Lord Theodore's Favorite Ritual
Chapter 263: Second Lifetime, Freya. (9)

Chapter 263: Second Lifetime, Freya. (9)

Courtyard, Garden.

Seconoria.

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Theodore stood vigil in a shadowed corner of the grand courtyard, his posture rigid, ever alert, Freya was inside. He believed his role that required unwavering dedication. The rain had begun as a soft drizzle, but now it pounded down in earnest, a relentless torrent that soaked the earth and filled the air with its rhythmic drumming.

The sky was a dark, churning mass of clouds, and the scent of rain mingled with the fragrance of the garden’s blossoms.

As though called by the rain, Freya came out slowly, her head peeked left and rught before she rushed right into the rain surprising Theodore who’s eyes widened and his feet had attempt to rush him to her when Freya stood nearby, her eyes closed as she lifted her face to the sky, letting the rain wash over her. Her long, midnight locks clung to her face and neck, the strands darkened and slick.

Her elegant gown, now thoroughly drenched, began to cling to her body, heavy with water. Theodore watched as she moved with a deliberate grace, her movements slow and purposeful. She began to undress, slipping out of the heavy, restrictive gown until she was clad only in a flimsy white chemise that clung to her form.

Theodore’s heart quickened as he observed her, the sight both beautiful and poignant. The rain-soaked fabric rendered her form almost transparent, clinging to every curve, revealing the outline of her slender frame. Innocently hot and inviting.

She looked ethereal, like a vision from a dream, her skin glowing softly in the dim light. The vulnerability of the moment struck him deeply, reminding him of the delicate balance between her strength and the innocence her father was so determined to strip away.

His Gooseberry should be allowed to flourish.

Barefoot, Freya stepped into the garden, her feet sinking into the soft, rain-drenched earth. She began to twirl, her arms outstretched, her face alight with pure, unrestrained joy. Her laughter, soft and melodious, echoed through the garden, a sound that seemed almost magical in the midst of the storm. She moved with the grace of a dancer, her movements fluid and carefree, a stark contrast to the rigid discipline she had been forced to endure.

Theodore felt a surge of happiness at the sight. Despite the harsh training and the unyielding expectations placed upon her, Freya still possessed a spark of joy, a side of her that reveled in the simple pleasures of life. It was a side her father had tried to purge, but it remained resilient, a testament to her inner strength.

The she started to spin and it reminded Thedore of a lifetime memory but he blinked it away to focus on the now. Freya, princess of Seconoria was his gooseberry because she looks exactly as Alice had and he’d recognise her even with a feeling.

As she spun and danced, Freya suddenly noticed Theodore standing in the corner, his eyes locked on her. Her movements faltered, and she came to a halt, her cheeks flushing with a mixture of surprise and shyness. The rain continued to pour down, soaking them both, but for a moment, the world seemed to pause, the air charged with an almost palpable tension.

Theodore, sensing her embarrassment, quickly moved forward, grabbing a towel that had been left on a nearby bench. His gaze never left hers as he approached, his eyes filled with a mixture of concern and something deeper, something he dared not fully acknowledge. He could see the flicker of recognition in her eyes, the unspoken connection that seemed to transcend their current lives.

"Princess," he said softly, his voice barely audible over the rain. He draped the towel over her shoulders, his fingers brushing against her damp skin. The contact sent a jolt through both of them, a spark that seemed to ignite the air between them.

Freya looked up at him, her eyes wide and filled with a myriad of emotions. The rain plastered her hair to her face, her dress clinging even more tightly to her form. Despite the chill of the storm, her cheeks were flushed, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. She searched his face, her gaze intense and searching, as if trying to decipher the familiarity she felt.

"Theodore," she whispered, her voice trembling. There was a mixed recognition in her tone, a sense of knowing that she couldn’t fully understand but both felt deeply.

Theodore lifted his hand and removed her wet hair from her face, he bent and sniffed her cheeks, his other hand encircling her waist to steady her when she shuddered, he pressed a kiss to her neck before putting her hair behind her ear, she sighed and he nodded, his own breath unsteady as he took tentative steps behind. "You should not be out here in the rain," he said, his tone gentle but firm. He wanted to shield her from the elements, to protect her from anything that might cause her harm.

