Damn him, damn him, damn him.

Frida had never wanted to curse someone more than she did Ender. She let her bitter thoughts consume her as she stalked through Paradise, ivory tail whipping harshly against her snow-flecked hindquarters. It was hard not to be angry, even months later. Her blood still boiled when she thought of that handsome smug bastard's face. She'd shared herself with him and he had the gall to turn her away after? She had offered him everything - a home, a family, a chance to warm her bed each night. And what had he done? Thrown it back at her like it was nothing. No, come with me instead, he'd all but said, as if he had anything of value to offer her, anything she didn't already have.

Of course, she didn't have anything. That was the kicker... she'd lied about all of it. She'd claimed a title she'd never owned just for the sake of making herself look more appealing. She'd talked herself up like she was some important figurehead helping her father lead the Prairie. In reality, she was nothing. Her fib had reaped her no rewards, and now she was alone and angry.

Why, why, why had she been so stupid? Why had she thought that would do anything to sway him? It had become painfully clear to her, in those minutes and hours after their rendezvous, that he was not interested in trailing her home, in making a life with her. He was interested only in taking what he wanted and then moving on to the next best thing. Maybe Frida had been a fool to think she was the best thing.

But she was, wasn't she? She was a princess for goodness sake, and a damn good looking one at that. She had wit and charm and confidence, and had proven already she could hold her own on the battlefield. What more could he, or any man, possibly want?

Whatever. If he couldn't see what was right in front of him, then maybe it was best to let him go. She'd be better off anyway, even if she was stuck with the most permanent memento he could have given her. The burgeoning swell of her belly was becoming more noticeable by the day. Mercifully, father and mother had said nothing, but she could tell from the sidelong glances Freya gave her that her mother was concerned about the path she was on.

Again - whatever. It was her life to live, and if Frida just so happened to start it by making the biggest mistake possible, so be it. She would survive. Not just survive, succeed. She had the blood of a warrior's family coursing through her veins - she'd be damned if she let some mediocre man make her start doubting herself now.

Desperately craving a change of scenery, Frida had had the bright idea to leave Luthien and set her sights south to Atlantis. She'd planned to go visit her nieces and nephews there, and perhaps smooth talk her way into the highest ranks while she was at it. Then she could track her bastard down and make him come with her.

But when she arrived, the Harbor was startlingly silent. Sigurðr's scent was thick on the breeze, but hours of hunting for him in the verdant jungle proved fruitless. Eventually she gave up her search and moved on to Paradise, hoping for better luck there. But still there was no one. The stale remnants of Skadi and Skogsra's scent clung feebly to the trees and vines and underbrush, but it was evident that they'd not been here in some time.

Frida wondered if her nieces had found a place they considered a more suitable home, or if perhaps they'd made the long and arduous trek back to the Nordurland. A smaller part of her fretted that they were lost or injured somewhere, but she quickly banished the possibility from her mind. They were strong young mares who could handle themselves - surely they were fine.

But if neither of them were interested in sticking around and being queen, well... Frida would gladly take the burden from their shoulders. It had been days now and still Paradise remained unclaimed and uninhabited - this was her chance. Without a second thought of a hint of doubt Frida climbed the highest ridge she could find, hooves skittering on the damp and rocky trail. The trek to the top was more grueling than she would have thought, and by the time she had it to the top a thin sheen of sweat had formed on her coat.

But the view was worth every aching muscle. The trees seemed to part at the peak, revealing the sprawling island laid out beneath her. The emerald-green treetops swayed and danced beneath the cloudless sky, and in the distance the cerulean sea glittered bright as a gem under the sun.

It was beautiful. Breathtaking. And now, all hers.

It was atop this peak that Frida giddily proclaimed her ownership over Paradise, her silvery voice ringing out over the territory. For several long and blissful moments, silence was her only answer.