Summary: After years of solitude, Elsa now seeks to be the queen Arendelle deserves. But when Arendelle is invaded by a Southern King who is intent on deposing Elsa and claiming Arendelle, Elsa must muster all her courage to protect her country, and herself.

Chapter Nine

- Ovelia -

Aedan's legitimisation ceremony was a lackluster affair, with very little of the pomp usually expected of such a significant moment.

It was late in the evening when Aedan arrived in the throne room for the ceremony – well after dinner and the conclusion of Maximilian's War Court for the day. Only a single attendant remained, quill and parchment prepared to record the final task of the evening. King Maximilian waited at the foot of the steps to the throne, conversing with Lord Beoulve in low voices. They both looked worn from the day's events - although Lord Edward always looked worn nowadays.

Maximilian smiled when he saw Aedan and waved for him to approach. "You look well," he said. "Much of your colour has returned."

After a week of devouring his body weight in food, Aedan was beginning to feel more like himself. His skin still looked stretched, and his muscles still ached at slight exertion, but compared to a week ago he felt a whole new man. "I feel well," said Aedan. "Thanks to Alexia's magic."

Maximilian's smile did not vanish, as Aedan had expected, although it did look a little wooden. "She certainly has her uses," he said, "but don't think you're the first to benefit from them."

The comment was meant as a snub and a dismissal of Alexia as a topic of conversation. Aedan took the rebuke without any emotion. Maximilian's dislike of Alexia was strange – especially considering he was the one who had brought her into his court so many years ago. Perhaps something had happened before they sailed to Arendelle?

Lord Edward's voice split the tension between Aedan and Maximilian. "Shall we begin, Your Majesty?" he said. "It has been a tiring day, and there is still much to do before retiring."

"Indeed," Maximilian said, his voice normal and jovial once more. "Are you ready, Aedan?"

"I am."

"Then kneel, Ser."

Aedan knelt to one knee and fought to keep his face smooth as his muscles strained with protest. He bowed his head, and Maximilian lowered the scepter of Arendelle onto Aedan's left shoulder.

"I, Maximilian Du Von, King of Ovelia and the province of Arendelle, declare you the third trueborn son of Lord Edward Beoulve of the Lion's Peak. You will bear his name, his sigil, and may inherit his lands and titles upon his death."

Lord Edward drew his sword from its scabbard and lowered the blade onto Aedan's right shoulder. He cleared his throat and said, "I declare in the presence of my king, and the witness of men and the Almighty, Aedan Beoulve is my trueborn son. From this day until beyond my last day, I do declare it. Now rise."

Aedan lifted his head and stood. Happiness swelled in his heart; he felt like he was floating. Aedan Beoulve. How many times had he practiced that name as a child? To hear it spoken aloud, and by his father no less, felt odd; surreal.

"Thank you," Aedan said.

His father nodded and smiled at him. Then Lord Beoulve did something completely unexpected and pulled his signet ring from his finger and pressed it into Aedan's hand. "I would have done this on the day you were born, were it possible."

The words choked in Aedan's mouth. The ring felt heavy in his hand. "Don't . . . don't you need this?" he eventually stammered.

"I have others," Lord Beoulve replied. "Wear it with honour. You represent your family now."

The gravity of it all hit Aedan then, and for a moment Aedan doubted this desire he had wished for all his life. The feeling was fleeting, though, and then Aedan floated once more. He bowed to his father, humbled, and slipped the ring onto his finger.

#

If Aedan expected to feel different now that he had been named a real Beoulve, he soon realised he was sorely mistaken.

His legitimisation had been announced to the nobility, of course, but it did little to disrupt their coldly polite façade when they interacted with him. Before they had tolerated him because of his position as Maximilian's Herald – now they tolerated him because it certainly would not do to insult the newest member of one of Ovelia's most ancient and powerful families.

The reaction of Aedan's brother, Matrim, had been marginally better. Although he came to Aedan the next morning to offer his congratulations – as was only proper – he glimpsed Lord Edward's lion-headed signet ring on Aedan's finger, and the conversation soon soured.

Not even Alexia was present to celebrate with him. Upon returning to her tower chamber after the ceremony, Aedan found the room empty. A fire still burned in the hearth, and the window was open to the night air, but there was no sign of Alexia. But no one had seen her leave the palace - not even the guards, who swore to Aedan that the sorceress had not left the palace even as they struggled to meet his eyes.

On the third day since the ceremony, Aedan found that he was rather sick of wandering the halls of the palace. Perhaps some time in the city would do him good. He could find a nice inn, have another dinner, and a few ales to wash it all down. And perhaps Alexia would be back from wherever she had gone to by the time Aedan returned. Now that he thought about it, a night out of the palace did seem rather nice.

