A/N: Hello, my beautiful people! It's been way too long, I know. But somehow I'm back with another insanely long chapter. I want to thank my wonderful friend and beta AnnaK for her invaluable help and for her endless supply of encouragement and support. This chapter would have never seen the light of day without her.
I also want to thank everyone who has stuck with this story for so long. I swear you guys are braver than Jul. Your comments and reviews are a big part of what keeps me writing and wanting to improve my craft.
That said, I hope you enjoy this new chapter. Even though it marks the end of Act One, there is a lot more to come, so fear not when you make it to the end. I look forward to hearing your thoughts and your suggestions for Act Two. Thank you again for reading and stay safe!
TW: Violence, language and PTSD flashbacks.
Disclaimer: I do not own Frozen or any of the characters in this story except for my OC's.
It all started with a slight tremor in his fingers, the kind that had been plaguing everyone for days. At first Nicklas thought nothing of it. If anything, it was easier to mistake it for anger. So he did his best to tune out the drunken laughter inside the dining hall and stirred his onion soup, tired and nauseous already from lack of sleep.
That's when his nostrils filled with a smell he thought he'd left behind, one that still haunted his nightmares; coal and dirt.
Nicklas stiffened. He looked up from his lunch, desperate to stay in charge. Instead he saw Holt mime a scream and fall to the ground.
By then it was too late. The memories outran him.
Darkness pooled around him, thick and oppressive. The ground was shaking, filling the air with a distant rumble of falling rocks.
Nicklas coughed up dust, fanning smoke from his eyes. All around him, the incessant echoes of a dozen pickaxes ceased abruptly and morphed into panicked screams, broken by a deep, commanding voice and the crack of a whip.
Terror swept over Nicklas. He flung away his pickax and took off running, blindly feeling his way down the cramped tunnel with outstretched hands.
The moment his boots hit rubble, he dropped to his knees. Barehanded, he started digging through rocks and dirt, tears streaming down his face.
Faster, faster!
Cold was seeping into his clothes, his skin, and deeper still into his bones. When light from a flickering lantern finally shone over his bleeding, grime-coated fingers, Nicklas recoiled with a horrified gasp.
Underneath him, was a heap of frozen mud and blood-stained snow instead of debris from a collapsed tunnel. A lifeless body jutted out from the slush. Not the body of a dirty, scrawny twelve-year-old boy, but that of a young woman whose features had been ravaged into an unrecognizable mess.
Her blue eyes flashed open and fastened on Nicklas, glassy and accusing.
Screaming, Nicklas scrambled back on hands and feet. He couldn't look away or get the words out to tell the woman he was sorry, even if he didn't know why or what for.
He curled up in a tight ball on the floor, sobbing and shaking, when a sharp jab to his arm made him flinch. He peered through his fingers but he was alone in darkness once more.
Then, from the mouth of the tunnel, came snatches of music and familiar voices calling his name. Nicklas picked himself up and made to reach them like they were hands ready to lift him out of a bottomless pit.
Little by little, darkness gave way to a soft and steady glow. Nicklas blinked hard and took in his true surroundings, searching for an anchor to tether him to the present; the stink of spilled ale and onions that hung in the air, the solid feel of a bowl in his hands.
"Brother, are you in there?"
Haldor spoke as if he'd asked that same question a few times already.
Nicklas barely managed a nod. Everything was coming back to him but much too slowly for words.
"Thank goodness." Morten sighed in relief. "You totally checked out back there. You looked like you were about to pass out or something."
Nicklas breathed in the pungent smell of onions wafting up from his soup before taking a big gulp. The taste made him queasy but it grounded him almost as much as Alvis' probing gaze.
"I'm all right, guys," he said when he trusted himself enough to speak. "I must have dozed off."
The teasing didn't start as it should have. In fact, their table grew so quiet that guards sitting nearby began giving them dirty looks. Their shortsightedness left Nicklas fuming. As if everyone who didn't drink himself into a stupor wanted summer any less. As if all this jesting and singing could hide the fact that Prince Hans still hadn't delivered on his words.
Over by the fireplace, Casper Holt and his circle of highborns still entertained their diverse audience like actors in a play. Nicklas resisted the urge to cover his ears or look over, lest he spiral into yet another flashback.
"Let's toast to our freedom, brothers. To another thousand years without women in our midst!" Holt slurred.
The room erupted into loud cheers and applause.
Nicklas hunched his shoulders. He made himself take another gulp of soup even though it seemed to burn his throat like acid.
"So…" Morten dragged out the word, shouting to make himself heard over the opening notes of a bawdy tune. "I've heard that good ol' Svendsen has yet to leave his office after returning from the dungeons. First King Agnarr's betrayal and now this. The poor guy must be losing his marbles."
"Please," Alvis scoffed, "the man was useless to begin with. We're better off with Prince Hans in charge. The lad might be inexperienced, but he won't get caught up in useless sentimentalisms if worse comes to worst."
While Haldor grunted his approval, Nicklas couldn't bring himself to agree with anything Alvis had said. Captain Svendsen had made plenty of hard choices already, choices that were fueling his own flashbacks. If being sentimental was their commander's weakness, then why did he let Julia – his most loyal and devoted guard – get beaten bloody before calling off his men?
"If the prince is such a sensible fellow, then why is it taking him so long to fix this mess? I've had enough winter to last me a lifetime."
Morten glanced morosely out the closest window. Nicklas followed his line of sight. It was well past noon, five hours since the Queen's return, yet snow was still falling thickly from a leaden sky. If anything, the weather seemed to be getting worse.
"I'll tell you why, Morty. Because the princeling is scared of the consequences." Haldor made a face and continued working out a knot in his thick neck. "He's got to stop thinking like a wretched politician and do something. Only action will rid us of this evil curse."
Nicklas shifted uneasily in his seat. In the back of his mind, he imagined Julia sitting at their table. He could almost hear her arguing with his friends about the Queen, turning heads with her obscure theories on why winter was still going strong. Blaming the Queen would never cross her mind. Not even dying of cold in a dirty, rat-infested cell would shake her beliefs.
"Prince Hans might be in charge now, Haldor, but he needs the approval of the council to move forward with something of this magnitude." Alvis tugged at his beard. "Given the circumstances, though, I doubt they'll stall him much longer. They must see that we're better off without Queen Elsa."
