Alexander had loved Arendelle Castle for as long as he could remember. He remembered his first walk across the castle bridge, when he first visited as a boy with his father. He wondered at the massive boulder foundations along the harbour, the imposing turrets and lighthouses, the multiple tiers of elegant triangular windows. He marvelled at the courtyard with its graceful fountains, and at the majestic central keep. Nothing in his experience could have prepared him for such grandeur. His father took him on a tour from room to room—the Great Hall, the Portrait Room, the Ballroom—each more splendid than the last. Alexander had stepped into a fairytale; and it seemed all the more so when his father introduced him to King Agnarr and Queen Iduna, and a very young Princess Elsa.

Greetings, Your Majesties, Your Highness" said Alexander's father with a formal bow. "My son, Alexander."

Alexander felt nervous in the presence of the king and queen. He had often heard his father talk about them in glowing terms and with reverence, and Alexander had seen them from afar at festivals and in the village; but here they were standing right before him. Princess Elsa was there too, tiny and shy. She stood behind her mother's skirts, peeking out at Alexander and his father.

"Ambassador," said Agnarr, with a nod.

Alexander looked at the princess. She had the biggest, bluest eyes he had ever seen! Eyes that were so bright, they almost appeared to be illuminated from within.

"Stand tall, Alexander," his father said, touching his son on the chin. "Princess Elsa will be your queen one day. She will rule all of Arendelle."

"Queen?" said Alexander. "Does that mean I'll have to do whatever she says?"

The king and queen look at each other and laughed. King Agnarr knelt down so he was closer to Alexander's height. "Kings and queens do not tell our people what to do, Alexander. Our calling is to help our people live happy and fulfilled lives. This is what Iduna and I want, and it is what Elsa will want too."

Alexander waved shyly at Elsa, opening and closing his hand rapidly. The little princess shrank back.

"Alexander," said his Alexander's father, "you know better than that! You may address the Crown Princess as 'Your Highness.' Forgive us, Majesties."

Alexander hesitated to address Elsa by her title. It seemed so grown-up to speak that way. The boy looked dumbly at his father, uncertain what was expected and conscious the king and queen were watching.

King Agnarr understood Alexander's hesitation. He smiled and said, "Come here, Alexander." The boy walked up to the king. Agnarr put his hand on Alexander's shoulder and whispered something in his ear. Alexander furrowed his tiny eyebrows as he looked back at the king.

"I give you my royal permission as King of Arendelle," said Agnarr with a kindly smile.

Alexander looked bashfully at Elsa. Then back at his father. Then he bowed awkwardly to Elsa and said, "My lady." Then Elsa stepped out from behind her mother's skirts, held her skirt out slightly, and did a self-conscious curtsy with a bit of a wobble. Both children giggled.

The boy reached back for his father's hand, still looking at the princess. As his father led him away, Alexander never forgot that the King had given him permission to address Elsa as "my lady." And he never forgot the shy princess with expressive eyes that sparkled like sapphires.

After his father's death, King Agnarr and Iduna took Alexander and his mother into the castle. Alexander explored every nook and cranny, and was always discovering something new. He knew that the third step on the staircase leading down to the kitchen squeaked if you stepped near the left side; that you could get up onto the roof if you opened a window in the Upper Gallery; and that you would see a reflexion of the Library window in the lighthouse glass if you stood in the middle of the castle bridge. It became his home. It was his beloved Arendelle.

It was early morning and Alexander could feel his heart leap. It had arrived! Three days before Elsa's birthday, the present had arrived! He eagerly took it to his office beside the council chambers and inspected it: it was exactly as he had hoped. He wrote a quick note to thank the sender, and locked the package in his bottom desk drawer. This was a present that he was sure would bring Elsa joy. He practically skipped down the hallway on his way to meet the queen for her morning briefing.

Alexander collected himself, and then knocked on Elsa's study door. She bid him enter. "Ma belle reine, j'espère que vous allez bien ce matin," said Alexander, speaking to her in French as was their custom when alone together.

