The Thrall Queen
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 11: The Throne
Spring, 986
Harald the baby was six months old, healthy and loud and utterly uninterested in the politics swirling around him. He cared only for milk, sleep, and his mother’s arms.
Saoirse had recovered well from the birth, though she was still adjusting to the demands of motherhood. She’d hired a wet nurse—a practical necessity given her other responsibilities—but still spent hours each day with her son, marveling at his tiny fingers, his serious expression, the way he studied her face as if memorizing it.
But motherhood hadn’t stopped her political work. If anything, having an heir made her more invested in Denmark’s future.
“Your father is losing control,” she told Sweyn one evening while nursing Harald. The wet nurse had the night off, and Saoirse preferred to feed him herself when possible. “Three jarls openly defied his orders at last week’s council.”
“I know.” Sweyn paced their chambers, restless. “He is too weak now. Too distracted by Christian conversion. He has lost touch with what warriors want, what the old families value.”
“Which is?”
“Strength. Victory. Wealth from raids and trade.” Sweyn stopped pacing to look at her. “Father want to transform Denmark into Christian kingdom like Francia or England. But the jarls do not want to be tame. They want to be Vikings who also happen to be Christian. He does not understand difference.”
“And you do?”
“Yes. Because you taught me.” He came to sit beside her, watching Harald nurse. “You show me that we can be both—Christian and Norse, civilized and fierce, respected by Christian kingdoms while still being feared by our enemies.” He touched the baby’s head gently. “That is what I will offer. Not transformation, but evolution. Not betraying our past, but building on it.”
“When?” Saoirse asked quietly.
“Soon. Before he makes decisions that cannot be undone. Before he weakens Denmark so much we cannot recover.” He met her eyes. “This summer. When campaign season begin. When jarls are assembled for planning. That is when I move.”
“How?”
“Public confrontation. Challenge his authority before everyone. Force him to step down or be removed.” He said it calmly, as if discussing weather. “I have support of most jarls now. They wait for me to act. When I do, they will follow.”
“And if he refuses to step down?”
“Then it become violent. But I do not think it will. Father is old, tired. He will see he has lost. He will choose dignity of abdication over humiliation of defeat.”
Saoirse shifted Harald to her other breast, her mind already working through scenarios. “You need to control the narrative. Not just take power, but make it look inevitable. Make it look like succession, not coup.”
“How?”
“Frame it as concern for Denmark’s future. Say you move now to prevent crisis later. Say you act to preserve what your father built while correcting his mistakes.” She looked up at him. “And you do it publicly. In great hall, before all witnesses. Make it formal, ceremonial almost. Not secret assassination but open challenge and open succession.”
“You make it sound like theater.”
“It is theater. Power is always theater.” She carefully extracted her nipple from Harald’s mouth—he’d fallen asleep nursing. “Help me.”
Sweyn took the baby, holding him with surprising gentleness for such a large man. He’d been terrified at first, afraid his warrior’s hands would hurt the fragile infant. But he’d learned quickly, and now held his son with confidence.
“I want you and Harald away when it happen,” he said quietly, rocking the baby. “Safe. In case it go wrong.”
“No.”
“Saoirse—”
“No.” She stood, facing him. “I am your wife. Your partner. When you take throne, I am there. Beside you. Showing everyone that this is not just your decision but ours. That I support this. That the future queen stands with the future king.”
“It could be dangerous.”
“Everything we have done has been dangerous. But we do it together.” She touched his face. “You do not face your father alone. You do not take throne alone. We are partnership, remember? Everything together.”
He looked at her for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “Together. But Harald stay with wet nurse. I will not risk our son.”
“Agreed.” She took the baby back, carried him to his cradle in the adjoining room. When she returned, Sweyn was staring into the fire, his expression troubled.
“What if I am wrong?” he asked quietly. “What if I am not ready? What if I destroy Denmark trying to save it?”
She moved to him, wrapped her arms around his waist from behind. “You are ready. You have been preparing for this your entire life. And you are not doing it alone—you have me, you have loyal jarls, you have the people’s support.” She pressed her face to his back. “And if you make mistakes, we fix them. Together.”
“You have so much faith in me.”
“Because I have seen what you can do. You turned a terrified Irish slave into a queen. You built alliances across kingdoms. You learned to navigate both Norse and Christian worlds. You are ready, Sweyn.” She squeezed him. “Trust yourself the way I trust you.”
He turned in her arms, pulling her close. “I love you. Whatever happen, I want you to know that. I love you more than throne, more than power, more than anything.”
“I know.” She rose on her toes to kiss him. “And I love you. Now stop being afraid and start being king.”
He laughed despite himself. “Yes, my queen.”
“Not yet queen. But soon.”
“Very soon,” he agreed.
Early Summer, 986
Harald called a great assembly—all the jarls, all the important nobles, gathered to plan summer campaigns. It was traditional, expected. What wasn’t expected was what Sweyn planned to do.
The night before the assembly, Sweyn barely slept. Saoirse lay beside him, feeling his tension, his fear, his determination.
“Tell me the plan again,” she whispered.
“I arrive at assembly with you beside me. Already statement—wife and mother of my son, future of Denmark. I let Father speak first, present his plans. Then I stand and challenge them. Not with insult, but with concern. I say his plans are too cautious, too focused on Christian approval, not enough on Danish strength.” He stared at the ceiling. “I say Denmark need strong leadership, decisive action, vision for future that balance tradition and change. I say I can provide that leadership.”
