The Lioness Queen

By Joni Mitchell

A fifteen-year-old girl lost her father and now lives with her new stepfather and mum. She overhears her stepfather’s evil plans for her and runs away. She runs into a world of people she had no idea existed. She is discovered to be the fated mate of identical quintuplets. Not only is their father the king of this world, but he also knows her to be a threat—a threat he has to remove if he wants to keep his crown. She runs from one prison into another she never could have imagine existed. Will she find a way free, or will she fall deeper into bondage?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662464997

Book preview

Chapter One

Runaway Freyja

France

December 1, 1514

Freyja

Freyja Annalise Norse sits somberly on the overstuffed red sofa in the richly decorated parlor. There is a chair at the end of the long table filled with a massive amount of deep-colored fabrics. The chair appears more golden than a gold coin itself.

Lady Nagah Gilmore has Freyja fitted in the most beautiful blue dress that she has ever known to exist. The hem of her dress is stitched with a red thread, as bright as the sunshine. On her hands are red lace gloves to match the red thread of her gown.

She is trying to cheer herself up and get her mind off the papa she had just lost. She rises from the large sofa to explore the long table of fabrics. This has become sort of a routine for Freyja since moving to France with her mum.

The multitude of rich colors and different prints always give her something to study and draw her thoughts from the papa she will never see again. The papa who was the only person who really saw her and not her tainted colored skin. The papa she loved. The papa she still loves, she tells herself.

The table is always filled weekly with different fabrics. As she walks the table and runs her fingers along the various fabrics, she hears voices from behind the curtains that hang behind the table.

The voices are all too easy for Freyja to recognize. There is Lord Gilmore, Freyja’s new steppapa and the reason she was dragged to France to live in this place, away from all that her papa had built for her and her mother. The second voice comes from Lord Henry Vernon of England. His visit has been a pleasurable distraction for Freyja as she has been missing England as much as she misses her papa. The last voice she hears is that of Lady Vernon, whose voice is old, frail, and shaky.

A union such as t’s one will be in interest for both families. It will give us the power in France and England, says Lord Gilmore. Freyja places her red-laced gloved hand to her ear as if it would increase her hearing. The soft, shaky voice of Lady Vernon takes command of the room.

Power? You speak of power. However, you fail to talk of the child’s unusual skin color.

Not again, Freyja thinks. Will it ever end? The number of times Freyja has overheard people converse about her skin is abundant. However, this one is different. What does her skin have to do with power or the Vernons?

Never has such skin been seen, and it shall not be seen in a family as notable as ours. The Vernon family has been in power for centuries. It will not be burned by the dark skin of some hussy, says the shaky voice.

Hussy? Freyja did not know what a hussy was, but the way it was forced from the old woman’s mouth did not make it seem like a good thing.

The Vernon family is such a powerful one. I shall even venture to say that you cannot think of power without thinking of your family name. Which is thus the reason I believe if any family could avoid being destroyed by a dark-skinned bride, it is yours, says Lord Gilmore.

Bride? Freyja did know that word, and how dare he marry her off to a family she knows nothing about?

Grandmother, I concur with him. She is very beautiful besides the unusual color of her skin and those eyes of sapphire blue. Her beauty alone will survive the ridicule from her color. If it does not, she will contend herself inside, where she will be safe from cruel eyes, says the younger voice of Henry. His voice sounds strong and sure.

Freyja is now so close to the heavy velvet curtains that separated the room in which the voices came from and the room that holds her presence. She is now touching them with her whole body. Her hand is reaching to slide them to the side just a bit for a peak when her mind dares her not. She now feels the velvet of the curtains ripple through the lace of her glove as she peeks on the other side.

Henry, do not be absurd. Keep the woman locked inside, like a cage? My dear, you sound ridiculous, says the old lady. Ridiculous indeed, thinks Freyja.

Freyja lays eyes on her and finds the look of her to be fear itself.

You name her woman in this breath. The end of our family in breathes taking moments ago. Grandmother, I will protect the Vernon heritage from all that oppose it. If that be the skin of mine own wife, then to protect what is important and prevent her from being a stain on our name… The slender man holds his golden-haired head up high, but out of the corner of his eyes, he looks downward at his grandmother.

Prevent this by leaving her and his treaty here. We hold influence here in France as it is today. Do we really need the word of Lord Gilmore? Shall we not kill the king with our own devices? she asks.

My word has more stones weighing on it than you think. Fact be true, my words have smoked out your, so you have said, influences in France, and now I hold them in my hands. Hmm. The Farnese family and the Bourbons are now backing you on my words and my words alone, says Lord Gilmore.

