I stared at the door.
My mother approaches.
I couldn’t stop my smile.
“Close this after me,” the woman in the room with me ordered urgently, I looked to her then her eyes moved the length of me and back before she smiled and whispered, “Enjoy The Drakkar. I think you will and more, I think he will enjoy you.”
I blinked at her.
What?
“Sjofn!” Another shout and loud knock, my body jolted again, I looked to the door as the woman behind it shouted, “Please!”
I felt a whoosh and turned again to see the woman in the room with me was gone. I glanced around quickly as more knocking came at the door, more pleas but I was stunned to see I had no company.
Where did she go?
I turned to the window, looked out and down and saw a cranberry cloak streaming around the nearest building then I lost sight of it.
Holy moly, the bitch jumped.
I looked down at the two story fall and heard the begging, “Seeeeooohaaahfin!”
“Shit,” I whispered, grabbed the windows, pulled them to and set the latch. That stopped the arctic gust of air but the cold still came through so I grabbed the heavy curtains on either side and pulled them closed over the window, succeeding in shutting out the draft mainly because the curtains were a thick, voluminous velvet. Nothing was getting through those.
More knocking that was now more like pounding and it didn’t stop so I turned to the room to hurry toward the door but stopped, arrested by what I saw.
Gleaming dark wood everywhere. Dark plank floors covered by thick pile, wool, patterned rugs. An enormous fireplace, the massive mantel carved from cream stone. More deep carvings in the dark wood cornices. The carving on both mantel and molding were pears, apples and oranges with leaves and vines and it was so intricate, even at a glance I saw it was sheer perfection. I could even see dimples in the oranges. With that kind of craftsmanship and that amount of it in the big room, it had to take a hundred artisans a hundred years to do it all.
There was a big bed, four poster, headboard carved with the same motif with an ice blue coverlet that had a silken sheen, a fluffy, winter white blanket folded across the bottom and six fluffy, European square pillows stacked in twos at the head, two dove gray, two winter white, two ice blue. The heavy curtains around the bed also were ice blue.
There was dark wood, heavily carved furniture everywhere. Two nightstands. A big dresser. A long, tall wardrobe. A desk and chair. A full-length, freestanding, oval mirror with the pear, apple, orange, leaf and vine theme at the top and drifting down the sides. A small table with a huge, cushy armchair next to it that I desperately wanted to curl into covered by that fluffy blanket on the bed, it looked that comfortable.
There were pearlescent globed lamps lit not with electricity but flames dancing within on either nightstand, on the desk, on the table by the chair and dotting the walls.
The whole room was freaking amazing. Way cool. Unbelievably cool. I’d seen a lot in my life and I had the money to go for the gusto but I’d never seen anything this amazing.
“Sjofn! Please!” Another call and more pounding at the door so I shook myself out of it and saw a folded piece of paper on the bed.
That must be my note.
I stared at it a second thinking there didn’t look like there was much to it.
I started toward it as I could swear the pounding on the door became kicking. I looked that way but caught a flash of something in my peripheral vision, my head turned and I stopped dead.
Then I stood straight.
Then I turned to look at myself in the mirror.
Then I slowly walked to it, the pounding and begging outside the door muted as I stared with deep fascination at what I saw.
When I got to the mirror, I reached out a hand to touch the cold surface just to be certain it was real. When my fingertips brushed the glass, I changed directions and moved my hand so it lay flat to my belly and I felt it.
It was real.
I was real and I looked like that.
“Wow,” I whispered.
