Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sea wind from the Southern Isles slipped through the white marble walls and the blown-glass windows, carrying with it an unmistakable mix of salt and warm breeze. Beyond the harbor, the ships swayed in a slow rhythm, and the polished stone alleyways filled with merchants offering freshly caught fish and food. The palace, imposing in its architecture, dominated the city from the highest hill, with its towers and battlements reflecting the golden light of sunset. However, at the top, among the halls adorned with tapestries depicting past victories, there reigned a profound silence, one that was not of peace, but of great misfortune.

Richard, the king, had lost his rest for weeks. His desk, always cluttered with documents, seemed like an empty extension of his mind, trapped in a single image: that of his wife, Alysanne, lying in her bedroom, her eyes lost in the horizon. Since that fateful day, when tragedy struck their home with devastating force, she had not been the same. The sorrow consuming her had created a distance between them, a barrier impossible to cross, no matter how many times Richard tried. The pain was palpable in every corner of their lives.

And yet, the kingdom needed to be ruled. The coronation of the future Queen of Arendelle, an event of immense political and diplomatic importance, was just around the corner. Arendelle, with its mysterious air and the stories of its reclusive royal family, was on the horizon. The invitation to the ceremony had been selective, and only a few royal houses had been summoned, which only increased the mystery. Under normal circumstances, Richard and Alysanne would have been the ideal representatives to attend, but with the queen trapped in her depression, the duty fell to his younger brother.

Hans.

The prince had an inexhaustible energy, a constant restlessness to prove himself. Richard had watched him with the mixture of pride and frustration that an older brother feels when seeing the impetuosity of youth. In part, he thought the trip would do him good. Meeting other monarchs, sharing at the court of Arendelle... perhaps even finding a wife. The princess Elsa was almost the same age as him, young, single, and was set to rule a prosperous kingdom. The prospect was not far-fetched.

"It will be a good opportunity for him," he had told one of his advisors the night his brother sailed.

But now, days later, that certainty had turned into anguish.

His brother had not returned. There were no messengers, no correspondence. Nothing. Worried, Richard ordered ships to be sent to find out what was happening. When they returned, the sailors brought with them even more alarming news.

"The fjord of Arendelle is completely frozen, Your Majesty," reported the captain of the royal fleet. "It cannot be crossed."

"Frozen?" The King frowned. "But it's summer."

"We know, your Grace. But the ice is so thick that our ships cannot approach the port. There is no way in or out of the kingdom."

The monarch felt a tightness in his chest. Something was terribly wrong.

For days, he convened meetings with his sailors and ministers, discussing possible routes to Arendelle, exchanging information with other kingdoms whose envoys were also trapped there. No one knew anything. The uncertainty weighed like an imminent storm.

Then, a messenger burst into the council chamber.

"Your Majesty..." The man could barely catch his breath. "Prince Hans has returned."

Richard exhaled a sigh of relief, standing up immediately.

"Where is he? Is he injured? What happened?"

The messenger hesitated.

"My King... The prince has returned... but he is under arrest."

The silence in the room was absolute.

The king felt the ground beneath his feet become unstable.

"Under arrest?" he asked, his voice rising with a mix of disbelief and fury. "How could anyone dare to arrest him? He is a prince!"

The messenger, a man with silver hair and an impassive face, cleared his throat.

"Your Majesty, the news we bring from Arendelle... are not favorable."

Richard felt something tighten in his chest.

"Speak now."

"Prince Hans has been accused of treason. He attempted to murder the queen of Arendelle and her sister."

The accusation struck like lightning in the council chamber. A murmur of astonishment rose among the ministers and admirals, some exchanging looks of disbelief, others of concern.

Richard, however, did not say anything at first. He stood there, his muscles tensed, trying to process the words he had just heard.

"That’s absurd." His voice was firm, but there was a crack in it. "My brother would never do such a thing."

"We have witnesses, Your Majesty," the man continued. "The reports from Arendelle are clear. It is said that prince Hans and princess Anna got engaged on the night of the coronation, but then he left the princess in a critical state, assuring the court that she had passed away, in order to seize power in her name. But the princess survived... and when the queen was captured, he himself raised his sword against her."

A chill ran down his spine.

"Engaged?" he repeated in a whisper, as if the phrase was inconceivable to him. "What are you talking about? What does it mean that he left her in critical condition? And why would they believe she was dead?"

The messenger hesitated for a moment.

"Well, Your Majesty... Princess Anna was frozen."

The silence that followed was almost as oppressive as the confession itself.

"Frozen?" Richard furrowed his brow, searching the man's gaze for an explanation that made sense. "How is that possible? What does Hans have to do with that?"

The advisor seemed to choose his words carefully before responding.

"That is precisely the point, Your Majesty. Nothing about what happened is... conventional. The circumstances in Arendelle are unique. Queen Elsa... she..."

He paused, lowering his gaze for a moment before raising it again, as if burdened by the need to share a truth he would rather remain silent about.

"She possesses extraordinary abilities. It is said she has the power to create ice and snow. She was the one who, unintentionally, covered all of Arendelle with a sudden winter. Somehow, her sister was affected by this power. And according to the reports, she was completely frozen... until she came back to life."

Richard couldn’t process it. Everything in his world, in his certainties, in his most basic logic, was collapsing around him like a sandcastle swept away by the tide.

"Sorcery..." whispered a minister from the crowd.

Richard felt an unbearable vertigo. His wife bedridden, his country under scrutiny from all the courts, and now... his brother embroiled in a scandal with a queen who, suddenly, was not just a young sovereign, but a creature straight out of childhood tales.

And Hans… his brother, his little brother… had he really done all that?

"It can’t be," Richard whispered. "Hans wouldn’t..."

"Your Majesty," the advisor interrupted seriously, "it’s better if you hear it from him. The prince is about to arrive."

The murmurs among the ministers grew louder. Richard, however, said nothing. He stood there in the middleof the room, his gaze fixed on a dead point, not really seeing anything. When he left the room, the castle was silent, but it was not a peaceful silence; it was a silence heavy with whispers that slithered through the halls like an invisible current. Richard moved forward with a firm step, but his mind was a whirlwind.

Hans.

His younger brother. His responsibility. The child who had grown up in his shadow and that of their other siblings, eager to prove himself, desperate to find his place in a family where power was everything. Richard had always known he was ambitious, even reckless at times, but he never would have imagined he would take his desire for recognition this far.

 He attempted to murder Queen Elsa and Princess Anna.

The words of that man still echoed in his head, absurd, impossible. And yet, if they were true, then Hans had crossed a line from which there was no return.

As the king walked, the servants passing by the corridor stopped to bow before him and also to glance at him discreetly. It didn’t take much for rumors to spread. He didn’t bother to deny them or quicken his pace. He felt the weight of every gaze on him, the contained expectation in every whisper.

"My king."

A voice stopped him.

He looked up and saw one of his younger siblings leaning against the doorframe, the expression of someone who had already made up their mind about the whole situation.

"Is it true what they're saying about Hans?" he asked with a hint of mockery. "By the gods, what an idiot. Our dear brother tried to become king the easy way. He was always a bit of a fool, but this... this exceeds all my expectations."

Richard felt the fury rise in his throat like bile.

"I don’t want to hear another word about this, Thomas," he replied in a low, tense voice, each word sharp as a knife.

The other prince raised an eyebrow, amused.

"Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you feel sorry for him. He was always a lost cause."

Richard stopped dead in his tracks, and for a moment, the urge to respond was so strong that he felt his muscles tense. But he held back. He wasn’t going to argue with him. Not now.

Without saying more, he resumed walking.

When he arrived, Hans was in the audience chamber, sitting in a chair beside a dark wooden table, both wrists shackled, resting on his lap.

For a moment, Richard barely recognized him.

The Hans before him was not the younger brother he remembered, nor the impeccably dressed prince from just days ago. He looked different. He had lost weight, and his skin had the dull tone of someone who had spent too much time on a ship without seeing the sun. His red hair was longer, somewhat disheveled, and his clothes still carried dust from the journey. But what caught Richard's attention the most was his nose. It was swollen and bruised, with a slight cut across the bridge.

"My dear brother. You have no idea how much I've missed you," Hans said, with a mocking tone and a forced smile.

Richard frowned.

"What happened to you?"

The younger man lifted his gaze with an expression of utter indifference.

"Anna."

Richard blinked.

"The Princess Anna?"

"Yes, she hit me."

The tone in which he said it was almost... bored. As if he were describing the weather.

Richard felt a knot form in his stomach. He forced himself to remain steady.

"Hans... Is it true what they say? Did you try to murder the Queen of Arendelle?”

Silence.

Hans held his gaze for a long moment, then, with a calmness that froze Richard’s blood, he replied:

"Yes."

The word dropped between them like a stone into a deep well.

The king felt a shiver run down his spine.

"You admit it?" he whispered, unable to contain his disbelief.

"There’s nothing to admit," Hans replied with the same icy calm. "I did what had to be done."

Richard felt a burn in his chest.

"What had to be done?"

Hans didn’t hesitate.

"Arendelle was on the brink of disaster. The Queen had condemned her own people to an eternal winter, and the princess... wasn’t fit to rule. Someone had to take control."

Richard felt as if he had been punched in the stomach.

“And you thought that someone should be you?”

“I was the only one with the will to do it.”

“Will?” Richard let out a bitter laugh “ Do you think you did something good?”

Hans narrowed his eyes.

“What other choice did I have? Let everyone freeze to death? You weren't there,” he said, his tone unchanging “You didn’t see what I saw.”

“Don’t you dare justify it like that! Don’t you dare!” His fist hit the arm of the chair, but Hans didn’t even flinch. “ Do you really think you can disguise your ambition as sacrifice? You went to Arendelle with a plan from the start! You got engaged to the princess without my consent, without your king’s advice, as if the fate of an entire kingdom could be decided on your whim!”

The sound of his voice echoed in the room, bouncing off the stone walls. Hans remained unshaken.

“And tell me, wasn't that what you wanted? That's why you sent me…”

Richard fell silent for a moment, but the fury in his eyes didn’t fade.

“I didn’t want this, Hans.” His voice was quieter now, but full of deep pain “ I wanted you to do the right thing. I wanted you to meet a noble young woman, earn her trust honorably, offer her your sincere love, not with deceit.”

Richard took a step toward his brother, his gaze now a mix of disappointment and anguish.

“And what did you do? You deceived her, got engaged to her only for your own purposes.. You tried to kill her, as if her life was just a pawn in your power game. How could you? How could you go that far?”

“Do the right thing? Honor? I think those words are a little too big for you, brother.”

Richard’s expression hardened, knowing exactly what Hans would say.

“Don’t try to make yourself a victim.”

"And why not? Because it's easier to see me as a monster?" Hans stood and took a step forward, his eyes burning with suppressed fury. "The opportunity to seize power was right in front of me. You thought I wouldn't take it? You knew what they did to me. You knew they treated me like I was nothing but a nuisance. And what did you do? Nothing. Because the only thing that matters to you is your crown.”

“That’s not true…”

“Want to talk about betrayals? Fine. Let’s talk about betrayals. Let’s talk about all the years you watched me be humiliated without lifting a single finger. About all the moments when you could have done something, and you chose not to. Isn’t that also a betrayal, brother?”

Richard inhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a moment, but when he looked back at him, his voice was firm.

“None of that justifies what you did in Arendelle. You manipulated and endangered the lives of two young women who had done nothing to you.”

The silence that followed was heavier than any shout.

“I had the chance to have what I’d always wanted, and I did what I had to do. I didn’t expect you to understand,” he finally said with a slight, twisted smile. “You’ve never had to fight for anything.”

Richard’s laugh was brief, dry.

“Is that what you think?”

“Yes,” Hans didn’t hesitate.

Richard held his gaze, but there was no anger in his eyes, only something colder, more lethal.

“What a shame you are, brother.”

“Don’t talk to me as if you’re better than me. You would’ve done the same in my place. You know what I had to do to survive here.”

“Surviving doesn’t mean trampling on others, Hans. It doesn’t mean becoming someone who can’t even look at himself in the mirror without making excuses.”

Hans’s face hardened.

“If I had achieved my goal, you’d be telling a different story.”

“But you didn’t succeed,” Richard didn’t blink. “And now you’ll have to live with the consequences.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?”

“I don’t think you understand even half of what you’ve done. Arendelle isn’t just any kingdom. Its allies won’t let this be forgotten. When they come to demand justice, who do you think will lift a finger for you?”

“No one, of course. No one in this family has done anything for me.”

“No one?” His voice dropped a tone, filled with contained danger. “Despite everything you’ve destroyed, they brought you here, and you’re protected under a mercy you don’t even deserve. And tell me, where do you think that leniency comes from?”

Hans raised his eyebrows, feigning surprise.

“Oh, forgive me, brother, I didn’t know I should thank you for not throwing me to the wolves. How magnanimous you are. You’re such a responsible brother, an honorable king, a devoted husband. Since when, Richard? Since you put a ring on her finger?”

The brunette immediately tensed, fury igniting in his gaze.

“You dare speak like that to your king?”

Hans smirked, the coldness in his eyes cutting like a knife.

“I’ll speak to you however I damn well please. Maybe you spent years convincing your wife you were worthy of her. Maybe you managed to fool everyone in this family with this illusion of nobility and honor. But deep down, we both know the truth. You’re nothing but a hollow man, a selfish coward hiding behind a crown. Just like our father. You haven’t changed. No matter how much you pretend, you’re still the same piece of filth you’ve always been.”

The impact of those words was immediate. Before Richard could even respond, a guard seized Hans by the arm, and in an instant, two more stepped between them.

“Mind your words, prince!” one of the men thundered, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “No one disrespects his grace in the presence of the Kingsguard.”

Hans struggled, but the grip held firm. His breath came fast, not from fear, but from defiance. Richard, however, remained still. He merely watched, with the composure of a man who had weathered storms far fiercer than the rage of one man.

“Let him go,” he ordered at last, his voice steady, unyielding.

The guards obeyed, though they did not release Hans entirely. Richard stepped forward—just enough for his presence to command the respect the crown demanded.

“Do you feel better now? If you need to see me as a villain to avoid confronting who you truly are, then do so. But don’t mistake the past for the present. I am no longer the man I once was... and you, Hans, are nothing more than a shadow of what you’ll never become. You sealed your fate the moment you chose to take advantage of those innocent girls. Every choice after that has been nothing more than a step toward your downfall.”

The air between them grew dense, heavy with everything they had never said.

Then, the door creaked open, and a maid entered with her head lowered, her voice trembling.

“Your Majesty…”

Richard didn’t even look at her.

“Not now.”

“But, my king… the queen…”

They both abruptly separated their gazes.

“What’s happened?”

The maid hesitated.

“She hasn’t eaten all day… She refuses to see anyone… She’s in very bad shape. It would be better if you talk to her.”

Richard felt the ground crumble beneath his feet. The anger at Hans still burned in his chest, but something bigger, more urgent, was calling for him now. His lips pressed into a tight line.

Hans blinked, confusion still clouding his face.

“Is she okay?”

Richard turned toward him with the coldness.

“No, Hans. She’s not okay. While you were plotting your schemes in Arendelle, I was here, trying to console my wife, who, if you’ve forgotten, just lost another baby. And while doing that, I spent days trying to find a way to send my men to bring you back. And for what…? Now, how do you think she’ll feel when she finds out everything you’ve done?”

His words were like arrows, piercing the silence that had settled between them. Hans’s face, once marked with disdain, now showed genuine concern, but Richard didn’t let him hide from the reality of his actions.

“I don’t have time for this,” he said finally, with weariness. “We’ll talk later, but not now.”

He turned toward the guards without looking at him again, his words cold and final.

“Take him to the dungeon.”

Hans froze, his defiance returning with full force. His eyes narrowed, and his voice shook with indignation.

“To the dungeon? But I'm a prince! You can’t just…”

Richard’s gaze hardened, and his voice dropped, filled with ice.

“Not anymore. If you want to act like a criminal, then you’ll be treated like one.”

And for the first time, Hans hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face as the guards 

Outside, the hallway seemed endless.

Richard moved forward with steady steps, but his mind floated in an abyss of chaos and noise. The echo of his own footsteps mingled with the voices surrounding him, the incessant chatter of ministers and advisors trailing behind him like a pack, each one more impatient than the other.

"Your Majesty, we need a statement."

"The Council is awaiting your orders."

"The ambassadors will want an explanation. Will they be granted an audience?"

"How shall we respond to the court of Arendelle?"

The words bounced aimlessly in his skull. S tatements. Explanations. Orders. God, he didn’t even know what he was supposed to do.

His heart still thudded with the fury of his encounter with his younger brother, but beneath the anger, there was something deeper, more unbearable. A cold weight that anchored itself to his chest. Alysanne.

"My king..."

Richard closed his eyes for a moment, pressing the bridge of his nose.

"One moment."

The murmurs continued around him.

"Your Grace, with all due respect, we cannot..."

Richard stopped dead in his tracks and spun on his heels.

"I said wait a moment!"

The hallway fell into complete silence, and the representatives stopped dead in their tracks.

He took a deep breath, trying to contain the storm raging inside him.

“I’m going to see my wife,” he said in a more controlled voice, though each word scraped at his throat. “Afterward… afterward, we’ll attend to this matter.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He simply continued walking.

When he reached the antechamber of his chambers, one of the maids looked up with evident nervousness.

“Your Majesty…”

“Don’t let anyone speak to her about what happened with the prince Hans,” Richard ordered in a low voice. “Understood?”

The young maid immediately nodded, not daring to reply.

With a tense exhale, Richard pushed the door open and entered.

The room was dimly lit.

Thick curtains blocked the sunlight, plunging the room into a muted twilight. The air carried a faint scent of withered roses and medicine. On the table by the bed, a tray with soup remained untouched.

And on the bed, lying like a marble figure, was she.

The Queen of the Southern Isles.

For a moment, he felt a tight knot in his throat, so strong that he could barely breathe.

She looked fragile. Too fragile. Her normally shiny and well-cared-for brown hair lay tangled on the pillow. She wasn’t sleeping. He knew this by the stiffness of her posture, by the way her chest barely rose and fell with each breath.

Richard slowly approached.

“Alysanne…”

No response.

He knelt beside the bed and took one of her hands in his.

“My love... “ his voice cracked for just a moment, but he forced himself to continue “You need to eat something.”

She didn’t react. Not even a blink.

Richard felt desperation rise in his throat like a suffocating wave.

He stood up and walked toward the window. If he could bring in some light...

But when he slightly pulled back the curtains, Alysanne's voice rose, hoarse and faint:

“Close it.”

He turned, surprised.

“Just a moment” he said softly ”The room needs air.”

“Close it, Richard.”

This time, her tone left no room for argument.

He felt the command as if a wall was rising between them. He closed his eyes, exhaled slowly, and, with a heavy heart, released the fabric. The darkness reclaimed the room, enveloping his wife in its somber embrace.

He turned back to her. She was as always, leaning against the pillows, her body little more than a shadow between the sheets. She didn’t raise her gaze when he approached.

He forced himself to smile, even though his heart sank.

“I was thinking… maybe we could have dinner together tonight. Like we used to, on the terrace. I could ask the chef to prepare that stew you love... with freshly baked bread. Would you like that?

Alysanne turned her face toward the wall.

“I don’t want dinner. I don’t want anything.”

Richard felt a cold stab run down his back.

He took a deep breath and reached for her hand, but she pulled it away before he could touch it.

“The doctor is worried because you haven’t eaten. Your ladies are worried too. Come on, Alysanne... just tell me what you’d like to eat, and I’ll make sure they bring it to you. Anything.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Richard closed his eyes for a moment. Desperation rose up his throat like a suffocating wave.

He picked up the bowl of soup that had been left beside the bed. It was still warm. He slowly moved the spoon, watching the steam rise in the dim light of the room. The weight of the crown, of his people, of his family, clung to his shoulders like a stone, but nothing pressed more on him than the woman in front of him, sitting with her gaze fixed on the small object between her hands.

A golden rattle.

A dolphin with soft carved details, designed for tiny hands that would never hold it.

Richard felt a pang in his chest, but he forced himself to speak.

“Aly... “ his voice cracked for just a moment, but he forced himself to continue. “Just a little.”

She took a while to react, but finally, with the same resignation as a leaf being carried by the wind, she parted her lips and allowed Richard to feed her the first spoonful.

He felt a slight relief. But the guilt still weighed on his chest. He trusted her more than anyone to talk about what tormented him, about what was happening outside these four walls, but how could he add more weight onto her when she could barely hold her own?

So, he turned to trivial matters.

“Do you remember the orphanage you helped build in the capital?” he asked, making a conscious effort to keep his voice light” We received letters from the children this morning. They want to see you.”

Alysanne turned the rattle between her fingers, but didn’t make any other gesture of interest.

Richard felt the sting of helplessness, but tried again.

“Oh, and the Viscountess of Elysium asked about you. She wanted to visit you today; she says it would be a shame for you to miss out on the court gossip.”

Silence.

Not even a blink.

Richard pressed his lips together. He knew she wouldn’t answer, that every word of his slid over her like rain on a stone. And still, he kept speaking because the silence was unbearable.

“She mentioned something about the Duchess of Montreuil… Apparently, her parrot has learned to imitate her husband’s voice. It does it so well that the servants are going crazy because they don’t know if it’s the Duke scolding them… or just a bird with too much sense of humor. Can you imagine?”

Nothing.

Richard waited, almost with the naive hope of seeing even the slightest hint of a smile, a slight tremor on her lips. But Alysanne remained motionless, her eyes fixed on the small dolphin between her fingers.

“She doesn’t want to intrude, but she’ll come when you’re ready to see her.”

Nothing.

A ghost.

He tightened the spoon in his hand and exhaled slowly.

“Your people miss you, my dear.” He said gently.  “They’ve left flowers at the castle entrance. We could go down and see them together.”

Alysanne didn’t respond immediately. Her mouth barely parted, but the only word she uttered was a muted murmur:

“I don’t want to.”

Richard felt the weight of those two words like a blow.

The rattle tinkled softly as she turned it in her palm.

He shifted his gaze toward the soup. It wasn’t as hot anymore.

“Come on, just one more” he insisted, bringing the spoon to her again.

She parted her lips, but in a clumsy movement, some of the liquid spilled onto the sheets.

And then, for no apparent reason, the trembling began.

Her shoulders shook as if a freezing chill was running through her.

And then, without warning, the crying erupted.

The rattle slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor with a hollow, metallic sound.

Richard felt like his entire world shattered at that moment.

He leaned toward her without thinking, wrapping his arms around her, holding her against his chest as sobs shook her fragile body.

“it’s okay…” he whispered, his voice broken by helplessness. “I’m here.”

But Alysanne pulled away sharply.

“No…”

“Aly…”

“Please, Richard. Leave me alone.”

Her plea struck him harder than any rejection.

“I don’t want to leave you. I can’t” he said, his voice barely audible. “Not when you’re like this.”

She didn’t look at him.

“Please” she repeated, weakly ”Just go.”

He stayed there, his heart pounding with an indescribable pain, watching the woman he loved who, even in his presence, was irretrievably alone.

He didn’t want to leave.

He didn’t want to abandon her.

But she wasn’t with him anymore, even though her body remained in that room.

Finally, he stood up.

The rattle lay on the floor, reflecting the dim light from the window.

Richard picked it up carefully, It was cold in his hand. He placed it on the table, and headed for the door.

“I’ll be back later.”

She didn’t answer, though he could hear a fragile sob against the pillow.

Each step back down the hall was a titanic effort. Outside, the light and the noise of the castle seemed like another world. His ministers were waiting for him. His brother was waiting for him.

But everything he left behind in that room weighed infinitely more.

The council chamber was shrouded in an unsettling twilight, barely illuminated by the exhausted chandeliers, which, after hours of deliberation, flickered with uncertain light. The air, thick with the scent of melted wax and the weight of unspoken words, grew more oppressive with each passing moment.

The clock was nearing midnight, but no one seemed willing to give in to exhaustion. The ministers whispered among themselves with tense gestures, their faces etched with worry. At the far end of the table, Richard remained still, his elbows resting on the wood and his hands intertwined before his face. It wasn’t just the fatigue that weighed on him, but the unbearable certainty that every decision made that night would have irreversible consequences.

To his right, his brother Aldric watched him silently. He hadn’t spoken much during the meeting, but his mere presence was a statement in itself. He wasn’t there to defend Hans—both knew the damage he had caused was too great—but he couldn’t help but worry about his older brother, who carried the weight of an entire kingdom and his own family on his shoulders.

“We cannot afford indulgence, Your Majesty” one of the ministers began, his tone grave “ We have already received notifications from the Zaria embassy. They are withdrawing from our trade alliance with immediate effect.”

“The ambassadors from Corona and Vesterland have also announced their departure “ another added  “They say they cannot associate with a kingdom that does not publicly condemn Prince Hans’ actions.”

“Your Grace, we must also consider Lirathys” commented one of his oldest ministers cautiously “Your brother, King Consort Nicolás, has informed us that his wife’s court has decided to exclude him from all deliberations on this matter, precisely because of his connection to the prince. So far, they have maintained a neutral stance. Which begs the question: does this assure us that they will not yield to the pressure from their allies? And if that were to change, not only would we find ourselves in an even more vulnerable position, but your brother’s position could also be compromised.”

Richard closed his eyes for a moment and ran a hand over his forehead.

“I know “ he finally said, his voice more subdued than firm. “But resolving this requires more than a hasty decision at midnight.”

“People demand an answer.” the Prime Minister continued “Rumors are circulating that riots have begun in some cities. If we do not show that the crown repudiates his crimes…”

“Then let’s decide once and for all” interrupted another, in a severe tone. “Exile him.”

The air seemed to grow heavier.

“Exile is too lenient an option” someone else replied “ Who guarantees that he won’t seek refuge in another kingdom? That he won’t try to conspire from abroad?”

“And if…” the voice of the oldest minister dropped to a low, solemn tone  “If instead of exile, we consider the gallows.”

Aldric felt the cold grip his spine. Unconsciously, he exchanged glances with his older brother, his jaw tense, his fingers clenched until his knuckles turned white.

He spoke at last, his voice unwavering.

“No.”

His refusal fell with overwhelming weight on the room. Aldric saw how the ministers exchanged glances, some bewildered, others clearly displeased.

“Majesty, with all due respect…”

“I will not have my brother’s blood on my hands” Richard repeated, more sharply.

But the murmurs did not cease.

“If the crown does not take decisive action, its authority and morals will be called into question…”

“The people demand justice, not mercy…”

“If he is not executed, at least we should…”

“Has no one heard the king?” Aldric interrupted with an unusual harshness.

The murmurs immediately ceased. All eyes turned to him, surprised. Even Richard shot him a brief glance, though the tension on his face remained.

Aldric sighed and leaned toward the table, intertwining his hands with forced patience.

“We have been here all night repeating the same arguments to exhaustion” he continued, his tone now more measured but no less firm. “Does anyone in this room truly believe it’s wise to make such a monumental decision under these conditions?”

Silence was his only answer.

“Your king has spoken. There will be no execution. And if you are not satisfied with that, you must know that discussing it until dawn will change nothing “he added, looking at the group of ministers with calculated calm”. No decision will be made tonight. The meeting will resume tomorrow, with clearer minds and less inclination to impulsiveness.

One of the ministers attempted to speak, but Aldric looked at him with the same determination Richard had used to silence them earlier.

“That’s an order“ he said softly, but without leaving room for discussion.

An uncomfortable silence spread across the room before, reluctantly, the ministers began to rise. The prince watched them withdraw one by one, some exchanging disapproving glances, others simply too exhausted to continue arguing.

When the last chair was empty, Aldric turned to Richard.

“You should rest, brother.”

He let out a slow exhale but shook his head.

“Not yet.”

He straightened up, though with evident effort, and turned his gaze toward the guards stationed at the door.

“Bring in Prince Hans.”

A few minutes later, his younger brother crossed the threshold, escorted, his wrists still bound with shackles and his bearing as unflappable as ever. Even in the state he was in, with his hair disheveled and his clothes slightly wrinkled, his expression retained that unbearable arrogance Richard had always detested.

The king observed him in silence. He couldn’t understand him. He couldn’t understand how someone could look at the ruin they had caused with such blatant indifference.

