Sola hurriedly changed her clothes and followed her personal maid to Ragnar's chamber. The corridor outside was packed with people—servants, palace guards, young attendants like Alfred, as well as members of the cabinet who had rushed over after hearing the news: Astrid, Sigurd, Enya.
Scanning the crowd, Sola's heart sank.
Only one person was missing—the fourth prince, Ubbe.
Sensing danger, she quickly moved to Horst, the Count of Londinium and Minister of Foreign Affairs—also her elder brother.
"Quick—find him. Bring him back immediately!"
"Understood." Horst's expression turned grave. He motioned to a retainer to leave the palace at once.
Moments later, an elderly shaman emerged from the room. His voice was solemn and slow.
"The gods are calling Ragnar's name in Valhalla. He cannot remain in the mortal world much longer. Make haste, all of you."
Before he could finish speaking, Astrid pulled Sigurd and Enya forward and forced her way inside. Prime Minister Godwin, the newly appointed Minister of the Sea Theowulf, and the palace steward Paphis followed close behind.
Only Sola and Horst were left outside.
"That useless boy—where is he fooling around?" Sola snapped.
Horst gripped his sister's wrist and whispered urgently into her ear, "Don't lose control. Go inside first. I'm still Count of Londinium—the city garrison answers to me."
Taking a deep breath, Sola stepped to the edge of her husband's bed. Staring at his gaunt face, his hair and beard now completely white, she could no longer hold back her tears.
Ignoring the anxious gazes of his two wives, Ragnar clenched Godwin's wrist tightly and spoke in broken gasps:
"…Ivar… Ireland… Björn was never granted a title. He's resented me for years—ran off to the Mediterranean, then the North Sea… I wronged him… Halfdan is too impulsive… write to him… ha… ha…"
Listening to his labored breathing, the two queens were frantic with worry. After a moment's hesitation, Astrid pulled Sigurd forward to the bedside.
"This is your most beloved son. What will he receive?"
Ragnar gathered his remaining strength, reached out, and gently touched the boy's cheek. With great effort, he spoke his final words:
"The temple… at the royal estate."
As he finished speaking, his right hand moved toward the Damascus steel sword "Kingship." The moment his fingers touched the hilt, his entire body slackened.
According to Viking custom, a warrior must grasp a weapon at the moment of death.
After months in a coma, Ragnar Lothbrok, the most renowned ruler of Viking society, passed away in Londinium.
There was no time for grief.
The two queens immediately turned to Prime Minister Godwin.
"What is in the temple at the royal estate?"
Godwin's face was heavy with sorrow. "Before the campaign, His Majesty left behind a written edict, enshrined in the temple at the royal estate. I don't know the exact contents—but it should detail his arrangements for his five sons."
An edict?
Sola's eyes sharpened instantly. She exchanged a brief glance with Horst. Understanding her meaning, Horst nodded firmly and rushed out of the room at full speed.
Outside the palace gates, he nearly collided with Ubbe, who reeked of alcohol. Oblivious to what had happened, the prince grinned foolishly and greeted his uncle.
Suppressing his rage, Horst grabbed a handful of snow and smeared it across Ubbe's face.
"The king is dead. Go to your mother—now!"
Without another word, Horst mounted his horse and rode off into the falling snow.
At the same moment, inside Ragnar's chamber.
No one was surprised by Horst's sudden departure. All eyes turned to Godwin, waiting for his response.
"I'll retrieve the edict myself," Godwin said. "The rest of you stay here, in case the situation spirals out of control."
No one objected.
Godwin exited quickly. As the door closed, Paphis gave a subtle wink to a servant outside.
The servant quietly slipped away from the crowded hallway, crossed the square, and spotted Ubbe sitting blankly on a stone step, his black cloak dusted with snow.
Not disturbing the prince's thoughts, the servant exited through a side gate, jogged down the street, then slipped into a narrow alley leading to a spacious courtyard.
A group of unkempt Danish raiders lived there—men who had grown attached to Londinium's prosperity and refused to leave. Paphis had secretly bought their loyalty, keeping them here for emergencies.
"Svarin," the servant addressed their leader. "My master requires your help."
After quickly explaining the situation, Svarin's voice trembled. "The king is dead? That's too sudden…"
"The king's soul has gone to Valhalla, but our lives must go on," the servant replied calmly. "The palace steward and Queen Astrid need your assistance. Titles, silver, and fine wine await you once it's done."
Convinced, the raiders departed at once through the north gate. At a country estate outside the city, they found forty horses and a cache of weapons.
"Those who can ride, come with me. The rest stay here."
Time was short.
The mounted group galloped hard and reached the royal estate, where over fifty riders had already gathered—some city guards in armor, others plainly dressed civilians, likely Horst's retainers or hired men.
Seeing unfamiliar horsemen approaching, the estate guards sensed danger and stayed behind the walls, refusing to open the gates.
"Just in time," the servant muttered in relief.
He led the riders around to the rear of the estate, where they found a cave concealed by dense brush.
"Wait here. Don't alert anyone. Unless you hear my whistle, do not enter the grounds."
The servant crawled through the cave alone, sprinted into the temple, and found a dust-covered wooden box hidden behind Odin's statue.
"Found it."
Using a piece of wire to open the copper lock, he read the edict quickly. His expression darkened—mixed with unease and disbelief.
"So this was His Majesty's arrangement… It defies convention, but it could have worked. What a waste."
He slipped the original edict into his robe and replaced it with another document prepared in advance.
Outside, the commotion at the main gate intensified. The sound of battering echoed through the grounds.
"They've all gone mad," he muttered.
After tidying up, the servant retraced his steps and exited the estate.
"How did it go?" the raiders asked anxiously.
The servant forced a bitter smile. "The edict names Prince Sigurd as king. All this effort was for nothing. But rest assured—if you keep this secret, the queen and the steward will reward you well."
Just then, Godwin arrived at the royal estate with over twenty guards and ordered the gates opened. Under Horst's anxious gaze, they entered the grounds.
Five minutes later, Godwin emerged clutching a wooden box.
Horst hurried forward. "What does it say? Who inherits the throne?"
Godwin gave no answer.
Struggling onto his horse—riding had never been his strength—he nonetheless spurred it toward Londinium at full speed.
Watching him go, Horst's eyes flashed with alarm.
"Follow him!"
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