He didn't think he'd draw that much attention at the party. He owes the royal tailor much credit – no doubt the man was overjoyed at getting Michael ready, making sure he stood out like a sore thumb, but in the best way possible.
Still, he felt inadequate compared to Elsa. She had always been charming to him, but this dress makes her seem ethereal.
Her dress is made of colors plucked from the twilight sky, and the whorls of ice sequin in her skirts glitter. The gown of periwinkle has wide skirts and a bodice encrusted with thousands of those minuscule sequins that remind Michael of the surface of the sea. Her hair remained in its familiar braid, only difference is the weaving of pearls about the plait.
When her eyes find his, he forgets about the runes, and the demons, and the party buzzing around them. The Midnight Beauty and her plans and the purring fire and the darkness withing him fade into nothing.
"Are you going to be watching everyone for the rest of the evening?" she asks.
His spine stiffens slightly but musters a smirk. "Can't I enjoy a day off?"
"Oh, of course. I just didn't know what your plan was." He can see a hint of color flushing to her cheeks.
She truly must not know how beautiful she looks.
"You know, during my time as a soldier, crashing balls was a fine art of mine."
Elsa's following smile and giggle tugs at a string in his heart. Her body is warm beneath his hand, and her fingers are soft around his. He spins her and leads her about the floor, waltzing as smoothly as he can. She doesn't falter a single step, nor does she seem to care about the many angry female faces that watch as dance after dance passed and they don't switch partners.
Of course, it isn't polite for a queen to dance with only one man, but it seems neither of them are able to focus on anything beyond the music that carries them onward. The music washes over them, building and falling, the melody mimicking itself, then starting over again.
"Everyone's watching us," she says. When did they last speak? It could have been ten minutes or an hour ago. The faces around them blur together.
"Don't worry about them. Let it just be you and me, tonight." A flash of what he could have sworn was longing shines in her eyes, but it's gone before he can be certain of it.
He doesn't know why, but seeing her makes him feel like a man.
The couples have since fled the dance floor, the two of them having carved their own little circle in the throng of revelers. He hopes Anna won't mind him paying a quick visit to her party. He thinks he sees the princess with Kristoff over by the buffet table, gorging on some of that delicious looking ice cream cake.
In all regards, they all seem to be better after what had transpired. Perhaps the party would do everyone some good. A time for celebration; to enjoy something fun and exciting – and thankfully, most of the citizens of Arendelle seem to agree. Despite the sneering faces, most are helping themselves to food, conversing among one another, and clinking glasses of wine.
"I would assume the other royals didn't appreciate your comings." Elsa says.
Michael smiles. "None were ever as gracious as you, keep mind."
"Were you ever allowed to just enjoy yourself at a gathering?" Michael spins Elsa, and she flow smoothly through the air before snapping back into his arms.
He sucks on a tooth. "No."
"Never?"
"It was my own choice." He says with a too-casual shrug. "I was so filled with hatred for the upper class that I viewed such gatherings with disgust. I hated everything about it. I hated the idea of getting dressed up and having to mingle among the people who couldn't spare their time and money for the common man. And being a rebel soldier, I was always worried about getting too close."
He twirls her before leading her into a promenade, some of the party revelers – likely the citizens and not the dignitaries – having joined in a group dance.
"What about now?" she asks quietly, the hush in her tone setting his skin tingling.
"When I actually take a step back, and look . . . your kingdom is the one of few that I've seen that stands for the good of many."
"And our little gatherings?" she giggles with a flutter of her lashes.
He chuckles. "I supposed it has its charms."
Another smile that sets her eyes glittering like her dress. "Then enjoy yourself to your heart's content."
He suddenly feels the urge to kiss her—hard—upon the mouth. But this—what he feels, it could never be real.
Because once the ball is over, she will go back to being a queen, and he will still be a mercenary. Michael swallows hard.
For tonight, though . . .
He holds her closer.
And then the music explodes around them, and Michael takes her with it, spinning her so that her skirts fan out around her. The periwinkle tint of the skirt reflecting blue in the fading light. He pulls her in for another spin, and Elsa giggles as he dips her down, his legs nearly swallowed by her skirts.
