Freya blinked when she heard the voice. She didn’t need to hear him speak again to know it was Rowan. But what was he doing in a place like this? That was what she wanted to know. She tried to quickly stand up from his body, but Rowan’s hand around her waist didn’t budge.
"What are you doing here?" Rowan asked with a small frown, his eyes narrowing at the girl.
Freya’s brows knitted. That was supposed to be her line. And most importantly... "Let go of me," she said, trying to push his strong hands away.
"Oh... I’m sorry." Rowan finally let go. "I didn’t mean to... I’m sorry," he cleared his throat, moving his hand aside, giving her space to stand.
Freya stood up immediately, holding both hands to her chest. She tried to look anywhere but at Rowan’s face; she wasn’t sure she could handle his intense gaze. "I see you also came to find yourself a wife..." Her voice trailed off. She didn’t know how to feel about it because she came to do the same. Find a man that would replace him.
"What?" The frown on Rowan’s face deepened. After arriving in Avon the previous day, he had spent the entire night drinking and celebrating the arrival of the newborn. He wasn’t surprised to see Louis, and he knew it meant Freya was also at the palace. He was okay with seeing her, as long as she was safe, he thought to himself. Even if she hated him and didn’t want to see him, Rowan felt at ease knowing she was in safe hands now.
It wasn’t until midnight, while they were drinking, that General Malcolm suggested a place for them to hang out and enjoy the night. After everything that had happened in Eridor, and with Freya telling him to stay away, Rowan decided to go along with it. But even after arriving, a single smile hadn’t crossed his lips. He could see the faces of the women winking at him, trying to get his attention, but he just wasn’t in the mood.
It made Rowan wonder if he was doomed, if he’d never be able to look at any other woman besides Freya. The same girl who wanted nothing to do with him. Out of irritation, Rowan had angrily waved the organizers away. He couldn’t wait for the event to end so he could return home. When the door to the room he was in creaked open, he let out a tired sigh.
He was going to reject whoever the maiden was, even if he had been picked. This wasn’t where he wanted to be. All these thoughts were racing through his mind when the young woman’s fingers grazed his chest. He let out a forceful sigh, followed by a hiss. It sparked something inside of him. It felt like a touch he was used to, and yet he was sure he didn’t know this person.
It wasn’t until he fell into the chair with the girl on his body and heard her small, unmistakable voice. Even if Rowan were asleep, he would know Freya’s voice. The same voice that had once called his name in pleasure, he wouldn’t mistake it for anyone else. Except Freya had occupied his whole being, and she was all he could think about, even now. Her sweet scent, like a delicate flower he couldn’t quite name, made him want to inhale deeply.
He shocked himself by holding her closer, taking a deep breath of her scent. At first, Rowan felt disappointed. He had scared a stranger and perhaps given the wrong impression. But when he opened his eyes and exhaled, it was clear as day, the girl on his lap was Freya. When she tried to pull away from him, the urge to pin her down and claim her overwhelmed him. But Rowan remembered the look in Freya’s eyes that night, he had hurt her. He quickly let go.
Now, looking at her, dressed in a peach gown that complimented her skin tone and accentuated her curves, with her black hair cascading down her shoulders, her doe-brown eyes shining with curiosity, and the delicate curve of her lips, Rowan would do anything to trace them with his fingers again. He tried to control his irritation, wondering what she was doing in a place like this. So much so that when Freya asked him a question, he didn’t exactly hear her.
"I mean, the event... you," Freya fumbled with her fingers. This was the first time she had seen Rowan since that night. She wasn’t prepared and didn’t know how to act. "Ehm... I guess I’ll just leave."
Rowan nodded, picking up the shirt he had removed earlier. He followed behind her; he was done with the whole event. As they reached the door, Freya tried to push it open, but she couldn’t.
"Let me," Rowan’s voice echoed from behind. Without giving her a chance to argue, he pressed his body against hers before pushing the door open. "There..."
Freya could feel the sweat rising, not just on her face but between her legs. Danger. That was what Rowan did to her body. He wasn’t supposed to be near her. When she wanted to be rational, she didn’t need Rowan around. Lifting the hem of her dress, Freya bolted out of the room.
