This is a request from King Harpo for a forbidden love between the three royal ladies of Arendelle. I would greatly appreciate feedback because this is the first time I've done something quite like this… That being said, if under-aged, incestuous sex isn't your cup of tea, please don't read this and then write a lengthy review addressing my moral failings. I'm perfectly aware that I'm a monster ;)
Anywho: the story is set somewhere after the girls mourn the loss of their parents, but just before Elsa's coronation. Onward!
Disclaimer: Disney owns Frozen. Fabulous. Thank you, Grimmy. Also fabulous.
The sun reflected off of the ice, nearly blinding in its brilliance, as a company of men trekked across the slippery surface, dragging sleds bearing neatly cut blocks of crystalline water in their wake. They were ice harvesters by trade, a closely-knit group of nomadic, hard-working people who lived deep in the mountains and traded with the residents of the summery kingdom that had developed at its base.
Some whistled a cheery tune while others guffawed loudly and jostled one another, each one of the men intent on making it home before the sun set and the cool evening air became glacial.
One man in particular, a ruggedly handsome youth who was barely more than fifteen, slipped and would have fallen had an antlered beast with a shaggy dark brown coat not stuck its head out, steadying his master and making a low, questioning sound.
"Thanks, Sven. I think I tripped over something." He doubled back, half of his attention on the group as they continued on without him, and frowned thoughtfully at the broken bits of lumber littered across the ice, presumably brought in by the ocean's tide. "What happened here?"
Curiosity got the best of the boy and he left his sled where it was in favor of following the makeshift trail until, finally, he came to a stand of trees near the coast where the ocean thundered against the glacier, its salty tang permeating the air. But that wasn't all: the battered skeleton of a ship's hull had become hooked on a tall, leafy fir, its contents bobbing pitifully in the surf until it was washed away forever.
His companion made another low sound and he jumped, laughing nervously to himself as he patted the reindeer on the snout. "Stay here, friend. I'm going to go check it out."
Ignoring the alarmed sound his pet made, the boy headed for the shipwreck, treading cautiously so as to avoid slipping into the foaming waters. Once he was close enough to reach out and touch the ruined structure, blue eyes went wide at the sight of two forms lying prone on the ice: a man and woman in their early thirties. They were well-dressed, though their clothing was in tatters, but more importantly the rich red cape the man wore bore the Arendelle royal crest.
The young man went as white as a sheet and he dropped his ice pick, stumbling over himself in his haste as he sprinted towards the crowd of men toiling across the ice, yelling, "C-come quickly! It's the king and queen—they're alive!"
/o\
Elsa swept down the grand stair case, the hem of her dress rustling against the cool stone floor as she crept across the spacious foyer, towards the double doors that loomed at three, four times her height. Snow fell from the high, arched ceiling, piling up in mounds of powder white around her, and her breath came out in little puffs of crystallized vapor.
Not that the cold bothered her.
After all, it was she who brought the drifts of white. Arendelle was a region known for its sunshine and clear blue skies and it was her own accursed powers that swayed the season, making it impossible for the fishermen to make their livelihoods or the farmers to provide enough food for their bustling kingdom.
Sometimes she wondered if it would be better if she just fled to the mountains, away from everyone she knew and cared for. She was only a burden as it was…
With that despondent thought firmly in mind, the ash blonde strode past the main entrance, heading down a narrow corridor until she came to a white door across which a red cross had been painted—the infirmary. She opened it as quietly as she could, lifting the hem of her dress so that she could move silently past the first bed within a shroud of a white curtain to stop before the one furthest from the entrance.
She panted slightly, adrenaline making her heart race as she went very, very still, caught between her desire to advance and the knowledge that she really should be in her room right now, sleeping in her bed. The princess shouldn't even have been here at this hour, but she couldn't resist; as much as she could conceal from everyone else, there was no lying to herself.
The figure behind the curtain stirred in the darkness and a feminine voice—richly cultured and impossibly gentle—asked softly, "Elsa?"
How did she know? And, more importantly, how did the single uttered word encourage her foolish heart to try and spring out of her chest?
Wordlessly, the ash blonde approached the stark white veil, pushing it aside and stepping into the small, private space it created to stand before a beautiful brown-haired woman. Her left arm was in a sling and she looked a little worse for wear, but the poise with which she carried herself erased those minor flaws; the Queen of Arendelle was still easily the most gorgeous woman in the kingdom.
"Mother…" The word was still unfamiliar by this point, but oh so sweet. Who would have thought that, after an entire year of assuming that her parents had perished at sea that they would be very much alive? She swallowed the lump in her throat, continuing in a much more level tone—quietly, so as not to wake the room's other occupant: "How are you feeling?"
"I'll live." She smiled brightly, patting the space beside her. "Why are you up so late, my love?"
A little thrill of happiness went through her at the pet name. "I couldn't sleep," the princess admitted distractedly, making no move to accept the invitation. Distance was good. It made her problems seem small. "The doctor told me you'll be able to leave the infirmary tomorrow. A-and father as well."
The last part had been almost an afterthought. She loved her father—she really did!—just… not like this. She didn't get a warm, fluttery sensation in her tummy whenever her father looked at her and she certainly didn't appreciate his loveliness with quick, stolen glances and faint, yearning sighs.
"That's correct. We'll be able to spend the day together."
"That's… wonderful." It truly was. She just couldn't manage the proper enthusiasm when her thoughts turned to hopes and wishes that had no business filling her mind with their depravity. More than anything, she wanted to be close to her mother. Elsa fidgeted restlessly, picking at a loose thread on her nightgown as the winds outside howled in response to her inner turmoil. Her feet heeded her silent desire and began to move, one after the other, to bring her to the dark-haired beauty's bedside and she sighed softly, dejectedly.
She was ill. That was the only explanation as to why she sat by her mother's side, just barely managing to resist the urge to slip beneath the covers to share the warmth of the older monarch's curvier, more developed form. Her arm brushed against the other woman's, the slide of soft flesh against soft flesh making her shiver eagerly. When she had been younger, she had always thought that the desire for close contact with her mother had been born from the want for comfort, but she knew better now.
