Wildest Dreams f-1

by Kristen Ashley

  As we alighted the stairs, I saw I was not wrong about the tables in the hall. Huge, round vases stuffed full of spiked white gladiolas festooned the center of each table all of which were laid with silver trays covered in food. They did not have vol-au-vents, mini-quiches and meatballs on a stick. They had (amongst many other things) what looked like puff pastry stuffed with melted cheese, massive tiger prawns baked with slivers of prosciutto rolled around them, corners of thin toast covered thick in pâté and gherkins sliced lengthwise, crackers covered in what looked like cream cheese and caviar and hunks of meat and fish with small crystal glasses filled with tiny silver, two-pronged forks set beside them. And this didn’t even get into the trays of bite-size pastries and cakes on offer.

  So, Atticus was right, the same foods but theirs were more posh.

  Everything looked so delicious, seeing it, I was suddenly ravenous.

  Frey, however, must have had a snack for he didn’t even pause at a table nor did he glance at one. He made a bee-line straight to Mother and Father.

  Upon approach, I saw Father was wearing much what he wore to my wedding but without the sweater and instead a shirt in deep red with a cravat like Frey’s. Mother was wearing a long, deep red dress but the red of the material melted into gold at her hem. Her wrists, neck, fingers and ears were dripping with gold and rubies not to mention the ruby-crusted gold clips in the shapes of dragonflies holding up her elegant hairstyle.

  Taking them in, tall, lean and regal, I noted not for the first time they both still had it and I knew without a doubt if my parents had lived to their age, they would too.

  This felt nice.

  When Frey and I arrived at them, cheek touches were exchanged and before I knew what she was about, Mother installed me firmly at her side, that was to say firmly and closely to her side. Frey took his place by Father.

  At first, this surprised me that I was not standing with Frey. However, for the next hour, I would get it. This was because we were almost immediately descended upon by a wave of people. And as these people approached, chatted then moved on, Mother monopolized any conversation that involved me. If a question was directed to me, she answered it. If a comment was required of me, she prompted it. She interspersed names liberally while she spoke as well as deftly adding personal pieces of information or things such as, “Oh, Sjofn, you remember when…” And any time we had a lull in the action, she’d whisper in my ear, giving me tidbits about people coming or going so if I did speak, I wouldn’t open my mouth and insert my foot.

  Seriously, she was good.

  And seriously, it felt nice to know that she and Frey (and maybe Father) arranged this to take care of me.

  And after awhile, I started having fun. A maid brought us flat-bowled, etched crystal glasses of cold, dry, refreshing, delicious champagne and others moved around us offering trays of food. I partook of both freely (avoiding unidentifiable meat, of course) and started to pay attention to the color of dresses or cravats and linking them with Houses. The clothing was opulent, the jewels even more so, hairstyles and makeup elaborate, men’s mantles were everything from leather to full on fur and the Gales were obviously a place to see, be seen and show right the hell off.

  It was freaking awesome.

  Mother, Father, Frey and I didn’t move for an hour and by this time I had two glasses of champagne, had stuffed myself with every piece of food I could get my mitts on and was feeling it was high time to dance when it happened.

  And luckily I had a chance to prepare when Aurora’s fingers tensed into the inside of my elbow. I looked to her face then to where she was looking and saw a dark-haired woman wearing a phenomenal blood red gown on her voluptuous, immaculately cared for body, her eyes a familiar brown-green and at her side was a tall, dark-haired man who once was probably very handsome but who now had a serious gut and the skin of his face showed he either drank too much, smoked too much, didn’t eat the right foods or all three… in abundance.

  Frey’s parents.

  Shit.

  “Eirik and Valeria Drakkar, Frey’s parents,” Aurora whispered quickly in my ear, confirming my guess. “You’ve met them several times in your life, including twice while you were betrothed to The Drakkar, the other times at the Bitter or Solar Gales. They attended your wedding but you did not converse with them prior to Drakkar taking you away.”