Not ten minutes later, Aedan was dressed and striding through the palace courtyard, towards the portcullis guarding the way to the city. The soldiers on duty hesitated when they saw him but allowed him to pass unchallenged.

Darkness had long since fallen over the city, but the light from the streetlamps illuminated the wide avenues with a warm glow. With the curfew abolished, the streets bustled with people. The Arendellians gave him and his red coat a wide birth. Some may have even looked like they wanted to do more – after all, how often was there a single Ovelian soldier out on his own? However, the ever-present Ovelian patrols and outposts gave them enough pause to let Aedan walk by, unharmed.

Aedan only had a vague idea where he was going, but a passing Ovelian patrol was able to point him in the right direction, and soon enough, Aedan stood in front of an inn situated by the market avenue.

The inn in question was a tall building, with a towering steeple on top of its sloped roof. It was built from aged brick and weathered stone, and looked like it had been a part of Arendelle for as long as the city had existed. A painted sign hung on delicate chains above the main door, bearing the image of a floppy-haired youth lifting the skirt of a woman who danced on a table. The words below it read: The Bold Man.

The common room of the Bold Man was brightly lit, and the tables were mostly full of Arendellian patrons and off-duty Ovelian soldiers alike. The two did not mingle, aside from a table or two where the rattle of dice could be heard. Pipe smoke filled the room with a heady haze, and wine, ale, and spirits flowed freely. At least it did not seem like violence would occur – Aedan had heard tales of fisticuffs occurring when the curfew had been extended until midnight. Aedan's lord brother, Matrim, who had been given charge of keeping peace in the streets, had had the Ovelian soldiers responsible flogged. Aedan settled his eyes on a girl singing on a makeshift stage. He thought he recognized the tune, although the words were different from the ones he knew. She strummed a lute as she sang, and the tune caused several patrons to stamp their feet and clap along.

Aedan took one of the empty tables and was soon approached by a serving girl, whose big brown eyes twinkled with laughter.

"What will you have, Milord?" she asked.

"I'll take a mug of ale and keep them coming," Aedan said. His stomach muttered loudly. "And is that roasting chicken I smell? I'll take one whole."

The serving woman smiled mischievously. "Expecting company?"

"Nope – just me tonight."

The woman blinked, and her smile wavered before it was stuck firmly in place once more. "I'll be back soon with your food soon."

Aedan looked around the common room once more, then settled his eyes on a girl singing on a makeshift stage. He thought he recognized the tune, although the words were different from the ones he knew. She strummed a lute as she sang, and the tune caused several patrons to stamp their feet and clap along.

The singer had almost finished her second song when the serving girl returned to Aedan with a mug full of ale and a large plate with roasted chicken, vegetables, and potatoes as well. "Have you been unwell?" she asked him, as she settled the plate down and watched him attack the chicken with a fork and knife.

Aedan swallowed and took a long drink of ale before replying. "What makes you say that?"

"Your face," the serving girl told him. "It looks like you lost too much weight in a short amount of time."

"You should have seen it a week ago," Aedan said with a chortle. "I was unwell, but I am feeling much better now."

To his surprise, the serving girl sat down on the stool next to him. She swept her hair away from her face as she leant down to rub her calves. Aedan's eyes lingered on the shapely muscle. The girl saw him looking and straightened, smiling. "I'm Mila."

"Aedan."

"That's a fancy ring, Aedan," Mila said. "Are you noble?"

"Something like that," Aedan said. Once, a girl like Mila would have been just his type. He liked the sparkle in her eyes, and how her lips looked equally ready to laugh or kiss. But he was taken now, and despite Alexia's joking about sharing a bed with Rosalind Ashaela (if that betrothal became more than Maximilian's idle speculation), he doubted she would be pleased to learn he had dallied with a tavern maid.

"I've never met a proper nobleman before. Shouldn't you be at a more reputable establishment?"

"Is this not a reputable establishment?"

"You saw the sign on your way in, didn't you?" Mila laughed. "This was a brothel, once, before the practice was abolished."

"How long ago was that?"

"Oh, gosh, maybe eighty years ago?"

"And the Bold Man hasn't shaken its seedy reputation in all that time?"

"You know how reputations can be – once you have one it takes a lot to shake it."

Aedan thought of the nobles who dismissed him still, and the soldiers – comrades who he had fought for, bled for – who only spoke to him begrudgingly, with a fast excuse to leave. His reputation had certainly plummeted since Alexia had brought him into her bed.

Mila stood up suddenly, her smile vanishing. The singer had paused her tune, and a lull had fallen over the conversations throughout the common room. Aedan looked over his shoulder and locked eyes with Ornsten, who seemed rather surprised to see him sitting there. A dozen Ovelian soldiers, coated and armed, crowded the doorway behind Ornsten.

