Rifiuto: Non Mirena
As with many brides, they wished to be surrounded by their family one last time before the ceremony, and Vicky was no different; she requested to see her beloved aunt and uncle before walking down the aisle, of which the monarchs obliged. While her parents were still getting ready, Vicky looked up as the Scandinavian Royals entered, both looking lovely in their finest; Hans cut quite the figure in his suit, and the simple light blue of Elsa's gown complimented her pale features.
"You wanted to see us, Vicky-"
But the teenager was up and in Hans' arms before he could finish speaking. A moment passed, before he wrapped her in a hug, as she sniffled. "Uncle, I'm scared." She pulled away, looking up at him. "What if I'm making a huge mistake?"
"Oh, Vicky," The girl turned to Elsa at her soft whisper, wrapping her arms around the queen, who held her close, stroking her back. "Do you love Fritz?" She nodded against the woman's shoulder. "Then it's not a mistake."
"But how do youknow?" She met Elsa's gaze; the woman glanced at Hans, before turning back to her niece and gently dabbing the tears away.
"Because I felt the same fear the night I married your uncle." Hans started, surprised to hear such an admittance come from his wife, but she ignored him.
"You did?" Elsa nodded as the girl looked between them. "But... but you areperfect for each other-"
"That doesn't mean I wasn't scared. Marriage is a big step to take. It did not help that... that your uncle and I could only marry on the Southern Sea." At the girl's confused look, they quickly told her of their secret marriage, and how it had shaped not just their lives, but their empires. "I knew that night on the sea, as I stood beside Hans, before the priest, that I had made the right decision. By the time he had clasped the chain with the ring around my neck and kissed me, our hearts were beating as one."
"Chain? What-" It was then that Elsa lifted the chain from between her breasts; the gold ring dangled from it, glinting in the light, waiting patiently to take its place upon her finger.
"When we're finally ready to reveal our marriage to our councils and our people- and only after they are willing to accept it- will Hans slip it onto my finger where it belongs, and not before." She returned the chain to its place tucked within her dress, and took Vicky's hand, squeezing. "Vicky, if you truly love Fritz, then by the time you join his side at the altar, fear will be the last thing you feel. Trust me, I know. Fear is far outweighed when you're with the one you love."
After hugs were exchanged, the pair went to leave, when Vicky stopped them, just as the photographer was setting up. "Auntie? Uncle?" They turned back to her. "Could I... please? To keep with me when I move to Prussia? And I can write to you, if I need to?"
"Of course you can, Vicky. You can always write, and both Auntie and I will answer, that's a promise." Hans replied, as they returned to her side.
The girl threw her arms around him, before doing the same to her aunt, hugging her as firmly as she dared, given her aunt's condition. "And I can come visit? Both Fritz and I? I would love to show him Arendelle and the Isles-"
Gently, Elsa reached up, holding her beloved niece's face in her hand as she glanced at Hans. "You're always welcome in Arendelle and the Isles, Vicky. Both of you. And we will always welcome you with open arms."
Sharing a soft smile, the princess settled between her beloved aunt and uncle, staying perfectly still as the flashbulb cracked, freezing the moment forever in time.
The wedding that had taken place that morning had been not only long, but beautiful. Vicky had made a lovely bride, and Frederick had been a handsome groom; once the wedding ended, the party returned to Buckingham Palace for the luncheon. The cake, eight tiers high, was situated in the center of the table. After two days, the couple returned to London, and a grand ball was held for the couple; for the occasion, the Scandinavian King and Queen had allowed the four older children to attend- in what would be the Royal children's first taste of court. Hans and Elsa had justified that it was their cousin Vicky's wedding, and therefore could allow their oldest children to attend- and in reality, it would help prepare Milla for her own debut the coming November in Arendelle.
Milla herself greatly enjoyed the dancing, and took multiple turns around the ballroom in her father's arms, as well as Albert's and even Bertie's. It wasn't until Affie started poking fun at her dancing that she got frustrated, and stormed off; Affie quickly followed, chasing after her. "Milla! Milla, wait!"
But the girl just seemed to pick up her pace, gathering her skirts and dashing off down the darkened hall, away from the party at the sound of his voice. The boy hurried to keep up with her, but found that despite wearing not only a fancy dress, but fancy slippers with short heels, Camilla was fast- and perhaps it was due to her height. Like the Scandinavian Queen, who was small of stature, her oldest daughter had inherited her height; upon her first bleed, the then-twelve-year-old Crown Princess had essentially stopped growing, and at four foot eleven, she was just under her mother's height. "Milla!"
"Leave me alone, Affie!"
"I'm not going to do that! Look, I'm sorry-"
"No you're not! You'renever sorry, except when Papa or Mama or Auntie Anna or Auntie Victoria or Uncle Albert scold you! Leave me alone-"
He followed her through the halls, knowing where she was going, but not sure ifsheknew where she was going. They reached the Royal Family's personal apartments, and Milla burst through the doors, headed for the library, Affie on her heels. He had spent many visits with the Scandinavian Royals, watching Auntie Elsa go dashing down the halls or the steps of the palace or across the gardens, skirts trailing behind her, hair falling from whatever elaborate style it had been forced into, faster than the fastest racehorse. And it was evident that her daughter was just as fast. "What is your problem, Milla?"
"You, Affie!You are my problem!" She cried, turning to face him so fast he had to skid to a stop to keep from slamming into her. "You havetortured me from the moment we met!"
"I... I haven't-"
"Oh yes, you have! From the moment we came to England so Mama and Papa could meet Auntie Victoria and build treaties with her, you've designatedI be your victim!"
"I... I have not! That's not true!Camilla!" But she turned, yanking open the door she stood in front of and storming inside; he managed to catch it before she could slam it in his face, and hurried inside.
"Oh,yes it is, Alfred! You arehorrendous! You have tortured me since we were children, and the only time youever stopped was when you were ordered too by Papa or Mama or-"
"Milla, stop!" She yanked her arm away, turning and nearly running into the door to the library."Stop!"
"Don't touch me!" She shoved him hard, and he stepped back, stunned. In all the years he'd known Milla, she'd never been violent with him; it was more common for her to go running to her parents or his parents or her aunt or both than for her to fight back. Camilla was very much the dutiful daughter of the Scandinavian Royal Family, always doing as she was told. She knew her place in the line of succession, and accepted her role as Crown Princess without complaint- even if she questioned the reasonings behind her parents' inability to rule together- and even seemed excited to one day take her mother's place as queen.
And damn it, Affie knew she'd be a good one. Almost as good as Auntie Elsa, if not better.
"I... I hate you, Alfred Ernest Albert!" She cried, turning and pushing the door open. He followed, too stunned to speak; that she remembered his full name, when she'd only heard it once- when his mother had scolded him harshly for shoving the girl into the sea during a visit to Halsten in the Isles. "I hate you with all the magic Mama possesses! I hate you as much as Weselton hated Mama... I hate you with the fire of a... a... a thousand burning, radiant suns! I hate you, I hate you,I hate you! For you are the bane of my existence, Alfred, and I wish to never see you again! I wish Mama and Papa had never agreed to meet with Auntie Victoria, I wish we had never come to Britain, I wish I had never met you- for you are foul and horrid and wretched, and-"
His mouth soon stopped her ramblings.