I wiped my face clean, turned to him and smiled what I hoped was close to genuinely as he leaned in and kissed my cheek distractedly.
But as his lips brushed my skin, I felt their touch like they were lasers. I closed my eyes at the beautiful pain and kept them closed as I memorized it.
Then he moved away and I opened my eyes to see Mom gazing at me, the skin around her eyes and mouth soft, her expression, however, was blank but I could tell she was thinking, about what, I didn’t know.
Then she moved in and I braced because although she’d been okay during dinner, I didn’t know what to expect.
But I would have never expected her to give me a warm, albeit very short hug and say to me during it, “It’s so lovely to have you back, my dear.”
Then without further ado, as my mind imprinted the feel of her arms around me, they bid Frey a far less familiar but still relatively friendly yet definitely watchful (see? way weird) goodnight and they took off.
I watched them go.
Great.
Frey grabbed my hand and started dragging me to the stairs.
Great again!
I let him because I wasn’t going to fight him out where servants, such as, say, Viola could see. I let him because it was undignified to struggle and Mom taught me never to lose my dignity and all that jazz but I was a princess in this world so that had become a moral imperative as everyone knew all princesses should do their utmost to keep their dignity. And, lastly, I let him because it sucked but I knew if I fought I would so totally lose.
He dragged me up the stairs and directly to my rooms, in through the door and he closed it behind us softly then leaned against it, arms crossed on his chest.
I had walked in several steps and turned to him and, seeing him settle, I crossed my arms on my chest.
Then I spoke.
“I’m afraid after living the simple life for nearly two months, all that rich food and wine have made me unwell, husband,” I informed him, chin up, shoulders straight. “Although it was served with great skill,” I watched his eyes flare as he caught my meaning, though it would have been hard to miss, “it’s not sitting well in my stomach. I’ll thank you to leave me to my bed and find your own chambers…” I paused then finished, “immediately.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw scarily before he returned in a quiet, deadly voice, “You’re my wife, Finnie. What’s yours is mine and that includes your bed.”
“All right,” I returned instantly, “however, tonight, considering I feel unwell and this place is gargantuan and highly populated, I’m sure for my sake you’ll be able to find somewhere else to sleep. Or, perhaps, not sleep depending on whose bed you fall in.”
That muscle ticked again, it scared the freaking beejeezus out of me mostly because the air in the room was stifling from the heat of Frey’s anger but I ignored it and held his eyes.
This lasted a long time and I was about to give up and look away when he spoke again in that soft, lethal tone.
“I will take the time to explain a few things to you, wife. And I’ll take this time before I peel off that charming dress you’re wearing to finally discover what you wear under it and after that I’ll peel off what you wear under your gowns to finally see the entirety of your charms. And after that I may or may not take my time to finally enjoy the entirety of those charms.”
I felt my chest swell with panic but I kept my stance, held his gaze and kept my mouth shut.
“I am Frey Drakkar,” he announced oddly but his voice held weight. “And you know this, Finnie, you know,” he stressed, his eyes flashing with anger, his voice rumbling with it, “but I’ll explain what that means.”
Ho boy.
I had a feeling this was not going to be good.
He kept talking. “There has not been a Frey of the Drakkar for centuries. In ancient times, every generation birthed a Frey. That was, until one Frey betrayed the elves, betrayed his line and betrayed his country. The elves retreated to their underground realm, not to be seen for centuries. That was, not until my birth to the House of Drakkar and the Vallees declarations that I was, indeed, the first Frey for seven hundred and fifty years.”
I had no idea what he was talking about but I still sucked in a shocked breath because, obviously, that sounded important not to mention interesting.
“But the Vallees did not simply declare me the Frey. They also declared me The Drakkar.”
I kept his gaze and kept my mouth shut, hoping despite myself he’d go on because I still had no idea what he was talking about.
Luckily (or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it), Frey went on. “This land and the House of Drakkar have not had A Drakkar for over fifteen hundred years.”
Hmm.
That was obviously important and interesting too.
Frey kept speaking. “And the Frey and The Drakkar have not been embodied in the same man since before ancient times. The gods… they learned not do that. It would make one man too powerful. Even, if that man commanded his power right, more powerful than them.”
That was when I sucked in breath and held it.
Oh my God.
I didn’t know what that meant, exactly, I just knew it was big.
“As you know, the Frey commands the elves but The Drakkar, it is The Drakkar, my wee wife, who commands the dragons.”
I let out my breath but I couldn’t stop my eyes from growing wide.
Dragons?
Frey kept going. “Over fifteen hundred years ago, after the last Drakkar died, the dragons entered their caves high in the mountains where no one can climb. They entered them to slumber and await the next call of their Drakkar. That call has not come for there has been no true Drakkar birthed to the House of my line. Not until me.”
Now I was breathing heavily and staring at him because I couldn’t pull my eyes away.