The queen wore a gown of fine silk, deep lavender with a thick cream border at the neckline. A matching border ran along the edge of the train, but rose dramatically across the front of the skirt across the diagonal. The bodice was corseted and off-the-shoulder, leaving her arms and shoulders bare, and the skirt cascaded below the knee. Her gown was more formal than usual, because the queen was sitting for a portrait that afternoon. Alexander was frequently struck by the elegance of Elsa's gowns, but this was exceptional.

As she sat behind her desk, he stood and briefed her on the day's commitments. It was traditional for the royal advisor to stand as the sovereign sat during the briefing, even though there were several chairs available; it was a sign of respect for her position.

Yet, no matter how much Elsa wanted to maintain a level of formality with him while they carried out the duties of state together, something had shifted. It made Elsa feel uncomfortable to leave him standing. She knew she was his superior; he was her subject, a loyal servant of the crown, and she was his sovereign. But he was also a man who, according to his professions—though Elsa could not really understand how or fully admit it to herself—was fervently in love with her. Should such a man stand, subservient to his queen? Did she not want him to stand any longer? To invite him to sit would indicate that he was in some way no longer a servant to the crown. And then, if invited once, would he always sit and never again stand for her? How can so much weight be placed on the simple question of whether a man sits or stands in her study?

These thoughts distracted Elsa as Alexander described the day before her. There were details about the university that needed attention; Lord Olstad wanted to talk about the kingdom's finances; and there were decisions to be made about a few trade agreements. Then there was the portraiture session for much of the afternoon, which for Elsa was the start of hours of sitting more-or-less motionless and getting no work done.

Elsa left Alexander standing. There should be a difference between a late-night rendezvous and preparations for the day. But part of her wished she could be alone with him in the forest again. And she couldn't help but notice his mode of address was softer and lower than usual; and when he called her "my lady," as had been his custom since they were children, there was something different in how he looked at her.

When they finished discussing affairs of state, Alexander bowed, and was about to go. "Thank you, councillor," Elsa said. Then she tilted her head slightly and looked at him. He was well dressed. Well, he was always well dressed. But was there something different? There was something in his look that reminded her of her father. She had always found Alexander a calming presence; but for the first time she saw a part of her father's calm in him. Perhaps it was his cologne as well.

"Alexander, would you sit with me a spell?" she asked.

"It would be my honour, my lady," Alexander said.

Once he sat, she found she did not have anything to say to him. Or rather, she had a lot to say, but did not know where to start. So they sat, awkwardly, silence hanging between them, until Elsa asked, "Have you heard from Thea?"

"Thea?" asked Alexander, caught a little off guard.

"Yes," said the queen.

Alexander was surprised that Elsa knew who Thea was, let alone that the queen knew enough to ask if he had heard from her. But Thea had been presented to Elsa as a débutante, and Elsa also knew that Alexander had escorted Thea home before his loitering beneath the clock tower.

"Yes, my lady," he said. "I have heard from her."

"And how is she doing," asked Elsa.

"She is doing well," said Alexander. "She said that she had a lovely time at the Winter Ball, and hoped we would dance again sometime soon."

"And how did you respond?" said Elsa, with an innocent look.

Alexander paused, considering how to answer. "I—told her that it was an honour to dance with her at the ball," he said.

The queen raised an eyebrow. "Of course you did," she said with a chuckle. Of course he was respectful to Thea. But Elsa found it amusing to pursue this line of questioning, and so she asked, "What did you think of her gown at the ball?"

"She was dressed very beautifully," said Alexander.

"I see," said Elsa.

"As all the débutantes were," added Alexander.

"I see," said Elsa, more slowly this time.

"Why do you ask?" he said.

"I was wondering whether you took note of such things," said Elsa.

"Only on occasion," said Alexander with a smile. "Do you ever think about your own débutante ball?"

Elsa turned her head away and sighed. "The Winter Ball past has put me in mind of it from time to time. As you know, I was never presented."

"I do know, my lady," he said. "Do you remember your gown?"

Elsa paused and thought about it for a second. "It was white," she said.

It struck Alexander as odd, for a woman as well-dressed as Elsa always was, to not remember the details her own débutante gown; probably the most elaborate gown she had ever been intended to wear, apart from her coronation gown; or her wedding gown, if she ever decided to take a consort.

"Why? Do you remember anything of it?" asked Elsa.