"Aren't you supposed to be confined to the palace?" Ornsten asked him.

That was news for Aedan, but certainly explained the hesitation from the soldiers at the gate. "Am I supposed to be?"

"That's what I heard," Ornsten said, shrugging like it didn't bother him one way or another. He looked at Mila, who smoothed her apron against her stomach anxiously. "Please fetch the innkeeper. I would like to speak with him."

Mila nodded her head and vanished into the kitchen. Aedan sighed as she left and pushed her empty seat toward Ornsten. "I think you scared her away."

Ornsten remained standing and kept his eyes fixed on the doorway Mila and vanished through. "Don't you have a sorceress waiting to warm your bed? What are you doing chasing skirts in town?"

"I'm not chasing skirts," Aedan said. With a grin, he raised his mug and downed the remainder in a few gulps. "I'm celebrating!"

"Celebrating what?"

"You haven't heard?" Aedan flashed his father's signet ring, which fit around his right ring finger so snugly it could have been crafted just for him. "I was legitimized."

It was enough to drag Ornsten's eyes away from the kitchen door. "I had heard," he said. "I'm sorry I haven't been by to congratulate you."

Before Aedan could reply, the kitchen door opened, and Mila returned, followed by a lean man with a thick grey beard. His apron was perhaps too clean for an innkeeper, but his hands were stained with dark ink which spoke of long hours poring over accounts and records. "My Lords," the innkeeper said, with a short bow to Ornsten and Aedan. "To what do I owe your presence this evening?"

"You are Master Gill, yes?" Ornsten said.

"I am," the innkeeper said.

"And your wife, Madam Maja, is she here?"

"In the kitchen." Master Gill shifted on his feet. "How do you know our names?"

Ornsten looked throughout the common room and quirked his eyebrow at the tables of off-duty Ovelian soldiers. "Our men have been known to frequent here."

"Oh, of course." Master Gill still looked uncomfortable. "Then may I ask why you are here, Ser?"

"Indeed," said Ornsten. He pulled a piece of folded parchment from his pocket and handed it to Master Gill. "My men are here to perform a search of your establishment. There is little to fear. It will not take long, and we will be gone as soon as it is concluded. As you can see, this search has been ordered by Lord Artus Ashaela, the new administrator of Arendelle, as well as Lord Matrim Beoulve, the Interim Commander of the City Watch."

Master Gill broke the seal on the parchment and read its contents quickly. Aedan could see the man's eyes darting across the page, almost manically. "This does not say what you are searching for," he noted.

"It does not," Ornsten said. "You may keep that notice. If any damage is to occur during our search, I ask that you make a record of it on the bottom of that parchment and send it to the palace for review. Surveyors will come to inspect the damage, and you will be compensated."

"Are you expecting to damage my inn?" Master Gill asked, voice sharp.

"No, but it is best that you are informed, just in case." Ornsten turned to his soldiers and waved them forward. "Be quick, lads. We don't want to disturb the peace here for any longer than we need to."

The company of soldiers moved quickly as if they were just as eager for this search to be over with as the innkeeper. They filed down a hallway off the common room. Footsteps sounded upstairs before the last sounds of their presence vanished.

Master Gill watched them go, face hard before he bowed once more and retreated to the bar with a sharp look and a wave at the musician, who jumped and began strumming her lute once more. An easy tune filled the room, and soon the gentle thrum of conversation rose again.

Ornsten sank into the stool beside Aedan and rubbed his eyes. "This is the fourth tavern we've searched tonight," he said. "And five other patrols are doing the same thing all over the city."

"Why?" Aedan asked. He went back to picking at his chicken.

Ornsten lowered his voice. "One of the captive Arendellian soldiers broke under questioning a few hours ago. He said that our spy from Corona operated out of an inn somewhere in the city. He didn't know which one, but his information was enough to act on it seems. Every inn in the city will have been searched before midnight – hopefully before word spreads about what we're doing."

"Are you expecting to find something?"

"Who can say? It's been more than a week since the spy escaped, and I imagine he burned anything he couldn't take with him. I doubt this will be anything more than a fool's errand to keep the soldiers busy."

Noel. The Coronan's name was still fresh in Aedan's mind. If I had been well. . . There was no use dwelling on it – perhaps he was lucky to escape that encounter with his life. "Tell me, Ornsten," Aedan asked. "Do you still spend your afternoons visiting Elsa?"

Ornsten's mouth twisted as he spoke, "Who told you?"

"You know how soldiers talk," said Aedan lightly. "But it was Alexia who told me. She has been making note of who visits Elsa."

Ornsten's sigh somehow seemed deeper, and sadder than before. "I feel sorry for her, is all."

"Someone might consider that thought to be treasonous."

Ornsten scowled. "Some might consider you bedding Alexia treasonous too."

