Wildest Dreams (Fantasyland #1)(160)

“What is the matter with you?” he snapped. “She is of my blood, she is princess and she sits in filth?”

“She is prisoner,” Phobin retorted coldly.

“She is princess,” Broderick shot back then turned to address the two guards that entered with them and stood at the door. “Take the Winter Princess to my quarters. Find women to draw her a bath, find her a decent gown and bring her proper food.”

“You cannot do that, Broderick,” Phobin stated and Broderick turned on him.

“I cannot? I’m sorry; I thought it was me who just became king of two lands. Did I miss something? Was it you?”

“I’ve told you. She is of the elf, the witch said so,” Phobin clipped. “We cannot take the chance she holds any magic and escapes.”

“She is my cousin and she is princess and she will not sit in filth,” Broderick returned and Phobin’s face went hard and his eyes grew so furious and so cruel not only I shrunk back but so did Lavinia and Valentine.

Then, he strangely whispered, “Come to heel, Broderick.”

Broderick head twitched, his face going blank for a moment before his eyes flashed, he glared at Phobin and stated firmly, “A king does not heel, Phobin.”

Phobin got closer, his voice got lower and he repeated, “Come to heel.”

Broderick smiled then and, speaking softly, returned, “You fool. Did you honestly think our play in bed translated to my rule of a vast kingdom?” Broderick got closer too and his voice got softer but not so soft we couldn’t hear. “Yes, my lover, I will beg to suck your c**k and I will beg you to do other things with it but outside our bed, Phobin, hear this and know it, I rule and you come to heel or I’ll find a lover who will play like I like in bed and know his place out of it.”

Phobin’s stunned face had paled but Broderick ignored it and the three of us on the pallet, turned and walked to the guards, stopping in front of them.

Then he ordered, “Take my cousin to my chambers, she is princess and treated as such. Keep guards at the door and for the gods’ sakes, give these witches some decent blankets, palatable food, wine and water to wash up with. I do not reign like my father, learn that now and part of what you need to learn is that this treatment of women is unacceptable.”

Then he swept through the guards, leaving the cell and leaving behind a still shocked and immobile Phobin.

Then we heard from the hall, “Phobin! Come!” Phobin’s body jerked, he looked confused for a moment then he rushed out of the cell.

“Come!” one of the guards grunted at me and my eyes shot to him.

“Go, Seoafin,” Valentine whispered. “We’ll be all right.”

“Come!” the guard grunted again, starting to move forward.

I quickly glanced at Lavinia who smiled reassuringly at me then Valentine, who did the same and I set the cup I still held aside and started to get to my feet.

Then I turned to Valentine and Lavinia and whispered, “I’ll be back.”

Then I gained my feet, straightened my shoulders, tossed my hair, nodded regally to the guard and swept out of the room.

* * * * *

I tortured myself.

Throughout my bath, throughout the two silent women assisting me to strap on my underwear, pull the soft, woolen gown over my head, my boots up my calves and doing my hair, throughout my solitary meal and after, as I was alone in the luxuriously appointed but chilly rooms, I tortured myself.

I tortured myself with memories of the first time I saw my huge, frightening husband at our wedding.

And the first time he kissed me.

I tortured myself with memories of him throwing a dead dear on the kitchen table, pulling me in his lap and telling me I fit there and bathing with him in a hot spring.

And the first time we made out in bed together and how gentle he was with me.

I was wrong in my anger. He had been my gentle Frey before he knew me.

I tortured myself with that too, that I had forgotten and all I said to him prior to his death.

Then, when I could bear those particular thoughts no longer, I tortured myself with memories of playing cards with Frey’s men. Of Father’s proud cry the first time he saw me get a bulls-eye and his tight hug the second time he saw me do it. Of Skylar sitting at a desk, any desk, all of the desks he sat at, his tongue poking out in his concentration, looking so cute and boyish. Of my girls’ giggles and gossip and gentle care and how they took me in without reservation. Of Mother’s dry wit and small smiles and eyes that told you how she felt about you in a way you would always believe and never forget.

I tortured myself with memories of a ship called The Finnie and all that had happened aboard her.

I tortured myself with memories of strong hands guiding me on a dance floor while I wore a blood red dress at a ball.

I tortured myself with memories of touches, tastes and words whispered in my ear.

I tortured myself with every memory I could pull up of the best by far, the most beautiful by a landslide, the most perfect adventure I’d ever had and I turned each in my head, I burned them in my brain and as I did it, as the seconds slid to minutes, minutes to hours and the guard remained outside and I remained alone in the prince’s room, I prepared.

So when the door opened, I was ready.

I was ready to do what I had to do for Frey, for Atticus, for Aurora and for Lunwyn which was rightfully mine to give to the child I carried. Frey’s child. The Drakkar’s child. The elves’ child. My child.