Morning light spilled softly through the curtains.
Freya stirred with a quiet groan, warmth surrounding her from every side.
Her brow furrowed sleepily.
That was strange.
She didn't remember her bed being this warm before—
Then something beneath her shifted.
Freya froze.
Her eyes snapped open.
And immediately—
Horror flooded her.
She was sprawled half on top of Soren.
Her leg tangled with his. One arm draped across his chest. Her face pressed into his shoulder.
And worst of all—
his arm rested securely around her waist.
Freya jerked upward so fast she nearly fell off the bed.
"What—?!"
Soren's eyes opened slowly.
Far too calmly for someone who had just been assaulted awake by panic.
He looked at her.
Then smirked.
"Well," he murmured, voice rough with sleep, "good morning to you too."
Freya stared at him in complete horror.
"Why are you touching me?!"
His brow lifted.
"Why are you touching me?"
Her face burned scarlet.
"I—I was not—!"
Soren pushed himself upright slowly, stretching with deliberate laziness.
"You attached yourself to me sometime in the night."
Freya's jaw dropped.
"No I did not!"
He gave her a look.
"You did."
"I absolutely did not!"
His smirk widened.
"You drooled on my shoulder."
Freya gasped.
"I DID NOT!"
"You did."
She looked ready to die.
"And," he added cruelly, "you would not stop rubbing against me."
Freya froze.
Her entire face turned violently red.
"…What?"
Soren leaned back against the pillows, looking entirely too pleased.
"All. Night."
She stared at him in complete mortification.
"No I didn't—"
"You did."
His grin sharpened.
"You were very affectionate in your sleep, my little wife."
Freya pulled the covers over her head.
Soren laughed.
Actually laughed.
Deep and warm and entirely too entertained by her suffering.
Soren gently pulled away the blanket from her face.
She glared at him so hard it could kill lesser men.
"You are never speaking of this again."
"Oh, I absolutely am."
Her eyes widened.
"Soren—"
"For the rest of our marriage, probably."
"You insufferable beast!"
He laughed harder.
Then leaned slightly closer.
Voice dropping low.
"You should know," he murmured, "your little nighttime antics made being honorable very difficult."
Freya froze.
Her blush deepened impossibly further.
His crimson eyes gleamed.
"I barely slept because of you."
Freya stared.
Then immediately buried her burning face into the blanket.
"Oh my gods."
Soren chuckled darkly.
"Yes," he murmured. "That was my reaction as well."
Freya wanted the floor to swallow her whole.
But when she peeked at him—
he was smiling.
Not his usual sharp smirk. Not his teasing grin.
A real one.
Warm. Amused.
And somehow—
seeing that made her chest tighten strangely.
Though she'd rather die than admit it.
Soren leaned toward her slightly then.
His amusement slowly darkening into something deeper.
His crimson eyes locked onto hers.
"And Freya…"
Her stomach flipped.
His voice dropped lower.
"Savor my patience while you have it."
Her breath caught.
His gaze flicked slowly over her before returning to her face.
"Because if you spend another night rubbing against me like that…"
He leaned closer.
Close enough that her pulse thundered.
"I do not think I'll be so generous about holding back next time."
Freya froze.
Her entire body went still.
Face burning so hot she thought she might combust.
"S-Soren—"
He smirked immediately.
Clearly pleased by her reaction.
Then stood from the bed like he hadn't just shattered her entire ability to think.
"Get dressed, my little wife."
Freya stared after him.
Speechless.
Flustered.
Murderous.
And somewhere deep down—
embarrassingly aware that her heart was pounding far too fast.
As he reached the door, he glanced back one final time.
That wicked smile returning.
"Oh," he added casually, "And perhaps tonight try to keep your hands to yourself."
Freya grabbed the nearest pillow.
"You are HORRIBLE!"
Soren laughed as she threw it.
Dodging effortlessly before leaving the room.
Still grinning.
And Freya collapsed face-first into the bed.
Mortified beyond recovery.
Freya had barely recovered from her embarrassment when a knock sounded at the door.
Before she could answer—
the door slowly opened and a maid stepped inside, bowing immediately.
"My queen," the young woman said softly, eyes lowered.
"His Majesty requested I assist you in preparing for the day."
Freya blinked.
Still not used to that title.
"…fine."
The maid hurried inside carrying fresh towels and a basin of warm water, setting everything neatly near the vanity.
"If you would sit, my queen."
Freya reluctantly obeyed.
The maid moved carefully, gently helping brush out Freya's hair before beginning to wipe the remaining traces of sleep from her skin.
Everything was normal.
Until—
Freya shifted slightly.
And the maid froze.
Her breath caught softly.
Freya immediately stiffened.
Because she knew exactly what the girl had seen.
The back of her nightgown had slipped just enough to reveal them.
The pale scars crossing her back.
Thin. Faded. Cruel.
