It was strange.

Between the moments leading up going back to that room, and the hell that came afterward, he could honestly say that he hadn't seen any of it coming, not in the ways that could have kept any of it from happening. Of course, Kristoff had never been, you know, the brightest, the smartest...but he had enough sense to make a life for himself, to do what he needed to so that he and Sven could just get by, but...there was nothing that occurred to him soon enough that gave him insight into the abject confusion that filled his every muscle, every thought, as he was dragged through the halls of the castle and to the cold, stone dungeons below. It never even occurred to him that this would happen, that Hans would be willing to go this far to...hell, he didn't even understand what all of this was for.

Opening his mouth, he tried to murmur something, a soft plea for them to be a bit gentler with him as he was struggling to keep up with their pace, his loose, shaky legs resolving to dragging against the stone floor that echoed in his blood-filled ears only matched by the sound of his skin, scrapping unceremoniously along with them. Through his discomfort, Kristoff could only scarcely wince, unable to vocalize much but a less-than-intelligible complaint through gritted teeth, though he supposed it was enough to round a response for one of the guards as, though he didn't catch what they'd said, something like a shout, perhaps, but regardless, their voice was loud in his ears, muffled by his confusion. It was because of this that he couldn't anticipate the gloved hand that collided crudely with his already swollen jaw, the two allowing him to fall to the ground in a distended heap.

Kristoff could hardly breathe.

What had he done wrong?

Why was this happening?

He was still reeling from the echoes of pure agony that rose and fell in violent waves over the mess that was his face when he was yanked from the floor. This wasn't without the strange humiliation that filled him as his nudity was practically broadcasted everywhere the guards at his sides had taken him. Was it not enough that he was left looking like...this? Did they have to leave him like this? Indecent, shamed...he couldn't even be allowed to try and cover himself, though it was hard enough, he knew, just staying awake as the splitting, violent headache that tore between his ears radiated with agitated presence. It was enough that he couldn't even really keep track of where they were, or how many cells they'd passed, but he could hear them speaking again, and with greater effort, he somehow mustered the will to try and piece together what they were saying, though that, by itself, was difficult.

He was smart enough to at least understand that he needed to try and be aware of what would happen to him, even if there wasn't much he could do about it from here, at least, not yet. Through his remaining, good eye, or the one that was the least swollen, the man could spot on them, the man on his right grinning as he reached down onto his belt and pulled loose a ring with an impossible number of keys on it. Fiddling with them, Kristoff only just realized that they'd come to a stop, or rather, his stop, a single, unassuming door at an unnamed point in the hall that they'd just been walking (or in his case, dragged) down. He assumed this would be where he would stay, and though he thought to try and convince them of his innocence, anything at all, something in the man's words caught his attention instead.

"...probably have a few minutes...blow off some steam...Hans won't mind...quick about this..." The guard handling the keys said, and as distorted as his voice was, Kristoff did what he could to try and comprehend what that would mean.

'Few minutes? For what? What do they...mean?' His stunted thoughts rolled in, a cavalcade of uncertainty as, with a click and a turn, the door was opened and Kristoff, again, was pulled along whilst the second, a heavier man than even him, laughed, presenting little care as the door was slammed shut behind them.

"...know what...good idea...dog...entertain us...use it...fuckin' animal..." The larger man uttered darkly, and before he could even process anything that they'd said, Kristoff was thrown to the ground of what he could only guess was his cell, the space dark and cold, and no sooner then the moment he hit the ground, his face, already sore and bruised, screamed as collided headlong with the stone beneath him. Squeezing his good eye shut, he could feel the men above him circling him, laughing amongst themselves as he tried to collect himself. But before he could, he felt one of them, their heavy, massive hand on his sluggish arm, drag him from the cold ground, and without a second more for consideration, he felt his lips part in silent anguish as, again, a gloved hand land a blow to his ruined face with a horrid crack that even he couldn't miss.

Oh, so that's what they meant.

Landing back-first onto the stone floor of his cell, the man heaved violently, trickles of blood rushing down his nose as, with strange, if muddled, clarity, he was certain was broken.

"...hey...saw that? Fucker's...is a bit crooked...fix that..." The man spoke with cruel amusement, as he was picked up again, though this time, he was held fast as the same fist broke on his face, streams of red fluid staining his face and remaining clothes. Kristoff could feel it...the shard of bone and cartilage folded strangely on his features as the punches came ceaselessly.

