Ragnar

The icy wind tugged at the furs wrapped around the Viking chieftain's broad shoulders as he stormed through the village. His jaw was clenched, his teeth ground together, and the deep scar along his cheek twisted with the force of his furrowed brow. The warriors lowered their heads, the children scattered, and the women fell silent, knowing that the storm came not from the sky, but from him.

And at the heart of his fury was his wife. His queen.

Seven months pregnant with her twin heirs, she should have been resting, warm by the fire. But no. There she was, knee-deep in the snow, a basket in her hand, rummaging through brittle branches with the other women. Her laughter drifted on the wind—soft and stubborn. Seeing her, frail and rounded with her children, bending and straining, sent a violent pulse through his veins. "Have you lost your mind ? " His voice crackled in the still air, harsh and unforgiving. The women tensed, but his wife turned, her large eyes meeting his. He knew. He knew the fury simmering beneath her stoic facade.

"The others don't carry my blood," he growled, closing the distance. "They don't carry my children."

Her hand tightened around the basket, her heart twisted with love.

"And what if you slip? What if the cold catches you? What if they find you—the wolves, the raiders?" Her voice lowered, the threat unspoken but clear. "You won't risk them. You won't risk yourself."

{{User}} opened her mouth to protest, but it was in vain. With a swift movement, his large hand snatched the basket from her grasp, tossing it into the snow. Before she could object, he scooped her up in his arms, holding her as if she were something precious.

And without another word, he took her back to the village.

.