The chamber door closed behind them with a quiet thud, sealing them in.
Isabelle's breath caught in her throat. The firelight bathed the room, dancing across stone walls and casting shadows over thick furs strewn across the bed. Her heart thundered beneath her ribs.
Ewan watched her in silence. His tall frame was still wrapped in the heavy cloak of the ceremony, his long hair fell past his neck. His sharp eyes had softened, but their heat hadn't faded.
She stood still, unsure, her fingers twisting the fabric of her dress. His gaze dropped, following the movement.
"You don't have to be afraid," he said, voice low and steady. "Not with me."
He reached for her hand and kissed it.
"I've never...I don't know what to do."
"You don't need to," he murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Just stay with me."
He leaned in then his mouth brushed hers gently as his eyes roamed on her body, not taking a kiss, but a question. She answered it, leaning up to meet him, her lips pressing against his in quiet surrender.
The kiss deepened, slow and heated, as his hands moved to her waist. He unfastened her dress slowly and paused, as if seeing more than her skin.
"You're beautiful." he said, voice hushed.
He scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed. She watched him undress, each layer revealing a muscle and old scars that told his own story. A warrior's body, now hers to learn.
He joined her beneath the furs, his body warm, surrounding hers. His kisses found her throat, her collarbone, her chest, slow and patient, letting her adjust.
When he touched her more intimately, her breath hitched, unfamiliar and intense. He paused.
"Did I hurt you?"
She shook her head, cheeks flushed. "Don't stop."
When he finally entered her, It was slow. His hands held hers tightly, their eyes locked. He stilled, forehead pressing to hers, breathing ragged.
"You're so sweet." he said softly.
He moved gently, letting her guide him with her breath, her gasped and soft moans. The ache faded into something warmer, deeper. Her body ached towards him instinctively, and he kissed her hard, answering the rising tide between them.
She cried out softly, burying her face in his neck as he held her close, his own release chasing after hers, breath caught in her name.
"Oh, Isabelle." he murmured.
She smiled against his chest, exhausted and safe.
She was home.
The morning sun filtered through the windows, casting a warm glow across the chamber where Isabelle lay curled beneath thick furs. Her hair spread across the pillow, her body still humming from the night before from Ewan's touch, warmth, and how he'd made her feel.
He sat at the edge of the bed, half dressed, his sword strapped to his side, gazing at her as though he still didn't believe she was real.
"You're staring," she whispered, smiling sleepily.
He turned. "I've earned that right, haven't I?"
Before she could respond, the chamber door opened sharply.
Rollo stepped inside, brow knit with urgency. "Forgive me, Jarl. My Queen. They gathered in the long hall. Something stirs."
The Jarl's smile faded as he stood. "Tell them we'll be there."
Isabelle rose, pulling her cloak around her shoulder. She nodded to Rollo, who gave a tight nod as he left.
In the long hall, tension hung like thick smoke. The chiefs stood murmuring, and silence fell as the Jarl and Isabelle entered together. She walked tall beside him, her dark hair braided with golden wire, her gaze sharp.
Then Eirik stepped forward.
"I see the mighty Jarl bring his pet to council now," he said, loud enough for all to hear. "A woman raised in dresses and balls now commands warriors?"
A few chuckled uneasily.
Ewan didn't rise to it. But Isabelle did. She stood beside him with pride, and before she could speak, the man sneered further.
"No matter," he said. "I've brought my alliance today." He turned toward the shadow behind him. Freya stepped out, adorned in a woven red gown.
"We are married," he declared. "A union of strength, not sentiment."
Murmurs rippled through the chiefs.
"I thought it fitting to bring closure." Hrothgar's voice cut the air.
Two figures stepped forward.
Isabelle froze. Her eyes widened.
Her parents.
"Isabelle dear," her mother whispered, "what are you doing on that throne?"
The room shifted from discomfort to doubt and confusion.
Her hands curled into fists.
She stood slowly, her voice cold as steel.
"Rollo," she said, not looking at her parents. "Take them to the guest chamber. They are not to leave until I send for them."
"Isabelle!" her father yelled.
She didn't flinch. "I said, go."
Rollo and the rest of the men moved quickly, the door closing behind them.
Then she turned, and her eyes burned.
She walked down slowly towards Eirik.
"You think because I was born into nobility, I won't bleed for this land?" she said, her voice rising. "I've earned every breath I'm taking, and you dare question what I'm doing on that throne?"
She stood toe to toe with him, chin lifted.
"Let me tell you what I see," she spat. "A man too cowardly to build his own clan, clinging to a woman's strength and a traitor's whisper. You are nothing and will never rule."
She turned to the guards, voice like ice. "Seize him. And take the woman he calls wife, and her father to the cells."
Freya hissed in rage, trying to push past the guards, but they held her.
Isabelle turned to face the hall.
"I am queen beside your Jarl. My blood is in the earth now. I will not tolerate treason. If anyone betrays this clan, his head will hang on the gates."
No one moved or spoke.
"Who dares to question the Jarl?"
Silence followed.
The chamber door closed behind Isabelle as she entered. Her parents stood by the fire, their eyes cold and furious.
"Isabelle," her mother snapped, her voice trembling with restrained fury. "Do you know what we endured to find you and your sisters? We were spared because your father's name still meant something!"
She turned away, clenching her fists. "And what did we find? You, draped in furs, seated beside a warlord like some shield-maiden of their gods!"
"They stink," she continued. "These beasts. They are beneath us!"
Her father grunted in agreement, speaking for the first time. "She's right. These people live by the axe, not by honor. You don't belong here, Isabelle."
"They saved my life. I and my sisters. We owe them our lives."
"And we will send them silver or whatever they want."
"I haven't forgotten who I am," she said quietly. "I remember everything I was taught. But I also remember what it felt like to be hunted, to bleed, and to fight. I've made my decision."
"Which is?"
"To stay. To bind my fate to the clan." Her gaze held hers. "To my husband."
Her mother recoiled. "You married him!"
Silence fell.
"So you choose these people over your birthright?" Her father said, inhaling slowly.
"Are you sure those people didn't hit her head hard, Martin?"
"I choose peace. I choose to stand between two worlds and hold them together. If I leave, war will follow."
"They will never see you as one of them. No matter what you do!"
"Then I'll make them. One way or another."
Her father moved forward, and after a long pause, placed his hands on her shoulders. "If this is your path, then we will return with your sisters."
"I wouldn't want you to," Isabelle said, tears threatening to fall. "But I have to stay."