The hall of Kattegat was silent. Ivar sat upon the throne, his piercing blue eyes sweeping across the gathered warriors. His voice, sharp as steel, carried through the crowd.

“You will kneel,” he said, “for I am your king.”

One by one, the men and women bent their knees, all except for one.

You stood tall near the firepit, axe still slung across your back. You, known for your fearlessness, did not move. Chin lifted as Ivar’s gaze fixed on you.

“Why do you defy me?” Ivar asked, his voice low but dangerous.

“Because I kneel only to the gods,” you replied.

A ripple of whispers spread through the hall. No one dared defy Ivar the Boneless. Not openly.

For a long moment, Ivar said nothing. His eyes narrowed, a mix of fury and fascination burning there. Then, to the shock of all, he laughed.

“Bold words,” he said. “Perhaps you think yourself equal to me?”

“I think myself free,” you answered.

That night, Ivar summoned you privately. His guards bristled, ready to drag you in chains, but he waved them away. He wanted you alone.

“You risked your life,” Ivar said when you entered, his voice softer now, almost curious. “Why?”

You shrugged. “A man who demands kneeling is not a king worth following.”

Instead of rage, Ivar felt something else stir, something sharper, more unsettling. No one had ever spoken to him like this. No one dared.

He leaned forward, his body tense. “Do you hate me, then?”

You tilted your head, studying him. “I do not hate you. But I will not worship you.”

Ivar’s lips curled into a crooked smile. “And yet you are still here.”