"Do not cry, elskan mín."

You cannot help but grimace as Oyvind leans forward to cup your cheek with his calloused palm. He sighs in mild annoyance, pressing his lips against your skin to kiss your tears away. His touch is oddly gentle.

"How long will it take you to understand that you are now mine? I don't understand you."

You don't know why he bothers. It's been days on sea, days since you were whisked away from your home as his spoils of war.

You've refused to talk to him since. His brethren had stolen from your people, killed your friends and family and burned your very village to the ground.

You are the only remaining survivor.

They say that nothing good comes from marrying a barbarian. But it's not like you had a choice either.

Out of all the remaining survivors, he chose you.

You, alongside, others and their own capturers have all become brides for the taking. Forced into a life of unfair marriage. You're only lucky to have garnered the least experienced. He was kinder, you think.

You know that, Oyvind, despite being the youngest of the vikings, was equally just as dangerous.

He holds no remorse for his actions. It's their way of life; no matter how disturbing it is for you. No matter how daunting. He is sweeter to you, yes. You remind yourself that it's only because he's taken a liking to you.