CHAPTER FOUR: THE LOTHBROK BROTHERS

SOPHIE HAD BEEN tasked with fetching a bucket of water for the Queen's chambers, so she made her way to the source to fill it. Along the way, a young man walked beside her and started speaking, but Sophie couldn't comprehend everything he said, nor did she want to.

She knew he was one of Ragnar's sons, and Helen had advised her to avoid them as much as possible, as they were not as benevolent as their father.

"Are you deaf?" the young man spoke in his native language, irritation clear in his voice before he blocked her path. Sophie couldn't help but wonder why everyone seemed intent on distracting her from her work, which she was desperately trying not to mess up.

"I asked you a question," he repeated, this time in a manner she understood but chose to pretend otherwise. In her mind, the less she spoke, the better chance she had of avoiding trouble.

Shaking her head in apparent confusion, she looked up at the tall Lothbrok son with piercing blue eyes that resembled his father's. She hoped her message had been conveyed. "You do not speak our language?" he chuckled, seeming to have read her thoughts. "Not even a little?" He asked as if he could sense her understanding. But Sophie simply stood there, maintaining her bewildered expression.

He reached for the heavy bucket she was still holding, causing her to recoil. He raised his hands in a non-threatening gesture, but instead of allowing him to take the bucket, she moved past him.

Thankfully, he didn't follow her, and Sophie was grateful for the respite, knowing she was already late for Queen Aslaug, who was likely waiting for her bath.

When she entered the chambers, she was surprised to find King Ragnar there instead of the Queen. He was already seated in a half-filled circular bathtub, waiting for her. Sophie noticed him dismissing another servant and felt the urge to bolt from the room.

"You're late," he remarked with a sly smile. "Again."

Sophie didn't reply, placing the heavy bucket by the fireplace and avoiding his gaze.

"Why are you always late, Sophie?" he inquired, her name sounding peculiar on his tongue.

"Your son," Sophie replied softly. "He delayed me."

"Delayed you?" he asked, and when she remained silent, he prodded further. "And which son could that be?"

"I don't know," Sophie replied honestly. She had seen them often enough, all of Ragnar's sons, staring at her, but she wasn't quite certain who was who, except for Ivar, the crippled one, and the eldest, Björn.

She could see King Ragnar leaning forward in the tub as he placed his forearms on the edge while he studied her but she did not look at him as she pretended to be busy with tidying the area up. If just her father would see her serving those Pagans he would hunt them down one by one.

"You don't look like a slave." There it was.

"And yet, I am," she replied while lifting the now-heated bucket off the fire before approaching Ragnar who was still smiling.

He had expected her to pour the water in but she instead placed it down beside the tub within his reach before stepping back as she avoided looking at him.

"Aren't you going to help me?" he asked.

"I thought you said I didn't look like a slave," she replied without missing a beat as she looked him dead in the eyes.

"And you said you were," he smiled before reaching for the bucket.

She watched as he poured the boiling water into his tub without any trouble. At least he didn't insist on her serving him which made Sophie reconsider Helen's words.

"I'll be away with my sons on a raid tomorrow," he suddenly spoke, leaving Sophie to wonder about the reason for sharing this with her. She considered asking if the raid was targeting her kingdom but decided against it. There was no need to raise suspicions. "And I want you to keep an eye on my beautiful wife," he continued, further confusing her. What was he implying?

"Keep an eye on her?" Sophie inquired.

"Yes, keep an eye on her," he affirmed. "You can go now."

She didn't need to be told twice, and she hurriedly left, unaware that Queen Aslaug had been observing their entire exchange.

To her surprise, the Lothbrok brothers were waiting outside, or so it seemed. The young man from earlier offered her a smile as she rushed past them, and she noticed a blonde servant named Margrethe glaring at her with her eyes as she headed toward the barn.

What was wrong with everyone?

"Helen," Sophie called out, but her friend was nowhere to be found.

"She went to the field," Margrethe informed her from behind, causing Sophie to spin around to face her.

"Thank you," she replied in their native language before walking away.

"Are you sleeping with the Lothbrok brothers?" Margrethe asked, surprising Sophie. To her amazement, she understood some words and managed to piece together the rest to understand the question.

Her comprehension of their language was improving, but she still struggled to express herself clearly.

"No," Sophie replied firmly.

"No?" Margrethe asked as she took a step forward. "I see how they look at you."

Look at me? Yeah, I've seen that too.

"What?" Sophie asked.

"I said I see how they look at you," Margaret repeated.

"And?"

"I think you're sleeping with them."

"I told you I'm not!" Sophie fumed, causing Margrethe to cower back before she walked away, leaving her alone.

Everyone's behavior was perplexing, and Sophie felt lost without Helen. She needed guidance and an explanation, but the woman was nowhere to be found.

Exiting the barn, Sophie noticed that the Lothbrok brothers and Margrethe had all disappeared. Determined to find Helen, she followed the path toward the fields Helen had once shown her. Along the way, she passed by some warriors engaged in sword fighting, which intrigued her. She had never had the opportunity to watch the heathens fight, and from what she saw, they were every bit as skilled as she had heard.

Lost in thought, she didn't realize she had stopped to watch the warriors. She pondered how useful it would be to know how to wield a sword, at least for self-defense.

"Slave," a harsh, deep, and manly voice snapped her out of her daydream. She looked up to see the tall and imposing figure of Rollo, a man she knew by name. He had always scared her, and now he stood just a step or two away, towering above her.

Why do they all have to be so tall?

"Slave," he repeated as she didn't answer, and neither did she answer this time as she turned and ran away.