There was always going to be a fight. Just not quite like this. Ketil had his hands full and the Emir of Aden was rushing towards them, his face filled with fury. He knew it was him courtesy of Daphne’s ear-piercing shriek which followed her enlightening use of his title.“He’s a monster, too,” she sobbed.Before he could react, Astrid stuck out her slender foot, tripping the illustrious potentate and urging them to run.Sigurd’s jaw dropped. Understandably, he didn’t move.It was Daphne who snatched the dagger from his belt. Kneeling quickly, she jerked aside the Emir’s headdress and attempted to slit his throat. He did not take kindly to the assault, roaring his disapproval and clutching at a gash in his neck which was releasing blood in a steady stream. It soon became a fountain as the enraged former Princess Royal stabbed him again.His bodyguard was late to the scene. He let out a strangled cry, as Sigurd sprang into action, wrestling the shorter man to the ground and securing hi

The palace had seen better days. Miriam was doing her best to rectify the matter, with the help of Jenna and Ruth who were now in charge of running the household. She was in her element here, doing something for which she had been raised. If not here, then in her husband’s domain, he surmised.Ketil realised he had never asked Magnus why Ruth hadn’t been released in the same way as Jenna. It was probably too late now. If anything, he assumed Daphne had insisted on hanging onto her, quite literally, which probably explained the tear in her kirtle. Newly mended now, of course.The Masked King was still languishing in the dungeons but he could wait. He reckoned it was time for a proper talk with his half-sister, who had started to avoid Sigurd for reasons known only to herself. He caught up with her in the solar, a place he would never have expected to find a woman like Astrid, though the booted feet planted on a chair opposite the bench on which she was sitting said it all.“Idling agai

The Masked King was a shadow of his former self. Someone had beaten him very badly and the ginger hair was matted with blood. The mood Ketil was in he wanted to inflict yet more damage though he restrained himself. How could he put Miriam in an impossible position? If the whoremonger were to die … And yet, it was tempting to ask for answers before he left. For good? To see how well received he might be after so many years, four of them in total. Ketil brushed the unwelcome thoughts aside. Becoming Jarl would make what he really wanted to happen impossible. Or would it? He could always abduct her. Exasperated with himself, not even smiling at the thought of carrying her off, Viking fashion, he kicked the prisoner’s leg. The body rocked and that was all. So he kicked harder, thinking that handfasting was out of the question now, as was a marriage planned to take place on the traditional day to honour Frigg, the wife of Odin. While he reckoned he had already met the bride price there wo

The monthly visit to Daphne was long overdue. Following up her gift of freshly laid duck eggs would be hard but Miriam had something in mind. Such a shame it wasn’t the season for persimmons. Her sister was partial to them, as was she.She was hoping to lay her hands on a long ago imported red wine from the Frankish territory. She hoped not to encounter any mice when she ventured into the cellar. No-one would notice its lack given that there were hundreds of bottles down there. In fact, King Gregory could have considered selling them to boost the treasury rather than bartering his youngest daughter.Encountering Astrid as she was leaving the Great Hall following a morning spent hearing disputes, she asked for her help to search. The Norsewoman dressed like a warrior these days in laced trousers and jerkin, her long white-blonde hair secured in a single plait. She even trained with the men in the practice yard and was the proud possessor of her half-brother’s sword, though she insisted

“What do we tell them, Sig?” Astrid persisted.In some ways she was like an annoying wasp which refused to accept being swatted away – hadn’t he told her, twice, to see to the horses and then clean herself up?“The truth.”“I am warning you, they will not like it. These Vercians have a strange sense of honour.”Did she think he wasn’t aware of that, given what he’d done with Daphne for the sake of both his blood brother and her sister? Granted, that had been at the behest of the Masked King, but the latter wouldn’t have been in such a position of power if King Gregory hadn’t invited him to his court.Daphne. He had tried not to think of her, knowing she was poison, trouble and, undeniably, a siren. That session in the mirrored room – compelled, maybe, compelling definitely – was creeping into his mind more and more.“She is good for him, Asti. We have all witnessed that.”“And what about her?”Acting impulsively, he took the opportunity to palm her face and kiss her. It was her own fa