When Hans had stepped onto the ship leaving the Southern Isles, it was with a far greater sense of significance and wistfulness than he had ever felt before when boarding a vessel. Further, it was with far more luggage than he had ever brought on a voyage before. This was because he expected to live and die in another kingdom than his own, the country far to the north called Arendelle. More importantly, his parents expected him to. Their Majesties the King and Queen of the Southern Isles had arranged a marriage for him, to none other than the soon-to-be Queen Elsa of Arendelle. Hans had never expected to marry so well, as the thirteenth son of the King, who was already a grandfather several times over, and presently around twentieth in line to the throne. Rather, he had believed he would marry some lady he met and fancied at court and live out the rest of his days in the Isles; perhaps even marry for love, but that was out the window.
He wasn't bitter, not really. He knew that despite some petty disagreements over the years, his family didn't really want to be rid of him. He felt… subdued, to have to be leaving his homeland, but he would not disappoint his family or his country. It was a fact of royal life that duty came before one's own whims, and when duty called, Hans heeded. He was, however, a little apprehensive about his bride. Several of his brothers were still unmarried, and as they were older and further up the line, more desirable a match for a queen. Wilhelm, a widower and almost twenty years her senior had his obvious drawbacks, but Einar, the ninth prince of the thirteen-strong brood, was four further up the line and thus a better option in that sense, and yet it was Hans who was en route to marry the woman.
The problem was, nobody had seen much at all of the Crown Princess, or her younger sister Princess Anna, for years. Rumours of all sorts flew about physical deformities, mental deficiencies, moral insufficiencies and all manner of things. The fact that the ruler of the country was willing to settle for the thirteenth prince of a neighbouring kingdom, allies or not, without even laying eyes on him was unsettling to say the least. It was a sign of desperation or callousness, Hans judged. But he had not been in on the negotiations, only informed of the plans gently by his mother two months ago. It was possible that the Arendellian party had preferred the prince closest to her in age.
Now, he was an estimated two days from the major port of the Arendellian capital, and would pledge himself to this mysterious Princess Elsa and her realm the day of his arrival. It was to be without fanfare, he understood, which he thought a little odd for such an important royal. He supposed it had something to do with her not being crowned Queen until her twenty-first birthday next year. Ah, well, he thought, I'm sure there will be plenty of celebrating in a few months at her coronation. At least we'll have more time to get to know each other.
I I I
Commoners had stared at the impressive ship from the south, flying the colours from the distant kingdom Hans hoped he would get to see again at some point in his life. He had wondered as he transferred to a waiting royal carriage if he would need to ask permission to do so of his wife, his new ruler. As much as people took interest in the carriage as it passed, he took an interest in the town outside it.
The whole world looked much bluer, lusher, than in the south, where the air was always warm and the earth and its people sun-baked. Arendelle's houses were charmingly tall and narrow, clustered together as though huddling for warmth. The design of decorations seemed to differ, too. Bright, geometric patterns in favour of the swirls and curls to which he was habituated. Autumn was falling, and Hans wished he had had more experience with the cold, or at least that the cathedral would be heated. They rarely were, though.
Nevertheless, he would have rather gone to the castle on foot. He preferred horseback to a carriage any day, but after so long stuck on a ship he would have enjoyed the exercise. It would have been unseemly though, and perhaps been rather slow given the interest from the locals. Moreover, it would have allowed him to rid himself of some of his nerves. Prince Hans was normally quite confident, but it was important, nay, imperative that things go well, both for the diplomatic and personal relations concerned by the event. He wondered if he would see the princesses before the ceremony. He wondered what language he should speak. Sudais, the language of the Isles? No, it would seem odd and maybe presumptuous. French? Most courts tended to use French often, but what if it made him seem self-important or, worse, like he didn't care for his new home? Arendellian, then. He hoped his knowledge of the foreign tongue didn't desert him; it had never been his strongest suit.
The carriage trundled over a long, stone bridge that led to the castle that would be his home. It looked nothing like the ostentatious Stornburg Palace in which he had been raised, but he thought it beautiful regardless. The surrounding sea would remind him of home though; in the Southern Isles one was never far from the ocean.
