Page 7 of Made

For the first time in her life, Ilmr felt the warm, unpleasant tingle of jealousy. Though fae and humans alike were chronically unhappy with tricks played by the fates, they were renowned for their exotic beauty.

"You’re close to the fates?” Ilmr ventured.

Vidar couldn’t help a self-satisfied smile. He heard the jealousy in her voice and found it an enormously gratifying confirmation that she was interested in him as a male.

“Yes,” he smiled. “From time to time.” His meaning was unmistakable. Ilmr turned her head away. “Of course, none of them comes close to you. They’re merely fates. You’re queen of the northern territories, not to be outdone by anyone.”

His answer was just what she wanted to hear. She gathered a handful of long gold tresses that had fallen forward, tossed them over her right shoulder and sniffed. “Very nice of you to say.”

“Ilmr. I’m not being nice when I say you are the most beautiful woman in the world. I’m being truthful.”

Her eyes slowly tracked to meet his. Her full lips were broadening into a smile when the heavy double doors opened.

“Lunch, Your Highness,” the kitchen butler announced.

“Oh, yes. Thank you, Ritgard.”

A complement of staff paraded toward the end of the room reserved for dining. One rolled a cart with vases of fresh flowers. Another cart carried fresh linens and cutlery. One featured iced drinks and wine. Last were three laden with food enough to call lunch a fine feast for twelve.

If someone had been timing the performance, they would have clocked eight minutes from the opening of doors until the kitchen butler pronounced that lunch was served. When they’d disappeared the way they’d come, Kyeya asked, “Will that be all, Your Highness?”

“That’s all, Kyeya,” Ilmr replied. “Be sure we’re not disturbed for the rest of the day.”

When Vidar and Ilmr sat down to lunch, they discovered they couldn’t see each other because of the flowers between them. As they laughed, Vidar rose and moved the vase out of the way.

“Hard to find staff who grasp the importance of detail,” Ilmr said.

“It’s a small thing,” Vidar replied.

They filled their plates in silence. Vidar first reached for a fresh orange. He peeled it, took a section, and hummed as he ate before speaking. “You were saying that Maeve is so entrenched at the top of the hierarchy that she’s believed to be permanently installed there?”

“That’s right. Why? Do you know something I don’t?”

His smirk was just short of being successfully disguised. It conveyed the truth that he was much older and probably knew many things she did not know. Smirking at the queen’s remark would normally earn a person centuries in the dungeon, but Ilmr was inclined to forgive. Partially because it was accompanied by the sexiness of Vidar’s calm, assured masculinity.

“Perhaps,” he said as he took another section of orange and, again, hummed as he ate. It was a quirky trait that could’ve been off-putting, but seemed charming on Vidar. “But first, I have a question. What are the typical characteristics of queens with advanced status according to this…” He stopped himself before he said the word silly. In his young days before he’d sought the refuge and beauty of permafrost, he’d been around people often enough to know that teasing can cross a line and become ridicule. That lesson was acquired more by painful physical altercations than epiphany. Along with learning that most people are sensitive to mocking, he learned that assaults on others cause almost as much pain as being the recipient of assaults. “…idea of rank?”

Though Vidar had spent just a short time getting to know Ilmr, he’d learned many things. Such as that she had a very expressive face. Her thoughts and emotions could be easily read on her features. It was an unfortunate trait for a person in politics. Recognizing how that might hold her back, he made amental note to work with her on being more enigmatic. Assuming their relationship lasted for longer than an afternoon.

It was easy for Vidar to see that his question had confused Ilmr. Perhaps she’d not attempted to dissect the problem analytically.

“Look at it this way. What do the two most powerful queens have in common?”

“Oh.” His additional explanation caused the disturbance on her brow to clear so that she once again had the lineless forehead of a sixteen-year-old. “Well. Let’s see.” She became cheerful at the prospect of identifying qualities shared by the queens who barely deigned to look her way. “That would be Maeve and Serafina.” She thought for a minute. “They both have extraordinarily strong magics.”

“Go on.”

“Their territories aren’t bigger than mine, but they are queen to more fae.”

“Alright. Good. Keep going.”

“Maeve is mother to the Irish king, but she ruled first before Diarmuid was coronated. Wait! Diarmuid leads the Wild Hunt, which, as you know, gathers up magic kind from all provinces. Not just Ireland. Naturally, being his mother elevates her.”

“By association.”

“Yes.”

“How do you know the two of them have the strongest magics?”

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