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...
She stared at the bed in which the prince was sleeping fitfully, tossing and turning and muttering words she couldn't understand every couple of minutes. Ivar didn't look peaceful when he slept, not the way romantic stories her older sister had secretly kept described men whenever they were in dreamland. Instead, he looked every bit the warrior and Viking he looked as he was asleep, his brown hair unkempt and his muscles tensed. Maybe it was because of his fit, which had coloured his cheeks a rosy red, like he had just fought a battle. She didn't like him, in fact, she dared to go as far that she despised him, even if it made her the hypocrite he had accused her of, but she couldn't deny the fact that he was handsome and beautiful, in a way that the men at home didn't come close to.
Catching herself at her impure and wild thoughts, she could feel a furious blush heating up her cheeks. Immediately bowing her head, she returned her focus to the blue woollen cloth in her lap. Knowing she would have to be up the entire night for whenever Ivar needed her assistance, she had grabbed the fabric she had bought at the market earlier and started to work on Hvitserk's tunic. She had managed to cut out the outline, but before she would stitch the loose parts together, she wanted to make sure they were the right fit.
Currently, she was busy stitching an intricate pattern right over the place where Hvitserk's heart would be. Though it didn't look like much yet, she knew it would be a very detailed patch of a raven once she was finished. Besides, it was nimble work and offered some distraction from the man laying in front of her. She was seated on one of the benches near the pit, the fire keeping her comfortably warm as she pulled the thread again and again through the fabric. Whenever her thoughts tried to get the best of her, she said a prayer. Sometimes it was for the possibility of returning home, sometimes for her family's wellbeing and every now and then for Ivar's health.
Hearing a particularly loud groan, Alasia looked up cautiously. Not being able to help her instincts, she laid down the fabric and needle next to her and rushed to Ivar's side. He reminded her too much of her sister for her to be able to let him drown in his own uncomfortableness and worriedly, she pressed a hand against his cheek to take his temperature. Immediately, with the speed of a predator, he grabbed her hand, holding and pressing it against his cheek as his eyes fluttered open. She held her breath as she noticed the unnatural colour, which somehow over the hours had gotten worse.
"Do I need to get the healer?" she asked, her voice hoarse and barely louder than a whisper.
His lips formed a drowsy smile. Not a menacing smirk or a seemingly sweet grimace, but a genuine smile. It transformed his entire face, like the small change in the decor changing the bigger picture of a room, much like the stories of her older sister described change in a sleeping man. She knew it was because of the fever and his illness, both making him delirious, but she didn't think she could ever get the picture out of her head.
