Tyr’s hooves pounded through the snow taking Frey Drakkar over the rise behind his hunting cabin and beyond, through the trees that grew thicker and thicker and into the heart of the forest, the part that was so dense, even Tyr and The Drakkar had to slow to navigate it.
Then they entered an opaque, drifting white mist that only The Drakkar and his steed could penetrate, any other human attempting it would be cast back.
The elves were present.
Tyr and The Drakkar moved through the thick stand of trees and heavy vapor and saw the light of the adela tree piercing the mist and shafting around the dark trunks of the forest well before they arrived at the clearing that held the wide, tall, sparkling adela with its many narrow branches rising straight from the stump, its bark glittering, its twirly-ended twigs profuse and shooting out to the sides and straight into the air.
The Drakkar pulled back on Tyr’s reins at the edge of the fifteen foot circular clearing surrounding the adela and dismounted. The elves were already there, moving to the adela, touching it’s bark at the base where the tree rose from the earth, instantly transforming from their diminutive size to human size – stopping at a height not near as tall as The Drakkar, but as tall as his winter bride.
Drakkar approached with Tyr’s jaw close to his shoulder and stopped halfway to the glittering, magical tree.
Nillen, Speaker of the Elves, moved instantly to him, stopping two feet away from his lord.
Then he bowed his head by tucking his chin to the side of the neck before his ice blue eyes, Drakkar’s new bride’s same eyes, moved to his lord.
“Thank you for coming, my lord, Frey Drakkar.”
“This had better be good, Nillen, I was ten minutes away from consummating my marriage when your elves arrived.”
Nillen’s lips tipped up at the ends and his eyes sparkled like icicles. “We have bad timing,” he murmured.
“Immensely bad,” Drakkar agreed on an impatient growl. Nillen’s lips tipped up further but The Drakkar wasn’t in the mood to share his amusement. “Your message?” he prompted.
Nillen held his eyes.
Then he whispered, “You know our message.”
This was true. Drakkar knew his message.
They were there to discuss his new bride.
A bride who smiled at him, laughed and joked. A bride who he woke up to curled tight around his body. A bride who quailed at the sight of a dead deer on her table when she’d not only brought down numerous in her time on this earth, she had cleaned them and stripped their hides. A bride who cooked food like she’d been doing it her entire life, rather than having it served to her already prepared at every meal from the time she stopped suckling her wet nurse’s breast. A bride who said strange words and uttered bizarre terms such as, “freaking out”, “ticking me off”, “flip me out”, “pissing me off” and “all that jazz” as well as “technicality”, “beejeezus”, “cool-as-shit”, “jerk” and “the next level”. A bride who wore dresses and perfume and made up her face doing the two former with natural ease and the latter with obvious practice when everyone in the realm knew she did none of these. A bride who had an immensely graceful bearing but an unreserved and friendly manner, again, something she’d never had before. A bride who did not know the difference between elves and fairies nor did she know her husband held elf magic and was immune to heat and cold although this had been known for century upon century as the House of Drakkar birthed Freys into their line. A bride who returned his kisses with exuberance, melted in his arms and grew immensely heated merely at his hand moving over her rounded arse. And a bride who moved nearly immediately to assist him in defense when she feared he faced danger then behaved with unbridled delight when speaking of the elves.
A bride who was most definitely not the Winter Princess Sjofn of the House of Wilde.
“My bride,” Drakkar grunted.
Nillen inclined his head.
“I assume,” Nillen started, “considering your reported…” he paused, “activities prior to my brothers and sisters’ arrival, she has touched you?”
“She has,” Drakkar confirmed.
“May I read?” Nillen asked and Drakkar tilted his chin up in an affirmative.
Nillen did not come closer but simply lifted his hand, laid it on Drakkar’s chest for a mere moment and then pulled it slightly away. A vaporous, ice blue handprint remained on The Drakkar’s chest even after the elf’s hand had moved away, sparkling, ice blue sinews stretching between The Drakkar and Nillen’s hand as he held it up.
Drakkar saw that Nillen’s eyes were closed as he took his reading then the connection was broken, the print on his chest fading when Nillen’s hand dropped and his eyes opened.
Then he smiled.
“She is indeed the Ice Bride,” he whispered and the elves in the clearing roused, the air filling with anticipation.
“Explain,” Drakkar ordered curtly.
“She is not of this world,” Nillen stated, Tyr shifted his bulk and butted his master’s shoulder with his jaw for his horse had long since communicated this same impression, indeed, the night of his wedding as she inexpertly (at first) drove her sleigh at his side.
The elves standing in the clearing continued to stir but Drakkar said nothing.