"And how would you know that?" Nicklas surprised himself by asking. "No one has ever spoken to the woman, yet suddenly everyone's become an expert on who or what she is."
Something burned in his stomach and crawled its way up his throat when Alvis fixed his sharp, gray eyes on him.
"I would think the current state of our kingdom speaks for itself," Alvis said curtly. "If that woman had cared at all about Arendelle – about us – she should've packed her things and disappeared a long time ago."
"But this is her home! What if she's just as terrified of us as we are of her? What if this is her way of asking for a little bit of warmth and understanding?" Nicklas countered, his voice rising, his throat tight. "Stop judging her for one moment and put yourself in her shoes for once!"
Silence fell at their table, so heavy that it seemed to eat up the crowd's off-pitch singing.
Alvis leaned back in his seat, mouth set in a hard, thin line. "We need to look at the facts, Nick, not play nursemaid while people are dying in their homes." He clenched his jaw as if to refrain from saying something he would regret then exhaled through his nose. "I promise you, I take no joy in seeing you like this, but I told you time and again that Carlsson was dangerous and you refused to listen."
Alvis might as well have poured whiskey down Nicklas' burning throat.
"You're the one who isn't listening! You never do when it comes to Julia. She could be Prince Hans' lapdog and you'd still find ways to blame her for everything!"
"Easy guys." Morten cast a nervous look around the dining hall. "We really don't want the spotlight right now."
Morten's plea fell on deaf ears. Alvis gripped the edge of the table, eyes smoldering. "Carlsson turned against her own brothers and nearly killed our regent in cold blood." He leaned forward as if he meant to grab Nicklas by his coat and give him a shake. "It's time you wake up and see that woman for the traitor without morals she's always been."
Every word hit Nicklas like a slap in the face. He looked at Alvis, half-expecting to see Holt sitting there instead, asking him to chose one friend over another like it was no big deal.
"Julia might be wrong about a lot of things but she's no traitor." Nicklas balled his fists and found his fingers still ached from the morning. He'd clenched them so long and hard, it was a wonder they hadn't broken by the time Julia's unconscious body had been dragged to the dungeons like a sack of bloody rags. "I'm the traitor here," Nicklas went on, voice breaking. "I'm the one who put Julia in harms' way without thinking of the consequences and now she'd dying in agony all alone in a prison cell."
Alvis shook his head like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You're a fool to blame yourself and an even bigger fool to think Carlsson wouldn't have gotten herself arrested a few hours later trying to break into the dungeons."
"Agreed," Haldor said. "No way was your lady going to sit back and watch. She is behind bars because she chose to fight." He nodded solemnly at that. "You should respect that and move on."
"Yes, it's time you start thinking about yourself," Alvis added in exasperation. "You're lucky Drost hasn't figured out you're the reason Carlsson was on that shift in the first place or you'd be sharing a cell right now."
The warning only made Nicklas wish he had the courage to find Drost and come clean. Maybe the flashbacks and the turmoil in his head would quiet down once he landed in the dungeons and he proved to Julia that he hadn't turned his back on her, too.
But what good would that do? Julia was fighting for her life and he'd be helpless to do anything but watch the light go out of her eyes.
The thought turned his stomach. He couldn't bear to watch another friend die any more than he could abandon one to their fate like his friends were suggesting. Moving on was not an option and neither was sitting by, waiting to find out what would become of Arendelle and of Queen Elsa. Every wasted second might cost Julia her life, unless he found the courage to speak up and ask for the unthinkable.
At last, the disgusting ballad tapered off amid a roar of applause. Nicklas ground his teeth. A cry for help swelled on the tip of his tongue as he weighed his options and his friends one by one; three amazing men, his team, his family away from home. They'd always stuck together, supported one another, put their differences aside for the greater good. Yet, they hadn't been running like a well-oiled machine lately. Ever since Julia had been assigned as his partner on Coronation Day, their united front had broken into factions – three against one. Nicklas had lost count of how many times he had been asked to remove Julia from his life already. Even if he begged and pleaded, his friends were more likely to stop him than to lend a hand.
At last, the time had come for him to fight his own battles. The mines might have made him into a weakling and a coward but he was done falling short when those he loved needed him.
"If one of you was dying in jail, paying for a mistake I'd made, how do you think I'd feel? Would you still expect me to move on and count my lucky stars?"
Nicklas didn't wait for an answer and rose from the bench. "I'm going back to bed. You should join the party before anyone thinks you're in mourning."
A hand grabbed Nicklas' elbow before he could make a beeline for the exit. He jerked around in the grip and found Alvis glaring daggers at him, fingers digging into his flesh.
"Do you take me for a fool? I know it's not your bunk you're running off to." Alvis pulled him closer with such force that Haldor got to his feet as if he expected a fight. "That woman is beyond saving. What are going to do this time? Beg our regent? Ask him to trade places with her?"
Nicklas twisted his arm free. His heart weighed like an overloaded mine cart as he shot Alvis a defiant look.
"I'll do whatever it takes to make things right. With or without you. I'm not going to leave another friend behind."
With that Nicklas strode off, shaking with conflicting emotions.
Holt called after him over the music. "Off to see your girlfriend, Nicky? Tell her to hang…in there, will you?"
Hoots and mocking laughter followed Nicklas out the dining hall like a pack of hunting dogs. He didn't dare slow down or look behind his shoulder until the barracks arched entrance came into view.
Breathless, he leaned against the closest wall, unclenching white-knuckled fists. Anger swelled inside him – at his comrades' mockery, at his friends' mistrust, but mostly at himself for watching Julia put up with insults and cruel pranks for years without ever lifting a finger.
But that would change. He would get her back somehow and he would be at her side when it mattered.
Despite the new surge of resolve, Nicklas still felt weak at the knees at the prospect of stepping outside without a safety net or a plan to see him through.
Then he heard multiple footsteps approaching at a rapid pace and risking his life seemed like a far better option. He summoned all his willpower and stepped out into the blizzard.
—
Voices filtered past a dense silence that warped words like water. Jul floated to the surface long enough to capture broken syllables and sounds, only to plunge back into a cold and bottomless darkness.
