Freya stood before the mirror while Clara laid out the gown Soren had requested.
And immediately—
Freya stared.
"…Absolutely not."
Clara winced.
"My lady—"
"No."
Freya grabbed the fabric between two fingers and held it up.
It was beautiful.
Annoyingly beautiful.
A soft flowing gown of pale green silk so delicate it almost shimmered in the candlelight.
The color perfectly matched her eyes.
The sleeves draped elegantly.
The bodice was fitted and flattering.
And the entire thing was—
nearly see-through.
Freya stared in horror.
"Why is it transparent?!" she whisper-shrieked.
Clara looked deeply embarrassed.
"I-I think his majesty chose it personally…"
Freya's face went scarlet.
"Of course he did."
That insufferable man.
She glared at the gown as if it had personally offended her.
Then sighed dramatically.
"Fine."
If this was part of whatever ridiculous game Soren was playing—
she would survive it.
Still grumbling, Freya changed.
And the moment the silk slid over her skin—
she nearly died of embarrassment.
It fit her perfectly.
Too perfectly.
The soft green fabric clung delicately to every curve.
And in the light—
it left very little to the imagination.
Freya stared at herself in the mirror.
Mortified.
Her face burned crimson.
"Oh my gods…"
She crossed her arms over herself instantly.
"This is indecent."
Clara's face was equally red.
"You look beautiful, my lady."
"That is not helping!"
Freya turned, frantically looking around the room.
Then her eyes landed on a robe draped nearby.
Without hesitation—
she snatched it up.
"Yes. Absolutely yes."
She quickly threw the robe over herself and tied it tightly around her waist.
Then sighed in relief.
"There."
Clara blinked.
"My lady… won't his majesty be upset?"
Freya lifted her chin stubbornly.
"He can survive one disappointment."
She folded her arms.
"There is no universe where I am walking in front of him dressed like that without covering myself."
Still flustered, Freya glanced at herself in the mirror again.
The robe hid most of the gown beneath it.
She still had no idea why Soren wanted her dressed like this—
but whatever his reason was—
she refused to make it easy for him.
"Much better," she muttered.
Clara smiled nervously.
"If you say so…"
Later
The moment Freya stepped into Soren's chambers—
his eyes found her instantly.
And immediately narrowed.
His gaze dropped to the robe.
Then slowly lifted back to her face.
Silence.
Freya shifted awkwardly.
"…What?"
Soren stared at her for one long moment.
Then asked flatly—
"Why are you wearing that?"
Freya crossed her arms tighter.
"Because I'm not walking around half-naked!"
His brow lifted.
"You were instructed to wear the gown."
"I am wearing the gown."
His crimson eyes narrowed.
"Under the robe."
"Yes."
A pause.
Then he sighed.
Slowly.
Like a man testing his patience.
"Take it off."
Freya's eyes widened.
"NO."
His lips twitched.
"You disobey quickly for someone already awaiting punishment."
Freya's face turned red again.
"I-I am not removing it!"
Soren stepped closer.
Amused.
"Oh?" he murmured. "And why not?"
Freya sputtered.
"Because you know why not!"
His grin widened.
"Because you're embarrassed?"
"Yes!"
His chuckle was deep and warm.
Infuriatingly entertained.
Then he leaned close, voice dropping low—
"Good."
Freya froze.
His eyes gleamed wickedly.
"That was the point."
Her stomach dropped.
"Oh no…"
Freya froze.
Soren stepped closer slowly.
Freya instinctively backed up one step.
Then another.
Until the backs of her knees hit the edge of the bed.
He stopped directly in front of her.
Towering over her.
His gaze dropped slowly to the robe tied tightly around her waist.
Then back to her flushed face.
"Take it off."
Freya's eyes widened.
"No."
His brow lifted.
"No?"
She crossed her arms stubbornly.
"I am not standing here dressed like that in front of you."
A slow smile spread across his face.
"You already are."
"That's different!"
"How?"