It was odd, though.

Kristoff had enough experience now with living with the rock trolls to be able to take a hit or two.

They were made of, well, stone, so play and roughhousing came with the occasion knick here, or a scratch or bruise there, but nothing really out of the ordinary, he knew. Heck, he'd even had a broken bone one or twice, but he was tough, he could take it.

And any other time, generally, he could have.

But it was hard.

Hard to parse pain from his mind as he thrown again from the man's grasp and onto the cold floor as the both joined in, taking what flesh they could and barreling into him with enough force that he thought, certainly, they would break more than just his nose. He was resilient, yes, but somehow, someway, his memories of injuries with the other kids in his home beyond were less painful than this.

Perhaps because then...they were just accidents. They weren't trying to hurt him, it was just...part of the deal, you know? They were rocks, after all. But here, with the kicking...and the stomping...the punching...the laughing...Kristoff could feel just about every blow, every moment, every second...and it was agony. He had enough sense to try and cover his head, to protect what little he could from them if only to save himself from the worst of it, only opening his mouth to spare from his lips a gasp, groans of his own, distorted voice louder in his ears than perhaps it was to them. After all, they didn't even seem to register that he'd been making noise at all, though...they appeared to, if their laughter, if their amusement at his meager words were any indication at all.

They just...thought it was funny.

They thought his struggling was funny.

They thought his pain was...funny.

The thought, the very idea of it, hung with strange presence in his addled mind, a sick consideration, he knew.

Why did they think this was funny?

Why was this happening to him at all?

Why?

He wasn't even sure what had happened to begin with...only that Anna was...left like that, then...then Hans. Hans' face above him as, with sudden recollection, was doing the same thing that they were right now. Opening his mouth, Kristoff tried to breathe out a protest, a vocalization of his confusion as the onslaught went on for what felt like minutes, hours...an eternity.

But nothing came out.

Just whispers of complaints on numb lips as, finally, they seemed to stop, each standing over him as they gave credence to their handiwork, but the man at the feet didn't dare look up to meet their gaze. It was hard enough just breathing, let alone considering to move, but even more, there was the sensation that even thinking about moving was grounds enough to feel sick with discomfort at the notion. It was better to remain still, to wait until he could gather himself, though even that was posing to be a greater challenge than he'd anticipated once they'd stopped, the young man his muscles scream with protest at the notion of moving again.

'Have to...just...stay still. They'll...l-leave...just...just a little longer...' He tried to reassure himself, tensing when he felt one of them plant their boot firmly on his head, pressing crudely onto his throbbing skull hard enough that he couldn't stop the small, broken whimper that bubbled behind his limps from spilling from his mouth. He could bear this, he could, just...it was difficult.

Really, really difficult.

But he heard one of the men speak again, their voice echoing with abject disgust as the two glowered down at him, their gazes so sharp and embittered that he didn't need to look up to know that he was the object of their repulsion, and in a way, it wasn't as if he weren't...familiar with it.

With people looking down on him.

Even in extreme situations like this, there was always a sense of...sickness, of downright revulsion...when it came to people like him.

Common people.

He supposed it wasn't out of the question that he'd be regarded as lower or less significant...hell, even he grappled with idea on the day-to-day; even just the chance to converse or simply be in the presence of those of the upper crust should have been the highlight of his, by their words, sorry existence. One could even argue that being in a position that he was in now, under the boot of a guard of the royal palace was more than most could say that they'd done with their lives.

He supposed he should have been grateful in that way.

To be the object of their hate, their disgust, their revulsion, as he felt some warm land on his arm, one of the guards undoubtedly lobbing spit upon his marred skin in an act of antagonism he didn't have the energy to fight, the two laughing, still, but their tone was grim, laced with anger as the boot was pressed harder upon his head, the man squirming with discomfort at the mounting pressure.

But there was nowhere to go, nowhere to struggle to.

He just had to bear it...for as long as they decided that he would.

"...dog...that's...you are...a dog...a fucking animal...touched...princess...filthy peasant...don't worry...be here...a while..." Gritted a voice above, and again, he was spat on, into his bloodied, tussled hair, the dribble seeping into his dirtied locks with quiet insult.

But he kept still. Perfectly still in his defensive pose as he waited for their storm to pass.

