Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"Did you sleep well?" Eirik asked.

"I did," I answered. "What about you?"

"I slept well," he replied, turning around and he walked towards the table.

"Eat with me," he said.

"I would love to, but I haven't done any chores in the house," I said.

"Did Aslaug not tell you that your only job is to clean my room every day?" he asked.

I shook my head.

"Sit with me."

I sat down at the dining table, and at the smell of food, my stomach growled. The food smelled so delicious. I couldn't remember the last time I had such a good meal. It must have been before I was held prisoner by my father.

I thought about my father, and when his face appeared in my mind, I quickly brushed it away.

I took the first bite of the roasted duck and was marveled at the taste. I continued eating, tasting every dish on the table and Eirik stared at me.

"You act like you've never had a good meal," he said.

I slowly raised my head, still chewing. "Hmm. It's been a while."

He took the horn of ale and drank a sip. "Since when?"

I turned my eyes to my plate, swallowing the piece of chicken in my mouth. "Since I left my village."

"You didn't leave. You were taken."

My grip on the fork tightened. I remained silent for a moment before raising my head to look at him. "Same thing."

"Leaving is by choice. But being taken isn't."

I suddenly lost her appetite and set her fork down. A small frown appeared on my face as I remembered the look of horror on my people's faces when they were being sold off.

"Why does it matter?"

"It does matter to me, girl," he replied. "Why don't you tell me about yourself?"

"Me?"

He nodded.

"I am from Kattegat," I answered.

"I know."

"Then why ask?"

"That is not the answer I want from you." He tilted his head. "Did your people ever worship the old gods?"

I blinked. "Why are you interested in that?"

"I'm just curious."

I hesitated. "We had a shrine where we served different gods. My father often took us there every full moon to pray to them."

His eyes never left me. "Did you ever feel... connected to the moon?"

As I opened my mouth to speak, I closed it back. He smiled, rising from his chair.

"Did I bother you with my question?"

"No, I'm full."

"Come with me for a walk then," he said.

I drank water from the horn and stood up, following him.

We strolled through the soft grass in silence, the morning air brushing past my skin. I looked around, taking in my surroundings. I knew I wasn't going to stay in this house forever. I would have to find a way out and escape.

A long silence stretched between us and then he spoke up.

"You said you were taken from your village. What happened to your people?" he asked.

I took a deep breath. "They were slaughtered," I answered. "By another tribe."

A heavy silence followed us. The sound of our footsteps echoed in the quiet.

"I'm sorry," he said in a soft voice.

I shrugged my shoulders. There was nothing to be sorry for. They made me miserable. They humiliated me. My father, every one of them, deserved what happened.

"It doesn't matter," I said. "They're all gone now."

Eirik began to walk faster, and I tried to match his steps, but I stumbled, my knee catching on a small rock beneath the dirt.

He rushed to my side.

"What happened?"

"I fell."

"Come on. Let me take you inside the house," he said, helping me to my feet.

As I tried to balance myself, pain shot through my leg, and I moaned. Eirik quickly put a hand on my back and lifted me with ease.

I felt my heart skip.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking you inside."

"I'm… I'm fine," I murmured. "Let me down."

"No, you are not," he said. "If I were to let you walk, the bone in your knee would hurt more."

We reached the house, and Eirik carried me inside. As we walked through the halls, maids and servants stared at us, quickly bowing their heads when Eirik looked toward them.

Upon arrival at his chamber, he put me down on the bed and slowly raised my gown toward my thigh. I gasped.

"Relax," he said, walking toward the cupboard. He returned with something to treat the wound. He applied the ointment to my knee, massaging it, and I groaned in pain.

"Ah, I can do it myself," I stuttered.

He didn't respond and continued rubbing my knee. I felt a burning sensation—not just from the wound, but from the ointment. After some time, the pain eased.

He continued rubbing my knee until I was no longer groaning. Then, he stood up.

"Thank you."

He walked back to the cupboard to put the ointment away.

"You should change into something else," he said.

I slowly stood up from the bed.

"I have to go. Get some rest," he said before walking out of the room.