V.
The queen managed to avoid seeing the prince alone for several days after their conversation in the library, though as the coronation festivities continued, she could not escape his company at the breakfast table, nor during the larger evening parties held in the castle.
He was respectful of her wishes to be left alone to the point that she wondered if he had really been "interested" in her at all. He did not engage her in discussions, nor did he meet her eyes with that wry, knowing gleam which had so unnerved her during the first two days of his stay.
Nonetheless, she was still careful in sidestepping him at every turn: at private mealtimes with him and her sister, her comments were brief and given sparingly, if at all; at social occasions, she made sure that she was always accompanied by a guard or another guest; and when retreating to her bedroom or other private space to do work or rest, she had a guard stationed outside who was instructed to let absolutely no one in—even her most trusted servants.
Being mostly alone again felt familiar, and yet also strange. Her confession to the prince weighed on her mind, and she fretted over the implications of it, turning over every word that had been spoken between them and how any (or all) of it could be used against her. Given their individual reputations at court and abroad, she was conscious of what the increased number of eyes and ears around the castle might assume or say if they saw or heard the Mysterious Queen of Arendelle and the Last Prince of the Plague-Stricken Southern Isles alone together.
It was with some surprise, then, that she heard a light knock on her door at the beginning of the second week of celebrations, interrupting her mid-scrawl as she sat at her desk signing papers, her thoughts torn between political and private matters.
"Elsa, can I come in?"
She recognized her sister's voice and stood, walking to the door and pressing a hand to it. "Anna? You know I'm working right now," she replied.
"Can we talk? Just for, like, five minutes," the princess pleaded. "I feel like I've barely seen you lately, outside of meals."
Her older sister sighed, and – in spite of her instincts urging her otherwise – she cracked the door open slightly, and stepped out of the room. She gave a small look of disapproval to a young guardsman standing at the door, and then nodded for him to leave them. He bowed with a sheepish expression before walking away.
The princess watched the exchange with a raised brow. "He wasn't supposed to let me knock, was he?"
The queen suppressed a guilty look. "It's not that," she lied. "I just wanted him to give us space, that's all."
"Right," the princess said, unconvinced. After a moment, her expression brightened, and she continued: "Anywho, like I was saying: I haven't seen you in a while, and I wanted to check in on you. You doing okay?"
The question took the queen aback, and she blinked. "I—yes, I'm fine," she stammered. Collecting herself, she explained: "You seem to be really in your element this week, entertaining our guests. I didn't want to distract you from that."
"It's been fun, for sure," her sister agreed, "but I've missed you, too." Her head cocked to the side as she regarded the queen, and a smirk graced her lips. "So has Hans, you know."
Her older sister's face turned redder than beetroot. "Has he?" she asked, though she ensured her tone was cool and uninterested. "I don't think he knows me well enough to miss me, Anna."
"I would beg to differ, dear sister," the princess countered in an affected, snobbish accent. "I know it doesn't seem like it lately, because he's been quieter than before, but he's been staring at you with such longing when you're not looking. I'm pretty sure he doesn't even listen to half of what I'm saying whenever you're in the room." There was a playful, mischievous glint in her eye as she continued: "But you've been playing hard to get. I mean, I know that's your thing anyway, but it's more fun to watch when you do it to him."
When her older sister's expression twisted at the remark, the princess backpedaled quickly. "Sorry, that's not what I—I'm being a jerk. I'm just trying to say: I think he likes you, Elsa. Like… likes you, if you know what I mean."
"You have no idea," the queen muttered so that only she could hear it, sighing. "Again, Anna: that's not possible," she said, her voice firm. "This is the first time we've seen him in fifteen years, and he's only been here for a week." She frowned, raising her chin. "If he 'likes' anything about me, I can promise you his feelings only go skin-deep."
"I don't think it matters if he's been here five days, or five minutes," the princess proclaimed, "not if it's true love. You'd just know if it was meant to be."
Her older sister rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "Uh-huh," she replied. "So I guess if you thought Hans was 'the one' when you met him on Monday, you two would've been married by Tuesday."
"Yep," the princess nodded. "And sure, when I first ran into him, I did have some thoughts along those lines," she admitted, blushing. "After all, he's really handsome, and his hair color is kinda like mine, and he also loves sandwiches, so, you know, in another universe we could have been soulmates, theoretically." The red in her cheeks faded as she grinned. "But he kept asking about you that first night – not too much, but just enough to make me wonder – and then I saw the way he looked at you the next morning, and in the library, and the way he's been looking at you ever since, and… it's just so obvious that he's crazy about you," she concluded with a gentler smile, winking at the queen. "Can't say I blame him. You are really beautiful, after all—and smart, and—"
Her older sister blushed again, looking away. "That's enough," she said, hugging her arms around her waist. "I don't need your flattery, or his. And I don't think you should be advocating on his behalf, or trying to play matchmaker." Her lips curled. "He can speak for himself, if that's his intention—though I'm not interested in the slightest."
