"You're early."
The past few days had repeated the same sequence of events: Hans would be finishing his inside tasks as Damian arrived at the stable; the youngest Westergaard gave his elder brother instruction (based on his observations from the previous day) as they tacked up his horse; both would go outside, Hans working while Damian rode around the training yard; Hans kept an eye on his brother's riding, but the two wouldn't meet again until the following morning. The twelfth prince was ahead of schedule today, though, hence Hans verbally noting Damian's premature arrival. However, his youngest older brother fiddled with his coat instead of retrieving his gear.
The former prince carried on with his labor. "Get going. You could use the extra practice."
Damian remained in place. "I need your help."
Hans paused to glance at his brother. "I take it this is a new problem?"
Damian pressed his lips together as he nodded. "Father wants me to send telegrams to every royal family in existence, apologizing and inviting them to the anniversary ball."
"That's only a week away." There was distinct shock in Hans' voice. "What happened?"
"Apparently, months ago the foreign affairs minister delegated the matter to one of his staff members, who passed the responsibility on to his junior colleague, who in turn left it in the hands of a random secretary, which resulted in several of our allies not receiving formal invitations," Damian elucidated. "King Ferdinand and his family arrived early this morning, and he mentioned the lack of an invite to Father. The situation unraveled from there."
Hans smirked. "And how were you so fortunate that you became involved?"
"I walked by Father's study at the wrong moment." Damian winced at the recollection.
"That'll do it," Hans snickered before taking on a more serious air. "So what exactly do you need me for?"
Damian scuffed his toe in the straw. "My political knowledge is lacking in particular areas." He pulled a pencil and paper from his coat pocket and looked at his younger brother. "Especially when it comes to names."
Hans raised an eyebrow. "You do realize that this isn't part of our deal, correct? I only agreed to instruct you on your riding."
Damian's eyes fell downward again. "Oh, right."
Hans clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "Did you forget my words so soon? You must have, otherwise you wouldn't expect me to help you while I receive nothing in return."
"So we strike another deal, then," Damian countered.
"Hm." Hans turned back to his work. "I'm listening."
"Well, I, um... I don't have any specific ideas..."
Hans rolled his eyes. Damian noticed and hastily resumed his plea. "But there must be something you need or want! I could even buy it for you."
A vision of the sketchbook rack in the stationary shop passed through his mind. "Perhaps," he admitted. "However, I wouldn't trust you to get it for me."
"I can give you the money for it," Damian offered.
"And when would I have the opportunity buy it?" Hans scoffed. "I'm only allowed off the palace grounds for my hired assignments, and I can't leave without a sentry."
There was a moment of silence before Damian spoke again. "Liar."
Hans cast an incredulous glare at his brother. "Excuse me?"
"I have a view of both the stables and the dungeon entrance from my room. I saw you go from the barn to the stairs, then re-emerge shortly after wearing different clothes." Damian caught Hans' gaze. "And this was before I left anything in your cell."
That was after our first rendezvous. Hans kept his expression neutral. He wasn't about to lose this battle of wits. "But you did not physically witness me leave the grounds, nor do you know how I acquired my additional apparel." Damian bit his lip, so Hans pressed forward. "I covertly retrieved those spare garments from various refuse areas around the city while I was out completing my work. As I told you, I can't wear them here as I don't want anyone interrogating me concerning my 'new' wardrobe. However, the attire is more than suitable for a jaunt out to the cliffs, or lounging in my spacious accommodations."
Damian scrutinized the ex-prince. Hans could tell that, while Damian didn't believe him, the second-to-youngest Westergaard had no evidence for further inquisition.
"Very well." The twelfth prince conceded the point, yet did not give up the fight. "Still, let's just say, for argument's sake, that you did have the ability to freely spend money on a desired item. What would the cost of that purchase be?"
"Dear brother," Hans gasped in mock astonishment, "we are speaking of a task Father hand-picked you to complete. My assistance in this matter is worth far more than one paltry trinket — hypothetically speaking, of course."
