*Smut warning* especially for potential family members reading this, for whom the next family gathering will be otherwise awkward.

For a few alarming minutes, it seems that the party plans to observe the traditional rites of royal weddings by witnessing the marriage act, for they follow behind us as Torben carries me through the hall and up the stairs. To my relief, however, they stop at the top of the stairs with cheerful words I understand not at all, before departing down the corridor. Only Sartra and Bani remain, following silently.

This time, we head down the hall and up another flight of stairs to a series of apartments I haven’t seen before. At the end of this hall a guard stands sentry outside a door made of iron. At our approach, the guard bows slightly and steps aside.

I swallow hard, my fingers tightening involuntarily around Torben’s neck, feeling nervous and giddy and a few other feelings I can’t quite name. He doesn’t turn to look at me, however, but stares straight ahead as if intent on a mission.

We step into a grand bedchamber with an even bigger fireplace than the one in the other room.

And an even bigger bed.

It’s set against the far wall beneath a great tapestry, its threads lustrous in the fire’s glow. I stare at it and feel a flip of something in my stomach. Torben approaches the bed and my heart begins to beat wildly as he lays me there gently, then stands back. I stare back stupidly at him, then at Sartra and Bani.

What do I do now? Are they staying? Please, no.

He seems to be considering the same question himself. For a moment, he just gazes down at me. Then he looks up and speaks to my companions. Sartra bows slightly, and then, to my surprise and—if I am being truthful here—slight disappointment, he turns around and actually leaves the room.

I sit up in bed and stare after him. Wait, what?

But now Sartra and Bani are coming over to me. “Dress for sleep, Lady Safia,” says Bani gently, while the two of them begin to unlace my gown.

Dazedly, I stand up and let them help me from my wedding clothes. Meanwhile I stare at the tapestry, distracted. Whoa, it’s actual threads of gold, spun incredibly fine.

Sartra and Bani help me into a gossamer-thin nightgown. Bani hands me a wooden toothbrush and a little cup with a kind of paste, along with a cup of water. I sniff at it and get a whiff of something like sage, which isn’t bad, actually. I take a bit in my fingers and rub it on my teeth. Salt and sage. It’ll do.

I brush my teeth and rinse into the sink, set into a similar little closet with a toilet like the one in the other room. Then Bani bids me to sit in a chair by the fire and unpins my hair, brushing it out into smooth waves. I stare at the flames, feeling strangely bereft. But I mean, why should I? It’s not like I wanted any part of this mad scheme, whatever it was.

Maybe it’s simply that the slightest touch from him was so unexpectedly, achingly good. Maybe it’s all that mead I drank.

I’m lost in these thoughts as Bani finishes and touches my shoulder gently. “Goodnight, Lady Safia.”

I stir. “Oh, goodnight Bani. Goodnight, Sartra. Thank you.” I nod at the ladies, who bow and depart the room.
What now? Will he return? Or…is this it?

Restless, I force myself to sit down on the edge of the bed and breathe calmly. Above me, the tapestry once again catches my eye, and I turn my head to gaze at it. It’s breathtaking, actually, even despite its obvious age. Or maybe because of it.

Most of the textile is taken up with a large, intricately embroidered tree in gold. Branches spread from beneath its trunk, with roots that wind in and out of each other like celtic knots, then flow down into a great pool of water stitched in wavy crests.

Hanging above the tree rest a trio of golden stars. The center star, the largest of the three, radiates what I presume to be beams of light in every direction from its myriad points.

Unconsciously I find myself leaning in closer to the tapestry, stilling for a moment. I realize now, stupidly, what I should have seen from the beginning—for scattered within the roots of the tree are clusters of little spheres, glinting with the fire’s reflection. Though worn away, I can see, peering more closely, what must have once been a blue metallic paint of some kind over the gold thread.

The glow worms. I’m staring at a depiction of my passage into this world. My eyes dart around the many, many tree roots, the implications of this stilling me for a moment. How many such bridges between our worlds exist? Or perhaps—between multiple worlds?

Suddenly the door handle begins to turn and the door swings slowly open.

I jump back from the tapestry and spin around, unconsciously groping my way towards a corner.

Then he’s there. He fills the doorway, his face cast in shadow. I’m frozen to the spot as he advances into the room, and my fingers curl involuntarily around the silky folds of my nightgown.

He shuts the door behind him, then stops to regard me. I stare silently back at him, feeling my blood begin to pulse, as what I thought was not happening now seems to quite definitely be happening.

