Ragnar jolted awake, his heart pounding as the remnants of the dream clung to him like fog. His breath came in ragged gasps as his mind tried to process what he had seen. The dream had been the same as before—vivid, unsettling, and impossible to shake.

He had been the black raven again, circling over stormy waters, but this time the white raven—the woman—was clearer. Her wings had shimmered in the pale light, and around her neck had been the collar—a Thor’s hammer and the sun of Freya intertwined around a brilliant blue stone. It glowed with an intensity that made his chest tighten. He could still feel the weight of the vision pressing down on him, as if it was more than just a dream. It was a sign.

Ragnar sat up and rubbed a hand across his face, trying to shake the feeling. There was a pull between them, him and the white raven, an invisible bond that seemed to be growing stronger. The gods were at work here—he knew it. And yet, he didn’t fully understand what it meant. But one thing was clear—he would meet this woman soon.

Shaking off the strange sense of destiny, he rose from his bed and dressed, stepping out into the cold morning air. The camp was already stirring, the men preparing for the day ahead. Yet Ragnar’s thoughts remained locked on the dream, even as he moved among his people.

The wind blew fiercely through the camp, carrying the scent of the sea and the distant woods. Ragnar stood at the edge of the clearing, watching as his men sharpened their weapons and prepared for the inevitable meeting with the Saxon King. His mind, however, was elsewhere.

His dreams had been unsettling of late—vivid and strange. The white raven, the storm, the vision of a woman bound to him by fate. He had not spoken of it, but the dream lingered at the edges of his thoughts. Even now, as he watched Erik speaking with the other warriors, his brother’s voice seemed distant.

“Ragnar,” Erik called out, approaching him. “The patrol from Wessex has arrived. They’re asking for a meeting with King Alfred.”

Ragnar’s gaze snapped back to the present. “King Alfred? He still rules here?” He had expected Alfred, the old lion of Wessex, to be gone by now. Yet the name did not stir fear in his heart. It was merely a title.

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“They want to discuss terms,” Erik continued, his face impassive. “But I’ve heard there is more to this. Alfred has a daughter, Teaghen, said to be as beautiful as she is intelligent. It would be wise to inquire about her.”

Ragnar considered this for a moment. A daughter of Alfred could prove valuable. “If the king wants a meeting, then he must ask me through his daughter.”

Erik’s brow furrowed. “What are you planning?”

Ragnar’s lips curled into a sly smile. “The test that our grandfather gave to Aslaug. If Alfred’s daughter is as clever as they say, she will understand.” His voice took on a playful, yet challenging tone. “She is to arrive neither dressed nor undressed, neither fasting nor eating, and neither alone nor in company.”

Erik chuckled, shaking his head. “You always enjoy these games, brother.”

“They are not games,” Ragnar replied, his tone more serious now. “It is a measure of wit and resolve. If she is to face me, let her prove she can.”

The sky grew darker as the day slipped away, and Ragnar returned to his tent. But as night fell and the campfire crackled, the dream returned. The white raven soared through the storm once more, and this time, he could see her clearly—Teaghen, her long hair flowing like golden strands of light, a collar around her neck, adorned with the symbols of Thor and Freya, bound by the brilliant blue stone.

He awoke in the early hours, unsettled. His thoughts turned to the upcoming meeting. He would see this daughter of Alfred. He would see if she could solve the riddle and, more importantly, if she could hold her own in the face of the challenges to come.

The next morning, the King’s men arrived in full force. Alfred had sent his envoys to the Viking camp to discuss a meeting with their leader. Ragnar greeted them with a firm nod, standing tall as they dismounted.

“We’ve come to discuss a possible meeting between King Alfred of Wessex and your people,” one of the envoys began, his voice thick with the formalities of diplomacy.

Ragnar waved a hand. “Yes, yes, I know why you’re here. Tell your king I will meet him—on one condition. He must send his daughter, Princess Teaghen, to ask me herself.”

The envoys looked at one another, confusion and surprise etched on their faces. “Princess Teaghen?” one of them asked, as if unsure he had heard correctly.

Ragnar’s eyes glinted with challenge. “Yes, she must come, but only if she can pass my test. Tell her to arrive neither dressed nor undressed, neither fasting nor eating, and neither alone nor in company.”

The envoy blinked in bewilderment. “That is…an unusual request.”

Ragnar shrugged, his expression unreadable. “Tell her. If she passes, then I will consider meeting with your king. If not, well, perhaps we have nothing to discuss.”

The envoys, still uncertain, mounted their horses once again and rode back toward Wessex, carrying Ragnar’s message. Erik watched them go, shaking his head with amusement. “You truly want to make this difficult for them.”

Ragnar chuckled, his gaze still fixed on the horizon. “If they want peace, they’ll find a way. But first, I want to see what kind of woman this Teaghen really is.”