Disclaimer: I do not own Frozen.

Anna is the lowliest class of slave. More silly than dark. Elsanna. Not Icest.

Firstly, I apologize for the Stockholm Syndrome nature of this story. It's unfortunate that some of my fantasies are assuredly illegal.

It's not like me to write in a non-real world setting, but I thought it would be fun to write fiction on the whim without basing it on researched history. In other words, I'm lazy. I also don't have beta.

Imagine a world like ours, probably a couple hundred years ago. Enjoy!

Chapter I

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He was to pick the fairest girl the traders had to offer. In his possession was a generous sum of gold, contained in a bag with the Arendelle royal seal. Though in the service of the kingdom, he dressed plainly enough so as not to draw the attention of common thieves. By no means was he an easy target, what with his intimidating stature and reindeer companion.

Upon revealing the royal seal and bag of gold, an unctuous trader bowed to the hulking man—

"Ah, Royal Ice Master, how can I be of service to the kingdom?"

The Ice Master stared at the groveling trader and blew an exasperated sigh, lifting the thick tufts of blond hair matting his forehead.

"I'm looking, well, I'm not looking for, but I'm here to retrieve your finest body slave," said the Ice Master.

The Ice Master had a strong distaste for the trade of slaves. He had raised himself to value free-will, having roamed the Arendelle lands thoroughly as a boy, and slaves were the very antithesis of freedom. He could stomach the idea of "working slaves," those who sold their labor for low wages. Working slaves were held on a more contractual basis, having the ability to leave their employment after the bound time.

The other class of slaves could only be afforded by the upper-middle to wealthy citizens of Arendelle. These "body slaves" were sold for life and retained no shred of their human dignity. As the name implied, their bodies were completely owned by their masters, sacrifices to the carnal desires of mostly rich men and some women. Body slaves were set apart usually by their youth—for who would desire an old body slave?—and their trademark brand on the backs of their left hands. Like cattle, once a body slave was obtained by a trader, a fire-hot brand of a thorn vine was etched into their skin.

The Ice Master spotted these markings immediately as the trader led him through a corridor of ratty-looking holding cells. On young females and even some males—the rich were known for all sorts of tastes—the Ice Master spotted the humiliating brand on each of their hands. The "working slaves" must have been down the other wing.

"By finest, I assume you must want the rarest, most precious kind of body slave—the virgins. Undoubtedly, we are Arrendelle's premiere slave trader, and we boast the biggest selection of virgins," the noxious trader said.

The Ice Master simply grunted at this as he was guided into a more brightly lit row of cells, where the body slaves were dressed in clean white tunics, narrowed at the waists by gold ribbons. The faces on these youths looked a little less broken, but certainly more frightened. The Ice Master felt nauseous considering the questionable ages of some of these body slaves, a couple looking no older than ten years. He would not bring himself to purchase for the kingdom such a child, and he would just pray that the future master preferred a body slave past puberty.

"What is your preference? A lass or a lad? We even have some exotic ones shipped all the way from the East," the trader pointed at two fair Asian teenagers, huddled in a far corner. "Perhaps you like the darker skin of gypsies?" the trader gestured at a few in another group.

The Ice Master grimaced at the thought of the gypsies, their culture known to be one of the most free and nomadic. This whole business reeked of bad intentions.

"I certify that these body slaves have never been touched by our men and carry no known ailments," the trader asserted.

Kristoff scoffed at the gamesmanship of the trader, frustrated that he was ordered to fulfill this task given his ice harvesting was in an off-season during this unusually cold winter.

Angry turquoise caught the attention of the Ice Master as he stared into the glaring eyes of a young redheaded woman standing by herself at the front of her cell's bars.

"She looks like she's been touched," the Ice Master pointed at the furious girl whose brand was healing from a skin rash and whose sinewy limbs were lined with bruises and cuts.

"She was most difficult to discipline. I assure you her maidenhood is in tact—she would rather die than give it away. I would have taken it myself to teach her a lesson if I could have…" the trader seethed.

The Ice Master was close to retching from the trader's hateful words.

Realizing his unprofessionalism, the trader cleared his throat and smiled toothily at the Ice Master, "Royal Ice Master, you really wouldn't want a lass like this. Don't be fooled by her beauty. She's unruly, foul-mouthed, a real bitch—"

"Who's foul-mouthed, you coward!?" the redhead shouted at the trader, surprising both men. The other body slaves gasped in terror, and they all moved to the back of their cells. The redhead remained at the front of her cell, jostling the bars. "Why don't you try being sold, locked up, and beaten and see how 'unruly' you become!"

The trader flinched back from her outburst. The Ice Master evaluated the tiny, but firecracker redhead, and deduced that she could probably overtake the trader. The trader would have none of it though as he pulled a whip seemingly out of thin air.

The trader drew the whip back, "Shut up, you little bitch—!"

The Ice Master took hold of the whip before the trader could strike the defiant redhead. His protective nature would not allow it. With her rebellious personality, she would be killed before even having the chance to live at least a sorrowful life of body slavery.

"Wait, I'll take her," said the Ice Master.