Freyja cannot stand to hear any more of their words. There was enough of them spoken that she now knows what she needs to do. She walks hastily to her room. In passing, she sees her mum enjoying the pampering from her new husband’s servants. After she closes the door to her chambers, she dashes to her chest and retrieves a long scarf. She removes her cloak from her wardrobe and with it, a case. She places her things within this small case and makes way to the kitchens. There she grabs some meats and cheese and bread and wraps them within her scarf. When she is done and cloaked, Freyja slips past the guards of the manor and the Vernon family and to her mum’s room.

Mum, Mum, I have words for thee. Can thou dismiss thou servants, Mum? asks Freyja.

Why for? What sort of word are they? asks Lady Sofia Anna Norse Gilmore. Servants are swooning around her with fabrics and wigs and ribbons.

Mum, says Freyja, annoyed. I simply wish to speak to my mum without extra ears.

Very well, says her mum. With the wave of her hand, the servants bow and take their leave. Sofia walks to the lamb-shaped pink fabric cushioned back chair and taking a seat. She then asks Freyja, Give thy words.

Kill the king, she said, begins Freyja.

Said who? her mum interrupts.

Lady Vernon. I was looking through the fabrics on the table in the parlor when Lord Gilmore was speaking to Henry and his grandmother. He plans to marry me off to them, Freyja tries to explain.

Henry is a good match for thee—

Except he wants to kill the king, interrupts Freyja, trying to regain control of the conversation and explain why they must go.

Freyja, you make no sense. There are no reasons to be making up such treason. You are simply scared, and it will pass. Before you know it, you will be running an estate of your own with children, and you will find yourself happy, says Sofia.

Mum, harken my words. I cannot be happy where they keep me prisoner just for the skin I wear, and I speak the truth, Mum. Lady Vernon said they can kill the king, Mum. We have to go.

Go? Thou heard wrong, Freyja. The Vernon family are farmers. They have no means to kill the king. In what way would Lord Gilmore be able to kill the king or anyone? asks Sofia.

I know not, Mum. They spoke of influences. I care not, Mum, We need to go now. Come with me? Freyja begs on her knees before her mum.

I will not go anywhere. You will not go. Freyja, stop this now, says her mum sternly.

I’m going, Mum. I do not believe that you, Mum, you, my mum, would just sit here and allow them to lock me away. I knew Papa loved me more than thee. I did not know that your affections for me are low enough that thou will not believe me, Mum, sobs Freyja as she rises to her feet.

Sofia sits unmoving and silent. She then raises her head to search Freyja’s face for a few long moments that seem to last forever before her tears run down her own cheeks. She finally shakes off her emotion with the shake of her head. Her mum puts her hands together in a silent plea. Freyja knows that her mum sends love. However, she will not go with her. Freyja backs out of her mum’s chambers and into the hall, where she bumps right into Neeta.

Neeta, the small servant girl of Lord Gilmore, always wears the same green dress and white apron, which all the servants in the house of Lord Gilmore are subject to wear. She is nice and has no reason to be loyal to her service of this family, though she is. She does her work with joy. Neeta has been given the task of being Freyja’s own servant and has grown on Freyja as a friend.

Neeta, I must go. My stepfather plans to marry me to Henry, and I am not sure after my words with my mum how much time I have. I must hurry, she pleads with her friend.

Being married to Henry does not sound like a bad life. He is handsome and kind. Are thou sure of this? says Neeta.

Trust my words. This will be bad for me, Neeta. I have no time to explain. Please, help me out of here, she asks with desperation in her voice.

Oui, madam. In the kitchens, you will find a passageway off the estate under the rug beneath the table holding herbs and eggs. Take the passageway to the right for two paces, then take the left tunnel. Stay on it until it leads you to a cave at the foot of a forest. On the exit of this cave is a narrow rocky road that leads to a tavern with an owl on the sign shaped in a full moon. Eat no food nor drink. Only take a room for one night. Any longer and someone looking may find you. Leave before the new day starts. I’ll help you no more than t’s. Farewell, madam, Neeta instructs lowly with an embrace and kiss for each cheek.

Farewell, Neeta. Please keep my mum safe. There is danger in this place. Be careful of thyself. She is almost tempted to ask her to come with her when she looks back. Her words are halted by her need to have someone look after her mum. Freyja turns on her heels and walks down the hallway for the kitchens. She takes another look back at the only companion she has ever had other than her papa.

Neeta? Will ye pray for me? For my journey, she asks. The girl gives a soft nod with a warm smile.

