[༺๑۩✸۩๑༻]

"Wherever you go you will find people lying to you, and as your awareness grows, you will notice that you also lie to yourself." ― Miguel Ruiz

Constantine hobbled up from his chair with a packet of signed laws under his arm. "Twelve o'clock it is, gentlemen," he echoed back. No sooner had such an agreement been reached did Constantine, who was the most passive senior of the group, turn with the swirl of his cape like a clergyman preparing to reschedule his retirement plan.

Minister Ødegård waved his hand in dismissal of Eugene's ineptitude and joined the bevy of men without fuss. The instant they waddled off the dais, Eugene expelled the sigh of a warrior who had just seen a peace treaty being signed between the Trojans and the Greeks. He clapped his hands over his face and swiped the sweat glistening under his eyes, lethargic from having spoken so much about other people's lives. It had taken much less time than he expected to remind him of his placement in the world. Like the Count of Monte Cristo, he could never be totally accepted by society no matter how many amethysts he owned, and in his desperation to survive such reminders, his emotional residence was forever marooned on some lonely island thanks to one judgmental alienator or another.

'Thirteen years ago, that used to be the plan for a reason...' Eugene rubbed his nose and endeavored to concentrate on his next move by thinking about blueprints instead of pity.

―"Have you not consulted Queen Elsa behind the council's back through letters for three or so years?"

...Eugene's wide eyes darted to the side. He dove into his congested drawer, wrestling out the snowflake-brooched letters he had ensconced in Rhine Hall for precautionary measures. The, "come on ― come on ― come on!" spluttering out of his mouth was briefly interrupted by the action of him licking his thumb as he flicked through the old pile to check for stolen papers. As if the writer had sprinkled stardust over the parchment, a crystallized constellation of cursive characters sparkled on the front of one:

o()x༻༺༻༺༻༺xxxxxxx❅xxxxxxx༻༺༻༺༻༺x()o

Dear Cousin

From
Queen Elsa

o()x༻༺༻༺༻༺xxxxxxx❅xxxxxxx༻༺༻༺༻༺x()o

Eugene stared at the glittering font with a finger on his temple. He'd been safeguarding this thicket ever since Rapunzel had left him all alone. Contact had stayed limited to the condolences Elsa would pen, but he realized ― with a renewed inkling of the worst ― that it didn't take long for her condolences to transition into negotiations that would enchain him for eternity. It also didn't take long for her to distinguish her communication style from her sister's:

However "chummier" and more energetic, the younger's vocab was a squiggle away from an alphabet circus. Sharp u's favored v's while springy n's somehow trampolined into m's, and instead of writing traditional English, she used the Nordic style of dotting or slashing phoneme characters with diacritics. The queen meshed perfect text with legible calligraphy, but he couldn't tell what was mere protocol between in-laws and what inferred real kinship on her end. Her lexicon had this way of being maternally warm and hospitable ― so much so you'd think you were penpalling with Mother Mary ― yet impersonally polite at the same time. He, on his own reticent part, only entertained their letters for business, not bonding.

Eugene had made strategies for famine relief, saw the success in Arendelle's graceful handlement, and consulted its rich queen to bite her secrets. Within less than a year, his "master plan for retrenchment" had been wholly influenced by her guidance. He should've reached out sooner, he'd thought, instead of circling his cousin from the outpost. Every recommendation Elsa gave incorporated objectivity with integrity instead of opportunism and imposition, and it was here where he found his cerebral equal. Between the decaying flowers of Corona's health, his sanity, and her safety, their business relations bloomed into something he had grown to nurture with gardening gloves.

Elsa had appeared to him from the fog as someone ― the only one ― who understood the tribulations of being an outlaw in Crown society. Her wisdom, compassion, and sensitivity sledgehammered his oyster and broke it in three. The more the world turned their backs on the genocide of his people, the more she became a lifeline he couldn't afford to snip. The more Hans's ugliest brother victimized her by trying to force her into marriage, the more protective he became; this was the power of her manipulation. The Southern Isles had done everything from secretly poisoning him to openly poisoning his reputation, yet her "unconditional" loyalty to Corona still stood tall and unbent.

