The trip will take about three days.
After the carriage ride to the city docks, Michael is escorted onto an exquisite fram with sails that stretch high enough to scrape the clouds. The sail has the same crocus crest printed on its front. It puffs and deflates with every gust that blows along the sea. It isn't that he isn't used to sailing, but he just prefers solid ground. Still he boards the plank and lets the butler escort him below deck to the living quarters.
He opens a door and motions Michael inside. Stepping over the threshold, the room has a single bed and a cushioned seat near the window. The four-post bed has draperies that close for the upmost privacy, and the bed itself has a thick mattress with plush and embroidered pillows adorning the head.
"You're quarters until we reach Arendelle." The man says.
"Thank you." Michael says over his shoulder. He places his bag, which he constructed out of a pillowcase and rope, onto the bed. He's still in his armor from the inn, and it's starting to ripen.
"I'll let you get comfortable. Dinner will be served in half an hour. Would you like me to wash those sir? The maids will have no problem." He says.
Michael looks to his clothes. "What am I supposed to wear until then?"
"There is a dresser with clothes of a more, suitable attire. Everything should fit you." The man comes in and takes Michael's bag and motions towards the mahogany dresser with a simple silver candleholder on it. He then leaves, shutting the door behind him.
Michael walks around the room taking in the luxury he's never seen. The wall is a peaceful, calm green color with naturist wall ornaments and tiered crystal sconces are dripping from the walls. The bed sheets seem to be made of the finest silk and feel as if it is stuffed with only the feathers of the most exotic birds in the world.
Sitting on the bed, he carefully runs his hand along the smooth sheets and catches the scent of lavender.
Undressing from his ripening armor, he tosses them onto the bed, standing in only his undershorts.
Looking in the large mirror across the way, perched on the vanity, he can see himself full-bodied. Given he only had one mirror in his old house, and that he always handled the forge daily, he had gotten used to seeing a soot-covered boy with blue eyes that still shine through the dirt and grime.
He now stares at a man with short black hair that falls over his forehead in bangs, cerulean blue eyes and a round nose. Scars of varying lengths cover his body, marking their territory along his chest, his back, his arms, everywhere. Some are slender and even, some of them thick and jagged. A life spent training and battling . . . His body is a map of his adventures, or proof of what growing up under a rebellion is like.
It never occurred to him how scarred and frankly dirty he appears, not that he usually cares. But for the first time, since he's visiting royalty, he decides to draw a bath. He walks to the adjoined bathroom and sits on the edge of a marble tub with gold clawed feet. He turns the gold faucet and warm water spills into the tub, covering his toenails. Once it's filled just below the lip, Michael slips beneath its warm skin and relaxes.
They never had warm water at his house. Normally they would bring buckets of lake water and heat it over the forge. It would take at least ten buckets to fill the tub, and five minutes to heat it up. Having hot running water every day, it's surreal.
He takes the vanilla-smelling soap and begins to scrub his face with a loofa sponge. Lathering soap over them, he scrubs his face, arms, legs, neck; scrubbing until his skin is bright pink. The bathwater turns grey.
He turns the soap in his hands until his skin is coated with white lather. He runs his fingers over his palm, careful to get the spaces between his fingers and under his nails. By the time he climbs out, the water's cooling and is murky brown.
Because he can – and because a small, childlike part of him is yearning for it – Michael drains and refills the tub; only this time he takes a porcelain pitcher, stands in the tub and scoops the water up to pour it down his body, starting from his head. Remaining dirt washes down the drain in thin streams, and when the water is clear, Michael steps out of the tub.
He grabs a towel and wraps it about his waist and takes another to dry his hair and torso. Stepping out of the steaming bathroom, he goes over to the dresser and pulls open the drawer.
Not having the best sense of style in the world, he does his best to pick a tunic and a pair of pants that have a presentable collaboration of color.
He settles on a royal blue tunic, and white trousers to go with his brown boots. He dries and combs his hair, ruffling his fingers through it before letting it be.
With five minutes until dinner, he assumes that someone will send a servant to bring him. So, he sits on the armchair poised in the corner and gazes out the window to the open sea.
