Far below the night's celebrations, Isaac lounged in the Arendelle Castle dungeon, alone and glad to be it.

When he had been assigned to the post that morning he had been absolutely ecstatic. Of course, watching over the dungeon was neither the most difficult nor heroic post considering the fact that there had been no prisoners in years (save for Queen Elsa, naturally, who no one really counted), but Isaac would have it no other way.

The combined heartbreak of discovering William Daleon in the woods and then having to inform his family of his demise and serve witness to their first reactions had taken quite the toll on the young man. Since his return, Isaac had often imagined himself in the situation of the poor farmer or of his family, allowing the emotions already fresh in his mind to resurface fully.

Beyond his vicariousness, Isaac couldn't help but replay his own personal failures of the previous night over and over again in his head. He was well aware that he had the tendency to "lock up", as he and the other guardsmen called it. It happened whenever he got too angry or sad or even happy, which really meant that it happened all too much. Emotion quite often surged within the tragically compassionate guard, and when it did it was invariably met with his own muteness as he simply got too excited or upset to even speak.

When he had visited the Daleon Farmstead, Isaac's sympathy was what caused him to lock up in the widow's presence and for the umpteenth time in his life the guard hated his tendency to go silent. He knew that he couldn't control it - it had been a constant of his life since he was just a boy - but still felt as if he had let the grieving family down when his words of comfort froze in his throat, never to be spoken.

Needless to say, Isaac could think of nothing he would rather do than distract himself by pretending to read something before taking a quick nap on the job. Fortunately, the leisurely stint at the dungeon post would provide him the opportunity to do just that. He had skimmed the first page of his tiny book a couple of times over already and didn't even hear the fireworks outside yet.

The plump guard smirked to himself for the first time since they had found William Daleon. So he would have time for quite the nap.

The bliss of loneliness was fleeting, however, as Isaac's eyelids had just barely grown heavy enough to close when he was interrupted by a firm, echoing knock on the metal door behind his post at the guard desk.

"Huh?" he jumped up, momentarily confused by his grim surroundings in his drowsiness. When the knock came again he was sure that he wasn't dreaming. "Coming," he groaned. The guard sullenly slipped his boots (which he had kicked to the ground in order to be more comfortable) back on and made the short journey to the door, where he opened the small shutter just below his face level.

"Hey, Isaac," the guardsman on the other side said, squinting as he peered through the grating as if it would help him see into the scarcely-lit prison of gray brick. "Just our luck, eh? I'll bet the captain thought he was doing us rescuers a favor, putting us on such simple jobs for the festival."

"Did he not?"

"Got someone for you to watch over for the night. Open up."

Another rap on the door came in jest, bouncing off the lonely walls inside. Isaac didn't think it was very funny, but he still had to open up. He closed the shutter, yawned, took a moment to compose himself, and then unlatched and pulled open the door.

"Mrs. Daleon?" he asked instantly, the sight of the woman sulking next to the other guard and bound by his iron grip on her shoulders hitting him like a punch. His pace of speech noticeably quickened as he made a concerted effort to control his emotions. "Are you alright?"

"Mrs. Daleon?" the usher looked from the widow to the prison guard in a mix of confusion and sudden realization. "This is the wife of that farmer we found?"

"Yeah, sure, I recognize her from last night," Isaac continued. "Why did you bring her down here?"

"Well Mrs. Daleon here wanted into the ballroom without an invitation."

"And you saw it fit to bring her to the dungeon for that?"

"She really wanted into the ballroom."

"What do you mean?"

"Charged us," the usher started nudging the woman into the room.

"No way," Isaac said. Dee whimpered in response to his sudden exclamation, her head still tilted down, concealing her puffy and red face. "Is anyone hurt?"

"Luckily not. We were able to subdue her without any disruption to the proceedings," the guard said, as if the task had been a difficult and noble feat. Isaac walked over to the dungeon's sole cell, roughly twenty paces from the entrance and to the right, ahead of the usher and his prisoner and began work on the sturdy door's several locks. Just behind him, an out of place stack of light bricks marked where the entrance to the chamber's twin would have been had it not been recently decommissioned by the queen.

Isaac struggled to remember which key belonged to the third and final keyhole, however he eventually produced one from his pockets that would turn. "What's the plan?"

"I don't know," the usher pushed a stumbling Dee into the secure room before swinging the door closed himself. "I'm on door duty."