No matter how deep Jul sank into oblivion, a ripple of discomfort trickled through; the insistent whisper of a cold draft against her body, the edge of a rock-hard object lodged into her side that wouldn't let her breathe. Wakefulness and rest danced just out of reach, taunting her, keeping her trapped in a constant state of fitful sleep.
At last, the sound of a metal door slamming, jolted Jul back to consciousness.
Shivering like she was wrapped in icy blankets, she forced her eyes open. Dim light spilled into the room, just enough of it to make her head start pounding and nausea set in. Slowly, awareness returned and with it a nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right.
Jul made to lift her head to check her surroundings when a hot stab of agony went through her middle.
She fell back with a strangled cry. Pain flooded in like a raging river, setting her senses ablaze. At last, reality sharpened into focus. Jul began to feel uneven ground beneath her stomach, sapping heat from her body through her clothes. The room was deathly quiet and the stank of rot, burning oil and blood hung heavy in the air.
Jul lay motionless, her eyes shut tight, ears ringing in the stifling and muffled silence. The inside of her brain felt as tender as Magnus' scrambled eggs.
Long, endless seconds passed before the burning ache in her stomach eased and she could form a coherent thought.
Then her brain caught up, too. One by one, her memories slid back into place. Jul remembered eating dinner with Nicklas, a never-ending night shift, her first, bittersweet encounter with the Queen, the Captain's betrayal, then an escape attempt gone wrong and the shameful second of hesitation that had landed her in a world of pain and regrets.
Jul fought back the urge to scream as the images replayed in her mind. Of course Drost had finally made good on his promise. She'd basically done all the work for him. In her rush to save the Queen, she'd made mistakes worthy of a novice, forgotten every lesson Master Holm had all but beaten into her. Her reckless actions had cost her everything. Worst of all, she'd failed the only three people who'd made her time in the Guard feel worthy of something.
Arendelle and the Queen were at the mercy of mercenaries now. Jul's imagination ran wild with all sorts of terrifying scenarios; Drost punishing Nicklas in retaliation, the Council finding the Queen unfit to rule and sentencing her to death, her own mother and brother being shunned by their fellow villagers for crimes that she alone had committed.
Lying there with only ice and guilt for company and too many aches to count, Jul was as good as dead. A broken, worthless piece of bluish meat with maybe a few hours left on the clock.
At least, that's what Drost wanted, to put out her fire. But Jul still felt a spark inside her. Battered and bruised as she was, she wasn't done fighting. If death was her fate, then she'd rather die trying to right her wrongs than let Drost have the last word.
It took more than just resolve, though, to get back on her feet. It must have been hours since the lieutenant had kicked her in the face because all her limbs were as hard and unfeeling as icicles. There was just enough range of movement in them to make some headway.
Jul set to work. One deep breath in and a host of profanities out. Anger kept her focused, unwavering, even when the smallest shift of one arm took time, energy and an enormous amount of suffering.
More than once Jul feared she would crumble under her own weight and never get up again. Eventually she staggered to her feet, though, nauseous and dizzy. She wobbled toward the closest sleeping shelf and lowered herself panting onto its narrow stone seat. The room spun as she leaned back against the wall to inspect her new lodgings.
Long, narrow and windowless, the cell was bare except for another sleeping shelf hanging across from hers. The only light filtered down through a grate above a sturdy wooden door with a barred grille at eye level.
Jul paused to catch her breath while trying to recall what little she knew about the dungeons. Aside from poachers and the occasional idiot who got drunk at the local tavern and tried breaking into the castle for a look at the reclusive Princess, the prison stood empty. Patrol shifts down here were a paid vacation reserved for Drost's favorites. Most of what Jul knew, came from overheard conversations between Holt and his cronies. If they were to be believed, the dungeons were no more than one long corridor with five holding cells on either side. A single, reinforced steel door served as the only way in or out. Two guards were posted at the entrance and rotated every six hours. Anyone wanting to leave the premise would have to get past them first.
Chains rattled somewhere close by like someone was pulling on them. Jul struggled back to her feet and hobbled to the door. Like it or not, she'd have to hail the guards if she wanted answers. It didn't matter that they would just shower her with insults after what she'd done. She just needed to get them talking long enough to let something slip, anything that could tell her if Nicklas had been arrested, where the Queen had been taken and whether or not Prince Hans had already wormed his way into the council chamber.
Three quick, jarring raps on the dungeon door put the unpleasant chat on hold.
Jul pressed one ear to the door, the skin hard and unfeeling against its frozen surface. A muffled scraping of chairs echoed down the corridor, followed by several metallic screams of bolts sliding open.
Torches sputtered in their sconces along the wall as voices drifted over on the current. Soon there were footsteps approaching.
With a uniform sleeve, Jul wiped at the dirty window through a gap in the grille. Across the hallway floor the shadows were retreating, giving way to a blinding brightness.
Eyes burning, Jul slid out of sight. She waited for the guards to pass by but the thumping of their heavy boots slowed to a stop just outside her cell.
A sudden wave of vertigo washed over Jul. Dizzy, she slumped against the door. The acrid smell of burning oil wafted through the open grate, coiling around her throat like a silent promise.
They shouldn't be coming for her. Not yet. At least not while winter still had Arendelle in its clutches. The council should worry about that instead of executing prisoners.
"She's dangerous, My Lord. You shouldn't go in alone."
Jul's racing heart stumbled like she'd missed a flight of stairs. Her thoughts spun in circles, slipping through her fingers before she'd made sense of what to do and how to pull herself away from the door.
"Wait for me here and stand by in case I need backup. Quick now, open this door."
Jul heard the unmistakable crunch of a lock turning. Hinges groaned. Then, all was still.
The door hadn't moved an inch.
Jul's heart plummeted with realization. She scrambled back to the window but Prince Hans had already slipped into the cell across from hers and sealed away the angry complaint of a woman coming from inside.
A very different kind of terror slid down Jul's spine. Iron dug into her palms as she pulled her face up to the bars to peer through them.
Two guards stood side by side in the shadowy corridor. They had their backs to her and their heads close together so they could both check on the Prince through the cell's tiny, barred window.
Unable to do the same, Jul clung to the bars and waited, careful not to give herself away.
That voice. Jul had never heard it before yet it conjured up images of a sleeping woman with pale hair as if it meant to complete the picture.
A muted clatter of chains coming from the cell dispelled any lingering doubt. The guards shifted nervously, muttering to each other as they watched.
