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Ilmr sighed. “Alright. Admit him,” she told her chief aide. The fae queen of the Scandinavian territories, House of Ulfrwulf, turned the document she’d been reading facedown. Even though it wasn’t confidential, it was a reaction that had taken on muscle memory after hundreds of years of repetition.

Vidar was waiting outside her private rooms. The demigod of the northern hunt had kept to himself for almost a millennium, choosing the solitude of the tundra and the company of furred creatures over life at court.

But upon meeting his obligation to attend the coronation of a new queen some centuries past, he’d beheld Ilmr and fallen in love at first sight.

The attraction was one-sided, but that didn’t deter Vidar.

He remained at court most of the time, returning to the north for occasional visits, just enough to ensure the balance of nature was maintained.

Despite his status as demigod, Ilmr found him unfashionable and unsophisticated.

These undesirable characteristics were tiresome, but didn’t rise to the level of complete rejection for two reasons.

First, he was undeniably attractive, as are all demigods.

His looks were striking enough to turn heads at court whenever he was present.

Rather than detracting from his beauty, the weathered skin of his face only punctuated his distinct masculinity.

That tan face was framed by hair and beard that were light brown with bold-contrast blond highlights – the sort any human salon would kill for.

But what made him so extraordinarily handsome, even among fae royals, were the piercing blue eyes that sparkled when the skin around them crinkled ever so slightly.

The second reason why Ilmr tolerated Vidar’s pursuit was this. It is an undeniable universal principle that adoration is hard to resist. That was particularly true for fae, whose vanity is so consuming that it must be constantly fed.

Ilmr was feeling particularly melancholy that day.

She wasn’t keen on entertaining visitors and wished she could simply be left alone.

Seclusion wasn’t just a luxury. It had become such an unattainable state for Ilmr that she’d come to consider it a prize second only to one thing - her status among fae.

There’d been a time when Ilmr craved the excitement of crowds and liked nothing more than being the center of attention.

That was before she’d realized that she was considered, by most fae, to be last in rank among the fae queens.

After discovering how she was commonly judged by others, it had begun to niggle at her.

She was stricken with a condition humans would call mild depression, coupled with imaginary heartburn.

Between themselves, far from Ilmr’s sharp ears or those of her informants, the queen’s physicians called her condition “imaginary”.

It was a good bet they were right since fae typically enjoy the benefits of perfect health.

Never once in their long lives are they likely to experience real physical suffering.

Court physician is more or less an honorary title as none are ever called to practice medicine.

Ilmr had put together a team of healers specifically for the purpose of addressing her complaints.

They were forced to pledge secrecy on penalty of death, but of course, they were stumped.

Exchanging frequent side glances, they silently agreed it was a psychological issue.

Though queens’ bodies were practically incorruptible, their minds were as vulnerable to compromise as the humans they considered far inferior.

When not in Ilmr’s presence, the healers whispered this fact, sometimes referencing Maeve as an example of things gone wrong.

In a fit of failure and frustration, she fired the lot of them, planning to turn to the ice witches instead. The ice witches were a last resort because, rather than graciously accepting the honor of serving their queen, they required high-end remuneration.

With considerable effort, she’d managed to keep her feelings about her low status among queens to herself, thinking that admission of her disgrace would give it more substance. She was right, of course. But that didn’t mean she could contain the inner volcano forever.

These were the thoughts occupying her mind as she stared out her tower window at the gray sky. Her pet arctic condor made a low humming sound, alerting her that someone, be it guest or intruder, had entered. With all her security, the latter was too improbable to consider.

With another deep sigh, Ilmr pulled her attention away from the nothingness of the skyscape to receive Vidar.

But before she could manage a word, her Norwegian gray wolves, who were identical twins, famously reserved and well-behaved, had lunged from the cushy bed they shared to welcome him with whines, wagging tails, and vertical leaps with all four legs leaving the ground.

Ilmr thought it was undignified, but forgave them since Vidar was god of northern wolves and other creatures.