“I’ve made a decision,” he said at last, crossing his arms. “I will sell your properties on the Elysium Peninsula. Also your ships, your jewels, and all of your suits. The proceeds will go to those affected by the frost in Arendelle.”

For a brief moment, he saw a flash in Hans’s eyes. It was indignation and fury hiding behind a  restrained reaction.

But in less than a breath, he regained his composure and nodded, with an infuriatingly feigned calm.

“Fine.” he finally said ”I doubt the princess and the queen will accept that money, but if it makes you happy.”

Richard felt something inside him tear apart.

"Is that all you’re going to say?"

Hans looked at him with apathy.

"Did you expect me to beg?"

The older brother's anger flared.

"No. I expect you to at least pretend to feel remorse."

"For what?" Hans replied with a slight tilt of his head. "You know as well as I do that nothing will save me."

Richard exhaled a trembling sigh, bringing a hand to his face, while Aldric, who had remained on the sidelines until now, finally spoke.

"Hans, if you keep up that attitude, you’ll only make things worse. Stop pretending you don’t care."

Hans stared at him for a long moment.

"You're wrong, brother. I truly don't care."

It was a simple word, without emphasis, without drama. But to Richard, it was like a dagger.

The sound of his boots echoed for a moment on the marble floor as he walked in the great council hall, thinking about what to say. His hands clenched, opening and closing into trembling fists, as he looked at the young, defiant prince who stood before him with an unreadable expression.

"Do you know how many years of alliance the Southern Isles had with Arendelle?" Richard asked suddenly, his voice barely contained, vibrating with an emotion bordering on desperation.

Of course, he didn’t expect an answer.

"Eighty-three years," Richard continued, each syllable spoken with sharp precision. "Eighty-three years of agreements, trust, bonds forged through diplomacy and blood, all reduced to ashes in an instant by your foolishness."

Hans remained unmoved.

"Our allies are abandoning us. These are not rumors, not mere assumptions. These are facts," Richard took a step forward, his gaze burning. "The withdrawal letters keep coming, one after another. Nicolás  declared neutrality from Litharys, but it won’t be long before his wife succumbs to the pressures of her court and turns her back on us too.

He paused, waiting for a reaction.

Nothing.

"When the famine begins, when trade collapses and the citizens suffer the consequences of this disaster, what will you say then? Because it won’t be you going hungry, Hans. It won’t be me. It will be them. The ones with no voice in this power game, the ones who trust their representatives every day to keep them safe."

Hans’s silence was like an ice wall, impenetrable, exasperating.

"They’ve given you everything. And this is how you repay them?"

Finally, Hans lifted his head with a slight sigh, as if he had been waiting for all of this to happen. His gaze met Richard’s, filled with such palpable disdain.

"Did you really pull me out of my cell in the middle of the night to tell me all of this?" he said, his voice so calm it almost sounded like a mockery in itself. It was as if he had just heard a story that was not only tedious but almost comical. "Do you think I don’t know what’s going on? Of course I do. I know exactly what’s at stake, but so what? If I cry publicly, will it all be solved? Will everyone be pleased with that? I’ve got news for you, brothers, that won’t change a thing.”

Richard, so beside himself, let out a bitter laugh. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. That response, so indifferent, so completely detached from the gravity of the situation, burned through him like a slow fire.

“By the gods! Who are you?” he exclaimed, feeling for a moment as though he had lost touch with reality, as if he didn’t recognize his own flesh and blood standing before him.

Aldrich shifted his gaze, uncomfortable.

“Our ministers are already discussing your fate” said the prince, his tone more serious “Some demand that we exile you. Others… believe the only solution is to end you.”

Hans raised his eyes, barely for an instant, as if those words had touched him for a brief second. But as quickly as the spark of concern appeared, it vanished, leaving his brother facing a wall of indifference.

Richard saw that flash, and he didn’t like it.

“Say something!” he exclaimed, fear and fury intertwining in his voice. He grabbed him by the arms, holding on to him desperately. Aldrich tried to stop him, anticipating that he might hurt him. “Give me a reason to believe that there’s still something in you worth saving!”

His green eyes held his gaze with defiance, as if everything Richard was saying carried no weight at all. The silence stretched on, dense and tense, filling the air with an unbearable pressure.

“Do what you must.”

For the first time, he understood that his brother was beyond his reach. He couldn’t save him. Not with his title, not with his power, not with the pity he still stubbornly insisted on feeling.

His brother was not there.

Not the child he had once been. Not the young man who still had a life ahead of him.

Richard closed his eyes for a moment, and in that brief blink, he realized something that hit him like a slap: this wasn’t the first time.

It was not the first time he had to deal with the consequences of what his father had destroyed.

It was not the first time he had to pick up the broken pieces of what was once his family.

It was not the first time he felt more like a father than a brother.

But this... this was beyond him.

Because now he was not a child throwing a tantrum. He was not a young man desperately seeking approval.

He was a lost man.

A man who spoke as if everything were empty.

As if his life had no weight.

As if he truly didn’t care if he died.

Richard felt the knot in his throat tighten painfully. He didn’t want to kill him. He didn’t want it to end like this. He didn’t want to see him so cold, so indifferent, as if his fate wasn’t worth anything.

“You’re an idiot,” Aldrich intervened, his voice breaking the tension. There was no anger in his tone, just a tired exasperation. “But I doubt you really want to die, no matter how much you try to pretend otherwise.”

Hans didn’t bother to respond.

Richard took a deep breath, trying to swallow the bitter feeling in his chest. Maybe, if things had been different…

If his father had been a different man.

If he himself had been a better brother.

But the “maybes” didn’t change reality.

He straightened his back, and with a tense voice, said:

“Take him away.”

The guards nodded and began escorting Hans out of the room. Just before crossing the door, Richard saw him turn his face slightly, and for an instant... for a brief instant, it seemed to him that indifference slipped from his face.

But it was only for an instant.

When the door closed, Richard stood there, next to Aldrich, with the echo of his brother's farewell resonating in his mind.

He placed a hand on his forehead and closed his eyes.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, he would have to face the storm.

The night in the castle moved with a slow and heavy pace, as if the very stone walls were weary from the day’s events. Richard walked through the hallways like a man carrying more than just his own weight; the echo of his footsteps was drowned by the silent coming and going of the servants, who were extinguishing the candles one by one, plunging the place into shadow.

Upon reaching his room, he opened the door carefully, allowing the silver light of the moon to filter through the curtains. In the bed, Alison slept peacefully, her breathing steady, her face serene in the shadows.

Richard let out a sigh as he closed the door behind him. His hands fumbled for the clasps of his suit, but they moved clumsily, as if fatigue had stolen his dexterity. Each garment he removed fell heavily to the floor, and with it, the weight of a night too long. Finally, he collapsed onto the bed, sinking into the softness of the sheets with a weariness that was both physical and mental.

Of course, sleep did not come.

Hans.

That stubborn, unbearable, ungrateful boy... Richard furrowed his brow. He clenched his jaw. Then, with a resigned sigh, he rubbed his face and murmured to himself:

"Mother, if you're listening, could you make your son sensible for just one hour?"

He wasn’t expecting a response.

"Richard?"

But he got one.

He tensed immediately and turned his head toward the voice.

"Alysanne." His tone was low, almost cautious. "What are you doing awake, my dear?"

She didn’t answer right away. Her gray eyes, illuminated by the pale moonlight, searched for him in the darkness.

"Did something happen to Hans?" she finally murmured.

Richard blinked, surprised.

"Why do you ask?"

"I overheard my ladies talking about him. They seemed... worried. They said something happened in Arendelle... Is he okay?" Her voice trembled slightly, and uncertainty shone in her eyes.

He snorted. It wasn’t possible that not even in his own bed could he escape from the damn brat. The youngest of the Westergards had always been his favorite brother-in-law. He couldn’t understand her.

"He’s fine, my dear," he said sarcastically. "Never been better, in fact. A model of good behavior, a pride to the family. I’m considering writing him a poem."

"Are you lying to me?" she asked, with genuine concern.

Richard, who had remained still at her side until then, suddenly sat up with a sharp movement.

"I’m not lying to you, my queen," he said, as sincerely as he could make it sound, while staring straight into her eyes. "Hans is fine. He returned from Arendelle this afternoon, and he’s here, in the castle. He had a... little setback, but you don’t need to worry."

A slight tremor ran through Alysanne’s body, and for a moment, her eyes, so full of uncertainty, seemed to calm.

Taking advantage of the brief stillness, he moved closer slowly, his trembling hand tracing her cheek. She looked at him, so still, but never breaking her gaze. The contact between them was fragile, almost as if she feared any movement could shatter the little that remained of them.

"Today has been..." he paused, searching for the right words. "...very hard, more than I can bear. And, honestly, I’m exhausted, Alysanne. I need... to talk. I need to be close to you, even for just a moment, to try to find some peace."

The words hung in the air, and though he didn’t say it aloud, Richard saw in her eyes a silent understanding. She didn’t say anything, but for an instant, he believed he could find something in her gaze. Driven by an inexplicable need to feel connected, he leaned toward her, slowly closing the distance until their lips met.

The kiss started softly, almost with a delicacy that reflected their vulnerability. But soon, the coldness of her response became palpable. Before he could fully understand it, his wife pulled away from him, almost as if the contact was unbearable.

She didn’t look at him. The words that came out of her mouth were whispered, almost lost in the tears that began to blur her vision.

"Forgive me, Richard..." she said, her voice broken by pain. "I’m sorry, truly, but... I can't. I can’t do it."

"Please..." he whispered, his tone a sigh filled with frustration. "I need you to talk to me."

Pain shot through his chest, sharp. He stayed there, looking at her, feeling the distance between them grow even more insurmountable.

Almost without realizing it, he began to cry. A low, muffled sob, one he didn’t even know he had been holding back. The tears fell uncontrollably, something he had never allowed, something he never thought he would need to do.

When she heard him, she finally lifted her gaze. She saw him there, broken, his face consumed by suffering, and for an instant, a flicker of awareness crossed her eyes.

"I don’t know what else to do," she said, her voice shattered by the pain. "I’m doing everything I can, but I’m so lost."

That reaction from her husband was something she had not expected.

"Do you know what it’s like to come back to this room every night and feel like this bed is empty, even if you’re here?" The words came out in a trembling whisper, heavy with helplessness. "Do you know how it feels to see how I’m losing you, piece by piece?"

She couldn’t help but shudder, but she didn’t answer him.

"I know you’re suffering, Alysanne. But I also lost our son, you know?" His voice was a low sigh, almost inaudible. "And I was so afraid when I thought I would lose you too. Every night it’s the same image in my mind over and over."

Alysanne covered her face with one hand, Richard’s bitter laugh echoing in her mind.

"And yet... here I am, trying to stay strong. Because I have no other choice. Because I have to be strong for everyone... for the kingdom, for my brothers, for us. Everyone expects that form me. But sometimes I feel like I don’t even have the strength to be here."

He leaned forward, eyes closed, his hands clenched. Something in his face, the broken expression, betrayed the weight of everything he carried.

"I can't do this alone," he told her, vulnerability painted in his voice. "I need my Queen, my best friend... I need you."

Not knowing what to say, his wife simply stroked his back, trying to comfort him. Her gaze was empty, but there was something of pain there, something that seemed buried deep inside her.

Richard continued crying incessantly, the pain evident in every sob that came from his chest. He hadn’t been able to hold back, and the tears fell with a force he didn’t know he still had within him. He stayed there, broken, staring into the void, trying to find words that could ease something, but everything seemed in vain.

"And Hans..." he said, almost in a whisper, unaware of the words leaving his mouth. "That stupid, ungrateful boy... They’re going to kill him, and he doesn’t even care. I don’t know what to do with him... I don’t want them to kill him, I don’t want them to kill my brother..."

Alyssane, who had been silent until then, frowned, feeling that those last words hit her like a torrent of cold water. For a moment, she couldn’t understand if she had heard correctly, if all of this was part of her husband’s anguish, or if he was truly saying what he thought.

"What did you say?" her voice came out lower than she intended, tense, incredulous.

Richard froze completely, as if he had just realized what he had let slip. A cold sweat ran down his forehead as his eyes widened, as if he feared he had betrayed himself.

"No, no... I didn’t say anything," he replied quickly, trying to erase the words from his mind. But his wife’s gaze, fixed and expectant, didn’t let him escape.

"You said they’re going to kill your brother..." she repeated, with a mixture of confusion and growing alarm. "You told me everything was fine. What’s going on?"

"Hans..." he began, his voice broken, his hands trembling slightly. "He made a... grave mistake. He tried to kill Queen Elsa and the princess to take the throne in Arendelle. Everyone knows. And they want him dead. It’s just a matter of time. They’re completely justified. I want to help him, but I don’t know how."

She didn’t know what to say, Richard’s words floating in her mind, and the shock left her completely still.

"What are you saying?" she asked in a trembling voice, shaking her head. "Hans... would never do something like that."

Richard lowered his gaze, feeling the bitterness of the truth all around him. His face reflected an indescribable sadness, a resignation he had feared to accept.

"I wanted to believe that too."

The disbelief in his Queen’s eyes slowly turned into anguish.

"Why didn’t you tell me anything?"

"I didn’t want you to worry more," he finally responded, his tone low and pained. "You were already so... so devastated, and all of this... I didn’t want you to carry more."

Alyssane closed her eyes for a moment, processing his words.

"And what are we going to do?"

Richard looked at her with a mixture of surprise and frustration, trying to find a way to calm her. He didn’t want her to get more involved than she already was. He had seen her crumble under the weight of her own pain, and he feared that plunging her back into that darkness would be too much for her.

"You’re not going to do anything," he said, with a firm, almost authoritative tone. "You’re going to rest. You’re going to stay here, calm, where you’re safe. This is too much for you, I don’t want you putting yourself in danger for anything. I’ll take care of all of this."

A flash of frustration crossed her eyes, and her breathing quickened.

"Calm?" she repeated, as if the words themselves were impossible to accept. "How can I stay calm after everything you’ve told me?"

"The most important thing to me is that you’re okay," he insisted, but his tone was softer, as if he had to force himself to be rational amidst the chaos surrounding him. "You need to be okay, Aly. I can handle Hans and the court. You can’t... you can’t keep going through this. You need to rest. You have to be strong, for whatever comes next."

The silence that followed weighed heavily between them, an abyss of unspoken emotions. Alyssane watched him, seeing her husband face to face in his vulnerability, in his exhaustion. He was being so strong, so firm, but at the same time, he was crumbling under the weight of everything he had to face for the two of them. Somehow, she had been so focused on her own pain that she hadn’t noticed the suffering he carried on his shoulders.

Her heart beat strongly as she saw the struggle on his face. She couldn’t turn away anymore. She couldn’t leave him alone. Suddenly, as if guided by instinct, she moved closer to him, leaving behind the resistance that had kept her distant, and wrapped him in an embrace.

Richard, surprised by the gesture, tensed for a moment, but then allowed the warmth of her body to envelop him, closing his eyes and burying his face in her hair, in its soft brown curls. It was a release from the rigidity he had struggled so hard to maintain. The relief of feeling her contact, of her not pulling away, was greater than he had imagined.

"Forgive me for abandoning you, Richard," she said, her words soft, still carrying a slight tremor of the sadness she longed to leave behind. "I’ll be your wife and queen again. I won't leave you behind. I promise."

For a moment, neither of them spoke again, simply holding onto each other, with the silent understanding that, despite everything they were facing, the strength they had together was the only thing that could keep them standing.

The next morning.

The council hall was a whirlwind of discordant voices. The discussion had escalated into a full-blown verbal battle between the ministers, with Richard and Aldrich struggling to contain a resolution slipping from their grasp. Hans remained silent, watching the spectacle before him without expression as his fate was decided without even granting him the dignity of a voice.

“We cannot allow this matter to drag on any longer,” declared Lord Vardon, an elderly man whose voice still carried the sharp edge of authority. “An immediate resolution is needed.”

“A just resolution,” Richard corrected, his fists clenched on the table.

“A resolution that ensures the future of the Southern Isles,” another minister countered, slamming his palm against the table. “The Crown cannot continue protecting a criminal.”

“Our allies’ trust depends on our strength, not our cruelty,” Richard insisted.

“Then show your strength, Your Majesty,” one of the councilors interjected. “Decide his punishment here and now.”

“Exile,” Lord Vardon proposed. “A ship with no crew and no provisions, set adrift toward the Dark Sea. Let the tides decide his fate.”

“That is the same as sentencing him to death,” Richard retorted, his voice ice-cold.

“Life imprisonment,” another minister suggested. “Complete isolation in the Tower. A fair sentence, with no bloodshed.”

“Fair?” Richard repeated, his voice lower but laced with venom. “You call it fair to lock up a young man until he withers away and dies inside a cell?”

Richard felt the air grow heavier.

What they proposed was not unreasonable. Hans’s crimes were grave enough to justify any punishment decreed in that room. Any other man would have been executed without further deliberation. Any other man would have been exiled with no right to return.

But this was not any other man. He was his brother.

And that was why, for him, the decision was impossible to make.

“He is your blood, Your Majesty,” one of the ministers said, his tone measured but his stance unwavering. “We know you will not deliver the verdict that is needed. So we will do it for you.”

The ministers exchanged glances, ready to decide upon the harshest of resolutions. Richard watched his authority crumble before his very eyes. They were straying from his leadership, acting as if the throne were nothing more than a decorative relic, as if his word were dispensable.

Aldrich, at his side, was ready to stand against them with his fists if necessary. And Hans… he remained silent, his gaze lowered, as if he had already accepted that his fate was beyond his control.

Then, the metallic clang of spears striking the floor echoed through the hall, like thunder heralding the arrival of a storm. The great doors swung open with a resounding crash, and the herald’s voice rang out with imposing clarity:

“Her Majesty, Queen Alysanne of the Southern Isles! Mother of the Tides, Star of the Navigators, and Protector of our Seven Isles.”

Silence fell over the room like a leaden shroud. Every minister instinctively rose to their feet, as did Aldrich and Hans. Richard turned at once.

She was not the broken woman he had left in her chambers the night before. There was pain in her eyes, yes—an open wound still raw in her soul—but there was no weakness in her stance. She stood with the dignity of a sovereign, with the strength of one who had faced loss and chosen to move forward. Her gown of pearls and deep blue seemed to mirror the waters she ruled, and the light filtering through the stained glass made her appear almost unreal.

Hans, too, looked at her, his expression betraying surprise. How could she be here after all she had endured?

Alysanne looked at no one but her husband when she spoke. Her voice, firm and steady, left no room for doubt.

“This council will make no decision without the approval of its king and queen.”

The weight of her words rippled through those present. The ministers exchanged uneasy glances. Richard, despite himself, felt a spark of pride.

Alysanne continued, her tone slower but no less resolute.

“ I have known Prince Hans since he was little more than a sixteen-year-old boy, when I was betrothed to the king,” she began. “I watched him grow in this castle, watched him struggle to find his place in a court that rarely showed him affection. While other princes spent their days at feasts and hunts, he studied navigation and strategy. He served in the royal fleet, where he safeguarded the sanctity of our isles and saved the lives of more than one soldier. He defended us from pirates and brigands, risking his life in our seas. And now, when he makes a mistake, suddenly everyone here seems to have forgotten that he was once a son of this nation.”

Some ministers lowered their gaze. Others remained defiant.

“ Do not misunderstand me. I am not seeking excuses for him. I condemn his actions just as you do. They have no justification. But what you propose is not justice—it is vengeance. And vengeance does not strengthen a kingdom. There are other ways to amend the past. ”

““And what would those be, my Queen?” one asked skeptically. “Do you intend for him to stay in the Southern Isles and perform hard labor? That such a thing would be enough to atone for his crimes? Our allies do not want symbolic gestures. They want action.”

“I propose that Prince Hans be sent to Arendelle, to serve under the authority of the queen.”

A murmur erupted among the ministers. Some were left speechless, others paled. Richard tensed, unable to discern the purpose behind such an idea. Hans, for the first time, showed genuine concern.

“Alysanne, no!”

All eyes turned to him. But she did not even blink.

“Queen Alysanne,” she corrected him, her tone so cold it left him motionless.

“Serve in Arendelle?” a minister repeated, incredulous. “Your grace, the Queen and the Princess would never accept such a thing.”

“They will. We must try.”

Alysanne raised her voice with authority, forcing everyone into silence.

“Queen Elsa is young. Inexperienced. She has barely been on the throne for a few days. Her kingdom has been isolated for far too long, and that has made her blind to what lies beyond her borders. I do not deny that she has every right to be furious with us, but if her inexperience makes her incapable of seeing that the fate of a single man should not dictate the future of entire nations, then it is our duty to make her understand. It was not she who forced her allies to turn their backs on our kingdom, but if she herself extends a hand to us despite everything, it will open the eyes of many.”

Richard smoothed his expression—he finally understood.

“If Arendelle accepts,” Alysanne continued, “Hans will have the chance to learn from his mistakes. And if he earns his redemption, the other nations will see it as proof that the Southern Isles is a kingdom that respects justice, and they will return to us.”

Hans stood up again, this time more anxious.

“My Queen… my King…” he began cautiously. “Please, no.”

Richard raised an eyebrow.

“No?”

Hans nodded with feigned seriousness that barely concealed his panic.

“Yes. No. I mean… you can kill me. Really, no hard feelings. Exile, prison—whatever you want. Put me on that ship without supplies, even. Life imprisonment? Fantastic. But don’t make me go see her.”

The ministers stared at him in disbelief.

“Hans…” Alysanne sighed, but he raised both hands.

“No, no, seriously. I’d rather face the sharks. Or a firing squad. Or better yet—how about a combination? Firing squad first, then the sharks. But please, do not send me to Arendelle to face Elsa again.”

The Queen cast a glance at her guards, and without the need for words, they returned the prince to his seat.

“Prince Hans will remain here until Queen Elsa grants us an audience,” she declared. “If Arendelle accepts, Hans will serve her kingdom in whatever way she demands. If she does not, we will reevaluate our options. But one thing is certain—he will neither be executed nor exiled to die at sea.”

Silence stretched through the room until, at last, Richard stood. His voice rang with the same authority as his wife’s.

“The Queen has spoken,” he said. “And I stand by her decision.”

No one dared to challenge both sovereigns at once.

Richard glanced at Alysanne from the corner of his eye. His Alysanne. Unyielding, resolute, with a fire in her gaze that he hadn’t seen in a long time.

Yes, he thought. If he could marry her again, right at this moment, he would do so without hesitation.

Chapter Text

Arendelle, in those days, gleamed with the tranquility of a well-governed kingdom. The air was crisp, the markets bustling, and the two sisters, after so much time apart, seemed to have finally found the peace that had long eluded them. Elsa, in her role as queen, carried herself with serenity and diligence, while Anna, with her lively nature, filled the castle halls with her boundless enthusiasm. There was, in appearance, no disturbance in this balance.

And yet, there was one detail—a small but persistent unease—that had begun to slip into the queen’s routine. It arrived in the form of letters, each written in a firm, resolute hand, sealed with the crest of the Southern Isles. The first one, upon receiving it, Elsa had read it carefully before folding it with a sigh. The second she left unopened on her desk until the following night. The third she found while having tea with Anna and discreetly slid it under a book. By the fourth, she no longer needed to read them to know their contents.

The King wrote with insistence, intertwining plea and diplomacy in every word. He begged the Queen for an opportunity for his younger brother—a gesture of clemency that, according to him, would not only benefit Hans but also ease the political tensions caused by past misfortunes. Elsa, though never indifferent to the suffering of others, could not easily forget the events that had led her to the throne.

And so, the letters piled up in a drawer she rarely opened. That morning, as she sorted through her documents in her study, her advisor, Kai, cleared his throat discreetly.

“Your Majesty, will you be responding to King Richard, or shall I do so on your behalf?”

Elsa did not look up from her documents.

“I don’t believe there is much to respond to,” she said, as calmly as possible.

Kai folded his hands in his lap and observed her with the patience of a man who had anticipated every argument before hearing it.

“Not responding is a response in itself—and not necessarily the most diplomatic one.”

Elsa sighed, setting her papers aside.

“I fail to see what good his request could bring. It is not my duty to redeem a man who acted with malice against my sister, against my kingdom.”

“And yet,” Kai said gently, “The king's persistence suggests he believes otherwise.”

Before she could reply, the door burst open like a winter gust, and Anna appeared in the doorway, frowning.

“What’s this about you receiving letters from the King of the Southern Isles?”

Elsa blinked.

“How do you know?”

“Because I found some in your room. A lot of them! Since when have you been hiding this from me?”

“It’s not that I wanted to hide it from you… I just didn’t want to worry you.”

“Worry me?” Anna crossed her arms, indignant. “Are you telling me that man has been begging for my crazy ex-fiancé to come here, and we haven't even discussed it? Why haven't you replied or at least… burned his letters?”

Kai, who had remained silent until then, cleared his throat softly.

“Diplomacy rarely includes burning the correspondence of other monarchs, Your Highness.”

“Well, maybe we should make an exception.”

Elsa sighed, resting her elbows on the table as she rubbed her temples.

“Anna, I understand how you feel.”

“I don’t want Hans near our family.”

“Neither do I,” Elsa replied firmly, “and he won’t be.”

Anna’s gaze narrowed, confusion replacing her anger.

“Then why haven’t you just told him to leave you alone? Why keep reading his letters?”

Elsa sighed. “At first, I thought ignoring him would send a clear message. That if I didn’t respond, he’d understand. But...it’s become obvious that silence isn’t enough for him.”

“Then do us all a favor and tell him once and for all: Hans will never be welcome in Arendelle again.”

“I will,” Elsa said quietly.

With the matter seemingly settled, Elsa, alongside Kai, drafted a concise and definitive response to the King: No. She would not grant his request, she would not discuss the matter further, and she wanted nothing to do with Hans or his country ever again. 

But after weeks of persistence, a simple refusal wasn't  well received across the sea.

The announcement of King Richard’s arrival in Arendelle struck the court one morning like a bolt from a clear sky. Unease spread among the ministers and advisors, and when Anna heard of it, her reaction bordered on outrage.

“What is he doing here?!” she exclaimed, turning to Elsa with fiery eyes. “Tell me you didn’t invite him!”

“Of course not,” Elsa replied, maintaining her composure, “but I can’t just send him back without receiving him.”

“Yes, you can. Just say you’re busy.”

“He’s a king, Anna. I can’t ignore him.”

Anna crossed her arms, frowning, but did not argue further. Elsa, meanwhile, turned to Kai.

“Have him escorted to the throne room.”

Kai bowed his head and left to fulfill the order. Moments later, the double doors opened with ceremonial slowness. The echo of the hinges was followed by firm yet restrained footsteps, and a solitary figure advanced along the long central aisle.

A tall man entered —grave in presence, refined in bearing. His brown hair, streaked discreetly with silver at the temples, fell over his brow in an elegant yet careless manner. His face, though still handsome, was lined with the fatigue not of a single night, but of years. There was in him no air of defeat, but rather of burden; not pride, but endurance. Each step spoke more of perseverance than of triumph.

To the side, the Queen’s herald hesitated, perhaps swept up in the tension that filled the hall, or burdened by the discomfort of announcing a man who, to many in Arendelle, was far from welcome. Yet in the end, duty prevailed, and he lifted his voice with solemn formality:

“Your Majesties… Queen Elsa, Princess Anna… you stand in the presence of His Majesty King Richard of the Southern Isles. Descendant and rightful bearer of the Crown of the First Navigator, Lord Commander of the Grand Fleet of the South, Chosen by the tides and chosen by the people. Protector Of the Seven Isles.”

The titles echoed through the hall, but neither Elsa nor Anna was moved by the grandeur of words. As the man approached, his boots striking on the wooden floor with tempered cadence, both sisters saw clearly that the laurels proclaimed did not match the figure advancing before them.

There was no proud gleam of a conqueror in his gaze, nor the calculated calm of a seasoned diplomat. What stood before them was a man wearied—perhaps fractured—but dignified nonetheless. 

Upon reaching the foot of the dais, the king stopped. He offered a proper bow—measured, respectful, and free of affectation.

“Queen Elsa, Princess Anna.”

Elsa inclined her head in greeting.

“Welcome to Arendelle, Your Majesty. Is this how visits are customarily made in the Southern Isles, with no prior notice? ”

The King let out a quiet sigh, as if those initial formalities were merely the prelude to a difficult conversation.

