#the last kingdom story | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whitedarkmoonflower · 25 days ago

Text

Of Sinners, Saints and Fools: An Impossible Love

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: this started as a short imagine after staring too long at the S2 gif with Sihtric and Sigdeflaed and then it started to grow and grow and yeah here we are...

Warnings: lots of fluff and a big portion of gentle and slow SMUT, Sihtric being so foolish but so adorably sweet, virgin!reader being a bit of a brat in the beggining

Word Count: 13,9 K

Summary: a beautiful lady needs help and Sihtric can't turn a blind eye, not knowing what consequences his act of kindness will bring, as the lady turns out to be king's niece and promised to the church. Can their impossible love have a happy ending?

“Stupid dress,” a silent curse escaped your lips, hands bunching the fabric further up your legs as you leaped over a dirt puddle in the middle of the street. The long linen skirt was quick to weave around one's legs with every step; it was surely not designed for speed and your frantic dash through today’s impossibly busy streets of Winchester were bringing both the dress and its wearer to their limits.

It’s worth mentioning that your dismissive attitude towards your uncle’s well thought gift was not met with delight as you tried to argue that this piece of garment was absolutely nothing for you. You had tried to refuse to wear it. Not that anybody had listened. Not that anybody ever listened to you.

“Here to the right,” you muttered to yourself as you rounded another corner into a small side alley, the uneven cobblestones threatening to trip you with every step, and you barely caught yourself as your foot slipped in a patch of wet dirt you hadn’t noticed.

“Sorry, excuse me, sorry, please, would you…” you murmured, weaving past startled townsfolk. Someone dropped a basket of apples, the fruit scattering across your path and you leapt over them at the very last moment.

Empty barrels, heaps of straw, some old buckets—the small side streets of Winchester had cruelly conspired against you. Or why would there otherwise be so many things scattered around. And why on earth were there so many people anyway?

Ah, yes! The wedding! You had completely forgotten about it.

Your skirts caught on a splintered wooden crate, pulling you to a halt. You yanked the fabric free with a sharp tug that tore the hem. “Damn it!” you hissed. No time to care, you bolted further, taking a sharp turn into another small and narrow street.

“Yes, Lord,” a far-off voice reached you from around the corner, finding you too late to stop or avoid the source of it. With full cruising speed you smacked into a wide, solid chest dressed in worn leather armour, the impact almost sending you sprawling to the ground. The only reason you didn’t hit the dirt were two strong arms that shot out and steadied you back on your feet.

For a moment the sturdy hold of those two arms was the only thing that kept you upright.

“Lady, are you in some kind of trouble? Can I help you?” The voice carried a touch of worry, unmistakably giving away the speaker as Dane but you didn’t have much time to worry about it as you threw quick and weary glances over your shoulder.

“Step out of my…,” you began in a pointed tone but the sound of boots nearing the curve into the sidestreet made you stop midway as you changed your mind and turned to face the worried look of a young and pretty handsome Dane warrior.

Oh, this might even turn out pleasant, a thought shot through your mind as you placed your palms flat against his chest and pushed him harshly back against the nearby wall. The young man’s confused look melted into complete surprise as you quickly raised on your tiptoes and sealed his lips with yours before any sound could leave him.

The young Dane stiffened, hands hanging in the air, as if afraid to touch you. The indistinct sound of hurried steps accompanied by the chatter of chain mail grew louder, making your heart hammer wildly in your chest.

It was probably the desperation that added to your courage and made you even bolder. Without breaking the kiss, you seized the young man’s wrists and guided his hands down, placing them firmly on your hips before sliding them lower to cup your ass while you leaned further against him.

The hurried boots rounded the corner, but you didn’t dare to glance back, not even as shadows fell across the alley’s mouth.

“Hey! You there!” a gruff voice barked.

The Dane hesitated, his lips parting under yours as if to protest or answer the call, but you didn’t let him. Your fingers slid up to the nape of his neck, tangling in his hair as you pressed your body flush against his.

The thud of steps drew nearer, then slowed before stopping entirely, the guard clearly close enough to see both of you. Your heart was trying to leap out of your chest but at last, the young warrior seemed to understand your desperate ploy. His large hands, so unsure and tentative at first, tightened their grip and squeezed your buttocks as he spun you around with quite surprising force, pinning you firmly between his body and the wall. His hand slid up your tight as he pushed up your leg. His breath came hot and unsteady against your lips as he let out a low, guttural moan, pressing himself fully against you as though he’d done this a thousand times before.

“Damn,” one of the guards muttered, spitting in disdain on the ground as he turned back to the others. “She’s not here. Just some filthy Dane rat messing around with a whore. ”

The sound of retreating boots followed, their thud gradually fading into the distance, and only then did you dare to let yourself breathe, a shaky exhale against his lips before you disentangled your fingers from the young man’s hair and pushed him back firmly.

Snap, your hand collided with his left cheek, and the Dane’s head jerked slightly to the side from the force of the slap.

“What in Hel’s name was that for?” you could see his eyes flare in bewilderment as he turned back to you.

You smoothed your hands over the crumpled fabric of your fancy dress and offered him the faintest smirk. “For groping my ass,” you replied, arching a brow as if daring him to deny it.

“What?” he sputtered. “Lady, are you mad? You put my hands there!”

You tilted your head, the ghost of a smile still playing on your lips. “Exactly. But you didn’t have to enjoy it so much, did you?”

“I … I…” he stuttered, as he struggled for a response, his mind still grappling with the absurdity of the situation. Your grin grew wider as you noticed the faint blush creeping up his neck while his hand absently rubbed at his reddened cheek, his gaze flickering between confusion and something akin to embarrassment.

He was remarkably handsome, you had to admit that, his large, expressive eyes boring into you with an endearing confusion and even some tinge of shyness you hadn’t expected from a warrior.

You suddenly reconsidered your plan to dismiss him so quickly.

“What’s your name, pretty boy?” you asked, brushing past him with a flick of your skirts.

The nickname seemed to stun him into silence again, you looked back over your shoulder with an expectant grin on your face while he stared at you, wide-eyed, as if you’d just spoken a language he didn’t understand.

“I’m … I’m called Sihtric, lady,” he finally managed to stammer.

“Good,” you replied, a playful glint in your eyes. “Then listen carefully, Sihtric. You got it right, I am a lady, and you just shamelessly fumbled with a lady’s ass.” You crossed your arms and arched a brow in the most serious expression you possibly could manage under the circumstances. “There’s only one way you can stop me from complaining to your lord about it.”

Sihtric’s confusion only deepened, his brows knitting together as he tried to understand what you meant. You pushed him gently back toward the wall, gesturing vaguely at his arms. “Be a good boy and lend me a hand.”

“What?” His puzzlement was so endearing that it took every ounce of your willpower not to burst into laughter.

“God, help me,” you sighed with exaggerated exasperation, rolling your eyes. “Help me climb the wall.”

There was no time to let him overthink it, you had to act quick before his confusion turned into realisation of what you were actually asking from him. You placed your hands firmly on his shoulders, stepping closer to make your intentions clear. Before he could say another word, you bunched your dress up and lifted one leg. The young warrior instinctively crouched slightly and offered you his hands for support, hoisting you up with surprising ease. You planted your other foot on his broad shoulder and with a determined grunt and a bit of effort pulled yourself up the wall.

You glanced down at him one last time, his baffled expression almost too much to bear. “Thanks, Sihtric,” you called down, smirking as you swung your legs over and dropped to the ground on the other side.

“You did what?” Uhtred didn’t even try to hide the bafflement in his voice as he stared at Sihtric while Finan, leaning lazily against the doorframe, pressed a fist to his mouth trying to contain laughter.

“Just let me make sure I’ve got this straight,” Uhtred said, halting his pacing as he stopped directly in front of Sihtric. “You helped some madwoman, claiming to be a lady, escape the guards, and then, to top it all off, you helped her climb the wall into the palace gardens. Is that right?”

Sihtric shifted awkwardly, his eyes dropping to the floor as he scratched the back of his head. “Yes, Lord,” he mumbled, as he had to admit that the way Uhtred put it made it all sound hilariously stupid.

“And your reasoning for this, if I may ask?” Uhtred demanded, casting a helpless, almost pleading glance toward Finan, though his tone was beginning to crack with amusement.

“Well… she was…” Sihtric hesitated, feeling heat creeping up his neck until his ears slowly started to burn. “She was very beautiful, Lord. And… and she seemed to be in trouble.”

That was it, Finan finally lost the battle with himself, doubling over with laughter. “A beautiful madwoman and her heroic Dane,” he wheezed, slapping a hand against his thigh. “Ah, Sihtric, you’ve outdone yourself this time!”

