As I watch this ridiculous dance of social niceties and misplaced concern, something inside me snaps. The absurdity of it all - a grown man trapped in a child's body, about to be married off to a Viking healer who thinks I'm the reincarnation of some Norse goddess - becomes too much to bear.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," I snarl, my childish voice at odds with the venom in my words. "Why are you being such a prick, Erik? Why not split me open tonight and get me pregnant so we can flee this wretched country without further ado?"

The room falls silent, all eyes turning to me in shock. But I'm far from finished.

"After all," I continue, my voice dripping with sarcasm, "you owe me a chest of jewels and a bolt of fine silks for every blow and violation I've endured under this miserable roof. So either mount up or pay what you owe, you brutish oaf!"

Erik's face darkens, his massive frame seeming to grow even larger as he looms over me. "Mind your tongue, girl," he growls. "You're not the destined Gullveig as foretold. You're just a convenient peasant waif who happens to match the prophecy's words."

I let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "Oh, is that so? Well, tell me this, you great lummox - if I'm so easily replaced, why didn't you just find another girl who matches my looks? You could have thrown me in a ditch and taken the better version!"

Aislin gasps, her face contorting with anger. "Lile! How dare you speak to Erik that way? After all he's done for us!"

But I'm beyond caring about Aislin's indignation. The floodgates have opened, and years of pent-up frustration come pouring out.

"Done for us?" I spit. "What has he done, exactly? Paid a pittance to my drunken lout of a father for the privilege of waiting to fuck me? Oh yes, what a noble savior!"

Maeve, recovered from her earlier chastisement, lets out a peal of laughter. "By the saints, the wee lass has some fire in her belly!"

Erik's face is a thundercloud, his massive hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "You ungrateful little wretch," he hisses. "I've given you a chance at a better life, a future beyond this miserable hovel. And this is how you repay me?"

I meet his gaze unflinchingly, channeling all the rage and bitterness of my adult mind into my childish glare. "A better life? Ha! You mean a life as your brood mare, popping out heirs for your precious Norse bloodline? No thank you, I'd rather take my chances with the English raiders!"

The tension in the room is palpable, crackling like lightning before a storm. Erik's eyes bore into mine, searching for something - perhaps a glimmer of the divine being he believes me to be. But all he'll find is the cold, calculating gaze of a man trapped in a child's body, seething with resentment at the cruel joke the universe has played on him.

Finally, Erik breaks the stalemate. With a disgusted grunt, he turns on his heel and strides towards the door. "I'm going to find Oisin," he growls. "We'll finish this... transaction... and be done with it."

As he reaches the threshold, he pauses, turning back to fix me with one last, withering glare. "And you, girl... you'd do well to remember your place. Destined or not, you're still just a child playing at being a woman."

With that parting shot, he ducks through the low doorway and disappears into the autumn sunlight, leaving behind a stunned silence broken only by the distant crowing of a rooster.

The silence that follows Erik's departure is shattered by Aislin's shrill voice. Her face, usually worn with resignation, now contorts with a fury I've rarely witnessed. She rounds on me, her blue eyes flashing like storm-tossed seas.

"You ungrateful little harlot!" she spits, her words dripping with venom. "How dare you speak to Erik that way? After all he's done for us!"

I open my mouth to defend myself, but Aislin's tirade continues unabated. "Shut your gob, you insolent wench! I've half a mind to tan your hide until you can't sit for a fortnight!"

Maeve, leaning against the wall with the bloody rags still in her hands, lets out a bark of laughter. "Ah, come now, sister. The girl's got spirit, I'll give her that."

Aislin whirls on Maeve, her face flushed with rage. "And you! You're no better, filling her head with your tavern talk and loose morals!"

I try again to speak, but Aislin's hand shoots out, fingers curled like talons. "Not another word from you, or I swear by all that's holy, I'll beat the devil out of you myself!"

Maeve's laughter rings out again, clear and mocking. "Oh, aye, that'll solve everything. Beat the poor lass for speaking her mind. That's the Christian way, isn't it?"

Aislin's nostrils flare, her chest heaving with each ragged breath. "If she weren't already laid low by her courses, I'd have her over my knee this instant. Ungrateful little sow, biting the hand that feeds her!"

I curl into myself on the straw pallet, partly from the pain of my cramps and partly from the onslaught of Aislin's words. The irony of being berated like a child when I possess the mind of a grown man is not lost on me.

Maeve saunters over, her hips swaying provocatively even in this tense moment. She places a hand on Aislin's shoulder, which Aislin promptly shrugs off. "Now, now, sister. Let's not be too harsh on the girl. She's bleeding for the first time, her head's all addled with womanly humors."

Aislin's laugh is bitter and sharp. "Womanly humors? She's naught but a child playing at being grown. A foul-mouthed, disrespectful little cunt who-"

"I'm sorry!" I blurt out, my voice cracking in a way that surprises even me. "I... I don't know what came over me. Please, Mama, I didn't mean to upset you so."

Maeve's amber eyes glitter with amusement. "There, you see? The girl's sorry. No harm done, eh?"

