The harp played on in the corner, soft and steady, as the last of the feast waned. The Shieldguard muttered over their cups, Bjorn's head dipped lower in his chair, and the firepits burned down to glowing embers.
Only Astrid and Leif still held their composure.
Leif swirled the dregs of his mead, that faint smile still tugging at his lips. His blue-fire eyes fixed on her across the table.
"Shall we speak, Lady Astrid?"
Astrid didn't answer at once. She raised her own cup, untouched since the toast, and set it down again with deliberate care.
"You've been staring all night. Speak, then. Say what it is you've been holding back."
Leif leaned forward slightly, his hands folding over the rim of his cup.
"I've been measuring. The North has a reputation, after all. Fierce, untamed, difficult to master." He let the words hang, eyes steady on hers. "I wanted to see if the heir lived up to it."
Astrid's jaw tightened, but her voice stayed calm.
"And? Do I pass your test?"
The corner of his mouth twitched.
"You exceed it."
Silence stretched, broken only by the snap of a log collapsing in the hearth.
Astrid sat straighter, lilac eyes narrowing.
"If you're trying to flatter me, save it. I'm not one of your southern courtiers."
Leif's smile deepened by a fraction, though his tone remained smooth.
"No. You're not. Which is why I'm curious." He lifted his cup in a small, deliberate gesture. "Most women in your place would have played the part by now. Bowed their head. Smiled. You, Lady Astrid, bare your teeth. Even at me."
Astrid's fingers brushed the hilt of her sword, her gaze unflinching.
"I don't smile for strangers."
"Then perhaps we should cease to be strangers," Leif said quietly.
Astrid's eyes burned, though her face stayed cold.
"Perhaps we shouldn't."
Neither moved. Neither looked away. The dying firelight flickered across their faces, the weight of their silence pressing heavier than the feast's noise ever had.
At last, Leif set his empty cup aside.
"The Accord is sealed in ink and oath. You know that. But still, I wonder…" His voice dropped lower, almost conspiratorial. "Will you let it bind you, or will you try to break it?"
Astrid's hand tightened on her sword, her answer clipped and final.
"Try me."
The last note of the harp faded, leaving the hall wrapped in heavy silence.
Leif's faint smile deepened by a hair, as though he might press further. But before he could speak, a low grunt cut through the quiet.
Bjorn.
The old wolf shifted in his chair at the head of the table, his pale eyes opening to narrow slits. His heavy cloak sagged against the carved arms, but the weight of his voice still carried across the chamber.
"That girl…" he muttered, not quite under his breath.
Astrid stiffened, her jaw tightening.
Bjorn leaned forward, his gaze dragging from Astrid to Leif, then back again.
"You two would turn a feast into a challenge pit if left long enough." His voice rumbled like distant thunder, cold and unimpressed. "Save it. There'll be time enough to measure steel when oaths are signed."
Egil, still seated beside him, exhaled and shook his head.
"Father's right. The Accord doesn't need more teeth tonight." His eyes flicked to Astrid, softer but edged with warning. "Remember the hall is still watching, even when it seems half-asleep."
Around them, the last stragglers at the benches chuckled uneasily, mugs lifted again as if to pretend nothing sharp had passed at the high table. The music picked back up, faint but steady.
Astrid lowered her gaze just enough to hide the fire in her eyes. Her fingers stayed curled around the hilt of her sword, but she didn't speak.
Leif inclined his head smoothly, lips curling back into that measured smile.
"As you wish, Lord Bjorn."
Bjorn grunted again and leaned back, his hand heavy against the chair.
"Good. Let the night end in peace, at least."
The firepits had burned down to red coals, the harp's soft plucking barely heard over the mutters of drunk Shieldguard slumped at their tables. Bjorn had sagged deeper into his chair, eyes half-closed, Egil speaking low at his side. The hall was winding toward sleep.
Astrid had had enough.
She set her cup down, still nearly untouched, and rose in one smooth motion. Her sword came with her, hand resting lightly on the hilt. The scrape of her chair against the stone made a few heads lift, but she didn't wait for permission.
Signe stepped forward immediately, gray eyes steady, and fell into place behind her.
Astrid moved down the length of the table, her gown brushing the floor, the weight of her mantle heavy on her shoulders. She ignored the stares, the whispers, even Torvald's slurred call of her name. She did not look back.
At the threshold of the hall, she paused just long enough to speak, her voice flat but clear enough to cut through the embers of noise.
"I have done my part."
Then she turned and left, the great doors shutting behind her with a solid thud.
The corridors outside were cooler, quieter. The stone walls breathed with the cold of the mountain, torches casting long shadows down the passage. Astrid's steps slowed, the echo softer now, less certain.
Her jaw loosened, her shoulders sagging a fraction as the weight of the hall slipped away. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
Signe followed in silence, hands folded neatly before her apron. After a moment, she spoke, voice low and careful.
"Shall I prepare your chambers, my lady?"
Astrid didn't answer right away. She rubbed a hand across her face, the steel of her sword cool against her palm. At last, she muttered,
"Yes. And have the fire stoked. I've had enough of smoke and noise for one night."
Signe inclined her head. "As you wish."