Uhtred’s lips twitched despite his best efforts to keep his composure. “By the gods, Sihtric,” he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose before throwing his arms in the air. “You not only risked your own neck for some random woman but also recklessly endangered the royal wedding because she was pretty?”

Sihtric nodded miserably, his head hanging low as he muttered a barely audible, “Yes, Lord.”

Uhtred sighed deeply, exchanging a glance with Finan, who was still wheezing from laughter.

“Someone, please, knock some sense into his head when it comes to women,” Uhtred muttered, shaking his head. “Sihtric, you’re too soft for your own good.”

Finan, still grinning, finally pushed himself off the doorframe and clapped a hand on Sihtric’s slumped shoulder. “Cheer up, lad. At least you’ve got a tale worth telling at the alehouse. ‘Sihtric the gallant saviour of beautiful madwomen.’” He chuckled, clearly enjoying himself far too much.

Sihtric groaned, the redness in his cheeks deepening. “You’ll not let me forget this, right?” he muttered under his breath.

Finan’s laughter bubbled up again as he slung an arm around Sihtric’s shoulders and steered him toward the door. “Forget it? Not a chance. I’m already dying to see Clapa’s face when I tell him this.”

Sihtric groaned louder, but didn’t protest as Finan led him out, while behind them, Uhtred rubbed a hand over his face, muttering something unintelligible about gods saving him from fools.

Sihtric walked through the palace gates beside Uhtred and Finan, his eyes sweeping over the courtyard. He had little interest in whatever business was to be discussed, so he was content to be left outside the great hall waiting to be called upon if needed.

“Sihtric, do me a favor,” Uhtred muttered, handing his sword to Steapa. “Stay out of trouble.”

“And keep yourself away from any woman here,” Finan added with a grin, winking as he passed.

Sihtric scoffed, shaking his head as he leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed, settling in to wait, ready for Uhtred’s orders should they come, while his lord and Finan spoke in hushed tones, preparing to be summoned before the king.

Sihtric’s gaze drifted lazily over the almost empty courtyard until it suddenly landed on you. You stood near a stone archway, half-hidden in the shadows, deep in quiet conversation with a maid.

Sihtric’s breath caught and his body went rigid as the realisation sank in - he knew you, the girl from the alley. His heart pounded as he stiffened, reaching out to grab Finan’s arm.

“That’s her,” he said under his breath.

Finan groaned, rolling his eyes. “Who’s her?” He cast Sihtric an exasperated look. “Lad, if you’re about to tell me you’ve just fallen in love at first sight, I’ll knock you on your arse just to set your head straight.”

Sihtric barely heard him, his focus completely locked on you.

“I’m serious,” Sihtric hissed, urgency creeping into his tone as he gestured toward the archway. “That… that’s the girl from the alley! The one I…,” but before he could finish the door opened and a voice rang out through the courtyard.

“Lord Uhtred!”

Alfred approached, flanked by some ealdormen and Beocca, and in the same moment you turned to the small gathering and started to approach.

Sihtric barely heard Alfred’s formal greeting to Uhtred, his mind reeling and his mouth dry, trying with all his willpower not to stare at you, while his mind helplessly scrambled for something to say until his world suddenly toppled even more.

“This,” Alfred continued, turning slightly toward you, “is my niece, whom I have called to court for a time of reflection and preparation. She is to take the veil.”

Sihtric’s stomach twisted. Alfred’s niece? His attempt at masking his shock failed miserably as his jaw dropped, while beside him, Finan made a strangled choking sound. A sharp nudge to his ribs snapped him out of his stupor, and he hurriedly bowed, following Finan’s lead.

No. No, that couldn’t be right.

He had seen you, bolting through the alleyway like a fox on the run, he had held you, kissed you and had helped you over that damn wall. Sihtric absentmindedly rubbed his cheek half expecting to still feel the sting of the slap you’d given him instead of a thank you.

Yes, you had claimed to be a lady, but you hadn’t looked like one, especially not like one preparing for a life as a nun. Behind Uhtred, who was still deep in conversation with the king, Finan leaned in with a smirk. “Go on then, Sihtric. Tell the good king how his dear, sweet niece has been running from guards, kissing Danes and scaling walls.”

Sihtric clenched his jaw. “I…”

Sihtric’s ears started to burn as Uhtred threw him a stern glance, and not knowing where else to look, he chose the safest option and stared at his boots as if they were the most interesting thing in the world while his gut refused to believe it all was a mistake.

Alfred turned to leave, and Sihtric finally dared to raise his gaze, letting it flicker to you once more, and just for a moment, so fleeting he almost missed it, you met his eyes and your lips curled in that same mischievous, playful smirk that had sparked a rebellion of butterflies in his stomach back in the alley.

It was later that night, the evening meal was still underway, but Sihtric couldn’t bring himself to sit and listen to the endless discussions about Danes settling at the borders of Wessex or cattle being stolen from the nearby estates. The corridors were dimly lit by torches, flickering against the cold stone walls, the faint sound of voices drifting from the great hall, as he wandered around with seemingly no purpose at all. He had no business being here alone, yet his curiosity had gotten the better of him.

He had hoped to find you and by some strange twist of fate there you were, standing at the far end of the corridor and glancing down the empty hall. As if sensing him, you turned and smiled.

Sihtric hesitated, then stepped closer, stopping at a respectful distance. You didn’t move, didn’t shrink away, just watched him with that same amused expression that had been haunting him since the moment he saw you in the courtyard.

“You,” he muttered. “It was you.”

“You sound surprised.”

His jaw tightened. “You lied to me.”

Your lips twitched as you tilted your head playfully. “I did not. I told you I’m a lady and you see, it’s true. I don’t recall telling you anything else.”

Sihtric let out a sharp breath. “You let me believe you were in danger.”

You chuckled, stepping closer with mocking lightness in your step, your eyes glinting, impossible to tell whether with mischief or simply reflecting the light of the torches. “And you, the fearsome Dane, saved me. How noble of you, Sihtric Kjartansson.”

The way you said his name together with that unmistakable mock in your voice sent a shiver down his spine, but he pushed it aside, he would not be distracted.

“Is it some kind of a game?” he asked at last. He looked even more puzzled now than when you saw him the first time and there was something almost endearing about him - the confusion, the concern flickering on his handsome, sharply defined face. “Lady, that was incredibly reckless.”

“Oh, come now.” You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “Nobody got hurt. It was just a stupid wager.”

Sihtric frowned. “A what?”

You sighed dramatically. “A wager. With my dear stupid brother, Aethelwold.”

Sihtric blinked at you, utterly dumbfounded as his irritation flared. “I think I should tell the king,” he finally muttered but your amusement didn’t falter, if anything, it only grew.

You stepped even closer, close enough he could clearly see the torchlight dancing in your eyes and the playful tilt of your lips. “Go ahead,” you whispered. “Tell my uncle that you had the audacity to kiss his dutiful, pious niece and grope her ass, ah and don’t forget about the part about climbing the palace walls.”

Sihtric said nothing, you arched a brow and leaned in just a fraction more, your voice going down to a soft whisper. “Tell him, Sihtric, and let’s see what happens.”

He exhaled sharply, his fists clenching at his sides, yet he still didn’t say a single word, because you were right. It wouldn’t matter what he said. Who would believe a Dane and a bastard over King Alfred’s noble niece? And if, by some miracle, they did believe him, it would actually more than likely mean his own harsh punishment or maybe even death.

You smiled, stepping back and brushing past him with a deliberate, somewhat mocking slowness in your movement. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” you said, throwing a glance over your shoulder at the baffled young warrior. “I’d hate to be caught alone in the corridors with a dangerous Dane.”

And with that you were gone, leaving Sihtric frozen in place, as he watched the empty hallway long after you had disappeared, his pulse still erratic. He had never met anyone like you, and gods help him, he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a very, very bad one.

Sihtric hadn’t meant to pay you any attention, not after you had made it perfectly clear to him that you were nothing but trouble.

Each time his gaze wandered and found you, he kept telling himself it was just a stupid coincidence. Like that one time in the courtyard as a guard stormed past, knocking into one of the maids. The girl yelped as her basket tumbled to the ground, the freshly washed linens and carefully stacked bowls scattering across the floor. She dropped to her knees, scrambling to gather the mess, her hands fumbling with shaking urgency while the guard had barely spared her a glance before disappearing.

But you stopped. Sihtric watched, heart kicking in his chest, as you knelt beside the girl without hesitation, your hands moving swiftly to help, murmuring something soft enough that he couldn’t hear.

