Instead, I would wear the color of the House of Drakkar, blood red.
And that I was, a blood red satin gown that hugged my body tight from ample cleavage to hips then flowed to my feet with a small train at the back. It was liberally and artistically decorated with hundreds of thousands of polished jet beads, heavy around the bodice but lightening as it skimmed my body and becoming only a sprinkle at the hem.
The gown didn’t have long sleeves but was off the shoulder with short, thin straps that made the bodice a sweep across my exposed cleavage and shoulders.
I had on long, black silk gloves that went up high on my triceps and, over the gloves at each wrist, was a tangle of strand after strand of jet beads. At my neck was a choker of more strands of beads, the same dangling from my ears. My makeup was done in deep colors, charcoal grays and blacks at the eyes and raspberry at the lips and cheeks. And my hair was swept up elegantly but softly in curls and twists.
But the best of all was the headpiece.
Mother had told me when a Drakkar queen sat the throne, she didn’t wear a crown. She wore somewhat what I was wearing.
A headpiece made of woven and dangling jet beads that covered my forehead from hairline to nearly eyebrow with dips of it coming to the bridge of my nose and down my temples. This disappeared into my hair at the sides but was woven through the curls and twists.
It… was… awesome.
The whole thing was.
Though, it had to be said, the dress was super tight and weighed a ton and that headpiece thing, albeit cool-as-shit, was kind of annoying. However, I figured I’d get used to it and hopefully be having so much fun, I wouldn’t even notice it.
“Oh, Finnie, you look beautiful,” Bess breathed and I smiled because, silently, I agreed.
Usually, I could take my looks or leave them. Mom had taught me how to play to my strengths, thick hair, unusual eyes, burgeoning curves (before she left me, they’d burgeoned since) and I did it without thought.
Truthfully, I would never have guessed that red would look good on me but with the dark makeup and the jet beads, my hair seemed shiny white and the blue of my eyes was stark.
So now I thought I looked fabulous.
I took another moment before joining Frey to embrace each of my girls and say quick, heartfelt words of thanks before I rushed (trying not to look like I was rushing) out of the dressing room and into the bedroom while taking in a soft breath. I was looking forward to Frey’s reaction because it was safe to say my husband thought I was beautiful (since he’d told me this more than once) and I couldn’t wait to see what he thought of this.
I got three feet into the room when I stopped. Vaguely, I noticed his eyes come to me and he did what he often did when he first saw me, his body arrested and his eyes locked on me.
But I was too busy taking him in to note his reaction.
Holy moly.
I’d never seen him in anything but his so dark brown it was nearly black clothing.
But now he wore all black. Black breeches, polished black boots and a black shirt with puffy sleeves and a high collar that covered his neck nearly to his earlobes, tied with a cravat. This old-fashioned getup might look ridiculous on any other man but absolutely did not on him. He had a shined, black leather strap on a slant across his chest to which was attached not to a rough hide but instead a length of high-quality black wool that hung at a slant on the back and, where it ended at the backs of his calves, there was a short edge of glossy black fur. His thick, dark hair had been swept back, his strong jaw was shaved and he looked so beyond handsome, for a second, I couldn’t breathe.
When I could, I whispered, “Hi,” and he blinked.
Then he moved to me, leaned in, grabbed my hand, tucked it in his elbow and muttered, “We’re late, we mustn’t delay.”
I felt the air in the room change and could almost swear I heard the whoosh of five balloons of deflated excitement whizzing around the room like they’d just been struck by a pin.
“Right,” I whispered as Frey led me swiftly to the door and then I turned my head and aimed a smile at my girls. “Thanks ladies, see you in the morning before we go.”
“Right, Finnie, see you,” Alyssa called, looking almost, but not quite, as disappointed as I felt.
“Have fun,” Esther called.
“I will,” I assured her.
Jocelyn and Bess both waved, Jocelyn’s disappointed eyes on me, Bess’s on Frey.
Then out the door we went and Frey moved us quickly down the hall toward the stairs.
We were headed to the third floor.
The Palace was enormous, the first floor filled with official function rooms in one wing such as drawing rooms, a study, a formal dining room, a formal morning room and the like and in the other wing, places where family gathered such as a less formal dining room, a billiards room, a library and a conservatory. The first floor also had the kitchens and laundry. The second floor was filled with living space for family and guests, bedrooms, dressing rooms, personal sitting rooms, sewing rooms and such. The fourth floor held the servants’ quarters.
But the third floor was where the function rooms were and there were only three. The middle where the stairs led was a huge hall, down the center of which were five, large, gleaming dark wood tables which, for the party, would hold massive displays of blooms from the Palace’s greenhouses (there were four gargantuan greenhouses where the Palace gardeners grew everything from flowers and plants to adorn the house, to vegetables and fruits forced to grow out of season in order to feed its occupants and guests – they even had apple, pear, plum and peach trees in one, lime, lemon, grapefruit and orange in another and tangles of blackberry and raspberry vines in yet another).
