Page 11 of Vow to Claim You

Then his gaze shifts back to me, and whatever warmth flickered there vanishes like it was never invited in the first place.

“Ingrid, this is Mrs. Vold.” He straightens, gesturing between us with all the enthusiasm of someone introducing furniture. “This is Ingrid. She’s been with the family for many years. Technically, she’s the help, but in truth, she’s part of the household. Think of her as family. The lady of the house.”

He says all of this without once using my actual name. As if speaking it might cost him something. As if acknowledging I’m a person rather than a title might somehow weaken his precious Viking composure.

Ingrid’s cheeks flush pink, clearly unaccustomed to such a lengthy speech from the man of few words. She steps closer with a smile that’s equal parts flattered and flustered.

“A pleasure, Mrs. Vold. Though now, you will be the lady of the house, and I’ll be merely your help.”

The lady of the house.

The words prickle against my skin like a wool sweater I didn’t ask to wear.

“Please, call me Ayanna.” I offer her my warmest smile—the real one, not the diplomatic mask I’ve been wearing since I signed those papers.

“Oh, I couldn’t, ma’am.” The sheepish smile returns. “Anyway, you must be exhausted.” She glances at Aric. “I’ve prepared the primary suite on the top floor for both of you, Mr. Vold.”

“Please show Mrs. Vold the way there.” He cuts in, voice cool and decisive. “I’ll stay in my own bedroom.”

My head jerks toward him, startled. Heat rushes through me, not from shame or rejection, but from the sheer audacity of it. The way he keeps referring to me as Mrs. Vold, it’s as if my name, or even worse, calling me his wife, would burn out the tongue in his mouth. But of course, he doesn’t notice the death glare with which I’m trying to burn a hole in his head.

“Then help her unpack and show her around the house,” he continues, his gaze still on Ingrid as if I wasn’t even here. “When you’re finished, bring her to my office.”

Then he turns and walks away, not sparing me so much as a glance.

Ugh, the arsehole!

My blood simmers as I watch his back disappear down the hallway. Unbelievable. What an arrogant son of a⁠—

“Please, follow me, Mrs. Vold,” Ingrid offers softly, sounding almost bashful, as though she’s embarrassed on his behalf. “I’ll show you to your room.”

I swallow down the insults still running through my head and follow. I brace myself for a sterile icebox—something as unwelcoming as the owner of this house himself—but when the bedroom door swings open, I’m pleasantly stunned. The room is…cozy. Enormous, yes, but warm. The bed draped in soft throws, the walls softened by muted tones of cream and gray, lamps glowing faintly in the corners, and a fire flickering in the hearth. And the view…it’s actually breathtaking. Snow stretches as far as the eye can see, white and endless, but it’s somehow soothing. Different from Monserian’s golden light, but not without its own strange kind of beauty.

I’d bet my life Ingrid had her hand in making this house feel alive.

I leave my luggage there, running a hand across the fur blanket before following her back out. The rest of the mansion feels elegant. Nothing like the castle I grew up in, dripping in gilded frames and suffocating opulence. This is stripped back minimalism: clean lines, muted tones, wooden floors. And somehow, despite myself, I love it. The simplicity is…soothing.

Finally, Ingrid turns to me with her gentle smile. “Mr. Vold asked for you to come to his office once we’re finished. We should go.”

I force a smile of my own. “I’ll join him after I’ve had a bath.”

Her brows draw together slightly with the faintest crease of confusion. “But he requested⁠—”

“Then tell him I’ll be there.” The corner of my lips curls with a mischief I haven’t felt since I signed my death warrant. “Once I’m ready.”

He can wait. The arsehole.

Ingrid hesitates, clearly torn between following his orders and not wanting to argue with her new mistress, then nods. “Of course, ma’am.”

I sweep away before she can reconsider, retreating into the sanctuary of the en suite bathroom. Steam rises as I sink into the bath, hot water lapping against my skin, and for the first time since this circus began, my muscles actually loosen. I let my head tip back against the porcelain edge, unable to suppress a smile.

Take that, arsehole. You don’t get to summon me like a servant. I’m a princess of Monsera, not one of your soldiers.

But then a sharp knock jolts me upright, water sloshing over the edge.

“Are you in there?”

My heart stutters. Flipping heck. I didn’t think he’d actually come looking for me.