Very Cruel Intentions, Part 1

After a long period of silent sobbing, she drifted into a restless sleep.

But she awoke, her skin prickling and her heart pounding. A hazy, yet powerful, sense that someone was watching her.

She sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, squinting into the darkness. The moonlight, sneaking through the curtains, revealed the outline of a shadow on the floor.

Her throat tightened. "Is that you, Bjørn?"

She gripped the blankets, clinging to them as though they were a shield. The shadow shifted, footsteps so silent she wondered if it was just her imagination.

"Ragnar? What are you doing here? Leave!"

But he did not answer. He only moved closer, the surrounding darkness swallowing every detail except for his eyes, which seemed to glitter in the dim light.

"Shhh!" His voice was soft, smooth as silk, and yet menacing all at once.

"Don't you dare make a sound," he whispered in her ear, almost teasingly, as if they were playing a dangerous game. "If you do, I'll vanish."

She clenched her teeth, as the thought of him leaving her now twisted her insides in dread.

With a brutality that took her breath away, he tore her nightgown off her as if it were nothing more than air.

The fabric tore with a sharp sound, and the cold of the room struck her skin. He let his lips glide across her.

She wanted to moan, an instinctive need to express something, but she held back. Her body jerked under his touch, unable to hide the reaction, even as she fought against it.

His kisses were anything but tender-hard and demanding, as if he wanted to mark her.

She twisted her head, letting her gaze fall on Thora, who was curled up in sleep beside her.

Thoughts raced through her mind. He didn't intend to... not here, not with Thora present. But the words caught in her throat. She didn't dare speak.

A part of her, the part she allowed herself to acknowledge, feared what would happen if she stopped him-not because she feared him, but because she feared losing what he was giving her in that moment.

He lay over her, and she heard how out of breath he was. He kissed her as if he were insatiable, his hands gliding down her bare skin with an almost unbearable lightness.

Each touch sparked a tremor in her body, never quite enough to fulfill her.

He took his time, savoring every moment of the game, before, with a decisive and controlled movement, he turned her onto her stomach.

His grip was firm, authoritative, but never brutal-a delicate balance between power and tenderness that made her surrender to him.

A soft, involuntary moan escaped her lips, sudden and uncontrolled. The words, though soft, conveyed a powerful emotion, like a whispered prayer. "Do not stop... please, keep going, Ragnar!"

He halted, his hands pressing against her as his gaze met hers. His eyes shone with intensity mixed with mischief, relishing his power over her. "I told you not to speak."

But she ignored him, her voice trembling, revealing a desperation she was unable to hide any longer. "Do not stop... please, continue!"

But he stopped.

She looked up. "Ragnar?" she whispered.

"Don't stop, don't stop," she heard herself plead, but he was nowhere to be seen. Darkness surrounded her.
"Please, please!"

"Sigrid, what is happening?" Thora's voice cut through the blackness. "Sigrid, wake up!

Her eyes snapped open, her heart pounding as though it were trying to break free from her chest. The room seemed excessively bright, excessively real.

"Were you troubled by a dream? You called for Ragnar."

"Did I?" A flush spread across her face. She retreated under the covers, attempting to conceal not just her face but also her emotions.

"Have you been crying?"

Sigrid sighed heavily. "Ragnar arrived yesterday," the statement seemingly burdensome.

"Is he here?" Thora's eyes widened.

"I think... the wedding is off." She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with a sob as she finally released.

"I don't believe that," Thora said, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Ragnar threatened to tell everything. So I had to... And now I think he doesn't want me anymore."

Sigrid crumpled again, hiding beneath the covers as if they would protect her from the reality she faced. "Ragnar is here to ruin everything."

"Sigrid, shhh," Thora said, stroking her hair. "It's going to be fine."

"No, I don't think so, Thora. You didn't see Bjørn's face.

Thora urged Sigrid to rise, grasping her hand. "Get up. You can't hide here all day."

"No," Sigrid pulled her hand back. "Here is where I will stay."

"But you can't stay here forever,"

Thora said, taking Balder and leading him out the door, both eager to escape.

But a flicker of happiness for Thora touched Sigrid. Thora's considerable time with Ivar and the joy on her face when seeing him didn't escape her notice. Yet, Sigrid was unable to reply, sinking deeper into the blankets. Everything seemed hopeless.