He needed time to make sense of what was happening. He needed to think. He couldn't afford another moment with these assholes, so playing quiet and still was all he could manage right now.

Even when all he wanted was to scream at the violent agony that crept over the entirety of his body, he resisted the urge.

He was smart enough to know that quiet and docile would make them leave.

He just had to be still.

They'd get bored eventually.

Just...be...still.

Above him, their voices seemed to shift, turning to their own conversations as they completely disregarded the man, turning to each other as Kristoff remained still on the ground. His prayers appeared to be answered as he listened, even still, to the muted words, each careless to the notion that he would be listening in.

Hell, even he was surprised that he could manage to do that much.

"...be back...stupid cunt...not going...anywhere...get back..." One of them said, and the other agreed, much to the man's unyielding relief. If this meant that they was finally going to leave, then maybe peace was closer at hand than he thought. He could manage a minute, a few seconds, before he could loose the tired groan that wished desperately to be released from his throat. He knew it wouldn't bring him relief, but just being able to relax without the thought that they might start their assault again wasn't something he was willing to complain about.

The other agreed, and before he could anticipate it, Kristoff felt the swift impact of the toe of their boots knocking into him with rigid force into his back and stomach, enough that he momentarily lifted hands from his head and marred face to cradle his vulnerable areas from the pain. The wind was snatched from his lungs when another few kicks were sent into his chest, enough that he was sure that he could feel blood pooling beneath his skin as fresh bruises sweltered underneath.

They hadn't had enough.

They weren't finished yet?

Or...perhaps they were.

After a moment or so, they seemed to be finished, peeling their bloodied boots from his skin, and with one more parting kick, the two stepped around him, leaving him a mess of wheezes, coughs, and soft whimpers that he tried to quiet in the dead silence of the room, though this only amused them more.

They laughed as they left, continuing to speak amongst themselves even as the door was opened, and no more than a second later, was slammed shut, forcing a flinch from the man as he resigned himself to lying on the floor even as the cell had fallen silent. His first thought, his only thought, was to try and focus on his breathing, each drawn breath akin to pricking needles as he wheezed quietly into the frigid air of the now empty space. Alone now, Kristoff felt himself shudder, groaning softly as he did what he could to ease the tense soreness of his muscles with gambled movements that he felt reluctant to make.

To say that they'd really done a number on him would have been a grave understatement, the man forcing air through his gritted, bloodied teeth at the stabbing, prickling discomfort settled deep in his bones.

Yet all the same, as he opened his one, good eye again to spy the cell door just a short walk away from where he'd been laying and where the guards had only just left a moment or so before, it took him only moments, only seconds, for his mind to travel to the thought that had been lingering in his subconscious from the very moment that he'd come back from the stables what felt like ages ago.

A single thought that, for all intents and purposes should have been obvious, but...it was solid now, a formed idea that played endlessly in his mind.

Something wasn't right here.

From each spiraling moment to the next, things just seemed to fall apart in the worst ways.

How could he have gone from getting firewood...to this? To being what seemed to be the most hated person in all of Arendelle? Something in him almost laughed at the very idea.

His entire life, he'd done everything he could to just stay out of trouble, to do what he needed to do, the bare minimum, yet where did that get him? A sickly, almost bitter hiss erupted in his throat once he tried to pull himself to a sit after what felt like minutes had passed. Slowly, he inspected himself, taking mild note of the dark bruises that rang softly in his vision even in the perverse dark of the cell that he'd been left in. His only eye searched for something to latch onto, the man craning his aching head and sore neck to note the small area of the space around him.

There wasn't much that he could see, only then noticing that there wasn't even a window that he could gaze out of, only peering now upon the agonizing stone that stared placidly back at him as he got his bearings; Kristoff could just make out the shape of a sort of cot, or really, what he could call a few, bare pieces of cloth strewn about the floor in the furthest corner of the cell. His adjusting eye could see that they weren't exactly clean as even in the distant light provided, he could see them stained with things unperceived and unknown.

It wouldn't have taken a genius to figure out that that was where he was intended to rest, but he felt no compulsion to even venture on the notion as already, in cradling his bent nose in his shaky hand, flinching from the pressure of his heavy hand as he tried to halt the trickling stream of blood that seeped between his muddied fingers, he found the idea of resigning to this mess out of the question. There was no doubt in his mind that there had been some horrible mistake, an error in the narrative that had somehow painted him to have been responsible for...he wasn't even sure what.

