The Viking's Possession by Felicity Brandon

Author:Felicity Brandon [Brandon, Felicity]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Stormy Night Publications
Published: 2018-06-06T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-One: Loss

He leaves with the rising of the sun, no less than two days since I’d woken in our chamber. I stand with the king at my side, watching as Anders, his brother Olaff, and hundreds more of his men march proudly from the walls of Lundborg. My heart is heavy at the sight, fearing the worst for the man that I love, and for those whom they ride to face.

Sensing my emotion, and no doubt full of his own, the king grasps my hand at his side. “Stay strong, Aurelie,” he urges me.

I glance up at him, eyeing his hair blowing as the wind catches it. “I will try,” I assure him, trying to offer a weak smile.

He returns it with gusto, pulling me into an embrace. “I know that you will,” he tells me.

We remain there, watching in silence until the last horse and the final flag are lost to our eyes.

“Walk with me,” the king tells me, signalling for his men to fall back to their lines. “Walk with me the way you did that first morning, before I consented to your union with my son.”

I nod, turning and following in his direction. Together we cross the battlements, returning to the spot he had alluded to, the one where miles of his kingdom are visible. Here he turns to face me, taking my small hands in his larger palms.

“Aurelie,” he says with a smile. “I know this is a difficult time for you. To be without the man you married, such a short time after your union, is a great disappointment.”

I bite my lip as he speaks, watching the morning light reflected in his eyes.

“Know that it is hard for me also,” he says, dropping my hands and turning back to face the town beyond us. “I lost Anders’ older brother, Alexander to battle many years ago, and seeing him and Olaff ride away to fight again…” He hesitates, his eyes flitting to the mountains.

Moving toward him, I touch the side of his arm. “I’m so sorry,” I begin. “Anders has never spoken of his brother. I did not know what happened.”

The king turns to face me, his expression sad. “Alexander was born when my union to the queen was young. He came many years before Anders and his brother. He was a man when Anders and Olaff were only boys, and he rode south to war before they had reached manhood.”

I swallow as I contemplate his statement. To lose a child in such a savage way. How do you reconcile that? How do you ever move on? And now, he has watched his two remaining sons ride away again…

“Anders barely remembers him,” he concludes wistfully. “He was only seven when Alexander’s body came home, and from that time, he has been my heir, and the next king of Norse.”

I nod, my understanding of my husband clearer now than perhaps it has ever been. This is the root of Anders’ mettle, his need to claim, to possess things, to constantly prove himself.

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