when she met him, he had been a different man. one whose rough hands only knew how to break - and he had then too, grabbed at her like a predator, beaten her into submission when she dare try to do the coward's thing and make him take her life. because she was too scared to take her own blade to skin to end it. 

you fucking touch me again, i'll end you, she'd snarled at him. and then he'd invited her to dine with him before promptly resetting her nose. 

there is still a bump there from where he'd broken it, but neither of them have ever looked at it as an act of violence. he struck her chains; he set her free.

saved me from a fate that would've had me six feet under. in that timeline when her mother had lived, when fate had pulled freya's threads away from his, he had lost himself. her heart gives a painful squeeze, leftover resentment at all the ways he's been wronged, and all the pieces of him that will never truly be recovered.

the clerk informs them under her breath that the deed is done and their hired witness shuffles off, leaving them in an empty room. she considers him, her husband, and then roughly grabs his jaw. her lips are hard on his, predatory and possessive, and after nipping at his lower lip, she gives him a breath of space.

"i think that might be the first time you've ever thanked me," she says with a smirk, eyes light. and because neither of them want to dwindle on the alternatives, she adds, "how about we pick up some brisket from that place you like and head home?"

KING WAYLAND

☉