Why he was here, why people were treating him that way...why Hans had done what he had...why Anna was left in such a state...his head only hurt more as the questions, the inquiries, the utter confusion...compounded in his head.

'There...has to be a way to get them to understand that there was some kind of...m-misunderstanding. I didn't do whatever they think I did...what the hell is going on here?' He thought slowly, turning away from the mess of fabric that was to be his bed to gaze around the rest of the cell. There wasn't much else to see, and that wasn't an exaggeration.

Everything else, from as far as he could tell, was completely bare, only jagged, cold stone, and whispers of dust to he had even as his swollen eye searched the dark desperately to understand where he was. But it only took a few looks around, and fervent stares into the black and blues of the abyssal spaces of the room to realize that there was little else to see. Sighing, he pulled his hand from his face, and noticed then, and only then, that he was trembling, paired with a thrumming pace of his heart that made it difficult to steady his palm even with his best effort. He couldn't tell what was causing it more: the clear pain that rang along his body like a dull hum where he'd still felt the impact of the guards, heavy on his exposed skin as he rubbed gingerly where their assaults had landed...or the fear and confusion that, despite his attempts to resolve it with reason and distraction, didn't ease.

He was always tried to look for solutions, to make potentially disastrous situations make sense in one way or another, but...sitting in the dark, half-naked, bloodied, bruised, with Anna left where he couldn't get to her, with Sven left in the stables, and he wasn't sure what else was in-store for him...he was having a harder time than he usually would have calming himself down.

A really, really hard time, in fact.

His breath hitched in a light panic, but quickly, he gripped his shirt where his heart was, doing his best to manage the quick, battered pants that tumbled from his red, stained lips.

'No, just...j-just relax...t-think. It won't help anything if you panic so just...you have to calm down...b-breathe...' The young man placated himself, grasping tightly at the damp fabric of his remaining clothes, and each trembling breath echoed softly throughout the cell...once...twice...with quiet presence in the dull, freezing air. Slowly, the passing moments helped to ease his heart, though his anxiety still lingered; though, it was softened, reduced to a present fear that, even if it didn't ease, he could at least think.

That was the key.

He had to think. He had to keep it together.

Yes, things were bad right now, and he didn't know what the fuck was happening, but...if he was going to find a way out of this, he had to try to play it smart. Sure, he wasn't the brightest, but he didn't need to be.

Kristoff just had to explain what happened.

Kristoff needed to speak to Hans.

And just like that, as if the very gods themselves had heard his thoughts, Kristoff's eye flickered to the door, the clicking, clanging, of keys and the adjoining lock, and immediately, the panic that had only just come to rest in his heart had risen to a crescendo that superseded the calm that had befallen him just moments ago.

'W-wait...I thought...I need more time to think about what to say - they're back already?!' Kristoff paled, finding his body, sore as it was, imperceptibly tense at the idea that they were back for more, the young man, for lack of a better world, unenthusiastic about that idea to any extent. However, his eye widened as it wasn't the guards.

No.

He hadn't thought that he'd be seeing him so soon, and before he could think of what to say, the name tumbled from his lips.

"Hans?"

- (A Few Moments Before, Bowels of Arendelle Palace) -

Each passing guard was a boost to his ego. It was hard not to get lost in each, the rush of pride and utter indescribable pleasure that rushed through him as they all nodded to his with respect, with acknowledgement, as they rushed past him throughout the halls of the castle, the prince continuing his descent to the bowels of the castle. Brushing his vest and jacket clean, his appearance, despite the blushes of a bruise here and the scuff of his clothing that was made in his efforts before, worth the respect he'd gleaned from his presence alone, and it was made only more apparent as he was considered by two guards standing firm at the entrance to the very place he'd been meaning to get to before everything truly fell into place: the dungeons.

Truth be told, in all of the digging that he'd done before things were set into play, there wasn't much use, as far as he could tell, for the dungeons except for empty threats and promises of consequence by a monarchy that hardly used it. Apart from the occasional rat or vagrant looking for shelter from the elements beyond, the prince, he knew, that they weren't more often than not completely and utterly vacant.

And that, itself, was perfect.

Each of the guards, a man and young, but lean, woman bowed to him with reverence, sputtering a quick greeting which he accepted in kind.

