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 Eleven
- Plots and Politicking -
Elsa felt like she was floating away. Her pain was an ugly noise beneath her which rumbled with fury as it demanded to be heard. There were other noises too – other voices. Barked orders and gentle reassurances mixed in a wordless jumble. She was vaguely aware that she was being carried, and quickly too.
Then, the bang of a door thudding open broke across all the other babble, and Elsa sank back to earth in a haze of agony.
"Where's that physician?" a voice that sounded like Ornsten's swam by.
"I sent a page to summon him," a different voice replied, one that was familiar, but also one that Elsa hadn't heard for what felt like a long time.
"She still might die – you could at least pretend you care!"
"She's not going to die," the second voice said. "Not unless Rathmore comes back for her."
"Aedan!"
"Fine . . . fine! I'll check his chamber. He's probably halfway through his second jar of whiskey. Orns." Elsa stopped drifting and hung in mid-air. "She's not going to die."
"Just . . . just find the physician."
A door banged open. The sound rang in Elsa's ears and made her head throb with pain. She fell onto something soft and the strong arms which cradled her slipped away.
"Can you open your eyes?" Ornsten asked her.
"Hurts," rasped Elsa. Is that my voice?
"I need to see. Please, try. Just for a moment."
Let me sleep, she thought, but she cracked one eye open anyway. Ornsten's face was a blur above her. She heard his breath catch in his throat.
"Do your eyes hurt?"
Everywhere hurt. She had thought she had known pain before, but. . . Tears sprung into her eyes, and she tried to coil into a ball. Why hadn't they let her die?
"The physician will be here soon," Ornsten said. "He will give you something to ease your pain, I promise."
"Why did you do this to me," Elsa moaned. Her tears flowed freely, blurring her eyes which were already red from her torment. "Why do you all hate me so? I have done nothing to you."
"I know you haven't," Ornsten's voice broke, and she felt him clutch her hand in both of his. "I didn't know what the king planned. None of us did. I'm so sorry, Elsa."
The door opened with a bang once more. "The page had already found him," Aedan said as he entered. The stench of spirits followed him, thick and pungent in the air. "I sent the boy on to fetch the queen."
"What happened to her?" The voice was gruff and slurred as he spoke.
The stench of spirits wafted closer; the cloying smell made Elsa's head spin. "Move over, knight," the smell said. "Let me see her." Two hands gripped Elsa's neck and guided her head with firm, yet gentle movements. "Was she attacked?"
"Maximilian ordered her execution," Ornsten said.
"And yet she still lives."
"The crowd begged for her life."
"Ahh, so that's what those chants were. I thought I imagined them. Open your eyes, girlie. Let me see."
"She's bleeding," said Ornsten. "Her eyes are red."
Elsa blinked as the physician pried open her eyes with one hand and peered at them. His face swam, and her eyes ached from the strain. "Burst blood vessels," the physician said. "You see it sometimes when someone's been strangled to death. The pressure builds, and the eyes are delicate. They should heal with time."
"Should?"
"I've never seen a corpse's bloodened eyes heal, have I?" The physician moved away, and the soft clink of glass vials sounded. "Open her mouth. This will taste vile, but it will send her to sleep."
Ornsten's touch was tender. He gently opened her mouth, and Elsa felt something horrid touch her tongue. It tasted of wet, rotted grass and toadstool. Her stomach roiled, and only the hands around her mouth stopped her from spitting it out. Then another bottle was at her mouth, and the taste of amber spirits slide down her throat. Elsa swallowed, then coughed and coughed. Each convulsion triggered waves of pain.
When her fit coughing fit was finished, Ornsten laid her back down and rested her head on a pillow. Elsa's eyes were heavy, and she felt her body relax as the tonic and the liquor took hold.
"I'll need water – as close to boiling as you can manage," the physician barked. "And fresh linen for dressing her wounds too."
The physician's voice drifted away, and Elsa floated once more as sleep took hold of her. Perhaps it was a blessing because she never saw the door explode open, or the tempest which swept inside.
#
Aedan whirled around, hand flying to the dagger he wore on his sword belt. Ornsten started too, although he had the presence of mind to not rush for a weapon. At the sight of Maximilian, Aedan let go of his dagger but remained tense all the same.