"I didn't say I did!" Aedan said. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel sorry for her too."

Aedan didn't fail to notice the way his friend's eyes flickered around the common room. "I've been thinking a lot about our time here. Something hasn't felt right since the moment we sailed into the fjord."

"Elsa did bombard us with her magic," Aedan reminded him. "I've never been so cold before."

"Yet, you said you were sure she wouldn't use it to truly harm us," Ornsten reminded him. "You said her heart was too soft."

Aedan remembered. He remembered seeing the cold face of that dead little girl with his own eyes; he remembered the howls of her mother who clutched the girl in her arms as she grieved. He remembered Elsa's face when he told her: the heartbreak and the terror. "She's a sorceress," he said, stubbornly.

"And you are a walking hypocrite if you hold that against her. Do you think she would have used her magic for war?" At Aedan's hesitation, Ornsten pushed. "Do you?"

"Maximilian thought so."

"I know he does. And I know his arguments – you don't need to repeat them. I just . . . can't shake the feeling like this invasion has been a horrible mistake, and . . ."

"And what?"

"And that we may be pushing Elsa to become the monster we feared she was."

Aedan snorted and reached out for more chicken. His fingers touched bone and he looked at the plate, surprised. He had picked it clean. "Elsa is not a monster," he said. The idea was laughable, really, now that Aedan had met her. He reached for his mug - perhaps there was still some ale.

Ornsten leaned forward and grabbed Aedan's arm. "If Elsa is not a monster, then why are we here?"

Aedan looked at his friend and, for the first time, noticed the worry in Ornsten's eyes. "It's not our job to question," he told him. "Cast it from your mind. Maximilian knows what's best."

Ornsten released Aedan's arm, disappointed. "Perhaps I would believe you if you hadn't defied Maximilian's orders at every turn since we came here."

"Lord Ornsten." One of the red-coated soldiers appeared at the table.

"Are you finished?" Ornsten asked. "I assume everything is in order then?"

"Nearly," the soldier replied. "The cellar has been searched, as has the attic and steeple. They were all clear. There is just one room at the end of the third floor – the innkeeper will not surrender the key."

Ornsten's brow furrowed, and he waved over Master Gill from the bar. "The room at the end of the third floor," he said. "Tell me about it."

"It's bad practice for an innkeeper to divulge the comings and goings of his guests," Master Gill said stubbornly.

Ornsten rose. "I will ask again, and if you do not answer me, then we will take you away and lock you in the dungeons until your tongue loosens. Now tell me about that room!"

Aedan was taken aback by the aggression in his friend's voice. Ornsten was placid, kind, friendly, and every other quality which made people think they could take advantage of him. It was exceedingly rare to hear him sound so cruel. He truly has been troubled lately.

Master Gill looked around the common room, which had fallen silent once more. Ornsten had shouted those last words. When the innkeeper spoke, his voice trembled. "It was paid for by a traveler who arrived in Arendelle perhaps three months before you Ovelians. He paid six months in advance, with gold minted in the Southern Isles."

Interesting, Aedan thought. "And you didn't think that was strange?"

Master Gill nodded. "Of course, I thought it was strange, but it's not every day someone is willing to pay good coin up front – let alone so much. Do you know how many times I've had to apply for the bailiff to chase outstanding tabs or room dodgers? I wasn't about to turn up my nose at that much gold."

"What was this traveler's name?"

"He said it was Klaus."

"And when was the last time you saw him?"

"A week ago, maybe more."

"Right," Aedan downed the last of his ale and stood. "We'll take the spare key to his room, thank you."

Master Gill hesitated. "I don't think. . ."

Aedan cut him off. "Then it looks like you may need to report damage to your property after all."

"After you have seen the inside of the dungeon, that is," added Ornsten.

Master Gill's mouth moved soundlessly before he scowled and pulled a ring of keys from deep within his apron pocket. Grumbling, he separated one key from the others and placed it into Aedan's waiting hand.

"You have made a wise choice, Master Gill," Aedan said with a smile. "Fear not, we shall not be long."

Aedan spied Mila waiting by the kitchen door, hand by her mouth as she chewed a fingernail. He offered her a smile as he passed, but she only stared at him before looking away.

"No wonder they all despise us here," said Ornsten as he caught up to Aedan.

"I'm sure they have greater reasons to despise us than that exchange."

Ornsten made a non-committal noise, then: "You don't have to come with me, you know. You're not on duty."

And I may not ever be again now that I'm a proper Beoulve. "It's fine. I've been bored senseless in the palace, and this is at least a little bit exciting."

They climbed up the staircase at the end of the hall and emerged onto the third-floor landing. A single armchair and a tiny shelf with a handful of worn books occupied the space, and past that a narrow hallway. The room at the end of the hallway was the only room with its door still closed – all the other rooms were unoccupied.

