Her eyes widened.
“Of all the things ye could be thinking,” she said, her voice catching somewhere between exasperation and something else entirely, “that is what concerns ye?”
“Is it so strange,” he replied, a sharper note entering his voice now, “that I would wish for me daughter to think well of me?”
The word settled between them.
Daughter.
Iona’s breath hitched.
For a heartbeat, neither moved.
Then she crossed the distance between them in a single step.
Her hands found him first, gripping at his tunic as though she needed something solid to hold. The motion was not cautious. It was not measured. It was immediate, instinctive, and entirely without calculation.
She pressed against him, arms wrapping around his waist with a force that surprised them both.
Frederick went still.
Then his hands came up, slower, settling against her back as though he were testing whether she would remain.
She did.
“Iona,” he began, his voice lower now, edged with something he had not intended to show.
“Daenae speak,” she said quickly, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “Just… kiss me… please?”
He arched a brow slightly. “That is a change in approach.”
“Frederick.”
There was no teasing in her tone now. Only urgency.
He studied her for a fraction longer, something in his gaze sharpening as he took in the flush of her cheeks, the way her breath had not yet steadied, the way her eyes held his as though she had already decided and would not retreat from it now.
“Ye refused me,” he said, not as accusation, but as fact.
“I am nay refusing this,” she answered.
“Iona,” he murmured quietly, though the word did not break the space between them so much as deepen it.
She did not answer in words. She simply pressed her body flush against his.
That was enough.
Frederick did not hesitate.
His hands found her waist and drew her firmly against him, the movement controlled but decisive, as though the choice had already been made long before this moment. The fabric of her skirts shifted beneath his touch, the warmth of her pressing into him in a way that made his breath deepen, though his expression did not lose its composure.
His lips met hers, and this time, there was no uncertainty in it.
The kiss deepened quickly and was full of restrained hunger. He tilted his head, guiding the angle, his mouth moving with slow, deliberate intent as though he meant to learn every reaction she gave him.
She answered him without hesitation, her fingers rising to his shoulders, gripping just enough to betray the tension she no longer tried to hide.
He tasted warmth and breath and something that unsettled his usual control. And for a moment, he allowed himself to follow it.