When he hoists her back up and releases her, she curtseys low as he holds his hand over his heart and bows at the waist.
All around them the goers clap, but the air is still as there are no words of encouragement, no bravos or smiles of awe. Just stiff clapping, but the queen and the assassin keep smiling at one another.
She's lost—lost in a world of which she's always dreamed. His hands feel so warm against her own, the evening light catches in his sapphire eyes, setting them shining. Some would argue that his thundercloud jacket matches her periwinkle dress.
When they finally found an ending to the orchestra's number, it was a bittersweet feeling for Elsa; then again, when she finally did sit still, her feet were near numb from her heels. Michael too seemed more than happy to oblige for a break in the dancing. Still they didn't part their ways.
Instead, she loops her arm through his and he guides her towards the tables holding leftover foods and some remaining water – thank the gods. They help themselves to several cups, both laughing at the other's desperate gulping.
Throughout the evening they never left the other's side, Michael would occasionally survey the party, watching for anyone to do anything suspicious. But apart from the occasional sneer from a visiting prince, or even a woman villager, there doesn't seem to be anything worth nothing.
Elsa doesn't know whether to be happy, or more concerned. Both of them seemed sure that something would happen tonight, but she won't question it.
The party continues into the night, and Elsa and Michael manage to slip away through the front gates and to the bridge. They don't cross, just stopping halfway to watch the sky bloom to life with many stars, and the rippling Northern Lights.
It feels good to rest her arms against the cold stone – and for once she's grateful for her ice magic, if Michael's sweaty forehead is any indication.
The two of them lean against the lip of the bridge, Michael forward on his elbows, crossing his ankles. Elsa pulls the periwinkle shawl close to her shoulders.
"There's a nip in the air. Winter may be just around the corner." He says as a mild wind whips past them.
"It'll be nice to have you for Christmas." She blurts before realizing.
Her blood roars through her ears, especially as he turns to her with a smile and an arced brow.
"I – I mean, that is, if you stay long enough for Christmas."
"You guys don't have many guests during the holidays?"
"We tried earlier on, but most of our citizens had holiday traditions of their own. And then thanks to Olaf getting lost, we have a sort of, new holiday tradition."
"How does Olaf getting lost create a new tradition? What is it like, 'Find the Olaf in the Snowstack?"
Elsa laughs. "It's a long story. One for another night." In the glow of the moon reflecting off of the ocean surface, his profile is illuminated.
Elsa turns to stare out at the open ocean again, blinking and clearing her throat. She stares at the passage between the two mountain sides leading out into an unknown world beyond.
"I hope you had fun tonight." She says, this time not meeting his stare.
A moment of silence. "You know . . . I actually did. It was nice to put away the cloak and daggers for a bit. If only for a moment. And to not be at such celebration with the intent on killing someone."
Elsa swallows past the tightness that seizes her throat. He had meant for it to be a joke, but . . .
"I'm sorry." He says a heartbeat later. "It was nice to just enjoy myself. Forget about my problems."
She traces a nail along the stone of the bridge. "Are you really an assassin?" she asks softly.
The smile fades. Now he looks out to the sea. "I never really thought of myself as one." He lowers his head. "But, maybe I just wasn't aware."
Silence. He doesn't look at her, just on the distant rippling instead.
"I had been so consumed with anger and hatred, I didn't care what I did. So long as it helped me guarantee on getting that king's head on a pike."
The shift in his voice, the way it suddenly becomes laced with a deadly growl . . .
"But when looking back, a lot of things seem to line up. More than I care to admit." He slides his eyes to her. His face almost looks bone white. But the look in his eyes . . .
Fear – fear is what lies in those pools of sapphire. So raw and undiluted it almost made him appear like a child. It cracked at Elsa's heart.
The fear of what she'll think of him now that he's laid a bit of truth before her. The fear of losing whatever it is they share between them – what he shares with Anna and Kristoff. She dares to take a step closer to him, placing her hand atop of his. Her fingers bumping over his callus knuckles.
"You're not a monster, Michael."
