Filed to story: A Fate Inked In Blood Free
He ignored me and grinned at her. “Not yet, but soon enough.”
His meaning registered and a rush of anger surged through me. “Are you still drunk?”
“Not as drunk as I was.” He turned his grin on me, but the straw stuck in his hair ruined the effect. That and the fact that I was angry enough to kick him in the balls. “Don’t give me that look, Freya,” he added. “I was only doing my best to enjoy my final hours of liberty before my father chains me to your side.”
I balled my hands into fists, hating the hollowness forming in my stomach. “Your liberty ended several hours ago.”
His gaze flattened. “And it already feels like eternity.”
I rolled my eyes to hide the hitch in my breath, because his behavior stung. More than anyone in Halsar, I’d felt connected to him. He’d shown me kindness and respect and had defended me against Ylva. But it seemed all of that didn’t matter as much as I’d thought. At least, not to him. “Get over it.”
“As pleasant as this conversation is”-Liv rose to her feet-“I’ve better things to do than watch you two bicker.”
Bjorn parroted her words as she walked away, which I was tempted to point out only proved them, but then he rounded on me. “Well? Are you ready?”
Don’t let him get to you, I screeched at myself. Don’t you dare give him the satisfaction. So through my teeth, I said, “Where do you wish to conduct my training?”
“Given you’re likely to fall on your arse many times, we’ll go somewhere less muddy,” he said. “The docks will do if you can manage not to fall in the water.”
Don’t let him-
Fuck him. I wasn’t going to take this behavior quietly. “I’m not the one struggling to stand steady on a flat floor.”
He huffed out an amused breath. “We shall see who makes it to the end of the lesson without getting wet.” Then he winked.
A fiery hot blush raced up my chest to my face. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not some simpering maid whose thighs turn slick just because an idiot man winks at her.”
One of the servants walking by heard my words and gaped. Bjorn gave her an apologetic smile. “I was talking about the fjord, Freya.” Then he shook his head. “Such a filthy mind you have. I think I’ll be most corrupted by our time together.”
The servant looked back and forth between us, then hurried off. If I hadn’t so recently discovered what it felt like for flesh to burn, I would have sworn my entire body was aflame.
“Let’s go,” Bjorn said, “before you fill my virtuous mind with any more talk of slick thighs and hard nipples.”
“I said nothing about nipples, you drunk idiot,” I hissed, picking up the two shields I’d secured and scampering after him.
Bjorn threw up his hands. “You see, Freya? Already you are influencing me, and I’ve only been in your company a matter of minutes. What sordid things will my tongue come up with after an hour with you? A day? A year? You will be the ruin of my virtue.”
“The only thing that you need worry about is me cutting out your tongue if you don’t shut up,” I snapped, then stomped ahead of him down to the water, not caring that mud splattered my new trousers or that my shirt was already damp with nervous sweat.
“From most people that would be an empty threat,” he answered, “but you’re a woman who keeps her word, so I will guard my tongue.”
I didn’t think that meant he’d any intention of keeping silent.
The dock would normally be busy with fishermen and merchants coming and going, but today it was silent as a grave, the people of Halsar instead engaged with rebuilding the homes that had been lost to fires set by Gnut’s men.
My feet made echoing thumps as I stomped to the far end, the fjord a glittering steel blue. Though the spring air was cool and the tips of the surrounding mountains were still covered with snow, the overhead sun was warm enough that I didn’t regret leaving my cloak at the great hall. In fact, it was warm enough to-
I turned around in time to see Bjorn dropping his shirt onto the dock, hard muscles and tattooed skin all in clear view. Setting the shields at my feet, I crossed my arms. “Worried about falling in?” I refused to say the word wet.
“No.” He hooked his thumbs over his belt, his trousers drifting low enough to reveal the sharp V of muscle that disappeared into them. The injury he’d taken last night was gone, presumably healed with Liv’s magic. Realizing I was staring at the tantalizing stretch of bare skin, I jerked my eyes to his face while gesturing at his discarded shirt.
He only shrugged. “I rarely wear a shirt when I fight.”
This time my eye roll was entirely unfeigned. “Is that part of your strategy, then? To distract the enemy with your rippling muscles so you might kill them while they gape at your splendor?”
“It is madness how well it works,” he agreed. “You’d think that when I run toward them, screaming battle cries and vows for blood, it would be the burning axe they commented on, but no. It’s always, ‘Look at that Bjorn’s ripping muscles. If I survive this battle, I vow to drink less mead so that my belly looks like his.’ “
I scowled, annoyed that he was getting the better of me. Again. “Why, then?”
“Because fabric burns.” He smirked. “So I either take it off before or risk having to rip it off in the middle of a fight.”
“Leather doesn’t burn,” I said flatly, knowing precisely what the warriors wore when they fought. “Neither does steel. So either you are vain or you are very stupid.”
Bjorn spread his arms wide. “Why not both?”
“Why not indeed,” I grumbled, bending to pick up a shield, gripping it tight. “Snorri has ordered you to teach me to fight in a shield wall. You may begin to do so now.”
“Yes, my lady of Halsar.” He cast his green eyes skyward. “In the shield wall, you must hold a shield.”
“Really?” I said. “That part I didn’t know.”
“You must hold a shield for a long time.” He bent low, his nose less than a handspan from my already-quivering arm, then met my gaze with raised eyebrows. “I suspect you can’t hold it for more than five minutes.”