Princess Gwynnyth married for love, not prestige, so she expected at least some of the ire that her choice in husband drew from the rest of Welbournehale. An island kingdom north of cold seas, Welbournehale was known for its supposedly magic hotsprings and appeal for tourists, but not its hospitality toward strangers moving into the royal palace.

“He is of common birth,” protested her parents, the King and Queen.

“He’s the only man who’s ever shown me both a tender hand and a wit to match mine,” Gwynnyth replied. “I will only marry Anders Andersson.”

This Anders Andersson, a wealthy traveler, was not the man everyone thought he was. There was nothing common about his “birth,” if one could even call it that. He was not human at all, but shadow: a silhouette brought to life by a fairy so grand and powerful that she was revered as a goddess by other Fae. Not even his beloved wife knew this fact.

Fourteen years prior, they met by complete chance in the city. Gwynnyth had slipped out of the palace to people-watch, and Anders, who had just arrived, was evading his traveling companion, Peder. At first, their relationship was mere play—a chance for Gwynnyth to rebel, a chance for Anders to seduce royalty. But their fondness for each other grew until they decided they would never part. Anders became the Prince Consort, and later, after losing Gwynnyth’s parents to illness, the King.

The latter decision was not his choice, and he was just as shocked as everyone else. But Queen Gwynnyth, despite objections from other noblemen, crowned him herself. 

In private, Anders confided in her. “There are enough scoffers in the court who dislike me as is.”

She took his hands. “Together, we are better rulers than either one of us alone. I can’t do this without you, Andre.”