The light from the last lamp of the village illuminated Elsa's silhouette from behind as she moved deeper into the forest. Fjørå walked with impatience and pride, almost as if she understood that her mistress was a noble queen who was daring much.

Alexander had not seen Elsa's approach. If he had, he would have been awestruck watching Elsa wrap her fingers in Fjørå's thick mane and break into a gallop, the train of her gown and her velvet cape billowing behind her. As it was, Alexander had retreated into the forest. He had stood by the edge of the forest for an hour, watching for her. But when the wind picked up, and he watched a swirl of mist beat a path towards him at high speed, it was clear she was on her way.

Alexander knew Fjørå well. He liked horses, and Friesian mares were known for being loyal and friendly. But he especially doted on her because she was Elsa's horse. He always gave the mare her fill of apples and carrots when he visited the stables. He would tickle her chin to make her lower lip quiver, kiss her nose, and she would lower her head to let him scratch her behind the ears.

But the horse who crested the rise appeared quite different from the friendly mare he knew at the stables. Her steps were certain, her carriage proud, and she whipped her wild tail. Even still, it was not Fjørå who attracted Alexander's gaze.

Alexander was standing next to a large tree when he caught sight of her, perched atop her steed, her eyes sparkling like sapphires. She had come for him. The Snow Queen. His Snow Queen.

And she remade Alexander's world.

Alexander felt his breath leave him. The ice crystals on Elsa's bodice and skirt captured the moonlight and made it appear to ripple across her gown. Her skirt rustled quietly with each step Fjørå took; her white velvet cape glided silently behind. The hourglass form of her corset heightened her tendency to move in a purposeful and dignified way, and accented the natural curves of her body. Her ice circlet glinted, and the crystal pendant of her necklace gleamed as if it had an internal light of its own.

For Alexander, it was as if time had slowed. He felt his legs grow leaden and his pulse rise. Now only a few steps away, Elsa pulled the reins taut. Fjørå halted. The queen put her hands together in front of her, loosely holding the reins and dressage cane. Then she turned her head and looked down at him, allowing him to catch sight of a stunning cumulation of golden whorls. They coiled and spiralled, ornamenting her neck and shoulders as if some great artist had gilded a living sculpture.

That was when he became aware that she was wearing her long gloves. They were as elegant and sophisticated as he had envisioned they would be; and they drew attention to the slightest movements of her graceful arms, hands, and fingers. Light and shadow played on the bone-white leather. They were more sensual than he could have imagined, allowing her to mingle a delicate femininity with elegance and power.

If appearances could cause disruption, Elsa would have flattened several small settlements up and down the fjord; she would have caused entire cliff faces to leap into the sea. Gravity overpowered him, and he fell to one knee. "My—," he said, but broke off. Swallowing hard, he forcibly marshalled his senses. All he could manage to complete his thought was, "Elsa." He put one hand on his chest and did not dare look up.

Elsa was puzzled by his reaction, and chuckled. "Alexander!" she said with a lopsided smile. "Alexander! It's just me!" She extended her hand.

He rose and took her hand, kissing it tenderly on the back. Then he turned her hand over, and kissed her palm, lingering as he did so. It was the kiss of a man who desired her, who found her alluring. He wanted to fold her in his arms; he wanted to feel her body close against his; he wanted to feel her every breath and shudder.

And yet, a kiss is just a kiss.

Elsa felt something shift. There was warmth in his lips, which she could feel through the fine leather. But there was something more. She felt his heat, and caught a glimpse the desire she had inspired in him. It made her feel shy.

How had she had disarmed him so effortlessly, reduced the normally articulate Alexander to silence? She was amazed at the effect she seemed to have on him, an effect that had taken hold of him not because she was Queen of Arendelle, nor because she was a powerful enchantress, but because of how she had decided to appear this evening.

"My lady—," he said, trying to speak again. "You are breathtaking, You are like a dream in your gown and gloves. You are—" He lowered his eyes, unable to look at her as he added, "so very sensual."

Elsa had never thought of herself as sensual, let alone heard anyone say the word in her presence. She put her hand to her mouth in embarrassment, but then thought perhaps that was what made her seem sensual to him; so she looked down and blushed. Then she thought perhaps lowering her eyes when she felt embarrassed was what made her seem sensual; so she lifted her eyes. Finally, she settled for looking at him in silence and folding her long-gloved hands in front of her, and tilting her head with a lopsided smile, looking rather flustered. If she had wanted to appear less sensual to him, this was exactly the wrong countenance to assume.