The maid looked at you with wide, startled eyes, no doubt she was used to people just brushing past, ignoring her or worse, blaming her for getting in the way, but you only smiled, handing her the basket with an ease that made it clear to Sihtric this wasn’t the first time you had helped when no one was watching.

The other time, he saw you in the kitchens.

Uhtred had sent him to fetch something for the men, but the moment he stepped inside his attention snagged on a burst of laughter.

You stood among the servants, flour dusting your sleeves, your hands moving swiftly as you helped knead dough, the older women around you chuckling as one swatted at you playfully for stealing a slice of apple meant for a pie.

You were laughing, not the teasing, mischievous laughter you had thrown at him in the corridor, this was different, so unrestrained, genuine and warm.

Sihtric lingered in the doorway, unable to move, unable to tear his gaze away. You were nothing like anyone he had known, and the more he saw you, the less he could look away.

Sihtric wasn’t sure when exactly it happened, maybe that time in the courtyard, when he saw you kneeling in the dirt, maybe in the kitchens as the laughter filled your voice and flour – your sleeves. Maybe even before all that but whenever it happened, it was too late now because he was completely, irreversibly lost.

You were in his thoughts constantly, when he trained, when he rode through the countryside, even when he tried to sleep, his mind kept replaying the soft curve of your smile, the warmth of your touch, the way your teasing words made his chest tighten and his stomach flutter.

And worst of all, he had no idea how to stop it, because he didn’t want to stop it.

Finan was the first to notice. Sihtric sat outside, staring absently into the flames of a small fire, completely lost in thought, when Finan plopped down beside him, slamming a hand against his back hard enough to make Sihtric jolt.

“Ah, there he is,” Finan said with a knowing grin, eyeing him carefully. “Sitting out here, staring at the fire like a lovesick puppy.”

Sihtric blinked, frowning. “What?”

Finan waggled his brows. “Oh, don’t play dumb. I see that dreamy look on your face, the faraway eyes, the little sighs, the way you haven’t spoken a bloody word in an hour.” He smirked. “Tell me, lad, who is she this time?”

Sihtric swallowed hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Finan howled with laughter. “Oh, he’s lost, Uhtred! More lost than I’ve ever seen him before,” he called over his shoulder toward the table where the other men sat.

Uhtred glanced up from his drink and with a bemused shake of his head, he pushed himself to his feet and strode to the fire, arms crossed over his chest, but as soon as he got a good look at Sihtric’s face his smirk suddenly faded.

“Gods, Sihtric,” Uhtred groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “Tell me you haven’t fallen for her.”

Sihtric said nothing, he didn’t have to.

Finan nearly doubled over in delight, slapping his knee. “Oh, this is priceless! The lad’s fallen for King Alfred’s niece - the imaginary mad lady he saved from the guards,” he wiped a fake tear from his eye. “Sihtric, my boy, from all the impossible loves, you had to pick the most impossible one, didn't you?”

Uhtred shook his head, stepping closer. “You’re a fool.”

“I know,” came the simple and honest answer from the young Dane.

“You don’t act like you do,” Uhtred seated himself across from him. “She’s noble. She’s promised to the church. She’s…,” he paused, “she’s not for you. Never can be. Not even in your wildest dreams. Forget her.”

Sihtric lowered his head, his fists clenching in frustration, he knew all of this, of course he did, but none of it changed the way his heart leaped every time you were near.

You hadn’t meant to pay any attention to the handsome young warrior you had tricked into helping you. It seemed you had convinced him to keep your strange first encounter a secret and you intended to let it remain so. The last thing you needed was your small escapades outside the palace’s walls reaching the king’s ears and reducing your already limited freedom to nothing.

But as the days passed, ignoring him became harder. You couldn’t help but notice how he seemed to be nearby more often than not, lingering just at the edges of your awareness, how his eyes would flick toward you only to dart away the moment your gazes met, as if he had been caught in something forbidden.

At first, it had been amusing, the quiet thrill of catching Sihtric off guard, of seeing the handsome, young Dane suddenly turn shy in your presence. It was almost adorable, the way he avoided your gaze, the way his hands fidgeted whenever you stood too close.

But the more you noticed him, the more you felt drawn to him. Sihtric wasn’t just handsome, he was unfairly handsome. The sharp angles of his face, the strength in his jaw, the way his mismatched eyes flickered between something guarded and something soft or the way the scar by his brow only made him look more striking, not less, all these small things suddenly felt impossible to ignore.

You noticed how he moved – quiet, measured, always aware of his surroundings and how he never wasted words but listened more than he spoke.

You noticed how he was… kind, not in the loud, obvious way, like Uhtred with his bold declarations or Finan with his easy laughter. Sihtric’s kindness was quieter, softer, it was in the way he spoke to the stable hands with the same respect he gave warriors, in the way he picked up a fallen wooden bucket without thinking, passing it back to a flustered maid without a word and in the way he looked at you.

You caught him watching you more times than he probably realised. He thought you didn’t notice, but you did, you noticed the fleeting glances, the way his lips parted ever so slightly like he wanted to say something but lost his nerve, and the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you, but never did.

There was something so cute about him in the way he shifted whenever you passed by, as if unsure whether to move closer or step aside. You weren’t sure what to make of it but you had such a strange feeling, and it made something flutter in your chest.

So, naturally, you teased him.

It started small. A fleeting brush of your fingers when you handed him something. A pointed glance when you caught him staring. A sly comment that made his ears turn pink as he struggled to find a response.

You loved it, and then, suddenly, you weren’t amused anymore, you were helpless. You told yourself it was foolish, impossible, you were King Alfred’s niece, he was a warrior, and a Dane and yet, you found yourself watching him just as much as he watched you.

The fire crackled low in the hearth as your maid stood before you.

"Everything is prepared, my lady," she said, bowing her head. "Your belongings have been packed and everything is ready for the journey after the wedding. The abbess has been informed of your arrival."

Your stomach twisted, so this was it. Aethelflaed’s wedding was tomorrow and after that you would leave for the convent.

You nodded, forcing a polite smile. “Thank you.”

The maid bowed and left, the door shutting softly behind her, leaving you alone.

This was your last night of freedom, you swallowed hard, staring into the fire, and for the first time, you wanted to scream. You didn’t want this. You didn’t want to be sent away, hidden from the world, given to a God who had never once answered your prayers.

You craved more, so much more from life and suddenly, you knew what you wanted to do – something foolish, something reckless, something crazy, something worth remembering.

You wanted to choose something in your life before it was taken away. You wanted to pretend, if only just for this one night, that you were not a lady, not the king’s niece, not a woman promised to the church and you wanted him.

Your pulse pounded as you rose from your seat, your hands trembling as you pulled a cloak over your shoulders.

The palace halls were silent at this hour, save for the distant crackling of torches, and the cool night air slipped beneath your cloak, sending a shiver up your spine – both from the chill and from what you were about to do.

You had no plan, no rehearsed words, only the pounding of your heart and the knowledge that this was your last night before a life that was no longer yours.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you reached the wooden door tucked into the quieter corner of the servants’ quarters. You knew this was where Sihtric stayed, as you had seen him disappear behind it at the end of long days.

Your hand trembled only slightly as you raised it and knocked. A moment passed, then another.

For a brief second, doubts started to claw at you. What if he wasn’t here? What if he was asleep? What if… the door opened and Sihtric stood before you, blinking in confusion.

You swallowed hard.

“Lady? What are you…?” You didn’t let him finish, instead, you stepped inside, closing the door behind you and then you kissed him, bold and daring like that very first time in the alley.

Sihtric tensed beneath your touch, his body going rigid, his breath catching in his throat and his hands hovered near your waist, unsure whether to pull you closer or push you away.

Wordlessly, you unclasped your cloak, letting it slip from your shoulders, beneath it, you wore nothing but your nightgown—thin, soft linen that barely reached your knees.

Sihtric froze, his breath hitched sharply, his eyes darkening as they swept over you, and his hands curled into fists at his sides, as if fighting the urge to reach for you.

“Lady, I will not fall for another one of your tricks.”

Sihtric hastily gathered your cape and wrapped it around you, his movements rushed, almost frantic as if shielding you from sight would somehow shield himself as well. The moment your body disappeared under the cape he took a hurried step back, lifting his hands in surrender.

“No, no, it’s not like that! I swear it,” your eyes widened and your voice rose in desperation as you reached for him but Sihtric recoiled again, his retreat almost as instinctive as breathing. “Please, wait, listen me out…,” the cape slipped from your shoulder once more, exposing bare skin beneath it and Sihtric’s gaze dropped instantly, as if the sight burned him.

