"My lord? Are you awake?"

A knock on the door and the quieted entry of the person behind it was enough to stir Hans from his slumber, not that he'd been sleeping very heavily to start with. Opening his eyes, the room was still fairly dark, but he found his eyes trailing over to the moving blur at the foot of his bed only to find Agnes in his chamber, the young woman stood and poised cautiously at the edge of his bed. She didn't seem to dare to come closer, not without permission as he looked her over.

Her face was still a bit red, a shape cupping her bright pink lips, though it was faint enough, inconspicuous enough, as well, that it wouldn't be found unless were looking for or straining to stare. More immediate, he noticed, was the full concealment of her neck, buttoned and clothed in light, airy fabric that covered the portions of her skin that were still visible under the verdant, green fabric of her nursemaid attire. Noticing him staring at her, or rather, the covering, Agnes shifted uncomfortably, averting her eyes as a show of lacking threat. There wasn't the need for him to guess what it might have brought this on, a sense of knowing and comprehension nearly immediate, and with a yawn, he pulled himself to a sit, wincing as his eyes were still fresh and new with tiredness.

He hadn't been sleep for nearly long enough, he realized almost just as quickly, but he staved his discomfort with a stretch.

The day was due to start and he couldn't afford to rest much longer, it seemed. Not when there was so much to do on the first day to the rest of his life, the thought exciting all the same.

Without needing to get himself too adjusted to the bright glean of light that shimmered beneath the drawn curtains of the window beside his bed, the prince could make out the clothes in her arms, ones with stunning resemblance to the ones he'd worn last night.

And he knew immediately that they were, acute memories flashing before his eyes before setting upon the girl, wisps of a grin dusting his features.

The bliss returned thereafter, though it faded to the background, listless and heavy in his subconscious.

He smiled at her, completely ignoring the rancid, brown stains that were clearly still visible upon the once white pristine shirt, or the shocked expression that covered her rosy cheeks, framed with confusion, but she reluctantly returned, if only out of obligation.

That would do.

A part of him wondered vaguely if she'd been even mildly successful in cleaning them (he quite liked that shirt), but it was becoming painfully clear to him that there was likely little that she'd be able to do to salvage the ruined fabric. Their shared secret was apparent, he thought, if the way she held them close to her chest as if hoping to shield the articles entirely from view as she did her best to hold them close to her, concealing the worst of the stains from view. Agnes noticed his eyes on the garments and sputtered, hoarding them closer, still, like a fearful child presenting a mess to their parent.

She looked apprehensive all the same, and it was no wonder why. The best he could liken it to was a massacre upon solemn snow. Gruesome spots of brown, and melded black where the oldest stains, seemed all but written into the very threads themselves. Surely there was no amount of scrubbing or washing or dying or mending that she could that would ever make as it was.

A loss, surely, but with his intentions, he could have a replacement soon enough.

The shirt was a little thing, and a lesson all the same.

Wear darker clothes...its easier to wash and conceal the more...unsightly things,He thought, thinking back to how they gotten to be in such a state.

The sound of falling teeth came to mind. Gurgling...and rushing blood, too.

"M-my lord?"

Hans snapped back, brought to attention.

He was quick to speak, minding the busying hallway beyond. To the potential ears that could make out their conversation. Then he looked back to her, concentrating hard to moderate his annoyance at her carelessness.

He couldn't afford to have anyone listening in, though he could hardly expect that sort of discretion from her.

The prince looked to her as patiently as he could manage, though in such a short span of time, she'd managed to wear on his reserves rather effectively.

"Ah...perhaps you could close the door?" He suggested calmly, giving her an urging look that made her flush with embarrassment and urgency, much in the same vein as a frightened child, rushing to the great, wooden panel and grabbing it before closing it swiftly, softly, enough that it barely clicked.

She locked it tight, voice quieted apologetically.

"S-sorry, Prince Hans. I wasn't even thinking! I didn't mean to - " With a well-meaning smile, it was his best attempt to ease her worries, the prince looking to her with passive benevolence he surely didn't feel. Already, he felt short with her, but there was no reason he could foresee to make an enemy at someone this...impressionable. Especially with what she now knew, he thought, smiling fondly, kindly, at her.

He needed to keep her close.

There was nothing he could do now to undo this.

Or...,He thought, grinning, looking more devilish by the second.

He could think of a couple of things.

"No, no, it's alright, Agnes. I can tell you're just a bit flustered. It was an honest mistake, but we just have to be careful...right?" Hans assured her, noting the slowing sense of ease and the lessened burden of pressure that filled her features at his words. It seemed to him that she was remarkably easy to sway, and this was just that, he understood, watching her take several breaths before she stepped closer to his bed, still cradling the clothes in her arms.

She nodded vigorously, solid in her mission.

"Y-yes...we have to be careful." The young girl agreed, though where his had been far more casual and allaying, hers carried a different tone.

One filled with fear.

Laying the clothes upon the bed, doing her best to shake off the tremble in her voice as she spoke, tone softening with subsiding panic that had risen there only moments before. He said nothing for a time before he spoke again, still ever-patient.

Perfectly, utterly calm.

"I take it you couldn't clean them?" He started, looking to the articles before him. The answer was obvious, sure, but that wasn't quite what he was asking about, and she knew it wasn't as she looked up to him, her bright, eyes gleaming forlornly before shaking her head.

"Ah...n-no, my prince...but I wasn't seen! I promise you."

"Are you sure?"

Agnes was quick to answer, desperate to make up for what he was sure she perceived was a personal failure on her part, nodding assuredly at the question.

"Yes. I just...I think it would be best to dispose of them. The clothes, I mean. Or at the very least the shirt; the pants seem fine, I think...though...there's a bit of a smell. It smells like...like blood, my lord. Heavily."She added, voice small, grim, eying the laid articles before her. He could see it, that questioning, wondering look in her eyes, as if trying to paint a picture of exactly what might have occurred to bring them to such a state, to have so deeply ingrained the fabric that even after what must have been hours, and several washes, the still reeked of gore. In some innocent way, the young girl looked to him, searching for an answer in the rosy face that remained so poised and still.

They pondered it, that risky question without a word, without so much as a sound.

Staring back, he liked to think he answered her with only a glance.

And the haze of malice that swam behind a perfect smile as he fixed his piercing eyes upon her.

There was a long moment of silence for one beat.

Two beats, three...then Agnes looked away, shifting uncomfortably under his scrutinizing glare, and the question faded from her.

She didn't dare to insinuate it again.

"S-should I...should I dispose of them?" She asked softly, tentatively, unsure of how to moderate her tone. At the question, Hans closed his eyes, chuckling dissonantly, sounding strangely...forced.

Hollow.

"The shirt, yes...as for the pants...could you try to wash them one more time?" He requested softly, considering them. He was less concerned about whether they were stained, but more if they were at least wearable. It might have been in his best interest to wear something...designated, something easy to clean and easy to conceal, he thought, thinking about what might serve as the top to his ensemble. It wouldn't do to wear light clothes, not for the sort of...activities he partook in. It was enough that he would would need to contain them somewhere, but he couldn't afford to arouse suspicion if some other nursemaid happened upon it, or worse...another noble. They would have remain inconspicuous, but that couldn't be so as long as they bore the mark of brutality.

And as such, they have to be washed every time.

Intensely, too.

Without hesitation, she agreed, taking up both carefully before holding them close to her chest again.

She smiled, eager to help, and even more to get in his good graces. They would find out, in the times to come, just how well she was doing.

Whether she'd be worth keeping about.

"Y-yes, my lord!" Agnes was quick to say, and with a turn, she made her way to the door, reaching for the handle, though she stopped for a moment, minding the articles in her arms. Carefully, she folded the white shirt into the black pants, concealing it entirely from view with a tentative hand, ensuring that it wouldn't be seen. Hans watched as she looked back at him, nodding quickly before unlocking the door and rushing back out into the hall, closing it behind her in a flurry of movement that had once again left him in his lonesome. Eying the spot where she'd been only moments ago, the prince couldn't help but sigh, resolving his gaze to the patterned duvet that covered his lower half, his mind wandering with thought as he considered his situation.

And at once, that lovely, benevolent smile grew weary, and where it had once been weary, it fell to bitter agitation.

This wasn't ideal. Not...even...remotely.

Throwing the blanket from his legs, Hans thought it oddly hilarious, the sort of luck he had, the way things sometimes fell into place without a hitch...or in this situation, he thought ruefully as another knock at his door drew his very angry, focused attention, forcing another smile to his lips, collapsed right before him in messy pieces that hardly aligned.

"Come in!" He shouted, invoking that long-practiced diplomacy as the door opened, and in blew a gaggle of nursemaids and attendants, clamoring at his wake with far more jubilance than he was in the mood to feign. They chattered and chirped happily at the sight of him, and one of them, a short, bumbling woman that Hans, for no reason at all, found particularly annoying, worked her way over to the curtains, throwing them open with burning cheer that seared into his eyes the bright, Arendelle summer sun, making real the sprawling agenda of the day.

And with it, the ocean of contained rage that filled his every muscle all the same.

"Good morning, good prince. We hope you have slept well." Came a familiar voice, and turning to face it, Hans was greeted by Ingrid, her silvery hair, seemingly perpetually neat, he thought, the place where his eyes fell first before he looked to meet her equally grey eyes, nodding, though his agreement didn't quite meet his own. There was certainly still the feeling a tired muscle and sleep too soon disturbed that was etched in him, he thought, rubbing sore, tense shoulders as they remarked far less pleasant memories of the night before. Whilst certain blisses were still evident in his mind, it hadn't come without a struggle, that much was clear. Wincing, he swung each leg over the side of the bed, minding the moving bodies as they set about grabbing his clothes and undergarments for the day.

He found himself speaking, admitting truthfully his discomfort.

"Well, I'd like to say yes, but...I am a bit sore, I think." Hans said, rubbing each shoulder before he felt the older woman draw nearer to him, inspecting him closely for a minute before humming, honing careful thoughts and experience to grant him reprieve.

"I'd imagine so. After everything that happened...thatbrute, Que - " Stopping herself short, she quickly corrected her words, the briefest of griefs shading her eyes a tone darker.

"The Witch...Princess Anna...I can't imagine you'd feel any differently." She offered as a rare comfort, looking far softer and far more vulnerable in that moment alone than he could, in the short time he'd been in Arendelle, recall her ever looking. Though she remain dutifully stoic, the prince could see it, the pain she could feel, though he didn't quite sympathize with it in the slightest. His internal thoughts were hardly responsive to her plight, picking only the most appropriate of expressions to ease her sorrows, a practiced empathy he couldn't feel the barest bits of...not even slightly. Grasping her wrinkled hand, he blinked, deliberately softening his eyes and rendering doleful his features, as his voice became soft.

"It isn't for me that I worry...but for the kingdom. So much has happened...I would do it all again if it meant I could assure you all would be okay. Thank you for your concern, Ingrid, but...I'll be fine..." Gripping her hand firmly, but not too hard, he allowed himself to smile.

Only slightly, though, remaining staunchly in character.

At his false gratitude and charity, Ingrid seemed hopeful, even smitten, by his words. Returning that rare smile, she nodded, her steel eyes shining with thought before she spoke.

"Thank you, good prince. But at the very least..." Nodding to a few of the nursemaids, they came to attention, rushing to her side with haste.

"Yes, ?" They both answered in unison, standing before the bed, and thusly, the two of them, as they waited for their orders to leave her lips. Hans considered the two of them, a young man, likely no older than twenty, and a stout woman, perhaps a bit older, stood shoulder-to-shoulder, and he eyed them pensively, making sure to remember their faces.

After all: a good king remembers the faces of his staff.

They may yet be useful at some point down the line.

With them nearer now, the older woman's expression hardened, once again becoming stoic as it had been before, like a veil over a practiced dancer.

"You two, set an herbal bath for the prince. He'll need a bit morecarethis morning. And make sure it's warm and comfortable, understood?" She ordered, and without a second thought, the two nodded, bowing deeply with compliance.

"Yes, ! We'll get on that right away!" They both said, again in unison, and wasting no time, they were off, darting from the room with a swish of green, and like that, they were gone, leaving just Hans, Ingrid, and the dozen or so maids and the like that dashed from one end of the room cleaning furniture, preparing his outfit for the day, and just about anything else that he needed or wanted was quickly being set up. Releasing his hands, she came to a stand, nodding to the prince.

"One of them will see to it that you are situated and cleaned up. Please do take your time, Lord Hans. You have more than earned yourself a morning to relax before the long day that stretches ahead." She said, giving him a kindly nod once more before turning on her heel, the motion as practiced and refined as you would expect castle staff as aged and wisened as she was to be. Hans watched her, calculating his motions as he smiled back, thinking her ready to leave out of the door before she turned around again, face grim but placated all the same.

"I will be tending to the princess if I am needed. You are welcome to see her once you are ready and fed, good prince." She stated, seeming...fond of the idea.

Hans made note of it.

Then he nodded.

