Norway's lands were poor, its taxes meager.
King Erik's standing army consisted of only five hundred palace guards.
Sending three hundred to occupy Zealand meant Oslo was left with barely two hundred men.
"Pathetic… I should cut expenses elsewhere and hire at least a hundred more guards each year."
Over the next few days, the old king busied himself with account books.
Sometimes he muttered to himself, sometimes he would suddenly freeze—as if seized by a passing demon.
One day, he thought he saw the silhouette of his eldest son.
"Hallucinations… he's living comfortably in Bergen. Why would he come back?"
The king lowered his eyes again—
and the silhouette drew nearer, until the young man stood right before him.
"Father. I've returned."
"And what are you here for?"
Erik the Younger's expression did not shift.
"To tell you something. Word has it that Niels found a crown in the lord's hall at Schleswig."
A crown?
Why would Horst forge a crown in secret?
The old king shut his ledger.
His once-clouded eyes sharpened instantly.
"Where did this information come from?"
"Niels wrote to me. He also said Horst's study contained a map of Oslo… and two letters."
Slowly, the king pushed himself upright with the table.
"So—you want to accuse your uncle. Claim he coveted my throne?"
Erik sighed, producing the two letters—written in the simplified Norse script Wigger had popularized across the North.
The king read every line.
When he finished, Erik clapped his hands.
Two nervous administrative clerks were brought in under guard.
"You can interrogate them yourself," Erik said.
Ten minutes later, the king dismissed the trembling traitors and turned back to his son.
Given his son's link with Niels—
given that he now possessed Horst's correspondence—
and recalling the strange events of recent months—
King Erik arrived at the only conclusion:
"Niels's sudden conquest of Denmark… was arranged by you?"
Erik the Younger's frustration spilled out.
"Yes.
The original plan was simply for him to plunder Schleswig on the way.
But he decided to wager everything.
These lowborn men love gambling with their lives.
Give them a sliver of opportunity and they'll hurl themselves at glory.
That's why Ragnar, Ivar, Wigger, Gunnar—
all sons of farmers—rose above us nobles in the end.
And you, Father, a king, must lower yourself to deal with Ragnar like he's your equal.
How does it feel?"
The old king ignored the faint sarcasm.
He stared into the empty hall and at last understood Erik's purpose.
This wasn't a warning.
It was a coup.
Yes—those soldiers earlier were obeying Erik's expression, not the crown.
Clearly bought off—likely with Bergen smuggling profits.
Erik slumped back into his seat.
Supporting his forehead, he spoke with weary clarity:
"My mind has been muddled lately.
I failed to notice your scheme.
If I've lost, I have nothing more to say.
But tell me this—
what will you do with Eve and Hys?"
"Kinslaying invites the gods' curse. I won't stain myself with that.
You just funded a new temple. Let them serve as shamans—
a lifetime devoted to the gods, free from worldly turmoil."
Erik's voice grew smoother as he spoke.
He then took brush and parchment, helping his father draft an edict of abdication.
In the shadowed corner of the hall, Princess Eve pressed her hand over her mouth—
tears spilling—
then quietly slipped away.
Back in her chamber, she changed into common clothes and fled toward the port.
At noon, sunlight burned the crude wooden piers where dozens of ships were moored.
The waves thudded rhythmically against their hulls.
"Any ships departing soon?" she asked.
Two merchant cogs were preparing to sail—
one bound for Londinium, the other for Schleswig.
Suddenly, the clatter of armor echoed down the harbor road—
a mass of guards rushed toward the docks, their lamellar shining in the sun.
Londinium or Schleswig?
The choice tore at her mind.
Run to her aunt Solá in Londinium?
Or seek Niels—the man who had admired her for over a decade?
"Hey! Are you boarding or not?" the shipmaster yelled.
He didn't know what was happening, but a swarm of soldiers meant trouble.
He only wanted to get his ship away—before cargo and hull were seized.
Eve squinted up at the sun.
Her brother now held the throne.
She was no longer the treasured princess—
just a woman with a title, sure to become a political pawn even if she reached Londinium.
At last, she stepped onto the ship bound for Schleswig.
Niels had risen from chaos.
Even if he failed to become King of Denmark, he would at least hold a ducal title.
Before the guards reached the docks, the cog raised anchor.
As her homeland shrank on the horizon, her vision blurred—but she forced herself to stay composed.
Duchess… that doesn't sound so bad.
Enduring the shipmaster's and sailors' leering gazes, Eve arrived safely at Schleswig.
But the Niels she met again had changed.
The foolish grin on his face was gone—
replaced by a restless weariness befitting a man surrounded by followers and burdens.
"Princess?"
Niels waved away the chattering attendants, poured her a cup of mead, and listened to her recount her ordeal—with a disturbingly calm expression.
Heh. So the fat fool had some courage after all. I misjudged him.
After hearing the full tale of Erik's coup, he fell deep into thought and summoned two maids:
"You've traveled far, Your Highness. You're exhausted. Go rest for now."
Nothing more?
Eve had thought they had plenty to talk about.
Confused and slightly panicked, she let the maids usher her out.
For over ten days she was confined to a narrow room.
Meals and water were delivered regularly—
as if she were under house arrest.
One morning, the maid finally said:
"The lord wishes to see you."
The lord?
So he was still hesitating—
neither daring to call himself king nor content with simply being duke.
Eve tried to guess his intentions, preparing to offer political guidance.
Dressed in clean clothes and carefully groomed, she stepped into the hall.
Niels looked as worn and irritable as before.
He kept scrutinizing a hide map while three knights argued beside him—two of them, unmistakably, were Angles by their accent.
"Please wait," Niels said. "I must settle a land dispute first."
These past days, the bickering of his subordinates had nearly driven him mad.
He had to balance everything—
Viking raiders, Anglo levies, sailors, and surrendered local nobles.
Any side swelling too large would threaten his authority.
—------------------------------
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