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.