NOTES:
12.01.24 | 10:57PM

HELLO everyone! You must be wondering, RIKO! What happened to the previous chapters? Where did all of the other chapters go? Why are there only 6 chapters available now? Well, my dearest darlings, in case you guys are starting here instead of Chapter 1 (lol), I'd like to let you know that I am rewriting the entirety of Bird Cage and that the chapters that have been rewritten and added will slowly be uploaded here on ffnet and on AO3! Yayy! A round of applause? No? Okay.

So yeah! If you're starting here on Chapter 6, you can either um...continue reading or go back to Chapter 1, your call guys! Also a bigger and more in-depth note is there talking about the direction of this fanfic hehe. So you can go ahead and read it if you like! But anyway~ Here you go! New Bird Cage!

PLEASE ENJOY~!

WARNING

This story contains character deaths, sexual themes, graphic violence, swearing, trigger and psychological themes.

Please read at your own discretion

It has been over a month since Jack began visiting Elsa and conversing with her. During this brief period, Elsa has finally been able to engage in short conversations with him, still sometimes drifting off into a momentary silence. But she's been able to hold her own conversations for a while. Initially, she would respond with only a simple yes or no, but now she is able to answer in complete sentences. Jack sometimes felt like he's been taking Elsa away from Anna, and he felt guilty when he saw the younger sister watch them with longing and sometimes—envy.

"Do you like the tea, Lady Elsa?" he inquired, his gaze fixed on her face.

Elsa stared at the teacup and, after a few moments of hesitation, reached for it. Her thin lips brushed the rim of the cup ever so slightly, and Jack thought it was endearing how her eyes lit up with momentary joy as she sipped her tea. It felt as though she was finally regaining her vitality, even if it was taking a long time.

"I like it. Thank you," she murmured softly, her voice was as delicate as the porcelain teacup she set carefully on the table. Her hands folded neatly in her lap, and her gaze drifted back to the window, where the bright morning light outlined her profile.

Jack relished these quiet moments with Elsa, but even more so, he treasured the rare occasions when she spoke. Her words, however few, felt like precious jewels scattered across the silence, a fleeting connection he eagerly grasped. A connection he genuinely wanted.

He studied her as she sat before him, her ethereal beauty both captivating and disquieting. There was a haunting quality about her—fragile yet resolute, like a painting in muted tones, hiding layers of untold stories. Jack was certain that if Elsa were to recover fully and return to society, she would overshadow everyone else in their circles. She would be the subject of admiration and gossip, the belle of every gathering.

And that thought unsettled him—deeply. Even though he would hate to admit it.

Jack's chest tightened as his eyes lingered on her for far too long, the quiet burn of his feelings threatening to consume him. He knew he had no right to feel this way. In six months, he was to marry the daughter of the Fischers, a match that had been meticulously arranged for the benefit of their houses. His duty was clear, his path already decided.

Yet, here she was, quietly unraveling his resolve.

Jack clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around the handle of his teacup. The attraction he felt for her—intense—was a dangerous thing. It clawed at the edges of his carefully made life, daring him to abandon his reason.

But when the day comes, will he really be able to commit himself to another woman? Will he be able to live knowing that these feelings he did not want to say out loud burned brightly in his heart?

Jack didn't want to think about it. Not yet. No—he didn't want to acknowledge it. Not like this.

"I was never allowed to walk outside the palace unless I was watched," Elsa broke the silence, her voice soft yet tinged with sorrow. Jack's gaze immediately found hers—those clear blue eyes that seemed to have many secrets.

He felt an overwhelming urge to understand her, to unravel the layers of mystery that surrounded her, and most of all, to ease her pain. The thought of embracing her, whispering reassurances, and shielding her from whatever shadows that lingered in her past consumed him for a fleeting moment. But he clenched his fists lightly, forcing himself to pull back. He had to remind himself—he was engaged.

She was not his.

