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CHAPTER EIGHT: FEAR

IVAR HAD A HABIT of appearing from the shadows unnoticed despite the scraping of the metal buckles around his legs, making Sophie jump slightly as she almost dropped the bucket she was carrying.

"There you are," he said with a smirk. "Our little angry slave."

He waited for a reply as she fought to remain silent, knowing that she wanted to respond with something harsh.

"But Sigurd had it coming," he continued. This wasn't the first time she had heard that.

"Now you decide to remain silent?" he asked with an annoying smile as he tried to balance himself on his crutch.

Disregarding Ivar, she strode past him, prepared to resume her duties. However, he had different intentions, halting her by seizing her arm. "I'm addressing you," he snapped, his teeth clenched. "Slave."

"What is it, Ivar?" she demanded, glaring at the hand that imprisoned her before lifting her gaze to meet his malevolent eyes. There was a fierce intensity in her eyes he hadn't witnessed before. A spark, as if Thor,
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