So.
It's about 5:20AM and I'm finally on my way to bed for the night...sort of. I really do hope you enjoy this chapter. As usual, I also hope it isn't a huge mess of typos and lousy grammar. Fingers crossed.
As always, don't be afraid to let me know what you think. I always appreciate your reviews and PMs.
ssg.x.
CHAPTER 16
DEVILS' DEALINGS
If King Enoch was even a little distraught to see his thirteenth son imprisoned, one would never be able to tell. If Hans' talent for acting was inherited, it was definitely a gift from his father – probably the only gift he ever gave the youngest Westergård. King Enoch looked positively serene as he was let into the cell Hans had been locked in for what he guessed was approximately a day and a half. The window allowed for little light, not enough to be able to tell the difference between night and day, so Hans had to guesstimate how much time had passed based on his beard growth, which was itchy as hell.
Leading up to Elsa's visit, Hans' imprisonment hadn't been much different from his upbringing. He was allowed few luxuries, luxuries that just so happened to be more for the benefit of keeping up appearances than keeping Hans comfortable. He had access to clean, pressed clothes, and a supervised bath every three days, followed by a shave he wasn't permitted to refuse. His ankles would be tied to the legs of the chair, and his arms shackled behind him. The upside to the shave was that Hadewych, his long-time attendant, was the person assigned to the task, most likely because his parents knew that Hans would never hurt the older gentleman if by some miracle the blade ended up in his hands.
For the first few weeks, Hans wondered why his parents didn't just have one of their men drown him in the bathtub, or slit his throat during his shave. For whatever reason they weren't just keeping him alive – they were keeping him healthy and presentable, too. Eventually he assumed that they wanted to tie up some loose ends before having him killed, and to keep the kingdom from suspecting his parents had something to do with his death when the time finally came. Hadewych had hinted to him that the kingdom knew nothing of what had happened in Arendelle, and Hans was sure his parents wanted to keep it that way. One hasty move by the royal family could cause all its skeletons to come tumbling out of the closet. Hans' death had to fall on a day a fair amount of time from the date of his return from Arendelle to keep suspicions low.
His parents had certainly put quite a bit of thought and planning into all of this, he thought wryly. And here he thought his family never paid enough attention to him.
King Enoch waited patiently for Hans to emerge from the shadowy corner he'd been standing in. Hans hadn't been able to do much more than stand or pace since he was escorted down to the dungeon and locked up. Heaven knew he could have used the sleep, but he was afraid he'd lose important details to his dreams, and he would need to keep track of those details if he wanted to get the desired outcome from this meeting with his father.
He was surprised, not unpleasantly, when Queen Alma stepped out from behind his father's impressive stature. His father hated him, but she hated him more, and almost nothing amused Hans more than making her miserable. He knew that, in turn, she would take it out on his father. Today it wouldn't just be for fun, though. The only way to appease the king's beloved wife would be to deal with his troublemaking son as swiftly as possible, and with her squawking in his ear, he wouldn't be able to think straight. It would serve Hans' purposes greatly.
"Hello, son."
Hans stepped into the square of light the small window cast on the stone floor and bowed deeply with mock dramatics.
"Hello, father. Your Majesty."
"How have you been? It's rather cold in here. Are you warm enough?" his father asked, gesturing for Hans to rise.
"I can't imagine my comfort was of any real concern to you when you booked these accommodations for me, but if you're really interested to know, I haven't noticed the cold," he answered honestly. "Now to what do I owe this visit?"
King Enoch sighed and clasped his hands behind his back. "Son, I believe we're at an impasse."
"I agree," he replied shortly.
"I'm not sure how to move forward. You know too much, and your mother and I –"
Hans' lip curled into a sneer. "If you're referring to the grey, mousey creature hiding behind you right now, you're mistaken."
"Hans…" the king began tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.
"She is not my mother," Hans spat.
"Thank God for that," Queen Alma snapped, taking several determined footfalls towards Hans before the king grabbed her arm to stop her.
"Don't be stupid," King Enoch hissed at her. "Someone might hear you."
"I am out of patience, Enoch," she warned, narrowing her eyes at her wretched stepson.
"How fares Queen Elsa? Which of these cells have you stashed her in?" Hans asked, ignoring the queen's glare.