"Because it's covered!"
His chuckle was low.
Infuriating.
Then he leaned down close enough that his breath brushed her cheek.
"You misunderstand, little wife."
Her breath caught.
"This punishment was never going to work if you're hiding from me."
Her pulse hammered.
"Soren—"
"Take. It. Off."
Freya swallowed hard.
He stared at her.
Waiting.
Expecting obedience.
And somehow—
that made her even more flustered.
Her fingers trembled as they slowly moved to the sash.
"This is humiliating…" she muttered.
His smirk deepened.
"I know."
"You're enjoying this too much."
"Immensely."
Freya glared at him.
But slowly—
hesitantly—
she untied the robe.
Then shrugged it from her shoulders.
The fabric slipped down her arms.
And fell to the floor.
Silence.
Complete silence.
Freya wanted the earth to swallow her whole.
Her face burned hotter than fire.
She couldn't even look at him.
Couldn't breathe.
Then—
Soren exhaled softly.
A sound so low she almost missed it.
Her eyes flicked up—
And immediately wished they hadn't.
Because the look on his face made her entire body heat.
His crimson gaze dragged over her slowly.
Taking in every inch.
Hungrily.
Like he was trying to memorize the sight.
"…Gods," he murmured.
Freya's stomach flipped.
"You are breathtaking."
Her entire face turned scarlet.
"S-stop looking at me like that!"
His eyes met hers again.
"Like what?"
"Like…" she sputtered helplessly, "like that!"
He laughed softly.
Then stepped even closer.
Close enough their bodies nearly touched.
His hand lifted.
Slowly brushing along her arm.
Gentle.
Making goosebumps rise over her skin.
"You wanted to know your punishment," he murmured.
Freya swallowed.
His lips curved.
His fingers trailed up her arm, a slow, deliberate fire that traced the sensitive skin of her inner elbow, her shoulder. They paused at the thin strap of her gown, the fabric so flimsy it felt like a lie. His thumb brushed against it, a question and a promise.
"Your punishment," he whispered, his gaze dark and mesmerizing,
"is that you will be fully, achingly aware of my desire for you."
His other hand came up to her waist, resting on the curve of her hip. The heat of it seeped through the thin silk, branding her.
"You will learn there is no freedom more absolute than the one I grant you. And it is a freedom you will only find here."
His palm slid from her waist to the small of her back, pressing her forward. The space between them vanished. Her body was flush against his, the hard planes of his chest a stark contrast to her softness. She could feel the steady, rapid thrum of his heart against her own frantic beat.
"Every breath you take," he murmured against the shell of her ear, his voice a low, intimate rumble,
"will be because I allow it. Every beat of your heart will feel like it's beating for me."
His lips finally touched her skin, not in a kiss, but in a soft, open-mouthed press against the sensitive curve where her neck met her shoulder. A shudder wracked her body, violent and uncontrollable.
"This," he whispered, the word a warm caress against her damp skin,
"is your punishment."
Then, with a move that stole her breath, he swept her into his arms. One arm hooked behind her knees, the other banded around her back, lifting her as if she weighed nothing.
A small, strangled gasp escaped her. "Soren!"
He carried her the few steps to the bed, his crimson eyes never leaving hers, burning with an intensity that was both terrifying and intoxicating.
He laid her down with a deliberate gentleness that was somehow more unnerving than roughness would have been. Her head sank into the soft pillows, the sheer fabric of her gown swirling around her like a pale green cloud.
He stood over her for a long moment, a dark silhouette against the flickering firelight. He looked at her like a conqueror surveying a kingdom he had just won. Then, with impossible slowness, he knelt on the edge of the mattress.
The bed dipped with his weight, rolling her slightly towards him.
He reached out and, with a single finger, traced the delicate strap of her gown from her shoulder down to the bodice. The touch was feather-light, a trail of fire that left her trembling.
"This," he murmured, his gaze fixated on where his finger rested, just above the swell of her breast,
"is mine."