"My queen…"
Her voice came out barely above a whisper.
Freya's shoulders tightened.
The room grew quiet.
The maid stared in horror before quickly lowering her gaze.
"I-I apologize," she stammered quickly.
"I did not mean to stare—"
"It's fine," Freya said quietly.
But the maid still looked shaken.
Her hands gentled further when she resumed helping her.
As if afraid touching too firmly might hurt her.
After a moment, the maid spoke again, voice hesitant.
"…Who did that to you?"
Freya went still.
Her expression hardened instantly.
"That is none of your concern."
The maid flinched.
"Forgive me, my queen—I only—"
"It doesn't matter," Freya said coldly.
Because she hated pity.
Almost as much as she hated people knowing.
Silence settled.
Then quietly—
"My name is Clara, my queen."
Freya hesitated.
Then quieter—
"Just Freya is fine when we're alone."
Clara's smile widened.
"Yes, my—Freya."
Then another knock came at the door.
A deeper voice followed.
"Is she ready yet?"
Soren.
Freya's entire body stiffened immediately.
Clara hurried to finish.
"Almost, Your Majesty!"
Then she leaned closer and whispered softly—
"If he sees those… I do not think whoever harmed you will survive it."
Freya blinked.
Her stomach twisted slightly.
Because somehow—
she believed her.
Clara had just finished fastening the final clasp of Freya's dress when the doors opened.
Soren stepped inside.
And immediately paused.
His crimson gaze swept over her.
Slowly.
Lingering far longer than necessary.
Freya crossed her arms.
"What?"
Soren smirked faintly.
"You clean up nicely."
She rolled her eyes.
He offered her his arm.
"Come. I said I'd show you your home."
Freya reluctantly stepped beside him, placing her hand lightly on his arm.
The halls seemed quieter this morning. Servants bowed the moment they saw him approaching, some nearly tripping over themselves to move aside.
Freya noticed the way they stared.
Not at her—
At him.
Always him.
Still afraid.
Soren led her through winding halls, down grand staircases, across marble courtyards and gardens so large they could have been their own village.
And Freya—
watched everything.
Every turn. Every door. Every hallway. Every guard placement.
Soren noticed, of course.
"You're doing it again."
Freya blinked.
"Doing what?"
"Thinking too hard."
Her stomach dropped.
"I'm not—"
"You are."
He glanced sideways at her, amused.
"You are very bad at pretending not to plan an escape."
Her face heated.
"I'm simply observing."
"Mm."
He clearly didn't believe her.
As they walked, Freya's eyes drifted toward the massive iron gates at the far end of the outer garden.
Two guards stood posted.
Only two.
If she waited until dark—
If she found the right window—
Maybe—
Soren suddenly stopped walking.
Freya nearly bumped into him.
"What—?"
Then his hand gently caught her chin.
Turning her face toward him.
Her breath hitched.
His crimson eyes narrowed slightly.
"What is that?"
Freya froze.
His thumb brushed just below her shoulder near the neckline of her dress.
And her stomach dropped.
A faint scar peeked just above the fabric.
Barely visible.
But enough.
Soren's expression changed instantly.
The amusement vanished.
His eyes darkened.
His voice lowered.
"…How did that happen?"
Freya's breath caught.
She jerked away immediately.
"It's nothing."
His gaze sharpened.
"That is not nothing."
"It's old."
"That was not my question."
Freya stiffened.
And immediately looked away.
His voice grew colder.
"Who did that to you?"
Silence.
Freya's pulse thundered.
"I don't want to talk about it."
Soren stared at her.
Really stared.
Then his jaw tightened.
Something dark passed through his expression.
But before he could press further—
Freya moved quickly.
Changing the subject.
"Do you always keep this many guards posted?"
Soren blinked.
Then slowly narrowed his eyes.
"You are changing the subject."
"No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are."
Freya lifted her chin stubbornly.
"I'm asking a question."
His eyes narrowed further.
Then suddenly—
he smirked.
Darkly.
"You're asking because you're trying to figure out how to escape."
Her face betrayed her immediately.
Soren laughed softly.
"You really are bold enough to think about fleeing from me?"
Freya crossed her arms.
"Maybe."
He stepped closer.
His voice dropped.
"You won't get far."
Her pulse quickened.
His hand lightly brushed her waist as he leaned down near her ear.
"You can try if you wish," he murmured.
"But I promise you, my wife…"
A pause.
Then darker—
"I will always catch you."
Freya's breath caught.
part of her believed him completely.
He leaned back, smirking again.
"Now," he said casually, as if he hadn't just threatened her beautifully,
"tell me honestly…"
His eyes gleamed.
"How many escape routes have you counted since waking up?"
Freya glared.
He laughed.
And kept walking.
Leaving Freya standing there—
heart racing.
Mind spinning.
And somehow more determined than ever…
Even if part of her now wondered—
if maybe escaping him truly was impossible.