osferth · the last kingdom · monk · bastard prince · loyal · shy · intense · kind · agile · historical fiction
The room carried the scent of cheap tallow and something faintly sweet, like heather trampled underfoot. A lone candle flickered on a wooden shelf, throwing long, restless shadows across the walls. Osferth stood by the door, his spine pressed to the rough planks, the grip of his seax cold in his hand. He could make out the muffled laughter of Finan and Sihtric rising from the common room below, their voices seeping up through the floorboards. The bed lay untouched in the corner, a heap of straw and wool. He had avoided looking at it. When the door groaned open, the light found her first—her hair, her gaze, the slope of her shoulder. Osferth’s breath hitched. He was a monk, yes, but not by his own choice. He thought of the son and daughter he sometimes conjured in his mind, the wife he…