He is nervous about people seeing him without his mask, but if that man's word is true, he'll be able to walk about the streets of Arendelle freely. The man seems desperate enough that he wouldn't risk lying.
Nevertheless, it is already too late, as his clothes are now off to be washed, his weapons and shield leaning against the wall closest to his bed.
He closes his eyes, and must've dozed because there's a knocking at his door, and when he opens his eyes, the sky that once was blue, is now dark velvet with piercing stars. Michael rubs his eyes and goes to the door. A woman dressed in the same attire as the man from the carriage stands at his door.
"Dinner is ready, sir." She lightly smiles.
Michael awkwardly smiles and follows the woman into the hallway. His footsteps go mute as they sink into plush gold and green carpeting. The walls are lined with shelves decorated in colorful glass knickknacks and boats. Tall floor candelabrums with fancy flat bowls accent the space. Scanning the walls, he finds no windows.
They enter the dining room and Michael is instructed to take a seat. A large oval table occupies the center of the room, the walls overtaken by stacks of wine bottles, and a hutch crammed with rolled scrolls, quills, crystal glasses, and some very old, very expensive-looking brandy.
The table is set with silver and pearl-white plates overflowing with food. A crown roast, filet tied with rosemary, and exotic dishes he'd never seen before. A large bird is stuffed with dressing and pears, resting on peacock feathers arranged to resemble a live bird's open tail. And sparkling candies shaped like live seahorses.
Michael takes a seat on one side of the table and keeps his hands in his lap as instructed by his father.
The servants walk around while other members of a higher status take their seats. The man from the carriage sits down next to Michael and smiles.
"You clean up nice." He says.
Michael gives a ghost of a smile.
The man extends out his hand. "I still haven't properly introduced myself. I'm Kai, I'm the Steward for the queen." Michael takes his hand and shakes it with a nod of his head. "Now, there is one more detail that I need to tell you."
One servant lays a plate down in front of Michael. He ignores his craving and forces himself to pay attention.
"Now, the Queen and Princess don't know about our, hiring." Kai says. Michael looks to him wearily. "It's for the better. If they find out about the criminal in the kingdom, the Queen and her sister will overreact and she'll have the gates closed."
"So much for them welcoming me with open arms. How is them closing the gates a bad thing?" Michael says as he picks up a fork and stabs is into the meat of the bird.
"With her years of seclusion, the Queen is still overly-cautious. I just don't want either of them riled up." Kai says.
"Fine." Michael agrees, taking a quick bite of the bird. He has to fight the urge to moan with pleasure as it's sweet juice floods his tongue with flavor. "But how exactly do the guards feel about going behind the Queen's back?"
"I've managed to pacify them about it; explaining to them what I did to hire you. It's for the better intentions of the Queen and Princess." Kai insists. "And it's beneficial since you get paid, and treated to luxury while you're working for us."
"I'm not in it for money." Michael mumbles. "Just to help however I can."
"You sure have simple standards." Kai says. "I knew you were the best choice."
Both the men cheer and take a sip of the elegant wine.
After the dinner, Michael returns to his chambers with a swollen belly and plops on his bed.
He feels green in the face, but if he can handle his mother's fish stew with broccoli, he's determined to hold onto this. Michael heavily belches and runs his fingers through his hair. He strips off the clothes, folding them nicely before pulling on some sleepwear.
There's a knock at the door and he opens it to find a maid with his uniform folded and pressed. She hands it and bows her head.
"Your clothes, sir." She says.
"Thank you." He takes the clothes and nods back.
He tosses his uniform onto the dresser and once again settles into the sheets of the bed. Gods, he's never felt such thickness from a comforter. And the throw blanket atop that must be real fur.
He closes his eyes and lets the waves rock him to sleep.
Michael.
"Michael."
His mother whispers his name in the fog. The world is black, and a pale purple fog dwindles like mist on water. Michael pushes through the mist with his hands, only cradling the clouds for seconds. He listens to the whispers as they circle him and follows the scent of his mother. Sweat mixed with the freshening wisp of daisies.
