Prince Charming
A/N: So this is a bit experimental and I'm looking for opinions on it. I'd love to hear your comments on the portrayal of the courtly doublespeak, especially.
Disclaimer: Frozen and all related characters and settings are the property of Disney. This story and author are in no way affiliated with Disney, and no money is being made from this fan piece.
After the near-disaster at the coronation, all Elsa wants to do is run, run, run back up the stairs and lock the door, hide herself back in her bedroom where she can't hurt anyone but herself. But there is still this ball to get through. Thankfully, she knows from her research that it does not have to be long—or at least, if it is, she does not have to be present for all of it. Anna can be the social presence of the royal family, and how she will love that, Elsa thinks, remembering her sister's joy in parties and dances during their childhood. Does she still love parties as much as she did when they were small? Or has the closed-off castle, her closed-off sister, robbed Anna of that, too?
Speaking of Anna…
Her eyes track towards her sister and she muffles a giggle at what she sees. It's improper to laugh at one's guests, oh, she knows; she can almost hear her tutor's scolding. She can't help it—the moment of levity is the first one she's had since the coronation date had been set. It doesn't last long. As soon as Anna's narrowed eyes and teasing scowl have been swept away by the Duke, the ball of dread creeps back into her stomach.
Conceal. Conceal. Parties are supposed to be fun. Don't feel. Smile. Am I smiling enough? Am I smiling right? I'm not smiling right. Everyone knows something's wrong, I'm sure they do.
She shuts her eyes, breathes deeply and does her best not to panic. She shouldn't have sent Anna off to dance.
Anna is her shield, her security at this party, the only familiar face. Not so familiar, really: even she is distant now, different and grown, a stranger with only the most tenuous connection to the little girl Elsa remembers and loves.
And whose fault is that?
She has no one to blame but herself.
In spite of the growing distance between them, Anna is still her oasis of safety (and it's funny in an ironic way that Anna, the one for whom Elsa and her magic are so dangerous, is the only one that can make her feel safe). As long as they had been standing together, speaking, no one had interrupted them. It would be inconceivably rude to interrupt a newly-crowned royal while she's speaking, and everyone at this party knows it.
But there had been that momentary lull, the Duke had taken advantage and requested a dance, and now…
She knows that there are ways to politely refuse a dance without sending one's sister onto the battlefield, but she had blanked. Stress, perhaps. And Weselton, though not their 'closest trading partner' as the Duke claimed, still mattered to Arendelle's welfare. Refusing without those polite political steps would have been an insult, falling out of the expected frame.
She smiles wryly to herself. And she'd said she didn't dance.
But now Anna is gone, dancing, and she is alone.
Less than a breath later, the first hopeful approaches her.
Oh, he's handsome enough, well-groomed, with an attractive smile that looks just a touch too practiced. That isn't unusual—most courtiers' smiles look the same. He approaches, stops at precisely the correct distance, and bows to the exact level of respect that a prince offers a queen, so before he even speaks, she knows what he is.
"My lady," he says, with another bow. This one is higher, a bow meant for respectful familiarity between close acquaintances, and immediately she distrusts it. She may not be experienced with men, but she knows the behaviour of nobles—her father had seen to it that even if she could not learn about others in person, she was given opportunities to observe meetings discreetly from doorways and portrait holes. He'd also taught her using books. This man is trying to use her inexperience to forge a friendly bond before they actually know each other, to make her feel more kindly towards him. "I am Prince Hans, of the Southern Isles. It is my great pleasure to come representing my family and our kingdom."
The real words that he wants to say hover unspoken, but they both hear them nonetheless.
(You aren't betrothed, new queen.)
"Your Highness." She keeps a touch of frost in her voice, even when he looks at her and smiles engagingly. She can feel the charm, and yes, just a bit of sensual heat—he is very good at what he does, this man. "You are very kind. It must have been difficult, to travel so far." If the words were not obligatory, she would have ended the conversation and moved into the crowd. All her intuitions, both royal and female, tell her that this man is not someone she wants to be around. Her magic surges with her nerves, and she holds her breath for an instant to make it stop; she's found that sometimes consciously controlling natural things like her breathing makes her equally subconscious power calm down.
Sometimes.
(I choose not to be, prince.)
Conceal, conceal. Don't feel. Don't be afraid. What can he do to her in the middle of a crowded ballroom, after all?
"Not at all," he says. "The weather was very pleasant. And I had heard wonderful things about Arendelle's natural beauty from my father."
(Why?)
The way his eyes move over her face tells her that he isn't talking about the fjord or the mountains that surround her kingdom.
She grits her teeth. If only he knew how unnatural she really is, she wouldn't have to deal with this.
