His voice hardened. “I didn’t know what it was then, but I knew it was precious. Like some ancient magic had drawnme here, knowing I would need it. We’ve been protecting this place ever since—preserving what we could, learning what it contained.”
I ran my fingers along a shelf of aged texts, feeling the history hum beneath my skin. “What’s here?”
“Everything,” he replied, reverence in his voice. “Historical documents. Employment contracts going back centuries—original versions, before the revisions and creative interpretations. It was likely a records storage facility for the North Pole, before everything went digital.”
I turned to stare at him. “Original North Pole employment contracts?”
“And financial records. Profit distribution agreements. Evidence of how thingsusedto be.” He moved to a section near the back, pulling out a leather-bound volume with practiced ease. “I’ve been studying them for years, trying to understand the legal implications. But I’m not a lawyer. I didn’t know what half of it meant—or how to use it. And I didn’t have the time, not with quotas increasing every year.”
I took the volume from him with shaking hands, opening it carefully. The pages were yellowed with age, but the text was clear—an employment contract from three hundred years ago, written in the kind of formal legal language that was second nature to me.
“Aleksi,” I breathed, scanning the terms. “These clauses—they’re nothing like the current contracts. The working hours, the medical care, the magic sharing?—”
“I know,” he murmured. “Or I suspected. But I needed someone who could read the legal language properly, who could understand what had been changed—and why.”
I looked up at him, seeing him in yet another light. “You’ve been reading all this?” I gave him a teasing smile. “So a bruteanda nerd.”
He huffed, shifting uncomfortably. “I read. When there’s time. It helps me think.”
“What do you read?”
“History.” He hesitated, clearly debating whether to continue. “Poetry, sometimes. Finnish mostly, some elvish, some more modern.” His cheeks flushed slightly. “It helps me…understand different perspectives. See beyond my own anger.”
I set the book down gently and stepped closer. “Do you know what everyone sees when they look at you?”
He met my eyes warily. “A brute. A thug. Too aggressive for diplomacy. Too stubborn for compromise.”
“And what do you think I see?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice rough with vulnerability.
“I see someone brilliant enough to recognize the value of knowledge—and protect it when everyone else would’ve walked away. Someone who reads poetry to understand others, who taught himself because he knew his people would need him.” I reached up to touch his face, feeling the slight rasp of stubble against my palm. “Someone who hides his intelligence and gentleness behind aggression because the world demands you be strong—and you’re terrified that showing softness means failing the people who depend on you.”
His breath caught. “Sylvie?—”
“You’re not just a protector, Aleksi. You’re a leader who cares so deeply that you’ve made yourself into exactly what your people needed, even when it isolated you from everyone else.” I held his gaze. “I understand that.”
For a long moment, he just stared at me. Then his hands rose to cup my face, his touch achingly gentle despite his size.
“No one has ever…” He stopped, struggling for words. “Everyone sees aggression—a bulldozer to be pointed atproblems or a threat to be contained. But you—you look at me and see…”
“My mate,” I finished softly. “Someone worth knowing beyond the armor you wear.”
“I’m not good with words,” he rasped. “Not like this. I read poetry, but I can’t write it. I understand the problem, but I can’t negotiate without losing my temper. I?—”
“You don’t have to be good with words,” I murmured. “You have me now.” I smiled at him.
“Do I have you, kisu?”
“You’re starting to.”
At that, he grinned. “Well, I can be happy with that—for now.” Something shifted in his expression—hope, fragile and tentative, but real. “Can I show you something else?”
He led me deeper into the library, to a small alcove I hadn’t noticed before. A worn desk sat there, its surface covered with books and papers filled with notes in a neat, precise hand.
“This is where I come when the burden gets too heavy,” he explained. “When I need to remember why I’m fighting—what I’m hoping to build.”
I looked at the papers, the draft proposals for reformed labor agreements. “You’ve been working on this for years.”
