Prince Hans Westerguard of the Southern Isles found himself in prison, real prison this time. He let out a weary sigh. About a month ago, his life had gotten... weird.

Well, that's not exactly the truth. His life had been weird for a very, very long time. The young prince took a moment to reflect on the choices that had gotten him where he was, and how badly he wished he could change things.

He had a dream girl. She was beautiful, of course, and powerful. It was stunning how one moment she had more power in her fingertip than most people had in their whole bodies, and the next she was as weak as a little girl. Endlessly fascinating.

His dream girl was unattainable. Not only did she have a habit of keeping people at bay, he had given her a pretty good reason to never give him a chance. Namely killing her.

Which bothered him. But at least he'd actually committed that crime. Now he was in prison for escaping prison, and trying to kill her and her sister again. It shouldn't have bothered him, but it did. Anna had been... a mistake. In more ways than one. He shouldn't have even asked her out, let alone proposed. They could have been friends though. The Arrendelle girls needed friends.

Killing Elsa was worse. When he'd gone to do it, it wasn't as though he was trying to kill her so much as prove he was capable. He'd spent so long in the shadows; in his brother's shadows, or the shadows of a conspiracy. And for once, Hans could prove he was the man, powerful and in charge.

But at the last second, his sword had broken. Either by magic or... he sighed again. Hans knew why he'd actually gone after Elsa; she was better than him. And it hurt his pride to think that after all he had to do to scramble up the rungs of power; kill, lie, steal, hide, some... princess, who'd done nothing but sit in her room all her life, would rule a kingdom. Not to mention her powers.

So he'd tried to kill her, just to prove to himself he wasn't pathetic. And, just to rub it in, an enchantress had brought the cosmic karma hammer down on him by turning him into a dog. (Yeah, that had sucked.) Just to make matters worse, when human-Hans had disappeared, he'd been blamed for every stubbed toe in Arrendelle. (It wasn't fair; yeah, he'd tried to kill one or two people, but it's not like he was a psychopath!) And so he had turned himself in and returned to prison.

Which is why he was sitting exactly where he was sitting.

"You're sitting in my seat."

The royal did not even bother to turn around to know that the man currently assaulting his ears was twice his size with scars all over his body. If the other prisoner's body odor was any indication, he had been dead for at least six months, three if he died in the sun.

"Of course I am," Muttered the prince. Hans apparently had the habit of sitting in seats reserved for the biggest, meanest, cruelest prisoners. Up 'til now, he'd tolerated the assaults on his person with a passive spirit. Well, passive in a 'fine-I-won't-fight-you' way.

No more.

"Are you gonna move, or fight, pretty boy?"

Hans huffed out another sigh. He seemed to be doing that a lot more lately, "I'm more than just a pretty face."

The entire prison was watching. Hans drew himself to full height, "I'm going to-"

"Move," Said Warden Busby. Hans' eyebrows lifted comically. After his, ahem, 'escape' Hans had been thrown in lockup with what might be called, 'gen. pop.'

It was quite the insult. No one knew how to play chess, or sit up straight, or count to ten without taking off their shoes (no, you didn't misread that, they didn't even know how to count properly) or just generally think.

It was, overall, quite dreary.

"You're coming with me."

Hans shrugged.

He followed the warden out of the jail, and up the prison island mountain, back to his former quarters. There, he found his brother Gunther waiting.

The three sat down, drank some tea, and waited for someone to break the silence.

"Soooo...!"

They all nodded.

"Yep."

"Oh, yeah."

"Hmmm..."

"How's prison...?"

"Good, good," Nodded Hans, "And by that, I mean it's abysmal."

"Oh good, good. We were going for abysmal. Let me go get you a refill," Said Warden Busby.

Gunther smiled, "Thank you. Say, brother, you'll never guess who I was talking to the other day!"

"...who?"

"King Archer. You know, our brother?"

Hans' eyes slid shut in annoyance. He swore angrily to himself.

"And he thinks that you should be doing something... what's the word? Productive? With yourself."

The last time Archer had said that... people had died. Hans set down his empty tea cup, "And I would do this why?"

"Think of it this way, you can spend the rest of your life rotting in prison, or you can have a bit of freedom again...!"

Hans looked over to the chess board. The pieces had already been set. Gooooood... He thought to himself. He did, after all, have talent for the game. It all came down to having some insurance...

"What's the game?"

"Betrayal, assassination, and maybe a bit of anarchy."

"...the usual?"

"Yes, but this time, we're doing it my way."

Busby returned with more tea.

"Another time, perhaps," Hans said to Busby, "Apparently, I'm leaving!" He said this with great dripping sarcasm.

Busby sputtered, "What?!"

Hans shrugged, "Well... you know how it is."

"You can't just leave! This is prison!"

"Think of it as a work-program! I'll just be gone for a few... weeks." He checked with Gunther, "Weeks?"

His brother nodded, "Yes... we need you to find Sarah."

Hans' eyes lit up in understanding. Busby swallowed nervously. If he was looking for Sarah, it meant one thing; Archer knew...

Gunther rose to his feet, "Well, it's been great." He said this smiling.

"So," Hans asked, "How are we doing this? A ship at night? Prison riot?"

He was shoved backwards into an empty trunk, "Ah! Classic! I love steamer-trunk specials!"

The lid was slammed shut, sealing him into the darkness. Away from prying eyes, Hans marveled at his own monumental arrogance. Of course Archer would discover his schemes, and of course he would need Hans to unravel them.

As the men loaded him onto an unmarked ship, Hans could not help but feel just a twinge of regret for what he was about to do; hunt down his sister-in-law and murder her and her child. Then return to prison. And what's more, he had to try and enjoy this small bit of freedom outside of the prison.

Not a lot to be thankful for.

Shuffling around, he dislodged the white queen piece he had subtly slipped off the board and snuck up his right sleeve. Well, there was that...

Maybe he could find something to be thankful for.