The sixth day
A few decades before, the kingdoms surrounding Southern Isles were facing troubling times. In respects to ruling the bourgeoisie, that much was manageable. The problem laid with extending the royal lines. By the time the now late king of the Southern Isles was twenty, he was without a wife. Most of the Queens nearby were engaged hurriedly to some Kings to ensure a family, and the skirmish occurring allowed little to no chance for any willing Princesses. The only eligible bride lived outside the bordering lands, in an exotic place Mideast. Her kingdom was hardly any prize, he notes distastefully, as the King arrived to settle the terms. He gathers very little sum from the older ruler, even less so about his future spouse.
But he does know this: she was a child, therefore he was not allowed so much as to touch her before she became of age. Such a thought repulsed him,and he never saw of her anyway. She was something heard of but never revealed. He waited for seven long years before he could lay eyes on her, and by then she grew to be a lovely young woman of fourteen.
She exited out of her modest ship, and he took her hand willingly to kiss it. Her green eyes were enchanting and her air radiated shyness. She did not speak as she was led to her chamber. Her presence utterly disappeared as their marriage was being arranged. Four months passed as minor disputes throughout the kingdoms pushed back their union.
He still manages to gather information about her, from his servants. Ideally, she would be the wife that would blend into the shadows, a picture of sophisticated grace.
But something was wrong; she had yet to begin her cycle. She was a fragile thing, and the king felt cheated in more ways than one as his servants entered, in and out of her room, where she laid bed ridden. What good was she if she couldn't bear him a son as soon as possible? He found himself unable to wait any longer.
The celebration held in place of their union finally came. At the time, he could not help but eye a pretty Duchess, who was fluttering her eyelashes at him. He stole her for a dance, and after that she still beckoned him closer. No one accounted for their departure, and no one saw them slip back into the party. It went on like that for ten more years, with multiple partners except the young Queen; they had a loveless marriage, with Marchioness, Countess and other royal titled women to fill in the gap.
His first son, heir to the throne, was shipped to him several years later, when the youngster became a tall and lean boy. The prince brought along with him a love letter from the Duchess, signed and carrying heartfelt emotions. The late King discarded the letter and kept the child, as a heir was exactly what was needed at that point.
The second, third, fourth and fifth came around three years later, each a few months apart. If his staff and kingdom found anything about this arrangement odd, they did not voice it. At least not outside taverns and pubs, drunk or relapsing old gossip.
On and on the proof of the King's past activities came back, some bearing evidence from their mother's penmanship upon paper. Others who resembled too much of him to deny. In due time, all twelve sons lived in the castle. He didn't much notice what each son beyond the fourth did as long as it was nothing too scandalous. They were all illegitimate children, bastards conceived from the heat of the moment.
He could only care so much.
Her voice tittered up from the gardens and into his study. He had just dismissed his eldest son, and was now trying to make time to finish his paperwork. Finding his window to be opened, he got up to shut it, but stopped at the sight of her.
It was early dawn, spring. Her dress was twirling around as she danced with his twelfth son. The grass was still covered with morning dew, and both slid together in laughter.
That's when he realized with a start - he did, indeed have a wife. She was starting to blossom into something he's never seen. Spring was always good to her, but this year particularly she was full of life. Not merely walking, but swaying and singing a four note tune.
She caught his eye and smiled.
The prospect of seeing the Princess again the very next morning got Hans to wake up earlier than he normally would have, but he chose to think little of it. She was, after all, the only company who did not edge him away with suspicion or command. It was a natural reaction considering he was forced to stay in this God forsaken kingdom. He didn't mind having her around to fend off the boredom and frustrations.
That's what he told himself anyway as he got dress whilst the sun peeked from the north mountain.
It was much too early to wander about in the castle. Moreover, the shadow and footsteps outside his door informed him that guards were stationed outside his room again. He'd have to wait it out until they called for him.