"I could think of nothing better, Ingrid. Thank you." He said, his tone perfect, rehearsed, and with one final look, she was away.

And just like that, she was gone.

It wasn't even a moment later that the two from before, they young man and the stout woman, came rushing back to the room, searching its confines before landing on Hans again. They each made what bordered on a mad dash over to him, regarding him respectfully with a bow before the girl spoke, her voice far deeper than he'd expected.

"Your bath is drawn, my lord. Would you like to go now?" She asked, minding a third attendant that came behind them, donned with his clothes for the day in-hand, a simple set of dark greens and patterned fabrics, made and intended for a warm day. It sang of summer and verdant greens, a strangely fitting attire for the first day of his coming rule and the end of the winter that had been. Minding himself, and the hundred or so thoughts that had already begun swimming in his mind, he could at least agree with the old bat about one thing, and that was a well-deserved, relaxing bath, he thought, figuring the idea pleasant and desired. Despite his rushed job the night before, he thought sure that there was still a film on him skin that made him feel itchy, and sighing with relief at the idea of it, of the herbal essence rooting themselves deep into his muscles, he nodded without hesitation.

His face reflected relief.

"Definitely. Lead the way." He agreed, and like loyal servants, the three started on their way, ushering him along as he came to a stand, the prince following suit. As he passed, he felt a budding of pride as the other attendants, though absorbed in their activities, they each stopped to pay him heed, bowing low and slow at his passage before promptly returning to work like clockwork dolls wound in time with him. He couldn't help it, the broadening smile as much the same occurred outside his chambers, the nods of respect of the nobles, the salutes from what would soon be his very own guard, to every passing nursemaid, it became clear that the respect and adulation was far-reaching and all-encompassing, or at the very least...it certainly felt that way.

He felt as though he were walking gold, and his ego let that thought root itself into his person, his mood lifting somewhat as, after traveling for a minute or so longer, they were again at the royal bathing chambers. However, unlike last night, this wasn't the communal sort, but rather, a designated space, a far cry from the glorified barrels he'd known, and they were instead, the intricate carving and moulds of mahogany that beckoned to him upon his entry.

Surprised himself, he wasn't quite expecting this sort of treatment, at least not yet.

Not that he was unused to it, his life as the hailing prince of the Southern Isles allowing for a great deal of privileges of which he was much adjusted to, but after just one day...he was already afforded greater luxuries than he had been before. Stepping into the space, there was a film of pleasant heat that hit and clung to his pearlescent skin, shrouding him in calm warmth as he was led further inside by the three nursemaids that had been his guides to this most treasured chamber. The three regarded him sweetly, and as the third, the tallest and most thinnest of the bunch, went to another portion of the room, busying herself with a collection of oils and scented soaps as she assembled a comforting tray for him to use as he cleaned, the first two gestured over to a private tub. Nodding, Hans stepped behind him, eying the wooden interior and the steaming, but not blistering, water keenly as they stepped aside, affording him the space.

"Here you are, Prince Hans. We hope it's warm enough." They parroted from the other, stepping aside and watching intently as he stuck a single finger in to the test the temperature by his hand. It was pleasantly warm, deeming it suitable with a gracious smile that appeared the best answer in their minds, their expression optimistic...hopeful, even.

"This is perfect." He started, considering them for a moment for standing tall once more and regarding them with an eased expression.

"Thank you, both of you. But I have to know...what are your names?" He asked calmly, eying them with earnest expectation as their faces turned bright with sweeter joy than he'd expected. He thought it so fascinating, seeing the low bloods glimmer at the acknowledgement of a noble, and a royal no less, unable to fathom how it must feel to be so beneath another. He'd seen countless peasants fall at his family's feet for the praises they bestowed, met the faces of servants desperate to exhibit their worth and fealty to their family, and this ilk felt, and by no means, proved, to be no different at all. As they always did, they were quick to answer, each flashing barely contained grins as they rushed to introduce themselves.

The young man went first.

"W-well, I'm Erik. A pleasure to service, good prince." Erik, his pimply face upturned with a yellowed smile, obliged, his youth apparent in his voice. Hans couldn't quite tell what he thought of the lad, though there was certainly an urge to be useful, that much was clear. He took in his name and cycled it in his mind.

Erik, It said to him, putting a face to the name.

He returned his smile, giving him the courtesy.

Then he turned to the other, the woman stepping forward with haste and lowering herself to a bow.

Hans was taken aback.

She was an eager one.

The prince smiled.

That could be useful, too.

"Helga Hansan! At your service!" He could hear her scrambling to think when she shouted again.

"Uh, sir!"

Regarding his shifting expression, he made certain to ease the spell of annoyance that shot against his face in that split second following, replacing it, instead, with founded appreciation, a near slip of his mask as his ears rang from the volume and echo that reverberated about the room. When it came to a stop, he raised a hand, gesturing for her to stand erect before him, feigning embarrassment and humility for the sake of his image.

Then an idea came to mind.

"You needn't be so formal, Helga. Just..." Swallowing, he bit back his disgust, "...just Hans is fine."

There was a moment of almost shocked silence.

The room was still. Even the third nursemaid had turned to face them, her delicate frame poised and still as silver-blonde hair framed a stunned face. And it wasn't a mystery as to why.

Calling a noble, a royal, by anything less than their granted titles or some other honorific was akin to a blaspheme in most circles, and a note of treason in others. Watching them carefully, he saw each of them look to each other, unsure of what to say. Each of them, he figured, had likely grown up knowing only the line of respect that the dividing figure between the low, and the high.

The noble and common.

So to have a prince of his caliber, the fabled savior of Arendelle be willing to not just acknowledge, but stoop to their level...it was a play of humility that would only serve to liken him to the them. People loved someone they could relate to, someone that, though objectively it wasn't true, felt their equal in the ways that mattered.

A name could carry the weight of a kingdom, and offering his, however small the gesture, was the first step to securing one of his own.

After a long moment, Helga was the first to speak, though she was marginally quieter now, still take from her shock.

"Ah...yes, good - I mean...Hans. Thank you." She said, and both Erik and the third maid nodded, both at a loss for words. Just then, another attendant, a fair girl, stepped into the doorway, nodding graciously to the prince before turning to the three nursemaids.

Her expression was bordering on urgent.

" said that we're all needed for breakfast. There's a lot of hungry mouths at there, and we need all the hands we can manage to get the nobles fed. There's news of their stay being extended...on account of the ships being, you know...frozen? Anyway, come on! It's getting busy!" She commanded, giving each of the three maids a hard stare before waving off Hans, rushing from the doorway into the mass of bodies heading back and forth in the hall beyond. Looking amongst each, there was an agreed sense of purpose between the three of them, and turning back to Hans, both Erik and Helga smiled, giving him a bashful look.

"Sorry, Lord - I mean, Hans..." Erik began this time, shifting awkwardly at the abandonment of the prince's honorific, though something akin to scandalous excitement shimmer at his eye. It was like a child who'd been caught and then strangely praised for reaching into a proverbial cookie jar.

Hans smiled, though he thought it strange and improper all the same.

But he bore it graciously.

"...we must go, but please do not hesitate to call upon us." The young man finished, rushing to bow before making his way to the door, ushering Helga and the third to follow. Much the same, she started on her way, but was quick to turn back.

Her voice carried just as loudly as before.

"We'll bring up your breakfast very soon! And please enjoy your bath!" And with that, she followed Erik, and the prince waved her away, and then she was just Hans and the unnamed girl behind.

There was passing moment of silence, then she perked up, remembering the tray before her.

"O-oh! Right!" She seemed to try and shout, but her voice was wavering and soft, like fallen wisps on the air as she rushed to the take the tray in-hand. Like a wayward ghost, she swept across the floor quietly, stepping forth before the prince, trembling with anxiety in his presence.

"S-sorry..." She all but whispered, voice weak...frail. He tilted his head, knowing he should be endeared by her worrisome, gentle features, her dour, sober stance, though coupled with a thin, spindly body, made her feel more akin to weakened water weeds than a body with any bones at all. Like with all things, he could practically smell the stench of insecurity on her, so heavy and thick that it threatened to choke him dead where he stood. That sort of weak constitution, both physically and emotionally, he found, was always a pain to put up with.

He knew her type.

The weak sort that needed constant validation. The ones that seemed ready to crumble at the slightest provacation.

He felt himself bear a twitch of the lip, a sullen scowl tugging at his face.

It would have been no fun at all to see her fall...seeing as she was always on the verge of doing so. Yet out of all the ilk he'd seen, it was precisely her that he felt...would prove the most impressionable.

And it was her that he stepped to, eying her with ease and gentle presence that he knew wouldn't spook too much, at least, not to start. At his confrontation, he could all but feel her shrivel, shrinking down and hunching over like a cowering animal to a confident beast. She looked about ready to run, he thought, looking over the tray in her hand with a surveying eye he knew would tell her he'd noticed her efforts.

He'd validated her, the first marker of her dependence.

"I assume that's for me?" He started, minding the carefully assembled soaps, the scented herbs, the oils and scrubs and the like. Most were made to ease muscle aches, and he noted a few of his more preferred scents, both oak and seedy sprays left parsed upon the light, wooden table in the grasp.

He baited a small smile.

Someone had been paying attention.

Meticulous...perhaps to a fault. More unassuming, sure, but definitely one with an eye for details. Clearly eager to please...,His mind picked and prodded, dissecting every bit of her person before she'd even had the chance to say much.

She was a simple one.

Weak of mind, barren of resolve.

He resisted a malicious grin.

And far too easy to manipulate.

The girl nodded, holding it up carefully.

"Y-yes..." She rasped softly, looking over her own work carefully before setting it down upon the small stand beside the tub.

It was placed with care.

Cautious...humble. Perhaps due to personal insecurities. Might be sensitive to praise, but whether that is good or bad...let's try this...,He thought, giving her a small smile.

Nothing too intense. Then he spoke.

"You did a good job, you know. Not many people know what I like." He added casually, bordering on sentimental, though not to the extent of becoming saccharine, making certain that his praise was selective.

Exclusive.

Targeted compliments were always a gamble, he thought, watching her closely, minding every motion of her body and externalized reactions with a fine tooth comb.

He was building her in his mind, constructing her very image.

Would she shrink at his words? Grow tall with pride? Remain indifferent, inert? He watched, watched and calculated as his words sunk in.

There was a moment of genuine shock, he noticed, before she smiled to herself, taking up a portion of her worn apron and twisting it about in her hands. Though nervous, she almost seemed...calm, sated. At once, she appeared far more at ease.

She turned her eyes up at him, smiling like a pardoned spirit.

"T-thank you. I...I-I try..." She admitted, rushing to turn her face as he caught the tail end of a blush.

More information.

More context.

Ah...I see. She likes...to feel appreciated. She conveys humble gratitude, but also wants to be recognized for her efforts...interesting...,Hans considered.

His mind turned.

Maybe he could work with this.

"And your efforts do not go unnoticed. But I don't think I ever received your - " Before he could finish, there was that same voice, the woman from before, her face flushed red as, no sooner than her eyes had fallen on the girl before him, she turned a shade darker, fury and stress evident on her face.

"Maja! I thought I told you to get down her!" Then, with a snap, her eyes flickered over to the royal in their midst, her face falling to horror.

"I'm sorry, Prince Hans, but I really must - " Raising a hand, he stopped her knowingly.

"You're fine. She and I were just finishing up I think, hmm? Maya?" He said, making sure to speak her name.

To personalize her.

And she took the bait, hook, line, and sinker.

"Ah, y-yes. C-coming, Silje." She agreed, giving Hans a low, slow bow that felt meandering and deliberate, but...personal. Starting on her way to the door, Silje ushered her along, running off back down the hall when Hans called to her again, minding her surprise.

"Thank you." Was all he said.

She looked at him, stared at him, and with a turn, and warm flush of her cheeks, she smiled fondly.

"You're welcome, H-Hans."

And the ghost went on, slipping seamlessly into rushing bodies as the door followed with a satisfying click, leaving him alone.

And standing there, all alone, he knew at once he had her in his web.

But he could figure out how to utilize her later, he thought, relishing the sudden silence that followed as the warm grew pleasantly warm without the open door funneling the heat to the cooler air out in the hall. Sighing, he almost didn't know what to do with the quiet, with this being the first moment since his efforts had begun that it had been relatively calm, aside from the night before at Anna's side.

Barring...preludingevents, the man remembered with a grin, turning to face the tub and the contents beside it.

In fact, this might have been the most peace he'd seen and felt since getting to Arendelle on the first faithful day only less than a week ago. With everything that had happened, he thought, relaxing his tensed shoulders and beginning the process of undressing, this was certainly something that was overdue. Peeling off his white night shirt, it loose fabric having hardly hugged his frame, he set it on the ground in a heap, moving to his pants thereafter. They were easy enough to get off, a simple string binding them to his waste that, after untying it, fell to the ground, and with it, so did the fabric.