He finds her standing at the edge of the mist and approaches her. He extends out a hand and grasps her shoulder, but the moment he does, she whips around and a push of air sends him flying back.
He rolls back and up to one knee. His mother's eyes are tearstained and blood seeps from an invisible wound on her head. Her clothes suddenly become grey, bloodstained, pieces starting to disintegrate and be carried off in a phantom wind.
"Run! Run Michael!" she screams. A high-pitched shriek that pierces the air.
Michael stands and grabs his dagger, but the moment his fingers braise the hilt, there's a sudden whirl of movement and a haze of images. He blinks and finds himself standing in the courtyard of the castle of his old hold. Two guards off to the right restrain his mother while two more ahead of him drag his father's body towards the executioner's block.
"No!" Michael screams.
He tries to rush forward, but suddenly it feels as if he's body is running through molasses while the world rushes on around him. He tries to run faster, but his legs still take excruciating time to even reach the ground.
The guards slam his father's body down and there's a grasp on Michael's arms. He moves, but now two more guards are hauling him back. He thrashes and fights, but their arms seem to be made of steel.
Just as the headman's axe is about to rain down, Michael screams.
Michael's eyes spring open. The room swirls into focus. He blinks at the artificial light that radiates from his ceiling fixture, his hear thundering in his chest, as manic as a captured bird.
He sits up and holds his head, his forehead is moist with sweat. He gasps, heaving and swallows the air in gulps. He can feel himself slightly shaking and breathes that it's just a dream.
There's a knock at his door.
"What?!" Michael says too sharply, and clears his throat. "What, what is it?" he tries again.
"Sir Michael," A soft, muffled female voice speaks. "Sorry to disturb you."
"No, no. No, you didn't." Michael says with a cold chuckle. "I actually just woke up."
"Uh well, we have arrived in Arendelle, sir."
Michael looks out his window and sees the sky of bright blue with fluffy clouds gliding across.
The ship has been docked in the fjord, set alongside the harbor. Although from his position, he can only see the outer sea, and the tower ports that stand guard at the entrance.
"Sir?" he hears the maid speak.
"Yes, yes. I'll be out in a minute. Thank you."
He hears the footsteps walk away from the door and heads to the bathroom to splash his face with cold water. He pats his face and rests on his elbows as he breathes. Looking in the mirror, his eyes are slightly bloodshot and they feel dry. He snatches a towel and dries his face quickly.
Even after all these years, he still wakes up screaming for his dad to run.
He balls up the towel and chucks it across the room. As he exits to retrieve his uniform, he stops. Something small but shiny catches his eye. It floats around his room like its riding even the simplest breeze. Michael approaches it, only then does it come closer.
A snowflake. Yet it's summer outside.
Michael watches the flake dance about the space, then drift towards him landing on his nose. He expects it to melt.
It doesn't.
After three seconds, it simply floats up and past his head. He turns and it's gone. The window is closed, and the sun's glare makes him squint one eye.
Quickly packing away his things, Michael slings them over one shoulder and heads out to the docks. The sunlight blinds him for fifteen seconds before they adjust and he finds himself on the stone docks of Arendelle.
Walking past the docks and up the steps, there's a flower stand on his immediate left then the castle beyond that. Posts with banners of the crest and the silhouettes of the royal family dot along the bridge that leads past the main gates.
The kingdom itself it surrounded by mountains, and with the sea as their only form of transportation, it would seem the kingdom has a natural barrier shall it ever be involved in war. And yet, the city has a very similar feel as Corona. Everyone seems decent and those willing to work have decent living conditions.
Kai motions Michael over and the rebel sighs re-gripping on his bag and following after the Harold. Several citizens gaze at him and Michael needs to double check that he's not wearing his uniform.
He still wears the attire from yesterday's dinner. His brown boots reach up to his knees, and despite their old appearance, they don't have blood on them. Then he realizes, his clothing, it's of high ranking nobles. He wears the clothes of a duke, yet walks like that of a commoner.
