Anna woke up and promptly vomited. For a little while, she thought she might actually be dying, right there on all fours with her face in a chamber pot. A far less exciting and less dignified death than she had hoped for.

Elsa moved in silently behind her, holding her hair back, gently pulling strands from her face and rubbing her back in soothing circles while her stomach purged itself of last night's wine. The touch was a small beacon of comfort in the swirling sea of nausea and pain.

During a moment of reprieve, she sat straight and wiped her mouth and nose with shaky hands, staring dully at the wall. A voice was ringing, distant and blurry, through the pulsing in her ears. Saying something. 'What?'

'What's troubling you, Princess?'

'I'm fine...Just got it all in my nose...' Her thoughts were all out of order. She had to meet Hans soon. She oughtn't burden Elsa with her privileged, princess problems. 'It's nothing. Just silly...drank too much. I'll be fine.'

'Anna. I may have spent the better part of a decade becoming a forest cryptid. But I'm worldly enough to know that drinking a bottle of wine alone in one's bed is generally a sign that one is not fine.'

Surprisingly insightful from someone usually too twisted up in knots to get a full sentence out.

A wave erupted in Anna's stomach. She dropped to her hands and knees again and vomited violently into the pot. And then, in retrospect, she said the most insensitive thing she could possibly have said to the person she literally first met behind dungeon bars. 'Have you ever just felt like you're trapped in a cage?'

Elsa smiled and dabbed at Anna's lips with a rolled, wet cloth. When had she even filled a basin? Anna must have been too busy quivering and contemplating death to have noticed.

'Yes. Rather often, in fact.' She dipped the cloth again, wrung it, and wiped Anna's cheeks and forehead, holding it gently over each eye for a few seconds then dipping it again. It was delectably cool and refreshing against her red hot, inflamed eyes. 'One time, I was locked inside a box for two weeks with a goblin and a unicorn. In the middle of summer. The stench of horse-shit was unbelievable.'

Anna's stomach protested again. She tried to keep it down but almost wanted it to come back up, if only for the feeling of relief afterwards. She took a big, slow breath in, and then another one out, trying to find a place of stillness inside her churning gut.

'Aside from the vomiting, though, I imagine your cage presents quite different challenges.'

Standing slowly on wobbly legs, Anna gripped the edge of the wash table and took in the sorry site of herself in the mirror. Glazed, bloodshot eyes. Red splotches on her cheeks and a green-tinged pallor. 'I don't suppose you have any advice for me, then?'

Elsa dipped the cloth again, took a comb, and started removing vomit tinged clumps from copper hair, 'Someone wise once told me... that the key to life is to accept what you cannot change. Change what you cannot accept. And above all, learn to discern between them.'

II

The salty breeze and the overpowering stench of fish down at the docks stirred Anna's still-delicate stomach, threatening to bring up what little breakfast she'd managed to get down. Her head felt like it was cracked down the middle. Every sound seemed magnified, as though it was happening right next to her ears. Seagulls squawking. Boats creaking. Bells ringing, ding, ding, ding like a hammer chisel to the back of her skull. The morning so far wasn't showing any sign of letting up from its rough start.

Through the morning mist, a decorated ship approached. Maroon and white sales billowed in the wind. Birds swirled above in a circle, like a bad omen.

Flanking Anna on either side was a small gaggle of soldiers, mostly standing around and looking rather bored, given that Arendelle's citizens were usually a well-behaved lot. The docks were not yet the lawless wasteland Agnarr had warned about. A hundred or so loyal monarchists had shown up, bright eyed and bushy tailed, to catch a glimpse of their beloved hungover princess and their new, soon-to-be prince. A few had notepads with them, no doubt writing for the bulletin. General Hardier had shown up as well, for some unknown reason, standing at Anna's side and yabbering on about the wind conditions. His voice was particularly grating on this morning, and the only comfort came from visualising him falling into the frigid water below them.

First down the ramp was a pompous young fellow with white pants, shiny boots, a maroon silk sash and coiffed black hair who played a short bar on the trumpet. Another, similarly dressed, unrolled a scroll and cleared his throat, 'Announcing the arrival of His Royal Highness, Prince Hans of the Southern Isles!'

Anna rolled her eyes. It was a bit over the top. Her own parents didn't even announce their arrival with a trumpet.

She held out her hand as the prince approached, a sudden nervousness provoking her already simmering nausea.

Hans went straight past her and shook Hardier's hand!

Anna's mouth hung open, stuck somewhere between bemused and incredulous as the two men shared a warm greeting and a hearty chuckle. Perhaps Hans and the general should just marry each other if they couldn't at least pretend this union was about more than military alliance! Anna wasn't exactly the most formal of people, but even for her, that disregard for protocol was jarring. Her insides churned as Hans's big, gloved hands gripped her shoulders, causing her to sway, disrupting her fragile stomach.

It was all she could do not to vomit on the prince.

She must not vomit on the prince and his shiny, fresh pressed clothes.

She must not vomit in front of her loyal, smiling subjects.

The international repercussions would be unthinkable.

Oh, but imagine if she did. Imagine his shocked face.