Having not bothered to wear anything underneath, his bare skin greeting the warm air with delicate kisses of heat that was more than pleasant, he thought, it was nothing at all to transition to the tub. Stepping in one foot at a time. He gave himself time to adjust to the temperature before adding in another appendage, working himself in slowly before the whole of his body had been submerged. With a deep sigh, the prince eased lower, and lower, still, until he was set upon the bottom, and lying back upon the back surface, he was cradled suddenly in comfort he felt had been forgotten in his homeland those several moons ago.

Oh...that's real nice...,He thought, allowing himself the chance to relax, his weary, worn muscles singing with relief at the stunningly swift work of the water enveloping him. Within minutes, it felt, he'd begun to feel...better. Looking to the tray at his right now, he leaned over to grab one of the soap bars, its buttery-smooth surface a pleasantry in his grip, the man reaching down, dousing the bar in water, then rubbing it generously, beginning the act of lathering. Minding the suds, and running it along his arms first, Hans' mind traveled, the solitude enough now that he could focus his thoughts.

Things are certainly interesting,he thought at once, finding his mind floating back to the chiefest of his concerns at the current moment, and who else would that be, the man figured, lidding his eyes to thin lines than that of the very same woman, the very same idiot, that now wandered the palace grounds with the one set of articles that could be his undoing.

Agnes.

Swapping hands to get his other arm, there was a prickly sense of unease at the thought, knowing very well that if she were caught, and worse, question on the nature of the clothes and from where they'd come from, it could well and truly turn back to implicate him, he was certain of it. There was no telling how...reserved she was with certain crucial bits of information, he thought, wincing as he considered what might happen.

She was stupid, by the Gods, that was more than obvious.

Careless, less than discreet, prone of impulsivity; she was a walking disaster waiting to happen, he knew...one that he'd been chiefly responsible for creating, he couldn't help but admit, gritting his teeth with agitation, and for the first time since beginning this timeline...apprehension. Perhaps it was a byproduct of the virgin grounds of this timeline following Else's death, seeing as he'd never past her demise to know what might come next. It was no surprise, then, when little wrenches like this were thrown into the mix, a thorough abandonment of any expectation or predictability, he was a touch irritable. He thought such a reaction was understandable, or perhaps even expected, seeing how much was now at stake.

His reputation, his throne, his life, this very timeline...and to think that it all hinged on some low life nursemaid...it was almost too much to bear, he thought.

All because of a lapse of judgement, a momentary abandonment of that most sacred, necessary discretion was enough to put everything on the line.

But the man knew better than to blame anyone but himself.

-(Hours prior; last night)-

Squelch, squelch, squelch...

His boots seemed eager to scream in the now silent halls of the castle above, displacing their once distinguished click and clack of leather and bound soles with a sickening, wet slick that was the stuff of horrid thoughts. Hans noted that the euphoria had yet to subside, and he suspected that it wouldn't for a long while, he thought, keeping with his stride as he walked carefully down the halls. The quiet was pervasive, ally to the now still corridors that, in the waking day, had been the walkways of a many nursemaid and noble alike, a vasculature of activity that, now that the hour had been made late, were stagnant with inactivity.

The perfect time, he thought, to make his return, and to shed all evidence of his escapes without the turn of an eye or the unwanted attention of a nosy dignitary that might put everything he had done thus far in jeopardy.

He was the careful sort, after all.

The man kept his stern eyes trained to every passage, every corner, and every intersection in his vicinity, minding much the volume his now drying, and far more sticky, boots were primed to contribute to. Of course, he didn't rule his actions, or rather caution, with fear; he was too prideful for that.

In him was a stringent sense of practicality, reason ruling logic as he made certain to avoid being seen in such a...questionable state, though the nature of his apprehension was certainly something to ponder. There wasn't a sense of fear, of apprehension, not in being found the way that he was, nor the implications that it would bring; he hardly thought that most of the castle would care if they knew that he was making a late night visit to the prisoner below these very floors. He'd considered briefly the possibility that eventually some of the other nobles might want to pay him a visit as well, though the thought of it, of sharing his most favorite possession, only worked to drudge up feelings of territorial aggression he hadn't yet figured out yet.

He thought maybe his caution stemmed from that, he figured.

That the dog was his to have, and perhaps that was part of it, sure, but something in his gut told of differing truths, born of a fear he didn't yet understand.

Was he afraid of the questions that might come? Unnerved by the potential damage to his reputation? Unsettled by the damage it could do?

He wasn't sure yet, and by any accounts, he thought, pausing quickly at what he thought were footsteps, but instead, was just the groan of the castle it self. His heart was pattering far too quickly to assume him calm, and he thought it silly, his worry, but that didn't leave him without his discretion, either.

Because, after all: he hadn't made the effort of waiting for most of the dignitaries to be asleep and out of his path because he was too confident, but rather, too careful.

And it was always to be too cautious as opposed to reckless.

That had caused failure before...too many times to count.

But something prideful answered back, a slick, ruthless voice that vied for his attention.

Certainly they wouldn't care, it muttered in his ear, not about some cretin, a low-life that had no legacy to his name, no house to call his own, no kingdom to claim, it spat...but Hans was just building his own, came a quieter voice from below.

His reason...his restraint.

The last thing he needed, it answered back, were people likening him to a brute. Putting him on the same level as the very prisoner he'd taken, all because he couldn't act with poise and self-control. Even when his most baser urges screamed to be answered to, he knew better than to act on them without proper preparation. Gazing down at gored clothing, feeling no degree shame, true, but instead greater clarity, it was best to keep that thing contained, under wraps lest he ruin himself.

And that wouldn't bode well for his image.

Especially, the man thought as he minded the drying slick that permeated nearly every inch of his suit, the blood that was caked upon his face in wild sprays of red, the dark grime that was stuck beneath his fingernails, since he was practically a walking horror, made out like a vengeful ghost about the halls of his future castle. Hardly caring for how he appeared.

Answering the call of the void without consideration of the consequences.

No, his reason pondered, thick within his skull; they wouldn't care about Kristoff. Never that urchin, that low-born trash...but they would care to find that their darling prince was brutalizing him without trial, and if there was anything that mattered more to the highest order...was the distribution of just punishment.

And that couldn't be achieved without justification first...be it legal or, the prince thought slyly, considering the notion...through carefully picked words.

Until then, he thought, minding himself, he'd have to exercise control.

Just for a little while...but that didn't mean that he couldn't have his fun, too.

The thought only excited him.

His mind turned elsewhere, knowing full well that these sets of clothes would definitely need to be washed and pressed, and then washed again, if only to cover the remains of his escapades. He reeked of copper heavily enough that it filled his nose, and he was certain that if anyone else were here, if another soul happened upon him and saw the mess that he'd made...they would surely question him without hesitation. From where he'd came from and the nature of the situation at hand, there was no question that even just cleaning them himself would have sufficed instead of leaving them on his person.

But his mind croaked at the idea of cleansing them himself.

It wasn't that he couldn't (though, suffice to say, he wasn't stellar at the cleaning and mending of clothes; that was the job of maids and nurses, that ilk), but more that he refused to. Princes, and to be certain, kings, weren't fit to sully their hands with common work, lower acts not befitting a lord or person of noble blood. However, he was in a bit of a predicament; it was one thing to simply dirty ones' clothes with menial work and the like, but this was beyond even that of the mess a butcher would make. The pristine, sated white of his dress, once the crown of his stately attire, had since been drenched red and dark with viscera of every sort. There was a degree of stickiness where the freshest blood clung to his sin, and where it was once warm and fresh, it was quickly beginning to dry and crackle within his cooling clothes.

Stretching slightly, there was quick the desire to remove them, and with a turn down a quieted hallway (with a glance about the corner and an ear for any distant sounds), he knew his best bet would to discard them at once, to bathe and cleanse himself. Surely, though there was still the matter of finding something to do with his ruined articles. He couldn't possibly afford to just leave them about, that much was obvious, but there wouldn't exactly be a way to discard them now without drawing attention to himself.

His mind went to the waters around the fjord, their icy depth, he recalled with ominous joy, were known to hide another secret of his, remaining firmly unspoken on his tongue as he thought to dispose of them there. But without windows to open (most of the panes within the castle were sealed by the guard during the storm), and with most other entrances locked tight for the night, it was likely best that he keep them close.

At least until the morning when he might be able to dispose of them.

Discreetly, of course.

With all of this in mind, he felt, surprisingly, relief. Despite needing to sneak through the halls, there were certainly elements to this that had more than aided in his concealment.It was fortuitous, he thought, that he managed to score a night when the castle was vested in slumber as he'd found that just after of the coronation, there were still bodies out and about in the halls, the odd, bored, wandering delegate meandering about just the same as he had on many nights to acclimate himself to this place. Again and again, time immemorial, he'd taken to these gilded passages just to learn their kept secrets.

How else would he have told Kristoff where to go, after all? How else would he be navigating them just now, in emergency situations such as these?

Slipping just between wooden door, he stopped for a moment, compelled to look back to find a spotting trail of dark foot prints pressed into the brighter wood. They were faint to the inattentive eye, but for any other that was able to make out the dark, reddish-black outline of his boots, it would surely act as a line of cause to investigate the bathing room.

And he knew he couldn't afford that.

Stopping and kneeling down, he was sure a plain, wet towel and a bit of scrubbing could make short work of it, sure, and he thought it even better that only he would awake to find it.

I'll need to get that cleaned up after I finish...shouldn't take me too long, though, he said, standing again.

It should be fine for a bit, at least long enough for him to wash up.

Walking a bit further, he found himself right where he'd wanted to be, the man spying the communal baths that, thankfully (and expectantly, seeing as they were closed to staff at such a late hour) were empty to any and all but him. Stepping inside, he did a quick survey.

He checked each corner.

Looked about the branching rooms.

Looked behind each tub.

When he assured that he was well and truly alone, he walked slowly back over to the doors, and after peering out of them, listening for a moment to detect any sounds that might indicate a passing person, and finding none thereafter, he closed the door behind him with a gentle thud, feeling well and truly alone. Eying the chamber, the prince tried to think of what to do first. He'd never before made his own bath, that much was surely evident as he spent the next few minutes trying to figure where the water to cleanse himself might be.

He knew already that there would be no way that he would manage to warm the water as, barring then his limited time, the prince knew he hardly had the patience to attempt it. Instead, he focused on simply finding where it was, searching each and every inch of the room for the water until finally, in resting pails behind a resting curtain, Hans managed to procure a bucket, lifting it clear from the ground in hand and carrying it over to the tub of his choosing.

Setting it down as quietly as he could, the prince scoffed, looking to the sloshing, dark fluid at his feet.

It probably won't do to fill a tub...not when I can't drain it. A bucket will do. Just to get cleaned up, He reasoned, turning, then, to find something to clean with.

A soap bar, perhaps. A cloth, too.

A towel to dry off.

There were things he needed, and he would need to find them.

And that was just what he did.

Finding the soap in a wayward cabinet, a fresh cloth within another, and a towel in the back room after some time, he was all set to get cleaned up. Stalking carefully back over to the bucket, and placing the items in his possession on the edge of the tub beside it, Hans knew there was just one last thing he needed to do.

Undress.

-(A bit before, same night...)-

Agnes knew it was probably best that she be asleep...surely she should have been. Amongst these fashioned halls, resting in the silence and stillness of the latest hours, the young woman found herself utterly unable to rest when she sat up in cot, eying the mild, candlelit dark of the servants' quarters as she roused herself awake for the third time that night.

Thirsty, she decided the first reason would be as she got of bed to find water, gulping down three glasses.

Hungry, she thought the second reason would be as she went to pantry in secret, raiding it to stave hunger she didn't have.

Yet this time, as she sat wide-eyed and shallow-breathed, she wondered what her third reason might, the woman pondered, finding herself grasping at the area her heart likely was, the thump-thumping unending, restless, as beads of cold sweat dripped down her head. She refused it, to acknowledge the throws of anxious flight that nipped at the back of her throat, threatening to make her lose her meager, late-night snack. Especially since, with a turn of her stiff neck, she could see Maja to the right of her cot, and twisting the opposite way, was Silje, and the last thing she wanted to do was make a mess of either of them.

Not as she had before.

Too many times, now, to count.

It was just a dream, she tried to calm herself, unwinding her trembling hand from the fabric of thin sleeping gown.

It wasalwaysjust a dream, it was always the same one. Sighing, she didn't bother to lie back down, pressing images of her horrid wake to the back of her mind as she considered what she was meant to do next. There was certainly no way she'd be going back to sleep, she figured grimly, noting the peaceful, sleeping bodies in her wake, upon many cots, a spot of vicious envy dousing her through to the bone at their tranquility that remained painfully out of her reach. On the rare occasions that she'd managed to look much the same, the girl recalled fondly, were on those select nights, every once in a blue moon, that she'd get her hands on a sleeping draught, the sort that Ingrid would brew. Of course, she'd made a point to ask her during several instances, and on those unlucky nights she'd unwittingly made either Silje or Maja the victim of a bout of nausea, to make another one of her brews.