He looked back up at her, so struck by her splendour that coherence slipped through his fingers once again. How does one address the most gorgeous woman in the world after you have called her "sensual"? Part of Alexander wished he had not been so truthful in his description, for now he had nothing left to say. In self-defence, he turned to wit; he could think of no other course.

"γουνοῦμαί σε, ἄνασσα: θεός νύ τις, ἦ βροτός ἐσσι;" he said. ["I beesech you, O queen — are you a goddess or mortal?"]

Elsa recognised the Greek. They were the first words of Odysseus to Princess Nausicaä. The great man from Ithaca had washed up on shore, brine-covered, grizzled, naked, with only a branch to give him privacy. His goal was to have the princess take him home to her father! It was an impossible request.

Elsa coloured. "βροτός, ὦ Ἀλέξανδρε" ["Mortal, O Alexander"]. But her regal bearing cast doubt on the truth of her claim: she looked almost like a goddess chiselled from marble.

"Then never have mine eyes looked upon a mortal such as you, and wonder grips me as I gaze upon you," he replied, quoting Homer.

It was her turn to hesitate. Elsa kept her hands tightly clasped and could not look at him. Despite her intention to remain entirely composed, she felt a tingle deep inside. A small flurry of flakes fluttered down around her. It was not every day that someone compared her to one of the greatest princesses in Greek epic.

"I suppose Princess Nausicaä did bring him home in the end, didn't she?" Elsa said with a smile. "I always wondered whether that was wise."

"I take heart that it is possible to make a good impression on a princess who happens upon you in the woods," said Alexander.

Elsa laughed. "As I recall, Princess Nausicaä was quite circumspect in her evaluation of Odysseus," she said. "She even made him walk behind her carriage with the servants."

Alexander smiled. "I'm sure the honour was his," he said. "I mean, she was a princess."

"Yes," said Elsa. "But perhaps we don't need to go that far. Would you join me? I don't think Fjørå would disapprove."

Alexander took the cue and nodded. Elsa guided Fjørå over to a fallen log and lifted her cape so it draped to the right. From there, Alexander was able to stand on the log and mount Fjørå, so that he sat right behind Elsa. This did little to diminish the attraction he felt to her. He became acutely conscious of her graceful body right in front of his, and caught her natural scent, like an autumn rose caught in the first frost of winter. Her golden whorls and marvellous French twist, her lithe neck, her tight corset and her feminine curves; he felt his desire intensify. As a result, he started with the intention of maintaining some slim physical distance; this was not to be, however.

"Alexander," said Elsa, in a quiet voice but not daring to look back, "if it would make you more comfortable, you may put your arms around me. For stability."

Alexander did as she suggested, gingerly. First, he placed hands on either side of her corsetted bodice. He felt how powerfully attractive she was, wearing it: the raised pattern of golden thread over silk, the steel bones that accented her charming contours. It made her seem relentlessly feminine. For Elsa's part, she became aware his touching her bodice, even through his heavy mittens. She leaned back, almost imperceptibly, and Alexander leaned forward so that he could clasp his hands in front of her.

He loved the feel of her body against his. He was so close to those marvellous golden whorls, her bare neck, her elegant form. His breath grew uneven and his body responded. He couldn't help it. He was close to a woman he both revered and desired.

The experience was novel for Elsa. There was nothing in her education that suggested what she should do when a man was as close to her as Alexander was now, because it was simply assumed no man would ever be that close. She wondered if he felt as she did—unsettled, curious, expectant. She would have felt vulnerable, except she had known him and trusted him for so long. She knew he was her friend.

"Walk on," said Elsa, with an awkward strain in her voice. Fjørå started to walk across the virgin snow, deeper into the forest.

Elsa was wondering whether it appropriate for her to have him join her on Fjørå. Yet, she was queen, and this was her forest. And she was being chivalrous. She was not going to have him trail behind her like some servant.

Nevertheless, he was so very close to her. It was distracting. Not in an unpleasant way. But she could feel his embrace change slightly as she shifted in the saddle. She could smell his cologne, masculine and refined, with notes of honeysuckle, violet, and sandalwood. A shiver ran down her spine.

"My lady," said Alexander. "May I ask you a personal question?"

"Mhmm," said Elsa, with a gentle nod.

"Why did you decide to wear your debutante gown and gloves tonight?" he asked.

She thought for a moment. "You gave the gloves to me. They go with my gown. And I decided to see you this evening," she said.

"I'm touched," he said. "But Elsa, I'm asking as your friend, and as a man who has affection for you. Nothing bad will come from telling me. I want to know, because I want to know your heart."