Jul's heartbeat quickened. Her fingers twitched against the bars, frustration crawling under her skin. She wasn't strong enough to kick down the door but the urge to try was overwhelming. She couldn't decide which was worse: knowing the Council had gone through with this moronic decision, or knowing the Captain had stood for it, too. How could now one see that Prince Hans was trying to clear himself a path to the throne?
Jul let go of the bars before they cut into her unfeeling skin. Anger roared in her ears. She hadn't gambled her life away for this, to watch the Queen suffer a fate worse than hers. Now that things had been set in motion, the councilors and that southern vermin would not back down once the Queen refused to cooperate after what they had done to her. One way or another, Prince Hans would get his wish. Unless…
The spark of a desperate idea cleared the red haze from Jul's mind.
She backed away from the door until the grate above it came in full view. Blood throbbed at her temples as she lifted her eyes to the arched opening. Her head swam. The words, however, surged forth as if they'd been waiting at the edge of her consciousness all along. Jul wrapped an arm around her torso and set them loose at the top of her lungs.
"Don't listen to him, Your Majesty! That man is a liar and a criminal. All he wants is to steal your throne!"
Something thudded against the door, knocking shards of ice off the top frame.
"Shut the hell up, Carlsson, or I'll make you sorry for that filthy mouth!"
Jul caught her breath, her stomach lurching. She knew the threat by heart like a tired, old refrain. And, for once, she outright ignored it by taking another deep gulp of air. If she knew Count Gustav Jakobsen at all, he'd be bursting through that door like his own bloodline was on fire in order to avenge the insult.
Jul counted on it as she bellowed, "Run, Your Majesty! Blast Prince Hans with your magic and save yourself before it's too late! They will kill—"
A coughing fit overtook Jul mid-sentence, scattering her focus into a million pieces. Gasping in between spasms, she doubled over, clutching her side like it was about to burst open.
Through the walls, she heard Prince Hans bark an order, then a loud triumphant cackle from the hallway. Within seconds her cell was ringing with the sound of gears grinding and turning. Rusty hinges groaned and creaked in protest. Much too soon the door flew open.
Warmer, smoke-scented air wafted in and ruffled Jul's hair and clothes like a gentle caress. Jul squinted against a wall of light pouring in from the corridor, still struggling for breath. Gustav's menacing silhouette already loomed on the threshold. She couldn't take him on like this, not unless she wanted to end up broken and bleeding on the floor again. She needed time to clear her mind or else her next move would be her last.
"Stand back, Otto. I've got this." Gustav all but pushed his shift partner aside and stepped through the doorway. He slashed the air with a torch in a wide arc. "Let's see if Carlsson still feels like running her mouth after I've broken all her teeth in."
Bright trails of flames swished in the dark, poking holes through Jul's slitted eyelids as she retreated. Her head pounded almost as fast as her racing thoughts. Patience, Jul told herself, channeling her inner Nicklas. Gustav had always been all brawn and no brain, as befitted Holt's meanest associate. The oldest trick in the book would get her past him. The actual obstacle stood behind the lordling; a silent presence named Otto blocking her only exit with his imposing bulk, ready to swat her away like a fly should she attempt to escape.
Gustav advanced with small steps, carelessly juggling his torch from one hand to the other. "What's wrong, Carlsson? Not so brave now that daddy Svendsen isn't here to protect you, are you?"
Jul was too busy trying not to choke on smoke to reply, even though she had quite a few choice words for him. Gustav kept toying with his torch, making light bounce off gray stone like a flaming arrow. Jul's eyes stung with the effort to keep him in sight while she figured out a plan, something that would likely involve snuffing out the blasted thing in places the flames would hurt.
When cold stone brushed the back of her coat, though, Jul barely had the beginning of an exit strategy in mind, let alone the means to execute it.
"Man, I wish the boys were here to see this," Gustav said, sounding way more excited than sorry. "They'll hail me as their savior once they find out I tore you to pieces."
All the more reason she must not screw up again. Jul flattened herself against the wall. She hunched her shoulders and made a show of shielding her face with her good arm.
Right on cue, Gustav burst into delighted, breathless laughter. He didn't see his stroke of good fortune for what it truly was.
When Otto cried out it was already too late. Jul charged forward and slammed her shoulder into Gustav's chest like a human battering ram.
The lordling's laughter chocked off abruptly. Gustav collapsed in a wheezing heap on the ground, the offending torch flying out of his hand in a spinning, blazing arch, to land at Jul's feet.
"Stop right there!" Otto rushed into the cell and planted himself between Jul and the exit, hardly sparing his partner a glance. Distress showed in his stance and it made his voice waver. "Damn you, Carlsson. Why can't you ever leave things be?"
Jul groaned, reeling from the shock of impact numbing her from the shoulder down. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. After all this time, her comrades still believed she was stirring up trouble just for the sake of it, when her motives where at the heart of what they did, of who they were. If they didn't get it now that the kingdom was actually in danger, perhaps they never would. And Jul was done explaining to a bunch of mercenaries what the job of a guard entailed.
Pain twisted Jul's insides as she snatched up the fallen torch before it sputtered out. Faint and breathless, she turned to Otto's blurry outline and hissed through her teeth. "Because, unlike you traitors, I am a Royal Guard!"
With a raucous scream, Jul flung the torch at Otto in as straight a line as she could muster. Hissing and crackling, the flaming weapon hit the guard square in the chest. Sparks flew. Otto watched in stunned surprise as they immediately caught in his long, braided beard.
By then, Jul was already rushing past him and his horrified cries. Light beckoned and she responded by bursting through the opening at a halting run.
The stink of burnt hair clung to her as she stumbled into the smoky tunnel, heedless of her injuries. To hell with her broken bones. She'd break to pieces before she let another bloody door come between her and the Queen.
Picturing blue crocuses and white-painted wood, Jul threw herself against the cell door as if it would make up for every single night she hadn't.
But the door flew open a second before Jul's bloodstained gloves could reach its frozen surface.
Jul toppled forward with a pained grunt, unable to stop her momentum, and landed face first into the soft, dark lapels of a dress uniform.
Expensive perfume engulfed her, thick and suffocating. Jul recoiled, gagging from a mixture of revulsion and recognition. With desperate haste she shoved away from the touch, but two hands fisted in her dirty coat, holding her in place.
