((Author's Note: Hey, all! Thanks for checking out this story, but a little heads-up for new readers. First off, this is one part in a series, so in order to pick up on a lot of what's going on, you'll want to have at least read "The Firelands" and "The Horizon" first, the other two big fanfics I've written for AHIT. Also, we won't be visiting many new areas… yet, that's for another fic. Instead, we'll primarily be returning to locations that Hat Kid has already visited, so things are going to work out just a little differently. Even still, I hope you enjoy this as you strap in for one wild ride.))

No matter how much she tried to keep the place well-kept, no matter how many candles she lit to give her home a rich glow and keep the dark halls at least somewhat warm and bright, nothing could deter the bitter cold that seeped through the walls and floorboards. To the queen, however, the piercing chill didn't even register. After all, the ice was her element: If anything, it was the fire didn't belong. She needed it though, if only to signal across Subcon's desolate landscape that she was still there, waiting for her love to return.

Vanessa prepared for that moment every day. Despite the years, she and many of her subjects remained, so he had to still be out there too, somewhere. He had to come back to her: He always did. Unfortunately, thus far, only a series of uninvited guests had welcomed themselves into the manor—much to her everlasting frustration.

The last one had not only escaped, but destroyed her piano and stole the hourglass she'd found lying outside her home. The latter had been the gravest offence. Her prince had always shown an interest in various knowledge from law, to astronomy, to history. The hourglass had matched the ruins of the much larger piece found in the depths of the woods. Maybe it was silly to hope, but it was the only sign she'd had in all this time, the only thing that made the weight of her isolation seem worthwhile.

Standing in the parlor, the noble stood before one of the bookshelves and glanced at the ruined instrument. Her lips pulled back into an ugly sneer and her hands twitched beside her before she swung one up in a clawing motion to send a spike of ice through its casing with a loud, cacophony of sound as what remained of the piano was broken to splitters. Dark wood and ivory keys flew across the room. All the while, she thought of the little, dirty footprints that had soiled the rug in the main hall.

They'd entered from the cellar: She'd discovered that much easily. That's where the footprints originated and she'd found the doors wide open. The two guards she kept stationed out front, however, claimed to have seen nothing. Useless idiots, of course they didn't. The Shadow's umbran, little monsters had cut off the possessed statues' heads long ago. They couldn't see, only sense when a foe was within close range. She wouldn't have been surprised to learn that one of them was the thief.

Vanessa hated that Shadow, that Snatcher. He had no business in Subcon; he'd even turned some of her subjects against her! However, he was a powerful enough spirit to warrant caution. Any guards she'd sent out against him directly had either been captured or destroyed and forced to find new bodies. Those that remained hid across the forest at her bidding, to collect information, along with anything she may desire from the outside world… and keep watch for the Prince's return.

Her gaze once more scrolled over the aged texts that lined the shelves. She'd read those stories so many times that she knew them by heart. Perrault's Cinderella, Madame d'Aulnoy's Graciosa and Percinet, Villeneuve's Beauty and the Beast… Tale after tale where true love conquered all and princes cherished their paramours on bended knee. They struggled through every kind of adversity and granted every desire, even at the cost of themselves, to be with the women they loved.

And then they lived happily, ever after…

That was how the story was supposed to go anyway. Until he'd left her alone and then that woman had tried to steal him from her! She should've known to begin with, her poor prince! He'd never really meant to betray her, but men were susceptible to the wiles of a temptress so very easily and he'd been away for so long. But the witch was gone now! And he'd needed time to clear his head. She might've been a little hasty, putting him in the cellar, but she'd given him that.

Maybe if she'd kept a better eye on him though, he would've have disappeared. Nothing was right—had never been right since the day she was born, every woman in her family doomed to die in the middle of their years, consumed by the ice that dwelled inside them. It was her curse. Still, she was a princess, destined for so much more.

She had to remember that this was just the falling action. The crisis had passed: All she had to do was be patient and he would come for her; he would set things right again. She'd made mistakes before and he always knew how to fix them, he always returned to her side! When he came back, they'd chase out the Snatcher together, restore order to their kingdom, and live on as they were meant to!

So, where is he then…?

There was a trickle of doubt. Sometimes, her prince didn't always follow the script. Then again, neither had she. She should've been dead. The ice had overtaken her, and yet here she was: She'd mastered it, ending the cycle.

None of it was by the book. Her becoming queen before her love-story could wrap up, him going off to that school, his current absence, and her "cured" curse. It was not supposed to go this way! Where was her prince on bended knee?! Where was her rescue, her wedding bells, her ride into the sunset?! It called into question everything she knew and she hated it!

The queen took a shaky breath, forcing herself to calm down. Be patient, patience… she reminded herself. He would come for her, eventually…

Selecting a heavy text—the binding loose from wear—she began the silent trek back to her room on the floor above. On the way, she passed the cracked mirror-vanity in the main hall, refusing to spare it a glance. As much as Vanessa tried to clean herself up and as much as she wouldn't admit it, she didn't look like a princess anymore. Beyond the ever-present darkness that enveloped her body, she'd turned deathly pale. The once golden shine to her hair had dulled. Her fingers had elongated into sharp digits and small, frost-like patterns ran across her hunched figure.

