Note: This was actually drafted on November 26th.
In all the flurry and the hubbub of the
curses and the execution-that-almost-was, not to mention more fuss that the
larger Johansson clan had kicked up, Faustus had completely forgotten to plan
his honeymoon! That is, until one of his associates questioned in passing why
he was at work? Shouldn’t he be on honeymoon with his lovely wife?
Horrified at his faux pas, Faustus
immediately cast about in his mind for the perfect destination and decided on
one of his foreign properties, in Prague. He coolly informed his associate that
where he and his wife went and what they did were none of their concern, though
secretly, he was grateful that it had been mentioned. He left Ambrose in
charge, as before, although this time he also assigned Anton, Prudence, and
Dorian as co-deputies, to make sure nothing else went awry.
He scooped Freya up and they set off for
their destination.
“I say, Prudence is taking it remarkably
well, having such a young and beautiful stepmother,” he remarked
conversationally.
Freya gave him an amused sort of laugh.
“That’s what we’re talking about on our honeymoon?” she asked, only to give a
light squeak! as he lifted her off her feet again and carried her across the
threshold of their autumn home.
It was a marvellous castle – lovely,
spacious, and in good repair. Of course, it was easy to keep a castle in good
repair when you had magic, but this was a property he rarely visited. It was in
the middle of a forest, where they would have much room to frolic and play, and
on the property was a little well that was overgrown with moss. Freya, in her
flowery, flowy gowns, fit in perfectly, like a light-hearted faerie. He knew
she had troubles, oh yes, from the dreadful treatment she’d received from her
bull of a father, to the fate of her beloved brother. But now, in this moment,
she looked so carefree, so wondrously happy.
He set her down. “We do have staff to tend
to your needs,” he said, “but you can also feel free to make this place your
home in whatever way you’d like. We needn’t return to Greendale until you’ve
grown so absolutely bored with only me and the maids for company that you can
no longer stand it,” he teased.
This was a playful side to Faustus
Blackwood that few ever got to see, and Freya laughed lightly. “I could never
get bored of you,” she said, smiling, though her words were 100% serious.
“Nor I of you,” said Faustus with equal
sincerity. “Now, along about back is an herb garden, should you wish to make
yourself familiar with it, for cooking or healing or both. We’ve a marvellous
library and apothecary in the east wing; bedroom is in the west wing. You may
call upon Daphne and Agnes to assist you in the kitchen. They’re each about a
hundred years old and do wonders with old recipes.” He held her dainty little
hand as he took her on this tour.
When they were done, they decided to
christen the bedroom—once, twice, thrice, and again! Though she’d been pure
until she’d met him, Freya had excellent instincts and Faustus’s reactions only
encouraged her. They moved as one, in more ways than one. To please one’s
partner was to please oneself, and the time they spent together was divinely
pleasing to both of them.
When Freya napped after their indulgences,
Faustus checked in on the goings-on at the Academy and the Church of Night. He
would not risk being supplanted again. Then, when he had been assured that
everything was running to his standards, he contacted his friends who had
attended his wedding. Certainly, he got a bit of lip about it, but it was
amusing, listening to their antics and chiming in when no-one had expected him
to be there.
When he felt her stir just the slightest,
however, he shut down all communication with the outside world and was back at
her side in an instant. This was how it went.
He and Freya took turns cooking and
cleaning; Daphne and Agnes were primed to be helpful, but really, they had
little use for them, so Freya befriended them instead—what a pure heart she
had!—and exchanged advice on herb gardening and usage. They dressed each other
up in outfits that tickled each other’s fancy, both in and out of bed. Their
time together was, in a word, idyllic. It would be a shame to have to return
home. It seemed duty rarely called; Faustus had assigned capable deputies and
there had been no major disasters. They could really stay here, like this,
forever.
The first days of marriage were the
easiest, Faustus thought. He was learning the value of having a woman to walk
beside him rather than behind him. Someone he could trust implicitly.
Did he trust Freya? Strangely, he didn't
see any reason not to. She wasn't exactly the bright doe-eyed image he had in
his head when he pictured innocence, but innocent she certainly was. Not merely
in the sense that he, Faustus, had been her first sexual experience. That was
neither here nor there. She was sheltered, certainly, but that wasn't quite it,
either. Most girls and women he knew had a certain guile about them, a cunning
that seemed to be inherent. Even Sabrina, who tried to pass herself off as good
and pure, was secretly quite conniving. But Freya wasn't. She had been
surprised that Faustus hasn't cared whether her form was fully human or
mermaid; that told him something. There was something indescribable and
undefinable about her that he liked very much.
That wasn't to say that their relationship
has been absolutely without flaw. He had met another Lucifer, one living on the
West Coast, who was frankly captivating. After some initial scorn on both
sides, the two of them had become good friends. He sought counsel from this
Lucifer, which would perhaps bring trouble if his own Dark Lord were to find
out about it. But he had had this Lucifer as a groomsman in his wedding and it
was him he checked in with when he was finished tending to remote oversight of
the Academy and the Church. His affinity towards this Lucifer had causes Freya
no small amount of distress, even jealousy. Was it rightly placed? Who was to
say? He was the first true friend Faustus had made in a long time, his own wife
notwithstanding. It was true that he was fascinated by, and even attracted to
the novelty of, his friend. It was not, however, a curiosity worth forsaking
his wife over.
He had waited lifetimes, plural, to find
someone as interesting and exquisite as Freya. She kept him on his toes. She
had knowledge and instincts he would never have expected from someone of her
youth. Though he did occasionally fall into the habit of flirting with Lucifer,
it was more the influence of that damn group they hung round with than anything
else. He had never been the flirtatious sort before he'd met them.
The point was, Freya was truly an
exceptional woman. She was luminous, in the way he had long forgotten women
could be. She inspired him. He could see himself building a life with her. He
actually had several ideas for how they could spend their days assisting each
other to build up the larger Church of Night outside their cosy suburb in
Connecticut. But….
The trouble, he thought, was perhaps that
things were too blissful. Perhaps she was too perfect. Not in the way her
frenemy Nathaniel complained about, no. But what if he were to grow complacent
in the life they led together and forget, in his bliss, about his duties and
responsibilities to the Church and the Academy? Could such happiness truly be
permitted him? Did he deserve it? One such as himself?
And so he pondered these things, brooding
away, while the light of his life enjoyed herself frolicking in the forest, the
castle, the garden, making herself useful, making herself cosy, making herself
comfortable and at home.
Some days, they went out touring the mortal
world, for their mortal friends had quite piqued their interest. He answered
"yes" to assumptions and inquiries— were they here for the
convention? Were they re-enactors of some sort?— for it was easier that way, to
just go along and get along. They also met with some local witches and
warlocks, building and expanding upon their network. They sampled local cuisine
and learned how to cook and manifest their favourites. He bought her flowers
every day, tucking one into her hair and handing her a bouquet of the rest.
These days were so carefree, they almost never wanted to return!
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