**Slight edit to the end 12/18/13, 11:12 central.. Hope that might make it a bit more clear. I'm having a bit of a rough time putting my thoughts on paper with these more dramatic scenes. You said you wanted longer chapters, and I am nothing if not a spineless people pleaser.

...sarcasm...

Anyway, happy reading!

Xx Hayley

Despite her preoccupation with seeing him through every dance of the night, in an instant Elsa forgot about Marcus. The man who had stormed into the ballroom had thoroughly captured her attention.

He was heading straight for her, never mind that she was in the middle of waltzing with a prince. He had shoved the heavy oak doors open, one with each hand, like they were made of snow.

His walk was powerful, like he owned the place. Below his broad shoulders, his forearms were turned in a way so that his palms faced her, the way Elsa walked when she let her powers take over.

Elsa broke away from whichever prince she was still positioned to dance with. The music stopped abruptly. The council appeared to be panicked that this diplomat had not been announced.

He took her hand before either he or Elsa had spoken, and kissed the back, just as Marcus had, before lingering, his lips on the back of her silk glove, for longer than was appropriate. Who were these insane men that the council had elected to court her? "Tyr, King of Friedhelm."

Elsa felt the room give a silent gasp. Friedhelm shared the longest border with Arendelle and was their greatest, most necessary ally. "The king of Friedhelm is an elderly man," Elsa said, peering at the gorgeous young noble in front of her. He couldn't be more than thirty.

"A recent king, I am," he corrected. Elsa had her doubts, but what was she to do, throw him back to Friedhelm after he'd just been summoned to meet her? "May I have this dance?"

"It would be my pleasure," she said formally, extending her hand to him again.

He replied formally in return, "The pleasure is mine, Your Highness." This meant that she had completely changed the order of her calling card, but he was a king. She was socially obligated to dance with him alone for the rest of the evening if he so desired, not that it would take much persuasion. His shoulders were broad as Kristoff's but with a smaller waist. His hair was cropped short on the neck like a warrior, while the front remained full and golden blonde, contrasting the long fashion worn by the rest of the court.

When the dance, which Tyr had executed marvelously, was over, Elsa felt so overwhelmed. Either she would insult the king by ignoring him or insult all the other suitors at once by focusing her attention on the king. The nobility of Friedhelm and Arendelle had a long history. Even if she didn't go for the king, her children or Anna's would surely be set up with a suitor from Friedhelm. She would have to see him at international council at least once a year for the rest of her life.

So many high borne were seeking her hand that it would be unthinkable for her to choose a duke or even a prince too far removed from the throne. If she rejected crown princes, second-to-the-crown heirs, and kings, it would be the same as isolating Arendelle entirely. She glared at her council. What an atrocious idea this had been. They had set her up to do nothing but fail. What were they thinking, inviting a king?

The power restrained by her elbow length gloves was starting to glow icy blue through the fine white silk. Her breath caught in her throat. This was not going to be her coronation all over again. Uncaring for the suitors she had yet to acquaint, she slipped out through a side door and raced to the royal gardens. The gardens were behind the castle at a slightly lower elevation, but she could still see clearly the three-story high windows of the ballroom, lit up like square moons with skirts as comets, rhythmically twirling past.

The main feature of the garden was a massive and intricately carved labyrinth. She had heard that the original had been the work of mountain trolls, but the castle gardeners changed the path so often that no one could remember the original design. She walked into one of the many entrances and wound deeper into the maze, not far enough to get lost, but enough to feel completely alone. After the years she spent in isolation, she hadn't realized how alarming it was to be in a room full of people.

She stopped at random and closed her eyes, breathing in deeply. She stared down at her palms, whose frantic glow was beginning to wane. With her left hand she touched two fingers to the bridge of her nose, telling herself that she'd be ready to return inside in only a minute.

Softness exhaled behind her. "Is something wrong, darling?"

Elsa whipped around into an instant warrior's stance, as if about to freeze her opponent into eternity. Predictably, there stood Marcus, dressed to the nines with his palms up in surrender and that ever present smile playing across his lips.

"How did you get in here?" she demanded, not relaxing her attack pose.

He chuckled, smile wide, looking off at what appeared to be nothing. "This is a bunch of hedges trimmed into a circle. How could I not get in here?"

"Why are you here, then?" she persisted, slacking her arms down but keeping her high-heeled feet in ready position.

"Same as you, I suppose," he shrugged, "escaping the crowd."

How did he know that? She looked into his eyes, impossibly green, her own narrowed to make obvious her suspicion. "Elsa," he shook his head.

She snapped, eyes still narrowed, "What?"