Freyja continues into the kitchen and follows the tiny girl’s instructions as best as she remembers them.

Once inside the tunnels, Freyja hears the sounds from the manor above.

In a room not far from the kitchens, Lord Gilmore confirms with his mother that Henry and his grandmother have agreed to accept Freyja, and she hears words from his spy that he has placed into the courts of King Louis XII.

In no time, Mother, I will have my spy slip something into the king’s cup to speed his dying, and Henry has a man close to Francis who will speak in his ear of Henry Vernon and Henry Gilmore as the only two who can best groom him into the king that France needs. It is all set, Mother, says Lord Gilmore.

I said that marrying the mother is worth the child, says Lady Nagah Gilmore

You did indeed, Mother.

Freyja’s French is lacking, yet some of the words from these people make her sick. She begins to question, Are they even people? Do they not know of God? Did they not get an introduction to follow Christ? For people like this know not the Father. This she knows.

She keeps walking until she reaches another room with more voices. The Vernon family speaks of loyalty—the loyalty of Lord Gilmore to the cause of controlling the next would-be king.

How much loyalty can we expect the man to have when he sells his daughter for a seat at the table? asks Lady Vernon with her frail voice.

Stepdaughter, in which he’s known for barely two moons, adds Henry. I applaud thy move to marry Mary Stuart to the king. He will do his best to keep up with her, and that will be his undoing. While he is distracted with his new bride, Henry Gilmore’s man will soon taint his food. It will be subtle.

Yet you will marry this girl and undo all the hard work of every Vernon that has come before ye.

Listen, old woman. You will speak no more of her skin or of her tarnishing the family name. Another word spoken before me or to others and I will cut you off from all the fortunes of our family.

You wouldn’t dare! she protests.

Such is the joy of being the last living male heir. He scoffs.

I hope she gives thee a son. One that will love his grandmama.

Hearing these words makes Freyja burn with certainty that she must leave this place and quickly. She wonders of her papa and asks herself if this could have something to do with his death. If so, then was it all just so that she and her mum would be vulnerable to these people? Her mum. She turns, wanting to go back for her. She is just as certain that her mum will not leave and that her attempt to make her do so will put them both in danger.

She turns back around and continues her journey to find a safe life somewhere far from this place. And when she has found it, she will come back for her mum. She will not leave her mum with these people who may not even risk death with their plans. She will come back for her as soon as she can.

Freyja’s ears now find the sounds of nature, and she thinks of how the rocky road should be next. She pushes thoughts of her mum’s safety to the back. As she approaches the exit of the cave, she can hear the sound of running water. A stream flows just upon exiting the cave. Across the stream are two roads. One has lots of room, smooth with dirt and bushes with flowers on them. The other road is narrow, polluted with rocks and bushes with thorns. She knows to take the rocky path. Freyja is almost tempted to take the other. However, she chooses the road she came for.

The rocks beneath her feet meet her with difficulty, and they ruin her satin shoes that were made to match her gown. From time to time, her gown gets caught on a torn or sharp branch. The smooth satin gown is no match for the thorns and branches of the bushes, and soon the hem is host to many rips and holes. The length of the gown rubs the ground and thus is now dirty along the bottom. Freyja pulls and tugs her gown down the hard road.

The road comes to an end at a field of tall grass and flowers she has no name for. There are some purple flowers on long green stems with purple balls of puff. Beyond the field, Freyja can see smoke from a village. She makes her way through the field.

As Freyja walks to the village, she speaks to no one and keeps her eyes looking for the inn with the owl. She does not have to look long to find it. The sign that hangs outside the door is round and has a picture of an owl in the center. It hangs on two ropes and swings in the wind.

Freyja opens the door to enter. The wind blows in hard behind her as she enters. She takes a few steps before removing the hood of her cloak. Her hair is long, to her thigh, black as ravens in the night, and reflects of the moon. The wind blows her hair forward as well as the cold.

The inn goes silent, and every eye turns to her, just for a moment, before it becomes loud once more and everyone resumes their own business. Her skin is darker than everyone in England and France, though it was not as dark as her father’s, Tabius Norse, had been. Still, her skin warrants stare every so often.

Freyja spots a dimly lit table in a corner to the back and makes her way over to it when she is stopped by a big-busted woman with a mole beside her lip, a single hair curling out of it.

Why, such a sweet child with such darkness in your skin. I can fetch a pretty good amount of coin for thee if you are looking for work, girl, says the woman, circling Freyja for a full gaze of her. Of course, her skin is the cause of someone else trying to sell her, make money off her.

