Chapter 3

Chapter Three

NICK

I ’d been called many things in my life—charming, irresponsible, infuriatingly handsome—but wasted potential was a new one, and it lingered in my chest like an icicle that refused to melt. Alva Brightwinter was exactly what I’d always imagined a head elf would be: strict, methodical, and colder than a mid-winter storm.

She was relentless in her precision and utterly unshakable in her judgment of me. Yet for reasons I couldn’t fathom, I found myself… curious. When I’d strolled into her office, fully prepared to mock her authority and revel in her irritation, I hadn’t expected to be struck by how exquisitely beautiful she looked. I’d always known Alva was attractive—anyone with eyes could see that—but today, something about her demeanor caught me off guard.

The way her sleek auburn hair framed her delicate, sharp features. The way her deep blue eyes seemed to pierce through me as though she could see every flaw, every failing, every damn thought in my head. And the way her lips—so perfectly shaped and forever pressed into a disapproving line—twitched just slightly when I called her fascinating.

Odin’s blood, what is wrong with me?

“Efficient,” she’d said when I called her fascinating. She’d had that familiar bite to her voice, crisp as fresh snow, and for the first time, I realized I didn’t hate it.

I let out a frustrated puff of air as I wandered through the halls of the Claus estate, replaying our exchange in my head. No elf had ever spoken to me like that. Most melted under my charm like snow under the first hint of spring, but not Alva. She’d stared me down like I was an overgrown child in need of discipline—which, admittedly, I probably was.

Her no-nonsense attitude should have made me want to avoid her altogether. Instead, I was drawn to her in a way that made absolutely no sense. Maybe it was her confidence, the way she carried herself like she had nothing to prove to anyone—not even me. Or maybe it was the fire simmering beneath her icy exterior, the way she threw herself into her work with such passion, regardless of what it was, like this ridiculous competition.

Or maybe it was just the fact that she looked damn good in that tailored green tunic that had accentuated her impossible-to-ignore perfect breasts.

Whatever it was, it annoyed me beyond measure. Alva Brightwinter was supposed to be a means to an end, a tyrant elf tasked with dragging me through this absurd competition my father had concocted. She wasn’t supposed to be someone I admired, let alone lusted after.

I turned a corner and nearly collided with a group of elves carrying stacks of wrapped presents and decorations that were no doubt part of Alva’s carefully constructed winter wonderland themed Snowball. “Sorry, Your Highness!” they chirped as some of the boxes tipped over and fell, scattering décor everywhere.

I knelt to help pick up the mess, the elves looking at me like I had tree branches sprouting from my head. “It’s okay, My Prince,” one of the young elf females said. “We can manage.”

“I’m sure you can, but I should’ve been paying attention where I was walking.” Instead of being distracted by how ridiculously sexy Brightwinter had looked in her head elf attire.

Once we’d gathered all the scattered décor, I helped them re-stack the boxes and assisted with carrying them to the great hall where the ball was to take place. Everything was abuzz with activity, elves running around in a frenzy, setting up the ballroom. At the front, Alva stood with a clipboard in hand, directing traffic, shouting out orders, and making sure every detail was taken care of.

I’d called her a tyrant, but that had likely been a rumor spread by a disgruntled elf. I’d never actually watched her in action myself. Now I could see why my father had put her in charge of this charade. She wasn’t just a great leader, she was an artist painting a canvas. Efficient didn’t even come close to describing her ability to manage such a large group of people, directing everyone like a choreographer. The ballroom came alive like the set of a beautiful play, with every actor in place, every line memorized.

She was magnificent.

I stood at the entrance to the ballroom, my jaw slightly ajar. We were two weeks from Christmas, when all elves should’ve been focused on making sure every detail of Santa’s dispatch was ironed out, and yet my father had Alva catering a stupid ball meant to find me a bride. I knew the head elf was probably furious that she’d been relegated to party planner. Knew that she was probably resenting me even more for taking her away from her true job.

I felt sheepish. I’d been planning to make a mockery out of this competition, meanwhile, Alva had been putting every effort into making this the most enchanting ball ever, despite her clear disdain of me. I exited the great hall before she could notice I’d been standing there for far too long, staring at her work.

I tried not to let my mind wander all afternoon, but no matter what I did, my thoughts always ended up conjuring up Alva’s face. What was it about her? Sure, she was beautiful, but beauty was nothing new to me. I’d spent more nights than I could count tangled in bedsheets with females who could rival the stars in their radiance. But Alva wasn’t just beautiful; she was everything I’d always tried to avoid: responsibility, dedication, purpose… And for some inexplicable reason, I now found that maddeningly attractive.

I pushed open the doors to the library, needing a moment of quiet to think. The room was empty, the only sounds the faint crackle of the fireplace and the occasional creak of the old wooden shelves.

Alva Brightwinter. Head elf. Taskmaster extraordinaire. And the only female I’d met who didn’t seem the least bit interested in what I had to offer. Which, based on her clear poor opinion of me, was nothing but depravity and cheap thrills.

I picked up a book at random, thumbing through the pages without really seeing them. She’d called me wasted potential, and while I hated to admit it, she wasn’t entirely wrong. I’d spent my life avoiding responsibility, coasting on charm and privilege, and enjoying every moment of it. But for the first time, I found myself wondering what it might be like to prove her wrong. To show her that I could be more than the debauched prince she clearly thought I was.

The thought surprised me, and I shut the book with a snap. No. I wasn’t about to let Alva Brightwinter get under my skin. She might be beautiful, intelligent, and annoyingly competent, but she was also the overzealous elf who couldn’t stand the sight of me. And if my father thought she would be the one to put a leash around my neck, then he clearly didn’t know me well.

Still, as I left the library and headed back to my chambers, I couldn’t shake the image of her sitting at her desk, her sharp gaze cutting through me like a winter wind. I hated that I couldn’t stop thinking about her, and while I didn’t know what I planned to do about the thoughts that wouldn’t ebb, I did know one thing: this competition was about to get a Hel of a lot more interesting.