"Ah! Lord Hans! We weren't expecting to see you down here so soon! We figured you'd be above, prepping with the rest of the guard; is everything alright?" The young woman asked, averting her eyes as a rather obvious blush bloomed across her freckled cheeks, the young man beside her stock still with held breath as if simply exhaling would be a great offense to him. Not that he was particularly put off by their revelry; there was nothing he loved more than making people like, well, this. He was almost amazed how easy it was, to have a little status, just a touch of influence, and the lower ilk would all but bend over backwards to keep ones' favor. Both of these guards, he knew from just this meeting alone, weren't going to be very difficult to edge on, the prince's calm, even kind smile echoed with barely concealed pride that rang in his stern voice.

There was no harm in wielding that little bit of influence now and again.

Besides, with how things were going now...it would help to get a bit of practice.

"I am where I need to be. I take it that Henrik and Elias have already moved the prisoner to his cell? They are still down there, yes?" He inquired, completely ignoring their question. He was prince; he didn't need to answer the questions of lower folk.

And their answer only affirmed this as they didn't even press their inquiries, instead resolving to nodding without question, nodding as they responded in kind.

"Yes, sir! They just went down there not to long ago, but it's been a few minutes since they went down...I imagine they should be coming back soon. But if you need them now, then we could go get them - " Before the man could finish, Hans was already cutting in, raising a hand without so much as a word, and without protest, the man stopped speaking, sputtering to a quick stop as the prince beamed at him, shaking his head with relent.

"Ah, no, no, I couldn't trouble you with that. Don't worry, I would like to have a word with the prisoner, if you would unlock the door, Lea." He almost whispered, and he tell right there, right then, the woman guard could have melted as she gave him a startled look, as if simply uttering her name was a compliment in itself. Reaching for her keys, she didn't spare another protest as she nodded, turning from the prince to unlock the double-barred door that led into the keep below, but the male guard was still hesitant, agreeing to opening the door, but inspecting Hans, he opened his mouth to speak again, a reaction that only gave the prince reason to be annoyed.

'Oh, what is it now, you dolt? I don't have the time or patience to heed your reluctance or blabbering...' He thought bitterly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes when the man's concerned voice sounded hesitantly over the hustle and bustle of the workers and guards of the castle.

"Oh, maybe we should escort you down. With the state that he left you in, we would hate to leave you alone in the company of someone like that so that he might take advantage of the fact that you're alone. Truly, we wouldn't mind at all!" The male guard offered carefully, doing his best to sound as accommodating, yet all the same, undemanding, as possible, a tone that Hans didn't miss. Of course, he figured that this would start happening; despite loving the attention, the near-worship that he was receiving, he couldn't have these people plastered to his sides at all times.

Nothing he intended to do would work if they were.

Besides, he thought with a hint of ironic amusement, the only person that could do a number on him like this...was Hans himself.

No one was ever going to leave him undignified again unless it was by his own hand, so they didn't need to worry about him.

He was in control, after all.

Waving his hand with false gratitude, he didn't waste time trying to convince him otherwise or beating around the bus; he had somewhere to be.

And he didn't have a lot of time before this short window would close.

"No, no, I assure you, I can handle myself. I intend to take every precaution that I can to ensure that I protect myself, so you needn't worry, Erik. Besides, you all are needed elsewhere, aren't you? I can't have you two minding these personal affairs and losing sight of your own. You know where you ought to be, yes?" He urged with firm reminder, and at the question, the two, again, nodded, at full attention.

"Yes! West-line, sir, though...why there? We weren't aware that there were other threats apart from the Queen, or...former Queen? We...aren't really sure what we should call her, but she's already locked up, sir; why have us all gathered there?" Lea asked, successfully unlocking the door and turning back to face the prince, oblivious to the twitch of agitation and impatience that flickered across his features.

God, could they just get out of his way? All of these asinine questions when all they had to do was follow suit.

He hated it.

Being questioned, especially by...the less astute. Explaining each and every thing to them was a drag to say the least, but keeping and saving face was more important than his personal irritations, so putting on his best smile, he did his best to articulate what they needed to know to just...do what the fuck he needed them to.

They didn't need the entire story. They just needed to do their jobs...and let him do his.

"Oh, don't worry. It will all make sense in a little while; come now, you trust me, don't you?" The prince assured the two softly, giving them a gentle look before the guards considered each other for a moment, for a breath, before nodding once more, each smiling kindly to their future king.