"Where's the captain?"

"Probably getting drunk out of his mind somewhere or another."

"So I'm just supposed to keep her here without official charges?"

"For now you will," the usher said simply.

He didn't speak again until Isaac had locked the cell door entirely and followed him to the front of the dungeon, where they would presumably be out of earshot of the imprisoned widow.

"I know this all might sound odd to you, but the woman came at the two of us with a knife when we wouldn't let her in."

"What?"

"And her stated business in the ballroom was meeting Queen Elsa."

The two Royal Guardsmen shared a customary silent conversation, something that Isaac was particularly good at. Before long, they were in agreement: the situation warranted a mix of confused, wrinkled brows and terrified, wide eyes.

"Look, I get where the lady is coming from considering her husband," the usher whispered now to make sure that the prisoner wasn't able to hear his confession, "but what she's done is a serious crime. I don't think she'll be much trouble - I searched her on the way down, she's got nothing else on her - while we wait for the captain's word on the matter. You will have to watch over her here until then."

"I understand."

"I'll keep an eye out for the captain," the other guardsman pledged, "but I wouldn't expect anything until morning. I'm sorry," he said, but was sure to shuffle through the exit in a hurry afterwards.

Isaac stood in the Arendelle Castle dungeon, now no longer alone and quite unhappy to be it.

"Anna," Elsa said harshly once the princess emerged from the crowd and onto the platform, Martin by her side.

"I know, sorry, sorry," Anna apologized. The crowd began to dissipate from around them once the sisters had started talking and the guests realized that their chances for another show were all but nonexistent. "I just saw someone that I wanted you to meet. This is Martin," the princess casually pushed the young man forward and he stumbled briefly as he went.

"Queen Elsa," Martin bowed slightly, taking the opportunity to steal a quick, instinctive glance at the queen's hands.

"Hello," Elsa said suspiciously. She had seen the guardsman around the castle a few times over the past couple of years, always standing near-motionless in front of some door or another in that same pressed green uniform. She never remembered having spoken to him. Now, she noticed, he looked quite a bit meeker than he did when she had spied him at his posts, and he definitely had a voice to fit.

Either way, she knew that she was not particularly interested in having anything to do with Martin.

She hoped that this wasn't what she thought it was.

"I thought that you two could dance."

"What? No."

"I know you don't usually dance and all but it's like-"

"I don't usually dance? I don't dance at all. Period," Elsa interrupted. "Sorry Martin," she finished, shooting the guardsman a smile that was half sweet and half almost threatening.

"No, please, it's quite alright, Queen-"

"Hold on a second," Anna told him before he could finish. She motioned for Elsa to turn towards the throne with her and they began to speak in hunched-over semi-privacy.

"I'm not dancing."

"Elsa, please?"

"No. I'm not dancing. Especially not with a member of the Royal Guard."

"Maybe I could find someone else?"

"Anna!"

"You don't have to dance. You could just, I don't know, talk or something."

Elsa almost hissed.

"Come on, I can't stay with you all night. I at least want to spend a little bit of time with Kristoff. Just stand here with Martin for fifteen minutes, okay? That's all I ask."

The queen frowned.

"He's cute," Anna offered.

Her sister did want her to enjoy the festival.

"Please?"

Elsa's shoulders dropped and the princess knew that she had won once again.

"Thank you," Anna whispered sincerely.

The sisters turned back to Martin. Somehow, he looked even more uncomfortable than before, though he still maintained the perfect posture of one at least trying to keep his image of decency.

"No dancing," Anna said. "Sorry, Martin."

"No, please, I did not mean to offend-"

"But Queen Elsa would like for you to stay with her right here while I go and run a very important errand," the princess continued, trying to sound as authoritative as possible despite her sister's quiet accompanying scoff. "You may talk, if you'd like."

"Um, yes, Princess Anna," Martin squeaked. "Of course."

"I'll be back in fifteen minutes," Anna nudged her sister.

"Right."

And then Elsa and guardsman were left alone on the platform.

"This is creepy," Kristoff commented.

Anna had tracked the ice master down again as quickly as she could after leaving the platform, however instead of enjoying the festival's delights with him had opted to lead her boyfriend to a spot behind a curtain in the back of the ballroom where she could keep a watchful eye on her sister.

"Shush, I'm trying to listen," Anna said, peeking out over the crowd.