Clearing his throat to stop the emotions stirring inside him, Jack offered her a warm smile. "What did you do for leisure when you were bored?" he asked, his voice light, though his heart felt anything but.

As Elsa pondered the question, Jack noticed one of her little habits, the way her lips pursed ever so slightly, her eyes unfocused as if searching for the right answer in the air. A faint wrinkle formed on her forehead, and Jack's chest tightened. He found the gesture irresistibly endearing, just as he found everything about her unbearably—captivating.

Oh, how he wanted her. Her. Her. But he can't.

Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on the table, watching her intently. There was no denying the adoration in his eyes, no matter how hard he tried to mask it. Every moment with Elsa felt like a battle between his heart and his sense of duty, and he was losing ground with each passing second.

He didn't even know when it happened. When this woman had wormed her way into his heart and occupied his mind. Was it lo—NO. He wasn't going to entertain that thought, that feeling—that tingly feeling—that he didn't mind. The moment Jack admits it, the moment he puts a name to this feeling…

He wouldn't be able to control himself.

"I read books and conversed with my maids when I was bored," Elsa replied a little bit later.

Jack's ears perked up, savoring the sound of her words. He wondered, thoughts taking a different turn—when would he hear his name escape her lips? How would it sound? The thought sent a thrill through him, a longing that grew with each passing day. Oh, how he wished to close the space between them, to get closer to her than their usual distance.

He knew he was being greedy. Every shared moment with her only fed the hunger in his heart. But no matter how much he tried to temper it, the truth gnawed at him.

He wanted her.

He wanted to be hers.

"What books do you read most often?" he asked gently, his voice soft, stripped of the usual authority he carried when speaking to others. This tone was reserved for her alone—a tenderness he couldn't give to anyone else.

As he watched her consider his question, Jack marveled at the effect she had on him. She unraveled the duke in him, leaving behind a man entirely captivated, yearning, and vulnerable. For her, he could never pretend to be anything else.

"I'm afraid you will think I'm boring," she said, shifting her attention to him instead of out the window.

Jack chuckled at her innocent response. How cute—he thought.

"I would never, my lady," Jack said with an easy smile. "On the contrary, I find our conversations far more enjoyable than those I have with anyone else."

He hadn't expected a reaction, but when Elsa's lips curved into a soft smile, he—wow. It was fleeting but radiant, as if the light in her had momentarily fought its way through the shadows. Jack's heart skipped a beat and then resumed its rhythm, quicker, louder, and entirely out of his control.

"That's nice to hear."

Silence wrapped around them like a warm blanket, and Jack found himself savoring the tranquil moment. He let his gaze linger on her, taking in every delicate feature, the quiet strength in her eyes, the way the light framed her face. I could sit here forever and it still wouldn't be enough. He doubted he would ever grow tired of her presence—no, he was certain he never would.

A thought crept into his mind, feeling bittersweet. What if? What if he had been braver years ago? What if he had asked for her hand in marriage when she was still the Princess of Northuldra? Would things have been…different? Could he have protected her, shielded her from falling into the hands of that man? Would she have accepted him?

The real question is…would he have known her?

The questions clawed at him, heavy with regret and longing. He clenched his hands into fists, pushing the ache down, back to where it belonged. There was no use thinking about what couldn't be changed. All that mattered now was her, who was sitting before him—the one who had endured so much yet still managed to smile.

"Will you come back again tomorrow?" Elsa asked softly.

Her question caught him off guard, and for a brief moment, Jack hesitated. He had a full schedule tomorrow—a meeting with his estate managers, monthly territory checks, a meeting with his fiance's family. But as Jack looked into her eyes, he saw something that unraveled him entirely. He could see a quiet vulnerability in Elsa's eyes, perhaps she hadn't even realized.

"Yes," he responded with a warm smile, the word slipping from his lips like it was the normal thing to say. Like he was sure.

