Anna gripped the reins as her horse veered suddenly to the right. Hans was steering his own horse into hers, guiding them to turn. She had lost focus again and the lords shared a look of what was hopefully endeared amusement and not annoyance.

If they were annoyed, they knew better than to say so.

'Something on your mind, Your Highness?' Lord Ibsen said. 'Is this a bad time?' He was the boldest of the three, being the oldest, with peppery white hair and craggy old skin a stark contrast against his extravagant ruffled shirt and patterned vest. He was also the richest, of course. The most powerful.

She shook Elsa's words from her mind for the fiftieth time that morning.

Powerful men…

A wave of nausea.

'No, no, of course not.' She tried to focus on the here and now. The snow dotted landscape. The damp, natural smell of wet dirt and decaying leaves. The pale sky and frigid breeze against her cheeks. The Alliance territory growing like a coffee stain spilling across a map. 'Well I mean, war is always a bad time, right?'

'Rest assured, the crown will have the absolute allegiance of my men. All five hundred and twenty five of them.' Lord Gundersen was butting in there, earning a scowl from Berg. There was definitely some dynamic going on that her father would berate her for missing.

'The crown is ever grateful, as always.' Anna said. 'Though we hope it won't come to that.'

'Of course, allegiance is a most earnest thing to offer.' Berg wedged his horse between Gundersen's and Anna's, his thick moustache blowing in the wind. 'In place of extensive military experience. My soldiers are fewer in number, but each one is an elite, unshakable force of lethal-'

'You were both soldiers once, weren't you?' Anna spoke more to herself than to Gundersen. But he took it as an invitation to start rattling off about bravery and loyalty and how he went into the army a soft, lumpy boy and came out a chiselled, rocky man or whatever. She wasn't really listening.

Hans gave her a look that said what are you doing? Get your head in the game!

What she was doing was thinking about Elsa and the things she'd said and the terrible images that clawed at the back of her mind.

What she was doing was asking herself terrible questions about powerful men and about soldiers and about her place as the heir to one day hold all of them at her command.

Soldiers don't like cocky little witches.

A knife to the heart.

Did these men beside her ever traipse around the countryside teaching lessons to helpless teenage girls? And then march on back to the castle in a dignified manner with their bowing and hand kissing and flattery? March on home to their wives and children?

She thought of the Arendellian soldiers who flanked her on her outings, accompanied her on diplomatic trips, never far from reach, always steadfast between her and the dangerous world, like shields. Seeing their green and violet colours in her peripheral vision was always reassuring. Like a safety net. They were the good guys. Weren't they?

At first she had wanted to know details. Whose soldiers were they? What powerful men had sent for her? Where did the soldiers take her? What happened next? She wanted to tell herself it was just one evil Lord of Darkness, sitting atop his throne of skulls in his evil, spooky lair, rubbing his hands together and laughing maniacally like a fairy-tale villain as he sent out his wicked, soulless ghouls to do his wicked bidding.

But this was real life, not a fairy-tale. Evil was a matter of perspective.

Hans squeezed her arm gently and she almost flinched, expecting pain, then remembered they were in company and she was safe for the moment. He looked at her expectantly. She had totally zoned out, again.

He cleared his throat, 'We can take a look at the numbers, I'm sure Her Highness will agree, a favourable agreement for everyone can be reached.'

Numbers. That's right. Loyalty always comes with a price. These men wanted lower taxes, deregulated zoning restrictions and first dibs on the trickle of luxury goods that would make it into the kingdom with trade routes rapidly choking up. She knew that before she even put on her riding boots this morning, and the advisors had confirmed it.

'Gentlemen, rest assured, the crown appreciates your support and intends to stand by our noble houses, as we always have, in good times and in bad.' She was in princess-mode immediately. Formal and detached. All the years of training kicking in. Answer them without answering them, her father always told her. Leave yourself options. 'And the economic health of all our districts will remain a top priority throughout the coming...ah...challenges.'

They muttered and grumbled in acquiescence. Surely they didn't expect to swoop in here and get a signed, stamped commitment out of her while her father was away? There was no limit to how sneaky and entitled these nobles could be. And yet they waited for her, trotting their groomed horses along a row of leafless, swaying oak trees. They waited respectfully for her to continue, these men of culture and class who knew their place in the presence of a princess and her duke. Men of war and money and means who would get what they want, one way or another.

Powerful men...

Shattered glass. Everything cracked. Splintered.

