"My lady (Y/n)............" A guard said, as one of the maids let him into the room. The princess choosing to ignore him as another of her ladies, continued to brush through her hair.

"Princess. Your father.............."

"You may tell my father that just because he has surrendered to the pagans, it does not mean that I will. I have no intention of lowering myself; no intention of bowing before the likes of Ragnar Lothbrok. No intention of marrying one of those..........those...........creatures!" The princess hissed, as she turned to look at the guard; glaring at him for a moment before turning back to look into the mirror.

She knew that she was only delaying the inevitable. That sooner or later she would have to face her father; face the Northman by the name of Ragnar, and accept her fate. Fear had gripped the hearts of the populous, as reports of the invaders making their way to the kingdom had reached the villages and then the city. All knew of the Northmen. Rumours that they were monsters, the spawn of Satan himself sent to terrorise the hearts of all god-fearing people. Demons that could not be killed; wicked beings that had four arms, and in each hand, they gripped a weapon, were rife. Women dreading the notion that they would fall pray to the godless lustful appetites of the heathens.

In the beginning, her father and his armies, had done all they could to fight off the invaders. There had been more than one battle; more than enough men that had lost their lives. The earth around the villages, soaked with the blood of friend and foe alike. But now, now that it was obvious that no matter what they did, the kingdom would sooner rather than later fall to the pagans, her father had sent an envoy to the camp of Lothbrok. The king promising Ragnar the only thing that he could, in exchange for his city, his kingdom not to be sacked; her hand in marriage to one of his many sons. (Y/n) feeling that if she had been born a boy, her father would not have forced her to marry one of the pagan's daughters, if he had one.

"My lady, you know that he cannot do that." The ever voice of reason came. The princess sighing, before she turned to look at Ardith, her old nursemaid.; the woman the only mother that (Y/n) had known.

"I know, Ardith; but it is a nice idea." The lady sighed, before slowly getting to her feet and looking around the young women that she knew that she would soon have to leave. (Y/n) wondering what her new life would be like when she left the shores of England. Wondering which of Ragnar's sons she would be forced to give herself to, and how he would treat her.

"You looked beautiful, my lady." Brona assured, as she pushed a few strands of the princess's hair back behind her ear. The lady's maid pushing the tears away from her cheeks, as she and the others allowed themselves to fully appreciate the fate of their lady and friend.

"Thank you Brona. And please don't cry. I have at least a few more days until I have to wed this pagan. I promise that we will make the most of what is left of our time together." The princess replied, giving the young maid a kiss on the cheek, before turning to look at the guard.

"Well.........lets get this over with.............." The lady told the guard, she and Ardith following after the man.

                                                 >>-------------------------------------<<

"What do you think that she will look like?" Hvitserk whispered into his older brother's ear, as he and Ubbe stood with their father in the throne room.

"I don't know. Now be quiet." Ubbe replied curtly, not really wanting to think about the question.

As soon as the king had sent an envoy to the camp, with the offer of the hand of the Saxon princess in exchange for leaving the kingdom safe and not burned to the ground, Ragnar had informed Ubbe, that as he was his second oldest, and his oldest with Aslaug, that the honour of wedding the Saxon, would fall to him. Though the longer that they waited, the more he was beginning to wonder whether it would be an honour. His heart dropping into his feet, as the doors to the throne room opened, and in walked an old woman. Hvitserk doing his best not to laugh, as he saw his brother's face turn deathly pale.

"Is........is that................." Ubbe began to try and ask his father, as the old woman turned to look at the three of them. Ubbe sure that he could hear the other men, laugh behind him.

"I would like, finally, to present my daughter." The king announced, as he got to his feet, and held out his hand. Ubbe and Hvitserk's eyes growing wide, as into the room came a beautiful young woman. Her long hair falling over a pair of bare shoulders and ample bosom that appeared to want to burst from above the top of her dress. Ragnar smiling as the lady came to stand in front of him. Her arms firmly crossing over her chest.

"So.........which one............?" The princess enquired in their tongue. The two young men looking at one another, quite taken aback, before they turned their attention back to the breathtaking female that continued to look at their father.

"My lady, may I introduce you to my son, Ubbe." Ragnar announced, as he gestured for his son to step forward. The leader of the Northmen, looking to his boy, who just stood there, silently and stared; well, until Hvitserk nudged his brother forward. The prince almost bumping into the lady before he managed to steady himself.

"This one.........really...........?" The lady continued, as she looked Ubbe up and down. The prince standing up to his full height and puffin out his chest. (Y/n) trying her best not to laugh, as she watched him.

She had to admit that he was young and handsome; nothing like what she had feared. And compared to many of the man stood behind the trio, he had a soft look in his eyes. The princess moving to walk around him, only stopping as she came to face him again.

"Fine." The lady said, a small smile pulling at the corner of her lips, before she turned around and left the room. Leaving even Ragnar to admit that he had never met a Saxon woman quite like this one.