"A little," said Alexander. He had been in Queen Iduna's service when she had it designed and made for her daughter.

Elsa furrowed her brow and smiled. It struck her as implausible that he would remember anything. What would a man ever notice about one of her gowns, particularly one that he had perhaps only seen once, many years ago? Her curiosity was piqued. "Tell me," she said, almost challenging him.

"Your débutante gown—" he said, closing his eyes for a moment. Then he spoke in a much lower tone of voice, evidently remembering it with pleasure. "Your débutante gown was the most elaborate, magnificent gown I have ever seen—with the exception of your ice gown, of course. It was white, as you say. But it had an intricate brocade of golden thread that stiffened the fabric and gave it an opulent appearance. The corset had steel boning that created elegant vertical lines leading from the top of the strapless bodice to the waist, below which the graceful skirt flared out. The skirt was full and rustled at every step. And the train of the skirt rippled as you walked, creating a lovely line that invited the eye to follow its sweep."

Elsa tilted her head and lifted her chin. She wasn't quite sure how to respond.

"The hem of the skirt was also slightly shorter than the softer, fuller underskirt," he said, "giving you the effect of—," and he paused, trying to think of the word.

"Gliding," said Elsa, a little sheepishly.

"Gliding," he said in agreement. "My lady, your gown would have given you advantage over all others in the room, if you did not already possess an insurmountable advantage by your very nature,—" he said, broke off when Elsa made something of a squeak and covered her mouth, looking away.

"Alexander, please!" she said, her cheeks flushing. And what began as an chuckle turned into a laugh. She thought it was bizarre that he would think this way. She was embarrassed. She was touched. How could he remember her gown in such detail, from all those years ago?

Alexander smiled. He was happy to see his queen laugh; and he could so readily picture her in her gown. Then again, in truth, he could picture her in almost every gown he had ever seen her wear, though he wasn't about to admit to that.

"My train rippled? Who knew?" said Elsa, still smiling and looking at the floor.

"It did," he said. "But many of the dresses you favour do; though the quality of the ripple is different. For example, your ice gown has a skirt that follows only a second behind your movement, and the cape somewhat longer, creating a layered effect; whereas your formal lavender gown is more traditional, and—"

Alexander stopped short as Elsa erupted in laughter and clapped her hands together—partly from self-consciousness at having attracted anyone's attention in this way, and partly from the revelation of his knowing such details about her gowns. Alexander laughed too.

When they had settled down a little, he added, "I mean, I suppose there are differences. I can't say for sure."

Elsa liked her gowns, but it never occurred to her anyone else noticed or cared. And she had certainly never spared a thought for how a skirt trained behind her as she walked. To her, a gown either felt right or it did not; it was simply part of how a woman of her station was expected to appear.

"I can tell you don't think the same way," said Alexander. "But why, then, choose one gown over another? You have a large range in what you decide to wear from day to day."

That anyone would notice there were differences in what she chose to wear day to day was entirely new to Elsa. She started to wonder what else he noticed.

"I choose to wear what pleases me," said Elsa.

Alexander sat back and looked at her evenly. "And do all styles please you equally on a given day? Surely you must have some consciousness of the effect you have on people. For example, is it simply by accident that you tend to wear your ice gown to council meetings?"

Elsa did, a little more often than not, wear her ice gown to council meetings. She hadn't really thought about it specifically. "I have just never thought about it that way. That's not the way any woman thinks about how she dresses."

"And how is that?" asked Alexander.

"I choose what is appropriate for the occasion, and what I think is pretty," she said. "I pick what makes me feel acceptable."

"Acceptable?! My lady, have you never looked in a mirror?" said Alexander, with a little more forthrightness than he had intended. Were he not talking to Elsa, Alexander would have rolled his eyes. "Elsa, do you think Queen Iduna was beautiful?"

"My mother?" said Elsa. "Yes, of course."

"She was more than beautiful, Elsa," said Alexander. "She was elegant and pretty and queenly."

"I agree," said Elsa, happy to be talking about someone else. "I think she was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."

"And you, my lady, inherited her comeliness, and then some," he said.