It was a lie. Jack hated lying, especially to her, but he couldn't bear to tell her the truth—not when she seemed so much more at ease, so much more…alive. The thought of putting off that small spark in her meant and weighed so much more than the guilt he felt for lying.

Elsa's face softened, a small smile tugging at her lips. She nodded before turning her gaze back to the window, and Jack exhaled quietly.

What am I doing? Jack ran a hand through his hair. He knew he was treading a dangerous line, letting his unnamed feelings dictate his actions. He was supposed to listen to his brain, but somehow—his heart had taken control. Elsa's presence stirred something inside of Jack—he knew this for a long time, but he didn't want to name it. No—he refused to.

I'll ask Jamie to reschedule my meetings. He justified the lie to himself. I'll make time. I have to. I want to. And yet deep down, Jack knew it wouldn't be that simple. He was the Duke, for goodness sake! His responsibilities were mounting, and each passing day brought him closer to his marriage that he didn't even know he wanted anymore.

Jack stood, snapping himself out of his thoughts and adjusting his coat. "I'll see you tomorrow, then," he said.

As he left her room, Jack's thoughts churned inside him relentlessly. The voices gnawed at him, reminding him, questioning him. He knew he was only delaying the inevitable—you can't keep this up forever, Jackson. But for now, Jack can't let go. He allowed himself this indulgence, this fragile connection that made him feel something he hadn't felt in his life.

Jack always told himself he was doing it for her. But deep down, Jack knew there was something he was hiding—that he was being dishonest to himself. In truth, he was doing it for himself too.

Because he was greedy.

BM Guild, Ivywood
[Undated]

To His Grace, The Duke Overland,

I trust that this letter reaches you in good health.

The information you requested has been thoroughly investigated, and I must commend your intuition—what we have uncovered is of significance, alarmingly so. However, I must advise you that the details are much too delicate to commit to paper. The threads of this matter weave through shadows that would prefer to remain hidden, and to risk being exposed through writing would not be wise.

Therefore, I will deliver the information you requested personally. I believe that this is the safest course of action, given the magnitude of what is in stake here. You may expect my arrival at your estate on the evening of [redacted], under the guise of a routine trade meeting.

I hope that you will keep our meeting a secret and with utmost confidence. The secrets I carry are as perilous as they are valuable, and discretion would be advised. For your safety—and mine.

Until then, I remain,

Yours in trust,
H.H

Three knocks.

Jack, seated at his mahogany desk, raised his head, his sharp blue eyes narrowing toward the grand double doors of his study. He had spent the entire evening poring over banquet invitations and meticulously addressing matters both for his territory and his business interests. Fatigue pressed against his templed, but Jack had long learned to ignore it.

He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair as he allowed his mind to flicker back to the events of the week before. His conversation with the Bjorgmans left him with more questions than answers. Their earlier tea had been anything but pleasant due to the circumstances surrounding Lady Elsa. And then there was his Godmother, who kept sending him letters inquiring about the Lady in the Bjorgman mansion, teetering on the edge of impropriety. The audacity of her insinuations still lingered in his thoughts, mingling with his growing frustration at the secrecy of the Arendelle Royalty.

Hours had been lost in the library as he scoured every document, every book, desperate to find at least something that would help with his investigation. But every single time he would find something of interest, it would wholly end up becoming a false lead.

Jack frowned, shaking himself from his reverie. The knocks came again, it had been purposeful—weighted.

Tonight was the night, huh?

A voice came from beyond the door, calm but tinged with a sense of urgency. "Your Grace, our guest has arrived."

Jack's eyes flickered, a gleam of satisfaction breaking through the stoic mask he loved to wear so effortlessly. He straightened in his chair, the weight of the tiring evening temporarily lifting. He came faster than expected. Jack mused, his lips curling into a subtle smile. He didn't expect this haste, especially when their headquarters is three weeks away from Ivywood.