“I know my presence is unexpected,” he said, “but I fear my letters… were not given the consideration they warranted.”

“They were,” Anna retorted sharply. “In fact, I believe you’ve already received an answer, My King.”

The ministers exchanged uneasy glances. The man cleared his throat slightly, seeking to ease the tension.

“I know, Your Highness. But… if the Queen allows it,” Richard continued, “I would like to speak with her in private.”

A murmur rippled through the room. Anna stared at him with a mix of incredulity and distrust.

“In private?”

“That is correct,” Richard confirmed calmly.

“That’s ridiculous,” she scoffed. “There’s no reason for Elsa to speak with you alone.”

Kai, though visibly uncomfortable, intervened with caution.

“Queen Elsa, perhaps it would be wise to at least let your ministers remain…”

Elsa raised a hand, silencing him. She was no fool; she understood perfectly how inappropriate it might seem, but she also knew that a man in Richard’s position would not risk such a request without good reason.

“I will speak with him.” she said at last. 

Anna turned to her, horrified.

“I can handle this.”

Her sister’s reluctance was evident, but Elsa met her gaze with unwavering resolve. Finally, Anna huffed in frustration and stormed out of the hall. The ministers followed, and after a brief hesitation, Kai also withdrew, closing the doors behind him.

Silence settled over the room, heavy and uncomfortable.

Elsa was the first to break it.

"If you expect me to change my mind about your brother," she said, her voice cool as frost, "I’m afraid your journey was in vain."

She did not raise her voice, nor did she need to. Each word was deliberate, cutting through the silence with a precision that left no room for argument.

"You should settle and feel grateful that my sister was merciful enough to send him away—back to his homeland—rather than let him face the fate he truly deserved."

Her gaze was unyielding, as if daring him to challenge her. "Had it been up to me, he would not have left these borders alive."

“You’re right,” he said. “And I am grateful.”

He raised his gaze again, and though his posture remained composed, there was something unmistakably human in his expression now—something that came from beyond the throne.

“Your sister showed him mercy when she didn’t have to. When the world would’ve applauded her for choosing the opposite. And I know that choice must have cost her more than anyone realizes. For that—for her mercy, and for yours—I thank you.”

A pause, the silence almost reverent. Then, with a breath:

“And now that we meet in person, I also want to offer my apologies—on behalf of my brother, and on behalf of the Southern Isles—for what transpired here in Arendelle. His actions did not reflect the values of our crown, nor are they something we would ever condone. It was something that should never have happened. I have not come to impose anything. I understand your decision, and I do not judge it. But I also understand that some matters cannot be resolved through mere letters.”

Elsa narrowed her eyes, distrustful. “Then why are you here?”

Richard hesitated, as if carefully measuring each word.

“To ensure you understand what is at stake.”

Elsa narrowed her eyes.

“Because this doesn’t just affect my brother,” he answered with an uncommon frankness for a monarch. “It affects my kingdom. Since what Hans did, the Southern Isles have lost trade allies,” he continued. “Our image in other courts has been tarnished. There is no trust, no agreements. My people and my court demand more from me than I can get. But it’s not just that…”

Elsa noticed the way his features hardened, as if he were about to admit something that had weighed on his conscience for a long time.

“My brother grew up with resentment,” he said, his voice carrying both frustration and sorrow. “He grew up in a court that ignored him, that left him in the shadow of his brothers. And it pains me to admit that I was not much help either. I know he is not a bad man, but… when he finally tried to carve out a place for himself in the world, he did it in the worst possible way.”

There was a brief silence. Richard took a deep breath before continuing.

“I’m not trying to justify him, my Queen. I’m not here to convince you to forgive him. But I do believe there is something worse than a man who has made a mistake—one who never has the chance to make it right.”

Elsa did not look away.

“You think Arendelle is the right place for that?”

“I think it’s the only place. If the other kingdoms see that you and your sister are willing to maintain an alliance with the Southern Isles despite everything, perhaps they might reconsider their stance.”

“And what would I gain from this?”

Richard gave a weary smile.

“There always has to be a benefit, doesn’t there?”

He paused, glancing around with a hint of melancholy. Elsa, somewhat surprised by her interlocutor’s demeanor, remained silent. She watched as his gaze seemed to drift across the space, as though searching for something—perhaps something lost to time.

“This hall… it hasn’t changed after all these years, has it?” he remarked in a thoughtful, almost nostalgic tone.

Elsa looked at him with mild puzzlement, not entirely understanding what he meant. A subtle tension hung in the air between them. After a long silence, his eyes returned to her, this time with an unusual softness. His voice, so far calculated and persuasive, took on a tone almost personal.

“And, if I may say so, Your Majesty, it is not only this hall that has endured. You, too, are the living image of your mother. As beautiful as she was, as noble in bearing.”

A faint glimmer of surprise crossed Elsa’s face, though she quickly concealed it behind a neutral expression. She could not help but feel unsettled by such a remark from a man who, no matter how courteous he tried to be, seemed to be playing a subtle game with the emotions of royalty.

“You knew my mother?” she asked, her voice deep but controlled.

Richard nodded slowly, allowing a faint, wistful smile to appear—one more sorrowful than warm.

“Yes, My Queen. When I was young—long before you or your sister were born—I came to Arendelle with my parents. That journey was not merely a diplomatic gesture; it was part of my education. I was being prepared to one day inherit my father’s crown, though at the time, I had no true notion of what power truly meant.”

He turned toward her, regarding her with the gaze of a man who had learned far more than he revealed.

“That night, in this very castle, I dined with King Agnarr. I saw in him—and in my father—something I did not then fully grasp. It wasn’t merely the calculated politeness of diplomats, the sort I believe you and I are well accustomed to. Between them was genuine trust—an alliance not sustained solely by treaties or convenience, but by something deeper.”

Richard paused briefly, as if choosing his words with care.

“It was on that special occasion that your father told me a story. A story about a man who had a dream .”

He leaned in slightly, his voice taking on the cadence as he was about to reveal a secret.

“In his dream, a voice called to him from beyond the North Sea, whispering of a land rich in treasures and mysteries. A gift from nature awaited him there… But who would dare set sail based solely on a man’s premonition? No matter how wealthy he was, no navigator would brave the unknown without a map, without tangible proof that it wasn’t all a fanciful illusion.”

His tone was measured, almost didactic, but in his eyes was a spark of anticipation as he asked:

“Tell me, my Queen… Do you know who that man was?”

Elsa held his gaze steadily, and though her expression remained impassive, Richard did not miss the subtle tension in her jaw before she replied:

“I do. I know the story.”

He smiled, as if he had found the answer exactly where he expected it.

“Ah. I’m glad to hear it. For a moment, I feared it had been forgotten.”

He turned again, his posture relaxed, as though he had made his point. But his voice deepened when he went on:

“Then Your Majesty knows that that man went to my grandmother, Queen Alexandra, in search of counsel. He could not do it alone of course. She was the one who granted him an audience with the finest navigators of the Southern Isles. It was thanks to her support and their expertise that the expedition set sail. And thus, the lands now belonging to Arendelle were discovered.”

A heavy silence followed, full of unspoken words.

“When King Runeard died, many predicted his son's failure,” Richard continued gently. “He was young, inexperienced. But my grandmother never turned her back on him. Arendelle had her support then, as it always did. Even when King Agnarr chose to close his gates to the world, the alliances he had with my father were never revoked.”

Richard turned his face toward her, studying her cautiously.

“And now, after so many years of unwavering loyalty… must it all end like this?”

The icy glint in the Queen’s eyes did not falter. Her bearing radiated an unshakable firmness.

“The Southern Isles always held a place of esteem in the hearts of my grandfather and my father, My King.” Her tone was not harsh, but neither was it forgiving. “But if you believe I will continue to honor those oaths after one of your kin raised a sword against my life and left my sister dying on the ground, then I fear you have gravely underestimated me.”

She straightened slightly. 

“My duty is to Arendelle and to my family. And your brother is a danger to both.”

Richard exhaled—not in frustration, but in quiet resignation.

“My brother is no longer a threat, my Queen.”

Elsa tilted her head ever so slightly—a gesture not of outright disbelief, but of cautious skepticism.

“How can you say that?”

“Because I know him.” It was not a mere statement—it was a truth woven into his voice.

“Then you knew? You knew what he was planning to do?”

“No.” The vehemence of his reply was immediate—almost too swift. Then he lowered his tone, as if speaking more to himself than to her “Of course not…”

There was something in his expression that gave her pause—not in doubt of his sincerity, but in recognition of the weight he carried.

“You do not know how dearly I would have given to be at your coronation in his place.”

His hand drifted to the ring on his finger—a small, almost mechanical gesture, yet laden with a significance beyond words. He fell silent for longer than the conversation demanded. As though he wanted to say something more… but swallowed it instead.

“I only wish I had changed the course of things before it all went wrong. But my brother did what he did because he believed—recklessly, yes—that he had a chance to obtain power.”

Elsa did not respond immediately. At last, Richard continued, his voice lower now, as if confessing something he’d rather keep buried:

“My brother may be reckless, but he is not a fool, Queen Elsa. In a game of revenge, he knows he has nothing to win. He is defenseless.”

“Tell me one thing” Elsa said with quiet firmness. “Is your brother aware of this… arrangement of yours? Does he share your enthusiasm for redemption?”

There was a noticeable pause. The King turned his face slightly, a flicker of irritation crossing his features, as though he could clearly picture one of Hans’s insolent replies—a remark laced with sarcasm and disdain.

“With all due respect, My Queen…” he began at last, turning his gaze back to her, “my brother is in no position to refuse. Only the gods know how much effort I’ve devoted to keeping him from far darker ends. What is being offered to him is not a privilege, but a duty. And he will do what must be done to atone for his actions.”

Elsa let out a quiet, sudden laugh of disbelief. She turned away then, the trace of that incredulous smile still fading from her lips. The idea of redemption — here, in Arendelle, for someone like Hans — seemed not only improbable, but absurd. Her back, straight and composed, gave no invitation to hope.

Richard faltered. The stillness of the room pressed in. The conversation was unraveling — slipping between his fingers like water. Then, as if some final thread of pride had snapped beneath the weight of duty, he stepped forward.

“I know it is unworthy of a king to beg… But like you, my Queen, when I accepted my crown, I made a vow. I swore to do what was best for my family and for the Southern Isles, no matter the circumstances. This is not just personal; it is a burden on my people. And so… I beg you.”

He hesitated — and then, with a quiet breath, dropped to one knee.

Elsa turned back, but she didn't move. She couldn’t.

He wasn’t just lowering himself before her. He was lowering the weight of a throne, of generations, of everything his kingdom had taught him never to surrender. And in doing so, he was offering her more than a plea — he was placing a nation’s pride into her hands.

“...Let him work. Let him serve your kingdom in the humblest way possible, watch over him if you deem necessary and keep him under your authority. That would help our cause. If there is truly no redemption in him, I will accept it. But at least we will know that we tried.”

The silence that followed was dense and prolonged. Elsa carefully observed the expression of the man before her. She found no trace of deceit, nor the shadow of a hidden agenda. Only the sincere desperation of a brother unwilling to see his blood condemned to oblivion.

She said nothing. Instead, her gaze drifted toward the mist that hung over the mountains in the distance. Her mind rejected the idea outright — and yet, something small and unwilling stirred beneath that certainty. Not belief. Not hope. But a question.

Perhaps that was worse.

She closed her eyes for a moment, then sighed and looked back at the king.

“How long?”

Richard seemed to become a little more animated at the question and stood up immediately. 

“One year...maybe two. That's all we need.”

Elsa narrowed her eyes.

“And after?”

“We could sign a document,” Richard explained, “a kind of pardon that would allow him to return to the Southern Isles with a clean name. If he can prove that he has changed, that he is useful, the other kingdoms will see it as a sign that my country wishes to correct its mistakes.”

Elsa did not move immediately. Her face—serene yet firm—betrayed no emotion. She had listened to Richard’s plea with the dignity of a sovereign, but in her eyes gleamed an unshakable resolve. At last, with a slight motion of her hand, she summoned the guards.

“As you wish, My Queen.” one of the guards replied before bowing and departing.

A shiver ran down Richard’s spine. He knew what was coming would not be easy.

When the door opened again, Anna entered with steady steps, followed by Kristoff, whose expression made no attempt to hide his displeasure. His gaze met the king’s with unmistakable hostility. Richard, uneasy, offered a slight bow. Though his rank did not require it, his presence in a foreign court did. Kristoff, for his part, did not return the gesture.

Elsa noted the palpable tension and, after a brief pause, turned toward Richard.

“Your Majesty... I ask that you grant us a few moments in private. What follows will not be pleasant to hear.”

He hesitated for only a moment, then nodded. As he exited, he could feel Kristoff’s icy glare at his back.

Outside, the hallway wrapped him in its expectant silence. Now and then, fragments of conversation leaked through the thick doors. The words were unclear, but the tone said everything. Kristoff’s voice, raised in restrained anger, rang out first:

“…I can’t believe you’re even considering this, Elsa.”

“…After everything that happened? How do you know that man out there isn't trying to manipulate you?...”

Elsa’s voice, low and composed, attempted to soothe him. Anna spoke too—her words slower, more hesitant, as if she were grappling with something deep within herself.

Richard’s heart pounded as he paced back and forth, trying in vain to quiet his nerves.

Suddenly, a door slammed open, jolting him from his thoughts. Kristoff stormed out of the room, fury etched into every line of his face. He passed Richard without a glance, leaving behind a silence heavier than before.

“Your Majesty,” said a guard, opening the door. “You may enter.”

Richard stepped inside, his movements careful. There, silhouetted by the golden light of the setting sun, stood the princess—tall, unmoving, her figure framed by the window’s glow.

“You came to me with a request,” Elsa said beside her, her voice steady. “I have listened to your reasoning, and as Queen, I understand that Prince Hans’s actions have brought disproportionate consequences upon innocent people. I am not blind to the suffering of your subjects or your court. But... the final decision is not mine to make. I am not the one who suffered that betrayal firsthand. It is my sister to whom you must speak.”

Richard swallowed hard. The echo of those words seemed to double the weight on his shoulders.

He turned slowly toward Anna.

There she was.

So young still, and yet so resolute. No more than a girl in appearance, and yet in her bearing there was the strength of someone who had seen her world collapse and had chosen to hold it upright with her own hands. Her apple-green gown swayed gently with the breeze drifting through the hall, and her hair, tied in two simple braids, framed a face where sweetness still fought not to yield to bitterness.

Her eyes—deep blue like the southern seas—watched him without blinking. In them, he saw no cruelty, no more vengeance… but pain. A silent pain, born of unanswered questions and wounds yet unhealed. And the longer he looked at her, the harder it became to understand how Hans—his brother, his blood—could have raised his ambition against someone like her.

What kind of blindness, madness, or desperation had driven him to desire a crown that was not his, at the cost of the heart of such a young creature?

Richard felt the knot in his throat tighten.

Anna said nothing. She simply looked at him, waiting. And he knew, with the bitterest certainty, that no word could ever justify what had happened. Only regret remained.

“She has already made her decision,” Elsa had said, “but she wishes to hear you—at least once.”

Weighing his words, he took a step forward and gave a slight bow.

“Princess Anna…” he began, his voice deep, laced with sincerity. “I stand before you not as a monarch, nor even as a brother pleading for clemency, but as a man who is fully aware of what has been lost… and of what our silence could destroy even further.”

He raised his gaze, meeting Anna’s eyes. His voice took on a graver, more intimate cadence.

“I know that an apology will never suffice. That no gesture of mine can erase the wound inflicted in the name of my blood. The crime committed by Hans was not merely an offense against Arendelle—it was an offense against you, as a woman, as heir, as the very heart of this kingdom. And so”—he paused, his voice catching slightly—“I beg you to receive these words not as an attempt to mend the irreparable, but for what they truly are: the reflection of a deep and honest remorse.”

The hall remained in a dense, expectant silence.

“When I was young, I was taught how to rule. I learned the laws, diplomacy, the art of strategy… but no one ever prepared me to look upon the face of someone who has been wounded by my inaction. By my negligence. Because though I did not wield the blade, I know the edge that threatened your family bore many names, and in some way, including mine. And that is a weight I will carry as long as I live.”

He dared to take another step toward her.

“Your Majesties… only a month ago, your kingdom reopened its gates to the world. You are just beginning to learn what it means to rule—what it means to carry the weight of so many lives. I have ruled for ten years, and if there is one truth I have learned in that time, it is this: to ignore the suffering of a nation that once offered you its loyalty is not justice, but a wound that will only breed more resentment. The history of our kingdoms is woven with alliances and shared sacrifices. To tear that apart in the name of resentment will not mend the past—it will only doom us to a more fractured future. But if you so choose, there still remains a path where redemption and diplomacy might forge something stronger than the memory of pain.”

He stopped. His eyes shone with sincerity, so tired of power plays.

“He will never harm you again. You don’t have to fear him. I would give my life for both of you, if that’s what it took.” He took a breath, his gaze steady, unshielded. “If there’s still the smallest part of you that believes this doesn’t have to end in silence and disgrace. then I’m asking you to let that part speak.” And then, softer—almost too soft: “Just… don’t close this door. Not yet.”

And then, with a humility unbefitting of a sovereign, he bowed his head.

Anna did not respond immediately. Elsa stepped closer to hold her hand. The air in the room was heavy, as if even the tapestries were holding their breath.

The princess said neither yes nor no.

But Richard thought he saw her lips tremble ever so slightly, as if she were fighting with herself… and how, at last, her eyes drifted toward a distant point beyond the window, where the light had begun to give way to dusk.

 When the King stepped into the carriage, the wind lifted his cloak, as if nature itself wanted to hold him back for one second longer. Halfway up, he paused and looked back.

Elsa still stood at the top of the castle steps. She no longer seemed carved from marble, as she had during their earlier audience. There was a serenity now. As if part of the tension had begun to fall away from her shoulders.

“Queen Elsa,” Richard said, his voice low but clear. “I thank you and your sister for your judgment… and your restraint. Both virtues are rare these days. I will remember them.”

“It wasn’t easy,” she admitted. “But we did what we believed was right.”

A sincere answer. He acknowledged it with a small nod.

“I know,” he said. “That’s why the world needs more rulers like you.”

Then, slowly, he lifted his gaze to the sky. The night stretched, vast and unclouded, over Arendelle, and the auroras danced gracefully among the stars, painting the heavens with ribbons of green and violet. He turned slightly, and beyond the castle doors, he saw the little houses of the village — rooftops dark, chimneys quiet, windows glowing softly like fireflies. All was resting under the hush of night, wrapped in a luminous stillness.

It was peaceful — achingly so.

And as he looked upon it, something inside him stirred with a quiet ache. It had been so long since he’d known a night like this — a place that didn’t feel heavy with grief, or waiting, or things left unsaid. At home, the silence was filled with sorrow: the absence of a child, the stillness of a wife who no longer smiled, the weight of ministers who demanded more than he had left to give, and the shadow of a brother he desperately wanted to save. 

But here… there was stillness, and light, and breath.

And it was unbearably sad.

“When I was young,” he murmured, almost to himself, “I used to think Arendelle was the most beautiful place I’d ever seen.”

Elsa stepped down a single stair, barely noticeable, as if the memory belonged to her as well.

“And has it changed since then?”

“Not enough for me to stop admiring it.”

His eyes sought hers, and this time, she did not look away.

“Although I must say,” Richard continued, “its queen is far more intimidating now than she was then.”

Elsa smiled. Small, fleeting—but real.

“Do you always say things like that to queens?”

“Only the ones who make me kneel.”

The reply caught her off guard, and though she didn’t laugh, the corner of her mouth lifted. Just slightly.

“You have a… peculiar way of giving thanks,” she said.

“Well,” he replied, with that smile of his that always seemed to know more than it said, “I’m a man of many flaws. But ingratitude isn’t one of them.”

He stepped closer, and she didn’t move. Didn’t retreat. She simply watched him.

“If I return one day,” he said, his voice softer now, almost thoughtful, “I hope it will be under different circumstances. Perhaps with no desperate apologies. But with a more pleasant conversation, simply to honor the ties that were restored today.”

Elsa lowered her gaze for a moment. Then gave the faintest of nods.

“As for those ties… remains to be seen. But If you return with the same honesty, perhaps I will listen again.”

Richard inclined his head, then, in a formal gesture—yet one filled with an intentional care—he took her hand.

“Then, My Queen—may the legacy our families built not be lost, but rebuilt.”

He brought her hand to his lips, and as he kissed her fingers, he felt it—the chill beneath her skin. Not the kind born from temperature, but something deeper. Ancient. Unyielding.

He didn’t flinch. But for a second, his eyes flicked up to hers, as if trying to see if she’d noticed his pause.

She had.

Elsa held his gaze… steady, unbothered. A queen carved in frost and will.

Then, just as he began to let her hand go, his voice dropped to a murmur:

“They say you can freeze the sea itself with a single touch. I must admit… I’d like to see that someday.”

Elsa arched a brow, the faintest smirk blooming at the corner of her mouth.

“If your brother misbehaves, you just might.”

Richard actually chuckled—a quiet and genuine sound.“Duly warned.”

And then, There was a moment.

A pause too brief to hold, too full to ignore.

Then Elsa, ever composed, ever regal, inclined her head the slightest fraction and said, with all the calm poise of a queen and none of the chill that often cloaked her words:

“May the wind be at your back, King Richard. And may you find safe passage home. We will wait for news about your brother.”

Richard held her gaze—not too boldly, but long enough that it became something shared. Something that could not be named without making it real.

“Thank you. With your blessing, I fear no storm.”

It should have ended there. It ought to have.

But just as he turned toward the carriage, he paused once more, as if some thought had caught at his sleeve.

And without looking back, he added lightly, almost carelessly:

“Though I must confess… part of me rather hoped the wind might keep me here a little longer.”

He did not wait for a reply. He simply stepped inside, the door closing behind him with the softest finality.

Elsa did not move.

Not until the carriage disappeared from view—and only then, only then—did she release the faintest sigh.

Not of weakness.

But of something she herself could not name.

Chapter Text

The sun was beginning to surrender behind the sea. In the king’s study, the light was slowly retreating, casting long shadows across the tall windows. Richard did not move. He had spent hours before his desk—without reading, without writing, without deciding a single thing.

His last conversation with Hans still echoed in his mind.

He had gone to inform him of the arrangement: his return to Arendelle, the conditions, the opportunity that had cost so much to obtain. And Hans—never one for quiet submission—reacted with relentless fury. But it wasn’t the refusal that left Richard paralyzed.

It was what came after.

What Hans had implied.

It had been a rough argument, the kind meant to leave scars. Hans had challenged him, hurled reproaches like daggers, and in the middle of all the venom, cast a truth—or something dangerously close to it—that Richard did not wish to face.

How can you demand redemption from me, when you’ve never sought your own?

He hadn’t said it in those exact words. He hadn’t needed to. Richard knew precisely what he meant. The words his younger brother had spoken had chilled even the guards standing at the cell door. And Aldrich—the noblest of all of his siblings—had looked at him in a way that still hurt to remember.

As if he knew. Or worse, as if, for the first time, he preferred not to know.

Richard closed his eyes and rested his forehead against his hand. From guilt.

Deep guilt.

And then, as though his mind sought refuge elsewhere, it returned to Arendelle. To the lights in the sky. To the palace, calm and cold, orderly to the point of silence. To the queen herself—upright, still, like a statue carved from marble.

They had spoken of Hans. Only about him. Everything had been political, formal, impeccable.

And yet…

I should not have thought what I thought.

He sat up abruptly, as if to shake the thought loose from his body.

What are you becoming into, Richard?

He didn’t know. He only knew he didn’t want anyone else to see him like this. And least of all… his queen.

He had no idea how much time had passed like that, only that the room had begun to fill with shadows. That was when he heard the soft click of the door.

He didn’t lift his gaze right away. He expected a servant.

But it wasn’t a servant.

“ Alysanne ,” he said, rising at once out of reflex. His voice betrayed more surprise than he would have liked. “My love, I wasn’t expecting you. Has something happened?”

She closed the door with quiet ease, moving toward him with that elegance she had never lost—though the past few months had stolen some of her light.

“Must tragedy strike now for me to visit my husband?” she said lightly, arching an eyebrow with feigned innocence.

Richard, still partly tangled in his thoughts, took a moment to respond.

“I hope not. It seems to be the only reason anyone seeks me out these days.”

She smiled—and in that smile was something he hadn’t seen in weeks. Not quite joy, but certainly a truce.

“I wanted to know how your meeting with the Queen of Arendelle went.”

Richard sighed and sank back into the chair, his shoulders loosening slightly.

“Arendelle was… difficult,” he began, his voice carrying a trace of humour, though measured and tired. “As expected. No one was particularly thrilled to see a foreign king arrive begging mercy for his disgraced brother—especially when that brother has attempted… well, you know.”

Alysanne slid the papers on his desk aside and sat down across from him, her hands folded calmly in her lap. She said nothing. She waited.

“I had to plead,” Richard added, with a wry grimace. “Literally. I knelt before the Queen. If my father had seen me, he would have shouted from the afterlife that I’d shamed our entire bloodline.”

“Oh, I’m sure he would,” Alysanne said, clearly enjoying herself. “You? On your knees? Head bowed and everything?”

“Don’t start,” he muttered without looking up. “I did what had to be done.”

“Oh, of course! I can picture it perfectly! ‘ Your Majesty, I beg of you, have pity on my rebellious brother! I humbly implore your clemency! ’” she teased, barely containing her laughter.

Richard looked at her, half ashamed, half resigned.

“You’re cruel.”

“And you are far too dignified for that image not to delight me.”

“Well, it worked, all right?” he said, mentioning the name with cautious restraint. “Elsa agreed. She accepted to receive Hans in Arendelle. And restore the ties with our kingdom. Her sister gave the final word. After that… the torment began all over again.”

“What do you mean?” Alysanne asked, though she already suspected he’d shifted to the technicalities.

“Her court’s council was divided,” he replied, adjusting his position in the chair. “One of them—a certain Minister Rask—insisted that any agreement with us weakens her image. Said Elsa never should have yielded. Another suggested sending Hans to the northern colonies instead of housing him in the palace. They had to vote on everything: his level of access, his escort, his accommodations. It nearly turned into a public trial. And the moment I returned, my own council scolded me for not renegotiating the eastern maritime route. As if that were the priority… Sometimes I wonder what goes through their minds…”

While he spoke, Alysanne watched him as a wife who knew that man down to the smallest gesture. She saw him run a hand through his hair in frustration—that rebellious lock that always fell across his forehead—and couldn’t resist the impulse.

She leaned in slightly and, with a gentle, absentminded affection, brushed the strand back with her fingers.

Richard stopped. He looked at her, surprised.

“Have I ever told you how handsome you look when you’re worried?”

He blinked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“When you frown. And do that thing with your fingers on your temple, like the entire kingdom rests on your shoulders. I don’t know… I like you that way.”

Richard let out a dry, incredulous laugh.

“Don’t say that.  I must be the most handsome man in the kingdom then.”

“Are you not?”

“If you say it again, I’ll have to send your portrait to every noble house just to remind them I’m already taken.”

Alysanne laughed—a laugh he hadn’t heard from her in weeks, bright and warm with the kind of ease he feared had been lost.

“I swear, I feel like I’ve aged ten years in a single month.”

She shook her head, but the smile that escaped her betrayed the warmth his humor still sparked in her. She leaned in slightly, still chuckling softly.

And then, with a slow gesture, she touched him.

She held his face in both hands—barely, delicately—as if she feared he might vanish at the slightest pressure.

“You did the right thing, my love,” she said softly. “For your brother. For your kingdom. They’re all lucky to have you.”

Richard’s eyes lowered. The kindness in her voice weighed heavier than he could bear. Because he knew—he knew—that Hans wasn’t merely an isolated mistake, but the result of years of negligence, of pride, of wounds left untended… many of which had been sown by his own hand.

And yet there she was, touching him with tenderness, calling him brave for a decision he feared had come far too late.

“It doesn’t feel like it,” he murmured.

Alysanne stroked his cheek softly with her thumb.

“It is. You’re being a good brother. No matter what you did before. You’re here now, and that… changes things.”

Richard swallowed. His throat tightened with a weight he couldn’t name.

She looked into his eyes—so close he could see the slight tremble in her lashes.

“And you’re a good man,” she said firmly. “You’re a good husband.”

