It was late afternoon. Inga sat in the castle garden, holding baby Lydia. The sun was pleasant enough, and almost took her mind off of her worries. In her free hand she held the letter she had received a few days ago from Henry. Her older children were playing a short distance away. Inga shifted little Lydia over so she could read the letter in her hand once more. Lydia was hardly a baby any more, and she had started to run around and get into trouble when she wasn't asleep like right now.

Inga stared at the date on the letter again. She hadn't received a letter yesterday or today, and she couldn't remember the last time she had gone that long without a letter from Henry.

September 12th, 1875

Dear Inga,

You'll be happy to hear that Corona has its fishing rights and the Southern Isles will be able to send their own trains into Corona. Unfortunately, Ambassador Pincar told me that they want to see me once more later this week, and this means I won't be able to leave tomorrow like they told me last week, but I'll let you know as soon as I can when I have a definite departure date. I think I should make it back before Aggie's birthday next week. I'll do my best.

Sorry, I didn't have a chance to finish this before being called to yet another state dinner. These men don't make pleasant dinner companions, and I really don't see what more they need from me that the Ambassador can't take care of himself.

I miss you terribly. Tell the children I'll be back as soon as I can. I hope Lukas is over his cold by now, and that no one else is sick. Please let me know!

Love,

Henry

P.S.- the birthday card Arianna made for me just arrived in the post yesterday, so please tell her I love it.

The letter hadn't initially bothered Inga. She was a little annoyed that they were keeping him in the Southern Isles a few days longer, but she had written back quickly, assuring him they were all well, and that the cold that Lukas had earlier in the week was already better. She was so used to getting a daily letter from Henry that she decided to save some of what was on her mind for the next letter; there was nothing urgent. They might be very busy, and if he could get back sooner, all the better. She shouldn't worry like this.

"Inga?" her mother called as she walked across the garden to sit down next to Inga.

"Hello," she replied quietly.

"Did Henry write back already?"

"No, this is the same letter from earlier this week," Inga admitted. "I think something's wrong."

"He might just be very busy."

"He said everything he needed to do was done. They're working him too hard. I wish his parents would go instead."

"Well, I guess we just need to wait."

Inga sighed. "I'm sorry I missed seeing Frederick off on his new ship yesterday."

"Lukas was sick, Frederick understands, especially now."

"I know."

There was a knock at the door of the embassy bedroom, pulling Inga out of her reverie. Looking up, she realized she had been sitting on the edge of the bed crying. She had no idea where to find a clean handkerchief in this room, so after hearing another knock at the door she wiped her tears with the back of her bare hand.

"Yes?" Inga called out.

"Your Highness?" she heard through the door. It was James, Henry's valet.

"Oh, James! Please come in," she replied, standing up and stepping toward the door.

Henry's valet walked in. Even though James was only six years older than she was, he always seemed considerably older. He looked somber this evening, and she had the feeling he had probably already been questioned at least once since Henry disappeared. He gave a bow as he entered the room, leaving the door slightly open, always one for propriety.

"Your Highness," he began, "I didn't realize you would be coming to the Southern Isles."

"I… I didn't tell anyone," she mumbled. "I suppose I'll have to tell people now."

"I don't think so, at least… I assume you wouldn't have left Arendelle without providing your mother with a plausible cover story. But it's not up to me whether anyone else finds out that you're here," he told her.

Inga nodded, looking away. James stood silently just inside the door.

"How long have you been here?" she asked, realizing it was a stupid question. He always traveled with Henry.

"I haven't gone anywhere since I arrived here at the end of the summer," he reminded her, "but I'm sure you're wondering, I last saw him September seventeenth. And, yes, that is nearly a week after your last letter. It was starting to look like they might be trying to intercept his letters, even the ones that don't go through the postal service. And we can't trust all of the messengers back to Corona, and there have been ongoing problems with the telegraph network," he informed her.

"Wait, who is trying to intercept letters? The Southern Isles? I thought Henry was here to sign off on some fishing rights," she muttered in confusion, half talking to herself.

"Mr. Nilsen will fill you in at dinner, I believe. He's told me to trust him, but I believe he has his reasons not to tell me everything he knows."

"I suppose I should head on to dinner, then," Inga sniffed, looking at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were still somewhat red.

"Henry keeps his handkerchiefs in the center top drawer," James informed her.

Inga opened the drawer and found a handkerchief. "Thank you, James, we'll speak more later, I'm sure."

Lars stood in the front hall of the embassy, examining the portrait of the members of Corona's royal family hanging on the wall. He had looked at it a few times in the last week or two since he'd arrived in the Southern Isles. The elderly King and Queen were seated in the center, with the Crown Princess, her husband, and their children and grandchildren standing around them, looking as if they had been startled by a photographer's flash. Henry and his oldest son were given obvious extra attention by the court painter, who seemed intent on emphasizing the line of succession more than capturing anyone's personality. The whole thing looked jarringly formal compared to the other paintings in the embassy.