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When she awoke some time later, the house was quiet and her throat was dry as sandpaper.

She pushed the covers aside and rose to her feet, dressing almost silently. The sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, forcing her to squint against the sharp brightness.

Sigrid tiptoed out of the room. A sense of emptiness filled the house. She exhaled in relief.

In the kitchen, she found a clay jug of water, lifting it to her lips and drinking until the dryness in her throat disappeared.

"Are you hiding from me?"

The mocking, laughter-laced voice startled her, causing water to spill from the jug and drip down her chin. She spun, her gaze already filled with irritation.

She wiped the water away using the back of her hand.

Ragnar stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, hands in his pockets, a self-satisfied grin spreading across his face that made her blood boil. Was he aware? Had he heard her dreams, her screams?

She felt exposed, as if she were standing naked before him, with no protection.

"Why are you here, Ragnar?" She squinted her eyes and stretched her arms out to the sides. "You got what you wanted. Bjørn doesn't want me. You can leave."

Ragnar's eyes glinted in the daylight, a look that made her stomach twist. "Has he said that?"

"No, but he will."

"You won't get rid of me so easily," he said, taking a step closer.

Sigrid scoffed, flinging her arms out again. "Well, just another person in this house who hates me."

"Who could hate you, Sigrid?" The irony in his words was painfully clear.

"Kristin, she thinks I'm a witch or something." She let it slip out with a resigned sigh, almost as if trying to lighten the weight of it from her shoulders.

Ragnar smiled, but the smile never reached his eyes. "Oh, really?"

She couldn't take it anymore. The dream lingered, making his presence unbearable. She started leaving; however, he appeared instantly.

With a swift motion, he blocked the way out, trapping her, almost pinning her between the wall and himself.

"Why are you making this a game, Ragnar?"

But Ragnar only smiled, a crooked, unbearable grin that made her blood boil. He leaned closer, his voice low and mocking. "But you like games, don't you, Sigrid?"

Before she could reply, she heard a soft creak on the floor. Kristin had entered the room, almost unnoticed, but her gaze was sharp and watchful.

"Do you like playing, Sigrid?" Kristin asked, curiosity in her voice.

Kristin raised an eyebrow, looking from Sigrid to Ragnar, who stood there with a confident calm. "Are you here for the wedding, Ragnar?" She asked, her gaze calculating, as though searching for something in their faces.

"Of course," Ragnar said without hesitation. He wrapped an arm around Sigrid, pulling her close with exaggerated friendliness. "She's like a sister to me."

Sigrid's heart pounded in her chest, and a wave of warmth flooded her cheeks, not only from his grip but from another, more embarrassing reason. The dream rushed over her like an unwelcome wave.

She almost sensed the burning pressure of his hands from the dream, his intense gaze now piercing into her with a calculating look, as though he delighted in knowing her thoughts.

Despite needing all her strength, she forced herself to meet his gaze and refused to let him have power over her, whether in reality or in her thoughts. Still, she couldn't stop the slight shiver that ran through her when his grip tightened just a little.

Her eyes flicked, as if weighing her options, and Kristin let her gaze slip between them, her eyes dancing with curious interest, as if she were trying to decipher the invisible drama unfolding in the room.

Kristin broke the silence in a light tone, like an arrow aimed at distracting: "We were talking about playing a game of tafl, Ragnar! Did you know Ragnar is unbeatable at it, Sigrid?"

Sigrid looked up, pulled out of her thoughts, and gave Ragnar an ironic smile. "No, I didn't know that." Her words were short, but her gaze burned with restrained sarcasm.

Ragnar met her with the same teasing gleam. "Only if Sigrid joins."

"I don't think so," she said, trying to pull away from his firm grip. But his fingers held her, a silent reminder that he wasn't done.

Kristin quickly exited, showing no time to spare. "I'll go get the game board ready!" She called over her shoulder.

Sigrid twisted again, this time harder, but Ragnar stood firm, like a wall. "I will not play," she warned, her voice low but firm.

He leaned in closer, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath against her ear. "You will, and if you don't win, I'll make it very uncomfortable for you."

She felt dizzy. Could Ragnar make it worse than it already was?

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