"Oh," was all that Elsa could say. She looked down at her hands in her lap, smiling and feeling embarrassed yet again. Elsa knew that she looked like her mother, and spoke the truth of 1her mother's beauty. But she had never made the inference that this meant she herself was beautiful. Not that she accepted it.

"You don't believe me, do you?" asked Alexander. Elsa turned her sapphire blue eyes to him and said nothing.

"Elsa of Arendelle, know this" he said. "You are the most stunningly beautiful woman I have ever known. You are the most gorgeous, splendid, enchanting creature that has ever graced the throne of this kingdom, and ever will. You have more beauty in your little finger than the next most beautiful woman in the world has in her whole being. And yet, though everyone else who has stood in the same room with you is aware of this, somehow you are not. Which just makes you more beautiful. You, my lady, are beyond compare."

Elsa looked back at him blankly for a moment. Then she gathered herself. "Alexander," she said, with a note of formality in her voice. "You do not need to convince me that you have affection for me. I believe you." She reached out and touched his hand gently.

Alexander leaned forward and gently bonked his head on her desk with a groan. When he lifted his head, he saw her just looking at him with a placid smile. But then, just before she folded her hands back in her lap, she touched her braid. She fondled it; just briefly. Alexander watched her with a grin.

"What?" said Elsa as innocently as she could, looking down at her lap self-consciously, blushing and laughing.

When Elsa suggested that they find more discreet places to meet for their secret rendezvous, Alexander drew on his knowledge of the castle and its denizens. It also gave him the impetus to explore the Arendelle Castle again. As he had grown older and his duties had increased, he had explored less and less. Now, at least he told himself, his duty to the woman he loved included exploring the castle again, including places where he would not have dared go when he was younger.

And so, as Elsa sat for her portraiture session that afternoon, Alexander gave himself leave to explore the castle. For the most part, it was less exploration and more spending time in some of his favourite places: the chapel; the portrait room; the garden; the steps from the side door leading down to the fjord. He found his thoughts drifting to Elsa, either remembering something she had said, or a curious look she had given him—or imagining how much the queen's presence would add to the beauty of wherever he happened to be, if she had happened to be there as well. It was also during these movements and ruminations that he discovered a secret room.

Alexander was taking a break from exploring the castle. He was in the library reading Ovid's Ars Amatoria (The Art of Love), with the first book advising on how to win the love of a beautiful woman, and the second on how to keep her. His thoughts were firmly fixed on Elsa. And he became so engrossed in Ovid's advice, reading as he was pacing around the room, that he stumbled into the horse statue in the corner. The rear leg was actually a lever that revealed a secret room; and as he depressed it, there was a grinding of gears, and the bookcase behind the statue moved to reveal an arched entryway!

The room was undecorated, except for the ceiling, which was a map of the night sky with the Northern Lights. Alexander was excited to have found it, and his first impulse was to tell Elsa what he had found. But as he started to investigate and read the numerous books and documents in the secret room, he found reason to hesitate. It was not just that the secret room was secret. The room itself was a vessel of secrets.

There were documents about a great dam raised by King Ruenard in a forest to the north. There were plans for the castle and its secret passageways. But what caught Alexander's eye was a series of books on magic and a journal. The journal was about Elsa. Alexander could not always understand all the details, but recognised the handwriting of some of the research immediately: it was Queen Iduna's!

He immediately turned to the last entry, which read:

Elsa's magic keeps growing beyond her control. And so tomorrow, we will go north to the Dark Sea. We will find the source of her magic, and with it help for all of us. I know the journey is perilous, but we must go. For Elsa.

There was a poem on a separate page that fell out of the journal; perhaps it was a lullaby. Only the first part was translated:

When the chosen daughter sits,

Upon a throne and four years more,

She must amend the past that's foul,

And knit her realms together.

The rest of the stanzas were in a language he could not read. His hands were trembling as he studied it. His wanted to share it with Elsa; she would want to know what happened to her parents. But he was afraid.

Alexander was not a weak man. But he loved the queen so much, and her happiness meant so much to him. He had seen her smile more often in the last week than during the entirety of her isolation. What good could come of knowing this until he found out more? Elsa's parents were dead, and her powers were under control. There had been no need to go to the Dark Sea after all.