Gods, if anyone is to think he is some suiter here to appease the queen or princess . . .
Michael ruffles his bangs and continues after Kai. Green-tiled roofs expand far within the foot of the mountain, and a long and impressively built wall snakes its way up the spine. People hurry about in clothes of various makes, vendors call out their wares, acolytes in temples of wood or stone still beckon to those on the street.
The east side of the castle is where the main gates are located below a clock and in between two smaller doors, one on each side, all connected to Arendelle by a bridge.
The east side of the castle is where the main gates are located below a clock and in between two smaller doors, one on each side, all connected to Arendelle via a bridge.
The north side of the castle is the most fortified with four towers, each of differing shape, height and width. On the farthest right is the tallest and widest tower; to the left of that is a shorter, square-shaped tower and between the two is the fortified, protruding wall.
The south side is connected to a lighthouse which is one of the two structures marking the opening in which ships must pass through to enter the fjord.
Michael follows Kai across the stone bridge, ignoring a glance he gets from a guard. He sees the green and purple flags fluttering, children running about the bridge, coming and out of the courtyard with gates opened wide. He can't help but smile at a couple of boys running around with small wooden swords.
A shadow passes over him as he steps under the archway into the courtyard. Two steps in and Michael nearly stumbles as his feet lose footing. He holds out his arms and regains balance and grips the ground with his toes.
No, not the ground, but frosted ice.
"Ice?" Michaels mumbles.
"Ah yes, see the queen likes to coat the courtyard with ice for the villagers. You know how to skate?" Kai asks as he glides across to the front doors.
Michael sighs. "This job had better be worth all this." He grumbles.
Many citizens and children skate around giggling and laughing at those who fall and slip. The roofs are a pale blue with guilt details chasing up the walls. The water of the fountains gracefully towers upwards and glistens in the sunlight.
Michael recollects his memories of skating with his mother at the pond near their house. He glides to the front doors and skips over the threshold into the entry hall. As he enters, his footsteps echo against the polished wood floor.
Kai ushers him further in, and Michael cranes his head in awe at the incredible height of the ceiling. Their footsteps go mute as they sink into the runner carpet that stretches down the hall and up a grand staircase that splits to the left and the right. Tall, wooden doors sit underneath each staircase, long windows allowing daylight to flood the chamber. Couches and deep-cushioned chairs are scattered in a tasteful manner.
"Your chambers will be on the ground floor, in a guest room." Kai says.
"And what's to happen when the Queen and Princess find out I'm here, because they will find out." Michael asks.
Kai stops, and turns. "Then we tell them the truth and our reasons for the secrecy, and hope for the best."
"That's not exactly the most promising."
"That's because you don't know the royal sisters as I do." Kai retorts. Michael eyes him and the steward clears his throat. "If you'll just follow me."
Kai leads him up the stairs to the left, and down a long hallway. Michael stops when he comes to a large room on his right. Furnished in purple and green with hardwood inlay floor, heavy draperies, and fancy old chairs. In one corner, like a squat gentleman in a tuxedo, stands a polished black piano.
As he steps into the room, a strange chill runs up his spine. He walks towards the piano and sets his bag of clothes down on a low glass table with spindly legs. He moves to stand behind the instrument, where he lets his fingers trail the ivory keys. Picking one somewhere in the middle, he presses it softly.
The note chimes quietly around him.
Michael trails his fingers along the keys up to the higher octave. As he turns around, he nearly chirps in surprise at a large oil painting hovering over the fireplace. He freezes when he finds himself staring into the intense gaze of a green-eyed, blond-haired man.
The King. Well, the former king.
The painting, drawn from the shoulders up, shows him dressed in a blue button-down, and a black vest. His gaze seems to be fixed in an almost-scowl at the painter, like he was indignant at the idea of having his picture painted. Faint half circles underlined the King's eyes, giving him the look of being prematurely world-weary.
At the sound of feet approaching from the hall, Michael turns back to the piano quickly, pretending he is distracted by its beauty, allowing his fingers to ghost over the keys again.