"Well that's just the thing, Elsa," the princess said, frowning. "You don't even give him a chance to talk to you, let alone make his case. You just shut him out, the same way you always do to me, and—"
A sudden, cold wind swept through the hallway and cut her comment short, and her teeth chattered as she wrapped her arms around herself.
The queen's eyes widened as she realized its source, bracing her hands at her sides and curling her fingers into fists. "You should go," she said quietly, turning towards the door. "I have to get back to work."
The princess's eyes tightened. "Fine," she snapped, "I'll go. But…" She paused, pressing her hands together. "Just think about what I said. Please."
The two shared one last look before the princess left, and when she was finally out of sight, her older sister re-entered her bedroom and pressed her back up against the doors with a shaky exhale.
It was not until a few minutes later that she realized she was still gripping the doorknob, the metal frozen solid within her grasp.
To the queen's displeasure, she did indeed think about her sister's comments for the rest of the afternoon into the evening.
In fact, by the time she was expected in the main parlor room for an evening of musical performances and poetry readings by the lords and ladies of her country – as well as those in the diplomatic entourages staying in the castle – she was still so agitated by the unanticipated meeting with her sister that she could hardly summon the pretense of care for the activities held in her honor.
She gave the hollowest of smiles and perfunctory nods to each performer, thankful that she did not have to speak much; it took most of her concentration not to turn her head, knowing that a few feet behind her sat the subject of her consternation. Alert to his presence, her body was taut with tension, the only sign of her sentience being her fingers as they continuously smoothed, and then creased, the paper program in her lap. She did not shift in her seat for what seemed like hours, even when she felt several of her limbs start to go numb.
Her sister sat at a distance from her, closer to the prince, and made up for the queen's lack of enthusiasm with passionate applause and outpourings of praise. The princess's charms distracted the guests and the performers alike enough for her older sister to make an early exit just after the end of the last song, though her attempt to elegantly leave the room was stunted by her still-sleeping right leg.
A hand deftly caught her before she fell on her face, and without even looking up, she knew who it was that had saved her from public embarrassment.
"Ha—Prince Hans," she corrected, her cheeks pinking. "Thank you."
He nodded as he helped her to stand. "Glad I caught you, Your Majesty. Please, let me walk you out."
Her nose wrinkled as she swallowed a frown. "Thank you," she repeated, though with an edge of unease.
The curious expressions of the princess and other guests followed them as he escorted her out of the parlor and into the hallway, where several guards stood by, watching them. He smiled. "I'll be leaving you here, then, Your Majesty," he said, bowing, "in these fine men's capable hands."
The color in her face had not dissipated, but she put on a formal, regal bearing in the presence of the men. "I'd like to speak with you, Prince Hans, unless you're otherwise engaged."
His brow raised, and he bowed again. "As you wish, Your Majesty."
She forced a smile onto her lips, and took a candelabra off the wall next to her. "Good. Follow me, please."
She led the prince through winding hallways in silence until they reached a large set of ornately painted doors, and her gaze fixated briefly on the blue and green snowflake and flower patterns upon their surface before opening them onto the gallery.
"Not really the most private place for a conversation," he remarked, his voice echoing off the tall ceilings as he peered through the darkness at the paintings on the walls. "Ah—there's Joan again," he mentioned, pointing at the familiar figure by the second set of doors on the opposite end of the gallery.
"We're not staying here," she said, and motioned for him to follow her through those doors into another, smaller hallway. On the left was a tall, dark door with a sheen of dust covering the knob, and she blew it off, reaching into the pocket of her dress for a set of keys.
"Do you always have those at the ready?" he joked, and she flashed him a glare as she slid an indistinct, black key into the door, unlocking it.
The hinges creaked as they entered, and she lit a few other candles in the room as the prince took in his surroundings. "Where are we?" he asked.
"My father's private study," she said, not looking at him. The room was still filled with the former king's myriad possessions: hundred year-old books, artifacts from the ancient world, and a collection of medieval swords displayed above the cobweb-filled fireplace. Her eyes were drawn to the globe and compass on the desk, and next to them an old journal, its pages yellowing. "It hasn't been used since…" She trailed off, her gaze tightening as she turned to the prince. "There aren't many places where you can meet someone alone in this castle without the risk of people talking."
He crossed his arms, stepping a few paces closer to her. "So did you pretend as if you were about to fall back there, just to bring me here?"
She frowned. "No. I had planned on trying to meet with you alone, but… not in that way."
"Well, you certainly weren't giving off the impression that you wanted company," he said. "If anything, the way you bolted out of the room the first chance you got—I figured I just got lucky, catching you on the way out." He added: "No pun intended, of course."