  “Well!” Valeria Drakkar exclaimed upon arrival which was approximately a millisecond later, not hesitating a millisecond longer to grasp both my upper arms and pull me away from Aurora and to her to touch her cheek in turn to each of mine. Then she leaned away, pushing me back and took me in without removing her hold on me. “She wears the color of Drakkar! Excellent!”

  “Move aside, move aside,” Eirik Drakkar shoved in and did the same, except (gross!) he kissed my neck on each side then shoved me back and took me in and the way he did made my stomach roil and my eyes slide to the side to see Frey had moved to stand facing the huddle rather than at my father’s side and not only was his jaw hard, his eyes were too and if that wasn’t enough, a muscle ticked in his cheek.

  Ho boy.

  It appeared that not only did Frey not care for his parents, he actively didn’t like them.

  It also appeared, since neither Eirik nor Valeria had greeted him nor even looked at him, neither had an ounce of interest in their son.

  “Look at my new daughter!” Eirik stated loudly, taking my attention back to him then he leaned into me and proved that firstly, he’d partaken much of the food and whatever he’d eaten had an abundance of onion, or, more likely, he’d eaten an abundance of something with onion, secondly, this was mixed with an alcohol smell that was not champagne and thirdly, this mingling of smells was vastly unappealing. “I must tell you, my lovely, lovely girl, I do not blame my son for dragging the likes of you through the Dwelling of the Gods and being away into the night. I cheered with the rest when I saw it for, if I was twenty years younger, I would do the same or, better yet, take you to the Vallee’s study and have you on his desk!”

  Uh… did he just say that?

  Major ick!

  Not to mention, major rude.

  Before I could say a word, not that I had a word to say to that, Frey spoke.

  “I’ll thank you to unhand my bride.” His voice was low and unhappy but he didn’t wait for his father to comply. He moved in front of his mother, Atticus and Aurora and, with an arm around my waist, he pulled me firmly out of his father’s grasp.

  Thank God.

  “Ah, my Frey,” Valeria said softly, “always so prickly, especially when it came to his belongings.” She leaned into me and wagged a finger in my direction. “Never shared with his brothers, our Frey. Always so possessive.”

  I will note at this point that she still hadn’t greeted her son.

  “It’s repulsive, with your words, that you’d insinuate that I should share my wife with my father, Valeria,” Frey remarked, still in his low, unhappy voice.

  “All in the family,” she replied, smiling a smile that not only didn’t reach her eyes but was cold as Christmas.

  Uh… ick again.

  Already, I did not like these people more than I suspected I wouldn’t like them knowing that Frey didn’t and the not insignificant fact that they’d never given him any presents.

  Eirik, unfortunately, butted in, indicating he had a one track mind and it wasn’t a nice track. “My boy, in dragging her out of the Dwelling, you robbed me of every father-in-law’s right to his dance with his new daughter-in-law at the celebration which, I might add, includes a kiss at the end. This,” he leered at me, “I’ll be taking tonight at my earliest opportunity.”

  Okay, it was safe to say I was not looking forward to that.

  “You’ll not dance with my princess and you’ve already touched your mouth to her two more times than I find comfortable,” Frey stated, staring down his nose at a father.

  I leaned into Frey, pleased beyond reason that he helped me dodge that bullet.
>
  “Killjoy,” Eirik muttered then he focused again on me in order to comment. “I was surprised you weren’t with us today, Sjofn. In the past, you’ve more than enjoyed participating in the royal hunts.”

  “Well –” I started but Mother got there before me.

  “Sjofn and I had an important errand to run in town and she and Frey are travelling so she was busy preparing to take her leave on the morrow,” Aurora neatly entered the conversation to explain.

  “Hmm,” Valeria murmured, her familiar but nowhere near as warm eyes on me, “rumor has it she’s lost her touch with her bow.” At these words, my body got tight, Frey’s got tight against me and I felt Aurora and Atticus get tense too. “I thought that might be it,” she finished, watching me so closely, kid you not, I started to squirm.

  Then Eirik bizarrely and unbelievably coarsely put in, “It’s the talk of the Gales so everyone knows he’s been doing naught much else but thrusting between her legs for days, wife, and this undoubtedly means my son has been going at her for weeks. Drakkar seed, always powerful, stuffed full of it, it causes even our princess, a skilled huntress, to lose her touch with her bow.”