He closed his eyes, as if the words pierced him.

He said nothing.

“And Hans?” she asked at last, gently, though without hesitation. “Did you tell him he’s returning to Arendelle?”

Richard nodded, the sigh that followed seeming to leave both his chest and his conscience.

“I told him just a few hours ago. He… didn’t take it well.”

“Not well how?”

Richard hesitated, choosing his words with care.

“There was… an argument. A rather serious one. Hans doesn’t accept things quietly. He said many things he shouldn’t have said. And I… perhaps I did too.”

His fingers toyed with a fold in the parchment before him. The memory was still raw. He couldn’t repeat those words in front of Alysanne. He mustn’t.

“I don’t want to talk about him right now,” he said finally, with sudden firmness. “I’m… tired of it.”

Alysanne looked at him for a few seconds without moving. She didn’t press. She knew him too well not to hear what he wasn’t saying. But she also loved him too deeply to make him speak it aloud.

“All right,” she replied simply.

Richard looked up, grateful for her tact and eager to escape the weight of his own thoughts.
“And you? How was your day?”

She looked at him tenderly and, without hesitation, replied with a light air:
“Well… I saw Clarisse today.”

Richard raised his brows, intrigued.

“The Viscountess of Elysium?”

“The very same. She brought me chocolates from Anchorfall and at least five bits of gossip I have no intention of repeating… but which were absolutely worth the visit.”

Richard smiled, already feeling lighter.

“And what else did you do? Criticize half the kingdom?”

“Of course. What do you think we do when left alone? We had tea, ate the chocolates before lunch, and then lay on the carpet in my drawing room like two teenagers. She claims she’ll be an opera singer in her next life and made me sing a duet with her. Imagine me singing as though I didn’t have half a crown upon my head.”

“I can’t picture it,” said Richard, amused.

“Oh, it was dreadful. The worst part is we laughed so hard, one of my ladies thought we’d both gone mad. She brought smelling salts.”

Richard let out a true laugh—low, but genuine. He looked at her for a moment, simply glad to see her like this.
“I’m glad you had a good day,” he said sincerely. “At least one of us did.”

Alysanne gazed at him sweetly, and without thinking, he made that familiar motion with his fingers again. The silence between them still lingered, thick and wordless, but she smiled with a glint he hadn’t expected.

“Now tell me, Richard,” she murmured in a softer, more playful tone, “did you kneel only before Queen Elsa… or will your wife be honored with the same gesture tonight?”

Richard stared at her, completely bewildered.
“What…?” he blinked. “You want me to …?”

“I’m teasing,” she said—though the laughter on her lips was far too real to be mere jest. “Or perhaps not. I’ve spent months between doctors, tears, and pitiful visits. I deserve, at least once, to see my husband in his Navigator’s Crown … and out of his shirt.”

He burst into laughter—open, bright, the kind he hadn’t let out in weeks.
“You’re terrible,” he said, still laughing. “When did you become so shameless?”

“See what one day with Clarisse does?” she replied with mock seriousness. “One visit and I recover all my boldness.”

Richard continued to look at her—this time with affection, with surprise… and with a trace of fear. Not of her, but of memory’s weight.

“Alysanne…” he said, softening his voice. “I don’t want you to feel that… we must rush. That we have to forget what happened just to pretend we’re still who we were.”

She listened without looking away. And when she replied, she did so calmly.
“I don’t want to forget,” she said. “I just don’t want to keep dragging that pain around as though it’s the only thing left of us.”

She leaned in a little closer, taking his hand in a gesture as sweet as it was intimate.

“I love you. And loving you doesn’t hurt. What hurts is losing you. This has driven us apart, Richard. I don’t want to live in the shadow of what might have been.”

He closed his eyes. 

“I don’t want to go on like this either,” he whispered.

“Then let’s leave it behind.”

A silence followed—long and needed. Then she smiled again, this time with a light mischief that made him shake his head.

“Besides,” she added, “if you don’t accept my proposition, I’ll have to return to the Viscountess and tell her that her training was in vain.”

“Training?”

“Oh yes. The art of elegant insinuation . An intensive course over tea, laughter… and a list of phrases that could scandalize the archbishop.”

Richard laughed again, and this time there was no room for sorrow.

“The Queen of the Southern Isles is a scandal. ”

“And the King,” she replied, “is a very difficult man to seduce. But not impossible.”

He stood in a swift motion and came to stand before her. Richard’s lips brushed against Alysanne’s with a shyness that made him seem almost like an inexperienced youth. But the tremble in her breath, the way it caught against his, made him stay.

They kissed. Slowly. Warmly.

His hands sought her waist, her face, and then rested there, as though holding her close could mend all that had broken.

“Let’s not do this for that,” she murmured, pulling back just slightly. “I don’t want us to do this in hopes of… having a child.”

Richard looked at her. It took him a few seconds to absorb her words, but then he nodded. He kissed her forehead with the same tenderness as a vow.
“No more,” he said softly. “Not for that. Not for the crown.”

He paused, and then added with a faint smile:
“Besides, if there’s one thing this family doesn’t lack, it’s heirs. I have twelve brothers. Twelve. And an old uncle who refuses to die.”

Alysanne let out a muffled laugh against his neck.
“Yes, but half your brothers are married into other courts and the other half couldn’t care less about politics. And the one who did… well, I don’t think you have much faith in him taking the throne.”

“The Southern Isles will have an heir,” he replied calmly. “When the time comes, we’ll choose wisely.”

Alysanne was silent for a moment, until her voice returned softer.

“It’s not just that… I know how much you wanted a son.”

Richard lowered his gaze, and a shadow crossed his expression before he murmured, with weary irony:
“You know… sometimes I feel like having Hans has been the closest I’ve come to that. Just with more sarcasm. And without the adorable part.”

Alysanne laughed again, through her eyes shimmered faintly with emotion.

He smiled.

“Richard…”

“Yes?”

“You’re completely mad” she said, laughing once more.

“And yet,” he whispered, leaning in again, “I still catch you undressing me with your eyes at every council meeting, my Queen.”

Alysanne covered her face with her hands, half scandalized, half amused.

“Richard Westergaard!”

“What? I’m simply trying to apply the Viscountess’s teachings. ‘Elegant insinuation,’ remember?”

“That was anything but elegant.”

“Oh? Then perhaps I need more practice… tonight.”

And he kissed her again.

Not with urgency, but with the steady assurance that only time, mature love, and a sincere desire to find one another again could offer.

They kissed like those who knew they weren’t beginning something new, but recovering something long denied.

“I missed you,” she murmured between laughter and caresses.

“And I missed you,” he replied.

And between a laugh and a touch, the kisses grew slower, deeper. Words were no longer needed, and their hands—so used to the stiffness of formality—moved freely now over what belonged to them alone.

The study, with all its pillars and solemnity, had ceased to be a place of state; it had become, at last, a refuge.

Richard murmured something against Alysanne’s neck that made her laugh—
that low, sweet laugh he thought he had lost.

But just as his fingers moved to deftly undo the first button of her dress, there came a soft knock, followed by the creak of the door.

“Your Majesty, I was told to—” began a young, timid voice.

Richard recoiled with a jolt worthy of a general caught in enemy territory. He straightened with the composure of a king, but his eyes gleamed like those of a man freshly robbed.

“Have you never been told to knock twice before entering the King’s study?” he thundered, with all due gravity.

The boy—a thin page, more fear than substance—went pale, stammering something between apologies and terror.
“Y-yes, Your Majesty… I didn’t think… I just—”

“Out!” Richard commanded.

The page vanished like a misplaced echo, closing the door behind him with a nervous little click.

Alysanne, her lips still parted from restrained laughter, looked at him with mock solemnity.
“And then you wonder why they’re all afraid of you.”

Richard blinked. The tension melted from his face and was replaced by a half-smile, defeated but amused.
"He interrupted me in the middle of an important meeting with the Queen," Richard said, stepping close to her again. "What did he expect? I’ve been incredibly patient lately."

“Merciful, almost,” she teased.

“Martyr-like, even.”

She laughed then, clear and bright, resting her forehead against his chest.
“You’re crazy.”

They looked at one another—and laughed. And in that shared moment, they were simply that: a man and a woman, safe in each other.

And while night cloaked the study with murmurs of reconciliation, the netx day was already preparing its own reckoning.

Hans—who had heard no words of pardon—was preparing to cross the sea with the weight of all he had lost… and the little that might still be reclaimed.

The morning rose cold and grey, as if the sky itself shared in the mood of the hour. A pale mist slipped between the walls of the harbor, curling around the sails of the brig that waited with the quiet patience of one who departs without promises of return.

Hans walked with steady steps, though within him stirred a storm barely contained. He wore a dark wool coat, newly tailored to his frame after weeks of physical neglect. His hair, once unruly, had been trimmed and combed back with martial neatness, as though order might mend what pride and ambition had broken. His face remained sharp, though no longer shadowed as it had been when he first arrived in chains from Arendelle.

Upon reaching the dock, he paused. Not to look at the ship that would carry him away, but to turn, instinctively, toward the castle.

Its outline emerged from the fog—still, solemn, impenetrable.

There were no embraces, no parting words awaiting him. After the harsh exchange the night before, neither Aldrich nor Richard had appeared.

And yet, some small part of him—the most childish, the most broken—had wished not to leave alone.

The footsteps of the guards echoed on the damp stone when, suddenly, they halted.

Hans had barely raised his gaze when he saw that all of them, without exception, had bowed in silent reverence.

He turned, brows furrowed.

And there she was.

Queen Alysanne, wrapped in a pearl-blue coat trimmed with silver, her face framed by the sea mist as though she had stepped out of memory. Her steps were calm, deliberate—but there was no doubt: she had come for him.

Hans bowed quickly, more out of reflex than conviction.

“Your Majesty,” he murmured, unable to hide his surprise.

She lifted an eyebrow, a faint smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

“Should I prepare for you to shout at me as well, or do I have the privilege of escaping unscathed?”

Hans looked at her for a moment, disoriented by the tenderness wrapped in such a jest.

He shook his head gently.
“I would never do such a thing. Not to you.”

Alysanne held his gaze a moment longer, as if weighing the truth in his words, then turned toward the guards.
“Leave us, please.” she said softly, but with an authority that allowed no room for objection. “I wish to speak with Prince Hans alone.”

The men exchanged glances, hesitating. One of them even stepped forward, visibly uneasy.
“My Queen, are you certain? The prince—”

She did not raise her voice. She didn’t have to. Her gaze alone commanded silence.

The guards bowed once more and withdrew a few paces, though clearly reluctant.

Hans watched them retreat, then turned his attention back to Alysanne, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and something far more vulnerable.

She, however, did not move. Her eyes remained fixed on him with a blend of affection and quiet sorrow.

“I remember the first time I arrived on these islands,” she said. “I was twenty-three. A foreign princess, promised to a prince I didn’t know… and who, it seemed, had no real desire to know me either. I was alone, lost amidst protocols I couldn’t grasp, surrounded by cold faces and hollow conversation.”

She smiled—not with joy, but with a certain ironic gleam in her eyes.

“My betrothed, in addition to being the most conceited man to ever set foot in a drawing room, spoke of nothing but alliances, treaties, and duties. And yet, somehow, managed to be the most charming womanizer in the entire court. There wasn’t a maid, lady, or duchess who had not been subject to his attention—or, shall we say, to his excessive courtesy.”

Hans let out a brief, inevitable laugh.
“Yes… that certainly sounds like Richard.”

But when he looked at her again, the smile faded slightly. He gazed at her for a moment with a quiet pity he did his best to conceal.

Alysanne went on, unaware.

“And then, a young man appeared,” she said softly. “The youngest of thirteen brothers. Impertinent, eager, generous without knowing it. He brought me flowers without asking what I liked, spoke to me of the fishermen at the docks, the children in the streets, of songs sung in taverns… He showed me the corners of these isles that do not appear on any map or in any book of state.”

She paused. Her voice, which had moments before carried a near-playful warmth, now grew quieter, more intimate.

“When I married, I was terrified. And when they crowned me Queen… I don’t recall ever feeling more anxious in my life. But he was there. That young man. He told me I would do well. That I could handle it. And I believed him… because it was he who said it.”

Hans didn’t move. He only listened.

“And when I…” she interrupted herself with clear pain in her voice “Who was the one who saved my life? Not my ladies, who were frozen in fear. Not Richard, who was far away. It was you. You were the only one who didn’t flee at the sight of blood. The only one who held me while I cried on the floor. The only one who wouldn’t let me die.”

Silence.

The mist around them seemed to listen too.

Then she stepped closer.

“Where is that young man now, Hans?”

He lowered his gaze, feeling the weight of words he could not summon—knowing nothing he might say would be worthy of her.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he said at last, his voice low. “Of all the people… you are the one who least deserved it.”

“Then tell me” Alysanne asked, not with anger, but with a sorrow so deep it left no room for reproach, “why did you do it? Do you truly enjoy causing pain?”

Hans drew a slow breath. The mist, the cold, the memories—they all pressed in on him.

“It’s not that,” he said. “But… the opportunity was there. Right in front of me. The power. The crown. The place I’d been told all my life I would never deserve. And for a moment, I believed that if I took it… maybe then, at last, I would be someone .”

She tilted her head, a compassion in her gaze that stung more than any reproach.
“Hans… you are someone already. You didn’t need a crown to be important. At least not to me. Not to this kingdom.”

He looked at her, and for the first time in a long while, his eyes held no defiance, no concealment. Only something close to shame.

“That’s not how I see it,” he confessed, barely above a whisper.

Alysanne drew a breath, never taking her eyes off him. She didn’t cry. She didn’t need to.

“I know things between you and your brothers have been… difficult. With Richard overall. But he’s trying to change, Hans. I swear it. I’ve seen it. He wants to be a good brother. And that’s why he did something I never thought he would: he secured this chance for you. A second chance.”

Hans remained still, but his lips tightened—somewhere between bitterness and something more fragile.

“If you don’t want to do it for him,” she said, her voice firmer now, “then don’t. And if you can’t do it for yourself… do it for our people. I know how deeply you love them. I’ve seen it—how you stood up for these Isles when no one else would listen.”

She stepped closer still, and reached out, gently brushing the fabric of his coat.

“And if there is still any affection left in you for me… do it for me, Hans.”

He lifted his eyes. And for a moment, there was no hardness in them.

“Of course I care for you,” he said. “I care for you deeply. More than I could ever explain.”

She nodded, needing no more than that.

“Then do it, Hans,” she whispered. “Take this opportunity. Do not challenge the Queen. Do not provoke her sister. Don’t destroy what might still be saved. Be a man of honour. And just behave… please.”

Hans closed his eyes for a moment. The word Arendelle hung over him like a sentence. He didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to face it.

But her voice remained—not as an order, not even as a plea, but as an anchor.

And for her—for that woman who had treated him with kindness when the world had turned its back—for her… he agreed.

He nodded in silence.

She smiled, just faintly. Then, with a tender motion, she adjusted the folds of his coat and smoothed the fabric on his shoulders with gentle care.

Finally, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“I’ll speak to Richard,” she said softly. “When you return, we’ll see about restoring your properties… your ships. We’ll find a way to reestablish your ties with other courts. Everything can be as it once was.”

Hans looked up, and for a brief instant, his eyes shone with something very near to hope.

“Thank you, My Queen,” he murmured.

Alysanne stepped back, looked at him one last time, and turned away with her usual grace.

And Hans stood there, watching her walk away.

This time, he didn’t wish for her to stop.

But neither did he want to see her go.

The days passed.

The salty breeze of the fjord brought with it an air of tension as the ship docked at the port of Arendelle. Hans stepped off with measured steps, keeping his gaze low, though he could feel the presence of the guards and citizens watching him with disdain. He didn’t blame them.

The journey to the castle was silent, except for the sound of horse hooves on the cobblestones. There was no welcome, not even a courtesy gesture from those escorting him. Hans hadn’t expected one.

Upon reaching the royal hall, he saw Elsa and Anna waiting at the top of the stairs. But they weren’t alone. A young man stood beside Anna—broad-shouldered, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his gaze sharp and unflinching. Hans recognized him, faintly. A blurred figure from the deck of the ship, standing behind Anna just after she had struck him. He hadn’t known his name then, and still didn’t now. But the way the man looked at him—like someone remembering every reason to hate—was enough.
His stance wasn’t noble. And Hans, though he felt that stare burn through him, chose to ignore it.

“Well, well… Look who’s back,” Anna said, her voice laced with irony. “If it isn’t the Prince of Frozen Heart. Your nose looks different, did you get something done?”

Hans didn’t respond. Not because he had no words, but because he knew it would be pointless. Instead, his gaze slid toward Elsa.

The queen stood tall, with the bearing of someone who had considered every possible scenario before allowing his presence there. There was no anger on her face, but neither was there benevolence. Only a firm resolve.

“Let this be clear,” she said, calmly but firmly. “We did not accept this for you. You are here because your brother humbly requested it, and because it is the best for Arendelle and the Southern Isles. Do not mistake this for personal indulgence.”

Hans held her gaze, but said nothing.

“I hope you understand that your only option is to find redemption through honest work and effort. There is no other way.”

The silence lingered for a few more seconds. Hans didn’t respond, not because he had nothing to say, but because he knew his words would change nothing.

Elsa continued in the same impassive tone:

“Your stay in the castle will be under the supervision of Henrik, one of the royal guards. He will be responsible for assigning you tasks and ensuring that you fulfill them. You may go with him.”

Before Hans could take another step toward the exit, Elsa’s voice stopped him.

“Oh! And one last thing.”

Hans slowly turned his head to look at her.

Elsa watched him with eyes as cold and sharp as an icicle. She didn’t raise her voice; she didn’t need to. Every word fell with the weight of an impending storm.

“If you try to harm my sister, me, or anyone in this kingdom, I swear the last thing you’ll feel will be the cold of my hands before you disappear forever.”

Hans held her gaze, and for a moment, something dark flickered in his expression, perhaps resentment, perhaps wounded pride. But in the end, he simply let out a tired sigh and tilted his head with a half-hearted smile that held no joy.

“Don’t worry, Your Majesty. I’m not that stupid.”

Then, without waiting for permission, he turned on his heels and left the room, Henrik following close behind.

The walk to his temporary quarters was silent. There was no need for words. Hans could feel the hostility of the guards with every step he took through the castle halls. Nothing had changed, except his position.

When Henrik opened the door, Hans entered and found a small, austere room. Two beds, a simple wardrobe, an oil lamp, and a tiny bathroom. It almost seemed like a luxury cell.

He rolled his eyes with exhaustion and dropped his small bag of belongings onto the empty bed.

“I can’t believe this is happening to me.” he muttered to himself.

Henrik, unfazed, crossed his arms and looked at him seriously.

“Change. We’re going to the courtyard.”

Hans raised an eyebrow.

“Excuse me? I literally just traveled for 6 days by ship.”

“No one has time for complaints here, Prince. You’re going to work.”

Hans let out a humorless laugh and shook his head.

“Of course, I am.”

“Ah yes, the royal road to redemption. Smells like sweat and humiliation.” he thought to himself. “Thanks, Alysanne.The opportunity of a lifetime” 

With no other choice, he began unbuttoning his jacket. It was going to be a long first day.

Several days passed since Hans had started working at the castle of Arendelle, and the situation hadn’t improved. The sun barely peeked over the horizon when Hans began his day, carrying heavy sacks of flour to the kitchen, moving barrels, and doing other tasks he never imagined he’d do in his life.

From a distance, Elsa and Anna occasionally watched him. Elsa, serious and distant, barely reacted, while Anna, with a slight smile, couldn’t help but laugh at his discomfort.

“Looks like Prince Charming has found his true calling,” Anna remarked, letting out a soft laugh.

Hans, however, kept his face impassive, ignoring the mocking stares and focusing on the task assigned to him. He knew his situation was no less than that of a condemned man.

Elsa didn’t respond immediately, her gaze fixed on the scene, though her face showed no clear signs of emotion. She knew what Hans’ presence represented, but she also understood that her duty was not only to ensure the kingdom’s safety but also to oversee the fulfillment of the agreement he had made with the king. Despite her resentment, she could not allow anything to jeopardize that delicate balance.

That night, when the shadows of sunset covered the castle, Hans kept working tirelessly. He had lost track of time, completely absorbed in the tasks that kept piling up. He had started moving hay bales when, by chance, his assigned guard had to step away momentarily to attend to other urgent matters. As a result, he was left under the supervision of two younger men, who, rather than performing their duty with the expected seriousness, began making sarcastic comments about his situation.

“So, the noble Prince Hans is now a hay loader?” one of the guards said laughing, looking at Hans with a sneer.

Hans, tired from the long days, kept working. He loaded the sacks onto his shoulders, each movement slow and meticulous, as if his only goal was to finish it as quickly as possible. Fatigue was evident on his face, but although he wanted to rest, he couldn’t afford another day of wasting time.

“Seems like life in Arendelle isn’t as fancy as you thought, huh?” the other guard remarked, looking disdainfully at his servant’s uniform. “You must miss the luxuries of court.”

Although the words reached him, Hans remained silent, convinced it wasn’t worth arguing with them. However, their mockery continued, and soon began to escalate.

“You know what, Teb?” said the first guard to his companion, “I’ve been thinking that maybe, his brother the king has a purpose in all this. He just came to manipulate the queen, looking for some way to get them to let him back into Arendelle, right?”

“He’s probably a lying rat just like him.”

That simple mention of Richard was enough to make Hans stop breathing for a moment. The heat of anger rushed to his face, and his body shook with the urge to teach them a lesson. Although his feelings for his older brother were complicated, there was something about him that he couldn’t tolerate when they spoke about Richard in that way. And that was enough for the guards’ provocation to overwhelm him.

With a roar of fury, Hans threw the sack off his shoulders and turned, without saying a word, delivering a strong right hook to the nearest guard’s face. The man fell to the ground, stunned and surprised by the speed of the blow. His companion, seeing the attack, quickly responded by charging at Hans in fury.

“You’ll regret this, traitor!” he shouted as he shoved him against the wall.

The exchange of blows was fast and chaotic. Hans could barely feel the pain from the strikes, enveloped in a wave of rage that he had no intention of stopping.

At that moment, Henrik, the stocky guard who had been away, returned running upon hearing the commotion. He saw Hans fighting with the young men and, in an instant, intervened with force, separating the two guards from him. 

“Enough!” he shouted, pushing the guards back. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Hitting a man who’s just doing his job?”

The guards, surprised and somewhat embarrassed, stepped back but quickly became defensive.

“This traitor doesn’t have the right to be here, Henrik,” one of them said challengingly. “What if what he’s doing is part of a bigger plan to manipulate the queen? This is all a farce!”

Henrik, furious, looked at the young men with disdain.

“I don’t want to hear any more nonsense,” he replied, his voice low and threatening. “This will reach the ears of your Lord Commander. You’d better be ready to face the consequences.”

With a warning gesture, Henrik lifted Hans, who was visibly sore, and without hesitation, took him toward the infirmary.

As the guards walked away, Henrik held Hans firmly, and despite his evident difficulty walking, guided him without mercy to the infirmary. Barely had he settled him into a chair when the door opened abruptly, admitting the Queen of Arendelle.

Elsa, still wrapped in the lightness of her night attire, burst into the room with the force of an icy wind, closely followed by one of her maids and her Lord Commander of the Royal Guard. Her eyes scanned the scene with a mix of confusion and growing indignation.

“What is this?” she exclaimed, her voice vibrating between astonishment and fury. “What has happened here?”

But her question hung in the air when her eyes fell on Hans. His face, swollen and bloodied, was enough to turn her confusion into restrained anger. With determined steps, she approached him and, without hesitation, took his face in her hands.

Hans, too surprised by the queen’s closeness to react immediately, tensed. However, the shadow of his usual insolence still lingered on his expression, and with a crooked smile—despite the evident pain it caused—he whispered with sarcasm:

“Your Majesty, it seems my efforts at redemption have not been entirely well received.”

Elsa’s brow furrowed in clear disapproval. Hans looked away, and for a moment—a brief, fleeting moment—he thought of Alysanne.

Of her voice, gentle but firm, telling him that morning at the port: “Do not challenge the Queen. Be a man of honour. And just behave… please. ”

And something in him gave way.

He sighed, The sarcasm faded like a wave pulling back from the shore. He could still feel her blue eyes drift over his face. 

“ How is it possible that something like this happens inside my own palace?” Elsa murmured, her voice barely a cold whisper, laden with disbelief and contained rage.

Hans turned back to her, his tone changed.

“Queen Elsa…” he said quietly “I didn’t want this. I didn’t come to your kingdom to start fights. I didn’t seek them out. They were the ones who provoked me.”

Elsa said nothing at first. Then, after a beat that seemed to stretch too long, she spoke with a calmness colder than anger.

“I cannot allow such a lack of discipline to prosper under my roof,” she declared at last, with a severity that made any further comment unnecessary. “These men will be dismissed immediately. There is no place in my court for those who sow discord or dishonor the rules with their conduct.”

Hans blinked, surprised by the resolution in her tone. A short, mirthless laugh escaped him—as if even now, he couldn’t quite believe her reaction.

“Dismiss them, Your Majesty?” he repeated, with a hint of incredulity “I didn’t think my well-being would be of concern to you.”

Elsa did not blink at his comment. Her gaze remained steady, as though her determination were carved from ice.

“Perhaps it concerns me more than It should,” she admitted without softening her tone, “but I made a promise to an honest king, and my word carries weight. I cannot allow my rule to be tainted by such incidents.”

Hans, even more bewildered by her response, barely inclined his head, as if trying to hide the mix of emotions swirling inside him.

Elsa, without looking away from him, then turned to her Lord Commander.

“Starting tomorrow, Prince Hans will be part of my private service.”

There was a brief moment of silence in the room, interrupted only by the measured breath of the captain.

“Are you sure, Your Majesty?” he finally asked, raising an eyebrow just slightly, with the caution of a man used to measuring every word and every decision.

Elsa held his gaze without hesitation. She knew that what she had just decreed was not only a disciplinary measure but also a blow that would ripple through her daily life. And yet, she could not allow herself the weakness of retreat.

“Yes, I am sure,” she affirmed, with unwavering determination. “It’s the only way to ensure that there are no more problems.”

The captain nodded with the resignation of someone who recognizes the immutability of a decree.

“As you wish, my Queen,” he replied, with the deference proper to his rank.

Hans, still seated, watched the scene with an unreadable expression. He didn’t know whether to feel humiliated by the absolute control the queen had just imposed on him, or if, deep down, it meant something more than a punishment.

Elsa turned back to him, and when she spoke, her tone allowed no argument.

“You will go to your quarters with the guard I assigned you, and I expect not to hear anything more about you tonight. Tomorrow, at the break of dawn, you will begin your work in my service. And know this—I won’t accept more disputes or lazy days. There will not be a single moment you are outside my supervision.”

Hans lifted his gaze to her and, after a brief silence, offered a wry smile, devoid of warmth.

“Understood.” He said simply. 

But as Elsa gave the final order, Hans couldn’t help but wonder what this would truly meant for him. Would it be worse than his previous tasks, or perhaps, just perhaps, it might not be so bad? After all, how could it possibly be worse than hauling barrels and pushing hay?

Chapter Text

Hans Westergaard, once Prince of the Southern Isles and decorated admiral of the Royal Fleet, now scrubbed floors, dusted rugs, and hauled boxes of scrolls with the begrudging precision of a servant-in-training—an especially reluctant one.

If the icy halls of Arendelle Palace had seemed unwelcoming upon his return, the days that followed had done little to thaw the growing contempt he felt for his situation. He had endured many things in life—disdain, exile, disgrace—but none quite compared to the silent humiliation of serving as Queen Elsa’s personal assistant.

At first, the appointment had seemed tolerable. After all, it was better than hard labor… or so he told himself. His duties, though not cruel, were laced with small indignities: sorting her correspondence by hour of arrival, polishing chandeliers, collecting and organizing greenhouse leaves for growth studies, and even heating her tea to the exact temperature she preferred. And every time he made a mistake—which, according to the Queen, was often—he was corrected with a glacial courtesy that stung more deeply than any harsh scolding might have.

Princess Anna, for her part, was no help at all. She found endless amusement in his predicament, and often passed by him with cheerful remarks such as:

“What’s the matter, darling? Isn’t this what you wanted? You, me, the palace… I bet you didn’t think it’d involve quite so much work.”