Rage burned across Maximilian's face. It distorted his handsome features into a caricature that looked nothing like Aedan's friend. Queen Emilia followed behind, face worried. She had a hand pressed against her stomach as if to protect the baby, while her other hand reached out for Maximilian in a futile attempt to soothe his wrath. The aged Ser Lambert, the Kingsguard on duty that day, came behind. He waited in the doorway, watching the scene with penetrating eyes.
"Stand aside," Maximilian hissed at Aedan and Ornsten. He pulled his sword from its scabbard. The steel blade glinted menacingly.
Ornsten rose to his feet and took a half-step away from Elsa, while Steiner the physician slunk away, muttering to himself. Aedan didn't move.
"You can't," Aedan told his king.
"You think you can tell me what to do?" Maximilian pointed his sword at Aedan's chest. "Move."
Emilia touched Maximilian's shoulder and tried to draw him away. "My love, this is not wise," she murmured, "We should take the time to discuss this." Maximilian shrugged her arm away.
"You spared her life," Aedan said. "If you kill her now, your word will be meaningless."
"Get out of my way!" Maximilian thundered. He raised his sword high, intending to step forward and plunge it through Elsa's heart. Aedan acted without thought – he stepped forward to meet Maximilian, caught his wrists, and pushed the sword high over their heads. Maximilian's eyes were manic; white dimples flared as he clenched his jaw, and the veins in his neck and head strained with effort.
Aedan's arms shook from the exertion. Almighty, I forgot how strong he was!
"You dare lay hands on your king!" Ser Lambert shouted and drew his sword as well.
"I'm stopping him from making a mistake!" Aedan said, voice tight with effort. There was something else in Maximilian's face – something that almost gave Aedan pause enough to release him. Almighty, he's terrified.
Emilia came forward again and wrapped her arms around her husband as she tried to guide him away. "You spared her," she said. "You were merciful and noble and kind. The people are celebrating in the streets and will expect to see her again. If you kill her, they will begin to lose faith, Max. Please. Remember what happened to your brother."
A plethora of emotion crossed Maximilian's face. His breathing steadied, and his murderous grip on his sword softened. "Milk-hearted fools," he murmured, softly enough that only Aedan could hear the words. His sword dropped loosely to his side, as he wiped the sweat from his brow. "I do not know what came over me."
Ser Lambert filled the open gap between Aedan and Maximilian and placed his sword against Aedan's throat. "Do not move," Ser Lambert said, as Aedan's hand drifted towards his dagger. "What should be done with this one, Your Majesty."
Maximilian eyes seemed to see through Aedan as he thought. "Nothing," Maximilian said after a pregnant pause. "Perhaps Aedan was right to stand in my way. This time." He smiled weakly at Aedan, and for a moment the king looked like his old self again.
Ser Lambert's sword quivered before the knight removed it from Aedan's neck and shoved it back in his scabbard. Aedan released a breath he hadn't realised he had been holding. His skin itched where the sword had touched him.
"Come away, Max," Emilia said, voice calm and soothing. This time, Maximilian allowed her to draw him away. "You have been gone for so long. It will serve you well to rest before the banquet this evening."
As they left, Emilia looked over her shoulder at Aedan and mouthed, "Thank you."
Aedan nodded, and then Ser Lambert strode out of the room after his king and queen and swing the door closed behind him.
A cork popped from the corner of the room, and Steiner the physician raised a bottle to his lips and swigged. "I don't know if you're brave, or merely a fool," he said. He wiped his lips and pressed the bottle against Aedan's chest.
"I don't know if you're brave, or just a fool," Steiner said.
"Neither do I," Aedan admitted. He took a long draught from the bottle, wincing as the amber liquid burned his throat. He shared a glance with Ornsten, whose brow was furrowed with worry.
On the chaise, Elsa stirred in her sleep, blessedly ignorant of how close she had come to death for the second time that day.
#
A simple spell, the witch had told her.
Her magic was near – she could sense its cold glow through the invisible barrier which rose between them. It fluttered weakly, like the flame in a shuttered lantern. It called to Elsa – sang to her. A muted longing fell over Elsa, and she pressed against the barrier. Would she ever touch her magic again? She would have begged for this block a year ago – given up her kingdom to be removed from her magic. Now that she was without it, she felt like half of herself was missing.
A simple spell implied a simple solution.
But what was it?
She floated away from the barrier. Her pain was below her somewhere – a giant, bulbous mess of agony. It dragged at her, no matter how hard she tried to float away.
With a pained grimace, Elsa cracked open her eyes, and the dark-haired Ovelian maid who had been leaning over her screamed.