He decided not to tell Elsa about the secret room, at least not until he had done some more research on his own. If only his own happiness were at stake, he would tell her in an instant; his own happiness meant nothing to him where hers was concerned. But it was Elsa's happiness that was at stake. Alexander felt he could not be responsible for destroying it.

When a person of good character does something to regret, you look back in loathing at your own folly. You wish that you had it to do over again, but you know you cannot because it is too late. So you pick up the memory of that thing, and carry it with you as a reminder that you don't matter in the end; the world will spin without you.

The secret room would become such a regret for Alexander; but he did not know it yet. He felt the weight of his own failure to prevent Hans from bringing harm to Arendelle and violence to its queen and princess. He wanted to atone for his great error in the past. And so he wanted to protect the woman he loved. He did not trust his kingdom's sovereign as he should have. He did not tell his beloved Elsa what he had found.

The rest of Elsa's day was taken up by various meetings and the lengthy portraiture session. She had plenty of time during the latter to think about what seemed to be, in her heart, a genuine and growing affection for Alexander. She was surprised that she felt that way; and she found the feeling of surprise distracting.

That evening, Elsa had dinner with Anna. They filled each other in on their days. Anna had spent the morning and afternoon at the orphanage; decorating it was an official duty of the Crown Princess. Kristoff and Sven helped as well. When Elsa described her day to Anna, Anna rolled her eyes and could not resist saying that portraiture was one of the most boring, most uninteresting ways of passing one's time.

Elsa didn't mind portraiture. It gave her a chance to be alone with her thoughts; and she had a lot to think about. Alexander had described her in the most unrestrained and complimentary way that morning, and Elsa wanted to understand it. She could not believe he actually and truly thought that way; but perhaps he had convinced himself that he did.

She also found herself wondering about her own débutante ball. She had always considered regret a useless feeling: what happened in the past could not be undone; only the future was malleable. She did not regret that she had never been presented; but she would have liked to make her mother proud. Yet that time had passed.

Much later, Gerda knocked at the door, and bustled in. "All is quiet tonight, Your Majesty." said the old servant.

"Thank you, Gerda," said Elsa, as she walked towards the door.

"There is one thing you should know," said Gerda. "Chef has asked that Alexander not visit the kitchens for a couple of days."

"Why is that?" asked Elsa.

"Apparently, the serving girls have been with him for the past couple of days," said Gerda. But noticing Elsa's frown, Gerda said, "No, not like that, madame. He did not order them. But you must have noticed that they fawn over him whenever he desires anything. All he has to do is make a suggestion, and they are all a-titter with enthusiasm."

"I see," said Elsa. Elsa had not noticed. "What are they doing for him?"

"They are making chocolates," said Gerda. Very special chocolates. He apparently described what he had in mind quite nicely, and they blushed and said they would do their best. And then they spent the rest of their time making tasty confections rather than preparing dinner."

"I see," said Elsa again. Her interest was piqued at the mention of chocolates; but still.

"It is no surprise, madame," said Gerda. "Your young man is handsome, and he treats even the lowliest serving maid as if she were a princess."

My young man? thought Elsa. But all she said was, "Thank you for letting me know, Gerda."

Gerda led Elsa out into the hallway. The queen took a candlestick and entered the secret passage.

When Elsa emerged, she found herself alone in the Upper Gallery. On the ground was a trail of rose petals that led up to a small table. A few of the rose petals were a telltale blue; she knew they were from Alexander's roses. On the table was a bone china plate with a three perfectly cut hexagons of dark chocolate, each with the pattern of a snowflakes etched into them. Elsa looked around, and seeing nobody else around she popped them into her mouth one after another, smiling. They had a delicate lavender flavour, and an edge of bitter cocoa and salt.

Then she noticed the note, marked by a large, florid "E". She opened it and even though nobody was around, she said "Oh" aloud and blushed deeply—so becomingly, that Alexander would have been disappointed to have missed it. A small flurry of flakes appeared around her. On the note was written, in a fine hand, "ὅ τι καλὸν φίλον ἀεί." Elsa knew her Euripides: "Whatever is beautiful is loved always." She looked around. There was no Alexander. So she went to where she was sure to find Euripides: the library.