If only on the hardest nights when sleep had completely alluded her.

Pulling her knees up to her chest, the young woman considered Ingrid who'd being laying, resting, her sleeping, old face unnerving calm for someone as uptight as her, she thought about how upset her mentor would be if she woke her to ask for the same time.

She thought about how upset she herself would be if Ingrid were to refuse, not that she'd have any right to be. She was well aware of the old woman's reasons.

It could damage your liver, She said, and of course, Agnes would be prone to insist.

Or maybe it was her colon...or her heart...whatever it was, she thought with a roll of her eyes, it was evident that that wouldn't be an option, so it wouldn't pay to incur Ingrid's ancient fury if nothing was to come of it. There would be no easy means of sending her back off to sleep, and that thought was embittering all the same. Sitting there for a few more minutes, the girl realized in no uncertain terms that to sit her for the remainder of the night was sure to be boring. Looking about to each of her colleagues and friends peaceful faces, there also existed the possibility that in her waking, she might rouse them, too.

It wouldn't do to wake them up, she thought...not after a day like the one they'd all just had. Staring out to the far window above the wider quarters that they all shared, she spot high above their heads, framed by pristine glass, the shining face of the moon, casting doleful light upon her and the rest of them, too. The night was still so young, Agnes understand implicitly, and the day had been twice as long.

The storm...the queen...Princess Anna...that man, lying far, far beneath their feet...she wished, too, that she could whisk herself away to sleep, if just to enjoy the newly found peace, but she couldn't be so lucky.

So what good would it do to lie about in a dark she couldn't succumb to.

For now, the young woman figured with a careful motion, coming to a stand from the lower bunk she'd reserved for herself and slipping on her slippers (which made leaving and walking about the quite halls so much easier than if she had to clamber down creaky ladders to the upper bed), she stepped carefully into the aisle of beds resting parallel, numerous as they were. The staff of this fair and grand palace, she came to realize very soon from the first day she arrived, were many times the count she expected.

Numbering more than a hundred she'd have to assume (though even after nearly a year, she was sure she still hadn't met every face or gotten a true number to quantify the serving heads of the Arendellian Royal Family), she was careful to watch the faces closest to her to ensure that they remained unmoved. Freshly polished floors made certain that her footsteps be concealed as they hardly ever creaked, that it was true, but she still tiptoed, minding every pad of her woolen-toed feet before making it, without issue, to the great double doors that bordered their quarters and divided it from the rest of the palace. Opening just one of them, just enough that she could slip out with dousing the silent hall with light that would surely awaken the few closest to the door, she slid her fit frame into a sizable entrance without issue.

She was practiced at this, after all.

Out of their quarters, she stood now in the kitchens, right where they were situated within the castle. She could see, far off on another wall, a quiet, ornate door, and that was surely where Ivar and his dutiful, kitchen staff, were, sleeping just the same as the others in her midst. She made swift work of the kitchens, too, swift against tiled floors to the entrance to the main hall. Where her regular, low heeled shoes would have surely clicked and clacked echoes upon high-ceilinged walls, calling to every head in the castle her presence, padded, woolen slippers only dully thudded on stainless, timeless floors, the perfect conspirator to her wanderings.

She smiled with recognition at the silence, one that felt all too familiar, seeing how often she found herself in her lonesome.

How often she found herself in these warm halls, guided by moonlight and dour night.

And like any other night, she hadn't a destination in mind. Not a designated path, either.

She was due to only wander, and wander she did.

Starting up grand stairs, she caught again the moon, made grand by the high panes that allow that hovering, white disk to blaze pale light upon warm wood. There was a mysticism in it, she felt, to the kiss of silver splendor igniting dull fire in the floorboards beneath her feet; they mixed, those bright reds and browns, and whitish-blue halos, dashing them with brilliant tones her eyes never tired of seeing. Grasping the solid, wooden banister, she wondered if that design were intentional or mere coincidence, though the latter option, Agnes felt, minding, as she always did, the spires of intricate carved wood at her hands, the curvature of grander architecture overhead, seemed unlikely as it was insulting. Nothing about the grandeur of this place felt accidental, she thought, discarding the notion with the somehow renewed wonder at its splendor.

It was simply too pretty to be a mere accident in design, too beautiful to have not been planned.

Making it to the top of the stairs, she was met with a line of halls, splintering pathways that led to the many room, the countless chambers, that had one purpose or another, or in this most rarest case held sleeping nobles of the countless sort, each sent away to the various, additional rooms. Others remained steadfast in their designated tasks: of the reading rooms, offices, libraries, sitting areas, even now, after having been here for so many moons, there were still many corners, many hidden treasures, waiting within the great palace that she'd yet seen. It was made worse by the fact that there seemed not to be a map by which she could guide her efforts to discover them, either.

Many of the far older and experienced staff seemed content enough simply knowing just about every nook and cranny, and even more so in withholding the nature of their most coveted knowledge from new maids such as herself. It seemed almost a rite of passage, of sorts, having new ilk bumbling about the castle, hardly able to tell one hall from the other, yet it seemed equally likely, then, that they be yelled at for dawdling too long, or stalling on their tasks; wasting precious time with meaningless things, Ingrid would save in her special, loving way, Agnes thought sarcastically before picking a random hall to walk down.

The rightmost one had been chosen.

Perhaps tonight she'd find something new.

She couldn't have guessed how right she would be.

-(Elsewhere, same night)-

He didn't undress immediately, as something else, himself, chiefly, had caught his eye from across the room, staring back at himself in kind.

Stepping up to an ornate mirror some distance off on a far wall, Hans began to inspect himself, feeling not the weight of time on his shoulders as the late hour made him feel relaxed, and there were more pressing matters now in his mind as he found himself reflected back in the silvery surface looking, in every sense of the word, like a walking horror. The extent of the ruination of the white fabric was made so much clearer now, and with a careful, gloved hand, he felt the folded creases that were shock-dried with darkening blood, left as varied shapes and splatters upon the once white canvas that had been his shirt.

Collected and assembled shapes, from splotches to hand prints to sprays of gory red, each of numerous shades and tones and hues as their age since progressed, the prince could see that that was hardly the only place upon his bodice that had been touched by his brand of depravity. Leaning forward, he looked to his face, and felt himself grin, a haughty smile born of eyes that gazed upon matching red, crusting stains that had since coated his features like crude, vile paint. Most of it had dried brown, others slack and maroon, but the freshest, slipped upon his lips from the moments that he'd bitten down on Kristoff's ear lode, was still wet, fresh and brighter now that there was proper light to make out its violent shade. Raising a hand to his mouth, and dabbling a touch of the blood to his white, gloved fingertips, it seemed even more brilliant upon the fabric.

Gruesome, he thought, tapping a bit of it to his tongue and taking in the sharp and sweet burn of copper on his tongue.

But it was fine to the taste, and so much more satisfying to see.

Lowering his hand to his neck now, he started with the first button, making short work of the line of small fasteners that kept his shirt together. Many of them, too, had been touched by the red scourge, but none of them, still, obscured his grip as after no more than a minute, he managed to get it open.

He slipped the fabric from his shoulders, removing each arm in kind.

And as it dropped to the floor at his feet, and Hans turned back to meet his reflection, he found much the same.

Blood. Blood...everywhere.

It was worse when he found the first of Kristoff's retaliations, dark, red-line scratches and smears of red where his scrambling hands had made contact with his perfect skin. He ran a hand across a hardened chest and stiff, ab-laden stomach, remarking the dog's attempts at resistance with some mix between amusement and annoyance, the latter more so when he noticed the redness of the marks where desperate nails had racked their presence. Each were somewhat tender to the touch, he found, and that only irritated him more.

And soon, he found himself fuming.

Resistance was fine, a little push back was to be expected, even welcomed, that much was certain, but there was far more insult in the degradation of his stunning form, the distribution of imperfections upon something he cherished this deeply...

Hans' frowned deepened to a scowl as he made note of it in his mind.

He'd be sure to make his displeasure known tomorrow when he saw that stupid animal again.

He'd make sure to punish him accordingly.

The thought pleased him greatly, very much looking forward to it, and he turned his attention back to his articles, this time focusing on the dark slacks that hugged his waist, and now, the prince knew with acute understanding, was hiding the massacre below, the most poignant marker of his brutality in the most succinct terms possible. He was thankful, in some part, that the fabric was so dark, seeing as he was somewhat fond of these particular pants, if only due to their aesthetic qualities. Unlike his shirt, which, though hoping it could be salvaged, he was almost certain would need to be discarded if he couldn't figure out how to remove the stains and memories it held, the fabric of his slacks were hardly changed at all.

Save for the faintest of darker patches that could only be seen by the eye that knew to search for them.

Fiddling now with the clasp that kept them upon his waste, and grabbing the grey briefs a layer beneath those, he knew of the mess that would follow.

Of the violence both hid.

And drawing them down his legs and stepping out of them (though not without first discarded his boots and settling them carefully upon ardent tile), the prince could hardly contain it, the grin of disbelief at the bare skin he eyed...and horror of darkening blood that had all but begun to dry, but it was clear to him that it was still wet, the soaked state of his briefs, doused dark grey in his grip within his slacks, calling to reality the extent of the depravity.

Though now soft, his cock it was hardly smaller, dangling and aloft between his legs as the truest image of what he'd done came to his mind. It was completely covered, from hilt to tip, with red, enough that not a peak of the shade of his skin underneath was even remotely apparent anymore, as far as he could tell. From his balls to the very edges of his auburn pubic hair, he spotted drying, knotted blood.

It was everywhere, seeming almost as though it would never be lifted from his skin, like permanence to his mounting sins, though they bore no weight to his back.

He sneered at the thought.

Leaving his clothes where he'd dropped them, he walked back to his meager bucket, looking at it with reflective eyes that glowered with agitation at the sight of it. Princes weren't fit to bathe in this fashion, that much was true, but taking into hand the thin, white cloth and the soap in kind, then looking to his bare, bloodied skin, this was to be a compromise he would have to endure. Kneeling down, he first tested the water, noting its stillness and cool temperature, assured by the bristles of his arm hair as he touched the calm surface.

And it was cold?

Irritating. It was all so...irritating.

Grumbling somewhat petulantly under his breath, he knew there wasn't much that could be done, at least not now. It was best to just clean up, to remove the most of the -

His mind ran like a tapped faucet, not trickling, but halting entirely to a stop when, for the first time that night, in the latest hours...there was another set of footsteps and a voice that wasn't his own.

A woman was at the door, rapping softly with her knuckle to the door.

"Hello? Is someone in there? Are you okay? I saw some blood on the ground, and I figured I would just...h-hello? You're in there, aren't you?" He heard some oddly familiar voice ask softly from the other side, and at her words, the query in question, Hans' face fell to horror, remembering with a quick mind the pattern of footprints he'd left in his wake on his way there in the first place. There were a thousand, nay, a hundred thousand rushing thoughts turning like overclocked cogs in his head as he tried to come up with a solution as quickly as he could to the question at hand. Eying his nude form in the distant mirror, his pile of bloodied clothes left beside the very boots in question, there were too many moving parts to adequately oversee.

He was frozen, stock still, wide, green eyes wavering over to the door.

Then the first question rang through, causing his teeth to grit with frustration at its lack of cause, playing contrary to what he'd thought before.

What is someone doing awake?! Surely everyone should have been asleep by now!, His mind screamed as he rushed to drop the rag and soap into the bucket, discarding the entirely as he rushed to grab his towel, though he didn't feel entirely certain about that, either. It was hardly big enough to cover anything but his lower half, or his torso, but not both equally or enough to hide them sufficiently from view. Grabbing it, he felt a tremor of his hand as anxiety through him, the man throwing it to his feet before looking to his discarded clothes, left precisely where he'd last been.

Maybe I could hurry, slip those on. But the shirt wouldn't be any good, and I can't clean it...maybe just the slacks..., He considered, mind turning and turning.

At least he would be covered, the worst of it, that was true. But his chest would be bare.

Whoever it was would see the blood.

Then the questions.

Then the speculations, the suspicion, the revelation of his actions.

One thing would lead to another and another until all was undone.

He could feel himself panicking, more so when the knock came again, the voice a touch more worried than it was.

"A-are...are you hurt in there? Is that why you aren't answering? Do you need help?" She called out, and he could hear it.

She was turning the knob, and it was then that he realized he was still knelt beside the bucket, having hardly moved at all besides just grabbing his towel and thrown it aside uselessly.

That had solved nothing.

"W-wait, don't - " He heard himself say, rushing up to his feet in flurry of movement and desperation before gazing at the turning handle, then he heard the door click open.

His skin was ice, somehow colder than when he'd been subject to the storm, each hair bump on his body standing at attention at the tentative voice that followed.

What could he say? What could he do? Should he try to hide? Would there be a point in trying to? What could he do? What could he -

Then his thoughts stopped, and all was still.

The door was open, that person,that intruder, Hans' mind spat, was right before him.

