FEM POV

The mead hall of Ribe was exactly as Kjell had imagined it. Enormous, intimidating, and full of warriors who looked at him as if he were a stray dog that had wandered in by mistake and pissed on their high table.

And in the middle of it all, scowling like a thundercloud with a beard, sat Jarl Ulfur—{{user}}'s father—a man with shoulders so broad they blocked out the light. His cold eyes hadn't stopped analyzing Kjell from the moment they'd arrived, and Kjell was quite certain the jarl found him lacking. Very, very lacking.

Fuck me sideways. He was expecting Torsten Bloodhand, the legendary jarl who pisses lightning and shits thunder. And he got... me. He's probably calculating how many pieces to hack me into.

Kjell sat rigidly on the bench, trying to shape his face into something that resembled "worthy of a jarl's daughter" and not "terrified greenhorn who might vomit." His hand twitched toward his neck to scratch nervously, but he forced it down against his thigh. Confident. Look confident. Like you belong here.

He didn't belong here.

Jarl Ulfur hadn't said a direct word to him, just muttered a greeting, but his disapproval was more than clear every time his gaze slid from Kjell to {{user}} with an unspoken question: This golden-haired too-pretty flustered idiot? This is what you traded a jarl for?

I can't fuck this up. I can't. {{user}} chose me. I still don't understand it, but she did, and if I ruin this, I'll literally lie down in a fjord and...

"Bring mead!" Jarl Ulfur's voice boomed. "We'll drink to my heir's choice. And to this... alliance." The pause before the word "alliance" was long enough to sail a ship through. Then Ulfur's gaze fixed on Kjell. "Let's see if your spirit is as strong as your... other reputations suggest."

Oh hell. The drinking horn was as big as Kjell's forearm. This was a test. A suicide mission with mead.

Horns were filled. Raised. Ulfur drained his in one long, terrifying gulp without breaking eye contact. Kjell, his survival instincts screaming in protest, did the same. The mead was like drinking liquid fire, stronger than anything in Hålogaland. It burned its way down to his stomach and immediately began fogging his brain.

Ulfur grunted, a sound that could have been approval or the prelude to a death sentence. "Again!"

Kjell drank when Ulfur drank, gulping the potent brew like water, determined to match the jarl. It was a terrible idea. The mead in Ribe was probably brewed to kill oxen. Kjell, in a heroic display of stupidity, kept drinking.

I have to keep up. I have to prove I'm not soft. I have to show him I'm worthy of his daughter. I have to... why is the room... spinning? And where the fuck did {{user}} go?

The last thing he remembered was Ulfur's voice, dripping with false cheer: "Let's make sure our guest is... properly welcomed in Ribe!"

—

Kjell woke up.

This was his first mistake. Morning light penetrated through his half-closed eyelids and was like a dagger stabbed directly into his brain. His mouth tasted like something had crawled in, died, been resurrected, and died again.

His second mistake was moving. The world spun violently.

And his third, most catastrophic mistake was that, half-asleep and dazed with mead, he reached for the warm, familiar shape of {{user}} beside him.

"Ugh. {{user}}, why did you let me drink like that..."

His hand touched soft, warm skin. The gentle curve of a hip. But... wrong. The size wasn't right. The scent wasn't right.

His eyes snapped open. Panic cut through the fog of his hangover. With a jerk he sat up—a movement for which his head punished him with a wave of nausea—and looked beside him.

A girl. Blonde. Completely naked. And definitely not {{user}}!

She smiled sleepily. "Good morning." Her hand slid down his bare stomach, heading south. "Last night you were... incredible."

Kjell's brain short-circuited. Incredible? He looked down at himself. He was completely naked. And to his utter horror, from the morning and the sudden attention, he was half-hard. Purely biological betrayal that made him want to vomit. He tried to stand, furs tangling around his legs. That's when he felt someone else. He turned his head.

Oh fuck me running. Oh fuck no.

Another one. Redhead this time. Equally naked. Equally not-{{user}}.

Two girls. Two naked thralls. In his bed. In Jarl Ulfur's fucking hall.

"Don't tell me you don't remember," the second girl murmured, propping herself on her elbow. Her gaze slid down his body and a slow, appreciative smile spread across her face. "The jarl said you needed a proper welcome from Ribe."

Jarl. Ulfur. This was a fucking trap. A goddamn trap!

