Happy Valentine's Day, readers! I figured it'd be a good day to update.
Thank you so much for all your kind words on the last chapter - I hope you feel the same after reading this one!


Though he doesn't make a habit of looking back on times where he's been rendered defenseless, the ice crystals about his throat work as quite the catalyst. Rather than struggling against the restraints, Hans tries to concentrate. Panicking (unless when in the company of those who need a little bewitching) will get him nowhere.

Not in a jail cell, anyways.

He takes deeper, longer breaths and focuses on making sure to aim accordingly. Trying to melt the ice closest to his skin is no easy task—and heaving shoulders that follow greedy gulps of air will only make the rash form sooner. Worse things have happened, and a numb neck is the least of his worries. With little to no answers for the questions that put his sanity at risk, there's nothing to do but bide his time.

Attitude or not, he can't imagine why Elsa would make him wait until he can no longer bear it. With a sister like Anna in her life, there's no excuse for having a frozen heart.


"For a kingdom that prides itself on kindness and nobility, you sure like to take your time."

It's been four days since Elsa's last visit, and the lack of pride she has in her 'work' on his throat nearly startles him. Any guess as to why her painted mouth has yet to form a smirk escapes him almost immediately, and he wonders if she's always been such an enigma. Sitting upright to greet the blonde as formally as possible, Hans is faced with beams of sunlight from between the 'window's' bars. Despite the instinct to wince (for the most part, he's been in darkness for over a week now), he braves the glare and gauges her reaction with a wolfish grin.

She's toying with something beyond his peripheral. "I'm sorry, did you think you were worth the rush?"

With a click, the entrance is wide open and she steps right through it. As a prisoner, watching Elsa come and go at her leisure only fuels his desire to make a break for it. If it weren't for the iron tethering him to the ground, Hans doesn't think he'd mind the risk of her frigid wrath.

From where he sits, it's tough to tell which one of them is the cat, and which one of them is the mouse. Naturally, he'd like to think his place is a given, but he's chained down in a solitary dungeon. Whether or not he has a plan for escaping doesn't change his dearth of power.

There's a stack of towels slung over her arm and she wrings them with arched brows. Immediately, he assumes that her lack of pride is an accompaniment to something much bigger: Elsa is trying to appear void of any emotion. For a moment, she throws him off… and perhaps that alone is worth a little satisfaction, but he doesn't bother confessing.

"Actually, I figured there must have been a reason you kept me here… and if you wanted me to die of hypothermia, you would've finished the job long before now." He's having trouble adjusting to not gesturing so much with both hands, and the chains clang once before they fall back into his lap. "Your highness, if you would—"

She looks his way incredulously, taking a seat to his right and removing her gloves, one by one. Having imagined that she'd rid herself of them as soon as possible, his face contorts for a moment, grimace lopsided and eyes hazy.

"The last time we spoke, we were interrupted." It sounds more like a proposal than anything else, but he doesn't shift to face the queen.

Instead, Hans leans his head against the back wall and leaves his nose in the air. He feels most comfortable this way, as he is, and always will be more than the woman with his fate in her unstable palms.

Unfortunately, the only way he'll find the answers to his questions is to comply. "So we were." If she's expecting more than that, the ice queen has another thing coming. With power like hers, he doesn't understand the need for restraints. Of course, he's also terribly selfish and sifting through every other excuse in the book.

When he inhales, the air feels thin. He isn't suffocating—not yet, but trying to figure out which turn of events (in terms of Arendelle versus the Southern Isles) might be worse is asking for an outrage that Hans simply isn't ready for. The prince is many things, but he's a far cry from explosive. So he swallows in wait, because she might just respond well to something other than smugness. Then again, avoiding arrogance is difficult – all things considered, he still has a point to prove.

"Are you going to tell me why you're 'dead', or are we going to let these go to waste?"

She drives a hard bargain, but his eyes are hooded and the rest of his agenda is still hidden, no matter what they'd like to think. "Surely, we could start with what made you imprison me."

"You mean, aside from trying to kill me, and leaving my sister to die? Oh Prince Hans, what was I thinking? I'll call for the guards at once, and you'll be off by morning."

Perhaps he should watch whose toes he's stepping on, but the words slip out either way. "It's funny, I don't recall being the one to strike her through the heart," he chuckles darkly. "I meant why you didn't ship me off." Not having taken her for the sarcastic type, Hans wonders if it's a result of impatience or if he's merely learning about the different pieces of someone beyond complexity itself.

