KATTEGAT. That was the only word Sophie could understand amidst all the chatter. She had heard a few tales about that place, or was it a village? Uncertainty clouded her thoughts, but she hoped to learn more soon. Kattegat was notorious for being the stronghold of the pagans, and the prospect of being sold to these barbarians sent her heart racing.
After what felt like an eternity, Sophie was roughly pulled to her feet from the wagon that had transported her and others to what she assumed was Kattegat. She hadn't had the chance to meet her fellow captives, as her head was covered with a bag that blocked out most of the light, making it impossible to tell the time of day.
The head covering puzzled her. She had been sold and bought once before, but her previous owners had never hidden her identity like this. What was the purpose behind it? Were they afraid that she might bond with her fellow captives and hatch an escape plan?
Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted when the bag was yanked off her head, causing her eyes to struggle to adjust to the sudden brightness. Glancing around, she surmised that she was in what appeared to be a village, a sizable one at that. Her wrists, feet, and neck were still bound, and she winced as she ran a hand over her sore throat.
Flanking her were two other captives: a young lad who couldn't be much older than her and a girl with dark skin and swollen eyes. They too were bound by ropes, restricting their movements, and Sophie couldn't help but notice the terror in their eyes. She was terrified herself, no doubt, but she tried her best to conceal her fear, though she might have failed.The girl in front of her glanced up, much younger and thinner, as if she had spent her life as a slave—a life Sophie was still struggling to adapt to, failing miserably.
There were about seven more people, whom she refused to call slaves, tethered to the same rope, forming a straight line on the crowded market. Before she could get a good look at any of them, the rope connecting her to the others was pulled roughly, causing her to stumble, only to be hoisted up by the woman who owned them.
"Stand up!" the woman hissed in her Frankish language, which Sophie had learned during her time among the Franks.
As she found her feet, she was dragged along with the others, further into the market, until a tall blonde woman halted them. She walked down the line, scrutinizing each captive, before stopping in front of Sophie.
Her eyes swept up and down Sophie's body before settling on her face. The fact that the noblewoman had spent more time examining her than her companions didn't go unnoticed by Sophie, making her feel sick to her stomach. She didn't want to be sold to the heathens, and although the buyer was a woman rather than a man, which offered a slight relief, Sophie simply didn't want to be sold.
The tall woman reached for the girl's face, tilting it to the right and left as if she were a doll. Sophie fought the urge to spit in her face but couldn't hide the glare she shot at the woman, who surprisingly smiled at her before nodding to the seller.
The tall woman stepped back, allowing a man to cut the ropes binding the girl to the others but leaving the one that bound Sophie intact, before pushing the girl forward.
Sophie looked around, trying to seek help from the other captives, although she knew they were likely powerless. Nevertheless, she tried. Her silent pleas were cut short as she was pulled by another man who seemed to be in the company of the tall woman who had purchased her. Sophie could do little more than follow, hoping for the best, whatever that might be.
The journey around the village seemed longer than expected for Sophie, whose steps were constrained by her restraints, leaving bruises on her ankles. Her eyes explored this new world around her. Children of all ages played, men and women worked on various tasks, some tending to crops while others maintained their weapons, just as the rumors had suggested.
Once again, fear gripped Sophie as she struggled to grasp the situation. The tall woman and the man slowed down, prompting Sophie to look up.
A larger house stood before them, presumably belonging to the woman. It wasn't overly lavish, but it stood out compared to the smaller cottages in the vicinity, leaving Sophie wondering about the woman's identity.
Sophie's inquisitive gaze did not escape the tall woman, who glanced back at her before gesturing for her to follow. The man walked away, leaving Sophie to speculate if he was one of the woman's servants.
The interior of the house appeared neat but unfamiliar to Sophie, who had never been in such a place before. Once again, the woman noticed Sophie's curiosity about her surroundings, offering a smile before placing a hand on her shoulder, causing Sophie to jump in terror.
The woman said something Sophie couldn't comprehend, judging from the expression on her face, she assumed the woman was apologizing for frightening her. However, the conversation continued in the barbarian language, leaving Sophie even more bewildered.
"Dróttning Aslaug," the woman finally said, pointing to herself and placing her hand on her chest. Sophie found the name strange but chose not to respond or indicate any understanding of what Aslaug had said. The woman then pointed at Sophie, who recoiled instinctively, not wanting the heathen's hands on her again.
Eventually, the woman gave up, turning and walking into another room, leaving Sophie standing in the large entryway, unsure of her next move. Had she offended her? Not that she cared. Perhaps she should if she wanted to escape her restraints or, even more importantly, survive this place.