"Let him in," Jack ordered, his deep voice carrying the calm authority. Risign from his seat, he adjusted his coat, crossing the room to the plush chesterfield sofa near the hearth. The fire cast warm flickering shadows across the room.

As the door creaked open, Jack tood up, his hands calsped behind his back, his posture relaxed but every muscle in his body coiled with anticipation. He had waited weeks for this moment, for answers to the gnawing questions that refused to leave him in peace.

His gaze fell on teh figure stepping inside—a short boy cloaked in dark, unassuming attire, his demeanor professional yet mysterious. Jack's smile deepened, but his mind remained sharp, already calculating his next move.

Although Jack couldn't see the boy's face, it didn't matter much since he already knew who he was. "Take a seat," he said and the boy obliged.

The boy pulled the hood of his cloak off, revealing a very youthful appearance that betrayed the gravity of the work he carried out. The boy looked no more than fourteen, yet his demeanor and sharp eyes spoke of a maturity far beyond his years. Jack looked at those piercing eyes that seemed to hold secrets as vast as the oceans, secrets he had no hesitation guarding or sharing—for the right price.

Jack observed him intently, his respect for the boy evident. He might have been young, but he was no ordinary child. He was the head of the information Guild—a shadowy network whose reach extended to places even Jack dared not tread without good reason.

"I researched what you asked for," Hiro said, his tone calm and steady as he reached into his cloak. From within, he pulled out a simple envelope, sealed with a red wax, teh color glinting ominously in the firelight.

"Is the information really that shocking for the master of the Infromation Guild to come meet me personally?" Jack asked, his voice laced with curiosity. As he asked the question, his mind churned. I wonder how bad it is for Hiro himself to appear here? Surely, it's not routine information if it demands his very presence like this.

Hiro siged, an odd sound from someone so young yet burdened with wisdom far beyond his years. He placed the envelope gently on the table, pushing it toward Jack before leaning back in the chair. The boy's posture was casual, but the tension in his eyes betrayed unease.

"No matter how much I think about it," Hiro began, pausing as if trying to find the right words. "This doesn't make any sense."

Jack;s gaze shifted to the envelope, his chest tightening slightly. Hesitation held him tightly—a strange feeling for a him, a man who rarely scond guessed himself. He reached out, his hand hovering over the envelope as if touching it might burn him. His fingers brushed teh cool wax as he glanced up at Hiro, his voice was firm but laced with an uncharacteristic thread of doubt.

"Are you sure this is all, Hiro?"

The boy's expression didn't change, but the faint flicker in his eyes told the Duke what he already feared. This wasn't everything. And what wasn't spoken might be worse than what was written. What am I about to uncover? Jack thought, his mind a raging storm of questions.

Hiro shook his head gravely. "That," he said, nodding at the envelope, "is just a piece of paper. I came here to tell you what I've uncovered. That's why I made the journey myself, even if I had to sacrifice sleep and shorten the journey of three weeks to five days." His voic , though youthful, carried a weight that seemed to silence the room.

He journeyed here in five days? How—That wasn't the point, Jack.

Jack's fingers tightened sound the armrest of his chair, his body leaning slightly forward as Hiro continued.

"Viscount Westergaard," Hiro began, his tone precise, " is a noble from the Kozmotis Kingdom and a trusted confidant of their King. He wasn't just an ally—he was the king's spy, instrumental in orchestrating the coup that toppled the Northuldra dynasty. Together, they executed a calculated plan to usurp the throne. When they succeeded, they wiped out every member of the royal family."

Hiro paused, his shapr eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Jack's expression. Jack remained still, his thoughts churned in his mind. Every royal? But then…

"Every royal," Hiro repeated, emphasizing the words," except for two. The Kingdom's second princess was married off to Marquis Bjorgman before the coup. But it's the beloved heir who stands out. She was spared but given as a reward to Viscount Westergaard—a prize for his loyalty and assistance in securing the throne."