As starvation and zoonotic viruses raped the country, ships docked with food and inoculations from Arendelle. When King Ragnar of the Southern Isles rose and fell against his sword, fleets docked, too. Arendelle's squadron was two sunsets too late, and there was no magical savioress aboard, but his message response was embarrassingly dewy, with here and there a line of sappy gratitude, the discovery of his High Councillor's betrayal, the sincerity of his promise to repay her, and the vehemence of his parliament's firestorm against his idea for tax retrenchment. She coyly stressed that no payments should be made between consanguineous kingdoms, advising him to try his hand at brokering a middle ground between his legislators instead. He clumsily thanked her, shy of his own uncomfortable warmth; she received it with the motherliness of hers.

And now all that warmth he had for her was gone.

"Pardon me―"

Eugene shot up like a wooden plank and mowed the letters off the table.

His interrupter gaped at him with their palm hovering over the lorgnette by his elbow. "...No need for theatrics, Your Majesty." Constantine blinked. "I had simply forgotten my spectacles."

"..." Eugene snatched his lips in. "...Oh." He forced an apologetic smile. "Can't forget those specs! Ehe..."

"Unfortunately not." Constantine reached for his bifocals and cleaned them with his cape. He minded the grandfather clock. It was twenty minutes to eight. The nobleman bowed to the king and made a beeline for the door.

Eugene removed the tall crown from his aching scalp―

"Oh, and Your Majesty―"

The thunder in his voice threw Eugene into such a storm that he juggled the headgear between all ten fingers before shoving it back onto his head.

"...Is it possible that you harbor some hint of paranoia?" Constantine cautioned, not seeming interested in any of Eugene's quirks as he watched the crown sink like a slanted cathedral, but rather choosing to catapult them back into the shenanigans of the previous conference.

Eugene, although a little irritated by having to step over this dead horse, fixed his crown with a subtle pout. "Well, if evolution developed that sixth sense to protect any and all homo sapiens from danger, then my answer is yes: I feel paranoid."

"Let me rephrase my question."

"Please, there's...really no need―"

"Do you think Queen Elsa is the one 'snowing' you?"

Why are they having this conversation? "Constantine, you know how I work."

"Of course."

"And you know I don't like fostering dependency―"

"That much is known, but unless your monotonous delivery is leading up to your point, then it doesn't answer my question." The oracle that was in all elders repossessed him, and Eugene found himself thinking about calling an exorcist. "I'll commend you on your perseverance, because you have faced this monarchy instead of turning the other cheek. You experientially ― instead of emotionally ― assess the pros and cons of tight situations, set out to achieve objectives with ambition, and focus on drawing out what is useful in dead ends. You also know the world isn't fair, and that most law-makers don't play by the rules."

Uh.

Perks of being a thief, no?

"So while I don't believe there was any intentional selfishness on your part, I do think that your conduct here today has been disrespectful towards the queen."

This again.

"She's gone to bat for Corona for a long time and collected debt in the process. The Storting and its constitutional monarchy could just as well be twisting her arm behind her back."

Eugene's tongue stabbed the pocket of his cheek. His expressionless features began sinking together, becoming moist and puppy-like, and ultimately gave up the devil-may-care facade by dropping into regret.

In his pensive walk toward the dais, Constantine's heel and toe met the floor consecutively. Eugene noticed that his nose was pointing at the object on his table. "...They knocked her over, didn't they?"

Eugene felt his eyebrows draw together as a surge of weakness watered him. He looked at the wooden figurine dozing behind his ink quill. His tremulous fingers slipped under its body and flipped it over, reeling its face up to his. Rapunzel's chipped visage grinned back at him, having been stepped on and kicked about by the shoes of uproarious guests. Eugene rubbed the back of his neck to distract himself from the damp pressure on his eyes.

With a shaky thumbnail, he nudged the clumps of dirt out of her emerald corneas, passed that same digit over her lips, and then smiled...

"How are you feeling about the less political part of this, Eugene...?"

It took some swallowing, but he showed Constantine his teary eyes. The widower looked down again, shook his head with a quick wag of the eyebrows, and then stopped shaking it to look up at Constantine with a stony smile. "What'd you want me to say...?" He shrugged a shoulder. "I'm marrying my wife's cousin to save an entire kingdom from falling apart..."

