The third day

It was around nightfall when the whiplashes started dulling. Hans could hardly feel them anymore, but he was painfully aware of how cold the dungeons were, how the air crept past the cell bars and into his bare skin.

Then he realized he was without a shirt. They must have removed it after the tenth strike, the better to bruise his back with the whip.

Icy water splashed his face. He was worse for wear; his nose was most certainly broken, and the lid of his right eye began to swell. He choked, hair dripping and sending the water down his spine. The instant it met his bloody wounds, the pain renewed itself again, and he hissed. His voice has grown hoarse from hours of yelling in agony.

His breathing, which was rapid at the beginning, was starting to slow down. He felt as if he might slip and lose consciousness, if it weren't for the ropes digging around his wrist, holding him up.

All around him he heard murmurs, but he could hardly figure out from which direction they came from, least of all from which brother. But it went something like this:

"Now don't go losing conscious on us just yet, Hans."

A slap across his face.

"We're not done."

The ropes were cut. His arms fell to his side, and he to the floor face first. They kicked him so that he flipped over to his back. When the cobblestone floor touched the whiplashes, he found he could no longer cry out. With no hesitation, they dragged him to the corner of the cell, raised his arms and cuffed them to the chains embedded to the walls.

Someone pulled him by his hair, and his head was thrown back, brushing harshly against the stones. His throat was exposed and shined white by the moonlight.

"Here?"

"No. Too visible. We still need him outside the kingdom from time to time."

"Well, we can't do his back."

"Nor his front. One of you made him puke by hitting him here."

Rough hands traced his tone stomach, right on the tender spot.

Hans opened his eyes with difficulty. All he saw were feet. Wait, someone was kneeling in front of him, and from their hand radiated unnatural heat.

His eyes shifted focus. What one of his brother was holding was a metal stick, the tip white hot followed by vivid red. A gloved hand held it in place, but the glove was the kind a blacksmith would wear.

It's amazing how the mind accelerates and puts two together at the face of danger.

They were going to brand him.

He struggled, a weak attempt to escape, despite the fact that he was chained, with God knows how many princes around.

"Since you've act like a criminal you shall be treated like one. I think somewhere lower would do. Someone get rid of his pants."

Someone did, and he lied there, completely naked with scars showing.

He eyed the rod, which was coming closer. Out of desperation, he tugged at the chains, until they subdued him.

"Every time you unbuckle, only you would be able to see the humiliation."

And without much mercy, the metal was plunged onto his right hip bone. An angry hiss sounded. Laughter rang, but Hans could hardly think, could hardly breathe-

His eyes rolled back, his mouth was making a series of particular sound. It was an entirely different pain to what he felt before. He wanted it to stop. Stop. Stop-

His vision began to fade. He was going to die.

"Goodnight Hans."

And all of a sudden, he couldn't see a damn thing.

Hans' eyes snapped opened, and he jerked upright so fast for a minute the world seemed like a blurry mass. He was breathing as if he ran for a long period of time.

He cursed, drawing in a deep breath. He started to covered his eyes with his hands, but stopped after a while. He looked at his fingers. They were shaking.

He was having difficulty swallowing, and decided to go get some water. He walked to the desk, blindly groped for the pitcher, only to find it empty. He glanced at the door. It was time to put those guards outside his door to good use, and have them fetch him some water at - he glanced at the clock - at three in the morning.

He swung open his door, his order at the tip of his tongue.

But the halls were empty.

The constant battle with sleep had been ongoing for quite a while since coming back to Arendelle. Anna found it tiring, in both a figurative and literal way.

She had spent sometime before telling Gerda she would sleep better if she consumed something sweet first, perhaps chocolate. The maid, although use to Anna's habits, shook her head before exiting. It only took ten minutes later for Kai to come in and placed the sweets near her bed.

But it was all gone now, and Anna had boundless energy from what she thinks came from the northern lights. She wants to find Elsa and do something together. However, she quickly dismissed that thought, only to have to filled in by another.

Hans.

She wanted to say that she was fine. He did not pursue her, and they had roughly four days left together. There was only the matter of breaking his nose. If she went to see Elsa now, she would be reprimanded, as well as reminded of something else:

"I really think you should apologize to him when you get around to it."

Anna couldn't believe it. She sat on her bed, mouthing wordlessly before she voiced her confusion. It was unfair, considering the frigid way Elsa has been handling him since he got off the ship.

"Yes well," a thin smile graced Elsa's lips, "I'm acting on a cautionary manner. You just broke his nose."

With that, the Queen left her room. Now, hours later, Anna still found herself thinking about it. Of course she knew the reason behind it. Their parents had taught them ethnics since she was five and Elsa was eight. It was the principle of it, that one shall be a moral person if one subjected to the moral law. She knew how to be the better person, and if anything more should come out of it, it would be than she was better than him.

But the personal task she set forth was still uncomfortable, no matter which angle she played it at.

She sighed.

"I really need some chocolate."

With that in mind, she opened the door and made her way to the kitchen.

It was the delegate's doing, Hans was sure of it. It angered him in more ways than one, because now, in a odd distorted sense, that made him in the older man's debt. He wondered briefly what the delegate bribed the guards with this time, and how much expense it amounted to altogether.

