"We really need to hire better guards." said the Princess.

Of all the soldiers in the room, it was Lieutenant Martin Djupvik of Her Majesty's Royal Guard that took the least offence.

"Your Highness, I assure you, Her Majesty's Royal Guards are professionally trained and highly competent."

Martin had many things to say about that, but decorum dictated that he needed to keep quiet lest he be removed. He wasn't really supposed to be in this meeting. The meeting was supposed to be between the Queen and her Colonel. But of course, the Princess dragged anyone wearing uniform into the room. And there lay one of the many problems that plagued Her Majesty's Royal Guard: Nothing was a secret. Martin wondered how the Princess' remark would colour the Royal Guard's perception of her.

Apparently the Queen's most loyal protectors, the Royal Guard didn't seem so loyal when they stalked up the North Mountain, swords in hand to capture the Queen, with the foreigner, Prince Hans of the Southern Isles. The Kingdom was in chaos, but instead of taking charge and maintaining Arendelle's integrity, the Royal Guard had bent to the will of a foreign prince. Martin himself shared part of the blame. He was part of the party that found the Queen in her ice palace, fending off the Duke of Weselton's bodyguards. Alone.

It was him that insisted to personally carry the Queen down the mountain. The moment the Queen was rendered unconscious was the moment he realised how vulnerable she was. Prince Hans refused, but before he could utter a word, a Royal Guard was already cradling her in his arms.

His name: Private Alex McDonald.

Martin decided at once to stop thinking about it. McDonald, born to foreigners, occupied enough of his time.

"Yes, your Highness, I certainly agree. That can be arranged promptly with Her Majesty's approval."

For the first time in the meeting, the Queen spoke.

"My father had his reasons for staffing the castle's guard at this level. Before we make any changes, I would like to consult my other officers."

The Queen's head turned and faced Martin.

"Lieutenant Djupvik, do you think it is necessary that the castle's garrison be increased at once?"

Martin stared into the young Queen's deep blue eyes. He wondered what would happen if at that moment she smiled.

"Lieutenant?"

"Yes, yes. Increase the castle's garrison. I..."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. It is settled then. The castle's guard will be augmented. I will be expecting numbers and time frames by the next meeting, Colonel Hansen. Now regarding the vulnerabilities discovered by Princess Anna during a climb to the rooftops..."

It was raining in the capital of Storholm. Typical. She would have to find lodging for the night, and quickly. The quickest boats out of the country were in the capital, yet here was the city where her pursuers made their home. How ironic it was that in her quest to escape danger, her escape route cut through the heart of it. Suspicions rose that she was being lead here intentionally. But whatever the case, she would have to think about it later. As she entered the inn, she hoped she wasn't spotted by the soldiers in the tavern across the street.

She was immediately drawn to the fire the moment she walked in. Occupied with watching her surroundings, she failed to notice how long she had been out in the rain. She was soaked. A short woman of around age 50 approached her.

"Sweatheart, do you need a place?"

"Yes, a room would be nice."

"All our rooms are booked, but there is one lodger who is willing to share a room. For a cost."

"I'm sorry, but I'm not interested."

"She's very eager."

And at that, she was introduced to a Ms. Phoebe Ayres. In return, she introduced herself as Ms. Claudia Ashley.

"Your accent sounds rather interesting, Miss Claudia. Whereabouts do you come from?"

"Whytepool, Miss Phoebe."

"Ah, Whytepool. You're a northern lass aren't you?"

While it was true that Claudia hailed from the north of Storholm, Whytepool was a far cry from the highlands of Aberfoyle. Still, it would have to do. After all, who is a lodger from the capital to tell the difference between an Aberfoyle and a Whytepool accent?

"If anything, I can't stand a northern accent. Yours isn't too bad, sweetheart, but by god, those people from the Albian counties-Aberfoyle and such," said the short woman.

