Wildest Dreams (Fantasyland #1)(84)

But the third floor was where the function rooms were and there were only three. The middle where the stairs led was a huge hall, down the center of which were five, large, gleaming dark wood tables which, for the party, would hold massive displays of blooms from the Palace’s greenhouses (there were four gargantuan greenhouses where the Palace gardeners grew everything from flowers and plants to adorn the house, to vegetables and fruits forced to grow out of season in order to feed its occupants and guests – they even had apple, pear, plum and peach trees in one, lime, lemon, grapefruit and orange in another and tangles of blackberry and raspberry vines in yet another).

Off the function hall to one side was a ballroom that was a wide open space lined with chairs intermixed with small tables with a rise for an orchestra at one end. Off the hall to the other side was a long open gallery that had walls covered with portraits of past kings and queens of Lunwyn but mostly Winter Princes or Princesses, in other words, those who inhabited the Palace prior to assuming the throne, and their wives or husbands and children.

This was where we were heading now and I saw two liveried footmen wearing deep red sweaters, dark brown leather shorts, high boots, brown mantles at a slant across their backs and brown leather gloves standing at the landing from the second to third floor guiding people up and down and cutting off access to the living quarters.

As I saw the brilliant colored gowns and curious faces peeking around the footmen toward Frey and myself, I looked away and up at my husband to see his jaw was hard.

Then I stared at his jaw, realizing something had pissed him off.

Shit. He was angry about the wait.

Shit! I didn’t want to go to the Gales with a pissed off Frey. I didn’t want to go anywhere with a pissed off Frey.

So before we made it to the footmen, I pulled back slightly on his elbow and slowed my step. He looked down at me, brows drawn and I saw on Frey’s scale of one to ten of how angry he could be, he was resting, my guess, at around a two.

This was good.

“Can I have a second?” I asked softly, he stopped us, looked to the stairs then back at me before he turned toward me.

“Finnie, the Gales started nearly two hours ago,” he reminded me.

“I know but…” I moved closer to him and tipped my head back further, “I just wanted to apologize before we got there for being late and making you wait and –”

I stopped talking when his hand lifted and curled around my neck and his expression instantly changed to show that my apology made him totally drop off the angry scale.

Phew. This was also good.

Then he stated, “Wee one, it was me who made us late, why are you apologizing?”

“You seem angry,” I told him.

“I’m not angry about waiting,” he told me.

“Are you angry at all?” I asked.

“No,” Frey answered, I peered closer at him and saw this was true.

Still, I could have sworn I saw it earlier.

Therefore, I informed him, “You looked angry a second ago.”

“I wasn’t angry,” he replied.

Well, he was something and, by the by, he hadn’t commented on my fabulous dress and that was not Frey. Three days ago, when I’d walked up to him talking with Thad and Oleg while wearing a silvery white wool gown that was sweet, but wasn’t close to my best, he’d told me right in front of his men that I looked lovely then he’d swiftly finished his talk with the guys, took me to our rooms and took it off me.

Therefore, I stated, “You were something.”

He sighed then said, “Finnie, we must –”

My eyes narrowed on his, which I could see, just barely, but I could see were hiding something and I leaned closer, cutting him off as it hit me. “You’re hiding something.”

“Finnie –”

“What?”

“Fin –”

I put a hand on his chest, got up on the toes of my red satin, jet-beaded-pointed-toed slippers and asked, “What’s upset you, Frey?”

He kept hold of my eyes. Then he dipped his face closer to me.

Then he said, “You wear the colors of Drakkar.”

I blinked. Then I asked, “What?”

He didn’t repeat himself. Instead he replied, “I was wrong when I told you I didn’t have a favorite color. My favorite colors are your colors.” I blinked as my heart skipped a beat and Frey continued, “I prefer you in your whites, your silvers, your grays and definitely your blues.” I stared, thinking he really paid attention at the same time my belly got really warm at his words then he kept talking. “What I do not like to see you in is the red of Drakkar.”

My belly grew instantly cold, I rolled back to the soles of my feet, surprised and, I had to admit, dejected.

“I wore this for you,” I whispered. “Mother said –”

His hand at my neck squeezed lightly and he whispered back, “I know, wee one and I appreciate the gesture. But that does not change the fact that I dislike you in the color of my House.”

Oh God.

Of course not. Why was I so stupid? I knew he had nothing to do with his House. I should never have listened to Mother.

I turned my eyes away and muttered, “Hells bells, I screwed up.”

“Finnie, look at me, love,” he called with another squeeze of his hand and my eyes went to his. “I do not associate with my House.”