Elsa is still grinning to herself like a schoolgirl as she rolls over in bed. The morning light leaks through the crack in her curtains, glittering yellow and warming her face. She burrows beeper beneath her blankets as she rolls onto a cold spot on her bed. But her body has never felt warmer.
Her heart does twinge at the thought of what this means for them. She didn't take him to bed – but it didn't seem like he expected it. He seemed more than willing to follow whatever lead she chose.
Her heat flutters with her eyes as she bats them open.
He was willing to let her choose – and no matter what it would've been, he would respect it. If she told him to crawl into a hole and die, he would.
Gods no, she would never. But what is she to do with this confession? What does this make them? How badly will it interfere with the investigation, their lives – his life.
I'm not ready to settle down.
Her heart sinks, but she can feel its little wings fluttering to keep afloat. He hadn't allowed himself to think that far – forced to feel like he's on the run, unable to sleep in the same place twice. He said himself that he can't seem to let that life go; to understand that no one is out to get him, at least, no one from his past . . . she would assume.
Gods, it's starting to look more like a mess. The best thing for her to do is to go and see him. They need to talk this out – with what they confessed to each other last night, there's no way he'll turn her away.
Not that he would, she is the Queen.
Grinning to herself, Elsa tosses off the sheets and hurries to her dressing room.
Emerging about an hour later, Elsa smiles at herself; her thoughts at war with one another as she looks at her passing reflection in the hall mirror.
She had chosen a dress that matches Michael's eyes – a deep azure blue of simple make, the silk fabric clinging her chest and hips, and the pointed sleeves tipped with a touch of her ice sequin for a little more sparkle.
She hated herself for acting like such a lovesick youth. Swooning over a man after a kiss – a rather steamy kiss, giggling to herself and rolling around in her bed with glee. She shouldn't be acting like this – especially when she still has no idea what they even are – but at the same time, she can't seem to help herself. She hasn't stopped smiling since last night, even twirling around her room in her dress, waltzing with herself before her balcony.
Brushing a few strands of hair out of her face, Elsa's hand goes to the snowflake pendant. She clasps her hand around it, feeling the warmth of the pendant seep into her fingertips.
She comes to the spiral staircase, sighing to herself at the thought of being buried in papers all day, but it would seem she doesn't have to. As she reaches the end of the stairs, Elsa hears her name called from the opposite end of the hall.
Looking past the line of armor standees, she sees Kai hurrying towards her in a quickened walk. The expression on his face banishes all thoughts about Michael as he approaches with his hands folded in front, brows furrowed, and worry within his dirt brown eyes.
"Your Majesty," he says, Elsa trying not to let her own fear show at the quiver in his tone.
"Kai? Is everything okay?" she asks as he reaches her.
"Well, I don't know." He swallows. "The guards just reported to me that there are two figures standing outside the front gates. They wish to see Michael."
Elsa's heart jumps to jackrabbit speed, her breathing following. Her fingertips touch the snowflake pendant once more, forcing herself to take two deep breaths.
"Alright, I'll go and get him, and we'll meet them at the front. Tell them we'll be there shortly, but they have to wait at the gate, if you haven't already. If they even have a problem with that . . ." Elsa bites her lip. "Just, hold them off until we can get there."
"Yes, Your Majesty." Kai says with a bow.
As her steward heads back to the front, Elsa takes a deep breath and smooths the front of her dress. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear as she swiftly walks towards the direction of Michael's room. At this point she could practically navigate the course blindfolded.
Who are these people?
They couldn't be another assassin sent by that woman, could they? They would've destroyed the castle by now.
It still could be a trick, she thinks to herself. People like her are chock full of them. She probably has so many ideas, so many possibilities; and only Michael may be able to see right through them, to think ahead of her. She doesn't know anything about this, she and Anna still barely have any training past the self-defense tactics he'd taught them. They're not ready for something like this.
Her only hope is that she knew Michael has to be up at this hour. She'd caught him several times training in the front courtyard in the early hours of the morning. And with his pelvis seemingly healed, today would be no different.
She tries to catch her breath as the doors to his rooms come into view. The skirts of her dress whisper against the carpet as she increases her pace, clasping the snowflake pendant in her right hand.
All throughout her walk, she had felt a slight pull in her chest. Like someone had tied a string to her ribs. She could feel it pulling her, ushering her along like a will-o-the-wisp. It seems to snake into Michael's rooms – a familiar warmth undulating freely like smoke on a bonfire. She gives the door two swift knocks before opening it, hearing Michael's voice chime for her to come in.