Elsa thought a little longer. Then she turned back towards him. "Alexander, I became ruler of Arendelle shortly after I came of age. My isolation kept me from people. I know you want to believe I am still the girl you knew in your youth, but I am not. Events have changed me."

Alexander knew she was not that girl of long ago, and he had compassion for her and what she had endured. But what her isolation had done, to his way of thinking, was bring her virtues into sharp relief. She had such courage in her heart that she isolated herself from those she loved, because she loved them so much. His heart broke for her and what she had suffered; but he stood in awe of her strength.

"When I took the crown, all I wanted was to do right by my parents, and by my sister, and my subjects," she said. "I wanted to make Anna and my parents proud. I still want that, very much."

"You are a good and courageous person, my lady. I already know that. But what you have told me is that you derive fulfilment from the good you do for other people. Is there nothing you want for you?"

Elsa let her chin drop and turned her heard, glancing towards him. She was sceptical that she was a good person. She tried. In any case, that's what every man says to the woman he professes to love. She turned back.

"I hardly know," said Elsa. "But after the Winter Ball. Alexander, these gloves you gave me. They mean more to me than you could possibly imagine. They are a part of my past that I have lost. And I have started to think maybe that past is not entirely gone. Perhaps my past need not be cut off. Perhaps it could again become part of who I am, at present."

Alexander said nothing, but listened intently. Elsa sighed. "I'm not making sense, am I," she said.

"On the contrary, my lady," he said. "You are making perfect sense. I was hoping you might feel that way."

"What?" she said, her intonation rising in surprise. "I thought you wanted me to have them because—"

"Because it is a truth universally acknowledged that a queen in possession of great beauty must be in want of a pair of long evening gloves?" he said.

She couldn't see him, but she could tell he was grinning. "Well!" she said, and burst out laughing, partly from embarrassment that he would be so direct. "No, of course not!" she added, colouring a little.

"Elsa, I gave them to you because the best way to address the wrongs of the past is to conquer them."

She looked down at her elegantly gloved hands holding the reins, and said nothing. All was silent but Fjørå's steps in the snow. She transferred her dressage cane so that she held the reins and cane together; and rested her free hand lightly on his mittens that were clasped closely around her. She felt understood.

"And sometimes even a queen wants to dress like a princess," she said with a chuckle.

"My lady," was all he said, and felt a wave of affection for her. He folded her in his arms so that she was close to him; she leaned back a little more, and let the reins go slack. He could feel her golden whorls brush against his face, felt his desire to be close to her grow. Indeed, he felt his need so poignantly that he dared greatly. He kissed her—very gently, behind her right ear.

Elsa could feel the heat of his lips against her, and closed her eyes. She was back, with him, finally, alone, in their forest. It was as if the intervening time between the Winter Ball and the present had folded into a single point; and that she had always been here with him. She was not a queen now; not even a daughter or a sister. She was Elsa. She tilted her head to the side, exposing her pretty neck, inviting his touch.

Very tenderly, Alexander kissed her neck; once, and then twice. She felt the heat of his lips spread from the point of contact. She lifted her gloved hand to his cheek, and sighed again. Her breath caught.

She wanted to feel his lips on hers. It was just the two of them now, and she was safe and protected in his arms. She instinctively twisted, feeling him close, feeling his pull. She was aware of his eyes on her lips. He removed his mittens and tucked them inside his cloak. Then he reached up and touched her cheek, tracing her jawbone with his thumb and forefinger. She closed her eyes and parted her lips slightly.

"My glorious Elsa," he whispered, and their lips touched. The feeling of heat spiralled into her. She exhaled a sigh mingled with a quiet moan; she felt her desire rise, and she parted her lips a little more. He deepened the kiss. She leaned into him; but this caused her balance to be a little off-centre, and to hold the reins a little unevenly. Fjørå took exception. The horse snorted, and whipped her long tail, hitting Alexander's tall boot.

"Fjørå!" said Alexander and Elsa together, breaking the kiss—him with a chuckle, and her with a quiet groan, her lips still pursed. The horse wiggled her ears at the mention of her name, and jostled her head. It did occur to Alexander that Fjørå was expressing her disapproval of his kissing her mistress.

"I do believe she did that on purpose!" said Alexander, with amusement in his voice. Fjørå flicked her ears back but admitted nothing.

Can't catch a break, not even from my own horse!, thought Elsa, sitting up straight and gathering the reins properly.

"My dearest Elsa," said Alexander with a shake of his head, still grinning.

She was still reeling from the kiss, interrupted though it was—her second ever. Having him so close to her was not helping her concentration. And as sensitive as he usually was to her inclinations, he was not now giving her the opportunity to regroup. He wanted to caress her hands, to feel her. With his left hand on her corset, he touched her glove with the fingertips of his right.