The castle groaned faintly as the maelstrom battering it became wilder still, feeding on the blonde princess's emotions.
"I see you've brought the snow again," the woman commented, reaching out and patting the girl's leg with her good hand. The contact, though brief, burned into porcelain skin. Her parents' brush with death had made them—her father in particular, for her mother—her rock—had always stood by her—a little more accepting of the strange powers that coursed through Elsa's veins, but that didn't make her feel any less guilty for being different. "What's on your mind?"
'You.'
She was ill. That was the only explanation as to why she was even considering such heinous thoughts. Her dreams of late had been bittersweet because, though she desperately wanted the events within them to occur—awoke on more than one occasion drenched in sweat, her body tensed, trembling with want—she knew that they could not happen.
Instead, she said, "I've been having strange dreams. I don't wish to trouble you with my problems, however."
The slow, affectionate smile she received in response made the howl die down to a faint keening. "You're never a bother, Elsa."
Elsa—somehow, the name left the Queen's lips with a tantalizing edge that made the blonde want to hear more of it.
"Rosaline, who are you speaking to?" a male voice asked from the darkness, thick with sleep.
They shared a look, neither woman daring to move as the air between them became tense with apprehension. Would he leave his bed to check on his wife?
"Nothing, dear. Go back to sleep."
It wasn't as though they were doing anything sordid or questionable, but Elsa somehow felt guilty just for being here. She supposed the guilt stemmed from the desires she had buried deep down—desires that she had no business having towards someone who was not only married, but related to her by blood. The silence stretched on until, finally, the sound of his breathing slowed to indicate that he had gone back to sleep, and the blonde girl released the breath she didn't realize she had been holding.
Movement caught her attention: Queen Rosaline was shifting about, trying to move her pillows so that they supported her back. The task was made difficult by the fact that she only had one useable arm and her daughter reached out—
"Allow me."
—fluffing up the pillows and gently arranging them so as not to disturb the reclining woman, but when cerulean orbs met forest green, she froze, her breath catching in her throat. They were too close.
The Queen arched an eyebrow, the corners of her lips quirking—as though she knew something her daughter didn't. "Elsa?"
They were too close. Full, plump lips, painted with a tantalizing sheen as the monarch's tongue swiped briefly—almost playfully—over them, were mere inches from the blonde's; their taste was something she found herself considering a bit too frequently.
Elsa lost herself in that dark gaze for the briefest of moments before shuddering and snapping her eyes shut, her nails leaving crescent shaped marks on her palms as she clenched her fingers into fists. "Please don't…"
She knew better to reveal the feelings that stirred within her. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she remembered words of wisdom: conceal, don't feel.
"What have I done?" The blonde shook her head, unable to respond for fear that she would say something she would regret, and her mother canted her head to the side, that gentle gaze searching, before nodding slowly. "Goodnight then, my love."
That wretched, traitorous muscle was trying to escape once again, but she managed to lean in and press a quick kiss to the corner of her mother's mouth, squeaking, "Sweet dreams," in a decidedly un-princess-like manner before curtsying and fleeing the infirmary.
She was ill. That was the only explanation as to why she wanted so much more.
Outside, the storm roared.
o-o-o
How long had her mind been twisting her mother's kind, loving nature into something a little more… lewd?
She supposed that the turning point in the nature of her affections had been all those years ago when her powers—her curse—had accidentally harmed Anna and Elsa, fearful of what devastation she could wreak, had locked herself in her room and metaphorically thrown away the key.
/ Elsa collapsed onto the plush surface of her bed with a hiccup, cheeks wet with tears. She curled into a ball, sobs wracking her slender frame, and buried her face in a pillow, gripping its plush mass desperately—as though the object would offer some sort of comfort.
She would never forgive herself if Anna didn't make a full recovery. Her father, the king, had been livid, but nobody was angrier with the older princess than herself.
He had said some things that night—harsh, hurtful things born from concern—that had gotten her thinking: maybe her family would be better off without her.
Something touched her shoulder and the girl recoiled, releasing a frightened whimper, though she stopped breathing entirely when kind green orbs stared down at her, a delicate hand slipping from her shoulder to cup her cheek.
"Oh, Elsa…"
Her mother was a saint. Rather than join in the king's outrage, she had been calm and poised, soothing her husband's aggression and sheltering her eldest daughter from the awful things he had demanded and insisted. Things he would later regret, hopefully, otherwise she feared that she would soon be without a place to call 'home'.
One look at the dark-haired woman and the princess knew that the castle would be open to her as long as there was breath in the Queen's lungs.
She lunged, wrapping her arms around the older monarch and burying her face in the junction between the woman's neck and shoulder, bawling openly now that that calming, supportive presence was there. Queen Rosaline made a soothing sound, rubbing slow circles on her daughter's back as she cradled the blonde, the warmth of her embrace serving to lull the crying girl into a sense of secureness that had been missing in her life for the past week while she had struggled with her blossoming powers.
When at last her crying died down to quiet, melancholy sniffles, the brunette beauty pressed a kiss to the crown of the princess's head, murmuring, "If I could take this weight from your shoulders, my love, I would," into platinum blonde locks.
Elsa released a shuddering sigh, utterly drained by her emotional outburst, and clutched her mother tighter, her mind whirl. Rosaline was the only person in the world who wasn't passing judgment on the magically-inclined princess and for that she was grateful. It was so incredibly nice to be in the presence of someone who accepted her for who she was or what strange powers she possessed—a rock that anchored her against the harsh tides that life brought crashing down over her.
She didn't remember even considering moving—she just did. The gratefulness and appreciation filling her despondent mind mixed in with the reverence burning bright within her heart, manifesting in the simple act of tilting her head back and pressing a kiss to the older woman's lips in a chaste contact that lasted a second or two longer than it should have.
Rosaline's expression was unreadable as she pushed Elsa away, gently, so that there was distance between them. She didn't relinquish her grip on narrow shoulders, however; the light in bright green eyes was new and strange, and the blonde fidgeted anxiously—hopefully—unsure of what was going to happen next.