At her silence, he continued: "So, Elsa? To what do I owe the rare occasion of a private audience with you?" A smirk rose and fell on his lips. "The last time we spoke like this, I seem to remember you saying that it was never to be repeated."
She took a step towards him, her eyes burning with controlled ire. "I've had enough of this, Hans," she snapped, her hands pulsing at her sides. "Using my own sister to further your advances—it's deplorable, and I won't have it. You know how good-hearted she is – how much she wants to help people – and for you to take advantage of it for such ridiculous purposes is just—"
"Elsa, I don't know what happened," he interrupted, his brows stitched together in bemusement, "but I promise you that I wouldn't ask Anna to do anything for me, let alone help me in my… advances towards you, as you put it."
"Of course," she sneered. "You didn't ask her to tell me how she'd seen the way you look at me, and how you'd asked questions about me, and how you're crazy about me, and how awful I am for ignoring you and not letting you make your case." Her arms crackled with energy as the air grew colder. "She just made all of that up on her own, right?"
His eyes widened, and he paused when she finished, his breath visible against the dark. "You know, Elsa," he said finally, "Anna is quite an intelligent young woman – not deaf, dumb, nor blind, as far as I can tell – and I've heard her make rather astute observations all week." His brow rose. "Isn't it possible that she's just seeing what's there?"
"No," she scoffed, crossing her arms. "Which is exactly what I told her. Those feelings she talked about, they don't just come out of thin air—they're the product of time, of being with someone, of truly understanding them." Her stare was hard and full of reproach. "And you don't have any of that with me."
His gaze back at her was patient and soft. "But I could," he replied, "if you let me."
She shook her head, about to offer a rebuttal, but he interjected again. "Look, I'm not going to try to convince you by saying that we're fated or meant to be, when I don't even believe in any of those things. I just want to get to know you, and for you to know me." He took a step closer to her, and crossed his arms. "I can't imagine how hard and lonely it must have been for you, growing up within these walls with so few people to talk to—and wearing those all the time, to boot," he said, gesturing at her gloves, "even though they clearly don't work. But I already know about your powers. In fact, I've known for most of my life, and I've never told anyone else about them. Do you know why?"
Her lip trembled as her head dipped, and she said nothing.
"I didn't tell anyone because a long time ago, a very scared little girl asked me not to. So I didn't." He unwound his arms from his chest as the chill in the room diminished. "And now I am asking her to trust me again, as she once did."
"And why should I?" she asked, sucking in a breath as she shuddered.
"Because I do know you, Elsa," he replied in earnest. "Even if it's just a little bit—it's still more than what most people know."
She scowled. "I'm more than my powers, Hans," she said. "So if all you're interested in is that, then—"
"Of course it's more than that," he cut in, and when she looked up at him, she was startled to see how little space remained between them. "Seeing how you've struggled for so long, and yet have come out on the other side as accomplished as you are… you're remarkable. And you always have been."
Taking advantage of her embarrassment at his praise, he went on. "Obviously, I won't ever fully understand what it was like for you, here," he acknowledged. "But… you remember how moody I was as a boy?" At her nod, he continued: "I've known some of what you've described in my own life. And I don't want you to have to suffer like that anymore. Not if you can be your true self with someone."
She gave him a pointed look. "That 'someone' being you, you mean."
He leaned back. "If you're comfortable with that, then yes. With me."
She was quiet for a long time, and then pressed a finger gently to her father's globe behind her. She spun it until she landed on a familiar territory, and then spoke. "When the fires started in the Isles, I couldn't help but think back to that story you told me as a child," she began, staring at the dark sphere. "When we were younger, Anna and I used to put on entire productions of that story, making up our own versions of what happened to the boy when he grew up." She cocked her head to the side. "I used to wonder if you made the story up just for me, since I was so similar to the boy—and it frightened me, thinking that I might end up using my powers the way he did. So I would always make sure we performed happy endings."
She paused. "After the accident, when I couldn't play with her anymore, all I could think of was the first ending you told us: the one where the boy burns everything down." Her look turned wistful. "Because I was alone so often, I even imagined that I could talk to him sometimes—that I could ask him why he did it, or what it felt like to hurt people." She gazed up at him, the weight of painful memories present in her brow. "I wondered if he'd felt the way I did when I hurt Anna."
He looked perturbed by the admission, and said nothing.
In his silence, she continued: "Eventually, I forgot about the boy, and most of the story, too. But I didn't forget about you, Hans." She held her face forward so that it was better lit by the candelabra on the desk. "And when I learned that you were still alive after the first fire, I had Kai and a few other advisers do some research on the Isles. I, meanwhile, read everything I could on your country's history, politics, et cetera."
