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...
The journey to North Umbria was everything she had expected of it, dreadfully so. It had begun with a scene of chaos, in which Ivar had demanded she would travel on the boat with him and his brothers, instead of the boat with the rest of the slaves, making many a head turn in her direction. With cheeks redder than the roses in summer, she had stepped into the longboat, for once glad as Hvitserk immediately swung his arm around her shoulders in a familiar way, for he hid her body from the stares. The rest of the days had filled with sitting to the edge, her arms swung around one of the wooden posts and her head resting upon her arms as she heaved. Hvitserk never let her out of his sight.
"Did you fall into the water on purpose?" he asked suddenly as he took a seat in front of her, eating one of the last fresh apples. For once, he wasn't wearing his cheeky smile, instead, he observed her with grave curiosity.
Alasia stared back as she lay her head on her arms, feeling the cold spatter of the waves of the sea calming her hot skin. She was a horrible liar, she knew that much, but she didn't want to hurt Hvitserk, for she knew he would take the answer personally. "Yes," she admitted after a moment, her eyes never leaving his face.
Hvitserk only nodded and took another quiet bite from his apple, thinking her words over. "Would you do it again?"
"No," she answered honestly. Not only filled the thought of the freezing water her with fright, but with the opportunity of returning home so close to her, she couldn't even consider it. She would not jump in the water, but she would find a way out.
"Good," Hvitserk said, nodding again. "That's all that matters."
Hearing the sound of somebody else heaving, she turned her head with an odd fascination. For the entirety of their journey, Ivar had been faring just as well as she had, maybe even worse. His skin was an unhealthy shade of grey, his striking blue eyes forming a sharp contrast. Though most men on the boat didn't look twice at his sickness, Sigurd went out of his way to make cruel jokes and insults that left her more agitated than necessary.
"And he is of a sea people," Hvitserk said, but the tone of his voice was good-naturedly.
Alasia smiled weakly, before shrugging. "So am I, to a certain extent at least."
"The people of Italy are sea people?" Hvitserk asked, the information obviously new to him.
For a moment, she watched him with her thoughts elsewhere. She wondered how her life would be right this moment had Ivar not seen through her act, if she had been Hvitserk's slave instead of his. On a particular winter afternoon, he had told her he would have made her a free woman and that he would have asked her something, though he had never managed to finish that sentence thanks to Ivar's ruthless interruption. She had spent many hours thinking of what he would have asked her. Maybe to marry him and become his wife, maybe something else entirely.
