Rifiuto: Not Mirena

The soft click of her heels was the only sound in the quiet halls, the skirt of her dress billowing out behind her as she walked, head held high, trying to look as though she were just going for some air. In reality, however, her feet led her to the library, and she quickly poked her head around the corner, searching for any sign of the housekeeper or the head steward. Coming up clear, she turned the corner, continuing as a leisurely pace, reaching out to grab the handle of the door she passed by. In one swift motion, she was inside, the door shutting with a soft click; clearly a practiced manoeuvre she had performed countless times, like the choreography of a ballet.

Once behind the closed door, she turned, letting her gaze adjust to the darkness before she stepped forward. A fire danced in the fireplace, casting a warmth over the room that was not nearly as unpleasant as the warmth within the ballroom. As she stepped towards the fire, the person standing not far from it turned. The light from the flames made his own red locks look as though they too were made of flame, and he smiled at her, holding a hand out to her as she hurried to him. "I was half afraid you would not come."

"I'm so sorry, it took me a bit to get away." She swallowed, gaze turning to the firelight. "Sometimes I hate that I am next in line for the throne. It is always so draining, especially at parties such as this." She had asked during their dance to meet in the library so they could talk more, in a much more private setting; it was refreshing to find someone else who found such gatherings tiring and frivolous, and he had readily agreed.

"I cannot imagine what it must be like, to be the next heir. I wish I could say I understood, but as the thirteenth-" Her gaze snapped back to him, and she gasped softly.

"Of course! Westergård! I'm so sorry, I did not realize sooner-"

He laid a hand gently over the one he held, squeezing her hand gently. "It's okay. To be honest, I kind of enjoyed the anonymity." He blushed, before slowly pulling away from her. "I get a lot of it at home, but that's because I'm last in line for the throne- 'unlucky thirteenth' as my brothers call me. So to be one of the representatives of the Isles to attend the Tercentenary celebrations here... it was a treat, it got me away from the Isles for a bit, and to be able to see this beautiful country that is our neighbor to the north-"

She watched him make his way towards the globe that sat on the far table. She followed after a moment, watching as he gently pushed the globe, causing it to turn leisurely on its fixed axis. A moment passed, before she reached out and stopped it; her finger unknowingly landing on the Southern Sea that separated their countries. She studied it; on the globe, it seemed like such a small distance between their countries, but she knew to be much larger. About the same distance from Arendelle to Great Britain. Great Britain, where the newly-crowned Victoria had been queen for less than a year- and a mere two years older than the young Crown Princess. Will she be a great queen, as the fabled Elizabeth was? Or the Catholic Queen in Spain? And what about me, when the time comes?

"I'm sorry." Her blue gaze met his, and she furrowed a brow. "I didn't realize the amount of pressure you must be under, being the heir to the throne."

"Oh." A soft blush tinted her cheeks, and she pulled away from the globe, going back to the fireplace. "It's okay. Sometimes I just..." She stopped, her gaze going to the flames before her. His footsteps were soft on the carpeted floors beneath their feet, and her breath hitched, feeling the soft warmth of him at her back. "Sometimes I wish I were in my sister's shoes. To be like you, to be free from the worry of having to rule over an entire country someday."

He snorted softly. "It's not always the best, being last in line for the throne, Eliza." He replied, going to the sofa and taking a seat. Her brow furrowed and she turned as he sat down.

"Eli-" But the look on his face stopped her voice in its tracks. "What do you mean? You are thirteenth in line, you will never have to worry about taking the throne."

Green eyes met blue as he looked up at her, and she moved closer, taking a seat beside him on the sofa. He shifted to meet her gaze, their knees brushing together gently through the silk of her gown. He sighed, gathering the courage. Dare he breathe a word of the unrest taking place in his home country? Of the plot to overthrow his father and place the eleventh oldest son on the throne?

The fact that his father had deemed the tercentenary celebration important enough to send his three youngest sons while the country- or the court, rather- was in upheaval, was something the young man couldn't wrap his head around. With his two oldest brothers- Lars and Matteus- both having been killed in battle several years earlier, his older brother Claus having run off to the Lost Colonies of the British Isles at eighteen to be a fur trapper, the twins, Henrik and Frederik both having married and willingly left the court- Henrik going to Russia with his wife and Frederik to France with his- Alexander having been lost at sea many years ago, and Abraham having taken vows and gone into the priesthood, that left six sons at home. Otto, at eighteen, was focused on his studies, particularly the sciences and had no desire to ever see the throne, while Felix was content to be commanding a navy, and Karl was considered too much a rapscallion to ever take ruling seriously. Edvard would never see the outside of a hospital, let alone the throne, for the prince was not right mentally, and so that left Joseph, third youngest, as next in line for the throne.

Joseph is the biggest threat to the monarchy; he is too calculating for his own good. A spendthrift of the highest order; he would bankrupt the Isles in days were he placed upon the throne- The coolness of her hand sliding over his drew him from his musings, and he met her gaze. She smiled softly at him, squeezing his hand.

"You can tell me, I promise I won't say anything."