He hopes it's the latter, because the second he begins to know her, it'll be that much easier to find a weakness that he isn't already aware of. Anna will always be an option, but hearing her voice just might nudge him toward an edge too sharp for his own good. Of course, Hans knows better than to shed innocent blood without good reason, even if there is a time and place for everything.

It's Elsa who fights the oncoming wince this time, but he can smell just how open the wound is, even after the ordeal as a whole. What he doesn't predict is the quick glance she shoots her hands—the way delicate fingertips begin to glaze over before a deep breath steadies the regal girl. Yes, her sister loves her – and she, her sister, but there are no instantaneous recoveries. He of all people should know.

"Come on. Don't tell me you're still shoulders-deep in self-loathing." His words make her stand, expression firm and determined to find composure. "That would mean I'm in here for nothing."

Her arms shoot forward and he reclines with nonchalance, far less inclined to jump at sudden movements than the monarch. Hans makes an effort to earn her eyes, but she's working (perhaps fumbling is a better word—she's never touched buttons quite like these ones) with his collar until the irritated flesh is exposed.

With the memory of countless aunts and older cousins from every other side of the family charging forward to pinch his cheeks (and almost immediately afterwards, turning away to discuss anything and everything important with his older siblings) still fresh in his mind, Hans doesn't jolt, though it's more than enough context for him to bob his head with a smile.

"Queen Elsa, if this is what these visits are coming to…"

She shoves the damp towel forward, and it's just the right temperature against his skin. The disruption triggers a sigh of relief if nothing else, so if her goal was to shut him up, it follows through well enough.

"Would you stop talking? Please." From the tone of her voice, he guesses that she's not only a) still in a hailstorm of concern for her self-control, but also b) unaccustomed to this kind of close proximity.

He tilts his head to assure that the towel doesn't plop into his lap; a small courtesy he assumes Elsa will appreciate. "Of course, your majesty. Quiet is what I do best."

Any more of those dubious looks, and he's almost positive that her face will get stuck like that. "One of many lies you tell, I'm sure." It's no use being taken aback by her bluntness – evidently; the queen finds no fault in holding a grudge. Still, she pauses before speaking. "Why would I let you leave? So you could just as easily do the same thing to some other unsuspecting kingdom? I'd never forgive myself."

"It seems like there's a lot you haven't forgiven yourself for," comes his reply, lacking any and all hesitance. "Which brings me to my next point – is there a reason you're still wearing those gloves?"

When she turns away from him to look at her hands, he stands out of sheer impulse. The pretense builds— something akin to worry muting deep green eyes. His transitions are smooth, if at all noticeable, but even Hans thinks it's probably best to hold off. If he tries to 'change' immediately, she'll best him by assuming the worst. However belatedly, the idea has him reverting to casual apathy. For now, he'll act natural. He'll be cool, calm and collected until the time is right.

As soon as the clock of her suspicions ceases to tick, he'll 'break down', 'open up', and exploit the queen for every sympathetic bone in her body.

"I didn't come all the way down here for you to change the subject, Hans. Have you no regard for the rest of your life?"

He starts the process a little early. "I do, it's just..." His voice cracks; it's all very purposeful and hard to see through, but the stage he builds for himself comes crashing down when they're interrupted for a second time. Of course, frustration doesn't put a dent in his guise, but his blood is boiling before he knows it and enjoying the soothing nature of a towel wrapped around his neck only gets harder with each passing minute.

Even so, the guard clears his throat. "Queen Elsa?"

"Not now, we need a bit more time." Hans almost has to stifle a smirk at her dismissal – either his act is working, or she's about to condemn him for trying so soon with icicles sharper than the sword that came oh so close to beheading her.

Nervousness clutters the sentinel's next statement, probably due to the fact that a prisoner is still within earshot. "It's Corstorphine – they've sent another letter. The ambassador, he still wishes to 'investigate' on the rumors."

Elsa is forced to collect herself, and in the meantime, Hans can't help but ask.

"The kingdom west of Arendelle? What is it they want?"

Something is definitely under her skin – if it weren't, he doubts she'd blurt the answer out so soon. "My powers. Weaseltown must have spread the word, because Corstorphine is going to war and they want to assure that we're still on their side. More importantly, they want to use my… powers. What am I supposed to do? We haven't seen war in years!"

"Your highness," warns the nameless guard, palm open when he extends an arm of caution. He's smart to slow her down, but it's far too late. The scheme is already rising from the ashes, and Hans takes his seat once more, doing his best to hold the towel in place.

His eyes are gently shut, one brow quirked as if he can't believe she didn't already come up with such a simple answer. "Lie. Problem solved."

