A nascent Danish liberal and national movement gained momentum in the 1830s; after the European Revolutions of 1848, Denmark peacefully became a constitutional monarchy on 5 June 1849.
King Christian VIII, a moderate reformer but still an absolutist, died in January 1848 during a period of rising opposition from farmers and liberals. The demands for constitutional monarchy, led by the National Liberals, ended with a popular march to Christiansborg on March 21. The new king, Frederick VII, met the liberals' demands and installed a new Cabinet that included prominent leaders of the National Liberal Party.
The national-liberal movement wanted to abolish absolutism, but retain a strongly centralized state. The king accepted a new constitution agreeing to share power with a bicameral parliament called the Rigsdag. Although army officers were dissatisfied, they accepted the new arrangement which, in contrast to the rest of Europe, was not overturned by reactionaries.
Author's Notes: This plot idea is based on actual history, with my usual fudging of dates, names, and places to suit my own nefarious purposes. Bonus points if you can guess where I got the assassination idea from (hint: the attempt on another tyrant's life was a famous failure).
Contains references to Les Misérables (it happened in this fic) as well as a horribly simplified description of the Victorian government.
Elsa opened her eyes once light began to filter through the window, not having slept a wink. Already she could hear Anna's footsteps thundering through the corridors.
She hadn't much rest. She had been run ragged physically and mentally, juggling celebration plans for the kingdom and doing the actual celebrating. Elsa had consumed her weight in alcohol and sugar in the process.
Maybe it was an exaggeration, but the slightest movement sent twinges running through her head. With a discipline from long years of practice, the queen got out of bed and poured herself some water from the jug on the nightstand – just as a flurry of pounding sounded from her door.
"Come in, Anna," she said without looking up.
It exploded, letting in an auburn-haired whirlwind of giggly activity. "God Jul, Elsa!"
"God Jul, Anna." Anna was kind enough to hold back until Elsa had set down her cup, and then the queen was enveloped in an enthusiastic hug that was mostly messy hair. "You look a fright," said the queen, half-exasperated, half-teasing, patting her younger sister's back. "Have you looked in the mirror yet?"
"Nope. I don't want to scare myself this early in the morning." Anna let go of her sister, fetching Elsa's hairbrush from the dresser and plopping herself on the bed, sitting cross-legged like a child. "Brush my hair? You're best at getting the tangles out and you don't pull."
"Ordering your queen about first thing in the morning," said Elsa dryly. "Of all the nerve." Despite her words, she was already running her fingers through Anna's mane. The princess hummed in delight.
"Between you and me, the queen is a big softie," responded Anna in a conspiratorial whisper, yelping when her sister tugged on her hair playfully.
"I may be a softie, but I know for a fact that you disappeared with Kristoff last night."
Anna shrugged. "If you were hoping to guilt me into a confession, my conscience is clear. Nothing happened that Gerda would lecture me on. As usual, he tried to dissuade me from doing anything fun, and then he sent me to my room in disgrace." She turned her head, ignoring Elsa's sounds of protest, and added, "I think you had more fun than I did, though."
The queen nearly dropped the brush, but recovered her composure quickly enough. "… I have no idea what you're talking about."
"You're blushing."
"I'm not!"
"Yes, you are. You're such a liar." Anna sounded smug.
Elsa lowered her head, brushing the same patch of hair over and over again, her face going from pink to magenta. She remembered the events of last night with clarity – every moment treasured and stored in her heart. There was nothing to be embarrassed about, nothing to hide from Anna, and yet it felt strange to say it aloud, to confirm it had really happened and it wasn't some dream.
She'd melted when he said those three words, in a setting worthy of torrid romance fiction writing. He'd been sincere, something Elsa wouldn't normally associate with Hans – wonderful, maddening, inscrutable Hans – but there it was. If she was being honest with herself, the queen had dreaded hearing it from him, and saying it in turn. They'd toyed with the idea of mutual affection for far too long.
Anna waited patiently throughout the prolonged silence. "Are you quite done daydreaming about Prince Haaaaaaans?" she said, sotto voce, sniggering when Elsa's hands stilled.
