Fantasyland 01 Wildest Dreams (56 page)

When he controlled his hilarity, he
remarked, “Well, it is said now, thank the gods.”

“Yes,” I bit my lip and stared up at his
handsome face. “It is,” I continued on a whisper. “And it’s funny
because the first moment I saw you, you terrified me.” I watched a
shadow pass over his face and instantly I lifted my hand to rest
against his cheek and went on, “But looking at you now I cannot for
the life of me understand why.” I slid my thumb along his
cheekbone, pulled in a light breath and said it again, “I love you,
Frey Drakkar.”

His eyes closed and his forehead dropped to
rest against mine before he opened his eyes again, stared into mine
and replied, “And I you, Finnie Drakkar.

I circled him with my arms and rolled into
him so we were on our sides, face to face. Then I held him tight as
he returned the favor.

“So much,” he murmured belatedly, “I’ll
never stop loving you, my winter bride. Not ever. You, everything
about you is beyond my wildest dreams.”

I closed my eyes hard as those words settled
around my heart and I shoved my face in his throat and pressed my
body deep, held on tighter and my strong husband absorbed my fierce
embrace.

Then I smiled against his skin because at
that moment, I rocketed straight up and hit the bell with a loud
clang at the bliss end of the happiness scale, embedding myself in
a way I knew would be forever.

* * * * *

Valentine Rousseau’s eyes opened and she
stared at the dark ceiling.

Then she slid out of bed, leaving the young,
slumbering, firm, naked, male form in it.

Bending gracefully, her red-tipped fingers
tagged the slip of green silk and lace off the floor. She pulled it
over her head and the soft material slithered down her body.

Then she moved out of her bedroom, down the
hall and to the room with the salmon-colored walls. She did not
bother herself with turning on a light but glided across the room
and stood at the small, round table on which the large, clear,
smooth, round crystal sat on top of a bed of jade green silk.

The tips of her fingers skimmed the ball and
instantly a wisp of jade smoke curled inside the crystal.

She stared at its glow through the dark and
felt her mouth grow tight.

Just as she thought.

What she didn’t understand was why she
cared. Cared so much it woke her.

“
Annoying,” she murmured as the smoke
twisted, coiled and curved. “Why are lovers so… very…
obtuse?
” she
asked the ball, it had no answer so she went on, “Especially
men.
”

Valentine took in a delicate, displeased
breath.

Always misunderstandings, never enough
communication, expectation, pride, blind faith.

Not to mention, making life-altering
decisions without even considering whose life it would be
altering.

It was ridiculous.

Valentine studied the smoke, sighed and
thought of Seoafin, her goddess of love.

Really, she should simply let it play out,
wash her hands of it; there was nothing she could do. The magic
binding Seoafin there was so strong, even Valentine couldn’t break
it and, unusually, she expended some effort to find an answer to
this dilemma, though, admittedly, not much. Valentine Rousseau
rarely expended effort on anything someone didn’t compensate her
for, except, of course, one of her toys.

She
definitely
expended effort on her toys.

And anyway, Seoafin Wilde meant nothing to
her.

She meant nothing to her.

And yet, not once but too many times these
past nearly five months, Seoafin Wilde’s adventures reached across
the worlds and tugged Valentine from her slumber.

She stared at the smoke and while doing so
it came to her that it had been quite some time since she herself
had an adventure.

And even longer since she’d delighted in the
pleasurable pastime of meddling.

And truthfully, this Raider, Valentine
thought, had it coming.

Though she had to admit, she did wish such
a specimen would be open to her penchants. A toy such as him would
be… she drew in a wistful breath…
delicious
.

Alas, such as him, she had found, didn’t
tend to like the way Valentine played.

She stared at her crystal ball
deliberating.

Then she decided she’d give him time, not
much but perhaps enough to rectify his mistakes and she did this
having little doubt that gorgeous creature could do it.

If he didn’t…

Well, Valentine would.

Every girl deserved true bliss.

No, this was not true. Many of today’s
tedious girls did not. The mere existence of boy bands proved this
fact irrefutably.