“Lady, please,” he rasped, his voice low and somewhat strained. “Cover yourself and leave,” he demanded, turning his head to the side. He still didn’t look at you.

“You may find it amusing to make a fool of me each time we meet, but this,” he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “This is somewhat cruel, even for someone like you.”

Someone like you. The words struck you harder than you expected.

“Someone like me?” you repeated, slowly realising the incredible awkwardness of the situation. Your voice wavered despite your best efforts to keep it steady and you bit down on your lower lip, willing it not to tremble, as you fought against tears. You didn’t want to cry, not here, not before him.

“Who do you think I am? A spoiled damsel, living her life in abundance and without any worry, making fun of others to her amusement? Yes?”

This was not how you had imagined your audacious nightly visit would go, but there was no taking it back now.

“The truth is I don’t even have a life. I’m not supposed to have one,” a bitter laugh escaped your throat as you took another step toward Sihtric, rapidly closing the space between you. The young Dane stiffened, his eyes darting to the side, looking for an escape, but there was none, trapped between you and the small wooden table, the only furniture in the room aside from the bed in the corner, Sihtric had nowhere left to run.

“I’m the eldest daughter of a dead king. I’m a threat. My future unborn children are a threat because they will always have a claim to the throne. I am tolerated, endured like a punishment bestowed by a higher force,” unnoticed, your fingers had curled around the leather straps of Sihtric’s armour, clinging to them with unexpected force.

“Do you know what it’s like,” you whispered, “to live knowing that the only family you have left secretly wishes you dead? Or, worse still, doesn’t give a shit about you like my little drunkard weasel of a brother?”

You looked up, straight into Sihtric’s eyes, those big, expressive and beautiful eyes that had always shone with such endearing shyness now observed you with something unexpected – some strange softness, even compassion, the flicker of understanding across his handsome face giving you some new courage to continue.

“Of course, nobody says it outright, but I can see it. In the way they look at me, in the way they speak to me. In the way I’m ignored, handled as an inconvenience in hundreds of little things, every single day. Believe it or not, but I don’t matter to anyone in this cursed place.”

The dam finally broke. Tears, hot and heavy, as big salty rain drops started to slide down your cheeks, and this time, you could do nothing to stop them. You had never spoken it aloud before, had never dared to voice all the piled up weight of hurt and disappointment, pressing against your ribs, and you had no idea why you were telling all this to the young Dane standing before you.

Maybe because you simply had to, because, after all this time, you just couldn’t keep it inside any longer.

A sharp breath rattled through you as your shoulders shook, and you tried to smother the sobs clawing at your throat, but your body refused to listen.

Then, slowly, Sihtric moved. One of his hands lifted, settling over yours where it still gripped his armour, while the other rose to your jaw, his palm warm, his fingers calloused yet gentle as they cradled your face and his thumb ghosted over your cheek, brushing away the tears.

“Lady, please forgive me. I didn’t mean it that way,” he finally murmured softly, bringing your wrist to his lips. His breath, warm and feather-light, ghosted over your skin, and a shiver ran through you.

“And even this miserable existence will end in a few days,” you continued with an unsteady voice, your shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs.

“After the wedding, Aethelflaed will leave for her husband's estate. She’s been the only reason I’m still here. My only friend. We’ve been together all our lives, and my uncle couldn’t bring himself to send me away while she was still here. But now she’s leaving to start a life of her own, and I …, “ another sob escaped you, hollow and aching. “I’m being sent to a nunnery. I’m being locked away for the rest of my life. And they have the audacity to call it benevolence. They expect me to be grateful for being stripped of everything, even the last shreds of my freedom.”

A fresh wave of despair threatened to consume you, but before it could, Sihtric’s arms suddenly came around you, strong and steady, pulling you closer into a gentle yet firm embrace. A little startled you let it happen, you leaned in and let yourself be gathered in, pressing your cheek against Sihtric’s broad and solid chest. It felt inexplicably safe, his rapid heart beat drumming beneath your ear strangely soothing and comforting.

Sihtric’s fingers slid into your hair and gently threaded through the soft and silky strands with unexpected gentleness. He held you like something fragile, something precious, his movements slow, as though he wanted to shield you from the world, rocking you slightly, cradling you in his arms like a child in need of comfort.

“I’m not deceiving you. Not this time. I’ve been watching you. You are different, Sihtric,” you raised your head, meeting his gaze again, and the words came out unexpectedly raw and trembling. “I’m here because I want to live. I want more than to slowly fade away behind cold stone walls and empty prayers. I want to love and be loved. I want to breathe, laugh and feel. If only for this one night.”

Your big, dark eyes shimmered with tears, your nose tinged red from crying, but Sihtric saw none of it because in that moment, all he could think about was how heartbreakingly, achingly beautiful you were, and that Uhtred was probably right.

He was a damn fool.

There was only one reasonable thing to do: take you outside, slam the doors behind you, turn the lock, and forget you had ever stepped over his threshold.

Instead, his fingers found your chin, tilting it upward with a touch so light it was barely there, as he let his thumb hover over your lips – soft, rosy, slightly parted and trembling, and before reason could steal the moment away, he leaned in and kissed you.

Sihtric’s lips touched yours in a soft, lingering press, you had never expected from a warrior and even less from a Dane. It was gentle and searching, like he was trying to convince himself that this was real. You exhaled against him, a trembling breath that sent a shiver down his spine, and something inside him snapped.

His hand slid from your chin to cradle your jaw, and then further up, fingers threading into your hair as he pulled you closer and deepened the kiss, no longer hesitant but urgent, desperate. He kissed you like a drowning man gasping for air, like he had been holding himself back for too long.

Your body pressed closer, and without breaking the kiss Sihtric let out a low sound deep in his throat, half a sigh, half a groan, as he backed you up until your spine met the wooden post near his bed.

The kiss was everything you had dreamed of, everything you had imagined the last few days, hiding your face in the pillows to conceal the crimson blush of your cheeks from the curious glances of the maids. It was full of passion and urgency, yet impossibly soft, unbearably tender, it made your cheeks burn and toes curl, leaving you drowning in a sensation so strange and unknown yet so utterly intoxicating.

Sihtric pulled away, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath uneven, his hands cradling your face.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he whispered as his lips travelled down, brushing a kiss against your shoulder. His breath tickled, and you shuddered from the unexpected warmth surging through you, making you yearn for more.

“Please, just don’t stop,” you murmured back, your fingers curling into the leather of his armour, pulling him back closer.

A quiet, low chuckle rumbled in his chest as his calloused fingertips stroked your shoulders, teasingly slipping beneath the fabric of your cape. Slowly he ran his hands down your arms, freeing them from the cape, before gently taking your hands in his and bringing them up to his lips where he pressed soft, lingering kisses to your palms. The warmth of his lips against your skin sent your pulse into a reckless rhythm, and before you could fully process it, the cape slid from your shoulders, pooling soundlessly at your feet.

Heat hit your cheeks as you stood before him, clad only in your linen nightgown, the fabric clinging closely to your frame, accentuating every line and every curve of your body. Instinctively, you lowered your gaze, hastily withdrawing your hands to cross over your chest in a feeble attempt to shield yourself, all the boldness, all the reckless courage that had brought you here dissipated in a single heartbeat.

A sharp exhale escaped Sihtric, a sound somewhere between restraint and wonder, as he watched you. Slowly he reached for your chin, tilting your head upward, coaxing your gaze back towards him while his thumb traced your lips.

There was something almost magical in the way you looked at him, your tear-streaked eyes wide, lips parted, your cheeks painting crimson with each rapid, quivering breath you took, a mix of alarm and trepidation, and a touch of deep sadness hidden in the depths of your gaze.

All the mischief, all the roguish defiance, the teasing boldness you had worn like an armour were suddenly gone, stripped away together with that cape, and all that remained was a beautiful young woman - shy, uncertain and heartbreakingly vulnerable. And for reasons Sihtric could not begin to understand, you had placed your trust in him.

Sihtric leaned in to kiss you again, slower this time, his lips mapping yours with aching tenderness, taking his time to memorize the taste of you, the way your breath hitched when he brushed his fingers down your arms, the way your soft skin felt beneath his rough palms, sending a shiver through him.

He knew it too well, that feeling you had described before, the feeling of being seen as a burden, the sting of being unwanted and despised. It still haunted him to this very day. But he was just a man, a bastard, a Dane. Why would someone bestow this upon someone noble, someone as beautiful as you?

Slowly, almost reverently Sihtric took hold of your hands and placed them against his chest, cradling your palms into his.

