Author's Note: Takes place in an alternate reality where a renamed Dark!Elsa (and this time, unlike the Reflection series, she's actually Dark!Elsa; this is NOT Janice) became queen, and things proceeded a little differently. Some of the same characters remain, but they look very different, and their fates have changed significantly.

Content Warning: Contains sexual acts between two adults. There is not necessarily consent, nor the possibility of consent. There is also graphic physical violence and swearing. To be brief: this is NOT a relationship you would want to emulate. You have been warned.

The Breaking of the Shrew

Lieutenant General Einarr Kallevig strode down the hallway with a singular purpose, his long legs carrying him quickly towards his destination. Two guards accompanied him on either side, their own movements just as precise and controlled, as is the manner of all military men. Kallevig's legs did not shake as he walked. He did not stumble. His hands were open and limp by his sides before he came to a halt in front of the large, ornate doors. He folded them behind his back and stood, breathing slowly. The large handlebar mustache that covered his face made his frown seem more severe.

The footman glanced at him once with a small measure of pity before knocking on the doors.

"Enter," a woman's voice said. The footman pulled open one door, and Kallevig obeyed.

She was seated at the head of the conference table, watching him silently. The midday sun filtered through the stained glass windows and dripped pastel hues onto her pale skin. Her dress, spun from ice threads and woven into a shining gown of varying shades of blue, complimented her natural slenderness well. A glittering tiara was the sole point of light within the strands of tousled, inky black hair, nestled atop her head. Her hands, naked from the wrist down, were folded neatly over several papers, her thin fingers stroking the pages in distraction, though her eyes were focused on his face. The whole effect lent her a strange, quiet, even colorful charm that was rather disarming.

He had heard of snakes that employed that trick, too.

He bowed low, lower than he would have any other ruler, and straightened. "I am at your command, your Majesty." His voice, a deep base, did not tremble.

She nodded thoughtfully. One finger stroked her cheek as she regarded him, and he followed the motion with his eyes. Behind his back, his hands clenched into fists.

"But are you really?" she murmured, and then stood before he could speak. Perhaps it was better that way; she was never so livid as when an underling babbled when he ought to be silent. Her Royal Majesty Queen Eira of Arendelle had little time for incompetence, and had made that assertion abundantly clear upon numerous occasions.

She lifted a page and examined it before replacing it on the table. "I received an interesting letter this morning from General Hovde. It seems as though the golems I provided him are experiencing difficulty with the Spanish heat – but…" She paused, and slowly looked up at him. He would never understand how her eyes, such a soft blue, could be so hard. "Perhaps you know better than I what troubles he is facing."

He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Yes," he said, "I am aware of his situation, your Majesty."

"Then by all means, Kallevig: inform us of it." She gestured at the row of empty chairs mockingly, and he knew well enough to take this as his cue to sit, which he did so hurriedly. Her return to her own chair was far more graceful, like water sinking below oil.

He licked his lips and began. "It appears that he lacks sufficient quantities of ice to keep them cool. Initially Forren and I believed that his supplies would last until we could find a work-around for the bridge-"

"Bridge," she said. He snapped his mouth shut immediately. She carefully laced her fingers together as she watched him, and his eyes slowly rose to meet hers. "Tell me about the bridge." The corners of her lips were tilted upwards in amusement. He rubbed his palms against the tops of his thighs underneath the table and continued.

"It collapsed four weeks ago, taking the train bound for General Hovde's camp along with it. If the local records are correct, the support beams were damaged two years before in a storm and this was never dealt with." He held his breath for a moment as she reflected on his words before adding hastily, "General Forren has already begun searching for alternate railroad lines that could provide a link to the camp and our borders, and Admiral Elstad has suggested that we utilize the safe ocean passages we've cleared to ship the ice, if that falls through-"

"Just like that bridge."

"…yes, your Majesty."

"The fallen bridge that I had no awareness of until this morning."

"I..I-we, we decided that it was best not to waste your time with something so trivial."

She locked eyes with him. "Trivial?" she hissed. "The possible failure of the front lines because they're melting after being neglected for a month is trivial?"

