"No, you don't." He uttered ruthlessly, turning on the engine and driving off. His jaw muscles were so tight that Freya could hear the loud gritting of teeth and see his bone structure alter.

He lost connection with the tension-filled space where Freya was suffering in silence. They reached the Duchy in less than no time, and Julian did not even open the door for her. He simply exited the car, rushing like a callous, unyielding storm and went to his office, where remnants of his wife's presence still lingered.

She must be barmy, for there is no tangible way she could love me. Why would she? His inner voice was savage, poking at his confusion-stricken heart, punching it and stripping it off the very last crumbs of balance.

His atriums, ventricles, valvas – every possible biological term – were ripping each other to shreds, wrecking the self-control Julian fought so damn avidly to obtain. She loves me. He would say one spark-worth moment. No, she does not. He would continue the next.

For over a quarter of an hour, or maybe even more – his time acknowledgment was altered beyond redress – his heart pounded viciously against his chest, menacingly jabbing his rib cage.

What is she doing to me? Is this a scheme to turn me into a vulnerable man, a puppet? No, she is unable to do so, isn't she? What if... what if... DAMN!

With a turbulent motion, he passed a hand through his rusty mane, cursing under his heaving breath. His justifiable, yet somehow over-exaggerated turmoil intensified even more brutally when Freya entered his office, her locks of hair bouncing as she spoke.

"Don't be a bloody pussy, Julian! Face me while I tell you one more time that I love you! Yes, yes, I do! Stop gazing at me as if I have just grown another pair of eyes! I love you for reasons that I cannot entirely fathom.

It may be the way you shelter me through my murkiest moments, or the way you fight so fiercely with your demons. It may be just your elegant mien, or even your one-corner smirk everytime someone tries to outsmart you. I love you when you act like a lost boy in search of his blanket, as much as I do when you rise resolutely in front of your people. I love your scar, your messy hair when you wake up in the morning, and your yawn after having a copious meal.

I was an independent woman, and I still am, but I undoubtedly cannot live a day without indulging in your presence. It doesn't matter if we sit in silence, each of us reading a book, or if we kiss, hug and cuddle. It doesn't matter whether I simply listen to your piano songs or your speeches, or that soft lullaby voice when you calm me down. I cannot... I cannot love you more than I already do, for I have reached a limit that is physically hurting. My body is not longer obeying, I am pulled towards you and every resistance is in vain.

Can't you understand this, Julian? Can't you see that I love you beyond salvation?"

Hot tears were gliding down Freya's cheeks, damping her soft skin with rivers of unrequited emotions. She knew he loved her, but why didn't he admit it? What was he afraid of? Rejection? Pain? Oh, my dear husband, I will never abandon you. She vowed internally, her zeal subsiding a little.

Julian's knees melted and he felt the sudden urge to sit down. He chose the farthest spot from his wife, for dealing with that love-laced confession was sanity-consuming. She was sincere indeed, of that he was most certain. But what if he could not return the same passion? What if he did not deserve her love?

Julian found himself wondering why his mind was blocking all memories of her. It was as if it were refusing to free the path towards his own confession. Why is my own mind fighting me?

"I-I find these walls suffocating me, Freya. Can I... can I have a few minutes of recreation?" He inquired meekly.

"Of course, you have a lot to take in. I shall be waiting for you in the bedroom. I need to take a shower." Freya answered, smiling sadly.

He nodded and left his office, fleeing to his mother's grave, which was located in the Duchy's perimeter, along with other deceased relatives. He has not talked to her in a while, for his schedule was over-loaded, but he suddenly felt the yearning for his beloved, eternally smiling mother.

Even though she died of natural causes, he somehow blamed his father for not treating her properly. Julian had constantly tried to compensate for the lack of affection on behalf of the former Duke, but felt like he had never done enough. All he was able to do at a very young age was gaze at her for hours, enjoying her knitting-sessions in the garden.

She was never a conventional beauty, but she held a je-ne-sais-quoi that startled the little boy and made him dream about fantasy characters. She had a beautiful heart, a quality not many royals possessed – not then and definitely not in the present.

"Hi, mom. I am currently caught in a crossroad and may need your help. I know I have hardly been a religious type, but I sense that you are somewhere, watching over me and in the company of the angels you once told me about. I don't... I don't think you are proud of me right now. My father and I had a hideous dispute that ended with him commiting suicide. He is definitely down there, mom. Anyway... my wife has just confessed her love to me and I don't know what to do. I need to see her truly, can you help me?" He begged in a feeble voice.

Julian breathed in deeply, engulfing his senses with the fresh scent of evergreen arbors. He laid down, his back pressed to the slightly humid grass, his eyes closed. He lowered his heart throbs to calmer grounds, connecting to his former self – the one chiselled by his selfless wife.

He stood in a still position for a couple of minutes, praying to his mother for removing the grim webs from his mind. She did help him, after all. In a blink of an eye, a stream of memories flooded him and he was transported back to those blissful times. He remembered the wicked retorts, the bravery when confronting him for her principles, her curled body sheltered by the bed sheets.

All those little moments of bonding were unearthing themselves behind Julian's closed eyelids. Her curvacious frame that enthralled his senses, her orbs of inner depth and empathy, her contagious laugher, her self-sacrifice. Freya's constant presence when he dealt with his father, her soothing words and peaceful touch, her reassuring whispers and heartfelt endearments.

He had not realized before, but he would always lose his temper more easily when not being in contact with Freya. Not seeing her visage, or smelling her floral scent, or embracing her tightly troubled his spirit to the point where he lost his very identity – along with his sanity.

He depended on her presence more than he would ever admit – even to himself – but he needed that bravery nevertheless. He had to make sure his wife knew how much he valued her, for sometimes subtleties were insufficient. The only remaining question was... How could he know if he loved her? There was such a thin thread between love and dependable routine that a man seldom acquainted with feelings would be confused.

He rose from the grass, thanked his mother and returned to his bedroom, where he found Freya dancing in her silk bath gown. The latino rhythm was making his wife sway her hips in the most hypnotic manner. She had a lavish smile outlined on her lips and her eyes were closed as she perkily bounced her buttocks. She was undeniably content, as elated as a small child receiving the last chocolate bar from the counter.

He even heard her light chuckle pinching the air. He smiled, mimicking her state of spirit. She was his shelter, and he was hers. How could he be so bloody imbecile?

The song eventually came to an end. Freya wanted to play another song, but Julian's cough halted her.

"Can I just say something?" He inquired, his tone mellifluous.

Freya spun around, biting her blushing cheeks. "I don't think my response would affect you." She half-smiled.

"You dance so divinely!" His breath caught in his throat, his scrutiny bewitched.

Freya lowered her gaze, but thanked him nonetheless. "Do you have something else to add?" She asked, a frail hope peeking in.

            Julian approached her with carefully-chosen steps, as if the floor was made of glass. "Would you settle for anything less?" He needed to know whether or not he could live up to her expectations.

            "Oh, dear, there is nothing to settle for. I know you love me. All I ought to do is wait for you to realize what I knew all along." She smiled whole-heartedly that time, her tone reassuring.

            "I do not deserve your patience, Freya."

            "That is my decision, don't you think? Plus, I may be generally selfless, but allow me to be selfish this time. I want you to be mine and I shall make you mine, even though you have such a thick head. I will not be betting again, but you will be confessing to me soon. You shall see." She uttered, winking playfully.

            I know I will. He thought.