'And we really do appreciate you taking the initiative to discuss these concerns privately, and in a timely manner.' She guided her horse back past the pond and toward the castle. 'I have no doubt my father will look upon it favourably. But as I'm sure you understand, I can't promise any specific numbers until he returns. I'd hate for you to make all your projections based on a figure I gave you, only to find that figure is slightly different from the one His Majesty decides on.'

'But you will promise something.' Ibsen said. More a challenge than a question.

'You have my word that your Houses will not be deprioritised.' Deprioritised. Was that even a word? She looked to Hans for backup. As much as it pained her to admit, they were kind of, sort of on the same side in this one particular facet of this one particular situation. He was part of the crown, now, and it was in his interests to ensure that the crown would not be bullied by every greedy lord with a horse and a ruffled shirt.

'An excellent outcome, wouldn't you say, gentlemen? Let's celebrate over a drink and leave Her Royal Highness to carry on with her busy schedule.' Hans coaxed his horse into a cantor and Anna followed suit. The three powerful men had no choice but to follow, maintaining a speed that permitted no more talking.

II

The council meeting could be held off no longer. The king and queen were four days late due to early snowfall, and infantry had already touched down unexpectedly - a bloodbath on Dolbyen's southern shores. It was much, much faster than anyone had expected, and half the sea was already firmly territory of The Alliance. Though no one wanted to admit it, The Empire was fast becoming a more appropriate term.

A war meeting without His Majesty was a sharp break in protocol. But this could be considered an exceptional circumstance.

'But why wait for them to arrive on our shores? An absolutely unnecessary risk!'

Shouts of "hear hear!" and "shame!" and other indignant remarks erupted into a rabble of voices at the table. Anna's head began to ache. She wished they could open a window in the war-room. It was so stuffy, literally and figuratively. Portraits lined the walls. Powerful men of days gone by, posing on canvas in sun-tinged brush-strokes even grander and prouder than they ever were in real life. Their two-dimensional painted eyes looked upon her with scorn and judgement, sitting at the right hand side of her father's empty chair. Hans to her right. On the other side of the king's chair sat Hardier and Brage. The rest of the council faced them from around the edges of a rectangular table, a mixture of panic and outrage beginning to emerge from between their wrinkles and ruffles and stately composures.

'Oh, this coming from the man who wants to waste precious scant resources on a pre-emptive strike that will effectively serve to defend a nation whose allyship has been performative and lacklustre at best. They hardly deserve our help.'

Everybody had an opinion today.

'It's not about what they deserve. It's about sending a message. Anticipating the power void that will be left behind when all this is over. And make no mistake, there will be a power void.'

'How about we focus on addressing the problem at hand before theorising about what will happen once it's over?'

Anna couldn't even keep track of who was saying what. Even the scribe looked unnervingly unsure. Every argument was compelling and she wished her father was here to bring some order to the chaos. His absence was the real power void - one she felt keenly. The arguments went on and on, turning to money, weapons, numbers of ships, geography and who was getting the short end of what deal. Very little was agreed upon, except to double scouts and intelligence forces along the Dolbyen border.

Eventually, inevitably, the conversation turned to Elsa. Why were they even worried when she could just freeze the fjord? Freeze the enemy. Freeze everything.

What was the hold up?

All eyes turned to Hans and Hardier, 'With all due respect my lords, you've made some very big promises and we've yet to see any demonstration. Only legends and tales from Trosgarl and god knows they aren't the most objective lot up there.'

Oh ye of little faith. It unnerved Anna how quick they were to doubt, how casually they demanded a "demonstration". She had the urge to tell them to be careful what they wished for. But that would not be a good thing to say. Not for Elsa. Not for anyone.

Voices erupted again into a rabble until Hardier held up his hand to herald in silence.

'Gentlemen, gentlemen, please.' He paused stubbornly until absolutely every last voice quieted. 'I absolutely agree. Believe me, there's nothing I would rather see more than immediate integration of the mage into our military framework. This has been my vision from the beginning, if you recall. Unfortunately the magical containment device remains attached to her body and we have refrained from more aggressive means of removal at the insistence of...Her Royal Highness.'

All eyes fell upon Anna, now. Irritated, suspicious eyes. As though she was the problem. As though she was somehow the bad guy for not wanting to cut the limb off a fellow human being. 'I just need a little more time.' She said, 'Please. I- I know it's asking for a lot of faith but I have consulted with experts and I have a solution. We're working on it. We are making definite progress.'

That was true. Wasn't it? She believed it because she had to. The amulet was getting looser. Otherwise what was the point of all this?

'I'm afraid time is something we don't have much of, Princess,' Hardier's voice was soft and fatherly. Deceptive. Disgusting. He was undermining her in front of the whole council on multiple levels.

