Viking: Master of the Icy Sea

Chapter 197: The New King

Gorm and Hrolf departed one after another. The servants trailed far behind on horseback, keeping a watchful eye to prevent Hrolf from acting out and killing someone in a fit of desperation. Only when they finally entered Londinium did the servants breathe a sigh of relief, allowing the Danish raiders to return to their courtyard in the northern suburbs.

"You have all worked hard. There is mead and smoked meat in the cellar. Rest well tonight; I will have more tasks for you tomorrow."

"No problem. Serving the queen and the palace steward is the greatest honor of my life." Svalin saw the servants off and ordered his subordinates to light a bonfire, recklessly enjoying the wine and meat from the cellar.

Perhaps because it had been stored for too long, the mead was mixed with a peculiar bitter taste. This provoked loud curses from the men, who complained that the palace steward had treated them with inferior goods.

Meanwhile, in the royal palace.

Gorm entered Ragnar's bedroom holding a wooden box and asked the palace steward, "Where is the key?"

Paffis searched for a while. Burning with impatience, Hrolf drew his sword and cleaved the copper lock open, his hands trembling as he took out the royal edict.

The late king's will was brief. The eldest son, Ivar, the second son, Bjorn, and the third son, Halfdan, were to continue governing their respective territories. The fourth son, Ubbe, was to head to northern Denmark to serve as the Duke of Denmark. The youngest son, Sigurd, would inherit the throne, with Aslaug acting as regent. Ragnar's coffin was to be transported back to Gothenburg and buried alongside Lagertha.

After everyone took turns reading the edict, Gorm spoke in a solemn tone. "His Majesty did mention to me that he wished to be buried in the countryside of Gothenburg after his death. Judging by this, the edict should be genuine."

"That is correct," the chamberlain Paffis chimed in. "His Majesty said the exact same thing to me."At this moment, Gorm's voice suddenly rose, projecting to the palace guards and servants outside the room. "In accordance with His Majesty's will, Sigurd inherits the crown of the Kingdom of Britain. Bow to your new king!"

Having said that, the Prime Minister was the first to drop to one knee. Theowulf and Paffis followed suit, and then came young attendants like Alfred. The palace guards and servants outside also knelt, leaving only the siblings Sola and Hrolf frozen in place.

Amidst the echoing shouts of the crowd, Hrolf realized he had no chance of winning. He sluggishly dropped to one knee, secretly pondering his future destiny.

'With Sigurd as king and Aslaug as regent, they will never tolerate an outsider like me controlling Londinium,' he thought. 'Am I supposed to follow Ubbe to northern Denmark and live a life of hardship?'

"Long live the king!"

"May the gods bless the new king!"

To be safe, Gorm decided to hold the coronation ceremony first thing the next morning. He instructed the chamberlain, "The treasury is empty. Keep it appropriately simple."

"Understood." Paffis bowed and slowly walked out of the old king's bedroom.

Sensing no one behind him, his pace suddenly quickened. He arrived outside an inconspicuous door and rapped three times.

The voice of his confidant came from inside. "My lord, I am here."

Paffis entered the room and lowered his voice to a bare whisper. "Is it all taken care of?"

The servant nodded. "Those raiders are drinking the mead like crazy. The poison should have taken effect by now. There is no need to worry about them leaking the secret."

Paffis felt not a shred of pity for such men who did dirty work. This was a lesson the Eastern Roman court had taught him: once drawn into this vortex of power, one should be fully prepared for the consequences.

He stretched out his plump right hand, asking his confidant for the original royal edict, only for the other man to reply flatly, "I burned it. I worried this item would cause disaster, so it was better to destroy it as early as possible."

'Burned it?'

Paffis stared at his confidant for quite a while before suddenly breaking into a wide smile. He patted the man's shoulder heavily. "Parker, you really are a clever one. It is a pity for you to stay in Londinium. Do you want to go to Constantinople? You will have much more room to grow there."

Parker mirrored his amiable smile. "That won't be necessary, Your Excellency. I only seek to live out my life in peace and prosperity." "Of course. After making such a great contribution, what is a little silver?"

The moment he left the room, Paffis immediately changed his expression. Parker's refusal to hand over the original edict meant he was afraid of suffering the same fate as Svalin.

'That boy probably gave the edict to a friend, with instructions to deliver it to Queen Thora immediately if they hear of his death,' Paffis thought. 'A decent way to stay alive. Until I find that mysterious friend, I will let Parker live in peace for a while.'

The following day, all the nobles and wealthy merchants of Londinium gathered at the royal palace to attend the new king's coronation ceremony.

At only eight years old, Sigurd wore the crown and a heavy red cape draped over his back. Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, he walked to the throne, sat up straight, and began to accept their pledges of loyalty one by one.

Seated to Sigurd's left was his biological mother, the Queen Mother Aslaug. She occasionally turned her head to whisper the names of the nobles to her son.

The seat to the right of the throne, which had belonged to Queen Thora, had already been removed. Earlier that morning, Aslaug had sent a maidservant to drop a hint, urging her to move out of Londinium as soon as possible.

'Even though we have fought for so many years, we are all respectable people after all,' Aslaug mused. 'As long as she gets out of my palace, I will write off the past.'

Harboring these thoughts, Aslaug cast a glance at Queen Thora and the Fourth Prince, Ubbe, who were among the crowd. Sola's face was cold, as if all of this had nothing to do with her. Ubbe looked dazed; even now, he had yet to accept reality.

'What a simple-minded fool. He only cared about drinking and making merry with those thugs, completely missing his father's final moments. He is nothing to worry about.'

The royal edict arranged for Ubbe to become the Duke of Denmark, nominally governing the entire region. But how could he ever suppress an ambitious man like Niels, the Lord of Schleswig?

Aslaug recalled the situation in Denmark. Rumor had it that Niels had taken another wife—a stout woman from the most powerful Slavic tribe in Pomerania, and the sole heir of their chieftain.

'To abandon the stunningly beautiful Princess Eve and willingly marry such a vulgar country woman... it must have been quite difficult for him.'

Thinking of this, Aslaug grew even more wary of Niels, ranking him as her fifth greatest threat, right behind Ivar, Gunnar, Wigg, and Ethelbald.

"Your Majesty, I am willing to give my all for you."

"May the gods protect your reign, King Sigurd."

Listening to the nobles' pledges of allegiance, Aslaug felt a dip in her mood, easily detecting the perfunctoriness in their words. She raised her head and swept her gaze across the entire hall, yet she could not find a single subject who was genuinely loyal to her.

The Prime Minister, Gorm, did not care whether Sigurd or Ubbe sat on the throne; he only cared about his own power.

The chamberlain, Paffis, had participated in the conspiracy out of pure greed. The damned eunuch actually wanted a fiefdom, coveting the vacant earldom of Cambridge.

Theowulf's reaction was lukewarm. From the very beginning, he had never wanted to take over as the Minister of the Ocean. He had only left his stronghold out of fear of Ragnar. Now that the old king had passed away, he would surely submit his letter of resignation soon and return to Oxford to live a carefree life.

'As the Duke of Mercia, this man's command skills are abysmal, and his popularity among the people is exceedingly low,' she analyzed. 'His threat level is nowhere near that of the other dukes; he is not even as dangerous as an earl like Niels. Forget it, let him be.'