But Aislin is not so easily placated. She looms over me, her shadow falling across my face. "Sorry? Sorry doesn't begin to cover it, you little strumpet. You've shamed us all with your loose tongue and your wanton ways!"

I blink back tears, partly for show and partly from genuine frustration at my powerlessness in this situation. "Please, Mama, I swear I'll never speak that way again. I... I think it must be the monthly blood addling my wits."

Maeve nods sagely, though the effect is somewhat ruined by the smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "Aye, that'll be it. The first flow always turns a girl's head something fierce. Why, I remember when I first bled, I-"

"Enough!" Aislin roars, rounding on Maeve once more. "This is your doing, isn't it? Filling her head with your filth and your heathen ways. I should never have let you near her!"

Maeve holds up her hands in mock surrender, still grinning. "Me? I've done naught but watch the wee ones and help around the house. If the girl's got a sharp tongue, she came by it honestly enough."

Aislin's face twists into a sneer. "Oh, aye, honestly. As honest as a whore's virtue, I'd wager." She turns back to me, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone. "You listen well, girl. You'll not speak another word until Erik returns. And when he does, you'll beg his forgiveness on your knees if you have to. Do you understand me?"

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

I nod meekly, playing the part of the chastened child to perfection. "Yes, Mama. I understand."

Aislin straightens, smoothing down her skirts with trembling hands. "I need air," she mutters, more to herself than to us. "I can't bear to look at either of you right now."

With that, she storms towards the door, pausing only to call over her shoulder, "I'm going to check on the boys. Heaven knows what mischief they're up to with the babes. Maeve, see that she doesn't move from that pallet. And for the love of all that's holy, keep your foul mouth shut."

The door slams behind her, leaving Maeve and me alone in the sudden quiet of the hovel. Maeve turns to me, her eyes dancing with mirth. "Well now, little one. That was quite a performance. I must say, I'm impressed."

I allow myself a small, rueful smile. "I don't know what you mean, Auntie Maeve. I was just speaking my mind."

Maeve's laugh is rich and throaty. "Oh, aye, speaking your mind indeed. And what a mind it is! I've known hardened soldiers with less fire in their bellies." She leans in close, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Between you and me, girl, I think you did right by standing up to that great Norse oaf. Someone needs to take him down a peg or two."

I feel a surge of affection for Maeve, despite her crudeness and questionable morals. In this moment, she's the closest thing to an ally I have in this godforsaken time.

"Do you really think so?" I ask, allowing a hint of childish hope to color my voice.

Maeve nods, her expression suddenly serious. "I do, lass. But mind you, don't go making a habit of it. Men like Erik, they don't take kindly to being challenged, especially by women folk. You've got to be clever about it, see? Subtle-like."

I nod, filing away this advice for future use. "I'll remember that, Auntie Maeve. Thank you."

She ruffles my hair affectionately, then grimaces as she remembers the bloody rags still in her other hand. "Right then. I'd best get these washed before your mother comes back and finds another reason to shriek like a banshee. You rest up now, little one. Something tells me you're going to need your strength in the days to come."

Maeve's words echo in my mind as she bustles off to wash the bloody rags. I lie back on the straw, staring at the thatched roof above me, my thoughts racing faster than a peasant fleeing from tax collectors.

Well, well, well. If it isn't the consequences of my own actions coming to bite me in the ass. Poor Aislin, bless her simple peasant heart. She's spent her entire miserable existence - all twenty-four grueling years of it - trying to secure me a better life with the strapping Viking stud muffin, Erik. Every move, every word, every time she spread her legs for that drunken oaf Oisin - it was all for me. And here I am, opening my big fat mouth and nearly fucking it all up faster than you can say "medieval birth control."

I can't help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all. Even my real mother, Nicoleta, with her PhD in guilt-tripping and advanced degree in passive-aggressive sighing, couldn't have torn me a new one quite like Aislin did. In a one-on-one verbal smackdown, Aislin would've wiped the floor with Nicoleta's designer shoes. Who knew a woman who thinks the earth is flat and babies come from cabbages could be so devastatingly articulate?

Christ on a cracker, what came over me back there? It's like someone flipped my "angsty teenager" switch a few years early. Note to self: these hormones are more volatile than nitroglycerin in a mosh pit. I'd better learn to keep them in check, or I'll end up starting the peasant revolution before I even get my first training bra.

Ah, the joys of puberty in medieval Ireland. Instead of acne and awkward school dances, I get to look forward to arranged marriages and the constant threat of death by cholera. Living the dream, folks. Living. The. Dream.

The creaking of our hovel's door interrupts my internal monologue. Aislin shuffles in, her shoulders slumped with the weight of a thousand sighs. She makes her way to the sleeping alcove, her eyes finding mine in the dim light.

"Up with you now, Lile," she says, her voice a mixture of weariness and forced cheer. "Time to don the finery Erik gifted for your wedding day."

I heave a sigh to rival hers and haul myself to my feet, following her into the main room. With practiced movements, I begin to shed my clothes, the coarse fabric catching on my skin.

"The undergarments and rags too, child," Aislin instructs, her eyes averted in a show of modesty that seems laughable given the circumstances.

