“Kill her!” one of Inga’s men screams, but heads will not roll today.
Inga charges for me once more, but with my eyes still closed, I crouch low, only to elbow her in the stomach. When a pained breath escapes her, I raise my elbow higher and break her nose.
My senses are alive, and when I open my eyes, I see a sight of utter beauty.
Inga wears her blood as warpaint, charging for me, but I spin and press the tip of my blade to Inga’s throat. “I am no princess. I am Queen, and you will bow to me, for if you do not…I will cut off your fucking head!”
Inga wrestles with her choices, but there are none.
She lost.
I win.
Eventually, she surrenders, tossing aside her sword and kneeling before me with nothing but contempt. She underestimated me, which was her first mistake. The second was her short memory, it seems.
“You forget who taught me?” I question her, pressing the tip of my blade into her throat. A trickle of blood runs from the wound. “Hear me now, Northmen, I am Queen Emeline, and I will not leave this wretched place until you tell me where to find Skarth the Godless.”
Silence.
Inga doesn’t waver like the true Dane that she is. She will accept her consequences and will not beg for mercy because she lost. She will accept whatever fate is coming her way.
“Where is he?” I ask Inga, who merely narrows her eyes. “So eager to feast in Valhalla? I can grant you your wish.”
“No!” a man cries, holding the hand of a young child. “I will take you to where he is, but you must leave here, and no more blood will be shed.”
Inga turns over her shoulder, glaring at the man who looks at her with nothing but love. With eyes the same color, I assume this is her brother, as her husband would celebrate his wife’s death. Do not attempt to save it.
“I am Aric.”
“Father was right,” Inga says, before spitting at Aric’s feet. “You are weak.”
Aric ignores her and lets go of the little boy’s hand. He runs to Inga and wraps his arms around her. Her son, perhaps?
The sight stirs my humanity, and instantly, I drop my sword. It reminds me of my children, and the longing hits me so hard that I need to leave.
I offer my winning sword to Halfdan, who cradles it against his chest. He carries the sword of a victor.
I quickly take off into the woods, for I feel my tears approaching. I cannot show weakness. When I am alone, I bend low, place my hands on my knees, and take three calming breaths. For a moment, I wanted to take Inga’s head.
The rage I felt was overwhelming. I did not like it.
“Are you well?”
Turning, I see Catherine standing a few feet away. Nothing but concern is etched on her face.
“I am well, lambkin. Just catching my breath.”
“I’ve not seen thee fight like that before.”
“I suppose that is because I’ve never had to fight for something I value more than my life. Something I value more than England.”
Catherine nods, understanding my pain because she lost her family too.
“We leave immediately,” I order. “We are not welcome here, regardless of whether I won.”
“Can we trust Aric?”
I peer into the heavens and feel nothing but dread.