Part of her was confused by the stirring beneath her breast caused by her impulsive action while the other craved more of the sensation. She was young; she had no way of knowing the meaning of such an intimate gesture and it was purely by animal instinct that she had attempted to express even a fraction of the utter adoration she had for her mother, the most beautiful woman in all of Arendelle.
Finally, the Queen smiled faintly, almost sadly, and whispered, "I love you, Elsa—no matter what. Always remember that."
"I love you too, Mommy."
More than she knew. /
That seemed like an eternity ago, yet here she was in the exact same position—only, this time…
Elsa shivered as long fingers stroked her hair; well-manicure nails scratched pleasantly across her scalp, sending little sparks of pleasure down her spine. The gesture—the closeness between a mother and a daughter—was chaste and affectionate, so she shouldn't have been wriggling anxiously and clenching her thighs together as the petting continued. Heat shouldn't have suffused her cheeks when her mother leaned over, the thin strap of her nightgown slipping off of her shoulder to reveal a creamy swell of flesh, and she shouldn't have gaped stupidly as the woman asked, "Are you coming down with a fever, dear? Your face is red."
"N-no, Mother."
The petting resumed, as did the pleasurable sensations whirling through her slender frame, and the blonde girl bit back a pleased little moan, her eyelids fluttering shut. The warmth of the legs beneath her head made her imagination race, her clever, debauched mind following the curve of a pale knee down to slender thighs and along their insides to their junction where the sweetest of flowers awaited her touch—
Gods above, she was sick.
Rosaline's caress paused once again and clear green orbs peered concernedly down at her daughter. "Speak to me, Elsa. You haven't been yourself for the past few days."
It was ironic how inaccurate that statement was. Perhaps when she was younger, it had been easier to hide the way her mother affected her, but now…
She shuddered again when the dark-haired woman hooked a finger under her chin, angling her face upwards so that their gazes met. "Answer me."
That tone—the strict, sharp command in what was usually gentle warmth—made the blonde's knees weak. Did her perversions know no end? "I apologize. It's been strange having you here."
"Am I disturbing you?" She sounded apologetic, which was strange considering she reigned supreme here. "I didn't mean to impose—I simply enjoy your company. I understand that a young woman needs her space…"
"No, no," Elsa assured her. Nothing could be further from the truth. "I love having you here. I missed you so much when you were gone… It was as though I had lost part of myself."
She nearly clapped her hands over her mouth as the painfully honest statement left her, realizing that she had said too much, but the older monarch beamed and swept her daughter into a hug.
"I felt the same, my dear. While we were lost at sea, it was thoughts of my beloved daughters that lifted my spirits."
… That was strange, right? Shouldn't that have been her husband's role?
The princess wrapped her arms around the other woman's waist, burying her face in the soft warmth of her bosom and unconsciously nuzzling into the pale swells that smelled sweetly of flowers and vanilla—a scent that had been crafted specially for her by combined efforts of the castle gardener and the village apothecary.
She swore she heard the older monarch release a soft, 'Oh…' but the fleeting consideration was erased by the slender fingers that tangled in her hair again, unconsciously pressing her closer.
Elsa's face caught flame and she whimpered inaudibly; her muscles locked, caught between wanting to grasp pale peaks and needing to push the temptation away. In the end, she could only hold her breath and expend all of her incredible will power in order to avoid acting on wildly inappropriate impulses she dearly wished she could erase.
She needed a distraction. Anything that could dispel the—what was surely contrived—intimacy of the moment—
Cold, wet snowflakes drifted down from the ceiling, covering the two in glittering crystals of ice, and Rosaline glanced upwards, awe spreading across her lovely face. That shift in focus made the woman's grip loosen and the blonde sat bolt upright, smiling anxiously when she received a questioning look.
"I…" Gods, what had she been planning to say? There was nothing (appropriate) on her mind.
There was a peal of laughter and a slender orange-haired girl of about fifteen came running into the parlor, glee in her eyes as she skidded to a halt. She was bundled up despite the sun that burned brightly outside, fully prepared for the elements locked within the castle. "Elsa, will you build a snowman with me?"
Her adorable little sibling had always been a wonderful distraction.
Elsa laughed quietly, an affectionate smile curving pale lips as she watched her mother and her younger sister weave crowns out of brightly coloured flowers in the courtyard below. Anna was the spitting image of her mother, the only difference between the two being their hair colour, the years that separated them, and the slightly more regal bone structure of the queen's face. She was sitting in the older monarch's lap, deftly entwining long stems while the woman advised her quietly, sometimes taking the work in progress from the girl and righting the bits where she had gone wrong.
It was lovely to see them getting along so well.
A shadow fell across the princess and she looked up to see her father, the king, standing next to her, his expression unreadable. He smiled slightly when she greeted him, but his gaze didn't stray from the queen and her youngest.
"Elsa," he began at last, breaking the silence. "Have you ever noticed that your mother is a little… Close to your sister?"
She blinked, her heart giving a strange, anxious jump. "How do you mean?"
"It's nothing." Elsa didn't miss the way his lips thinned into a disapproving line, his jaw clenching as he ground his teeth together. "It's likely just my imagination."
Perhaps… It hadn't been. Which meant that she hadn't imagined the lingering touches and glances she had received from the elder monarch?
Perhaps… She didn't dare hope, but perhaps that meant that her sickness ran in the family and the Queen had the same turbulent collection of doubts and hopes and emotions buzzing around her skull like angry bees.
The King excused himself and went back into the castle and Elsa returned her gaze to the mother-daughter duo: Queen Rosaline was hugging Anna and they were laughing gaily together as she tickled the girl. Forest green orbs flicked upwards, catching sight of the older princess, and the Queen smiled, winking playfully in the blonde's direction.
Perhaps… It was time to test her theory.
…
Anna's sixteenth birthday was swiftly approaching and her mother and older sister were planning her party in the former's room… so that the girl wouldn't find out and spoil the surprise, of course.
