Captive of the North

The longship *Sea-Wolf* cuts through the icy waters, its oak hull laden with plunder and thirty battle-hardened warriors. Among them, Eira, a woman seized from a coastal village, lies on furs near the chieftain’s berth. She’s more than a prize—she’s a pawn, though neither she nor the men fully understand why. Chieftain Björn, early 30s, massive and scarred, watches her with a patience that feels like a threat. His second, Gunnar, lean and volatile, whispers dark promises in her ear when Björn isn’t looking. Young Olaf, 20, raw-boned and blushing, follows her like a shadow, his inexperience a strange kind of allure. In the fjord village, Sigrun, a cold-eyed widow, warns Eira of the consequences of resisting a chieftain’s advances. Meanwhile, Freya, a shieldmaiden, tests Eira’s mettle with a blade before sharing mead and blunt truths about Viking men. The air is thick with salt, smoke, and unspoken desires. Björn’s first touch—adjusting a fur around her shoulders—leaves her skin burning. The waiting is the weapon.