"Send for the Queen," a second maid shouted over the screams, and a third darted out of the room with her skirt hiked up in a sprint.
Chaos ensued for a time after Elsa's waking. The two remaining Ovelian maids flapped about senselessly as they tried to tend to Elsa. One helped Elsa sit up on a bed, while another held a goblet of icy water for Elsa to sip. Each swallow burned her throat as the ice water soothed it. Neither maid looked into Elsa's eyes, and if Elsa did catch them watching her, they quickly looked away.
The room Elsa was in was much smaller than her bedroom in Arendelle, yet comfortable. The four-poster bed was roomy, with thick curtains that could be pulled closed. An armoire and bookshelf stood side-by-side against a wall, and a tall standing mirror had been placed in the corner. There was only one window, but it was large; Elsa could see blue sky blotted with the pink and orange of the sunset when she looked outside.
Elsa was able to glimpse herself in the mirror at one stage and realised why the maids were having difficulty with a start. Her eyes were still blue and bright, but the whites around her eyes were pooled with blood. Just as horrifying, perhaps, was the thick mass of red and purple bruises which roped around her neck.
The maids were trying to coax Elsa into eating some broth when the door to the bedroom opened and a woman dressed in a flowing blue gown entered. She was exceedingly beautiful, with dark hair haloed by a silver crown. Her cheeks were touched with a pink flush, and one hand rested on the slight swell in her belly. Elsa had seen this woman only once before when she stood beside Maximilian when he ordered Elsa's execution.
Queen Emilia surveyed the room and bowed her head in a polite acknowledgment as the maidservants lowered themselves in deep curtseys. When her eyes fell on Elsa, her face softened with sympathy.
"Leave us, if you please," Queen Emilia said when the maids' curtseys were complete. "And thank you for caring for my guest."
Guest?
"Of course," one of the maids said. Then, with another deep curtsey, both maids departed, and Elsa was left alone in the room with the Ovelian queen.
"It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Elsa," Queen Emilia said. "I regret that we have not had the opportunity to do so before now. We were sent an invitation to your coronation a year ago but were not able to attend. You may have had an opportunity to meet with my brother Rickard, who went in our stead?"
"I. . ." Her voice was a mere croak, and Elsa wasn't sure if she could say any more than that if she tried. Did she remember Rickard? There had been so many people and faces, and they had all been interested in her. And then she had argued with Anna and lost control of her magic, and. . ..
"Perhaps not. Rickard did say that your coronation was . . . eventful." To Elsa's surprise, Queen Emilia lifted her skirts and sat down at the end of the bed by Elsa's feet. She took a moment to settle herself and breathed deeply. To Elsa, it looked like the queen was nervous.
"I can only express my deepest apologies for your treatment at the hands of my husband," Queen Emilia eventually said. "I did not know that he had planned to execute you. I suspect he knew that we would protest. . . If I had had my way, you would not have been treated so disgracefully."
How could you not have known? Still, Elsa remembered seeing Emilia whisper in Maximilian's ear after he had given the order. Maybe she had been protesting?
"I give you my word that no further harm will come to you while you are under my protection," Queen Emilia continued. "You will meet Madam Sofia tomorrow, I think. She will be the one to oversee your care while you recover from your injuries. When you are well, you may have free reign to walk the palace and its grounds."
"Your husband agreed to this?" Elsa croaked.
"Not at first," admitted Emilia, then with a small smile she added. "But . . . I can be persuasive when I wish to be." She glanced at the clock, which sat on the mantle above the fireplace, and grimaced. "I must leave you now – the banquet will be starting soon, and I must be present to greet our noble guests."
Elsa watched the Ovelian queen as she rose and went to the door. "I hope that we can be friends, Elsa. Being queen can be rather lonely at times, as I'm sure you know."
Elsa wasn't sure how much she believed Queen Emilia, but she certainly knew that for truth.
"Rest, and sleep well, Elsa."
#
For the first time in Aedan's life, he was seated with his family at the king's table. Before his legitimisation, he had only been tolerated by the other nobles, and only then because of his position as Maximilian's herald. Before that, he had never been welcomed at banquets or balls and was expected to remain out of sight lest he embarrass his Lord Father with his presence.
Now, his father was only a few seats away from Aedan, but had done little more than acknowledge his son's presence. Instead, he and Queen Emilia were engaged in conversation, as they had been since the banquet had begun. Maximilian sat on Emilia's other side, nursing a cup of wine, and surveying the throng of dancing nobles with little interest. The look on his face was enough to deter anyone wishing to engage him in conversation.