A cold chuckle. "You haven't seen all of me . . . And I pray to the gods that you never do."
How many women had run from that part of him; female soldiers threatened by it, court women intimidated by it, and citizens fearing it? Elsa hates them all merely for putting the question in his eyes.
"You did what you had to do to survive. As did I. I know it probably pales in comparison, but –"
"No. No don't ever say that. Everybody goes through something. We all have scars, Elsa. It's just unfortunate that mine are more visible."
"I hope they at least paid you well."
"They did." He says with a casual shrug. "But as you can imagine, commanders and fellow comrades aren't very . . . forthcoming with many compliments."
How long had it been since he felt cherished?
Did his parents have any idea that in the entire kingdom, in the entire world – despite having been raised through such hardships – there is no one more noble and loyal than him? That the boy they'd lost had become the sort of man that kings and queens could only dream of having serve in their courts?
The sort of man that she hadn't believed existed, not after Hans, not after everything that had happened.
"You would make an amazing knight if you tried. Maybe even Captain." She says.
He chuckles. "I don't think so. Doesn't really seem like my mind of thing."
"You never know until you try." She hums, giving a comforting smile.
Michael caresses her back, and she looks at him. Her heart jumps into a gallop, and all of her thoughts dissolve, like dew beneath the morning sun.
"I just want to say, I really appreciate you letting me stay at the party. You and Anna." He says, his tone low and delightful sounding.
Elsa swallows. "Of course. It wouldn't have felt the same without you – in uniform or not."
Something like pain flashes in his eyes, but he blinks it away before she can be sure. "It just felt nice to actually feel, normal. Even if balls and dignitaries aren't my first choosing . . . or the second . . . or the third," She elbows him and he gives another skin-tingling smile, "it felt nice to just, enjoy the festivity. And I have you to thank for it."
She giggles again, and Michael keeps staring at her.
He hasn't once taken his eyes off her. Michael's expression is full of—something. Joy? Wonder? His shoulders are straight, his back erect. He looks like a man. Like a king.
She should pay more attention — but . . . but . . . Oh, she wants Michael, she can't deny it. She wants him.
Then, she doesn't know what insane god possessed her to say this, but when she opens her mouth, "What will you do once your contract with us if fulfilled?"
Better than asking, What would you do if you weren't a soldier?
He seems to understand this and ponders. "I'm not sure. I don't think I'd ever find a place as nice as Arendelle. But I never really thought that far ahead for me. I'm not sure I'm ready to settle down. More out of habit than choice." A long pause. He then turns downcast. "I've been running for so long I've forgotten what it's like to just stop and look. To realize that that part of my life is over now."
Only a few of his words register, hitting her like a punch to the face. I'm not sure I'm ready to settle down. Gone. He'll be gone. "Where will you go?"
"I don't know." He says, "Anywhere, I suppose."
She can hardly breathe, but she manages to say, "And what would you do?"
Michael shrugs, and both of them realize that she's been gripping his hand. She eases her grip, but her fingers ache to grab his again, as though it would somehow keep him from leaving. "Live my life, I suppose. Live it the way I want to, for once. Learn how to be a normal man."
"How far away?"
His sapphire eyes flicker. "I'd travel until I find a place where they'd never heard of war. If such a place exists."
And he will never come back.
And because he is young, and so damn clever and amusing and wonderful, wherever he makes his home, there will be some woman who will fall in love with him and who will make him her husband, and that is the worst truth of all.
It had snuck up on her, this pain and terror and rage at the thought of anyone else with him. Every look, every word from him . . . She didn't even know when it had started.
"You could live here," she says quietly.
"What?" His brows narrow.
"Here. In Arendelle. You said you've never seen many other kingdoms like this." His brows lift. "We can get you a nice apartment, or a townhouse in the upper districts. It'll only be a short walk from the castle, we have plenty of open farmland –"
"Elsa, Elsa." He grabs her by the shoulders. He spares her a brief chuckle. "I appreciate that. But I can't take your money. Not like that."
"The just save up with what we pay you here. We can go to the bank and open a new account for you."