That made for a huge inconvenience, as he found, ten minutes later, that it left him with an ample amount of time. Enough for his idle mind to wander. As always, his thoughts made their way over towards home, and what awaits him there. He's paid his dues, so he should be making his way up again, back to being invisible to his brothers at the very least. He's always thought about them in the most fleeting way, but nowadays it's become harder to do. In that instant of musing about them, his brain unwittingly adds another piece to the introspection, and recollections of various punishments over the past year came circling back.
He took a steady breath to even out the sudden jolt he felt. His eyes screwed shut, but it only helped to increase the intensity of the memory.
The dull pain never quite left him.
Of course he never would have faced such abuse if his plan had gotten right from the beginning. And here his consciousness drifted once more, in a repeated and worn fashion.
It was never about killing Queen Elsa, or charging up the North Mountain, or attempting to marry the Princess. Those came after. If he could have just manage to marry Elsa…
If he never met Anna at the docks-
Somehow that thought managed to hurt him more than the others.
Still, he should be use to it by now. In accordance to his current train of thoughts, this particular one always made its rounds alongside the others.
He gritted his teeth. He thought about her too damn much.
When Anna came down for breakfast, she was wary to see a very disgruntled admiral sitting on the right side of the long table. But then again, she figured it was only natural, with the delegate and Queen sitting on either end of his side.
Elsa shoots her a questioning look as she tried to politely sit down without drawing attention. Anna waved it off, and Elsa's lips went thin.
The alcohol from last night had started to invade her senses this morning, causing her to wake up slightly irritable today. When she had pulled her stockings up to her thighs, she wondered, slightly apprehensive, why she had bothered to take a drink at all. Maybe because she wanted the naval officer to know she dared to try. She was not going to be the child he thought she was, and the taken back look he gave her last night served only to heighten her triumph, however short it lasted. But then she reminded herself that the horrible way she was currently feeling was because of him, and she soured quickly.
As she helped herself to some bread, Anna could have sworn she heard him chuckle. It was as if he knew exactly what she's been thinking. When she looked up, he turned his attention back to his food, his eyes drifting too hastily.
Before the silence could really settle in, Elsa cleared her throat.
"So tomorrow is the ball," she said, spearing her potatoes.
The delegate looked up expectantly.
"Yes your Majesty," he voiced, and he said it in such a way it made Anna pause in between bites. The prince, she noted, also seemed a little fazed at the delegate's continued pretty tone of speech towards the Queen. If Elsa noticed this she did not remark, and she continued through with what she wanted to say.
"The celebration begins at noon, and I've called for your ships so they should reach here the day after."
"Your hospitality is greatly appreciated," the delegate replied. Anna highly suspected if he wasn't seated, he would bow. Again she stole a quick glance at the admiral, but he just continued to look sullen.
"And after the ball…"
The naval officer finally stirred.
"Is departure," he followed through stiffly.
At this announcement Anna felt the odd sensation creeping up on her once more. She stared transfixed to her plate as she thought how badly she had wanted the man across from her to leave the kingdom days ago. But now that departure was nearly here, she felt a strange twinge settle over.
It can't possibly mean she wants him to stay.
Her knife clattered to the floor, and she dived hastily to pick it up before a servant could reach it for her. Brows knitted together, she scooped the silverware up. This whole week has been nothing but bizarre, she reasons, she felt queer not out of sentiment, but as a residue of what's been happening.
She still hadn't gotten anything out of him yet. No excuses, reasons or explanation for the hurt he's caused.
When she righted herself on her seat and looked across, she half expected him to keep looking surly. Instead, the man before her became unreadable.
As the Princess was the first to leave the table afterwards, Elsa promptly followed suit with polite dismissal. The delegate, seeing no further reason to stay, cleared from the table too. Before exiting the room, he cast Hans a quizzical look, and opened his mouth to say something. But then he appeared to have thought better of it as one of the servants swept the table, and left with a parting arched eyebrow. That's when Hans knew he would have an audience with the delegate later.
