Fantasyland 01 Wildest Dreams (7 page)

I put out candleholders and filled them with
candles. I filled lamps with fuel and put those out too. I dragged
in a bunch of wood and replenished all the stocks and even found
this cool pulley thing which helped me load up a stack in the loft
(which I did and then I built a fire up there too).

I found a hunk of meat, a loaf of bread and
an enormous wedge of cheese. I sliced into all of it, made a huge,
honking sandwich and ate it, washing it down with a cup of the
fresh, clean, absolutely delicious and very cold water from the
pump.

I inventoried the kitchen and found milk in
a jug in a cupboard that jutted out of the house (natural fridge)
with lots of cheese, meat (some cooked, some raw), some sliceable
sausage (that smelled awesome), a slab of bacon, a bowl filled with
eggs and a big urn of butter. In the cupboards there were pots of
jam. There was also a jar of ground coffee (hurray!) and what
looked like an old-fashioned percolator to make it in. There was
loose tea. There was sugar. There was flour. There was a salt pig
(filled) and a pepper grinder (also filled). There were jars of
spices which I made stabs at guessing what they were with sniff
tests (oregano, basil, bay leaves, thyme, parsley, cayenne,
cinnamon and nutmeg). And there were big sacks of potatoes and
onions, smaller ones of oats and rice and a string of garlic.

I could totally work with this.

I was set.

At least for awhile.

I set about perusing my trunks and found
clothes, underwear, boots, delicate wool and cashmere stockings,
shoes and cloaks all a variety of fabrics and colors, all gorgeous,
all obviously expensive and exquisitely made and not meant to be
worn in a cabin in the middle of nowhere but… whatever. I also
found some seriously sexy nightgowns (again, my new husband was a
moron, the nightwear, as well as every single piece of underwear,
was freaking
amazing
).

I found sheets (lots of them), quilts,
throws and blankets (lots of those too) so I made up the bed. I
also found some china and silver, including an elegant, stunning
coffee service, these I put in the kitchen. There were also what I
guessed were towels and washcloths which I stacked on some shelves
I wiped down in the bathroom type place.

There was hair stuff, jewelry and makeup,
bath soap, scented powders, perfume and lotions. This entire small
(ish) trunk I also carted into the bathroom type place.

There was another trunk filled with
leather-bound books, some printed, some blank (journals?), elegant,
ice blue writing paper and envelopes, a wax candle and an
elaborate, silver seal to use to close the wax on the envelopes
(awesome!), a slim, silver quill pen and a couple bottles of ink. I
stocked the desk with these.

And there was even a trunk filled with
crystal: wineglasses of three shapes (white, red and flat bowled
champagne, two of each), stemmed aperitif glasses (also two) and,
overkill but definitely awesome, a beautiful crystal vase and I
knew the perfect use for that. I went out to the sleigh, fetched my
bouquet of twigs from the floor where it had fallen (as well as my
forgotten crown, though how I could forget my crown, who knew, but
I did), took them back to the house, shoved the twigs in the vase
and put it on the low table in front of the couch.

It looked good there. A touch of glitter, a
touch of beauty. Perfect.

The crown I set smack in the middle of the
mantel of the biggest fireplace, the one the furniture faced.

It looked good where it was too. But it
would look good anywhere.

All that I couldn’t use or needed to be
stored, I carefully packed back up and then lined the trunks where
they would look nice against the walls. Any empty trunks, I carted
to the front door so I could drag them to the stables tomorrow.

I had just loaded all the fires with more
logs, lit the candles and lamps and found some folded screens on
the back porch that were meant to sit in front of the fires to
catch sparks so I set them up and I was currently flat out on the
couch, exhausted, hungry again and trying to count how many times I
boiled water in that big, iron kettle on the stove when I realized
there I was.

Alone, in the middle of nowhere and far away
from my parents who I had spent a million dollars to see and who,
after seeing, didn’t like me.

“Fuck,” I muttered, staring into the
fire.