"…I, well, your Maje-I wouldn't say that they've been melting for a month: he still had his reserves of-"

She slammed her fist down on the table and ice skittered across the surface like darting knives. His chair screeched against the wooden floor when he instantly shoved it back, shards of ice crackling as they solidified in several sharp points that pricked the buttons of his uniform in a line up his chest, ending just below his chin. His nervous breaths, tinged white in the sudden cold, were shallow as he returned her stormy gaze with his submissive one.

Kallevig closed his eyes briefly and held still as the ice crept over his jacket, seeping through the openings and through his thin shirt to pool on his quivering chest. He opened his eyes to see her eyeing him the same way a cook does a plucked chicken before he raises the knife. There was a gleam in her eyes that had his insides twisting into knots.

She rose. "Tell me, Kallevig," she said, moving toward him, beyond his line of sight, "what good is a bridge?"

"It…" He swallowed and tried again. One of the icicles scratched his throat. "It connects things."

"Exactly," she breathed, only a step behind him now, and he shivered as the cold pressed up against him, sinking into his skin like a lingering miasma. She laid a hand on the back of his chair: though he did not turn his head, he could hear the ice hissing and spitting as it froze the wood and tore up the fine cushioning.

"And we prefer it if things stay connected, don't we?"

"Yes," he whispered. His breath ghosted over the icicles, a sign that he was still alive. She made a small noise of agreement and tapped her fingernails against the frozen seatback. He tensed at the noise, readying himself for the blow, but it didn't come. Instead the queen withdrew and returned to her seat, her long train trailing behind her. She remained standing as she settled her hands on the table, smoothing her palms over her ice, and looked at him with a calm, even gaze. He allowed himself a short exhale of relief.

Perhaps she saw something in his eyes, because in that instant she made a sharp gesture, and he nearly screamed when the ice covering his chest sank below the skin, wrapped around his ribs, and pulled. His hands scrabbled against the slick tabletop and he managed a weak gasp before another vicious wrench left him completely at her mercy.

Through the sickening jolts of pain he heard her speak, lazily. "Bridges are important."

He could hear his sternum creak as his ribs twisted, the cartilage tearing and spilling white-hot splashes of agony over his breast.

"They 'connect things', as you put it, and maintain the lifeblood of the army. My army."

"Yes," he choked, his vision blurring as tears formed in his eyes. "Yo-you-your arm-" He was cut off when a lance of fire ripped a hole just below one nipple: one of his ribs had detached. His hands clung desperately to the edge of the table, as though it would save him as the tears shimmered and fell.

She glanced, disinterested, at the teardrops, and snapped her fingers. Instantly the pulling sensation halted, the ice retreating from under his skin, but the damage was done, and he slid off the chair and onto the floor, his weak, trembling arms barely supporting his upper body.

"I do not expect to be lied to in the future, Einarr. I'd rather not have to clean up after another Sebastian."

He didn't have the breath to sob, so the tears dripped silently down his face and stained his mustache with their shame as he panted as shallowly as possible.

It had been a year, but he could still see Sebastian's broken body laid out on the floor, his sluggishly flowing blood staining the carpet. They'd removed it since he'd died.

At least he had died: Einarr could be glad, for his sake. The world didn't deserve another Anna. But then he wasn't supposed to know of her.

"No…no lies," he replied, his chest crackling with every syllable. The room was achingly cold, but every movement burned.

"Get up."

His body would not have obeyed his own commands, but he was standing before he was aware of it, one hand pressed against his chest as he faced her. The naked contempt on her face somehow only served to make her lovely face even more so, as if she was some wrathful goddess who had taken on human form.

"Send in General Forren. I would speak with him."

He nodded shakily and, gingerly, made his way towards the doorway, his gait stuttering every second step as the torn rib twinged and whined.

"Oh and Einarr?" she called, and he gripped the doorway so hard his knuckles ached. He looked over his shoulder, hardly daring to breathe.

She smiled serenely at him. It made her look deliriously beautiful. "Be grateful."

"Yes, your Majesty," he whispered, and left.

