Page 94 of Viking Vengeance Cruise

“What’s going on?” someone shouts.

Poppy scrambles to her feet, her gold gown torn at the shoulder, her hair suddenly disheveled. “She attacked me!” she screams, pointing my way. “She’s insane!”

The party rages on, entirely unbothered. The voices climb to boisterous levels, and even the music seems to tick up another notch. Nothing rattles a room full of women who have had this much champagne. I could juggle flaming cinnamon buns and they’d assume it was a scheduled activity.

Poppy gives a quick glance our way before darting into the crowd, and Marina and I waste no time in chasing after her.

“Stop that woman!” I shout, but no one seems to notice as we push our way through bodies.

And then a flash of sequins rockets out of the crowd. Nettie latches onto Poppy’s back with a whoop of pure joy, and the two of them spin in a circle while the surrounding partygoers raise their glasses in approval.

The lounge erupts. Women screaming, men shouting, everyone trying to either get closer or get away, and I’m fairly certain someone just knocked over the entire dessert table.

A moment of silence for the princess cake. It deserved better. So did my shapewear.

I lunge forward, trying to wrestle Poppy and Nettie apart before someone gets hurt. “Nettie, let go⁠—”

Poppy twists violently, shaking Nettie loose, and suddenly I’m falling forward, landing hard on Poppy’s back. “OOF!” The air rushes out of my lungs, and probably a little of my soul along with it.

Marina rushes over to help, but her heel catches on someone’s gown and she trips, toppling directly onto my back.

“Oh my word, I’m so sorry!” Marina gasps.

“DOG PILE!” Nettie shouts with absolute glee, launching herself onto Marina’s back.

“NETTIE, GET OFF OF THEM!” Bess shouts and lunges forward to grab her, but her momentum carries her right over, and she lands on top of Nettie.

We’re a complete disaster of evening gowns and bruised dignity, four women stacked on top of each other in the world’s most dysfunctional Viking pancake tower.

“GET OFF ME!” Poppy screams from the very bottom.

“I CAN’T BREATHE!” I wheeze from the middle.

“NEITHER CAN I!” Marina chokes out above me.

“THIS IS AMAZING!” Nettie yells at top volume.

“THIS IS ASSAULT!” Bess corrects from the top of the pile.

We’ve got Poppy pinned like a very angry, very well-dressed butterfly. Four women, one felon, zero plans. Somewhere in Valhalla, the shield-maidens are watching this maneuver and voting to revoke our horned helmets. Historically inaccurate or not.

“What is happening?” Bess demands.

“She’s the killer!” Marina blurts, still clutching her wrist where Poppy grabbed her.

Ransom comes running in with his weapon drawn, and Wes is right behind him.

“EVERYBODY FREEZE!” Ransom’s voice slices through the chaos.

Everyone freezes. Everyone except the four-woman pile still struggling on the floor, because apparently freezing is for people with working lungs.

Ransom spots the pile of evening gowns, and his eyes widen. “Are you ladies okay?”

“I’m currently being crushed!” I croak. “But Poppy just confessed to poisoning Astrid Storm!”

Wes is already rushing over to help untangle the disaster. He pulls Bess off first, then Nettie, then carefully helps Marina to her feet, his hands lingering on her arms to steady her.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, a little out of breath himself.