But girls like Seoafin Wilde did.

Valentine sighed as she shook off her
uncharacteristically soft, romantic thoughts.

She was losing her touch.

She needed to find it again.

Her thoughts moved to the young, naked,
firm, male form asleep in her bed and, in the dark, Valentine
smiled her cat’s smile.

Then her fingertips skimmed the cold crystal
again and the smoke vanished.

The Measure of a Princess

Three weeks later…

With our usual posse of Frey’s men, Tyr
galloped through Snowdon as I sat on the steed held tight to my
husband’s front, watched the city go by and realized I was
wrong.

Bellebryn was not the most beautiful place
I’d ever seen.

Snowdon was.

Snowdon, the capital of Lunwyn and where my
mother and father lived, was a city like Sudvic, huge and
sprawling. But it was not skirting a bay and nestled in hills, it
spread across a valley and up the sides of white, snowy mountains.
Its tall, densely built buildings were made of white stone capped
with snow covered roofs dripping sparkling icicles, their doors
painted in dove grays, creams or the lightest blues or lilacs. Its
winding roads were cobbled in creamy stones that, like Sudvic, had
been cleared of snow. As we rode through the city, we passed many
snow-blanketed parks from large and rambling, to small and square
in which there were twinkling fountains, white monuments, grand
cream-colored statues of the gods, dragons or past kings, queens,
Drakkars or Freys and in one I saw an iced over pond where people
were skating.

Frey told me (and I noted he was right as we
rode over four bridges) there were three rivers snaking through the
city. And as we rode over them or beside them I saw their water was
glistening and clear, their banks shimmering with ice, their rock
beds glittering as if covered in fairy dust. Over these rivers were
arched, ornate, cream-colored bridges with tall white-painted
streetlamps rising from the balustrades. One river was much larger
than the other two and flowed from a valley between two mountains
fed from, Frey also told me, the Winter Sea.

Unlike Sudvic, which seemed working class
from what I had seen, and Fyngaard, which was entirely
cosmopolitan, Snowdon had working class areas and the pubs, shops
and businesses that tended to those classes as well as posh areas
with the cafés, restaurants and shops that catered to the more
affluent. You could easily assess the status of those who lived in
the dwellings in the different areas, the tall, narrow buildings
that were likely apartments or row houses of the lower classes and
then, as we rode from the outskirts to the more elite inner city,
the stately, extensive homes and even mansions with the crystalline
frost on their windows and window boxes filled with carefully
tended miniature evergreens.

And best of all, built into the side of the
mountain and overlooking the entirety of the city was Rimée Keep, a
frost-colored castle that somehow shimmered in the sun. It had an
abundance of conical roofs that had long, thin, red and gold
diamond-patterned pennants drifting across the sky attached to
short flagpoles. These were over circular turrets of which there
was also an abundance. The façade had stone-balustrade balconies
and blinking, diamond-paned windows with shutters painted a gray so
light it was almost indecipherable from white. The front of the
Keep was landscaped with tall white-painted lanterns and taller,
lush, long-needled fir trees. Leading up to what had to be
three-story, arched, double doors was a sweeping staircase that
looked to be carved from ice and up both sides were green, tapered
miniature pine trees. And at the front of it all, even from far
away I could see the massive, twinkling, five-tiered fountain with
flowing, crystal clear waters.

The whole city with its white and cream
stone, muted colors and evergreens all coated with glimmering snow
and dripping with icicles looked like it had sprung up magically
from the snow.

It was bloody
fantastic.

We made it to the Keep (me, with my lips
parted in shock at its beauty, Frey, probably not noticing it) and
Frey led Tyr around the fountain as his men on their horses
positioned themselves around the drive. It was then I stopped
looking at the Keep and instead saw Mother and Father emerging from
the double doors followed by my girls.

My heart squeezed and my mouth smiled
huge.

Frey stopped Tyr and dismounted. Reaching up
to grab hold of my waist, he pulled me down and the minute my feet
touched the ground I dashed up the icy steps which were not, by the
way, ice, I just didn’t know what they were.

