The docking was swift, showing an enthusiasm that was more than practice and more than weeks at sea. But after the gangplank clattered against the pier, nobody moved. The sailors retreated from sight, and Kai, as he stood on the dock, could see nobody.
Minutes passed. It was hot today, unusually so for Arendelle. Kai pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his brow.
There was a clumping noise from the deck, and a boy no older than thirteen strode down the gangplank. He stopped in front of Kai. "Prince Hans of the Southern Isles," the boy announced.
Kai eyed the boy, noting his skinny frame, undeveloped muscles, and utter lack of a beard. "You? You're the representative from the Southern Isles? But, but," he stammered. Recovering his composure, Kai bowed. "Your Highness, Arendelle is pleased to welcome you to Princess Elsa's coronation."
"I'm most interested in meeting the princess," said Hans. "Is she receiving visitors?"
The sailors had crowded around the ship's rails. Kai saw fear and horror on their faces. "No, the princess never receives anyone." A frown passed over the boy's face. "But she'll host a ball after the coronation." The boy's delight was transparent.
As Kai escorted Hans to the castle, the boy attacked him with questions. "What does the princess look like?" and "Has she ever been in love?" and "Does she have many suitors?" were only the beginning. When Hans learned that Elsa had a younger sister, he began the same line of questioning about her.
After Kai had escorted Hans to his room, he left to find Elsa. When he found her in her study, however, he wasn't sure how to broach the subject. "Your Majesty," he said, "Prince Hans of the Southern Isles has arrived."
Elsa nodded. "Mmm," she said. She was pondering the portrait of her father.
"He's, well, I don't want to be presumptuous, Ma'am."
Elsa's eyes left the portrait. "What's wrong with him?"
"He's a boy, about thirteen years old. And he's very interested in, uh." Kai's face was red. He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his brow again.
"In?"
Kai said the words quickly, as if he wanted to push them away and forget them. "Your Majesty and her sister's romantic attachments."
Elsa pursed her lips. "Our romantic attachments? But what…?" she muttered. Then she drew in a deep breath and laughed. "Of course! He's thirteenth in line!" She chuckled again. "It sounds like he's not very good at disguising his interest?"
"Not at all, Ma'am. He's, as I said, only thirteen."
"Well then," she said, turning back to the portrait of her father. "Maybe he'll be amusing."
But when Prince Hans' horse "accidentally" bumped into Princess Anna, she wasn't amused. "That boy seemed to think I'd just fall into his arms," she complained to Elsa. "It was like a bad romance novel. You know, the kind where the hero and the heroine won't admit they're in love until they kiss by accident?"
"The kind you like."
"Well, yeah. Except this was a pimple-faced boy. And he had clearly planned the whole thing."
The prince's fortunes didn't improve at the coronation ball. After asking Elsa to dance and turning petulant when she refused–"I'm a good dancer, you'd like it!" he had said–he approached the single ladies, in order of precedence from the highest Princess to the lowest Baroness, and attempted to whisk them off their feet, despite not coming up to their shoulders.
As Elsa and Anna stood on the dais receiving visitors, Anna remarked, "He's pathetic. So desperate and so obvious."
Hans was chatting with a fat elderly widow, the Viscountess du Rougeau. Elsa said, "Maybe he'll be a formidable opponent in a few years. He's practicing." She sipped her champagne. "Though come to think of it, I never get any practice socializing with people. Maybe some day I'll fall victim to someone like him."
"You? Of course not. Besides, if you wanted to practice, you could just open the gates."
"No, no, I can't do that."
"For my sake, then. So I don't fall victim to a grown-up Hans." The Viscountess du Rougeau had turned away from Hans in mid-sentence.
"Well, maybe that wouldn't be so bad."