"Listen? There's a whole party between you and them, not to mention the band," Kristoff pointed out. "And it doesn't look like they're talking, anyway."

"We just have to be patient," Anna insisted. "Dancing would have helped break the ice-"

"Good one."

"-but this was the only way that I could get her to do it."

"Look, doesn't this seem a little weird to you? Maybe they're just not a good match."

"Maybe," the princess shrugged. "I thought they'd be perfect for each other. They're both always so polite about everything. And neither of them ever talk much... I mean look at them."

On the platform, Elsa and Martin stood side by side, both content to simply take in the crowd before them.

"Aren't all of the Royal Guards supposed to be the quiet, standing around type?"

"Martin was the only one who blushed when I asked them who wanted to dance with Elsa at the festival."

"Oh, come on!"

"No harm in trying."

"I don't know. The guy looks like he could be in some pain."

Anna rolled her eyes.

The band started another song, and then another. On the platform, Elsa and Martin were statues.

"Maybe you're right," the princess admitted. "This was probably just a mistake."

"Probably."

"Let's just-"

Anna saw Elsa's mouth move just before she was going to turn away.

"Oh no."

"Yes!" the princess cheered. "Look at her lips - try to figure out what she's saying."

"I can't read lips."

"Oh," Anna said, disappointed. "Why are you here, then?"

"Because you basically dragged me over here!"

"Do you see my sister, too?" Elsa asked, a sudden interruption to the relative quiet atop the platform.

"Huh?" Martin asked, looking over to make sure that the queen was indeed talking to him. When he saw that she was, he wasn't sure whether to be relieved or worried.

"She's over there with the royal ice master. To the left, behind those drapes. Do you see her?"

Martin flicked his head over, catching sight of the red-haired princess just before she jumped behind one of the ballroom's many columns. Kristoff was left in plain view, leaning against the wall behind her and waving at the guardsman lazily. "Oh," Martin said.

"You may have suspected this, but she didn't have any urgent errand to run off to," Elsa stated. "Really, she just wanted you and me to spend some time together for whatever reason."

"I thought so," the guardsman chirped.

"I don't want to be here."

"Me neither, really," Martin said in haste, clearing his throat once he had realized his rudeness. "All of the people," he stammered in recovery. "I just, um, I mean, no offense to you, Queen Elsa."

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Your voice always changes when you say 'Queen Elsa'. You make it go deeper."

"Oh," Martin's sweating intensified. "I don't know. It sounds more serious."

"And my name is meant to sound serious?"

"I, uh, I think so."

Elsa giggled a little.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, it's just... You sound plenty serious with your normal voice. You don't have to say my name special."

"Have you heard my voice?"

Elsa giggled again. "It's not as bad as you think."

"And yet you instantly knew what I was talking about."

Both of them had loosened up slightly, signaled by their ensuing shared albeit mutually reserved laughter.

"I'm sorry," Elsa said.

"It's fine. The other guys are always making fun of me for it. I'm used to it."

"It's really not that bad, though."

The burst of conversation died and made room for the return of silence to the platform.

This time, for some inexplicable reason, Elsa wasn't okay with that.

"The people are awful, aren't they?

"There's so many of them."

"I know."

"They're so loud."

"I know."

"My sister made me come to the festival," Elsa admitted.

"She made me come, too."

"I figured."

More silence.

"Do you mind if I ask you something?"

"Of course not," Martin said. He kept his voice level when he finished with, "Queen Elsa."

"Are you afraid of me?"

"Sorry?"

"When Anna brought you over here it looked like you wanted nothing to do with me," Elsa said. "You looked scared."

"I'm so sorry," the guardsman turned to his queen, terror painted across his face.

"You're doing it again now."

"I'm sorry, I'm not scared," Martin quickly composed himself, but he was unable to hide the remnants of his previous feelings. A drip of sweat ran from his forehead down the side of his nose.

"You looked pretty scared."

"Well, I mean, I was, Queen Elsa, but, uh, I'm not anymore," Martin paused, wiping a droplet from his cheek with a handkerchief. "Um, well, not scared, just, uh, nervous, you know. You are the queen and I was supposed to dance and... You know."

"You looked at my hands."

The young man gulped but said nothing more.

"I don't blame you," Elsa said, her shoulders suddenly weighty.

"I'm not afraid," Martin replied truthfully. His banter with the queen had actually eliminated most of the fear that he had stepped onto the platform with, however he couldn't even begin to explain such things. The guardsman remembered Anna's warning. He was forbidden to admit to the queen why he had been afraid in the first place.

