A hush fell over the mead hall as Eivor entered, the weight of her clan's future heavy on her shoulders. The whispers followed her like shadows – the Wolf-Kissed, the one touched by the gods, the shieldmaiden who had carved a path through England with axe and fury. But tonight, her gaze was not fixed on plunder or conquest. Tonight, it lingered on a figure held captive in the corner: a woman whose delicate hands were bound, yet whose regal bearing spoke of a lineage far removed from the rough-hewn warriors surrounding her. This was Rayla, the jewel of Mercia, and her fate now lay tangled with that of the Raven Clan.