Then came the champagne incident.

It was a modest but dignified gathering in the west wing gardens, attended by minor diplomats and local nobles. Among the servants weaving between guests with trays and bottles, a young maid was visibly struggling to open a bottle of champagne that was far too chilled.

Hans, standing nearby with his arms crossed and his dignity hanging by a thread, thought he saw an opportunity—not to shine, but at least to be useful.

“Need a hand?” he asked, trying to sound less desperate than he felt.

She nodded with a breath of relief and handed him the bottle.

Everything might have gone reasonably well—if not for the sudden appearance of the Queen’s curious living snowman, who, apparently drawn by the glint of the glass or the bubbling inside, leapt between them like a sentient snowstorm.

“Ooh! Is that water? I’VE NEVER SEEN WATER DO THAT! I WANT TO TOUCH IT!” he shouted, positively vibrating with enthusiasm, waving his twig arms directly in front of Hans at the worst possible moment.

The cork flew. The bottle slipped. And a fountain of golden foam burst forward, spraying everyone in its path.

Elsa, also soaked, said nothing. She simply looked at him—a single glance, but one so cold it made Hans wish she had yelled instead. Anything would have been better than that frozen silence.

Perhaps the stroll through Arendelle’s market hadn’t been so bad.

Burdened with packages from both sisters, Hans was approached by a kind-faced elderly woman who, perhaps due to her cataracts, didn’t recognize him. She asked sweetly:

“Oh, what a charming young man. Are you the new butler?”

“No, ma’am,” he replied without hesitation, his usual sarcasm intact. “I’m here against my will, just like the rest of the staff.”

The woman laughed heartily. Anna, walking just ahead, nearly choked from laughing too hard.

Elsa, however, did not laugh.

She turned sharply, brows drawn together.

“Do try to remember, Hans,” she muttered under her breath, “that your words carry the weight of our kingdom’s goodwill.”

Goodwill? he thought grimly, but said nothing.

And yet, it wasn’t the endless errands or constant corrections that truly wore him down—it was the silence.

No one spoke to him unless absolutely necessary. The other servants looked at him with cautious courtesy. Henrik, his assigned shadow, was no better: impassive, silent, impossible to read. They shared a room, yet the only thing he’d ever received from the man was a grunt.

Hans tried—he truly tried—to maintain his composure.

One morning, in the council chamber, as he arranged documents just as Elsa had ordered, he could barely restrain a sigh. A noble was presenting a proposal on the redistribution of fishing vessels which, to Hans, reeked of inefficiency. As a former statesman, he could recognize a poor negotiation when he heard one.

He said nothing. But he exhaled—a sound soft, yet unmistakably laced with disdain.

Elsa turned toward him slowly.

“Hans,” she said coldly, omitting title and courtesy alike, “in this room, your commentary—spoken or otherwise—is not required.”

He bowed stiffly, his throat tight with swallowed pride. He said nothing.

Later that day, he returned to his chambers with a fatigued gait, feeling that not even in all his years as an admiral had he ever fought a battle as exhausting as this one. The footsteps of the guards who had escorted him faded behind him, leaving the heavy wooden door to close with a dull, almost solemn thud.

There, beside his bed, was Henrik—as always—engaged in his nightly strengthening routine.

He was on the floor, out of uniform, sleeves rolled up, arms midway through a set of push-ups. His face showed nothing but the calm rhythm of his breath.

Hans watched him for a moment, tilting his head with that usual air of refined annoyance.

“Push-ups again?” he said, attempting to pierce the silence with a crooked smile. “Is that by choice, or royal decree?”

Henrik didn’t respond. He continued his set without even glancing in his direction.

Hans sighed with a restrained dramatic flair—loud enough to provoke, but not to beg. He hated the silence. Still, he persisted, trying to wedge a crack into that ice-forged armor.

“You know, in the Southern Isles we don’t have this kind of weather,” he went on with a smile no one looked at. “If this is how autumn starts, I don’t even want to imagine the winter.”

Silence.

“Although, of course, nothing beats last winter, right? At least this time we don’t have a queen freezing everything in her path.”

Henrik paused—just for a moment—as if Hans had uttered a sacrilege. He lifted his gaze, just enough to send him a look so cutting that Hans instantly regretted the remark. It was clear: jokes about the queen were not tolerated, least of all from someone like him.

Hans cleared his throat awkwardly and shrugged, trying to dispel the tension. Henrik returned to his exercises without another word.

Hans pressed his lips together in frustration and reached into the inner pocket of his coat. His fingers brushed against a slightly wrinkled envelope, and for a fleeting moment, he hoped—perhaps—it was from Alysanne. Of all those in the South, she was the only voice he still remembered with warmth.

But as soon as he recognized the seal, he knew it wasn’t her.

The handwriting wasn’t hers. The tone wasn’t hers. It was Aldric.

Hans rolled his eyes with barely concealed exasperation. Of course. Who else, if not the family’s tireless peacemaker?

With a resigned sigh—not out of interest, but for lack of better distractions—he broke the seal with a swift flick of his hand.

Navigator’s Crown
Autumn of the Tenth Year of the Reign of His Majesty King Richard

To His Highness Hans Westergaard, Prince of the Southern Isles
Arendelle

My dear brother,

I have reflected at length before taking up the pen. Not for lack of affection—which, despite everything, I still hold—but because finding the right words has proven more difficult than I ever anticipated. I confess, Hans, that our last conversation left a deeper wound in me than you might imagine. Some truths, when spoken without restraint, become weapons. And though I understand the pain that gave rise to them, I cannot deny that their effects still linger.

And yet, here I am. Because although the distance between us is vast—not so much in geography, but in what we have failed to say without anger—I want you to know that I think of you. And that I care for your well-being beyond the silence that has separated us.

It was the King who informed me that Her Majesty Queen Elsa has graciously allowed you to receive correspondence from our Isles. I thought, then, that perhaps it would be easier for you to read these lines if they came from my hand. Richard, as I’m sure you assume, still bears the scars of your offense. Nevertheless, it was he who personally requested that you be permitted to receive letters. He, too, wants to hear from you, though his pride—as always—speaks a different language.

Here, things are slowly beginning to fall back into place. The news of your integration into the Queen’s private service has had, curiously, an unexpected effect among some of our former allies. Our King departs today for Siren's Keep alongside Her Majesty. One of the lords has reconsidered his stance and sent a new delegation willing to renegotiate the treaty for the purchase of our pearls and diamonds. It was, I’m told, upon learning that one of the sons of Westergaard now serves in Arendelle with honor and humility.

I also know there was an incident…with members of the royal guard. I won’t dwell on the details, as it is not my place to pass judgment. I only ask that you remember why you are there. The world will always be quick to judge you, Hans. You know that better than anyone. Don’t give them the pleasure of proving them right.

Here, Alysanne is fine. And Richard… well, he hasn’t been the same since you left, though he would never admit it. I hope the cold of Arendelle hasn’t been too harsh on your southern bones, and that the sky has granted you at least one peaceful night.

I don’t expect a reply. It is enough for me to know that you received this letter.

Aldrich.

Hans had read the letter with his jaw clenched, his eyes shifting between irritation and something darker he didn’t care to name. Some of the lines had barely begun to settle in his chest when, with one swift motion, Henrik stopped his exercises and snatched the letter from his hand.

"Hey! What are you doing?" Hans protested, feeling the paper ripped from his fingers "Do you find it normal to just steal someone’s private letter?"

Henrik, as still as a statue, didn’t flinch as he opened the letter and began reading it carefully.

"Nothing is private when you live under the same roof as me, Prince," he replied with a calmness that only made Hans angrier.

"Of course there is no such thing as private with you. I’ve seen you go to the bathroom with the door wide open."

Henrik didn’t even blink at the jab. He kept reading. Not a twitch, not a sigh. Hans huffed, doubly offended.

"If you’d like, I can underline the part that says 'Queen Elsa,' Royal Inspector," he muttered, dripping sarcasm "I can also fetch you a lamp, in case you suspect invisible ink."

Nothing.

"Can you even read, or do you just pretend to keep your job?"

At last, Henrik spoke. His voice was as dry as frost on stone.

"Who is Richard?"

Hans narrowed his eyes, irritated.

"Who is Richard? Only the king. My brother. The same one mentioned in the first lines. But don’t worry... not everyone can process information after doing push-ups."

The guard frowned and tossed the letter back onto his legs.

"Better get some sleep, Prince," he said in his rough tone, not even looking at him "You’ve got a lot of work to do tomorrow."

"As always."

With that, he headed to his bunk, with nothing more to say. Hans, for his part, remained motionless for a moment longer, feeling the silence settle between them.

The letter was still there, unfolded on his lap. He could pretend indifference, mock aloud the noble and hypocritical phrases of his brother—but the words—those damned words—had settled inside him like stones at the bottom of a lake.

“Siren’s Keep.”

The name echoed in his mind with a mix of nostalgia and pragmatism. That island, covered in mysteries and marshes, had for generations been the cornerstone of his homeland’s maritime trade. The pearls dredged from its depths and the diamonds carved from its caverns had sustained not only the region’s economy, but its history, its culture... its pride.

That such a treaty—long suspended—might be renewed because of his presence in Arendelle was, though difficult to admit, a small relief. Or rather, a confirmation: that his humiliation was not entirely without purpose.

Hans exhaled through his nose. Everything felt strange. The path that had led him here was so twisted. He slept in a narrow bed, shared a room with a silent guard, and obeyed orders from people who could hardly look at him without tension in their expression. And yet, far away, on those shores where he had been born, recovery had begun. Something that perhaps would not have been possible without this absurd exile.

He would never say it aloud. But something—however small—had begun to shift inside him.

The next day dawned with the same white mist that seemed to wrap itself around all of Hans’s thoughts. And with it, came new tasks.

It was at the end of the morning meeting when Elsa, with a composure slightly worn thin, announced:

“Hans, today I need you to accompany me to the east wing. I need your help organizing the items for the—”

“Ahh.”

Hans let out a brief but pointed sigh. It was involuntary, a stifled protest that escaped without permission… but it echoed in the room like a barely contained insult.

Elsa stopped.

“Am I boring you?” she asked without turning, though her tone alone was enough to freeze any trace of insolence.

Anna, who had just entered the study, frowned.

Hans straightened his back at once, as if the motion could conceal his exasperation.

“No, at all.” he replied, feigning indifference. “I was just breathing. My apologies, Your Majesty.”

“Breathing?” the princess cut in. “Well. It sounded more like the snort of a bad-tempered horse. Care to tell us what you really think?”

Hans hesitated. For a moment, he seemed to weigh the consequences… He knew he shouldn't challenge them. But something inside him—fatigue, pride, or simply that part of him that never knew when to keep quiet—chose to speak.

“Gladly,” he said at last, his voice tense but measured. “What I think, Your Highness , is that I don’t find it particularly thrilling to serve as a pack mule today.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room. Anna’s eyes widened. Even the royal guards, who rarely showed any emotion, visibly tensed. Elsa looked at him then—with that glacial calm that always preceded her most decisive commands.

“I see,” she said, her tone slow but unyielding. “If the assigned task is not honorable enough, I shall assign you another. One that, I hope, matches the height of your dignity.”

Hans clenched his jaw but said nothing.

Elsa stepped toward to one of her guards.

“Take him to the gallery,” she ordered. “Have him clean the royal portraits. All of them. I want every frame to shine, and not a speck of dust left on the edges.”

“Your Majesty…” Hans began, though even he wasn’t sure whether he meant to apologize or protest again.

Anna raised an eyebrow, arms crossed.

“Are you going to complain about that too?”

Hans cast a furious glance at the floor.One of the guards motioned the direction with a nod.
With clenched hands and his dignity in tatters, he turned in silence.

And so, muttering under his breath about royalty and their sense of duty, Hans was escorted to the gallery. Upon arrival, Henrik was already waiting, his expression as unreadable as ever.

The redhead took a rag and a bucket of water with resignation and began to clean while muttering: “Hans, is logic an alien concept to you? That’s not how books are organized; Hans, don’t breathe so loudly... the echo distracts me; Hans, place the vase properly—are you planning a rebellion?... This woman is going to drive me mad. Just take me to the gallows already, please.”

From a corner, Henrik barely glanced up.
“Do you want the Queen to hear you?”

Hans sighed, almost pitifully:
“I want some god to hear me and set me free,” he muttered. And as he approached the largest portrait—one of the late Queen Iduna—he grimaced.
“And here we have the holy mother. Who surely doesn’t approve of me either.”

As he wiped the frame with obvious reluctance, he leaned a bit too much against it. The portrait wobbled... and fell.

“No, no, no!” Hans shouted, arms stretching out in vain.

The frame hit the floor with a thud that rang out like a sentence.

“Hans!” Henrik exclaimed, rushing toward him.

“It was an accident! I swear! I was just… trying to clean it!” Hans stammered, staring at the shattered pieces of the frame. “But we can fix it! I just need… glue. A lot of glue!”

“Glue?” Henrik repeated, incredulous. “You think you can restore an invaluable oil painting with glue?”

“Don’t look at me like that! This can be fixed… Everything can be fixed if you don’t give up!” Hans replied, crouching down to gather the pieces with trembling hands.

Henrik sighed but eventually knelt down beside him.

“This is madness. Do you know what will happen if my Commander sees this? If the Queen or the Princess find out you destroyed a portrait of their mother?” Henrik muttered, eyes wide. “He’ll dismiss me. He’ll hang me from the flagpole.”

“ Keep your voice down! No one’s going to find out,” Hans snapped, straightening up with a piece of the painting in hand. “But I need you to calm down. Breathe. Please."

Henrik looked at him as if he had just suggested hiding the mess behind a curtain. Still, he let out a growl and vanished through a side door. He returned two minutes later with a jar of glue and the expression of someone walking to the gallows.

“I’m going to kill you, Prince.” he said the moment he crossed the threshold.

“Shhh!” Hans hissed, though the urgency in his voice made it feel more like a scolding. “Do you want the whole castle down here? Lower your voice, by the Gods. Listen to me, Henrik. This is fixable. Trust me.”

“Trust you?” Henrik replied, utterly unconvinced.

Hans snatched the jar from his hands with a swift motion and knelt beside the fallen canvas, examining the damage with dramatic intensity.

“When I was nine, I accidentally broke a portrait of my father,” he confessed, unscrewing the lid. “One that hung right above his desk. He loved that thing. Looked at it every morning.”

Henrik watched him, still standing, as though that memory offered no comfort at all.

“And what happened?”

“I fixed it,” Hans said solemnly. “With patience, care, and an entire jar of glue. My father never found out. The portrait’s still there, hanging like nothing happened. A little crooked, perhaps… but even my brother Richard hasn’t noticed.”

The guard ran a hand over his face—something Hans found completely unusual; it was rare to see him so visibly concerned. Then he grabbed Hans by the arm and pulled him down to the floor beside him.

"Hold this part here," he said, nodding toward a splintered edge of the frame while trying to align the broken pieces with a grip that inspired little confidence."Right there. Not too hard."

Henrik, still frowning, obeyed. His hand—capable of wielding a sword with deadly precision—trembled slightly under the pressure of holding a broken portrait.

"By the gods... this isn’t going to work," he muttered.

"Oh, stop it. I told you it will,"Hans replied, with a confidence that had no reasonable foundation. "We need focus. And a distraction. While the glue works its magic, why don’t you tell me something? Since we’re here… sharing a crisis."

The guard raised an eyebrow, not taking his eyes off the painting.

"Like what?"

"I don’t know… What do you do when you’re not ignoring me? Have you always been part of this noble and smiling institution?"

Henrik scowled but didn’t answer right away.

"No."

Hans let out a theatrical sigh, glancing at him sideways.

"You’ll have to give me more than a monosyllable."

"I'm trying to focus."

"Well, try focusing some charm too, if it’s not too much to ask," the prince replied, already wearing a half-smile.

Henrik seemed to consider it, but something in the tightness of his jaw appeared to ease—just barely.

“When I was eleven, King Agnarr visited my village. He was accompanied by the men of the Honor Guard. They stood in formation, impeccable, as if nothing in the world could ever defeat them. Everyone was looking at the King but… I couldn’t take my eyes off them .”

Hans, surprised by the seriousness of the answer, stopped joking.

“And since then… you wanted to become a guard?”

Henrik nodded, eyes still fixed on the frame.

“When I was eighteen, I applied as a recruit. But they didn’t accept me. At that time, the King had shut the castle gates. They’d been closed for years. It was always the same guards—They didn't let anyone in. It was disappointing.”

He carefully placed a fragment of the frame back in place, as if each word fit with the same precision.

“But when the Queen and Princess reopened the gates, I knew it was my chance. The castle needed more men. I applied again… and this time, they accepted me. Since then, I’ve given everything. I push myself every day, to become part of the Honor Guard, there is no higher rank. There’s no greater privilege than protecting the royal family.”

Hans glanced at him sideways, his expression a mix of amusement and disbelief.

“Standing behind the Queen for hours without being allowed to show a single expression? That’s your dream?”

Henrik nodded, with a sincerity that stood in stark contrast to the absurd situation they found themselves in.

"I’ve never spoken to her. Nor to the Princess. But I’ve seen them. And… they don’t know what one feels, what one admires. But I would give my life for them. They’ve done so much for this kingdom, even when no one seemed to understand them. To serve them is more than a duty to me. It’s an aspiration."

A brief silence followed. The glue bubbled quietly at the edge of the canvas.

Hans couldn’t help it — he let out a dry laugh.

"Oh, Henrik. How touching. But let me tell you — from the most direct personal experience you could possibly get — you’re not missing much. Truly. If your dream is to talk to Elsa and Anna, I think you’d end up sorely disappointed."

Henrik, who had until then kept his focus on holding the frame steady, turned to him with a slight frown.

"How can you say that?" he asked, in a voice completely devoid of humor.

"Say what?"

"That I'm not missing anything. That being near the Queen isn’t worth it. Do you not understand what it means to even have her trust? They deserve everything. They’ve maintained this peace, they’ve opened doors that were closed for years, they’ve created opportunities that never existed before. And they’ve shown you mercy… more than many believe you deserve."

Hans raised his eyebrows, amused by the soldier’s sudden fervor.

 "Oh, please, don’t tell me you’re part of her secret admirer’s club. Look, if we ever bump into her in the hallway, I’ll introduce you and spare you years of blind devotion."

Henrik didn’t smile.

"It’s not blind devotion. It’s respect. There are people who would give anything for a minute of her time. Just to earn her gratitude. And you… you can have that, and still you mock it."

Hans blinked.

“She didn’t ask for you to be here.”

Hans lifted a brow.

“Oh, trust me, I’m very aware of that. She reminds me constantly.”

The guard went on, undisturbed:

“And yet, here you are. Not in a dungeon, not executed. Here. Under her roof. With food, shelter, and the chance—a rare one—to prove something more than what everyone expects of you.”

There was a silence. The glue had begun to set.

“Where are you going with this?” Hans asked, his voice less sharp now.

“To this…” Henrik finally looked at him. “Maybe you should consider that this situation isn’t easy for her either. Having you here isn’t simple. It’s not comfortable. And yet, she’s trying. Not out of sympathy. Not because you deserve it. But for the sake of Arendelle. And the South.”

The prince clenched his jaw. He didn’t reply.

“You may think the world is set on humiliating you,” Henrik continued “but if you can’t see the effort being made to maintain this arrangement, then the problem isn’t the task you’ve been given. It’s your pride.”

Silence slipped between them again. Hans kept staring at the portrait, as if, suddenly, Queen Iduna were looking back at him with judgment in her painted eyes.

He remained quiet, lips sealed, his gaze still fixed on the remnants of the frame. Henrik, beside him, stayed just as still, as if his own words had drained him more than the tension of the moment. For a few long seconds, neither of them spoke. Only the crackling sound of glue drying filled the room.

Finally, Hans cleared his throat softly and, in a casual tone that fooled no one, muttered:

“Well, Henrik… at least you’re protecting a prince. That’s a respectable promotion.”

The guard slowly turned his head, one brow raised with theatrical flair, his lips barely pursed.

“Protecting him? I don’t think so,” he replied with mock severity. “Protecting others from him, maybe. And look where it got me.”

Hans let out a short but genuine laugh. Henrik, despite his usual stoicism, couldn’t stop a smile from tugging at the corner of his lips before he quickly erased it, as though it had been caught out of place.

That brief moment of lightness, unfortunately, did not last.

The gallery door burst open.

“What the hell happened here?”

Both men sprang to their feet at once. Henrik nearly jumped, snapping into the rigid, martial stance of a sentry caught in the act. Hans, meanwhile, remained half-crouched, hands still sticky with glue and the guilty expression of a child caught beside a shattered vase.

In the doorway stood one of the patrol guards, followed closely by a tall, broad figure with a tense jaw: the Lord Commander.

“Is someone going to explain to me why fragments of the Queen Mother’s portrait are scattered across the floor?”he thundered, his voice as sharp as a blizzard.

Hans opened his mouth, ready to speak, but he wasn’t fast enough.

“Henrik,” the Commander barked “ You were responsible for him! How could you let him make such a mess?!”

Henrik didn’t move. He didn’t blink. But his jaw tightened.

“Sir, it wasn’t”

“ Silence! ” the Commander roared. “Do you even understand the value of that portrait? It’s a national symbol! A historical relic! A work that commemorates the royal lineage!”

Henrik felt his heart sink.

“The Queen will be very disappointed.”

Hans frowned and stepped forward.

“With all due respect, it wasn’t Henrik’s fault. I broke it—and it was an accident,” he declared, raising his voice above the murmurs of those present. “He was only trying to help me fix it.”

The Lord’s voice cracked through the gallery walls like thunder in a storm.

“ Be silent at once! We’ve had enough of you, prince! This is not a circus, and you are not here to do as you please! The Queen will hear of this before nightfall, and perhaps then—finally—this farce will come to an end!”

Hans stood frozen, mouth slightly open, his face flushed more with helplessness than with shame. Henrik said nothing; his body was tense, as if bracing for a sentence.

“Separate them,”—the Commander ordered the guards. “Take the prince back to his quarters. Henrik, with me.”

As he was escorted away, Hans cast one last glance over his shoulder. His eyes locked onto Henrik’s with a mix of regret and a silent guilt he couldn’t quite put into words.

Hours later, when Arendelle’s sky had already faded from pale blue to the muted tones of dusk, Hans was summoned to the royal study.

Elsa stood with her back to the door, facing a desk where the fragments of Queen Iduna’s portrait lay wrapped in a dark cloth. There were no tears. No shouting. But the stillness in her shoulders, and the way her fingers gently brushed over the painting, spoke of a sorrow no expression could conceal.

That detail—so small, like the crack of a branch in the dead of winter—struck him in an unexpected way. It hurt. Not like being scolded, nor even like the wounded pride of a prince brought low; it was a sharp ache that came from something deeper. For the first time in weeks, he felt that perhaps—just perhaps—he had gone too far.

Beside her, Counselor Kai stood in silence, his hands clasped behind his back. Upon seeing the Queen’s state, his voice came softly, almost paternal.

“My Queen… I believe there may still be a solution. Master Dahlen has restored pieces in far worse condition. I can reach out to him at once. He may be able to repair the damage.”

She didn’t respond. She neither denied nor agreed. She simply continued gazing at the remains of her mother, as if by looking long enough, she might somehow restore what had been lost.

Hans waited. He waited for her to say something—a reprimand, a punishment, a single word. But the silence lingered, heavy and filled with meanings neither of them knew how to face.

“Your Majesty,” he said at last, his voice barely a whisper “It was an accident. I swear. I didn’t do it on purpose. I know how it must look, but… I was cleaning, and it fell. I tried to fix it. Henrik, my assigned guard… he only tried to help. It wasn’t his fault. I dragged him into it.”

Elsa didn’t move.

“Please,” he insisted “Don’t punish him. He shouldn’t pay for this. I’ll take full responsibility, but…”

Then she spoke—very slowly, in a voice as soft as wind rustling through empty branches.

“I’ll speak to your brother,” she said, without looking at him. “This arrangement… cannot continue. Not under these conditions.”

Hans felt the air drain from his chest.
“No…” he stammered “No, please. Your Majesty…”

She looked at him at last. Not with anger. Not with coldness. But with a sadness so restrained it was almost worse than reproach.

“I’ve tried to hold this together, Hans,” she said. “I’ve done my part. But you don’t want to be here. You haven’t even tried, and you don’t care. How do you expect this to work?”

Hans opened his mouth but found no immediate answer. And then, with an unusual sincerity, he said:
“I… I’m doing my best to do what’s asked of me. I’m trying to do this right. But what happened today wasn’t on purpose. I’m sorry. I really am. I’ll behave, alright?”

Elsa remained silent for several seconds. She turned her gaze back to the broken remains of the portrait. Her eyes welled with tears.

Hans felt a knot form in his throat—not from fear of punishment, but from the sudden, piercing conviction that he had hurt something sacred. A woman who, for the first time, did not appear to be an unshakable monarch, but a daughter facing a loss she could not put into words.

“Take him away,” she said. Her voice was barely a whisper, but it was enough.

 The two sentries guarding the door stepped forward at once.

 “ Now ,” she added, her voice slightly broken.

Hans took a step toward her, desperate, but the guards were already holding him by both arms. 

“Don’t do it for me,” he said, his voice low but urgent. “But don’t punish the Southern Isles or Henrik for this. I swear it was a mistake. A stupid mistake.”

The Queen’s cerulean eyes remained fixed on the shattered frame, as if every brushstroke held a memory she couldn’t let go of.

The guards led him back to his quarters. Hans did not resist.

Henrik was already in the room when Hans entered. He had taken off his uniform jacket and folded it neatly over the edge of the bunk, but he didn’t seem ready to lie down. He remained seated, his back rigid, staring at the floor as if it might hold some logical explanation for the day’s catastrophe.

Hans closed the door and stood still for a few seconds. Then, with a tired sigh, he dropped onto the bench by the wall.

“Henrik,” he said, the name hanging in the air like an attempt at reconciliation. “Listen… I never meant for you to get caught up in this.”

The other didn’t respond. Didn’t even look at him.

“It was an accident,” Hans insisted. “I was angry, yes, and exhausted. But I didn’t do it on purpose. You know that.”

Henrik gave a small nod, still not turning.

“I know.”

Hans frowned. The silence irritated him more than any reproach. He stood and took a few steps closer, arms crossed.

“Then?”

The guard exhaled slowly through his nose.

“ Then tomorrow my Commander will speak with the Queen. I’ll lose my job and return to my village. You’ll go back to the South. It makes the most sense.”

Hans said nothing at first. He just looked at him, full of regret.

“I’m sorry, Henrik.”

His companion didn’t answer right away. He didn’t seem angry, or particularly sad. Just… tired. Like someone who had received news of a storm he’d already seen coming on the horizon.

“You didn’t mean to,” he said at last. “Though maybe none of this would’ve happened if you’d just listened to the Queen in the first place.”

Hans lowered his gaze, pressing his lips together in frustration.

“I know. I just wanted to say it anyway. I don’t know if it means anything, but… thanks for staying.”

Henrik looked up—not surprised, but slightly puzzled by the sincerity in his companion’s tone.

“I was going to leave you, to be honest. I don’t even know why the hell I stayed,” he added, flatly.

Hans let out a brief laugh through his nose.

 “It would’ve been understandable. But you stayed. And you also tried to help me fix it. I suppose that makes you an admirable idiot. ”

Henrik raised an eyebrow.
“You also defended me. So that makes you … something similar.”

Hans smiled. For a moment, the silence that followed was less uncomfortable. The prince leaned back against the wall of his bunk, let his head fall back, and exhaled deeply. Henrik, without thinking much of it, settled more comfortably on his mattress, arms now crossed.

“Could be worse,” Hans murmured, staring at the ceiling. “I could’ve broken the King’s portrait too. That one had a golden frame and everything.”

Henrik let out a faint huff—maybe from a laugh.

“That’s all we’d need.”

And for the first time since they had shared a roof and a duty, the night didn’t end in silence, but in a quiet truce—unspoken, yet real.

The day dawned gray in Arendelle, as if even the sky were unsure how to receive the resolution still hanging in the air. Hans and Henrik had been summoned to the Queen’s study at first light. They walked in silence through the cold corridors, and although Henrik maintained the composure of a trained soldier, his steps seemed more rigid than usual. The tension in his shoulders was visible, as though he carried the entire weight of the situation upon them.