A moment passed, then another, the prince eying the young woman that had somehow stumbled in, and her the same, each locking eyes with tentative silence that permeated flesh, and skin, and bone like ragged blades that burrowed deep. It was in some odd, unfathomable...tranquil.

That is...until it wasn't.

Not when, in silent horror, the girl stumbled back, her mouth trembling with terrible fear as what Hans could see was a building scream collecting in her throat. That one sound, as piercing and shrill as he was sure it was to be, would almost definitely awaken the entire castle and that, the prince understood with blinding clarity...he could not afford.

At any cost.

Hardly even having the chance to blink, he was fast upon her, too quick for her to even react as in a singular swift motion, he'd worked over to the woman, clapping his rough, bloodied hand over her mouth with enough pressure to silence her as his other, as carefully as he could manage to, closed the door back.

It was locked this time with a decisive click, all which he locked with stunning, emerald eyes to her gold, tearing through her with a single look.

And he dared her to make a sound.

With superior strength, he pressed her against the now locked door, inspecting her closely as though donning the spectacles of an investigator in search the cause of her appearance. He could see that she was still very much dressed for comfort, likely sleeping, he deduced, if her thin, white gown and undone hair were any indication of it. The prince noted the droves of dark, cherry-wood hair that seeped around her shoulders like roots, and followed it to her trembling hands, each placed defensively upon her arm as, though she were frozen solid with fear and confusion, she was trembling with strain, as if doing her best to loose the pressure he was placing on her face. In fact, his one hand, cupping her lips and gripping her cheeks with a firm grasp, was tight enough on her face that he could see her skin turning red. The discomfort in her face was evident, budding tears that ran hot with terror were panicked all the same.

Her eyes never left his...even she'd begun to cry.

He could see it,feel it...the pleading.

She was scared, no, he thought, correcting himself with a stroke of the former humor he'd had before.

She was terrified. Completely and utterly...terrified.

Hans' face darkened with pitch tones that bore no light, considering that weeping expression, pitiful and small in his eyes. It had been her fault for snooping about, rooting around in matters that didn't concern her. Grabbing her face harder, enough that her crying became more intense, and a slight struggle began to manifest, he jerked his arm with force sufficient to render her still again, barely managing the anger tearing his face apart.

She should be.

"Agnes..." He whispered softly to her, leaning into her ear, doing his very best to contain himself, refusing to answer the darkest part of himself that told him to make a mess of her. Though it was persuasive, true, scratching that most primal part of himself that begged to be fed at all times.

To kill this stupid bitch outright, a violent urge suggested with ruthless efficiency. That would have made it easier, he thought, ending her softly with a crack of the neck as his second hand, once upon the lock, traveled to her throat, grasping it lightly, but firmly, as the idea became more and more appealing. Just one long squeeze, the choking, the reddening of the face, then...the snap. She'd go limp, and silent, and still, and the problem would melt away...just like that.

He could hide her in his room, it said, painting the picture of her rotted corpse being thrown into the fjord. He could wait until it was late, a night just like tonight, to throw her to the dark waters, to erase just one more problem from the list of issue he had to work out. But staring at her, and those delightful, golden, terrified eyes, something else, that same, immutable reason reared its head, quieting the call of his void. Going forward, it speculated, perhaps it would be more useful, more advantageous, to have more friends and tools than corpses to deliver to the watery grave. The notion was...interesting, to say the least, though how precisely he might use this specific tool was not yet known to him.

Or whether she could be a tool at all.

It was less her willingness to be a tool in that sense, he figured, but instead, what he would even stand to gain in allowing her to live except the potential headaches she would cause.

Another headache to endure, yet another loose end to be tied, he thought, squeezing her neck tighter.

The panic in her eyes was fierce, and her desperation more so. But she was weak, hardly a challenge to restrain as his mind was pulled in two different directions.

Kill her. Use her. Kill her. Use her.

Kill. Use. Kill. Use. Kill. Use. Kill. Use.

He pondered it for a moment longer, the relaxed.

It was settled. He was decided.

Hans smiled again; she was lucky he was in a good mood, he thought, somehow reminded of where he'd just came from.

She was very...verylucky.

"I want you to listen carefully..." He started, holding fast to her throat, the woman still at attention. He continued.

"...I'm going to let you go, alright? I'm going to let you go, and you're going to be calm...right?" The prince continued, watching her stare of him like a frost-stricken doe. She didn't move for a breath, and for her sake, he thought, squeezing her neck tighter, she ought to have agreed. His tone lashed like ice, cutting her ear with words that fell flat and sharp, thick with the promise of impending brutality.

"Right?" He spat, shaking her from her shocked stupor. She nodded profusely.

Then he spoke again.

"Good. I won't hurt you if you cooperate, but..." He met her eyes, releasing her neck a bit like a slackening collar by a merciful owner.

Hers were warm. Frightened, yes, but warm with light, but she shrank, he could feel it, as peering into his were like seeing nothing at all.

His didn't shine in the same way. She flinched as his blood-caked finger nails curled around her neck once more; she was gasping beneath his hand, caused by his grip bordering on suffocating. But he wouldn't release her.

Not until he spoke again. Not until she understood.

"...if you call yourself trying to get away, or if you think about trying to call for help, I promise you...when I'm finished..."

His voice was barely a whisper, so low that he was sure she would have to strain to hear it, but that only made it so she had to hang on every word. And he smiled, eyes almost seeming to glow with malice.

"...there won't be enough left to bury you with."

No conjecture. No humor. Nary a lilt in his voice to suggest that he might have been lying.

Just cold, hard, honest truth.

A promise of the end.

And Agnes knew it, too. The young nursemaid didn't spend a moment even trying to consider anything differently, and even though Hans' grip was tight upon her face and neck, she squeezed her close and shook her head with hurried, spastic agreement, tears streaming down burning, red cheeks as the Prince watched her.

Pondered her.

Then, with a release of his hands, he let her go, stepping back a bit as she fell to her knees, grasping her throat as ragged, dry, furious coughs tore their way from her throat. He stared her for a moment longer, testing to see if she would double back on her words and try her hand and test that very delicate luck, but when quieted to wary gasps, she was reduced to an image of placation, hardly daring to move at all.

Hans stepped back again, gesturing for her to come to her feet, though he didn't trouble himself with attempting to help her stand.

He didn't care much for chivalry if there weren't an audience about or if there was little else to gain. It, like everything else, would exist as a tool for his ego and reputation. Nothing more, nothing less.

Eventually, she managed it, standing and leaning against the great, wooded panels at her back as she continued rubbing at her hoarse throat with a soothing gesture that didn't appear to be doing anything to aid the comfort of her darkening, red skin.It was sure to bruise, not that she hadn't deserved that, he reasoned, making a note to tell her to cover it during the day tomorrow...and for however long it took it to heal.

He began to speak again, disregarding, entirely, any semblance of her discomfort as it was hardly relevant to him.

"Are you alone?" Hans started calmly, waiting expectantly for an answer. Eying the door at her back, it was closed, yes, but a part of him wondered if perhaps another hand would try to open, further complicating this mess that he was now in. Agnes took in the question, but didn't appear as though she processed it. Coughing again, she looked up to him, their heights far more apparent as she hunched down a bit, recovering, motioning to speak through gnashed, gritted teeth that betrayed the deepening pit of pain she was enduring.

"I...w-what? I don't...I don't understand what you mean - "

Impatient, Hans' eyes left the door, narrowing at her like pinpricks.

"Were you followed?! With someone?! Anything like that?! Don't be stupid; answer me!" He said a bit louder, but not more than an exaggerated whisper, stepping up to her and grabbing her arm roughly before pushing her into the door with enough force to even a gasp of pain from the girl. He didn't have time, nor consideration to spare, for menial questions, much less from so lowly wench that had stuck her nose in places it didn't right belong.

At his encouragement, she course-corrected, rushing to answer in kind.

"N-no! No, it's just me. I promise! I woke up and I c-couldn't sleep, so I was just walking around and I saw the blood so I came to s-see if someone...if someone was hurt, and...a-and" Agnes returned as a slurry of ramblings and sniffles, hoarser now than it had been to start. She shurnk in the face of his fluctuating temper, her voice tapering off to a pitiful whisper only to be followed by silence. Listening to her, he kept his hand on her arm.

"You're sure?" He asked, pressing an ear to the door, as if testing the validity of her words. Out there, he could hear, it was quiet and still, even with their confrontation echoing somewhat off of the empty chamber walls before dying out to a reverberating chain of sound thereafter, and her head nodded again, granting him certainty.

"Y-yes, I swear to you I am! I made sure of it!"

Hans didn't answer her.

He listened for a long moment, then stood back, eying her. Releasing her arm, she rubbed it when a quaking sob, a shivering, whispering sound that, if he ignored it, didn't annoy him as much.

But she was making a ruckus, and however isolated they though they were, it wouldn't matter if someone happened to walk by.

He wasn't taking any chances.

"Silence."

She kept crying, and his patience was wearing thin. Too thin.

"I said silence!" He spat, and she was so, though a weak snivel was the loudest that she went from then on.

Hans sighed, weighing his options.

Scowling, she kept her wide, doe eyes on him, doing her best to parse what he would do next, though he didn't think her capable of discerning his intentions. Not when turning thoughts played and whisked about the inner annals of his mind, a cavalcade of suggested actions falling on him at once. This had been the very last thing that he thought would have occurred, and to think that the day, and that following night, had been going so well, the prince mourned, gritting his teeth with barely kept rage that tore at his seams. But he knew that losing sleep to something that he couldn't change, and worst, had come of his own negligence, was simply unreasonable, a waste of time, certainly.

No.

What salvaged this was what he did next.

Every decision mattered.

"You know, it's always so strange, how these things work out. Having someone come about at exactly the worst time...but perhaps this needn't be so bad." Hans pondered, taking her in.

Then he perked, remembering something.

He knew her to be, at the very least, dextrous, having seen her working with Anna and aiding in her care in the few times that they'd shared the same space. Walking forward and yanking her to his side (it wouldn't do to have her get bold and dash from the room), he pulled her to the mirror where his items laid in wait. Stopping, he pointed to them, as casual as one would when observing some object that weren't' covered in blood.

"You're a competent cleaner, aren't you? That is, for clothes?" Hans asked, holding her tight. He noticed, after looking at her for an answer, she'd since turned away, averting her eyes as if shielding her gaze from him. He recalled suddenly, looking down at himself to see that the blood had all but turned reddish-brown with age, that he'd never had the chance to clean himself up. His lip twitched, regarding her with something between an irritated glower and incredulous amusement at her apparent childishness.

It was absurd, facing his wrath and still having the small in-mind to pay attention to such things.

The worries of little folk, he brought himself to think as she gave him a confounded look, but nodded all the same.

"I...I'd like to think so, but - "

"I didn't ask about what you thought - I asked you if you were. Don't test me." Hans spit back at her, holding her arm like a vice grip, fixing her with a stare.

Would she so soon making him retract the offer of letting her live? She almost appeared to catch onto the flash of thought that came to mind.

She asserted herself, hesitantly, yes, but it was better than her reluctance before.

"I mean, yes. Y-yes, I can clean. I can mend well, too, good prince." Her voice wavered, trembling in her throat, but he didn't mind that much, smirking slightly. Releasing her, he took that soaked items into his hands, and looked at them for a moment, then turned to her, eyes heavy with expectation.

"I surely hope so, because, see...these need a bit of, how do you say...care. They appear to be out of sorts, if you can understand." The prince drawled slowly, running his hands along a broad, dark, deep stain upon his once pristine shirt, angling towards her so that she could see it just as well as he could. The young woman paled at the extent of damage, but questions shimmered in her eyes, and he'd fully expected for there to be some. Agnes, when handled the soaked articles, her questioning expression only intensified, complimented, the prince, very nicely with the conflicted thoughts that surely ran through her mind at the precisely the same moment.

He could see parts of her loose dress get peppered with smears as well, and it felt very much as though she were being marked, too.

As if they'd become inseparablenow.

"I...I don't understand. You...y-you just want me to clean them?" She asked, incredulous, looking, Hans thought, as if there more to this, that there were things he wasn't telling her.

Well, there were things in mind he could think of, the prince mused, smiling to himself...but they weren't the sort of things she needed to know to really do her job.

He liked to have his secrets, after all.

"Yes." He began, giving her a dull look before turning back to the bucket, his interest in cleaning himself growing, "I thought that was obvious enough." Looking at her as if the question were stupid (which Hans thought it was), he bent down to get his cloth and soap that were still bobbing in the still, cold water. Ringing them out, he felt Agnes's eyes on him, and turning back, she was transfixed but for a moment before she wrenched her eyes away from his blood-soaked bottom half, equal parts horror and strangely misplaced embarrassment holding her fast. She toiled with silent thoughts for a long minute more before she spoke again, voice cracked, but almost recovered now.