"I am not daydreaming," replied the queen tartly, setting aside the hairbrush to gather Anna's hair into a single braid.
"Whatever you say."
Elsa finished securing the bun in place. She had been tempted to tug on Anna's hair in retaliation but thought it beneath her.
The smug expression on the princess' face – so reminiscent of Hans at his most annoying – made her change her mind. Snatching up the scarf from her bedside table, she looped it around Anna's face, neatly covering her mouth. "There. All done."
Anna had squeaked indignantly but made no move to stop her sister. Muffled giggling followed Elsa as she went to her wardrobe.
The Jul celebrations in the castle – as opposed to those in the town yesterday – were much quieter. The sisters nursed mugs of hot chocolate over a late breakfast in the dining room. Kristoff was absent; he had set out for the trolls' valley early that morning to visit his family for Jul, but had left word he would be back in the afternoon.
"Not long now, then," said Anna. Elsa snorted.
The princess drained her mug, licking the last drops from her lips. "Hey, Elsa…?"
"Yes, we can build a snowman. Yes, you are getting predictable. No, I'm not a stinker, thank you very much."
Anna made huffing noises, gathering steam for a rant. "Outside," she said at length, pushing her chair away, "we'll settle this with a snowball fight!"
Judging from the squeals and wet smacking sounds from the courtyard, Carl guessed that the royal sisters didn't want to be disturbed. He continued on past the window.
The girl Brigit – gone from the castle just when she'd showed her hand. No close friends, no family to speak of. Carl strode down the hallways, lost in thought –
– and froze mid-step when a dagger pressed on his throat.
"Don't move. Don't make a sound." The blade drew a bead of blood; Carl grimaced but complied.
"Come with me."
The guard grunted.
Jul in the Southern Isles wasn't as large a celebration as it was in Arendelle, but it was a state holiday nonetheless. Eirik watched the ships in the harbor idly, back towards the door.
A creak, then the sound of footsteps approaching drew his attention back to his immediate surroundings. "It's about time you reported," said Eirik sharply.
"I beg your pardon," replied the spymaster. "I have valuable information that will justify the delay."
He withdrew a rolled-up piece of paper from his cloak, setting it on the desk and unrolling it slowly. The king leaned closer to examine the map that was being revealed, inch by inch.
At the very end, on top of the representation of Arendelle, lay a dagger.
Eirik frowned. "What – "
The spymaster snatched up the weapon and drove it into Eirik's chest. The man coughed, sinking back into his chair, hand clutching at the knife in surprise.
"After so long – why now?"
"You know what you did to deserve this."
Eirik smiled, lips twitching to let blood dribble down his chin. He arranged his hands in his lap. "I did what you would have done, if you were in my place."
"I would not have sacrificed family."
"Oh, is this what this was for? Revenge?"
The other man shook his head. "Revenge is for the short-sighted. Which, technically, would include you, since you made a fatal mistake in your calculations."
The dying king sighed. "I was careless, yes." He punctuated the sentence with a bubbling cough.
"And now you are dead."
"So it seems."
"Give my regards to Haakon."
"We'll be waiting for you in hell." Eirik chuckled once, the sound trailing away into a wet gurgle.
Carl was only a little surprised to see the man waiting for him in the room. "Field Marshal de Falsen." He glanced to the side as his captor left the room. "You could have sent a simple message," added the guard scathingly, rubbing at the small cut on his neck.
The councilman's grey eyes drifted over to him. "You're one of the castle guards," he said.
"Appointed by the queen herself."
de Falsen waved a hand dismissively. "You're investigating the attack on Westergaard, aren't you?"
"Of course."
"But the investigation was not assigned to you." The marshal's stare turned flinty. "Unless you're poking your nose where it doesn't belong."
"Ah, so that's the reason for the violence," said Carl. "Field Marshal, you're not doing yourself any favours by accosting me like this, not to mention threatening me."
"My loyalty to the Crown is unquestionable. Your little investigation should have uncovered that by now."
"Along with the spies."
"Spies?"
