PART 2: The Barbarian Needed a Wife for a Dangerous Reason
The tavern stayed quiet.
Too quiet.
Only the crackling fireplaces filled the silence.
The young woman studied him carefully.
The towering barbarian stood unmoving before the bar.
Broad shoulders wrapped in animal furs.
Heavy hands resting near spilled gold.
Like a man used to solving problems with steel—
not words.
She folded her arms tighter.
Eyes sharp.
“You still haven’t answered me.”
Her voice stayed calm.
Careful.
“Why me?”
The barbarian looked toward the fire briefly.
Jaw tightening.
Like memory itself hurt.
Then quietly—
voice lower now—
“Because you looked me in the eye.”
The woman frowned.
“What?”
He glanced toward the tavern.
Drunken men quickly looked away.
Most people avoided him.
Feared him.
Whispered stories.
Monster.
Warrior.
Killer.
But she—
hadn’t flinched.
Hadn’t trembled.
Hadn’t begged.
The barbarian looked back at her.
“I leave by sunrise.”
The tavern seemed colder suddenly.
“And if I return alone…”
He stopped.
Something dark crossed his expression.
“…my clan dies.”
Silence.
Even nearby patrons stopped pretending not to listen.
The woman’s hands slowly lowered.
Confusion replacing suspicion.
“What kind of marriage is this?”
Before he answered—
the tavern door slammed open.
Cold wind exploded inside.
Snow scattered across wooden floors.
Three armored men stepped through.
Tall.
Scarred.
Wolf pelts hanging from iron shoulders.
The entire tavern went still.
Fear spread instantly.
One patron quietly stood—
and left.
Then another.
The men spotted the barbarian immediately.
Smiled.
Cruel.
“Well,” one laughed darkly.
“There he is.”
The barbarian never turned.
Didn’t need to.
His jaw tightened.
The young woman noticed instantly.
He knew them.
The largest warrior stepped closer.
Heavy boots echoing against wooden floors.
“You really came looking for a wife?”
Laughter followed.
Ugly.
Mocking.
“Thought the mountain curse already buried your bloodline.”
The barbarian slowly rose to his full height.
Massive.
Dangerous.
The tavern suddenly felt too small.
The woman looked between them.
“What curse?”
No one answered.
Instead—
the warrior smirked.
Then looked directly at her.
“You should ask him,” he said quietly.
“…why every woman who marries him dies before winter.”
The room fell silent.
The barbarian’s hand slowly curled into a fist.
Because whatever followed him—
had already taken too much.
And somehow—
it was getting closer.
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