Her eyes dart to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of her little sister. Where, where is Anna? Why doesn't her sister come back and get her away from this man? How long can a dance possibly last? Frost builds up around her fingertips on the inside of her gloves and she bites the inside of her cheek, holding her breath for a second longer. The gloves usually work, and she cannot afford to lose control now.
She forces a smile. She knows it doesn't look natural; it feels like the grimace on a death mask. But it is expected of a queen to smile, and she can only do so much when she has already strained her few social abilities to their limit. "I hope you will have a chance to enjoy it during your stay," she says, deliberately redirecting the conversation to Arendelle. "The mountains to the north are particularly stunning."
(That is none of your concern.)
That's the way her window faces. She's memorized every facet of those distant mountaintops.
"Indeed?" he says, and there's a gleam of interest, whether honest or greedy she cannot tell. "Coming from the queen herself, it sounds like they must be quite a sight. Perhaps you could suggest a guide to me? Your people are likely more experienced than I."
(You are very beautiful.)
He's worked in the subtle compliment perfectly. They both know what he means, but she could never prove anything against him if she should choose to take offense. This is the doublespeak that her father taught her to hear: the innocent conversation above and the true intent hidden just below. They are having two conversations at this moment, and Elsa has never been more thankful for her years of watching at portrait holes than she is right now. He does this very well. Oh, he's the perfect courtier, with his pretty manners and his practiced smile, but she sees right through him.
She hears what he's saying.
She is so scared that she has to remind herself to breathe. She'd always thought that was instinctive—apparently not. Bad enough to be offered a dance from an older gentleman. This…this could turn into something much worse if she is not very, very careful.
"I would suggest perhaps one of the ice harvesters," she replies, choosing her words with caution. "They are good men who know the mountains well, and I would suspect none of them would be averse to making a bit of extra money against the winter."
(Thank you. You're too kind.)
He smiles at her now, and she knows that he thinks he's gotten past her defenses. Knowing that only raises them higher. "My lady queen," he says, "you speak as though you know your people well. My brothers tell me that that is a rare and wonderful thing to see. Do you go out into the city often?"
(Not kind. Just awed.)
She doesn't smile back, allowing her politely interested mask to fall over her features. It's an important skill for a queen to have. "I am afraid I cannot see my people as often as I would like. Fortunately, several of them work for the crown in some capacity, and I hear a great deal."
She hopes that speaking only of her people, of her kingdom, will end the second conversation they are having.
This Prince, though, will have none of it. "I explored the city when I arrived, to see how different it is from home," he says. "The people here seem so happy, and they were all eager to tell me about their new queen."
(You intrigue me, my lady.)
A real smile creeps over her face before she can stop it. She's just so happy to hear that her people are excited for her reign, to know that they believe in her. Sometimes she finds it so hard to believe in herself. Would they still believe in her, still trust her if they knew…?
Before she can go too far down that line of thought, she pushes it away. Now is not the time to become distracted.
"And did you find many differences as you explored?" she inquires. Where is Anna? She's beginning to feel a little frantic, and her gloves have completely iced over on the inside. She can feel the difference in their texture, and if he tries to touch her hand, as some of the more bold courtiers might, he'll notice too. What is taking her sister so long?
(I've noticed that, Prince.)
"Many," he replies. His eyes are lit with purpose now. "And yet more similarities than I would have expected."
He offers her a hand. "Perhaps we could discuss them later. For now, Your Majesty…may I have this dance?"
(I would like to court you.)
She smiles weakly, but instead of placing her hand in his, she keeps them by her sides. Even if she had wanted to dance with him, the ice in her gloves would have made it impossible.
"I'm truly sorry, Prince Hans, but I'm afraid I don't dance."
(I don't want to be courted.)
She knows that he understands her, and for a moment she is afraid that he'll ignore her unspoken words and push, maybe even try to touch her. She doesn't trust that he won't, not even here in a public space, because for an instant, his air changes. His smile is still there, but it's as forced as her own, and in his eyes she sees a flash of coldness that almost rivals her ice. But then it's gone, so quickly that she wonders if it actually happened.
He smiles at her and it's only polite disappointment in his eyes. "I'm very sorry to hear that, my lady. If you do change your mind later in the evening, I hope I will be granted a dance with you."
By the time he makes his farewell and moves away, Elsa is nearly certain she imagined that moment. Of course he is disappointed, if he has come here to court her and she has turned him down, she tells herself. That was disappointment she'd seen in his eyes, not anger, certainly not cold hate. That was, if she had seen anything.
Anna comes back from her dance winded and trying to rub her sore toes without being noticed, and Elsa pushes the encounter from her mind as she turns to smile hesitantly at her sister.
He is only a disappointed suitor. She can forget him now, if she wants to.
After all, he'll leave after the ball and she will never see him again.
(Elsa has no idea how wrong she is.)