Damian muttered an obscenity under his breath, then sighed in defeat. "No more games. What do you want, Hans?"
Hans casually finished raking the hay. "Full and unfettered access to your signet ring and seal."
"What?! Absolutely not!"
"Then I guess you're on your own." Hans shrugged dismissively as he exited the stall and headed for the tool rack. His ears picked up a string of curses being grumbled behind him, which faded as Hans started to take his leave.
"One day," Damian called after him.
Hans stopped. "I get to choose which day."
"Tell me the day before, and I'll bring them to the next day's lesson," Damian confirmed.
Hans returned to his brother, planting himself a few paces away. "Agreed."
Damian quietly exhaled in relief. "Alright, let's get this done quickly." He smoothed his paper over a flat surface. "I need to send a telegram to every royal family we may have possibly invited, or missed inviting. The message has to include a presumptive apology, an affirmation that they are more than welcome at this year's ball, and an assurance that they are invited to next year's ball as well. Who must be the recipients of such a memorandum?"
"The Maldonado house — King Ferdinand's family — should receive a contrite letter and formal invitation personally delivered to their chambers," Hans began. "As for telegrams, you'll be sending them to the Charbonneau house of Flarand..." He continued to list more than two dozen names and countries. "The Hlavacek house of Czerai... The Dahlheimer house of Grenium..." Damian scribbled frantically. "The Navarra house of Southern Italia... The Rovero house of Sicilia—"
"The Rovero house doesn't exist anymore," Damian interrupted, not looking up from his notes. "Sicilia's a parliamentary democracy now."
Hans paused and blinked in astonishment. "When did that happen?"
Damian tapped his pencil against his chin. "Let's see... nearly seven years ago, now? I was still twenty, so you would have been seventeen." He cocked his head at Hans. "I'm surprised you don't know about it. Usually you're up-to-date on those sorts of things."
"It's rather difficult to stay abreast of the latest royal gossip when you're constantly at sea." Hans didn't bother concealing his sharp tone.
Damian's brow furrowed in confusion. "You were out at sea so long you missed the news of an unprecedented political turnover?"
"I was serving in our Royal Navy," Hans hissed through clenched teeth.
Damian's face slowly brightened in understanding, like a candle being lit but lethargically growing to a steady flame. "Ohhhhh. That's why it seemed like I never bumped into you around the castle. You weren't actually there!"
It took all of Hans' willpower not to punch his brother's idiotic face. "I was gone for four years!"
Damian shrank away from the fury beside him. "I assumed you were doing a really good job of avoiding me."
"That's exactly what I was doing," Hans snapped. "I enlisted as soon as Doctor Kronholm certified my health."
"I-I see," Damian mumbled. He flipped his pencil in agitation as he checked his list. "W-well, I believe I have everything I need," he squeaked, clearing his throat as he pocketed his utensils. "I'll, uh, see you tomorrow."
His brother left. However, Hans couldn't shake his heightened paranoia. If Damian had noted suspicious behavior, someone else may have as well. The disgraced prince hurried through the rest of his chores. After ensuring everything was finished, he went the long way back to his cell. He switched outfits, as was now his custom, and took a roundabout path to the secret door. Hans knew this section of wall wasn't visible from Damian's bedroom, yet he moved swiftly nonetheless. In less than a minute, he slipped through the hidden entryway into the outside world.
It seemed that it was only a matter of time before Westergaard number twelve discovered his younger brother's latest exploits. Hans wasn't certain how he would handle the confrontation, though he knew his choice depended on what Damian did with the information. Given the current situation, the most likely scenario was Damian offering his silence for a price.
Hans grit his teeth. He hated being in a vulnerable position with someone else holding power over him. The desire to be free of others' control had been a major motivator in his pursuit of kingship. Making his own decisions without fear of being overruled was better than the grandest country. Receiving recognition for his accomplishments surpassed all the riches of the world. After an incident heightened his desperation to get away from his brothers, he'd accepted scaling back his ambition, focusing on seeking achievement within the Royal Navy instead of his royal lineage. It was an adequate alternative, since his talents were rewarded. Plus, being a ranked officer was far more bearable than being a worthless prince. The title of Grand Admiral was well within the realm of possibility... until his indefinite suspension.
