The great hall of Ravenfjord had never been louder.
Laughter rolled beneath the carved timber ceiling like thunder. Horns of mead clashed together. Warriors sang old sea songs while children darted between benches. The wedding feast of Jarl Sigurd’s eldest son was meant to be remembered for generations.
For everyone except Freya Eiriksdottir.
She sat alone.
The long wooden table stretched before her, crowded with roasted boar, honey cakes, apples, and silver goblets. Yet no one sat beside her.
No one wanted to.
Freya stared at the candle flame flickering in front of her and wished she could disappear.
Across the hall, groups of women whispered behind their cups.
She knew why.
Everyone knew.
Three months earlier, her betrothed had abandoned her.
Not merely abandoned her—he had publicly broken their engagement and married the daughter of a wealthier clan.
In Viking society, such humiliation lingered like smoke.
No matter how kind Freya was.
No matter how hardworking she had been.
No matter how innocent she truly was.
People remembered scandal longer than truth.
A burst of laughter erupted nearby.
Freya looked up.
A young couple sat together, feeding each other pieces of roasted meat.
Another pair danced beside the musicians.
Everywhere she looked, people belonged to someone.
Except her.
She lowered her gaze and reached for her cup.
“Careful.”
The voice came from directly above her.
Deep.
Calm.
Unexpected.
Freya froze.
A massive shadow fell across the table.
She slowly looked up.
The largest man she had ever seen stood beside her bench.
Broad shoulders.
Long braided blond hair.
A beard thick enough to hide a knife.
Dark tattoos twisted across his arms and shoulders.
An axe hung from his belt.
His presence alone seemed capable of splitting oak trees.
Several nearby conversations stopped immediately.
People were staring.
Freya swallowed.
The giant leaned closer.
Then he spoke quietly.
“Act like you’re with me.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“Don’t look now.”
“I am looking now.”
A corner of his mouth twitched.
“Fair point.”
He lowered himself onto the bench beside her.
The wood groaned in protest.
Freya could barely breathe.
“What are you talking about?” she whispered.
Without turning his head, he nodded toward the far side of the hall.
“Three drunk warriors.”
Freya glanced carefully.
She immediately spotted them.
Three men were watching her.
Watching her far too closely.
One of them appeared to be gathering courage to approach.
Freya’s stomach tightened.
She recognized them.
They were known troublemakers from a neighboring settlement.
The kind of men who believed a woman sitting alone was an invitation.
The giant picked up a horn of mead.
“Now smile.”
“What?”
“Trust me.”
Freya stared.
He casually raised his voice.
“There you are!”
The giant laughed loudly.
“Tell me again how you caught that salmon bigger than your arm.”
The nearby tables turned.
People listened.
Freya realized what he was doing.
He was pretending they knew each other.
Pretending she wasn’t alone.
Pretending she belonged beside him.
Understanding dawned.
Slowly, she played along.
“It wasn’t bigger than my arm.”
The giant grinned.
“It was.”
“It wasn’t.”
“It absolutely was.”
The first genuine smile Freya had worn in months escaped before she could stop it.
The giant noticed.
His eyes softened.
“There,” he said quietly.
“That’s better.”
Across the hall, the three troublemakers exchanged glances.
Then they looked away.
The giant’s reputation apparently spoke louder than their courage.
Freya exhaled.
Relief flooded through her.
“Thank you.”
He shrugged.
“You looked like you needed a friend.”
The words struck harder than she expected.
Because for months, nobody had said anything remotely similar.
Nobody had noticed.
Nobody had cared.
“What is your name?” she asked.
“Leif.”
She nearly choked.
“Leif Bjornsson?”
Several warriors glanced over immediately.
The giant looked embarrassed.
“Unfortunately.”
Freya knew the name.
Everyone did.
Leif Bjornsson.
The warrior who had survived three shipwrecks.
The man who once fought a bear.
The giant who had carried two wounded men across a mountain during a blizzard.
Half the stories about him sounded impossible.
The other half sounded worse.
Yet sitting beside her now, he seemed oddly uncomfortable with the attention.
“You don’t like being famous?”
“I hate it.”
Freya laughed.
Leif smiled.
And for the first time all evening, neither of them felt alone.
Hours passed.
The feast grew louder.
The musicians played faster.
Dancers filled the center of the hall.
Freya and Leif continued talking.
At first they exchanged simple stories.
Then childhood memories.
Then dreams.
Then fears.
The conversation flowed effortlessly.
Freya discovered that beneath Leif’s enormous frame was a surprisingly gentle man.
He loved carving wooden toys for village children.
He rescued injured animals.
He secretly wrote poetry.
The poetry confession nearly made Freya laugh herself off the bench.
“You?”
Leif groaned.
“I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”
“You write poetry?”
“Bad poetry.”
“That makes it even better.”
He covered his face.
Freya laughed harder.
