Her piercing green eyes glittered like freshly spun glass, exposing himself. He sat there, stripped of his armor and authority, damp and wanting, nothing of the jarl he prided himself on.
Instead, he was a man.
A man awaiting the judgement of a woman who held the power to destroy him in her tiny hands.
Eventually, she stepped forward, strands of auburn hair falling over her pale face as her gaze dropped to the kitten and then back to him.
No fear lingered there.
Nothing of the wide, blown pupils he had last seen when she ran from him.
All he saw was iridescent resolve.
Still, he didn’t know what she had hardened herself to do.
To accept him or to cast him aside.
Soft lips parted with a hesitant smile, the tip of her pink tongue darting out to wet her lip. Her breasts strained against her dress with a slow breath. Njáll’s heart forgot how to beat while he waited for her judgement.
“Thank you,” she said, a quiet confidence in her voice cutting through the thickness in the room. “For her. She’s perfect.”
Air rushed back into his lungs, his heart still fluttering far too fast. He rose, the furs sliding off his lap. Despite how he towered over her, it was him who felt small in her presence.
He yearned to graze his knuckles over her creamy skin, to be bathed in her warm light. He resisted the temptation, his fingers sore as he clenched them.
“You deserve nothing less than perfection, little flame. I was uncertain if you would keep her. If you’d want her.”
A small V bloomed between her brows, the corners of her mouth turning into a frown as she gazed down at the kitten. The tip of her finger traced the curve of the creature’s ear, stroking the side with her thumb.
“Your mother told me she is the blessing of Freyja. That you found her.”
After a long day of dueling warrior after warrior until no more dared to challenge him, Njáll collapsed on a log by a broken piece of fencing. Sweat stung his eyes, the burn in his lungs doing nothing to soothe the ache festering like rot in his chest.
And that was when he heard it, a tiny whining sound.
“She cried out under a fallen tree. Alone and in need of someone to love her. Care for her. I thought of you.”
A sound caught on a breath, and Elara held the bundle of fur tighter, staring at him.
Boldly—or foolishly—he stepped forward, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her body.
“Little flame,” he whispered, his voice a low plea. “I do not weave pretty words. I am a blade. A Jarl. One day, I will be Konungr. I cannot be calm. I have to be the storm.”
Pinpricks tingled in his hands as he reached out, cradling her jaw and trailing the pad of his thumb over her freckles. She didn’t recoil at his touch, and he took the first deep breath he had since she left him.
“But for you,” he started, “I will do whatever you command of me. I will serve you. Worship you. Honor you. I cannot change what is expected of me. I cannot be gentle out there, with the clan, with our enemies. But with you, little flame, I will be soft, malleable. I will be whatever you need. If you allow it.”
The kitten let out a contented purr, and Elara trembled slightly. She abused her poor lower lip, and Njáll plucked the raw flesh free, stroking the sore spot.
“Your mother told me things I hadn’t understood. Things I hadn’t considered,” she murmured, hair falling over her glass green eyes.
The gods blessed his mother with wisdom. She needed it to handle his father… and him.
“My mother has a way with words that I do not. She sees people, understands them. Has a way of making sense of the world.”
Elara nodded, a flicker of emotion brimming in her eyes.
“I know you are a warrior, Njáll. A leader. Someone who can’t show weakness.”
