She is long past the tears now.
It has only been six months and already the girl who stood on the dock and enjoyed her first kiss seems like another person. A person who thought the future was wide open, full of love and joy; that she could, finally, have what she'd always wanted.
But it was just the set-up for the next heartbreak.
"I don't care! I don't. I mean it."
"Anna -"
"If I can't marry Kristoff, it doesn't matter who I marry. You choose, since you're the one who's so bothered about it."
"Anna."
She looked at Elsa's face, despairing and frustrated and guilty all at once, and she couldn't bear it. "You choose," she said again, then she turned and ran out of the room.
Why had she thought that things would be different? The open gates, the sunshine and the smiles, had given her hope; then every single person of influence in Arendelle - every single man of influence - had lined up to poke her back into the box marked princess.
And princesses don't marry ice-harvesters. No matter what Anna said, what Elsa said, it made no difference. There were laws. There were centuries of traditions and customs, all of them seemingly shaped and polished and sharpened just to make her miserable.
In a way it was a blessing that everything was cut off so quickly - and it did make what came after easier. But right from the start she was reminded of her place, and of his. It was acceptable to be friendly with the man who brought the ice; it was acceptable to be friendly with a man who had helped her in a difficult circumstance. But 'friendly' meant a short conversation at sparse intervals. It did not include being alone with him, it certainly did not include kissing him. It was pointless to chafe at these restraints. They were immovable and rigidly enforced.
There was no second kiss.