A/N: Hey y'all, quick message: This is the penultimate chapter. Well, sort of. There's one more chapter after this, and then an epilogue. You won't want to miss any of it! But I want to warn you that the end is near!

"Your highness?"

The young queen jerked her head, surprised out of her reverie. "What is it?"

"If I may, m'lady queen, recommend we revisit your trade agreement with Weselton…"

"We have no trade agreement, not when that odious duke is still so powerful. I can't show weakness and relent."

The three men seated around the table exchanged uncomfortable looks. Why were they now questioning a decision she had made a year ago? Elsa wondered why they looked so awkward. Did they know something she didn't?

"Queen Elsa," her minister of defense said, speaking cautiously, "the old Duke of Weselton is dead. His grandson holds the title now, but the Earl of Gelder is his treasury secretary. They have requested an amendment to your trade embargo, as have several of Arendelle's most prominent merchants."

Elsa could not pretend to be sorry about the old man's death. She was surprised, though—he had been so spry at her coronation. If he died of an illness, it must have been swift.

"Your majesty," her correspondence secretary spoke up. "Sir Robert delivered this news not half an hour ago. Perhaps you were distracted?"

Elsa controlled the impulse to blush, but was embarrassed all the same. So that was how long she had been daydreaming. The queen silently chastised herself for it. She had responsibilities enough, and had not the luxury of letting her mind wander like an idle schoolgirl.

"Pardon me," Elsa said out loud. "Distracted, yes. Well, I suppose we might revisit the idea of an agreement. Perhaps…a meeting with these Arendelle merchants, to hear their concerns myself?"

"I shall arrange it immediately," said Sir Robert, her treasury minister.

"As for Weselton, maybe I should send an envoy to smooth things over—or at least gauge the current attitude toward Arendelle. If the new duke holds a grudge…"

"I highly doubt that, your highness," her defense minister said, "there was no love lost between the old duke and the new. The young duke would be delighted to receive your favor."

"That's a relief, then," Elsa said. "Have we heard from the Southern Isles?"

"Nothing to cause concern."

"Very well. Perhaps we could adjourn, then, until—"

Her secretary cleared his throat. "M'lady queen, we have not yet settled all matters of Weselton."

Elsa sighed. She was growing tired of the meeting, and tired of sitting. "What now?"

"There has been…another offer…"

She felt the now-familiar nausea creeping into her gut. Elsa knew what "offer" meant. She had been receiving them since less than a month after her coronation. For all she knew, she had been receiving them since she was born.

"From whom?"

"The new Duke of Weselton has sent gifts, and an invitation for you to visit the duchy yourself, m'lady queen. He has not yet voiced a full proposal, but we believe that is his intention."

"Well, I can't turn him down until he really proposes, so I think we can say 'thank you' for whatever he sent, and leave it at that. Is that all?"

"The Prince of Mordavia sends his regards—again," her secretary said. "If he is a guest for your sister's wedding, it is likely he will repeat his offers, in person, and may want to know why he has been put off for all these months. Your highness might prepare for such."

I may refuse his marriage proposals, but I will probably still have to dance with him, Elsa thought. Everyone knows my secret now, and they know I can control it.

"Your highness," her defense minister said, "might I be so bold as to ask why you have put off the prince? There are several options, of course, but this decision ought to be concluded soon."

"Are you so eager for me to throw away my power as an unwed monarch?" the queen asked.

"Certainly not, m'lady queen. Prudence, of course, would dictate that much care be taken in your choice, but the marriage contract could be written in your favor, and perhaps we ought to begin considering how to approach that…"

"I am twenty-two years of age, and have been queen for only one of them," Elsa said. "That is reason enough to hesitate." She stood up, and the others rushed to follow suit. "We're adjourned for today, gentlemen. As always, thank you for your counsel."

She meant to go to the stables upon leaving the room, but Elsa only took a few steps before someone called her name. She turned to see Anna running down the hall toward her, a panicked look on her face and clutching two pieces of paper. Elsa braced herself for some kind of terrible news as Anna stumbled to a halt before her, gasping for breath.

"I—need—your help!" the princess said between gasps.

Elsa reached out to grasp her sister by the arms. "Anna, calm down. What's going on?"