Aedan fed the key into the door and twisted. The lock popped open with a small click.

It was only a small room beyond the door, with a narrow bed pushed against one corner, a writing desk, and a simple standing armoire pushed against one wall. Perhaps its only distinguishing feature was that it could only fit a single person – most inns tried to squeeze as many beds as they could. The window and shutters were open, and moth-eaten curtains fluttered in the gentle breeze.

Aedan walked in and looked around.

"Do you think this room belonged to our spy?" Ornsten asked.

"It seems likely, doesn't it." Aedan went over to the writing desk and picked up a cloudy bottle with dregs of amber liquid swirling at the bottom. Then something caught his eye, and he knelt to one knee in front of the desk draw. "Someone has broken in here. Look." He pointed at the broken mechanism, which bore deep scars and scratches around its opening.

Ornsten frowned. "Looks like a chisel."

"Hmm," Aedan murmured. He opened the drawer and peered inside. Nothing. "Not even a forgotten coin."

"The innkeepers?"

"I don't think so. I'm sure they have more spare keys for every lock in this building. I think that whoever left that window open, also broke open this draw and took whatever was left inside."

"The spy. . ." Ornsten breathed.

"He could have hidden in the forest for a few days; came back when the city re-opened.

"Shit."

"Indeed." Aedan straightened and looked around. "Check the armoire, maybe he left something behind."

The words had barely left his lips before a rattle sounded from within the armoire. Ornsten paused, arm outstretched before he backed away and reached for his sword.

Then the armoire door burst open, and a girl wrapped in a sea-blue cloak launched forward. She collided heavily with Ornsten, who caught off balance in the act of drawing his sword, stumbled backward, and smacked against the wall.

For a bare second, Aedan remained frozen in place, eyes wide with surprise. This certainly wasn't the Coronan spy. A heartbeat passed, and before Aedan could do more than draw in breath to shout, the girl whipped around and threw a heavy iron chisel at his head.

The chisel whipped past Aedan's ear as he recoiled. The girl tucked something under her arm and shot toward him. She dug her shoulder into his chest and shoved as she barreled past him, then launched herself through the window in a giant leap.

"Almighty's blood!" Aedan swore. He stumbled as he went to the window and looked down. Ornsten's shoulder brushed with his as he did the same.

The girl was on her hands and knees on the cobblestones, back heaving. Both soldiers watched on in shock as she slowly rose to her feet and took off in a stumbling run.

"That must be a thirty-foot drop!" exclaimed Aedan. "Is she a fucking cat?"

"Fuck!" Ornsten growled. He left Aedan in the window as he stomped back down the hallway and barked orders at the soldiers to move.

#

It was fast approaching midnight when Aedan and Ornsten stood in front of Matrim Beoulve, Aedan's lord brother. Matrim was fully dressed and had not looked like he had been to bed yet either. He listened to Ornsten's account of the night with interest but did not pause Ornsten to ask questions. That would come later, Aedan was sure.

When Ornsten was finished, Lord Matrim quirked an eyebrow. "You're telling me that you did not find the spy but found his quarters in the city."

"Yes, My Lord," Ornsten said.

"And you happened to stumble upon a girl ransacking this spy's belongings?"

"Yes, My Lord."

"And when you tried to apprehend this girl – who you guess was no older than fifteen – she overpowered the both of you: two highly-trained, war-hardened, veteran knights of Ovelia?"

". . . Yes, My Lord."

"And managed to escape out the window and flee into the streets before you could . . . call for help."

The pause before Ornsten's response grew longer. "Yes, My Lord."

"And despite hours of searching, you have not found her, or the items she stole from the room?"

"We . . . have not."

Lord Matrim Beoulve, stern, stoic, proud, Matrim Beoulve threw back his head and howled with laughter.

#

Time passed slowly in captivity – much slower than it had when Elsa had chosen to lock herself away. Her bedroom suddenly seemed oppressively tight, and no amount of deep breathing or calming thoughts could soothe her when she whipped herself into a panic.

Her only refuge was her balcony, which looked out over the harbour and fjord. It was too high for Elsa to escape through there, and she had heard Maximilian's response when someone had raised concerns over the balcony with him.

"Let her have her balcony," the Ovelian king had said. "Then perhaps she shall jump from it and rid me of her."

The last had been no more than a flippant mutter, but it had stuck with her. When her emotions threatened to boil over, that was the thought that held them in check.

Rid me of her.

Rid me of her.

Didn't they need her? She was certain that the fact that they had done nothing with her was evidence that the Ovelians had failed to recover Anna. If they had, well, she didn't believe Maximilian's claim that she would live out the rest of her days in Ovelia.

