ELLA DROPPED A PACE BEHIND THORVID. As they entered the great hall of the longhouse, she kept her eyes down, but her head held high. Thorvid's step was quick and hands clenching then unclenching at his sides. He hadn't been this agitated even when they were being pursued by Guthrum's men with arrows flying. Apparently, his big brother was a force to be reckoned with.

Anxiety tightened her stomach into a knot. Ivar believed her to be the daughter of King Ælla, a tyrant who had killed his father. Even if he believed that she was the princess, what would stop him from merely taking her prisoner and abusing her in every way possible as an act of further vengeance?

She wasn't playing a trivial game here, but the most dangerous one of all.

The smoky hall was filled with warriors at tables lining the roaring fire pit. The loud laughter and singing quieted at their entrance. Thorvid led her to the very end of the room. The rest of the warriors didn't matter, only the man hidden under a private canopy.

The dusty, autumnal scent of dried rushes scattering the floor filled the air, mixing with the greasy smell of meat dripping on a spit behind them. Despite the dimness of the windowless hall, her senses were overwhelmed.

She had been pleasantly surprised to find that the Danes broke the stereotype that all Europeans in the Middle Ages were dirty and smelly. Even Sigurd of the Bite Mark had washed regularly while they were on the road.

After her bath, Hilde had smoothed floral scented oil onto her hair and hands. Her dress, though woolen, was fresh with sunlight as it had been washed then dried on a line outside. Hilde had not commented on Ella's odd undergarments when she had gathered her things. Thankfully, the red gown had buttons instead of a zipper. But certainly the underwire in her bra would give the slave woman pause as well as the elastic waist on her panties. She would have to come up with further excuses for those.

Her purse with all its modern amenities was long lost, stolen by Thorvid's men when they'd kidnapped her. So much for her passport and driver's license. Her cell phone was good and dead, now just a useless chunk of plastic.

"Stay quiet unless he speaks to you," Thorvid said, tugging her up alongside him by the elbow.

They reached the back of the room. A screen with an iron lattice separated the space from the rest of the room with a domed canopy. A figure illuminated by a trio of tall tapers sat at the back. The bench in front of him was laid with a mat and strange ornaments like chess pieces. Ella couldn't help her small smile at seeing Gudrik sitting across from the stranger. His arm was bandaged and in a sling.

"You are looking well," Thorvid said as his comrade rose to his feet.

"Better than when you fished me out of that river." Gudrik clapped his shoulder, his bright hair pulled into a harsh braid. His receding hairline was snowy. She wondered if he was younger than he looked as he turned towards her, his smile dimming, but not fading all together. "Princess. Glad to see you are well."

The stranger shifted in his seat as he leaned forward to move a game piece.

"Ha. There. Take your turn, Gudrik, then you may leave so I can talk with Thorvid. But I'm not done with you yet after they leave me in peace," Ivar said, bringing the space to rigid attention.

His tone was similar to Thorvid's; passionate, but calculating. But there was an edge of impatient authority to him that set her on guard. She took another deep breath. She wasn't Ella Rose White of Connecticut anymore, average student and above average daydreamer. She was Aethylthryth and she was royalty.

Gudrik moved a piece on the board. Ivar hummed thoughtfully deep in his throat. Before he left, Gudrik passed a wary grin towards Thorvid as he took a deep draw from his cup. Thorvid stepped forward.

"Sit, brother," Ivar commanded, motioning to the empty seat in front of him. "Tell me how things went. I can see by our guest that you were successful in your hunt.

Neither of the men were looking at her, instead focused on each other. It gave her a minute to study the Danish king. He was Thorvid's height and breadth. They had the same narrow eyed glance, the color a muddied mix of grey and green. Crows feet edged his black lashes and silver streaks ran through his ruddy curls that lay on his thick shoulders. He appeared to be around 40. 

His clothing didn't fit his position. Ivar wore a simple black tunic without adornment. Gudrik was better dressed than his king. But no Thor's hammer, that was the interesting part. Resting his clean shaven chin between his thumb and index finger, Ivar studied the game board in front of him. Thorvid leaned towards him, balling his hands as he settled his elbows to his knees.

"On the second day, we thought we had lost them. We found that the party of Saxons bringing the princess to Wessex were lost in the mist. They stumbled into a rough part of the river. Two of her guards were drowned, but we found one. Barely alive. He seemed to believe that the princess had been lost to the river as well before he died."