A gust of wind blew in as John stepped in the front door, closing it quickly behind him, trying not to drip any water from his raincoat as he took it off.

"All the staff is at least a block away now," he told Lars. "I told them I had to run back and get my umbrella, and not to wait up. I'm sure they won't."

"Excellent, thanks," Lars nodded, looking back at the painting. It had been a last minute plan, and John had to act like he was one of the staff enjoying an unexpected night off for just long enough not to raise suspicion.

"Did James go up to check on Inga?"

"Yes. And I believe him that he wasn't expecting her to come here, either."

John stepped up next to him, looking at the portrait. "I didn't get a chance to tell you earlier, with all the fuss after we found Inga this afternoon, I did manage to find the port schedule. Captain Nilsen's ship is going to be in port two weeks from now for three days, and his next port is Corona."

"Good, his schedule hasn't changed since he left New York." Lars had nearly forgotten their entire reason for being at the port customs house earlier that day. He had simply been milling about in the arrival area, waiting for John to come back from the luggage hold where the schedules were posted. He thought he was imagining things when he first saw Inga coming into the building from the ship that had arrived that morning, but she had started speaking just as John had joined him, and there was no doubt that it was her. John had rushed out to get the carriage ready, and Lars had to think quickly before she got detained, and with no passport, she clearly hadn't thought through how to answer any of the more difficult questions they might have had for her.

"Do you know if Inga is coming down for dinner?" John asked him.

"I haven't heard otherwise."

"What are you planning to tell her tonight?"

"We need to tell her about Ambassador Pincar, at least. Otherwise, I don't know. She seemed… I'd say almost fragile this afternoon, and I don't trust her judgment in coming here like she did. Besides, there's so much we're not sure about. With the telegraph still down, we don't know if anyone knows that she's gone, and we can't even be sure that Pincar's message about Henry made it to Corona. I'd like her to tell us what she knows first, but I'm not about to interrogate her." Lars remembered the sixteen-year-old princess he had first met so many years ago, so freely sharing personal anecdotes. Now that he really needed to find out what was going on, she seemed to quickly turn each question back to him.

"Don't you think we should tell her about-" John stopped himself when a door opened near the top of the stairs. Lars didn't notice that he was holding his breath until he saw James appear at the top of the stairs.

"Sir," James called down, "if you don't mind, I'll be turning in early this evening."

"Did you eat yet, James?" John called back up. "I'm about to cook dinner."

"Thank you, but I had something sent up an hour ago before the staff left. Good night."

"Good night, then!" Lars called up after him. "You were saying, John?"

"I'll let you make the final call, but she needs to know that a lot more people than Henry have been caught up in all this."

Inga found Lars sitting in the dining room, sipping at his drink. No one else was in the room.

"Good evening," she greeted him as she walked in.

"I hope you're feeling refreshed," he said, sounding much more subdued than he had earlier in the day at the port, but there was an awkward air of formality. "Dinner should be ready in a minute or two."

"Should we be waiting for anyone else?" she asked him.

"Not right now," he replied, "John will be joining us for dinner as soon as it's ready."

"What about the staff?"

"Everyone has the night off except for James. We bought tickets for everyone to spend the evening at the Vesterport Gardens."

"And Ambassador Pincar?"

Lars looked at her. "Oh, of course you wouldn't know, I should have thought… Pincar was last seen a day or two after Henry. The staff's stories are distinctly unclear on the details."

"Why has there been no news about any of this? Not even private messages to any of us? Why haven't I heard anything from Corona? Is this related to the telegraph problems?"

Before Lars had a chance to reply, John came in with the food then sat down at the end of the table. Lars started eating wordlessly. Looking at her own plate, Inga realized that she was still not feeling like eating, despite feeling much better than she had when she got off the boat. She spotted some potatoes, and picked at a small portion, and thankfully they smelled very bland. She gave them a small bite, and hoped that she could get away without eating too much more.

"Did the kitchen staff make dinner before they left for the evening?" Inga asked, hoping to make conversation.

"No, this is my cooking," John told her. "Sorry if it's a bit late, but I waited until everyone here had left before I started."

"You really don't trust the staff here, I take it?" she asked while Lars took another bite of food.

John smirked and raised an eyebrow, looking at Lars.

"Not particularly, no," Lars told her. "I was already suspicious because of the stories I heard from my Academy classmates that I keep in touch with. As far as any of the staff here knows, John only speaks English, so they don't think they need to watch what they say around him. Pretty much everyone is on the payroll of the secret police here."