“You don’t have to hide, you are so beautiful,” he whispered, and an endearingly soft, hesitant smile graced your lips as you looked up at him.

“I… I’m sorry,” you murmured, your gaze dropping again. “I don’t know… I don’t know what to do… I’ve never…” you stammered, too embarrassed to admit what Sihtric had known from the moment he touched you, from the way you trembled against his lips both bold and unsure.

“Schhhh, it’s alright,” he hushed you with a smile, pressing a single finger against your lips. “I will show you. If you want me to. If you let me.”

His hands rose to cup your face, his touch warm, steady, patient, and he tilted your chin gently, his breath mingling with yours as he held you there, waiting, giving you a choice, a chance to pull away should you wish to.

You raised your eyes to meet his, and this time you didn’t look away, your gaze traced the sharp defined angles of his face, the strong line of his jaw, the slight furrow of his brow, the scars that marked his right cheek and brow, and finally returned to those mismatched, beautiful eyes whose shy and soft gaze had surprised and captured you, that made you feel as if he saw you in a way no one ever had.

Gods, Sihtric wanted to fuck you, to burry himself in the heat of your body, to feel you trembling beneath him, to coax moan after moan from your plush lips, to make you fell apart on his cock, as he had dreamt it so many nights before, but for all his desire, all his need, he wanted this to be yours as much as it was his. So he waited.

“Show me,” you muttered and closed your eyes. The words still lingered on your lips as he kissed you again, slow, deep, consuming, his tongue teased its way past your lips, seeking, tasting, and when it met yours, a soft, breathless moan escaped you, swallowed instantly by his hungry mouth.

Sihtric’s hands slid down, tracing the curve of your waist, smoothing over your hips, pulling you flush against him, the feeling of his body pressed against yours more dizzying as the sweetest wine.

The way you trembled against him was driving him mad. It was not just the heat of your skin against his or the way you fit so perfectly in his arms, it was the trust in your eyes, the quiet vulnerability beneath your boldness, the way you yielded to him yet held a power over him he could not name, that unsettled him, consumed him and made him wish he would never need to let you go.

Another soft moan escaped you as he pulled away.

“Would you mind?” he asked, guiding your hands to the laces of his armour.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you began to work the fastenings, undoing them one lace at a time. Each touch, each tug of the laces, made Sihtric’s breath hitch, his chest rising and falling just a little faster, and his gaze never left you, his eyes following your every movement.

You held eye contact when the last lace was undone and he stepped back, shrugging off his armour and carefully placing it on the small wooden table. He stepped out of his boots and turned back to you, clad only in his breeches.

You reached out, trailing your fingertips down his strong upper arms, lingering over the rough ridges of old wounds before wandering further to the tout planes of his abdomen; he looked at you silently, but the way his breath quivered – just slightly – told you more than words ever could.

Then, in one fluid motion, he took your hands again and spun you around, pulling you against him.

Your back met his chest, the heat of his skin searing through the thin fabric still clinging to your body. His arms wrapped around you, strong and steady, hands gliding over your waist and hips before splaying possessively against your stomach.

Then came his lips. Soft, burning, trailing a path of slow, deliberate kisses along your shoulder, up the curve of your neck, making you shudder, as his mouth found the spot just below your ear, kissing you there and gently sucking at your sensitive skin.

Sihtric exhaled a low, satisfied hum, his lips brushing against your pulse, sending a fresh shiver down your spine as his one hand cupped your breast while the other slipped beneath the soft fabric of your undergarment, finding the heat of your most intimate place.

A sharp gasp tore from your lips the moment his calloused fingers touched you there, a bolt of pleasure shooting through your core, the sensation so intensive that it had you moaning, the sound vibrating in your chest as you nearly choked on your own breath.

“Sihtric,” you panted.

He hummed in response, his mouth grazing the shell of your ear. “Do you like it?” he whispered.

“Y-yesss,” you breathed, barely able to form the word, completely lost in the dizzying sensation of his touch, of the way his hand rested against your pulsing core.

“Do you want more?”

“I do… I want…,” your words faded away as instinct took over and you rolled your hips against his hand, seeking the friction you so desperately craved.

The words had barely left your lips as he gave it to you, a single finger dipped into your slick heat, and the moan that spilled from your lips – raw, unabashed, sinful – was probably the lewdest sound you had ever heard.

Sihtric groaned softly at the sound of your moan, as he curled his finger inside you, testing, exploring, and your body clenched instinctively around him, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps as waves of pleasure rippled through you.

You whimpered, your hands clutching at his arms, seeking something, anything, to hold on to as your knees threatened to buckle.

“Easy,” he murmured, his free hand slipping down to wrap around your waist, holding you steady against him. “I’ve got you.”

And he did, he guided you, controlled the pace, his fingers moving in slow, teasing strokes, never quite giving you all, but just enough to drive you mad.

“Sihtric… please,” you gasped, rolling your hips against his hand like a slut, desperate for more.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he purred, his tongue flicking against your earlobe.

You moaned as he added another finger, stretching you just enough to make you squirm, a keening whine escaping your lips as he curled them, pressing against a spot that sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your core.

Your head fell back against his shoulder, your body arching into his touch, and he groaned at the sight of you – lips parted, chest rising and falling with each shuddering breath, cheeks flushed with pleasure.

His pace quickened, his fingers working you open, coaxing you higher, bringing you closer to the edge, making your body tense, heat coiling low in your stomach, your moans turning breathless, desperate.

“I can feel it,” he murmured, his lips brushing the curve of your jaw. “You’re close, aren’t you? Don’t struggle against it. Let it go. ”

And with one final thrust of his fingers you shattered, a never before felt pleasure crashed over you in waves, your body trembling as you fell apart in his arms, and he held you through it, whispering soft praises into your ear.

Your legs felt weak, your body spent, but Sihtric didn’t let you go, instead he turned you in his arms, his gaze searching yours, lips parting as if to kiss you again, but you hid your face with your hands and buried it against his chest.

His breath hitched in surprise, but he didn’t pull away, his arms tightened around you, pulling you even closer and his fingers threaded gently through your soft, unruly hair.

“What did I do wrong,” he whispered, as a quiet sob wracked your shoulders, the sound muffled against him. “Tell me.”

You shook your head, still hiding your face from him.

“No, Sihtric,” you managed to breathe and gathered the courage to look up at him. “It was… Oh my God, it was too good to be true.”

Sihtric exhaled softly, his fingers traced your cheek, his thumb brushing against your lips, swollen from his kisses.

“By the gods I want you …,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss those irresistible lips once more. “I want all of you,” his breath brushed against your forehead before he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze again. “If you’ll have me.”

You swallowed thickly, your eyes searching his. “I do… I want to,” you whispered, reaching up on your tiptoes to kiss him.

Sihtric’s breath caught as he answered your kiss, his hands moved to your waist, guiding you gently toward the bed, and you followed his lead, a bit hesitantly but willingly, as for the first time in your life, you weren’t afraid to surrender, not when it was to him.

Sihtric sat down on the edge of his bed and guided you into his lap, settling you astride him, you could feel his fingers caressing your back, his hands tracing slow paths down to your hips and further down to you thighs, where his fingers curled around the bunched hem of your undergarment.

“Let me see you,” he murmured, grasping the thin fabric and starting to push it up your thighs. “All of you.”

Your breath hitched and you froze, a rush of uncertainty washing over you, your hands clamped over his and he stopped without hesitation, his mismatched eyes flickering up to meet yours, searching.

You swallowed, your fingers tightening around the fabric, a deep exhale left your lips, and then, slowly, deliberately, you pulled the undergarment over your head, baring yourself to him.

Sihtric groaned, his grip found your waist, pulling you against him for the briefest second before, in one swift movement, he flipped you onto your back, pressing you into the mattress as he settled between your thighs.

You barely had time to catch your breath before his mouth found your breast, his lips closing over a hardened nipple, sucking, teasing, and a sharp gasp tore from your lips, your back arching instinctively as sensations flooded your body.

His hands slid up your arms, gathering your wrists, gently pressing them above your head, pinning you there as his body held you in place.

You were utterly helpless beneath him, completely at his mercy, his warm and solid frame pressing down on you, yet you had never felt safer in your whole life. Sihtric leaned down and kissed you again deep and consuming as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

He had dreamt of this every night since that first meeting in the narrow alley, when your lips had crashed against his, of having you buried beneath him like this, your naked body writhing, begging him to fuck you.

