Chapter 3: More People Like You

The gag reflex scratched at Elsa's throat as she retched over the toilet. The bile had finished coming up and been expelled about ten minutes ago, and yet the Queen still felt like she wanted to spew her insides.

This was the third such morning in a row that Elsa had awoken in her chambers and immediately had to make a mad dash to the toilet. After the first morning, she had chalked it up to something she ate at dinner - her appetite was more refined than her sister Anna's, and there were plenty more foods that didn't agree with her. Anna, by contrast, could eat almost anything. Elsa now smirked, amused as a memory surfaced.

Except for all those cravings Anna had when she was...

Pregnant. The dizzying idea fell into Elsa's head with no warning. Gulping, eyes wide, she drew a hand protectively across her abdomen, hugging herself. She dared a glance down. Her stomach still looked healthy and flat, but that didn't mean that a growing, little person was not already squirming around inside her. It had been more than a week since she and Kit had made wild love in the stablehouse. And a couple days since that late-night romp in her study. And just last evening, Kit had taken her behind one of the castle's biggest tapestries. When Elsa realized later that said tapestry had been the one depicting Joan of Arc - the namesake for her precious niece - she nearly died of shame.

Elsa had never felt this way about anyone before, other than Anna or Joan. And, yes, Kristoff - when he wasn't talking in his annoying reindeer voice or depleting the castle of all its carrots. Sometimes she couldn't believe this was really happening. She was sleeping with her manservant. She had slept with her manservant - multiple times. A romantic relationship like this was scary and new, but also incredibly exhilarating and fulfilling. But now... if a child had indeed resulted from this union - a union that was still a secret, as far as she was aware - how would she tell Kit?

How would she tell Arendelle...?

A distant knock on her chamber doors shook her from her thoughts. "Your Majesty? Queen Elsa?"

"Yes?"

"Sorry to wake you," Kai preemptively apologized.

"No, no, you didn't - I've been up for hours..." For it was true. She had.

Kai must have heard something in her voice, or sensed she was all the way in the bathroom from the way it carried, for he then asked, "May I ask if Your Majesty has taken ill? Are you unwell?"

"No," Elsa lied, finally rising to her feet, exiting the bathroom and crossing to her front door. She poked her head out to better address Kai.

"I just wanted to remind you that your meeting with the Council is in an hour," Kai reported. "Of course, if Your Majesty is under the weather, we can postpone it..."

"No," Elsa cut across him. "I shall receive them. But thank you, Kai. I appreciate your concern."

An hour later, Elsa was seated at the head of the long conference table in the Treaty Room, her council of advisors surrounding her. Kit posted himself beside the door, ready to cater to his Queen's every whim. And now it really is every whim, Elsa thought to herself, her face growing hot. She resisted the urge to fan herself, especially after Kit sent her a very affectionate smile. She grinned weakly back as the Prime Minister called the meeting to order.

"Now: first order of business," the Prime Minister scanned over his agenda. "The Council wishes to discuss Her Majesty's future as it relates to... her heir."

Elsa blanched, and under the table, her hand immediately went to cradle her abdomen. She cleared her throat and tried to maintain her composure; off to one side, she could feel Kit's concerned eyes on her.

"What... what are your concerns?" Elsa's voice bobbled far more than she meant it to. It was a stupid question, even she knew it, as her Council looked to each other worriedly.

"Well... that there isn't one. An heir, I mean," the Secretary of State said delicately. "Most urgent, of course, is Your Majesty's reluctance to accept suitors for courting. An heir must be assured... which requires fathering by someone of royal blood."

Elsa resisted the urge to scowl. What a royal pain, she thought. She rose with unusual caution to address the whole Council. "Gentlemen: I understand your concerns. I have been... considering the question of my romantic tastes and desire to find such happiness. When I do marry, I want it to be for love - the kind of love seen in my sister's marriage."

The Secretary of the Treasury cleared his throat. "While that is inspiring, Your Majesty, the reality is... courting for love may be no longer possible. You are... getting on in years." He was clearly trying to craft his turn of phrase in the least offensive way possible - and doing a horrible job at it.

"29 is considered getting on in years?" Kit blurted out. "Forgive me, Mr. Secretary, but I'd like to know what Arendelle's elders might think of that!" His quip effectively cut the tension, and though the Secretary of the Treasury appeared miffed that the Queen's valet had spoken out of turn, everyone had a good chuckle. Though even this was strained.