He nodded, returning the squeeze. "It's not that simple."

"But it has to be." He met her gaze, biting his lip. He shouldn't be saying anything, but he so desperately wanted to talk to someone about what was going on back in the Isles, and he felt that he could trust her. This beauty, this Arendellian Crown Princess was a kindred spirit, he could see it in her eyes. She had the same sort of spirit he did; restless, yearning for more than what her life of glittering jewels and extravagant palaces could give her. She yearned for something beyond the realm of worship that her people could give her. "You're the thirteenth son, you will never see the throne. You can do and be whatever you wish." Her gaze fell, and she pulled her hand away before standing and making her way into the center of the room, the silk of her gown rustling as she moved. "You don't have the hopes of an entire country resting upon your shoulders. If I had an ounce of the freedom you have-"

"But at least your court is not in upheaval."

She stopped, turning to him, a thin coating of frost covering her hands where she'd begun to wring them; an old habit unable to break. Her brow furrowed. "Upheaval?" In two quick strides, she'd returned to the sofa, dropping slowly onto it. "What do you mean?"

He swallowed. "My father has lost control of the court; the council intends on forcing my father to abdicate and in turn, put my older brother Joseph on the throne."

She racked her brain, trying to remember the birth order of the sons of the monarch of her neighboring country. "But he is only nineteen-"

"That is well beyond being of age in the Isles to take the throne. We are not Arendelle; in the Isles, a monarch may take the throne at sixteen if none oppose it."

"But... but your oldest brother-"

"Lars is dead." He whispered softly with a shake of his head. "Matteus, too. Both killed in battle, years ago." He quickly went through a rundown of his brothers, and she listened, blue eyes wide in surprise at the revelation that one had run off to another country, and one was lost at sea while another joined the priesthood and the ninth was locked away.

"That really only leaves three of you at home." She breathed. A shiver ran through her as he spoke of the carelessness of his older brother Joseph, and she nodded. The nineteen-year-old prince had been pestering her all night, insisting she dance with him, speaking of a possible betrothal- all because she was the most gorgeous of the women at the ball, nevermind that she was the tender age of sixteen and not at all looking for a suitor yet. Yes, her parents had begun looking at potential matches, but nothing serious would be brought about until her eighteenth birthday, as was Arendellian tradition. Joseph was the main reason she'd ended up on the balcony in the first place, seeking respite from his arrogance and wandering hands. She looked up as he stood and began to pace, continuing to talk, gratefully getting it off his chest for the first time in weeks. "Would you ever take the throne?"

"What?" He turned back to her.

"If given the choice, would you ever take the throne? You said it yourself, sixteen in the Isles it of age to rule, and you are sixteen-"

"Seventeen." He corrected softly, and she nodded, unsurprised, as she stood, going to him. She took his hand, and he started at the cold, looking down to see her hands coated in a light sheen of sweat. No, not sweat. Melted ice. It was surprisingly calming, the dampness of her palms on his.

"Then you are also beyond the age to take the throne. And would you rather rule than leave the throne in Joseph's hands?" Their gazes met, and he found himself becoming lost in the sapphire depths of her eyes. Only the popping of the fire in the grate provided any source of sound as they became lost in each others' gazes, as they had been the majority of the night-

A familiar knock knock kn-knock knock! sounded on the other side of the door, breaking the stillness of the room and pulling them both from their quiet contentment, as her head turned instinctively towards the sound; clearly, this was a common noise in the castle. "El-sa?" The princess held her breath. She bit her lip, glancing up at him through her lashes with a sheepish look on her face. He snorted, and she reached up, slapping her hand over his mouth.

"Shh." She was sure it was comical sight, her standing on tiptoe to slap her hand over his mouth to keep him from laughing and giving them away. Please, don't laugh. It'll only raise her suspicions.

He raised an eyebrow, but tried to do as she asked. So you hide out here often during parties?

It's my only respite from my little sister. She lowered her gaze. And the rest of the court. Gently, he took her other hand, stroking her knuckles in understanding.

"Elsa? Come on, Elsa, I know you're in there. You always hide out in the library during balls." The doorknob jiggled, and she turned, shooting a hand towards it. The doorknob stopped as it froze in the younger princess's grasp, and the girl yelp. "Come on, Elsa, this isn't funny! Papa sent me to fetch you-"

A moment passed, as the pair shared a glance, before the Crown Princess waved a hand, and the ice melted, allowing the younger girl a chance to open the door. She lowered her hand, glancing over her shoulder as the library door opened, feeling her heart flutter slightly as he took her hand again, stroking her knuckles. The darkness startled the younger girl for the briefest of moments, but after several quiet seconds spent blinking to adjust her eyes, she felt her mouth fall open at the sight of the pair. "Anna."

The girl's gaze darted quickly between her sister and the young prince, glancing down quickly to light on their joined hands before going back to their faces and repeating the process. They were standing awfully close together, he had her hand in his and she hadn't pulled away, if they were any closer or if Elsa stood on tiptoe they could kiss-

"Elsa? What's going on?"