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 already 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.
As we alighted the stairs, I saw I was not wrong about the tables in the hall. Huge, round vases stuffed full of spiked white gladiolas festooned the center of each table all of which were laid with silver trays covered in food. They did not have vol-au-vents, mini-quiches and meatballs on a stick. They had (amongst many other things) what looked like puff pastry stuffed with melted cheese, massive tiger prawns baked with slivers of prosciutto rolled around them, corners of thin toast covered thick in pâté and gherkins sliced lengthwise, crackers covered in what looked like cream cheese and caviar and hunks of meat and fish with small crystal glasses filled with tiny silver, two-pronged forks set beside them. And this didn’t even get into the trays of bite-size pastries and cakes on offer.