As she made her way to the library, she passed a large full-length mirror in the hallway. It had been there for years and she had never so much as noticed it. But what drew Elsa's attention was the reflexion of the train of her gown. She stopped, and then meandered past, looking quite deliberately at how her gown moved as she moved. Then she turned around, and walked past again.

There was nothing to see. It was her usual dress, behaving like every dress behaves. Perhaps if she used her magic.

Elsa swept her hand from low to high. A bright sparkle ran up her silhouette, and a translucent cape appeared, touching the floor, and rising to the top edge of her corseted bodice. She then repeated the exercise again, crossing in front of the mirror. Was there something? Perhaps the ice crystals caught the light in a pleasing way? She picked up the cape in her hand and spun, watching it flare out. No, there was nothing to see. It was hardly as Alexander had implied. It was acceptable; nothing more.

When she walked into the library, Alexander immediately noticed the cape Elsa had added to the gown she had worn that morning. This morning, she had looked stunning. The cape she had added had the effect of highlighting her lithe figure and her poise. She is breathtaking, he thought, and he could feel his pulse rise. He put his hand to his chest and watched in silence, steadying himself.

Elsa had not noticed him yet, but she did notice the plate of hexagonal chocolates near the chessboard. She sat down, and reached out; but before she could touch a chocolate, she heard a familiar voice behind her say, "My dear queen, you have to win those chocolates."

Elsa felt a little peevish at being told she could not have the chocolate, but felt a shiver of anticipation as she saw him. "I found your Euripides," she said softy. She had been thinking about how he kissed her palm the previous evening. He approached her, intending to embrace her. "Alexander, wait," she said.

Alexander stepped back; he was not insensible to her struggles. He had felt the temperature of the room drop slightly, and he did not want to lead her anywhere she did not will. "What is it, my lady?" he asked.

Elsa did not quite know what to say, or how to start. Alexander waited respectfully in silence. All she did, finally, was smile and say, "Perhaps you would join me in a game of chess, so that I may liberate my chocolate."

The queen played white, of course. Alexander had seen her play several times with Anna, and once against a hapless Kristoff. He knew Elsa's style of play was aggressive; that she tended to attack with her queen. Alexander was very good at chess, but he had his doubts about his ability to best Elsa.

Elsa began with the Queen's Gambit, which Alexander accepted; he could see a smile playing on her lips as he ceded control of the centre of the board. For his part, his goal was to play a highly defensive game, to hold her off for as long as possible.

"Alexander," said Elsa, as he was considering his next move. "I fear my powers when we are—" and here she broke off. "Well, when we are close. You kissed my palm yesterday," she finished.

"I remember, my lady," he said, and played his next move. "Elsa, can I ask you—what is it you would want a man to do, so that you would feel comfortable being close to him?"

Elsa looked up at him and blushed—not as becoming as when she was alone in the Upper Gallery, but Alexander certainly took notice of the prettiness of her complexion. "I am sure I do not know," she said. "I have never had the luxury of such considerations." She looked down at the board and pondered her next move.

"You have that luxury now," said Alexander as he watched Elsa move her queen forward in a bold attack.

"Then I would wish to be able to be with a man and know I would not hurt him," she said.

Alexander retreated with his knight in the face of her queen. Elsa answered by pressing her attack, and Alexander retreated with his other knight.

"Elsa, I have never seen anything more beautiful than your ice. Sometimes I look at your ice sculptures or the courtyard fountains, or the icy crenellations on the parapets, or the ornamentation of your gowns, and I am almost brought to tears by their beauty. Your ice is so magnificent that I sometimes cannot believe your feet touch the earth," he said.

"I'm a queen," Elsa said, deflecting the compliment and continuing to attack with her queen. "Queens glide."

In response, Alexander moved his knight to its original position. Elsa looked up in shock. He had forked her queen. He had lured her in, at great cost to material and position, but there was no way for her to escape: one of his knights was going to capture her queen! She looked at him haughtily and moved her own knight into position; at least Alexander's own knight would pay the price. Alexander looked at her with a wry smile, and captured her queen with his knight very deliberately—carefully removing her from the board.