Shattering despair closed around her chest in an even tighter grip. Helpless, she could only watch as the door swung shut behind Prince Hans and sealed away a fleeting glimpse of the Queen, awake and on her feet, frowning down at the steel mitts encasing her hands.
"No!" Jul spluttered. She pushed away from the prince with her last ounce of strength. "Use your powers, Your Majesty! Free yourself and leave—"
"Enough!"
Prince Hans's fist appeared out of nowhere and slammed into Jul's injured side so hard that it knocked the breath out of her.
The corridor blurred and tilted sideways. Jul staggered back a step before her knees buckled and she crumpled to the ground. Pain radiated from her middle, paralyzing her, swallowing her thoughts and the world around her.
"Get this stupid woman out of my sight," Prince Hans ordered in a clipped tone. "If she so much as utters another word, I'll have you both charged with negligence."
Jul tasted blood and bile at the back of her throat upon hearing Prince Hans' steps recede swiftly down the corridor. This was no victory, but the briefest of delays at most. The princeling would run crying to the council and no doubt come back with an execution party in tow to finish what he'd started. Jul could only hope her words had left a mark on the Queen and not just doomed her to more violence.
All too soon, Otto was grabbing her by the back of her coat and flinging her back inside her cell.
Jul hit the floor like a chunk of cracked glass. She screamed then, until her voice gave out, unable to keep at least her dignity in one piece.
"Close the door, you stupid oaf," Gustav rasped, each word fraught with cold rage.
A set of blurry boots approached, sending tremors through the ground and through Jul. Fear lurked in the deepening darkness so she clung to the only weapon at her disposal: defiance. Gustav could exhaust all his wrath on her and then some, but he would never break her.
"Come now, Carlsson, let me hear your voice," Gustav began, placing his foot on Jul's windpipe. "Call on your precious Queen for help. I'm sure she'd love to lend a hand to a fellow witch."
Jul fought for breath but air left her mouth with gurgling sounds. Half-blind, she clawed at soft leather with aching, weakening fingers. As her lungs burned, a dense, cold, fog thickened around her thoughts, sapping away her strength.
"What's the matter? Don't tell me it hurts. We're just getting started."
Jul looked up with unseeing eyes. With one last wisp of clarity, she mouthed three silent words.
Go. To. Hell.
Gustav hissed as if she'd struck him. "You filthy lowlife!"
The pressure on Jul's windpipe dropped away. She managed one full breath before Gustav kicked it out of her. His blows came hard and fast from above, each of them punctuated by an insult or a curse.
Soon Jul lost track of how many. Searing agony exploded wherever Gustav's boot landed, seeping though her flesh until every fiber of her being was alight and throbbing.
"I think that will do, my lord." Otto's voice sounded strained and distant in Jul's ears when it cut through the stream of profanity. The beating stopped. "The next shift will be here soon, sir. We should get back to our post."
"Bah! You're all work and no fun, Otto." Gustav rested his foot on Jul's forehead as if deciding whether or not to keep going. After a beat, he shoved her away like she was a disgusting, rotten thing under the sole of his boot. "Man, I can't wait to see this bitch sway beneath the gallows."
But Jul was fading already, drifting off and away from her tormented flesh.
Darkness wrapped around her in a soothing, welcoming embrace. Jul sank into its depths with abandon. When she opened her eyes again she was home.
It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon which meant she was outside practicing swordplay against her brother Axel by the barn. Their father split logs for the winter nearby, cheering them on and calling out instructions in between every stroke of the axe. Wood split easily under his blade, folding in half with a wet, hollow crunch.
Jul stopped her final assault mid-swing. Something about that sound didn't feel right.
She glanced at the huge mound of wood at her father's feet and recoiled. Ice coated the logs in a thin layer of ice that was spreading across their bark as if it had a mind of its own. In a matter of seconds it had crawled up her father's legs and covered the courtyard in a blanket of morning frost.
Jul tried calling out to him but her throat seared as if she'd swallowed mouthfuls of jagged shards. Coughing and shivering, she dropped her practice sword and took off running, fear pumping in her veins. She raced the lengthening shadows stretching over their homestead, struggling against the rising wind while heavy storm clouds gathered overhead.
She was almost there, close enough to see her father's mouth open in a scream, when her feet slipped out from under her.
Cursing, Jul hit the ground with a resounding crunch of something more than just frosty grass. Pain lanced through her side on impact. The courtyard swam before her eyes as she tried in vain to scramble to her feet on arms and legs that had gone completely numb.
Despair made her look up. Ice had overrun every last inch of their homestead and of the surrounding forest. What remained of her father and brother were two shimmering statues that watched her with soulless, empty eyes.
Jul's ragged breathing came out in a sob. She slumped onto the freezing earth and huddled there, alone and at the mercy of wind and weather. It wasn't long before the shadows around her thickened and her home faded into darkness.
Jul descended into a timeless, empty space within herself. She dove deeper and deeper still, desperate to escape her tormented body.
As soon as she'd found a whisper of warmth in the stillness, however, a sharp crack of splintering wood flooded her consciousness.
Jul came to abruptly, stiff and shivering violently. Her every nerve ending throbbed as if it had been left exposed, convincing her very quickly that she was indeed still alive and that winter was still going strong. She forced her frozen eyelashes open to the sound of howling, angry winds beating against the dungeon outer walls. In the gloom overhead, a constant, sinister echo of groans and cracks, freed a light dusting of wood shavings.
Squinting up at the ceiling, Jul blinked the culprit into better focus; thick veins of ice slithered all over the floor and up the walls just like in her nightmare. Their vast web coiled around the cell's support beams and worked its way through their every fissure and crack as if it meant to rip them apart from the inside.
Jul groaned and wiped her face clean of wood chips and frost, ignoring the loud protests of every joint and bone in her body. Her skin felt too hard and cold to the touch. If she waited there any longer, she'd either die crushed under tons of bricks and beams or fall into another painful slumber while her flesh hardened and rotted away.
Not yet, not like this.
The words shook Jul out of her lethargy. With one last glimmer of strength, she crawled toward her sleeping shelf and hoisted herself onto its frosted surface.