Two steps down from my parents, I dropped
into a full on curtsy and waited to hear my father mutter, “Rise,
daughter,” then I shot to my feet, ran up the last two steps and
threw my arms around him.

On impact, he rocked back on a foot and I
knew he was surprised because he hesitated before his arms closed
around me. But when they did, they did it tight.

“Missed you,” I whispered into his neck,
holding on just as tight.

“And I you, my Finnie,” he whispered back on
a light squeeze.

Then, still whispering, I told him, “I got a
bulls-eye.”

His body stilled for a moment then he pulled
back slightly, I did too and I looked up in his surprised but
delighted eyes and felt my belly warm.

“Indeed?” he asked.

I nodded then leaned in and said quietly,
“From thirty feet.” His eyes widened and I grinned then went on, “I
only got the one but I’m definitely better. I can’t wait to show
you.”

I saw a shadow pass over his face before he
hid it, I felt a corresponding shadow pass through my mind but he
quickly said, “And I cannot wait to see, daughter.”

Before I could ask after the shadow, I heard
“Finnie,” and turned my head to Mother who was watching us with an
expressionless face but soft eyes.

I moved from Atticus’s arms to Aurora’s as I
heard the murmured greetings between Frey and Father.

Mother’s hug was not as tight but it was
just as warm. I couldn’t say how she pulled that off; I could just
say that she did.

“
From what I could tell riding in,” I
whispered in her ear, “we’ve got
tons
of shopping to do.”

Her arms went from around me but she didn’t
let me go. Holding my biceps in a firm grip, she caught my eyes,
her lips tipped up and her fingers squeezed.

“There is much I wish to show you,” she said
softly. “And I look forward to doing it.”

I grinned at her, her lips tipped up more
then her eyes flitted to Atticus and Frey and I saw a shadow pass
over her face too as she let me go and I moved out of the way for
Frey to lean in and touch her cheek with his bearded lips.

“We must go in, get you warm,” Father
muttered, Mother nodded and they wasted no time turning and heading
up the steps. And when I say wasted no time, I mean they looked to
be hurrying.

Frey slid an arm along my shoulders and
guided me up the steps. I glanced at his profile and saw his gaze
was locked on the king and queen’s backs and I knew he, too,
thought something was up. Then I looked away as we alighted the top
of the steps because Jocelyn, Bess, Alyssa and Esther were all
standing to the side of the two, tall double doors and they were
all grinning at me.

I smiled back, gave them a low wave and
whispered, “Hey ladies,” as we approached and their grins got
broader. Then they dropped down in curtsies as we walked
passed.

We made it through the double doors which
were closed by a footman against the cold the minute my girls swept
through. Then I took a look around and tried not to react to the
beauty of the inside of Rimée Keep which impossibly rivaled the
outside.

There was no dark wood here. There was no
darkness at all. There were tons of windows through which the sun
shone through. The walls and floors of the inside were made of the
same frosted stone that strangely and magnificently glittered but
inside there were carvings of pine boughs and cones in the stone,
these could be seen around arched beams and at the casements of the
windows. The vast slabs of stone that made up the floors were cut
with thick pile carpets in mellow, muted colors all of which had a
low sheen that I knew meant they were made of silk. Many of the
walls were covered in enormous, intricate tapestries depicting
mountain scenes or views of Snowdon or the Keep. The furniture was
not heavy and dark like at the Palace but it was lacquered in an
eggshell white, dripping carved lacework looking elegant and
refined. And there was a wide stone staircase with a muted carpet
runner and a carved stone balustrade, all of it curving up the side
of a circular turret that rose right in the middle of the Keep.

I didn’t get a chance to take much in,
however, for Atticus and Aurora were walking swiftly through the
vast entry hall that seemed to sweep the Keep from side to side
(and I was right about the front doors, the ceiling was at least
three stories tall and vaulted with carved arches and latticework
that were extraordinary, even at a glance). At the end of the hall,
my parents turned and walked through another set of double
doors.