Anna's blood began to boil. She slammed her fist on the table, 'How dare you?'

Well that got their attention. Hardier leaned back, mouth agape, not expecting such a response. Even Anna was surprised by her own response. But she kind of had to explain herself now. 'Elsa has agreed to serve Arendelle of her own free will, proven her goodwill by drinking that compliance potion, and allowed you to burn her in the name of removing that device, which we all honestly knew was not going to work. And this is how you want to repay her? With dismemberment?'

'No, she raises a good point', the Baron of the Southern Lowlands spoke. He was a young, nerdy little thing, always peering through his monocle and scribbling notes, usually quiet as a mouse. Perhaps all this time, he'd been a last bastion of decency, hidden amongst the sharks. 'Perhaps it's unwise to harm her so. How do we know she won't turn against us in revenge.'

One voice of decency was too much to hope for, apparently. More voices chimed in, 'Yes yes, do we really believe this isn't some elaborate ruse to gain her freedom?'

'Or coerce us and take power for herself!'

'Oh really, you men are overthinking this!' Hans caught the attention of the room with an utterly dismissive laugh, 'Have none of you taken a moment to actually witness what's unfolding right here in the castle? This isn't some political mastermind we're dealing with. This is a sad, pathetic, deeply broken little girl who is finally being shown a scrap of love and affection and I'm quite convinced she will do most anything to please the princess, whether it's to her own benefit or not.'

Oh, how she wanted to slap Hans now, for saying something so arrogant. So scathing. But she made no counterpoint because she simply couldn't find the words. And in her silence, a horrifying thought emerged. What if he was right? What if Elsa wasn't as objective as her eloquence made her seem? What if Anna had taken advantage of this, failed to fully consider the power dynamics, without meaning to, because she liked waking up to kisses and cuddles and sweet nothings from a beautiful girl?

No, it couldn't be. She gave Elsa the opportunity to leave. Elsa could make her own choices. She mustn't let Hans get in her head.

But what if those cuddles and kisses were merely a survival tactic? An involuntary response to the fundamental human need for warmth at the expense of safety and objectivity?

Had she doomed Elsa with kindness?

Before she could properly finish unpacking those thoughts, the doors burst open violently, slamming against the wall. A red faced messenger stood panting, holding a scroll in shaking hands.

'Have you lost your mind, Arvid?' Hardier shouted, 'This is a classified meeting!'

'I'm- I'm s-s-sorry Sir,' the poor pitiful boy struggled to get his words out. Anna smiled to reassure him but that seemed to make it worse and he looked at his feet. 'S-sir Jorensen t-told me to c-come straight to the council, n-no matter what and t-t-to interrupt if I have to.'

Anna's heart immediately dropped into her stomach. Something was very wrong. Sir Jorensen was head of the KingsGuard. Why would he send this little boy to relay something so urgent, instead of just coming himself? Or at least sending his second in command?

'Where is Sir Jorensen?' Hardier asked.

But Anna butted in before he could answer, 'Where is my father?'

'I-i-in the infirmary.' Arvid stammered.

'Papa's hurt?'

'N-no, sorry. My- my mistake.'

Anna breathed a tentative sigh of relief. Perhaps her father was just in the infirmary to stay by the sides of his wounded men.

'S-sir Jorensen is in the infirmary. The king is dead.'

Ringing. Ringing, something was ringing in Anna's ears like an explosion had gone off nearby. Everything else died down into an indecipherable buzz. This was ridiculous. This couldn't be right. Her father had gone north, away from the conflict. 'Is this some kind of joke, Arvid? Because it's not funny.'

'A-a joke? No! Of course not! I-it was a sneak attack. A p-planned assassination by unknown enemy forces.'

Perhaps this was one of those very vivid dreams. Because it couldn't be real. It was too blurry. Nothing looked quite right, now that she really paid attention. She had to find her mother. Her mother could tell her if this was a dream.

'Where is my mother?'

Arvid bowed his head and hesitated before choking out, 'A-also dead. Your Majesty.'

'My what?'

'Your mother. I'm sorry, she's-'

'No, what did you call me, Arvid?'

All eyes rested on Anna now, again. Real eyes and painted ones. The eyes of god, the eyes of Arendelle. Not a single word was spoken as the ringing intensified in her ears, like the bell from the clock tower striking, again and again, inside her head.

But the words on his lips were unmistakable. 'Your... Majesty?'

She felt like she'd been plunged into icy water, numb, breathless, upside down, spinning around, with no sense of direction. Even as she stood, the room seemed to spin, her father's chair fell over. No, she must have knocked it over. The room was so small and it was growing smaller. The air was so stuffy. Her lungs were filling up with heavy, stuffy air and she couldn't breath. She was drowning.