A low, strained groan rumbled in Sihtric’s chest as he took in the sight of you, bare and wanting beneath him, his painfully hard cock throbbed against the confines of his breeches, and with a sharp inhale, he let go of your hands, pulling away just enough to fumble with the laces of his pants.

You looked up at him as he pushed down his breeches and his cock sprang free, your eyes widening and heat flaring through you, for the first time seeing him as you had never seen a man before.

You swallowed harshly, your fingers curling into the sheets at the sheer sight of him, long and thick it looked like it was impossible for it to fit inside you.

Sihtric hesitated for the briefest moment, his eyes scanning your face, hurriedly, he pushed his breeches the rest of the way off, discarding them without care before leaning back, his lips seeking yours the instant he was beside you.

His kiss was impossibly gentle, he kissed your cheeks, your nose, your eyelids, his legs tangled with yours as he pulled you closer, wrapping you in his body.

“I won’t do anything you don’t want,” he whispered in your ear. “You’re not here to please me.”

Your fingers slid into his hair and you pulled him back to your lips for another kiss.

Sihtric groaned softly, his breath shaky against your mouth, and his hand slid down, his calloused fingers tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Without breaking the kiss, he nudged your legs apart, his thumb finding your pearl and you gasped into his mouth, your body jolting at the sudden surge of heat.

His fingers moved slowly, purposefully, circling, teasing, coaxing soft, breathless moans from your lips as heat coiled low in your belly, pooling deep inside you.

He took his time with you, exploring every reaction, every shiver, every arch of your body against his touch. His lips trailed down your jaw, warm and searching, his fingers never stopped, stroking, rubbing, building up the pleasure, setting your nerves alight with every movement.

His kisses trailed lower and lower, his mouth moved over your belly down to your inner thigh and you whined out loudly, suddenly feeling his hot breath fanning against your core and his tongue lapping at your sensitive bud.

“What… what are you doing?” you panted, your fingers fisting the sheets beneath you, as a new wave of ecstasy surged through your trembling body, your hips jerked instinctively as his tongue swiped against you with languid, delicate strokes.

“Tasting you,” Sihtric hummed against your core, and the sound of his voice vibrated through you, sending jolts of pleasure deep into your stomach. His tongue started to move in fast, wet strokes, circling and flicking your pearl and your back arched, a broken cry escaping you as your hips bucked into his face, chasing the delicious pressure.

Sihtric could feel it, how you trembled, how your hips rolled against this tongue, begging for more, how your whines and whimpers became more desperate. Sihtric groaned in response, his grip tightening around your thighs to hold you in place as he devoured you with growing hunger, bringing you closer and closer to the edge again. And then you fell, pleasure overtaking all your senses with Sihtric’s tongue on you driving you crazy.

"I think you are ready," he chuckled satisfied into your core, and the bed creaked beneath him as he shifted, his weight pressing you deeper into the mattress, as he positioned himself between your legs. His hands slid up your thighs as he moved, his calloused palms scraping deliciously over your flushed skin. You gasped when you felt it, the hot, swollen head of his cock brushing your slick folds, dragging against your sensitive perl, coating himself in your arousal.

“Do you do that often?” Sihtric leaned in, his lips grazed your ear as he whispered. “Running around and kissing strange men on your way?”

“Sihtric, please,” you whined, shifting your hips against him, needing more, needing him to move, while desperately trying to clear up your scattered mind.

"Please?" he echoed as he pressed the tip of his cock against your entrance and his thumb found your pearl again, resuming its merciless circles, making any coherent thought slipping through your grasp like water.

“You should know that it is dangerous,” Sihtric murmured, his breath hot against your ear, “and as you see now it might happen,” his thumb pressed harder against your perl, making you cry out, “that you have to pay for it.”

“I… no…ah-ah,” you gasped, the sound quickly turning into a moan, as he pushed forward, his thick shaft splitting you open inch by inch, but the only thing you could concentrate on was his soft, low voice in your ear.

“I think,” he whispered, pushing a fraction deeper, “this is the right moment to apologise.”

“Apologise?” you gasped, squeezing your eyes shut, overwhelmed by the impossible sensation of being stretched beyond reason and trying to grasp what Sihtric was saying.

“For slapping me,” Sihtric’s voice turned thick and jerky, “for making a fool out of me in front of my lord and my friends, for teasing me so mercilessly, for making me almost lose my mind from craving you,” Sihtric’s whisper turned into a low moan, vibrating in his throat, as he pressed forward more and more.

"Sihtric, I… ohhh God…," you panted, everything blurring around you as you scrambled for any intelligible words.

“Look at me,” he demanded and you obeyed, your lashes fluttering open.

“Say it, little brat, say, that you’re sorry,” Sihtric’s breath came heavier with each movement, his muscles tensing.

Your chest rose and fell with every ragged breath as you felt anger and dismay slowly boiling up. It was something absolutely unheard, the bastard was almost balls deep into you and demanded an apology. Your mouth finally opened to protest, to argue but as you looked in his eyes - one hazel brown, one a stormy grey and blue – glinting with a mix of adoration and mischief as he held your gaze, all other words suddenly died in your throat as he thrust into you.

The sudden fullness made you cry out as your nails raked across his skin, leaving burning red trails in their wake.

“Please,” was the only thing you could whimper, writhing beneath him. “Please, I’m sorry…”

“Good girl,” Sihtric rasped, burying his nose in the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin, as he moaned and held you tighter, pushing forward one last bit until he was fully sheathed inside you.

You gasped beneath him, and he kissed your neck, his breath choppy and laboured.

“Now I’m yours,” he whispered, his lips moving across your face and pressing soft gentle kisses along your cheeks, your forehead, the corner of your lips, anywhere he could reach, and you moaned, your senses overwhelmed by him, by his scent, his warmth, the way his body pressed into yours, surrounding you.

You could feel his cock twitch inside you, reminding you how deep he was buried within you, and only now you noticed that you hadn’t felt any pain. Sihtric groaned, his entire body shuddering with restraint, as his hands gripped your waist, fingers flexing, afraid to move too soon, too fast.

You reached up, cupping his jaw and tilting his face so his mismatched eyes met yours. His lips parted slightly as if he was about to speak, but you didn’t let him, instead, you kissed him, slow, deep, languid.

“Thank you!” you whispered, breaking the kiss, and he looked at you questioningly. “For distracting me so well,” you smiled, running your fingers through his hair, and he exhaled a shaky breath.

You rolled your hips experimentally, and God – the feeling of him moving inside you, even just a little, made you gasp against his lips. Sihtric growled, the sound deep and raw as his fingers dug into your hips.

"You're sure?" he rasped.

You nodded, unable to speak, your body already arching into him, and then he moved, slow at first, drawing himself out until only the tip remained before rolling his hips forward again, thrusting back inside you with aching slowness.

You moaned, your hands clenching around his biceps as pleasure sparked through you again, already building, already consuming. You could feel his cock brush against your inner walls, each movement sending a wave of sensations through you, that you had no words to describe. All you knew was that you wanted more. More of him. More of this.

The soft creaking of the bed and the sounds of your bodies moving together – his quiet groans and your soft gasps, filled the air and finally your breaths tangled as he found a steady rhythm, deep and unhurried.

Sihtric’s gaze swept over your beautiful face, you looked so endearingly sweet, utterly intoxicating, lips parted and flushed from his kisses, head tilted back, eyes half-lidded and heavy with pleasure. And the sounds, those soft, breathless moans, those quiet whimpers spilling from your lips, all that drove him to the edge of madness.

Gods, if only you would want him, not only for this fleeting night of pleasure, but for real. If only you would follow him. If you asked, he would never let you go. He would stand between you and the world, defeat thousand kings if needed, he would fight anything, anyone, if only you would ask him. If only you would say a word.

His breath was hot against your skin as he kissed along your throat, dragging his lips lower, savouring the way your body shivered beneath him. His chest rose and fell in uneven, ragged motions as he moved within you, the slight burn you had felt at first long turned into overwhelming, all consuming pleasure.

Every inch he withdrew left you aching, desperate for him, only to be filled again, each deep, rolling thrust sending sparks down your spine.

Your fingers dug into his back as his pace increased, your moans swallowed by his mouth as he kissed you again and again, as he lost himself in you.

His lips were all over you, kissing, sucking, licking. Every move and tender touch, every gentle kiss, every shallow breath, sigh and moan that escaped his lips, the way he held you and the way he looked at you, told you how much he enjoyed pleasing you, how much love this man had to give. And you wanted every piece of it.

Sihtric groaned, gripping you tighter as he rolled his hips against you, his pace quickening. Your name tumbled from his lips, mingling with your whimpers as you met his thrusts with the same eagerness, your nails raking down his back, desperate to hold onto him, desperate to hold onto this moment before it slipped away.