Despite the soundness of that reasoning, Elsa couldn't help but feel guilty as she sat on the very bed upon which her mother had spent countless nights sleeping—perhaps nude, her curvaceous form draped in nothing but a thin sheet on a hot summer night? But then, this was also her father's bed, which meant he had likely enjoyed such a spectacular view; and then some.
The thought made her frown.
Shaking her head at her foolishness, the princess picked up a starch white envelope and dipped a quill in ink before neatly writing a formal invitation to Princess Anna's birthday party later that week. The thick fabric of her ever-present gloves made the task more difficult than it should have been and the blonde stripped them off, glancing guiltily at the brown-haired beauty who was double-checking the cost of their plans.
Her father had told her to never remove them, but just once wouldn't hurt…
The young woman returned to her task, carefully folding envelopes and stamping them with a wax seal bearing the royal family crest. She soon fell into the steady rhythm of one performing a mindless task and, before long, Elsa's mind began to wander to the thoughts that had been plaguing it for the past few days—thoughts about her mother, the queen.
Rosaline was humming faintly as she scribbled down figures; the way she pursed her lips in thought made the blonde want to lean in and kiss them. Bright green orbs shifted from her duty, softening affectionately when they alighted upon the younger woman, and the princess's heart gave a little jump, sending a wave of happiness through her.
That shift in attention caused her to misjudge the location of the pile of completed invitations and the sharp edge of an envelope nicked soft, pale skin and Elsa gasped as blood leaked down the side of her finger from the shallow incision.
Her mother stopped what she was doing immediately. "What is it, dear?"
"I cut my finger."
The Queen rose and circled around the edge of the bed to stand before the blonde, taking the appendage in hers and examining the wound. "It isn't deep." She turned to the bedside table and pulled out a pristine white handkerchief before wiping the crimson liquid away with a gentle motion. "There." The woman smiled warmly, threading their fingers together. "Thank you for helping me with this."
"It's my pleasure." And it was—every moment she spent with her mother was a joy. She gave the warm appendage a squeeze, returning the affectionate expression as her heart went haywire. Just what was it about the monarch that so totally and utterly entranced her?
The door opened with a creak and both women flinched away from each other, but the King had already entered the room, frowning when he noticed its occupants and, more importantly, their proximity to one another. "What are you two doing?"
"We're planning Anna's birthday party, Father."
He didn't seem to hear her, his dark gaze flicking to where Elsa's hand was held in the Queen's. "Put your gloves back on. Are you mad?"
/ The gloves will help you. See? Conceal it."
"… 'Don't feel it.'"
"Don't let it show." /
The blonde stiffened, but silently did as she was told, concealing pale white skin. Her fingers became cool as ice and she quickly placed them in her lap, willing away the ugly feeling brought by her father's harsh tone. "Apologies."
With another disapproving glance and a shake of his head, the man exited the room, leaving the two to sit in the tenseness that he had left in his wake. Elsa sniffed, her fingertips tingling as a layer of crystal formed over them, and looked down at the hands folded demurely in her lap, trying very hard not to shed the frustrated tears that welled up at the corners of her eyes.
"Elsa…" There was the rustling of fabric and the bed sank with Rosaline's weight as she joined the young woman, taking care as to not disturb the growing pile of invitations. The Queen lifted one gloved hand and pressed a kiss to its center before doing the same to its twin; the touch lingered for a second longer than it should have and, just like that, the ice forming around slender digits thawed. "Don't pay him any mind. He does what he thinks is best for you."
The blonde looked up, once again managing to fall into bright green pools. This time, however, she didn't flinch away, giving in to the desire burning hotly in her core and rising up onto her knees, leaning forward until she was mere centimeters from the object of her forbidden desires. When the older woman didn't move away or question her intentions, the princess dared to lean in the rest of the way, the erratic beating of her heart drowning out the little voice at the back of her head that warned her: conceal, don't feel.
When their lips met for that brief eternity, the young woman felt her entire world shift. It wasn't anything like when she had first kissed her mother as a child—the intensity of the feelings warring within her heart and mind was nearly overwhelming. She was no stranger to desire, but it was as though this simple action had opened the floodgates, allowing nearly a decade of silent wishing and wanting to fill her lithe body with carnal want.
Finally the younger monarch pulled away, her eyes dark and her cheeks stained a fetching shade of pink, to assess her mother's reaction: bright green had darkened to emerald and her lips were parted, her chest rising and falling a bit more quickly than was normal.
Neither woman commented as they returned to their individual tasks though a shy, happy smile curved both their lips—as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.
Later that night…
"Off to bed, little one," the Queen ordered, cuddling her daughter to her breast and pressing a kiss to the top of the girl's head. "Sweet dreams."
Anna scoffed. "I'm not a kid anymore, you know."
"You are until Sunday." She smiled—a small, suggestive expression that encouraged the sharing of secrets—as she looked to her eldest for assistance. "Right, Elsa?"
Ba-dump. "Listen to Mother, Anna."
The girl sighed, but rose obediently, crossing the parlor to hug her sister and bid her a goodnight before exiting the room, leaving the older monarchs to the soft crackle of the flames that danced in the fireplace. Other than that, it was utterly silent and Elsa cleared her throat, fidgeting on the sofa as bright blue orbs flicked to the rocking chair the Queen sat on near the fire.
What was the woman thinking? She desperately wanted to know. Her actions earlier had gone on unspoken of and every passing moment made her feel guiltier and guiltier until the niggling sensation caused crystals of ice to spiral chaotically from the ceiling, drawing a startled sound from her companion.
"Elsa, what's troubling you?"
After a moment of hesitation, she said softly, "I-I wanted to speak to you about earlier…"
To which Rosaline beamed. "I'm so happy. I had never even dared to dream that you would feel the same."
What…? Every excuse she had come up with fled her mind, leaving only astonishment.
When she was beckoned closer, the princess's heart leapt into her throat and she stood, each slow, measured step closer to the beautiful monarch making the muscle contract wildly. Now, standing before her mother, the young woman felt afraid of the older woman for the very first time; Queen Rosaline had an extraordinary amount of power over her and any slight rejection would shatter her fragile heart into a million pieces. Elsa should have known better than to act so rashly—especially when her mother was a lovely, kind-hearted goddess who allowed someone as unworthy and depraved as her to inhabit the same castle.