I have not come for coin, only a bed for the night, scoffs Freyja.

Straw or feather? Disappointment coats the woman’s voice. Freyja does not care. She did not come here to be taken advantage of. She did not come here to have her skin looked at and priced. She is only to pass through here to a new life she knows not where. First, she would make sure she is safe from being used and priced.

Straw will be fine.

You have coin? And with those words, the busty woman put her hand on her thick round hips, her apron tight around her and covered with food of some sort. It is not very appealing, and Freyja is pleased she had packed some food.

Freyja shows the woman a purse of coin.

T’s way. Follow me, says the woman. Then she leads Freyja up some stairs and down a long slender hall with six rooms on each side. Freyja can hear some unsavory sounds coming from some of the rooms. She takes a few peeks into rooms with opened doors and sees women with bouncing tits on top of filthy men. Closed doors bolster sounds of women squealing and giggling and screaming.

A man with a black hat exits a room and almost runs into Freyja. Within the tight hall, the three must turn side face to pass each other. The big busty woman shows Freyja the room next to the one the man had just left.

T’s be the last bed we have. T’s fine? she asks. Freyja looks in the small room with only a straw bed on the floor and a table at a window with closed shutters and an unlit candle.

T’s good, says Freyja.

Just the one night then?

Oui, just one night. She nods at the woman.

Pay now. Fivepence, she says with a filthy hand waiting to receive the coin and the other on her hip.

Freyja takes fivepence from her purse and gives it to the woman. The woman pulls a purse from her breast, opens it, puts in the fivepence from Freyja, closes it, and then places it back into her breast. Once this is done, she takes off, squeezing her way back down the narrow hall.

Freyja closes the door to the small room behind the big woman with big breasts. She looks around the room and at the straw bed, then at the wooden chair in front of the table. She lights the candle and takes cheese and bread from her scarf. Instead of the table, the girl of age fifteen eats on the straw bed. After which, Freyja places the remaining cheese and bread back within her scarf and lays it back upon her case near the bed. She then prays for a safe journey she knows not where and that God will be with her. She closes her eyes and drifts off to sleep.

The girl dreams of the days she spent with her papa Tabius Norse and her mum. Her papa named her his treasure, and Freyja remembers this in her sleep. He twirled her around in a field of yellow flowers as Freyja giggled. Next, they were in his study, and Freyja was listening to his stories of his homeland of Africa. He told her stories of black boars and large golden striped cats in front of the hearth’s fire. She watched her father as the crackling fire danced across his face of black skin.

Freyja rises before the sun and takes her leave. She is adorned with her blue cloak, and she grabs her scarf and case. She takes to the forest on foot, thinking it better than the road to go unspotted. However, before she could enter the woods, a drunk man comes out of them, whistling and barely on his feet. Freyja must turn to the side just to avoid him knocking her over with him as he falls.

Now inside the cover of the trees, she feels a chill go up her back and settle on her shoulders. She shivered to shake off the feeling of fear. The up-close eerie sounds of the forest make her jump throughout her traveling. Many moments, she becomes unsure of this journey. She continues to stumble through the forest aimlessly.

That is, until she comes across an elderly man and his family settled at a camp of their own. Mademoiselle, wherefore thou look of a thousand freight? Are ye with someone, child? Where art thou mother? asks the old man.

Freyja is not aware that she looks frightened, though she is very frightened for her mum, who she left in the hands of some dangerous people. Now that she thinks of it, what if they take Freyja’s running away out on her mum? What was she to do? Her mum was never going to come with her. It was there in her eyes. Not love for the man who is now her husband but fear of being without. Without him or without a man?

No, mister, I have found myself alone. My mum did not heed my warning of danger where she be and did not leave with me. I have a mind to go back for her, only I know not which way I came, says the young girl to the old man.

Looks to me that you know not where thou are going, says the old man.

In a sense, she does not know where she is going. In a sense, she does know that she is going to be free. Free of the temptation in others caused by her skin.

True, mister. I know not which way I come, and I know not where I am going. I only know there was danger, so I warned my mum and fled, she speaks.

And now thou seek to return to the danger in which thou hast fled. Is it now wise to continue to flee? Find a home somewhere far away from this danger in which thou speak of. What kind of danger is it?

I overheard words of treason. It is best that I do not repeat them for just that is also dangerous, she answers.

Perhaps thou art wise enough to survive this danger. I will have you travel with us. It be safer than stumbling through the forest alone. We travel to a party just at the edge of France. Freyja nods in acceptance.