Magic pulsed with feverish urgency everywhere she looked. It gave Jul the energy she needed not to give in to exhaustion. As long as that lasted, there was still hope.
Then, out of nowhere, the floor began to rumble. Icicles broke loose from the ceiling. The door rattled in its frame while the support beams groaned like they were about to snap in half.
Jul winced and stumbled to her feet, clutching her side. The door seemed miles away but she had to make it there at once. The ground had stopped trembling and she could hear a rumble of hurried footsteps coming from the hallway.
Within seconds, a small cluster of guards filed past the grille, Prince Hans trailing behind them.
"Hurry up!" Gustav urged.
Their shift wasn't over yet, which meant Otto was the one with the keys.
"She's dangerous. Move quickly!"
"Careful!"
The Prince's backup spoke and moved with a nervous tension that betrayed their fear of confronting their Queen.
Jul was way past the point of fear, however. It was her body that couldn't keep up once again. When she tried sending a warning to the Queen, her throat clenched and burned so hard that all that came out was a breathy whistle.
"It won't open!" Otto cried, jamming the key in and out of the slot.
Gustav shoved his partner aside and threw himself uselessly against the door. "It's frozen shut."
Precious seconds passed. Jul hoped they'd count for something as the guards combined their strength for a collective strike.
The door gave way on the fourth try. From inside came a muffled crash that had the guards shouting and shielding their faces.
Prince Hans pushed past them into the room and out of sight.
The ensuing silence was the sweetest music Jul had ever heard. She collapsed smiling against the doorframe, eyes smarting. Daylight had never looked so beautiful as it did now, shining off her comrades' dark boots. Wind made their coattails flap and blew big, fluffy flakes of snow into the dungeons.
Prince Hans stalked out of the cell, eyes brimming with fury. He stared the guards down before saying, "Inform Lieutenant Drost that the Queen has escaped. I want the entire Royal Guard scouring every inch of this fjord for her. Anyone who finds her, has orders to kill on sight…if I haven't done so already."
Jul was only vaguely aware of the Prince rushing off toward the entrance. Her gut hurt as if his fist had reached through the door and struck her again. Whether or not this was the council's ruling or the southern bastard's way of bypassing it, Jul could not afford to waste a second longer in this prison.
While the guards outside scattered, Jul took stock of her situation. Themoment her gaze fell on an upturned bucket lying unnoticed under her sleeping shelf, an idea struck her.
With a small amount of pressure, Jul crushed the whitened bucket under her boot. She snatched up two of the smallest, sharpest pieces from the wreckage and knelt by the keyhole. Worst-case scenario, they'd double as weapons in case she alerted her jailers by fiddling with the lock.
Jul's chances of picking the lock without the right tools and with fingers that only bent halfway became apparent at once. The two makeshift picks rattled uselessly against the gears without a shred of control. The seconds ticked by while her fingers grew sluggish, her motions frantic. Before Jul had figured out a way to get her hands to cooperate, though, a deafening bang echoed through the dungeons.
Several torches outside went out like snuffed candles, plunging the cell in near darkness. Ears ringing, Jul released a string of curses that would've shocked her own brother. Her escape plan had been compromised and that wasn't even the worst part. There were tremors passing through the doors and beneath her feet. Each one of them freed a shower of debris from above and made the cell's structural beams groan like a dying beast on the verge of collapse.
But there was another stream of noise breaking through Jul's busted eardrums; shouts and screams, clopping and neighing sounds that mingled with a clamor of overlapping voices. All of that was followed by a dull clang that reminded Jul of Magnus working in the kitchen. The fighting ceased at once.
Jul was at a loss and the ensuing silence made the hair on the back of her neck stand up straight. Anyone with sense would be fleeing the dungeons, not come here looking for a fight.
Ideas began twisting her guts into bigger knots and she immediately discarded her thieving tools to retreat to the darkest corner of her cell.
"Spread out," said a male voice tight with urgency. "The sooner we find her, the sooner we can leave this place."
Jul couldn't place the voice even though it sounded familiar. It was a guard, though, she was sure of it – a guard who had disobeyed a direct order from his superior and led an entire team into the dungeons. Jul didn't need to scroll down a list of people to figure out who it might be and what they wanted from her. Except for Nicklas, she had nothing but a host of enemies so set on righting past wrongs that they'd rather risk their lives than let the cold do the job for them.
While multiple sets of footsteps approached, Jul armed herself with two of the biggest rocks that had come loose from a portion of the ceiling. She hunkered down in the shadows on shaky legs and waited.
All too soon, a tall and dark outline appeared through the window. Despite the faint glow of a distant torch, Jul could only bring into focus the man's tall cap and the contours of his face while he peered through the grille.
A royal guard, just like she'd feared.
Mind racing as fast as her pulse, Jul wrestled with her painful joints to hold as still as possible. If she managed to become one with the shadows, then maybe she could avoid detection and save her energy for one last escape attempt.
Seconds stretched on, way past the point of what Jul's muscles could handle. But in the end, the cramps seemed to pay off.
With a violent shake of his head, the soldier stepped back from the door and rushed away.
Relief lasted the span of one breath.
In the brief time it took Jul to slump back with a strangled groan, the guard returned, this time armed with keys. While he worked with furious urgency on the lock, Jul found herself rooted to the floor. She was exhausted, too tired to face yet another impossible challenge. It seemed that all she did was get beaten up over and over, only to find worse and bigger hurdles standing in her way.
But fighting was the only alternative, no matter how bad the odds. She couldn't allow these bastards the satisfaction of revenge.
After a good deal of kicking and shoving, the door flew inward with an explosion of ice shards. A broad-shouldered, lanky figure appeared in the doorway. With his back to the light and the collar of his coat pulled up, he could've been any nameless guard with stubbled cheeks and a grudge to settle.
Jul didn't wait for introductions. From her dark corner, she braced for pain and hurled one of the rocks at the invader.
Swift and silent as an arrow, the stone sailed across the room and struck the guard's cap with enough force to tear it off his head.
The guard cried out and ducked down as if he expected another volley.
"Hold your fire, Julia! It's me, Nicklas." He raised his hands in a placating gesture. "I know I'm late, but please, let me get you out of here first. Save your anger for when we're all somewhere safe and warm."
