Prince of Winter Gardens

 Teuvo was seventeen when it happened. He had finally been allowed from beneath his Grandfather’s watchful eye, and given permission to join his father on the Summer Diplomatic Tour to the neighbouring countries.

It was in the rose garden of the palace Slottet, on a beautiful summer’s morning in Oslo that he first met her. History would one day speak of the great love story of King Teuvo II and Astrid of Norway, however their first meeting was not quite so romantic. In fact he had found himself on the wrong end of a battered old garden rake that she was wielding in self-defence.

“Who are you?” She had both hands wrapped tightly around the end of the rake with such force that her knuckles had gone white, and there was murderous terror in her pale blue eyes. Thankfully her English was perfect, as his limited knowledge of Nynorsk would likely just worsen the situation.

“My name is Teuvo,” he said as he quickly ducked the swipe she made at him with her makeshift weapon. “I am part of the Ukonsaarian delegation.”

At his words, she slowly lowered the rake and narrowed her eyes at him. “You don’t have a beard.”

Teuvo felt himself scowling at those words, his lack of facial hair was a distinctive sore point for him, and one that those who knew him avoided. In his homeland of Ukonsaari beards and tattoos were a sign not only of masculinity, but of the ruling class. Being Royalty meant that he had received his clan tattoo upon his sixteenth birthday, a beard had been expected to follow quite closely after. He ran his hand over his bare chin. That was something that hadn’t occurred. “I am only seventeen.”

She laughed then, and for the first time since this whole surreal experience had started, Teuvo really looked at the young woman who was standing in front of him. She was maybe fifteen, with the soft curves of a girl just becoming a woman, and a cascade of light blonde hair which fell over her shoulders. Certainly beautiful, or at least growing into her beauty, and it was clear that she would be stunning in the next few years.

“You look older than that,” she said. “My name is Astrid, and my father is King Harald.”

So this was the youngest daughter of their current host, though she was nothing like the other Princesses that he had met and forced to be civil to in the past. There was something appealing about a woman who had spent her whole life being primped and trained, to still have some fire about her.

“Prince Teuvo of Ukonsaari.” He dodged around the rake to take her hand, pressing his lips to the back of it.

A blush came to her cheeks at his actions. “Well, aren’t you the charmer?”

“I’ve never really had the chance,” he said, letting his lips linger on the fragile skin of her hand and watching as the flush climbed up the pale length of her throat. “Until now.”

With a soft gasp she pulled her hand from his grasp, and glanced quickly around the high walled garden as if expecting a chaperone to be hiding behind the pink and yellow rose bushes. Not that he had done anything inappropriate, his training dictated that he keep his romantic and sexual advances away from any woman except the one that had been chosen for him. Though, a traitorous part of him said nobody had been chosen yet.

“You’re going to get me in trouble,” said Astrid, smoothing down her orange and white printed sundress.

He couldn’t help his laugh then at her scandalized expression, as though she expected him to pounce on her here in her mother’s garden. His Grandfather would never forgive him if he so much as contemplated it, and he knew for a fact that her father would all but ban him from Norway, which would cause a host of issues. No Teuvo knew when to back away, even when he was reluctant to do so. “Yes well we can’t have a Princess getting in trouble now can we?”

“I'm always in trouble.” She shrugged her slim shoulders.

“Yes well, I'm not.” He took a step back from her and grinned.

“Well you're from Ukonsaari,” she said. “They are well known for their strict protocol.”

Teuvo had always been good at reading people, especially in the political arena. He knew that there were many people who thought their family not just strange, but down right evil and he could understand why. The rumours and rumblings that his grandfather had gone mad and that it was a madness which had been passed down from the dark Kings of the past had been growing louder. Teuvo was not immune to any of this, for he had seen with his own eyes the depth of his grandfather's insanity.

“You mean the madness of my family line?” Astrid winced at that, and he couldn't help the fission of pleasure that he had made her uncomfortable. He had spent most of his life with people sticking their noses into his business, it was always good when he could get one up on someone.

“I wasn't going to say that.” Her voice had a certain tone about it that complimented her arms that were folded across her chest perfectly.

“But you were thinking it,” he said. “I can tell.”

“Alright.” She reached out and grabbed his sleeve. “But I don't mean it in a bad way, you don't seem mad.”

“Not much anyway,” he said the words with humour in his voice, and watched as her smile slowly returned.

“Come with me.” Her hand let go of his sleeve, only to grab his hand.

“Where are we going?” She didn't respond except to push a strand of her hair behind her ear, before pulling on his hand. Together they strode through the maze of paths which weaved between ivy covered walled gardens, and giant granite statues.

“I've never run away with a foreign Prince before,” she said, throwing a grin over her shoulder at him.

“Where are we running to?” He plucked a huge purple flower from a bush that they were passing. “Your father would have me hung if I tried to steal you way.”

“But I'm worth it.” She came to a stop and spun around into his arms, going to her tip toes and pressing a kiss to his chin. Teuvo couldn't help the way his arms tightened around her waist, nor how he moved to kiss her properly, only to have her duck out of the way.

“That's hardly proper,” she said, placing her hand against her chest in mock scandal. “Trying to take liberties like that.”

“That wasn't me taking liberties.” He followed her down the path as she practically danced out of his way. “You're far too young for me to be taking anything from you.”

There was something about her that was endearing and made him want to all but bask in her presence. Maybe it was because she was so unlike any woman he had ever met, or in fact unlike any royal that had graced Vinterstaden. Astrid of Norway was going to mean something to him in the future, and of that he was certain.

“Do you want a sandwich?” She had stopped quite a way up the path, leaning against a wall and holding a rather squashed sandwich in her hand.

“Where on earth did you get that from?” he said. “Oh here.” With that he handed her the purple flower.

“From here.” She shoved her free hand into the pocket of her dress, before taking her gift from him. “Oh that's lovely.”

“You're blushing.” Teuvo placed a hand against her heated cheek.

“Yes well you have a way of doing things that make that happen.”

He slowly removed the sandwich from her hand. “You are beautiful.”

“Teuvo.” Her fingers were trembling as she slid them along the cut of his jaw. “We've only just met.”

“Yeah.” He leaned forwards. “I know.”