He stared at himself in the mirror. He looked much the same as he ever had; red hair, green eyes, muscular build, smattering of freckles. Yet he was different, he knew he was.
A disgraced and disowned prince, an imposter and welcomed guest, now a married man. Taking on the mantle of his brother had allowed him to grow into that role. Everything that he was now, he owed to Benjamin. The other Benjamin. He hoped that, in a bizarre way, he was doing his brother proud and honouring his memory.
He stood in his new room, where a nondescript door led into Elsa's. Most of his ornamental garb that he'd warn for the ceremony had been stripped off, leaving him in britches, boots and an untied shirt.
He took a deep breath and turned away from his image. Striding to the door, he opened it gently and went through.
Elsa's chamber was decorated in deep blues and purples with robust patterns and embroidery. The furnishings, gilt frames and delicate carpentry were lovely, but he sought something far more beautiful and he looked over the room.
Perched on a chaise longue with a book open in her lap – though her worried gaze was fixed on some random point on the wall – was his bride. Her gown for the celebrations, with its traditionally lavish decorations and ice additions, was gone, replaced with a simple blue nightdress. Her long braid, secured at the end with a ribbon, snaked over her shoulder. Even totally without adornment, there was something regal in her air, as she sat with her back straight and chin up.
The noise he made by the door made her eyes snap to him. She tried to keep her face calm, but he could sense her trepidation. They understood each other, he and she, like few did. They both had things they couldn't or wouldn't say, but there was a genuine connection, a silent meeting of the minds that went beyond their affection.
He gave her a soft smile, and slowly closed the door behind him. He knew the expectations of him, of them, as did she. Nevertheless, it was a nerve-wracking thing. He would never have her frightened of him or what she thought he might do, though.
He approached her casually, calmly, until he reached the chaise where she sat. She watched him closely, wide eyes trying to give away nothing but dissect his movements. He placed himself beside her, almost as far as the bench seat would allow. Comfortably close for a conversation, but not intrusive.
One leg over the other, hands relaxed in his lap, he gave her a smile.
"What are you reading?" he asked pleasantly.
She blinked at him, then the book. "Uh… German poetry anthology," she replied, having to check before answering.
He let out a quiet laugh. "And are you enjoying it?" he queried.
"Well, I only just started it," she said, biting her lip.
"You appear to be halfway through," he pointed out with a teasing smirk and a gesture to the book, open to approximately the middle page.
Her face twisted in playful annoyance. "Well, in that case, I'm enjoying it immensely, thank you for asking," she sniffed.
He laughed and made a grab for the book, which she snatched from within his reach, holding it away. She giggled and gasped when he slid closer and lunged for it. He leant across her, his longer arms giving him the advantage.
"Didn't anyone tell you that it's rude to snatch, and from a lady?" she complained breathlessly as he got a grip on the book.
Grinning, he brought his focus from the book they held aloft to her face right below his. His eyes flicked down to her rosy lips, and that was apparently all the encouragement she needed.
She leant forward and pressed a kiss to his lips, which gradually built into something lustful and fervent. Benjamin slid a hand up her warm ribcage and heard a dull thud as the book landed on the luxurious carpet before Elsa's arms came up to embrace him. She was soft and warm and pulling him closer with a hand on the back of his neck.
He broke away to press loving kisses down her throat, eliciting a happy sigh and a little frost in his hair. He didn't mind or stop to acknowledge it, and neither did she.
They continued their increasingly passionate embrace for some time, caresses and sighs and the dull ticking of a clock somewhere the secret soundtrack of the bedchamber. A shift of his legs where they tangled with hers as they lay on the chaise earnt a tiny moan from the queen, something instinctive neither of them really knew to look for. Benjamin felt like it was important, though, and smoothly got to his feet, lifting her into the air. She gave a squeak but immediately relaxed into him, tangling her fingers in his hair. He placed her on the bed and resumed his place above her.
Her hand slid down to his waistband, and up under his loose shirt. He shivered as her fingertips ghosted up his abdomen, from the cold or her touch itself, it didn't matter. Maybe they were one and the same, in a way.
His lips returned to the side of her neck, messily travelling down as his hand echoed his path, massaging down her side, bunching the fabric there.
"Benjamin," she gasped.
He faltered.
Benjamin.
He had responded to that name a hundred times since he'd come here, told a hundred lies. Told her a hundred lies. Queen Elsa, the Snow Queen. Queen Elsa, the woman who owned his heart, unconditionally. But he held hers under a pretence.
He had managed to swallow the bitter taste the façade left in his mouth up until this point, even through his marriage vows. Her vows to love him until death do them part. Him, or Benjamin. Not both, never both. Not Hans. Death had already parted each of them and the man she was meant to marry.
But he was here now. He wasn't the same man who had come so long ago, brandishing his charm and his sword with equal deadliness. Yet, somehow, this private, intimate moment seemed some kind of threshold. Could he truly commit to this, all based on a lie?
But could he tell the truth?
He resumed his attentions, quickly and amorously enough that Elsa made no complaint.
No, he couldn't betray her like that, rip the rug out from under her feet in such a way. She would be disgusted, heartbroken to hear that he was in fact Hans, the thirteenth prince.
But he already had betrayed her. That's all he'd done since he got here. And this, final act, meant there was no going back.
He abruptly sat back on his heels, extricating himself from her hold gently but insistently.
She lay, panting and confused, looking up at him. Her wide blue eyes held love and concern, lust and self-consciousness. No censure. She was far too generous to direct such a thing at him… without good reason.
Slowly, she sat up. She placed one hand on his shoulder, the other on the side of his face.
"Benjamin? What's the matter?" she queried softly.
He flinched at the use of his name. He forced his eyes, which were locked on the hands that lay limp on his lap, to meet hers at her urging.
