Part 7: The Queen’s Final Humiliation
Seraphine attempted to escape during the confusion.
She made it as far as the northern staircase.
There, she discovered that losing her stolen magic had made her considerably less impressive.
Particularly when confronted by twelve armed guards and a furious palace cook.
The cook struck her with a frying pan.
Twice.
Freya later insisted the woman receive a medal.
Tairn suggested a promotion.
The cook requested a new frying pan.
Everyone was satisfied.
Almost everyone.
Three days later, Freya stood on the highest balcony of the palace.
The Black Mountains stretched towards the horizon.
Snow fell across their peaks.
For the first time in centuries, it did not melt before touching the palace walls.
Tairn stood beside her.
He wore a simple dark shirt.
No crown.
No armour.
No ceremonial sword.
Just a man.
A rather handsome man.
An annoyingly handsome man, if she was being precise.
“Do you regret it?” she asked.
He looked at her.
“What?”
“Giving up your immortality.”
He considered the question.
“I regret several things.”
Freya’s stomach tightened.
“Such as?”
“Not meeting you sooner.”
She rolled her eyes.
“That was dreadful.”
“I’ve been practising.”
“Clearly not enough.”
He smiled.
Then grew serious.
“Freya, I spent two hundred years believing power was the only thing keeping me alive.”
“And now?”
“Now I know I was merely surviving.”
She turned towards him.
He took her hand.
“I cannot offer you immortality.”
“Good. I’ve seen what it does to your complexion.”
“I cannot promise you a kingdom without enemies.”
“I’d be suspicious if you could.”
“And I cannot promise I will always be the man you deserve.”
Freya studied him.
“Well, that’s a terrible proposal.”
Tairn blinked.
“Proposal?”
She froze.
Oh.
Oh, damn.
He stared at her.
Then slowly smiled.
“Freya Vex. Are you asking me to marry you?”
“No.”
“You are.”
“I’m absolutely not.”
“You’re blushing.”
“It’s cold.”
“You’re standing beside a dragon.”
“A very small dragon.”
As though summoned, the little black creature poked its head out of Tairn’s coat.
It chirped.
Freya glared at it.
“Don’t you start.”
Tairn laughed.
Then he reached into his pocket.
And withdrew a ring.
Freya went silent.
It was simple.
Black gold, set with a small amber stone.
No enormous jewels.
No elaborate royal crest.
Just a ring.
“I had this made yesterday,” he said.
Her throat tightened.
“Yesterday?”
“I was going to wait.”
“For what?”
“Until I was certain you wouldn’t stab me.”
“That could take years.”
“I know.”
He took her hand.
“Freya, you stole my fire, my memories and what little peace I possessed.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You challenged me, insulted me, nearly got yourself killed and somehow made me want to become a better man.”
She blinked rapidly.
How inconvenient.
She was going to cry.
“I love you,” he said.
No grand declaration.
No ancient prophecy.
Just three words.
Freya looked at him.
The king who had ordered her execution.
The man who had surrendered his immortality to save her.
The impossible, infuriating creature who had somehow become the safest place she’d ever known.
“I love you too,” she whispered.
He smiled.
“Then will you marry me?”
Freya pretended to think.
“Will there be cake?”
“Yes.”
“Wine?”
“As much as you like.”
“And absolutely no executions during the reception?”
“I’ll do my best.”
She sighed.
“Fine. But I’m choosing the flowers.”
Tairn slipped the ring onto her finger.
Then kissed her.
Behind them, the little dragon sneezed.
A tiny flame caught the edge of Freya’s dress.
She yelped.
Tairn swore.
The dragon looked delighted.
Freya stamped out the fire.
Then stared at her future husband.
“One condition.”
“Anything.”
“That thing is sleeping on your side of the bed.”