His only clues that Elsa was also being held down here was the snow gathering in the corners of his cell, and the growing intensity of the snowflake's glow on his chest. He chose to believe it was a sign that her heart was crying out for his, and that this was his heart's way of returning that call.
"She hasn't yet regained consciousness. She was injured badly. She's in a proper room in the palace being looked after far better than she deserves to be after all the damage she's done," Queen Alma said coolly.
Hans let that last comment slide. "Well, Queen Elsa can hardly be faulted for wanting to get out of that room. She does have a kingdom to run. Really, I think the responsibility for the damage lies with whatever low-rent sorceress you hired to keep her trapped in there. Of course it would only be a matter of time before Queen Elsa would think to try escaping through the ceiling. You're lucky I was quick on my feet. You'd have had a real mess on your hands had I not been able to grab her before she fell through the floor. She might have broken her neck."
By some miracle, Hans was able to get to Elsa before she fell through the hole in the floor, throwing himself under her falling, unconscious body to at least give her something to land on. He wrapped his arms tightly around Elsa's waist and quickly tucked her face beneath his chin. Together they fell - Hans bracing himself for the landing he hoped would come sooner rather than later. To his surprise and relief (once the shock wore off, that is) he found himself quite unharmed with an unconscious Elsa still clutched to his breast. They were lying in a massive pile of snow in the middle of one of his father's dens. Elsa must have created it just before the beam clipped her. Above them, the staircase continued to sink. Hans gathered Elsa up in his arms and dashed towards the double doors. Behind them was a small handful of guards and a much shaken Queen Alma. If he hadn't been so worried about Elsa at the time, he would have laughed.
"How soon will you be sending her home?" Hans asked, feigning only a mild interest in Elsa's wellbeing.
King Enoch shook his head. "We won't be sending her home."
Hans frowned. "What does that mean?"
"We have no other choice. She knows too much."
"All she knows is that you locked her up in a room," Hans replied. "She doesn't know how or why."
"And I'm sure you didn't tell her a thing!" Queen Alma barked. "How stupid do you think we are?"
Hans crossed his arms. "And how stupid do you think I am? Do you really think I'd try to make an ally of the woman who put me in this position in the first place? I'd sooner hire a band of clumsy, ham-fisted men to have me drawn and quartered."
"That would have been a welcome little surprise," his stepmother growled. King Enoch shushed her with a finger to his lips. He turned his attention back to Hans.
"She's right, son. You were in that room with the queen for almost three days. You expect us to believe that in all that time the two of you spoke not a word to each other?"
"Obviously she knew you had lied to her about my being ill and had questions for me. I simply told her that you were afraid to let her see how lax my punishment has been," Hans lied easily. "Tell her the same. Tell her you panicked. That isn't too far from the truth, is it? She'll understand, I'm sure. You just need remind her of her own recent mistakes." Hans smiled at his father. "We all make mistakes. Don't we, father?"
Queen Alma glanced at her husband. King Enoch sighed heavily, giving Hans the warning look he'd become used to by now. Hans and King Enoch both knew that the biggest secret of all was the one his father was keeping from his stepmother. What looked to Queen Alma like a man giving in to his spoiled son's whim was actually a coward doing what he had to do to continue to protect himself from the wrath of his wife.
"I don't want to have to do this, but I will. I have an investment in Queen Elsa that will be protected. She will be returned home safely," Hans threatened quietly.
Enoch's silence set Alma's eyes blazing. "You can't seriously be considering sending her back to Arendelle, Enoch! Have you lost your senses? Nevermind whether or not she knows anything else! You can't possibly believe that she'd keep quiet about everything that's happened here!"
"Again, Alma is right," the king said resignedly. "Queen Elsa will stay here until we can come up with a safe and efficient way to dispose of her."
Dispose of her…
Hans felt physically ill at the thought.
"And if I could guarantee that Queen Elsa will not speak a word about what's happened?"
King Enoch was quiet again.
"Are you really willing to start a war over this? Because that's what will happen," Hans said seriously. "Queen Elsa is beloved by her people. My brothers couldn't care less if I dropped dead this second, but Princess Anna adores her sister. All of Arendelle would fight for answers and reduce this kingdom to rubble in the process. Are your secrets really worth all that? People will die – your own people will die. Your secrets will end up coming out anyway, and at the expense of hundreds of lives."
Queen Alma closed her eyes and dropped her chin. "How can you guarantee the queen's silence?"