"Are you suicidal!?" the trader said, forgetting all sense of formality. At least the trader brought his whip down to a non-threatening level. The Ice Master would reach out again if the trader tried again.

"Don't question me," the Ice Master said, staring at the trader with authority. The trader flinched for the second time, acquiescing to the muscled Ice Master. He looked on again at the redhead, strawberry-blonde at certain angles, and his choice solidified. He couldn't bear to have her die at the hands of this indeed cowardly trader, and she appeared to have several years over the age of ten. At least sixteen, but possibly a youthful eighteen. If she could fight to save her virginity from traders, perhaps her stubbornness would be better suited in the castle for a worker slave's duties rather than as a body slave. The Ice Master liked her already.

In fact, as he gazed at her longer, he felt his breath shorten at her natural beauty. Along the mars on her limbs, freckles dotted her flushed, fair skin. Her pretty hair was plaited in two braids down her shoulders, and those turquoise eyes could burn into any person's soul. His treacherous mind dared him to steal her away for himself, forsake his duty to the kingdom. She would do whatever he said, because body slaves were nothing more. The girl put her head down, knowing she was about to lose her humanity.

He slapped himself in the face and chided himself for even imagining it. The Ice Master would never be a slave master. His friends, love experts, would be so disappointed in him otherwise.

"Her skin is not presentable…" the trader said in a sniveling tone.

"That's your supply problem. I'll take her at half the bag of gold here."

"She's worth the whole bag!" the trader hotly contested.

"You talk too much. Half the bag, or I'll deal with you myself, crook," the tall Ice Master looked down at the trader.

"Fine—sold!" the trader threw his hands up in the air, unlocking the newly purchased woman's cell. Her cellmates shriveled along the back wall, praying the Ice Master would not change his mind. The Ice Master was frightening to behold, betraying none of his royal employment in his garb.

To everyone's shock, the redhead obediently put her hands out to be bound.

She was not going to advocate the sale of her cellmates over herself, because she wouldn't wish this life upon even the vile trader. She would accept it now and think of a plan of escape later. Besides, she was the worst treated body slave among the virgins; virginal body slaves were a rare commodity, partly sold for their unblemished skin. She wasn't keen on staying with the traders.

"No need to bind her. She'll walk better without the rope," the Ice Master said to the trader. He waved the girl out, signaling for her to follow them.

The three walked to the entrance where the Ice Master dropped half of the bag of gold onto the trader's counter. He signed a document verifying his purchase with the trader, and he received in turn a document for proof of tender. The trader and woman exchanged scowls with one another before parting.

The Ice Master led the dejected woman outside to his beloved sled and reindeer, Sven. The girl shivered in her thin tunic as she trailed behind him.

"What do you want, Sven?" the Ice Master spoke to his reindeer. "Gimme a snack," the Ice Master changed his voice, pretending to be the reindeer. "What's the magic word?" back to his own voice. "Please!" reindeer voice. The Ice Master pulled a carrot from the sled as Sven swallowed it whole. "Uh, uh, uh—share," the Ice Master reprimanded. The reindeer spit part of the carrot back out, and the man consumed the very same carrot.

The redhead gawked at this bipolar display by the Ice Master, fearing her new master was mentally ill. Not one for staying silent for too long—

"You treat your reindeer like a person, but you bought my life for half a bag of gold!?" the redhead yelled. Of course, that was more money than she had ever seen in her life, but still. It hurt.

"Whoa there, feisty-pants—here, you can have the rest," the Ice Master handed her the remaining gold, enough to buy land and a house, feeling bad that he did actually bargain her down. He was much happier to give it to her than the slimy slave trader though. He'd just have to keep the proof of tender to himself. "Name's Kristoff, by the way," he pointed a thumb at himself.

She looked at the bag of gold in her hands. She did not recognize the seal, coming from the southernmost edge of Arendelle; the kingdom was in the northern part of its lands. For the first time in forever, the girl felt her eyes prickle. She never once shed a tear for the beatings she received, but she had never felt more hopeless than now. She threw the bag to the ground, tears streaming down her defeated face. She was shaking for a mixture of the cold and her own instability. Her head fell to her chest, and only her solemn voice was heard.

"Look here Christopher—"

"It's Kristoff."

"…This gold is useless. I'm branded," she lifted her left hand forcefully. "I can't even purchase my own life back! You may be my master in title, but you will never—ever—touch me. You can beat me, torture me, murder me, but you will never own me like that," the girl's head lifted to show the conviction in her eyes.

Kristoff even had to step back from the intensity of her stare, and he was more than twice her size.

"Okay, got it. I swear to never beat, torture, murder, uh, touch you, because well…I'm not your master."

"Wait what?" the redhead's intensity morphed into confusion. Kristoff liked this side of the redhead much better. It was about the cutest thing he had ever seen. Aside from when Sven was a fawn.

"Feisty-pants—" the nickname rolling off his tongue even though the redhead was clearly not wearing pants "—don't shoot the messenger. I'm just escorting you to the castle."

"The castle!?" the redhead practically screeched.

"Yeah, to your mistress."

...

How was it? Would appreciate feedback! I promise Elsanna will appear in the next chapter!