Why had she been so greedy? Her mother loved her as a mother should and that was enough.
It began to snow outside of the window, the elements reacting to the princess's inner turmoil, and the room became colder as a lonely gale howled. When Rosaline smiled almost imperceptibly, that only worsened the storm. What would the woman do?
Elsa gasped as the Queen reached out, interrupting her frantic cloud of thoughts, and pulled the younger girl into her lap. She released platinum locks from their rather austere bun, burying her fingers in silken tresses—
"M-Mother…!"
—as she sealed their lips together. The small gap was eagerly taken advantage of by a talented tongue and the overzealous blonde thrust back, startling the woman into withdrawing—but only for a moment.
"Gently, my love." The Queen's gaze was unfocused, the gentleness of her tone replaced by husky promise. "Follow my lead."
Just like that, the storm went silent; you could hear a pin drop.
She flushed, but nodded eagerly, a breathy moan escaping her as she was kissed again, their tongues twisting—gently this time—against one another in a sensual tango.
They lost themselves in each other—
Tastes; the uniquely sweet tang of the Queen's soft, full lips was addicting.
Soft, eager sounds; Rosaline had to resist the urge to ravish the girl entirely, a wet flood of heat suffusing the sweet spot between her thighs at the throaty, passionate moans her daughter released.
Gentle, lingering touches; her hands wandered, exploring pale, virgin peaks, and Elsa whimpered, pressing up against the older woman, her hips bucking instinctively as the embers of her arousal burst into full-on flame.
—and the whirlwind passion that spread heat through their bodies, the much-needed contact releasing pent-up passions that neither woman had been willing to risk exploring.
"Rosaline, where are you?" the King's gruff voice came from down the hall, startling the two apart. They quickly straightened themselves, attempting to reign in the lust that burned within them and assuming positions as innocuous and far from one another as possible.
He stopped in the doorway, looking from where his wife was knitting to where his daughter was sitting on the sofa in front of the fire, reading a book by the firelight—a perfectly cozy portrait of familial recreation. "I'm going to bed. The apothecary left a message saying he wished to see you, Rosaline."
Her face lit up. "Thank you. I'll go there immediately."
The man nodded and, after bidding both women goodnight, he continued on his way.
"We aren't finished here," the Queen promised, the sultry lilt to her voice sending a shiver down Elsa's spine. "That is… If you want to continue."
"More than anything," she breathed, blushing hotly when the older woman stood over her, exuding confident sexuality as she braced an arm on either side of the young woman and leaned in in a decidedly possessive manner.
Rosaline chuckled huskily and kissed her daughter once again—lingering, reluctant to part with her love—before leaving the room.
Once she was alone the princess sighed and fell onto her back, limbs akimbo, on the rug before the fire.
She couldn't wait.
But wait she did. Time passed, as time tends to—time during which it seemed the King was bent on keeping Elsa and her mother apart.
…
"Anna, have you seen Mother?"
The younger girl nodded, lifting her gaze from the book she had been poring over. "She said she was going into town to pick up some things for Father."
'Oh…'
Was it weird that, even though they shared an entire castle, she still missed the woman?
"Did she say when she'd be back?" She had no excuse to wander into the city, so she supposed she would simply have to wait until Rosaline returned.
"No. Did you need something?"
She needed the ache between her legs to be attended to… but she couldn't very well say that to the younger girl. Instead, the blonde mumbled, "It's nothing," and retreated to her room.
The sun rose high in the sky, warming the earth with its steady gaze, and there was a commotion at the castle gates; the blonde hurried outside in time to see the Queen trot by on her snow-white mare, a company of mounted soldiers following in her wake. She lifted a hand once she saw her daughter, waving regally, but before she had the chance to dismount, the King came out on the balcony overlooking the courtyard and called, "Will you come inside, dear? I need you."
With an apologetic smile, the orange-haired woman gestured for the men carrying her purchases to follow her and swept across the courtyard, into the castle.
…
She didn't see the woman again until dinner. A wide smile spread across Elsa's face when she spotted the empty seat to her mother's right, but then she saw the man sitting at the woman's left, at the head of the table, and blanched.
The King was looking at her with disdain in his dark gaze.
Anna grinned upon seeing her older sister and the blonde struggled to return the expression as she skirted around the table to sit next to the girl.
The meal continued in silence.
…
"He knows. He looks at me like some sort of monster."
"Don't worry."
"I don't understand how you can be so calm, Mother."
"I love you. And that's enough to overcome whatever obstacle that presents itself."
"Not if he sends me away…"
"Elsa!"
"I'm sorry. You're right—I-I just…"
"Trust me, my love. Everything will be fine."
…
Finally, the day that they had been planning for had arrived: Anna's birthday. The castle was teeming with people who wore bright smiles and boisterous laughter echoed through the halls as adults and children alike enjoyed the festivities.
Anna was at the center of their attentions and her own smile grew with the size of the pile of gifts heaped on a long table near the entrance—a testament to how much the people adored the darling young princess.
'At least she's enjoying herself.' Elsa found it impossible to do so while the king and queen were strangely absent.
The blonde forced a smile and nodded to a villager who insisted that Anna would soon be much taller than her—"She's growing like a weed!" Cerulean orbs shifted back to the girl in question and she bristled, excusing herself politely before making her way across the tiled ballroom floor where she tapped the young man who had worked up the courage to approach the young princess on the shoulder and gave him her frostiest look. She didn't like the way men looked at her baby sister.
"May I have this dance with the birthday girl?"
He nearly tripped over himself in his haste to give the older princess what she had asked for and her sister frowned. "Geez, Elsa, do you have to scare off every guy who tries to talk to me?"
"They're not good enough for you." Elsa rested one hand on the orange-haired girl's hip, taking a delicate hand into her other and stepping backwards, leading Anna in a waltz.
"That's entirely unfair. How can you just judge someone without getting to know them first?"
She could because no one was good enough for her Anna.