"It feels quite strange having you here with us," said Garlan Beoulve from Aedan's left. Lord Beoulve's second son wore his beard short and neatly trimmed. His hair was cut short too and slicked back over his head in a fashionable coif.
"Wonderfully strange," Garlan's wife, Lady Adeline assured Aedan, as she dug her elbow into her husband's side. She danced her son, Allain, who was no older than two, on her lap as he rubbed his eyes and yawned.
"Of course," Garlan amended quickly. "We have always wanted you to be with us, you know."
"That's very kind of you to say," Aedan said. He meant it too, even if it did come out a little wooden.
"Elissa will be ecstatic when she hears the news."
The youngest of the trueborn Beoulve children had been little more than a child the last time Aedan had visited. "How is Elissa?"
"Oh, you know." Garlan waved a hand dismissively. "She wanted to come to court this season, but her mother decided to remain at home. Perhaps she will come next season when she turns seventeen."
"It will be good to see her."
"You should write to her – tell her news of your adventures."
Perhaps he would. Elissa had always treated him well, even when she was old enough to understand that he wasn't her real brother, as Lady Beoulve put it.
"Do you know when you can return to the training field," Garlan asked. "You won't recover your previous form without it."
Aedan grimaced. "You heard what happened to me in Arendelle then?
"Some of it," said Garlan. "I heard that Maximilian's raven-haired sorceress claimed your soul as payment to save you from death." Garlan's eyes sparkled with humour, although he lowered his voice all the same.
"Not you as well!"
"Don't worry, brother," Garlan said. "You won't hear any admonishment from me. I know better than to be drawn into soldiers' gossip." Garlan leaned in and continued in a voice barely more than a whisper. Aedan needed to strain to hear over the music, dancers, and the sounds of other conversations. "Still, now that you are back, I would seek to distance myself from Alexia, were I you. Find a nice noble girl to court, and you'll find that all this gossip will fade away." He leaned back, grinning. "Ahh, speaking of. . ."
"Ser Aedan?"
A rather stunning sight graced Aedan's eyes when he looked over his shoulder. Rosalind Ashaela's dress was pale yellow, but it was her dimpled smile that reminded Aedan of the sun. Her hair was lighter than her sister's, shining like spun gold on a white day. It tumbled down in streaks of warm, reddish rues and butterscotch, warming her pale skin rather than wishing it out. Spots of pleased colour flashed above her dimples as she watched Aedan regard her, and her smile deepened. "I believe your arm rests on my chair."
"Yes. . ." Aedan replied. He had wondered who was supposed to be sitting between himself and his Lord Father. Rosalind arched her eyebrow at him, which spurred Aedan to move. "Apologies." He stood and pulled out Rosalind's chair for her to sit down.
"Thank you, Ser Aedan," she said graciously. When Aedan returned to his seat, he caught the Queen's eye. She shot him a peculiar smile before returning her attention to Lord Beoulve.
Rosalind settled her skirts and then regarded Aedan expectantly. "I wanted to offer you my congratulations," she told him. "I have enjoyed hearing of your adventures in Arendelle and was pleased to hear that you were legitimised. It was well-deserved."
"Thank you," Aedan said. "Although, I fear not all the stories of my time in Arendelle were true."
"I assumed as much." Rosalind's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Only children still believe in frost giants and rock trolls. Still, when the bards sing of your near-fatal duel and your storm-lit ride . . . it makes you want to believe."
A lull fell over the pair. Aedan watched Rosalind's eyes as she scanned the ballroom wistfully; her eyes lingered on the lines of dancers before they drifted back to Aedan. On seeing him watching her, she smiled and took a sip from her goblet.
"Would you care to dance, My Lady?" Aedan asked.
"I would be delighted to." Rosalind's hand slipped inside of his, and the two left the table to approach the ballroom floor. With an excited laugh, Rosalind swung into his arms as if that's where she had always belonged, and together they entered the fray.
Rosalind was an excellent dancer and was practiced at guiding someone of lesser skill. She hid Aedan's missteps gracefully and somehow made them seem like clever additions to the song's traditional steps. Leadership passed between them fluidly, and Rosalind guided him to the correct step when a shiver of hesitance slid through his hand. She didn't seem to mind, either. Her cheeks flushed with pleasure as they moved, and her delighted smile was ever-present.