Off the function hall to one side was a ballroom that was a wide open space lined with chairs intermixed with small tables with a rise for an orchestra at one end. Off the hall to the other side was a long open gallery that had walls covered with portraits of past kings and queens of Lunwyn but mostly Winter Princes or Princesses, in other words, those who inhabited the Palace prior to assuming the throne, and their wives or husbands and children.
This was where we were heading now and I saw two liveried footmen wearing deep red sweaters, dark brown leather shorts, high boots, brown mantles at a slant across their backs and brown leather gloves standing at the landing from the second to third floor guiding people up and down and cutting off access to the living quarters.
As I saw the brilliant colored gowns and curious faces peeking around the footmen toward Frey and myself, I looked away and up at my husband to see his jaw was hard.
Then I stared at his jaw, realizing something had pissed him off.
Shit. He was angry about the wait.
Shit! I didn’t want to go to the Gales with a pissed off Frey. I didn’t want to go anywhere with a pissed off Frey.
So before we made it to the footmen, I pulled back slightly on his elbow and slowed my step. He looked down at me, brows drawn and I saw on Frey’s scale of one to ten of how angry he could be, he was resting, my guess, at around a two.
This was good.
“Can I have a second?” I asked softly, he stopped us, looked to the stairs then back at me before he turned toward me.
“Finnie, the Gales started nearly two hours ago,” he reminded me.
“I know but…” I moved closer to him and tipped my head back further, “I just wanted to apologize before we got there for being late and making you wait and –”
I stopped talking when his hand lifted and curled around my neck and his expression instantly changed to show that my apology made him totally drop off the angry scale.
Phew. This was also good.
Then he stated, “Wee one, it was me who made us late, why are you apologizing?”
“You seem angry,” I told him.
“I’m not angry about waiting,” he told me.
“Are you angry at all?” I asked.
“No,” Frey answered, I peered clo
ser at him and saw this was true.
Still, I could have sworn I saw it earlier.
Therefore, I informed him, “You looked angry a second ago.”
“I wasn’t angry,” he replied.
Well, he was something and, by the by, he hadn’t commented on my fabulous dress and that was not Frey. Three days ago, when I’d walked up to him talking with Thad and Oleg while wearing a silvery white wool gown that was sweet, but wasn’t close to my best, he’d told me right in front of his men that I looked lovely then he’d swiftly finished his talk with the guys, took me to our rooms and took it off me.
Therefore, I stated, “You were something.”
He sighed then said, “Finnie, we must –”
My eyes narrowed on his, which I could see, just barely, but I could see were hiding something and I leaned closer, cutting him off as it hit me. “You’re hiding something.”
“Finnie –”
“What?”
“Fin –”
I put a hand on his chest, got up on the toes of my red satin, jet-beaded-pointed-toed slippers and asked, “What’s upset you, Frey?”
He kept hold of my eyes. Then he dipped his face closer to me.
Then he said, “You wear the colors of Drakkar.”
I blinked. Then I asked, “What?”
He didn’t repeat himself. Instead he replied, “I was wrong when I told you I didn’t have a favorite color. My favorite colors are your colors.” I blinked as my heart skipped a beat and Frey continued, “I prefer you in your whites, your silvers, your grays and definitely your blues.” I stared, thinking he really paid attention at the same time my belly got really warm at his words then he kept talking. “What I do not like to see you in is the red of Drakkar.”
My belly grew instantly cold, I rolled back to the soles of my feet, surprised and, I had to admit, dejected.
“I wore this for you,” I whispered. “Mother said –”
His hand at my neck squeezed lightly and he whispered back, “I know, wee one and I appreciate the gesture. But that does not change the fact that I dislike you in the color of my House.”
Oh God.
Of course not. Why was I so stupid? I knew he had nothing to do with his House. I should never have listened to Mother.
I turned my eyes away and muttered, “Hells bells, I screwed up.”
“Finnie, look at me, love,” he called with another squeeze of his hand and my eyes went to his. “I do not associate with my House.”
I nodded and admitted, “I know, I heard. That’s how I screwed up.” I leaned further into him. “I’m so sorry, Frey.”
He shook his head. “Don’t be sorry. Your gesture is touching and your mother knows what she’s doing. This does not mean I like it.”
I blinked and asked, “My mother knows what she’s doing?”
He nodded and then imparted information on me that made my lungs seize.
“There will be members of my House up there. My parents, assuredly. My cousin Franka, considering the level and nature of her curiosity, almost definitely. Perhaps even my brothers though I have not heard word they’re attending.”
The news of his cousin was alarming, the news of his brothers also, but I was frozen at news of his parents.
“Your parents are upstairs?” I breathed.
“Undoubtedly,” he confirmed.
“Your parents are upstairs,” I repeated on a breath.
“Finnie –”
I pulled away from his hand at my neck, grabbed it and tugged him five feet back down the hall. Then I stood with my back to the landing and hissed, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
God. His parents. I would soon be meeting Frey’s parents!
God!
I looked freaking great but I wasn’t ready for this.
“Finnie –”
I interrupted him. “You can’t… you can’t just… just… spring this on a girl five minutes before she meets your parents!”
His hands, both of them this time, curled around my neck and he bent so his face was close when he said gently, “Wee one, calm down.”