Upon arriving, it was Hans who bowed first, with a gesture both elegant and nervous.
“Your Majesty.”

Meanwhile, Henrik dropped to one knee with a mix of solemnity and devotion, his back straight as he declared:

“My Queen!”

Hans glanced sideways at him, one brow arching in visible confusion.

“It’s an honor to meet you.”

It was a curious sight—Henrik, an imposing man, older than both of them by several years, whose boots always echoed with authority, now knelt with an almost reverent fervor before a woman whose delicate appearance was misleading. To see such a man bow with that much conviction was strange… and at the same time, inevitable.

The scene, though charged with respect, carried a faintly comic tint that couldn’t be ignored. But even Hans, with his sarcasm always at the ready, said nothing.

Elsa, surprised by the display of fervor, studied him for a few seconds. Then, gently, she stepped forward.

"You may rise, Henrik," Elsa said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

The soldier obeyed at once, though the contact caused the slightest tremble in him, as if the Queen’s mere proximity were enough to shift his entire gravity. Elsa withdrew her hand with the faintest smile—understanding, yet not allowing the moment’s gravity to be diminished.

"It is an honor to meet you as well. Your superiors have always spoken highly of you. It brings me pride to see such loyalty in my soldiers."

Henrik felt the air leave his lungs and tried, with effort, not to let her words unsettle him again. The Queen studied his gaze for a few seconds before continuing:

"You know? When the King of the Southern Isles came to Arendelle seeking clemency for his brother, I knew I would need a guard I could trust—someone who would protect the sanctity of both my family and my kingdom. Your commander did not hesitate to recommend you for the task," she added, her voice both kind and resolute. "He said you were responsible, steady, and respectful of the code. I had no reason to doubt him. I know you’ve worked hard for months to be part of the royal guard. So, when I ask you this question, Henrik, I expect your absolute honesty."

He nodded solemnly. Then, as though the gesture alone were not enough, he knelt once more, placing a hand over his chest.

"Your Majesty, I have nothing but my word—and that word is yours. I would never lie to you, nor betray your trust."

With her tone calm, continued:
“Very well. I need to know whether the damage to the portrait was intentional. Did Prince Hans do it on purpose?

Henrik looked at her, then at Hans, and finally returned his gaze to the Queen, full of conviction.

“No, Your Majesty. It was an accident. The prince was carrying out the task he had been given but leaned too hard against the frame. The painting fell due to a mistake, not malice. He tried to fix it, and I… I helped him. Not out of disobedience, but because I thought we could repair the damage without troubling you. I’m sorry to have disappointed you.”

Elsa nodded slowly. Her gaze, far from stern, conveyed a quiet gratitude.
“You have not disappointed me. Thank you, Henrik. You may return to your patrols.”

The guard  bowed once more and exited the room, though his steps were lighter than before. Hans, on the other hand, remained, feeling the silence settle once again.

When he looked up, he saw it. The portrait, now restored, hung on the wall behind the desk. It had been repaired with care, though the lines of restoration were still visible if one looked closely. Hans stared at it, then turned to look at the Queen, waiting for any sign.

She sat with poise in her chair. She glanced through some documents, picked up a quill, signed a parchment, and finally raised her eyes to him.

"Do you have something to say, Hans?"

The redhead straightened, swallowing his pride.
"Just... that I thought this would end worse. I’m grateful you trusted my word."

Elsa regarded him for a moment longer. Then she set the quill down with grace and folded her hands. Her expression shifted—subtly, but unmistakably.

"Oh, don’t flatter yourself," she said, her calm sharper than steel. "I don’t trust your word. I trust my guards. And I trust the oath they swore to me."

Hans blinked once, saying nothing. But the corner of his mouth tightened slightly, as if restraining a retort—one that would have come from a place touched more by truth than pride.

"If Henrik told me it wasn’t intentional," she went on, leaning forward slightly, "then I believe him. I will not let a single mistake—clumsy as it may have been—be reason enough to undo a treaty with an ally who came to me desperately seeking help."

She paused.

"The portrait has been restored. The damage, in this case, was not irreversible. But not all mistakes can be fixed with glue, Prince Hans. And not all offenses are absolved by a late apology. You promised me yesterday that you would improve your behavior. You’d best have meant it."

Hans opened his mouth, but found no words.

"I am a queen," she added, with a firmness that left no room for argument,
"not a nursemaid. And from now on, when I give you an order, you obey. Without complaints. Without sarcasm. Without contradiction. Is that understood?"

Hans gave a stiff nod.
"Yes... Your Majesty."

"Then you may leave. Gerda is already aware of your assignments for today."

Hans gave a slightly awkward, but sincere bow, and left the office. As he walked through the halls, he felt the strange weight of relief. Henrik would keep his post. The agreement with the South was intact. And this hadn’t, in the end, become the war he had feared.

And he... was still there.

He didn’t quite understand why Elsa kept giving him chances. But for the first time, he had the fleeting thought that perhaps he shouldn’t waste another one. 

Chapter Text

Elysium
In the Autumn of the Tenth Year of the Reign of His Majesty King Richard.

To His Highness, Prince Hans  of the Southern Isles
Arendelle.

My dear brother,

I hope this letter finds you in good health—or at the very least, in a mood calm enough not to tear it apart the moment you recognize my handwriting. I haven’t heard back from you yet, but I like to think it’s due to your many obligations in Arendelle and not because you’ve decided to ignore me entirely. 

Let me start with some news I’m sure you’ll enjoy. Our beloved brother Thomas has had… quite a week. First, he fell off a horse while trying to impress some court ladies. It wasn’t a race, and the horse wasn’t wild or skittish. No. It was an old, patient, practically motionless creature. And yet, Thomas managed to tumble off with such spectacular awkwardness that he broke his arm and now limps around the castle with the most dramatic bandage I’ve ever seen.

But wait, there’s more. Just a few days later, Richard found out he’d been using his monthly allowance to fund illegal gambling in the ports of Anchorfall. I haven’t seen our brother that furious since the day you came back from Arendelle. He scolded Thomas like a dog and cut off his allowance—“for a very long time,” in his own words. I think that hurt even more than the fall. Honestly, I don’t remember the last time I laughed that hard. If this doesn’t at least make you smirk, I’m not sure what will.  

As for home, Queen Alysanne has seemed more herself lately. She’s joining us at dinner again, and I often see her laughing with Richard. They hold hands and are always together. There are still days when their moods seem darker, but even then, they remain composed.  And sometimes, when I watch them… it’s hard to believe what you said. Hard to imagine anything could ever come between our sister-in-law and her happiness. I wish it weren’t so...

The Southern Isles, meanwhile, are slowly regaining their place in diplomatic conversation. This weekend we expect two embassies from the West, and several lords have expressed interest in reestablishing alliances. The name of Arendelle, by the way, comes up often and, curiously enough, with respect. It seems our Queen’s idea wasn’t so far-fetched after all.

As for Richard… well, he’s still Richard. Always busy, always worrying. Every time a letter arrives from Arendelle, he goes quiet as he opens it, like he’s hoping to find your name on the envelope. He never does, of course, but still he hopes. He and Queen Elsa have been exchanging letters regularly about political matters … and about you.
And before your mind goes there—because I know you—There’s no hidden meaning behind those letters. Strictly politics. Nothing more.

Hey, I also wanted to tell you: I’ll be staying in Elysium for a few days. I have some royal duties to attend to. The sun here is stubborn; it shines as if summer never quite left. Families are still swimming along the shores, and the lake hasn’t lost its gleam.
I couldn’t stop thinking of you. Of how you used to describe this island to me with almost poetic nostalgia. For a moment, I thought I saw you, standing at the stern of a boat, wearing that look you get when you think no one’s watching.
It was nice.

That’s all for now. I’m sending you my affection, whether you’ve asked for it or not. And until you decide otherwise, I’ll keep writing.

Warmly,
Aldrich

When he finished reading the letter, he couldn’t help but tilt his head slightly, as if the words still echoed somewhere in his thoughts. He folded the sheet carefully and walked toward the window.

Outside, the rain tapped stubbornly against the glass, blurring the view of Arendelle’s rooftops. The sky, heavy with thick clouds, looked as though it hadn’t seen sunlight in days.

“I wish I were there.”

“ And I wish you’d practice your reading with something other than my personal letters, ” Hans called from the bathroom, his voice muffled as he finished shaving in front of the mirror. “ Seriously, Henrik. You are getting on my nerves. ”

Henrik didn’t flinch.
“I already told you, Prince. If we’re going to be under the same roof, I need to know what you’re plotting. Wouldn’t want you deciding to kill everyone one morning and catch me off guard.”

The straight razor clicked shut, followed by the sound of water splashing in the sink. After a moment, Hans stepped out of the bathroom, lazily drying his face with a towel.

Henrik handed him the letter without moving. Hans didn’t even take it—he simply went on dressing in his uniform.

“Throw it away if you want.”

Henrik raised an eyebrow, puzzled.
“You’re not going to write back?”

Hans began buttoning his shirt, looking tired.

“No.”

“Why not?”

There was a pause.

“Because my dear brother Aldrich, with all his kindness and good intentions, is still a hypocrite. He spends his life trying to look good in front of everyone—especially the King. And me… I don’t have the time or the patience for niceties anymore.

His companion watched him for a moment—not judging, just quiet, but with a certain weight in his gaze that said he’d listened to every word.

Hans finished getting dressed with the kind of tired grace that came from routine—tightening his belt, brushing off an invisible speck of dust from his jacket. Henrik, punctual as always, waited by the door ready to escort him to the council chamber. The walk was quiet, like most of their walks. When they reached the tall carved wooden doors, Henrik gave him a small nod and left him to the guards stationed inside.

Hans stepped in without being announced—something he’d gotten used to lately. No one greeted him. No one even looked up. He headed toward one of the oil lamps near the wall, deciding to focus on his assigned task, though it didn’t take him long to notice the tension in the room.

“I received this letter last night,” said the Queen, her voice calm but clear, standing in the gray light filtering through the high windows. “Mayor Sigvard is pleading for urgent aid. Weeks of rain have put their crops, roads, and homes at risk. They fear total collapse.”

She laid the parchment out on the table, unfolded for all to see. From where Hans stood, he could make out the brown water stain at one corner. It had been written in a rush. Under stress.

“Your Majesty,” said one of the older councilors, his voice usually full of authority, “the roads are dangerous. Most of them are flooded, and the reports say whole sections of the valley are buried in mud. If you insist on going now, you could get stranded with your entire party in the middle of nowhere.”

Elsa didn’t answer right away. Her eyes remained fixed on the letter. Anna, seated beside her, leaned forward with a gentle, pleading look.

“Elsa, please… listen to them. Just wait a few days. Let the storm ease up. It’s too risky.”

The Queen shook her head. 

From where he stood, Hans blinked. Was she seriously planning to travel in the middle of a downpour?

Of course she was. Of course.

“No,” Elsa said at last, her voice steady. “One more day, and that village might not exist anymore. This isn’t an exaggeration. That letter is a cry for help. Homes are flooded, crops destroyed, children are sick from the cold. I can protect them with my powers, but if I wait… there may be nothing left to protect.”

Anna’s expression softened, as if she understood—truly understood—her sister’s conviction.

“My Queen, I must insist.” said one of the younger council members. “Your life is too precious. If something were to happen to you, and to the soldiers who may go with you… it would be an irreparable loss.”

Before Elsa could even reply, a deeper voice rose from the back of the chamber. The Lord Commander of the Royal Guard, still in his officer’s cloak and gloves damp from the rain, stepped forward.

“A soldier’s duty is to protect his Queen,” he said, his voice firm. “And if Her Majesty wishes to help her people, I have no doubt my men would willingly lay down their lives for her cause. The Queen will be escorted by the Honor Guard. She will go, and she will return safe and victorious.”

A brief silence followed, heavy with tension.

“I’ll go,” said Gleb, one of Elsa’s personal guards, standing tall with crisp discipline.

“So will I,” added Dimitri, folding his arms with a brief, amused smile. “We’re not afraid of mud or cold.”

Elsa gave a small nod of gratitude. Then she turned again to her ministers and counselors. 

“We leave immediately. The Princess will be in charge until I return.”

Anna nodded, though worry was plain on her face.

“Just promise me you’ll be careful, sister.”

She smiled at her before pulling her into a hug. And then—just as it seemed everything had been settled and the ministers were rising from their seats with resigned expressions—the blonde turned her head toward where her most stubborn servant had been standing silently, changing the oil in a lamp with very little enthusiasm.

“Hans. You’re coming too.”

ME WHAT??

The redhead looked up, blinking slowly, like someone who had either misheard… or very much wished he had. 

“I need every man I can get. Hurry!”

There was no room for debate. He barely had time to curse his luck before finding himself riding under a furious sky, soaked to the bone, and wondering if it was really worth surviving the execution only to die drowned in a miserable mud road.

From inside the carriage, Elsa kept her eyes fixed on the storm, her expression stone-like, unalterable. Hans glanced at her from the corner of his eye, trying to guess if she even felt a fraction of the cold he was enduring. But of course not. The Ice Queen was unshaken by the weather.

The rain fell so hard that he could barely see the other riders. The wind howled through the trees, the thunder shook the ground. Hans closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a resigned sigh.

“Damn…” he muttered, shivering under his soaked cloak. “I could be in prison and be drier than here.”

But just when he thought the journey couldn’t get any more miserable, a lightning bolt tore through the sky, momentarily illuminating the grim landscape. And then, the scream was heard.

A thunderous roar.

The horses reared in panic. The riders barely had time to hold the reins before some of their horses fled, terrified, into the storm.

Hans, who until that moment had ridden with the resignation of the condemned, felt his mount’s panic before he even understood what was happening. The animal reared on its hind legs and, without warning, threw him off with brutal violence.

The impact was immediate, dry, and merciless. His back hit something hard—a rock hidden in the mud—and the air was driven from his lungs in a burst of pain.

The prince saw the blackened sky above him, felt the rain beating against his face, and for a moment, thought that maybe he wouldn’t be able to move.

From the carriage, her lord commander saw his fall.

“My Queen, stay here! I must help him!!”

Elsa didn’t have time to stop him.

In an instant, the carriage door was thrown open and the captain descended. It wasn’t that the storm devoured him immediately, but the rain was so heavy that, as soon as his foot hit the ground, his figure became blurry.

And then, he simply disappeared.

She remained silent.

The storm kept battering furiously, the wind howling as if it wanted to uproot the oldest trees, and the darkness was so deep that it seemed there was not a single fixed point on the horizon.

But on the ground, still visible through the rain, Hans was trying to move.

If she left him there, no one would see him until dawn.

She could ignore him.

She could stay in the carriage, knowing that the last thing she would hear of Hans from the Southern Isles would be his own attempts to fight against the mud and the cold.

And yet, in the next instant, she was already getting out.

The wind hit her with the force of an unrelenting hand.

Her dress clung to her legs, soaked in seconds. She had to cover her face with an arm to push forward against the storm, struggling for every step. The mud betrayed her balance and the rain clouded her vision.

And yet, she didn’t stop.

Hans was still conscious, though barely.

His face had a sickly hue under the gray light of the storm, and when he tried to move, his fingers dug into the wet earth without enough strength to hold himself up.

Elsa bent over him and grabbed his arm.

“Get up.”

Hans exhaled a sound that wasn’t exactly a laugh or a groan, but somehow contained both.

“Oh, how sweet…”

She didn’t respond.

She simply pulled him up firmly.

The wind wouldn’t relent. They could barely stay on their feet, and every drop of rain felt like a deliberate assault.

Elsa looked around.

In the distance, between shadows and trees distorted by the tempest, she spotted a cabin.

Probably inadequate and abandoned. But at least it was something.

“Walk,” she commanded.

The poor man could barely manage it.

Each step was a titanic effort, and if it hadn’t been for Elsa practically dragging him, he would have ended up on the ground again.

When they finally crossed the threshold, the old wood creaked under their weight.

The storm was behind them.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Elsa let out a trembling breath.

Her dress was dripping onto the rotten wood, her skin, as cold as snow, had an even paler hue under the faint light inside.

Hans wasn’t in better shape.

His coat, soaked, clung to his torso with the same tenacity as the mud on his skin. His hair fell over his forehead in dark strands, and the tension in his shoulders betrayed that every movement cost him more than he wanted to admit.

For the first time, they were alone.

For the first time, there were no eyes watching them.

He exhaled a tired sigh.

“If this is Your Majesty’s strategy to kill me, I must admit it’s creative.”

Elsa didn’t even blink.

“It’s a pity. I was hoping the storm would do the job for me.”

Hans smirked but she ignored him.

However, his clothes caught her attention. A dark stain spread across the fabric of his uniform.

“Let me see.”

Hans pulled back slightly, not intending to reject her, but with that habit of his to offer an unnecessary comment before conceding anything.

“Are you going to freeze the wound? Or perhaps you’d prefer to see how long it takes for me to bleed out.”

Elsa exhaled with measured patience.

“Don’t start.”

“Oh, please, we both know you enjoy seeing me like this.”

“I need to see how bad it is!” 

“I don’t want to, it’s too cold!” 

“Take off your clothes, Hans. Don’t make me do it myself.”

Hans blinked. And then, his expression shifted, just slightly. A faint curl at the corner of his lips, the shadow of a comment he chose not to say.

Of course, he thought. Say that again with candles and wine, and I might just forget everything that’s gone wrong between us.

Pity Anna wasn’t there. Her scream would echo through the valley.

He tried to hide the smile… but not fast enough.

Elsa shot him one of those icy looks that didn’t need words to put him in his place.

“Understood,” he muttered. “No jokes. Got it.”

The prince tried to remove his coat, but as soon as he moved his arms, his face twisted in an involuntary expression of pain.

Elsa saw it. She didn’t sigh or made mocking comment. She simply bent down and helped him take it off. She did it without gentleness and without pause. It wasn’t a kind gesture, but an efficient, mechanical one.

The rest of the soaked fabric slid off his body with difficulty until it was discarded completely to the side.

The wound she found crossed his back in an irregular line, surrounded by bruised skin where the rock had struck.

Elsa looked at it without flinching.

“It’s not that bad.”

He laughed without humor.

“Excuse me if I’m not reassured by the opinion of a queen who’s never fallen off a horse.”

She didn’t reply. She just took out a handkerchief and pressed it against the wound.

Hans tensed up.

“Ouch.”

“I’ll send you back to the castle for a doctor when the storm passes, alright? Try to hold on.”

Hans didn’t respond but trembled a lot. It was still raining outside, and the hurricane-force winds battered the little cabin.

He tried to hide it—he did so with the same stubbornness with which he concealed everything that made him appear vulnerable—but his body betrayed him. His hands, resting on his own knees, clenched tightly to hold back the tremors.

Elsa, on the other hand, seemed unaffected at all.

She seemed calm, her dress soaked too, but without the slightest sign of discomfort. Nothing about her suggested she was about to freeze, because of course, she couldn’t freeze.

Hans glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

“How I wish your powers were of summer right now.”

Elsa didn’t even glance at him. 

She simply looked around.

There weren’t many options. The cabin was practically empty, except for a few boxes stacked against one of the walls and a neglected tarp in a corner, dusty but dry.

She grabbed it with one hand and tossed it toward Hans.

“Put this on.”

Hans caught the fabric slowly.

He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at it with distrust, as if expecting a second order with some hidden catch. But Elsa had already turned her gaze away.

It wasn’t compassion. Just a practical decision.

Hans exhaled with a short grunt and draped the tarp over his shoulders. He was still freezing, but the change was enough for his body to stop shaking uncontrollably.

“I must go for the others,” she said.

The redhead jerked his head up alarmed.

“Don’t, Your Majesty.”

She ignored him and walked toward the door.

Hans made an effort to stand, but the pain shot through his back like lightning.

“Ah, damn it…” he grunted, clutching his side. “Please, wait for the storm to ease. It’s dangerous.”

Elsa stayed still for a moment. The storm roared outside, a gale of water and wind that battered the cabin with relentless fury. She could barely see beyond the door. Everything was a blur of shadows and shaking branches.

Hans was breathing heavily behind her.

“You’ll get lost out there.”

His voice didn’t have a trace of mockery this time. It was low, firm, tinged with something that wasn’t exactly concern, but was close to common sense.

Elsa gripped the wood tightly but didn’t respond.

She couldn’t stay here.

There were men outside, her men, guards who had come to protect her and who might now be on the ground, injured, trapped in the darkness of the storm. She couldn’t just sit here while they…

Again, the prince made a sharp move behind her, trying to stand, but the pain split him in two.

He doubled over, clutching his side tightly. His breathing was erratic, heavy, and his knuckles were white against the tarp covering him.

Elsa glanced at him over her shoulder.

“If you keep moving like that, there won’t be any need to send you to a doctor. You’ll bleed out first.”

Hans let out a dry, brief laugh, but his expression remained tense.

“And what do you think will happen if you walk out that door? I doubt anyone will see you again. But of course, Her Majesty may challenge death itself if she so pleases… right?”

Elsa narrowed her eyes. He was right.

She turned her gaze back to the door. Her fingers on the wood loosened a little.

Too much time had passed. If the guards were near, they would have found the cabin by now. If they hadn’t, it meant they were either too far away, or…

No.

She couldn’t think about that now.

She pressed her lips together, holding the frustration in the back of her throat, and let her hand fall from the doorknob.

Hans leaned against the wall with a quiet sigh of relief.

“Wow, Queen Elsa. A bit of logic from you. Never thought I’d live to see the day.”

The moment the words left his mouth, he knew made  a mistake. He wasn’t supposed to talk to her like that anymore. 

The blonde turned her head slowly. The air grew thinner, colder. A chill brushed his skin like the warning before a storm.

“Your insolence is wearing down my patience,” she said coldly. 

He looked away. He told himself not to answer. Just shut up. Let it pass.

But his back ached. His boots were soaked through. The wind outside howled like it wanted to rip the roof off. The wooden walls creaked like they were ready to collapse. And he was freezing.

Maybe it was the pain. Maybe the cold. Maybe the absurdity of this entire situation.

Whatever it was. he couldn’t stop himself.

“Tell me something… Was it really necessary to drag us out of the castle under these conditions?”

“There was no other choice.”

“No? Because I clearly remember the ministers begging you to wait a few days.”

Elsa clenched her fists.

“There are people on that mountain who need my help.”

“I understand, but what good will your help do if we’re stuck here?”

The queen hardened her gaze.

“What did you want me to do? Stay in the castle waiting for things to fix themselves?”

“Maybe we wanted you to act with a bit more common sense!”

“Of course, as if  you were the most logical person in the world.”

Hans leaned back with an ironic smile.

“You’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t be giving lessons in good judgment.”

Elsa let out a brief, humorless laugh and turned her gaze away.

“No, you shouldn’t.”

Hans closed his eyes with a sigh. He wasn’t exhausted from the storm anymore but from her.

“How long?” he murmured, his tone betraying his fatigue.

Elsa furrowed her brow.

“How long what?”

“How long do you plan to keep treating me like this?”

She crossed her arms, the glow of the storm casting sharp shadows across her face.

“And how, exactly, do you expect me to treat you?”

Hans scoffed, tilting his head to the side with a sarcastic smile.

“I don’t know… Like a human being, I suppose. I have been your slave for weeks, I’ve been trying to…”

Elsa tilted her head, her eyes as cold as the winter that ruled inside her.

“And what exactly have you been trying to do?”

Hans straightened up slowly, ignoring the sharp pain in his side.

“What?”

“You’ve been here for weeks,” she repeated, each word perfectly measured, “As if you were trying what? Redeem yourself?”

The prince remained silent, unsure how to respond. 

“If you’re here,” Elsa went on, her voice cutting through the space between them, “it’s not because you chose to be. You’re here because your brother asked for it.”

He looked away, his lips curling into a bitter smile. 

“He asked me to give you a chance. Because he had no choice, because his situation with his allies had become untenable.”

Hans let out a snort.

“And so? Does that mean anything I do here is worthless?”

“It means that if you truly wanted redemption, you wouldn’t have waited for your brother to beg for it on your behalf.”

Silence fell between them, only interrupted by the roar of the wind outside.

“I believe that this kingdom have treated you with more mercy and kindness than you deserve. And yet…you haven’t even had the decency to apologize,” she added, her tone low tight with tension. “Not to me. And even less to Anna.”

Hans raised his head slightly, as if not expecting that accusation.

“Because you don’t feel sorry, of course.” she concluded, looking at him with a glacial intensity.

He didn’t answer.

He could have though. There were a dozen things he might have said. That he was sorry. That he had thought of it. That the guilt had weighed on him far longer than she could imagine. But none of them left his mouth.

He regretted what he had done to her family. Not merely because she suffered for it, but because the consequences rippled far beyond—to Arendelle, to the Southern Isles and his family legacy. 

He disgraced a crown that had been earned through generations of effort, dishonoured a kingdom that had raised him, and destroyed a fragile peace with a single act of ambition.

But shame, though heavy, was not the same as humility. And Hans, for all his ruin, still had pride enough to hold his tongue.

He stared at the floor, as if silence might absolve him of what words could not.

Elsa watched him for a moment longer. Then, with no anger, only disappointment, she said at last:

“And yet you wonder why I don’t treat you kindly. Why I don’t applaud every time you act as though you were someone better.”

She stepped away from him then, as if the conversation had come to an end. Hans remained unable to move. 

“What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry? Fine. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I did to you and your sister.”

 He said suddenly, his voice held no tremble.

“Does that change anything?”

Elsa didn’t answer right away. She kept her eyes on him, and though her face barely changed, there was the slightest shift in her posture. A tension that faded just a little.

“No, it doesn’t,” she said, her tone as firm as before, but without the harshness from moments earlier. “But at least it would show me that it’s not a game for you.”

Hans let out a snort and looked away.

“It isn’t a game. I… I truly regret having hurt your sister and...having you hurt too”

He didn’t admit it outright, and it wasn’t the kind of apology Elsa might have expected… but there was no mockery in it this time, no hollow sarcasm. Just something that, somehow, had cost him to say.

The storm kept raging outside, but its fury was no longer the same. The wind had softened, and the rain struck the roof with less violence. The danger hadn’t passed, but it was easing.

Hans, frowning, watched the door. His body ached, the wound burned, yet the only thing troubling him was the feeling that, in this conversation, he had lost something without quite knowing what.

The air, fresh and clean, began to clear of the heaviness of the rain. As the echoes of the thunder’s roar faded, hurried footsteps over the mud could be heard, and the snap of breaking branches signaled that the guards were approaching.

“Queen Elsa?!”

The blonde straightened immediately. 

 “I’m here, Gleb!”

The door opened at once, and her two guards entered in haste. Their faces were tense, their uniforms streaked with mud, their bodies exhausted from searching through the rain. At the sight of her, one of them let out a breath of relief.

“My Queen, are you all right? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Elsa replied calmly. “What about the others?”

Gleb stepped forward removing his soaked gloves as he spoke.

“There are injured men. Some slipped and suffered bruises; others have a fever and a harsh cough... they must be taken back to the castle as soon as possible.”

Elsa’s brow furrowed slightly, but before she could speak, the other guard stepped forward.

“Even so…if Her Majesty wishes to continue, there are still men willing to follow you.”

Then Elsa turned her head.

  She looked at Hans.

It was almost instinctual—a reflex triggered by the echo of his words. What if returning had been the wiser choice after all? Now, faced with the true cost of her decision, a part of her couldn’t help but wonder if neither he nor her ministers had been wrong.

But another part—deeper, steadier—knew she could not turn back.

 Her people needed her.

She turned back to her men.

“Those who need to return, do so. But I cannot go back. Not now. There are people waiting for help, and I must reach them.”

Gleb gave a single nod.

Elsa turned to Hans and offered him a hand to help him rise.

“Please make sure the prince receives medical attention. He’s injured, and he must not continue.”

Hans straightened slightly, suppressing a wince.

“I can go with you, Your Majesty,” he said hoarsely. “You still need help.”

Elsa held his gaze. There was no coldness in her eyes this time—only quiet, regal fatigue.

“No. Not in your condition. You have to go back  to Arendelle. They will take care of you there.”

The two  guards nodded without hesitation and stepped forward, each taking one of Hans’s arms with practiced care. But as they helped him toward the horses waiting outside, he couldn’t stop himself from glancing over his shoulder.

