Three months earlier...

Oh figs.

Hans' eyes were trained on Maurice as the French Prince spoke, sharing what was known, what wasn't, and the impact on the negotiation for surrender with Weaselton. Elsa had the benefit of watching Hans' mask slip into place in the blink of an eye, stoic and grim at the news of the crime as the Southern Isles delegation was informed of the Duke and Duchess' deaths. It was a fitting reaction to the news, truly – horrific and gruesome as it was.

But as Elsa quietly stood beside Maurice and before the group that was gathered, somewhat in shock herself, she had felt something tug at her, unsettled and suspicious. Then wondered why.

Why the need to raise the mask? Was she certain that is what she saw? Years have taught her that she's terrible at reading people, and her instincts are just as terrible - it was absolutely conceivable that Hans was managing a multitude of emotions in that moment; anger over the need for senseless war when this was the Duke of Weaselton's ultimate fate. Perhaps feeling some sort of grief and loss at hearing of the death of a woman who was, at one time, his lover. It was conceivable that he felt helplessness over the fact that he was unable to intervene, to stop senseless killing which stole lives and created more turmoil. And all this on top of the uncertainty that was about to ensue, shifting his life and world (he did not have quite the same insight that she had, but he recognized things will change – no longer serving Elsa and Arendelle) as a treaty was signed. Dealing with her own dark storm of emotions and the need to maintain formality, Elsa did not have opportunity to ask. And Hans did not offer.

And that was fine. She had thought.

However, it is not fine - for it is the same mask Hans wears now as a French detective, short in stature with a salt-and-pepper mustache and lips pulled thin, requests something of him, after having quietly pulled him aside from the others who had gathered in the drawing room just a few hours later that afternoon with Queens.

"Pardon, Queen Elsa," Maurice says quietly in her ear, "I fear my presence is need."

Elsa nods, eyes catching the angry shift of Hans' stance, shoulders squaring while he draws himself taller as Maurice approaches the men. Irritation flashes in Hans' expression as he snaps, "No," loud enough that she can hear the ire in his tone, his dark gaze intimidating and fixed on the detective. Maurice is the exact opposite; instead wearing a calm and imploring expression as he gestures with one hand towards the Queens, then places that hand gently on Hans' shoulder. It is a reassuring gesture. One of an old friend. There is a charismatic smile and something said to the detective that elicits a smirk from the older man. Within moments the group steps out and with it, Elsa's ability to ignore the suspicion Hans has raised. Elsa looks towards Queen Belle and Queen Alessandra, who are talking softly and evidently completely unaware of the worry Elsa feels.

What is going on?

The delegation from Weaselton arrived a day earlier, the Duke and Duchess not in custody yet as the terms of surrender had not been agreed upon; they were guests. Elsa had spent the prior evening playing cards with Hans and Maurice, enjoying a bottle of champagne to celebrate the occasion and laughing terribly hard (her stomach ached with the frequency of her chortling, each round of uncontrollable giggles ending in tears as she scolds them for their disgraceful behavior). There was no mention of the war, battles, the Duke of Weaselton, or of Anna-Marie.

No.

Hours were spent enjoying delightfully embarrassing stories of Maurice and Hans' antics over the years as they reminisced, Maurice offering Hans his side of the experiences he'd shared with Elsa over the last two years, Elsa trying to defend herself against some of his accusations that she's a stick-in-the-mud and needs to lighten up. She had shamelessly basked in the entire experience, the two men she holds dearest in her life (who were not family, that is) smiling and happy. Elsa couldn't help the anticipation of upcoming negations from pushing to the forefront of her thoughts – I can have this. I can choose to relinquish control of Weaselton to the Southern Isles. She caught herself imagining Hans by her side and a child in her womb, attending the Arendelle Ballet Theatre with Maurice and celebrating the success of it all with Phillipe by his side. A life of joy to be shared. Her mind would catch with each genuine smile offered, each paused moment when her eyes met Hans'.

I can have this – I want this.

