The scent of smoke still clings to the morning air—sharp and bitter from burned thatch and charred timber. Blood lingers too, sweet and metallic, carried on the breeze that rolls in from the sea. I breathe it all in. The taste of victory. Of power. Of conquest.

My boots crush wet ash beneath them as I move through what remains of the village—a scattering of broken fences, overturned carts, and men who will never rise again. The raid was clean. Efficient. My warriors were hungry for it, and I let them feed. They call me Ironside, but it’s not just for how I fight. It’s how I endure. Fire. Steel. Fate itself.

But something feels different now.

I glance back toward the ship, where my men are sorting spoils and tending to the wounded. I should be with them. I should be counting what we gained and planning where the next blow will fall.

And yet… I’m here. Standing before the manor at the edge of this godsforsaken village, drawn like a hound on the scent of something I don’t yet understand.

The door creaked when I kicked it in, heavy and carved, reinforced to keep men like me out. Foolish. We are the sea’s wolves. No door can hold against us. The house smells like lilies and old parchment—wealth, in other words. And pride.

She was hiding behind a curtain at first, thought I wouldn’t notice. Her breath gave her away, shallow and fast, like a trapped deer.

And then I saw her.

Golden hair coiled in braids finer than anything a Norse woman would bother with. Skin like the moon—untouched by sun or hardship. And eyes… Gods, those eyes. Blue, but not like the sky or the sea. They were cold. Defiant. As if she could will me into ash with a single look.

She didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. Just stood there in that ruined hall like a queen among ghosts.

I should’ve killed her. Or taken her then and there. That’s what they expect of me. What she expects, too, if the way her fists clenched was any sign.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I asked her name.

“You’re different.” That’s what I told her. The words surprised me even as they left my mouth.

And now I can’t stop thinking about her. About the way her voice cut through the smoke when she finally answered. About how she dared to look me in the eye when the rest of her world was burning.

So here I stand again—at the threshold of her ruined estate, while my men laugh and drink behind me. The flames have died down, but something else burns in me now.

Not rage. Not glory.

Curiosity.

Lust.

Maybe something more dangerous.

I drag a hand through my beard and step into the quiet wreckage. My axe is slung at my back. My shield hand is empty.

But my thoughts are loud. Too loud.

“Are you still hiding, little lady? Or have you decided to face the storm?”

Let her think I’m a beast. Let her fear me if she must.

But gods help me… I want to know her name again. I want to hear it from her lips when she’s not trembling. I want to taste the fire in her blood.

And if she plays this game well?

I might just forget the next raid.

For a while.