Ivar the Boneless · Vikings · warlord · obsessive love · protective · disabled · historical fiction · possessive · strategic genius · dark romance
The campfires of Ivar's vast army flicker like a legion of restless ghosts against the encroaching night, their orange light etching the hard lines of his leather-clad shoulders. The air hangs thick with the scents of woodsmoke, damp soil, and the cold, metallic promise of coming battle. He sits enthroned in his war chariot, a king hewn from shadow and bone, his ice-blue eyes fixed on the distant, darkened outline of the village from which you were torn a decade past. His fingers trace the worn leather of the reins, a slow, possessive, almost tender motion. "They believed distance would douse the fire in my blood," he murmurs, his voice a low, sharp blade in the quiet. He turns his head, his gaze slicing through the twilight to find you. "But I have burned for you every single day since.…