She didn't feel her feet hit the ground as she sped, somehow, through the castle in a directionless haze. Past portraits and antiques and suits of armour that all seemed somehow different. Hollow. Like they were made of paper and could blow away at the slightest breeze.

She ran over carpet and wood and stone, all the while feeling like she just couldn't quite get enough air into her lungs. She ran without direction, until she found herself outside, by the stables. The smell of hay and animal dung reassured her that she was well and truly far away from the war room and the stuffy old lords, the vultures that circled her, now the last morsel of monarchy. The thread by which the stability of Arendelle now hung.

She hadn't thought about where she was running. She just sort of found herself here. In the dark, splintery wooden stable where even the animals seemed to bow their heads in quiet, humble, condolence. Sprawled against the hay with his lute, unassuming, undemanding, safe and stable as a rock, she found Kristoff.

III

If there was ever any evidence that I was cursed (aside from the inexplicable magical powers, obviously), then it was timing.

Of course there would be no good time for the king and queen to die and throw the kingdom and my darling girl's emotional state into turmoil. But really, it had to happen right when I'd made things between us so...uncomfortable.

I should have known better than to share what I shared. Of course someone with a beautiful heart like Anna would say beautiful things like you can tell me anything.

And of course someone as maladjusted as me would be helpless to resist the flame that spurted to life at those words. A desire that I didn't even know I had. The novelty that somebody actually wanted to know what terrible things have happened to me. Somebody cared. It was unthinkable. It called me like a siren into the sea. I dipped my toes into that water, and I found that water was not ready. Anna was not ready.

She saw me differently, afterwards. I could feel it in her hesitancy. The lightness of her touch. The careful softness of her voice. The way her kisses turned from hungry and curious to gentle and cautious. The pity on her face.

Mostly it was pity. But sometimes I wondered if it was disgust.

Certainly, I couldn't just go and tell her anything. Couldn't and wouldn't. She wasn't ready to hear about the soldiers. Men of war doing what men of war have done to women since antiquity. Certainly wasn't ready to hear about all the rest of it. About the men of science, the men of faith, the men of trade.

To add insult to injury, I felt no better after I told her. If anything, I felt worse. Embarrassed and guilty and ashamed. It was like ripping open an old wound and bleeding all over the white silky sheets I was so undeserving of touching in the first place.

I was going to talk about it. To put her mind at ease. I was going to tell her that time heals all wounds and it doesn't hurt me any more. I never dream of it. Lies, of course, but it might have cleared that awful pitious look from her lovely face. Might have washed her hands of the fear that held them back from my body, where I craved them. I yearned so deeply for the physical intimacy we had been edging towards. To be close to her in every way. But apparently I was determined to sabotage myself.

Anyway, I didn't get a chance to fix things because her parents had to go and die.

My sunshine was gone, replaced with a ghost. Gerda and I found her in the stables the first night. Curled into a ball in the hay, comforted by the mournful strings of Kristoff's lute. I won't pretend it didn't hurt a little that he was the first person she ran to. I can't pretend I didn't wonder if it was because I scared her away with all my darkness and brokenness. Who could blame her for seeking out someone so strong and reliable?

Gerda insisted it was just because he was a fellow orphan.

She was the queen now, and in shock, and if the poor thing wanted to go to sleep in a hay bale, then by the gods, we weren't going to stop her. But it was a damp night and apparently bitterly cold, so we had Kristoff carry her to bed once she dozed off. The tears would come soon enough, and with them most probably a variety of complicated feelings.

Loss is a funny thing. It can evoke a variety of unpredictable reactions. But the three of us were prepared. Like a task force. In mostly unspoken agreement, we strapped on our figurative helmets and counted our figurative grains, readying ourselves for the coming winter of grief. While the council counted their ships and readied their battalions, we prepared for a different kind of battle. A battle where nobody wins.

It was only the morning after the terrible news when I found myself in the late Queen Iduna's bedroom, searching for a particular cloak Anna requested. A comfort thing, no doubt. She didn't have the fortitude to step into that room yet, and perhaps wouldn't for a while. I felt rather conspicuous, like I was somewhere I shouldn't be, even though the princess - no, the Queen, now - had asked me to perform this task. I suppose that's why I responded so ridiculously when I heard footsteps and voices coming down the hall. The door handle started to turn and I stepped into the wardrobe, pulled the door shut, and held my breath like a common thief!

'Really, in here, of all places? Isn't that a little disrespectful?'