A redheaded boy with the look of three pulls on her finger and offers her the last of his chicken leg. Merci beaucoup, speaks Freyja. Then the boy leaves to help his mother and sister pack up their camp.

Cannot thou see it? Freyja asks the old man and his family.

No, they all reply.

T’s be nothing there. Please stop scaring the children, asks the old man’s wife.

I am not scared, Momma, says the redheaded boy

The past three days have been spent with Freyja seeing something in the forest following them. Yet no one else seems to see anything. Is she going mad? The large red creature has been visiting her in her dreams. In the day, she can feel its cold still eyes upon her and her alone. Strange enough, Freyja feels no danger from the creature’s presence, only that she must not be sane to see such a thing.

Whatever it is that you see has kept its distance, and perhaps it does so out of fear of us. Animals are just as scared of us as we are of them, says the old man.

Perhaps thou art correct, says Freyja, though she is not quite sure it is an animal. When she sees it on four legs, it’s larger than any animals she knows of. Maybe it is a horse, she thinks. No, it could not be a horse. It has teeth and fangs of a dog, only larger. It could be that she is seeing things.

The sun begins to set, and Freyja’s company set up camp. The old man tells the children a story of a slave soldier turned into a vampire by a princess whom he loved. The princess was made into the first vampire by a dragon on the covenant that the slave soldier made with the dragon. He asked the dragon to save the life of the dying princess. In exchange, he would help the dragon find a way to escape the cave in which he is imprisoned. The dragon fed the princess some of his blood, and she awoke a new creature. In her hunger, she bit the solider and fled what she had done. The solider never again saw his beloved princess.

Freyja prays to herself silently and falls asleep to the old man’s story, and her dreams are filled with sightings of large red foxes, vampires, soldiers, and dragons. Her mum and her papa and Lord Gilmore played the role of the princess and slave soldier and dragon.

Baldur

I charged thee to get her to the wall, not to toy with her dreams, Baldur, says a cloaked woman with long white hair flying from beneath the hood of her red cloak. She approaches the old man in the darkness.

I took it on myself to do something. She kept catching sight of you in the trees. If you were going to follow us all this way, why did thou not escort her thou self? asks Baldur. He changes himself from the appearance of an old man to that of his true self—a tall young man with shoulder-length black hair and eyes as blue as Freyja’s eyes. His body is thick, though not round or fat. His face is round, and his nose is long. The woman and children all dissolved as they were never there. They were all illusions of Baldur’s dane.

It is not in the plans for us to meet just yet, says the white-haired, white-eyed Japanese woman. Just like it is not in the plans for him to meet his baba just yet. Even though this mission brings him closer to his lifelong mission of meeting the man who gave him up.

Nine moons ago, Baldur was traveling through France for the first time, chasing a lead in the search of his baba. Then it was when he was leaving that he came up against some difficulty. The very border of the country resisted his departure. He bounced off the back into France as if there was an invisible stone wall of men pushing him back. Instead of an exit, he was met with her—the blind vixen shape-shifter with a mission from God.

Next, he was in a Frenchman’s house, posing as a servant girl named Neeta, protecting this broken dark-skinned English girl. He saw nothing special about her. No sign that she would birth a new world safe under her. Sure, she is kind. Beautiful inside as well as out. The only thing he saw, sees, is a broken girl. Lost without her baba. She never sobbed, yet it was there in her eyes. Still there.

Baldur knows that look in her eyes all too well. He sees it whenever he sees his reflection in a looking glass of pond.

Of these plans, why is she so important to them? asks the now young man.

Five hundred years ago, God told me of his plans to raise a girl into a queen. He told me my part, and I refused to take a role in His plans, and He took my sight. I asked questions about parts of His plans that He did not give to me, and He took my pack. Now I play my part with no questions. You will be wise to do the same, she says.

How is it that you know this is the girl? asks Baldur.

Wise you are not as you still question your part. Get that girl to the wall, she says as she turns to leave. And remember, Baldur, your time for the reunion has not come. Do not cross the wall, she finishes as she disappears in the darkness of the night.

Baldur then takes the appearance of the old man with a walking stick. The camp and the woman and the children reappear. He takes his place beside the sleeping woman he made as his wife.

The sun and the illusion of a camp and Freyja rise all at once. We shall reach the party by nightfall, says the old man to Freyja. Do you have any plans as to where you will settle? asks the young man, appearing old.

I… I made no plans passed getting away from the dangers of Lord Gilmore’s manor, says Freyja. She thought of it many times along this journey and decided that she did not know where her journey is taking her, only that she will know when she is there.

T’s all right, says the redheaded boy. Mother says God loves those who walk with him in blind faith.

