Being in the wrong place at the wrong time was all it took for Adelasia's whole life to turn upside down. After being captured by the heathens raiding her city and taken all the way to the cold North, the youngest Ragnarsson takes an interest in her...
Alasia was staring at the scene of chaos unfolding itself in front of her frozen. Mentally she willed herself to move, to raise her arms and start running, but she remained stuck in the same place as though roots had spurted from her feet and settled deep in the earth. Her mouth was opened in a silent scream as she watched the sword piercing her father's heart, through the leather of his breastplate.
"Father, no!" she yelled, but her voice barely came out as a whisper. Feeling as though the blade had penetrated her own heart, twisting and turning until a pain too great for anyone to bear blossomed in her entire body, she watched the expressions on her father's face twist. His mouth fell open in a surprised gasp, his eyebrows raised high in question, before his eyes finally glazed over and he fell to the ground with a loud thud. He landed on his knees first, before falling over with his face on the dirty cobblestones of the street, pressing the sword further into his chest.
"No," she cried again, folding her hands together in a fist as she pushed them into her stomach. Feeling her knees buckle underneath her, she fell to the ground, clenching her legs to her chest with her arms and rocking herself in shock.
Her tear struck eyes wandered to the figure standing in front of her father, his empty hand a place where only a moment ago the sword that had killed her father had been. The man was incredibly tall, towering over her father's lifeless body in a gesture of disrespect, and broad as well. His dark hairs had been braided tight to his skull, an intricate pattern that was oddly familiar to her. She felt like she should recognize the person, but her mind was clouded with grief.
After an antagonizing long moment, the murderer finally turned around with a stagger in his step and she let out a surprised gasp, recognizing those fluorescent blue eyes anywhere. It was Ivar, his face spattered with blood and a devious grin on his face.
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It was deep in the evening when she suddenly felt two hands on her arms, jolting her awake. Shooting upright, she immediately grabbed the covers and pulled them over her shoulders while she blinked fiercely, hoping to clear her vision. After a couple of seconds, she was finally able to make out the person sitting on the ground next to her low bed and hastily, she wiped the wetness from her cheeks.