IT HAD BEEN NEARLY a week since Sophie had been sold to Aslaug, and during that time, she hadn't had the chance to speak with her new owner. Most of her days were spent in the barn with the other slaves, where nothing was required of her. This left Sophie questioning the reason behind her purchase in the first place.When she was first introduced to the other servants, Sophie was relieved to discover that one of them spoke her native language. The woman, who was nearly twenty years older than Sophie, proved to be a helpful guide as Sophie adjusted to this unfamiliar place. She taught Sophie about Viking culture, beliefs, and their language, although learning it was a slow process. Still, Sophie managed to pick up some words and phrases that might help her understand the pagans if they ever spoke to her.Now, Sophie paced nervously in front of her new friend, who sat by the fading fire, knitting. For the first time in days, Aslaug had summoned her for a feast, as Helen had explained. S
A WEEK had passed since the feast, and during that time, Sophie couldn't help but notice King Ragnar's eyes on her whenever she entered the great hall or even when she worked outdoors with Helen in the fields. Nothing inappropriate had occurred, but the constant scrutiny made her uneasy.She wondered whether he was watching and waiting for her to make another mistake, so he could punish her more severely this time, or if he had some other motive. Her mind often wandered to the darkest possibilities, despite Helen's reassurances that King Ragnar was not capable of such malevolent deeds. To Sophie, he was a Viking, and Vikings had a reputation for anything but kindness.Today, Sophie was tasked with assisting Queen Aslaug in trying on a new dress, and she was supposed to meet her early. However, she had been delayed by a last-minute task, and her inability to explain the situation due to the language barrier left her feeling frustrated. Helen was nowhere to assist her, and Sophie cursed
SOPHIE HAD BEEN tasked with fetching a bucket of water for the Queen's chambers, so she made her way to the source to fill it. Along the way, a young man walked beside her and started speaking, but Sophie couldn't comprehend everything he said, nor did she want to.She knew he was one of Ragnar's sons, and Helen had advised her to avoid them as much as possible, as they were not as benevolent as their father."Are you deaf?" the young man spoke in his native language, irritation clear in his voice before he blocked her path. Sophie couldn't help but wonder why everyone seemed intent on distracting her from her work, which she was desperately trying not to mess up."I asked you a question," he repeated, this time in a manner she understood but chose to pretend otherwise. In her mind, the less she spoke, the better chance she had of avoiding trouble.Shaking her head in apparent confusion, she looked up at the tall Lothbrok son with piercing blue eyes that resembled his father's. She ho
IT HAS BEEN a week since the Vikings went on the raid that King Ragnar had told Sophie about and nothing much happened ever since.She heard that they were planning on raiding Paris whom a priest from Wessex had told King Ragnar about. She had never got the chance to meet that famous priest she had been hearing about yet, and she hoped she would once they were back if they ever made it back as she knew how strong the Franks were from the few months she had spent there with them.The days were getting boring following a slow routine as winter had begun and Sophie spent most of her days helping Helen out when she had no tasks herself. She would remember King Ragnar's request every time she saw Aslaug who seemed rather bored with her life too with nothing interesting to do that would catch Sophie's attention until one day a man appeared out of nowhere and as Helen had told Sophie he was known by the name of Harbard and it wasn't the first time he came to Kattegat.That Harbard was the re
KING RAGNAR LOTHBROK and his crew were away for nearly six months when they returned, bearing news of their triumphant raid. The people of Kattegat sang their praises, welcoming their beloved warriors back to town with jubilant cheers. Sophie stood beside Helen and the other slaves, a little away from the boisterous crowd, observing the Lothbrok family's reunion. Rollo's absence was notable, considering he was renowned as one of the best warriors. She watched the famous priest, Athelstan, whom she had yet to meet, warmly greet Queen Aslaug and Ivar, a display of affection that made Sophie wonder if she would ever hold them in such high regard. Her attention was so consumed by Athelstan that she failed to notice King Ragnar's eyes on her, although Queen Aslaug didn't miss the silent exchange. It wasn't until he passed by her that she finally became aware, refusing to bow her head like her fellow servants. It was a practice she had never adhered to and never would. The day flew by sw
SOPHIE GAZED UP at Ragnar as he approached with brisk strides. Strong hands pulled her to her feet, escorting her outside with force, causing her to stumble along with his rapid pace. This was it, she feared; he had grown tired of her blunders and was ready to exact punishment. She didn't resist; there was little point in doing so. She knew he would overpower her easily. She silently hoped that Helen could find her before he did any harm, but realistically, what could that woman do? Once they were outside, Ragnar finally loosened his painful grip but still held onto her, pulling her farther away from the crowd and the noise. The night was dark and cold, and Sophie shivered, unsure if it was from the cold or the fear of what might transpire. Suddenly, Ragnar stopped, and Sophie violently wrenched her arm out of his grasp, almost tripping over her own feet and nearly meeting the muddy ground. Ragnar, however, grabbed her cloak by the neck, steadying her. She averted her gaze from hi
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,
CONTRARY TO HER original intentions for the evening, Sophie found herself in the hall early, preparing it for Ivar and his brothers, just as he had instructed. She detested the fact that he had coerced her into being here, but perhaps if she completed the preparations quickly, she might have a chance to get some rest. Her plans didn't align with reality as the brothers entered the hall, surprised to see her, although Ivar wore a smug expression of pride. Disregarding her, they proceeded to sit at the large table. Sophie noticed Sigurd glaring at her with eyes that held nothing short of murderous intent, propping his legs up on the freshly tidied table. She hurriedly completed her tasks, hoping to leave, but her attempt was thwarted when Ivar called after her. "Slave. Where do you think you're going?" he asked. "Are we supposed to serve ourselves?" Facing away from them, she took a deep breath, grappling with the decision to either walk out, ignoring him, or stay and follow his orde