Carl watched de Falsen's face carefully but the councilman's expression gave nothing away. "The spies who were behind the attack on the prince."
"Former prince."
"It is my duty to find out what I can." Carl knew he was on thin ice by speaking to his superior so disrespectfully but in his mind, de Falsen had lost all claim to that respect.
"I know about Brigit, Egilsson," said de Falsen, surprising Carl. "The girl disappeared, together with her accomplice, after the attack."
"Your spy network is impressive. It's a pity we weren't able to capture the people responsible."
"Brigit works for me."
"… What?"
The field marshal tucked both hands behind his back. "I know what you're thinking, Egilsson. Brigit serves the Crown of Arendelle. She and her fellow spies have been instrumental in protecting the Queen and her – " here de Falsen sneered deliberately, " – advisor. I'm telling you this to save you time and effort in looking for the girl. Though we haven't caught the actual perpetrators, I'm sure you know their nationalities."
Carl was silent.
"Can I count on your help? I may not approve of your master, but I know my duty, as I hope you do."
"... What do you need me to do?"
The black-edged envelope was on top of the pile of correspondence on Elsa's desk. The queen glanced at Hans when he entered the office.
"It's from the Southern Isles," she said worriedly. "I haven't opened it yet."
He slit it open and scanned the official letter. "King Eirik is dead."
Elsa glanced at him, but remained silent.
There was something else inside the envelope. Hans pulled out the note, holding it so she could read with him. It was from Frederik, and requested Hans' presence in the Southern Isles as soon as possible.
Elsa finished reading first. Hans could feel her waiting beside him.
"I think you shouldn't go."
"I need to go."
Both blinked, having spoken at the same time. "Hans," she started softly, "it's too convenient. I think there's something going on."
"So do I."
"Then?" Elsa watched his gaze drop, biting her lower lip. "I – it's too dangerous."
"I know." He didn't feel like talking in complete sentences; not when she was so good at reading him – and since when had she started doing that? – and anyway, it was impossible to force the words around the lump in his throat. "Elsa, I understand what you're feeling, but – he's my brother." Hans didn't specify which he was talking about.
She took a deep breath, finally nodding jerkily. "… Take the Dreki. It's the fastest ship we have. If you'll find Kai for me, I can send Lindor a message to fit it for you – " And she had to stop talking, because he was gazing at her in a way that was making it hard for her to breathe. Elsa closed her eyes. "Just... don't make this harder than it has to be. Go."
The queen felt rather than heard the rustle of his clothing at her side, then his voice in her ear: "I'll come back as soon as I can." Hands cupped her face, lips touched her forehead.
When she finally opened her eyes, she was alone.
Something was wrong. As they approached the Southern Isles' main harbor, Hans noticed there were no black drapes, no signs of mourning. A deep sense of foreboding filled him and he instructed the crew to take down Arendelle's flags and colours.
There was a welcoming committee at the dock; no sooner than when the gangplank was down, soldiers marched onboard. "Who are you?" demanded their black-cloaked leader.
"… Hans Westergaard from the house of Liljecrantz."
They said nothing.
"You know my face."
Silence.
Hans lifted his pants leg with a sound of exasperation, showing them his prosthetic leg.
The leader nodded. "Come with me, Your Highness. Just you," added the man pointedly when some of the crew stepped forward.
"Stay with the ship. I'll be back shortly," commanded Hans, hoping he sounded confident. He allowed the soldiers to escort him off the ship, hurrying him as much as his leg would allow.
Frederik was waiting for him outside the main doors of the castle. "I'm glad you came," murmured the elder prince, clasping his brother's hand.
"You wanted to see me urgently."
"I do. I need to talk with you." The doors slammed shut behind them. Hans noticed they were alone.
"Where are the guards?"
"Reassigned," said Frederik shortly, ushering Hans down a hallway. Their footsteps echoed with the ring of complete solitude, something Hans found familiar from his time in Arendelle. "This way."
They were in Frederik's study. The door clicked shut behind them, and Frederik crossed the room to draw the curtains.
