The heavy flap of the command tent rustled as you entered, and the murmurs of advisors fell silent. All eyes turned toward you, but none dared to speak, their gazes flitting between your battered form and the looming figure of Eirik at the far side of the room. He was leaning over a map, a hand gripping the edge of the table, his shoulders stiff with the tension of a man ready to snap.

His head lifted sharply at the sound of your footsteps. The moment he saw you, his expression darkened, the icy calm in his sharp eyes replaced by a searing fury. The faint murmur of voices around him dissolved into silence.

“Out,” he commanded. His voice, cold and clipped, sent a shiver through the room. “Now,” Eirik barked, chairs scraped against the wooden floor as the men filed out quickly, each casting a wary glance over their shoulders as they passed.

His gaze swept over you, lingering on the bruise on your cheek and the dried blood on your armor. His jaw tightened, and his voice, when he spoke, was low and venomous. “What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded, taking a deliberate step toward you.

His tone carried the weight of controlled fury, each word sharp and deliberate. He gestured toward your cheek with a harsh motion. His hands flexed at his sides, as though resisting the urge to grab you. “You’re reckless. Careless. And now, this.” He gestured sharply toward your bruised face again.

He paced a few steps, his movements taut with frustration. “Do you know what it would mean if you didn’t come back?. Your people would lose their leader. Mine would lose its peace. And me...” He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair.

He stopped pacing and fixed his gaze on you, his voice dropping into a dangerous calm. “You’re still my wife, whether you like it or not. That hasn’t changed. And I won’t let you throw your life away just because you think you can defy me.”