"You move very well," Rosalind said when the first song had finished.
"You are too gracious," Aedan replied. "I am just glad I haven't stood on your toes."
"You don't need to be so modest with me, Aedan." There was something warm in Rosalind's eyes – something Aedan couldn't quite place.
The musicians struck up a popular melody of flutes and strings that could be found on the floor of any reputable tavern too. "Ah, I'm much more familiar with this song," said Aedan.
"Oh? I hope to be dazzled then." Rosalind tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Her eyes never left his as the women lined up on one side of the ballroom floor, while the men waited on the other.
The music rose. The couples stepped in time with the music, walking forward until they were in front of their partner. Aedan offered his arm, and Rosalind laid her open palm on his forearm. They circled each other, and then Aedan drew Rosalind close in time with the music. Her hand slid to his shoulder, while his hand touched the small of her back.
"I hear we may be betrothed soon," Rosalind said.
"I've heard the same." Aedan resisted the urge to look at his feet. Talking and dancing had never been one of his talents. "I hope you are not disappointed with the match. I'm sure you could have your pick of suitors."
He spun Rosalind around as the crescendo rose, and she was taken by a noble Aedan did not know, while Aedan danced with one of Lord Bastille's young daughters. The music rose again, and Rosalind spun back into his arms.
"You're being modest again," Rosalind said, as smoothly as if they'd never parted. "I'm not interested in any man; I want someone gallant – a man of adventure. You know, I watched you cross swords with that monster who tried to execute Elsa. You were very brave."
Aedan didn't think he would ever forget the wrath on Rathmore's face, nor Rathmore's parting words to him. His hand trembled, and he suddenly realised he was sweating. He drew Rosalind to a stop in the center of the dance floor. Couples whirled around them as they changed their step to avoid crashing into them.
"Are you well?" Rosalind asked. "Your face has paled."
Aedan blinked and focused on Rosalind's face and her clear, turquoise eyes. "I am well," he said quickly. "But perhaps a little fatigued – I am still not fully recovered from the wounds I suffered in Arendelle."
"Yes, of course," Rosalind said as if she should have realised this from the beginning. "Let's get a drink. It has become quite hot, hasn't it?"
They returned to their seats at the king's table and continued their conversation as they sipped at their water and wine. As the evening progressed, Garlan and Adeline bid their farewells, as did Aedan's Lord Father. Queen Emilia sat quietly beside Maximilian for a time before she retired too. She bid Aedan and Rosalind goodnight; the smile she offered her sister as she left almost seemed regretful.
As they spoke, Rosalind's eyes drifted toward the dancers once more. The musicians were winding down their music from song to song, and the dance floor had sparsened as couples drifted away.
You're going to marry this woman, Aedan reminded himself. Try, will you? "One more dance, before they finish?"
Rosalind's smiled at him brilliantly.
#
Queen Emilia's hands were cold and clammy. She'd already prepared her explanation if her husband happened to take her hand – gone over it inside her head so many times she could have easily believed the lie herself.
But Maximilian hadn't noticed her unsettledness. He had been distant and distracted ever since Aedan had stopped him from murdering Elsa. Emilia hadn't had the time to process that morning as she would have liked to. They had been married for years now, and she had never seen that manic hatred in Maximilian's eyes before. It scared her; worried her too.
She drew him to a stop outside the heavy door leading into the council room and peered up into his brilliant eyes. Ser Ashby, Maximilian's silent shadow for the night, stopped a few paces behind them, turning his back to peer back down the shadowy corridor. Maximilian regarded her curiously. The question hesitated on Emilia's lips. "Are . . . are you well?" she asked.
"Yes," replied Maximilian. He smiled reassuringly at her and needlessly cupped her cheek with his hand in an intimate gesture. "But I'll be better when this business with Elsa is finished." He reached for her hand, and a slow frown appeared on his face. "Are you well?"
"I am. The baby's been moving around, is all. Don't worry, Max. I feel fine." She smiled a perfect, reassuring smile.
Maximilian smiled as well and pressed his palm against her stomach. "You're not feeling nervous?"
How well you know me. "Not at all," she lied.
"You don't have to sit through this if you would rather go to bed."
Emilia shook her head. "I want to stay with you." The soft smile Maximilian only ever gave to her came again, and Emilia knew she had won. I hope you remain so calm. . .