His glum thoughts faded as he boarded La Stella Luminosa.
"Good afternoon, Lars," a gentle voice greeted him.
Hans turned and simultaneously dipped into a smooth bow. "The same to you, Miss Natalia."
The young woman gave a tiny giggle as she closed her book. She was enjoying the pleasant weather from her seat on a small bench (which rested against the exterior wall of the master cabin and next to the quarterdeck's stairs). "How has your day been so far?"
"Exceedingly dull and dreary," Hans moaned.
"It's too bad Leone's not here to entertain you, then," Natalia teased.
Hans grinned. "There's no need for remorse—" he sat next to Natalia, "—since you're more than interesting enough for me."
Her face became beet-red, and Hans worried he'd been too bold. Natalia brushed off the comment with a nervous laugh. "You don't have to force yourself to compliment me. I'm well aware I'm a plain and boring woman."
"I wholeheartedly disagree," Hans objected. Upon seeing Natalia's arms tense, he added, "But arguing about it won't do us any good."
"I suppose not." Natalia fell silent, running her thumb along the binding of her novel.
"Where's everyone else?" Hans asked, changing the subject.
"Pappa's below deck searching for an old map. Mamma and Leone are out finishing some errands."
"And in the meantime, you've started a new book," Hans observed, tapping the volume in Natalia's grip.
"Oh, yes! Well, it's not new-new. I've read it before, but I've just begun re-reading it."
"What's the title?" Hans inquired, despite being able to see the words on the cover.
"The Captain's Daughter. Have you read it?"
"I can't say that I have."
"You should read it when you're done with Hamlet—" Natalia's mouth popped open as a thought struck her. "—which you'd finish much faster if you took it with you instead of leaving it here every night!"
"That's not—"
"I can't believe I never thought of that before!" she scolded herself. "Why didn't I ever lend it to you?"
"Because we only read before dinner, and I always leave from the master cabin. You surely had more important things to think about."
She wheezed a mortified whisper. "Or maybe I'm just being selfish."
"Nonsense." 'Selfish' is the last word I'd use to describe this family. "Besides, even if you had offered to let me borrow it, I would have declined. I don't have time to read at home." Not to mention my candle reserve is far too small for leisure activities. "Plus," he continued with a spark of amusement, "if I took the book with me, what excuse would I have to visit you?"
Natalia laughed. "You never need an excuse to visit us, Lars. You're welcome any time."
"Lars" smirked at how she'd taken the "you" to be plural instead of singular in spite of their earlier exchange. "So, why should I read The Captain's Daughter?"
"I think you'll like it. Maybe. It's somewhat of a romance story. Do you like romantic themes?"
"I've always found them intriguing," Hans replied in truth. His tutor had only given the briefest of lessons on courtship, and his brothers never shared anything, including knowledge (to his benefit in this case, since they were about as delicate as a sledgehammer in the art of wooing a lady). Thus he had relied almost exclusively on books to teach himself proper princely (and kingly) etiquette in the realm of interaction with the opposite sex. While there'd likely be nothing new to glean from Natalia's novel, it would, at the very least, be more externally fruitful than some of the tomes he'd slogged through in his royal life. "What does the plot entail?"
"A Russian soldier, Pyotr, falls in love with his captain's daughter — hence the title — but his friend is in love with the woman as well. The friend defects to a rebel army, and tries to have Pyotr killed—" Her hand flew to her mouth. "I'll stop now. I wouldn't want to spoil it for you."
Hans shrugged. "I don't mind."
"No, you need to read it yourself," Natalia declared.
"Very well," Hans chuckled, "I'll submit to your authority on this matter." He leaned closer. "But, mark my words, I'll win our next dispute."