Eira closed the office door and laid a hand on it, considering. Her discussion with Forren had been just as disappointing: she could never understand how such decorated veterans could cringe so easily, and their strange insistence upon shielding her from their own failures was a source of increasing irritation. If progress continued to slow, her armies would not see the African continent for many more months, and the thought of this setback had her teeth grinding. Not for her sake; she had never been interested in anything more than her own powers, kingdom, and life. Not until…

"Did you have fun?"

Eira gasped and spun to see Anna seated in her chair, feet propped up on the desk. Evidently she'd come in through the gardens: mud on the soles of her feet dripped down upon Eira's papers. She flexed her foot and a large clump of dirt landed on the terms of France's surrender. Eira inhaled quickly and glanced around the room; a trail of footprints came in from the window, and her throat tightened. She gestured angrily at the window. "What were you thinking?" she hissed. "What if someone had seen you?"

Anna, who was trailing a fingertip over the large globe by the side of the desk, didn't even look up as she chuckled. "I suppose they'd think they had seen a ghost." Her shockingly white hair was draped over her shoulders in two lazily formed braids, whole strands trickling out of them. She had always used to love braiding her hair, or having her older sister braid it for her, and Eira had felt the same way.

She blinked rapidly and straightened. That was a long, long time ago. "Why are you outside our rooms, then?"

Anna looked at her, and Eira almost flinched at the sight of the snowflake pattern burned into her irises. They used to be the color of the sea as it rolled into the fjord and covered the beaches where they played as children. They were white now. They had been white for years.

"I'm growing bored in my rooms," Anna said, and fixed her with a cold look. One eyebrow rose. "I can't quite imagine how you managed to stay locked inside for so long, but I suppose that's because you actually left, at times." Her tone never strayed from the same emotionless one, and Eira's gaze settled upon her unmoving chest before darting away.

"That's…that's true," she admitted, and looked down at her hands. She'd begun wringing them without realizing it. She quickly settled them at her sides, refusing to clutch at her dress, even though Anna's eyes had never left her face. She remembered a time when her younger sister's gaze had been just as piercing, but more colorful, back when she twirled her skirts around as she danced, face merry and bright and full of life and love for a sister who had abandoned her for the sake of her powers and her throne. Perhaps if Eira had looked back, once, they wouldn't be in the mess they were in now. But she wasn't the kind of person to look back until it was too late.

"That, and I felt your powers." Her voice never betrayed her enthusiasm, but Eira could feel the pull at her heart that indicated Anna's fascination. Their connection had bestowed her with that gift that allowed her to see that at least some of the princess remained within the broken, thin shell that sat before her. She would dash that thread between them to pieces if she could only do so and yet hold her close at night, her ear pressed to her chest as she listened, breathless, to the sound of silence.

"You only ever use them if you're particularly upset with your playthings, and I simply had to see it."

Eira stiffened. "No, no Anna, you didn't…"

A slow smile bloomed on Anna's face. "Just a crack, enough to see through. Just enough to see him squirm. I was too late to see Kallevig, of course, but then I've always liked Forren better. That's a man who knows how to beg." Her face took on a different expression, one similar to the first but this time boding ill for Eira, instead. "He reminds me of you."

The queen shivered, and Anna's smile grew, predatory and sinful and delighted all at once. She enjoyed having that effect upon her older sister in a way no others ever could. Only Anna could get Eira to tremble as she wordlessly implored her sister to continue. Only Anna could make Eira kneel in total obedience: obedience, of course, being a step beyond mere submission. Only Anna had Eira wrapped around her delicate finger like a little child gripping the leash of a massive, slavering dog.

It hadn't always been that way.

It had been an accident, despite the ugly whispers that trickled into the ears and out the mouths of gullible nobles and peasants alike. Eira's irritation that night had increased to the point where she was holding back a snarl as foreigner after foreigner made demands and entreaties of her, "for the sake of both our countries!" This was supposed to be her night, centered upon her and her ascent to the throne, and yet they crowded around her like sharks on the trail for blood, and to her disgust she found herself shrinking away in something akin to submission. The final blow had been Anna's giddy announcement to the crowd of her upcoming marriage to a stranger she hadn't even introduced to her queen yet, and Eira had stalked toward the exit as the flames of her anger grew. All it took was a hand on her shoulder – an appeal she had mistook for an attack – and Eira had whirled, throwing out a hand, a bolt of ice flashing into existence before leaping toward the target.

