The day dragged on slowly.
Freya had not seen Soren once since breakfast.
According to the servants, he had locked himself away in his office for hours, buried beneath endless reports, meetings, and royal matters.
Honestly?
She was relieved.
After the events of last night, she wasn't sure she could survive another one of his smug looks without combusting on the spot.
Still—
being trapped inside all day made her restless.
By midday, she was pacing.
By afternoon, she was climbing the walls.
Finally, she rang the bell.
A moment later, Clara entered with her usual soft smile.
"You called, Freya?"
Freya stood near the window, arms crossed.
"I want to go outside."
Clara blinked.
Then hesitated immediately.
Freya sighed.
"You think I'm going to run."
Clara gave her an apologetic look.
"…You did attempt to escape last night."
Freya groaned.
"Yes, but I'm not planning that right now."
Clara narrowed her eyes.
Freya amended quickly—
"At least not this time."
Clara sighed deeply.
"You are terrible for my nerves."
"Please?"
After a moment, Clara relented.
"…Very well. But I am accompanying you."
Freya smiled.
"Fair enough."
A short while later, Freya walked through the palace gardens with Clara at her side.
The fresh air immediately eased some of the tension in her chest.
The palace grounds stretched beautifully around them— fountains sparkling in the sunlight, flowers blooming in neat rows, hedges winding along polished stone paths.
Freya's gaze drifted beyond the gardens.
Toward the towering outer walls.
Toward the gates.
Toward the distant road leading away from the estate.
She could run again.
She could keep trying reckless escapes.
But after last night—
after how easily Soren caught her—
she knew better now.
Brute force wouldn't work.
Not against him.
She needed patience.
She needed timing.
A better opportunity would come eventually.
If she gained his trust… If she stopped trying so openly… If she behaved long enough—
Perhaps eventually he'd allow her beyond the palace walls.
A ride into town. A market trip. A festival. Something.
And if that happened—
In a crowded place…
With distractions…
She might finally get her chance.
She needed to leave before it was too late.
Before this place began to feel familiar.
Before Soren's teasing smiles and dangerous touches started affecting her more than they already did.
Before she fell fully into his hands.
Freya turned her gaze toward Clara casually.
"…What is the town like nearby?"
Clara blinked.
"The town?"
Freya nodded.
"I've never really seen much outside noble estates. Is there anything worth seeing?"
Clara smiled slightly.
"Oh, plenty."
"Like what?"
"Well…" Clara thought for a moment. "There's a bakery near the town square everyone adores. People come from neighboring villages just for their honey cakes."
Freya tilted her head.
"Honey cakes?"
"The best in the kingdom," Clara said proudly.
Freya smiled faintly.
"What else?"
Clara brightened.
"There are flower markets every weekend… musicians sometimes play in the square…"
Then her eyes lit up.
"Oh! And next month is the Moonlight Festival."
Freya's interest sharpened instantly.
"The Moonlight Festival?"
Clara nodded enthusiastically.
"It's one of the biggest celebrations of the year. Lanterns everywhere, dancing in the streets, food stalls, music—people travel from all over to attend."
Freya tried not to react too strongly.
A massive festival?
Crowded streets?
Chaos?
Distractions?
Her heart skipped.
"That sounds…" she paused, pretending mild curiosity. "Fun."
Clara smiled.
"It is. The whole town stays awake nearly until dawn."
Freya nodded slowly.
Already thinking.
Already planning.
A month.
She had a month.
A month to make Soren trust her enough.
A month to convince him to take her.
A month to prepare.
And when the Moonlight Festival came—
She would be ready.
***
That evening, Freya sat quietly in their chambers.
Waiting.
Thinking.
Planning.
A month.
She only had to endure one month.
One month of behaving.
One month of pretending.
One month of making Soren trust her enough to lower his guard.
Then she could escape.
The door opened.
Freya straightened instantly.
Soren stepped inside, loosening the collar of his shirt as he entered, looking tired but still every bit as intimidating as ever.
His crimson eyes landed on her immediately.
And narrowed.
Because she was smiling.
Not glaring.
Not pouting.
Smiling.
His brow lifted.
"Well," he drawled slowly, "that is new."
Freya rose from her chair smoothly.
"You're back late."
Soren stared.
Then blinked once.
"…Yes."
She clasped her hands behind her back.
"How was work?"
Silence.
Complete silence.
Soren slowly set down the papers in his hand.
Then looked at her like she had grown a second head.
"Freya."
She blinked innocently.
"Yes?"
"What are you doing?"
Her smile twitched.
"What do you mean?"
He crossed his arms.
"You are behaving strangely."
"I am not."
"You asked about my day."
"And?"
"You have never once cared how my day was."
Freya huffed.
"Well maybe I'm trying to be nice."
He stared at her.
Suspiciously.
Then slowly approached.
Like a predator circling prey.
Freya held her breath.
He stopped directly in front of her.