"Frederik, what's going on? Why haven't you announced Eirik's death?" asked Hans sharply – because the need for secrecy was suddenly apparent, as was his elder brother's behavior.
Frederik smiled thinly. "Astute, as always." He lit a candle, motioning for Hans to sit, taking the chair on his right. "Nobody knows except a few trusted members of the castle guard, myself, and you. Presumably your queen as well," added Frederik.
Hans ignored the last statement. "Why?"
"He died only last night. I haven't yet finished my preparations."
"Last night…? Then, your letter?"
"I had it prepared beforehand so I could get you here as soon as possible," said the older man, "and my agent had very specific instructions on when it was to reach you."
Hans arched an eyebrow. "I believe you are about to announce something groundbreaking, then."
"Yes. Eirik was assassinated."
"Really, I'm not surprised. Our brother was too bloodthirsty."
"I'll ignore that last comment. Your lack of remorse is astounding. One would think you were involved somehow."
Hans smiled thinly. "So you'll be king now?"
"Eirik had no sons."
It was too convenient.
"My condolences and congratulations. So it was you, all along?" asked Hans.
"That implies you think I was responsible for our brothers' plot against you." Frederik shook his head, avoiding the question. "No, Eirik and Haakon were the sole masterminds behind that. I had nothing to do with it."
"You must have known what they were planning; besides, you know that's not what I meant."
"I knew barely enough. Though I was spymaster, Eirik was paranoid enough to make sure everyone around him didn't know the full scale of things." Frederik crossed his arms over his chest. "I have my agents everywhere, as a good spymaster does. They were there to keep you safe from whatever Eirik was trying to do. He wanted you dead, by the way."
"Good to know you were protecting me."
"Yes, things turned out rather well, don't you think? Eirik suspected me, of course – he never actually trusted anyone in his life, not even his family – but it was easy to sacrifice a few pawns to keep him happy. Make a few convincing attempts on your life to convince him – a pity they ultimately failed."
"And then something happened that made him start to suspect you."
"Nothing of that sort, I'm too cunning for that," said Frederik with a degree of pride. "No, I simply got tired of ruling from the shadows."
"Oh, so you did kill him." Ice ran through Hans' veins in spite of his flippant tone. He had expected imprisonment or even banishment; he wasn't expecting a fate that dire for a crowned king.
"Of course."
"How does that make you better than Eirik?"
"It doesn't." The older man's face grew solemn. "We are Westergaards, Hans. Murder runs in our blood – as I'm sure you know."
"I don't – "
"Oh, I'm sure you know what I mean. Along with charm, another family trait of ours, bloodthirstiness is hard to deny, isn't it? Look at where it's gotten you." He spread his hands, laughed derisively. "A second shot at a throne – incidentally, more than you deserve, given the sloppiness of the first. An ice witch at your beck and call."
"Don't talk about Elsa like that," growled Hans.
"Why not? Isn't it the truth?"
Once upon a time, perhaps. His lip curled in disgust at the thought of it now.
"Enough talking. So what happens now?" Hans' grip on his sword tightened. "You'll kill me?"
"No."
"Why not? You didn't have any qualms killing our brother. God alone knows what part you played in Haakon's death."
"I have no quarrel with you," explained Frederik calmly. "I've done what needed to be done, and I certainly don't crave killing for the sake of killing. With our eldest brother dead without an heir, the throne falls to me, the second son."
"So you'll keep me alive until I outlive my usefulness?"
"Don't be stupid. You have the protection of a woman who wields ice powers, and the kingdom she rules. I need you alive to keep her happy."
Hans wanted to ask whether there was any fraternal affection involved in that decision, but knew better than to ask a Westergaard. "What now, then?"
"With the death of the king who attacked Arendelle, Queen Elsa can declare the feud satisfied and our kingdoms can look into reestablishing our alliance – made stronger by marriage, perhaps? A prince of the Southern Isles, brother to the king. I'll be brother-in-law to the Snow Queen."
"An exiled and disgraced prince," said Hans, for the sole purpose of irritating Frederik.