"We'll see about that," Natalia retorted, hiding her cheeky smile with the novel.
Hans' coy grin disappeared when he heard boots alight on the deck. The pair of youths lifted their heads to see Leone standing by the gangplank.
"Hello!" Leone greeted with a wild wave. Hans mirrored the gesture, though less enthusiastically.
"Where's Mamma?" Natalia questioned.
"She sent me to get you. She made an unplanned stop at the seamstress' shop and wanted you to go pick out some cloth."
"That's not necessary," Natalia mumbled. "I don't need any fabric."
Leone crossed his arms. "You know she won't accept that answer, especially not from me."
"Right," Natalia sighed. She held out her book to Hans. "Will you take care of this for me?"
"On my honor," Hans promised, flashing a playful smile as he tucked the volume under one arm and saluted with the other.
Natalia returned the expression and gesture before trotting off. Leone's eyes followed, then swiveled back to his friend as his sister disappeared to the pier below.
"What?" Hans asked, puzzled by Leone's strange stare.
He hesitated before answering. "You two get along well."
Hans was having trouble pinning down the emotion seeping into his speech. Didn't he want Natalia and I to be friends? "Is that a problem?"
"No, no," Leone reassured him. "I guess I'd just forgotten..." He trailed off as his gaze drifted up to the sky.
Hans' curiosity was too great for him to hold his tongue. "Forgotten what?"
Leone's attention snapped back to Hans, then promptly darted to the sea as though he couldn't bear to look at anyone. "What Natalia's like when she's truly comfortable being herself," he murmured.
Hans' mind was instantly abuzz with a hundred thoughts, but there was no chance to sort through them. Vincenzo ascended the stairs behind Leone.
"I thought I heard you," he addressed his son. "If you're done helping your mother, I need to you to take this to Brogan." Vincenzo handed Leone a rolled parchment.
"Okay, I will. Do you want to come with me, Lars?"
Hans replied with a nod as he rose from his seat. This would be a prime opportunity to meet Brogan and inquire about a job.
Both young men began to walk toward the gangplank, but Vincenzo delayed his son with a question about another map. Hans stopped listening and descended the board. As he stepped onto the dock, a fluttering caught the corner of his eye. Natalia was standing on the end of the pier, staring at the horizon. The tails of her apron tie danced in the breeze.
"Back already?" Hans queried.
Natalia looked over her shoulder with a blank expression. "Hm?"
"From the seamstress' shop," Hans elaborated as he scanned the area. "Did your mother not return with you?"
Natalia squared herself with Hans. Her perplexed face unsettled him. "What are you talking about?"
Hans was now equally baffled. "The shop? The fabric?"
"Natalia, what are you doing?"
Hans turned back to see Leone at the top of the gangplank. Vincenzo was to his left, next to the rail.
Leone squinted at his sister. "Have you been standing there this whole time?"
The young woman's eyes went up to her brother, then down to her feet. "I don't remember." Her voice was nearly inaudible, but everyone understood her.
Hans noticed the father and son exchange glances with one another before Vincenzo spoke. "Come up here," he gently commanded his daughter. "Let's get you to bed."
"I'm fine," Natalia protested. "I should start dinner before Mamma comes home."
"Natalia." Vincenzo's tone was stern, yet Hans detected notes of anguish which the elder man was doing his best to mask.
"Yes, Pappa," Natalia acquiesced, returning to the ship. Leone moved aside as his sister passed, focused only on the map in his hands.
Vincenzo tugged on the paper. "Go and fetch your mother," he ordered softly as he took the parchment. The young man nodded obediently and jumped to the dock as his father followed Natalia.
Leone didn't even acknowledge "Lars" as he started to walk toward the city. Hans jogged to catch up.
"Explain that," Hans demanded.
Leone remained silent, his eyes fixed on the cobblestones beneath his feet.
"I know you heard me." Hans' rage began to bubble. "If I'm going to be around Natalia, I need to be informed of any problems with her health so I'll know how to handle the situation should it arise again."
Leone only quickened his pace.