Elsa hadn’t said another word. She stood still for a moment, as if anchoring herself to the ground beneath her feet. 

Outside, the remaining soldiers were regrouping. Some mounted quickly, others remained on foot. Orders were exchanged in low voices, soaked cloaks wrung at the edges. There was no celebration in the air—only the weight of duty, of exhaustion, of a storm that had yet to pass.

Hans was lifted onto a horse. He let it happen. But as he settled into the saddle, something pulled tightly in his chest.  He couldn’t name it, not fully. Worry, yes. For her. Guilt, certainly. For all that had led them to this point. 

Without looking back, she started toward her carriage, as if her mission had to continue no matter what had happened in that cabin, as if she couldn’t allow herself to think about anything other than what still had to be done.

Hans watched her go, his chest tight with a tangle of emotions he didn’t fully understand. 

 “Take care, Queen Elsa.”

It was all he could offer her. Even if she couldn’t hear him anymore. He didn’t know what else to say, or how to say it. The weight of his words found no place in the air, as if words were no longer enough for what he felt.

Elsa did not stop. Her back grew smaller in the distance as she walked away. She simply kept moving forward, knowing that the future stretching before her was no longer the same as it had been before the storm.

Chapter Text

"Non, non, non!" exclaimed the Frenchman, throwing his hands to his head. "C’est une catastrophe! Your Majesty, your steps are a crime against art!"

Elsa barely had time to react before Fournier clicked his tongue in disapproval and, with a whirlwind of movement, resumed his dance posture.

"Once more," he ordered, adjusting her arm position impatiently, feeling he had already spent too much time trapped in a country devoid of refinement. "Feel the music, écoutez, move with the melody…"

The musicians, bewildered by the situation, picked up their instruments again almost as if under the command of a whip.

The pressure was immense. The Royal Hall of Arendelle had not witnessed an event like this in many years. It wasn’t just any ball, but a tradition lost to time.

It was at such a ball that the late King Agnarr, in his youth, had danced with princesses from distant kingdoms, assessing with every turn who might become his future wife. And in the end, it was here, beneath the golden chandeliers and to the rhythm of an ancient melody, that—against all odds—he had chosen Iduna. A girl with neither parents nor riches, but who had long since won the hearts of the people.

Since then, the ball had been celebrated each year in the queen's honor, until the gates were shut. And although times had changed for the better, Elsa had hoped this would be the last tradition to return.

She pressed her lips together and looked away. Anna was laughing as she spun with Kristoff, their steps light and effortless. Kristoff, who just months ago couldn’t tell a mazurka from a polka, now moved with the grace of a prince.

Elsa swallowed hard. She was the queen. She should move with that same confidence.

But she couldn’t.

Not when her own feet didn’t seem to belong to her.

Fournier exhaled theatrically, but took his position. Elsa tried to follow his example, raising her chin, straightening her back. She braced for the first step.

But the tension overtook her. Her body, instead of yielding to the music, became clumsy, rigid.

And then, without meaning to, her shoe scraped the floor too forcefully.

A crack.

Ice spread beneath her feet like lightning. Elsa lost her balance. Fournier tried to catch her, but the floor was too slippery.

They both fell, and the instruments fell silent at once.

The Frenchman let out a wail of agony.

"Mon dieu! My ankle! My career! My dignity!"

Elsa’s embarrassment turned to sheer despair. Anna ran to help her, Kristoff close behind, while Fournier clutched at his chest as if fate itself had betrayed him.

"I’ve teached  many nobles, but this—this is impossible! A lost cause!" he cried, throwing his hands in the air. "Cancel-this-ball!"

Elsa felt her chest tighten.

One of the ministers, a man with a neatly trimmed beard, stepped forward with a stern expression.

"Your Majesty, you know this ball is very important for Arendelle. Your parents held it every year while they could, and everyone expects you to restore the tradition."

Elsa looked at the frozen floor. Surely, her parents never hosted the celebration under these same conditions.

"Many dignitaries have expressed a desire to share a dance with you and get to know you," the minister continued. "Her Majesty must… consider her options."

Her options. Elsa knew perfectly well what he meant by that. This wasn’t just about a simple tradition. It was about politics, alliances, and what would come after.

Anna tried to ease the tension with a nervous laugh.

"But not all is lost, right, maestro?" she said, turning to Fournier. "We can try again, you can..."

But Master Fournier was already shaking his head vehemently.

"Non, princesse! Not even if I were offered the fortune of the world! I am withdrawing from this disaster!"

And with an indignant huff, he gathered his cape and hobbled out of the hall.

"But maestro..." Anna called as she ran after him. "If you leave, who will teach her? The ball is tomorrow!"

She sighed and hurried after him, Kristoff following with a resigned expression.

The doors closed behind her. And then, Elsa was left alone.

Or almost.

"It’s not your fault," said a voice.

The blonde lifted her gaze. Hans was there, leaning against the door, with a bucket and a rag in his hands.

Elsa looked away.

"Yes, it is."

Hans said nothing, but his silence encouraged her to go on.

"I’ve avoided this ball for weeks. I haven’t practiced or made any effort to learn."

She rubbed her arms, as if the cold she had summoned had settled into her skin.

"I’m not like Anna," she murmured. "I don’t have her grace. I don’t have her... ease with these things. My father tried to teach me too, when I was a child, but… he was afraid of me."

The weight in her chest grew heavier.

"He couldn’t even touch me. Let alone teach me to dance."

Hans tilted his head.

"That doesn’t mean you can’t learn now."

She scoffed.

"Well," Hans shrugged, "Not with that Fournier, at least."

Elsa raised an eyebrow.

"What do you mean?"

Hans stepped closer, carefully.

"I’m saying it’s impossible for anyone to learn to dance with him. The only thing that man teaches is panic."

Elsa couldn’t help a brief smile.

"Besides," he continued with a thoughtful expression, "what kind of dance instructor lets himself be defeated by a little ice?"

Elsa glanced at him sideways.

"One with a sprained ankle."

"Oh, please. You barely touched him," Hans waved a hand dismissively. "The man threw himself to the floor with more drama than a princess in distress."

Elsa let out a sigh, but there was something in the way Hans spoke that, against all logic, began to put her at ease.

"So what do you suggest?"

Hans tilted his head.

"That not everything is lost."

"And what does that mean?"

Hans extended a hand.

"It means you should try with someone else."

Elsa eyed him warily.

"Are you offering to teach me to dance?"

"Well, I do know how to dance," he said with mock modesty. "And trust me, I won’t faint if you step on me."

There was a pause.

To anyone unaware of the prince’s past, that offer might have seemed like a kind and courteous gesture.

But Elsa knew. And Hans knew too. Dancing with him — even in private, even just as practice — was still a scandalous notion.

And yet... the ball was tomorrow.

The maestro had left, and rehearsals were incomplete. And Hans, for all his faults, was an experienced dancer.

So, against all judgment, her hand began to rise toward his. She was just about to touch his palm when the doors of the great hall burst open.

Elsa immediately turned her back and stepped away, as if the moment had never happened.

Hans was left with his hand still outstretched for a few seconds more — just long enough for the gesture to sting. Then he lowered it without hurry, without complaint, and returned to his task as if he had never expected anything else.

Because he hadn’t. He understood her far too well.

When Anna reached the center of the hall, the spark from earlier was gone. Her shoulders slumped slightly, and there was a dimness in her eyes.

"Fournier won’t come back," she murmured, letting the words fall as if they weighed more than she wanted to admit.

Elsa said nothing at first, but her expression shifted slightly, touched by a trace of disappointment.

"What do you want to do?" Anna asked gently as she approached. "Shall we cancel the ball?"

Elsa looked at her for a moment.

"No," she replied with a practiced calm. "The ball will go on. I just need... to breathe. To relax a little. I can dance, Anna. Everything will be fine."

Anna smiled tenderly, though not entirely convinced.

"If you want, I can help," she offered. "I don’t really know how to teach you, but… at least I can try."

The offer, though well-intentioned, seemed to wound more than comfort. Elsa shook her head with a faint inclination.

"That won’t be necessary."

And without another word, she walked away.

Anna didn’t follow her. She stood still, watching her sister’s figure disappear down the palace corridors. Because Elsa, even when it hurt, chose silence.

It was already deep into the night when Elsa, in the solitude of her chambers, tried in vain to find rest. But, as often happens when duty and anxiety wrestle for dominance, sleep came not as a balm, but as torment in disguise. And so, instead of the peace dreams usually offer, the Queen found herself plunged into a nightmare that even the Brontë sisters would have hesitated to conceive.

In the castle’s grand ballroom, resplendent and filled with light, nobles danced merrily. She, dressed in an ice-blue tulle gown, stepped hesitantly into the center. The musicians awaited her. All eyes turned in her direction. A count, inexplicably resembling the French instructor, extended his bony little hand, demanding that she begin the waltz.

"My queen," the shrill-voiced creature said, "do not flee from duty as you fled from the basic step."

She swallowed hard. The music began. One step. Then another.

And she tripped.

First over her own foot. Then over the count’s. And finally, without any logic, the musicians lost control of their instruments, the guests covered their ears, the sound was unbearably painful.

"The queen has ruined the celebration!"
someone in the crowd shouted.

The floor cracked. The walls froze. Her gown transformed into a gigantic snowball rolling wildly through the ballroom. Anna ran after it, trying to stop it. It dragged everything in its path: diplomats, duchesses, and an entire tray of raspberry tarts. And then...

"AHHHHH!"

Elsa sat up abruptly in bed, cold sweat on her forehead and the sheets tangled around her legs as if she had, in fact, danced in her sleep. Her breathing was uneven, her hands were trembling.

“By the gods,” she murmured, running a hand down her face. “I can’t let that happen.”

She brought both hands to her temples, trying to gather her thoughts. The ball was that very day, just a few hours away.She didn’t even know how to make a simple turn without leaving her partner in crutches.

The ballroom would be packed. There would be no room for mistakes—no room for escape.

And then she remembered, like a flash of humiliating lightning, how Hans had offered to teach her.

And she—stupidly—had refused. She had turned him down out of pride, out of decorum, and because the mere idea of being seen dancing with the man who had once tried to kill her would have been enough to spark a scandal of epic proportions.

What would the ministers say?

What would Anna think?

What would he think of her desperation?

But in that moment, with the echoes of the dream still pulsing in her mind, desperation felt like a far more reasonable argument than decorum.

And without further delay—her dignity slightly crumpled and her hair in disarray—she stood up with feverish determination.

“Gleb, Dimitri!”

Immediately, her two guards opened the door, both looking alarmed.

“My Queen,” said one, clearly bracing for the worst, “are you alright? Has something happened?”

She cleared her throat, lowered her voice so she wouldn’t sound quite as unhinged as she felt, and said:

“I’m fine. But I need you to bring Prince Hans to the throne room. Now, please.”

The two men exchanged a brief glance—one raised an eyebrow, the other shrugged—and left with a kind of disconcerted efficiency.

On the other side of the castle, Hans was sleeping soundly for the first time in weeks, dreaming of something as absurd as an endless banquet table where he was the guest of honor… and just as he was about to bite into a golden leg of lamb, he was abruptly awakened by two tall, shadowy figures wrapped in shining armor.

“Wha—what…?” Hans stammered, trying to sit up, still tangled in his blanket. “What’s going on?”

“Her Majesty requests your immediate presence in the throne room.”

“The Queen?” he said, incredulous. “Now? Why? What did I do?”

Henrik, who was in the bunk across the room, was already alert.

“What’s happening?” he asked, while the guards were already grabbing Hans by the arms.

“Hey! Hey, let go of me!” Hans protested, struggling as best he could. “What’s wrong with you?! Why are you doing this? I didn’t do anything! Henrik, say something! I was asleep!”

“Her Majesty was clear,” one of the guards repeated, unmoved.

“Clear? It’s not like I set the castle on fire! At this hour?! I’m in pajamas!”

Henrik, still too confused to intervene, simply watched as Hans was dragged out of the room.

The throne room doors flew open with a crash, as if news of war were about to be announced. And, in a way, the scene that followed wasn’t any less scandalous.

The prince was dragged in with very little grace and even less patience by the two guards escorting him, who seemed to have taken the order to “bring him” with military-level enthusiasm.

“Wait! I’m cooperating! STOP! I have legs! I know how to use them!” Hans shouted as he tried to regain his balance—and a shred of dignity.

Elsa stood at the far end of the hall, hands clasped in front of her, her expression composed—though her fingers betrayed a slight tremble.

Hans looked up, saw her, and his tone shifted immediately—though no less frantic:

“Queen Elsa! I swear, I was just sleeping. Gods, I wasn’t even dreaming about anything scandalous!”

Elsa, still unmoving from her place, exhaled softly.

“I know, Hans. I know.”

Hans blinked.

“You… know?”

“I summoned you…” she said, her voice steady—though each word seemed harder to pronounce than the last—“because I need to ask you a favor.”

He stared at her. Then at the guards. Then back at her.

“A favor? At two in the morning? With these gorillas dragging me as if I was a common thief?”

“Yes.”

“And may I ask what this urgent favor might be?”

Elsa lowered her gaze, a little embarrassed. Then she raised it again, with determination, and said:

“I want you to… teach me how to dance.”

Silence. Long and heavy.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Hans blinked.

“You pulled me out of bed, at this hour, surrounded by armed soldiers, because you want me to teach you to dance.”

“Yes.”

“And you couldn’t have just… asked? Sent a note? Waited for the sun to come up? Maybe mentioned it over breakfast?”

“I’m sorry, Hans. I’m… desperate.”

“I offered to help you this afternoon.”

Elsa pressed her lips together. Then said, in a quiet voice, with a hint of sincerity she rarely allowed herself:

“I had my reasons for… turning down the offer. I thought it was for the best.” She paused, took a deep breath. “But the ball is today, and I know I’m not ready. I don’t want to ruin anything… I’m desperate. And I need your help. Please.”

Hans regarded her for a few more seconds, the evidence of his indignation still quite present: the furrow in his brow, the rumpled shirt, and the overly dramatic manner in which he exhaled.

“Very well, Your Majesty,” he said at last, voice tinged with weary defiance. “But we cannot dance without music. And at this hour, I imagine your court musicians are snoring away somewhere in the village. Shall you have them kidnapped as well?”

Elsa sighed, placing one hand gently at her temple.

“Oh no! You’re right,” she admitted, then turned to the two guards “Do either of you know how to play the piano?”

Both of them froze. One seemed to have misheard. The other squinted, as if trying to process the question through a mental fog.

“I can play the flute,” one of them said at last, in a voice almost childlike.

Hans looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course you do…”

Elsa nodded with a small, resigned smile. “It’ll have to do.”

The guard, as if he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment, turned on his heel and ran off, visibly excited. It was, without a doubt, his big debut.

Hans crossed his arms, watching him disappear down the hallway.

“This is… the most absurd thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I’m sorry,” Elsa murmured again, almost shyly.

Hans huffed but said nothing more.

Soon after, the guard returned, proud, holding a wooden flute with the reverence of someone carrying a royal sword.

“I’m ready, Your Majesty,” he announced with solemn enthusiasm.

Hans, still with messy hair and an annoyed expression from the lack of sleep, looked back at Elsa and took a step toward her.

He didn’t make it to the second.

The guard standing beside the Queen tensed immediately. His hand slid toward the hilt of his sword. Hans froze, raising both hands as if surrendering.

“Hey!” he said in exasperation. “I have to hold her to teach her how to dance!”

Elsa, who had unknowingly been holding her breath, quickly intervened.

“It’s alright, Gleb,” she said firmly, looking at the guard. “He has my permission.”

The guard, after a silence that seemed to stretch longer than necessary, slowly withdrew his hand from the hilt. Hans let out a breath.

He stepped forward, this time without interruption, raised a hand, and—deliberately restrained—slid it securely around her waist, guiding her toward him. His other hand took hers with equal firmness. The movement was fluid, not abrupt, but the sudden closeness between them was so intimate, so unexpected, that neither quite knew how to breathe.

Elsa tensed instantly. Not out of fear, but restraint. Her shoulders lifted ever so slightly, her gaze drifted away. Everything in her seemed to pull back, as if her body itself refused to be so near his.

Hans, for his part, wasn’t doing much better. His brow remained furrowed, his jaw tight. His pride still stung from being dragged out of bed like a convict without trial. And though his touch was technical, even professional, he couldn’t help but feel strangely vulnerable.

“This isn’t going to work,” he muttered stiffly, tilting his head slightly toward her. “Try to relax, Your Majesty.”

But he didn’t have time to say more.

At that precise moment, the flutist raised the instrument to his lips and, with an expression of complete devotion… blew the first note.

It was, without a doubt, one of the worst sounds ever produced by a flute in the Northern Hemisphere. The note shrieked through the hall like a wounded seagull.

Hans blinked. Elsa looked at him. And for one eternal second, their faces hovered in that shared absurdity, as if the universe itself had conspired to mock the tension between them.

And then, unable to help it… they both laughed.

“I’m sorry, My Queen. I was a bit nervous,” the guard admitted, embarrassed.

“Good heavens,” Hans muttered through clenched teeth. “If we manage to dance to that, we deserve a medal.”

Elsa didn’t answer, but her smile—small, sincere, slightly shy—was enough.

For the first time since the night began, something between them seemed to soften.

“It’s alright, Dimitri. You can do it. Try again.”

The guard nodded solemnly, as if accepting a life-or-death mission. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and this time, when he brought the flute to his lips, the notes that followed—though far from masterful—at least resembled a recognizable melody.

“Alright,” Hans said at last. “Follow my lead. One foot, then the other. I’ll guide you.”

Elsa nodded with the solemnity of someone throwing themselves into the abyss for the second time. Her fingers, still tense, clutched his with cautious awkwardness, and her steps—though uncertain—followed his.

For a few moments, everything seemed to flow. The music—ridiculous as it was—set a cadence. Their feet, barely in sync, found something resembling a rhythm. The tension unraveled like a poorly tied knot. But just as they began to glide across the hall, Elsa lowered her gaze, focused entirely on her own feet.

“Don’t look down,” he told her gently. “You won’t find any answers there. Look at me. Always look at your partner.”

She obeyed. With a slight start, she lifted her gaze and her eyes met his. For an instant, time seemed to stop. They were too close. Too aware.

And then, without warning, she stepped on him.

“Oh no!” she gasped, pulling away instantly. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—did I hurt you?”

Hans shook his head lightly.

“I’m used to it, believe me. I get stepped on all the time,” he replied with a half-smile that softened his pained expression.

“I’m sorry I woke you, Hans. This isn’t going to work…” Elsa murmured, her eyes dropping with visible insecurity.

“Hey,” he said, with unexpected warmth. “It’s fine. Nobody learns to dance without tripping a few times. I’m not that Fournier, I promise—I’m okay. Try again. Trust me.”

She looked at him, hesitating just a moment longer… but then nodded, took a deep breath, and stepped back into his arms.

The second try began better. This time, the steps flowed with a bit more grace. Elsa kept her eyes on him, as if afraid to lose herself in the movement. Hans marked each step and turn with care, not forcing the rhythm, but offering it.

And then it happened.

Out of nowhere, a wave of cold spread across his palm.

“Ah!” Hans cried out, letting go at once and shaking his now frost-covered hand.

Elsa brought both hands to her chest, horrified.

“I’m sorry! I can’t control it! It happens when I get nervous, I…!”

But it was already too late. In her agitation, a burst of frost had spread across the floor, covering it like a crystalline veil. Hans, still trying to regain feeling in his fingers, took a misstep and slipped.

What followed was worthy of a tragic comedy: Hans spun, flailed his arms in desperation, and without further warning, fell flat on his back with a sharp thud.

There was a deathly silence.

And then… laughter.

Gleb let out a short but unmistakable chuckle. Dimitri brought a hand to his chest as if trying to hold his in. Elsa, caught somewhere between guilt and confusion, covered her lips, but her eyes were already shining with tears of laughter.

Still on the ground, Hans let his head fall back with a sigh.

“Well, at least we broke the ice.”

She stepped closer, still laughing, and with a flick of her fingers, made the frost vanish from the floor. Then, she offered him her hand.

“I’m sorry,” she said, this time through genuine laughter. “Really sorry.”

Hans looked up at her from below.

“Are you going to freeze me again if I touch you?”

“I’ll try not to.”

With her help, he stood—wobbly, but upright. For a moment, just a moment, the air between them wasn’t cold.

“All right. Let’s try again,” he said.

The second attempt was decidedly better.

Elsa, still flushed from the previous incident, forced herself not to look at her feet. She let herself be led. Her movements, though hesitant at first, began to find a timid harmony in the improvised rhythm of Dimitri’s flute, which—miraculously—seemed to have remembered that musical notes were not weapons of war.

“I’m doing it,” Elsa whispered, surprised, a hint of boldness in her smile.

Hans, watching her with a soft grin, nodded slightly.

“You’re doing perfectly.”

“It’s almost like skating!”

He raised an eyebrow with ironic amusement, though his tone remained gentle.

“Some people might say dancing is less dangerous than skating on magically conjured ice,” he replied. “But I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

Elsa bit her lip, holding back another laugh. A warm feeling settled in her chest. Now, encouraged by the unexpected success of her steps, she allowed herself a question:

"And you… who taught you to dance? Your father?"

Hans slightly surprised by the Queen’s curiosity, smiled once more.

"My father?" he repeated with a short laugh, shaking his head. "No, no… My father danced as if he were dodging an invisible fire. He hated balls. Believe me, Your Majesty, he was even worse than you. And he didn't have the excuse of freezing his partners."

Elsa stifled a laugh, glancing down briefly.

"My mother taught me," Hans continued, his tone more reflective. "She used to say there was nothing more charming in a prince than knowing how to dance. Or in a man, really. And since she didn’t want to spend entire parties sitting down because of the king’s disinterest, she taught me and all my brothers how to dance, one by one. She insisted that if the world didn’t stop for anyone, she should at least always have a son available for a proper waltz."

He paused for a moment, as if the words had brought more than one memory with them. Elsa smiled at the thought.

"That must’ve been fun."

Hans nodded, a flicker of tenderness in his eyes.

"It was. Well… when we weren’t stepping on her feet."

He gave a slight shrug, as if the memory still drew an involuntary smile.

"But if you were one of my mother’s sons, you knew two things: how to behave like a gentleman… and how not to step on a lady’s gown while dancing."

Just then, from the corner of the hall, Dimitri made a subtle adjustment to the melody. The flute released a playful turn, an unexpected variation in rhythm. Elsa looked confused and turned her gaze to Hans, waiting for direction.

"What happens now?"

He held her gaze for a moment before answering.

"Now, a little turn… and then, a slightly bolder gesture. You’ll need to lean gently against my chest."

She looked at him. Blinked. The smile faded slightly.

"Lean against…?"

"It’s a common part of the waltz," he said naturally, though his tone carried a softer, almost reassuring note. "But if you’re not comfortable with it, we can skip it."

Elsa swallowed. Then shook her head, almost as if to convince herself.

"No. It’s fine. I want to do it."

He nodded and set the rhythm. One step. Another. A gentle turn. And then, with unexpected grace—born perhaps of impulse, perhaps of the quiet trust that had formed between them without their noticing—Elsa spun and leaned lightly against his chest.

The moment was brief, but absolute.

For a moment, Hans held his breath. His hand on her waist remained steady, but not invasive. Elsa, resting against him, seemed neither a queen nor a sorceress—just a woman who had conquered a fear. And he was neither prisoner nor servant—just a man who had known how to hold her.

The flute, by some miracle, now sounded like true music.

Elsa gently pulled away. Her eyes searched his to confirm that the moment had truly happened. He answered her with a discreet smile before turning toward Gleb.

"And you? Want to give it a try as well?" He asked, without mockery, with a gesture of friendly challenge.

Gleb, who hadn’t expected to be addressed in such a way, frowned. But Elsa turned to him and extended her hand with a mixture of grace and command that only a queen could summon.

"Come, Gleb," she said, almost playfully. "Help me practice one more time."

The guard blinked. He looked at his gloved hands, then at his Queen, then at Hans—who wore an expression of sheer, barely contained delight. It was obvious he found the whole thing hilarious.

"Your Majesty…" Gleb began, visibly uncomfortable. "I don’t know how to dance."

"Perfect," Elsa replied with a smile. "This is a night for learning."

And without giving him time to mount any real resistance, she took his hand and naturally drew him to the center of the hall.

The result was, to say the least, picturesque.

Gleb, stiff in his armor, moved with the delicacy of a newly planted oak. His steps were clumsy, his turns barely suggested, and on more than one occasion he nearly stepped on the queen’s nightgown. But Elsa, far from growing impatient, guided him kindly, even with a touch of tenderness.

"Very good," she said in a low voice, as though they weren’t being watched by a half-asleep prince and a flautist eager for the spotlight. "Just follow the music. One, two… one, two…"

Hans, leaning against a column, watched the scene with his arms crossed. A smile played on his lips—one that was no longer just for amusement. Something in the image—the Queen spinning with her guard in an empty hall, under the music of an out-of-tune flute—held a particular charm.

And though he would never have admitted it, he felt… moved.

When Elsa returned to him, her eyes held a different kind of brightness.

"Again?" she asked.

Hans offered her his hand with a smile that was neither mocking, nor bitter, nor guarded—just warm.

"Whenever you need, Your Majesty."

The night, step by step, slowly turned toward dawn.

There was no precise moment when they decided to stop. What began as a rigorous practice turned into conversation. The conversation, without meaning to, became laughter, and the laughter turned into a weariness that was as peaceful as it was unexpected. At some point—perhaps after their third failed attempt at turning without stepping on each other, or after a particularly decent melody from Dimitri—the Queen and her companions ended up seated on one of the nearby divans, Hans at her side, the guards discreetly settled at a respectful distance.

No one spoke of retiring. No one suggested ending the rehearsal. And little by little, one by one, they gave in to exhaustion.

The morning light was beginning to paint the stained glass windows of the throne room in shades of blue when Dimitri, still holding the flute and with a mouth as dry as honesty at court, opened his eyes. He blinked once, twice. Then looked at his companion, Gleb, and nudged him gently with an elbow.

"Look," he whispered, nodding with his chin.

Gleb opened his eyes, gave a soft grunt, and when he looked in the indicated direction… he froze.

The Queen was peacefully asleep with her head resting on Hans’s chest, his arm slightly curved as if to shield her—without meaning to. Their breathing was slow, in sync. And while the scene was not without elegance, it appeared—at least to the witnesses—curiously intimate.

"I can’t believe it," he murmured.

Hans, as if he had heard that disbelief, frowned in his sleep. Then he opened one eye. Then the other. He saw the two soldiers, then looked down—and found Elsa’s head still resting against him.

The surprise was so great he didn’t know whether to remain still or panic.

"Your Majesty," he whispered softly, touching her arm gently. "Queen Elsa..."

She reacted as if she had been thrown onto ice. She sat up abruptly, her hair falling over her eyes and her dignity fleeing with the shadows of dawn.

"Oh, please!" she exclaimed in a low voice, visibly embarrassed. "I'm so sorry! It wasn’t... I didn’t mean to..."

Hans raised a hand, still groggy, and shook his head.

"Don’t worry," he said hoarsely, scratching the back of his neck. "It’s fine. It was a long night. We were all... exhausted."

Elsa gave him a grateful look, though her cheeks still burned. She stood with regal composure, smoothing her skirt with her palms. The other two men straightened as well, pretending not to have seen anything.

"Thank you," the Queen said then, looking at all three. "For helping me. I know it was an unusual request… and at an even stranger hour."

Hans shrugged, offering a small crooked smile.

"I’ve had worse dawns," he joked. "Though none quite so... musical."

Dimitri smiled proudly. Gleb shook his head.

Elsa gathered the train of her dress, took a deep breath, and before leaving, turned to her guards with a serious but approachable expression.

"And please… this stays between us. The dancing. Tonight never happened, is that clear?"

Both men nodded without hesitation.

"Of course, Your Majesty," Gleb replied.

Dimitri even placed a hand over his chest in a solemn gesture.

Elsa then cast one last look at Hans. He held her gaze for a moment, and this time there was no sarcasm, no frost, no resentment. Just weariness… and a hint of shared understanding.

"Good day, Hans."

"Good day, Your Majesty," he replied, with a slight nod.