Together, they walked deeper into the keep, leaving the fading music of the Winter Moot behind.
The stone corridors grew quieter as they went, their steps echoing softly against the cold floor. Torchlight flickered in its sconces, throwing long shadows across carved beams and woven tapestries. Astrid walked ahead with her shoulders stiff, her hand brushing the hilt at her side, while Signe followed half a pace behind: silent, steady, her presence a shield against the emptiness of the keep. The laughter and music of the feast seemed impossibly distant now, as though it belonged to another world.
The heavy door shut behind them with a dull thud. The noise of the feast was gone, replaced by the crackle of firelight. Signe moved ahead at once, striking flint to the hearth until the flames caught and spread warmth through the chamber.
Astrid unfastened the clasp of her mantle and let it drop across the back of a chair. The weight sliding from her shoulders felt like pulling stone from her chest, though the pressure beneath it remained. She tugged the circlet from her hair, setting it harder than she meant to on the table, then began stripping the pins from her braids with impatient fingers.
Signe was at her side in a moment, wordless. She took the pins from Astrid's hand and finished the task with quiet precision, laying each one neatly in its box. Astrid's pale hair fell loose, cascading over her shoulders.
Astrid sank onto the bench by the fire, sword resting across her knees. Her jaw was tight, but the silence pressed at her until she finally broke it.
"Bjorn still treats me like a child with no say in her own life." Her voice was low, bitter. "And Leif—" She cut herself off with a sharp exhale through her nose. "He thinks watching me all night makes him clever."
Signe folded her hands, eyes steady on the flames. She didn't answer.
Astrid dragged a hand through her hair, shoulders sagging.
"I hate this game. Feasts, oaths, accords—it's all chains dressed in silk." Her fingers clenched around the sword hilt until her knuckles whitened. "And I'm the one they mean to bind."
The fire snapped, a log collapsing inward.
At last, Signe moved. She lifted a folded cloth from the table, dipped it in the basin, and pressed it gently into Astrid's hand.
"You're tired, my lady."
Astrid looked at the cloth, then at Signe. For a moment, her lips parted as if she might argue, but instead she closed them again. She pressed the cloth to her brow, the cool damp cutting through the heat of her anger.
Signe began unfastening the laces of her gown, careful and efficient.
Astrid let her, saying nothing more. She only stared into the fire, the weight of the hall still heavy in her chest.
The flames burned low, their glow flickering across the carved beams overhead. Astrid sat still before them, her sword balanced across her knees, her gaze locked on the embers.
Signe worked in silence, fingers steady as she loosened the last ties of Astrid's gown. The silk slipped free, replaced with a lighter linen shift. She folded each garment neatly and set it aside with the same care she gave every task.
Neither spoke.
Astrid leaned back against the bench, her hand resting absently on the sword hilt. The weight of the hall, of Bjorn's decree, of Leif's stare, pressed down like stone. But she said nothing.
Signe dipped a cloth into the basin once more, wrung it out, and set it against Astrid's brow. The coolness drew a faint sigh, barely audible, but Astrid's eyes never left the fire.
When the task was done, Signe gathered the basin, set the pins back into their box, and arranged the folded gown on the chest. Then she returned to her place near the door, hands folded, standing watch as she always did.
The chamber was quiet save for the crackle of the fire.
Astrid closed her eyes at last, but no words came. The silence between mistress and handmaiden held steady—unbroken, heavy, understood.
When her hair lay loose and her gown had been folded away, Astrid rose and let Signe guide her toward the bed. The furs were already turned back, warmed by the fire's glow. Astrid laid her sword within arm's reach on the low chest, her fingers lingering on the hilt before she let go. She slipped beneath the covers without a word.
Signe drew the furs up over her, tucking them close with the same care she had shown in every other task. She lingered only long enough to be sure Astrid's breathing eased before stepping back into the shadows by the door.
The chamber settled into stillness, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the slow rhythm of Astrid's breath as sleep finally claimed her.
Astrid woke to the blare of a horn, deep and long, rattling through the stone of her chamber. She bolted upright, linen shift clinging to her skin, her hand already reaching for the sword resting by the bedside.
The sound came again—shrill, urgent. Not the call of a feast, nor the measured tones of ceremony.
The horn for emergencies.
Her door burst open. Signe rushed in, pale eyes wide, her usual composure shaken. She did not bow, did not pause—she went straight to Astrid's side.
"My lady," she said quickly, though her voice remained clear, "the horns sound for the gates. Direwolves have come in the night."
Astrid was already on her feet, sword in hand, mantle pulled from its hook in one swift motion. Her heart hammered, but her face was hard, cold.
"How many?" she demanded.
Signe shook her head, breath tight.
"Scouts said a pack. Large. They're driving against the southern wall. The Shieldguard are rallying."
Astrid's jaw clenched. Direwolves. Not unheard of in the mountains—but bold, to press against the keep itself. Too bold.
She buckled her swordbelt with practiced hands.
"Fetch my armor," she said, voice steady despite the storm rising in her chest.
Signe bowed her head once.
"At once."
Another horn call echoed through the keep, closer now, its note cutting sharp through the night.
Astrid's lilac eyes narrowed.
"Let's see if the South still thinks us tame."