The thought made him smile.

Future king.

That was right.

Then no one could question him.

He just had to wait a little while longer.

Than it would all...fall into place.

"Y-yes, we trust you sir. We just - " Without so much as another moment spent, his expression twitched.

Still more questions. Still more stupid questions from stupid people.

Couldn't they just shut the hell up?

"Good. Now, if you would excuse me, I have somewhere to be, and I believe that you do, too, yes?" He reminded them a bit firmer this time, and as if catching wind of what he was meaning, their weak protests all but ended, and with a push, Lea shoved open the double doors to the dungeons below, and with a bow, the two parted from him, wasting no time before rushing away.

"Ah, yes, Lord Hans! Sorry for holding you up; be safe!" The two urged, and with a passing, respecting glance, they were often, bustling behind another outfit of guards as they rushed off with them to the opposite wings of the castle. Without so much as a look back, no sooner as they'd left his sight and he theirs, his doting smile fell, gleaning with repressed annoyance he couldn't afford to show them, but in his lonesome, as the bitter shadows and rank must of the lower dungeons enveloped him, he was free to abandon the saccharine nonsense, if only for a moment whilst he made the trip down the parting stairs that led further down into the stony chasm beyond.

Stepping without an ounce of hesitation, he could hear the radiant echo of his own footsteps bouncing placidly between the crushing walls of the dungeon above and around him with little restraint as he paced deliberately forward.

Sighing heavily, the first relaxed breath that he'd taken since all of this began, this was perhaps the only respite that he would have for a bit. Running a taut, ungloved hand through his tossed, auburn hair, he couldn't help the grim, callous smile that dripped from his features without him meaning to.

Things were going so well so far.

Far better than he figured they would, even with all of the meticulous planning that he'd done to ensure that it would be so. He shouldn't have been surprised since, well, he was brilliant, after all, but it was easy, still, for all of this to fall apart.

Just as it had so many times before.

But losing himself in those worthless attempts...it would only distract him from the present, from the now, from his success.

Sure, there had been failures.

Many of them.

Too many to count.

But none of that mattered now.

He was almost clear, it was almost finished; if he could just nail what came next...then all of this would have been worth it.

Each and every second of it.

'Forget about all of that. Have to focus on the here and now.' He reminded himself, taking in a deep breath as he stood straight and tall again, ears pricked to the incoming sound of footsteps, two pair, he expected, that were leading in from where he was going. Adjusting his hair and clothes, he closed his eyes for a moment.

Things were falling into place. He just had to stay the course.

Just...stay the course.

In no time, the pair of footsteps, their conversation light and jovial was upended once they'd caught sight of him, the two men, each burly, heavy-set, pulling to a complete stop as they nearly leapt out of their skin and forced themselves to come to bow and salute.

"O-oh, ah, Lord Hans, sir! We, uh, weren't expecting you to come down here!" The first and, by what the prince could tell, the dullest of the two sputtered out stupidly, bringing his hand down by his side as the two seemed to be trying to hide their hands.

But Hans had caught a glimpse of it.

The red, still-wet fluid the clung hopelessly to their gloves as it shimmered crudely in the lantern-light of the passageway.

It wasn't a mystery to him what it was from, or, he should say...who it was from. He'd known immediately, from the moment the words left his mouth, that there wouldn't be any hesitation at all on the part of pretty much every patron of the castle and village to deliver fine judgement. In fact, the man considered as he wavered between a knowing look and cruel grin...that was what he was hoping for,

That was what he was expecting.

It was best when people could rally under a common hate. Disgust for a single, deplorable individual was unifying in that way, of course.

And if anything, the man considered carefully as he wavered them down, pacifism and placidity a calming tool that gave ease to the guards in his midst, this was exactly what he'd been hoping that they would do.

He just didn't expect for them to take so easily, and at that, so soon.

But this was ideal.

In fact, this was better than ideal.

This was perfect.

But what else did he expect, after all?

People loved the chance to act on their violent urges, after all.

It was just easier when someone was hated.