The rest of the game did not go well for Alexander. Even without her queen, Elsa was a formidable opponent. In the end, most of Elsa's pieces had Alexander's king, queen, and one remaining knight surrounded. Alexander defended his own queen to the bitter end with his knight though. Finally, he tipped over his king, resigning rather than letting his queen be captured.

Alexander reached out and touched Elsa's chilled, slender hand. "My lady, your ice is not beautiful by itself. It is beautiful because it is an extension of you. It is a reflexion of your own beauty, inside and out, and your power actualises the potency of your beauty. Your power deserves respect. Like a sublime mountain, or a twisting waterspout, or a crashing wave. But if one takes no risks, one misses out on so much that is good in the world. Without courage, beauty is lost," he said. "You need not fear showing me your beauty. I kissed your palm yesterday, my lady, because you are worth the risk."

Elsa turned her hand over, clasping his hand in hers. He stood, and as she stood as well he pulled her gently into an embrace. He was aware of her natural frozen-rose scent rising, and he dared to reach up and stroke her fair cheek. "You are worth every risk, my glorious Elsa," he said quietly.

Elsa was moved by his words; they echoed in her head: you are worth the risk and without courage, beauty is lost. She felt the sudden need to experience what he was talking about.

Have courage, Elsa thought. She took a deep breath and turned around so that her back was to him. "Stand close," she said. "Interlock your fingers with mine."

Alexander did as she asked; he could feel her slender frame against his, her delicate fingers interlocked with his. Elsa stretched out her hands in front, and passing one hand over another several times a snowball formed. Alexander felt the chill of her magic build, felt the silent crackle of potential in the air; and as Elsa created the snowball, he felt a release of energy pulse through his whole body.

Elsa then held her arms aloft, palms down. The snowball disappeared into a swirl and an ice sculpture grew from the floor by Elsa's feet. It was of Alexander's sword with its point down, replicated in perfect detail, except that two roses starting growing about the blade. Elsa turned her wrist, and as she did, she directed the curve of the first rose around the blade until it was at the hilt. Then she squeezed Alexander's hand, and let her arm go limp; and to his amazement, she allowed him to direct the curve of the second rose by turning her wrist.

Alexander was thrilled and elated. He would have certainly remembered this experience for the rest of his days if she were merely an acquaintance. To feel her power so close, penetrating his body as she used her magic, was exhilarating. But she was no mere acquaintance. The woman whose body was pressed against his was his Elsa, and she was using her magic! It was an intimacy he had never even dreamed possible; it was like experiencing her essence.

Alexander was neither fearful of her ice nor brashly unafraid; instead, he wanted to experience her magic because he loved her, and because it was a part of who she was. You need not fear showing me your beauty.

Sharing her magic with Alexander was not an impediment to intimacy; rather, Elsa felt her intimacy with him intensify. A deep tingle bloomed inside her. She yielded, and her need ignited. She turned around to face him, hesitating slightly. She was nervous, but her body craved his touch. She whispered, "Hold me, please."

Alexander was only too happy to obey. He slid one hand around her slender waist, and the other across her back, holding her close. She raised both hands behind him, and shifted slightly so she could better feel him against her. As he folded her in his arms, she laid her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. She stayed like that for a long time, feeling comfortable and protected in his strong embrace. Elsa felt her magic spike inside. She did not want to fear it, but she needed release. Her body shuddered. A swirl of snow, flecked with midnight-blue ice and shimmering with silver, spiralled around them as they held each other. She let out an uneven, halting whimper, thoroughly embarrassed but feeling safe. Alexander was breathless with amazement, and held her ever closer. His joy and wonder washed over her. Is this what it felt like to be desired? she thought.

He held the woman he adored in his arms. She felt accepted. And for that brief moment, she remembered her true self.

That evening, when Alexander retired to his chambers, he found a note that had been slid under his door earlier that day. It was addressed only to "A":

On the eve of the Winter Solstice,

Meet me at the lamp,

By the edge of the forest.

Your Lady

He put his lips to the note and traced the penmanship with his fingers, as if it somehow made him closer to the woman who had written it. Then he fell into a deep sleep, dreaming about what the days ahead would bring.