The Last Supper, Part 2

Ragnar did not reply but calmly sat at the table. His movements were unhurried, almost provocatively nonchalant, as if Bjørn's threat was of no consequence. Leaning back in his chair, a self-assured smile lingered on his lips.

Kristin, seated across from him, let her sharp gaze drift over them. The silent tension between them hung like invisible threads, taut and unresolved.

She leaned forward, curiosity glinting in her voice as she broke the silence.
"Why not?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. "Do you wish to marry her as well?"

Ragnar chuckled, a light, almost mocking laugh, as though the question was utterly absurd.
"No," he replied calmly. "Of course not."

He reached for his food and began cutting it, his movements slow and deliberate. His tone remained composed as he continued.

"Sigrid comes from a respectable family with influence," he said, his knife slicing through the meat, each word as sharp as the blade. "But tell me, Sigrid, have you shared that little detail with them?" His gaze shifted to her, playful yet challenging.

Kristin leaned closer, tension flickering in her voice. "What detail?" She asked, almost desperate.

Sigrid said nothing. She held Ragnar's gaze, as though his words had drained all the air from the room.

Bjørn answered for Sigrid.
"Sigrid fled from an arranged marriage," he said. "She's been living in exile with Erik ever since."

A collective gasp filled the room. Everyone at the table, except for Thora, turned wide-eyed toward Sigrid.

"If she's to marry," Ragnar said, raising his fork, "she needs approval from a family member."

He took a bite, his eyes locked on Sigrid."Or a guardian."

Ragnar added with a smile, "Otherwise, trouble. Persecution. Or worse-she might be forced to marry Knut."

Bjørn, who was still standing, hesitated for a moment before finally sitting down. He rested his elbows on the table, staring at Sigrid. After a long pause, he gave a curt nod.
"He's right," Bjørn admitted.

"Yes, he's right!" Kristin's voice rang out, almost triumphant. "How could you keep this from us, Sigrid?"

Bjørn shot an irritated glance at Kristin.

"I knew," he replied sharply. "But it meant nothing to me. The king gives me what I need, and Erik sees Sigrid as a daughter." He leaned forward slightly, his tone softening, almost confessional. "He said we would always have his support."

Sigrid sat frozen. Bjørn's last words hit her hard, and she felt a tear well up in the corner of her eye. She had never truly realized that Erik cared for her so deeply. It was a truth she hadn't been prepared for.

"Well, neither the king nor Erik can give you anything if they lie dead beneath the earth," Ragnar said slowly, savoring the weight of their attention.

"What are you getting at?" Bjørn asked, his gaze fixed on Ragnar as if the man held all the answers.

Sigrid sat still, hands folded in her lap, watching Ragnar. There was something almost luminous about him, a quiet, satisfying confidence.

Ragnar leaned forward, a wide grin spreading from ear to ear. His eyes were fixed on Sigrid, as if his words were meant for her alone, though everyone in the room could hear:
"The king narrowly escaped an ambush by the rebels."

The air in the room froze. No one dared to breathe.

"The rebels are likely gathering south, near Songdalsfjorden," he continued. "If we don't strike, they will put a new king on the throne."

"Where is he now?" Bjørn asked anxiously.

"In hiding in Denmark," Ragnar replied calmly. "But he's on his way back and needs our support. My father has prepared a ship that will sail from Frosta in a few days."

"Of course," Ragnar said with a faintly mocking tone, "we could always claim you're unfit to join. That is your choice. After all, the king still believes you're bedridden."

Sigrid glared at Ragnar, her displeasure evident in her piercing stare. She knew where this was going, and she didn't like it.

Bjorn stood, taking a deep breath before exhaling heavily. "Clearly, I'm no longer bedridden," he said, his voice carrying a note of resignation. "Of course I have to go. I owe him that. I swore an oath."

Ivar rose almost immediately after him. "I'm coming with you," he declared firmly.

Erling rose as well, this time with his two sons by his side. He placed a firm hand on Bjørn's shoulder.
"No," he said gravely, then rested his other hand on Ivar. "I'll go with Bjørn. If anything happens... God forbid... you must take over here."

His words made Sigrid freeze. The weight of the situation, which she had struggled to grasp, hit her like a wave, washing away everything familiar and safe.

"No," she said suddenly, her voice sharp and trembling with emotion.

All heads turned to her, startled by her outburst. The silence that followed was deafening.

"Ragnar, you're lying," she heard herself say, her voice sharp and quivering. The words escaped before she could stop them.

Ragnar raised an eyebrow, looking utterly unfazed, as though he had been waiting for this moment. With deliberate calm, he reached into his coat, pulling out a letter. Placing it on the table with a flourish, he leaned back, his smile smug.
"Here's the proof."

Sigrid stared at the letter but refused to touch it. Instead, her gaze shifted to Bjørn, and suddenly she rose, her voice trembling with desperation.
"Please," she begged. "Don't go. You promised. You said we'd never be apart again."