"I know that I'm scary. I just wanted to hear someone else say it. Everyone just..."

Elsa didn't finish. She couldn't even finish in front of a mirror.

Silence fell upon the platform again and by then the queen had gone back to not wanting to interrupt it.

Meanwhile, the lone guardsman sat in the dungeon and felt sorry for himself. He had just wanted a nice, relaxing evening and instead had been treated to not only a prisoner to watch over but one that was the embodiment of the very things he was trying desperately to forget.

He opened his book and then remembered that he hated reading. He closed his eyes but could not sleep. It seemed that there would be no escape from his newfound responsibility.

"Isaac, was it?" Dee's unexpected voice came from the cell, though to Isaac it was nearly impossible to place. Her words bounced off of the damp stone walls and by the time they had made their way through the grate and to the front of the dungeon they seemed to be barreling at him from all directions at once. That was not to mention the fact that the widow hadn't spoken once since entering, causing her sudden vocalization itself to surprise the guard considerably.

In fact, Isaac found himself so unnerved by the echoing elimination of silence that he rose from his post, tiptoed to the cell door beyond the desk, and peered through its small, uncovered window before asking, "what was that?"

"Your name. It's Isaac, is it not? You're the one who came to us last night."

Isaac sighed. Although the lighting was ever lessening as the sun set outside the cell's singular barred window, he could still see Dee on the floor inside, a crouching bundle of hastily sewn cloth right where the other guardsman had left her. "I am," he said. He knew that he wasn't supposed to fraternize with the prisoner, but was unable to forget the night before, when he had been assigned to do just that and much more as a harbinger of the very worst sort of news to the woman and her son. There was a connection to the widow that he couldn't deny - a preexisting sympathy that laid unsteadily latent within him for just a day's time and was all too quick to reawaken.

"I must apologize for my behavior," Dee continued. She was turned away from the door, her words ricocheting with an impact off of the far wall and back in Isaac's direction. "I didn't mean for things to turn out like this."

"Most people who end up here don't," the guard stated, a quiet joke amplified by the walls around him to an embarrassing volume. He wasn't sure if what came from the cell in response was a whimper or a chuckle, so he hissed, "sorry," to cover his bases regardless.

"I was very upset last night," Dee continued. "You know that better than perhaps anyone."

"I-"

"William was a good man," the widow declared, stopping and letting her words scratch out of her throat and across the walls and then dull into silence before proceeding. "You know he did it for us - my son and me. We were running out of firewood and food and when the storm started to get worse we all knew that we wouldn't last much longer. William set out for the castle just a few hours before it ended. He went to get supplies for us."

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Isaac said, half just assuring himself that he could still speak.

"I knew," Dee ignored the man's condolences, deeming them misplaced. "I knew what had happened that night. I knew that if William were okay - even if he were sick or injured or anything short of dead - he would have been back as soon as the snow melted. I knew that he should have been back with fresh firewood and maybe even a few berries from the forest to hold us over. I knew that William would never leave us," the widow stopped, hanging on the tragic irony for a moment. "And as every day passed afterward, I knew what had happened that night even more. I was foolish to have acted as I did last night," Dee flung an arm out wildly, thrusting a fist to the ground with such power that a lesser woman or anyone else for that matter would have winced in pain. "I knew. I wasn't surprised when you came."

Isaac stayed silent, not fully mute but feeling emotion bubble up within him. He felt bad for intruding on something so personal but at the same time felt a certain obligation to linger and hear what the widow had to say. The guardsman felt as if he were both wanted and unwanted. He couldn't decide himself whether he wanted to stay or leave.

"When you came, it ignited something new inside of me. Every since the day he left, I had been struggling with grief that I would only wish upon my worst enemy," Dee soldiered on, her damaged thoughts pouring effortlessly out of her mouth. "Last night, I felt no more grief. It was replaced entirely, transformed into a different beast. I wasn't sad anymore. I was angry."

The widow turned her head suddenly and now looked back through the door. It was her turn for her eyes to be apologetic and sad and angry and embarrassed and so many other things.

"I have made a grave mistake," Dee said gutturally, her eyes still locked on Isaac's as if they were searching for comfort but knew they would find none. "Revenge, I said. I said that it would be revenge. It was revenge and I was going to kill her."