She had parted ways with Hans at her chamber door, a lingered press of lips to her knuckles, a heated glance through dark lashes that told of his desire for passion. It was all Elsa could do to remain upright, knees weak as she breathlessly whispered, "Good night, my Heroic Prince." She fell asleep imagining the consequences of the words, Arendelle will relinquish control and authority of Weaselton to the Southern Isles – and the look on Hans' Queen Mother's face when Elsa demands (Elsa's lips pull a slight smirk at that) Hans' hand in marriage.

That was last night. She has no idea what he did, or where he went after that.

Staring into her teacup, Elsa is mentally too far away trying to make sense of what she was feeling when she realizes the room is silent.

And has been for some time now.

Elsa blinks, eyes wide and slightly embarrassed, as she catches Queen Belle smiling shyly at her. "I had hoped the rumors were true, of course. Adam and I are delighted at the prospect. You've been so good for Maurice."

Wait. What?

Queen Belle's voice, though shy, holds such kindness and optimism. "Especially after all of Maurice's insistence over the years. Insistence that he would never find such friendship and love in his life as he obviously has with you," Belle's eyes are alit with a warmth and joy that Elsa fears is not so wildly out of place. A loving mother, overjoyed with a child's happiness. After all, it's been two years of frequent visits by Maurice to Arendelle, exchanged correspondence and gifts – a carefully hidden relationship with Phillipe under the pretense of courting her. It never occurred to Elsa that…this, what is really a natural assumption regarding her intentions, would occur.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty, I." Elsa manages weakly, awkward smile offered, "I was lost in thought. What was that?" Her eyes dart to Hans' mother.

Queen Alessandra looks far too pleased with the conversation as she sits with refined elegance to Elsa's right of the davenport, the fine dark purple gown highlighting her coloring and eyes, so much like her youngest son. Elsa desperately wishes she had caught the start of whatever this is, perhaps then she'd be better able to deflect the surprise she's sure is written plainly on her face.

It is Queen Alessandra who speaks. "You understand how news travels so fast throughout the courts, especially at the possibility of a Royal union." She exchanges a shy smile with Queen Belle, "And France would be such a smart match – new ties to Europe that Arendelle has been thus far unable to secure." She shifts to face Elsa, smile leading a white-hot wave of panic to surge. Queen Alessandra knew – she knew.

Oh no…

"News?"

"Of your courtship. With Prince Maurice." Queen Alessandra says. Her eyes are wide, innocent. "Of course, anything official shouldn't occur during war-time efforts. Not when Admiral Westergård, Prince of the Southern Isles, is leading the efforts for your Kingdom. Everyone understands what sort of misconceptions that could raise." The older woman clasps her hands delicately, carefully, in her lap, "But as I was sharing with Queen Belle, an announced engagement should be expected any day!"

Elsa can't stop the slight drop in her jaw, the knit of her brow at the audacity with which this is unravelling around her. Hans' mother's smile pulls sharper, "There is much anticipation felt through-out the region regarding the next chapter of your reign."

Elsa's own anger regarding the manipulation of her personal life in the setting of war flares, "I fear this conversation is far too presumptuous. I – I am…"

"My dear, I am terribly sorry! I didn't intend that – "Belle herself sputters with a blush, "I mean, I simply assumed…"

Elsa decides in the moment that she can't fault Queen Belle, and she can't really fault Queen Alessandra (despite how much she wants to – Elsa is a grown woman, familiar with the games played and manipulations that occur at court and should have known better). The blame is upon her and her fear of being honest with what she needs, or what she wants, what others may think, and how others may react.

So Elsa shakes her head, raising her hands to placate the now very nervous Queen Belle who appears just as embarrassed as Elsa feels. "Thank you, Queen Belle – no apologies needed. " She smiles and prays it looks as reassuring and sincere as she is trying to be, because she really does adore Maurice and his wonderful family. "This conflict with Weaselton has all been so stressful, weighing heavily on my heart that I have not thought far beyond it." Elsa looks pointedly at Queen Alessandra, daring her to press for more.

She leaves it with Belle quickly changing the subject.