Anna held up a page. "I can't decide on a dress!"

Elsa's hands fell back to her sides. "What dress?"

"My wedding dress."

"Anna, that was settled ages ago."

"Yes, but then this designer from Italy sent me a sketch, and it's beautiful, and I don't want to hurt her feelings. Look!" She held out one of the papers. "Don't you love it?"

"Very pretty," Elsa said of the gown's puffed sleeves and lacy train. "But what about Mama's dress?"

"I know," Anna said, biting her lip. "I just don't want to be unkind to Signora Trovato. But Mama's dress is really yours anyway, isn't it? I mean, she married Papa in that dress, and became queen, and you're the queen now."

"It's a family heirloom, there's no reason we can't share it," Elsa said. "It's up to you, since you actually have a chance to wear it." She glanced up to see her secretary leaving the meeting room, and smiled. "Besides," she added, "I'm not far behind you, if my counselors have their way. They want me pledging my troth yesterday, from the sound of it."

"Elsa, no," Anna whispered. Her enormous blue eyes grew even wider and she looked around the corridor to see that they were alone. "Who are you supposed to marry?"

"Well," her sister said, adopting a serious tone, "the new Duke of Weselton is a possibility, and if he's half as handsome as his grandfather, I confess myself most tempted indeed."

"You can't marry him, I won't let you!"

"I suppose it'll have to be the Prince of Mordavia, then."

"Stop it."

Elsa smiled again, genuinely amused this time. She put a hand at Anna's elbow, nudging her to walk along the hallway with her. "We can't talk about this here."

"Have you heard from him—from Loki?" Anna asked, still whispering.

"Not a word," Elsa said. "Just like yesterday, and last week, and last month. I couldn't hide it from you if I did hear anything."

"I bet you could," Anna said. "Have you tried to get back to Asgard?"

"The Bifrost is closed to me, and to him," Elsa said. "I don't even know how it works. I've told you a hundred times. I wouldn't know where to begin."

"You said you couldn't bring back summer, and you did! If you just tried—"

"Enough, Anna."

"Don't you love him? Don't you want to see him again?"

Elsa sighed. "That isn't the issue. This isn't a magic spell you can break."

"It sounds like the king has a cold heart—and an act of true love will thaw a frozen heart."

"Odin's heart isn't frozen by a curse," Elsa said. "He's a proud, old king, with his own laws and power and his own ideas about how his sons should behave. There's nothing I can do about it."

"But have you tried—"

"Anna," Elsa interrupted, "there are only two reasons why Loki hasn't come back. Either he can't, or he doesn't want to. If he can't do it, there's no reason to think I could succeed. If he doesn't want to, well…all the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't make him do a thing he didn't want to."

"But he does, you know he does!"

"Well, it doesn't matter," Elsa said, her tone brusque. "I don't want to discuss it anymore."

"But—"

"No, Anna!"

The sisters' whispers had taken them as far as the back door of the kitchens. There they went their separate ways—a downcast Anna to her rooms and her wedding plans, and an exasperated Elsa to the stables, to escape into the countryside for a few hours.

Anna did not mention Loki again in the weeks before her wedding. As the event drew nearer, she did not have the time. Neither did Elsa. Although the queen would not take center stage at this event, it was proving more exhausting than her coronation. She had to play the hostess more thoroughly now—thank goodness for the housekeeper Inga!—and manage her usual duties as queen and mistress of the castle. She even had several private luncheons with Kristoff, giving him last-minute advice about her sister and trying to learn more about her brother-in-law-to-be.

The ceremony itself went smoothly enough. Anna had the Italian designer make her a new dress after all. Elsa and Sir Robert were not pleased about the extra expense—especially since Elsa might have been able to magic her sister a new dress—but in the end, Anna was beautiful and happy. Even Kristoff, trimmed and scrubbed and dressed by a horde of barbers, valets, and tailors, cut a dashing figure.

The reception proved more of a challenge, at least for the queen. She entertained the guests with a toast about Anna and herself as children, and by turning one of the punchbowls into an ice sculpture. Three princes from the Southern Isles had accepted the invitation, although they stuck together and once insisted that a servant taste their wines. However, her advisors had not made their warnings in vain. Over time, it became obvious that several eligible bachelors were there for reasons other than just to honor the newly wed princess.