Nearby warriors stared in amazement.
Most had never seen Leif smile this much.
Eventually, music filled the hall again.
Leif stood.
His towering figure blocked half the torchlight.
He extended one hand.
Freya looked up.
“What?”
“Dance.”
Her smile faded.
The old insecurity returned instantly.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I’ll embarrass myself.”
“So will I.”
“You’ve probably danced a hundred times.”
Leif snorted.
“I once stepped on a jarl’s foot and nearly started a war.”
Freya laughed despite herself.
Leif kept his hand extended.
Patient.
Steady.
Waiting.
Not demanding.
Not pressuring.
Simply offering.
Finally, she placed her hand in his.
His fingers wrapped gently around hers.
As though she were something fragile.
Together they stepped onto the floor.
The crowd parted automatically.
Partly because Leif was enormous.
Partly because everyone was curious.
Freya felt dozens of eyes watching.
Her nerves threatened to overwhelm her.
Leif leaned down.
“Ignore them.”
“I can’t.”
“Then look at me.”
She did.
The rest of the room seemed to disappear.
The music started.
They moved.
Slowly at first.
Then naturally.
Then effortlessly.
Freya found herself laughing again.
For the first time in nearly a year, she forgot what people thought.
For the first time, she felt free.
Unfortunately, happiness attracts attention.
And not all attention is welcome.
Near midnight, a familiar voice cut through the hall.
“Freya.”
The laughter died instantly.
Her blood turned cold.
She recognized that voice.
Harald.
Her former fiancé.
The man who had humiliated her.
The man who had abandoned her.
The man who stood now with his wealthy wife beside him.
Harald smirked.
“I see you’ve found company.”
The insult was obvious.
The hall grew silent.
Everyone remembered.
Everyone waited.
Months ago, Freya would have lowered her eyes.
Months ago, she would have accepted the humiliation.
Not tonight.
Before she could speak, Leif stepped forward.
The movement was subtle.
But suddenly Harald looked very small.
Very fragile.
Very mortal.
Leif folded his massive arms.
“What do you want?”
Harald swallowed.
The entire hall noticed.
“I was only speaking to her.”
Leif nodded.
“And she can answer.”
For a moment, Freya stared at the man who had broken her heart.
Then she realized something.
She felt nothing.
No longing.
No grief.
No regret.
Only relief.
Because losing Harald had led her here.
To this moment.
To this hall.
To this giant standing beside her.
Freya lifted her chin.
“Then hear my answer.”
Harald waited.
“So do I.”
A few people gasped.
Freya smiled.
“You made your choice months ago.”
The hall remained silent.
“I’ve finally made mine.”
Harald’s face reddened.
Without another word, he turned away.
The crowd erupted.
Not with mockery.
Not with cruelty.
With approval.
With respect.
For the first time, people weren’t looking at Freya with pity.
They were looking at her with admiration.
Later that night, the feast slowly wound down.
Guests departed.
Candles burned low.
The hall grew quiet.
Freya stood outside beneath a sky filled with stars.
Cold northern wind swept through her red braids.
Footsteps approached behind her.
She smiled before turning around.
Leif.
Of course.
He stood beside her.
Neither spoke for a while.
The silence felt comfortable.
Eventually Leif cleared his throat.
A surprisingly nervous sound coming from such a large man.
“Freya?”
“Yes?”
“I have a question.”
She looked up.
The mighty warrior suddenly appeared terrified.
“What question?”
Leif rubbed the back of his neck.
“I’ve faced storms.”
Freya nodded.
“I know.”
“I’ve fought bears.”
“I know.”
“I’ve sailed through winter seas.”
“I know.”
He sighed heavily.
“But this is harder.”
Freya smiled.
“Leif.”
“What?”
“Ask.”
He took a deep breath.
Then another.
Finally he spoke.
“Would you allow me to court you?”
For a moment, the world stood still.
The stars.
The wind.
The distant sound of laughter from inside the hall.
Everything seemed to pause.
Freya looked into his eyes.
The eyes of a warrior feared across the north.
And found only kindness.
Only honesty.
Only hope.
Months ago she had believed her life was over.
Months ago she had thought she would always be the woman abandoned at the altar.
The woman nobody wanted.
The woman sitting alone.
Now she understood something important.
Sometimes life removes the wrong people so the right ones can find a place beside you.
Freya reached for his hand.
His enormous fingers wrapped around hers.
Warm.
Steady.
Safe.
Then she smiled.
“Yes.”
Leif blinked.
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
The giant Viking grinned.
And for the first time in years, he looked completely happy.
Above them, the northern stars glittered over Ravenfjord.
Inside the hall, the wedding feast was ending.
But outside beneath the endless sky, something far more important had just begun.
A woman who thought she would always be alone had found someone willing to sit beside her.
And a giant warrior who had spent years fighting battles had finally discovered the one thing worth coming home for.
Each other.