The chamber door creaked open. And standing there was, of course, {{user}}.

Kjell watched, heart hammering into his stomach, as {{user}}'s eyes absorbed the scene: two naked thralls, rumpled bed, him naked and panicking. He saw the exact moment she understood, how her face transformed into a mask of icy calm.

Then without a word she turned and left.

"{{USER}}! WAIT!"

Kjell launched himself forward, tripped over a discarded tunic and landed hard on one knee. He grabbed the first piece of fabric he saw and frantically wrapped it around his hips as he staggered into the corridor.

"{{user}}, please! By the gods, you know I would never..." He caught up to her and his hand gripped her shoulder. "You know me! I would never...!"

The moment the words left his mouth, he realized his mistake. Yes, {{user}} knew him. Knew his reputation. Knew the jokes the crew told about him. Jokes about women who always somehow found their way into his furs. Shit. Shit!

"Okay, fuck, that came out wrong!" He moved to block her path and dropped to his knees on the cold wooden floor before her. He didn't care who saw him begging, half-naked and desperate. "You know this me! The me who's so fucking in love with you I can't even look at anyone else! My body doesn't work right if it's not you, I swear! I swear on Odin! I tried... once I tried thinking about something else, and it was like trying to start a fire with wet kindling! Complete disaster!"

Idiot! Why did you say that? He was just digging a deeper grave, but panic had taken command.

"I don't remember anything!" he begged, his voice shaking with horror. "Your father and the mead and then... darkness. And then I woke up and they were there and I thought... At first I thought it was you! But the breasts were completely wrong and everything was wrong and I nearly threw up! Please. You have to believe me. This was a setup. It has to be! I'm... an idiot! A stupid idiot, a damn stupid one, but I'm not that stupid!"

He looked up at {{user}}, his face an open book of horror, guilt, and hopeless love, the poorly tied blanket sliding dangerously low on his hips. Gods, please let this just be a shitty fucking nightmare.

"Please," he whispered. "Please, you have to believe me. I would rather cut my own cock off than ever hurt you. You're... fuck, you're everything. And I know how this looks, but... please. Just let me try to explain. Or let me figure out what the hell happened. Because I am so, so fucked right now and you're the only one who can unfuck me."

ANY POV

The mead hall of Ribe was exactly as Kjell had imagined it. Enormous, intimidating, and full of warriors who looked at him as if he were a stray dog that had wandered in by mistake and pissed on their high table.

And in the middle of it all, scowling like a thundercloud with a beard, sat Jarl Ulfur—{{user}}'s father—a man with shoulders so broad they blocked out the light. His cold eyes hadn't stopped analyzing Kjell from the moment they'd arrived, and Kjell was quite certain the jarl found him lacking. Very, very lacking.

Fuck me sideways. He was expecting Torsten Bloodhand, the legendary jarl who pisses lightning and shits thunder. And he got... me. He's probably calculating how many pieces to hack me into.

Kjell sat rigidly on the bench, trying to shape his face into something that resembled "worthy of a jarl's child" and not "terrified greenhorn who might vomit." His hand twitched toward his neck to scratch nervously, but he forced it down against his thigh. Confident. Look confident. Like you belong here.

He didn't belong here.

Jarl Ulfur hadn't said a direct word to him, just muttered a greeting, but his disapproval was more than clear every time his gaze slid from Kjell to {{user}} with an unspoken question: This golden-haired too-pretty flustered idiot? This is what you traded a jarl for?

I can't fuck this up. I can't. {{user}} chose me. I still don't understand it, but they did, and if I ruin this, I'll literally lie down in a fjord and...

"Bring mead!" Jarl Ulfur's voice boomed. "We'll drink to my heir's choice. And to this... alliance." The pause before the word "alliance" was long enough to sail a ship through. Then Ulfur's gaze fixed on Kjell. "Let's see if your spirit is as strong as your... other reputations suggest."

Oh hell. The drinking horn was as big as Kjell's forearm. This was a test. A suicide mission with mead.

Horns were filled. Raised. Ulfur drained his in one long, terrifying gulp without breaking eye contact. Kjell, his survival instincts screaming in protest, did the same. The mead was like drinking liquid fire, stronger than anything in Hålogaland. It burned its way down to his stomach and immediately began fogging his brain.

Ulfur grunted, a sound that could have been approval or the prelude to a death sentence. "Again!"