I was wearing ice blue too. An ice blue velvet gown that had this kick freaking ass sheen at the tip of the pile that looked iridescent white, like the shimmer on top of new snow. The neckline was square, had thick, braided embroidery around the edge and it shoved my breasts up so I was giving some serious cleavage. The sleeves of the dress hugged my body from shoulder to wrist, a sharp point of embroidered-edged material coming down my hand that hooked at the end around my middle finger. The top of the dress, from bosoms to hips, skimmed my body to perfection. The skirt had a slight flare and when I tested it by kicking out at the back, a slight train too. The dress had a no waistline, simply flowing elegantly from bodice to hem and there was an intricate silver or… I peered closer… no, platinum chain liberally splashed with aquamarines and dusted with diamonds that hung low on my hips, a long single length of it hanging down, winking through the folds of my skirts, weighted at the hem by a large, twinkling aquamarine.
I was wearing a choker necklace that matched the belt and earrings of the same dangled from my ears. My white-blonde hair was a mass of long, thick twists that were pulled off my forehead somehow but hung down my back, chest and shoulders. I had shimmering pink on my cheeks, a gloss of pink on my lips, an iridescent blue on my eyelids, a dark blue rimming my eyes and a sparkle of pearlescent white around my temples, the same powder but applied less opaque dusted my chest.
But the best, the absolute best, was the crown.
Yes, I said… the crown!
I was wearing a crown low on my forehead and however it was fashioned it was heavy but comfortable, something soft and maybe furry protecting my skin from the metal.
And it looked like icicles shooting up and slightly out, crusted with glinting diamonds and sprinkled with glimmering aquamarines.
It was freaking phenomenal.
I lifted the heavy skirts up, up and saw a pair of winter white, low-heeled, supple suede boots that kept going to over my knees. Above that, skintight, woven stockings that were also winter white and looked (and felt) like they were made of cashmere. Up I pulled the skirt and I saw winter white satin tap pants dripping with icicle lace at the bottoms, over this were satin garters holding up the stockings but I saw the boned point of the bottom of a satin bustier at my navel and I felt more boning that I couldn’t see against my skin at my ribs.
Freaking great underwear.
“This… is… so… cool!” I whispered as I stared at myself in the mirror.
“Seeoohaahfiiiiiiiin!” I heard the frantic cry, I started, dropped my skirt and looked to the door.
Then I dashed to the bed, snatched up the paper, folded it twice so it was smaller and shoved it into my cleavage.
Then I rushed to the door and had my hand on the skeleton key in the lock when I stopped dead.
“Sjofn, open this door this instant,” a cold, imperious, achingly familiar woman’s voice demanded through the door.
I closed my eyes as warmth spread through me.
“Mom,” I whispered.
Then I opened my eyes, smiled huge and turned the lock. Now I was frantic to get the door opened but when I pulled at it, it didn’t budge. I stared at it and saw three, thick wooden planks, one on top, one on the bottom, one in the middle, all thrown to in iron latches, bolting the door shut.
How weird.
I shoved them all aside and yanked open the door.
Then I froze again, the smile fading from my face as I saw my mother’s body jolt, she blinked then she glared at me.
I stared at her.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
There she was.
My Mom.
Looking at her I thought, Absolutely, definitely, one hundred percent worth a million dollars. Absolutely.
I took her in, all of her and I felt my stomach get warm.
I got my light blue eyes from her and I was looking right into them; looking into them
again for the first time in fifteen years.
I felt my eyes fill with tears. Me! Seoafin Wilde about to cry.
Impossible.
But there it was.
I was a freak of nature, where I got my unusual hair, I did not know. My mother and father were both dark and Dad had dark brown eyes. Both of them were tall, lean and straight. I was average height (a little less than that, if I had to admit it, though not short) and curvy.
And now, standing before me in a gown much like mine but a deep red with a glossy, brown fur ruff around her neck, her still dark hair (there were only intermittent shafts of gorgeous silver) pulled up in twists, curls and braids with tiny, gold clips in the shapes of butterflies everywhere, her own crown, gold with diamonds and rubies, a dripping, gold necklace scattered with rubies covering the skin that her scooped neckline exposed and long, gold and ruby earrings hanging from her ears, skimming the fur around her neck was my… freaking… Mom.