Well, at least that dickhead didn’t beat me,
which, dumping a princess in this hellhole without even seeing to
her animals, I knew he meant to do.

My horses were sheltered and fed. The
house was cleaned. I was hungry again but I was not eating not
because I couldn’t feed myself but because I was too freaking
exhausted to get up and go to the kitchen. I’d taken stock and I
was sitting pretty (
ish
). The house
was warm, the fires, lanterns and candles glowed and the couch was
seriously freaking comfy.

So I grabbed a soft, woolen throw I’d
unearthed from one of my trunks and tossed on the couch and I
pulled it over my body. Then I held my feet out in front of me and
used my toes on the heel of my boot, pushing down, down, down until
the thing slid off. Ditto the other boot.

Then I curled up and stared into the
fire.

Then I pulled in a deep breath.

Then I grinned.

“
Welp,” I whispered, “one could say this is
an adventure.
Definitely
.”

Then I fell into a dead sleep smiling.

* * * * *

The two dark figures shifted soundlessly
through the snow toward the cabin. Once there, they stopped at a
window and looked inside.

At what he saw, Frey Drakkar did a slow
blink and just stopped himself from muttering an expletive.

In eight short hours, the Winter Princess
had transformed his cabin. The bloody thing even had a crystal vase
filled with her wedding bundle on a table. The fires were burning
strong, every inch looked clean, there was a warm rug tossed over
one of the chairs and… he shifted to another window for a different
view, Thaddeus following him…
she
was
sleeping peacefully with an appealing grin on her unduly beautiful
face, her abundance of white-blonde hair scattered over the arm of
the couch, her delectable body covered in another warm
throw.

He shifted his gaze from her to the vase on
the table and something about that made his neck get tight as it
had done several times since her small hand wrapped around his fist
in the Dwelling of the Gods.

Princess Sjofn was not known to enjoy pretty
things. Princess Sjofn would throw such a bundle out. Definitely
her wedding bundle of adela tree twigs, regardless of how precious
they were. Princess Sjofn would not stuff them in a sparkling,
crystal vase and put them on display.

And Princess Sjofn had not once on the three
unpleasant occasions he’d spent time with her smiled at him. Or
joked with him. Or shown her ample and unfortunately spectacular
cleavage. He didn’t know she had that in her or that she could even
wear a dress without looking like her garments were boiled tar
poured on her skin.

At the very least not wear them without
looking like she was sucking lemons but wear them with grace and
float down the aisle toward him with the bearing of her mother, a
woman renowned throughout Lunwyn, hell, all of the Northlands, for
her refined manner.

He’s so into it, we could probably go sit
down or even go out, get a beer and come back and he’d still be at
it.

He heard her teasing words and saw her
smiling face and he suspected the Winter Princess was up to
something.

Something was not right.

He just had no idea what. What he did know
was that whatever that woman
was up to, he had no intention of falling prey to
it.

Her father was king, regardless of the fact
that his blood didn’t merit the throne. And King Atticus had
offered an immensely handsome dowry. The pull of both, Frey refused
for three years.

But King Atticus was anxious for a son so
the kingdom would be secure, going to Sjofn’s boy rather than King
Atticus’s brother, Baldur, who ruled Middleland, the country to the
south. Baldur was a known tyrant and a twat, even Atticus detested
him, everyone did.

This last, more than the trunks of Sjofn ice
diamonds, gold and the land Atticus had settled on him for
strapping him with his man-woman daughter was the reason why Frey
had finally agreed.

There was not anything Frey would not do for
Lunwyn, including marrying a guenipe even though he was urged
strongly not to do so by powers he should likely not ignore.

It was that and the fact that the blood of
Drakkar would sit the throne.

His son would be king. And Frey wouldn’t
have to wage war to dethrone Baldur or Baldur’s own woman-man son
should one of them succeed Atticus. Not to mention, Frey wouldn’t
have to settle his own seat on Lunwyn’s throne after he defeated
Baldur.

