Your and Ivar’s explicit escapades haven’t gone unnoticed, more so your confident demeanor amidst free men and slaves alike. Ivar is confronted in front of the whole army for being weak in not making you submit.
“We need to talk about your slave.”
Ivar snapped back behind his drink. He looked in the general direction he last saw you, then back to the rigid young soldier, Oleg, looming over his Commanders breakfast. Glancing innocently to Hvitserk, who avoided him with a smirk, he apparently already foresaw this confrontation and never bothered to bring it up. Putting down his cup Ivar straightened in his chair. “What about my slave?”
“You need to get her under control.” He nearly laughed when this warrior, this subordinate, crouched down, fists clenched knuckle white on the table as he stalked above Ivar. Apparently just too angry with you to recognize Ivar’s warning glare. “The other slaves are getting defiant. Especially the Saxon ones.”
Ivar rubbed his fingers together in thought, not breaking away the tense combative glower they shared. He could defend you, could brush it off as nothing, could stand up and bark at this ill-mannered glory seeker, instead he waved for an idle slave to fetch you. The glower melted away, baring his teeth in a more friendly manner. “How is it any of my business that you can’t put a handle on your own slaves?”