“Mom,” I whispered, blinking away the tears and even doing that, I saw her eyes narrow in annoyance over dark, elegant, arched brows that snapped together.
“I’ll countenance none of this nonsense, Sjofn,” she snapped with cold irritation. “We should have left fifteen minutes ago. The Drakkar awaits and all know he is impatient and doesn’t want to be where he’s standing right this very minute in the first place.”
She turned, lifted a hand at four young women who were hanging about, all wearing gowns made of soft wool, nowhere near as grand as Mom and mine and all in dark colors, navy, burgundy, forest green and dark gray (to be precise) and all, weirdly, staring at me intently. I didn’t get a chance to wonder about that because Mom flicked her wrist and then started down a wide, wood paneled hall with more carving and intermittent pieces of glossy, dark furniture.
She kept talking as she floated down the hall, not looking like she was walking but drifting.
But doing it quickly.
I rushed out behind her, the girls rushed behind me.
“It took some doing for your father to talk The Drakkar into this, as you well know. You give him reason, he’ll be gone. We can only hope he already hasn’t mounted his horse and rode away. Then what would we do?”
She turned and disappeared down a flight of steps and I followed.
“I should have known you would try something like this. Your father did know. He warned me. If you anger The Drakkar…” she trailed off, her tone dire, making it to the bottom of the stairs that had a banister the entirety of which was an elaborately carved hunt scene.
I made it to the bottom too to see Mom turn to me on a whirl of heavy skirts, another woman already with her, throwing over her shoulders a long, lustrous cloak made of dark brown pelts of some fur.
“Well!” she snapped. “If you anger The Drakkar, who knows what will happen to the realm?”
“Uh –” I started.
“I’ll have none of it!” she retorted sharply, having closed a frog at her throat, she tore a pair of gloves out of a hovering woman’s hand and whirled again, gliding quickly to the door while pulling them on. “To the sleigh!” she ordered.
Sleigh?
I felt something heavy settle on my shoulders and looked down.
The four girls were encasing me in a cloak of dazzling white, furry pelts that was so long, the bottom, which was a hem of what looked like tails tipped with dove gray fur, skimmed the floor. One girl stood in front of me and shoved the furred, tall collar of the cloak up my neck and it went so high, it covered my earlobes. She deftly and swiftly closed the frogs that went from chin to just below my breasts as two girls at either side of her reached through some slits in the fur and pulled out my hands. Then they shoved a pair of elegant, winter white suede gloves on them, the inside of which was a soft, plush fur that felt like rabbit.
Then they started pushing me to the door.
“Sjofn,” one whispered to me as we went, “if that is you or if it isn’t, I must tell you that your trunks have been packed. They’ve been loaded on your sleigh. We did the best we could.” She stopped me for just a moment, looked up at me with what appeared to be sad but searching eyes then she whispered, “If you are our Sjofn, or not, but mostly if you are ours, please try, at least, to be happy. And if you are not, we wish you the best of luck on your adventure.”
I blinked at her then opened my mouth to ask a question but she shoved me out the door into the freezing cold air. I saw a deep red sleigh with a coat of arms painted on the back sides and curlicue trim. It had two black horses at the front. Mom was sitting in the back against a high, button-backed seat covered in what looked like black suede and a man in a cloak and furry hat was sitting on an elevated seat some ways in front of her.
Before I knew it, I was rushed down the steps of the building I was in and up the steps of the sleigh, the small door closed behind me and I hadn’t gotten my bearings yet when Mom’s hand snaked out, grabbed mine, she yanked me to sitting and threw a heavy, fur blanket over our laps.
“Go!” she snapped at the driver and off we went and we didn’t do it slowly.
I turned to her, taking in her beloved profile, gripping her hand in mine and opening my mouth to call to her name when she snatched her hand from mine and turned her head to look to the side.
“Atticus is likely livid,” she noted then, “Would that I’d given him a son.”
I blinked at the back of her head.
Uh… ow.
“Mom,” I whispered.