Despite her admission, Isaac's opinion was unchanged. He couldn't help but feel sorry for the widow.

The eye contact went uninterrupted as neither of them even dared to blink. But it had to come to an end eventually.

"How wrong I was, Isaac," Dee breathed out, dropping her head back in front of her body and away from the door. "Revenge, I said, when it was only murder."

The woman descended into weeping cries once more, her cell fully darkened as the moon and stars rose in the sky.

"I see clearly now!" she wailed. "Tomorrow I will be executed, having shamed my husband's name in my rashness."

Isaac shuddered at the very thought. Surely that was not to be her fate.

"If only I could make things right before then. I cannot change what I have done, but maybe I could explain... Maybe I could apologize... Maybe I could show her that I understand now, before I die..."

The widow trailed off into shuddering, sobbing noises.

"Her?"

Dee was unable to control herself, barely getting out the answer between gasping breaths of sorrow.

"Queen Elsa."

"They stopped talking," Anna commented from her spot behind the curtain. "Why did they stop talking?

"I'm not surprised," Kristoff chimed in. "It was looking pretty painful for the both of them."

"Quick, she's looking this way!"

Anna again ducked behind the nearest column. Kristoff again didn't see the point, instead making eye contact with Elsa from across the ballroom. The queen mouthed something to him.

"I think she says that she wants you to get back over there," the ice master said. "Now."

"So you can read lips?"

"No, I'm just guessing. She looks pretty upset."

"Upset? How upset are we talking?"

"Pretty upset."

"You don't think he told her, do you?"

"About what?"

"The farmer."

"You mean she doesn't know about what they found?"

"She doesn't even know that they started looking."

Kristoff turned to Anna, who was still pressing herself against the column and now let out a nervous giggle. "Anna," he scolded.

"I couldn't tell her," Anna said, suddenly serious.

"You know she'll find out eventually."

"Yeah," Anna hung her shoulders dejectedly, "and I'll be the one to tell her. After the festival, okay?" she suddenly flicked her head back up defiantly. "She would be devastated. Elsa couldn't stand it if she thought she hurt someone. If she knew that that farmer died in her storm..."

Kristoff was silent, but his face made it clear that the gesture didn't equate to approval.

"She doesn't need that right now."

Anna leaned over from behind the column, peeking her head out just enough to see her sister still watching her position sternly.

"Oh, phew," the princess whispered. "I thought you said she looked upset."

"She does look upset."

"I know my sister. That's not Elsa's upset face, that's her angry face. Looks like it's our lucky day."

"How is that a good thing?"

"Wait, wait, who is that?" Anna squinted. "Another guy from the Royal Guard?"

Isaac had regretted his choice since the moment that he had made it, but seemed unable to turn back and return to the dungeon regardless. Not even when he had to sneak past the two ballroom guards on his way to party's other sentinels on the platform at the back of the hall did his speedy pace lessen. It was a terrible decision made in passion and sorrow - even he knew that - but it was perhaps for that very reason that he could not will himself to unmake it.

"Isaac!" Martin grinned when he saw the other man come out of the crowd and onto the platform (a privilege which was, admittedly, not usually afforded to even members of the Royal Guard, a fact which Isaac was aware of but had chosen to ignore). The two guardsmen had been acquaintances since they were children - and actually had joined the Guard in tandem - and, despite their tendency to be assigned to different outfits on account of their history of woefully inefficient cooperative ventures, the two had continued their friendship into adulthood.

Martin couldn't have been happier. He was going to be rescued!

"Hello Martin," Isaac said politely, well aware of his friend's peculiar festival assignment. "Queen Elsa," he bowed his head as he turned slightly to the queen. He, too, was caught staring at her hands.

"Hello," Elsa returned the gesture with an uncomfortable mix of her natural grace and surprised awkwardness. "Is there a problem?"

"You're needed in the dungeon," Isaac spat out. He knew himself. If he delayed it any longer it probably would never have been said. "Right away."

"I understand," Martin chirped, playing along with what in his eyes was a cunning escape plan. "It can get to be a handful down there. I'm sorry, Queen Elsa, but I must take my-"

"Queen Elsa is needed in the dungeon," Isaac said, tacking on, "right away," once more to be absolutely clear. The regret was beginning to sink in, but Isaac figured he still had a few more fleeting moments of at least being comprehensible before he descended into a nervous, mute mess like he had the night before.

"What?"