With a cry from the coachman, the vehicle rolled to a stop in the main courtyard. Hans ran his hand down his front, checking his attire was in order, before the door was yanked open. He stepped down from the carriage and looked around. The balconies running around the area were empty, save for a few impassive guards, as were any he could see attached to the palace itself. Some large fountains splashed serenely, and despite the small amount of greenery about the cobbled ground was swept clean.
A rotund, maternal-looking woman was waiting by the doors, a young man who was probably a footman behind her. For a split second, he wondered if this was Her Royal Highness, Princess Elsa. But no, he knew she was but twenty, and this woman was clearly far older than his own twenty-four years.
"Your Highness, Prince Hans, welcome to Arendelle," she greeted warmly. In Arendellian, he noted wryly.
"I am Gerda, the housekeeper," the woman continued as he strode toward her, "Let me show you to your room, where you can get ready if you need to."
With that, she ushered him through the large wooden doors, leading him up a grand staircase and down a series of long corridors. While they walked, followed by the silent footman, she prattled about various paintings they passed, the weather and myriad other topics, none the one he really cared for: his bride.
"This is your room, if it pleases you, Your Highness," she said as she drew to a halt in front of a set of double doors decorated in blue and gold. The servant behind him stepped forward and open the doors, and Hans wandered into the room. A pleasant sitting room with a hearty fire, several vases of various blooms, some of which he didn't recognise since they were probably too delicate to survive a sweltering summer, a few bookcases. An open door to one side offered a view of a double four-poster bed, intricately carved, with dark blue, beautiful covers. The opposite wall led to a balcony overlooking the water, facing the docks.
Overall, very pleasant, but completely devoid of personal possessions. Clearly not his bride's room. Not that it really mattered, since he knew full well he wouldn't be spending much time in here. It seemed rather odd, really, to provide him with his own room for an afternoon when he was presumably about to move into that of his enigmatic fiancée. Then again, he needed somewhere to change clothes, and it would be uncomfortable to hang around in his intended's chambers before meeting the woman, and before actually wedding her. In fact, she was probably in there at the moment, and he knew it was bad luck to see her the day of the wedding before the actual ceremony.
He was musing on this, still looking around the room in silence, when it occurred to him that he probably ought to say something. "It pleases me very much, thank you," he said politely, with a gracious nod.
Gerda the Housekeeper seemed rather flattered, murmuring how glad she was and how she hoped he would be comfortable here and so on for a while. A clock on the mantel chimed once, reminding the servants that it was quarter-past midday. "The service starts at half-past one. At one o'clock, Mitchell here will come to show you to the chapel," she informed him, indicating the man at her shoulder. "Don't want to be late now, do we?"
With that, and a few more words of welcome, she bustled off to oversee some last-minute preparations, probably. Alone, Hans wandered the room. Almost an hour to while away. He knew he had better not leave the room, so he looked at the books on the shelves, warmed his gloved hands by the fire, and sniffed the flowers he was unfamiliar with, removing his gloves to feel their texture.
He looked over at the mantel piece when the clock chimed again at half-past. Among the decorative ornaments there, a small, framed portrait. He walked over and picked it up, examining the young woman it portrayed. It would be odd to have a portrait of a random person in a guest room, unless that person was the ruler of the land, particularly if that guest was their betrothed.
The woman stood with one elegant, gloved hand perched on a table, in a winter dress and cloak, a thick fur arranged over one shoulder. She was slender, very fair blonde, and very beautiful. Her face was remote, blank even, but slightly upturned in a way that made her look proud. If it were a true likeness, clearly all rumours pertaining to physical shortcomings preventing the princesses from venturing beyond their walls were false. But as he well knew, portraits tended to show the subject in the light that whoever commissioned them wanted. His mother's portraits never adjusted to reflect her expanding waistline, he had noted. For all he knew, Princess Elsa could be rotund, bald and missing an eye, really. Assuming this was actually her.
With a sigh, he returned the picture to its place. He went into the bedchamber, running his hand along his jaw and looking into the mirror. He had shaved on the ship the morning before they docked, and couldn't see the need to do it again. It was certainly more difficult to wield a razor blade on a deck swaying to and fro than on dry land, but he was fairly well accustomed. He changed into the white dress uniform laid out for him by a valet shortly after Gerda had left, meticulously checking his appearance, then again. He combed his hair with the supplied articles but steered clear of the products on offer, judging it best not to experiment on today of all days. After that, he simply paced the room for the next twenty minutes, until Mitchell arrived to take him to the church.