Too close.
His eyes narrowed.
"You want something."
Her heart skipped.
"No I don't."
"You do."
"I don't."
"You're plotting."
"I'm not plotting!"
His lips twitched upward.
"You're a terrible liar."
Freya glared.
"Well maybe I simply decided to stop being rude."
Soren hummed.
"Mm. Unlikely."
He leaned down slightly, face inches from hers.
"But amusing."
Her pulse fluttered traitorously.
His voice dropped.
"Tell me what you want, little cat."
She swallowed hard.
"I don't want anything."
His eyes gleamed.
"Then perhaps my wife is finally warming up to me."
Absolutely not.
Freya forced a sweet smile.
"Maybe I just thought I should make more of an effort."
He studied her carefully.
Too carefully.
Then smirked.
"Well."
He reached up and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
"If that is true…"
His voice lowered teasingly.
"I find myself suddenly very interested in encouraging this behavior."
Freya nearly flinched.
Gods, he was impossible.
He knew.
He absolutely knew something was wrong.
But somehow—
he seemed entertained by it.
He stepped past her toward the bed.
Still smirking.
Still far too smug.
"You may continue pretending to charm me, my little wife."
Freya spun around.
"I am not pretending!"
He looked over his shoulder.
Amusement dancing in his eyes.
"That was not convincing."
Freya groaned internally.
This was going to be harder than she thought.
Much harder.
But no matter.
She had a month.
And she would make him trust her—
whether he suspected her or not.
The following weeks passed in a strange, careful rhythm.
At first, Freya's attempts to act sweeter were painfully obvious.
She smiled too much. Asked too many questions. Hovered awkwardly whenever Soren entered the room.
And every single time—
Soren gave her the same knowing look.
The one that said: I know you're scheming.
But he never called her out directly.
Instead—
he played along.
And somehow that made it worse.
At dinner, Freya would ask him about his day.
Soren would smirk over his wine.
"You're staring again."
"I'm not staring."
"You blink less when you lie."
Freya would groan.
He would laugh.
When he worked late in his office, Freya sometimes lingered nearby under the excuse of "wanting company."
In truth—
she was trying to appear affectionate.
Trying to build trust.
Trying to make him believe she was warming to him.
But often she would simply sit quietly reading while he worked.
And over time…
those moments became less forced.
Less calculated.
More comfortable.
Until one evening she realized she had fallen asleep in the chair beside his desk while waiting for him.
She woke in their bed the next morning.
And when she asked Clara how she got there—
The maid smiled knowingly.
"His Majesty carried you."
Freya's cheeks burned for hours.
And all the while—
behind closed doors—
Soren watched House Viremont crumble.
"Another merchant has withdrawn their partnership," Eugene reported one evening.
Soren sat behind his desk, expression calm as ever.
"And their finances?"
"Plummeting."
A dark smile touched Soren's lips.
"Good."
Eugene set another parchment down.
"Several noble families have also begun distancing themselves from them."
Soren skimmed the report.
Perfect.
Their social standing was collapsing just as quickly as their coin.
"Her father requested an audience with the treasury council," Eugene added.
Soren chuckled softly.
"Denied, I assume?"
"Immediately."
Soren leaned back in his chair.
A satisfied darkness in his expression.
"Excellent."
Eugene studied him.
"You're enjoying this entirely too much."
Soren's smile sharpened.
"They raised a hand against my wife."
His voice dropped.
"They should be grateful ruin is all I'm giving them."
Weeks passed.
And somehow—
despite herself—
Freya found pieces of her plan becoming… complicated.
Because the more time she spent around Soren—
the harder it became to ignore certain things.
Like how he always made sure she ate before himself.
How he noticed when she seemed tired before anyone else.
How he listened when she spoke— even when teasing her relentlessly.
How he never once forced her beyond what she was ready for.
And worst of all—
how safe she felt around him.
That frightened her most.
Because safety made people weak.
Comfort made people stay.
And every day she remained here—
every smile he gave her, every teasing remark, every quiet touch—
made leaving harder.
She reminded herself firmly every night.
She had to leave.
Before it was too late.
Before she forgot why she wanted freedom in the first place.
Before she stopped seeing him as her captor—
and started seeing him as something worse.
Something dangerous.
Someone she could love.
Then finally—
one evening at dinner—
Freya set down her fork carefully.
Trying to sound casual.
"Soren?"
His crimson gaze lifted immediately.
"Yes, little wife?"
Her stomach fluttered traitorously.
She cleared her throat.
"I heard there's a Moonlight Festival in town next week."
Soren's gaze sharpened almost instantly.
Freya's pulse skipped.
Here it was.
The beginning.
"I was wondering…" she said carefully.
"…if perhaps we could go?"
Silence.
Soren stared at her.
Long.
Too long.
Then slowly—
a knowing smile spread across his face.
And Freya immediately knew—
He knew exactly what she was doing.