Kai peeks his head in. He steps fully and folds his hands behind his back. "Sorry." Michael apologizes.
"You play sir?" He asks.
"I dabbled in my younger years." Michael admits. "Anyone here play?"
"Neither of the sisters, but we do have musicians that play at parties." Kai explains. "Now come, we must get you settled before the party tonight."
Michael makes sure to follow Kai as he navigates them through the halls. Left, right, right. Left right left. Right, right. The turns, in order from the point of origin – the ballroom – to the quarters.
He's surprised at the layout of the castle; so simple. At this point he'll be able to navigate it blindfolded by the end of the day. Despite the fact that they mount a couple more flights of stairs, he still feels like they're descending deeper in the building.
His chambers are in the east wing of the castle, and are much bigger than he anticipated. They consist of a bedroom with an attached bathing chamber and dressing room, a small dining room, and a music and gaming room. Each is furnished in red, cross-hatched with gold, his bedroom having two sets of doors leading out to a wide stone balcony overlooking one of the gardens. More couches and chairs spread about and already there's a fire brewing in the fireplace.
He walks around the room taking in the grandness. "This room is rarely ever used, sir. So you should be fine." Kai says.
"As long as no one comes in and declares me an intruder." Michael says.
"Of course not. Now, I'll have some exclusive staff members dress you appropriately for the party. I told them about your unique situation and they've sworn to secrecy."
"So when can I leave and switch clothes?" Michael asks sitting in a velvet armchair. "Because fancy clothing isn't exactly wise to wear against an assassin."
"You can feel free to leave whenever you wish. Or if you request to simply hide in the shadows the whole time, please."
"I'll probably go about twenty minutes before the party reaches its climax. No better time than to strike." Michael summarizes.
"As you wish."
"So what am I supposed to do? Just hang in this room, sitting on my ass until then?" Michael asks.
"I had anticipated you as someone who can't sit still." Kai smiles. "You're free to roam the castle as the Queen and her sister are touring the marketplace for the day. They should be back by twilight."
Michael nods.
"Now, I must return to the court. They simply can't make do without me." Kai says with a bow. He closes the doors and leaves the rebel to the expanse of the spacious suite. If the job includes living this kind of luxury, Michael can easily get used to being an Ice Queen's bodyguard.
Having the entire day to himself allows more than enough time to spend the day scouting the castle, meeting new members of the staff, committing their faces to memory.
All throughout, he can't get over the odd feeling of intrusion. Perhaps since the only other time he was in a castle was when he went to murder the king.
The carpet feels wonderful to his bare feet as he walks the long hallways and down staircases. He amuses the idea of secret passages winding behind closed bookcases and secret crawlspaces, but he doesn't bother to look.
All throughout, most of the female staff members make excuses to see him, not that he minds. They seem like decent company and seem more than happy to show him around.
The castle is old, and most of the halls and stairwells go nowhere. Some of the smaller, narrower halls hang the paintings of former masters of the Arendelle castle. Many of the ballrooms are empty with only an intricate mosaic of the family crest decorating the floor, and unlit crystal chandeliers still twinkling in the daylight. He continues past the kitchen quarters, which are a mess of shouting, clouds of flour, and surging fires. Once beyond, he enters a long hallway, empty and silent save for his footsteps.
He finds a clock reading five o'clock in the evening, and he sighs as he must bring his tour to an end for now, or risk running into one of the sisters on his way back.
When he returns to the room, a maid is in tow like a lovesick puppy.
"Couldn't have asked for a nicer room." He says as he plops down onto the bed. At the door, the maid Marian remains, as if embarrassed to come farther inside.
She was in her early twenties wearing a usual attire. A dark green dress with a head covering and white gloves. She stands with her hands folded in front of her and her head slightly bowed.
"Sir, the Queen and Princess will be getting ready for the party. And we were instructed to get you ready as well." She says.
"And how do you propose to do that?" Michael slyly smiles.
The maid slightly blushes and clears her throat. "If you'll just follow me." she says, while motioning out towards the dressing room.
Michael sighs and gets up from the bed and follows the maid.