That would be a pain in the arse.
Absolutely.

Thaddeus whistled his surprise through his
teeth at the sights he beheld taking Frey out of his thoughts.

Frey ground his.

Then he moved away from the cabin, soundless
through the wood to where they had left their horses and Thaddeus
followed.

Without a word, they swung into their
saddles but Frey didn’t ride. He sat on his mount, Tyr, staring at
his cabin, smoke serenely drifting from four chimneys, a golden,
cheerful glow shining from the windows, his bloody
wife
asleep and dreaming of gods
knew what.

Frey glared at the house feeling something
unsettling then he looked at the windows.

They were opened, the curtains not closed to
shut out the cold.

His brows drew together.

The woman had it in her to clean and build
fires; this was a surprise and an annoying one. But Sjofn, Winter
Princess, who had every whim catered to but who clearly
demonstrated she had the wherewithal to fend for herself, would
therefore definitely draw the curtains to ward off the cold. Even
if she had been reclining, defeated, in his filthy hunting cabin,
being Lunwynian, she would know to close the curtains to shut out
the cold.

Thaddeus spoke, taking Frey from these
thoughts.

“
I must say, Frey, I wouldn’t give a gods
damn that one preferred tart.
That
was my new bride, she’d be tasting my cock either straight
through her mouth or because I was thrusting it so deep, she’d
savor it in her throat,” Thaddeus remarked quietly at his
side.

“Mm,” Frey murmured.

Frey felt his friend’s eyes. “You don’t
agree?”

“I’ve no idea where that mouth has been. Or
that cunt,” Frey replied.

“Must say, speaking true, I wouldn’t care
about that either,” Thaddeus returned.

Frey thought of her hair all over the
armrest, her smile, her cleavage.

Then he thought of her fervent return of his
kiss after they were wed, a return that made his blood heat and his
cock begin to get hard as her tongue played hungrily with his and
her arms glided around his neck, holding him tight. It wasn’t a
passable kiss. It wasn’t even good.

What it was, was the best embrace by far
he’d ever shared.

Something else that did not sit right for
that was something else that was
not
Princess Sjofn.

He’d been infuriated at her drunken
admission years ago when King Atticus had started his campaign to
win Frey Drakkar as his son-in-law. He’d been infuriated because
she was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen
and he wanted her the instant he saw her even, maybe
especially
because she was wearing
breeches.

His new wife had a spectacular arse and even
better legs.

Then he found out what she was.

Frey had no issue with guenipes.

But he wanted no wife who did not want him,
no matter her beauty.

But, after that kiss, after she’d
demonstrated how very well she could pretend, Frey had to admit,
Thaddeus’s words held merit.

“The ship awaits, Thad,” Frey muttered,
putting an end to their short conversation.

“Indeed, Frey,” Thad muttered back.

They turned their horses, touched heels to
flanks and they were away.

Welcome Home

Six weeks later…

“Woo hoo!” I cried, feeling the rush of cold
air coming in behind me as someone entered the pub.

I ignored it to crow my victory, my arms
straight up over my head and I grinned at the men sharing the table
with me before I dropped my arms and leaned in, pulling the pile of
coin toward me.

“Are you sure I taught you this game two
short weeks ago, Princess Finnie?” Laurel grumbled at me from my
right, watching his money come toward my big pile.

“Mm hmm, swear,” I nodded, turned my head,
lifted my hand to cross my heart and smiled big at him, “cross my
heart and hope to die.”

“Right,” Ulysses muttered from my left and I
swung my smile at him to see him smiling back showing me he held no
ill-will. Then again, we were playing for what was, essentially,
pennies so it wasn’t like they owed me the notes on their
cottages.

I reached for the rough deck of cards, my
fingers deftly organizing them in order to shuffle as I declared,
“My deal.”

“Make sure she doesn’t do it from the
bottom, Uly, she may be the mother of our future king but I don’t
put anything passed her,” Frederick, across from me, said to
Ulysses even though I knew he was kidding.

He liked me