Gods, she's starting to babble now. And it's starting to make him uncomfortable.
"I don't know if that's a good idea."
"Why? I thought you were retired from the rebellion. And, you hadn't really said much about anyone 'looking' for you."
"It's not that it's just, this is a very flattering offer, and . . . I – I just" – she's never heard him stutter before – "Let me think about it, okay? We still have a long way to go; a lot more things to figure out before I can even begin to decide on a life for myself."
Her thoughts seem to finally catch up with her, and they clamp her mouth shut with an agreeing nod. "Right. You're right, I'm sorry."
"I really do appreciate it. Just, let me think about it."
"Yeah. Of course."
No doubt he catches the glimmer of pain and hope in her eyes, and before she knew what he was doing, he's closed the distance between them, one hand on her waist and the other around her shoulder.
He pulls her against his chest, and she feels him rest his lips atop her head. He mutters against her ear. "Thank you, Elsa. Really."
Rather than make things possibly worse, Elsa forces herself to clamp her mouth shut. She just closes her eyes as she rests her head against his chest, hearing the strong and loyal beating heart beneath as she feels the cradle of his warmth.
She tries to memorize it in the darkness of her closed eyes., out of fear she might never feel it again. Out of fear she might forget it.
When the clock chimes three and most of the guests—including Anna and Kristoff — had left, Michael finally decided that it was safe for him to leave. So they slipped from the ball, Michael taking the time to make sure she is safely inside.
The halls of the castle are silent as they strode to her room, Michael taking the empty servants' passages to avoid any too-curious courtiers learning more about him. They're relatively bare of any activity at this hour.
Whenever he slips out of the shadows, alternating from her left to her right, they would try to spare some kind of conversation – Elsa voicing her pity for any woman who ever tried to chase after him. Michael smiles to himself, running his fingers through his hair as they enter the hallway that leads to her rooms.
Elsa's heart pounds, but she managed a coy smile as Michael bows to her, opens the door, and she steps inside. The servants have already taken to lighting the pink glazed sconces of her room, casting the colors into a pale rose-pink hue. No fire in the fireplace yet. Elsa folds her lips in as her eyes find Sir Jorgenbjorgen resting against her pillows. She resists the urge to hide the little penguin under said pillows.
She unfastens her confounded heels, tossing them into the dressing room across the way, and sighs as the cool wood meets her flushed skin. Behind her she can hear Michael chuckle and the unqueenly-like gesture.
"I'm impressed we got up here so quickly—and without a pack of court ladies hounding after you." She says.
"Frankly, I'm hurt you don't believe in my skills. I've outrun worse than a simple bug-eyed, wooden headed ninny." Michael says as he leans against the threshold.
Elsa clicks her tongue. "Be nice. Some of them are good people."
"Some. Not all."
"I should've known only one ball wouldn't be enough to change your mind of court ladies." The queen says with a sigh.
"I'm not interested in court ladies," he says thickly.
Elsa tries to swallow past her raging heart. Thank goodness for the dim lighting, otherwise the color on her cheeks would ruin her attempt at hiding her modesty. Still, she can't bury the urge to fiddle with her braid.
She doesn't know what to do. What is he waiting for? Her thoughts only make her more excited at the reminder that neither of them had any drinks at the parry. This isn't some lustful night of passion – brought upon by a night of ecstasy.
This is . . . this is . . .
The burning words leave her mouth – both a question and a challenge – breaking past her lips. If only because she doesn't know what else to say. She meanders her way over to the one of the glass balcony doors, further into her room. "So, what are you interested in?"
Michael approaches her slowly – each step lined with restrained power and grace – halting only a hand's breath away. "I've slowly been trying to figure that out," he says, and braces an arm against the glass beside her head. She raised her eyes, examining the black detail on the sleeve that falls just above her hair.
"And?" she mumbles, unable to look away.
His eyes dip down to her lips, her neck. His other hand reaches up and Elsa gasps when she feels the brush of his fingers against her collarbone.
The cold of the chain presses against the back of her neck, and Elsa watches as Michael lifts the charm of her necklace – the necklace he gave her and hasn't taken off since – and brings it to his lips.