"Exiled and disgraced by the late King Eirik, and reinstated by King Frederik. The second brother was always fond of the youngest, and had protested King Eirik's decision to no avail."
Hans said nothing. A distant part of him admired how well Frederik had orchestrated things.
"To Eirik, you were more valuable dead. To me, you are much, much more valuable alive."
"It's heartening to know you value our family ties," commented Hans.
"When they suit my purposes," came the cold reply.
"How can I trust that your purposes remain the same?"
"You ought to. You'll sleep better at night." Frederik stood, clasping Hans' shoulder; it took the younger man a great deal of effort not to recoil. "Now, I don't need you around. It'll be too suspicious if you were to appear in public after Eirik's death. My men will escort you back to your ship – I've already had it resupplied – and you will leave immediately. You will not talk to anyone, you will not let anyone see you. My spies are everywhere, I will know. Is that understood?"
Hans nodded once.
Frederik chuckled. "I see you have a question, brother."
"It's not really a question."
"Excuse my presumptuousness, but I'll go ahead and answer it." The older man leaned closer. "Yes, quite a few of Arendelle's men aren't exactly that." Frederik backed away a step. "Don't investigate too closely, and call your man off. Just do as you normally would. Have a good trip home, Hans."
Hans' blood ran cold.
He didn't remember boarding the ship. Everything Frederik had said was, simultaneously, a lot and nothing at all to digest.
Frederik, proving himself just as ambitious as the rest, had shown his hand as Eirik's spymaster, acting both for and against him in Arendelle. Goodness knew how many people worked for his brother. The only reason he was still alive right now was because of Elsa.
Elsa.
He didn't deserve her in the first place – and now, she was in danger because of him. Him and his accursed brothers. A bitter smile twisted his mouth. Hans knew he had to protect her from himself, if necessary – and just as quickly quashed the thought. She would kill him herself if she knew he was trying to be noble.
The Dreki made good time, catching the wind easily.
To Hans' surprise, Anna was at the harbor when they docked. "Uh, I'm not specifically here for you," she said hastily, adding a small awkward cough. "I'm meeting Kristoff later. You surprised me, actually; Elsa said you probably wouldn't be back for a while, she said you had some business to take care of." The princess shuffled a bit. "I, uhm, Elsa told me about your brother and I'm sorry for your loss – even though he was kinda a jerk. But he was still your brother."
He smiled. "Thank you. I appreciate it."
Anna seemed to relax. "Okay. Great. Yep. I'll just… go now."
"Anna?"
"Yeah?"
"Watch out for the pole behind you."
"… I don't know whether to thank you because I definitely did not see that, or punch you again for embarrassing me."
Hans managed a laugh.
He knocked on Elsa's study and let himself in without waiting for her acknowledgment. The queen turned white when she looked up and saw him.
"You're back."
"I said I would." Hans let her wrap her arms around him, resting his head against her hair, letting himself become lost in the moment. His hands rubbed at her shoulders soothingly. "You feel thinner."
Elsa pulled away, frowning. "That's physically impossible, it's only been a week."
Instead of smiling as he normally would have done, Hans nodded tightly.
"Is something wrong? What happened?"
He took a long, calming breath, and recounted his conversation with Frederik. Elsa watched him carefully throughout, her expression never losing its tension.
"You see how it is," said Hans baldly at the end. "We're damned if we do, and damned if we don't."
Elsa nodded. "At the very least our position is secure; I already have people watching Frederik's men here," she said, smiling suddenly when he quirked an eyebrow. "What? I'm not obliged to show you all my cards."
"All of them? How can you be sure?"
"How can you be sure?" she fired back. "I'm not completely ignorant of what goes on, you know."
Hans sighed. He touched her hand in a gesture of apology. "Yes. I know. You're right. As expected of you, my queen. But while not a direct threat, Frederik is a threat nonetheless. He won't be as open as Eirik was, but if he has something he wants…"
"I'm not going to bow to his whims," said Elsa sharply.
"I'm not saying you will. I am just saying that he can't be left alone. He has to be removed, as quickly and cleanly as possible."
She stared at him. "Hans, you are talking about your brother."