Sihtric’s lips brushed over your collarbone, the scrape of his teeth sending a shiver across your skin. You moaned his name, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him up to you and his lips found yours, swallowing your gasps as his thrusts grew harder, deeper, more urgent, his control slipping away with every movement, his hips snapping against yours faster and faster.

“More,” you pleaded breathlessly, rolling your hips to meet him. A shudder ran through him, his hands grasped your thighs, shifting your legs higher until he was buried impossibly deep, and you gasped at the exquisite pressure. He kissed you again, panting into your mouth.

Each thrust pushed you closer, the coil in your belly winding impossibly tight, your body alight with sensation, and his fingers found your swollen perl again, stroking in time with his movements, coaxing you higher and making you fall apart bit by bit.

“It’s… it’s too much… Sihtric… I can’t…,” you gasped, your voice breaking as the overwhelming heat coiled tighter within you, threatening to consume you whole.

“Don’t think. Just feel, my love,” Sihtric whispered, the last words slipping from his lips unbidden, raw and instinctive, but you were already too far gone to fully grasp them.

Something inside you snapped, and your core started to clench around his cock, a broken cry spilling from your lips as pleasure crashed over you in waves of pure, white bliss, leaving you breathless, trembling and lost in the sinful euphoria.

Sihtric groaned and a silent curse left his lips, as your release overtook you and your body spasmed around him. He held you through it, watched you, drinking in the sight of you coming undone beneath him, while his hips kept moving, letting you ride out your high.

In that moment, there was probably nothing he wanted more than to just let go – to bury himself deep within you and imprint himself on your walls, claiming you as his. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. There was no way he would let you begin your new life in the nunnery, possibly carrying his child beneath your heart, a child he would never even know of.

Your body slackened beneath him, and a deep groan spilled from Sihtric’s lips as he pulled out and gave his cock a few hurried strokes, before spilling his hot white seed over your belly and breasts.

You could feel him trembling through the aftershocks, his breath uneven, his one hand on your hips still gripping you as though he never wanted to let go and you looked up at him completely spent and quivering in the aftermath of your peak.

This was the moment you had dreaded the most, hundreds of questions swirling in your mind earlier as you navigated the empty corridors, each step bringing you closer to Sihtric’s room. What will happen when it’s over, when you are his in every possible way. What will be left? Will there be any words? Or will there only be awkward glances and painful silence wrapped in unspoken regret?

Sihtric suddenly rose from the bed, and your heart sank, as you swallowed harshly, head sinking back into the pillow. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing away the tears pressing at the corners.

This was it. Over. And the only thing left for you was to sneak out of this room and disappear into the shadows of the drowsy palace like some whore, having done her work. You couldn’t deny you had hoped for more. But maybe this was even right. What had you expected? What more could there be between the king's niece and a Dane?

Something warm brushed against your skin, and you flinched slightly. Slowly, you opened your eyes to find Sihtric kneeling beside you, carefully cleaning you up, his touch tender, unhurried, his lips pressed lingering, featherlight kisses against your shoulder.

“Are you alright?” he murmured, slipping back into bed beside you, his arms curled around you, pulling your back against his chest, wrapping you in his warmth.

You exhaled shakily, fingers tracing nervous patterns along his forearm. “I am,” you whispered, though you couldn’t bring yourself to turn and meet his eyes.

Sihtric could feel the sudden stiffness in your frame, the way your breath wavered, the faint tremor running through your body and before he could stop himself, before he could think of all the reasons why it was reckless and impossible, the words just bursted over his lips.

“Come with me.”

What are you doing? His mind rebelled against him, picturing Uhtred’s face hearing out the news, but he couldn’t bring himself to really care about that. The only thing he really cared about was the silence that followed. The silence from you.

Sihtric’s words caught you by surprise.

He was a warrior, young, strong and handsome beyond reason. Women in every village from here to Northumbria would gladly warm his bed, asking for nothing in return, no commitments, no expectations.

And what could you offer him beyond trouble? Beyond being a burden or even worse - the death of him? He had already been more gentle, more caring than you ever expected from a warrior, from a Dane, but sharing a night of passion was one thing. Standing against Alfred’s wrath for you - that was another entirely. He would be a fool even to consider it.

“You don’t mean it, don’t you?” your voice finally came barely more than a breath.

Sihtric swallowed hard, his heart pounding so violently he swore you must have felt it against your back. He had spoken without thinking, but now, hearing the uncertainty in your voice, he realized just how much he did mean it.

“I do. I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.”

“This isn’t just a dream, is it?” you whispered, turning slightly in his embrace so you could see his face, you reached out your fingers grazing his jaw.

Sihtric shook his head. “No,” he murmured. “It’s real. I want this. I want you and even more than that I want us.”

Your breath shuddered, and he could see the way hope, fragile but undeniable, crept into your eyes but then, your gaze flickered away, and he felt the shift before you even spoke.

“Sihtric… if we leave, they’ll hunt us.”

He brushed his nose against your neck. “I know.”

“They’ll never stop.”

“Then we won't stop either.”

Your lips parted as if to argue, but nothing came, and he reached up, cupping your face. “I don’t care how far we have to go,” he whispered. “I don’t care what it takes. As long as I have you, I have everything.”

“I would fight for you,” he continued, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from your cheek. “I would die for you.”

A choked sound escaped you, something between a sob and a laugh. “I don’t want you to die for me.”

Sihtric smiled: “Then let me live for you.”

It was too good to be true, it was more than you had ever dared to dream, you buried your nose into Sihtric’s chest, gripping his shoulders, afraid that he would simply disappear if you let go and with a deep sigh of relief Sihtric realised, in that moment, that you weren’t searching for a reason to leave, you were searching for a reason to stay.

“Say the word,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours. “And we go.”

A long silence stretched between you, then, with a shaky breath, you looked up at him and whispered: “Take me with you.”

“You did what?” Uhtred’s face was steadily turning red, his bewildered gaze flickering between Sihtric and the cloaked figure partially hidden behind his oathman’s back.

“This isn’t funny. Not even in the slightest,” he yelled, throwing a sharp glare at Finan, whose loud snort had startled even the horses.

Uhtred exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose as if trying to ward off a headache. “Let me make sure I’ve got this straight,” he said, his tone dangerously calm. “You slept with the king’s niece… and now, you want to run away with her? You want to make yourself Wessex’s enemy number one?” His voice rose in sheer disbelief. “Sihtric, have you completely lost your mind?”

He turned his attention to the cloaked figure behind Sihtric, his frustration boiling over. “Lady, please tell me this is some kind of a bad joke! Surely you understand that this is absolutely impossible?”

Sihtric remained silent, his shoulders tense, arms stiff at his sides and gaze fixed on the dirt beneath his feet as Uhtred’s fury crashed over him and he took it all without protest.

Then, as Uhtred’s voice finally ebbed away, Sihtric lifted his head.

“Lord, I will not leave her behind.”

Uhtred opened his mouth to unleash another reprimand but something in Sihtric’s tone stopped him cold, he had never heard the young Dane with such quiet, unwavering resolve before. It was not defiance, it was not even desperation, it was certainty.

Uhtred let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. “You don’t even know her,” he muttered, exasperation creeping into his voice.

Sihtric met his gaze without hesitation. “Lord, do you remember how you met your wife, Lady Gisela?”

Uhtred stiffened. “That was different,” he said quickly, the words coming out almost too fast.

“Was it, Lord?”

“Lord King! Lord King!”

Beocca’s voice cracked as he shouted, his face red, his breath ragged from the frantic sprint through the palace corridors. He was getting too old for this, he thought grimly, pushing himself forward, nearly tripping over the folds of his monk’s robes tangling around his legs.

Alfred looked up from the book in front of him, his brow furrowing as the doors to his library burst open.

“Father Beocca?” he asked, straightening in his chair as the older priest doubled over, hands braced on his knees, struggling to catch his breath.

Beocca raised a shaking hand, forcing himself to stand upright. “Lord King,” he gasped, still breathless. “I bring terrible news.”

His fingers trembled as he crossed himself. “Lord in Heaven, forgive us sinners, and show Your mercy upon us.” He hesitated, his throat tightening. “Your niece, Lord King…”

Alfred’s expression darkened and his hand grip the edge of his desk.

“What has happened, Beocca?” he demanded. “Speak to me!”

Beocca swallowed hard. “We were attacked, my Lord,” he finally managed. “The Danes.”

Alfred’s grip on the table turned to iron. “The Danes?”