"Don't mind her," said Phoebe. "I think your accent sounds lovely. A lovely accent for a lovely girl. Shall we have dinner?"

Dinner was served by the fireplace at Phoebe's request. Only Claudia, Phoebe, and the older woman, whose name was Mrs. Brown, were present. Mrs. Brown explained that the others had already eaten. Over dinner, Phoebe explained that while not a permanent resident of Mrs. Brown's inn, she more or less lived there, performing services for Mrs. Brown's to pay for her lodging. She said the pay was good and plenty was left over to spend at the market.

"So Claudia, will you be staying long?" asked Phoebe.

"Unfortunately, no." She quickly thought up a story.

"I need to pick up my cousin Esther from the city before going back to Whytepool. Her parents are ill, and I have been instructed to take her into my care."

"If I may be so bold, perhaps she could live here." said Mrs. Brown. "She would be more comfortable in a such a familiar place. She could do work for my customers as well."

"I'll be sure to mention it to her."

Claudia could feel her damp cape slipping from the back of her chair, so she turned around to adjust it. In the process, her satchel, which was resting on her lap, fell to the floor. Claudia ducked under the table to pick it back up which let her cape fall off. When Claudia came back up from under the table, it was in Phoebe's arms.

"I can hang this over the fire if you'd like."

"That would be great, thank you."

"It's a really beautiful cape, almost as beautiful as you."

"Thank you. It uses a novel sort of dye to make this shade of purple. Very vivid. It's also the same dye used for my coat. Have you seen these at the market yet?"

By the time dinner was finished, Claudia found herself exhausted. Phoebe led Claudia to their room.

"I could sleep on the floor if you'd like," said Claudia as she entered.

"No, no, it's fine. We could share if you don't mind."

"It's okay, Miss Phoebe. All my clothes are wet and-"

"Here, let me take them off." Phoebe approached Claudia from behind. She wrapped her arms around her shoulders.

"Miss Phoebe-"

"Please, just call me Phoebe. Let me help you."

Claudia stood still as Phoebe removed her coat. She could feel the weight of Phoebe's head resting on her shoulders. Her coat dropped to the floor. She could feel fingers, on her arms, on her chest, on her thighs. Claudia squirmed.

Phoebe's hands rested at the hem of Claudia's chemise. "Lets get this off. You could never go to sleep wearing this."

Soon, Claudia found herself cold and exposed.

"To bed now." Phoebe dragged Claudia by the arm towards the bed. "To bed."

"Squad! Fall in!"

The resounding order from a Corporal immediately sent the room in a flurry of activity. At the end of the commotion, Sergeant Alex McDonald's section had managed to assemble itself into a loosely formed line. Martin was not impressed. Still, it was a better effort than most of the Royal Guard if not most of the army. To the chagrin of his subordinates, Martin made sure of that.

"Stand easy." commanded Martin. The men relaxed. Martin approached the Corporal.

"Corporal Pedersen, is this where your unit is supposed to be right now?"

"Sir, yes, Sir!"

"Has Sergeant McDonald explicitly allowed you to be here?"

"Sir, yes, Sir!"

"Playing cards and drinking?"

"Sir, yes-"

"Stop saying 'Sir' at both the beginning and end of your replies!"

"Sir, yes...Lieutenant...Sir!"

Martin shook his head.

"In spite of the castle gates being open, the castle is not. The guards in your area of responsibility have not been relieved for 12 hours. Where is Sergeant McDonald?"

"I do not know, Sir!"

Martin sighed. This sort of thing was typical with Sergeant McDonald, and despite every effort of Martin's to stop it, Alex McDonald always found a way to escaped unscathed. But that wouldn't stop Martin from trying. Desertion was a serious offence. As Martin led McDonald's unit to their post, he wondered where Sergeant McDonald could possibly be.

Knock. Knock. Knock knock. Knock.

It was the same knock every time. Every time she saw Elsa was like the first time all over again.

"Come in."