That too, could be fixed. Everything would be better when he returned.

Before she could step inside her chambers, she paused at the door. Something was wrong: Someone was in there. Although her ability to sense others wasn't as adept as her guardmens', she just knew it. Vanessa's thoughts turned to the mafia goon who'd hidden inside her wardrobe, who now stood as a decoration near the stairwell leading to the third floor. She thought of the sneaky, little intruder who stole the precious sign from her love… A cruel smile tugged at her face.

"Come to rob from me again, have you?!" her shrill voice echoed through the manor, loud enough to drown out the door as she ripped it open, "What a brazen pest you are!"

However, the figure the sat on her bed, cradling her open diary in its lap, was not a child or one of the Snatcher's minions. It was a tall, patchwork being with disjointed limbs. He was a strange amalgamation of different fabrics, all of which were thickly stabled to his body like a crude straightjacket, except his arms were free underneath his heavy sleeves. It was impossible to see his face beneath the hood bundled around his thin shoulders, but for all she knew it was just a deep void, matching the shadowy appearance of his stubby legs. Most jarring were his eyes, of which there were many, all different colors, some staring right at her and others frantically searching the room in an erratic manner.

Whatever he was, his appearance in her home—let alone his invasion of her diary—would've thrown her into a deep rage. Only one thing held her back: The frozen figure that looked just like him still standing in the corner. They'd met before.

Unmoved by her ire, the figure chuckled in a mocking tone, "I take it you were expecting someone else?"

When Vanessa found her voice, it came out as a seething hiss, "How did you—?!"

"Survive?" he cut her off, closing the book, throwing it on her pillow, and rising from the bed. His legs were useless, so he seemed to just barely levitate about the ground. "Oh, you'll find your tricks don't work on me. As you can see, I'm not like your… other guests."

As he said this, he seemed to multiply right before her eyes, gliding in place and leaving a trail of three doppelgangers in a semi-circle before her. Shoulders curling forward tensely, the queen summoned thick shards of ice around her in preparation to attack, but then the other spirit quickly pulled his selves back together and moved away once more. He held up his hands in a pacifying motion, his tone remaining eerily cheerful all the while.

"Hey now, I come in peace! You have nothing to fear from me, Vanessa. If anything, I think you'll find that I'm as close to a fair godfather as you're ever gonna get!"

Right… Even if his disgusting appearance didn't cast enough doubt, his disturbing behavior did. Nevertheless, she didn't know what kind of being she was dealing with. If it came to a serious fight, she could end up destroying the manor. She forced herself to reign in her emotions, still spitting out her words, "Explain yourself."

"Well, now I don't know if I want to: You're rather rude. And here I thought you'd be a little more eager to learn where your prince has gone."

Vanessa stayed silent. The tension in her body relaxed as her arms hung limp.

The smile in his voice turned triumphant, "You do want to know, don't you? Love must be a wonderful feeling, for you to desire him after all these years."

His tone continued to drip with sick ridicule, snapping her out of her immediate daze upon his revelation. He was toying with her feelings, only messing with her head. This was too unreal. All the same, her anger only remanifested in the question, "What did you do to him?!"

"Me? Nothing—and that's a very poor choice of words, coming from you," he scoffed, throwing his hands in the air in a giving fashion and turning his back to her as he crossed the room. "I'm only here to help you both get what's rightfully owed."

"Who said I wanted your help?"

"No, you need it. Otherwise, you're going to spend the rest of eternity here in this empty house and you know it. Is that what you want, princess? I don't think so…"

The more he spoke, the more she felt herself lose control. Her hands drew into fists at her sides. Behind her, crawling along the floor to scale the walls and doorframe, coils of frost began to build.

"Not all princesses sit trapped in their towers, my dear," the spirit continued, in a much gentler way now, "Lisbeth, the sister and the six swans—some need to take action. I think you might be one of them."

That hit her deeply. She tugged at her hair. Had she been going about this all wrong? It was true, in some stories, the heroine needed to face the greatest peril before finding happiness. In The Six Swans, the princess had been forced into years of silence making shirts to rescue her brothers and was nearly burned at the stake because of it. In The Old Woman in the Wood, a young maiden had to break a witch's curse to save her prince. The witch was dead, but did his curse linger? Was he locked away somewhere, waiting for her arrival instead?

"Where is he…?"

He ignored her, "Of course, even if you succeed, you may not like what you find. And this choice bit of knowledge doesn't come free."

Distrust bubbled over desperation once more at this, but only for a moment.

Again, he pressed on, giving her a casual glance over his shoulder, "I have a menagerie of sorts, and I'm always looking for new additions to my roaster. If you find your lover, and all goes as you intend, I guess you'll live 'happily, ever after.'" It was hard to catch, but he made a nasty sneer where he said that, "If not, then you come with me. It's a win-win, really, much better than just staying put here."

Vanessa asked again, in a much more demanding tone, "Where is he?!"

The snowfall just outside of the manor seemed it grow, in a way it hadn't for many years, as the winds shifted and rattled the sparse, barren trees across the forsaken landscape. It was a rare night when the moon shone through the thick miasma that blanketed the forest and regularly blotted it out. Soon though, it vanished from sight yet again.