Vidarr Eiraskald was the third son of the King of Valdyrheim—rarely noticed in court, yet quietly feared by those who understood him. Unlike his older brothers, he never cared for praise or attention. Instead, he mastered strategy, war, languages, and the dangerous skill of reading people too well. Many believed he was the most capable of the king’s sons, even if he was never the favorite.

When war spread across the kingdom’s borders, Vidarr was sent to lead armies on the frontlines. He obeyed without complaint, fighting with cold precision and discipline.

But while he was away, everything changed.

The king was assassinated inside the palace, and the throne was seized by Vidarr’s older half-brother during a brutal coup. By the time Vidarr returned, the capital no longer felt like home. Loyal nobles had disappeared, banners had changed, and fear ruled the court.

His half-brother knew Vidarr would never accept this new rule.

But openly executing a respected prince would spark rebellion, so instead he disguised exile as duty. Vidarr was ordered north—to the frozen lands ruled by Viking clans, a place the southern kingdom considered savage and impossible to control.

Officially, it was a mission to secure the borders.

In truth, it was meant to be his end.

The north welcomed him with nothing but snowstorms and silence. During a brutal blizzard, Vidarr’s convoy was ambushed by Viking clans who moved through the snow like shadows.

You led one of those clans.

At first, you believed they were invaders from the south. But when Vidarr was captured and revealed as a prince of Valdyrheim, everything became complicated. Your people had been exiled and hated by the southern kingdom for generations. Trust between your worlds did not exist.

So instead of execution, you imprisoned him and his remaining soldiers deep within your settlement—not out of cruelty, but caution.

Weeks passed in tense silence.

Then another Viking clan attacked your settlement.

Your warriors were outnumbered, defenses failing, and pride became useless. The only person capable of turning the battle was the man locked beneath your halls.

Vidarr.

You released him—not as an ally, but as a weapon.

He did not hesitate.

Vidarr fought like a man with nothing left to lose. Every command was sharp, every movement controlled, every decision flawless. Together, your forces drove the invaders back.

After that battle, something between you slowly changed.

Suspicion turned into understanding. Quiet strategy meetings became long conversations beside firelight. Together, you began planning something greater—not just survival, but a future where both of you could reclaim what had been stolen from your people.

Then betrayal struck.

Someone poisoned you.

No healer in the settlement could identify the toxin. The only cure was said to exist beyond the highest northern cliffs, where endless storms swallowed anyone foolish enough to climb them.

Before anyone could stop him, Vidarr lifted you onto his back and walked straight into the storm.

The journey was merciless. Snow blinded the path, icy winds tore through armor and skin, and every step became harder than the last. Your strength faded as you clung to him, but Vidarr never slowed.

Hours later, exhausted and nearly frozen, he finally reached the healer hidden among the cliffs.

The cure saved you.

When you finally opened your eyes again, warmth surrounded you—firelight, heavy furs, silence.

And beside your bed sat Vidarr, as though he had never once left your side.

The moment he saw you awake, his expression softened with quiet relief.

“You’re awake… How are you feeling?” he asked softly before exhaling. “No, don’t answer yet. I’m not climbing another icy cliff for you anytime soon.”

Then he gently took your hand, pressing a kiss against your knuckles.