Slowly, he unhooks the axe at his waist and lays it upon the table by the fire, his gaze never leaving my face. My eyes flicker to it briefly, then back to him.

He begins to strip off the beautifully embroidered tunic he wore during the ceremony, every movement slow and deliberate. Boots are kicked off, then some kind of leg wrapping follows. He tosses them carelessly aside, never breaking contact with my helpless gaze. Bared to the waist, he stands before me in nothing but trousers, the firelight setting his brawny, burnished body aglow. 

I’m trembling as he crosses the room in slow, measured steps. He pauses, mere inches from me. I feel the heat from his body through the gossamer thin fabric of my nightgown.

The scent of him envelopes me, a heady melange of wood fire and fresh air. And something else that is just him. Earthy and virile. For a moment, my breath catches in my throat. My pupils are probably dilated a mile wide.

He gazes down at me and I meet his eyes. The realness of him, the strength and energy of him, are almost radiating from his skin. Flustered, I turn my head aside, staring distractedly at the flickering fire in the grate, and try to forget that his bare chest, thick with dark whorls of hair, is almost brushing my cheek.

Suddenly I feel the rough warmth of his calloused palm on my cheek. Gently, he guides my head back up to face him, lifting my chin. Swallowing hard, I hesitantly raise my eyes to his again. This time, I meet his gaze unflinching.

Something is happening to me as we drink each other in. My eyes are absorbing him, memorizing every angle of his features. The curl of his thick lashes surrounding startlingly ice-blue eyes. The neatly trimmed beard skimming his jawline. The scattering of scars and freckles that speak to a man who has seen much and done yet more.

My heart begins to beat faster and a deep flush floods my cheeks and neck, my whole body brimming with desire. My body is tingling, singing all over, aching and arching towards him even while my mind screams with paltry logic, fainter and fainter with each beat of my heart, that this is a very, very bad idea.

“Já?” he asks simply. I nod. His thumb brushes over my cheek, then his fingers drift down over my neck and gently brush my hair back over my shoulder. Then he bends slowly.

My lips part breathlessly and I still myself on the precipice of pleasure to receive his touch. And then his lips press to the nape of my neck and I feel a white hot flash of fire burn through me.

Trembling, barely aware of what I’m doing, my hands are reaching out to touch him, aching to stroke the taut muscles of his chest, his shoulders. His warm hands are groping my breasts, then sliding down my waist and gripping my bottom tightly and scooping me up towards him.

I press my body to his, clinging to his broad chest. His scattered kisses upon my neck become licks, then bites, and I’m crying out for more. And he’s pressing his lips to my own and we’re devouring each other as if we were two starving wanderers, given their first meal in days.

We tumble onto the bed and Torben tugs my nightgown above my head, pressing kisses into my skin all down my body. Now he’s crouching down between my legs and kissing me fervently there again and again, and making me gasp with excitement.

He struggles out of his trousers almost ferociously and casts them aside, both of us laughing at the effort, then slides onto the bed and positions himself over me. I run my hands through his hair, down his chest. I take his firm, warm cock into my hands and rub a thumb appreciatively over the damp tip, making him grunt roughly. Then I’m guiding him inside me and, slowly, he slides in, cradling me in his arms. He pauses for a moment, watching me.

I may not have a lot of memories of my life before this adventure began, but I remember this feeling. The dart of shock at the sudden fullness, my body instinctively constricting, then gradually relaxing as I adjust to him. The flood of warmth where we are joined. Excitement and uncertainty and awkwardness all mixed together. I feel another bubble of laughter rise to my lips and he grins, bending to kiss me deeply once again.

Then I wrap my legs around him and cling to him as he begins to thrust, first shallowly, then with vigor, deeper and deeper. Tightness gradually gives way to pleasure, pulsing slowly within me in waves, ebbing and flowing.

My conscious mind is somewhere in the background, making faint comments about what comes next after this, but it’s receding more and more into nothingness as the earthy delight of making love blots out all other senses. When was the last time I experienced this? (Literally unclear.) At last, Torben shouts something and slackens above me, panting, while below him I whimper slightly, my body still singing for more.

Pulling out of me, he collapses to one side of me and scoops me towards him. Wrapping his arms around me from behind, he reaches between my thighs and strokes me with the lightest touch until finally I explode with pleasure in a long, drawn out cry.