Rather than voice that errant thought, the blonde princess twirled her dance partner, warm affection filling her heart as she watched the elegant way her younger sister moved. She was growing up so quickly—a wonderful, terrible thing.
While she had been a little girl, Anna had been adorable. Now that she was growing into her supple, hourglass form, that cuteness had blossomed into beauty and the playfulness she had expressed as a child had developed into an alluring sort of flirtatiousness that attracted the attention of suitors from kingdoms across the land.
And that allure wasn't lost upon her older sister.
… Why did she always have to taint purity? Elsa would have smacked herself had she not been in the middle of drawing Anna in close; their bodies were flush against one another for a heartbeat before they whirled apart, executing a neat shuffle then curtsying to each other.
The younger princess grinned, panting slightly. "You're a good dancer."
A chuckle. "You're not so bad yourself."
She held out her hand. "I lead this time."
"Whatever you want."
Sometime later, the blonde decided she had had enough dancing and, after excusing herself, she exited the main hall and went out onto the courtyard, inhaling deeply as a cool breeze caressed her face. Platinum blonde locks were damp with sweat and the material of her elaborate dress felt heavier than she remembered, the fatigue of a long evening wearing on her. Elsa sighed and went over to one of the fountains at the courtyard's center, touching gloved fingertips to the water's surface and sending a thin layer of frost across it.
Her mind turned to thoughts of her mother and she sighed again, the liquid freezing over entirely. What could she do about the situation at hand? She knew it was wrong, but she couldn't change the way she felt any more than she could remove the blood that connected them from her veins. She couldn't share in the Queen's confidence because she knew how difficult it was to be different—to be judged for something that she had no control over.
A heavy ball of dread settled in the young woman's stomach and tears pricked her eyes as she dropped her head, loose tendrils of hair falling into her face. To make matters worse, Anna was becoming a very real temptation and there was only so much self-control that the blonde could exercise before something had to give.
Perhaps the same magic that had given her her powers had twisted her morals and changed her into a shameless, depraved monster. Thoughts of fleeing to the mountains reared their head—a consideration that appeared with more frequency as time went on and her distress grew—and her muscles tensed as she clenched her hands into fists.
Feelings hurt. Why did she have to feel?
Strong arms encircled her waist from behind and she yelped as she was pulled flush against the curvaceous form of—
"Mother—!"
"Daughter," the woman returned playfully, smirking as she leaned in and brushed her lips against the shell of the blonde's ear. "I've missed you these past few days."
The knot in her guts unraveled, dissipating the chill of dread and leaving behind a wondrous sense of joy. How did the Queen manage to assuage her fears so easily? It only took a touch—an affectionate gesture—and all of her problems seemed so small and far away. For a time, anyway.
"Me too." Elsa twisted around and closed the distance between them, eagerly embracing the older monarch. Once they parted, she buried her face in the hollow of the woman's throat, breathing in that floral-vanilla scent. She felt like a child again, clinging to her mother for support and comfort. "Where were you?"
"Your father has been keeping me occupied."
The statement snapped her back to reality and she flushed guiltily. There was a reason he wanted to keep them apart—an accusation without any solid evidence, but a reason nonetheless—and perhaps it was for the best. If she couldn't see the Queen—couldn't smell her perfume or touch pale, silken skin— then maybe she could resist temptation. "Are you certain you should be here? Father—"
A warm hand cupped the young woman's cheek, gently silencing her. "Your father needs to learn to accept things the way they are."
She didn't like the determined light in bright green orbs—Anna got that same look whenever she was plotting something.
"What are you going to do?"
The Queen kissed the blonde on the cheek and wrapped her arms around the young woman's slender waist. "Whatever I need to."
o.o.o
Shouting—primarily a man's voice.
The sharp sound of something fragile breaking.
Then, silence—the heavy sort of quiet following a tense moment.
Elsa rolled over, drawing her blanket over her head and taking in a slow, deep breath. Her parents never fought. This was all her fault.
When her door opened, she wordlessly lifted the corner of her sheet, assuming that Anna had come to her seeking comfort; the sensitive girl—no, young woman—hated conflict. It likely wasn't a good idea to allow the other princess into her bed considering where her mind had been of late, but she craved the comforting closeness of someone familiar more than anything. Soon after, the bed sank under her sister's weight and a warm, nubile form pressed up against her back—a form that was far too well-developed to be Anna's…!
Elsa gasped as slender hands cupped her breasts through the sheer fabric of her nightgown and a husky voice purred right into her ear, "Were you waiting for me?"
"I-ah… Thought you were A-Anna."
"Oh?" The Queen went still. "Do you do this sort of thing with your sister?"
She blushed hotly. "Of course not!"
"Why not?" The question, asked in a frank tone, made the blonde's face even hotter, but nowhere near as hot as her body became when Rosaline continued her actions, tweaking pale pink nipples that now stood at attention. "Anna has become quite a beautiful young woman."
"Y-yes," she agreed, whimpering and pressing back against the older woman's body. "But that w-would b-be wrong."
"Wrong?" She sounded amused. "Is that what this is?" Elsa couldn't find it in herself to respond—not when slender fingers toyed with pert peaks and full lips brushed against the sensitive shell of her ear with every word. "Love should not be constrained by anything—not race or age or gender. It should be shared between individuals who care for one another, no matter who they are or where they are from."
Ba-dump. "Wh-what did Father say?"
Rosaline's lips pursed disapprovingly, her eyebrows drawing together and the blonde trembled, afraid of what the woman would say. Finally, the Queen sighed, "He gave me a choice." Elsa's breath caught in her throat and she waited anxiously for the monarch to continue. "He thinks that it would be best if we were to leave again and see the world until you two have matured enough to leave the castle and live your own lives."
A cold, tight feeling constricted her chest—as though a giant, icy hand had taken it and given it a squeeze. "For how long?"
The brunette didn't respond, but the light in green orbs was sad, pitying.
"No!" She jerked into an upright position, clutching the soft cotton hem of the older woman's nightgown with slender fingers as her heart tried its best to burst from her chest. "Please, if you leave I—"
The dark-haired woman sat up as well and made a silencing gesture, her expression becoming so impossibly tender it brought tears to cerulean orbs. "Whatever happens, my love, we'll be together. I need you to trust me."