Faith? Is that what it is? Does she have faith in where she would find herself if she continues this journey to be free?

You are such a wise boy to remember your mum’s words, she says to him.

True, true indeed. Trust in God, and He shall direct you to a good life, says the boy’s mother.

They then begin to travel to the party at the edge of France. Freyja searches the trees for the creature. Didst thou see a red fox in the trees? she asks again, believing that she saw it.

I did not know that foxes were to be found in trees, says the old man as he keeps to his stride. You will want to keep up, my dear, he finishes.

There, that sound. Did you hear it? says Freyja, pointing at the trees, knowing she hears a strange growl.

There is nothing to hear, says the tiny mother.

Freyja takes to a faster pace so as to keep up with the old man and his family, although she does not take her eyes off the trees.

Take your mind off imaginary creatures and set it to merriment. T’s party is sure to put us all in better spirits, says the woman. Freyja catches up with the old man. Who is hosting this party? she asks him once caught up. The manor is called Baldur Manor, and it is owned by a man called Sheriff Joffrey, brother to a king. The party is to bring in the new year. He hosts one every year in hopes that his brother would attend, he says.

And does he ever attend? asks the raven-haired, blue-eyed, browned-skinned girl.

No, child. The king has not once attended one of his brother’s parties, answers the old man with gray eyes and long beard.

Then there be no chance of him making an appearance this new year. Are you sure that this Sheriff Joffrey does not mind if I attend instead of the king? she asks.

There will be too many people for him to notice you there. Even wearing that, he says, looking at Freyja’s once beautiful dress. The beauty of the blue has faded and is now stained with mud and fallen food. The hem is completely tattered and full of holes. Rips and tears were dragged to the ground. Her toes can be seen through her shoes. The color of them now cannot be known as they have become black from the hard trip. Try to keep your cloak closed, and maybe no one will notice your dress, he adds.

Freyja

The small group finally made it to a stone wall of a large manor. How do we get to the other side? It stretches far. It will take another day to get to the gates, speaks Freyja. However, when she looks to the old man for his answer, he is not there. Neither is his family. She is there all alone. She looks around in search of where they could have gone.

Freyja can hear music, distant chatter, and laughter coming from the other side of the wall. She now desires food and drink. Freyja begins to search the wall for a way inside the celebration. Seeing no way to the other side, she sits on a stump and places her face within her hands. She sighs in defeat when she notices a small lizard entering the estate through a hole in the stone wall. Freyja figures the hole looks big enough for a girl of her size to crawl through.

Chapter Two

Happily Mated

December 31, 1514

Freyja

Just on the other side of the wall is a tower over to Freyja’s left. She sees three finely dressed women on blankets, engaged in low chatter with one another. To her right, she can see a large stable. Just outside of it are five almost identical horses. Freyja fancies horses and notices that they are all male Friesian horses.

She begins to walk over and greet the five black Friesian horses when she spots a gazebo just beyond the stables. The gazebo is adorned with blue rose bushes on two sides and steps on the other two sides. In its center is a table filled with many meats Freyja cannot recognize. The meats that she does know are boar, chicken, ox, duck, pheasant, and lamb. The table is rimmed with fruits and plants from the ground to eat.

With her sights on this table, she walks with purpose. Her eyes tell her mind, which tells her mouth and stomach of the food that they are about to receive, and they both answer. Her mouth with drool and her stomach with a gurgle of a sound. She wipes the drool and grabs her stomach before reaching for a bread bun placed between the meat and fruit. She opens the soft bread bun and stuffs some duck inside it. As she takes a bite of her duck sandwich, she grabs a small vine of grapes with her free hand.

She scoffs down the food which she is eating. Freyja sees a young man, and the sight of him stopped her heart. She is confused by what is happening to her. She finds him handsome with skin darker than hers but lighter than her father’s tree bark brown skin. His hair is dark drown and curly and just past his ears. He walks to her with a smile and moving lips.

Pardon me, sir. She barely speaks the words.

Where did ye come from? he repeats himself.

Her? Where did he come from, and why is she reacting this way to him? Sorry, thine papa…umm… If only I can stop searching his eyes, then maybe I can explain better, she thinks. She manages to look at his feet. My papa died and… Her papa died. Why did she just say that? And I have gotten lost in the woods for a full moon now. I ran out of food days back. I only seek a fill of food, and I will go. I mean no trouble, I promise. It is the truth. He looks at her as if she both burns him with desire and confuses him.