"Why?" I ask, injecting just the right amount of childish curiosity into my voice. "Won't I bleed all over the ground?"

Aislin's face softens, a dreamy look overtaking her features. "Ah, but that's the highest badge of honor, my sweet girl. To have your first bleeding and be wed on the same day? 'Tis a blessing from the Virgin herself!"

Oh yes, what a blessing indeed. Nothing says 'divinely favored' quite like ruining your wedding dress with menstrual blood while being sold off to a man old enough to be your father. Truly, I am the luckiest girl in all of Christendom.

With another sigh, I strip off the last of my garments. Aislin helps me into the clothes Erik provided, her calloused hands surprisingly gentle. The fabric is finer than anything I've worn before, soft against my skin. The scent of lavender clings to it, a stark contrast to the usual odors of our hovel.

"There now," Aislin says, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "You're as pretty as a picture, you are."

Her eyes cloud over suddenly, and she leans in close. "Now listen here, child. When Erik arrives, you must apologize for your harsh words earlier. Do you understand?"

I nod solemnly, the picture of childish contrition. "Yes, Mama. I will." And perhaps I'll sprout wings and fly to the moon while I'm at it.

From across the room, Maeve lets out a low whistle. "Well, don't you look fine enough to fetch a king's ransom? Or at least a Norse healer's bride price."

She saunters over, her hips swaying in a way that speaks of years in the tavern. "Let me braid your hair, girl. Make you look proper Norse-like for your man."

Aislin's brow furrows. "And how do you know about Norse braiding styles?"

Maeve's lips curl into a sly smile. "Oh, I've been learning all sorts of things from Erik. He's quite... educational when the mood strikes him."

"You've been going behind my back?" Aislin's voice rises an octave, indignation coloring her cheeks.

I see my chance and pounce. "But Mama, isn't that just like when you offered Erik a 'kiss'?" I tilt my head, the very picture of innocence. "Is it normal for a mother to kiss her daughter's husband?"

Aislin's face drains of color, then floods with crimson. "How... how do you remember that?"

I shrug, my eyes wide. "I have a very good memory."

Maeve's cackle fills the room. "Oh ho! What's this now? Our saintly Aislin, offering 'kisses' to the Norse healer?"

"Hush your gob," Aislin hisses, her face now resembling an overripe tomato.

"My, my," Maeve continues, her voice dripping with mock scandal. "You're redder than a cardinal's robes! I'd wager that wasn't just an innocent peck, was it?"

"I said be quiet!" Aislin's voice cracks like a whip.

I can't help but giggle, the sound high and childish even to my own ears.

Maeve leans in, her voice a stage whisper. "I'd bet my last copper that our virtuous Aislin was on her knees, sucking Erik's co-"

"ENOUGH!" Aislin roars, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

Maeve holds up her hands in surrender, though her eyes dance with mischief. "Alright, alright. I'll say no more. But just remember, dear sister..." She taps the side of her nose. "I know your little secret now. Might come in handy someday, eh?"

The tension in the room is thick enough to cut with a knife, but I can't help but revel in the chaos. It's not often I get to witness such delightful drama in this dreary existence. Perhaps this wedding day won't be a complete waste after all.

Just as I'm savoring the delicious discord, the door to our hovel creaks open, admitting a gust of crisp autumn air and the patter of tiny feet. Atlas and Fionn stumble in, each cradling a squirming toddler in their arms. Their faces are flushed from the chill outside, and both boys look as if they've been wrestling wild boars rather than minding babes.

"By the saints," Atlas groans, his voice cracking with exertion, "these wee devils have more energy than a sack of ferrets!"

Fionn nods vigorously, his shaggy hair flopping about like a dog shaking off water. "Aye, and twice as bitey! Look what the little beast did to me finger!" He thrusts out his hand, displaying a set of tiny teeth marks on his knuckle.

Their complaints die on their lips as they catch sight of me, resplendent in my wedding finery. Their jaws drop in comical unison, eyes wide as saucers. I can't help but preen a little under their slack-jawed stares, twirling to show off the simple yet elegant gown Erik provided.

"Sweet Jesu," Fionn breathes, "is that truly our Lile? Or has some fairy princess come to bewitch us all?"

Atlas, ever the pragmatist, narrows his eyes suspiciously. "Nay, 'tis Lile right enough. Though I'll wager she's been ensorcelled by that Norse warlock to look so... so..."

"Radiant?" I suggest innocently, batting my eyelashes for effect. "Ethereal? Transcendent?"

"Clean," Atlas finishes flatly, earning him a sharp cuff from Aislin.

"Mind your tongue, boy," Maeve hisses, though I catch a glimmer of pride in her eyes as she surveys my transformation. "This be your sister's wedding day, not some common market fair."

Maeve saunters over, her hips swaying with exaggerated grace. "Aye, and what a fine bride she'll make," she purrs, her voice dripping with honeyed venom. "I'm sure her Norse lord will be most... appreciative of such a tender morsel."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes at her thinly veiled insinuations. Instead, I affect a childish pout, stamping my foot for good measure. "I'm not a morsel! I'm a fierce warrior princess, come to conquer the savage Norsemen with me deadly charms!"[...]