Northumbria ✓

10

Aethelthryth reached the room without bumping into anyone. And when she finally did close the door behind her, she fell to the ground. Her head pressed into the ground, hands hugging herself. Her tears felt hot on her skin, and she bit her lip to stop herself from crying. She would've felt better if he died on the battlefield as she thought before. Her heart-wrenching sobbing ceased into whimpers. And after what felt like an eternity laying on the ground, she stood up. Or more like staggered onto her feet. She stepped towards her window before once again plummeting forward. Small painful gasps left her body as she rested her forehead onto the glass. Tears kept streaming down her face, but this time she stayed silent. She reached for the dagger under her skirt and clutched it to her heart. She stood there before the window until the sun started to set.

And then the knock came. Aethelthryth could hear it louder, almost as if that knock was defeating sound. She recognized it. Of course, Ubbe stepped inside without waiting for her approval. After all, she was nothing. She was just a puppet to help them reach their goals, and then maybe her body will be thrown next to her father's. She wasn't the daughter of a king. She wasn't another King's brother's wife. She was nothing. And that was the cold hard truth, that left her with a cold gaping hole inside her chest.

"Aethelthryth," his voice was soft. And she shuddered as the thick accent reached her. Her teeth clenched as her father's body flashed before her eyes, the dogs laying on his chest. She could hear him step closer, and she swallowed. Her grip on the dagger tightened.

Then she was turning around, plunging the dagger at his chest. His hand gripped her wrist as he effortlessly caught her. He raised his brow at her, unimpressed. "You're holding it wrong." Rage concurred her body at his words. At how easily he dismissed her. And she did her best to swallow the sobs that wanted to tear their way out. She pulled her hand out of his grasp. He effortlessly disarmed her with her move and then raised both of his brows. She pushed at his chest, and yet he stood like a wall.

Her rage was now more like wrath, and she wanted to rain it on all of his men. Her hand balled into a fist, and she punched. He took a step back as it collided with his attractive face. Tears started to roll out of her eyes as she looked at her knuckles. Her hand hurt, and it only seemed to cause him a little discomfort.

His voice was still gentle, "What's wrong?" She pushed at his chest once more and kept hitting him with her fists. Sobs tore out of her mouth, and she could hardly see through her blurry eyes. She breathed through her nose in rage. And then she pulled away with a kick to his shin. He scowled at her and took a step back.

"How could you be so cruel!" His brows together with pure confusion. "He was a King! He deserved to die as a warrior. He deserved to be buried with riches so he could feast in his afterlife. Not— not be mangled unrecognizably." His eyes shone with realization, and she scowled.

"Listen, it wasn't supposed to happen," her brows furrowed at his words. Her hands once more curling into fists. "Your father was put in prison cells, yes, but someone from our men let the dogs in. Ronja only found out yesterday that this happened. I had no idea this happened." His voice once more returned to that soft baritone whisper. His accent was so prominent that goosebumps rose on her skin.

Scowling, she accused him, "Liar!" She wanted to scream and destroy their lives. He took a tentative step closer, "I swear on Odin that I had no idea!" Her hands clenched into fists. How could a word sworn on a pagan God hold any meaning to her.

"Then why is his body just laying there," her voice shook. She felt pathetic. He closed his eyes, and she realized why. They didn't really care. They didn't even bother, to at least burn his body. Why would they even give him a proper burial when he was their enemy.

She grabbed the thing closes to her, which happened to be a paperweight, and chugged it at him. He dodged it before advancing. This time he did look angry. She yelled at him in frustration before throwing the letters on her table at him. Clearly, they did nothing to offend him. She quickly rounded the table, hoping to put at least a small distance between them. He reminded her of the dogs in the cell. A shudder wracked her body, and more tears started to pour.

"Just leave," she leaned onto the table for support. "I cannot even look at you. Just go!" Why was she even feeling betrayed? Maybe because he gave her that damn dagger and showed her that his people could be kind. Could, be gentle. Maybe, because whenever she felt his eyes on her, she knew she was safe. Yet when it came down to it, he was as cruel as the rest of them. He looked ready to disagree but then slowly nodded.

"I will let your friends bring you something to eat and wine." He nodded to himself when she didn't answer and stepped outside. She heard him talking to his soldier, in their language, and then there was silence.