I am sorry to hear of thy baba. Relax, stay, and eat your fill. I will inform my uncle of your invitation to stay as my guest. He can spare a couple of servants to draw you a bath. Perhaps there is a fresh gown to fit thee somewhere inside the manor. I also invite thee to hold mine heart, says the man with dark brown hair with a smile. He takes a long look over her, and his eyes grow darker than before. She blushes under his gaze, wondering if his thoughts mirror hers.

His smile warms her heart as she forgets the danger that she has fled. Is fleeing. Or could this be the end of her journey? Could this be that safe place with him?

He stands, watching her face. His untamed eyebrows furrow, perhaps just now realizing the girl before him is trouble.

What is thy name, pretty lady?

Freyja. She looks away, the yearning in his eyes too intense for her to stand. Those brown eyes ignite a heat where she has never felt heat before. A wild need so carnal it has to be a sin. She has to tame herself.

Freyja, it rolls off the tongue so sweetly. It was hard to do when he says her name like that. Such a beautiful name, for it fits thee. Thou art the beauty that steals mine heart. He studies her up and down. Why does he continue to look at her like such? He makes sure to look in her eye when he speaks again. Freyja, to thee I shall give my heart, for it burns for thee. Branded by the love we will share. Will you accept it willingly and lovingly?

Freyja stood, unable to move. Truly the most handsome man her eyes have laid on did not just ask her to take his heart in her hands. She believes he just did ask he stands there, his eyes telling the story of his vulnerability, his hope, and his desire. This makes the heat in her core rise higher than before. She stifles a moan as his golden-brown eyes go black with need. All this emotion and need her? She gazes over his strong, solid, square, structured jawline. He runs his hands through his sea of shimmering dark curls that hold the moon’s glow hostage.

Yes, sir… I… Her heart begins to pump faster with those words. The fast pace of her heart pushes a burning flow of blood through her veins. He reaches for her, and she thankfully grabs hold of his hand. A spark bursts under her skin or from under his when they make contact. What is this? The spark quickly makes its way through her hand that he still holds and up her arm. It settles on the back of her neck, where it turns from a spark into a flame. A flame that sears her neck. She takes her hand from his and grabs the back of her neck. The moment the burn has passed, she can hear him. He was speaking.

Great. I shall lay at your feet all the treasures of thine heart. I shall protect you from those who would threaten you or seek to harm you. Come, let us inform mine uncle of thy stay in his home and mine heart. He places his hand on her lower back and guides her through the beautiful landscape of Baldur’s Manor.

As he leads her across the green grass and chattering guest, she thinks, What was that? Did he see the spark? Did he feel that? He is acting as if it was nothing. No. He looks as if he has been waiting his entire life for that to happen. His steps are rushed with joy.

He leads her to a set of doors at the back of the manor. The doors lead through to the kitchens. There he finds a slightly older man, finely dressed in flax that can be seen through. He has layers of jewel with gold trimming about his neck and waist, covering the special parts of his body.

On his head, he wears a tall gold headdress ornamented with colorful stones and crushed crystals. The headdress curves forward and covers his ears. He wears leather sandals on his feet that curves upward to hover above his toes. This curve is like the curve of the headdress.

His arms are decorated with colorful pottery beads strung together.

His eyes have no curves to them and stretch out with a dark line trimmed along the bottom. His nose is big and broad. The cheeks of his face sit up high and defined. The hair around his mouth of thick lips is finely groomed and shadows his chin in the front. When they find this slightly older man, he stands in the kitchen, ordering kitchen maids to work properly, to work faster and to do better.

Uncle, I have news. This is Freyja. Mine heart is hers. Have a bath prepared for her in my bedchamber, the young man announces.

The slightly older man looks at her then places a hand upon his nephew’s shoulder. Each of his fingers display a large ring of their own. Each finger is dyed a different color from fingernail to first knuckle as if dipped.

Nephew, I pray thee allow me words, alone? he asks him.

Of course, Uncle. My Lan’te, wait hence, and I shall return, anon. With those words, he leaves with the male he calls uncle. Together, they walk through a large wooden arch with very intricate butterflies carved around the entirety of it.

Freyja stands for moments, admiring the crafting of the arch and notices that each butterfly has a different pattern about them, and none of them are simple. Only moments after Freyja begins looking at the beauty of the arch, the young man walks through it.

How now, beautiful lady? he says when their eyes meet.

Mine heart be a heart of peace, sir, she says sweetly as the sight of him makes her heart beat fast and hard. Not to mention the way he looks at her with a complicated mix of shock and desire.

Then let our hearts be of peace together, forever, if thou will accept thine own heart as thou own heart? With that, he bows.