"It's none of your business!" She's under duress, and it's rolling off of the queen in waves. Cracking an eye open, he scans the blonde with ease—she's not so frightening like this. While there's nothing particularly scary about Elsa, her powers are commanding and when she gives life to them, the prince knows better than to stand in the way. As does the guard, because he uses this time to leave before it gets any more heated.

Reflecting on it reminds him of his brothers, and nothing makes his temper flare more than the thought of those self-righteous, selfish, moronic halfwits. As if she can sense the decline in his manner, a hand falls to her hip. "What good would it do me to lie? To follow in your footsteps and wind up like you? Please! I'd love to know how that would solve our problem."

"Oh, we're not so different." Assuming she, too, lacks a number of things that make for a stable personality, it's painless to admit. Still, it'll probably hit her harder than it would him.

To be frank, he thinks now would be an excellent time to wipe something off of the fabric on his knee. Unfortunately, his restraints prevent any minute, comfortable movements from taking place. "For starters," he doesn't sound overbearing, but there's more experience than she'd like to hear in his lilt of his voice and when Elsa tenses, that only becomes clearer. "It could get rid of the issue entirely. No powers, no need to involve yourself in the battle. Tell them you aren't feeling well and don't have the energy to trouble your kingdom with any further conflicts."

"And if they ask to speak to the council?" She seems to believe that these words are game changers.

Hans doesn't bite. "Question. Have you ever heard of declining?"

"They'll call it unnecessary hostility!" This is a whole new world for her, as the late king left far before his time. Perhaps not in Hans' case, but Elsa's composure seems to be wearing thin.

When he rises to speak, the towel falls to the floor with a quiet plop. Their eyes both fall to it immediately, but Elsa makes the first move. The towel drips dribbles in her pale hands, and the relapse occurs in seconds. As the edges ice over, he watches the snow queen's eyes shut tight, wishing the world away for just a second's time.

Perhaps she's stronger than she looks, because it defrosts at a similar pace.

Why she's deteriorating, he can only guess has something to do with the secret (perhaps more than one?) that Anna remains blissfully unaware of, but it's not something he can bring up just yet.

Luckily, there's still patience under his belt. "That's a neat trick." He observes, keeping her gaze. Despite the imbalance in Elsa's abilities, there isn't a brittle thing about her. Strictly speaking, she's chock-full of grit, and that's precisely why he's forced to delve further. "Now, you can hide all your messes."

"If you think I'll hesitate to turn you into an ice sculpture, don't."

The grin that taunts his mouth is irresistible – this next remark, Hans knows is terrible, but he just can't stop. "Like Anna? You might as well make it a collection. Otherwise, it seems a little amateur."

"Enough!" Twisting the cloth over his head, Elsa storms off as soon as dark, red hair is sticking to both sides of his face. Despite how amusing she is to irritate, he realizes that the time for ridicule is over.

His tone isn't entirely different, but it certainly resembles the one used when speaking to people like Anna… to people that he has plans on using. "Queen Elsa, wait—"

From the looks of Elsa's furrowed brows, it wouldn't be hard to persuade her to take his hair in her hand and slam his skull against the wall. "You're a prisoner. You have no right to make requests like that." She doesn't yield to the fanning flames of aggravation, and Hans thinks the two of them have that in common. Most would take any opportunity they could to harm those that infuriate them, but she has enough control to do the opposite.

"I'm not going to take your advice, and I'm certainly not going to 'wait' for any other masks you'd like to show off."

It's strange—watching her leave again.

He's seen this scene a thousand times before, only there are different, larger frames and darker shades of hair. Only now, no one is telling him that he'll never have his turn on the throne.

Now, it's a consequence, and trying to guess when the next time she'll return invokes a sharp pain at the back of his head. One nearly inaudible groan later, he comes to terms with just how cold of an evening it's going to be. What, with all that wet hair and a damp throat?

Not to mention, oddly enough, how it's no one's fault but his.


I'm a little shaky on how I feel about my writing in this chapter. Hopefully not too much UST, hahaha. By now, you can probably tell that this story is third person limited, adhering to Hans' perspective. I think this is because of how much I absolutely adore him, as you can probably see! I hope I captured him as well as you guys said I did in the previous chapter... Elsa's a little shaky for me, but I'd like you to see her the way Hans is seeing her. Does that make sense? There aren't as many answers in regards to her thoughts or emotions because he doesn't know them yet, and this is sort of a fic revolving around that development. Anyhow, this is a really long winded little note.

What I wanted to say is thank you so much for all of the follows and comments, I didn't think so many people would be interested in following along! There's so much I have planned for this story, and I can't wait to actually put it all into words. In any case, please please please let me know what you think. Reviews make my day!

And how about those buttons, huh?