"Is it really that bad? And why doesn't Corona bring its own staff?"

"First of all, there was no proof before that anything was wrong, and second of all, nobody from Corona wants to stay long enough, unless they're also making extra money."

"Can't Corona pay more?"

"It's not always about the money," John told her. "If it were about money, I'd still be in Arendelle."

"And about that-" Inga began.

"Everyone was wonderful," John interrupted before she could ask her question, "and I was just about set for life, so don't worry about it. But Lars is right, you don't know what you've gotten yourself into here."

"Fine, but… wait! If I'm in such trouble, why bring me to a place with staff you don't trust?"

Lars and John looked at each other for a moment like they expected the other to speak first. Part of her wondered if the two of them even knew what it was they were warning her about. She found herself more exasperated than afraid.

She reminded herself that at least these two weren't dismissing her concerns outright like most people in Arendelle. Worse were the ones who would not very subtly suggest that Henry's extended absence was a personal matter and not something she should mention in public, never willing to tell her which rumor they had heard. Her mind had gone through so many possibilities about what might have happened to Henry before she even left home, and she wished that Lars would just tell her everything at once.

Finally, Lars broke the silence. "You'll be safe here," he said, "but we are curious if someone is going to let it slip that you're here. But you're safe, I promise."

"If you say so," Inga replied, not feeling completely reassured.

The three sat in silence for a while, with Inga watching the two men eating, moving her food around her plate some more. She couldn't go home, not just yet, but she had even less idea of what she would do while she was in the Southern Isles than she had had a few hours before.

"Inga, is there anything wrong with the food?" Lars asked. "John had told me that's one of your favorite things to order at Hudson's Hearth."

"Oh," Inga sighed, looking at her plate and feeling guilty. "I'm sorry, I thought I'd have more of an appetite by now, but I really can't eat at the moment."

"Were the seas that rough on your way here?" Lars asked her.

"They weren't that rough, just remarkably windy," she answered.

"You don't need to eat if you don't want to. Sea voyages are difficult, trust me, I know. I'm honestly quite impressed at how often you've traveled back and forth between Corona and Arendelle by now."

"Well, yes, it's… it's expected." Inga didn't want to think about that for the moment. She couldn't think about Henry or the children without feeling overwhelmed right now.

Lars looked over at her and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, I know you're here to find him."

Inga swallowed, realizing she still hadn't really learned anything. "So why is he missing?"

"Do you know about the succession crisis here?" Lars asked, his voice firm but tense.

"I have to be honest, I hadn't really paid attention. I don't think I've seen anything in the newspapers."

Lars laughed. "Yes, that might mean something if we were talking about Corona, or maybe Arendelle."

"Even so, the King has thirteen sons. It seems rather ridiculous, doesn't it?"

"But the Southern Isles follows Salic Law, you know."

"Well, yes," she replied, having had European succession laws drilled into her by more than one tutor. "So only direct male line descendants can inherit."

"Yes, and the king's surviving grandchildren are all female."

Inga looked at Lars pointedly.

"Fine, all his known grandchildren," Lars grumbled. "You should know that I'd like to keep it that way, being unknown, because quite a lot of the King's grandsons, legitimate or not, have had a way of meeting peculiar ends. Most of the officially illegitimate grandchildren are just from unofficial marriages, particularly in the colonies, so they've been acknowledged. A few of them are far enough away that they haven't had any trouble."

"Oh, right, they don't have any rules against legitimized sons inheriting," Inga recalled. She noticed Lars looking at her. "Yes, I checked once, out of curiosity. You could have a claim if you wanted."

"There are quite a few reasons for me not to want that, besides putting myself and my family at risk, not the least of which would be that I'd have to be recognized. I rather enjoy my anonymity right now. I know all the diplomats from Corona, I hold legal privileges from Arendelle, and unless I'm in Washington, I can live with my family as an ordinary citizen in America."

Inga nodded, but then thought about that passport he had produced to get her out of the port terminal quickly earlier that day.

"Lars, about that- living as an ordinary citizen, that is... are you supposed to be able to get an American passport while working as Arendelle's ambassador?"

"No, of course not," Lars answered quickly, "And once you're back in Arendelle, you can bring that up with the council if you like. And before you start, I know you saw the money. That was legitimately acquired. Elizabeth has been investing the money from her dowry, quite successfully, I might add."

Inga thought for a moment. "I was starting to wonder why you've never asked for a raise in your pay all these years."

"We live quite comfortably," he insisted, sounding almost relaxed again, "I suppose Elizabeth would never tell you if we were struggling, but we're doing quite well."

"That is nice to know," Inga acknowledged. Elizabeth's letters were nearly always positive, to the point that Inga started to wonder if she was supposed to read between the lines for anything. But she might simply be quite content with her life.