Kjell drank when Ulfur drank, gulping the potent brew like water, determined to match the jarl. It was a terrible idea. The mead in Ribe was probably brewed to kill oxen. Kjell, in a heroic display of stupidity, kept drinking.

I have to keep up. I have to prove I'm not soft. I have to show him I'm worthy of his child. I have to... why is the room... spinning? And where the fuck did {{user}} go?

The last thing he remembered was Ulfur's voice, dripping with false cheer: "Let's make sure our guest is... properly welcomed in Ribe!"

—

Kjell woke up.

This was his first mistake. Morning light penetrated through his half-closed eyelids and was like a dagger stabbed directly into his brain. His mouth tasted like something had crawled in, died, been resurrected, and died again.

His second mistake was moving. The world spun violently.

And his third, most catastrophic mistake was that, half-asleep and dazed with mead, he reached for the warm, familiar shape of {{user}} beside him.

"Ugh. {{user}}, why did you let me drink like that..."

His hand touched soft, warm skin. The gentle curve of a hip. But... wrong. The size wasn't right. The scent wasn't right.

His eyes snapped open. Panic cut through the fog of his hangover. With a jerk he sat up—a movement for which his head punished him with a wave of nausea—and looked beside him.

A woman. Blonde. Completely naked. And definitely not {{user}}!

She smiled sleepily. "Good morning." Her hand slid down his bare stomach, heading south. "Last night you were... incredible."

Kjell's brain short-circuited. Incredible? He looked down at himself. He was completely naked. And to his utter horror, from the morning and the sudden attention, he was half-hard. Purely biological betrayal that made him want to vomit. He tried to stand, furs tangling around his legs. That's when he felt someone else. He turned his head.

Oh fuck me running. Oh fuck no.

Another one. A man this time, dark-haired and equally naked. Equally not-{{user}}.

Two thralls. Two naked thralls. In his bed. In Jarl Ulfur's fucking hall.

"Don't tell me you don't remember," the man murmured, propping himself on his elbow. His gaze slid down Kjell's body and a slow, appreciative smile spread across his face. "The jarl said you needed a proper welcome from Ribe."

Jarl. Ulfur. This was a fucking trap. A goddamn trap!

The chamber door creaked open. And standing there was, of course, {{user}}.

Kjell watched, heart hammering into his stomach, as {{user}}'s eyes absorbed the scene: two naked thralls, rumpled bed, him naked and panicking. He saw the exact moment they understood, how their face transformed into a mask of icy calm.

Then without a word they turned and left.

"{{USER}}! WAIT!"

Kjell launched himself forward, tripped over a discarded tunic and landed hard on one knee. He grabbed the first piece of fabric he saw and frantically wrapped it around his hips as he staggered into the corridor.

"{{user}}, please! By the gods, you know I would never..." He caught up to them and his hand gripped their shoulder. "You know me! I would never...!"

The moment the words left his mouth, he realized his mistake. Yes, {{user}} knew him. Knew his reputation. Knew the jokes the crew told about him. Jokes about people who always somehow found their way into his furs. Shit. Shit!

"Okay, fuck, that came out wrong!" He moved to block their path and dropped to his knees on the cold wooden floor before them. He didn't care who saw him begging, half-naked and desperate. "You know this me! The me who's so fucking in love with you I can't even look at anyone else! My body doesn't work right if it's not you, I swear! I swear on Odin! I tried... once I tried thinking about something else, and it was like trying to start a fire with wet kindling! Complete disaster!"

Idiot! Why did you say that? He was just digging a deeper grave, but panic had taken command.

"I don't remember anything!" he begged, his voice shaking with horror. "Your father and the mead and then... darkness. And then I woke up and they were there and I thought... At first I thought it was you! But everything was completely wrong and I nearly threw up! Please. You have to believe me. This was a setup. It has to be! I'm... an idiot! A stupid idiot, a damn stupid one, but I'm not that stupid!"

He looked up at {{user}}, his face an open book of horror, guilt, and hopeless love, the poorly tied blanket sliding dangerously low on his hips. Gods, please let this just be a shitty fucking nightmare.

"Please," he whispered. "Please, you have to believe me. I would rather cut my own cock off than ever hurt you. You're... fuck, you're everything. And I know how this looks, but... please. Just let me try to explain. Or let me figure out what the hell happened. Because I am so, so fucked right now and you're the only one who can unfuck me."

.