Politicking was still new to her, but she had learned a few things as she wrestled control of the country back from Aubert and the rest of the noble court. When you knew what someone wanted, you could use that information to find a way to manipulate them.

She knew that Maximilian wanted her dead.

But how am I meant to use that?

The question gave her a purpose beyond wasting away, and perhaps it was the only reason she didn't retreat into her cocoon.

"How long have I been up here now?" Elsa asked Ornsten during one of his visits. Why the Ovelian insisted on seeing her was a mystery, but she had begun to look forward to seeing him. He was kind and courteous; everything the stories said an Ovelian knight was supposed to be. But he also fought to keep you captive, she reminded herself. He does not deserve your thoughts.

"A fortnight, now," said Ornsten

"It feels like so much more," pondered Elsa.

"Much has happened," Ornsten agreed. "Sometimes it feels like we have been here a year; other times it feels like it was only yesterday we sailed into the fjord. . ." he trailed off uncomfortably, as he always did whenever their conversations drifted towards the invasion."

Elsa allowed the silence to hang heavily.

"Did you enjoy the book?" Ornsten gestured towards a thin, leatherbound book on Elsa's bedside table.

"Very much. It is one of my favourites."

"What is it about?"

"It's about a girl who is mistreated horribly by her stepmother and stepsisters," Elsa said. "You haven't heard of it before? It's an Ovelian tale."

"Is it?" Ornsten said absently. He was looking out of the window again. "Perhaps I'll read it."

"There are no battles, nor even any violence."

"There is more to life than battles and violence."

Elsa could not help but agree. "There is also a sorceress. A good one, who helps the girl escape her horrible family and find true love."

"In exchange for?"

"Nought."

Ornsten snorted. "There is always a price for sorcery."

"What?"

"My apologies," Ornsten said to her. "It's nothing. Is there another book I can bring you?"

"Anything by the same author," Elsa said.

"I'll look in the library this evening," said Ornsten. He paused on his way out the door. "The servants say you have hardly touched your food." His eyes lingered on the square-cut bodice of Elsa's grey dress, where her pale skin was exposed. Her collarbone was crisper and sharper than it had ever been before.

"I haven't had much of an appetite," said Elsa, truthfully.

"You must eat, Queen Elsa. What good will wasting away do?"

None, Elsa thought. But the food tasted of ash and the water like salt. What she did eat, she vomited into the chamberpot.

"I'll speak to the cook. I'm sure we can feed you to the standard you have been accustomed to."

Elsa walked to Ornsten without really thinking. She had seen the way he looked at her. She touched his cheek with the back of her fingertips and said in a soft voice. "Thank you for being so good to me."

It was a clumsy attempt, maybe, but a tinge of pink still appeared in Ornsten's cheeks. He stepped back, stammering. "I must go now. I promise I will come to see you again tomorrow."

But Ornsten did not return for another three days, and Elsa's food remained the same porridge in the mornings and thick stew in the evenings. When he did return, his face was consumed with pity.

"What is it?" Elsa asked, her heart filling with dread.

"Maximilian has commanded that we prepare to sail at dawn tomorrow," he said.

"Oh."

#

It was as Ornsten said.

It was still dark in the early hours of the morning when the soldiers came for her. Elsa was already roused and dressed when they knocked on her door and entered without waiting for her response. The dress she had chosen was of simple white linen, with sleeves that ended at her elbow. The talon-shaped burn scars around her arms

She stood to face the soldiers and glided forward without a word. They did not stop her when she walked through the door, instead, they fell in beside her, as though they were her men under her command.

The palace bustled with frantic activity, and likely would for weeks to come as more Ovelian soldiers returned home. Elsa drank in the hallways, portraits, suits of armour, and everything else that she could. If this was the last time she would see this place, then she would remember every detail.

They were in the Entrance Hall when someone joined Elsa's procession. Elsa gasped at the sight of Maximilian's red-eyed witch. She wore a burgundy dress cut low, with black lace frills. The skirts were black, as was the bodice. Her hair fell in soft ringlets over her shoulders. She cut a regal figure – an otherworldly beauty in the world of men.

"You may leave us," the witch said to the Ovelian soldiers. "I shall escort Queen Elsa to the harbour."

An anxious jitter swept through the soldiers, until one soldier, with a single gold chevron pinned to his lapel, spoke. "We are under orders to escort Elsa, My Lady." He managed to speak without a stammer, although it seemed quite the battle. "The King himself. . ."

"The King does not care," the witch replied. "Do you not think me capable of guarding Elsa." The witch's eyes gleamed, and Elsa was reminded vividly – sickly – of hot blood on marble.

"I . . ." The soldier grimaced. "We cannot leave you alone with her. We will march in front and behind if that fulfills your desire."

"Very well," the witch nodded. She linked her arm with Elsa's and lead her out of the palace. The Ovelian soldiers swept forward and encircled them, although there was enough distance that their conversation would not be heard.

