Astrid was no fool. She knew her father had only agreed because he thought she would fail, and that her disappointment would put an end to what he considered foolishness. After all, no king’s daughter had ever become a shield maiden. Only the fiercest women combatants were chosen for the role. So when the small, sable-haired princess turned up for the selection process, her fellow students had looked at her with thinly disguised contempt. Those looks were not worn for very long. Like the black swan, Astrid proved to be fearless when faced with opponents much bigger and stronger than she was. She quickly won the respect of those around her, who no longer addressed her as ‘Princess’ but as ‘Sister’, in the tradition of their kind. She was good with shield, axe and sword, but it was with the horn bow that she excelled, and she’d bested the kingdom’s finest archers in competition with the weapon. She had proven to everyone, including Mirvar himself, that she was a warrior every bit as good, if not better, than the male defenders of Stromgard.

Her faith in her shield-maiden sisters was the reason a number of them, including her beloved friend Maarika, were stationed around the longhouse interior instead of the traditional guard her father had used. She thought the great Mirvar Rivengeld would have been proud that she’d inherited his famed caution when it came to matters of security: nobody could doubt the maidens’ commitment and fervour when it came to protecting one of their own.

Thinking of him as she sat on his throne brought a terrible sadness, like a dark cloud, down on her. She would never again hear her father use her pet name, never walk into this place to find him poring over a map or sitting with his counsellors to peacefully resolve an argument between two of his jarls. He was gone. She’d watched him set out on his final journey, floating off into the harbour on a boat laden with firewood and oil, his body laid atop it as if he were merely sleeping. As the flaming arrows set it ablaze, Astrid found herself thinking how she would quite happily have gone on that last great trip with him. Instead, she was now sitting where he should be, dressed in these ridiculous clothes, listening to these boring men prattle on about things she struggled to understand, let alone make decisions upon.

‘My Queen?’ The chancellor looked at the young ruler, a perplexed expression on his face. She had not been listening to him. ‘These matters? They need your approval.’