Bjørn looked at her, his eyes shadowed with pain. He hesitated, her words clearly shaking him, as if they might be enough to change his mind. But in the end, he shook his head, slow and heavy.

"I know," he said, his voice low and mournful. "But this is the right thing to do. I've sworn an oath, Sigrid. This is a duty I cannot turn away from."

She stared at him, grasping for some shred of hope, but his expression told her everything. Disappointment and despair washed over her like a crashing wave, and in a burst of frustration, she turned on Ragnar.

"You!" She cried, pointing a trembling finger at him, her eyes blazing with accusation. "You knew all along! Why didn't you say anything?"

Ragnar met her gaze without flinching, his posture relaxed, as though he had been expecting this outburst. Tilting his head slightly, he shrugged with an air of feigned sympathy.

"I wanted to give you time," Ragnar said, his voice smooth as silk. "Time to enjoy your romance before the bad news."
He lifted his chin, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

Sigrid clenched her teeth, her emotions boiling beneath the surface like a fire she could no longer contain.

Bjørn leaned forward and picked up the letter Ragnar had placed on the table. He studied the seal, read the first few lines, and a dark shadow passed over his face.

"The letter is from the king," he said heavily, his voice strained under the weight of the words. "There's no doubt about it."

He placed the letter back on the table carefully, as though it were a fragile object that might shatter in his hands. Then, lifting his gaze, his eyes met Sigrid's.
"We have to leave as soon as possible," he said softly, his tone laden with sorrow.

Those words struck her like a dagger to the heart. The pain was sharp and unbearable, as if her chest was being torn apart. She said nothing-she couldn't find the words.

"I can have everything ready in a few days," Erling interjected, his voice steady, but the tension in the room was palpable.

Ragnar remained reclined in his chair, his gaze fixed on Sigrid like a king orchestrating a well-played game. He had known all along, and now he was reveling in it. There was no mistaking the satisfaction in his eyes-it burned like a fire, as if her pain was his personal triumph.

Sigrid felt her blood boil under her skin. She couldn't hide her emotions anymore, but she refused to give him the pleasure of seeing her break. Without a word, she stood abruptly, her heart pounding with fury and despair, and left the room with swift, determined steps.

She stormed through the corridors, barely aware of where she was going, until she reached her own chamber. The door slammed shut behind her, the sound echoing through the space like a reflection of the chaos raging inside her.

She threw herself onto the bed, burying her face in the soft fabric, but it did nothing to numb the pain. Tears forced their way out, and this time, she let them come. They flowed freely down her cheeks, a flood of emotions she could no longer contain.

She buried her face deeper into the pillow, as though trying to shut the world out. Her own thoughts screamed at her.

"I promise you, we will be together again."

Bjørn's voice cut through the room, soft yet firm. He sat beside her on the bed.

"Don't make a promise you can't keep!" She shouted, her words muffled against the pillow. She was angry with him for always being so damn loyal. Angry at Ragnar for relishing this moment, and angry at Kristin for getting her way.

Bjørn gently but firmly took hold of her shoulders, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes were serious, but there was something else there too-love and hope.

"I promise you," he began, but was interrupted by the sound of the door opening.

Ragnar stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe, wearing that same arrogant smile.
"If you want the priest's blessing, I suggest you keep the door open," he said with an annoying chuckle. "If you know what I mean."

"It's none of your business!" Sigrid hissed, her voice sharp with anger.

Ragnar leaned further into the doorframe, completely unaffected as always, grinning mischievously.
"It is if I'm to vouch for the priest," he said with a teasing gleam in his eye.

"Do not let him get to you," Bjørn said, his voice firm yet calm.

Sigrid turned to him, her eyes red and wet from tears. But there was something in Bjørn's voice, a security that slowly began to loosen the grip her emotions had on her.

"But he's trying to keep us from being alone," she hesitated, her voice trembling. "This may be our last time together for a very long while... maybe forever."

Bjørn met her gaze without hesitation, but said nothing. Instead, he slowly rose, as if carefully considering each step, and walked directly over to Ragnar.

"You know how I am, Ragnar," he began, his voice low and intensely serious. He stared directly into Ragnar's eyes, without fear or doubt. "Do you trust me? Do you really believe I could do something like what my brother did to Kari?"

Ragnar held his gaze for a long moment before responding with a barely perceptible nod.

"I trust you, Bjørn," he said, a flicker of sincerity in his voice. Then he broke the stare, a mischievous gleam in his eyes as he added, "It's her I don't trust." He laughed lightly, as though he had just won a game, before disappearing from sight.

And called back to them with a mocking laugh, 'You need to have at least one person in the room with you, or the door open.

Bjørn turned back to Sigrid, his gaze soft but with an intensity that made her heart beat a little faster.
"Come," he said, extending his hand toward her. "Let's make the most of the time we have left together."

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