Eirikr Wolvesbane Haldorsson hated being controlled.

He never wanted to be a puppet on strings, especially not when the strings were pulled from the shadows. And this—this betrothal his mother had set up—was a string he couldn't ignore.

The news hit him like a battle axe. His fist clenched, fingers tightening into a stone-like grip around the hilt of his sword. His left eye, the one blessed by the old god, glowed faintly, like a storm was gathering in his chest.

The throne room was empty but for his shieldmaiden, who knew better than to speak when his blood was rising. Eirikr stood in the center, his broad shoulders towering, his armor heavy with the weight of responsibility. But today, it felt like a cage.

"She did this to me," he muttered, his voice low, almost a growl. "She thought she could make decisions for me, even from the grave."

A messenger had delivered the news—an arranged marriage to a princess from a neighboring kingdom. A kingdom that had no right to speak of his people, his throne, or his life. He wasn't some pawn to be moved in another game of politics.

His hands balled into fists. The idea of it—the chains of this betrothal—made his skin crawl. He was a king. He had earned his crown, bled for it. The only promises he made were to his warriors, his people, his land—not to some foreign princess he'd never met.

Eirikr turned sharply, eyes blazing with fire, his voice filled with fury. "Who dares make decisions about my future without my consent?" His words rang off the stone walls, his breath heavy with contempt.

His shieldmaiden remained silent, knowing better than to offer solace or advice. She knew well enough the kind of rage that boiled in Eirikr's veins. It was a fire that had consumed entire clans, turned battlefields into ash, and crushed any who dared challenge his rule.

He paced the room like a caged beast. His mind raced with thoughts of rebellion, of tearing the treaty apart, of casting aside the chains of his mother's design. How dare she think he could be sold like a horse to the highest bidder?

Then, the door opened. Eirikr's head snapped toward it, his anger momentarily forgotten.

A woman entered. She was not what he expected.

She was... striking. Unmistakable, even from across the room.

For a moment, everything in Eirikr's world stilled. His breath caught in his throat, and his heart beat louder than it ever had in his chest. The storm that raged within him quieted, replaced by something much more dangerous.

Her presence filled the room, and though they had never met, she commanded him in a way no one else ever had. His gaze locked on her, his fists unclenching slowly, though his body was tense, ready for anything.

The anger, the disgust, the plans for rebellion... they were still there, simmering beneath the surface. But in this moment, it wasn't a king looking at a princess. It was something else.

Something that, for the first time, left him speechless.