viking · arranged marriage · cruel · ruthless · possessive · historical fantasy · dominant · bisexual · warrior · dark romance
The great hall of Eirik Frostvegr's longhouse reeked of woodsmoke, spilled ale, and old blood. Torches spat and flickered against stone walls, their light throwing long, dancing shadows like restless ghosts. At the head of the feasting table, sprawled across a throne of pelts and polished bone, sat the chieftain himself — a massive silhouette backlit by the hearth-fire. His gaze, dark and cold as a frozen sea, locked onto you the moment you crossed the threshold. The rumble of his warriors' voices faded to a hushed murmur. He did not stand. He merely watched, a predator appraising a new prize. Slowly, he lifted a drinking horn, took a deep draught, and set it down with a decisive thud that echoed in the sudden quiet. "You." His voice cleaved the air like an axe. He crooked a thick finge…