The simmer broke into a boil. Hans grabbed Leone's arm and yanked him to a halt. "Don't ignore me!" A simultaneous, spontaneous thought flashed in his mind. Don't act like my brothers!
Leone gawked at Hans' menacing glower.
"Lars," he breathed, "my arm."
Hans snapped out of his furious haze and released the man's tricep from his iron grasp.
"Sorry," he muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets and kicking a pebble.
"I'm sorry too," Leone apologized, rubbing his new sore spot. "You're right. You shouldn't be kept in the dark."
Leone resumed his mission, motioning for Hans to follow. Hans fell in-step alongside him.
"Natalia suffered a head injury several years ago. Ever since then, she randomly falls into a hypnotic state, during which she just stares at nothing." Leone massaged his arm as they walked. "The trance is easily broken — by someone speaking to her or some other noise — but she almost always forgets what she was doing before it happened. These spells are usually followed by migraines, which is why Pappa sent her to bed."
"Are there any warning signs?"
Leone shook his head. "No, and there's no discernible pattern as to when they occur, nor any specific events that trigger an episode."
"That's awfully dangerous," Hans mused. "If you can't predict them, you can't leave her alone."
"We try not to," Leone affirmed, "especially with cooking. However, her spells happen less frequently nowadays. Plus, it's not like she wanders aimlessly and forgets her own name when she 'wakes up.' She simply freezes and then can't remember the previous half-hour, at most."
"Regardless," Hans chided, "when you combine that with her lack of stamina, she shouldn't be doing half of the things she does."
"In our defense, some of that is her own stubbornness," Leone grumbled, "and some of that is necessity." He expelled a frustrated puff of air. "It's a lot harder to run a ship and maintain a household if one person out of four isn't allowed to do anything. Also, it's not fair to Natalia if we were to treat her like an invalid because of her condition. She already struggles with feeling useless because she isn't as strong as the rest of us. Limiting her too much will simply have the opposite effect."
"I'll grant you that," Hans conceded, "but if I'd known any of this, I would have insisted on accompanying her to the seamstress' shop."
Leone flinched at the implication of the sentence. "I wasn't thinking," he murmured. He folded his arms over his chest. "I'm a horrible big brother."
Leone's voice cracked, and Hans realized what the mystery emotion had been. Guilt.
"It was your fault, wasn't it?"
Leone's head jerked to face Hans. "What?"
"Natalia's injury," Hans specified, "as well as her skittishness around everyone." He recalled her admission of being teased when she was younger. If Leone was the main culprit, that would explain why she barely spoke to her own family, let alone strangers. "You've been acting odd today, and I only now made the connection. You feel guilty."
Leone stopped dead, staring wide-eyed at his friend. It suddenly occurred to Hans that exposing secrets was not the wisest tactic for interacting with someone you were attempting to butter up for your own gain.
"Never mind," Hans contradicted himself, "forget what I said—"
"You're right again," Leone interrupted in a whisper. He gave Hans a strained smile. "I suppose it was rather obvious."
"Even so, it's none of my business," Hans countered. "I shouldn't have brought it up."
Leone tilted his head up, avoiding eye contact. "I've made a lot of mistakes. I expected you to find out eventually, but I didn't think it'd be today." He hung his head and closed his eyes. "I know my family has forgiven me, but I'm not exactly eager discuss our past with anyone."
"I understand," Hans assured him. He certainly didn't want to discuss his past either, albeit for less virtuous reasons.
Leone gave Hans a weak yet grateful smile. "Thank you."
Hans smiled in return. "Shouldn't we get going? Your mother must be worried by now."
"Oh no!" Leone exclaimed in comedic horror before dashing down the street. Hans exhaled a bemused sigh as he chased after him.
Author's Note: The Captain's Daughter was a Russian story published in 1836, and as far as I can tell wasn't translated into English until 1917. However, since this is a Disney-verse fanfiction, we're going to pretend the novel was published in English to begin with, or was translated to English shortly after its initial release.