“Quiet, Sjofn, I must prepare in case The Drakkar has stormed out. I must try to plan what I will do to stop your father from throttling you.” Her head turned slowly to me and she pierced me with her ice blue eyes which were, even in the torchlight, icy. “Or, perhaps, this time I won’t bother,” she remarked frostily.
Ow again.
“Uh –” I mumbled and she lifted a gloved hand.
“Quiet!” she ordered and turned her head away. “The one time she can do something to help her father, help her mother, help her country instead, yet again, my Sjofn creates a nightmare.”
Oh jeez.
Something was not right. I really needed to read that note.
We swiftly slid through the town or city like place and then came to a bone-jarring stop in front of a big building. I was so wrapped up in what was happening, and the fact that it didn’t seem good, I didn’t pay much attention nor did I have the time to pay much attention. Without delay, Mom threw off the blanket, took my hand and dragged me from the sleigh and then we were out of the cold and in a somewhat warm building lit softly with a huge number of candles everywhere.
I looked around at what appeared to be some kind of vestibule as more women, different ones this time, came hurriedly toward Mom and I and Mom asked sharply, “The Drakkar?”
“He is still here, your grace,” one of the women taking her cloak and gloves mumbled.
Your grace?
Your grace?
Okay, I should have gotten it before, what with the crowns and all, but it appeared my mother might be royalty.
Which would mean I was too.
Holy moly!
Two women were divesting me of my gloves and cloak as my mother announced, “I will make haste in taking my seat. He will know we’ve arrived if I do. Prepare her instantly.”
Then she was off.
I blinked at her back.
Then I blinked when a bundle of long, delicate twigs was thrust into my arms and I stared down at them. Most of their length was straight with little knots in the wood but the ends were curved and twirly. That was weird but the bark was weirder. They looked like they’d been sprayed by glitter but on closer inspection they hadn’t.
They glittered naturally.
Whoa. Wow!
The ends of the twigs were bound tight with winter white and ice blue ribbons and there was no big bow to finish but the ends were tucked neatly away.
I hadn’t yet processed the bundle in my arms or why it was there when I was pushed gently to stand i
n front of two double doors and when I was, I looked up and around me.
“Good luck, my Winter Princess,” one of the girls whispered, giving my upper arm a reassuring squeeze then she took off.
What? Winter princess?
Oh my God!
I was royalty and apparently my mother and father were queen and king.
Holy moly!
I stood there, alone and stunned at this news when it hit me I was alone and maybe had a second to find out what the fuck was going on.
I held the twigs in the crook of one arm like a beauty pageant contestant and dug the paper out of my cleavage with the other hand. Awkwardly but quickly unfolding it with one hand, I opened it and saw with some shock, and not a little alarm, that not much was written on it.
Then I took the two seconds it took to read it.
Seoafin,
Tonight, you marry The Drakkar. In the ancient tongue, this means The Dragon.
Good luck,
Sjofn
Oh shit.
I’d been played.
Oh shit! I’d been played!
Before I could freak out or, I didn’t know, maybe turn tail and run, the double doors swung wide and I saw my father was stomping purposefully toward me. At the same time, an orchestra struck up pounding a dramatic swell of music as beyond my father I saw what looked like the enormous sanctuary of a church filled to bursting with people all of whom were standing and turning to me.
Nope, it wasn’t an oh shit moment.
It was an oh fuck moment.
Dad made it to me, snatched the paper out of my hand, crinkled it quickly into a ball and tossed it away. Then he grabbed my hand firmly, tucked it in the crook of his arm at the same time jerking my body close to his side and he tipped his head down to me.
“Pleased you could make it, Sjofn,” he growled.
Then without delay he started to march me down the aisle.
Chapter Three
The Wedding
Okay, okay, okay, it appeared I was getting married.
Shit.
To a man known as “The Dragon”.
Shit!
Try, at least, to be happy, that girl had said to me.
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