Elsa tried to keep count of whom she danced with and how many times, not wanting to favor anyone in particular. The conversation of her dance partners hardly varied from small talk about the ceremony and the food, compliments to the beauty of the land and its queen, or remarks about their journeys to Arendelle. Elsa wanted to scream when, for the fourth time, a gentleman made a joke about how she might turn him to ice if he proved to be a poor dancer. She wanted to say that she preferred to sic her snow-monster on men who made terrible jokes.

At last, she managed to sneak away to one of the balconies. She perched on a part of the stone balustrade and inhaled the cool night air. The music was sweeter in this atmosphere, drifting out of the open doors, mingling exquisitely with the faint rush of fountains below and the black sky that twinkled with a million tiny jewels.

Elsa looked down at where her hand rested on the stone, wondering if she dared to conjure a staircase of ice and climb down to the gardens, and thence into the forest. She had lost count of how many times she had gone back to that fateful grove of trees. If there were a more perfect time for the prince of Asgard to return to her, Elsa could not imagine it.

It's only been a year, she thought. I've waited three times that.

But that was when he could come and go as he pleased. What about now?

"This is a most unhappy sight!" a man exclaimed behind her.

Elsa's whole body stiffened at the invasion of her quiet solitude. She composed her face into a mask before turning around to see the Prince of Mordavia standing in the doorway.

"Is it?" she asked, finding herself too tired to smile. "I don't feel unhappy."

"I am most glad to hear it," the prince said, stepping closer. His own smile was broad and gleaming, set in an olive-skinned face, beneath an aquiline nose and a pair of dark eyes. His brown, boyish curls made it difficult to guess his age, but Elsa already knew him to be thirty years old.

"It is a beautiful night, and my sister has just been married," Elsa said. "That should be enough to keep unhappiness away."

"A beautiful night indeed." The prince stood close by her, but Elsa did not bother to stand, or to invite him to join her. "If I may say so, your highness, you are just as beautiful."

How poetic, Elsa thought. "Thank you," she said out loud.

"I am sure you will make a splendid bride on your own wedding day."

Subtle, too. "It's every girl's dream, isn't it?" she asked.

He did not catch the sarcasm. "So I hear." The prince cleared his throat. "Your majesty, nothing would give me more honor than to make that dream come true."

Why did I have to come out here? I wanted fresh air, and here I am being suffocated. Couldn't he see I wanted to be alone?

Elsa had nothing to say to him, and so she made no effort. She only looked at him with eyebrows slightly raised, as though inviting him to impress her. He seemed taken aback by the lack of swooning.

"My ambassadors tell me that my gifts have been gratefully received, but that there has been no answer."

Elsa looked at him a little more carefully. He was kind enough, from what she knew. Handsome enough, too—maybe even more handsome than Loki, if his eyes were not quite so close together. There were political advantages, too, to be sure. She wondered if she ought to say any of this out loud—though not the part about his eyes, perhaps.

"They were gratefully received," she said, digging at her memory and desperately trying to recall what those gifts had been. He was not the one who had sent the ridiculous miniature portrait of himself, she was sure. "But I've had lots of offers. I don't know how a young queen can possibly decide."

"I could make you quite happy," he said, sitting down beside her, without first asking her leave.

At least he and Loki have that in common.

"Perhaps you could," Elsa said. She wondered what his kisses tasted like, but despite his good looks, the thought filled her with revulsion. Perhaps not. "As I said, I am but a young queen, and I have many things to consider."

The Prince of Mordavia gave a half-sigh, half-groan that she supposed was meant to convey lovesick longing, but she recognized the insincerity. "How long must I wait in torment for your answer, lady queen?"

As long as it takes for the right prince to get here. "Oh," Elsa said thoughtfully, "I think it will be at least another two years."

"Twice that long would be worth it," the prince said. He took her hand and brought it to his lips, delivering a swift, dry peck that made her want to cringe away and wipe her hand on her skirts.

You will be waiting ten times that long, I'm afraid.