But for what he didn't understand. He wondered the possibilities as he got up and headed for the halls too.
He missed a step when he saw the Princess waiting idly by the side, concealed by a large, potted plant. When she sensed his presence, she stepped away from the plant and walked off, expecting him to follow. Falling in step with her, he found his previous aggravation had evaporated.
"Been waiting long?" he said, pleasantly surprised.
"No," she huffed. "But I wouldn't have mind if you got here sooner."
"I would have, if I knew you were waiting for me, your Highness."
She didn't answer immediately. Hans could have sworn there was a slight coloring in her cheeks as she walked on. He couldn't phantom why exactly, until he tried to extract his sentence.
All he said was that he was sure to come earlier to meet her if given the chance to. Why was she so tight lipped? Any other would have been placated by his words, and he was sure she was the type to have settled happily for his, given a year ago she melted at every sentence he expressed-
Ah. He stopped short. That's what it was.
Why didn't it occur to him that she didn't want to hear these kind of words? Anything that had romantic undertones, even slightly, would instinctively hit her with the wrong note. The last time he gave such sweet words, he wasn't able to follow through with it.
But for once he was being genuine with her. It wasn't a lie - though he almost wish it was - he wants to sees her as much as she wants to see him, if not more so. It's frustrating him that he felt this way, but it's little compared to the sinking feeling she didn't see this, and that's why she was brushing him off.
"Uh, where are you taking us?" he asked hastily.
"It's feeding time for the ducks," she said a bit relieved that the topics changed quickly.
The garden was looking particularly welcoming today. Although it was cloudy, what little clear piece the sky could offer was a soft pastel of light blue. It was the kind of breezy day that made the leaves of the willow tree sway slowly. As if on cue, the duck and her ducklings swam out of the pond and waddled on the dewy grass. The Princess plopped down on the shade, fanning her skirt neatly under her. From her pockets, she pulled out a bag of oats. Hans, unsure of what to do, remained standing, and one of the ducklings waddled over his boots to reach the Princess. When she noticed his ridge stance, she brushed her skirt a little ways over, and Hans took that as a half hearted invitation.
She wasn't going to make much of this, so why should he?
Trying hard to suppress whatever it was he was feeling, he sat alongside her, perhaps a little too closely.
The arched pillars surrounding the garden gave the delegate some concealment as he watched over the two. He didn't like what he was seeing, and doubtless the Queen would either. If anything transpires, not only will his brothers have the admiral's head, but his own as well.
His mind flashed briefly to the night before. Even when it was dark, there was no mistaking the silhouette of the pair. Aside from that, who else could it be, entering the admiral's room at the dead of the night together.
Oh dear God, he thought turning his head away. Something must be done.
Hans' left arm had reached further away from his body, and went around the Princess so his hand touched the grass an inch away from her back. His shoulder lowered to the point where, if he were to make any sudden movements, would lightly bump hers.
"So you're saying that by the age of twelve you were already in the navy?"
"It's nothing unusual," he shrugged. "Most of my brothers, if not all, were expected to undergo this type of thing anyway - not to say they enjoyed it. All of them did the minimal years and returned home."
"And you?" she asked, absentmindedly throwing the oats in no specific direction.
"Most of my younger years were spent at sea. I didn't mind it so much compared to home - I mean, it was all for the better anyway. People listen to your orders, and you can go nearly wherever you pleased. And besides, not one of them could best me at navigating or captaining a fleet."
She looked mildly impressed. Something about the way she nodded thoughtfully at his every word brought a surge of satisfaction that spread across his body. She's never offered him this sort of attention before: she had adored him, or at least the ego of him; she had skipped to the opposite spectrum and despised him with fury and accusations; last night she continued coolly challenging him while appearing passive. Today it was like a carpet was swept underneath him. She wanted to hear what he had to say - she was truly interested.