To my embarrassment, almost instantly after this I fall asleep, curled up against him, my face pressed into his chest. I awaken what feels like moments later, but I think some time must have passed. His face is almost comically close to mine, and he raises his eyebrows.

I smile back sheepishly and snuggle more deeply into him, turning myself about so we are spooning, and pull his arms around me. I hold one of his large hands in mine, carefully studying the callouses and scars lining his skin. He brings it to rest over my breast and squeezes gently, kissing my shoulder softly, and for a while we just lay staring at the soft glow of the fire. “Nattmal?” he says softly into my ear.

Nattmal…what is a nattmal? I crane my head to gaze back at him blankly. “Not-mall,” I repeat. He nods encouragingly, then repeats the word back to me in a slightly different pronunciation.

I wonder what his language is called. Like Old Norse, the words they speak almost sound like I could find bits of English within them. Some of the meanings seem easy enough to guess based on the sound. Others are anybody’s guess.

Torben bends to kiss me softly, then rises up from the bed and pads over to the table. I stare somewhat dazedly at his taut muscled thighs and buttocks as he walks away. Oooh boy. I’ve got it bad.

I sit up in the bed and make to follow him, but he waves me away. Instead, he carries over a platter of food to the bed, distracting me fully by the sight of his damp cock swinging slightly as he walks.

We eat in companionable silence, and I wonder, idly, what happens after all of this. My fate seems better now, perhaps, than at the palace in Verunia. But I’ve got to find a way back to my time and place. Haven’t I?

I do have a life back there. Probably? I probe my memory, but it’s still like a shadow that stubbornly follows the edge of my vision, never quite letting me see past its boundary.

Everything else feels like a dream, as I sit curled up in a great carved wooden bed with this warrior man, in a room within a castle, within a city made of stone, atop a lonely fjord in the farthest northern reaches of a fantastical land.

Sated with food and drink, Torben turns to put the platter back on the little table. As he moves into the firelight from a different angle, I notice for the first time that an ugly scar stretches across his shoulder blades and wraps around the side of his rib cage, much thicker and redder than those on the rest of his body.

Now he makes his way back to the bed and sits down on the edge with a contented sigh, reaching out and pulling me towards him. Curling my knees beneath me, I lean into him and press my cheek to his chest, feeling his strong heartbeat in a comforting rhythm. He kisses the top of my head and for a moment I close my eyes and sigh.

After a few moments, I raise my head and he looks at me questioningly. Hesitantly, I reach out and gently touch the scarred tissue on his back, and look into his eyes. He sees my expression and shrugs his head, as if to say, what of it?

They can’t all be meaningless scars, even for a jarl. But he clearly doesn’t think it worth remark. I mean, what can he tell me that I’d understand anyway?

It can go on like this for much longer, I reluctantly admit to myself. Communicating solely through gestures and baby talk. Tomorrow I’ll have to…figure something out.

But I push that thought aside. That’s a tomorrow thought, and tonight I am having a much better night than I’ve had in months (and probably longer, if I could remember my actual life).

Instead, I simply pull him towards me and we lay back down, his head resting against my breast as I wrap my arms around him and stare thoughtfully up at the ceiling.

The night rolls on and gradually Torben begins to talk. I haven’t a clue what he’s saying, and I think he doesn’t really care anyway. He seems to simply want to speak.

Instead, I lie there and let his deep, resonant voice wash over me and soak into my skin like delicious sunlight, until the warm timbre of his tones sends me gradually off to sleep.

After a little while, he stirs, restless, and awakens me, pushing me onto my belly. For a moment, my eyes flutter open and I stare sleepily ahead, confused. Then, with a little frisson of delight, I realize what he wants. The tension of earlier seems to have dissipated entirely, and he seems intent on other things. I snuggle into a pillow, pulling it beneath me, then spread my knees apart and tuck them in, arching myself up at him.

I can feel his hands over me, thumbs gently prizing me apart, stroking softly, making me pant and strain my hips against him. His hands grip my thighs, then, and with a little intake of breath, I feel him enter me from behind. I spread my knees apart a little further to push back against him. Then, he reaches out, takes one of my hands, and guides it between my legs.

I turn my head to the side and clutch the pillow beneath me, stroking myself as he grips the headboard and begins thrusting.

It’s as if all of the tension of the past few months is emptying out of me, as we make love, eat, drift off, awaken and make love again. I want for this night to never end, for I know that when it does, everything breaks—this illusion, my heart, and his.