Freya smiled softly, a hint of defiance in her eyes. "Sometimes, Theodore, I just want to feel free," she replied, her voice steadying.

He understood her need for freedom, the desire to escape the confines of duty and expectation, if only for a moment. He stepped closer again, his gaze never leaving hers, and wrapped the towel more securely around her shoulders. The rain continued to fall, but it seemed to fade into the background, eclipsed by the intensity of the moment between them.

As they stood there, drenched and shivering, their gazes locked in a heated, unspoken exchange, Theodore felt an overwhelming sense of connection, a bond that seemed to transcend time and circumstance. Freya, despite her training and the weight of her responsibilities, still held onto a part of herself that was wild and free, and he was grateful to witness it.

Finally, with a soft, reluctant sigh, Freya allowed herself to be led back inside. As they walked, side by side, the rain still pouring down around them, Theodore couldn’t help but feel a glimmer of hope. Perhaps, in this life, they would find a way to protect that spark within her, to honor the strength and joy that made her who she was. And perhaps, just perhaps, they would find a way to navigate the complexities of their intertwined fates.

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Seconoria

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A week later,

Freya stood before the grand mirror in her chambers, the reflective surface capturing her image in all its regal splendor. She was dressed in an exquisite gown of deep burgundy, its rich fabric adorned with delicate gold embroidery that shimmered in the soft light. Her hair, usually allowed to cascade freely down her back, was intricately braided and pinned up, with a few stray tendrils framing her face. Her reflection was the very picture of nobility and elegance, yet her eyes, stormy and troubled, told a different story.

She groaned softly, her hands running over the smooth silk of her dress. "Why does he ignore me so?" she muttered to herself, her voice tinged with frustration and a hint of sorrow. The question had been gnawing at her since their meeting earlier that day, a meeting that had left her more confused and disheartened than ever.

Holland, her betrothed, had barely looked at her, his demeanor distant and his gaze averted. When he did speak, his words had cut through her like a knife. "I will never love you," he had said, his voice low and strained. There had been no malice in his tone, only a deep, abiding sadness that seemed to echo in the space between them.

Maybe he had lost a lover like Theodore said but that doesn’t mean he should swear to never love her.

Freya had been taken aback, not by the content of his words, but by the raw emotion they carried. She had expected indifference, perhaps even disdain, but not this profound sense of sorrow. It had left her feeling adrift, uncertain of what to think or how to respond.

And then he had said something that had struck her even harder. "You can leave our meetings if you wish. Go wherever it is you may want. I would hate to make you feel bad or have a bad day." His words had been delivered with such genuine concern that she hadn’t known how to react. It was as if he cared for her well-being, yet wanted nothing to do with her personally.

Freya turned away from the mirror, her eyes brimming with unbridled confusion. She didn’t exactly crave Holland’s attention, but if they were to marry, she needed some semblance of connection, some sense of partnership. She couldn’t understand why he was so determined to keep her at arm’s length.

"Am I not beautiful enough?" she whispered, her voice barely audible in the quiet room. "Or perhaps not feminine enough?" She glanced back at her reflection, searching for flaws, for reasons why he might find her lacking. But all she saw was a young woman trying desperately to meet the expectations placed upon her.

Theodore found me adorable.

Freya’s mind raced, replaying every interaction, every glance exchanged with Holland. She wondered if he found her too strong, too independent. After all, her father had trained her to be a queen-king, someone who could rule with strength and authority. Maybe Holland wanted someone more delicate, more demure.

She sighed deeply, the weight of her thoughts pressing down on her. "What do you want from me, Holland?" she asked the empty room, her voice thick with frustration. "If we are to marry, we must at least try to understand each other." she paused, "Or I should have fun and leave the meetings for whatever I want"

Freya felt a surge of determination. She would not let this rift define their future. She would find a way to bridge the gap between them, to discover the source of his sadness and perhaps, in time, earn his respect if not his love.

With renewed resolve, Freya straightened her posture and adjusted the folds of her gown. She would not let herself be defined by his indifference. She was strong, capable, and deserving of respect. And if Holland could not see that, she would find a way to make him understand.

Freya took one last look at her reflection, her eyes now clear and focused. "I will find a way," she vowed softly. "For myself, for Seconoria future." And with that, she turned away from the mirror, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead with the strength and grace that had always defined her.