"But what...w-what happened that got them to this state? A-and why are you bloody? Are you...did someone hurt you? Or..." She began, holding his clothes to her chest as that single, unasked thought hung like heavy mist between them. Ringing out a bit of the water from the cloth and placing the soap within it to lather it, his sharp eyes looked her over.

She was folded, made all the more smaller under his gaze. He'd seen her before, erect and tall with confidence, however feigned it might have been, sure, but it was evident in the way that she carried herself that she had something to prove. To whom, he couldn't begin to guess, or care at all, but there was still present that unflinching confidence, even the face of the price that had made it apparent to her that it would be to show it in his presence. But it was there, lingering in her eyes and in her words when that unspoken question hung there, wishing to be said...but there it remained.

Had he hurt someone instead?

The prince smiled.

But didn't answer her.

"You needn't worry yourself with those questions. And really..." He began with his face, wiping firmly at his skin as he felt the bloody streak against his forehead lift with some scrubbing, "...I think it would be in your best interest not to. It hardly concerns you, anyway."

Agnes shifted, rendered silent once more.

A minute or so passed since he'd started to clean up, and by then, he noticed, working along his arms and chest, the cloth had become soaked through and dripping red. He didn't mind it too much, and it wasn't as if it impeded his ability to use it, sure, but he knew that trying to recover its former color would be pointless. It, like so many other things that night, were marked.

Forever and always.

At least I can just use it again. Have her clean it and put it in my quarters. It wouldn't do to have a bunch of these used ones circulating around the castle, Hans thought to himself, dipping it again and lathering it once more, focusing, then on his bottom half.

Not that it would matter, soon enough, came that ominous, little imp, knocking around in his skull.

It laughed at the idea, relished in making it a reality.

That was right, Hans grinned, a wily, unstable look dropping every façade of humanity he'd donned like thin clothes.

It wouldn't be long now. He just had to keep the script.

Then, after that?

His eyes glowed with excitement.

He could really have his fun.

At his statement before, an unreadable expression struck the nursemaid like thunder. Watching as he stood and gripped his soft member to clean it, he could see it now, that construction of vibrant terror in her mind being built right there before him as he scrubbed himself clean. Machinations in her mind at what he might have done, the nature of what he'd been up to have been left in such a state...he didn't need to look at her to find her reactions at least endearing.

Such confidence...such...fragility.

Because that was just it.

In the face of something like this, the implications, the speculations...it withered.She was confident in every way that was superficial, he knew at once, because here? She was scared.

A scared little girl that fearedwhat he might say, feared what he might do...it was intoxicating, the man thought, feeling the start of another erection at the feeling that sort of power brought.

He didn't need to feel nervous about her running, he thought, grinning ear-to-ear.

That rotten cowardice wouldn't let her. She was his to use. A new tool to make use of.

Finishing up, he dropped the cloth back into the bucket at his feet, feeling cleaner, sure, but not as much as he'd like to have been. It was enough that, looking back into the mirror to note his appearance, the absence of the streaks of dried blood and gore allowing his fine skin to poke through once more. Any sign of what had happened, what he'd done...it was gone.

There he was, that perfect image, restored, hiding away the ugly, raving animal that screamed beneath his skin, sated for the night, but he could feel it there, begging, yearning,for more. Running a hand along a particularly dark patch of red skin that he'd made absolute certain to scrub, he felt...optimistic. It wouldn't be long now.

Not long until he went back, he told it, that desperate, animalistic part of himself.

Not long until he could have his fun.

But now? It was time toresume, time to return to being the picture-perfect him.

And like that, he was back. The veil restored.

His face was kind...soft.

Perfectly practiced humanity.

Bending down to get his towel, he was quick to dry off, rubbing each part of his body with swift hands until he as mostly dried. Then, with a swing, he wrapped it around his lower half, maintaining his proposed dignity with a turn towards the, then, frozen girl. She hadn't moved for some time, he noted, as Agnes seemed...to afraid to. He noticed out of his peripheries her never once looking to the door, that distant salvation that he knew might have been her saving grace for what he had planned for her, yet there she stood, stock still, only beginning to rouse stiff muscles once he'd started towards her, looking far more like the stately, kindly prince that he'd shown everyone else. However he looked, that didn't stop her from tensing at the closing distance between them, but it was far too late, it seemed, for her to try anything.

Not that she would have tried.

He knew that she wouldn't be so bold.

He simply stood there, towering over her with such presence that it looked about ready to crush her where she stood. The young woman looked utterly pale, far more afraid to make a sound than that bold girl he'd seen at the start of the day. When a minute passed, he could notice her lip trembling with unsaid words.

But she didn't speak them.

Not when he was already doing so.

"I let you live. Did you know that?" Hans started calmly, almost too casually, for it to have sounded like a threat.

Agnes's eyes widened at his words, shivering under his touch as lightly, reddened fingers, smelling faintly of copper and viscera, dragged along her chin, traversing the length of her jaw. He admired her only lightly marred skin, the faintest imprint of his hand, once kept firm over her mouth appearing only exaggerated in its freshness, sure, but he was certain that by morning, it would hardly be noticeable. Gripping her chin, he forced her eyes to his.

They were still, void of light.

He continued, giving her a placid expression, but he didn't wait for her to answer.

He didn't need her to.

"I could have ended it, you know? I think for a moment, I was going to...seeing you waltz in here...uninvited...I think it was kind of me. Not breaking your neck when I very well could have." He hummed, running hands along her jaw before trekking down, down to the start of the reddened portion of her throat where the perfect afterimage of his grip had been. He barely touched it, the delicate area, but Agnes felt the weight of his words.

"I...I didn't mean to...I j-just thought - " She froze, feeling raking nails to her throat, Hans' fingertips drawing dark red lines into her skin. Whatever she meant to do was irrelevant to him, and to her now, too. This was her path now, her purpose.

She was his.

Any other pretense of intention didn't matter.

She should have been asleep. She should have never found out.

And anything that she forced him to do from here was her fault and blame to bear.

"Frankly, what you thought you were doing isn't important now…is it?" He asked, hardly needing an answer to know that she would agree. However she reasoned this situation in her head, it wouldn't change the fact that they were here now.

So she didn't speak, not as she turned away. She was silent.

"That doesn't matter now. What does matter, however…is where we go from here." The prince said, and Agnes didn't move. Instead, she felt her nerve, giving voice to that once quieted confidence with a question.

"What do you mean?" The nursemaid wondered, her tone attempting to remain as unoffensive to him as possible, its remarkably low value only made up for by their close proximity. He didn't the question, really. In fact, he'd already intended to elaborate, and gesturing to his clothes, he set about doing so.

"I did you a favor…letting you live…" He started, losing his kindly expression, ruthless orders of pragmatism taking hold. It was swift upon him, capturing her fullest attention at his words.

She swallowed, her spittle sounding thick and strained in her throat.

"…but I didn't do it without some…assurances. See…there wasn't just my benevolence at play here…but something far more functional." The prince continued.

Agnes interrupted, utterly confused.

"But...I don't understand. What do you mean - "

She wouldn't get to finish, not for his flaring temper that rung upon her ears, having just barely been contained. He hated to be interrupted, his mind spat with sharper awareness. It was likely one of the fastest ways to eat at his patience, especially when he was actively explaining it to her.

He scowled, deeply.

"I might be able to tell you if could shut your mouth. Am I wrong?" He asked, and she shook her head. She mouthed a careful apology and didn't speak again.

He readjusted himself, easing his agitation as he continued.

"I need...utility." Sensing her continued misunderstanding, he rolled his eyes.

He hated dense ones. It was a chore, having to explain each and every thought, every one of his intentions. Sighing heavily, he pressed on, elaborating.

"I need someone that can handle...certain things. See, I don't take kindly to having to dirty my hands with tasks better suited for ones like...you. Besides, it is sometimes harder to manage these affairs when so much requires my attention; see what I'm getting at here?" The prince explained, watching her for any semblance of comprehension. It was sorely missing, though.

She was still...unsure, it seemed, her searching eyes and confused expression was of any note.

"I...I don't - "

Hans grimaced, the prospects of his plan declining.

Ah, not a bright one. Noted..., He thought, giving her a dull, tired look. He hated it, dealing with simpler folk; it made speaking to them every bit of a chore as he'd expect it to be, and this one, the prince, was one he'd have to be in contact with far more often now than he'd intended to be. The strike of nuance likely wouldn't reach her, and for the sorts of things that he would need for her to do, discretion was paramount, but when it seemed that she was unable to keep up with even the barest amounts of subtlety, it was sure to be a pain to try and explain it all to her each and every time. But, he figured just as quickly...that didn't have to be a bad thing.

He could at least take comfort in the fact that she wouldn't be inclined to plot against him, as far as he could tell. She wasn't even fully capable of grasping his intentions, so to think that she would even remotely consider trying to doublecross him, especially with the lingering threat of his special brand of retribution at the he planned to distribute if she even thought about betraying...it all seemed incredibly unlikely.

But that wasn't cause for him to assume that she wouldn't defect...under the right circumstances.

A scared, stupid animal could still be a treacherous one, he thought, watching her carefully as she tried, but failed, to understand, what he wanted...and the fear that failure to comprehend brought. He wanted her afraid, yes...but teetering too far in that direction might make her act out for fear of the inevitability of punishment, he realized, forcing himself to soften with patience...with understanding. This wouldn't work if at every turn he sought to punish her, though, the man considered, pondering the rush of agitation heavy in his gut that he chose to stow away, however tempting it was to act on it.

What he needed to exercise was restraint.

She needed to feel...secure. That she wouldn't be constantly berated for the mistakes that she would inevitably make...though there was a balance to be struck. He couldn't afford her careless or idiocy to be what undid all of his work...so he would need to train her.

A little adjusting wouldn't hurt.

"Well, let me put it in a way that you can understand. I want you to serve me...personally." Hans answered her blatantly, knowing full well that she couldn't possibly misconstrue his words.

And she didn't, appearing, at last, to understand.

"S-serve you? But...why would you - " Anticipating that question, he grasped her chin, pulling her eyes back to him.

"I'm in a good mood. And I think some, how do you say...reciprocation is in order, wouldn't you? After everything I've done...after allowing you to be here, speaking at all. It wasn't a decision I made lightly, you know..." Hans spoke, stepping up to her, practically pressing against her. The girl flushed, holding the clothes tighter to her chest as if they'd become some gruesome anchor for her to hold onto as a some juxtaposed mixture of conflicted blush and rightly-felt confusion bloomed across her face.

"I...I understand...but I don't know how I'm supposed to do that. What would you have me do?" Agnes shifted, looking utterly small before him.

So small.

So very...very small.

He thought about her inquiry. The staff of the castle did fine cooking for him, cleaning for him and the other nobles, sure...but it wouldn't hurt to have someone close to him, able to handle more...specific requests. Tying up loose ends, cleaning the more...unsightly things...perhaps answering a few other urges when it suited him, he thought, feeling rushing blood to his lower half as he pressed it against her leg from beneath the towel. The girl caught it, pushing up against the fabric, and she ran redder in the face with a furious blush that ran the length of her neck as well, running down to her shoulders until she seemed to glow pink.

"Whatever I ask, whenever I ask. Without protest, of course. And in exchange, you get to continue as you are. And perhaps..." He whispered, loosing her chin to trickle fingers along her throat, further and further before drawing near the start of her dress's neckline, feathery, ghost-like touches rousing her with a gasp.

"...you can get something out of this, too. If you'reobedient." He promised, smiling at her through the glaze of lust that covered his eyes that were reflected in hers all the same.

And at once, she was hooked. Enthralled.

A willing tool.

In his youth, throughout all his life, Hans had grown to understand something very clearly.

Everyone had vices.

Some smoked for the ease it brought, some ate in excess to sate their gluttonies, some starved themselves to deprive themselves of theirs.

Whatever it was, regardless of the name and the shape it took, all creatures, large and small, had something to answer to...and one of the most carnal sorts that he could name, that most oldest, raving creature lying the back of every mind he'd observed...was the first of all vices that mankind had to answer to.

Sex.

Even in the face of impending apocalypse, one such that she had faced what must have only been a short while ago, one that would have come by his hand, he could see clearly what hers was. From those passing glances in the hall, to the way he'd seen her looking at him, it wouldn't have taken the most astute or observant to see her vile nature harshly repressed behind a veil of apparent decency. Doe eyes remained locked to him, but that didn't reduce the density of warmth that made her hot to the touch.

She was responsive, likely too much so, he thought, to have just been mere physical reactivity. No, there was a desire there, born and shamed in equal measure; Agnes breathed quickly, made a ball of overactive nerves at his every touch, his every move.

But she didn't resist.

Hans smiled.

Just like he expected her not to.

"A-are...are you sure this is okay? But what if...what if someone finds out - " She froze, eyes locking to his hand that had snaked across her chest. Hans thought it interesting that she wasn't wearing anything to bind them, though it was convenient enough, the prince figured, making the leap to run a surgical against her nipple. He tapped it, noting their hardness.