  At these words, words which should not be spoken at an elegant ball, or, perhaps, ever, I gasped. And I knew my guess was accurate for Mother also gasped, Father, jaw clenched and eyes hard, moved forward but Frey had had enough.

  I knew this when his hand shot up, fisted tightly in his father’s cravat and then he yanked his father toward him and up to his toes, bending his neck only slightly, he got nose to nose with him.

  Then he growled, “Thus ends the family reunion.”

  Then he let his now red-faced father loose with a rough push and Eirik stumbled back two steps, running into a young woman in a lovely kelly green gown before he righted himself.

  But I had little opportunity to watch. Frey had his hand on my elbow and he was moving me away.

  And he did so while muttering acerbically to his mother, “As ever, a unique pleasure.”

  Then without a backward glance at his father but a tip of his head to Aurora and Atticus, he led me firmly to the ballroom then equally firmly off to the side where there was a small patch of free space. There he stopped us, drew me close and looked down at me.

  I looked up at him and saw on the scale of how angry Frey could be he looked to be at around twelve.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  Shaken by what had just happened, I replied honestly if not helpfully, “Your Dad’s kind of a dick.”

  “And a ‘dick’ would be?” Frey queried tersely.

  “An asshole. A fuckwad. A douchebag. A screaming jerk,” I explained and Frey scowled a ferocious scowl I could take because it wasn’t directed at me.

  Then he stated, “You do know I don’t know what any of those are either except, possibly, the first.”

  “None of them are good,” I clarified then stressed, “at all.”

  Frey kept scowling at me and that was when I tardily realized I should do something to make him feel better instead of what I was doing, fueling the fire. So I moved in close and circled his middle with my arms. I leaned back as his arms curved around me and looked up at him.

  “That said, I’m fine,” I whispered.

  I saw his anger ratchet down to about a five before he whispered back, “Good.”

  “Though,” I said, cautiously sharing, “your Mom kind of scares me.”

  Frey’s eyes didn’t leave mine when he replied, “She should. Where your mother acts first for her husband, then her family then her realm, my mother acts first for herself. Then she acts on every opportunity presented to behave with malice or cruelty. Next, if it serves her purpose, for the House of Drakkar. But never does she act for the good of her sons, her husband or Lunwyn.”

  Yep, I didn’t like either of them and especially not Valeria Drakkar.

  “Malice and cruelty?” I prompted, still treading cautiously.

  He sighed, looked over my head then looked back down at me.

  “Malice and cruelty,” he affirmed.

  I got up on my toes, Frey dipped closer and when he did, I whispered, “She knows about my archery practice.”

  He nodded. “This is not a surprise. She has spies and this is what she wants you to know. This, my wee Finnie, is what she does. It’s doubtful she’s generous enough with any of them to pay for anything she could use, for she’s as stingy as she is heartless, unless, of course, it’s coin used for another gown or necklace for herself. However, she wanted you to know this in hopes you’d worry about the information she held, planting it in your mind so it could fester as you wondered at her intent and the extent of her knowledge.”

  Wow.

  Wow.

  I hated this, like, a lot. So much, it felt like acid at the back of my throat.

  And I didn’t hate it for me. I hated it for Frey.

  And I hated it so much I couldn’t stop myself from pressing closer, lifting a hand to wrap around the side of his neck and asking softly, “Where on earth did you come from, baby?”

  Frey’s brows drew together and he asked softly back, “Pardon?”

  My thumb stroked his jaw before I whispered, “My handsome husband is gentle, thoughtful and kind. He laughs and smiles easily and he makes me feel safe. I was with your folks for about five minutes and they were so far from any of that, it is not funny. So,” I squeezed his neck, “where did you come from?”

  I belatedly noticed that my gentle, thoughtful, kind husband was staring down at me with that fiery look in his eyes, the same look he had after I gave him his spun glass dragon. And looking at it, his fire melted my heart, a heart that was already far from frozen.

