d found leverage to get what he wanted.”
He’d used her love of her brothers to force her into this situation. Had I ever loved someone enough to sacrifice myself like that? I would’ve given my life to protect Astrid—my captain—and my crew, but dying was easier than what had been demanded of Sigrid.
As we got closer to the Great Hall, progressively more guards lined the walkway until it was a continuous row of them all the way to the door. I recognized some, but there were just as many who were unknown to me. It was an unusual level of protection for a typical feast, but perhaps protocol had changed since I’d left.
