Kirsten, a bastard daughter of emperor Louis, is being raised in a monastery. Soon, she will be married to an important nobleman.
Right before the marriage, Normans invade the land, burn down the monastery and take Kirsten as a slave. One of them is Halvdan. The beginning of a dramatic tale full of love, hate and vengeance, in the world of the Vikings where gods are even more cruel than warriors.
She straightened her back, proud as the king’s daughter she had once been, and looked at him with burning eyes. His heart shrank under that gaze.
“I want you to look at my face, Halvdan Torfilson,” she said. “So that you may know what grief looks like. And hate. I want you to never forget this face, not even when you take Leigne as your wife. I want this face to be clear in your mind on the day that our son puts his spear through your worthless body, for I will raise him in your vengeful faith and tell him that there is one man on this earth that he must hate as his worst enemy.”
Her voice sounded flat, as if she had banished all emotion from it, but by her eyes he knew that she meant it, every single word. And he who had never been afraid in battle, not even that one time when he stood alone against ten enemies, he felt an icy fear creeping up from his stomach. His face turned ashen.