The door opened. There was Elsa, sitting at her desk, a soft smile on her face. As usual, she looked absolutely

"-gorgeous."

"Thank you."

"I hope I didn't wake you or anything."

"No, it's fine. I haven't gone to bed yet."

"Is that the throne speech you're working on?"

"Yes, it is. I'm hoping to present it to Parliament when Princess Rapunzel is in town."

"Speaking of which, have you figured out the places you'd like to show the Coronan delegation around?"

"No, I haven't. I was hoping I could ask you for some suggestions."

"That's great because I've made a list already. From the castle we'll go to the town square, since I want to show off the market. It's always full of cool stuff. Then, we could go to Florian's since it's the closest and get them some flangendorfers..."

Corona, ruled by relatives of Arendelle's royal family, was a country located to the south of Arendelle, across the North Sea. Its largest trade partner, Arendelle could always trust Corona in times of crisis. Following the young Princess Elsa's accident with Princess Anna, the royal family went into a hermitic isolation to the detriment of its trade and foreign affairs. Arendelle became highly dependent on Corona to advocate on its behalf. Corona was an unwaveringly loyal ally. The Royal Family wanted to be sure to express their gratitude for the Kingdom of Corona's support.

"That sounds great, Anna. I'm sure Rapunzel will have a blast."

"There's one extra thing I was hoping to add, and I've budgeted just enough time to do it."

"Oh? And what's that?"

"I was hoping we could pay a visit to Kristoff and the ice harvesters. We'd have enough time to visit his family as well."

"I don't know, Anna. Have you asked Kristoff what his thoughts are on this?"

"Not yet, but I'm sure he'll love it. The harvesters would love the attention."

"I was thinking more about his family. They're not a very open people. You should really talk to Kristoff about this."

"I'll get on it as soon as I can."

There was a pause. Then, Anna rubbed Elsa's shoulder.

"Anna?"

"Hmm? Oh, I'm just making sure you're actually there. It's just so weird, actually seeing you. But in a good way!"

"It is." Elsa forced a smile.

Anna yawned. "Well, I'm off to bed. See you tomorrow then."

"Night, Anna."

The door to the inn opened, a uniformed man stepped in from the rain. He looked young, but determined. The innkeeper approached him.

"Sir, do you need a place?" asked the innkeeper, "Or can I interest you in something else?"

"Lieutenant Martin Djupvik, Northstream Guards. A warrant has been issued for the return of a crown ward to His Majesty's custody. I have suspicion that she is in your dwelling, and I have the authority to search it at once."

"What?! You shall do no such thing! You look nothing like an officer of the Northstream Guards!"

Without another word, "Lieutenant Djupvik" pushed past the innkeeper, up the stairs to the rooms. Before the innkeeper could stop him, the door burst open. A dozen soldiers fanned out across the room. A soldier in an officer's uniform barked an order. Two soldiers seized the innkeeper by the arms.

"Miss Brown, I am arresting you under suspicion of operating a bawdy house." said the officer. He turned his head to the stairs. "Go find that imposter. And if you find the girl from Aberfoyle, arrest her!"

Upstairs, "Martin" was checking each room for his quarry. Some occupants of the inn were roused from their slumbers. Others were occupied with other activities and not sleeping at all.

There was a shout from the stairs.

"Stop! Northstream Guards!"

"Martin" quickly ducked into a room and locked the door. He turned towards the bed. There, a weeping girl lay, face turned away from the source of her distress, who sat on top of her like a leaden weight.

"You have the wrong room, sir," said Phoebe.

"More than the wrong room, I'm sure." The person who called himself "Martin" reached into his greatcoat and retrieved a palm-sized slab. It glowed a bluish-white and gave an unpleasant numbness to those who touched it. "Martin" tied the object to the doorknob. "Martin" pulled a flintlock pistol from his greatcoat.

"If you're in trouble with the law, this is a bad place to be." He fired a shot at the object.

There was a flash and a bang.