  Before I could say anything, not that I hadn’t already said too much, his arms about me tightened and his face dipped super close to mine when he said quietly, “I do not know, my wee Finnie, where I came from but I’m beginning to know why I’m here.”

  And that was when stupid, stupid, stupidly, I asked, “And why are you here, honey?”

  “I don’t need to say aloud what I know you also are beginning to understand, wee one,” he answered and I pressed my lips together because he was not wrong and I was still not going there. His eyes held mine as his mouth murmured, “She waits for me at windows and buys me dragons. There are reasons we walk this earth, I’m coming to realize mine.”

  “Frey,” I whispered and said no more. I couldn’t. I was too moved and I felt strangely like I was standing in quicksand, sinking fast.

  The problem was, I had no will whatsoever to find a vine and pull myself out.

  His head dipped further and he pressed his lips hard to mine.

  Then he broke his sweet touch and moved back an inch to say, “My grandmother.”

  My head tipped to the side. “Your grandmother?”

  “If there is anything gentle and kind in me, my love, she put it there. My father’s mother had a light shining from her soul.” His lips tipped up and he continued, “Because of that, you remind me in some ways of her. But she lived in a den of vipers and knew how to take care of herself, moving cautiously ahead while keeping an eye to her back lest someone be preparing to bury a dagger in it. Even so, with those she cared about, she displayed great humor, generosity and thoughtfulness.”

  I studied him and it hit me he’d said she’d died when he was thirteen.

  Therefore I asked, “So, when she passed, is that why you left your family and never went back?”

  His lips tipped up further to a grin. “Someone has been talking,” he guessed.

  I grinned back and relaxed deeper into him, my hand sliding down to rest on his chest. “Four someones, to be precise, and they had one avid listener.”

  He chuckled then confirmed, “Yes, wee one, when she died, living amongst them became too much to bear. So I left and never went back.”

  “What was her name?” I asked.

  “Eugenie,” he answered.

  “I wish I’d known her,” I whi
spered.

  “As do I,” Frey concurred.

  I kept going. “I’m sorry your family sucks, baby.”

  He chuckled again but concurred with that too. “I am as well, my wee Finnie.”

  I stared up at a magnificent man who was magnificent against some pretty big odds.

  And as I did, I knew I had two choices, struggle against the quicksand only to have it slurp me up to bury me straight to the throat or move the fuck on and have some fun, fun which would undoubtedly suck me deeper anyway but, again, I wasn’t all fired up to save myself from going down.

  I picked door number two.

  And to do it, I tilted my head to the side and smiled brightly at my husband before I asked, “Wanna dance?”

  His eyes roamed my face before they locked on my mouth. Still looking there, he answered, “Absolutely.”

  Then he bent and kissed my nose yet again before he let me go and led me to the dance floor.

  He did this holding my hand.

  I let him do it and I did it smiling.

  * * * * *

  Nearly every eye in the room watched The Drakkar lead his princess to the dance.

  As they had been watching The Drakkar and his Winter Princess in their intimate, cozy huddle from the moment they entered the ballroom.

  And as many had watched from horses, windows or fire drums as that afternoon, the Winter Princess burst forth from her Palace to meet her imposing husband with a bright smile and that imposing husband had smiled back then gave his new wife a gentle touch, soft words and, finally, a light kiss.

  And as The Drakkar whirled, twirled and lifted his new bride through the next four dances, all the while he smiled warmly at her or laughed out loud at something she said or at an unusual inexpert stumble in her step (which always made her laugh out loud too, through the smiles she was returning to her husband, of course), they kept watching.

  * * * * *

  “Please, my princess, the next dance,” the young man begged but I smiled and shook my head, trying to recall the name he gave me but unable to do so since so many were swimming in my head.

  I’d been dancing flat out for what felt like hours and I loved doing it. It was a freaking blast. But the dances in Lunwyn were mostly energetic (there were a few slow ones and all of those I’d danced with Frey) and they were complicated with a lot of lifts that included the man lifting you straight up into the air or whirling you at his side while you held your legs out like a ballerina leaping across the stage, not to mention the footwork, twirls, bobs and dips.