Lars went back to eating, along with John, and Inga took a few more tentative bites of potato, while her thoughts sped ahead of her.

"You still haven't explained to me what this succession crisis has to do with my husband."

"We can't be entirely-" Lars replied.

"Lars," John interrupted, "What about what James said?"

"What did James say?" Inga demanded, looking back and forth from John to Lars. She wasn't sure what sort of information James would have kept from her, and she was tired of Lars in particular appearing so hesitant to tell her anything. Was it because of that night so many years ago when Lars had encountered her in such a panic after learning about who he really was? Did he expect her to react that way every time she heard unsettling news, simply because she had allowed herself to cry a few hours before in the carriage on the way to the embassy?

"Did he tell you anything this evening?" Lars asked her.

"Not really, just that Henry was worried about someone intercepting his letters," Inga replied.

"Well, that's true," Lars agreed, "and I suppose James didn't feel comfortable telling you what he told us, even if you're probably in more of a position to need to know it."

"What should I know?"

"A few of the princes are widowers," Lars began, "and they're trying to remarry."

"So? How does that concern any of us?"

"From what James told us, one of the princes he met with was disappointed because Henry wouldn't discuss making an introduction to his sister-in-law who just turned eighteen."

"Wait, what? Sofia?" Inga exclaimed, "Well, of course Henry wouldn't. She's entirely too young."

"Oh? You think there's a problem with getting married at eighteen?" Lars asked pointedly.

"No, that's obviously not what I meant," Inga mumbled, looking down at her plate again. "How old is this man? He must be close to sixty."

"Well, yes, and one of the older brothers seemed to also be interested. There are plenty of princesses, though, and they don't really need to consider your sister, since it would obviously not work either politically or personally." Lars stopped speaking, but didn't look like he was finished saying what there was to say.

"So what does worry you?" Inga demanded.

"There's no reason to worry about that just yet, and even so-"

"Just yet?" Inga asked.

"Henry is probably fine," John said, "and you're not about to agree to anything like that."

"Like what?" Inga swallowed hard. "And what do you mean by saying he's probably fine?"

"The state dinner, a few days before he disappeared, the two princes Henry was sitting with were discussing the advantages of young widows who already have children. They were rather blunt about it, and according to what James told us, Henry seemed to think they were deliberately discussing women similar to you."

"Even if…" Inga couldn't complete her thought, trying to push down the mix of anger and fear washing over her. She swallowed hard. "I'd never agree to something like that."

"I'm sure you wouldn't," Lars agreed, "but they have something on Arendelle, or at least they think they have something, though I can't figure out what it is…"

She had to try not to cry right now. "I think I'll go to bed now," she told him.

"It's not even eight," Lars protested. "Are you sure?"

"I'm not even sure that I should be here," she snapped, "but I'm pretty sure that I need sleep right now."

"Sorry, of course," Lars said, "there's been a lot today."

"Fine," she said, rising from the table. She began to walk to the door, briefly turning around. "Good night, then."

"Oh, and Inga, if you're feeling up to it, John and I will be going on an errand of sorts tomorrow morning, and you can come with us."

"Thank you, I think I will," she told him.

Inga stared up at the ceiling as she was lying in bed. The moulding looked like it was trying to be the same as the palace in Corona, but the workmanship was clearly different. Inga couldn't quite put her finger on what was different about it, but she was sure that Henry could tell her right away. She wanted to touch him. She wanted him looking at her, studying every part of her, sketching it out in the notebooks only she got to look at.

She reached over to the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out his notebook again, slowly leafing through. She found the page dated with Henry's birthday. It was a drawing of her at tea on the balcony in Corona, the day they had met. Had that been his birthday? She hadn't been aware at the time. Time did funny things.

Looking a page or two later, she recognized the paper sculpture that Arianna had made for him, or rather, several drawings of it. It suddenly occurred to her that she hadn't seen it anywhere in the room. The first place she checked was in the back of the drawer where the notebook had been, but it was empty, and next the drawer on the other side of the bed, but there was nothing in that side. Sitting in the middle of the bed, she looked around the room again. It was now an obsession, finding this small thing that she'd forgotten about for nearly two months. She got up and checked the drawer with the handkerchiefs. There was an envelope, not yet sealed. It was a small drawing of what looked like a carnival ride, "To Arianna" written in the upper corner.

"Mama, why isn't Papa back yet?"

"I don't know, Arianna," Inga replied, trying not to show any emotion. It had been a week since his last letter.

"He's usually home by now. And he hasn't sent me any drawings," her daughter observed.

"This does feel like home, doesn't it?"

"Well that's what you always call it here, isn't it, Mama?"