“The elves magic is powerful, mighty, more than any witch in any land. More than the combined powers of the most accomplished witches of all lands. But the dragons… their power is without measure. They are immortal. Their scales cannot be pierced. Their talons are sharper than razors and cannot be broken. Their teeth and horns and the spikes on their tails are tipped with poison they can discharge at their command, poison so strong, a drop would fell an elephant in seconds. And their tail carries so much strength one swipe and it would cut your Palace in two, leaving splinters in its wake. They are bigger than a house and they fly through the air. And I know, my Finnie, I know you know the tales of the heat of the fire they breathe.”
I kept breathing hard, it wasn’t fire but it burned my lungs and I continued staring at him, not moving a muscle.
Even though he said I knew, he explained anyway. “That heat would incinerate a man in less than a second. It melts iron like candle wax. It could remold mountains.”
Oh.
My.
God.
“And all of that, my wee wife, all of it is at my command.”
Oh.
My.
God.
“The Frey who betrayed the elves also betrayed his throne, something else you know. He betrayed his throne and Lunwyn descended into turmoil. Wars were fought. Countless men, women and children died. Our beautiful Lunwyn descended into chaos for centuries as the throne passed from House to House until, finally, the House of Wilde secured it two centuries ago. But the rightful seat in that throne all in the land know is a,” he leaned slightly forward, “Drakkar.”
Okay, one could say this wasn’t getting any better.
Frey kept at it. “And the Drakkar sitting that throne would definitely be The Frey and it would most definitely be The Drakkar. That means, wife, your father is king and you are princess at my bidding. If I moved on your father’s throne, the vast majority of your father’s own army would either lay down their swords or carry them to fight for me.”
Yep, definitely not getting any better.
He leaned back and continued. “However, I do not wish these obligations. But I am
Frey, I am The Drakkar but even if I was not, I am of the House of Drakkar, an aristocratic line that goes back further than any other. But, even if not, nevertheless, we are aristocrats. I am not only a nobleman, I am the nobleman, Finnie. And in this land or any other, a nobleman does what he wishes with whom he wishes, without compunction, without shame and most definitely without question.”
It was then, I leaned back but I did it in a wrench like he’d struck me.
He saw it, his eyes narrowed but he didn’t relent.
I knew this when he said quietly, “Even if that question came from his wife.”
I stood stock-still and stared at him.
His voice got quieter when he stated, “But you were not my wife then, Finnie. I barely knew you but what I knew of you…” he hesitated then said, “We did not get along. This woman is a servant and I can see you have a manner where you treat people equally but she is not equal. She is a servant, I am an aristocrat, she knows her place and I was born to mine.”
I swallowed.
Frey kept talking.
“No nobleman would take any woman against her will. If he does, he is not noble and will be stripped of his banner and the protection of his House. But I did not take her against her will. I enjoyed her and she enjoyed me –”
That was when I lifted my hand and whispered, “Stop talking.”
He shook his head and pushed away from the door, saying, “You must understand this, wife.”
“I understand,” I took a step back as he started advancing. “I totally get it. You can stop talking.”
Frey kept advancing while he kept speaking. “There are men who pledge to honor their wives and they do, because their wives give them reason.” I moved backward as he kept coming at me. “It could be you give me that reason and we grow into this type of marriage,” he stated and I kept retreating as he kept moving toward me.
And I did this staring at him in shock and, I had to admit, not a small amount of despair.
Grow into that type of marriage?
“But what I do, Finnie and who I do it with is none of your concern, be she servant or duchess. I’m explaining this to you patiently so the next time you learn of something like this, you won’t show me the same disrespect you did at your table with your parents, speaking not one word to me and withholding your eyes from mine.”
The next time?
I hit wall and Frey hit me, his body in my space, his big hands spanning my waist, his head tipped down so his eyes could hold mine prisoner.
“You…” I started, cleared the frog that was all of a sudden in my throat and kept going, “just last night, you told me the measure of a man is how he cares for his bride.”
His brows knitted and he agreed, “I did.”
“So,” I whispered, “what does it say about a man who dumps his bride in a filthy cabin, leaves her there to fend for herself, comes back and shows her gentleness and kindness, which, incidentally, she practically has to beg for then brings her home to a palace only to make her sit at a table and watch while his ex-lover serves him food? Tell me Frey, what measure is that of a man?”
His fingers tensed into my flesh and he whispered back, “I thought we’d come to an understanding, you and I, about what was past and what we were moving toward in our future.”
“I did too,” I replied. “But apparently, I was wrong.”
Really wrong.
Heartbreakingly wrong.
His hands slid up to rest under my ribs and they again tensed when he started, “Finnie –”
But I cut him off. “You left Finnie back at your hunting cabin, Frey. I’m Princess Sjofn here to you. But, make no mistake, husband, you left her back there. I was willing to bring her with us but she is now gone.”
His eyes flashed and his hands slid up to span my ribs as he growled, “Wife.”
“Careful of your hands, Frey,” I whispered, “a nobleman doesn’t take a woman against her will.”
That gained me another flash before he stated, “I see, you have a tantrum about me bedding a servant at the same time you threaten to withhold from me. Does that make sense to you?”
