Lord Theodore's Favorite Ritual
Chapter 260: Second Lifetime, Freya. (6)

Chapter 260: Second Lifetime, Freya. (6)

Morning.

Seconoria.

************

"Good morning, Milady" Theodore’s voice met Freya the minute she stepped out of her chambers.

Her eyes widened, "It is not... Good morning" she started to complain but seemed to think better of it and simply replied his greetings.

"Let us go" Theodore invited, his eyes alive.

Warily she asked, "Where are we going?"

"Wherever you wish to go, Milady" he answered back.

She blinked, "Wait outside" she said quickly before rushing back inside as slowly as she could.

"Quick, fix my hair" she instructed Hannah urgently.

"Princess, you let him call you milady" Hannah spoke with wide eye, showing that she had been eavesdropping.

Freya pursed her lips, "Yes, Why?"

"You never let us call you that" the maid pointed out,

"He is my knight, I cannot be too hard on him, and why do I have to explain the reasons for my actions to you?"

Hannah hid her smile, "I apologize princess, I... I did not mean to overstep"

"Do not make me feel horrible, You know I am trying to avoid holding a conversation with him and that is why I will limit what I say or ask" she lied through her teeth that even she was trying to belief.

"Of course" Hannah replied with a smile, her friend had turned rigid and serious over the course of the years but she tries to remind the princess that they were friends and she refused to let the princesses soft side burn away.

*

* *

*

Seconoria.

**********

The morning sun filtered through the lace curtains of Princess Freya’s chambers, casting a soft, golden light on the furnishings and rich materials that adorned the room. Freya stood at the center, her face a mask of stoic determination as her maids bustled around her, preparing her for the arrival of Prince Holland from the neighboring kingdom of Drakovia. This prince, her betrothed, was coming to court her, a topic that filled her with a mix of betrayal and resignation.

For five years, Freya had trained tirelessly, enduring the grueling regime imposed by her father, King Alfred, to become a warrior queen. She had been shaped into a figure of strength and resilience, her feminine side cast aside in favor of the unyielding authority her father believed was necessary for a ruler. Now, it seemed, all of that preparation was being cast aside.

The king had decided that she could not be queen without a husband, a notion that left Freya feeling deeply disillusioned.

As the maids drew a steaming bath, Freya’s thoughts churned with anger and frustration. She could not understand why her father, who had insisted on her becoming a queen-king, now believed she required a prince to rule by her side. But despite her inner turmoil, she was determined to please her father, to prove her loyalty and obedience even if it meant compromising her own desires.

Hannah, her closest maid and confidante, approached with a gentle smile, her hands filled with fragrant oils and fine soaps. "Your Highness," she said softly, "the bath is ready."

Freya nodded curtly, her expression unchanging. She stepped into the warm water, feeling its soothing embrace on her battle-worn body. As Hannah and the other maids began to bathe her, Freya’s mind drifted to the days when she had trained alongside the knights, her hands blistered and calloused from countless hours of sword practice. This pampering, this delicate treatment, felt foreign and almost uncomfortable after years of hardening herself against the elements and the rigors of combat. It brought her mind to Theodore, all the times his fingers had brushed her waist, wrist and neck during their duel, he had treated her gently no matter how she tried to look at it, he didn’t possibly went to battle and back if he had treated his enemies the way he had treated her.

The maids worked with practiced efficiency, their hands gentle but firm as they scrubbed away the dirt and grime that clung to Freya’s skin. They massaged fragrant oils into her hair, their fingers untangling the knots that had formed during her intense training sessions. Despite the soothing sensations, Freya remained rigid, her eyes fixed on a distant point, her thoughts elsewhere.

After the bath, the maids dried her off with soft, fluffy towels and began to apply a light dusting of powder to her skin. Freya’s mind raced with memories of her training, of the battles she had fought and the victories she had won. She had not worn such fine clothes or makeup in years, and the sensation of the powder on her skin felt strange and almost suffocating.

Next, the maids brought out a selection of elegant gowns, each more elaborate than the last. They chose a deep burgundy dress, its fabric rich and luxurious, adorned with intricate embroidery and delicate lace. Freya stood motionless as they dressed her, their hands carefully fastening the buttons and smoothing out the wrinkles.

The weight of the dress felt alien to her, a stark contrast to the light armor she had grown accustomed to, she knew battle armors were heavier but this was simply unfamiliar and she almost hated her father for making something like this foreign to her,

As they laced her into a corset, Freya felt a pang of discomfort, both physical and emotional. The tight garment wasn’t as restricting as she’d thought but it somehow was a stark reminder of the constraints being placed upon her. She had fought so hard to become a figure of power and independence, only to be trussed up like a doll for the sake of political alliance.

Hannah approached with a sympathetic look, her eyes filled with understanding. "Princess, you look beautiful," she said softly, adjusting a stray lock of hair.

Freya forced a small, tight-lipped smile. "Thank you, Hannah," she replied, her voice devoid of emotion.

Finally, the maids adorned her with jewelry—a necklace of sparkling rubies and gold, matching earrings, and delicate bracelets that jingled softly with every movement. They styled her hair into an intricate updo, securing it with jeweled pins that glittered in the morning light. As they worked, Freya’s thoughts remained on her father, on the years she had spent trying to live up to his expectations, and the crushing disappointment she now felt.

When they were finished, Freya stood before the full-length mirror, her reflection a vision of regal beauty. Yet, beneath the layers of finery and the carefully applied makeup, she felt a deep sense of betrayal. Does her father ever see her? Love her?

With a final glance in the mirror, Freya straightened her shoulders, her face a mask of composure. She would meet this prince, she would play her part, but she would not let go of the warrior spirit that had been forged within her. No matter what her father or anyone else believed, she knew her own worth, and she would not let it be diminished.

As the doors to her chambers opened and she prepared to meet her betrothed, Freya took a deep breath, steeling herself for the encounter. She would do her duty, but she would never forget the strength that lay within her, a strength that no amount of finery or political maneuvering could ever take away.

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.