The condor, fearing being left out, pooped on her perch then flew to land on Vidar’s outstretched arm.

“Well,” Ilmr said. “It seems you’re already the beneficiary of a most enthusiastic welcome.”

“Just part of the job, Your Highness.” Vidar grinned, pleased that the queen’s animals had made a spectacle of welcoming him.

Ilmr was unprepared for such a witty, unassuming, and lighthearted response. Her first impression was that perhaps the demigod wasn’t all roughhewn. He might be surprisingly likable.

“That will be all,” she told Kyeya, her chief aide. With a slight bend of her body that was probably a variation on a bow, Kyeya withdrew, closing the two huge double doors behind her, one at a time.

Ilmr half-heartedly scolded the wolves then ordered them to return to their bed. Once done, she managed a small smile for Vidar. It wasn’t a genuine smile felt all the way down to her solar plexus, but her physicians were continually telling her to “fake it till you make it”.

Taking a moment to size him up, she noted that he’d made an effort to wear a fine costume: a sea-green linen tunic over wool trousers, roughout tan boots, and a gold leaf iron hammered belt fit for a god.

The belt was so singularly intricate, the design so fluid and mesmerizing, that it might have been crafted by Hephaestus himself.

She knew it wasn’t Vidar’s habit to dress according to his divine station and knew he’d made a special effort on her behalf.

It was flattering. For all she knew, the belt was precious enough to be worth half her queendom.

Hmmm, she thought as she gestured toward the end of the room set aside for private conversations with family or officials. Vidar was neither, but the setting would suffice.

Vidar pulled his gaze away from Ilmr’s face long enough to track her gesture and understand that he was to sit on the other side of the brazier.

He nodded and took his place, but remained standing.

Even though he was technically her superior, being a demigod and all, he deferred to her in every way and didn’t mind doing so.

He’d allow her to lead the way. He’d allow her to sit first. He’d allow her to speak first.

A fine copper pot with a handle reminiscent of a treble clef sat on the brazier steeping a rare black Russian tea. The fine aroma caused his nostrils to flare.

After seating himself, he watched Ilmr, tracking even the tiniest of moves or differences in facial expression.

She poured the tea wordlessly. He accepted without disturbing the silence.

It occurred to him that it might be a test. There are those in the world who cannot tolerate silence.

There are others who believe that one who reveals an intolerance for quiet has revealed all.

At long last, after both had drunk half their allowances of tea, she said, “Why have you requested this visit, Vidar?”

“Simply to experience the pleasure of your company. For as long as you allow, Your Highness.”

Ilmr cocked her head to the side. “How can you say my company is pleasurable? We’ve not spent time together. A substantial number of my subjects would jump at the chance to correct your assumption.”

“Then they’re are imbeciles fit for nothing except unceremonious expulsion from court. I’ve been observing you, although from a distance, for some time. You strike me as a most interesting person.”

Despite her melancholia, she laughed. A little.

It was a surprise to Ilmr. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been entertained to the point of laughter.

The only logical reaction was to guess she might’ve misjudged him and viewed him superficially by his somewhat rough and unsophisticated exterior.

In that moment, Vidar thought that being the cause of Ilmr’s delight was the single most prized achievement of his immortal life.

He grinned and waited on edge to see what would happen next.

When she cocked her head and looked at him, really looked , she began to notice the pull of extreme virility coupled with rugged masculine beauty.

The spark in his eyes caused the icy blue to pop in an extraordinarily sexy manner.

“Well. We’ll see. Why do you stay here? At court, Vidar?”

His eyes almost shuttered at the pleasure of hearing her say his name, but he managed to control himself, barely hanging onto the dignified image he chose to project.

Vidar wasn’t interested in court politics, intrigue, or vying for power.

So, he’d never bothered to acquire skills of stratagem and half-truths.

“I stay for the chance to catch sight of you.”

Ilmr was so surprised to hear the raw honesty of his answer that her lips parted. Before her sat a demigod who appeared to be enchanted by her.