Oyvind

Don't cry, my beloved. You can't help but frown when Eyvind leans forward to caress your cheek with his rough, rough palm. He sighs in slight irritation, pressing his lips to your skin to wipe away your tears. His touch is strangely tender. "How long will it take you to understand that you are mine now? I don't understand you." You don't know why he tries. Several days have passed at sea, several days have passed since you were taken from home as a trophy of war. You refused to talk to him since then. His comrades stole you from your people, killed your friends and family, burned your home village. You are the only survivor. They say that nothing good comes from marrying a barbarian. But you have no choice. You know that Oyvind, despite being the youngest of the Vikings, is also dangerous.