Elsa walked stiffly. The witch's touch felt like she was holding her hand against a pot approaching the boil – it took everything in her power not to wrench her arm away from her.

"I thought it best we speak now, Sister," the witch told her. "After all, you have not long left for this world."

"You are not my sister," Elsa hissed.

"Oh, but I am," the witch replied. "Your sister in sorcery, at the very least. There are so few of us left in this world, and you are special beyond any other."

"Special?" Elsa could have spat the word. "I'm not special. You took away my magic."

"I took nothing. It is a simple spell which seals your magic – one that I'm sure you will figure out how to unravel in time. . ."

"Time?" A simple spell? "I fear my time may be in short supply." She was surprised by how little the words hurt to say.

"The flames show many things, and not all of them true," the witch said. "But when I look for you, I see nothing. What that means, who can say? Perhaps you will die in Ovelia; perhaps we will all die in a summer storm while asea; perhaps you will live and seek vengeance on those who have wronged you. Perhaps you will fade away and not be seen or heard from again."

They left the palace and crossed the long marble bridge leading into the city.

"When you have settled into life in Ovelia," the witch continued. "Seek me out. I will teach you to seek truths in the fires, to bewitch the mind, to create and destroy; I will teach you magics beyond your dreams and imagination. This I swear."

Evil magic. The thought came unbidden, and with it, a temptation Elsa had never experienced before. She looked at the witch - really looked at her. She tried to look beyond the beautiful face and flawless skin. The eyes were the gateway, if only she could only look closer – peer deeper. . . "And what would you desire of me in return?"

"Have you been reading storybooks, Queen Elsa?" the witch laughed.

"Are they wrong?"

"Perhaps not. My price would be nothing you wouldn't be willing to give. You may even consider it to be a bargain."

"What do you want?"

"Read your books once more, and I'm sure you will guess."

Elsa regarded the witch carefully. My books? "What is your name?" she finally asked.

The witch's mouth curved into a smile. "They call me Alexia."

"But that's not your name?"

"No."

"Then what is?"

Alexia's smirk deepened and she leaned in close to Elsa's ear. Her lips touched Elsa as she spoke, and Elsa was swept with unwelcome desire which came like lightning and stirred her with wild lust. The Name rang in Elsa's ears like a shout. It reverberated in her mind and filled her head to bursting. It echoed, and echoed, and echoed until only a hint of it remained, and Elsa knew she would never speak that name, never whisper it, never allow it to touch her tongue, or her lips, not ever in her life.

Elsa blinked and they were inside the harbour, in front of Maximilian's four-masted flagship. "What happened?" Elsa demanded and was ashamed to hear her voice emerge in only a squeak. "How did we get here?"

"We walked," Alexia replied, knowingly. "And had a rather pleasant conversation, considering the circumstances of our first meeting."

"But. . ." Elsa cut off as Alexia wrapped her in an embrace. She kissed Elsa's left cheek, then her right, and then her forehead.

"Remember what I said to you, Queen Elsa," Alexia said. "My offer will stand for as long as you are alive to take it." Then she stood back smiling at the shock painted on Elsa's face.

#

Elsa slept fitfully each night while at sea. Shadows haunted her dreams, creeping along the edge of her vision only to flitter away whenever she turned to look. Other dreams were more vivid and violent, with the echo of The Name she could not quite remember whispering to her. She dreamed of Maximilian's beastly hangman straddling her, his knee jammed into her stomach and fat fingers spasming on her throat. She slapped and scratched and pounded with her fists in a futile attempt to break free as the blackness of death crawled toward her. Sometimes he killed her, and Elsa woke with a strangled gasp, clutching her throat. Other times Ser Lennox's silver sword tip stabbed through the hangman's throat and Elsa was drenched in thick, hot blood.

In another dream, it was the envoy Aedan on top of her. He kissed her neck as he pushed himself inside of her. She clutched at his back, moaning with pleasure and hating herself for loving the way he made her feel. Sometimes it was her on top of Aedan, with his ruby dagger clutched in her hand as she cried. He didn't struggle when she stabbed the knife into him. Bile rose in her mouth as she watched him bleed out, gasping for air.

When she wasn't asleep, she lay on her thin bed in her tiny cabin and listened to the sound of the waves as they gently rocked the ship from side to side.

On the morning of the third day, Elsa woke to the cries of seagulls. It reminded her so bitterly of the home she'd never see again she felt angry tears form in her eyes. Although, for once, she refused to let them fall. She scrubbed at her eyes and washed the salt away with water from the wash bucket her captors allowed her every morning.

"Land!" a sailor's lone shout soon followed.

After that, the deck above Elsa's cabin pounded with activity.