"There are plenty more where they came from."
Elsa frowned.
"But that's besides the point. Elsa, I don't doubt your capabilities, nor that of Arendelle. I just don't want things to reach that far. Innocent people will get hurt or killed. I have to stop him."
"You have to stop him?"
"You can't be involved with dirty foreign politics. You're a queen."
"Queens have people to command," she said.
"People who can be traced back to you. Look at Haakon. Eirik couldn't do anything openly once he was exposed. You'll risk your reputation, especially when Frederik's involved; he'll spread his propaganda as quick as lightning."
She bit on her lower lip, brow furrowed.
"I have thought of something, though," he said casually.
The queen must have seen the flicker in his eyes, because her cold demeanour eased. "Yes?" she asked gently.
"I return to the Southern Isles. Lead a rebellion against Frederik in the name of the murdered rightful King Eirik," Hans saw her flinch slightly, "and overthrow him."
"And make yourself king?"
"No. I'd establish a new government without a king."
"What?"
"The people have been suffering under a tyrannical king for decades – my family have not been exemplary monarchs like your ancestors, Elsa. I know Eirik – and my father before him, and his father – have been resisting men with dangerous ideas throughout their reigns. Men who think the people should be responsible for ruling themselves, without a king above them. A council chosen by the commoners to rule themselves."
The fear in her eyes was deep-seated. Elsa, herself already a groundbreaking and courageous young woman – despite the burdens she bore – was terrified of the treasonous words he spoke.
"I got the idea after you talked about sending me to the British Empire," he said with a small smile. "They have a similar system in place, though they've still retained their monarchy. A queen regnant, just like you."
She didn't return his smile.
"I know it is dangerous," said Hans. "It could infect neighbouring kingdoms – even threaten Arendelle and you."
Elsa chewed on her lower lip. "I've read about the ideas of the ancient Greeks. Their concepts of self-governance."
"Risky reading for a princess."
She smiled wanly. After a lengthy pause, Elsa said, "You plan to take your brother's throne."
The soft words cut deeply. "That's the plan, yes." Hans was scared of what she would say next.
"Isn't that what you've always wanted? There wouldn't be anything stopping you from becoming king yourself." The flicker in her eyes hinted at what Elsa was deliberately not saying aloud, but he got the message.
Yes. No. I don't know. His priorities had wavered wildly, from selfish to selfless and back again, and now Hans was hard-pressed to say what he wanted at this moment in time. He was terrified of saying one thing and being aware he was lying to himself.
Elsa knew it too. She was looking past him, her expression stoic.
Hans' lips moved. "I thought I knew what I wanted, once," he said. "So many things have changed since then." He looked down at their entwined fingers. "You're the only thing that has remained constant."
She smiled a little at that.
"I think I have always wanted to be a king. That's been a part of me since I was a child, and maybe even before that." The words stuck in his throat; he, who prided himself on being eloquent, was embarrassingly tongue-tied when it mattered most. "I wouldn't be myself if that was taken from me."
What was it he wanted – as opposed to what it was he needed? It made things frighteningly clear. Hans embraced the discomfort. It had been a constant since the day he arrived in Arendelle for the first time. "But now, more than anything, I want to be worthy of you." A wry smile. "I don't want see myself as I am now, but through your eyes, and I want to like what I see."
Elsa waited.
"I think," said Hans haltingly, "what I have with you is what I've only ever needed – and should have wanted – all this time."
Her smile was heartbreakingly beautiful now. Elsa looked at him with a tenderness that made him smile back, his heart swelling with every beat, even as her eyes filled with tears. She – bless her – had already deduced what he was going to add.
She trusted him. It broke his heart.
"I don't know if I will come back."
"I know." She pulled her hand from his.
Elsa's composure, as always, was remarkable. She sat very straight and still, her hands clenched in her lap, chin held high. Her eyes swam with mixed emotions. She said nothing. There was nothing to be said.
"I can't let Frederik go on like this."
"I know."
"Elsa…"
"I know you need to do this," she said, interrupting whatever he was going to say, "but that doesn't make it any easier for me."
