It was a woman's voice, but at the same time . . . it was different.
At first he thought it was just some servant singing, and yet . . .
Something about the way it lilted through the courtyard, through the air. Almost as if it were everywhere; free and wandering and beautiful.
Haunting yet ethereal.
Ah-ah, ah-ah
He was hoping their training this morning would be uneventful, but instead it left him with an uneasy tingling going up his spine. Like someone taking flower petals and brushing them along his skin.
The voice was so beautiful, feeling as pure as the light of a new dawn. Yet there was something in his stomach – an innate, trained instinctual part of him – that warns of distrust.
He could feel the voice tug on the thread of his magic, or whatever thrums in his veins . . . whispering to it.
In his heart, and in his magic, he could sense its good. But at the same time, he won't ignore his soldier instincts.
For now, he'll leave it be. Especially when Elsa catches him staring.
He tells the sisters to switch places, trying to ignore the purr in his magic at the call of the siren song.