Constantine nodded grievously.

"...But, this isn't about romance." Eugene chopped the air with his hand. "This isn't about an emotional relationship, and it's not about me, her, or us. We don't have to be...touchy-feely or, get all romantic. It's just a custody deal," he said as though he was memorizing a lecture for oration. "The marriage part of it will be for show, and the titles 'husband and wife' will just be corsages to wear to the ballrooms. And...that's fair. That's fine. I can do that..." He kept squinting as he spoke, trying to find his words, trying to be comfortable with his stipulations, but his voice was crumbling. "It's just...all a matter of how that Foreign Marriage Act pans out."

"Technically, it's all a matter of how your veto of their first Act pans out."

"...And that as well."

Constantine cast him a grave look. "Eugene, everything you've done in your adulthood is wrong according to the virtues of high society...but here you are. You've somehow become a beacon of knighthood, grossing your legacy as Corona's unlikely hero, serving the king as his best negotiator, and proving how much there is to be admired in a once misguided pauper. Yet Minister Ødegård raised a fair point: is it possible that your appeal is also your handicap? And if so, would it be best to tell Elsa about why you have that handicap?"

...How many volunteers were being filed out of Hades to tear him down today? "Alright. I get it! I'm not exactly the most popular king in the yearbook―"

"Well, there I beg to differ. Women love you, orphans idolize you, and peasants relate to you; we can all agree that your character is chummy and charming. As the grantee to the Crown Matrimonial, you are...misplaced."

"...Thank you, Constantine. I feel a bit better," Eugene cooed like a bather who had just settled into a Japanese hot spring.

"Please do not lose confidence because of it. Simply remember that you have more to prove now than ever before." After folding his body into a bow, Constantine turned around. "And please don't forget to finish volume thirty of "The Tangled Tales of Rapunzel" when time allows some leisure. Your marriage to Elsa will give you an abundance of it after the wedding that we hopefully still have."

The elder's afterword dinned in Eugene's ears as the doors roared shut. In one haggard movement, the king seized his crown and lifted it, causing the mop of hair atop his head to stand up like hay. He studied in his hands the glinting symbol of divinity that captained and enslaved him. The teeth wore rubies, diamonds, and sapphires with a four inch height all mounted on the frame of a bronze fringe, but it was no prize. Eugene stroked the center diamond with his thumb, and in its kaleidoscopic reflection, saw his hangdog face frowning back at him.

The only thing he could do anymore ― and this, because of his ineptitude ― was look at each and every one of his splintered selves in the polygonal mirror.

...Eugene dug his thumbs into his eyelids with shaking shoulders.

There should've been someone else who could take up the spear and shield of Prince Hector in this Iliad.

AUTHOR NOTE

I'm winging this whole thing, so the plot is literally being made as I go along. I'd also like to mention "cameos" in this semi-fabricated, semi-veridical regime. Corona and Arendelle are fictional "fairytale" countries with RL references taken from Northern and Central Europe, so I like to use "parallels" and "cameos" of real life plug-in's just for fun:

OVERVIEW

(1) The Storting (spelt Stortinget) is the real life parliament of Norway.

(2) The Statsrådet is the real life Privy Council + Cabinet of Norway.

(3) Høyesterett (Highest Court) is the real life Supreme Court in Norway.

(4) Articles 77–79 do exist in the Norwegian Constitution of 1814.

(5) Constitutional Monarchy is the system of government in Norway.

(6) Rhine Hall is named after Rhine Valley in Austria.

(7) "Halvdeler" means "halves" and "halvdel" means "half" in Norwegian; here it's used to address "mixed ethnicity" the way "hafu" is used in Japan for mixed children.

But I'm not a Europeanologist, European resident, or political scientist (I'm way out of my element here), so if you see faults or know far more, then it's most likely because you do! As for why I have Corona's kingdom called "outmoded," it's a caustic jab at people who don't seem to understand that these films take place in two different timelines when they try to force people to "accept" that Elsa and Rapunzel are cousins "in canon," not fanon.