I didn't recognise the first voice, but the second was absolutely unmistakable. It was that sickening, slimy voice that haunted my nightmares and awakened my violent revenge fantasies. Hans.

'Yes, it's extremely disrespectful. That's why we're here. Because no one else will come in here and find us.'

'Right, right. Very clever.' The other voice was shrouded in submission and uncertainty. Young and male. For a moment I wondered whether Hans was having an unsanctioned affair. Canoodling with his own servant boy. It would explain a lot. What a delicious piece of leverage that would be, particularly while Anna was in such a vulnerable state.

'Yes, it might surprise you, but I do think of these details before engaging in plans this complex. Hand them over, now.'

I tried to peek through the keyhole but the wardrobe didn't afford me enough room to move. All I could hear was the flicking of paper and Hans' small vocalisations as he presumably read something.

'My lord, I'm sorry to ask, but I was wondering when I might expect to see a payment?'

'My goodness, Bjorn, the bodies aren't even in the ground yet. You must have patience. We're playing the long game, here.'

The bodies. The long game. I didn't want to believe it. Truly, I didn't. But it was becoming rapidly difficult to come up with any other reasonable explanation. I'd always longed to be a fly on the wall in a royal conspiracy. In the books it seemed so exciting. In real life it was terrifying.

'Once my brother and I take the empire, you'll be bathing in gold. Just have faith. The hardest part is already done and you didn't have to lift a finger!'

'Of course, of course. It's just that it seems like quite a big risk to be here in the castle at the present time.'

'It shouldn't be. If you've done your job properly.'

What was his job? I needed to know. I tried again to peek through the keyhole but lost my footing and tumbled through the wardrobe doors, onto the floor.

There have been many moments in my life when I was quite sure I was going to die. It's a unique feeling of helpless acceptance and trying to ascertain, in those last few panicked moments, whether your life has amounted to anything poetic or worthy or meaningful and realising that underneath the resignation, like new green shoots growing between the cracks of cobblestones, you did have some fragile, tentative hopes for the future all along, and then grieving those hopes all at once. This moment was the same as that, but also different. Because this time, in addition to the standard, self-absorbed existential dread, I also felt the stinging loss of Anna like a fist reaching into my chest and squeezing my heart - what's left of it - until it ruptured and I wanted to scream.

But I never scream any more.

Hans placed a pile of envelopes on the desk. 'Go on, Bjorn. Make yourself scarce.'

The servant boy scampered out of the room, leaving me alone to face my fate. Not the fate I'd expected. But that's always the risk when dealing with these ruthless noble types. Big risk, big reward types. They cut their losses and go in for the kill, and heaven help you if you stand in their way.

I fell to my knees and willed myself not to cry. I wanted to keep a shred of dignity. A lofty and unrealistic goal, I admit.

He lifted me by the collar and slammed me against the wall. I felt the fear taking over. I was straight back in that same place. That red, blurry place of fear and confusion where words turned to gibberish and the world gave way to a blinding white storm. I felt my brain evaporating. Felt myself leaving. Falling away. Falling down a deep, dark well inside myself. Down into the frozen abyss.

Inside this deep dark well, I knew things, but I didn't know them. Was I truly held by the collar against the wall of a dead queen's bedroom in a castle in Arendelle? Or was I held down on the ground by a group of soldiers? Strapped to a scientist's table? Tied to a chair in the backroom of a church? Bound to a pole at an underground market? Or perhaps locked in a box in the back of a mystery carriage going to a mystery destination where new and innovative torture awaited? Was it blood I could taste, or dirt, or just bile? Holy water, perhaps? I let myself fall down further into my deep, dark well, where all sensation turned to icy numbness and all feelings died to themselves in the safe, lonely, bittersweet pale blue void. Cold. Rigid. Silent.

When I began to emerge from the well into the harsh light of day, I found myself propped against the wall with the unhinged prince sitting opposite me, cross legged, in an oddly friendly posture.

It was unnerving. I immediately started descending back down again but he clicked his fingers in front of my face. 'Elsa. Elsa, stay with me.' He kept his voice calm and steady and rhythmic, so authoritative it was near impossible to ignore. 'Stay here, don't go away.'

He needed me to be present. He had a very important message that I needed to remember. I wasn't fully out of the well, just peeking. Still hazy. So the most considerate prince kept his message very, very simple. In fact, he was so kind as to break it down into four easy to understand points:

I saw nothing and I heard nothing.

No one would believe me anyway and I would never know who was working alongside him.

I was to encourage the utmost cooperation from the princess with all further proceedings.

And lastly, his network was everywhere. What happened to the king and queen could very easily happen to Anna.