“They took everything,” Beocca continued, his voice shaking. “Even the finger of Saint Osbert, which you so mercifully gifted to the abbess for taking in the child.”

“What?”

Beocca pressed his lips together. “God is merciful, my Lord. We were not harmed – the men of faith were spared. They tied us to a tree, where your patrol found us this morning.”

Alfred inhaled sharply, but Beocca wasn’t finished. His hands clenched at his sides, his next words coming out as a broken whisper.

“But the Lady, my Lord.”

Alfred went still, and Beocca forced himself to meet his king’s gaze.

“The Lady is gone. They took her with them.”

A heavy silence filled the chamber, Alfred slowly rose from his desk, his expression unreadable as he clasped his hands behind his back. He paced methodically, his gaze fixed on the floor, deep in thought. Finally, he turned to Beocca, who still stood near the door, waiting.

“We will pray for her, Father,” he said at last, his voice steady.

“Pray?” There was a flicker of barely concealed surprise in Beocca’s voice.

“Yes. Pray,” Alfred confirmed, stepping closer, his piercing gaze locking onto his priest’s eyes. “We will pray for her immortal soul. That is all we can do. Who knows where these savages have taken her?”

Beocca hesitated for only a moment before bowing his head. “Of course, my Lord. We will pray. God is merciful.”

He turned to leave, but before he could take another step, Alfred’s voice halted him.

“There is no hope, is there, Beocca?”

The old priest closed his eyes briefly, swallowing hard.

“No, my Lord,” he answered solemnly. “There is none.”

You placed the last of the wooden plates and dishes onto the long table in Coccham’s main hall, the rich scent of roasted meat and freshly baked bread filling the air. Gisela worked beside you, her sleeves rolled up as she stirred a pot over the fire, humming softly to herself.

Across the room, Clapa had already made himself comfortable, the big, sturdy Dane tore at a chunk of bread as if he hadn’t eaten in days. He had a heart as soft as his appetite was endless, and the two of you had quickly become friends, especially after you started sneaking him extra portions of ham and cheese.

More voices filtered into the hall as the men began to gather, settling onto the long benches, their laughter and conversation filling the space with the easy warmth of familiarity, the pitcher of ale was passed around, the mugs filled and the night unfolded like so many others before it – comfortable, lively, and full of the kind of simple joy that made Coccham feel like home.

Finan’s boisterous laughter rang out as he nudged Osferth, grinning at some joke that left the young monk red-faced. Uhtred was deep in discussion with Gisela, but even he had the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his lips, relaxed in the comfort of his own hall.

You busied yourself fetching another pitcher of ale, weaving your way between the men, your hands gripping the heavy clay vessel carefully but just as you turned the corner by one of the thick wooden pillars strong hands grabbed you from behind.

A gasp escaped your lips, but before you could utter a word, warm lips brushed against your neck, lingering for just a heartbeat before traveling up to your jaw.

“Sihtric,” you scolded in a whisper, though your voice lacked any real bite.

He only hummed in response, arms wrapping around your waist as he stole another kiss just beneath your ear. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he murmured against your skin.

“I have not,” you huffed, though the way your breath hitched as his lips ghosted over your cheek betrayed you. “I’ve been working.”

“And I’ve been waiting.”

You turned in his arms, meeting the mischievous glint in his mismatched eyes, the dim firelight casting golden flecks across them.

“If someone sees…”

“They’ll be jealous.” His grin widened, his fingers brushing along the small of your back. “And I don’t care. I’ve missed you.”

Your cheeks flushed, but before you could reply, voices called from the table.

“Where’s that ale? I’m dying of thirst over here!”

Sihtric chuckled, pressing one last quick kiss to your lips before stepping back, though his fingers lingered at your waist before finally releasing you. “Go,” he said, smirking. “Before they all come looking for you.”

You shot him a warning glance but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips as you hurried back to the table, heart still fluttering from his stolen kisses, but as you set the pitcher down and took your seat, you felt his gaze still on you, watching, waiting, already planning the next time he’d steal you away again.

And truth be told… you didn’t mind one bit.

Suddenly, a shadow blocked the doorway, and all heads turned toward the unexpected guest.

“Beocca, old friend!” Uhtred called out, as he rose from his seat and pulled the priest into a hearty embrace.

Your heart, however, nearly stopped.

A rush of panic climbed up your throat, your fingers gripping the edge of the bench. Had Alfred sent him? Had he found out? Your breath hitched, your stomach tightening, but before the fear managed to take you over completely, amidst the murmurs and shifting bodies, a firm hand slid under the table and clasped yours, squeezing gently.

Only then did you realise that Sihtric had wedged himself beside you, having nudged the others down the bench without so much as a word. You tightened your grip around his fingers and exhaled sharply, trying to calm yourself down.

Meanwhile, Uhtred had seated himself back at the end of the table. “How’s the King?” he asked loud enough for everyone to hear. “Still praying?”

Beocca straightened his robes with a huff. “The King is mourning,” he announced, unusually loud, ensuring all ears were on him.

A hush settled over the hall.

“His niece,” Beocca continued, voice thick with solemnity, “the fair, beautiful daughter of his beloved brother, who had decided to dedicate her life to God and was on her way to Saint Cuthbert’s convent, has been taken from us by a savage band of Danes. May she rest in peace.”

You stiffened beside Sihtric, and he squeezed your hand once more beneath the table.

“The Archbishop,” Beocca pressed on, “has been asked to assess whether she should be declared a saint, as some of the monks escorting her swore that they witnessed the heavens open and an angel descend to rescue her from the brutes and carry her up into the sky.”

A beat of silence followed, but whatever tension had filled the room quickly dissolved as conversation resumed. The fate of some distant niece of King Alfred, even one allegedly taken by Danes or even by angels, didn’t seem to concern the men of Coccham too much.

“I think the special brew Gisela made for them turned out a bit too strong,” Finan muttered under his breath, and Uhtred choked on his ale as he tried to suppress a laugh, while you had to bite your lip to keep from joining in.

“How are you, Lady?” Beocca’s voice was soft, filled with unmistakable worry as he seated himself beside you when the majority of the men had left the hall.

Sihtric exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers twitching in irritation.

You drew a deep breath, but before you could answer, Finan who had been nursing his ale from across the table, leaned forward with a wicked grin.

“Father,” he drawled, his eyes twinkling with mischief, “believe me, she is content. Loudly content, especially at night.”

Sihtric groaned audibly in embarrassment, shoulders hunching as he dropped his gaze to the table, and heat slammed into your cheeks, spreading down your neck.

"Finan!" you hissed.

"What?" The Irishmen gave an exaggerated shrug, his grin only growing wider. "I'm simply sharing the truth. It's not my fault the walls here are thin."

Beocca's mouth tightened, as he shot him a scathing glare before turning his focus back to you.

“Does he treat you kindly?” he asked, his voice low and earnest.

“Father,” you murmured, “you don’t have to worry about me.” You exhaled, glancing at Sihtric, your fingers still loosely tangled with his beneath the table.

"He treats me with more kindness than I deserve," you said softly, squeezing Sihtric's hand. “I finally have a home. A family. A life and a future. It’s more than I ever dared to dream of.”

You turned back to Beocca.

“I’m happy,” your lips curved into a smile as you felt Sihtric shift beside you, his arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer, his thumb brushing a soothing circle against your side. “He makes me happy.”

Beocca's eyes flicked to Sihtric, skepticism still lingering beneath the surface but Sihtric held his gaze. "She means everything to me," Sihtric said with quiet certainty.

“Thank you father for all you’ve done for us,” you reached out for Beocca’s hand and squeezed it.

Finan gave a soft laugh, lifting his cup in salute before taking a sip, while Beocca sighed heavily, shaking his head.

“God help us all," he muttered, rising to leave.

The moment Beocca was gone, Sihtric leaned down, pressing his lips to your temple.

"Come,” he murmured, “I need to hear it again. I need to hear just how loudly content you are," he chuckled.

Your cheeks flushed with heat all over again. "Sihtric,... " you mumbled, trying to sound indignant, but the giggle bubbling in your throat betrayed you, spilling out before you could stop it.

And even if Beocca still had his doubts, you knew the truth - you had never been happier in your entire life.

#sihtric x reader #sihtric x you #sihtric kjartansson #sihtric #the last kingdom #the last kingdom fic #the last kingdom x reader #the last kingdom fanfic #sihtric fic #sihtric smut #I know it's fucking long #but I hate dividing up stories #and I can never find the right place to do it #it's probably the last fic for a while #seriously thinking about taking a brake from writing

133 notes · View notes