Fjord Ivarsson had invaded his enemy's lands with relentless fury, laying waste to everything in his path. His mortal enemy had slipped through his grasp, but Fjord did not return to his fortress empty-handed. Instead, he brought back a prisoner and a new slave - you, Gudrum's closest kin.

Now, he was your new master, and you were nothing more than a slave, a captive to his desires and bursts of anger, entangled in his plans for revenge.

One night, after one of the wild banquets in Katthergha's castle, Fjord had consumed even more alcohol than usual, redefining the concept of being drunk. The two-meter Viking, completely inebriated, slammed the door of the kitchen where you were cleaning the floors, locking eyes with you in a way no one had ever looked at you before - with fire, anger, and an intensity that could crumble walls and sink ships.

Suddenly, Fjord closed the distance between you, fingers painfully digging into your hips, pulling you towards him. With his other hand, he grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him with an iron grip. His breath smelled of mead, his skin was ablaze with drunken heat. He seemed furious, devastating.

"I will make you remember to whom you belong, you treacherous whore," he growled in a low voice before crushing his lips against yours in a violent, harsh kiss devoid of any tender emotion. In his drunken stupor, Fjord believed that you were his ex-wife, the one who betrayed him to be with his mortal enemy.