Hans swallowed the lump in his throat, hating what he had to do next.
"We'll simply explain to Her Grace that if she keeps our secrets, we will keep hers."
"Her secrets?" Queen Alma repeated. "What are her secrets?"
"I'll tell you in exchange for sending her back to Arendelle as soon as possible." Hans said, smiling.
King Enoch and Queen Alma looked at each other. Hans dismissed himself from the incredibly strained silence. "I'll give you two a moment to think about it."
He crossed his small cell and sat down on the wooden bench. He crossed his legs, trying to look as cool and as casual as he possibly could. He rubbed his hand roughly along his jawline. The beard was driving him crazy. He hoped it came off looking more like he was stroking it methodically than trying to scrub it off his face with his bare hands.
"So?" Hans looked up brightly at his parents. "Do we have a deal?"
"We have conditions," Enoch said, eyes not telling him a thing.
"And they are…?"
"You tell us what this 'investment' is that you have in the queen," Queen Alma said quickly.
"Very well." Hans replied.
"And you will be the one to fill Queen Elsa in on the details of our agreement," she continued. "You will tell her what price she's paying for her freedom."
There was a glint in his stepmother's eyes that told him she enjoyed saying that. She was possibly picking up on something his father couldn't – his feelings for Elsa. Hans had no choice but to call her on her unspoken bluff. Elsa's life was at stake.
"Fine," he said steadily. "If I'm to pay Queen Elsa a visit before she leaves, I'll need to look presentable. I'll require a bath, a shave, and some clean clothes. You can grant me those few niceties before we have our little chat, can't you?"
King Enoch nodded. He called over his shoulder for a nearby guard to escort them out of the dungeon. He turned his attention back to his son.
"We will speak again in the palace this evening after supper. You will tell us what we need to know. If you renege on this deal in any way, shape or form –"
"You can trust me, father." Hans said, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"Never a day of your life have I believed that to be true," King Enoch said hard-heartedly.
"Your father trusted me," Hans remarked wistfully.
"Thank God he didn't live long enough to see the man his grandson has become," the king said somberly.
"Aww," Hans purred, his hand over his heart. "I never could have become the man I am today without the help of his son," he replied, smiling sweetly.
King Enoch glared at him one last time before following his wife out the door of his cell. Hans gave him a little wave. "Thanks, Dad."
oooOOOOooo
Later that evening, Hans slipped his braces over the shoulders of a crisp, high-collared shirt, and pulled on a black regency tailcoat. After stiffly buttoning it up, he tied a black cravat around his neck and stood in front of the mirror in what was formerly his bedroom. It looked no different than usual. He was surprised his parents hadn't immediately turned his room into another den for his father the second they banished him to the East wing of the palace. Because his father didn't have nearly enough "dens" in this godforsaken place.
Looking suitably diabolical in black, Hans was ready to close his deal with the Devil. Or devils, as the case may be. Lost in his thoughts, he pushed the silver cravat pin bearing the Westergård crest through the folds of fabric gathered at his throat, and directly into his finger. He stared numbly at the bead of blood the jab left behind, dark and inky against his pale skin. It swelled and burst, running down the side of his hand and making its way down his wrist, a long red thread that he caught with his tongue before it reached the white of his shirt cuff. He sucked on his fingertip to stop the bleeding, his eyes dwelling on those of his reflection in the mirror. He imagined in their place Elsa's blue eyes, tears spilling over her cheeks, lips twisted as she mercilessly bit into them the way she did when she was trying to keep from crumbling. He kept his eyes on hers, steeling himself against the hurt on her face, staring down her imagined presence as if he were trying to stare down the sun. He removed the black chamois gloves from his jacket pocket and slipped one on after the other.
He clasped his hands behind his back, straightened to his full height and tilted his chin upwards, channeling his father. "I am Prince Hans Lind Westergård, thirteenth son of the Southern Isles. I was neither born from love nor made for love. You've spent the past couple of days believing the misconception that I long for someone to save me. I was made to be saved from, Your Grace."
He shuddered. A painful sting in his heart rippled through every vein, vibrated along every bone in his body. Reaching out with trembling hands, he grasped the wooden frame of the mirror. He leaned his forehead against the glass, gazing into his own reflection, still seeing her blue eyes in his green ones.
"Save yourself, Elsa," he whispered mournfully. "Save yourself..."