“Calm is not an option, Frey,” I told him, panic clear in my voice. “Your parents are upstairs!”
“They are,” he confirmed again.
“And your cousin!” I went on.
“Finnie, my love –”
“And, possibly, your brothers!” Now I was working myself up into a state.
“Fin –”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I semi-shrieked, the words coming out slightly shrill, slightly loud and definitely panicked therefore Frey let me go but grabbed my hand and pulled me back down the hall another five feet. Then he stopped and resumed our positions, this time turning me so his back to the stairwell.
“I didn’t tell you, my wee Finnie, for this exact reason. I knew you’d react this way. You care, you want to make a good impression, you twist yourself into knots to make your father proud of you, you sit with your mother while she embroiders when I know you’d rather be anywhere but there, doing something, meeting people, gaming, shopping, eating, chatting. Now, you’re anxious and I’d rather you be anxious for the second it takes you to control your emotions and move forward being charming the moment you meet them then tell you days ago so you could work yourself up and spend your days in this state.”
I glared at him as it hit me this was kind of nice and definitely thoughtful.
“You know, it’s annoying when you’re thoughtful and I’m geared up to be pissed at you,” I snapped, the unsettled look went out of Frey’s eyes and he grinned.
Then he bent closer and touched his lips to my nose and moved back.
That was also thoughtful because it was soothing and sweet.
Damn the man.
Then he said, “Since you now know, I’ll brief you further.”
“That’d be nice, Frey,” I said on a sigh, trying to keep up the glare and failing.
He grinned again, totally seeing I was failing at my endeavors to remain pissed and his hands dropped from my neck to rest at my waist.
Then his face got serious and I braced.
“If you know I have nothing to do with my House then you likely know I do not care for my parents. Therefore, I do not care what they think of you. I know how I think of you and their thoughts matter nothing to me.”
Well, this was good.
“Okay,” I replied.
His fingers gave me a squeeze and he went on. “But the House of Drakkar holds wealth and wealth means power. Their influence has dwindled over the years but money can buy nearly anything. Your mother arranging that you wear their colors is a statement that says that, upon our marriage, it was not simply me accepted into the House of Wilde, but you also entered the House of Drakkar. She is saying you are one of them. She is attempting to make that point clear.”
I felt my brows knit and I asked, “Why would she do that?”
“Because she wishes to build an alliance. Power is power no matter who wields it. The members of the House of Drakkar spend a great deal of time and effort fighting amongst themselves but the way they are, that does not mean they do not have plenty of time to devote to engaging in hostility to others. You wearing the colors of my House is not only an homage to my House, it is also publicly stating to all Houses that you are now a Drakkar. It is a clever ploy. She is reminding them that Drakkars have a member of their House, no matter how distant he is with his brethren, who will eventually be father to the next king of Lunwyn. With you wearing their colors, your mother is also reminding them that his bride, a Wilde and now a Drakkar, will be the mother of our future king and should be treated with the respect she deserves for all those reasons.”
I stared up at him in mild surprise and asked, “They wouldn’t treat me with respect?”
“My wee one,” Frey said gently, “with my family, there is no telling what they will do.”
Hmm.
Well, the good news was, Mother wasn’t stupid, though I’d alread
y pretty much sussed that.
“As clever as it was of your mother and as fetching as that dress is on you, I still don’t like you wearing Drakkar red,” he muttered, his eyes having moved down to my middle.
“Frey, honey,” I called and his gaze moved back to mine, “I’m sorry it bothers you so I suggest you don’t think of me wearing this color and instead,” I leaned into him, smiled and whispered, “think of taking it off later.”
Frey’s arms wrapped around my back and he bent his neck deep to reply low through his own smile, “This is an excellent idea.”
I pressed into him; he got my hint and touched his mouth to mine. Though, clearly he didn’t read the hint correctly because it was only a touch and not more.
When he lifted his head, he sighed and murmured, “Let us face the Gales.”
“Okay,” I murmured back, he smiled again, let me go, grabbed my hand and led me back to the staircase.
We moved up the stairs and as we did I caught eyes and gave smiles and when Frey caught eyes, he gave chin lifts.
People had been arriving for the Gales for days and, normally, Sjofn would be amongst them as a number of them were guests at the Palace. For the past three days, Mother and Father had both been attending large breakfasts, luncheons and dinners with Father taking meetings in between.
But to protect me, Frey had made the decision I would not be involved in these and, further, stringently kept separate from the guests primarily because most of the people I was supposed to know and I didn’t. He didn’t want to be away from my side when these things happened and he had no intention of attending engagement after engagement. And since Father and Mother’s attention would be turned to hosting their guests, it was without a doubt I’d flub up, repeatedly. Therefore, guests were informed (not untruthfully) that Frey and I were otherwise engaged (the inference not lost on anyone, I was sure) and thus not participating in these events but that we would attend the Gales.
It wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, having smiling and knowing glances coming my way from every direction as my husband and I made our way to the hall on the third floor. Especially since we were two hours late, something which spoke volumes but… whatever. It would have been worse having to pretend I knew people and fumbling through conversations with old friends and acquaintances that were nothing of the sort.