Outside, the elements stirred and a long, lonely howl echoed across the mountain. In the dim light of the flames that danced in the fireplace, the woman's beauty was positively spellbinding.
"I…" Could she? Doubts filled her mind: would the Queen really risk her comfortable life and everything she had come to know for her? Would the persecution that they faced from the King ultimately tear them apart? Just how strong were the emotions that bound them? In the end, Elsa released a slow, shuddering breath, tightening her grasp and whispering, "I trust you."
The pure, unadulterated joy in bright green orbs made months of anxiety and indecision well worth it.
She wasn't sure who leaned forward first, but their lips met and both women poured the feelings that words could not express into the contact.
When they parted, Rosaline smiled widely, revealing shiny white teeth, and purred, "I think it's time we continued what we started."
…
It was only natural that the King would be upset by such a betrayal, hence the subterfuge. A mother was supposed to love her children—the pure, unadulterated affections of one who sought to give the best to their genetic successor. Not like this.
Elsa trembled, her body heating eagerly under her mother's gentle touch. Was it strange to feel so hot all over when the storm raging outside was so cold? Was it wrong to crave that heat in every moment that it was gone?
The door to her room creaked open and the young woman froze, terror gripping her heart. The King was the only one powerful enough to tear them apart. He had been inconsolable the moment the queen's less-than-motherly adoration for her daughter had been revealed, distancing his entire family—even the young, innocent Anna who played no part in their supposed "perversions."
Rosaline, for her part, didn't place any space between their bodies and, when her hands slid Elsa's night gown up, over her head, the blonde shivered self-consciously and crossed her arms over her chest as she gave the other woman an incredulous look.
Why was she being so nonchalant? The answer came in the form of a familiar voice:
"Mother, I brought—" Anna trailed off, her jaw going slack as dark green orbs flicked from her mother to her sister, lingering. She was wearing a long nightshirt and not much else and there was a parcel of some sort in her hands. "What are you…?"
"Anna." The smile that curved full lips was positively wicked. "I'm preparing your birthday gift. Would you like to help?"
'"Gift"!?' Elsa would have gaped had she not been trying her best to bite back the quiet whimpers that her mother's lingering attentions encouraged. 'She planned this…!'
Wordlessly, the young princess nodded, biting her bottom lip as she crossed the room and set down whatever the brown package in her hands was on the nightstand.
"No, no, dear. We'll need that."
'That?' She didn't get a chance to ask as a thigh slid up between hers, pressing against sensitive flesh; she could only watch as her mother undid the plain paper to reveal… a vial of some sort. It was glass, filled with an amber-coloured fluid and sealed with a cork stopper and, when the woman opened it, the rich smell of baked goods wafted from its mouth.
"What is that?" Anna asked, climbing onto the bed and sitting next to her mother. She stole glances at her beautiful older sister as she spoke, not daring to meet Elsa's gaze, and pressed against the monarch's side shyly.
The blonde blinked as she watched them, a little red flag going off at the back of her head. Had the queen and the youngest princess been intimate before…?
"Scented oils," Rosaline answered distractedly, drawing her from her thoughts. She had already poured out a generous helping into her palm and was rubbing her hands together. When she gestured for Elsa to roll onto her back, the older princess hesitated.
This was wrong. They shouldn't. They couldn't—
"I want to make you feel good, Elsa. Won't you let me?"
Casting aside those niggling doubts, she rolled onto her stomach, her muscles tensing anticipatorily, and crossed her arms under her chin. Goosebumps spread across her skin at the first touch of warm hands and she made a soft, pleased sound.
They tensed further when the Queen commanded softly, "Come, Anna."
A pleasurable shudder ran the length of the blonde's spine at the gentle contact of a second, smaller pair of hands and, though neither monarch was touching her with the intent to excite, heat pooled between her legs in a liquid rush. She was nude and the women she loved more than anything in the world were rubbing her down, trying to make her feel good—this couldn't be real.
"Like this?"
The girl's fingertips drew ticklish patterns along her lower back and Elsa arched, presenting herself for more petting. It seemed her younger sister wouldn't be a distraction this time, but additional fuel for the flames of her arousal.
The Queen chuckled. "Yes, Anna. Just like that."
A short eternity later, the blonde was a wriggling mass of warm, sensitive flesh beneath their hands and Elsa moaned throatily, rocking her hips against the bed's surface in a futile attempt to find friction. Fingertips grazed along the curve of her buttocks, dipping between them to where her most private flesh throbbed for attention, and the young woman yelped, instinctively raising her bottom into the air, presenting herself for further exploration.
Rosaline chuckled huskily, sliding a single finger along lips slightly swollen with excitement, and Elsa whimpered. "Are you enjoying your present, Anna?"
"Very much," the girl breathed, her tone awed.
"Then let's move on, hm?" A gentle prod was all the encouragement Elsa needed to roll over onto her back and she flushed prettily under twin gazes as two sets of green eyes raked appreciatively along her form. "My… How lovely."
Anna nodded her agreement, bravely reaching out and tracing along the underside of a pale breast, causing her older sister to gasp. "I-I want to do more… Can we try other things?"
The Queen's expression was unreadable, though the smoldering heat in bright green orbs was positively debauched. "Whatever you want, my love."
There had been a momentary twinge of discomfort when Rosaline's long fingers had first slid into tight wet heat, but now Elsa moaned throatily, her hips pumping as she arched off of the bed, her senses ablaze. Anna—young, innocent Anna—was pressing kisses to every bit of pale, hypersensitive flesh she could reach, which only served to urge her swiftly towards the edge of oblivion.
Despite the way her world was flying apart, the ecstasy that washed over her in a tidal wave of heat and electrical impulses, the blonde still had the presence of mind to slip her hands into copper tresses and pull her close, sealing their lips together for the very first time and purring at the touch of soft flesh. She swallowed the surprised gasp the younger woman released, pouring as much affection and appreciation as she could into the contact as she rutted shamelessly against her mother's hand.