Elsa knelt by her pallet and busied herself with drying her face and hands. She tried to think of Anna or the way Ser Lennox had made her feel, but her thoughts were as bitter as her tears and always lead her back to the Ovelians. She tore at the towel and bit into it as hard as she could so that the Ovelians outside couldn't hear her scream. When she finished, she was red-faced and breathing heavily. The towel was torn to shreds and patchy with her saliva.

Knock, knock.

The door cracked open, and Ser Ornsten appeared in the doorway. His blond hair had been combed and swept to the side. His armour glistened in the soft candlelight, framed by his red cloak which streamed towards the wooden floors. He looked like an archetypical hero from the songs and stories.

Ornsten took in the strewn-about mess of torn towels and his eyebrows rose so slightly Elsa might have imagined it. "Rough night, my lady?"

Elsa sniffed and gathered herself to her feet. "Are you here to taunt me, Ser Ornsten?"

"Quite the opposite," Ornsten replied. "There is something I want you to see."

"Oh?" Elsa was curious – despite her better judgement. "And what would that be?"

"I cannot describe it, even if I were to try." He held out his arm for Elsa to take. "Just promise me you will not try to leap from the side of the ship."

"You may waylay your fears, Ser. I can't swim. Though perhaps death by drowning would be preferable to what your king has planned for me." She ignored Ornsten's proffered arm.

"Oh." If Ornsten was flustered, he hid it well. He did not withdraw his arm, however. "I must insist, Queen Elsa."

Elsa stared at his arm for a long second, before stepping forward and taking it in her own. Surely this will be better than staring at the wall for another day.

Ornsten led her through the ship. Sailors and soldiers stopped in their tracks and drifted to the side to let them walk by. Lanterns hung at regular intervals through the flagship's hallways, guiding them upwards. When they climbed the last set of stairs and emerged into a windowed room, Elsa couldn't help but breathe in sharply. Sunlight poured through the windows, and the fresh smell of sea and salt filled her nose.

Ornsten guided her towards a wide doorway and opened it, allowing her to walk through.

The cloudless sky stretched on for eternity. Sailors sprinted across the deck, climbed the rigging, and hoisted sails, but Elsa paid them no heed – neither did the pockets of soldiers who stood against the ship's railing to watch the rapidly approaching land.

Ornsten found them a space at the ship's bow and let go of Elsa's arm. "I wanted you to see this," Ornsten said, pointing at a speck of white glistening in the distance.

"What is it?" Elsa squinted.

Ornsten only smiled.

As the ship sailed closer, Elsa saw and understood. It was the largest city Elsa had ever seen – far bigger than Arendelle. An enormous, white-spired palace dominated the city line. It lay on top of a hill surrounded by a glittering white wall, separating it from the sprawling city below. Even from so far away, Elsa could see a wide, stoned path running from the palace down to the harbour.

"This is Ovelia?" Elsa breathed. With the sun so bright that morning, it was hard for Elsa to keep her eyes on it. "It's so . . . bright."

"It's been called the Palace of Dawn – or the Dawn Palace, the City of Sunlight, White Spires. . ." Ornsten drifted off with the hint that there were many more names for the capital city. "It may not have the natural beauty of Arendelle's fjord, but when the palace catches the sun like this, it's. . ."

"Beautiful," Elsa admitted grudgingly. "Indescribable."

"Exactly."

She pulled her eyes away from Ovelia and watched Talon's grey-bearded captain shout orders at his men. Nobles fortunate enough to be gifted a place on Maximilian's flagship were emerging from beneath the deck. As for Maximilian, Elsa saw no sign.

"I know you're worried about what's going to happen to you, but, for now, please don't think of what the future holds," Ornsten said. "You're young – the most beautiful woman on this ship. These sailors will think back one day and consider themselves blessed because they saw Queen Elsa of Arendelle standing here."

"Those . . . those are kind words," Elsa said.

"They are true words," Ornsten assured her.

Elsa bit her lip. Suddenly she couldn't bear to look at the city any longer. "I'm frightened, Ornsten."

"I . . . I'm sorry." The Ovelian had no words.

Elsa looked down at the sea and imagined throwing herself into the depths. There were tales of mermaids living in the north seas. Maybe she could finally glimpse one before she died. But Ornsten took hold of her arm again. And Elsa knew that for all the pity and kindness he attempted to show her, he would not show her mercy.

She felt sick. "Please, take me back down," she said.

Iron eyes grabbed her when she turned around. Maximilian had emerged from his cabin and stood with the captain at the ship's helm. Unlike the others, he did not seem concerned with his approaching city. He was groomed to perfection this morning, looking every inch the conquering hero. Ovelia's crown adorned his golden head and sparkled in the sunlight. He held Arendelle's scepter in his hands. The sailors would think back on this day and remember him too.