Jul froze, her throwing arm hovering in mid-swing. "Nick?" she croaked, blinking rapidly. The second stone clattered to the floor as she dropped her arm to her side. She staggered out of the shadows, praying her mind hadn't chosen this very moment to start playing cruel tricks on her. "Is it really you?"
Behind him, a small cluster of people stood waiting, framed in the torchlight that spilled into the cell. Jul couldn't get her eyes to linger on them long enough to make out their faces.
"Of course it's me. Who did you—" Nicklas trailed off and made a sound like he'd just seen a horse lurking in the shadows. In two strides he was at her side, standing close enough for her to see his pale, sunken cheeks and haunted eyes. His gloved hands hovered inches from her face. "Oh, man, what did they do to you?"
Jul managed half a sigh and a grimace before swatting his hands away. "We don't have time for this. Quick," she rasped, grabbing hold of his forearm for support, "help me out of here before we get crushed to death."
That sobered Nicklas up at once. He lowered his lanky frame, allowing Jul to lean her weight on him before leading her outside into the corridor.
There, five people waited, shivering, huddled around a beautiful white stallion. Jul slowed to a stop as their faces came into focus. Either she was going absolutely insane, or Nicklas had enlisted the help of three guards and two Coronan Royals to break her out of prison.
"Julia!"
With a gasp, Princess Rapunzel ran over to Jul. She was shockingly barefoot, wrapped in heavy blankets and wielding a sturdy frying pan. The other hand she freed hastily from the blankets to run lightly over bruises and damage that Jul could not see or feel. "How…how could they do this to you?" she whispered with tears and horror in her eyes. "Eugene, look what they did to her beautiful face!"
"I am looking and I wish I could stop," Prince Eugene whimpered under his frosted goatee. He couldn't have looked more horrified if he'd been staring at a pile of dismembered bodies. His hand went to his face as if to make sure his own features were still intact and he shuddered with relief. "Sunshine, please, put your tear ducts to good use before I'm scarred for life."
Jul stared at them both, too stunned for words. She had way too many questions swimming in her head, about the rescue operation but mostly about its members – human or otherwise.
Princess Rapunzel, however, swept them all away by intoning a soft, mesmerizing melody. Her voice drifted among them, warm and soothing, like a spell imbued with magic.
Flower gleam and glow
Let your power shine
Make the clock reverse
Bring back what once was mine
Heal what has been hurt
Change the —
"No, no, come on! Why won't it work?" The Princess rubbed at her eyelids, chanting softly under her breath while everyone stared in either shock or utter confusion, before dissolving into frustrated sobs. "It's too cold for tears, Eugene. What do I do?"
"Beats me, Sunshine," the Prince replied through chattering teeth. "I think it's too cold for my brilliant ideas, too."
"Your Graces," cut in the oldest of Nicklas' friends, Alvis Fjellheim. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but can…whatever this is wait until we're somewhere that is not about to collapse on top of us?"
Jul was the first to react. She drew away from Nicklas, doing her best to appear steady on her feet. "He's right, Your Highness. The dungeons are compromised. You need to get to safety."
"Wait – hold on there!" Nicklas stepped swiftly in front of Jul, his eyes boring into her. "We are all getting out of here. Together."
Jul fixed him with a look. "Every guard in this castle has orders to kill the Queen on sight. I need to find her and help her escape."
Nicklas' friends groaned and sighed in exasperation.
"Classic Carlsson," scoffed Alvis.
"We told you this was a mistake. She's going to get us all killed!" piped up the tallest of Nicklas' friends, bouncing on the ball of his feet as if he was about to bolt for the exit.
"Oh come on, guys, stop being so mean. We've been over this already." Princess Rapunzel regarded them with a disappointed pout that could've pacified warring nations. "Julia is a guard. Of course she wants to protect Elsa. Don't you all?"
The damning silence that followed was a sad testament to what the Guard had become. Even the horse tossed its head and neighed as if to voice its disapproval.
Prince Eugene patted its neck, at the same time edging closer to his wife. "I know, Max. I'm just as shocked you are. You'd think Arendellians would be a more forgiving people. Such a fuss over a deadly, magical storm."
"We don't wish harm on anyone, Your Highness. We just want things to get back to normal," Nicklas said a little too firmly. Then he turned to Jul and sighed as if to muster as much of that same conviction as possible. "I know how much this means to you, but you won't be of any help to the Queen right now. Look at yourself. You can barely stand on your own."
Jul huffed. "I'll be fine. I know what I'm doing."
"By God, Carlsson, listen to reason for once in your life!" Alvis exclaimed. "The only thing you'll find if you step into that blizzard is your own demise."
Jul didn't back down. She stood as tall as her broken ribs allowed and gave the man a withering look. "I'd rather die trying than serve a criminal who'd do anything to fulfill his desire for power."
The built, tough-looking guard who had so far only glared from a distance, spat on the floor and made a warding sign. "Better a murderer than a witch who cursed her own kin and left us all to rot."
Princess Rapunzel gasped in dismay, looking nearly as appalled as Jul felt. "That is so unfair, Haldor."
But Haldor didn't look the slightest bit apologetic and Jul was done arguing and explaining why they should all care about their Queen.
"You know what? Believe what you will. I know I'm right about this – about her. That's all I need," Jul said hoarsely, facing the guards' hostile gazes. "Thank you for your help. I won't forget it."
She bowed her head stiffly and made to leave but Nicklas stopped her with a light touch on the shoulder.
"Let me come with you." There was a chorus of groans but Nicklas plowed on like he was deaf to his friend's dissent. "If I can't change your mind, then I'll follow you."
"Count us in, too," Princess Rapunzel beamed. "Elsa needs to see she still has people in her corner." The woman's confidence was unwavering, untouched by her shivering or by her husband whining that he "should've seen that coming."
Jul floundered, grasping for an answer. The temptation to say yes was strong in a way that she struggled to comprehend. Three extra sets of trusted eyes and hands could mean the difference between success and failure. However, the thought of endangering these selfless, kindhearted individuals was worse than any threat or pain that awaited her outside. Even if the survival of the entire kingdom was on the line, there was so much more to lose than Jul had realized. And it wasn't a sacrifice she was willing to make.