"The dungeon?" Elsa asked. "Is something wrong? I wasn't aware that we had any prisoners."

"We do now," Isaac started going as fast as he could, determined to convince the queen to come with him before his mind was overtaken by his own doubt (which didn't afford him a very large window). He easily would have persuaded her, too, if she were able to understand his rapid-fire explanation. "It's the wife of that farmer we found. Just got in tonight, actually. Maybe half an hour ago. It's a funny story, really. Couldn't get in without an invitation, something like that. And then there was something about a knife - I'm not really clear on that one - and she got brought down to the dungeon. So I was watching her, you know, like I'm supposed to, and she gets to wailing about how sorry she was and how she just wished she could talk to you and I couldn't just-"

"Slow down," Elsa commanded. It was an order that only the queen herself could give, more stern in tone than anything either of the guardsmen had heard from their captain. "Start from the beginning. What's all of this about a farmer?"

"Queen Elsa, I'm sure that this is a matter of the Royal Guard. You shouldn't bother yourself with such trivial things," Martin shot a warning glance to his friend, recalling the look Anna had given him not too long before.

Unfortunately, Isaac knew that he was running a tight schedule and didn't have time to consider it.

"William Daleon. You know, the missing one that turned up in the forest yesterday. His wife is in the dungeon. She wants to talk to you."

"I really don't think-"

"Hold on. Missing? Turned up? Is he alright?" Elsa remembered the farmer's name from the care packages that she had ordered to be sent out a few days before.

"Queen Elsa-"

"Alright? Well, no, not really. We found the guy dead."

All of the color in Isaac's face drained at an astonishingly fast rate. His friend sighed beside him. When Elsa gasped in response to the revelation, the poor guardsman finally became a silent collection of worry and dread just as he had anticipated.

"A missing man was found dead yesterday? And I wasn't informed of this?" Elsa asked, furious, but she found no answers in Isaac anymore. All that remained of him was two pleading eyes. "Well?"

"Sorry, he, uh, does that," Martin interjected, bravely reminding the queen of his existence.

"Well?" she repeated, now looking to the other man.

"I'm sorry, Queen Elsa. I believe it was reported to the proper authorities."

"But not to me?"

Martin fidgeted. He glanced across the crowd below them. Elsa followed his eyes.

"Anna?" the queen looked over across the hall to her sister. The princess's reconnaissance had become much less secretive and now she didn't even attempt to hide herself behind a column or one of the other guests under Elsa's scrutiny, instead standing on her tiptoes as if it would help her make out what all of the fuss on the platform was about. The puzzle started to come together in Elsa's head but she still felt as if she were missing a few key pieces. "Why did she want to keep Mr. Daleon's death from me?"

"I don't know, Queen Elsa," Martin squeaked. It sounded like he could have been lying, but, then again, he always sounded like that.

"Someone does," Elsa turned to the other guardsman once more. "You said that William Daleon's wife is in the dungeon?"

Isaac managed a nod.

"And she wishes to speak with me?"

Isaac nodded again.

"Then she must have something to say."

The queen took off without another word. She darted down from the platform, now not bothering with gracefulness but still never missing a step as she wove through the dancing crowd. A few of the guests that she passed greeted her as they had before, however Elsa only acknowledged them with the occasional nod.

"Queen Elsa!" Martin shouted after her. He glanced over to a sheepish Isaac before they followed the queen through the crowd, trying desperately to catch up.

"Elsa?" from across the room, Anna also started after her sister, pulling Kristoff behind her on the way to the door that led to the quickest route to the dungeon.

Elsa arrived at the door with a considerable head start. She looked first to the guardsmen coming up behind her in the crowd, and then to the princess and the ice master rapidly approaching her from the side. Both groups called out to her, attracting the attention of even more of the guests.

They were hiding something from her, Elsa was certain of that much. And now she was determined to find out what it was - unhindered by their secrecy.

The queen turned and flung open the door, dashing forward and then slamming it behind her with a crack that quickly made everyone in the hall aware of her disappearance.

All four of the pursuers arrived to the door at the same time, just seconds after it had closed. Anna reached out to try the handle first.

"It won't turn," she said. The princess grasped the brass knob with both hands and tried to pull it back with all of her strength, but it was useless. After a few moments, she was forced to stop when she noticed that merely touching the metal had begun irritating her hand. "Ice cold," she whispered, staring at her now reddened palms. "It's frozen shut."