Ivar waved a hand in her direction. "And yet here she is, in the flesh."

"Yes. That was fate. Sigurd and Gudrik discovered her wandering the forest in a daze and captured her."

Ivar snorted. "Not without a fight, I heard. Sigurd was quick to show me where she bit his hand."

Unable to stop herself, Ella scoffed and shook her head. Ivar glanced in her direction, a bemused quirk at the corner of his mouth. Ella looked down at her feet.

"She didn't give us anymore trouble however. We rode for almost two days and I'm sure you've already heard of the mess we stepped into this morning-"

"Mess? Gudrik was almost killed."

Thorvid gave an uncertain pause. "It was unprecedented. We never thought that Guthrum's men would pass into the borders of your land."

"Guthrum needs to find himself smarter followers if he is going to get anywhere in his ambitions," Ivar muttered, rubbing his eyes.

"That's what we said as well."

"And now, I believe you wish me to send notice to Wessex of this girl. A demand for ransom?"

Thorvid nodded. "That would be the idea."

"She certainly looks like royalty, even if she's a Saxon. Healthier build than her sister's. I don't understand this Christian obsession with starving yourself for the sake of a god. It's absurd." Ivar turned towards her again. "What do you think of it, princess? This ritual of fasting?"

"I like a good meal," Ella stated blandly without thinking.

Ivar chuckled deeply, his shoulders shaking a little. "More amusing than her sister as well."

"She's a rare breed of Saxon," Thorvid added with a dry look in her direction.

"I should think so, she seems to possess a sense of humor."

When Ivar honed his entire attention on her, Ella found that she was unable to look away. Charismatic was the word. No wonder he was their leader. He hooked her attention from ten feet away without a word.

"Leave us, brother. I'll discuss the particulars with you later. I would like to speak with the daughter of my old enemy for a moment."

Ella's heart jumped to her throat. She gave Thorvid an alarmed glance as he stood. His face registered only apathetic resignation. Yet again, she was only a piece of chattel to him. He brushed past her out into the open hall, leaving her alone with the infamous Ivar.

"Sit?" It was a request, not a command.

Ella took her place at the game, neatly folding her hands in her lap and keeping her posture perfect. She trained her eyes on the pieces of the board.

"Are you familiar with..." He waved a hand vaguely over the bench.

"Is it like chess?"

"Ah. I'm surprised you've heard of that game. It isn't very popular here yet, but we had a visitor from the far east to Kattegat who brought it with them. So you have been educated." He moved a piece. "No, this is called hnefatafl. Did your father ever mention it?"

Ella shook her head.

"He and my father played a couple times in the old days when we visited. You were a small child. I met your sister then, but not you."

"I remember her telling me of you. Your people were a source of fascination to her," Ella lied.

Doubtlessly, she was going to have to get used to doing it. Hopefully, she would tell the right lies.

Ivar peered up at her, searching her countenance. "Funny. She said she was terrified of us."

"Fear and fascination sometimes go hand in hand. That's why they call it morbid fascination."

The corner of his mouth quirked in vague amusement. He sat back in his seat, his gaze steady. Ella lifted her head, blinking back at him.

"I have the unfortunate duty of informing you of your sister's fate, though I am sure you've guessed it."

"Is she dead?"

"Yes."

Ella drew a quick breath. His words hit close to home. She was lost 1,100 years before her birth. Her own sister might as well be dead and the rest of her family. Her own country didn't even exist yet. She struggled to keep her composure.

"How?"

"In childbirth with my brother Halfdan's son." Ivar didn't flinch.

Ella flinched with a stab of fear. "Will that be my fate? Raped then forced to give birth?"

"You won't believe me, but your sister loved Halfdan. He is handsome and charming, unlike Thorvid and I. Our brother Bjorn back in Kattegat is the same. There was no rape between them. But for Halfdan, it was more of a flirtation than true feelings."

Ella nodded stiffly. "Then what will happen to me?"

"I will send word to Aelfred of your presence here. If he thinks you're worth it, he'll meet our demands."

"And if not?"

"Then we'll find some other practical use for you. In the mean time, rest assured that you will be treated with the utmost respect while you among us. You may go now if you wish, Aethylthryth."

Ella couldn't help pausing before she rose from her seat. The man was magnetic. Morbid fascination was her only explanation.