The Last Supper, Part 1

"Why did you have to interrupt her?" Shouted Ivar behind them.

They turned, both wearing puzzled expressions. Ivar stood before them, his face flushed red.

"You could have let her finish the game! When has anyone, for once, defeated Ragnar at tafl?"

Bjørn opened his mouth, but no words came out. Confused and speechless, he could only stare at Ivar, whose irritation seemed to deepen with each passing moment.

"It's your fault Sigrid lost! Had you not interfered, she would have beaten Ragnar!" Ivar jabbed an accusatory finger at Bjørn.

Bjørn glanced at Sigrid in bewilderment. "Are you truly better than Ragnar at tafl?"

Sigrid drew a deep breath, as if choosing her words. "I do not know if I am better, but I think I could have beaten him if you hadn't interrupted."

"But why did you not say so?"

"We tried!" Ivar said, furrowing his brow before storming off.

Bjørn turned back to Sigrid, a faint smile curling on his lips. "How?"

Sigrid let out a soft snort. "My brother is a very skilled player, but he often wins with those ridiculous tactics of his."

"Perhaps you should try again. I would love to see Ragnar lose."

Sigrid hesitated. "I think it's best to leave Ragnar be. And my relationship with... your mother is already fragile. I believe Ragnar might try to make it worse."

"But my mother loves you!" Bjørn blinked, and his brow furrowed.

"Your mother thinks I'm a witch."

"Has she said that? I will speak with her!" He almost turned on his heel, as if to go find her immediately, but Sigrid took his hand, stopping him.

"No, Bjørn. That will only make things worse." Her gaze softened as she looked at him. "I don't want to come between you and your mother."

He stood for a moment, gazing out over the sea, as if weighing whether to go on, before his eyes met hers.

"My mother said the same about Ragnar's mother."

"Do you know why?"

Bjørn met her gaze, his expression softening as he lowered his head. "Yes, I think she envied her. She had a way with people-just like you. It's something you can't quite explain."

Sigrid, surprised by his words, couldn't find her voice.

He paused, weighing his next words, then let out a long sigh. "But she also felt drawn to the old myths, the forbidden things most wouldn't dare to speak of."

"The forbidden?" Sigrid took a glance over her shoulder to make sure they were alone.

Bjørn nodded, a faint, bitter smile playing on his lips. "She would talk about things like the afterlife and rebirth."

Sigrid's brows knit together as she processed his words. "I've never even heard talk like that in my house. She wouldn't have needed to fear

No, but you're different, like my aunt. You don't fit into the mold she's used to. You're confident, intelligent, and... unafraid to speak your mind. That threatens her."

Sigrid nodded, wanting to speak-or to kiss him passionately. No one had ever called her intelligent before. And the fact that Bjørn thought so highly of her made her proud. But before she could say or do anything, Thora appeared in the distance, calling them in for the evening meal.

As they entered the hall, Ragnar was already sitting at the table. His piercing gaze bore into Sigrid, sending a chill through her body like ice flowing through her veins. She wanted to turn away, to hide, but she clenched her jaw and lifted her chin.

Ragnar raised his glass, his self-assured smile making her stomach churn. Unreadable intent glinted; she felt a blow.

"I'm not feeling well," she said, her tone calm but firm, before turning and striding toward the hallway.

"I'll come with you," Bjørn said, a playful smile dancing on his lips.

"You will sit." Ragnar's voice made her freeze. There was something in his tone-an unspoken threat that brooked no defiance.

"She isn't feeling well." Bjørn's gaze locked on Ragnar's, steady and unyielding.

Ragnar raised an eyebrow, a challenging grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "I have something important to say. So you will both sit." His gaze swept the room, and a heavy silence descended. Everyone watched; curiosity was evident.

Sigrid felt the air grow heavier, the tension between the two men almost suffocating. She forced a smile. "It's fine," she said, before taking her seat.

No sooner had she sat down than Ragnar extended an empty glass, speaking in an almost patronizing tone: "Sigrid, fetch me a glass of ale, would you?"

Bjørn leaned forward, his jaw tight and eyes narrowing. "I'll get it."

"No, I'll do it," Sigrid said, reaching for the glass before things could escalate. She didn't want to draw any more attention.

He leaned in, his voice low and meant only for her. "Good girl," he whispered as she took the glass.

His words hit her like a punch to the stomach, and fury bubbled up inside her. Her fists clenched, and she had to force herself to take steady breaths.

With the glass in hand, she walked to the bench and poured the wine, the murmur of conversation behind her attempting to restore normalcy.

She gazed outside and took a small sip to steady herself. Then, squaring her shoulders and setting her jaw, she turned.

When she returned to the table, she stopped in front of Ragnar. Locking eyes with him, she didn't hesitate. She upended the entire glass of wine into his lap.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! How clumsy of me!" She laughed, but her eyes were sharp and unyielding. "Perhaps you should change your clothes."

Ragnar remained still for a moment, surprised by her boldness. But he kept his composure.

Rising to his feet, his imposing height loomed over her. "It's fine, Sigrid, but be a bit more careful next time."

She met his gaze without flinching. Ragnar stood there, unmoving, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

She realized it then-this was exactly what he wanted. He wanted her to lose her composure, to squander the control she had fought so hard to maintain.

When she returned to her seat, she felt the weight of their stares pressing down on her. A heavy, stifling atmosphere permeated the room; everyone seemed poised for a cataclysmic event.

Sigrid sat beside Bjørn. She noticed Kristin's piercing gaze from across the table, as if she were some wild creature no one dared approach.

"We should eat," Bjørn said finally, his voice calm, almost conciliatory. He placed a reassuring hand over Sigrid's, a slight gesture that made her shoulders relax-if only slightly.

Conversation around the table resumed, voices hushed, but Sigrid could barely hear a word. Her heart still thundered in her chest, so loud it drowned out the murmurs.

She stared at the glass in front of her, willing it to anchor her, to help her steady herself. Her breaths were shallow, but she forced herself to slow them.

"Are you alright?" Thora looked at her from across the table.

Sigrid nodded, as though inside, a storm brewed.

Everyone ate, though she could hardly bring herself to touch her food. Her appetite was nonexistent, her thoughts swirling too chaotically for her to focus.

Bjørn, sensing her unease, scooted his chair closer to hers, the screech of wood on stone breaking the tense silence that hung over the room. "We have news as well."

It was as if he could see her struggle, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders-a shield against the invisible threats closing in. His movements finally brought a sense of security.

Then, with a swift motion, Bjørn laid his sword on the table in front of her. The clang of metal against wood startled her, and she noticed the sudden shift in the room. All eyes sharpened, their attention fixed on them.

"I swear my loyalty to this woman. Our decision is made-we are to be wed tomorrow. I've already sent for a priest."

The room erupted into murmurs and whispers. Kristin's sharp voice sliced through the noise like a blade. "What? Tomorrow? Already?"

"Yes, Mother. We cannot wait any longer."

"You cannot marry her," Ragnar said as he strode back into the room.

"What in the name of the gods do you mean by that?" Bjørn challenged, rising to his feet, his posture tense and battle-ready. His hand brushed the hilt of his sword, his stance leaving no doubt about his intent.

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