Chapter 3

The evening of the ball arrived and men and women dressed in elegant clothes paraded into the castle. The sun had graced Arendelle with its presence earlier that day, and the sky was now awake and clear, with the Northern Lights painting shimmering purples, pinks and greens across the blue-black expanse. The grand ballroom was filled with music and light, and Freja laughed giddily as she took turns dancing with her guests. She had never felt so alive!

Stellan approached and relieved Freja from the uncoordinated dance moves of a tiny, gray-haired man, a duke of some sort, if she remembered correctly. All that she could think was that he looked rather like a chicken, strutting circles around her and leaping ungracefully into the air, flapping his arms. Her husband stifled a laugh and tapped the duke on the shoulder.

"May I steal my queen for a dance, sir?"

The duke looked flabbergasted and exhausted.

"Why, your majesty! Of course, of course! And might I just say, I am honored that Weselton has become such close trade partners with Arendelle. Our partnership with last for generations, I am quite sure…" he rambled on for a bit more, and Freja smiled at her husband. It was all she could do not to roll her eyes.

"Yes, well…" said Stellan, cutting of the duke abruptly, "Very nice to see you again. Now if you'll excuse us. Have a lovely evening!" And he whisked the queen away, chuckling.

Freja's breath caught for a split second as Stellan twirled her around and began to dance. He was not very good at it, she knew, and didn't often dance in public.

"Stellan," she whispered in his ear, "You're dancing!"

"Well, I wasn't going to let every other man in this place twirl you around and not get a turn myself," the king grinned.

Freja laughed and pressed her head against his chest, listening to his heart beat. They floated in circles around the ball room, completely absorbed in each other, and when the song had closed, the stood still, holding one another.

A bony finger tapped Stellan's shoulder and made him release Freja and turn. Behind him was a tall man in a dark blue cloak, carrying a beautifully carved walking stick.

"Sire," he said is a deep, smooth voice, "Do allow me to introduce myself! My name is Edvard Beteran."

"Good to meet you, Mr. Beteran," said the king, politely. He motioned to Freja, "This is my wife, Queen…"

"Ah, yes, yes, your highness, Queen Freja!" interrupted Edvard, "The townsfolk say absolutely lovely things about you."

Freja forced a smile. Something about this man made her wary. Something she could not quite place.

"And I wish you every joy, all three of you!" the stranger continued. He knelt down and placed an ice cold hand on Freja's stomach. Freja felt her breath quicken, but before she had time to pull away, Edvard had stood up again and was talking in a friendly manner to Stellan.

Maybe she had just imagined it, Freja thought. Maybe her mind was playing tricks on her. With all the excitement and hormones coursing through her, she wouldn't be surprised.

The musicians started playing a new song.

"M'lady," spoke Edvard, "If you do not have a partner for this dance, may I be the first to volunteer?"

Freja gulped and smiled, placing her hand in Edvard's and glancing sideways at Stellan. The king nodded. The queen took a deep breath, working hard to conceal all the strange emotions that were welling up inside.