Elsa finds Maurice and Hans in Maurice's private study, alone, without any detectives or guards. She figures that this is a good sign, but she's anxious and worried and angry, pulling her arms across her chest she grasps at the bony prominence of her elbows, "Tell me." She's fairly sure the temperature of the room has dropped a few degrees, but doesn't care to fix it.

Maurice and Hans exchange knowing glances as Maurice pulls himself discreetly to the side, and out of Elsa's line of sight.

Elsa must conjure every ounce of patience she has to maintain her posture, her fury, as she waits for Hans to respond.

"I had gone to her, Anna-Marie, to apologize, to ask for her forgiveness." Hans' breath is held, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows his pride. "To forgive me for all I had done, my predatory and manipulative behavior, and apologize for violating the sanctity of her marriage like I had."

Hans' eyes are dark, but soften as he looks up at her from the davenport he's seated on beside Maurice near the fire. "I possess a bit more insight than I once had and can recognize that her father should have run me through with a blade years ago, rather that encourage the situation to continue. He was just as awful as I was, and she deserved to be treated better - not simply a pawn. At least, if I had a daughter, running me through would have been my response."

Hans looks down to his hands as he leans forward, pressing his forearms into his knees and linking his fingers together.

Elsa is shocked, unable to manage a logical or sensitive response. Instead she says incredulously, "What is suspected? By the detectives?" She can guess, she's not stupid, but wants him to say it. She smirks at his silence, his past actions and behavior having finally caught up to him in a way she never anticipated.

His mouth opens and shuts (to likely to prevent the onslaught of a variety of unspoken, furious retorts). However, he manages to land, "I was seen with the Duchess and it was inferred that it was amorous in nature. That this was somehow a crime of passion. Believe me when I say I had nothing to do with it."

She simply stares, unseeing at the floor under his feet.

Elsa startles at Maurice's voice, saying something to defend Hans that she doesn't hear exactly, dragging her back from her spinning thoughts as she takes a sideways glance at Hans who's leaned his head back against the seat, eyes dark once more.

Consciously ignoring the clamorous pounding of her heart, she tilts her head back to meet Hans' eyes unflinchingly. She wanted to be angry, to feel the churn of fury deep in her stomach about some torrid desire of the flesh he may have had for Anna-Marie, repercussions of his past – instead she's completely thrown that he went to beg for Anna-Marie's forgiveness for what he'd done to her over the years. She's just as thrown by her own sense that he's telling the truth.

The weight of that isn't enough to keep her rooted in place, however. She needs to flee before she freezes the man out of frustration.

"Whatever happens at all happens as it should; you will find this is true if you watch narrowly." She turns on her heel and stalks to the door, it's abundantly clear how frustrated she is with him. As her hand rests on the handle she can hear Maurice stifle a giggle. Her chin snaps over her shoulder to level narrowed eyes at both men when Maurice laughs. Hans glances at him, irritation and embarrassment obvious in his eyes as he drives his elbow into Maurice's side.

Maurice laughs harder, gesturing.

At her.

"I don't think Marcus Aureleus had this situation in mind, when he wrote that." A smirk, then Maurice shrugs his shoulders at Hans.

Elsa's too upset for Hans, for them, for what they can become. And Hans is doing nothing but making it harder. For this whole damn situation and she didn't even know what had happened. Elsa is too upset to find humor in the moment like Maurice has, to draw parallels to a conversation Maurice and her once had when he quoted a social philosopher out context after a night of drinking and watching the sunrise while opening up to each other.

Instead of a reply, she simply leaves.

The next time she sees Hans (as well as the rest of the delegations for negotiations), it is when she declares at the head of the grand table, "Arendelle wishes to relinquish control of Weaselton to the Southern Isles and requests the establishment of a provisional government under their supervision."

There.

She said it.

Elsa won't release the breath she's held, lips twitching and betraying the fact she's enjoying Queen Alessandra's startled expression far too much. But it is Hans' voice, dark and demanding that steals it from her chest.

"NO."