"Oh, be at ease. I couldn't honestly expect you fine gentlemen to let a chance like this to be passed up so easily, could I? You aren't in trouble, so you needn't hide you hands." Hans assured them, and at his words, the two considered his expression for but a moment before loosing their bodies, and the prince, observing them further, could see it, smeared clearly on their pants, their coats, and whilst before he'd caught a glimpse of their gloves in passing, clearly now, he could see them soaked through, dyed warm and red with violence he approved of. Smiling at them, he gave them cause to relax, and the two spoke only when they were sure they weren't in trouble which, really, was only a breath's time.

"Oh, so...you aren't mad? We know we were only supposed to take him down here, but - " Hans didn't need to hear what they had to say to respond, accurate in his predictions as he gave them a knowing smile.

"As I've said, there's no shame in your anger. In fact, I'd say you two did a fine job, that is, if you didn't kill him. Can't punish a corpse, now can we?" He joked morbidly, and the two, sensing his humor, chuckled a bit, the tone lightening a bit despite the subject at hand. But Hans wasn't kidding, though; sure, he wasn't, for lack of a better word, fond of the big oaf, but he wouldn't say that he wasn't at least entertained by his presence.

Besides...it was nice to have a bit of stress relief now and again.

Because what else would he be kept alive for?

There was a special entitlement that only he could understand, something that burned, that raged, inside of him at the thought of the bumbling idiot that rested in a cell just a short walk away that made him grow warm with excitement at what he could do to him.

Oh, the things he had in-store.

But he didn't communicate his thoughts to them, and the two returned back to their former questioning glances.

"True, true, though...we were just on our way back up, sir. Were you needing something or..." One of them, a large, brunette man vocalized questioningly, and having lost all patience for the same line of questions, Hans was quick to cut his words, focusing back on the task at hand.

"Yes. I need the keys to the cells of both of our prisoners. There are some...questions I'd like to ask, a sort of personal interrogation, you see. Nothing of your concern." He answered simply, and holding out his hand expectantly, he didn't give the two room to speculate.

He just wanted them to follow suit.

Was that so much to ask?

But thankfully, neither Henrik or Elias really thought much of it; he figured they were completely onboard with the idea without some much as considering why, and that was just what he needed. Compliant idiots that just did what he asked without thinking so much about it; those were his favorite sort of people.

Why couldn't they all be this easy?

"Oh, sure, sir! No problem; dog shouldn't be too much trouble now. We made sure of that." They chuckled musingly amongst themselves, a dull, infernal sound he didn't comment on as Henrik, the one that had been bearing the keys, turned to his side and unlatched the jangling ring and turned back to hand it to Hans. Setting it into the prince's waiting hand, Hans' careful, well-maintained fingers closed around it, and a sweet, appreciative smile laced his lips with perfect form as his eyes flashed down to them for a split second with wicked satisfaction before switching back to the calm that had been set there before.

"Thank you, Henrik. I take it you both are on your way to the West Line, yes?" Hans voiced expectantly, edging just on the cusp of impatience as his anticipation began to swell in his chest.

Things were coming so close now.

He could practically taste it, the excitement, the anxiety, taut in his throat as he looked to the guards, considering them as they nodded all the same.

"Yes, Lord Hans! We were just on our way there when we ran into you. We could go now, not unless you require our help with...the prisoner." Erik offered darkly, and from here, even in the most subtle of movements, Hans could see the burning ache of their muscles, the twitching of their fingers, at the prospect of getting their hands on his again. There was distinct readiness, properly manifested in the edging inquiry that seemed more akin to a request than an offer of assistance. And though any other time, he'd be indifferent to them doing so, he was quick to refuse their words.

No.

He didn't have time to keep them from pummeling him to a bloody, dead pulp, and as hilarious as that would be, he still...needed him.

In a sense.

And besides, he remembered thoughtfully with a smile to the guards...there were some things he'd like to keep a secret.

"No, that won't be necessary for now, but don't worry..." Passing them, he didn't turn back, but his words still carried as he walked away, a smile gracing his lips.

"...there will be plenty of time for...fun." The prince almost whispered, doing what he could to maintain his composure as, between the two guards, they almost seemed excited by the thought, but with a swift nod, they trodded off, continuing to speak amongst themselves until they, too, disappeared from sight, and eventually, their footsteps faded off into the silence.

That was right, the prince thought as he continued on his way, a wicked smile contorting his features as he came upon a door, a single cell entrance that beckoned to the key in his hand. Inserting it into the lock, Hans could almost laugh as it clicked and he pushed it open.

Fun would be had indeed.