“And then?”
“Then I call for vote of confidence. Ask jarls: who do you follow? Harald who has led Denmark for decades but now falter? Or Sweyn who represent future, who understand both old ways and new, who have given you heir and promise of dynasty?” He took a shaky breath. “They vote for me. Or they do not.”
“They will vote for you.”
“You cannot know that.”
“Yes, I can. I have spent two years talking to their wives, hearing their concerns, understanding their loyalty. They will vote for you, Sweyn. You have already won. Tomorrow is just formality.”
He rolled over to face her. “What if Father fight? What if he refuse to accept outcome?”
“Then you have him removed. Gently if possible. But removed.” She touched his face. “You have done everything right—built support, demonstrated competence, shown respect while establishing authority. You have earned this, Sweyn. Do not doubt now.”
“I am not doubting. I am...” He searched for words. “I am saying goodbye. To father, to childhood, to being son instead of king. Tomorrow everything change.”
“Yes. Tomorrow we become king and queen.” She kissed him softly. “Are you ready?”
“With you beside me? Yes. I am ready.”
The Great Hall - Summer, 986
The assembly was massive—every jarl who could travel, dozens of nobles, representatives from allied kingdoms, warriors hoping for campaign assignments. The hall was packed to capacity, hot and loud with hundreds of voices.
Harald sat in the high seat, looking old and tired despite his ceremonial clothing. Sweyn stood at the side with Saoirse, both in formal dress, presenting a united front.
Harald raised his hand for silence. The hall quieted.
“We gather to plan summer campaigns,” the king began. “To discuss trade, alliance, Denmark’s future.” He looked around the hall. “I have ruled Denmark for many years. I have brought stability, wealth, Christian conversion. I have made Denmark respectable among kingdoms.”
Murmurs of agreement, but also some skeptical faces.
“This summer,” Harald continued, “I propose we focus on peaceful trade. No raids. No aggression. We show Christian kingdoms we are civilized, that we can be trusted as partners.”
The murmurs turned to grumbling. Warriors wanted raids—wealth, glory, action. Peaceful trade sounded weak.
Sweyn caught several jarls’ eyes. They nodded slightly. Now.
He stepped forward. “Father, may I speak?”
Harald looked surprised but gestured permission. “Of course.”
Sweyn walked to the center of the hall, Saoirse remaining where she was but visible, watchful. Every eye was on him.
“My father speak of peace, of Christian respectability, of transformation,” Sweyn began, his voice carrying through the hall. “These are noble goals. Important goals. But they are not enough.”
He turned slowly, addressing the entire assembly rather than just Harald.
“Denmark is not just Christian kingdom trying to be respectable. We are Vikings. We are warriors. We are people who have conquered, traded, explored, built empire across seas.” He gestured broadly. “We can be Christian and strong. We can be civilized and fierce. We can be respected and feared. These are not opposites—they are complements.”
Heads nodded. This was what they wanted to hear.
“My father have led Denmark well for many years. He have earned respect, earned rest. But Denmark need leadership that understand both worlds—old and new, Norse and Christian, tradition and innovation.” He paused. “Denmark need king who can navigate future without forgetting past.”
Harald’s face had gone pale. He understood where this was going.
“Father,” Sweyn said, turning to address him directly but respectfully. “You have served Denmark faithfully. You have built foundation. But now is time to pass leadership to next generation. To someone who can build on what you created while adapting to changing world.” He took a breath. “I ask you, before this assembly, to step aside. To allow me to lead Denmark into its future. Not because you have failed, but because your work is done and mine must begin.”
The hall erupted in shouts—some supporting Sweyn, some shocked, some uncertain.
Harald stood slowly. “You challenge me? Your own father?”
“I do not challenge. I ask.” Sweyn kept his voice respectful. “I ask you to recognize that Denmark need different leadership now. I ask you to make transition peacefully, with dignity. I ask you to step aside willingly.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then I put it to assembly.” Sweyn turned back to the jarls. “I call for vote of confidence. Who do you follow? King Harald, or Prince Sweyn? Father who has led us to this point, or son who will lead us forward?”
“This is treason!” someone shouted—one of Harald’s older supporters.
“This is succession,” Sweyn countered. “This is natural order of things. Father grow old, son take over. I do not kill him, do not imprison him, do not shame him. I simply say: your time is done. Mine is beginning. Let us make transition peacefully.”
Jarl Thorsson stood—the most powerful of the jarls, the one whose opinion mattered most. “I support Prince Sweyn,” he said clearly. “King Harald have done well. But Sweyn is right—Denmark need new leadership. I say we follow the prince.”
One by one, other jarls stood. “I support Prince Sweyn.” “The prince has my loyalty.” “Sweyn for king.”
Within minutes, it was clear—the overwhelming majority supported Sweyn. Harald’s support had evaporated like morning mist.
The old king looked around the hall, seeing his kingdom turn against him. Not with hatred, but with pragmatic calculation. He had lost.
He sat back down heavily. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then:
“You have been planning this.”
“Yes,” Sweyn admitted.
“For how long?”
“Two years.”
Harald laughed—short, bitter. “I raised you well. Too well, perhaps.” He looked at his son. “You waited until moment was perfect. Until support was undeniable. Until I could not refuse without looking weak.” He shook his head. “Clever. Ruthless. Good kingcraft.”
“I learned from you.”
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