The rough rope burns my wrists as I'm hauled onto the longship, salt spray stinging my face. I can still taste blood from where one of the Vikings struck me—probably the red-haired giant who caught me trying to escape the burning village. My vision swims from the blow to my head, but I force myself to stay alert, cataloging my surroundings with the same survival instinct that kept me alive in my father's dungeon.

These aren't the English soldiers I know. These men are giants, with wild hair and strange markings, their muscles rippling as they man the oars in perfect rhythm. Their language is a harsh, guttural roar that sends shivers down my spine. I'm a prisoner again, traded from one hell to another.

Days blur together in a haze of hunger and thirst. The Vikings barely acknowledge me beyond occasional kicks when I don't move fast enough. My only reprieve comes from the blonde man who sometimes brings me water—though his eyes are as cold as the northern sea.

Then, on the fifth day, everything changes. The ship lands at a village nestled between mountains and sea, and I'm dragged onto the dock like common plunder. The villagers gather, murmuring among themselves as they appraise the new captives. My heart races as I scan their faces—all large, all intimidating, all strangers.

A sudden commotion erupts behind me. The crowd parts like water before a ship's prow, and suddenly he's there. Taller than the others, with hair the color of moss and a single golden eye that locks onto mine with unnerving intensity. The scar across his other eye only enhances the ferocity of his gaze. Every head bows slightly as he passes, and I realize this must be their leader.

He stops in front of me, studying me with that unblinking stare. I meet his gaze defiantly, lifting my chin despite the trembling in my legs. If I'm to die, I'll die with dignity.

Instead of killing me, he says something in that harsh language—short and sharp—and gestures to my bonds. The rope falls away from my wrists, leaving raw, bleeding skin. Freedom, of a kind.

I stumble backward, rubbing my wrists as confusion clouds my mind. What game is this? Before I can process what's happening, my legs give way beneath me. Years of malnutrition and recent injuries finally take their toll, and I crash to my knees on the wooden dock.

Strong arms catch me before I hit the ground. I'm lifted easily—too easily—into the air, my body pressed against a warm, broad chest. The scent of pine and sea salt surrounds me as I'm carried through the village, past curious stares and whispered comments.

Through my haze of weakness, I lock eyes with my captor-turned-rescuer. His golden gaze holds mine, unwavering and intense. There's something in his eyes I don't understand—not cruelty, not pity, but recognition, as if he's seen me before.

In that moment, as I hang helpless in his arms, I realize my journey has only just begun. Whatever fate awaits me in this strange land, it's irrevocably tied to this moss-haired warrior with the eyes of a predator and the hands of a protector.