Sure enough, Michael is already awake and training. Elsa marvels as she finds the assassin in a handstand, except his hands are gripping the arms of a chair, his body perfectly straight as a pin. Unwavering.
"Good morning, Michael." Elsa says, unable to stop her smile.
"Good morning," the assassin peeps, his voice sounding a little strained.
He wears a fitted tunic with the sleeves removed, revealing the definition of his arms –polished with sweat and rock hard with muscle. It tucks into his pants, which stop at his ankles. His toes remain perfectly pointed like any skilled dancer. Sweat glistens on his forehead in the ever-growing light of the dawn, a stream trailing down from his jaw to his left temple. The ends of his raven black hair tickle the cushion of the seat, some clinging to the nape of his neck and forehead.
It would've been a lovelier sight if his skin didn't look so scarlet. "Maybe you should take a break." Elsa croons. "You're going to burst a vein."
"I've had to hold this for longer."
"When did you start?" Elsa asks as she approaches.
"Um, don't remember. Blood rush has my memory fogged."
"Stop that! Get down from there."
"I'm fine." He chuckles. A heartbeat of silence. "Are you okay?"
"Troubled," Elsa admits. She fiddles with the end of her braid, resisting the urge to touch the pendant.
"What's wrong?" Michael asks, refusing to break his hold. Elsa wonders how long he's been like that.
Elsa can feel her cheeks warming, unwavering at the smell of perspiration. He must've been working out for over an hour by now. "Kai just spoke with me, he said there are two people waiting at the front of the gate."
That causes Michael to descend from his handstand. In a slow, controlled movement, his legs lower and his feet plant on the carpet. He slowly uncurls his spine, allowing the blood to flow slickly from his head.
When he turns to her, the shift in his eyes is near frightening – glowing with concentrated anger and gravity, ready to protect her.
"Kai said they had asked for you. I didn't want to see them without you. Just in case."
"Understandable. Where's Anna?"
"I don't know. I haven't seen her; I've only just woken up."
His eyes scan all up and down her body, lingering in certain places. She fiddles with her hands behind her back, trying her best not to shift her feet. Still she bites her lip as the corner of Michael's mouth curls upwards in a smirk that would have – could have – broken many hearts.
She tries to ignore that little possibility as he gives gruff of a laugh. "You look quite dressed up for having just fallen out of bed."
Elsa smooths the skirt of her dress again, doing her best at giving a coy smile. "I am a queen, after all. I have to look my best."
Some shadow passes over his eyes for the briefest of seconds – something almost like pain, but she can't be sure.
"You don't need to try that hard."
She can feel color flushing to her cheeks. She shakes her head and forces herself to lift her chin. "So, what do we do?"
"Let me get dressed and I'll meet you down at the front door. Have you let them inside?"
"No, they're outside the front gates."
"Okay, I'll meet you down at the front doors. Don't let them in until I arrive."
Elsa nods, taking her leave as Michael heads for the bathroom when she suddenly pauses. "You don't think it's someone from your past, do you?"
Michael, too, has paused, a hand on the knob to the bathroom door. "I didn't. Until now."
The queen cringes. "Sorry."
"It's fine." He says with a shake of his head, not even bothering to look back at her.
"It'll be alright, Michael." She doesn't know what else to say, but she's never been so sure on anything in her life before.
He's quiet for a heartbeat, then says, "Thank you."
If there was someone here trying to collect some kind of debt from him, Elsa will pay whatever it is. If someone is trying to come and claim him, she will protect him under asylum. She will do anything to keep him safe, anything to make sure the phantoms of his old life never show their faces to him again.
He has a chance at a normal life. A chance to be a normal man.
Nothing gets to be more important than that.
Elsa gives another nod before turning and heading for the door. Her hand just grasps the knob when he calls from behind her. "Hey."
Elsa turns around, ready for more instructions. But as she faces him, she nearly yelps in surprise when Michael's lips envelop her own.
But a second later her body melts into his touch as she feels his arms encircle her, invited themselves around her waist. He draws her in. Elsa's heart crashes against the cage of her chest, beating against his. He pulls back too soon for her, her body near tipping like it did last night. It's only for a few seconds, but it's the best reprieve she'll ever have.
That same breath of a laugh before he leans in and murmurs against the curve of her cheekbone. "Nice dress."
A sound – she didn't know what it could've been, a laugh, a sigh or a whimper – escapes her lips. This makes his smirk widen.
He pats the small of her back. "Head down to the gates. I'll meet you there."
"What about Anna? And Kristoff?"
Michael's brows furrow as he contemplates. "If you want to bring them, that's fine. It's up to you."
She folds her lips in, biting the bottom. "No. Not yet. It's safer if she stays with Kristoff. Or, wherever she might be."