He had not ridden this far since…Loki could not remember when. Although he had spent almost every moment of his life in Asgard, it was a vast realm and much it was still a mystery to him. He liked it that way. Loki enjoyed having space still to explore; it suited his restless nature. He kicked his horse back into a gallop, hoping that the rushing wind would whip the thoughts right out of his mind. All it did was sting his eyes, and he began to feel an ache in his legs and hips where he clung tightly to his mount. The beast needed a rest soon, he knew. Loki had lost track of how long he had been away.

He had been losing track of time quite a lot lately—though the green-eyed prince could hardly have said what "lately" even meant. He had immersed himself in magic and studies. His visions of other realms grew clearer, but that brought pain and exhaustion that kept him from concentrating for long.

His glimpses of the queen in Arendelle showed a woman older than when she had left, still beautiful and no doubt all the more clever for her added years. He had been dismayed once to see her with a pair of children, before he realized that they belonged to the sister. The most recent vision—some weeks ago, now that he thought about it—had left him with not only a crippling headache but an agitated heart. The sight of Elsa with children was too frequent and unwelcome to his eyes. He hoped they were Anna's, at least. Whether they were or not, it meant that too much time had already escaped them; he did not want to think about what else he might have lost.

When he was not spying on other realms, Loki was developing headaches in other ways. He combed the palace libraries for writings about travel without the Bifrost, but there was such a dearth of information that he suspected Odin of censoring the collections. Frigga, normally supportive of her younger son's less destructive ventures, dismissed his accusations. Still he searched.

In the meantime, he practiced other forms of magic that might prove useful in any realm. He practiced shape-shifting until he made a convincing fly or horse, and started to try human forms. He learned how to replicate himself, though his twins were hardly more than shadows. Loki did most of his studying and practicing alone, sometimes with Frigga, but still his exhaustion and absences drew attention and remarks.

"If the Mischief-Maker put as much effort into a sword as he puts into a book, I imagine that he could even defeat me!" Fandral said one day after beating Loki in a fencing match. Loki responded with a cloud of smoke that turned the warrior's boasts into coughs.

"It is no concern of yours how he chooses to spend his time," Thor said to Fandral once he had stopped choking.

The response surprised Loki; Thor had been the one who harassed him into practicing on the Warrior's Field that day. He dismissed it until after dinner that night, when Thor found him in the library. Loki was poring over ancient scrolls, his nose almost touching the page to discern the tiny, faded script.

"Mother is worried about you," Thor said. Although he did not speak at his usual volume, Loki jumped at the sound anyway. He had left the library door ajar, allowing the crown prince to enter more quietly.

Loki groaned and rubbed his eyes. "Is that the urgent news you've come to share?" he asked.

"I am, as well," Thor said. "It is not good to shut yourself up like this. You need light, and fresh air, and food. You hardly ate at dinner."

"It was sufficient. And you pestered me into exercise this morning—have you forgotten already?"

"You cannot live on so little company."

"My own company is enough for me, thank you."

Thor hesitated, while Loki continued to peer at the scroll. The dark-haired prince was not really reading, but merely waiting for his brother to leave. Instead, Thor pulled out the chair beside Loki and sat down at the table with him.

"We both know it is not," Thor said. "I know your hard work has to do with the Midgardian queen. But if you are not careful, you will bring harm upon yourself in your pursuits."

"And you would be heartbroken," Loki said bitterly. "You and Father, I suppose."

"Of course I would be," Thor said impatiently. "You are my brother, Loki, and I want to see you well—and happy, if you would allow yourself to be."

Loki sighed and finally turned toward Thor. "So you say—but would you help me?"

"With what?"

"If there are ways to reach other realms without the Bifrost, I mean to find them."

"You would still deny Father—your king?"

"Father has closed the Bifrost to me, but if there are other ways—"

"He ordered Heimdall not to let you depart this realm. However you may try to twist his words, you would be disobeying him, and I cannot help you in that."

"You think he was right, then," Loki said. "You think his sentence was wholly just and sensible."

"He did what he believed was right—what he thought he had to. I was your unwitting accomplice once, Loki, and it led to this very situation in which you find yourself. I will not do it willingly now."

"So I thought," Loki said, turning back to the scroll. Thor did not take the hint.

"I know you wish to see her again. If I could make it happen with Father's consent, I would. But we cannot change his mind."

"And I suppose you've tried," Loki said.

"I have," Thor said. "Mother, too. He will not relent—but we have tried. I will try again, if you wish."