“Absolutely,” I replied. “Because earlier this evening, you walked in on me, hurt about what I’d learned about you and that you were the kind of man who felt free to humiliate me in my own home. Then not an hour later, you further humiliated me at the same time you rubbed my nose in precisely what was injuring me. For five days, you stopped at nothing to convince me you are a kind man, a thoughtful man and a gentle man but I know I should never forget what my father drilled into my head for years and years and that is that first impressions never lie and you may command the power of elves and dragons, but you are none of those kinds of man.”
His eyes flashed again and, if I read them right, he seemed even more pissed than before.
In fact, infuriated.
“Tell me you jest,” he rumbled and that was when my brows knitted.
“Why on earth would I jest about that?”
His fingers dug into my ribs and his face dipped so close he was the only thing I could see.
“Was it you I humiliated, Finnie? Am I treated to this behavior from you tonight due to your injury?”
I held my breath and stared in his eyes.
Good God? Did he know I wasn’t Sjofn?
He couldn’t know. There was no possibility.
Could he?
I held his eyes and he held mine unblinking but he looked strangely like he was waiting for me to say something.
When I didn’t, suddenly Frey let me go, turned and stalked to the door, saying, “Prior to joining Viola who I know will gladly give me what I should be getting from my wife, I’ll send her up with something for your stomach.”
That stomach contracted physically, my back pressing against the wall as if I’d suffered a physical blow.
He opened and stepped out the door but stopped, turned and seared me with one of his ferocious scowls that I’d forgotten could be so terrifying.
“Sleep well, wife,” he called.
Then he was gone.
Chapter Fifteen
We Women Carry Many Burdens
A week and a half later…
I watched my arrow fly over the huge target and get stuck in the trees beside the Palace.
I bit my lip and slowly turned my eyes to my Dad to see his eyes were pointed in the direction of where my arrow landed and his shoulders were slumped.
I’d disappointed him.
Again.
Crap.
“I seem to…” I hesitated when his gaze came to me and it did it before he could fully hide the disappointment and my heart wrenched, “pull up right before I let go.” I finished.
Yeah, pull up, and to the side, and one time down so the arrow embedded in the turf five feet in front of the target.
“Indeed, daughter,” he muttered, sighed and stated, “Why don’t we finish for today?”
He jerked his chin at a boy standing close who came forward hurriedly to take my bow and I pulled the quiver that was strapped across my chest over my head and handed it to him with a smile.
Then I looked at the target that had three of my arrows in it, none of them in any of the lines and another boy was rushing around gathering arrows but he was rushing around behind the target.
I sucked at archery. Totally. Playing it on Wii did not set you up for the real thing.
And Sjofn obviously didn’t and my Dad was obviously proud of her skill.
“I seem to have lost my touch,” I muttered to Dad.
He put a hand to my elbow and started to lead me through the snow to the side door of the Palace.
“Yes, this is what it seems,” he muttered back.
“How about we come back out tomorrow?” I asked, forcing brightness in my tone and I watched him turn his head to me.
And that was when I saw what I saw more than once when I was with him – a weird kind of sorrow that hurt to see. I didn’t get it but it was defini
tely there. Maybe it was a father’s natural reaction as he was coming to terms with his daughter getting married and moving on to another man in her life. But it didn’t seem like that. And it got stronger every time we came out and tried this archery business and we’d been out four days in a row.
I’d been super excited when he’d approached me and asked if I’d like to go out and shoot arrows. First, I wanted to shoot arrows, I’d never done that before except on a video game (which obviously didn’t count). Second, I wanted to spend time with my Dad and the last week, Dad had seemed hesitant and distant with me so I jumped at the chance.
Contradictorily, Mom had warmed towards me.
Well, as warm as my Mom of this world could be which wasn’t super warm.
My Mom was giggly and cuddly, always teasing and tickling and snuggling, both Dad and me, and she had given these traits to me.
Queen Aurora was nothing like that.
Still, she no longer seemed infuriated or impatient with me and often sought my company, though we spent our time together while she embroidered which I found mind-numblingly boring (embroidery, that was).
Mom, however, she was not boring. Although reserved and not very talkative, she had a skill with drawing people out and not often, but in moments that surprised you which made it even better, she displayed a very dry wit.
And she had taken me into Fyngaard several times and that was when we had (borderline) fun together. Clearly, she liked shopping. Definitely, I liked it. And one could say the liquid chocolate at Esmeralda’s was brilliant (it wasn’t hot cocoa, like I expected it would be, it was actual liquid chocolate, a thick, rich, dark chocolate you could spoon up or dunk in the almond biscuits and glazed, fried, cake-like fingers they served with it and it was freaking divine). And Fyngaard was most assuredly a cosmopolitan city with high fashion which meant the dressmakers and the ensembles of passersby were out of sight, sophisticated cafés and elegant restaurants that served fabulous food.
I loved the city and I liked my Mom. It was weird she was so different and sometimes it freaked me out but, even so, it was wonderful to spend time with her, hear her voice, sometimes see her small smile or her eyes light and rarely, but they were treasured, feel her touch on my arm or hand.
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