'Don't you look decorus!' He planted a big, sloppy kiss on her cheek then stepped back, one eyebrow raised, 'A little pale though. Just nerves, I suppose? I'd be overwhelmed, too, if I got to marry me!'

Deep breaths. Don't vomit on the prince. Smile. Keep smiling.

'Welcome to Arendelle.' She managed.

After waving to the crowd for seemingly an eternity, it was a relief to be back inside the carriage, away from the harsh pinch of the morning sun. Hardier sat opposite them, arms and legs sprawled out on the seat like the hundreds of yellow starfish that clung to the docks. 'Good to see you again, my boy!'

Huh. Since when did Hardier consider Hans his boy?

'Pleased to be back!' Hans squeezed Anna's hand, a little too hard if she was honest, 'And just in time, too, I'd say.'

'Definitely. You must come down to Port Boldor and see the new battleships-'

'Wait,' Anna said, 'what do you mean, just in time?'

The two men laughed and a small bubble of rage built, inexplicably, in Anna's throat. 'Something funny?'

'Well, we must begin planning the blockade.'

'Isn't it a bit early for that kind of decision?' Anna said. 'The council said-'

'Oh, the council! The council! Did you hear that, Osvald?'

They were even on a first name basis. How about that?

Anna squirmed as she felt Han's hand come down on her knee, squeezing lightly. She tried to swallow it down, imagine she was some other girl who loved Hans and loved his affection. After all, there was nothing really that wrong with him. But she couldn't help feeling a sense of cosmic claustrophobia, as if with every inch closer that he moved, the world grew a little bit smaller.

'My dear princess, you'll soon learn that the role of the council is largely symbolic and it holds very little in the way of real power.'

Anna's mouth hung open. She took a breath, to reply, jarred by the instinctive wrongness of the situation, but found all her words vanished and her thoughts scattered.

This man who had spent all of a few weeks in Arendelle was now an expert on the council? He, apparently, knew more about her kingdom than she, the heir, had learnt in all her years of training?

Besides that, it couldn't be correct. Each council member did have final say over certain issues pertaining to their own jurisdictions, and they managed various affairs relatively autonomously. Not to mention the power of persuasion they had over the sovereign - that had swayed several major decisions even just in the past year. Of course, the sovereign could always overrule, but so too could the council stage a coup. So too could the people riot, and so too could the people succeed. One only had to look to France as a cautionary tale.

But that wasn't even the point! The point was that he was so very dismissive, so very condescending, and above all, so very wrong.

And yet so very sure of himself that a tiny voice deep down couldn't help but ask, what if he's right? What if he's right and I've been so wrong all this time?

At some point while Anna had sat there reevaluating her competency as an heir, the men had resumed talking. About horses, for a while. And then about wine. And then, rather scathingly, about Han's many, many brothers. Anna closed her throbbing eyes and tried to rest a little, somewhere between nauseated and soothed by the rocking of the carriage over cobblestone.

'And you're wearing that?' Hans's eyes moved down the length of Anna, and up again.

The conversation had turned, apparently, to the luncheon they were all about to attend.

Anna looked herself up and down. She had on a favourite green skirt, cream silk blouse and patterned bodice. Sure, it wasn't the fanciest outfit she owned, but it was only a luncheon. Not a state banquet. 'What's wrong with it?'

'Oh, nothing.'

'No, tell me.' Anna was racking her brain for what could be wrong. The morning had been such a blur. She had dressed in a rush. But Gerda and Elsa had both been there, and they wouldn't have sent her out in some obvious faux-pass. She looked over herself again, checking for mismatched shoes or some other absent-minded mistake. 'Why wouldn't I wear this?'

'Never mind,' He squeezed her knee again, 'You look absolutely fine. Who am I to judge, anyway?'

The words should have been reassuring, but somehow had the opposite effect. Why bring it up if it was fine? Was he expecting a ball gown or something? Anna closed her eyes again, trying to keep her mind from second guessing. First the role of the council, now her choice of outfit. She had to relax and find a place of solidity and certainty within herself, or else he'd soon have her second guessing her own name!

She would get through this banquet if she could just keep smiling. She would. With a killer headache, a lingering sense of shame from her parents' words last night, and now, a generous dose of self consciousness for good measure, she would get through it.

III

The autumn wind caught Anna's hair, unmistakably colder, heralding the coming winter. Up on the balcony she could see most of the township, nestled in cracks, valleys and plateaus of the mountains, spilling down into the mouth of the port along the fjord. It was a peaceful place to think. She could see everyone, technically, way down below moving about like little ants, but they couldn't really see her.

She should have looked Hans up and down and said his own words right back to him. 'You're wearing that?' That would have shown him. She always thought of the best response far too late. Hours or days later, when it was bloody useless.

A small stack of ledgers and decrees sat untouched on her desk. Mostly rather petty - farming subsidies, approvals for new aqueducts, minor adjustments to building and zoning regulations. Her father had signed and stamped them all, but part of Anna's shadowing required her to look over all that he signed and ensure she understood them. If not, she was to bring them to whomever was best suited to teach her.