"Nevertheless," the Prime Minister resumed the conversation. "Marrying for political advantage may now be just as important, if not more so, than marrying for love."

If Elsa wasn't insulted by the implication that she was old, she definitely was insulted now. Yes, Arendelle's security was her chief concern, but did that really mean its political interests superseded her desire for love in a matrimonial relationship? If she was to choose a husband, her selection would have ramifications for generations. Elsa did not take the decision lightly.

Staring at all the faces of her Council, Elsa suddenly felt very trapped - as trapped as the fateful night of her coronation. Before ice could manifest on the walls, she squeaked out, "Excuse me," and rapidly departed from the room. Frowning, Kit followed her.

Once they were out in the hallway and around the corner, Elsa fell into his arms. "Oh, Kit, what are we going to do?"

She waited for his soothing words, that had always eased her spirits and had helped her along the way into falling in love with him. But resting her head on his chest, Elsa felt Kit's throat wobble.

"I will draw up a list of eligible suitors at once, Your Majesty."

Elsa stared up into his face, shocked and hurt. "You would give up your Queen? What happened to 'I serve you because I love you?'"

Kit could barely look her in the eye. "My duty is to my Queen. My love..." Elsa leaned closer, on pins and needles over what he might say next - even if it sent a proverbial dagger through her heart. But Kit didn't clarify what he meant, instead kissing her forehead and walking away, leaving Elsa adrift in her own misery.

A fuming Princess Anna stood in front of the private office for the Queen's personal valet. It had been difficult enough to restrain herself when Kristoff had come home from ice harvesting last week and stiltedly told her that he had witnessed her sister having sex with her personal manservant in the stablehouse hay stall. And after today, when a distraught Elsa had burst into the nursery in tears (nearly waking Joanie up from her nap) and could only get out the name "Kit!" when Anna had tried to comfort her and ask what happened...

Well. Anna wouldn't stand by any longer. She knocked purposefully.

"Come in," Kit's voice called. And come in Anna did, the door banging behind her. At his desk, Kit raised his eyes to Anna, his face dipping warily upon recognizing the look in the Princess's eyes. "Your Highness. To what do I owe -"

"Do you love my sister?"

Kit blinked. "Beg pardon, milady?"

"Are you in love with my sister?" Anna repeated slowly. "And did you or did you not make love to her in the stablehouse?"

Kit dropped the quill he was holding, agog. "How...?"

Ah. So Kristoff had seen what he thought he saw. Anna wasn't about to give her husband up, however, no matter how much Kit might demand it. For if Elsa got wind that she had been seen doing the dirty deed by none other than her brother-in-law... Anna shuddered to think of it. A wife such as herself knew as well as anyone that the lives of consenting adults were meant to be private; besides, Kristoff didn't mean to peek - it had been an accident.

No, stay focused, Anna, she told herself. "Your Princess just asked you a question, servant." Well, multiple questions. "So, answer it." She inwardly cringed at her own regal voice. Ordering people around was something she was rarely comfortable with. But desperate times called for extreme measures.

Kit rose unsteadily to his feet and circled the desk. He visibly gulped as he willed himself to meet the eyes of the Princess, who looked every bit like the Sister Bear she was presenting herself as.

"Your Highness... I love Her Majesty more than life itself. It would be treason against the kingdom to keep my vow... but to renounce that vow would be an even greater treason against my heart. I am in agony, Highness. I don't know what to do - only that I want to be at Elsa's side."

Anna leaned back slightly, her eyes widening. She had to admit, she was impressed. Kit had always been an eloquent fellow - she recalled the toast he had given in Joan's name the night she was born ("They shall write songs about this night!" he had said). And his words now were particularly moving. In his own way, he was admitting to having hurt Elsa's feelings - perhaps without meaning to. But more importantly, he was saying he was sorry. Her eyes grew misty, and it was an effort to not let the tears fall.

"I wish she had more people like you. When she was growing up. She didn't have me, sadly... but I'm glad she had you. That she has you," she corrected herself. She smiled shakily. "You have my blessing and approval, Mr. Kit. My sister is not so easily wooed, and if she grieves for you so... she must love you a lot."

Kit wanted to beg the Princess for more information, or better yet ask where Elsa was so he could soothe her. But more shocking still was the fact that he had just received the Princess's permission to court her sister - and he hadn't even been seeking it! This was small comfort, though, and he told Anna so.

"It is not your approval and blessing I must have, Your Highness. It is the Council's."