This bit was too new to him. Before he knew it, he became conscious of wanting more of this approval. Only hers, though.
He waited for her to ask more - for the first time he did not object to her prodding - so that maybe he could say a bit more, without seeming too exult. By now the birds have had their fill, and he lifted one up in mild interest. With gentle pressure, he rubbed it's forehead soothingly, and it closed it's eyes.
"I never took you for someone so gentle with animals."
She was smiling. At her attention, he stopped shortly, and the duckling looked at him blearily.
"There's a lot you don't expect from me either," he said, echoing her words.
She laughs.
"No, I guess not. But I should have figured since your horse was so docile. Whatever happened to it?"
Her face was tilted just so. Some weak sunlight manage to find their way past the willow tree leaves, and shined on the edges of her mouth and neck. It was too distracting, and he hadn't heard her at all. He blinked.
"Say that again?"
She seemed amused with his antics, and for the life of him he didn't know what's gotten into him. She's certainly attractive, he'll admit this much, and there were instances on other nights he wanted her. But this was getting ridiculous. She repeated what she said, in deliberate slowness. Even then it took him a while to register. It so happened today she looked especially-
"My horse? Oh Sitron," he said, finally comprehending. "You mean Sitron."
"Yes, that's the one," she smirked.
His mood fell. He hates to recall such an event, but right at this moment she was so willing to listen.
"I…he's gone now," he said, shaking his head. "After I came home, they took him away from me. For months they tried to break into him, see that he's put to good use. But by the fifth month Sitron refused to let anyone else ride him. I was in the castle dungeon at that time." He gave a dry laugh. "Even down there I could still hear the commotion. I heard that he bucked so violently he gave someone a broken back."
"Well, he's loyal." The princess said, unsure. She couldn't see Sitron acting this way; he was nothing but sweet and obedient in her eyes.
"Too loyal." Hans face turned expressionless. "They couldn't get him to relent. He's as good as wild without me. In the end they had to put him down. It was quick - three gunshots."
She frowned. "I'm sorry. I really liked him."
"Yeah, well…" He couldn't come up with a reply, so he continued to stroke the duckling. He had missed his noble steed, and he doubts he'll find any other so willingly compatible with him. By now more ducklings had gathered around him, but he hardly noticed. The Princess, sensing his discomfort, shifted closer and placed a handful on his lap. The ducklings quacked, and he comes back to himself.
"What's all this about?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Something to help get you along. You miss him a awful lot, don't you?"
"I don't miss him-"
"When I was away from Elsa," she began, ignoring his indignant face, "there were periods of time I wanted to see her again so much I thought I wouldn't be able to last much longer. I lost someone, but I got her back. Then I realized during the whole time we were apart, she never stopped thinking about me either. Maybe it's the same with you and Sitron. I mean, the time you guys were apart, he wouldn't let anyone but you ride him. Just goes to show, you know? I think he knew how much you cared for him in the end."
She finished her speech a bit unsteadily, her voice dropping.
"I don't know where you're going with this," he said blankly.
"Yeah, me either."
Her blunt honesty caught him off guard and he chortle. Although originally offended, she let him be. It was cruel how handsome he was, still more so while his face lit up in mirth.
"Wow, so you can smile."
Hans paused for breath, untying his cravat because it was getting unbearably warm, and said, "What do you mean? You've seen me do it before, like on the day I first met you. Or did you forget?"
"That didn't count," she said, face falling a bit. "It was fake."
The sunlight that bathe them warmly up until now was disappearing fast as numerous clouds filled the sky. The Princess' fond look vanished altogether as the realization hit them both; the past promise of love, and the fool unwittingly falling into the trap.
She looked a little put out. She must be remembering what it was like to deal with heartbreak.
Hans' chest contracted slightly at the sight.
"I-"
"Well we've been here for some time. I think it's almost noon," she said a little too brightly. Yet, despite the change in the air, she still looked as if she wanted nothing more but to settle down. At least she didn't move away. Her shoulders touched his and he, out of nowhere, started to feel warmer.