He began at the top of the shaft, and slowly, sensuously, traced down her glove, never breaking contact with the buttery soft leather. Elsa could feel the heat of his fingertips through the delicate leather and silk lining of her glove, but it was more than that. The tenderness with which he touched her made her acutely responsive, almost as if her glove was a second skin that magnified the sensation. Her breath grew uneven and her arm trembled. He paused, his fingers still along her forearm.

Elsa transferred the reins and dressage cane to her left hand; Fjørå snorted quietly, as if she took a dim view of Elsa's not having both hands on the reins. He continued tracing down her glove; but when he reached her wrist, Elsa steadied herself by curling her fingers into a fist. It was almost too intense for her. He stroked the back of her hand down and to the outside several times before she relented and turned her hand over, allowing the pearl buttons at the wrist of her glove to wink at the sky. He then cradled her hand in his; and moving a little closer ran his other hand down to her closed fist. He tenderly stroked her fingertips until she opened her hand, her palm facing up. Elsa felt her palm and fingers prickle in anticipation.

But Alexander did not then touch her palm at once. Instead, he followed the stitching around each finger, starting with her little finger. As he followed the stitching down each finger—moving towards her palm—Elsa winced slightly, only to feel both relief and loss as he traced up the next finger—away from her palm. Finally, as he reached the seam of her glove between the thumb and forefinger, he touched her palm—lightly, gently. She held her breath, and felt the tension build through her entire body.

It felt intimate, meaningful. She remembered her mother touching her hands when she was little; her mother would kiss them, and delight in their chill, and call her "Little Snow." Her father also; his hands were large and strong and warm. Anna would touch her hands too when they were little, because Anna loved Elsa's magic. But with Alexander, it was different. He instinctively reached out to her hands because he found them beautiful. He touched her not because she was a daughter, or a sister, but because she was Elsa. And he knew that being close to Elsa meant being close to her magic. He wanted to be close to her more than anything.

Alexander stroked her palm in slow circles, first inward, then outward. He was leaning over her shoulder, watching her reaction intently. And just as he reached the very centre of her palm, she flinched. She blushed at her unchecked reaction.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. But she did not pull her hand away, and he did not cease caressing it.

Elsa turned back a little towards him as she spoke, and then lowered her head and eyes with a smile. Alexander was struck by her exquisite profile: her long eyelashes, her celestial nose, her fine cheekbones, her feminine jawline. He brushed his fingertips across her palm again; she parted her lips with a quiet gasp.

He saw her hands not as a danger, but as a part of who she was. And it was as if, by touching her in this way, being close to him in this way, she was healing, little by little. She looked down at his fingers. They were strong and masculine, yet his touch was so caring.

"Elsa, you may have doubts about being close to another," he said. "But I want you exactly as you are. I love your hands; I love your touch; I love your magic."

And then she took courage. Elsa reached her right hand across, and with the fingertips of her glove, she timidly touched his hand. She felt reticent, and a tremor ran through her arm. It felt intimate and daring to her. What she didn't understand about him was that his admiration for her could never be diminished, no matter what happened. In venturing to touch him in response, she came close to understanding this.

As he had touched her hands, she touched his. She enjoyed the closeness. She had nearly forgotten what it felt like. His hands were so large that he could fold her hands entirely in his. She noticed the fine hair on the back of his hand, just on the outside edge; the strength of his fingers. And as he had touched her palms, she touched his. She traced the lines on his palms, running the tip of her finger along the arches. Then she traced across his wrist, and it was his turn to flinch—for he was becoming highly sensitive to her as well.

They continued like this for a long time, touching each other, becoming more intimate and at ease with one another. For Alexander, it was an unmatched privilege to touch and be touched by her; but then she gave him a still greater gift. He watched in amazement as she closed her eyes and traced a circle on his palm—a snowflake in ice appeared in the wake of her touch fingers. It melted with the heat of his hand almost as soon as she had finished. She turned and smiled shyly at him. He beamed at her with adoration.

Fjørå seemed more settled, and so he asked. "My lady, the other night, when I felt your magic. I have never felt that close to anyone. I hope you do not mind my asking, but would you tell me how you experience your magic?"

Elsa did not mind him asking; she liked that he was interested. "It's sweet that you would be curious. My magic is very personal, and it's not easy to talk about. In truth, I have no idea where my ice comes from, or why I have powers. So I have no good answers for you. When I want to use my magic, I just will it."