The heads of all the major noble houses had already gathered inside the room. Edward Beoulve and his eldest son spoke quietly with Rickard at the long table covered with maps. A large map of Arendelle was prominently placed in the center of the table – where it had been ever since Maximilian first concocted his scheme to invade the Northern kingdom. Maps of the eastern woods and tablelands where the Beoulve's made their home were spread out too, along with a detailed map of Corona. Lord Favian was sitting in a chair by the fireplace, drinking a goblet of wine along with the Lord's Bastille and Valette. They all rose when Maximilian entered and took his place at the head of the table. Emilia sat on his right and watched the nobles expectantly.
Edward caught her eye. All right, Lord Beoulve, she thought. Let's see if this plan of ours takes root.
The nobles took their seats around the table after Maximilian and Emilia were seated. Maximilian regarded them, then asked no one in particular. "What's the mood in the city?"
Lord Bastille cleared his throat. "It seems. . ."
The door creaked open and Aedan slipped inside. He started at the sight of the lords already gathered around the table, and how everyone's eyes turned on him, but his mask of cool confidence quickly slipped back into place.
Good, thought Emilia. She had wondered if the newly-minted noble would make an appearance. She hoped he would but didn't want to suggest that he should. This will be easier with you here.
"Apologies," said Aedan. "I lost track of the hour."
My sister's doing, no doubt. Emilia arched an eyebrow. She would have to speak to Rosalind if everything went according to plan.
Matrim rose to his feet and addressed his brother coldly. "You have no right to be here, Aedan."
"I have as much right as you," Aedan retorted. "I have a shiny new name – the same as yours, I believe."
Matrim's face flushed, but Maximilian cut between them before any further argument could break out. "Your son, Lord Beoulve," Maximilian said to Edward. "Your decision."
"He can stay," Lord Beoulve replied. Aedan grinned at Matrim. "But only if he remains silent unless spoken to." He looked at Aedan, eyes stern. "If you wish to participate in these discussions, then you should have arrived on time." It was so clearly a snub, designed to soothe Matrim's ego while also letting Aedan know he couldn't simply go around doing as he pleased now that he was a proper Beoulve. Matrim returned to his seat but didn't complain, and Aedan walked over to the chairs by the fireplace, sufficiently chastised.
I should speak to him as well, thought Emilia. She added it to her long list of things to do the following day. He will need direction.
"It seems," Lord Bastille continued, "that Queen Elsa has been made into something of a heroine by the townsfolk – rather quickly, I might add. I hear that the theatres are already holding impromptu performances about her, with new ones being written even as we speak."
"They didn't seem so fond of her when she first entered the city," Rickard said. "What changed?"
"Nothing changed," Lord Flavian said.
"Something did. People don't cry for someone's death one moment, then beg for their life the next."
By the fireplace, Aedan cleared his throat and offered his suggestion with a hesitant glance toward his father. "They saw her."
Agreed, thought Emilia.
"Go on, boy," Lord Valette said. "Explain what you mean."
Aedan spoke with more confidence. "They thought they were going to see some horrible ice witch from the north, but instead all they saw was a beautiful girl bound to a pole, bruised and bleeding. Yet despite all that she didn't cry, she didn't rage or break down. How many of you would go towards your death with as much grace and poise as she did?" Aedan allowed the question to hang. "I certainly wouldn't have. She won the sympathy of the smallfolk, and she didn't even have to try."
"You've put some thought into this," Maximilian noted dryly.
Aedan shrugged.
"Regardless of what the smallfolk think, Elsa must die. If we can't execute her in public for fear of outcry, then we need to do it in private where no one will see. If you have a solution to solve that problem, I will hear it."
Aedan's mouth opened and closed uselessly, and he shook his head.
"A dagger will rid us of the sorceress," Flavian said, as though it was obvious. "The people don't have to know."
"It would be unwise to kill Elsa so soon after sparing her life," said Rickard. "Regardless of how well we hide her passing, the people will still talk. They'll wonder what happened to the queen their pleas for mercy saved. And the longer they go without seeing her, the more your word will be thrown into doubt."
"Bah," replied Flavian contemptuously. "Rumours can be controlled. We can say that she tried to murder our king but was killed in the attempt."
"Even if most people believe that there will still be others who talk. We cannot allow any dissenting perspectives to become part of the narrative." Rickard addressed Maximilian. "I trust her magic is still bound?"
Maximilian nodded. "It is."
