The remainder of the day passed in a blur.
Soren had spent far too much of it teasing her. Smirking every time she glared. Bringing up her "sleeping habits" every chance he got.
By the time evening came, Freya was exhausted.
Unfortunately—
Soren did not retire with her immediately.
Instead, as servants prepared the room for night, he adjusted the cuffs of his shirt and glanced toward her.
"I have work to attend to."
Freya blinked.
"Work?"
He nodded.
"A kingdom does not govern itself."
She frowned.
Soren smirked.
"Yes. Tragic, I know."
He stepped toward the door.
Then paused.
His crimson eyes flicked toward her.
"Try not to burn the palace down while I'm gone."
Freya crossed her arms.
"No promises."
That made him laugh softly before he left.
The moment the door shut—
The palace had gone silent.
She listened carefully from beneath the blankets.
No footsteps. No voices. No sound from the halls.
Beside her, Soren had been buried in reports and late-night meetings with Eugene.
This was her chance.
Slowly, carefully, she slipped from the bed.
Her pulse thundered so loudly she thought it might betray her.
She dressed quickly in darker clothes, gathering what little she could—nothing heavy, only enough to move fast.
Then she crossed the room.
To the balcony.
Cool air rushed against her face as she stepped outside.
Freya stared down.
It was high.
Dangerously high.
But she had escaped worse.
She climbed onto the railing, gripping the stone tightly.
"Don't look down," she whispered.
And she lowered herself carefully onto the narrow ledge beneath.
Her foot slipped—
Her stomach lurched—
But she caught herself.
Barely.
She exhaled shakily.
Then reached for the ivy.
And began climbing.
Slowly.
Her hands burned. Her arms trembled. Her dress snagged twice on the vines.
But eventually—
her feet hit grass.
Freya nearly laughed.
She did it.
She looked back up at the towering palace.
Then turned—
and ran.
She sprinted through the gardens, heart pounding wildly, weaving through hedges and marble statues, ducking low whenever she saw torchlight.
Her breathing came hard and fast.
She made it past the inner gardens. Past the fountain courtyard. Past two patrolling guards who never noticed her.
Then—
the outer wall.
Her breath caught.
Freedom.
A servant's gate sat near the eastern side. Half-guarded.
If she could get there—
If she could just—
"Well."
Freya froze.
Her blood turned to ice.
That voice.
Slowly—
she turned.
Soren stood several feet behind her.
Hands tucked casually behind his back.
Perfectly composed.
Perfectly calm.
As if he had simply appeared from the shadows.
Watching her.
Her stomach dropped.
"…How?" she whispered.
Soren tilted his head.
"You made it farther than I expected."
Freya stared.
He wasn't even angry.
He looked—
amused.
"Did you—" she swallowed hard, "were you following me?"
His lips twitched.
"No."
A pause.
Then:
"I noticed you were missing."
He stepped closer.
"And I was curious how far my little cat would get."
Freya's jaw tightened.
"You're cruel."
"And yet," he murmured, "you are the one sneaking away in the middle of the night."
He kept walking toward her.
Freya stepped back instinctively.
"You almost made it," he said, almost thoughtful. "Impressive, actually."
That surprised her.
Then—
his eyes darkened.
Freya turned suddenly—
and ran.
She bolted toward the gate.
Fast as she could.
She heard him behind her.
Not rushing.
Not panicking.
Just following.
As if he already knew she wouldn't make it.
Freya reached the gate—
A hand grabbed her waist.
She shrieked.
And suddenly she was airborne.
Thrown effortlessly over Soren's shoulder.
"No—PUT ME DOWN!"
"You are exhausting," he sighed.
Freya kicked furiously.
"You let me think I could escape!"
"You entertained me."
"SOREN!"
He smacked her lightly on the thigh again.
She gasped in outrage.
"Behave."
"You're insane!"
"And you," he replied calmly, "are a troublesome thing."
Freya glared murderously.
Soren only tightened his hold and began carrying her back toward the palace.
"You climbed down a balcony, snuck through half my estate, nearly scaled the outer wall…"
His voice held unmistakable amusement.
Then lower—
"You really are determined to make me obsessed with you, aren't you?"
Freya froze.
Her heart skipped.
He chuckled darkly.
"And here I thought tonight would be boring."
Freya buried her burning face in her hands.
She hated him.
She hated him so much.
And somehow—
his laughter followed them all the way back inside.
He finally set her down—
but not gently.
He dropped her onto the center of the bed with deliberate ease.
Soren remained standing at the edge of the mattress, watching her with that same infuriating calm amusement.
He leaned down slightly, hands braced on either side of her on the bed now—trapping her in place without touching her.
His crimson eyes locked onto hers.
"You know," he murmured, voice low enough to make her skin prickle, "for someone who claims not to want me…"
His gaze dropped briefly to her lips.
"…you certainly make it difficult to keep my hands to myself."
Freya's entire body went hot.
Her breath hitched.
Freya glared.
"You're impossible."
"And you are distracting."
His gaze dropped to her lips again.
Her pulse hammered.
Then softer—
"You keep pushing, Freya."
Her breath hitched.
"Sooner or later," he whispered, "I'm going to push back."
Freya froze.