"You intimidate me so much normally. You really don't have to try so hard now." Elsa blushed, inwardly, of course. She was wearing far too much powder for it to show either way. She felt silly for being suspicious of him. What had been her concern anyway, that he had followed her? He had come from deeper in the maze than she was. "How was your talk with Anna?"

That was not what she was expecting. She had not thought about the talk she had with her sister since this morning, what with her fretting over the guests. "It went decently at best. She isn't cross with me anymore."

"That's lovely," Marcus said, stepping closer as was his custom. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

"I suppose," Elsa trailed off, holding her elbows as if she were chilled, "but she's still unhappy about it. I don't care much how she feels about me if she's bothered by the past."

Marcus was standing behind her now. How he moved so silently was a mystery to Elsa. "What are you doing?"

He was closer still and still with his customary smirk. "Comforting you."

"I prefer to comfort myself," informed Elsa, making it sound like a challenge. "I prefer to be alone."

"I don't believe you," Marcus retorted, a lock of his slick black hair grazing her shoulder, exposed in her wide-necked gown.

"It's true," she turned to him. "I've been dealing with things alone for twenty-one years. I don't plan on changing now."

"Fine," he shook his head, the hair he'd tucked behind an ear falling in front of his face. "Suit yourself. I'll be at the ball in that crowded room full of strangers if you need me."

Elsa stared at his back as he walked away. It was such a perfect shape, strong shoulders tapering into a slender waist. The words "if you need me," were resonating in her head.

"Marcus, wait," she called as soon as he was out of sight. She heard his laugh, unrestrained as always. He was in front of her in a second. "What if you need me?"

His hands rested on her forearms. "I should've phrased that better, considering you don't need anyone. I'll be around if you want me." Great. Now something entirely different was ringing through her thoughts. If you want me. What was wrong with her?

"Elsa, can I see your hands?" She extended them, strangely distracted. You want me.

She snapped back to the present with the shock of feeling the air on her fingertips. She had no restraint. "Why do you keep taking off my gloves?"

He looked her straight in the eyes, their faces so close now that he was peering down to meet her gaze. "You don't need them," he explained almost fiercely.

"Yes, I do!" She did not hold anything back. "I am not in control. You should've seen me in there. I will not have my coronation again."

"You don't need them," he muttered as if admitting defeat, "I know you don't."

His unusual look startled Elsa. He actually looked dejected. Why did he care? Elsa had a weird urge to kiss his prominent cheekbone. If you want me.

It was then that Elsa realized that no matter if she did want Marcus, she could never marry him. No matter how much he accepted the thing that she hated, she had to choose a suitor of higher rank. It was her duty. She was furious at herself, at him for being so persistent, and especially at her situation.

Her fury, as it always had, made her lose her mind.

She grabbed the back of his neck, sharply, and pulled him to her lips.

He pulled back immediately. His shock was obvious. His neck was iced over, frozen.

"Oh, Marcus, I'm-," Elsa started to apologize, frantic.

Marcus got a look in his eyes she'd never seen before from anyone, somehow fierce, or hungry. He cradled her face in both hands and kissed her intensely, roughly. She'd never been kissed and never imagined it would be like this. If she couldn't have him as a suitor she was at least fortunate to know what it was like to kiss him.

"What is going on here?" Marcus and Elsa pushed away from each other, staring at the third party in the maze.

It was the king. Elsa's marriage prospects were doomed. "What is the meaning of this?" No one answered him. Elsa half-expected Marcus to defend her in some way. He said nothing but maintained a glare filled with so much hate it was almost terrifying.

"These are the kind of escapades reserved for after marriage, Your Highness," the king said, stepping closer to Elsa.

Too bad I can never marry him, thought Elsa.

"That's quite enough of speaking this way to a queen. I don't care who you are," Marcus said, turning to leave as though he expected Elsa to follow him.

She did not leave, not yet. She could not risk offending the king. "I am not familiar with these matters," she informed him bleakly, regal as always.

"You should be aware," the king said, moving uncomfortably close to her now. She looked down the path for help or clarity or whatever she was seeking, but Marcus was out of sight. She was not sure what the king intended. She was not sure what she thought he intended, either. But the anxiety she was feeling overtook her composure. Frost pulsed through her veins to her palms, and speared his leg with a lethally sharp shard of ice.

She gasped. Her mind felt paralyzed, but her feet were certainly not. In what felt like seconds she was beyond the castle, beyond the town, among the trees, and free.

When she was adequately far from the havoc that she had most definitely wrought for her kingdom, she collapsed onto the grass.

In the distance she heard thunder. She saw flashes of lightening through her curtain of hair.

She counted the snowflakes, one by one, as they landed on her back.