"What is it?" she asked, searching his face.
"I…" he started weakly, but his voice quailed. He took a shaking breath and tried again. "I can't do it, Elsa. I've done some awful things already, but this is too much…"
She looked completely confused. "Ben, what are you talking about?" she pressed.
"I've lied to you. And I'm sorry. So sorry for everything, for what little it's worth. I want to say I regret it, too, but even knowing what I've done… The time I've spent with you has been the happiest of my life," he said. His thoughts were disorganised and his explanation jumbled, but he was putting off the inevitable.
"What are you saying? What have you done?" she asked, a little bit of that cool, iron majesty in her expression. When he just stared at her, chest heaving, she prodded, "Benjamin?"
"Hans," he blurted. "The real Benjamin is dead."
Dead silence, a blank expression. The churning of guilt in his stomach. The harsh ticking of the unseen clock.
"I should have listened to Anna," she said, her voice like ice.
"Yes. But I never should have agreed to come," he said morosely.
"Agreed?" she repeated sharply. "So your father knows?"
Hans shifted uncomfortably. He had sworn loyalty to Elsa and her realm, and so his first duty was to her now, despite everything.
"Yes. Benjamin died in a horse-riding accident a few days before he was to leave for Arendelle. They offered me a chance for… redemption," he explained.
"After you tried to murder me," she snapped.
"Yes. I didn't want to kill you for the fun of it; it seemed the only way to end the blizzard. But I was cruel to Anna, and I'd be lying if I said I hadn't wanted the throne. I'm not sure someone as who has behaved as I have can ever be redeemed, but I know they can be regretful. I'm more sorry than I can say," he said, the impassioned words flowing once he started speaking.
Elsa stared at him with narrowed eyes for a moment, then stood and swept across the room. Without looking at him, she asked, "Where were you before you came here?"
"A cell. Imprisoned after the trial. That's why I was so thin when I arrived. Benjamin was always far thinner than me. Sickly, even," he answered, barely above a whisper.
"And why now? Why suddenly develop a conscience?" she demanded.
She had every right to be furious, he knew. But it still hurt to have her so disgusted with him. He shrugged helplessly.
"I can't expect you to believe me, but I've wanted to tell you for a long time. I could have gotten away with it forever, maybe, but at what cost? It was eating me up. I do love you, though I know I have no right," he said earnestly.
She whirled on him, shock and outrage dancing across her features. He noticed it was snowing lightly in the room, little hills of the stuff gathering on the polished floor and the carpets.
Dropping gracefully into an armchair, she pressed her fingers to her temples, then cast a look over him, evaluating.
"The question is, what are we to do now?" she sighed. "I can't just announce the truth, it'll raise too many questions, be an embarrassment. Not to mention how Anna and Kristoff would take it. But it's too late to send you back… And if I can't trust you…"
Her voice turned shaky, like she might cry, but she stood with purpose and approached him solemnly. With an artful sweep of her hand, she conjured a beautiful sword. It was a remarkably faithful rendering of the sort carried by the Royal Guard.
His heart nearly stopped right then. Did she really mean to kill him in cold blood? Elsa was determined and dedicated, but this was something else.
"Elsa, wait…" he started. He wanted to beg for his life, but realised it wasn't worth it. He wasn't all bad, but he wasn't good enough. He'd put her in an impossible position, and he owed it to her to do as she wished. Fear and desolation washed over him, but he would do the right thing for once.
"It'll look awfully suspicious if you kill me with that and then make it disappear. The last thing a monarch needs is blood on their hands," he said. "I should go out the window."
She stopped her advance, blindsided. Advice on his own murder was clearly the last thing she expected. "What?"
"I'm good with politics. And I'm telling you, it'll be easier to pass it off as a tragedy. Much less doubt cast on you with no disappearing ice weapon, and no need to hunt down a crazed killer who somehow sneaked into the room and murdered me then escaped before your eyes. A fall out a window is more plausible," he reasoned. He felt ill, but hid it behind a businesslike façade.
"How do I get you out the window?" she asked, still incredulous.
"I'll jump," he shrugged.
"You'll jump?" she hissed.
He swallowed thickly. "If you ask me to. I owe a debt I can never repay, and I love you too much to make things any worse. I'll jump," he repeated.
The sword disappeared into a burst of little snowflakes, which floated upwards and flickered out of existence before they reached the gilded ceiling.
"Do it then," she said, voice barely a whisper.
He swallowed, blinked, and got to his feet. He marched over to the window, ghosted by his gobsmacked wife. Soon to be widow.
Squaring his shoulders, he swung it open. He could only just make out the paved courtyard below in the moonlight. His breath came hard and fast, like his body was desperate to get as many in before he hit the ground.
Calling on the naval training to which he'd half-applied himself, he propelled himself into the task at hand without any more deliberation or ceremony. He stepped right up to the sill and tipped forward.
Just before his feet left the floor and he began the plunge, she grabbed his arm. He leant back a little and turned to look down at her pale face.
"You'd really do it?" she whispered tearfully.
He nodded.
"Because you love me? Because you feel guilty?" she asked.
"Yes," he croaked.
"You've changed since you were first here," she said, pulling him away from the window and placing a hand on his cheek. Her eyes drilled into his as though she were looking for anything that would refute her conclusion.
"I think you are redeemed," she breathed, stroking the side of his face.
Her words knocked the wind out of him, but as they sunk in he grinned. She laughed wetly and pulled him down to kiss her.
It was the same as before, yet different. Thrilling, passionate, glorious as ever. Yet it was the first one to be totally honest and free. Hans was liberated.
He was passionate and considered. Demanding and generous. Searching and contented. Guilty and absolved.
Hans and Benjamin. He was both.
