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.

Lunwyn’s child.

And by my God and my husband’s gods, I was f**king going to do it.

So, prepared, I watched Broderick walk in and I schooled my face not to show a reaction when his eyes fell gentle on me and his lover trotted in obediently at his heels.

The guard closed the door and Broderick continued to approach as I sat in my chair, unmoving, my hands hidden in the folds of my skirt and I watched.

“You look better, Sjofn,” he said softly.

“You killed my husband,” I replied and watched with morbid fascination as he winced.

Then he whispered, “Sjofn.”

“You killed my husband,” I repeated, holding his eyes.

He stopped in front of me and looked down at me. “I’m sorry I needed to do that.”

“Can you tell me why you needed to do that?” I asked, my voice bland, flat.

It was Phobin who answered with an incredulous, “Why?”

My eyes didn’t leave Broderick as he turned to his lover and hissed, “Quiet,” then turned back to me and his voice was gentle when he explained, “Sjofn, I could see you were taken with him and he you but he’s The Drakkar, The Frey, he commands the fire of dragons and the magic of elves and he let it be known very openly that he would not hesitate to call his beasts in defense of you.” His voice became even gentler when he finished, “I am sorry, my cousin, but he was too powerful to let live.”

“You didn’t believe that then,” I stated and he blinked.

“I’m sorry?” he enquired.

In what I hoped was a good impersonation of Aurora, I regally inclined my chin to indicate Phobin and declared, “It was his idea. When we met in Middleland, you were pleased for me.”

“I was,” he whispered, watching me closely.

“So, tell me, why did you kill my husband?” I asked and he pulled in a light breath.

“Sjofn –” he started but I interrupted him with a wave of my hand.

“It matters not now, Broderick, he is dead. And my father is dead, I assume?” I waited for his careful nod, I took the hit of confirmation of this news and the further hit it took forcing myself not to react and I went on. “But you had different ideas back then, am I wrong?”

“Sjofn, I don’t think –” he began but I interrupted yet again.

And I did this with a soft, “You owe this to me.”

Broderick held my eyes. Then he nodded.

“I thought…” he started then concluded, “exile.”

“And why didn’t you follow through with this thought?” I pressed. “Was it him?” and again I lifted my chin to Phobin.

“He did, I will admit, point out the errors in my thinking.” Suddenly he crouched before me, made as if to reach out for my hand, I pulled back in the chair slightly but not slight enough he didn’t notice. So he gave up, rested his wrists on his knees and kept speaking. “Phobin knew, you know and I also knew but in seeing you so happy, I was denying it, but I knew that The Drakkar would not stay in exile long, no matter what magic or guard or –”