Pleasure razed her senses, making it impossible for her to keep track of whose hands were feathering over her ribs and down her sides to grip her hips; whose neck she was marking with tongue and teeth; whose fingers plumbed her depths while another set of capable digits toyed with her clit, tracing exquisitely torturous circuits around the swollen bundle of nerves. In the end it didn't matter because orgasm swept through her with the force of the howling gale, her eyes rolling back in her head and her toes curling as she writhed, her ecstatic shriek drowned out by the groan of the castle as it was battered by a storm the likes of which Arendelle had never seen. Her inner muscles convulsed wildly, attempting to wring as much pleasure as they could from talented fingers that curled just so—
"AH!"
The fire went out with a hiss, blanketing the room and its occupants in darkness. For a time, there was only the soft, staccato sound of ragged breathing and, as the temperature dropped, Elsa cuddled against the warm, nubile forms wrapped around her, releasing a pleased sound as she did so.
"How was it?" Rosaline inquired. There was a faint rustling as she moved in the gloom and the blonde could just barely make out the vague outline of her form as the older monarch sat up. There was another sound—soft and wet—that she couldn't identify, but when she kissed the other woman, full lips tasted of something tangy and unfamiliar.
"Mm…" With her free hand, she felt for Anna in the dark, drawing the younger girl into her lap and placing the Queen's hand at the center of the girl's chest as she nuzzled into orange locks. "I think we should see to the birthday girl."
Anna trembled, squirming in her older sister's grasp, and cried out when the blonde slid her hands up under her nightshirt to tease pale pink nipples at the center of budding breasts.
"Just a moment." The bed creaked as the older monarch's weight left it and a short moment later they were bathed in the light of the fire once again. When Rosaline turned back to her daughters, she paused, her hand going to her breast and her breath catching in her throat, awestruck by the scene before her: Elsa—flushed, breathing hard, her eyes wild, unfocused, her hair sexily tousled—cradled Anna, whose eyes were heavy-lidded, her lips parted to release faint little mewls of pleasure as she wriggled lewdly.
The Queen bit her lip, her inner muscle clenching mightily as wet heat suffused the sweet spot between her thighs.
Gods above, how did she become so fortunate?
Elsa smiled—a crooked, playful invitation—and the woman crossed the room, gesturing for her to bring Anna to the edge of the bed as she kneeled at its side. Once the princesses were in position, she moved between the blonde's legs, resting her hands on her youngest daughter's thighs and pressing them open to reveal the lovely little flower that quivered between them, just waiting to be plucked. She had just barely begun to grow hair and Rosaline stroked orange fuzz lovingly, taking her time to excite the already receptive princess.
She wanted nothing more than to bring pleasure to her precious daughters.
Though… perhaps it was still a bit early to pick such delicate petals. Instead, she leaned forward, flicking her tongue out and tracing it along Anna's labia, collecting the excitement that had gathered there before dipping inside, and the girl made a muffled sound—her mouth occupied by Elsa's.
The blonde lovingly caressed pale flesh, her gaze never straying from the way Rosaline lapped with gusto, a contented expression on her lovely face, and Anna's cries became louder and more frequent as she struggled against the onslaught of ecstasy that assailed her slender young body. Between their combined efforts it didn't take very long for the girl to climax, a high-pitched cry leaving her as she clamped her thighs down on either side of the Queen's head, her body going taut; Elsa petted her until she came down from her high, cooing affectionately as the younger princess slumped.
And Rosaline was once again awestruck by just how fortunate she was and how glad she was that she had acted on long-restrained desires, even if—
No. There was no sense on dwelling on the other consequences of her actions—not when so much good had come of them.
When a hand brushed against hers she grasped it, raising it to her lips and pressing a kiss to its palm. Somehow Elsa, darling Elsa, had picked up on the shift in her mood and she allowed herself to be pulled into bed, making a soft sound as she was sandwiched between the soft, warm forms of her daughters.
This was where she belonged, her husband be damned. Happiness surrounded them in a cocoon of acceptance and boundless adoration and the Arendelle monarchs were allowed a rare moment of tranquility, simply enjoying each other's company.
It was so peaceful, in fact, that the Queen began to doze off, her eyelids fluttering tiredly as her breathing evened out. Before she could succumb to the darkness, a warm hand rested on the curve of her hip and pale swells pressed against her back; suddenly, she was wide awake.
"We saved the best "present" for last," the blonde princess purred into her ear, her fingers tracing suggestive patterns over a slightly-protruding hip bone. "After all, a young woman only turns sixteen once—right, Anna?"
"Right!" Anna had recovered as well, it seemed. The sisters shared a brief, affectionate kiss and a huge grin threatened to split her face in two as the youngest princess rounded on her mother, eagerly claiming slightly-parted lips and swallowing the husky sounds of pleasure that escaped them as a result of the talented fingers of the princess spooning her.
Rosaline feared that she wouldn't last very long, what with the way she had forgone her own pleasure in favor of taking care of her girls, but she was definitely up to the challenge of battling against the oncoming maelstrom of euphoria.
…
The trio collapsed, exhausted, in a sweaty tangle of limbs and a comfortable silence descended upon the room. Anna was the first to move, rearranging herself so that she was cuddled into her mother's side and, once she found the energy in deliciously aching muscles, Elsa followed suit, cuddling into the eldest monarch's curvaceous form.
"I love you girls," the woman murmured tenderly, stroking their hair. "So much…"
Though the young princess sighed contentedly, already drifting off into what would likely be one of the best sleeps of her life, the blonde frowned, uncomfortably aware of how… momentous the statement had been.
As though the Queen was saying farewell.
She reached up, cupping the older woman's cheek and tilting her face so that their eyes met. "Remember what you said earlier."
Bright green orbs were unusually shiny, but she smiled bravely. "I know."
Elsa took her mother's hand in hers, threading their fingers together as she leaned in and kissed her— softly, sweetly. Then, she rested her head on the monarch's breast and soon the steady beat of the dark-haired beauty's heart lulled her to sleep.
They would face the King's wrath in the morning—together.
-Fin-