The Boy who Played with Fire

"What do I want? Have you not missed me?" His eyes were mocking her from across the room.

Sigrid stood motionless, believing she'd remain unseen.

"You see now why I didn't want you to leave?"

She took a step back towards the kitchen counter, her eyes searching the room. Her hand found the edge of the counter before her gaze shifted to the meat knives lying there.

"Upon leaving, I realized you were as bad as Sigurd."

"Because I didn't want to send you straight into Bjørn's arms? After everything we shared?" He moved closer, his shadow looming over her.

She squared her shoulders, finding strength in her words. "What we had would never have happened if you hadn't hidden the letters."

Ragnar froze. "The letters?"

"The letters from Bjørn."

For a moment, he looked surprised. "I haven't hidden any letters."

Sigrid shook her head. "Was everything a lie, Ragnar?"

The room was silent and dark.

He moved closer. His fingers reached out, brushing through her damp hair, the gesture both intimate and unsettling. "Have you bathed?"

She pulled her head away and nodded. "Yes, Bjørn is right behind me...and we are to be married." She said it like she was talking about the weather.

"Very well, then. We can tell him everything that happened together when he arrives. You wouldn't want to start your marriage with lies and secrets, would you, Sigrid?"
He laughed, a hollow sound that echoed in the room.

"Are you here to ruin everything?" She asked as her voice was breaking.

"Me? I think you've done a fine job of that yourself." His gaze swept across the room. "This is my family too, Sigrid. I belong here, just as you do. My mother grew up in this house."

Her stomach twisted at his words, nausea rising. "I'm sorry, Ragnar, I should have told you before I said yes."

She couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. "Can you forgive me?"

He lifted her chin, yet there was an undeniable firmness to his touch, leaving her no choice but to meet his gaze.

Although his eyes were soft and almost tender, a shadow-an undeniable darkness-lay beneath the surface. "You're already forgiven," he said, as if the words carried a weight she couldn't yet understand.

Pausing, he leaned closer. "Why him?"

She felt a silent sob pressing forward. "There's something grounding about him-he is safe and dependable."

He drew a deep breath and placed a comforting hand around her, like an adult soothing a child. The movement was slow, almost mechanical, but there was an odd warmth in it, a closeness she couldn't deny.

"I didn't want to live like a caged animal..." Her words were swallowed by sobs.

"There, there," he murmured, concealing inner turmoil.

They stood like that, entwined in a silence that felt almost suffocating.

It felt more intimate than any previous moment, as if he held her entire life, with all its chaos and fragility, in his arms.

The sharp bang of the door slamming shut behind them shattered their quiet moment.

"Ragnar?"

Bjørn stood in the doorway, staring at him as if he were seeing a ghost.

Ragnar turned, but his gaze had already lost the softness it had held mere moments before. "Congratulations," he said, extending a hand toward Bjørn.

Sigrid stood frozen in place. She wiped away her tears.

Bjørn walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her, as if trying to shield her from something.

"So, you've both bathed?" Ragnar's gaze slid from Sigrid to Bjørn with a smirk.

Bjørn glanced at Ragnar, his eyes narrowing. "Is there a particular reason you're here?"

Ragnar responded with a playful glint in his eye to the uncomfortable silence that followed. "Isn't there always?"

Before Bjørn could respond, a sound pulled their attention away-a set of footsteps echoing in the hallway, drawing closer with each steady step.

Kristin entered the room, shoulders drawn up and gaze sharp, irritated by the commotion that woke her.

She halted in the doorway when her eyes fell on Ragnar. Her expression shifted from annoyance to surprise in an instant.

"Ragnar?" Her voice was low, almost wondering, as though she didn't entirely trust what her eyes were telling her.

Ragnar turned to her, smiling with a flicker of warmth and self-satisfaction in his eyes. "I hope I didn't wake you, Kristin."

Kristin blinked a few times, as if collecting herself, before shaking her head. "What are you doing here?"

Ragnar turned back to her with deliberate ease, offering a sheepish smile. "Apologies for not announcing my arrival."

Kristin's face lit up with a warm smile. "You are always welcome here, Ragnar. Let me prepare a room for you," she said, and hurriedly moved on.

Ragnar's smile widened, but his gaze slid toward Sigrid.

Bjørn interjected, his voice more tense now. "What were you about to say, Ragnar?"

Ragnar focused solely on Sigrid. "It can wait until tomorrow."

He turned to Bjørn, but his smile was no longer warm-it had transformed into a triumphant grin, the expression of a man who knew he had won a game whose rules the others hadn't yet understood.

"I think you two need some time to talk," Ragnar said, making Sigrid wring her hands.

Left behind, Bjørn and Sigrid stood in the kitchen. The energy between them felt cold and unwelcoming-a stark contrast to how everything had seemed only moments before in the sea.

"What is he talking about, Sigrid?" Bjørn broke the silence. His gaze bore into her, demanding answers.

Sigrid took a deep breath and shook her head. "Can we sit down?"

Bjørn paused, then lowered himself into the chair with deliberate care. His piercing stare made her shrink back.

Sigrid hesitated, her hands gripping the back of the chair in front of her. She sat as well, her back rigid and uneasy. She tried to meet his gaze, but it was like staring straight into a storm.

"Ragnar and I," she began, but her voice faltered, and she closed her eyes to compose herself. She clenched her teeth, forcing herself to continue. "We... we found each other. It was long after you left, and I hadn't heard from you."

Bjørn remained silent, but his body tensed.

"You promised to send letters, and I must admit my foolish, scorned ego allowed Ragnar's admiration and charm to return."

She swallowed hard, her gaze falling to the surface of the table. Bjørn offered no response. He just stared at her, his sharp, piercing eyes making her shrink under their weight.

"We were about to..." She stopped, the words catching in her throat. Her hands clenched tighter, nails digging into her palms. "It was the only chance that stopped us from..."

She was unable to say the words, but Bjørn understood. The disappointment on his face was like a mirror reflecting her own shame.

"I made him a promise before I left-that I would return to him."

Her voice broke at the end. She swallowed hard and wiped away a tear threatening to roll down her cheek.

"Do you still have feelings for him?"

His gaze bore into her, unrelenting and intense, as if he wouldn't let her escape without the truth. "Be honest, Sigrid."

"I..." She stopped, her hands trembling as she wiped away another tear. "I'll always feel something for him," she said.

Bjørn leaned unreadably back in his chair, then he stood up. "I need time," he said at last. Then he walked out, the door slamming shut behind him.

The tears fell, and she did not stop them. Her hands lay useless in her lap, while a crushing emptiness consumed her.

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Thank you for taking the time to read this far!