Yes…sir, you may. She tries to continue moving her tongue, but her heart takes a new faster beat and burns stronger than before. She stumbles as its thump pushes her. He catches her in his arms, and again, a spark ignites. She looks up at his eyes, which somehow are different from before. She clears her throat and tries to stand on her own. Sir, you may ask me…

He places a hand on her shoulder with a look of concern in his eyes. Beneath his touch, the spark goes wild before it rides up her neck, just under the previous burn. It burns strong before it dies. She reaches to soothe it. Though before her hand can make contact with her neck, it dies down.

My prince, I beg pardons for the interruption. However, the scribe has received a raven from thy baba. He awaits to give it to only thee, says a servant of the manor dressed in a brown robe. He bows at his prince and waits for a reply.

I shall see him pressingly, says the young prince to the servant. Please excuse my soon departure. I shall return just as anon, he says to Freyja as he kisses the hands that smell of duck. She bows. He returns her hand to her.

He leaves, and Freyja takes a couple of hotcakes from the table before she passes and places them in the pocket of her cloak. They smell sweet.

She walks aimlessly back outside. The musicians captivated Freyja’s attention as she has never seen men playing music before her eyes. As she watches and listens to the musicians, Freyja reviews how the servant called him prince. A prince. She had been talking to a prince. A prince was smitten with her. Was he, truly? Something tells her that he was. It was there in the prince’s eyes, the way they beckoned her to accept him.

Prince Kaunto

The prince makes his way to the scribe of his uncle’s manor.

Prince Kaunto, says the scribe with a bow. He hands over the letter to his prince. Kaunto takes the letter and opens it. It reads:

My dear son, it was not easy for me to send thou and thou brother away. Hence be danger, and I thought it best to send thou away. However, do not take lightly the danger around you now. Thy uncle is not the man you and your brothers thinks him to be. It is no secret that we are not close. You are in danger of becoming a pun in a game against me.

Be careful,

King Musa Kiwange

Once Kaunto finishes reading the letter, the scribe begins speaking. Your Highness, me thinks that it is best thou burn the letter and see to it that thy brother is in no danger. I saw Prince Askia not long ago walk with thy uncle to the room called Loki’s Chest.

Perhaps thou are correct. Burn the letter right away. I must leave now, says Prince Kaunto, turning to leave. Just before he departs, he turns back to the scribe with his last words. Jaquin, tell no one that we have spoken.

Yes, Your Highness, says the scribe Jaquin.

His baba did not send him and his brothers away. They were taken from him for their safety by his baba’s most skilled commander.

Prince Askia

In the room called Loki’s Chest, Prince Askia talks with his uncle.

The room looks as if the sun rises and sets within it. The floor is wood painted a blue that matches the sky on its brightest day, perfectly right down the grayish-white puffs of clouds. Look too intensely at them and you will begin to compare the shapes of the clouds to things thou favor.

From the bottom up, the wall’s paint color changes gradually. First, it is as red as fire then an orange color that has been burned by the fiery red. The orange then becomes brighter and brighter. Just before the walls of the room meet with the roof, they take a high bright yellow color.

On the floor beneath a window sits a white chest, thick with a heavy look clung to it. The chest appears as if it is being grabbed by a hand with claws reaching out of the floor.

Joffrey sits there at a white desk, thick and solid as if he is the sun in the sky this office creates. The four posts of the desk are four lions holding up the top surface of the desk, which is shiny and smooth like polished marble. Around the desk, between the lions, is carved a battle of lion soldiers and men against similar forces.

Just on the side of the door is a stand made of painted pottery. It is painted blue with white clouds on it. The bowl that sits upon it is filled with water for washing hands, faces, and feet.

Beside the bookshelf, behind his uncle, is a white table with a gold wine pitcher and three gold chalices. The fourth is being cupped by the prince’s uncle as he sits in a tall white chair, cushioned on the back as well as the seat. The fabric used for the cushion is dyed gold. Askia sits on the other side of the massive white desk in a smaller white chair with wooden legs that fold together. The chair has no back and has a thin white fabric for the seat. Prince Askia Kiwange sits in his low seat with his legs crossed, and both hands hold the ankle of the leg that cross his other thigh.

He means to overshadow us with this small chair and his throne-like chair, his royal complained.

Quiet. He means to belittle any that enters this room. Just look at it, designed to intimidate. He hushes his royal by pointing out the obvious as he searches for details, needing more observation. As his uncle speaks, he surveys the room and notices the sound of emptiness coming from behind the slightly cracked and opened bookshelf. A