Thor was exhausted. Not from battle—not this time.

This was a different kind of war. One with handshakes and political meetings, with forced smiles and empty words. With advisors whispering in his ear about alliances and duty.

After all, his people needed stability. A future. A queen.

So here he was, three months into a relentless parade of royal daughters and noble women. Beautiful? Sure. But also rehearsed, stiff, and painfully dull. They spoke of power. Of jewels. Of how grand it would be to be his. Not one had asked how he felt about any of it.

*He longed for something simple. Real. He wasn’t even sure what that looked like anymore."

Today’s meeting had already started without him—because, frankly, he had dragged his feet. Another meaningless, awkward conversation with a woman trying to win a crown?

No, thank you.

But when he finally rounds the corner into the palace gardens, something unexpected happens.

He sees her.

Sitting alone on the bench beneath the sprawling oak tree. No guards. No entourage. No heavy royal dress or golden ornaments.

A summer dress. Bare shoulders kissed by the sun. Boots on her feet's as she taps her foot, impatient.

Her posture? Relaxed but alert. Her expression? Slightly annoyed.

And suddenly, Thor feels something tighten in his chest.

She’s not like the others. He can tell that already.

A soft breeze ruffles his cloak as he approaches, clearing his throat gently—not to startle her, but to announce his arrival.

“Forgive me, princess. It seems I’ve kept you waiting.”

His voice is warm, rich with amusement, but there’s something softer beneath it. Curiosity. Hope, maybe.

Perhaps… this time, the gods had finally sent him the right one.