As one, the guests had gasped and drawn back when their innocent, carefree princess collapsed, her auburn hair turning white before their dumb-struck eyes and Eira's terrified ones. She had always been so proud of her powers and at how they'd been tempered and honed over the years, but when she stared at her sister's kneeling, shaking form, she knew real fear.

The prince had drawn his sword, a dull, ceremonial weapon, and charged. Eira, usually so vigilant, had done nothing to stop him.

Her savior had thrown herself between them with a ringing cry that Eira would never forget, because it was the last breath of life Anna would ever give. The sword struck the icy hand and rebounded, taking its bearer with it, and for a long moment that stretched into infinity, Eira had gazed upon the perfect vision of ice and desperation and sacrifice and sister all at once. Then the ice had retreated, and Anna sank to the floor once more, lifeless.

Or so they thought.

Surely it was love that both saved and damned her, for it was for the wrong person. Anna's love for her older sister was childish because it was centered upon the child that she remembered, and not the woman Eira had become. Yet the same heart beat in her breast and they bore the same name, and perhaps whatever powers that controlled the magic of this world decided that this was enough to keep her body here, even if her spirit was, in some respects, long gone. All that was left was the hunger, and the ice, and the desire for both that drew wicked lines down Eira's skin in response to her desperate pleas. For if she could not part with her guilt, nor have her sister by her side, then surely she would at least have the scars that Anna gave her gladly.

Anna tapped her fingertips against her forehead. "You're thinking again," she said, and her boots thudded on the carpet as she got up. Eira did not deny the accusation, simply folded her hands over her front and waited. Anna walked over to her and drew a finger underneath her chin, and Eira tensed.

"I asked you a question earlier that you failed to answer," Anna murmured, drawing closer. Her lips hovered over Eira's, but the queen knew that if she tried to kiss her Anna would pull back and laugh at her, and she would be denied for however long it took for her to be utterly docile once more. Eira's training had taken some time to sink in, but now she had learned to wait. She had to.

Eira blinked and looked at the ground, at Anna's shoes. "It wasn't fun, no."

"Why not?"

"Because…because I was angry with them for slowing my progress."

"My progress," Anna corrected, and Eira quickly ducked her head in apology. The onetime Princess of Arendelle examined her sister's face, stroking her chin as she listened to the sound of Eira's breaths grow louder the longer the other woman waited. There was a reason why the queen rose at dawn and retired long after the sun had set: if she lingered for longer in their shared bed she might never leave, content to wrap herself up in blankets and her lover's arms, as if both could shut out the world.

Eira knew they were doomed. Eventually, Anna's independence would be discovered, and the populace would realize, to their mounting horror, that they'd buried an empty coffin. Eventually, they would find that her breath no longer came, her heart no longer beat, and yet she walked the earth still, one hand on her sister's throat as she egged her on to more conquests, more invasions, more war and destruction and terror, and they would know that the "ruler with a frozen heart" of that damned prophecy did not, in fact, refer to Eira herself. Eventually, a hero would arise to smite the evil queen and her unnatural lover, and even if she struck him down twenty more would spring up in his place as the people clamored for blood. For as long and as wide as the borders of the empire grew, so too, did the chains that wrapped around the entirety of it; one weak link would be enough to bring them to ruin. If she had any sense, she would have left it all behind years ago, whether to beg for forgiveness or to reinforce her defenses, it didn't matter: this war could not continue. Her powers were stretched to the limit, and a conquered nation does not stand idly by while monsters trample their crops and march through their streets. Soon, an army to match her own would howl at the gates, and they would perish beneath it.

But in the manner of all tyrants, if she had to choose between giving up and going on…well.

She'd drag them all down to Hell with her.

Anna gripped her chin and yanked it down so that Eira staggered. She bit her tongue and held her unstable position, knowing that to move would bring her more punishment, as Anna's footsteps moved away from her and toward the far wall. Eira hissed out a breath: of course she would have discovered it.

"I have to say, it amuses me to no end that you kept it," Anna said as she hefted the sword from its case. There was a small nick in one of the edges where it'd struck her skin, so many years ago. She swung it experimentally, and the weapon whistled as it twirled around in her grip. Anna glanced at her sister, whose head had risen and now jerked back down guiltily, and she tapped the sword against the desk. "Come here."