Alexander looked at her quizzically. He knew that more than will was involved, but he was hesitant to press her. Yet curiosity got the better of him. "Elsa, I know there is more than will involved. I have seen you use your magic many times, seen you manifest your beauty in ice. You sometimes unleash your powers immediately; other times you pause. Sometimes you use your hands; other times you stomp. There is more than will involved."

Elsa was surprised at his answer; he had noticed more that she would have expected. She looked back at him with a shy glance.

"Be steady, Fjørå," she said, reaching down and patting the horse on the neck as she tucked the reins and her cane beneath the saddle on the right. And then, she reached her long-gloved arms out, holding her palms facing each other. She closed her eyes and breathed in.

A crackle of potential energy collected between her hands; but, all of a sudden, Elsa clenched her hands and stopped short. It was her gloves. They were acting like barriers to her magic. Her father had given her gloves long ago to help control her magic; but this was only psychological. And so she was surprised to feel resistance—a real, mental barrier, still in place, forged all those years ago. The tiny snowflake she drew on his palm had not proved difficult; but what she was attempting now was more significant.

Elsa summoned her powers and pushed slightly. Once she did, and held out her hands again, her gloves were no barrier at all. But there was something different; a pleasant sensation on her palms. Whether it was because she was wearing her gloves, or because he had been caressing her palms, she did not know.

"I begin by focussing my mind," she said. Alexander watched with wonder as a swirl of ice crystals formed between her hands. He was aware of her breathing slowing, and an energy coursing through her form. He loved her so much at that moment, as he felt her magic emerging—he had the urge to kiss her, and to keep kissing her until no part of her was unkissed. He restrained himself.

"I feel a tension start to build in my body. It grows slowly or quickly, as I choose, but feels like the string of a great bow being drawn back, or a serpent coiling in preparation to strike."

Between Elsa's hands, fractals began to form in ice. Her body trembled, and her natural chill asserted itself. The most intense part of her chill radiated through her arms and hands, even through her gloves; but Alexander could feel her whole body get colder.

"The energy starts to accumulate faster. There, you see?" she said, turning towards him to catch his eye as she passed one hand over the other. "You can feel it, can't you? It's building of its own accord now, like a chain reaction through me."

Her body grew tense, and a brilliant white light appeared between her hands. "I have to form each fractal individually, part by part, and interlock them precisely. And then—," she said, as a look of concentration passed over her face, "we reach the point of no return, the point of release."

The last fractal locked into place. Her chill spiked and her body shuddered. And when they looked down, she held her signature snowflake in her hands, fashioned in ice.

Elsa looked back at him. She saw his awe and joy, and she felt gleeful. "Here," she said, letting him hold it. She felt very proud of her magic at that moment, and she loved her signature snowflake in particular. It had taken years to perfect, to figure out how to translate the fractals from her mind into the ice. And Alexander was absolutely thrilled, and the amazement he felt for her in his heart overflowed.

He turned the snowflake over in his hands. It was incredibly detailed in its composition: six triangles fused at the centre and lanced by spurs, establishing a recursive pattern that drew the eye to the extremities. It was the ice of his one true love.

Together, they started tracing the edges and patterns with their fingers. "Enchanting," said Alexander, gazing at her and moving his fingertips towards her along the edge of the snowflake. Their fingertips met, and Elsa tentatively interlaced her fingers with his. She felt his warmth, his delight, and her butterflies. She felt his pull intensify. She was tired of restraint. She wanted to yield. She wanted to feel his lips on hers.

Elsa reached her gloved hand to his cheek, and turned towards him. Her desire had been smoldering as he had caressed her hands; and making the snowflake and seeing his joy made her fondness and wish for his touch grow. He drew closer, and she held her breath.

"My lady, look. Your snowflake!" he said, pointing to the edges. The edges of the snowflake had changed colour, from crystal clear to a rich midnight blue.

She looked down, and turned bright red. "Oh!" was all she she said. She was so embarrassed that she touched it, making it dissipate instantly; then she looked away, smiling, flustered. He was delighted; enamoured. "Elsa," was all he said, with adoration in his heart.

Elsa took up her reins and cane, and directed Fjørå along the snow-covered path to the lake. She had left her castle the Queen of Arendelle, and she still was. But now, somehow, it was if she had stepped into a story she had allowed to happen; where she was a fairytale princess being wooed by a man who loved her. It was unexpected; it was surprising. She might even have wished it, had she ever allowed herself to formulate her own desires. As Fjørå walked on, they both enjoyed the serenity of the forest and proximity to one another.

Dimly, quietly, the ice crystals in the nearby trees began to glow, anticipating their mistress.