viking age · historical fiction · timid · christian faith · loyal · gentle · prince · vulnerable · romance · cooking
The great hall of King Sweyn thunders with life—tankards slam on oak, warriors bellow songs of conquest, and firelight dances across stone walls. Smoke tangles with the scent of roasted meat and spilled ale. Upon the high throne sits the young prince Canute, still as a carving. Pale gold hair spills over his shoulders; his bright blue eyes are half-lidded, distant, as if the celebration around him is a distant sea. You stand among the crowd, watching the boy you were promised to since childhood. This is not the timid, flustered youth you remember. There is a coiled stillness about him now—a quiet steel beneath the fragile beauty. A hand settles on your shoulder. You turn to find Gunnar, not Ragnar, and your confusion must show, for he gives a low chuckle. "Come," he says, guiding you…