He nods in agreement. With that, he takes his leave. Elsa swallows her whimper as his hand slips from her waist, heading back towards the bathroom. She can't help but watch the muscles of his back expanding and contracting with every breath, rippling beneath the fabric of that tunic.
She snaps herself out of her trance and forces herself to turn and to leave his rooms. Entering back into the hall, she rubs her hands together as she makes her way towards the front door. Who are these people? What do they want?
She nearly tumbles when she feels a ghostly tendril connect to the well beneath the pit of her stomach. A common source of people with magic.
She can feel it – a separate thread reaching out. Towards the front gates.
Thought hesitant in her steps, Elsa still follows that pull – that ebb and flow in the world that some would call fate. She can feel her steps growing more confident as she pushes through the front doors, sparing a quick nod to Kai who must've been waiting for her. She spares the still terrified looking steward a nod; same to the guards as she crosses the courtyard.
The guard bows to her, his hand on his sword. Elsa nods to him, then nods at the two other men posted behind the large doors of the gates. The two of them only open the gates ajar, just wide enough for her to see and be seen, but narrow enough so that they can shut it at a moments notice.
She can't see much, just a mesh of colors and a gleam of leather. Elsa takes a step closer as she motions the guards to open them wider.
The groaning hinges catches the attention of the two figures on the other side, snapping their heads towards the crevice. Elsa refuses to flinch, lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders as the gates open wider.
Now her full figure is in view, but who she sees on the other side is not what she expected.
It's a man and a woman – but . . . something seems off.
Both of them are tall; their powerful, muscled bodies covered in plated, dark leather that reminds Elsa of the worn scales of some serpentine beast. Identical long swords are each strapped down the column of their spines—the blades beautiful in their simplicity.
The woman of the two, lifts her brows in surprise, quickly shifting to a smile made for the bedroom. "Well, hello."
Surprise sparks through Elsa, striking her dumb at the woman's beauty.
She's the most beautiful woman the queen has ever seen. Her body lithe and lean appears feminine and lush despite the muscles lining beneath her clothes. The curves of her chest and hips give her a smooth hourglass figure. Her wicked smile of impish mischief hides a promise of brutal death beneath.
Her hair is a glossy pale silver, lined with pastel colors of purple, pink, orange, red and everything in between. Her right side has three intricate braids – the plaits merging into the loose waves that fall past her shoulders. They give view to a snake tattoo that coils around her ear, its tail disappearing into the leaves of a bouquet of roses on the side of her neck. Where that tattoo ends Elsa can't see as they both seep under the collar of her armor.
The woman surveys Elsa from head to foot, her rainbow-colored hair shifting with the movement. "So fancy. Did Michael make you dress up for us?" She winks at Elsa.
There is something hardened about her features—like she'd been made of wind and earth and flame and all these civilized trappings are little more than an inconvenience.
But it's her eyes – the concentrated color of citrine – that has Elsa's heart beating fast. The simple outlining of kohl almost makes them appear cat-like, and yet they burn with a ferocity of wildfire. Or insanity.
Elsa realizes her mouth is agape, and clamps it shut as she clears her throat. "Um, who are you?"
The woman folds her arms with a disapproving click of her tongue. The man behind her, ever the gallant knight, bows at the waist.
His face is more classically beautiful of the two . . . Even the light shies from the elegant planes of his face. With good reason. Beautiful, but near-unreadable. A face that would earn him more women in a month than some courtesans hope to gain in a year. A face that he might have used for both pleasure and deception.
Built like a battering ram, he keeps his attention solely on the quick, lethal movements of woman as she continues to stare at Elsa – as if she expected to be let in already. Tall and broad-shouldered, every inch of him is corded with muscle, blooded with power. More than a dozen weapons expertly concealed beneath his leather armor.
He'd be the one to look out for—the knife in the dark. Indeed, an obsidian knife is sheathed at his thigh, its dark scabbard embossed with a line of lightning gold.
Stone cold compared to the woman's seemingly fiery temper.
But it's not his pale skin or the shimmering gold of his hair that makes Elsa balk.
No, it's the delicately pointed ears that poke through the hair. And the scarlet-red eyes that seem to swirl like smoke under stained-glass with some devastating power.
"Greetings, Your Majesty," is all he says, his voice low, almost flat, as he extend a scarred hand to her.
Elsa has to bite her tongue to prevent herself from taking a hesitant step back.
She is so caught up in the two people standing before here, she didn't even hear Michael approach from behind.
She does, however, hear the sigh of relief – and even a hint of excitement – in his voice as he near whispers over her shoulder.
"Danika?"