The first person to see her was the man organizing the event. "Oh, lady. Did you meet the ruffian? What do you think- why is your face red?"
Freya rubbed her warm palm across her face, silently chanting a song in her head to keep her thoughts straight. She couldn’t believe what a few minutes with Rowan could do to her. "He... um... I—"
"There he is... Sir, are you going with the lady..." The man in charge called after Rowan, but Rowan didn’t stop or even glance at Freya. He exited the place.
Freya’s eyes followed him until he disappeared through the door. She tapped the man in charge gently on his shoulder. "If he doesn’t get picked, what will happen?"
"Well, he can either choose to leave, but I doubt a man like him won’t get picked. Most of the ladies have had their eyes on him since he arrived. Though he’s not looking friendly at all, I’m sure he’ll get picked eventually," the man replied, opening the book he was using to record names.
"It’s a shame you don’t like him. I’ll find someone else for you. Living with a man can help you in many ways, you know. You’ll get to understand him, and who knows—it might lead to marriage?" The man continued, using his quill to trace the names in the book.
Freya pressed her lips together. She couldn’t imagine Rowan living with another woman. But there was nothing she could do at this point. She gave the man a small bow and left the room. It was bound to fail anyway, trying to choose another man to forget Rowan.
When Freya stepped outside, her eyes quickly caught a glimpse of Madame Rosalie, but she wasn’t alone, and she wasn’t smiling.
"Malcolm, did you come here searching for a wife?"
Freya’s eyes settled on General Malcolm, who was trying his best to explain, with Rowan standing behind him.
"Wait... everyone thinks you don’t have any interest in women. Was it all a lie?" Madame Rosalie narrowed her eyes, placing her hands on her hips.
General Malcolm sighed, turning to look at Rowan. "Women..." he muttered under his breath, but his words didn’t sit well with Madame Rosalie.
"Oh... now it’s women... Malcolm, do you really think I don’t like you?"
Freya arrived at the scene. She gave Malcolm a small bow, then turned to Madame Rosalie. "Maybe we should take this back to the palace. We’re causing trouble." She glanced at the small crowd that had gathered around them. She raised her brows, signaling Rowan to help stop the fight.
Rowan looked away, as if not understanding what she was asking. With his hand dipped inside his trouser pocket, he continued to watch Madame Rosalie and Malcolm.
Madame Rosalie scoffed, reaching into her pocket to pull out a pipe, ready to light it, but Malcolm took it away.
"Rosalie, you promised to stop," he said softly, worry laced in his voice.
Madame Rosalie clicked her tongue. "I didn’t expect to see you here, Malcolm. I am sad."
"Okay, let me explain," Malcolm started, letting out a deep sigh. "I just wanted to join the festival. I’ve heard about it... Rosalie, it’s not that I don’t like you... I really do. You’re a great woman who deserves so much love."
His words seemed to calm Madame Rosalie, as her expression softened. "Let’s talk about it on our way back." She dragged Malcolm toward the carriage, completely forgetting about Freya.
"Wait! We came together!- Madame Rosalie!" Freya shouted, ready to chase after them, but they were already leaving. She halted, and when she turned, she saw the women now surrounding Rowan.
"Has anyone picked you?"
"Did you get a maiden to choose you yet?"
Freya stood there, watching as all the other women’s attention was on Rowan. Thinking about him being soft with other women, cooking for them, and pleasing them didn’t sit well with her at all. But what could she do after telling him to stay away? And with all these women now gathered around him.
Madame Rosalie’s earlier words echoed in Freya’s mind. She wasn’t supposed to let other women intimidate her. But even if she joined them, what if Rowan rejected her? Freya sighed, ready to turn around and leave. But then she remembered how Rowan had always come back to claim her, even after all the hurtful things she’d said to him. Maybe this time, she should fight for him.
Taking a step closer to where Rowan and the women were gathered, Freya clapped her hands, calling for attention.
"I already picked him," she shouted loud enough for all to hear. "He’s mine." Freya was surprised by her own confidence. When the crowd fell silent, she hiccupped.
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