Author's Note:

I have just written 5 chapter (granted, very short chapters) in 1 day! Thank you for everyone who started following Freja's Daughters. And thanks, those of you who left reviews. They were very encouraging! Do continue to comment and review. It motivates me a lot! :)

Chapter 5

Three days had passed since the ball, and Freja's nerves had more or less calmed. She had neither seen or heard from Edvard, or Finley… she wasn't sure just what to call him… since the night they had danced, and was starting to imagine the whole thing was just an uncomfortable coincidence. Maybe Kai had put him on the guest list as an entertainer. Freja knew for a fact that he could perform to fit the role.

He could do much more than that.

Sitting in her library by the fire, clutching a blanket around her changing body, the queen shivered. Just thinking about the romance of her youth made unpleasant goosebumps rise all over her arms and neck. She still hadn't told Stellan about the "magician." Heaven knew he would not take it well. Edvard would probably be kicked out of Arendelle, or imprisoned. The thought of that did make Freja feel relieved, but what had he done wrong? What if he was just as surprised to see her, and simply asked her to dance for old time's sake?

The queen leaned her head back on her chair and closed her eyes, her hands subconsciously tracing the bulge on her abdomen. Oh, why did she ever have to fall for Finn, all those years ago? Everything would have been so much simpler.

But she did remember why. She remembered the blonde haired little servant boy, just her age, accidentally dropping a pitcher of tea on her at the dinner table. She remembered how his mother, the cook, had swatted him so hard that tears welled up in his golden eyes. She remembered their private meets under the willow tree in the garden, where he showed her his secret. Waving his hand, he had conjured a small pile of snow at the tree trunk's base. Snow! In the middle of summer! Freja had thought it was beautiful, and had grabbed a handful and thrown it lightly in his face.

She remembered, on her sixteenth birthday, when he had first kissed her, and she remembered how cool is skin was.

She remembered their plan. Elope, live in the mountains in a log cabin, have a few kids. Her sister, Primrose, was to be queen of Corona anyways. Why did it matter that she left?

She remembered the day when her parents held a ball and invited all the princes from the surrounding kingdoms, hoping that someone would strike her fancy. Little did they know their daughter was already smitten, batting her eyelashes at the young man organizing the fruit table, subtly refreshing the ice sculpted swan that stood there.

That was where the memories of Finn stopped. Freja scrunched her eyes tightly and tried to remember why. Oh… that's right.

The handsome young prince from Arendelle had walked through the door, looking completely confused. She had watched as he turned down offers to dance from the other girls, even from Prim. Then his eyes had fixed on her. He had walked toward her and asked her to dance. Her! Out of everyone at the party that night. And she had accepted, her head light and her face blushed and smiling. He had been an absolutely horrible dancer, but she hadn't cared.

And she had forgot all about the servant boy standing by the ice swan, watching with jealous eyes as she and the prince waltzed across the ballroom.

Freja startled as the door to the library opened, and her eyes blinked open. She turned, expecting Stellan to be standing there. She would tell him now. She really would. She didn't care how embarrassed it would make her, Freja just wanted this weight off of her.

Standing in front of her, leaning casually on his walking stick, stood Finn. Freja's mouth dropped open, but nothing came out.

"Hello, again, Freja."

"Finn," she replied, pleadingly.

He slammed his stick against the wooden floor, and she jumped.

"Don't…" he said, "Don't call me that."

Freja took a deep breath. If she was going to face this, she was going to have to calm down. She had nothing to fear from this man.

"But that's your name, isn't it? How did you even get in here?" she raised an eyebrow.

"My name is Edvard. Edvard Finley Beteran. Of course, you wouldn't remember that was my full name. You hardly recognize me, don't you?"

It was true, Freja thought. He had changed so much from the boy she once knew. His eyes were the same color, and his hair was still platinum blonde, but his face was fierce and a thin scar ran from the bridge of his nose to his ear. In truth, if he hadn't hinted at his name during the dance three nights ago, she probably would still be wondering who he was.

"Do you have any idea what you did to me," Edvard growled, "Any idea at all what I have been through for your sake?"

Freja swallowed. This was not going well.

"Finn, listen."

"YOU LISTEN TO ME!" he yelled, his eyes flashing. "I went to prison for you! We were supposed to meet after that ball, all those years ago and run away together! Well, I was there! I was waiting for you with all the supplies I had stolen from the castle and the kitchen, and your horse and your bag of clothes. And when the time came when we were supposed to meet, YOU WEREN'T THERE!Why weren't you there? Because you were still up in the ballroom, having a grand old time with your new prince charming!"

Freja had backed up against the bookshelves by the fireplace. She looked down and saw the fire stoker lying at her feet, the end of it red hot. Only if worst came to worst, she promised herself.

"Finn, please," she said, trying her hardest to keep the tears from flowing. "If you love me still, after all this time, won't you respect me enough to…"

"LOVE YOU? Oh, Freja, you are so naïve. You think I would love you after rotting in prison for you for three years. No, your highness. I don't love you. I'm not sure I ever did. But now? Now I loath you!"

With a squeal of terror, Freja grappled along the ground, clutching the cool end of the fire stoker and brandishing it at her assailant.

Edvard smirked. He shot out his hand and the metal rod dropped out of Freja's hand, encased in a solid block of ice. The queen pressed her hands against her stomach. Her heart pounded as she felt a soft kick.

"Please! Don't hurt her!"

Edvard's eyes showed no emotion. Nothing with the exception of hatred. He raised his hand again, and everything went black.