"No. I'm going alone. You have taken enough risks on my behalf already. Run back to the guests' quarters and wait out the storm there. If it doesn't let up within the hour, grab everyone who'll listen to reason and get as far away from Arendelle as – no, just do it and don't look back," Jul told Nicklas before he could argue. She covered his hand with her own and added in a broken whisper, "Go, I'll be all right. Thank you for everything, my friend."
Anguish tightened Nicklas' features into even sharper lines. Then, with a pained sigh, he let his hand fall away, much to the relief of his friends.
"Okay," he relented and swallowed hard. "Go do what you must. If anyone can convince the Queen to bring back summer, it's you. Just...just come back alive, please."
There was nothing Jul could say to that. She nodded. No last words. No empty promises. Nicklas already knew that she was going to try her hardest to pull off both things at once. That's why he believed in her.
His faith in her abilities was solid, steady, like an invisible armor. Jul donned it and stepped into what remained of the Queen's cell.
"Good luck, Julia. We believe in you!"
The Princess' encouragement was sorely needed. As soon as Jul walked through the door, the angry roars and gelid currents of a tempest assaulted her. Pale morning light and snow blasted in through a gaping hole in the far wall. Jul's temples throbbed as she shielded her eyes and stared at the fjord beyond. A white expanse stretched for miles in each direction. Like a frozen inferno, it swallowed everything it touched; the castle, the village, the mountains.
Alvis had been right. Finding someone in there would be impossible. Jul couldn't tell where the fjord ended and the sky began. She'd need hours if not days to cover all that ground on her own. Unless…
She squinted through walls of snow and swirling sleet. Magic – that was her ally. If she used it as a guide to reach the eye of the storm, she had a feeling the Queen would be right at its center.
Jul picked her way over rubble and the mangled remains of two metal gauntlets. On the other side of the opening, gale-force winds raged without respite, shoving her from all angles like countless invisible hands. The deeper she ventured into the storm, the harder she struggled to keep upright and make progress. Still, Jul put one foot in front of the other, hunched over, shaking from a combination of cold and exhaustion.
On either side of her, half-sunk vessels poked out of the fjord's frozen waters like dark skeletons. Their exposed hulls and masts swayed with every burst of wind, setting off a chain of ominous groans and cracks both above and below the water's surface.
Jul hurried past them until she had an unimpeded view of the grounds. Her heaving chest tightened as she spun in a circle to scan her surroundings. All she could see was a gray and desolate wasteland ravaged by vicious winds that kept changing direction at breakneck speed.
Then, a roaring, whooshing sound rolled across the fjord.
Startled, Jul looked up. Her mouth went dry. Something was hurtling toward her faster than an avalanche. It was a wave made out of mist so thick and so high that Jul couldn't see its crest.
With or without a fully functioning body, there was no outrunning such magic. The fjord itself groaned like a ship on the verge of coming apart at its passage. Jul prayed she wouldn't crack like the ice beneath her feet. She squeezed her eyes shut and braced for impact.
Within seconds the wave hit. Jul felt it pass right through her, soft like a mournful sigh. It didn't leave pain in its wake but a trail of cold that sunk its teeth deep into Jul's bones.
Shuddering, Jul opened her eyes and couldn't help a grunt of surprise. Gone were the raging winds, the sleet and the rumble of the storm. Somehow the wave had swept it all away before dissolving into thin air, exposing the damage that the storm had wrought on the kingdom.
A haunted and resounding stillness echoed among the ships now. Magic hung thick in the air, so thick that Jul could see it with her own eyes.
There were thousands of snowflakes floating in mid-air. They glinted like miniature stars, so beautiful and so out of place amid the destruction.
Although time seemed to have slowed to a stop, Jul didn't let the stunning magical display affect her. Magic wouldn't act this way unless something had happened to the Queen. That's how her powers had behaved so far. Jul was no magic expert but she still felt the bone-chilling cold of that wave going through her. If this was indeed a cry for help, she had to get moving.
A quick look at the fjord told Jul where to find the closest vantage point. Without a second thought she took off running, fighting down the pain that traveled up her spine with every step.
After what felt like miles of torture, Jul finally made it past a line of stranded vessels. She stopped, light-headed and panting for breath. So many black spots peppered her vision that she could barely keep her balance, let alone spot a person among a long strip of land.
Just when Jul though she'd hit another dead end, she heard a sound that sent her stomach plummeting like a cannon ball into the freezing waters below. It was a sound she recognized all too well; the ringing and scraping of a sword sliding from its scabbard.
The world spun and lurched as Jul whirled around, making snowflakes bounce off her uniform. The fjord was a dull blur of color but Jul spotted it at once, a tiny drop of turquoise blue glowing in the distance like a warped star.
Even before her vision returned, Jul knew she was too late. The Queen was down on her hands and knees, head hanging. Worse yet, she wasn't alone on the ice. Prince Hans approached cautiously from behind with slow, measured steps worthy of a skilled assassin. The sword Jul had heard sing moments ago was in his hand, poised to strike.
In that moment Jul shouldered all her pain and started running, scrambling over frozen water to get to the Queen in time. She pushed her body well beyond its limits, yet it wasn't enough. The blade was moving faster than she was. Jul tried shouting and screaming, anything to buy herself enough time to stop the attack, but there was no more air in her lungs to spare when the Prince raised his sword arm to finish off his victim.
Then, out of nowhere, a blue and purple shape dashed between him and the Queen. With a stab of horror, Jul recognized Princess Anna instantly, despite her now-white braids and the bluish tint to her skin. The younger woman was visibly limping but she was very much alive and determined to protect her sister with nothing but her hide and infinite courage. She threw up a hand as if she meant to stop the blade barehanded and screamed.
"No!"
The desperation in her voice went through Jul like another icy wave. She couldn't let this be the end. No way was she watching Prince Hans kill both women in one single blow. She hadn't survived torture just to be the third dead body to land on the pile.
All the fear and guilt that had been weighing Jul down dissolved. She put on one last burst of speed and jumped between the women and the Prince's downward slash, her arms open wide to cover as much of their bodies as possible.
When steel struck, Jul had but a moment of relief before pain exploded through her. The blade cut into her flesh then traced a line of pure fire between her shoulder blades, making her breath go out in a choked gasp.
The flames consumed her from within, blinding her vision, clouding her thoughts, seizing her muscles.
For a long moment Jul was weightless, then she fell face forward onto the ice and darkness swallowed everything.