Eager...I can work with that..., He thought, and with calculated force, he navigated her backwards to the wall that shared the mirror, holding her firmly beneath his weight. She'd barely managed to suppress a whimper as he gripped them between his fingers, rolling them as he palmed the opposite breast.

"They shouldn't...so long as you listen. So long as you do what I say...right?" He purred, grinning as she dropped the clothes, bracing herself with a soft cry as he began to work his way down, lower and lower with searching hands until ran tentative fingers against the front of her panties, making immediate notice of just how wet they were. Agnes whined against him, forgetting to look unsure as pleasure and need began to take hold.

Hans called to her vice. That desperation. That repression.

And it answered back with inevitability he knew he could use.

"Y-yes..." She whispered, moaning softly as he pressed against something hard, and she buckled under her own weight. There was still fear there in those eyes, to be certain, but like an unleashed thing she caved to the sensation he could bring. It wasn't unexpected, nor all that surprising, that she would have, though.

He just made it impossible for her to pretend anymore. And all the while, he thought, as he worked her underwear down her legs and leaning forward to plant his lips on hers, she wasn't even aware that he was drawing her in. With every move he made, with every wall she allowed him to break, she was becoming tangled. Ensnared in a web of his own creation that now, having abandoned all pretense and caution...she couldn't hope to ever leave.

Not that he would ever let her.

Hiking up her dress and lifting her bottom half by strong arms and she wrapped her legs around his torso, attaching the two of them at the waistline. They didn't pause to breathe for a long moment, the man grinding his hardening flesh beneath the towel against her entrance. The contact of fabric was all she needed to drip more, and in the face of someone this willing, Hans felt a little...put out.

It wasn't quite the same as a fight. A struggle, somehow missing Kristoff's battered face beneath him as he ripped him apart. His morbid thoughts superimposed upon her, the man wondering how she might look if he did the same to her.

How might she look, beaten down like that? Bloodied? Red and dressed in pulp and sinew?

Would she still beg him to fuck her? Or would she scream bloody murder as he tore into her?

The thoughts aroused him, more than the clear desire and yearning that was evident on her features.

But it wouldn't do to handle her in quite that way.

He was thrust back to reality with a hiss as he eyed soft features, lame and dull with need.

It wasn't the same, he thought, concealing disappointment.

It wasn't the same.

He shook his head, and feeling himself prepped enough to tear away the towel, revealing the fullest extent of himself to her.

Gripping it and aligning himself with her bright, pink entrance, he gave her one last look, one last smile.

Then he thrusted forward, and he was met with her body's warm embrace.

-(Present...)-

Placing the soap to the side, he took a bit of the water in his cupped hands and scrubbed his face clear of the suds that had been left behind. He did this a couple of more times, and once he felt that it was all done, he considered his reflection, staring back him from the fogged surface.

He knew Agnes was...something unforeseen.

A wrench in the delicate machinations of cause and effect that he'd taken countless days and months to orchestrate. Looking back now, the prince knew that that this could very easily go wrong. At every turn, if he didn't keep a close eye on her, if he relaxed for even a second during this delicate period of 'training', he put lovingly, it could all come undone in just a moments' time. There was still that little voice, that itching, vile imp, that wished, that prayed for her demise. It was surprisingly convincing, answering any pretense of usefulness that she might have with equal parts fears, and justifiable ones at that, of the desolation she might bring by cause of her rife stupidity. Yet, it fell quiet in the face of the all-but-sworn fealty that echoed through every inch of her as he pounded away any sense of defiance or concern from her mind. He was reminded of her fear, her terror, present as it was, but he couldn't deny her...pliability.

The ease in which her resistance was mended with just a well-placed touch and a little...physical persuasion, he grinned, taking his hands through his wet, auburn locks.

Then doubt, heavy in his mind as he leaned against the rim of the tub, resting his head with a sigh.

But was it enough?

The prince's eyes narrowed as he looked up to the ceiling of the bathing chambers, minding the golden light above his head, giving him insight to the bright day beyond the windows that allowed it entrance on white tiles.

Will it be?

Needed time to really work his way into her head, the man thought, closing his eyes. Time to make sure that he truly had her...that last night, when answering to baser instincts, she'd merely neglected to resist him. Of course, the man remembered somewhat fondly, his body recalling just as clearly, she didn't seem particularly against the notion...not when he could still feel where he nails had raked into his skin, not when he could note just how tightly her legs had wrapped around him. Was was desperately needy in a way that, he felt, he could provide, even without the lingering sense of doom that hung about her head if she stepped out of line. When they were finished, he had her, figuratively and quite literally, weak at the knees, begging for more. He could all but smell the stench of repression on her, though he knew certainly that what he'd proposed had been a gamble.

And a testy one at that.

Built on reading the moment, the right circumstances, and assumptions made from scant observations, that, the prince knew too well, could have gone very differently if any of those pieces might have fallen in any other way than how they had.

And even more catastrophically, Hans faced with a growing look of apprehension...if he'd assumed wrong entirely.

It was by the graces of luck and some flippant higher powers that she was that...receptive.

And even more, Hans considered, opening his eyes, he needed to make sure that she would continue to be. He needed her to want it...to yearn for it. That kind of physical dependence, whilst something to build up over time, could be useful if he handled this carefully. In every sense of the word, she had to...love him.

But she also had to fear him.

It was a dance, a kind of delicate brutality that left her fearing punishment...but made it so she couldn't be away from him.

Love and fear, two sides of the same coin.

Hans sat up then at the sound of a knock at his door, turning to face it with an inquiring expression before calling out to whomever was on the other side.

"Yes, who is it?" He asked, and he waited for the other to speak, smiling cheekily as just who'd he been thinking of answered back.

The voice was meek, careful of its tone.

"It's me, Prince Hans. May I come in?" Agnes asked on the other side of the chamber, and Hans noticed at once the lack of noise in the hall, reminding himself somewhat of the night before. Leaning back upon the tub, he responded, turning his head back to the ceiling above, relaxing.

"You may." He said, and with a click of the door handle and a turn, she was there again, holding a bundle of clothes in her arms, ones, he assumed, were for him, the sort the other nursemaids had selected for him some time before in their haste within his chambers. Without looking at her, he heard the door close, leaving just the two of them in the warmth and humidity. Shifting in his tub, he took immediate notice of her silence, eying her slightly out of his peripheries, but said nothing else. Another minute passed before he did, though, sounding remarkably good natured, something that captured her surprise.

"Did you need something, Agnes?" He asked, smiling to himself, making sure to use her name.

To feel more personal. Far more casual, he felt, affording her degree of comfort in the same vein as he'd allowed the others to refer to him by name. They were more than acquainted by now, he thought deviously, and at his careful urging she perked up.

"Ah, yes. I have your clothes, my lord. I'll just put them here." She said quickly, surrendering the articles to the same dresser on the far wall where Maja had been not too long ago, setting them down in a neat pile. Sitting up, he gave her a comfortable nod, lifting his hands from the water and placing them on each side of the tub's upper rim.

"Perfect. I've spent enough time in here, anyway." He said, and in one, fluid motion, he stood from the water in a rush of movement, sending droplets of the cooling essence from the tub and to the floor in a light spray. At the sight of him, full frontal and nude, Agnes yelped, turning around quickly and shielding her eyes, like a child would when seeing the obscene. Tilting his head with confusion, he stepped from the drawn bath, placing wet feet upon ornate tiles.

Something akin to amusement crossed his face as he bent down to grab one of the bottles of scented oil and dropping a few selective drops into his opposite, waiting hands. Rubbing it along his scalp and into his hair, massaging it gently to the root, he couldn't help himself, or the teasing glint in his eye as he opened his mouth to speak.

"A bit late for modesty, isn't it? It's nothing you haven't seen before..." He spoke, tone slithering. Taking up a moisturizing salve, he sat on the edge of the tub, rubbing it on his arms and legs before moving to his midsection, thinking it hilarious when the young woman seemed to shrink even more at his chiding.

But it wasn't really a lie.

They'd become more than acquainted at this point, the prince thought, taking a bit of the salve and applying it to his flaccid member, rubbing it on slowly with tentative hands, daring her, then, to look back. He knew precisely the sort of provocative image he was projecting, and he continued on, even though she didn't turn around. Instead, she met his teasing with words of her own.

"I...well, I still don't...I mean...I just..." She stumbled, and ultimately failed, to form a retort, and when he stood again, placing the salve back upon the tray and reaching down towards another stand that presented a waiting, warmed towel for his use, he began to dry off, not bothering, this time, to wrap it around himself.

"Strange to think you so shy now..." Hans uttered with calm, but his eyes were calculated in their discretion, or rather, the lack of it, "...when you were anything but last night. You seemed perfectly willing to me to look then...I wonder what changed..."

Agnes, almost seeming outraged, was quick to turn around, but immediately upon looking at him, she was rendered redder than a beet at his casual nudity, gasping before covering golden eyes, welling with embarrassment at the sight.

She turned around again, muttering to herself, looking just the same as she had when they'd met last.

He could remember acutely the rather poignant shock upon her face when they finished the night before. When the heat of ecstasy had passed, and she returned to her mind, he was equally fascinated to find her utter shock turn to abject horror before his very eyes. It wasn't uncommon, he knew, for ones of noble blood to sleep with, well, whomever they pleased. Of course, it wasn't standard fare to bed them and produce children, his mind assessed fairly objectively, thinking back to the many, many women that he'd seen come to and from his home at any given time. There was a sort of, how does one put it...unspoken rule, that so long as things were kept relatively private, it was hardly relevant who slept with who and when.

At least, for him, that was the case.

Unwed women generally weren't seen with quite that level of leniency, he knew that well.

Perhaps too well.

Whereas he, a young man, a noble at that, might be seen as the victim of sultry temptations since he'd been nothing but the attentive, if led astray, young fiancé to the blushing princess, Agnes, a mewling, common woman from some irrelevant lower family?

It would ruin her, being seen as some seedy harlot that had worked her awful influence upon his kindly head. Sleeping with her, he realized just as soon as he'd decided to do it, wasn't just for the fun of it, or to make her woefully dependent upon him.

No, the prince thought darkly, watching her fall further and further to ruin.

It was an insurance policy above all else, as now, after what they'ddone, she couldn't possibly tell of what she'dseen.

Because after all: what was a greater weapon than that of reputation? Social suicide had been the death of a many of people, and she would be no different.

It was just him digging her grave this time.

Stepping behind the woman, and grabbing her waist, pulling it to him in a show of brief strength and playful aggression, he thought it fascinating to find her barely resisting him. Was it because of their agreement?

Perhaps fear, he thought, leaning his chin in the nook of her shoulder and pressing sultry lips against her ear, though this assumption was quickly discarded as she shivered. It was almost as if she were cold, but the warmth of her skin, the flush of her face...Hans understood why she didn't resist.

He smiled.

She didn't want to.

And that, he thought with a definitive sneer, was just how he was hoping she would react.

"M-my prince...I...I don't think now is a good time..." She offered half-heartedly, trapping herself between leaning back into his touch or remaining perfectly still, and he was aware very much that she didn't honestly believe that herself. However, for now he was just testing her, and without progressing further, he grinned in her ear.

"Oh, I'm sure it isn't..." He assumed, haughty.

Her blush became more intense.

Then he pulled away...and for a moment there, for a split second, he seemed sure that she would try to grab him back, her body twitching and turning slightly before she faced the door again, restraining herself.

"...no, for now...I have matters to attend to, though first..." He started, walking over to where his clothes had been left. Donning his briefs and all of his undergarments, after a time, the woman chanced turning around, meeting a partially clothed prince as he'd already begun to move to the black slacks that fitted over his leg with ease, owed to the quality fabric that they'd been hemmed in. Slipping them on, she was called to attention.

"Yes?" She uttered, watching as he fastened the dark buttons of his trousers, pulling and adjusting as according to his likening in a mirror that hadn't been very far from them. He didn't answer her immediately, leaving her hanging on his silence in anticipation.

Instead, he focused his attention on grabbing his shirt, a rich, burgundy hue bearing the dyed fabrics, laced with matching dark buttons that had matched very much the saturation of his pants. Taking each arm into the silken sleeves, he thought the color tasteful and fitting, looking very much, in his eye, like a full dressing of bloodied wears in the same vein as he'd been donned just the night before.

He kept this thought to himself, though, only smiling mildly at his reflection as he began to button the shirt. All the while, Agnes was left to the wayside, almost looking anxious as he refrained from speaking until he was fully buttoned, smoothing his articles down before tucking the shirt into the slacks, completing his dressing after a minute or so.

Inspecting his full, if incomplete, state of dress, and he thought it suitable.

Agnes appeared to think so, too, as she'd been caught, again, looking at him, a light blush to her cheeks in the moments leading up her realizing that the prince had been looking back at her. She averted eyes swiftly, biting her lip in waiting for the scolding...only for it to not come.

He liked the attention after all.