The younger prince looked at his brother again, a moment before he could hide his surprise. Thor's face was serious, with not a hint of mockery in those bright blue eyes. Loki knew that Frigga had tried to get the king to take back his decree. He would not have expected Thor to care enough to make any attempt to sway him, though.

"Thank you," Loki murmured.

Thor smiled sadly. "When I am king, I promise that I will restore your privileges."

"Will you also restore the time?" Loki asked. "A thousand years on Midgard may have passed by then."

"I fear that is beyond my power," Thor said, standing up. "Perhaps you will find a spell to do so in those scrolls of yours." He slapped Loki on the back and, chuckling, left the room.

In the weeks that followed, Thor seemed to take Loki's thanks as encouragement, and kept pressuring him into spending more time outside, or in the company of others, or both. He tried to distract Loki from his research and practice, until Loki resolved to put himself at an even greater distance. He woke early one morning and went to the stables, saddled a horse, and rode through forests, across open fields, and into the mountains.

He finally dismounted near a tributary of Asgard's great river, where the shore was lined with rocks that eventually gave way to great boulders. The boulders themselves had tumbled from the mountains and cliffs that towered over the water. The air was different here—a little thinner, at a higher elevation, but richer for being so far from the city. Loki had only passed two small villages in the last few hours. Here was a place he would be alone and undisturbed.

Loki watched his horse nose around in the thin grass and wondered if he could turn it into a person. He had managed the reverse on himself. It seemed cruel, though, after the beast had so patiently borne his weight and exhausted itself carrying him this far. Instead, Loki turned away to take in his surroundings. He shaded his eyes and peered up at a cliff on the other side of the river. Something was cut into the rock, but he could not tell if it was a cave or just a small recess. He could not reach it on his own, but…

Grinning, he saw another opportunity for practice. He took a breath and gathered his energy, focusing on the opposite shore. Finally, shimmering like a mist, he saw his own form appear. As he concentrated, the second form grew clearer, until it looked like the real thing—at least at that distance.

Suddenly, Loki was transported, finding himself standing beneath the cliff, his consciousness now residing in the duplicate he had made. The first, original Loki dissolved. Across the water, his horse continued to graze as though nothing had happened.

Loki glanced around in a daze, touching his own arms and chest and face to make sure they were real. When he was certain, he laughed aloud. It sounded strange, reverberating against the rock and over the water. Everything about him felt the same, but he was not sure how he had managed what he just did.

He twisted his head and body to look up at the rock above him. From where he stood, that space did look like a cave. Once again, he concentrated, and saw himself appear at the entrance. A few more minutes, and again the real Loki changed places with the vision, and his twin faded away.

He was standing at the very edge of the mountainside, just inside the mouth of what appeared to be a very large cave indeed. When he turned to peer into its depths, he saw a light shining far away.

It seemed as though he was alone. Loki took several hesitant steps forward. The space was tall, but it was narrow. Not so narrow that he could span it with his arms, but nearly. As he continued, he saw that the light within the cave was coming from a series of silvery cracks in the rock. Some of them were shining steadily; others flickered like sputtering candles. Further in, he saw cracks not only in the cave walls, but in the floor. The spaces widened, until he had to jump from one chunk of floor to the other.

As he grew accustomed to the light shining out of the crevices, Loki began to see between the spaces, and was astonished by what he found. Like supernatural keyholes, peering through the gaps in the rock yielded a sight, not of another cavern room, but of other worlds entirely. Through one space, he saw a dark, barren tundra. Another crack in the wall showed a vast ocean, and another a pool of red lava. Several spaces were wide enough for him to squeeze through. What would happen if he did?

The next gap in the floor was almost too wide for him to jump across. Loki thought about duplicating himself again to reach the other side, until he looked down into the chasm. He saw only grass and some trees, but there was something familiar about it. He crouched down to the floor, his head hanging over the edge. He made out several hills and valleys, and what looked like a town. There was even a castle.

He sucked in his breath, not daring to believe his eyes. He recognized the castle—he had seen it a hundred times before.

Whether the sight came from magic or madness, Loki had to know. He took a deep breath, pushed himself off the edge, and tumbled through the air toward the earth—and Arendelle.