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“I have no desire for power.” Alexander took a steadying breath, his hands still twisted together behind him. “I wish only to do my duty to my nation. If my people are in good hands, I would not change that.”

The princess pressed her lips together and her gaze flicked from Alexander to Gytha and back. “I see.”

Alexander said, “Your Highness, I know the story sounds impossible. I would not believe me, if I were in your place. But if you believe nothing else, please believe that I only want to do my duty.”

The princess nodded. “Thank you.” Her dark eyes gave little away, but Gytha did not think she intended to have them hauled off to be executed. She studied them a moment longer and then said, “You must be tired. I will have guest rooms prepared for you, and tomorrow we will speak again.”

They were installed in two guest suites across the hall from each other, and servants delivered a warm, comforting dinner.

They ate together in the sitting room adjoining Alexander’s suite and went to their beds very early, for the fatigue and emotions of the day, and indeed of the past weeks, threatened to overwhelm them both.

The room in which Gytha slept was entirely made of stone and had no windows, so it easily served as prison cell as well as guest room.

Nevertheless, it was comfortable, clean, and warmed by the fire in the grate.

Bright rugs, paintings on the walls, and numerous lanterns made the space cheery and welcoming.

Gytha woke to a servant bringing a simple but delicious breakfast of flaky, buttery biscuits, sweet berry jam, savory sausages, and a delicious honey custard with a crunchy, sugary crust. When she had just begun eating, the princess and one of the guards from the previous day entered.

“I don’t mean to bother you,” said the princess, as if she were not allowed to be anywhere in her own palace. “But I wanted to hear your story. Will you speak with me? ”

Gytha stood hurriedly. “Yes, miss. I mean, Your Highness.” She curtsied.

At the princess’s nod, the guard introduced the princess as Her Highness Marin de Gracey and himself as Captain Derek Brighton.

Soon Gytha was telling the princess everything, from the desperate deprivation from which the bear prince had saved her and her family, to the year in a strange prison of snow and ice, Eshkeshken’s determination to retake his throne, the confrontation at the ice goblin palace, and their travel to Elestar.

“And what do you want?” the princess pressed gently.

“I want to go home.” Gytha’s voice cracked, and she flushed and looked down at her hands clasped in her lap.

“I miss my family. I want to marry Alexander and build a homestead near my mother and father. I want to have children with him and teach them how to read, and even buy some books for them, if the farm does well.” She did not mention the jewels from Eshkeshken because she did not think of them.

“I want to sit in a rocking chair and knit little sweaters for my children and kiss their pillowy little cheeks. I want to listen to Alexander read to our babies and sing to them.”

The princess met her eyes. “If you could choose between that and being queen here, which would you choose?”

Gytha swallowed. She felt this was a test, but there was only one answer. “I want to marry Alexander,” she said. “I will go where he goes. But I would prefer a simple life in Aoalvik over a crown or a throne.”

The guard’s steely blue eyes softened at this, and Gytha was belatedly aware of how perceptive his attention had been. But he said nothing.

“Thank you.” The princess rose and smiled at her kindly. “Rest now.”

Hours later, Alexander joined her, and they were served a generous and fortifying lunch. He had given his story in much the same manner, and he was equally unsure whether the princess or her guards believed him.

For quite some time, they were left alone. Alexander sat and stared at the fire, his elbows on his knees and his hands hanging down. At last he said, “If I were her, I wouldn’t believe me. I requested that she let you go free, even if she executes me as an imposter.”

“Do you think she will?” Of course it made sense, but Gytha could not bring herself to truly fear that the princess would do such a thing.

Alexander let out a slow breath and then, carefully, reached out and took one of her hands in his. “Don’t be afraid, Gytha.” His dark eyes held hers. “I trust that whatever Her Highness thinks of me, and does with me, she will let you go free.”

The gratitude and love in his expression nearly took her breath away. “I am not afraid,” she said.

He swallowed and nodded. “You are courageous.”

They ate a similarly quiet dinner, and Gytha felt the warmth of the food as a kindness, as if the princess had personally selected the dishes to provide comfort after many months of being chilled. When they had finished eating, a servant cleared the dishes and another one entered.

“Her Highness requests your presence at once.”

Gytha hurriedly smoothed her hands down the front of her dress and over her hair, noting surreptitiously that Alexander was making a similar effort to look more presentable.

They followed the servant through many halls and up so many staircases that Gytha’s legs burned with exertion.

She wondered whether the elevation and exertion were a way to show the power and authority of the throne, or whether the princess was so accustomed to the stairs that she did not mind climbing up so far.

Perhaps she never went all the way down!

