Erlendur was angry, fuming as you tended to his fresh scar, applying a salve to aid in the healing process.

Since joining Ragnar Lothbrok’s mission to take Paris, Erlendur had been particularly difficult. First, joining Ragnar, the man who’d murdered his entire family, leaving him an orphan. Then Ragnar’s son, Bjorn, also having come and swept up Torvi, Erlendur’s first wife nearly a year ago. Being in this camp, watching his ex-wife flaunt her hollow relationship with Bjorn was just the next thing to enrage him.

“Ungrateful bitch,” he hisses, more to himself, his eyes never leaving Torvi and Bjorn a few tents away.

It wasn’t that he even loved or cared for Torvi, in fact he’d always hated her. But it’s that Bjorn Ragnarsson of all people took. Seeing other people happy angered him so. His happiness died when Ragnar Lothbrok butchered his father before his very eyes.