The boy paused, a shadow passing over his young face. He shook his head slowly, his voice quieter now. "I don't understand why they kept her alive. It goes against every precedent. When a sovereign usurps the throne, they always eliminate pure-blooded descendants. It's basic strategy—to ensure no one can claim legitimacy over the crown. But they didn't. Instead, they gave her to Westergaard."

Jack sat back, exhaling slowly, his mind racing a mile a minute. The implications of Hiro's words gnawed at him. The notion of sparing the princess was torubling enough, but to give her to a man like Westergaard?

Was it an act of mercy, or something more sinister? I don't understand.

"Did she bear him children?" Jack asked after a long silence, hating that he had to ask that.

Hiro's brow furrowed, and he shook his head. "No," he said slowly, "There were no children between the Princess and the Viscount."

Thank God…

Jack's frown deepened as he looked at Hiro and let the information he has brought sink in. His fingers trembles ever so slightly as he clutched the envelope, a storm of emotions brewed beneath his carefully composed exterior. Anger flared in his chest, sharp and burning, mingling with a deep sense of revulsion. The mere thought of King Kozmotis—a ussurper drenched in the blood of tre Arendelle royals—churning in his mind like bile. The once proud neighboring kingdom, reduced to ruins under the rule of that wretched tyrant. It was a thought that made him sick to his core.

"Do you have any other information about Princess Elsa?" Jack asked, his voice sharp, though he tried to mask the desperation creeping in.

Hiro shook his head, his expression neutral but tinged with regret. "I tried to uncover details of her life while she was under hte Viscount's care, but every record painted an image of her living a very fulfilled life."

"Impossible…" Jack muttered under his breath, his grip tightening on the poor crumpled parchment. His thoughts churned, incredulous and indignant. Fulfilled? WHat could they mean by that? Propaganda, surely. A means to obscure the horrors she must have endured. Who writes such nonsense, and for whom?

Hiro continued, his tone calm but deliberate. "Beyond that, the Viscount perished in teh fire at his mansion in Southern Isles, along with every servant in the estate. The only survivor was the Princess, having been rescued by her family days prior. However, when they arrived in the Viscount's mansion, it was said that the Viscount was no longer there. There's a bit of…confusion with this information. I have to seek clarity to be sure."

Jack's jaw clenched. The narrative felt too convenient, too—polished.

A fire that conveniently erased all witnesses and evidences? A princess, mysteriously spared despite being a threat to the King's throne.

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze unfocuse as his thoughts spiraled deeper and deeper. There were more questions than answers. Was it truly an accident? Or was is something more deliberate—a desperate attempt to erase a trail, to sever her from the past entirely?

What is it…?

He thought of her—fragile and haunted, sitting by her window in the Bjorgman mansion, staring at nothingness as if she carried such a big burden. A fullfilled life? He scoffed inwardly. No woman who lived a life of fulfillment looks so hollow, so lost—so broken.

And then there was the fire. If the Viscount was truly dead, then who bore the burden of her suffering? Who orchestrated her survival? Was it mercy or malice? Perhaps there is someone behind all of this? The King of Kozmotis, maybe?

Jack's fingers drummed against the table, his frustraion mounting. He needed more—facts, names, motivations. They were missing critical trheads, and he wouldn't rest until every piece was in his grasp.

"What about the Viscount's body?" he asked.

Hiro shook his head, "No body was retrieved. It was suspected that he was badly burned in the fire."

Bullshit.

"What else do you have?" he pressed, his tone betraying none of his rising impatience.

Hiro hesitated before shaking his head again. "That's all for now, Your Grace. But I'll keep digging."

"Good," Jack replied, his voice colder than what he had intended. His mind was already racing ahead, formulating plans, considering whom to question next, what sources to exploit.

No doubt that this is full of lies and ash, but I will find the truth. And when I do, no one who played a part in her torment will be spared.