Free The Norse King’s Daughter by Sandra Hill

everyone into the hall.
    Almost immediately she realized that Sidroc, Finn, a few of the Varangians, and a beautiful Greek woman had followed them into the banquet hall and were being seated by the same chamberlain across their table.
    Sidroc nodded his head at her.
    “I hadn’t expected to see you again so soon.”
    “The chamberlain probably thought to make you more comfortable with fellow countrymen. Little did he know I would as soon break your neck as break bread with you.”
    The woman who now sat beside Sidroc gasped at his rudeness, and Drifa’s companions started to rise with outrage.
    Drifa motioned for her defenders to sit down. “Pay no mind to the offensive boor. He is harmless.”
    Sidroc gave Drifa a look that said he would show her how harmless he could be.
    The woman punched Sidroc in the arm with her little fist and hissed, “Behave,” which struck Drifa as oddly intimate.
    But then he surprised them all by saying, “My apologies, Princess Drifa. Betimes I have been out in the field with men too long, and I forget how to treat a lady.”
    What a load of boar droppings!
    “Ianthe, this is Princess Drifa of Stoneheim,” Sidroc began. Then to Drifa, he said, “And Princess Drifa, this is Ianthe Petros, my . . . friend.”
    Ianthe cast Sidroc a glance of consternation.
    Clearly his mistress.
    Sidroc also introduced Ianthe to Wulf, Thork, Jamie, and Alrek, who was staring at the Greek woman as if she were a goddess come to earth. In addition, he introduced Drifa and her hersirs to the three other Varangians with them, besides Finn.
    There was some discussion then about what the men had witnessed at the Hippodrome that day. Apparently an unknown warrior had come on the scene to win an important race, for which he was awarded a Saracen stallion. One of the Varangians had participated in a chariot race recently and engaged them with harrowing tales of how close the spiked wheels came to each other and what happened when a spectator had fallen over the railing into their path. He’d also explained the whole system of racing at the far-famed Hippodrome, whereby teams of four colors entertained the crowds several days a sennight. And it was all free to the public.
    Someone asked Drifa what she had done that day and she told them about her garden and the intriguing manner in which certain flowers attracted certain types of butterflies. She planned to examine other gardens on the morrow after her scheduled audience with the emperor. The men were probably bored with her plant obsession, especially those with whom she’d traveled and had heard her prattle endlessly about this flower and that bush, but they pretended interest. One of the Varangians even mentioned that he’d seen a rose in Egypt one time that was so dark it appeared black.
    “I would love to see that someday,” Drifa said, on a sigh. As much as she knew about plants and flowers, there was so much she did not know or had never seen.
    “Princess Drifa would as soon be gifted with a pretty weed as a fine jewel,” Sidroc told his mistress with amusement.
    Drifa would as soon lean across the table and clout the oaf with one of these gold plates, and she did not care if he was unconscious for another six sennights.
    By the grin on his face, she could tell that he read her mind.
    Ianthe watched the silent exchange between the two of them with interest. Then she addressed Drifa, “Princess Drifa—”
    “Please, Ianthe, just call me Drifa.”
    “Speaking of jewels, Drifa,” Ianthe began again with a smile, “what is that stone about your neck?”
    “Ianthe is a jewelry maker,” explained Finn, who had been occupied thus far with a woman on his other side . . . a woman whose husband was getting redder and redder in the face, either from excess wine or Finn’s attentions to his spouse. In either case, ’twas best that Finn find another object for his affections.
    “It is amber,” Drifa told Ianthe, noticing for the first time the