But without even a moment to ease into conversation, and in reaching forward to grab the white, silken scarf that had been laid out for him to wear, he tied it around his neck, adjusting it accordingly before his eyes turned cold.

"Were you able to clean it all?" Hans inquired, gazing back to the mirror, feeling the woman come to attention at once once he'd inquired her. It only took a moment or so for her to recall what he was referring to.

She nodded, the blush falling from her rosy cheeks as the air felt far more serious now.

"Of course. I managed to trace it back for a little while...from...there..." She stopped, grabbing her dress as something like apprehension flickered over her face like lightning, though she didn't dare say what she meant.

He didn't need her to.

The prince knew it would be a long and arduous task, asking her to backtrack her efforts to clean up the mess he'd left behind in the form of bloody bootprints, but it was, apart from cleansing his ruined articles, the first task he'd put her to work on. To know that she managed to perform sufficiently, and without much complaint at that, was reason for him to be optimistic.

But not overly so.

"I see. And no one saw you then, either, I'm assuming?" He asked, taking in-hand a light, airy vest and bringing it to his shoulders. It was hue a richer red, shining with silk and refine, though he expected nothing less of his station.

Shaking her head, she paled at the thought.

"N-no, of course not, but..." Agnes began, holding her dress harder and looking to the door to their collective left.

Hans didn't follow her line of sight, feeling heavily the pondering and turning of thoughts within her head, though she hadn't made a sound. When it seemed as though she wouldn't follow her train of thought, disregarding his annoyance, the man frowned, but in a measured way, heeding her concern.

"Yes, what is it?" He asked, finally looking at her.

The impact of his gaze was clear as, when his stunning, verdant eyes met hers, she was shaken, sure, but she didn't refrain from continuing, somehow empowered by his undivided attention, if still reluctant to speak.

"I...I just don't...I know you said it's none of my concern, and please don 't take it as me questioning your judgement, but..." The woman fiddled with her dress more, tugging the fabric like a nervous child. Hans thought himself patient, but growing fed up with her meandering, he tried to urge her along with a gentle smile.

Though it was difficult.

She was just so...irritating.

"What's wrong? I won't be upset." He assured her, reaching out and holding her arm lightly, a tentative, careful touch that, though it surprised her, didn't alarm her too much. If anything, he noticed, watching her taking a slow breath, then breathing out. Then she blinked, though the fear didn't lift from her face, as if she were remembering something cold and hard and terrible.

A haunted look, in every sense of the word.

"When...when I got to the end of it, or...o-or really the start of where the prints led...it took me...to the dungeons. But...b-but when I got to the door, and if you listened close enough..." Agnes continued, not looking at him, as if searching her memories for the image she was describing.

There was a long silence.

Then her voice grew softer, quieter, bordering on a whisper he had to lean in to hear with any degree of confidence to what she was saying, his eyes shiny with interest...with intrigue.

"...I could hear...someone. Like...crying. I...might have been imagining it, but...it didn't feel like I was. The sound was...awful, my lord. They just cried and c-cried...and though I didn't go in, I think...I know who it was." The woman continued, chancing a glance at the prince, unable to hear or feel neither the flurry of deviant pride nor the terrible rush of excitement from her words that the man was experiencing internally with every word that trickled from her lips.

He was always certain that the dog wouldn't have gone unconscious initially (he was finding more and more that he was very…hardy), or, he thought with a touch of glee that he even struggled to contain through the distinct rush of excitable shivers running hot in his blood. Perhaps he had, Hans pondered, with those sounds only being the manifestation of hellish nightmare he'd been chiefly responsible in creating.

Whichever it was, it didn't matter.

Hans could have only imagined how glorious the sound of his anguish would have been, concealed so discreetly from him when he was down there, having his way, his...fun.

His mouth twitched, but he maintained his composure, his stance of careful indifference.

"And...who do you think it might have been...Agnes? Hmm?" He tested, wondering if she would be so bold to say what she was thinking. Testing if had the gaul to.

To answer that lingering question that had been on her mind since the night before.

She swallowed, considering him for a long moment before speaking again.

Her voice was a distant whisper.

"It was him...the one prisoner, wasn't it? That man that hurt...t-that hurt Princess Anna..."The young woman started, hesitant. Hans's face was still.

He answered her candidly.

"Yes, it was."

Agnes's eyes widened, and another question formed in her mind...a far more poignant one, he could tell. It was of note enough that she bit her lips, appearing to fight herself on the issue of speaking it into being. He had a feeling that she needn't ask it, though, as, despite her being, in his mind, idiotic in every sense of the word, he knew her to be...perceptive.

Enough that when she finally did look back at him, a rising clarity clear behind golden eyes, his face slackened to a cold grin.

Agnes's to brutal understanding.

"And you...you were with him. You...you were...covered in his..."Her eyes drifted off, widening with horror as she had to be picturing him from then, from that night...slathered in blood. He wondered vaguely what she might be speculating that he did, but she seemed to get the picture as, with a raised hand to her mouth, and a distinct gag between tightly cupped fingers, her sickness grew at the notion, tearing her with conflicting thoughts.

Hans didn't say more, instead reaching for his final article, a black overcoat that hugged his frame snugly with airy fabric, sweeping his shoulders and tickling the back of his legs with brushes of dark tones. He allowed her to soak in speculation that wasn't truly so, conjured images of the horrors that he'd wrought with his own hands flashing before her innocent eyes in real time...as if basking in the pride it brought.

Adjusting his clothes just one last time, and looking himself over to detect any imperfections needing correction, he had to admit he was decidedly please with his ensemble, all before finally slipping on rich, red gloves.

The topping.

He was pleased.

Very pleased.

Turning again to face her, he held her arm, leaning forward to brush near her ear with words meant only for her, a small smile parting fine, perfect lips.

"I wasn't giving him any more than he deserved...he's down there for a reason...is he not?"The prince asked, pressuring her to answer with a resonant squeeze of her forearm in his grip.

Agnes wavered, thinking, he felt, very hard about his words.

He continued.

"What you heard...was the sound of a guilty man. What you heard..."Hans came closer, practically touching her ear, "...was his retribution. Never forget that."

And with those final words, he stood again, considering her, with practiced efficiency, a changed expression, now a wide, gracious smile that warmed the entire room.

"Now..." He said with finality, effectively ending the conversation, "...where's breakfast? I'm starving!"

Agnes, thoroughly thrown for a loop by his complete change in tone, was stirred at once, though her eyes still looked far off, distant with thoughts she didn't vocalize.

"Oh, y-yes. Yes, of course; I'm sure one of the others brought it up. Come, if you would." She said, nodding quickly before turning from him and heading towards the door in a flurry of elegant green that felt more like sprinting to him. He paid it little mind, nodding curtly before following her to the door as it was opened, greeting the two of them to the still relatively quiet halls as the nobles, Hans realized, were likely still eating, abandoning these gilded paths and leaving it for just them.

The two traveled in silence during the short trip to his chambers, and the closer they drew, the more concentrated the scent of fresh food arousing a light grumble of anticipation from his empty stomach, eliciting a humble chuckle from his throat as they entered the room again.

He recalled it, having not been fed since yesterday, the rush of everything with Elsa and just about the entire ordeal rendering him both unable to find the right moment and having thoroughly forgotten to eat anything. His hunger became more apparent as they came into the room, and upon his far nightstand, on a delicately arranged tray, were a collection of foods still rather warm, which was pleasing to him.

He was quick upon it, but he didn't grab for it, sitting himself upon the bed and waiting, expectantly, for Agnes to carry it to him, to which she did, the young woman, making sure to balance the small cup of dark, steaming coffee without tipping it, was able to set it on the bed in-front of him, far more silent and pensive than she had been before. Before leaving, she carefully grabbed the handkerchief from his tray, and fluffing it out, the young woman laid it across his lap, backing away without a word.

Making little mention of her, and removing his gloves (he liked to keep them clean of residue), he observed his food, smiling at the collection of choices. From buttered and jam-coated breads, to the eggs and fine, folded meats that begged a subtlety he was quite adjusted to, he was first set about the black coffee, a warm brew that begged to be drank.

And drank he did.

Grabbing and bringing it to his lips, he blew a few times to ensure it wouldn't burn him, and sipped of it, the warming of his throat a pleasant ease he'd been sorely waiting for.

He sighed, smiling with satisfaction.

"Ah...just right..." He said to himself, setting it back down his tray. He'd turned his attention to his food when he felt her back away, motioning wordlessly to the door with rushed movements that betrayed an urgency that wasn't there before. Looking up then, his eyes narrowed, flickering with offense at her attempt to leave without due departure.

He paused his eating, calling to her.

"Agnes? You're off quickly, aren't you?" He asked, sitting up and adjusting his posture as he regarded her, or rather her backside, which he found doubly rude, and his mood was quick to sour when she didn't turn around to regard him.

Something was...different.

He frowned.

He didn't like it.

"Turn to face me. I will not speak to your back." He remarked simply, but his authority and power of voice shined through careful reprimand. He, of course, remembered to be patient, careful with his words, but the face of his privileged expectations made it hard to bite back his clear offense. She was in no position to disrespect him, a dark part of himself spat, watching her flinch at the sound of his voice.

Hans could see it again, the fiddling of her stately fabric on either side of her dress as she did just that, but slowly, reluctantly, her eyes trained firmly to the floor and away from him as if unable to even look at him at all. His sharp, piercing eyes watched her, staring into her with such intensity that any of the charm of good favor dissolved with a blink, and he listened intently as she sought to explain herself.

"I...I'm sorry, I was just...I forgot myself for a moment. I'm sorry." She apologized, but didn't look up.

Hans thought it obvious that something was on her mind, but didn't dig into it. Not only was he not entirely concerned with her personal feelings (unless it involved her revealing anything that they had personally discussed), but he was due to eat breakfast, and he wasn't quite in the mood for long conversation if it meant his food would get cold.

That would only work to worsen his mood even more.

Narrowing his eyes, then forcing a smile to his lips, he waved her away, chuckling softly.

"No, no, it's fine. There must be a lot on your mind, so I understand..." He began, allowing a moment to pass before she quietly nodded, continuing to fiddle with her dress.

"I...yes. It's just...there's so much. It's...a lot to take in, my lord. I apologize." She answered softly, glancing at him with a drawing, careful eye that shimmered with uncertainty. She even teased a smile at his generous understanding, though it was small and fragile at the seams. Nodding, the man returned the look.

"You're forgiven...though..." His face was still, marked with good humor, true it was, though the life in it faltered, leaving it looking...hollow. Taking up his fork, and putting upon it a portion of his eggs, he ate them, humming with satisfaction at the wonderful medley of flavors that greeted his tongue. Looking back at her, staring right through her, he spoke again, his tone as jubilant as it had been before.

But it was dark.

Colder than ice.

Colder than death.

"...I don't take kindly to disrespect, Agnes. Don't test me, understand?" He hummed in a light voice, fixing her with a dead, freezing stare through smiling lips that left the girl frozen solid on the spot. The prince waited for her to respond, and when it immediately dawned on her that he was serious, and painfully so, her smile fell.

Her eyes fell to the floor again, shrinking down like a scolded child.

"Yes, my lord. It won't happen again."The nursemaid whispered, looking thoroughly afraid.

Good,He thought, setting his fork down after eating a bit more of his eggs.

She should be.

All at once, his mood lightened. Hans, his perfect self, was back again.

"Right, now...I'm sure you have...nursemaidmatters to attend to, don't you?" He asked, relaxing himself and indulging a bit of the bread that had been dressed lovingly in a strawberry jam. It was sweet and perfectly soft, he thought, and at his, again, shifting mood, he could detect a greater deal of hesitance in the woman as she sought the correct and least-likely-to-offend answer. After a long moment of consideration, she responded, shifting slightly where she stood, looking...uncomfortable, yet strangely at ease. Conflicted, it seemed more like it, torn between being relaxed and being on edge.

A lovely combination.

"I d-do, yes. I was meant to help tend to the grounds. There is quite a bit of thaw, and the floors need a re-polishing, the windows cleaning...there is much to do." Agnes answered, a bit meekly, but honestly. Considering her words, Hans hummed with thought. He was sure that many of the nobles and the like would be out and about, perhaps in the town now that the thaw had come. There were certainly other nursemaids that she would be working alongside, and with the task of cleaning the grounds and tending to the palace, an idea came to mind, and he set down his bread, brushing his hands against each other to discard some of the crumbs that had clung to his palms. Taking the handkerchief that had had been laid across his lap and dabbling his mouth, he smiled softly, regarding her with a gleaning eye.

"Well, in that case..." He began, giving her reason to hang on every word.

Agnes was at attention.

"Y-yes, my lord?" She asked, curious and nervous all the same.

Again, he rose the coffee to his lips, looking long in the black mixture before his eyes. It was aromatic and breathy, too, easing his mind with a sip of the bitterness that reached his tongue, encased in a long, deep, but polite gulp that ended after moments. Setting it down again, and minding the silence of the hall beyond, he held his hands together and placed them in his lap.

"...I have a special request."