Page 31 of Alliance Bride
The jarls filed in, some with sons at their heels, a few with wives who drifted to the edges. Warriors filled the remaining space. Eadlyn hesitated before following the other women, unsure whether she should stand with them or somewhere else.
The hall thickened with silence as Runar climbed the dais and took his place. Erik stood beside him, and when he spoke, his voice cracked like a whip against the walls. Though Eadlyn didn’t understand the words, the weight of them was unmistakable.
“He’s calling them forward to swear their oaths of loyalty,” Aevar’s voice murmured beside her, low and close. She startled, not having noticed him at her side. “And to offer their tribute.”
She glanced up at him, grateful for the translation.
One by one, the jarls stepped forward, each kneeling before Runar, offering oaths and chests heavy with tribute. Aevar named them quietly, translating when needed. It moved with solemn precision, the ceremony steeped in honor and tradition.
Until the final jarl.
Staegar strode down the aisle, his nephew Sig trailing. Neither carried a chest nor a sign of tribute. Only the heavy, dangerous air of a challenge. The hall seemed to shrink around them, the light itself dimming. Halfway to the dais, Staegar ripped an axe from his belt.
Eadlyn’s breath seized. Beside her, Aevar’s hand jumped toward his own weapon, body snapping taut. But Staegar didn’t attack. Instead, he drove the axe into the packed earth at the foot of the dais with a brutal thud. Straightening, he spat out a stringof words so sharp and venomous Eadlyn didn’t need a translation to understand their threat.
The hall held its breath.
Runar stood and descended the dais, each step deliberate. When he reached the axe, he tore it free and stepped nose to nose with Staegar. He bit out a short couple of words and offered the axe back. Staegar snatched it and turned on his heel, stalking from the hall. Murmurs rose behind him, a rumble of unease and speculation.
Eadlyn spun toward Aevar. “What just happened?”
His jaw clenched, his focus fixed on his father. “Staegar challenged his position as king.”
Eadlyn’s heart stumbled inside her chest. “He can do that?”
“Anyone can if they have the will. He’s invoked the right to fight for the crown.”
“To the death?”
Aevar shook his head, yet uncertainty lurked. “It’s meant to end when one yields. But Staegar…if he sees a weakness, he won’t stop. So far, he’s never been given that opportunity.”
So far? She stared at him. “This has happened before?”
“Once. Years ago. My father won the challenge.”
His words brought little comfort. Years could change a lot. She swallowed hard as the crowd advanced toward the doors. The heavy stench of sweat and smoke hung thicker now, pressing on Eadlyn’s lungs.
Outside, the longhouse emptied like floodwaters breaking through a dam. Eadlyn followed, legs stiff, blood pounding in her ears. Runar’s men moved swiftly, clearing a space in the yard. Already the crowd pressed in, breathless with expectancy.
She stuck close to Aevar as they wove through the growing throng toward one side of the ring. There, Erik was helping Runar into a shirt of mail, the heavy links catching the sunlight that broke through the clouds. Across the clearing, Staegar strapped on hardened leather, his glare molten with unmasked hatred.
Erik spoke clipped words into his father’s ear. Runar nodded once, grim and resolute. Inga approached, resting her hand on Runar’s arm and whispering something only for him. For one aching heartbeat, Eadlyn saw the man behind the king. The husband, the father, the one with everything to lose in this fight.
When Erik finished securing the armor, he passed Runar a round shield, deep blue and white with a black eagle emblazoned across its face. Runar took it without ceremony. He turned to Inga, pressed a brief kiss to her forehead, then strode into the ring. His sword hissed free of its sheath. Across the space, Staegar stepped forward, every movement coiled with menace.
Erik barked an order to a nearby slave boy and turned back to the ring. His voice was low with restrained anger. “If Staegar wins, his first act as king will be to face me.”
Aevar flicked his gaze toward the crowd’s edge. “Halbjorn might not wait that long.”
Eadlyn followed his glance. The other jarl already stood armed, shield ready, sword drawn. He looked like he was just waiting for an excuse to jump in.
Erik’s face remained hard. “As long as one of us puts him down.”
Eadlyn wanted to believe it wouldn’t come to that. Erik and Halbjorn would both uphold the alliance, but it didn’t feel right. Not when the agreement had been made with Runar. And it hadonly been a couple of weeks, but she cared for her father-in-law. She did not wish to see him defeated or, worse yet, killed.
Lord, he may not be one of Your children, but I pray for his protection, and that You would give him the strength and guidance to defeat Staegar. So much relies on it. Please keep him safe. Don’t let Staegar succeed.
Across the ring, Staegar let out a guttural shout that rang of challenge. Runar gave no reply. He only lifted his shield, shifted his sword into a ready guard, and advanced. Their blades met with a crash that echoed against the longhouse, rattling the air itself. Eadlyn flinched and clenched her hands tight against her skirts.