She rotated the globe until it was facing him, and the location under her index finger became visible under the candlelight. "So I learned a few things about you, in the process: the names of all twelve of your older brothers, the tragic death of your mother in childbirth, and the nick name some of them would call you by. The 'Unlucky Thirteenth,' I believe."
The prince's tongue clicked in his mouth as his expression hardened, becoming unreadable. "Yes," he drawled, "among others."
"And that's the thing, Hans," she said. "The reports, the research, the books: the pictures they painted were fine and noble, like the ones hanging in the gallery, and you really had to look hard at them to see the bits of darkness at the edges." She stared at the wall behind him, upon which just such an old royal portrait of her grandfather hung. "They gave an impression of who you were, but… the only real thing I had to hold onto all these years were my memories of you as a boy, and I didn't feel like I could trust anything else." Her eyes flickered to meet his. "Not until we'd met again, and I could see you for myself—find out who you'd become."
His jaw was tight at her speech. "And what do you think now, Elsa?"
Her head tilted as she regarded his features, half in shadow. "I think I still didn't really understand much about you, until tonight—until you started guessing at what my life has been like." Her gaze was relentlessly probing. "I realized that you probably see yourself in me; that you see your childhood in mine, and think that is why we should understand each other. Why we should… be with each other. Isn't that right, Hans?"
He smiled a little. "I think I underestimated you, Elsa," he replied. "And I think you underestimate yourself, as well. You're magnificent."
The queen's face flushed at the compliment. "You're trying to distract me with flattery," she snapped. "It won't work."
"I know it won't," he agreed, still smiling. "I just wanted to see you blush." At her annoyed look, he said in a more serious way: "You're right, of course: I saw our shared tragic pasts as a way in, and I'm using it to try to get closer to you."
She blinked in surprise at the confession, and he continued before she could reply: "But is that such a bad thing? To actually talk about it?" He stepped forward again, and the distance between them shrunk to a foot. "It's like you said: we hardly know each other, even with all the books and research – which, if you haven't already guessed, I've done as well on you and your country – but it seems as though we have a few things in common, even if you are loathe to admit it."
She found her face craning up to look at him before she could stop herself from doing so. "I suppose we do," she conceded, her voice hushed. "But…"
"What is it?"
Her eyes closed tightly shut. "I could hurt you," she said. "I could hurt you, and I wouldn't know how to make it better." They reopened with effort, blinking back tears. "I can't keep you – or anyone – safe from it."
"And I'm not asking you to," he said, "because I'm not afraid." He held out a hand towards her. "Here," he said, "let's shake on it. Then you'll know I mean it."
She stared at his hand with hesitation, and then moved hers towards it, her posture stiffening. He nudged his hand back an inch, and clicked his tongue again.
"The gloves, Elsa."
She looked down at her hand, and then back at him with a frown. "You got to keep yours on last time, if I remember correctly."
A smile passed across his face. "Yes, I did," he agreed, "but this is different. This is me saying that I trust you." He held his hand out again. "Do you trust me?"
Her breathing grew shakier as she considered his question, staring down at her hands as they nervously rubbed together. After what seemed like an eternal pause, she removed the glove from her left hand, finger by finger, until her skin was completely bare.
The sight of it caused her to tremble as she raised her hand to his, placing it against his palm. His grip was careful but firm, and also warm—so warm, in fact, that she withdrew her hand a few moments later.
Her skin tingled even as she slid her glove back onto her hand, but her gaze eventually found its way back towards him. She inhaled sharply. "We should go," she said, "or else—"
"People will start talking?" he finished with a slight grin. "Yes, you said before. And I think you're right," he agreed, offering her his arm. "Shall we?"
The queen refused it, though without her previous sternness. "No, thank you. But…" She fidgeted under his stare, and went to busy herself with dousing the candles she had lit around the room. "I wouldn't mind if we spoke again, like this." Her nose wrinkled as she held in a sneeze from a cloud of dust that was kicked up after she blew out the last candle. "But perhaps not in here."
His eyes seemed to twinkle as he held in a laugh. "I'd like that."
She took up her original candelabra as he opened the door, and after checking that the hallway remained clear, he motioned for her to come out and lock the door again.
Slipping the keyring back in her pocket, she sighed in relief, standing next to him by the second entrance to the gallery. "If you go through there, you'll be able to make it back to the main hall without too much trouble," she told him, nodding in that direction.
"And you?" he asked, staring down the small hallway.
She allowed herself a half-smile. "I'm retiring for the evening. I suggest you do the same."
He bowed, his grin dissolving. "As you wish, Your Majesty."
She acknowledged the gesture with a small nod, and waited for him to enter the gallery before staring down at the red carpet beneath her, her left hand rising from her side into her field of vision.
Even while gloved, her fingertips were pulsing, as if licked by flames.