And without, except for a brief conversation a long bloody time ago that by no means had ended in a definite bloody decision, without discussion.
And further, without his permission.
He pulled in a deep breath to calm the fire in his chest.
This did not work.
Then he reminded himself his wife was of another world. Perhaps, in her world, females did this regularly.
But he could not fathom that. He could not fathom any world where such an integral discussion between any wife and her husband, especially considering the bloody conception of a gods damned child meant the continued peaceful rule of an entire, bloody kingdom, for the gods sakes, would not only happen between that wife and her gods damned husband but would be crucial.
And further, she was the one who introduced the subject in the first damned place. Clearly, in her world, this was discussed amongst partners and decisions made prior to any action.
He stared at the packet in his hand.
Pennyrium. Taken daily it very rarely failed to prevent a woman getting with child. And the longer it was utilized, the longer it took for its effects to clear after it was ceased. In some instances, when women had recklessly used it for years, it had made them infertile.
She could have chosen differently but then again, if she had, it would mean contacting a witch to cast a spell or speaking with him to convince him to wear a sheath something, admittedly, he had no bloody intention of doing with his damned wife especially since that wife was Finnie and he was not about to shield his sex from hers and thus have a bloody, gods damned barrier between them not to mention diminish the pleasure she gave him.
So she had decided on pennyrium.
Bloody hell.
Frey folded over the envelope and tucked it back in her trunk. Then he found his gloves and exited the room.
He did not, however, go outside to watch Finnie finish working with Annar and her bow.
No, he found the first of his men he could find, which was Oleg, then he ordered tersely, “Find Ruben and send him to me in my study immediately.”
Oleg grunted, jerked up his chin and moved away.
Frey went to his study which had a window that faced the back garden where Finnie, looking too tempting by half in her tight breeches with her skin now honeyed by the kiss of Hawkvale’s bright sun, was at the bow, her target now thirty feet away instead of the twenty where she’d started as she had improved and Annar felt he should increase her challenge.
Annar was standing behind her, Skylar at her side, his own target twenty feet away, his bow shorter and easier for him to wield.
Frey tossed his gloves on his desk and turned back to the window to watch his wife.
She was paying more attention to Skylar than her task, as she always did and watching it, Frey’s mouth grew tight.
She was brilliant with the boy and refused to leave him behind with the crew on his ship as Frey usually did. She had said she wanted his lessons to continue but this was nonsense. She wanted time to light those dark places the boy had haunting his soul.
And she did. She didn’t work miracles but she tended him gently, cautiously and regularly giving him just enough distance and closing in only when Skylar offered her a sign he was comfortable with her doing so.
Then, not long ago, all her careful tending broke through and the boy blossomed.
Hell, Frey heard their laughter while they were in this same bloody room not two bloody hours ago while she was working with him on his letters and numbers.
She’d make a brilliant gods damned mother. Why in the bloody hell was she dosing with pennyrium?
“Frey?” Ruben called his name and Frey turned from the window to see his man walking into the room.
“The door, Ben,” Frey ordered, Ruben stopped, gave him a look then turned back and closed the door before he walked into the room and stopped four feet from Frey.
“You don’t look happy,” Ruben observed.
“This would be because I am not,” Frey replied.
Ruben said nothing.