Mated To The Barbarian King Who Is My Ex-husband's Father.

Aunt Freya arrived back at the camp near midnight. Convincing the old man to assist her had been no easy feat. In the end, he had agreed, yet she still didn’t trust him completely. There was always a chance he might fail to show up tomorrow as promised.

​The heavy tension in the night air grew thicker as she approached the royal tent.

Samantha stood outside, speaking in hushed tones with Ragnar, while several others lingered nearby, watching the tent with anxious eyes.

​A prickle of fear touched Freya as she strode toward her children to find out what was happening.

​"Mother..." Ragnar turned and threw his arms around her neck, embracing her tightly. "I was getting worried about you."

​"You don’t have to worry about me, child. I only went to the mountains," Aunt Freya soothed, kissing his forehead. As they pulled back from the hug, her gaze hardened. "What is going on here?"

​"Something terrible has happened again, Mother," Samantha said, a look of genuine worry etched across her face. She usually wouldn’t have cared, but this involved someone they knew well. "Cassius’s woman was attacked this evening."

​"Who in the Goddess’s name is his woman?" Freya asked, her brows furrowing in confusion.

​Ragnar let out a heavy sigh, shooting his sister a sharp look. "She isn’t his woman, Samantha. It’s Alara. The poor woman took a severe blow to the head, and it will take a miracle for her to survive. The injury is far worse than we thought."

"What?" Aunt Freya’s voice cut through the midnight chill, tight with shock. For a second, she prayed her children were playing a cruel joke, but the grim expressions on their faces proved otherwise.

​A cold shiver ran down her spine as the weight of the situation crashed over her.

​She didn’t care about Alara—not in the slightest. But the only reason the old man had agreed to help her in the first place was under the strict condition that Alara remained safe and protected.

​How was she going to explain this to him when he arrived tomorrow to announce Samantha as the King’s true mate? If he found out Alara was clinging to life, the entire bargain would crumble.

​Aunt Freya pressed her palm against the left side of her chest, her fingers clutching her robes tightly. Her face twisted into a sharp frown as her mind raced, frantically searching for a way out of this trap.

​"Are you alright, Mother?" Ragnar asked immediately, reaching out to support her arm, but she snapped back, shoving his hand away.

​"I am fine!"

​"No, you don’t look fine at all," Ragnar insisted, refusing to step back. "This news is shaking you up far too much."

"On my mother?" Samantha let out a bitter laugh, irritating Ragnar to no end. "Alara’s misfortune is hardly Mother’s problem... she never even liked the woman."

​"Be quiet, Samantha," Aunt Freya snapped, cutting her off cold.

​Without another word, Freya turned and pushed past the tent flaps. The heavy, metallic stench of fresh blood hit her nostrils instantly.

She stepped deeper into the room, her eyes fixing on the broken figure lying motionless on the cot.

​The facial trauma was so severe that the woman was barely recognizable, but having watched Alara grow up over the years, Freya could still spot the faint, familiar features beneath the swelling and blood.

​"Is she going to recover? Perhaps by tomorrow morning?" Freya asked, the question sounding foolish even to her own ears as a subtle tremble took over her hands.

​The medicine women exchanging baffled glances at the odd urgency in her voice, but one of them stepped forward to answer respectfully. "There is only a slim chance she will even survive the night, my lady, let alone recover by morning. But we pray the Goddess shows mercy."

​Aunt Freya gave a stiff nod and turned on her heel, exiting the tent with a heavy, darkened expression.

​She couldn’t even fathom who had committed such a senseless act at a time like this. This single mistake was going to cost her everything she had built.

If she ever found out who was responsible, she would rip their throat out with her own hands.

​Outside, a harsh northern wind whipped through the camp, plastering her heavy fur against her skin as she marched back toward her waiting children.

​"It really is her," she muttered, her voice laced with grim realization.

"Yes, we told you it’s Alara." Samantha watched her mother with a flicker of suspicion, clearly baffled that she cared so suddenly about the fate of an omega whom both she and Cassius had relentlessly tormented in the past.

​"What happened to her? Who did this?"

​"No one knows yet. She was attacked in the woods earlier this evening, and there wasn’t a single trace left behind," Ragnar answered.

​"How could there be no trace?" his mother demanded, her tone sharp with rising panic and rage.

​"Uncle Cassius took his men out to search the area," he added.

​"And what were you doing? Why didn’t you go with them? Aren’t you a man?"

​"He’s barely seventeen, Mother," Samantha interjected before her brother could speak, as if Freya needed reminding.

​"Seventeen is practically a fully grown man!" Aunt Freya snapped, thrusting a finger toward him. She was bristling with anger, her patience entirely depleted. "The next time a search party goes out, you make sure you’re out there making your own inquiries. I do not trust Cassius."

​Ragnar frowned, completely bewildered by why her fury was suddenly directed at him when he had done nothing wrong. "Is there something you’re not telling us, Mother? He used to be your biggest ally."

​"Do not push me right now, Ragnar! Where the hell is your uncle?" Aunt Freya’s eyes scanned the surrounding camp wildly. If Cassius was the idiot who had jeopardized her plans tonight, she wouldn’t hesitate to throw him to the rogues herself.

*****

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