"I understand."
"So do I. That's why it's so hard."
"My prince," said Carl. "Let me come with you."
Hans raised an eyebrow. "You shouldn't be calling me that anymore, you know."
The guard brushed the words off. "You need Benedikt's and my contacts. We can help you get the attention of the right people."
"I only need Benedikt with me."
"You're risking everything," persisted Carl. "We only have one chance at this."
Hans' shoulders tightened, fists clenched at his sides. "I need you here with Elsa," he bit out, "because I can't be."
Carl didn't even flinch. "No, you need me to make sure you come back."
He left without fanfare to prevent suspicions from being raised. Elsa told her council he was on a diplomatic mission and left it at that; they knew better to pry in their queen's plans.
She was left alone in her study with the large folio of Shakespeare's writings, and the words were hollow and dead without his company.
Carl, as it turned out, had many contacts in the underworld from his time as a mercenary ("The less I tell you about them, the safer we sleep at night," he said gravely). They were no company for royalty, but Hans had shed his identity for this undertaking.
"We have fallen rather low," observed the prince after their companions had left to carry out their tasks.
Carl cackled. "Associating with thieves and liars? Sad indeed."
"Frankly speaking, it wouldn't have been so far a drop for me." Hans' expression hardened. "If we are going to succeed, we must do it properly. I've heard of the students' uprising in Paris."
"They were doomed to fail from the start. If you're not going to get your hands dirty, ideals can only get you so far." Though the words were scornful, Hans could tell that Carl couldn't help but sympathise with the tragedy of it all. "The leader was a fine young man, though. That survivor wrote a memoir with some of his speeches. Stirring stuff."
"Speeches won't put bread on your table."
"Nor guns in the arsenal, or men under your banner," said Carl, sounding bored. "Children playing dangerous games."
"We aren't playing a game, and we are not children." Hans' eyes blazed. "We have to succeed."
He was seated as his desk, going through the papers and letters, planning their next step, when something alighted on his windowsill. Hans cursed – he had left the window open for fresh air – and had his dagger out before getting a good look at the intruder.
A snow-white pigeon cocked its head to the side, appraising him with a beady eye.
Ice-blue.
He knew. Hans' arm dropped to his side. "Elsa?"
The bird cooed and held out a leg, revealing the scrap of paper tied there. He undid the ribbon with slightly shaky fingers.
I'm sorry. I miss you.
He crushed the scrap into his palm, rubbing it into a tight ball, stuffing it into his pocket. The pigeon hadn't moved from its place by the time Hans returned to the window.
"You're – you… don't talk, do you?"
It continued to appraise him. Hans chuckled. "I guess not. Okay. I, uh, don't have a reply for whoever sent you." He reached out a hand, stroked the bird's head with a finger, pulling a face as he did so. "Whoa. Cold. I should have guessed."
"I don't have a message for you to take back," he told the pigeon with a rueful look. It flapped its wings and was gone.
Hans didn't need to know the name of the people he was supposed to meet that evening. Carl and Benedikt had made the necessary arrangements, and all they would tell him was that their backgrounds were very diverse.
"Convince them what we're doing is the right thing," Carl had said, and then left Hans in the corner of the tavern.
The clock ticked past the eighth hour. The tavern started to fill up with people and noise. Hans tugged self-consciously at the collar of his shirt.
"Don't you want a drink?" he asked the man who had just seated himself at the table like he belonged there.
"The ale here is terrible. I want to be sober for this," grunted the newcomer.
More men arrived, one by one. Some carried flagons, others had their hands folded on the table.
"There's more of you than expected," said Hans after a pause.
"Your message was intriguing. Word might have spread."
"People have died for lesser things," added another man.
The prince said nothing, eyes darting back and forth, assessing their surroundings. The tavern, despite its size, was packed with customers making the most of the night before a public holiday. "I assume we all know what we're here to discuss tonight."
"Of course, but what we're more interested in is how you're going to do it." One of the men, his face hidden by a hood, leaned forward urgently. "This is not a game. We risk our lives already being here tonight."