By the time he got to the kitchen, he was in a foul mood. He grabbed the nearby pitcher and glass and downed the water. It took three cups to satisfy him, but it heightened his awareness. Like most nights after the Great Thaw, he was in a predicament where sleep eluded him. He sat, slumped on the table while his hands combed his fringes from his face.

He was sick to his stomach. The throbbing of his temple wouldn't cease, and neither would the pain from his nose. His nightshirt was drenched from sweat, his trousers were tight and uncomfortable.

He wanted neither to go home nor stay here.

The banishment on the whole lasted six months. By the end of it, he was given two perspective. The first was the choice of staying in exile. After all, he was the thirteenth prince, heir to naught, and if nothing else, expulsion would offer him freedom from the restriction of the king and his advisers. The second was to come back, renew himself and earn back the status he'd lost.

He chose the second, not purely out of motivation. The incentive was too great to resist.

What he wanted was-

"Anna," he said. And there she was, standing twenty feet away from him.

She was looking at him.

She was in her nightdress, the transparent thing only not so around her more intimate places. Her hair had fallen loosely from her usual braid. Her freckles were more prominent now that she was only wearing white on top of her slightly darker complexion, which was tanned from the seas. Her mouth was parted in surprise, her doe eyes reproachful.

It was all wrong.

The instant he caught sight of her, he felt heat travel south.

But he knows he should not want her-

"Don't do this to me," he said, all the while thinking how his mind is slipping out from his control.

When has he ever thought there was a remote chance of feeling something for a little fool.

She looked at him once, and made a roundabout way to get to the pantry. He smiled meanly at this, but can not understand where his source of mockery was coming from. This wasn't what he meant to say or do. He felt a sense of displacement as she rattled and made noises to focus on anything except him.

"You and I both know what happened. Don't pretend," he said to her back. She did not tense up to his baits. For that he was grateful, but he still wanted her to respond, for her to look at him properly in the eye.

"Ann-"

He cut short when she finally did turn to view him full in the face. She approached him slowly, with firmness in each step.

He's struggling to think properly.

By the time she's close enough that the distance between them was made only from the table, his mind was blank. His eyes were betraying him, lingering at her lips.

Whereas hers did not waver. Her eyes looked at his, and she did not so much as blink.

It was unbearable. He turned his head away.

"Well," she said (and he swears that despite her voice being barely audible, he's catching every word like they were rubies), "I'm not pretending, so you shouldn't too."

She backed up every so slightly.

"Is your nose alright?"

Hans raised his head slowly, face quizzical.

"Yes."

"Good, because I - well, I kind of hit you really hard so," she shrugged, "sorry about that."

He cleared his throat.

"It's alright. I deserved it. For earlier, and…"

He didn't know what he wanted to say exactly. All the same, Anna perked at this. Without a word, she sat on a stool near the door, so there was still some space that separated their persons. She waited, but it seemed as if he exhausted his ability to express.

"Why," he finally asked, "are you apologizing? Do you care?"

"I don't. I don't care. It's just that Elsa told me as long as you're here, I can't be in the wrong. That's all."

The silence stretch on, lingering with unpleasantness.

"She's a good person, and so am I. I know when enough is enough."

He laughed suddenly.

"If you're trying to imply the difference between you and me-"

"And if you're trying to imply there isn't-"

"But there isn't," he insisted, "if I had the crown I would have done so much good with it. I was and would have been doing what's best for this kingdom. Is such a noble goal bad?"

"Oh Anna, if only there was someone out there who loved you."

"Give me one reason why you're worth my time." She glared at him.

He hated her more than ever. Night and day he's thought about her, at least once, and it's been half a year since the Great Thaw. She had no right to curse him like this, make him feel-

Hans blinked, reeling in her order before answering.

"I can't."

She did not look disappointed or hurt in anyway. Instead, she nodded like it was what she expected. She rights herself and heads for the halls.

She was going to leave now. He's done it. For the small moment she's decided to give in to him, he's destroyed the opportunity again.

Halfway out the kitchen, she pauses. However misplaced he was, there was something that made her wonder. It was surreal, like seeing a stranger behind the stranger. Ultimately, her curiosity wins out her anger.

She reconsiders.

She would come to realize later on that this was the night she saw, for the first time, who the fallen prince really was. Behind the coat of arms and royalty from their first meeting was an emotionally stunted man who only acted for his best self interest. Now that he was stripped of power, he could not charm his way into her heart.

She's won, but she doesn't know that.

In an attempt to regain himself, he mockingly asked if there was time for her to spare during the next few days so they could have more of their lovely chats.

"Okay," she agreed, hoisting herself up, and the confusion on his face was just enough to make it worthwhile.

She made three conditions for their arrangement:

He was not allowed to seek her for company, only wait for where and when she decides she wanted to see him.

He could only address her formally.

He must never lie to her.

"As you would like it," he said, both content and yet unsatisfied, "your Highness."

"At ease, Admiral."

It must have been a trick in the light, as dawn was rising. For a second, Hans could have sworn he saw the ends of her lips lift.

The door clicked quietly behind her as she exited.

He continued to sit, perplexed while eyeing the water. This was not how he imagine things would go, much less of the fact she's now taken the reins.

But if he was honest with himself, he would have admitted this scenario was not entirely new. He's at her beckoning since the beginning, and she needs only to call.