"Then perhaps we should give her to the church to deal with. She can live out her days in servitude, scrubbing the stone steps outside the cathedral. Then, if she still must die, we can simply wait until the common people forget about her."
"The church will not take her against her will," Lord Bastille said uncomfortably. His family had always been pious. "And I fear they'd only take the suggestion as an insult."
"Bah!" Flavian said again, cheeks rosy from the wine.
"I doubt the church would turn her away," Lord Valette said. "Rickard's suggestion is a worthy one. Let her serve them, then, if she still must die, let it be with a drop of poison late at night."
Lord Beoulve caught Emilia's eye and nodded. The others had all had their say, now it was time for theirs. Emilia swallowed her nerves and breathed deeply through her nose. "Lord Beoulve," she said loudly. "You've been quiet thus far. What do you suggest?"
The other lords all fell silent as Lord Beoulve scratched his chin. "How old is Queen Elsa," he finally said.
"Twenty-two, I believe," Valette replied.
"Young to bear the weight of a throne. And on her own too."
"I was younger when I became king," said Maximilian.
"You were the same age, actually," Aedan pointed out. "Elsa's coronation was last year. She was twenty-one – same as you."
"Why didn't she marry?" Lord Beoulve asked.
Flavian shrugged. "She's a sorceress. Only fools line up to dally with her kind."
"Sorceress or not, she is still a queen. Some men would overlook things much worse than magic for the opportunity to become king, and to a woman so young and beautiful besides. The question remains."
"It was hardly an important question in the scheme of things," Maximilian said.
"The rumours are boundless on this subject too - each one as absurd as the next," Valette said. "One of which claims that Elsa prefers the company of other women and planned to abdicate the throne to Anna as soon as her sister was wed. There were others more likely: some said that the Arendellian lords used Elsa as a puppet and did not want her to marry anyone unless it was one of them."
Aedan chortled. "If you had been in Arendelle during the siege you would know that that rumour isn't true."
"I want to know what Elsa's marital status has to do with this discussion?" Flavian asked loudly.
Lord Beoulve addressed the table. "When Maximilian became king, he found a loving wife to supplement his strength and rule alongside him." Lord Beoulve inclined his head respectfully to Emilia. "Why don't we find Elsa a loving husband?"
A rush of curious murmurs cut across the table, which Flavian brushed aside with a sneer. "We're talking about the best way to kill her, not marry her off like some prized mare."
"I was under the impression we were looking for a solution to our current problem, and our problem runs far deeper than Elsa's life."
"Explain," Maximilian said curtly.
Across the table, Emilia saw her brother's eyes flash with sudden understanding, then look almost accusingly at her. Yes, Rickard. You're right to assume Lord Beoulve didn't concoct this on his own.
Lord Beoulve stood. "Despite our best efforts, Princess Anna has avoided capture. It's too much to hope that she hasn't escaped to Corona."
"Our spies have reported nothing of the sort," Flavian said.
"They've reported nothing at all," Lord Beoulve corrected. "And that concerns me. Until we have more reliable information, we must assume that Anna is in Corona. If we execute Elsa now, we have effectively delivered the last of Arendelle's royal line into Frederic's hands."
"I hold Arendelle," Maximilian said firmly. "No one else."
"Respectfully, my king, but until a legitimate heir sits on the Arendellian throne, the people there will never accept our presence. If we're to hold Arendelle for generations more, the blood of our country must mix with the blood of Arendelle. This is what we planned for Anna, is it not?"
Emilia felt Maximilian's hands shake beneath the table. He was beginning to understand, and he did not like it one bit. "It's okay, my love," she whispered in his ear, so softly that none of the others could hear.
"If we don't have Anna, then we use Elsa to fulfill these plans. We should see her married and encourage her to bear children. They will be trueborn heirs to Arendelle, and the people there will readily accept them."
"The sorceress needs to die," Maximilian repeated stubbornly.
"And she will," Lord Beoulve assured him. "But only after she bears a child. And if a year or more passes and Elsa does not fall pregnant, then send your knives or poisons after her – the people will have forgotten her by then regardless."
Rickard leaned forward. "These plans can always be supplanted if Anna is discovered," he said. "I'm inclined to agree with Lord Beoulve on this. Killing Elsa now will only bring us strife, but this . . . we could wrap all our problems into a nice little bow."
