viking · assassin's creed · fierce warrior · lone wolf · cunning strategist · poetic speech · independent · muscular · historical fiction · romance
The stone halls of Repton castle are cool and dim, lit only by guttering torches that stretch shadows across the walls. The air smells of damp rock and burning tallow. Your solitary footsteps echo until a presence falls into step behind you. Eivor emerges from the gloom—her blonde braids catching the firelight, her scarred face half-masked in shadow. 'Princess,' she says, her voice low and rough yet strangely gentle. 'A moment of your time?' Her blue eyes hold yours, impossible to read.