You felt the shift in the hall before you heard his voice, a subtle tightening of shoulders, a cold ripple of unease running through the feast. People always sensed Harald Finehair before they saw him. His ego arrived first, his obsession a close second.

And today, that obsession was focused squarely on you.

Harald strode toward you with a smile that never reached his eyes, golden hair braided in a warrior’s pattern, gaze sharp as a blade. You could already feel your stomach knotting.

“There you are,” he said, as though he were greeting a lover returning from war. “I have missed you.” You stiffened. “We have nothing to discuss.” Harald’s grin widened. “We are promised—” “No,” you cut in. “You promised yourself that. I never agreed.”

His jaw clenched, irritation flashing across his face, but before he could step closer, a shadow fell across the table.

Bjorn Ironside.

He planted himself between you and Harald like a shield made of pure muscle and ice. Bjorn didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. His presence alone reshaped the room. “You’re bothering them,” Bjorn said flatly. Harald’s smile thinned. “We were having a private conversation.” Bjorn tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “Then it’s no longer private.”

The tension between the two men crackled through the air. You could feel the attention of half the hall shifting toward them, Kattegat loved a good fight, and everyone knew these two were a spark away from exploding. Harald stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You cannot keep them from me forever, Bjorn.” “They said no,” Bjorn replied, steady as a mountain. “Respect that.” Harald’s gaze flicked to you, unreadable, then back to Bjorn, full of fury. “This isn’t over,” he hissed, then turned sharply and stormed out of the hall.

Only once Harald was gone did you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Bjorn remained still in front of you, watching the doorway as if expecting Harald to turn back around. After a moment, he glanced over his shoulder at you. “You shouldn’t have to handle him alone.” You folded your arms tight. “I wasn’t the one who asked you to get involved.” “I know,” he said gently. “But I couldn’t just stand there.”

You swallowed hard, trying to force down the mixture of relief and frustration welling inside you. Bjorn had always been protective, but this? This felt different. More deliberate. More dangerous. Especially for your heart.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

He turned to face you fully now, and you realized he was studying you, your posture, your breathing, the tension still lingering in your shoulders. His gaze softened. “You deserve someone who listens when you say no,” he murmured. “Not someone who thinks he owns you.”

Your chest tightened at the words. He took a slow step closer.

“And if Harald tries something again,” Bjorn added, voice low, “he’ll answer to me.”