Emilia's palms seemed soaked. How her husband didn't notice, she would never guess. "Do you have a husband for Elsa in mind, Lord Beoulve?" This had been the difficult part of their plan. There were many candidates, but only one could be worked seamlessly into the narrative they were creating.
"I do." Lord Beoulve looked over the table towards the fireplace, until his eyes fell upon his youngest son.
Emilia could have cut the silence with a knife. It weighed down the room like hot air, and for a moment everyone inside was stunned. She had to purse her lips together to suppress a smile. How interesting. It was easy to see how people thought Aedan was arrogant. He worked so hard to maintain the shield of easy confidence that made him seem like he would have been just as comfortable somewhere else as he was here. It hid his blubbering mess of anger and insecurity so well. The weight of Lord Beoulve's words made Aedan's shield slip. His smirk vanished in smoke, and his bored masquerade was destroyed. Emilia glimpsed the real Aedan, and he looked terrified. Rouse your shield, Aedan, she urged. Do not appear weak now.
"Me?" Aedan spluttered. "I can't marry her!"
"I have to agree," Flavian said pompously.
"The people love you, Aedan," Emilia said. "Songs of your adventures are sung in every tavern and inn in the city. And they love Elsa too. They've heard about how you braved the Arendellian storms to meet her, and how you rescued her from dreaded Coronan bandits seeking to kidnap her."
"But none of that's true!" Aedan protested. "They weren't bandits trying to kidnap her, they were trying to rescue her."
"You're missing my point," Emilia countered. "When I spoke to you this morning, I told you that the people had already invented a romance between you and Elsa in their minds. That narrative has only blossomed after they saw you carry Elsa from her cage."
"But that was Ornsten! If someone is to marry Elsa then it should be him!"
"You wore the same armour, bore the same spear, but most importantly the same helm. I could hardly tell you two apart." Lord Beoulve inhaled deeply and coughed into his fist.
"Ornsten is a popular soldier, 'tis true, but his lineage does not bear the same weight as yours," Emilia added while Lord Beoulve recovered. "Without that, we may as well pair her with a peasant for all the good the marriage will do us."
"And if these rumours of love between you and Elsa are as prevalent as Queen Emilia claims, then it shouldn't take much effort to fan them into flames," Lord Beoulve said. "The people will believe it because they want to believe it."
"There must be someone else, surely?" Aedan looked around the table desperately.
"Another Du Von would be best," Lord Beoulve admitted, with a glance at Maximilian.
"'Tis unfortunate then that my brothers are dead," Maximilian said coldly. Emilia squeezed his hand.
"My son could serve," Lord Flavian said.
"Which one?" Emilia asked.
"Norrie."
Lord Beoulve was already shaking his head. "Norrie is not yet thirteen, and your elder four are already married."
"Brade is yet to have children with his wife."
"Divorce will not do. I have thought about this, and Aedan is the best choice. I can think of no one better."
Flavian's face darkened as he settled back into his chair.
"As noble as Brade is, he was not at Arendelle," Emilia said. "The people will not believe a tale of romance between the two. That alone rules out many potential husbands."
"But they'll believe a tale of romance involving me?" Aedan said incredulously.
"Many already do."
"Haven't we done enough to her?" Aedan asked. "Wouldn't it be kinder to just kill her and be done with it?"
Emilia leaned forward and caught Aedan's eyes. "Do you really believe that? Are you so selfish that you would rather see her dead than marry her?"
Aedan's mouth gaped open. "You intend to murder her regardless." He looked desperately at Maximilian. "Please, Max, don't make me do this."
We have him. Emilia sat back and looked at her husband. She knew the look on his face as well as she knew the touch of his fingers. Her stomach flooded with hope and excitement that cast away her anxiety.
"Your idea has merit," Maximilian said. "And as Rickard said, it certainly seems to solve all our problems, as loathe as I am to admit it." He sighed heavily, but his voice was firm when he spoke. "I will give you your year, and if Elsa is not pregnant with an heir by then, then I will see her dead."
Lord Beoulve nodded.
"Are there any objections to this course?" Maximilian asked. The other nobles exchanged glances. Lord Flavian looked like he was ready to speak, but a hard glance from Rickard silenced him. "Then it is settled."
"Don't I get a say in this?" Aedan protested weakly.
"You've had your say and your concerns are noted," Maximilian said. "You will do your duty, Aedan, as must we all." He turned to address Lord Beoulve. "I trust you to handle the necessary arrangements?"
Lord Beoulve bowed. "On my honour, my king."