It was getting a bit too much. Today, more pronounced than others, had him wanting her company more and more. His green eyes still traced her form, and the other days he wished for her didn't compare. Not when she walked up gallantly towards him around dawn in the kitchen, or when their breaths misted together at the gallery, or when they smoked. It was a different kind of craving. Without warning, a swooping feeling lurched. It was like as if he was being attacked all of a sudden. He grew hyper aware of their close proximity, although moments ago he had tried hard not to care. His mind raced.
What was the matter with him?
His body was throbbing for a while until it became apparent his pulse was going on slightly faster in his still form. No, he didn't like this-
It was as if his body was panicking. From what he didn't know, so he tried to relax his muscles. Even as he stretched a bit, his thigh lingered dangerously near her skirts, where hers lay hidden.
The ducklings cleared off him and retreated back to the waters. She gave him a wan smile after they both watched them disappear. Something inside him lurched uncomfortably, and an impulsive thought cross his mind to reach forward and grab the nape of her neck.
"Lunch should be soon. We should get going."
Gather the plaited hair around his fingers.
"Well don't get up all at once," she laughed at his unresponsiveness.
Guiding her along so that their mouths could meet.
She was fully standing now, although she was slightly perturbed by his eye contact. She reached over and gave him her hand, hoping he'll take this obvious cue to get going. His eyes lowered to her fingers, and he accepted.
What happened next was something she didn't expect; she tried to tug him upright, but he pulled back with unexpected strength. As a result, she stumbled forward, not quite falling, but bending so they were both at eye level. She was going to tell him off, but again there was something about the way he was looking at her that made her stop short. As absurd as it might sound, it's almost as if he was-
His free hand crept and landed at the back of her neck. He proceeded to twine his fingers around her hair. With steady pressure he lowered her down. Or perhaps it was her own knees that bent to allow herself to kneel down. They didn't break eye contact until she was completely at level with him. Only then did his eyes quickly dart to her mouth, and then up again. His face went to close the gap slowly, and his mouth opened.
She stiffen. There was only an inch apart between them. With her other hand she closed the gap. His mouth brushed lightly at her palm. His eyes peeled to met hers, which were clear, defiant, and wet.
She pried his hands off slowly. She righted herself, and almost as if in a dreamlike state, left with him still sitting beneath the willow tree.
He didn't see her at all after that. It seemed that she stepped out during lunch to try her dress on for tomorrow's ball, which only served to remind him about departure. At dinner she was nonexistent. When he combed the castle under the presence of appearing mildly interested with the arts and literature, he was tailed by three escorts.
At early night he retired, with anger and shame. He kicked the chair aside and threw his weight on top of it.
What was he playing at? He knew fully well, as she did, of the unspoken rule. Hadn't he done well to restrain himself so far anyway? Why today - why was it that he felt no control.
Yet even as he questioned himself, the thought of leaving the day after tomorrow consumed him, and it certainly explained his urgency to have her. Its these feelings. If only they didn't come, with her being so - so-
"Anna," he breathe deeply, gloved hands raking his hair none too gently.
She never said anything about whispering her name, dead of the night, as darkness fell and heat crept down his south regions. She didn't say anything about not allowing him to fall in love with her.
A mixture of thoughts swarmed around his head, just as the powder whites did within the snow globe.
Heavily pregnant, the Queen of the Southern Isles stroked her swelling belly. As of the late it's become harder to stand on her own with the additional weight. She tired easily, but it was still peculiar that she grew ever weaker with child. Although she was given proper nourishment, she didn't give the glow of health, and her hips were too small to help give birth to begin with.
Nobody said anything about it. Nobody could foresee the outcome.
Unbeknownst to her, the King, or anyone for the matter, she uttered one of the most important and last thing she'll ever say:
"Hans."