Eira hurried to follow her command, moving to stand behind her desk when Anna heedlessly kicked the chair to the side. She braced herself on the desktop as Anna moved behind her. At the first touch of the sword's point against her neck she flinched, closing her eyes and bowing her head. Eira tried not to lean away when Anna spun the sword slowly, a single drop of blood trickling down her back in response.

Since Anna couldn't bleed, Eira did for her.

The point drew down her skin, making her arch her back in time to its creeping descent. By the time it reached the small of her back and withdrew Eira was panting.

"Take it off."

The dress, parted in the back, slid soundlessly over her arms, peeling off her torso to hang limply from her waist, leaving her naked from navel to nape. She returned her hands to the desk and willed herself to be calm, to be collected, to be in control.

The first blow had her crying out in surprise and pleasure. She had barely a second's respite before the flat of the sword struck her back again, causing her to shudder and clench her eyes shut. She could already feel the welt blossoming on the surface of her skin, and gasped when Anna's fingertips brushed it. Her mouth was right by Eira's ear when she spoke.

"You will count for me."

"Yes," she whispered, nodding frantically.

"You will tell me when you wish to stop."

Eira didn't say anything. They both knew that Anna would not, could not, stop. But it was a game they played, anyways. It wasn't like she could say no, either. Anna was not the only slave in the room.

"How many so far?"

Eira swallowed. "Two."

The sword slapped against her back with a smacking sound and she whimpered, a short, gasping noise through her nose, her chin tucked into her chest protectively.

"…number?"

"Three!"

Anna made a small noise of satisfaction. "If you are still standing when I hit ten, I'll fuck you, all right?"

She could barely make out a "yes" before the sword came down once more, directly over the first hit, and her legs buckled.

"F-four…" she breathed out shakily. The blows came faster now. Her side flared up in sudden and delicious agony.

"Unnghff-f-five."

Strike.

"Six! Oh fu-six!"

Strike.

"Sevensevensevenoh oh oh fuck, I-"

Strike.

"Eig-AAAH!"

"And which one is this, now?"

"…n-nine."

"One more, and I'll fuck you. Can you handle one more?"

Eira couldn't remember what words to use anymore: her entire existence had narrowed down to the sensation of cold steel slamming into her and numbers climbing incrementally higher. As though in a daze, she nodded, and Anna stroked the nape of her neck briefly. Then both of her hands were at Eira's waist, pulling the dress apart and shoving it down, over her hips and thighs and down her legs until it pooled on the floor. Her hands pushed harshly against the insides of her thighs, and Eira parted them obediently. Anna patted her side, directly over a darkening bruise, and Eira shivered when she removed her hand.

"Ready for the last one?"

The queen could only moan. She held her breath, waiting for the blow to fall, for it to etch another bright line of pain across her skin and shock her muscles, her flesh crawling with wild anticipation and aching, dripping need.

A whistle, then-

Eira screamed and just barely managed to stay upright when the sword struck her swollen cunt directly. Her hands clung desperately to the edge of the desk as she held her ground, her knees weak and half-bent. She faltered, but caught herself, squeezing her eyes shut as she finally gasped, "…ten."

"Mmmm, that it is. Such a good girl for me." Anna's voice sank into her skin and set it afire, and she dropped her head, trying to convey her desperation. She jerked her hips forward when Anna ran her fingers over inner thigh, smearing the wetness there and humming again.

Anna swept the papers, pens, and other useless objects off the side of the desk. "Bend over."

Eira pressed her upper body against the now clean desktop and brought her hands beside her head instantly. Her stomach kissed the surface with every silent, fluttering breath.

"Are you in need?"

"Yes yes, I…I need, Anna, please…"

"So am I."

Without being told, Eira made a quick, sloppy gesture that summoned her ice, and Anna purred as it settled over her hips and solidified into a long, generous shaft. The queen could hear her sister run a hand over it before she lined herself up and slammed forward, burying herself in one swift movement that had Eira's eyes rolling back in her head. She choked when Anna halted, feeling stretched to the very limit and yet dying for more.

