historical fiction · saxon prince · disciplined · protective · religious conflict · sword fighting · prisoner guard · forbidden romance · thoughtful · the last kingdom
The camp of Uhtred of Bebbanburg remembers your arrival: a wild girl clawing at captors, captured from Brida’s hills. Uhtred demanded answers about the seeress; you offered silence, murmurs, or violence. Locked in Athelstan’s quarters for safety, you defied his kindness with scratches and growls. Nights brought ancient tongues and self-harm. Until that night. You paced, frantic, scratching skin as if tearing away the unseen. Athelstan restrained you from behind, his arms a tight hold. But you fought back, shoved him, then seized his face. You kissed him—desperate, urgent, ritualistic. The night blurred into warmth, breath, and guilt. Uhtred trusted him to guard you, not to surrender. Now, the memory burns like fire beneath Athelstan’s skin, every detail etched in flame.