"And how sure can we be that you are to be trusted?" asked another. "How do we know you aren't a spy for the king?" Hisses of agreement sounded around the table.
"This is only a friendly meeting of like-minded people," said Hans, "who are… not happy with the way the new king has usurped power. People who aren't willing to sit down and let the country run into ruin. People who are risking everything to make things right. We recognize that you are all here tonight at great personal risk. Nothing is to be done tonight. We are here to talk." He looked each man in the eye. "And I assure you I'm not from the king." Hans straightened up in his seat, pulled his collar down.
"Prince Hans." There was a murmur spreading around the group.
The first man remained unconvinced. "You could be one of the other princes impersonating him."
Hans rolled up his pants leg. "Any of my brothers would have to be a very dedicated spy to fake this. Do you need further proof?"
"No, we are satisfied." Nodding, general consensus. "So, Your Highness, what can we do for you?"
"You know what I want from you. Your ears, your loyalty, most of all, and – of course – your silence."
"Go on."
It quickly became apparent that there had to be a king, if only in name.
A government without a monarch was too radical and terrifying an idea for the other men to accept, and so Hans adopted an existing model of the constitutional monarch. The idea was still revolutionary – the people still had a say in the king's decisions – but it wasn't as though there was no precedent. The British Empire, the driving force of the modern civilized world, had set the standard already. The elected representatives, previously lesser in status to the nobles, had been reformed only a couple of years before.
Overthrowing monarchies was a time-honoured tradition, but immediately installing a constitutional monarch? That left him the problem of finding someone to be installed as a figurehead king.
Hans had his work cut out for him. It was entirely possible – even though Eirik had not reigned long, and his actions were notorious with his people, the sudden coronation of King Frederik had the common people talking. Frederik had done his best to appease them. There were public holidays and largesse and minor concessions of power to the cabinet; gestures that showed a lot and did absolutely nothing.
Hans had to smile. His brother had always been the one most taken by the Greek and Roman classics.
Elsa's plans for him meant that Hans had a good grounding in British government and legislature, providing him with the knowledge of drafting a functioning constitution. He'd even gone a step further and learned from the British Empire's upstart children, the United States of America, and their journey of nation-building.
But to institute such earth-shattering change needed solid support. The failures of the French Revolution were a constant reminder of what awaited them all if they failed.
If he failed.
Creating other life forms more complex than animated snowmen was the latest in Elsa's repertoire. Anna squealed in delight as an arctic fox ran around her ankles, chasing after a snow hare. "Again! Do it again!"
"We've been at it for an hour," said Elsa.
"Please?"
"Oh, fine." The queen waved her hands, bringing doves into existence. Anna laughed as they flew overhead, shedding snowflakes over them both.
"You should try people next," said Anna, holding out her hand and letting a dove alight. "Hey, that's not for you." She wrinkled her nose, batting at it, and it dissolved back into snow. "Where was I? Oh, yeah. Wouldn't it be cool if you could make snow versions of us? You could put snow Elsa in the study while we sneak off somewhere."
"It's nice to know you think of my powers as the means of shirking responsibility," said the queen dryly. A flick of her wrist sent an icy draft down Anna's collar, making her shriek.
"At least it's better than using it to bully younger siblings," she shot back.
Normally, Elsa would have fired off a witty comeback or two. Now she merely nodded, reining in her powers. The fox and hare dissolved back into powder.
Anna bit her lip. "Hey," she said softly, sidling closer to her sister. "It's gonna be okay."
"How do you know that?" Elsa knew better than to pick a fight with Anna – the princess only ever had her best interests at heart – but she simply wasn't in the mood for that particular brand of optimism.
"I don't know absolutely for sure, but look at Hans. He survived being stabbed and falling into the sea. He got exiled and jailed." Anna counted on her fingers as she spoke. "I'm not even sure I included all the times he survived someone tried to murder him."
Elsa's voice was soft, vulnerable. "Your point being?"
Anna wrapped an arm around her sister's waist. "He wouldn't dare not succeed. Not when," she added fervently, "he's got you to come back to."
Her answering smile didn't waver.