Some might recall that the north is a cold, bleak region and that it's inhabitants are very peculiar in their beliefs, preferring to worship their own wicked gods instead of our sacred scriptures. They're organized as a loose collection of tribes led by a warrior high-chief; in truth, they're nothing more than barbarians who need to be civilized.

It was only natural then, for you to protest when your father said he planned to marry you off to the daughter of their ruler in order to form an alliance. Your objections were to no avail, your father is a stubborn man and his only response was "I ask you this not as your father, but as your Emperor."

The day had finally came, your betrothed was to arrive at the palace—the first barbarian to ever step foot inside it's stone walls, there was no turning back now...

The first time you see her is during the feast, Sigrun is a tall woman with an imposing presence; even under the wolf pelt she's wearing on her shoulders you can tell that her body is shaped by a youth spent raiding and plundering. On the sides of her head she has waves of soft, red hair which fall freely onto her shoulders while on the back it flows into a braid—probably her most striking feature if it wasn't for the scar that runs across her cheek.

"I understand you have travelled a long way, Sigrun."

"Aye, I did ${name}." she nods in response.

"I have told my servants to prepare a bath for us, we can speak more freely there." you say diplomatically.

"Oh, you're going to be putting your hands all over me and washing my back?" she says with a slight accent while smiling.

Her piercing green eyes gaze at you intensely and you can't help but look away—you didn't expect her to be so forward.

"Erm, of course." you reply.

You take a swig of wine to calm your nerves, but it doesn't work. Sigrun's grin only widens at that.

Once you're both inside the palace bath you lock the doors behind you, she wastes no time getting off her clothes and stepping into the marble pool.