At the Viking King's Mercy
Description
Ragnar Thornegrim takes what he wants. When his longships burn Astrid's village to ash, he expects fear, not a curvy healer standing between him and the helpless, eyes blazing. "You will not touch them," she says. He should kill her. Instead, he claims her. "This is the price for peace. I'll take your daughter as my wife." Astrid is dragged from her home and locked in a warlord's stronghold, not as a guest-"You are mine," he tells her-but as a spoil. She resists, furious and afraid, but Ragnar watches her. Follows her. Waits. When a storm steals the fire from her room, he tears the door from its hinges and climbs into her bed. "You're like ice," he murmurs, pulling her body against his. "Let me warm all of you." She should push him away. Instead, her mouth finds his. Her thighs open. And when he moves inside her, hard and slow, she whispers his name again and again. "Don't stop," she gasps. "I've got you," he growls.
Chapter 1
Aug 13, 2025
RAGNAR'S POV
The first light of dawn painted the sky blood red, and I took it as a good sign. My war horn echoed across the valley as my longships cut through the morning mist like wolves through snow. The village ahead had no idea what was coming for them.
I gripped the carved dragon head at the bow of my ship, feeling the familiar thrill of battle burning in my chest. This raid would be different from the others. This wasn't just about gold or slaves. This was about sending a message that would echo through every settlement from here to the northern seas.
My men were ready. I could hear them behind me, checking their weapons one last time, their breath forming clouds in the cold air. We'd been planning this for weeks, watching the patterns of the village guards, learning when they were weakest. Dawn was always the best time to strike. People were still drowsy, still believing they were safe in their beds.
The village walls came into view, and I felt my lips pull back in a grin that had nothing kind about it. These people had been living too peacefully for too long. They'd forgotten what real fear looked like. I was about to remind them.
My ship's hull scraped against the rocky shore with a sound like grinding bones. The noise cut through the morning silence, and I saw the first guard on the wall turn toward us.
His mouth opened in shock, but before he could sound the alarm, my arrow found his throat. He toppled backward without a sound.
I leaped from the ship, my boots hitting the wet sand with a splash. My men followed, their war cries splitting the air like thunder.
The village gates were sturdy, but not sturdy enough. My biggest warriors charged forward with the battering ram we'd brought, and within moments, the wooden bars splintered like kindling.
The real chaos began then. People poured from their homes like ants from a kicked hill, screaming and running in all directions. Some tried to fight, but they were farmers and fishermen, not warriors. My men cut through them like a scythe through wheat.
I walked through the smoke and flames, my sword dripping red, looking for the one building that mattered most.
Every village had one - the place where they kept their most precious things. Not gold or silver, but the sick, the old, the children. The healing house.
Fire danced around me as I moved deeper into the village. The acrid smoke stung my eyes, but I'd breathed worse air in my time. A young man rushed at me with a pitchfork, brave but stupid.
I knocked the weapon aside and drove my sword through his chest in one smooth motion. He looked surprised as he fell, like he couldn't believe this was really happening.
That's when I saw it - a low stone building with a red cloth hanging from the door. The healing house. My target.
I kicked the door open with enough force to send it crashing against the wall. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of herbs and fear.
A woman stood in the center of the room, her arms spread wide, shielding a group of children and elderly people who cowered behind her.
She was not what I expected.
Most women would have been on their knees by now, begging for mercy. This one stood tall, her chin raised, her green eyes blazing with defiance.
Her dark hair was braided back, and she wore a simple healer's dress, but there was nothing simple about the way she faced me. Her body was full and curvy—broad hips, thick thighs, heavy breasts. She had the kind of figure that didn’t hide under loose fabric, no matter how plain the dress.
"You will not touch them," she said, her voice steady despite the chaos around us. "I won't let you."
I almost laughed. Here was this slip of a woman, probably not even twenty summers old, thinking she could stand against me.
Against Ragnar Thornegrim, the wolf of the Northern seas. But something about her made me pause. There was steel in her backbone that I recognized. The kind of strength that couldn't be broken easily.
"And who are you to stop me?" I asked, stepping closer. My sword was still in my hand, still slick with blood.
"I am Astrid, daughter of Bjorn the Wise, and I will die before I let you harm these people."
Astrid. The name meant divine strength, and looking at her now, I could see why her parents had chosen it. She didn't flinch as I approached, didn't step back even when I was close enough that she could smell the battle-sweat on me.
Before I could respond, the sound of running feet echoed from outside. An older man burst through the doorway, his face streaked with ash and desperation.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, with gray threading through his dark beard.
This had to be Bjorn himself.
"Please," he gasped, falling to his knees before me. "Please, I am the village elder. I am Bjorn. Whatever you want, I can give you."
I looked down at him, then back at the woman - Astrid - who was watching her father with something like pain in her eyes.
"I want your village to remember this day," I said slowly. "I want every settlement in these lands to know what happens when they think they can live in peace while I rule these waters."
Bjorn's face went pale. "There must be something. Gold? Silver? We have stores of grain, furs from the winter hunt..."
"Your gold means nothing to me," I said. "Your grain will rot. Your furs will be eaten by moths."
The old man's eyes darted around the room, taking in the frightened faces of his people, the blood on my sword, the flames visible through the doorway. I could see him thinking, calculating, trying to find something valuable enough to trade for their lives.
Then his gaze fell on his daughter.
"What about a bride?" he said suddenly, his voice cracking. "A political alliance. My daughter... she's young, healthy, skilled in the healing arts. She could be valuable to you."
Astrid's face went white. "Father, no."
But I was already looking at her with new eyes. She was beautiful, I'd give her that. Strong too, braver than most men I'd met. And there was something appealing about the idea of taming that fierce spirit, of making her mine.
"A bride," I repeated, letting the word roll around in my mouth like wine. "An interesting proposal."
Bjorn nodded eagerly. "Yes, yes. A marriage alliance. It would bring peace between our peoples. No more raids, no more bloodshed. Just... please. Spare my village."
I walked slowly around Astrid, studying her like a man might study a horse he was thinking of buying.
She stood perfectly still, but I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands were clenched at her sides. She was afraid, but she wasn't showing it. I respected that.
"She's your daughter?" I asked.
"Yes, my only child. She's pure, untouched, skilled in many things. She could be a good wife to a man like you."
I stopped in front of her, close enough that I could see the gold flecks in her green eyes. She met my gaze without flinching, and for a moment, I felt something I hadn't expected. Curiosity. This woman was not like the others I'd known. She had fire in her, and fire was something I understood.
But I couldn't let her father see that she intrigued me. Showing weakness was not something I could afford.
I looked her up and down slowly, deliberately, letting my expression show nothing but cold calculation.
Her father watched me with desperate hope, while she stood there like a statue, waiting for my judgment.
Finally, I spoke, my voice dripping with disdain.
"This is the price for peace! I'll take your daughter as my wife!"
At the Viking King's Mercy
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