Sapphire eyes blaze into her own, piercing down into her very soul. She can feel her nipples pebble under that stare. A mountain lion ready to pounce.
Michael goes preternaturally still. "And I think I'm interested in you."
He brushes away a couple of stray hairs, lifts her chin, and kisses her.
His mouth is warm, and his lips are smooth, and Elsa loses all sense of time and place as she slowly kisses him back. He pulls away for a moment, looks into her eyes as they open, and kisses her again. It was different this time—deeper, full of need.
Her arms are heavy and light all at once, and the room twirls round and round. She can't stop. She likes this—likes being kissed by him, likes the smell and the taste and the feel of him.
His arm slips around her waist and he holds her tightly to him as his lips move against hers. She puts a hand on his shoulder, her fingers digging into the muscle that lay beneath.
He removes his mouth from hers and smiles. It is infectious. Michael leans forward again, but she smoothly puts two fingers against his lips.
"I should go to bed," she says. He raises his eyebrows. "Alone," she adds.
He removes her fingers from his mouth. "I hope I didn't overstep any boundary."
"No," she nearly sighs into his lips. "Never."
There had never been any boundaries between them, only fear and pride. Because from the moment he stood there in the throne room, iron cuffs still around his ankles and he had set those eyes upon her, still fierce despite years in hell, she knew there was no stopping the bond forming between them.
He tries to kiss her, but she angles her head and his lips end nibbling on the soft skin of her neck. Elsa whimpers with pleasure as her hand presses against his chest. She clamps her thighs together – as if it will stop the throbbing beginning to torture her between them.
Still the slightest push she gives has Michael pulling back, but he doesn't let her go. "What about you, Your Majesty?" he purrs in her ear. It sends her skin crawling with delight.
Think . . . words . . . answer . . .
"I think I'm interested in you." She breathes.
Gods, the broadness of his shoulders hovering over her, the feeling of his large hands on her waist . . .
She forces herself to give him another gentle push, despite some innate female part of her screaming to pull him to the bed. He seems to understand both concepts as he takes her hand and guides her towards the doors to her room. He steps out while she stays inside. She peers into the hall, watching as he continues to smile. "Good night."
Michael leans against the door, bringing his face close to hers. "Good night," he whispers, and she didn't stop him as he kisses her hand, and then her lips again. He breaks it off before she is ready, and she almost falls onto the ground as he removes his weight from the door. He laughs softly.
"Good night," she says again, heat rushing to her face. Then he is gone.
Elsa strides to the balcony and flings open the three sets of doors, embracing the chill air. She can still feel her lips on his, smell the scent of his hair, and see the blue of his eyes flickering in the candlelight. Her hand rises to her lips and she stares up at the stars, feeling her heart grow, and grow, and grow.
He'd gone for a run around the kingdom before dawn.
For exercise . . . and to . . . clear his mind.
Certainly not because the effects of his kiss with the queen are still fresh in his mind. In his blood.
Even if he'd gone to the ball for common reasons, he had had some fun dancing with Elsa. More than some, actually. The rush of having Elsa look only at him, talk only to him, treat him as if he were her equal and more hadn't yet worn off. He nearly sprinted the entirety, almost vomited during the remaining trek.
Indeed the seasonal change is on the rise, as the cold nip from last night had transferred into early morning. He had to bundle up a little bit on his run – his eyes and nose stinging from the cold despite the rest of his body being warm with sweat. Once he crossed the bridge and through the front gates, Michael decides to take a scenic route back to his rooms.
He cuts through the gardens to avoid any guards or servants that might've seen him walk into Elsa's room – and didn't see him walk out. despite that had happened, even when it had him soaring, he won't risk her reputation because of mindless gossip.
Suddenly, he pauses as he sees a shadow move out of the corner of his eye, He stares up, and can't stop smiling at the young woman's balcony, watching as she waltzes alone, lost in her dreams.
She stops and stares upwards. Even from a distance, he can see the blush still upon her cheeks. She seems young—no, new. It made his feet light.
He watches, watches until she sighs and goes inside.