The door latched open and Anna turned to see her mother standing, pensive, wrapped in a winter cloak already. She never had done well with the cold. 'How was your morning?'

Where to begin? First the vomiting. Then the docks. The carriage ride. The luncheon. The endless smalltalk. The day had stretched on so much already and it wasn't even dinner time yet. 'It was fine. I guess.'

'His Royal Highness wasn't too intolerable?'

Anna sighed. There was nothing she could really do about the situation. So what point was there in spilling a river of melancholia and nitpicky complaints?

'You know, your father wasn't my first choice, either. But, sometimes, love begins as a choice. It builds slowly. And with a little hard work and optimism, you wake up one day and find you've built something beautiful together. And you find yourself quite grateful. You find yourself in love.'

Anna pondered this for a minute. She knew logically that most people born into any sort of nobility, men and women alike, had very little say in who they married. It was the price of privilege. There were far worse fates she could be facing. But in her heart, she found nothing but a sick, swirling dread. Dark and inescapable, like the storm clouds lingering on the horizon.

'How long did it take?' she asked. 'With Papa?'

Iduna wrapped her arm around Anna's shoulder, lowered her voice, and smiled. 'Some days, I still have to work at it.'

'Like when he wants to kill Elsa because it's convenient?'

Well, that killed the mood. But Anna wasn't going to break the awkward silence. If her soft-hearted mother, who couldn't bear for orphanages to have stale bread, or for street sweepers to be underpaid, or scullery maids shouted at, was going to claim she had learnt to love her father… Well then, let her defend him now when his pragmatism vered into ruthlessness.

'When you take the throne, my dear daughter,' Iduna spoke slowly, every word calculated, 'you will face many difficult decisions. Decisions that bring you no joy. And you will find that sometimes what seems simple on the surface...isn't so simple.'

'It seems simple to me,' Anna kept her voice steady despite a flicker of rage. After all, neither her father nor her mother had been the ones to rub her back and wipe vomit off her face this morning. 'Don't sentence innocent people to death?'

'I hope you're not getting too attached to her.'

'What, because I don't want her murdered, therefore I'm in love with her or something?'

'Where is our fair little moral dilemma this afternoon, anyway?'

'Off with Gerda,' Anna grumbled. 'Learning how to do ironing or something.'

'And your fiance?'

'Drinking with Papa and General Hardier and,' Anna held up her hands, making air quotes with her fingers, 'the boys.'

Iduna rolled her eyes. 'Of course they are. Pulling out their swords and measuring them, no doubt.'

Anna wasn't sure if that was meant to be a euphemism, and she certainly wasn't going to ask. Gross.

'I'm sorry he's not what you would have hoped for. I know it's hard for you. This alliance is truly essential, we wouldn't insist otherwise-.'

'I hate his smell.'

Iduna's arm tightened around Anna's shoulder, pulling her into an embrace, other hand coming up to stroke the back of her head. This was not the reaction Anna had expected.

'Have you ever found a man's smell pleasant?'

'What?' How was this relevant to the alliance? Or sword measuring? Or really anything at all?

'Say, at a ball, when you're dancing with a man or… Or your little reindeer friend? You spend a lot of time together.'

'Kristoff?' What kind of question was that? 'Well he usually smells like reindeer. I wouldn't call it pleasant but it's just the way he is. He's down to earth. I like that about him.'

'But are you... attracted to him? Physically?'

Anna pushed her way out of the embrace, irritated, 'What is this about, Mama? Are you worried I'm going to go sleeping with other men?'

'Oh honey, quite the opposite.'

'So that's what this is about?' Anna heard her voice rising but she didn't care, 'You came up here just to lecture me about my affliction? After I've done my best all day to smile and be nice to everyone even though my head is killing me and I-'

'No, no, no, no, Anna, no, not at all. Not at all.' Iduna's voice was cracking like she was going to cry. Her eyes shone wet. 'I came up here to apologise for what I said last night. And to tell you that I love you. And to give you this.' She reached into her inner cloak pocket and held out a neatly wrapped bundle with the signature purple and white ribbons of Halvard's Specialty Chocolatier. 'It's not you that's afflicted. It's the world we live in. I wish it was different. In so many ways.'

'Oh, Mama.' Anna was about to cry now. She could never help herself. When her Mama cried, she cried! Plus she still had a headache and her energy reserves were seriously low and she was just all around in a fragile place. 'I hate to disappoint you and Papa. I never realised it would cause so much trouble.'

'I am never disappointed in you, Anna. Only that you can't have what would make you happy.'

Happiness. It was a funny concept. Everybody seemed to agree that it was important and yet most people seemed to go out of their way to avoid it at all costs. The world was certainly afflicted, in that sense. Unspoken between them, the words that had summarised so much of their lives echoed in the silence:

Royalty is duty. Duty is doing what is best for your people, and learning to be happy with that.

'It's not so bad.' Anna unfastened the purple ribbon and smiled wide, desperate to reassure her dear Mama, who had never asked for any of this any more than anyone, 'At least we'll always have chocolate!'