General Mason closed the door of the council chamber behind him softly. "What is it, my King?"
The King of Dorian folded his hands on the dark oaken table, waiting. "What is the news from the western border?"
"Not well, I am afraid." The General took a seat at the table.
The King's black eyes scrutinized the man. "Disastrous, if I am to believe the rumors. They are more like flights of fancy than actual reports. Perhaps you can shed some light on the matter?"
"I assure you they are all true, my Lord." General Mason tried to stem the growing feeling that the progress of the campaign influenced his personal standing with the King. "We are driven back at every turn. This Witch-Queen of Arandelle commands the very earth and sky. We encounter walls of ice stretching for miles, and armies of living creatures made of snow itself, that seem not to know death. Every day we are pummeled by fierce storms. It is not the fault of our men, who fight bravely."
"And what is your suggestion?"
Mason was only waiting to be asked. "If you want my advice, Sire, we must abandon the invasion at once."
"You understand, General, that Arandelle is a necessary first step in my projected conquest of Europe."
"You Majesty, she is stronger than a hundred, nay, a thousand men. We must retreat. Arandelle is unassailable while she lives."
The King sat back, stroking his beard. "Then the answer is obvious. Queen Elsa must die."