His eyes glinted with warning.
"Don't test me."
Then—after a beat of silence—he straightened slowly, breaking the tension just enough to leave her flustered and disoriented.
As if nothing had happened.
"As for your little escape attempt," he added casually, turning toward the door, "consider it postponed."
Freya sat there, stunned.
He paused at the doorway.
Freya sat there, stunned.
He paused at the doorway.
Without looking back, his voice lowered just slightly.
"…for your safety."
Then he left.
And Freya remained frozen in place—
heart racing.
Face burning.
And suddenly very aware that the man she had married was far more dangerous than she had initially believed.
Because the worst part wasn't that he threatened her.
It was that part of her didn't entirely want him to stop.
she decided to take a bath to calm her mind.
The water was scented with lavender and rosemary.
Steam clouded the marble chamber, clinging to the mirrors and softening the edges of the room.
Freya sank deeper, letting the heat seep into her tired muscles, trying to wash away the humiliation of being carried back like a sack of grain.
She closed her eyes.
For a moment, there was only the quiet lapping of water against the tub.
Then—
A soft sound.
Freya's eyes snapped open.
Soren stood leaning against the doorframe.
Arms crossed.
Watching her.
Her stomach dropped.
She scrambled, sinking deeper into the water until it nearly touched her chin.
"What are you doing in here?!"
He didn't answer at first.
His gaze swept over her slowly.
The exposed line of her shoulders.
The wet tendrils of hair clinging to her skin.
The faint, faded line of a scar he could just glimpse on her collarbone.
His expression was unreadable.
Then—
"I live here," he said, echoing her words from earlier.
"This is my bathroom."
Freya glared.
"It is occupied."
"Clearly."
He did not move.
She felt horribly exposed.
"Get out."
"No."
"Soren—"
"You tried to escape, Freya."
His voice was casual.
Almost conversational.
"Did you really think there would be no consequences?"
Her pulse quickened.
He pushed off the doorframe and stepped inside.
"Did you think I would simply ignore this little act of rebellion?"
Freya shrank back as he approached the tub, the water suddenly feeling flimsy and insufficient as a barrier.
He crouched beside the bath.
His crimson eyes were level with hers.
His gaze dropped to the water's surface.
To the faint silhouette of her body beneath.
"And you," he murmured, "are testing them."
Freya's breath hitched.
"You can't—" she started, her voice weaker than she wanted.
"I can."
He leaned closer.
His fingers dipped into the water.
Trailing a slow, deliberate line along her shoulder.
Freya jolted at the touch.
Hot.
Electric.
Her skin felt like it was on fire where he had touched.
His eyes darkened.
"Do you understand what happens when I run out of patience, my wife?"
She couldn't speak.
Couldn't breathe.
His fingers traced the curve of her collarbone.
Stalling just above her heart.
"I will be forced to remind you," he whispered, "who you belong to."
Her mind screamed at her to push him away.
But her body betrayed her.
Frozen.
Thrilling with a terrifying heat she did not want to acknowledge.
He leaned closer still.
His lips hovered just beside her ear.
"I will be forced to make sure," he breathed, "that you never, ever think of running from me again."
Freya squeezed her eyes shut.
Her entire body trembled.
Then—
He pulled back.
Just as suddenly as he had approached.
And stood.
"It is late," he said, his tone once again calm and detached.
"You should get some rest."
He walked to the door.
And paused.
"Do not make me come find you again."
He left.
Freya remained in the cooling water, her heart hammering against her ribs.
She stared at the ripples in the tub.
Where his fingers had touched her.
And realized with dawning horror.
She hadn't wanted him to stop.
The water was cold by the time Freya finally forced herself to move. Her skin pebbled with goosebumps, but the chill was a welcome distraction from the fire still burning beneath it. She rose slowly, wrapping herself in a thick, heavy robe, the fabric rough against her oversensitive skin. Each brush against her shoulder, her collarbone, was a phantom echo of his touch.
She stood before the mirror, her reflection a stranger. Green eyes too wide in a pale face. A small, traitorous part of her looked…thrilled. That was the most terrifying thing of all. Not his threat, not his power, but her own reaction to it.
When she returned to the bedroom, he was there. He had changed into simple black sleeping trousers, his chest bare, sculpted muscle and faint scars painted in the flickering firelight. He was standing by the bed, holding two goblets of wine.
He didn't look at her with anger or disappointment. He looked at her with that same dark, knowing amusement that made her feel utterly exposed.
"I thought you might need this," he said, offering her one of the goblets.
Freya hesitated. She took the cup, her fingers brushing against his. The contact was brief, electric. She flinched away.
"To failed escapes," he said, raising his own goblet. His crimson eyes glinted over the rim. "And to the consequences they incur."
He drank.
Freya stared into the dark red liquid. The scent of blackberries and something smoky filled the air. She needed it. Her throat was tight, her hands still trembling slightly. She tipped the goblet back, the wine cool and smooth, a welcome balm.
Soren watched her swallow.
"Wine and threats," she said.
He let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating through her bones.
He took her empty goblet and set both aside. He didn't touch her again, but he didn't have to. His presence filled the space, a tangible pressure against her skin. He gestured to the bed. "Sleep."