They were accompanied by several guards, though the guards did not seem to expect any rebellion or violence from them.

At last they stopped before a set of wooden doors inlaid with gold and silver. They were ushered into the room.

The room was dazzling, and its occupants even more so. The lamplight glittered on the polished marble floor, the golden threads of the tapestries, and the silver and gold embroidery on the clothes of the princess and her companions.

The princess, as lovely as she was, suddenly seemed like perhaps the least interesting person in the room, excepting Gytha herself.

Beside Her Highness was a man of such impossible beauty that it nearly hurt to look at him; his hair was spun gold, and his face was chiseled of alabaster.

His full lips turned up in a smile at the sight of them, not exactly in mockery but as if he knew exactly how unsettling his beauty was.

His clear, ocean blue eyes sparkled with intelligence and humor.

He was barely of average height, but his shoulders were broad and muscular, set off to perfection by a suit the perfect color to make his remarkable eyes gleam.

Near them stood a man and a woman.

“Alex?” the woman said in disbelief. She was dainty and exquisite, like a sparkling jewel.

Her dress nipped in to show her tiny waist and bared her delicate collarbones without being scandalous, and her dark hair was caught up in with jewels that sparkled merrily in the light.

Her face was as delicate as a rose petal, pale and lovely, with huge dark eyes.

She rivaled the blond for beauty, although her beauty was entirely of a different sort, but something about her seemed less perilous, at least to Gytha.

The tall, lean man beside her was dressed in attire that matched hers; he had a dangerous elegance that bordered on forbidding.

He had a wolfish face that gave away little, and his long, shaggy, black hair was liberally sprinkled with silver.

His shoulders were broad and his waist narrow; he gave Gytha the impression of tightly coiled strength with more than a hint of danger.

Alexander gave a soft gasp of surprise. “Miss Woodward?” He took a few steps forward. “Miss Colette Woodward? How are you…”

The tiny lady gave a soft, musical laugh. “It’s an odd story, as I suppose yours must be. Where have you been?”

“More like what have I been.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, controlling his emotions. “You haven’t aged a day.” His voice was filled with soft wonder. He turned to the tall man and paled slightly, ducking his head in reflexive respect. “Mr. Stepanov.”

Alexander smiled again; from behind him, Gytha could see the curve of his cheek and the almost imperceptible trembling of his hands at his sides.

“You’ve had a hard time, haven’t you?” Miss Woodward said gently. “I wish I had known, or I might have been able to help.”

Alexander looked down. “No one knew.” He straightened and forced a smile. “Miss Woodward, Mr. Stepanov, this is Miss Gytha Ivarrsdattar. She freed me from my captivity, and we are going to be married. It would mean a lot to me if I had your blessing.”

The woman turned her attention to Gytha, and Gytha felt the weight of her gaze with a shock. Everything in her wanted to obey this woman; her dark eyes were soft, kind, and utterly compelling.

“How do you know Alexander?,” Gytha managed. “He said he had been gone for two hundred fifty years.” Gytha dragged her eyes away from Miss Woodward to look at Mr. Stepanov; the man’s eyes were intent upon Alexander, and he spared Gytha only a quick glance .

“I was an advisor to his father more than once, and I met him when he was young.” Miss Woodward smiled kindly at her and then looked back at the princess.

“I see now why you requested Mr. Stepanov and me. It is difficult to believe, and I am sure this causes political difficulties, but Alexander truly is the lost prince.”

“I see,” said the princess. “This does complicate things.” She took a deep breath, and her eyes flicked from face to face as she thought.

“It is rather late. Whatever we decide, Prince Alexander, we will not make the decision tonight. Please believe me when I say you are safe here, and I have no desire to cause you additional pain. Why don’t you rest tonight and perhaps all day tomorrow, and then we can discuss what we will do, together, for the good of the kingdom. ”

Alexander bowed. “Thank you, Your Highness. Thank you, Miss Woodward. Mr. Stepanov.”

The trembling in his hands had become more obvious.

Gytha slipped her hand into his and felt him relax a little.

Only now did Gytha notice that two other people, in addition to the guards, were present: a youth of about her own age, and a girl of perhaps eleven.

Both of these were observing with naked curiosity and fascination, but neither seemed to have any role in the conversation.

When they turned to leave, Mr. Stepanov stepped forward and put a hand on Alexander’s shoulder. His dark eyes swept over Alexander’s face, and he frowned. “You smell like a bear,” he said softly.

Alexander nodded. “Yes, sir.”

The man’s gaze flickered, and he nodded. He squeezed Alexander’s shoulder and stepped back, bowing slightly.