Anna canted her hips back and then returned with such power the sword rattled on the desk and Eira made a strained noise in the back of her throat that could have been a word if she had breath enough for it. Her sister set a punishing pace that forced needy exhalations and gasps from the other woman.

"I've thought about fucking you on your throne for a while now," Anna said leisurely. She didn't need to breathe, after all. Eira grunted in response to a particularly forceful stroke that had her knees shaking.

"Maybe after you finally conquered the rest of the continent, as a present, you know." Eira whimpered when Anna began rolling her hips, fingernails biting into the desktop as she shoved herself back against her sister, begging her to continue.

"I'd have you call together all your ministers and generals and nobles and every other pathetic excuse for life that lives in this castle, and they'd wait, watching, on bended knee as I fucked you until the only word your lips could form would be my name, said over and over again when you came, and came, and came, until every orgasm hurt just that little bit more, and I'd fuck you through that too, until you were raw and bleeding and the agony was so great you would beg me to never stop."

Eira clawed wordlessly at the desk as she sobbed, so painfully close she could taste her climax, right there, just a few more thrusts away and-

Anna's hips stopped moving completely. Before she had time to react there was a cracking sound and shuddering vibration, and Anna stepped away from the desk. The shaft remained inside, pressing against her walls and yet completely stationary. She twisted her head around in shock to see Anna, stone-faced, holding the sword again. Belatedly, she realized Anna had slammed the hilt into the ice, breaking if off inside of her.

"No!" she cried. "No, no please, Anna, I, please, no!"

Anna's eyes were hard. "Get up."

She straightened, cupping herself to keep the shaft within her, and Anna smiled in appreciation. She tossed the sword on the floor and ran her gaze over her. "Perfect." She stroked her hands over her sister's slender arms in something almost like a loving caress, but her hands were too cold for that, her skin breathtakingly pale.

"I expect that to still be there when you return."

Eira gave a quivering nod, and Anna jerked her chin at the ground where the ice dress lay crumpled. Eira slowly bent down and picked it up with one hand, drawing it over her. She flashed Anna a quick look before releasing herself, and the shaft did not move as she pulled the garment over her shoulders, sealing it with just a touch of her power.

"Go talk to Alstad. See why he and the others are so utterly useless." Anna fixed the tiara so that it sat correctly and Eira accepted the grooming without comment. She walked, gingerly, over to the door, her steps slow and measured as she fought to keep the ice inside of her. Every time she flexed pleasure coiled in her stomach, but she knew that if she got off without Anna's permission, there would be hell to pay later.

She opened the door with a shaky hand.

"Oh and, Eira?"

The queen turned back to her lover, watching her silently.

Anna smiled. It made her seem alive. "Have fun."

Her sister stared at her, opened and closed her mouth, and then slipped through.

Anna settled back into the chair, sighing as she sank into the plush cushions. She drew a finger along the equator of the globe affixed to the desk. The globe spun slowly, and she watched as the Asian continent disappeared to the right while the European one rose like the dawn. Ice sprawled across the upper half of it, covering it in a thin sheet that marked the boundaries of her growing empire. She closed her eyes and stroked her fingertips over the ice, imagining a world totally encrusted with frost, as cold and quiet and lifeless as her own heart.

She smiled.

Beyond the office doors, the soft murmurings of discussion began, and Anna could picture them now: Alstad, a small man in every respect of the term, blithering excuses and waving his hands in barely concealed terror, and her Royal Highness, Queen Eira of Arendelle, seated upon her high-backed chair, as cool as the depth of winter, her eyes of diamond glittering as her rage boiled up and burst forth into icy creations that sank their fangs into whomever had called up the storm within.

Anna's palm settled possessively upon the outline of Arendelle, and her eyes sharpened as she watched the closed doors. The sounds of their discussion grew louder. Anna chuckled. Eira was never one for patience. It had been most enjoyable to beat that lesson into her.

And she was always so needy after she'd played the good little queen. Anna loved it when Eira was needy. It made her more malleable, more flexible, more perfect.

Anna stared into space dreamily as she imagined Eira returning to their rooms, shaking with want, and her smile grew.

She would beg for the knife tonight.