Anna POV

Sometime in the early hours of the morning, well before dawn, I awake suddenly in my bed. Confused as to what disturbed me, I attempt to roll onto my side only to cry out slightly in pain. I'm only too aware of the intense churning pain in my stomach and my vision swoons with nausea. It doesn't take long for me to recognize that I am sick. My rapid heartbeat and pulsating temples tell me that. A powerful sensation drives me to lunge forward unconsciously, sprinting across my room and fumbling with the door handle.

I ignore Gerda's startled cry as I take off running down the hall and slam the bathroom door shut behind me. With barely enough time to even lift the lid to the toilet, I'm on my hands and knees, my body convulsing as I retch into the bowl.

I hate throwing up. It's one of the worst sensations in the world. I mean, what inside of me could be so bad that I feel the need to immediately and violently expel it from my body? The rotten taste alone is enough to make you want to die. The vile odor causes you to gag and your throat burns like someone has forced you to swallow a hot coal. Plus, you're spending so much time heaving that you forget to breathe and you cough and choke in between intervals.

After a few minutes, I hear a frantic knocking on the bathroom door. "Your highness?" I hear Gerda's voice trill, her tone laced with distress. "Your highness, are you alright in there?"

I hesitate, afraid that if I open my mouth I might throw up again, but I manage to croak out, "Yes. Yes, I'm fine, Gerda. Thank you."

There is a brief moment of silence before she speaks up once more. "Can I assist you in any way, miss?"

"No no," I sputter. "I'm alright, thank you."

"Well," I can hear the uneasiness in Gerda's voice. "If you need anything, your highness, please don't hesitate to ask."

"Thank you," I breathe, probably not quite loud enough for her to hear.

I remain fixed in my position for a few more minutes, my forehead resting on the cool porcelain of the toilet, but I'm done being sick. I flush the toilet and shakily rise to my feet, trembling and feverish. I run a hand through my hair and sniffle, pausing to blow my nose and splash water on my face before I step outside into the hall.

Gerda stands before me, a glass of water and a couple of white tablets resting on a tray in her hands. "Here you are, your majesty," she says sympathetically. "This should help you feel better."

I gather the pills in my hand and swallow them, struggling past my raw throat and emerge coughing. As I set the empty glass back onto the tray, I snort with laughter at the sight of a thin plastic utensil set beside it.

"I'm not pregnant, Gerda."

Gerda's face blushes a deep crimson. "Oh no, your majesty," she says quickly. "I would never assume that. I just brought along a thermometer in case you wanted to check for fever."

"I'll be alright, thank you," I say with a breathy laugh. "I'm just going to go back to bed."

"Are you sure that you're alright, your highness?"

"I'm fine, thank you, Gerda." I murmur, rubbing my nose as I start down the hallway. "I appreciate your concern, but I'll be alright. Thank you."

"Alright, your majesty," Gerda says curiously. "Rest well."

I give her a friendly wave as I step back into my room and shut the door behind me. Almost immediately, I'm wracked by a bout of itchy coughing, the kind that irritates your throat and induces even more coughing.

"Ugh," I mutter, wresting my wrist against my forehead, which throbs incessantly. "Goddammit, Kristoff."

I smile at the thought of him teasing me for running after him in the snow. Crap. Why does he always have to be right? I stagger toward my bed, collapsing into the pillows and nestle beneath the comforter and blankets, falling asleep almost immediately.