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

​Arianna spun on her heel, her throat tight with terror as she prepared to leave, when a ice-cold hand clamped around her wrist.

Before her mind could even process the movement, her body was slammed backward onto the mattress.

A heavy, calloused palm flattened over her mouth, muffling her gasp, while another hand locked tightly around her throat.

​A wave of icy goosebumps erupted across her skin as horror flooded her mind, plunging her right back into the trauma of the night she was attacked.

Fear drained the strength from her limbs, leaving her paralyzed and trembling beneath his crushing weight.

​Then, just as suddenly, the grip vanished.

​The hands retreated as if scorched. Arianna forced her eyes open, gasping for air, and blinked through blurriness to find Ragnar standing over her, looking horrified.

​"Forgive me, Queen Arianna!" he choked out, taking a frantic step back. "I—I had no idea it was you!"

​Arianna opened her mouth to speak, but only a harsh, dry cough tore from her chest.

She pushed herself up into a sitting position, her hand flying to her throat as her heart hammered like a wild drum against her ribs.

​"I’ll get water...hold on," Ragnar said quickly, spinning around and disappearing behind the partition.

​A few seconds later, he returned with a wooden cup, extending it toward her with trembling hands.

She took it without a word, gulping down the cool liquid until the burning ache in her throat finally began to soothe.

​Setting the cup aside, Arianna stood up from the cot, steadying her legs as her racing pulse gradually leveled out.

​Now that the initial shock was wearing off, her surroundings snapped back into sharp focus—starting with Ragnar.

He was completely bare-chested, wearing only a pair of dark, tailored trousers. She almost caught herself asking where in the world he had gotten such modern pants, until she remembered he had only recently returned from his travels in the West.

​"Please forgive me, Your Highness," Ragnar repeated, backing further away and dropping into a deep, formal bow. "I swear I didn’t know it was you. Did I... did I hurt you?"

​Arianna gently rubbed her tender neck, her mind flashing back to the dark bruises left behind the last time a man had laid hands on her.

​"I suppose I’ll have to check the mirror," she murmured quietly, her eyes narrowing as she looked at him.

"I am sorry," Ragnar said, quickly stepping aside to give her plenty of room.

​Arianna walked over to the standing mirror near the corner and studied her reflection. She gently brushed her fingers over her skin. There were no red marks or bruising. A small wave of relief washed over her. The lingering trauma from her previous attack had made his grip feel far more lethal in the moment than it actually was.

​"Are you going to report me to the King?" Ragnar asked, remaining a few nervous paces behind her. Through the reflection, Arianna could see the sharp anxiety tightening his posture.

​She shook her head softly. "I came unannounced into your private quarters at dawn. I am the one who should apologize."

​Ragnar remained silent, waiting for her to elaborate.

​"Why did it take you so long to wake up?" she asked, turning back to him with genuine curiosity. "Did you know someone was in your tent?"

​"No... I am a very heavy sleeper when I am in my own quarters, so I didn’t hear you enter," he explained, rubbing the back of his neck. "I only woke when I felt someone touching my arm, and I instinctively assumed..." He trailed off, caught between embarrassment and caution, before shaking his head. "Why are you in my tent so early, Queen Arianna?"

​"I came to ask for your help," Arianna said, her voice dropping into a serious, guarded tone. "It is urgent."

​Ragnar arched an eyebrow, taken aback. "What could the Queen possibly need from me? You are the King’s wife. Anything you desire can be commanded with a single word to Kane..."

​"I am desperate, Ragnar. And you are the only one who can help me with this without raising immediate suspicion."

​"What is it?"

​"It concerns the accusation against my maid," Arianna confessed, letting out a quiet sigh. She hesitated, treading carefully so as not to directly accuse his mother of setting a trap, uncertain of how loyal he was to Freya’s dark games. "Maria did not steal that ring."

​Ragnar crossed his arms over his bare chest, his gaze narrowing slightly. "The ring was found among her belongings. Why are you so certain she is innocent?"

​"Because I know my maid," Arianna replied firmly, taking a step toward him. "And I know a setup when I see one."

"Maybe you don’t know her as well as you think, Your Highness," Ragnar countered quietly.

​"I do," she insisted, refusing to back down.

​"Alright, Queen Arianna. Let’s say that is true...who do you think framed your maid?" he asked, watching her closely.

​"Your sister. Or your mother..." Arianna blurted out.

​The words left her mouth before she could stop them, and instant regret washed over her.

​Ragnar’s brows furrowed, his expression darkening as if she had just struck a raw nerve.

​"I didn’t mean to say it so bluntly, but... I suspect them," she offered quickly, trying to soften the blow.

​"Are you even hearing yourself?" Ragnar’s voice hardened, a flare of anger rising in his tone. "Why on earth would my mother do such a disgraceful thing?"

​Arianna knew she was treading on dangerous ground, but she needed him to see the truth. "Your mother detests me, Ragnar, and she is willing to do whatever it takes to frustrate my position here. You know that as well as I do," she urged, her voice low and earnest. "She wants Samantha on the throne."

​Ragnar blinked, his jaw tightening. Slowly, he dropped his gaze to the floor, remaining completely silent. The quiet confirmed what she already knew—he was fully aware of his mother’s ambitions.

​"Please, Ragnar. You have to help me investigate before time runs out," she pleaded gently. "I cannot do this alone."

​Ragnar let out a long, heavy breath. He looked back up at her, the anger in his eyes fading into a weary, resigned resolve.

​"How exactly am I supposed to help?"

"By questioning your mother’s servants. I can’t get anywhere near them without raising alarms, but you can."

​Ragnar nodded quietly, contemplating her request. "Fine. I think I see a way through this. I will help you resolve this mess...if it truly is my mother and sister who set this trap."

​A spark of relief fluttered in Arianna’s chest. She watched as he walked over to the trunk resting in the corner of his quarters.

She hadn’t paid much mind to it before, but looking at him now, she could suddenly understand why Eira was so hopelessly smitten.

He possessed a tall, muscular frame and smooth, unmarred skin that looked remarkably untouched by the brutal violence of battle.

​She quickly turned her back to him to let him dress in private. It certainly wasn’t proper for a married Queen to be appraising another man’s body like that.

Kane would lose his mind if he ever caught her admiring Ragnar even for a split second. She needed to purge the thought from her mind entirely.

​"I’m dressed. Shall we go?"

​"To where?" Arianna turned around to meet his gaze, swallowing hard before forcing her eyes down toward the rug.

​"We are going to speak to the guards posted near my mother’s quarters first. They ought to know exactly who entered and exited her tent on that day," Ragnar explained, pulling a light cloak over his shoulders. "After that, we’ll ask around the perimeter. Someone must have noticed something unusual and stayed quiet out of fear."

​"That’s a clever approach. Why didn’t I think of that?"

​"In the future, if you need me, send a messenger," he said quietly, stepping past her toward the exit flap. "Please do not come into my tent alone at this hour again."

​"Why? Are you afraid of the rumors people might spread?"

​"No," Ragnar replied with a slight frown at her assumption. "I am afraid of what I might do to you in my sleep."

​"Alright, Ragnar. W-wait... what?"

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