“Except your Promised One,” she muttered.
“Yes,” he answered shortly.
Damn, he had good ears to have heard that over the sounds of the vehicle and the instruments on the consol. She’d have to be careful. A bad habit, she often blurted out her thoughts without realizing it. Good thing she’d decided to never be a politician. “So what is your mission in life, Duke Gunnar Zaren? Who are your people?”
Glancing toward him, she saw his jaw clench slightly. Didn’t like her bored tone of voice, did he? Maybe, if she used it more, he’d leave her in silence.
“Who wants to know?”
“I do.”
“But who are you?”
“I’m Noreen Tibbetts, just as your communication said.”
“That’s just a name. Who are you?”
“I’m a humanoid woman of mysterious origins. I arrange travel across the universe for adventurous beings.” And travel even more just for fun when not working.
“What is a travel agent doing on Nordia?”
Travel agent. It worked. It was either that or pose as a reporter or research scientist. “I’ve been invited to write an article.”
“Tourists are few and far between.”
“Someone wants to change that.” Certainly not her. There was little to recommend here, and the best features could be found on more pleasant planets.
“Nobody wants more tourists.”
Noreen shrugged. She couldn’t agree with him more, but for now she had a role to play. “Tourists bring in revenue.”
“We don’t need money.”
True, the planet was quite well-off for an iceball. Mining for rare minerals brought in huge sums for tiny amounts. Not to mention the market for rare furs and exotic wools. Many companies also leased acreage for deep cold research. Poverty was not a problem on Nordia.
“Look, I was invited to come and write an article. I’m not even sure I can recommend this place with a good conscience, so don’t get your nappies in a knot.”
“Nappies?”
There was that arched brow again.
“Absorbent underwear. For infants.”
Gunnar snorted. “Diapers? You think I wear diapers?”
“If they fit…” she let the comment drift away.
“Is this common off-world?” He scowled in her direction.
“Is what common?”
“This…sarcasm.”
“You’ve never heard sarcasm before?” No, he didn’t like the astonished tone of voice, if his deep frown and flush were a good indication.
“It isn’t common here.”
It would be if she still lived here. “A pity. I find sarcasm helps one to laugh in situations that would normally make one cry or shoot something.”
“Shoot?”
“As in to use a firestick to inflict great injury, possibly even death, upon another being,” she explained as politely as she could.
“Ah, use of a gun.”
“Exactly.” Give him points for a little education. Guns weren’t permitted on Nordia, even for research. She’d found them fascinating the first time she’d seen one in use. Until she’d seen the carnage they could wreak on living things.
“You must think I’m an idiot,” he accused her.
“Only depends which planet you’re standing on at the time.” She sighed and looked out the side window again. A lesson she’d learned well after blasting off this particular iceball. And here she was, trapped in this damn transport for three long days with the very man she’d left this planet to avoid. The One, waiting for his female equivalent to appear. Dritt.
Was this some elaborate plan of Odin? Thor? Freya? One of Loki’s pranks?
Which brought her back to the problem of sleeping arrangements. There was no way in Hell, or on this frozen version of it, she would sleep next to this man. Not all versions of Hell were hot. In fact, the cold could burn just a badly as fire. Given a choice, she’d take flames over ice any day.
Chapter 2
Gunnar looked at the woman beside him. She huddled in her parka as if she’d never get warm, though how she could be cold with the red-hot, silk underwear she wore… Just let him touch her and she’d be warm. His fingers clenched tightly around the steering wheel.
No, don’t think about touching this woman. She’s not The One. Couldn’t be. The noise he’d heard at the depot had been the sound of a child dropping a toy. Possibly even luggage trolleys colliding. Thor’s Hammer was just a legend anyway.
Too bad. Bleach her long, braided hair white, give her blue lenses for her eyes, and she’d almost look like the princess. Crown Princess Coreen Ileana Adelaide Elizabeth Audelhuk, Duchess of NyUppland and NyDalarna, first in line to the throne upon which sat an aging king, was the very essence of Nordian womanhood, but she wasn’t The One. As her loyal subject, and even more loyal friend, he’d been unable to deny the special request of the princess to pick up this woman. This woman who could be the twin sister of the princess, if one didn’t pay attention to her coloring. Or her attitude.
Then again, many of the women inhabiting the palace could very well serve as a double for the princess. It didn’t help that all nine of the king’s daughters had similar names, all ending in ‘oreen’. King Bjorn had been a busy man in his prime. Just not busy enough to produce sons. And only one daughter from his official wife, Queen Elke, or so the stories said. Rumor included tales of a twin who’d died at birth, but he’d never been able to find proof. Coreen merely laughed it off as palace intrigue. Daughters from the concubines didn’t count in the line of succession. Coreen was the duly acknowledged heiress-apparent to the throne, followed by a male cousin with a duchy.
Hence the confusing point of the damn Profetia.
If his grandfather’s ability to interpret the ancient document hadn’t already been proven fifty times over as genuine, he would have thought the old man had cooked up this scheme with either the king or Coreen. So here Gunnar was, in the prime of his life, traveling from city to city to attend boring social functions, all in name of searching for a woman who would, according to The Profetia, produce the first male heir in fifty years.
Which made no sense at all. Gunnar was twelfth in the line of succession. How could he father the next king? Especially if the Crown Princess wasn’t The One, destined to be his bride? He would have gladly married Coreen, but it just wasn’t to be. While he was fond of her and admired her, she’d never rocked his soul like the ringing of Thor’s Hammer. Or at least that was the feeling he was supposed to have upon discovering his Promised One, according to his grandfather and the king.
Gunnar shook his head and turned his attention back to Noreen, the mystery woman from beyond the galaxy.
How did she get her skin so brown? Was it naturally that way? Somehow he didn’t think her red hair was a natural color. Even though he didn’t travel off-world, he did read and study the news and had never seen a being with hair such a color. At least not with that skin and eye color combined. Or in humanoid form come to think of it. And what a form. She was of a height and shape to mold perfectly to him. Long legs curved into hips just wide enough and rounded enough to fit his hands. A narrow waist curved up into a lean torso, which presented breasts