And so, with the faint rustle of her cape trailing over the marble and the soft echo of footsteps reluctant to fade, Elsa left the throne hall.

Hans sank back onto the bench, letting out a deep sigh. He watched as the stained-glass windows began to glow with the morning light.

"The good thing," he said quietly, staring up at the ceiling, "is that no one’s going to believe me if I tell them."

Later that day, the castle’s great hall—which only hours earlier had lain in silence, filled merely by the timid melody of a flute and the nervous shuffle of hesitant steps—had been completely transformed. Solitude gave way to brilliance. Chandeliers, suspended like constellations, illuminated every corner with warm magnificence, and the refined, joyful music of a quartet filled the air with a harmonious cadence. Dignitaries dressed in fine silks and ladies adorned with jewels glided across the floor in elegant circuits, their laughter intermingling with the melodies. Anna, flushed with joy, danced happily with Kristoff—who, despite his usual awkwardness at such events, managed to keep the rhythm with unexpected charm. Olaf twirled near the pastry table with overflowing excitement, too enchanted by the glow of the moment to worry about formalities.

At the far end of the hall, beside one of the tall windows, stood three figures who looked decidedly less jubilant.

Hans, Gleb, and Dimitri stood upright, presentable but visibly exhausted. Their eyes bore the unmistakable mark of too many sleepless hours. Still, none dared move from their post. It was, after all, the Queen’s night.

Gleb, who rarely paid attention to music, furrowed his brow slightly as he watched the quartet play with impeccable coordination.

"They play almost as well as you," he murmured dryly to Dimitri without turning. "Except they’re in tune."

The Sentinel cast him a wounded look, as if his very artist’s soul had been insulted.

Hans hid a smile as the two exchanged the kind of jabs that, though harmless, made the night a little easier to bear.

And then—a soft murmur rippled through the crowd as Elsa made her entrance.

She moved with measured grace, her pale gown gleaming like morning frost beneath the candlelight. A reverent hush seemed to follow her steps, not out of fear, but admiration. Her bearing was flawless… save for the slight tension in her shoulders, barely noticeable to those who did not know her well.

From the crowd emerged a young man with a kind face, light eyes, and a confident expression. He was no prince nor foreign dignitary, but the son of one of the council’s ministers—a young man Elsa had seen on more than one occasion seated quietly at the back of the chamber, observing and learning in silence. Tonight, however, he was no longer hidden behind scrolls or titles. He walked toward her with purpose and grace.

He stopped before her and bowed respectfully.

"My Queen," he said, extending his hand with a mix of courtesy and quiet nerves. "Would you grant me this dance?"

There was a brief hesitation. Their eyes met, and in hers there was no ice—only a spark of surprise, perhaps even tenderness. The young man had a smile that could have ended any assembly dispute—not arrogant in the least, but genuinely charming.

Elsa nodded, just a slight inclination of her head… and placed her hand in his.

From their corner, the three watchmen observed, holding their breath.

"She’s really doing it," Dimitri murmured, his voice barely louder than the music.

Among the guests, Anna let out a joyful sigh and clasped her hands in delight.
"She’s dancing! I knew she could!"

Hans said nothing. His eyes were fixed on Elsa—on the way she moved, hesitant at first, but gaining confidence with every step. Her back straightened, and her smile—subtle, gentle—began to bloom. The young apprentice guided her skillfully through the waltz, but it was her grace, her determination, that held the attention of the room.

Gleb, who rarely spoke unless it was out of duty or to tease his friend, let out a quiet thought among his companions:

"She… looks beautiful."

Hans, after a long moment, nodded.

"Yes," he said softly. "She does."

And something within him changed. A recognition, perhaps. Or the beginning of one.

The music swelled. Then, at the center of the ballroom, Elsa prepared for the most difficult part of the dance: the turn and the slight rest against her partner’s chest. The young man accompanying her, with great elegance, indicated the movement with a small tilt of his head. Elsa hesitated for just a second, swallowed nervously, and then… she did it.

She turned smoothly, and with the final step, her back settled perfectly against his chest. She had done it. Her expression lit up with a joy almost childlike.

Instinctively, she turned her head toward the crowd. There they were. Her three saviors, at the back of the hall—rigid, but watchful.

She smiled at them.

And the three of them, almost in unison, gave her a thumbs-up in approval.

Elsa stifled a laugh, turned back to her partner, and with renewed confidence, continued to dance as the music found its rhythm again.

The dance went on. And though he stood in the shadows of the hall, Hans did not feel cold.

Not that night.

The celebration had not ended in disaster, but in warmth. The Queen had danced, the people had smiled, and for once, Hans had played a positive part in it all.

As the guests began to disperse through the corridors and the musicians played their final notes, the prince looked once more toward the center of the hall, where Elsa had exchanged the diplomats for a dance with her own sister—both radiant and happy under the lights.

He allowed himself one last smile.

There would be other nights. But this one… This one belonged to her.

It had been a long time since he returned to his chambers in a mood that bordered on lightness.

Upon closing the door to his room, he found a letter lying on the bed—already opened, the seal broken, and the pages carefully refolded as if someone—Henrik, undoubtedly—had tried to conceal his intrusion without any real intention of hiding it.

He didn’t mind. It was a habit he had grown resigned to.

It had been weeks since he’d read anything from his brother. Not for lack of correspondence, but for lack of will.

But tonight… he didn’t feel so angry.

He sat down. Took a deep breath. And unfolded it. As his eyes moved across the lines, his expression shifted, as though he hadn’t expected what he found there.

Stormwatch
To Prince Hans of the Southern Isles – Arendelle

Hans,

This time, I can’t pretend everything is fine. I left Elysium a few days ago to take on a palace duty that wasn’t meant for me, but you know how responsibilities get passed around in this family. I’m at the Wind’s Bastion in Stormwatch. The weather here is unbearable. The wind tastes of salt, and the cold seeps straight into my bones. I can’t shake the fever. They say it’s just a cold, but I haven’t managed more than two hours of sleep at a time. I feel... exhausted.

I’ve asked to go home. But none of the sailors will take me. They look at me like I’ll break halfway through the journey. They say it’s too dangerous. That I should stay.

I’m scared. And not of the fever. I swear, if it were only that, I wouldn’t even be writing to you.

It’s Lina.

I know you know the name. She’s one of the palace maids—not the kind that ever caught your attention. You’ve mocked her more than once, and I’d wager you’re doing it now too. But I’m asking you—don’t. Not this time.

I love her. I’ve loved her for years, though I never knew if I had the right to say it. I’ve done everything I could to keep it quiet, to protect our name from scandal. But I can’t pretend anymore that it doesn’t matter.

Her father found out. He thinks it was all a game, another whim of the sickly prince. And he’s decided to take her away—from Navigator’s Crown, from the Southern Isles, from anywhere I might find her. I don’t know where. Only that if I don’t leave this cursed island soon, I won’t be able to reach her in time.

I’ve endured years of silence and warnings. I know what Richard thinks. I know what you think. But I can’t go on hiding, or pretending this will pass. It won’t. And if it means I’m cast out from the council, from the family, from the realm itself—so be it.

I’ve made my decision.

I’m going to ask her to marry me. It’s not just an idea anymore, or some impulsive dream. It’s what I have to do.

I know our King will be disappointed. I know he’ll take it badly—just as you would, if you were in his place. But at this point, I no longer care. The only thing that frightens me now is not reaching her in time.

And that’s why I’m writing to you.

Because despite everything—what you did, what I couldn’t do for you, what’s still unspoken between us—I’m still your brother.
And I’d like to believe that if she says yes, you’d be there.

That you’d support me—just this once. Not out of duty. But because, Hans, this… this is love.

And because I don’t want to feel completely alone.

Aldric

Hans let the letter fall onto his lap and remained still, his gaze fixed on some invisible point beyond the glow of the lamp.

This was no friendly chronicle from the isles—it was a plea.
Hans couldn’t remember the last time his elder brother had written to him with such visible disorder in his soul.

He knew who Lina was.
A girl with an easy smile, no remarkable beauty, no surname worth more than a copper coin. She moved lightly through the halls and never seemed upset by anything. Hans had always thought her harmless… and perfectly irrelevant.

Which is why, for years, he had mocked Aldric.
Because in his eyes, it was inconceivable that a prince would lose his reason over someone like her.

He knew Aldric was afraid.
And rightly so.
Richard, for whom duty was everything, would never understand. Not in a thousand years. Royal marriages were meant to serve the crown, not the whims of the heart.

They all knew it and accepted it.  Even Richard had taken Alysanne purely for the sake of strategy.

It was one of the few things Hans could agree on with the eldest Westergaard: their blood was pure, and in the end, what were they, if not useful pieces in a larger game?

But Aldric had never been like them.
He didn’t want kingdoms, legacy or alliances.

And though part of Hans still thought it foolish—a needless risk, a dangerous weakness—there was another part, a newer one, that understood.
Because now he, too, knew what it meant to live without title or the shield of a crown.

Aldric was asking for something simple.
A sign.
That his brother would be there, if love triumphed over everything else.

And for a moment, Hans felt something stir in his chest—an impulse to write back.

But then, like an old echo, the knot in his throat returned.

Pride. As old and sharp as ever.

And instead of ink and parchment, he chose silence.

With a brief, almost resigned sigh, he folded the letter once more and placed it beside an empty glass on the table.
And though he would never say it aloud, something deep within him knew he had just let go of a moment that would never return.

The morning sun poured gently through the tall windows of the royal study, spilling across the documents that Elsa signed with such agile precision that Kay could barely keep up. There was an undeniable lightness about her that morning, as if the success of the previous evening had, for once, silenced the endless hum of daily concerns.

“It seems even Mayor of Oslonford. enjoyed the wine, Your Majesty,” Kay remarked with a smile as he arranged another stack of papers on the desk.

“Which would flatter me greatly,” Elsa replied, her tone light, “if I didn’t know the grapes came from her own vineyards.”
She did not lift her gaze from the parchment she was signing, but a fleeting smile crossed her lips.

Kay gave a quiet, satisfied laugh.

“Oh, and several letters arrived this morning. One from the northern lords, another from the port council… and this one”—he added with a deliberate pause—“from the King of the Southern Isles.”

Elsa’s eyebrows lifted slightly, and for a moment, a softer smile —almost amused— played at her mouth.

“Really? It seems our neighbor has become quite diligent.”

“And consistent,” Kay observed, already thumbing through the envelope with a look of practiced familiarity.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he began with yet another of his elaborate compliments about Arendelle’s northern lights or how our mountains gleam at dawn.”

“If I may,” Kay said, “I don’t believe it’s just Arendelle’s beauty that so captivates His Majesty... but also that of its Queen.”

Elsa stared at him, momentarily bewildered, before letting out a tone that bordered on scandalized:

“Kay, please. The king is a married man.”

“Of course,” he replied with impeccable composure. “Perhaps this time, he’ll flatter both of us. For the sake of balance.”

“That seems far more likely,” Elsa said, returning to the document in front of her with a restrained smile.

“Would you like me to read it?”

“Go ahead.”

Kay broke the seal with practiced ease. Elsa continued her paperwork, quite certain she’d hear a remark within seconds.

But time passed.

There was no comment on valley splendors, no poetic praise of the Queen’s resolve.

Only silence.

Elsa looked up, her brow now slightly furrowed. Kay never lingered over routine correspondence. He was efficient and methodical, as precise as a clock.
And yet, there he stood, letter open in his hands... his expression tight.

Hans? Elsa wondered.

Or was it the treaties? Perhaps the maritime negotiations had collapsed. Or some tension with her ambassadors in his isles.
But then… why that expression?

“Is everything all right, Kay?”

He didn’t answer immediately.
He folded the letter carefully, holding it in both hands.
And at last, in a voice lower than before, he extended the envelope toward her.

“Your Majesty… it would be best if you read it yourself.”

Elsa looked at him, puzzled. A thread of unease crept down her spine.

She took the letter with both hands. The parchment felt perfectly ordinary to the touch. And yet, she did not open it at once.

Because something in the air had shifted.  And Elsa, though she did not yet know why, could feel it.

Royal Palace of Navigator’s Crown
To Her Majesty,
Queen Elsa of Arendelle

Your Majesty,

Please accept my most respectful greetings from the throne of the Southern Isles.

Regrettably, I do not write to you today concerning trade agreements or diplomatic progress between our crowns. This letter carries a sorrow that weighs not only upon this royal house, but also upon the one who must convey it:
My younger brother, His Highness Prince Aldric, has passed away after a sudden and severe fever which, despite all care afforded to him, could not be overcome. His passing—swift and cruel—has left our hearts wounded.

I know this news will be of particular grief to Hans. He and Aldric shared a bond that withstood even the fiercest storms within our family. There is no true comfort for the loss of a brother so dear, but I place my trust in you, Your Majesty, to be the one to deliver this news with the compassion that only you possess.

I do not ignore how difficult this request may be. I know what it has cost you to grant him a place in your realm. And believe me, I know what it has cost him to begin earning it.
But now, my brother has lost the one person he called his truest friend in this world.

You are distinguished not only by your crown and your power, but by your rare composure—one that has earned the respect of even those who once doubted your reign.
Your mercy has been a balm to more than one kingdom—mine included—and today I dare to hope you might offer one gesture more.

The farewell ceremony will be held one week from now in the cathedral of Navigator’s Crown.
I respectfully extend an invitation to you, should you find it proper, to accompany my brother on this journey.

It would be an honour to receive you. But more than that, it would be an act of grace for a man who, despite all his past faults, should not have to face this grief alone.

With the highest regard,
and in the hope of your unfailing mercy,
Richard
King of the Southern Isles

Elsa remained silent.
She held the letter between her fingers as if it burned, though the parchment was perfectly dry. She said nothing, did not look up, made no gesture. She only felt how the air in the room seemed to grow heavier.

Across the desk, Kay waited. His posture made it clear: he was awaiting a decision. Because the letter carried not only sorrow. it carried a burden that had to be passed on.

Elsa closed her eyes for a moment and brought a hand to her face.
How was she supposed to tell him?  How did one find words for this?

Kay’s voice, calm as always, broke the silence with gentle precision.
“Your Majesty… what would you have me do?”

Elsa swallowed. With a cold shiver running down her spine.

“I don’t know,” she said at last, lowering her gaze to the letter. “I don’t know how to tell him. I don’t even know where to begin.”

But then, after a moment, she looked up. And the Queen resumed her place.
“I can’t let him wait,” she murmured. “I can’t let him wander these halls without knowing his brother is gone. If it were Anna… I’d want to know at once.”

She rose with quiet determination.
“Please, Kay… have Prince Hans brought here.”

The secretary bowed and slipped out of the room with his usual silent efficiency.

Several minutes passed. The clock marked each one with cruel precision.

She suddenly remembered the time Hans himself had told her her sister was dead.
She had collapsed upon the ice, breath caught in her chest, right after he informed her that Anna had perished… because of her. His tone had been steady, his face unreadable. He had used death as a tool of power. A hidden dagger to advance his dark ambitions.

And now the roles were reversed.
Now she was the one bearing the weight of a death. A real one. And there was no triumph in it.

No sense of balance restored.
Only a quiet, piercing sorrow—for him, and for the version of herself who had once believed that hurting him might ever have been necessary.

And then, the door opened.

Hans stepped in as if crossing the threshold of a comedy, not a tragedy. His step was light, and a smile appeared the instant he saw her. Something in his expression still carried the ease of a good evening and an uneventful morning.

“Your Majesty,” he greeted, bowing with flawless grace. “Last night at the ball, you were magnificent. Truly. No one could take their eyes off you. My congratulations.”

Elsa felt her heart sink.

Still unaware of the gravity in the room, Hans continued in his usual tone:

“I don’t know why you’ve summoned me, but if it’s about Olaf and the oven… I swear it wasn’t me. He insisted. Said he wanted to ‘test the limits of your magic,’ and frankly—it was impressive. Not a single drop.”

Elsa looked at him, still unable to break the moment. And he kept talking.

"Now... if this is about this morning, with that... Kristoff... that wasn’t my fault either. He put salt in his coffee thinking it was sugar. Did I laugh? Yes. Did I do it? Absolutely not."

Kay, from the corner of the room, lowered his gaze like someone who already knows the ending to a story and would rather not read it again.

Elsa took a deep breath.

"Hans," she said softly, "please... sit down."

Something in her tone was enough to change him.

Hans blinked. It wasn’t the usual kind of command. He sat down. The jokes ended at once. 

"What is it?" he asked.

Elsa stepped forward slowly and took a seat beside him. She paused for a moment, her hands folded in her lap. She searched for the words in her mind, like someone searches for a key in the dark.

"This morning..." she began, her voice restrained, "we received from The Southern Isles."

Hans said nothing. But his back stiffened, almost imperceptibly.

“It wasn’t diplomatic news. Nor matters of state.”

A pause.

“Hans… I’m very sorry.”

Her eyes sought his gently. She placed a hand on his back—a brief gesture, and Hans felt a chill run through him.

“Your brother Aldrich… has passed away. From a sudden and severe fever.”

The silence that followed was absolute. Not even the clock dared to break it.

And Elsa, who had faced ice so many times before, felt that this time, she could protect no one from the cold.

Chapter Text

In the solemn twilight of the Council Hall, where tapestries told tales of past exploits and the echo of decisions lingered beneath the lofty vaults, two young princes hid with the finesse that only childhood and mischief could combine. Hans, merely seven years old, and his brother Aldric, two years his senior, had slipped beneath the imposing oak table in hopes of uncovering the secrets adults guarded so jealously.

“Do you think they’ll talk about secret maps?” Hans whispered, nearly breathless, as though the mere word sent shivers of anticipation down his spine. “Or pirates? Maybe today they’ll decide to exile someone. Do you know if there are duels?”

“No,” Aldric replied without looking at him, more invested in brushing invisible dust from the sleeve of his jacket. “They’ll probably talk about taxes or ships.”

“What if they find a traitor? Do you think Father would condemn him right there? That would be exciting!”

Aldric, who had witnessed one or two meetings before being banned for laughing at the word buttress , rolled his eyes with a sigh of thorough brotherly resignation.

“Father doesn’t do things like that, Hans.”

Hans immediately deflated. The younger boy sighed just as the grand doors of the hall swung open. From their hiding place, they could only see the polished boots of the kingdom’s most powerful men and women entering one by one: the king first, with his heavy, deliberate stride, followed by the queen, whose light, measured steps seemed almost to glide. Then came Richard, walking as though the weight of the realm already lay upon his shoulders; Nicholas with his proud bearing; and finally Isak, whose relaxed gait contrasted with all who had come before.

The meeting began.

And for a moment, Hans felt a rush of triumph. They had fooled them all. They were witnessing the kingdom’s secrets. The mystery of power. He could hardly wait to hear what would be said. Perhaps there would be mention of dragons, or rumors of conflict in Stormwatch. But what came was:

“The reforms in the mines at Siren’s Keep have been delayed a few days due to inclement weather, Your Majesty,” said a minister in a nasal tone.

Three minutes passed.

“The fishermen have requested a review of the trawling tax,” another chimed in.

“It is proposed to modify the fiscal calendar of the western region to align it with the solar calendar,” added a third.

Hans turned to Aldric, utterly dismayed.

“What is all this?”

Aldric, now with arms crossed and his patience wilting, muttered, “I told you it would be like this, but you just had to insist… I hope you’re happy now. These meetings go on for hours.”

“Nooo…” Hans whispered, as though the universe had just handed him an unjust sentence.

And so they remained, buried in the shadows of the most boring piece of furniture in the palace, while the Council pressed on, relentless, weaving words that made no sense to them. Minutes passed until Hans, gripped by boredom, reached into his pocket and found a small twig he had tucked away that very morning. With a mischievous grin, he slid over to one of the nearby boots—belonging to a particularly stern-faced minister—and gave it a subtle poke.

The result was immediate: an uncomfortable flinch, a sudden jerk, but no sound. The man glanced beneath the table, bewildered, but found nothing.

Aldric clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh.

Just then, a feather drifted to the floor.

Hans and Aldric stared at it. It wasn’t theirs. It had come from above. And when they lifted their eyes ever so slightly, they saw Isak, seated beside his two elder brothers, winking at them with a faint smile. He made a small gesture, nodding subtly toward Richard.

Hans and Aldric exchanged a look. They didn’t speak much with Isak, but this felt like a sign of goodwill. Perhaps he wasn’t as dull as Nicholas, nor as stiff as Richard.

Wasting no time, they slithered beneath Richard’s seat like seasoned masters of covert mischief. They waited for the perfect moment. The king turned to his heir.

“Richard, son, what is your opinion on the redistribution of patrols in the eastern waters?”

The prince straightened, ready to speak. He drew a breath.

And just then, a feather brushed the back of his leg.

Richard let out the strangest sound—a mix between a stifled gasp and a nasal whistle—and his response faltered halfway.

“Er… perhaps… it should be considered… if… the shepherds allow it…”

A minister coughed. Another blinked. The king narrowed his eyes.

“The shepherds, Richard?” the king asked, his voice slow and disappointed. “What do shepherds have to do with the eastern waters?”

The young man lowered his head, utterly mortified.

Beneath the table, Hans and Aldric could hardly contain themselves; silent laughter shook their bodies until tears welled in their eyes. And this, as they well knew, was only the beginning.

No councillor or minister was safe. The mere touch of a feather or the subtle jab of a twig was enough to test the dignity of the kingdom’s most serious men. Yet none dared look beneath the table. All far too proud.

The young princes, curled in the shadows, felt each suppressed laugh like a bolt of lightning. When one managed to regain composure, the other lost it, and so they writhed between gasps and nudges.

“Look at his face,” Hans murmured, stifling a laugh. “He looks like he’s having a spasm.”

“Shut up, idiot!” Aldric whispered, eyes gleaming with mischief. “They’ll catch us!”

“What if we poke that one over there?” Hans suggested, twig poised in the air.

“That one has legs as hairy as a bear,” Aldric muttered, horrified. “I’ll have a heart attack.”

“Then Nicholas…”

“Nooo, if he finds out, he’ll get revenge.”

“And… Father?”

Aldric looked at him as though he’d just suggested suicide.

“Don’t you dare. He won’t like it. And neither will you.”

“Yes, he will. He’ll laugh.”

But there was no time to test the theory. A tiny, dark, long-legged creature appeared between their knees. A spider.

Hans saw it first, and his breath caught. Aldric, spotting it, slapped a hand over his brother’s mouth, knowing that the scream to come would shake the entire table.

“No! No! Don’t you dare!”

But Hans was already squirming. In a desperate bid to preserve the silence, Aldric lifted his foot and tried to squash it. The crunch he expected did not come. Beneath his shoe, a cluster of tiny eggs burst like a pouch of rice… and dozens of baby spiders scattered in all directions.

For a split second, the two boys were frozen in horror.

And then...chaos.

“MOOOOM!” they screamed in unison.

The queen stood at once. Chairs scraped. Ministers startled. Richard, who had been speaking, fell silent as the majestic oak table seemed to tremble. In an instant, two small bodies emerged from beneath the furniture, tripping over nobles’ cloaks, rustling papers, knocking over an inkwell.

“Hans! Aldric!”

“Mom, there was a spider! A spider with babies!” Hans cried, clinging to the folds of her gown.

The king rose with fury, his face flushed with outrage.

“What madness is this? And you think yourselves worthy of this chamber, one day?”

Aldric, still shaken by the shock and surprise, gathered the courage to speak.

“Father… I’m sorry. It was my idea. Hans wanted to see what these meetings were like, and I… I brought him here. We’re never allowed in, and he just wanted to see.”

But the King did not soften.

“A prince who does not know how to behave,” he declared, his voice as cold as it was firm, “does not yet deserve the privilege of learning.”

“That’s not fair…” Hans murmured, without lifting his gaze.

“Enough!” thundered the King, his voice so powerful that its echo seemed to rattle the stained glass windows of the hall.

The Queen stepped forward, her voice calm but unwavering.

“They are just children, Leopold.”

“And does that excuse them for sabotaging a Council of State?” the King retorted. “It is not your place to justify their lack of respect, Claire.”

The Queen lifted her chin. She needed no words. Only a look—steady, radiant—that folded the Lord of the Tides like a paper sheet.

A long, uncomfortable silence followed.

“Children, leave now. I must speak with your father,” said the Queen at last.

“This meeting is over,” the King growled, gesturing impatiently. “Everyone, out.”

The attendants hurried to gather their scrolls and exited the chamber in awkward silence. Behind them, the gazes of the King and Queen hung heavy in the air, like a bomb about to go off.

Nicholas and Isak shot toward the columns of the corridor in a joint effort to become invisible. Hans, on the other hand, his face burning with shame, lagged behind, as if the marble floor could somehow offer him refuge.

Richard was the last to leave. He closed the door behind him with a curt motion and walked briskly toward the others, his jaw tight. Aldric, paler than ever, stepped forward as if to offer an excuse, but Richard paid him no mind. His eyes, cold and sharp, were fixed on the youngest of them all.

“What the hell were you thinking, Hans?” he snapped, his voice lowered but no less cutting. “Did you want to turn the council into a circus?”

Isak intervened gently:

“Let it go, brother. It was just a prank.”

“A prank?” Richard retorted, turning to him. “Do you know how much I prepared for this session? For these clowns to make me look like a fool?”

The prince sighed, weary of arguing, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“That’s enough, alright?”

But it didn’t end there.

“No,” Richard muttered, casting one last glance toward his younger brothers. “It’s not enough. Not for them.”

His voice hardened.

“Stupid children. You don’t deserve the honor of our crown. Our father needs leaders, not princes disguised as burdens.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and strode down the corridor, leaving behind a silence far crueler than any shout.

“Your brother Aldric… has passed away. From a sudden and severe fever.”

The words still hung in the air, unable to find a place to land.

He blinked, as if needing to confirm he had not misheard. But the queen’s face, so still, left no room for doubt.

“Is this…” he began, his voice unusually low, “…some kind of joke?”

Elsa seemed unsettled by his reaction, but before she could answer, Hans pulled away from her touch—abruptly, as if the very hand that had offered comfort moments ago now burned and wounded him.

“Are you trying to get back at me? Is that it?”

The vehemence in his tone was enough to draw the attention of the guards at the door.

The queen’s expression faltered for just an instant, as if the accusation had struck like a sudden blow.

It was then that Kai, who until that moment had remained quietly in the background, stepped forward.

“Prince Hans,” he said, gently drawing his gaze, “I am deeply sorry for your loss. But I believe Her Majesty has shown—through both actions and character—that she would be incapable of anything so cruel. The news came directly from your brother, the king, just minutes ago.”

His words, delivered with calm sincerity, rang out like an anchor of reason amidst the chaos.

Hans dropped his gaze at once. He did not reply. He simply took a few steps back, bringing both hands to his face as if trying to shield himself from the shame and grief now searing his skin. Then his fingers moved to his hair, tousling it, clenching his fists against his temples, as if he could somehow stop the rush of thoughts crashing through his mind.

“This can’t be true…” he murmured, no longer angry, only broken by the weight of the irreversible. “He was going to marry… He wrote to me. I read his letter last night…”

Those present exchanged uneasy glances.

“The letters arrived together,” the advisor explained. “They may have been delayed in the same shipment.”

Kai walked over to the desk and extended the scroll to him. The prince snatched it from his hand with a rough gesture. He unfolded it carelessly, his eyes racing over the lines in desperation, as though he might find an error, a correction—any sign that could contradict the news that had just torn him apart.

He read it again. Once. Twice. Three times. But the words were merciless. His face, flushed with rage at first, began to lose color. The tremor in his hands became visible, and the parchment crackled between his fingers, unable to bear the weight of the sorrow it carried.

Then he sat down, as if his legs had given out without consulting him. He lowered his head, burying his face in his hands, and for long moments, only his broken breathing could be heard.

Elsa didn’t move. She didn’t know whether to approach—whether her presence would comfort him or wound him further. In her eyes was a noble hesitation, a yearning to console without intruding.

“Hans…” she said at last, her voice no more than a whisper. “Would you like me to…?”

He did not answer at once. He took a deep breath, as though he had to gather every ounce of strength left in him to hold himself together.

“Your Majesty,” he murmured, without being able to look at her, “I beg your pardon… but I’m not well. May I be excused, please?”

She nodded at once, her heart still aching.

“Of course. Gleb, please accompany the prince to his chambers and make sure he has everything he needs,” she instructed. The guard nodded and stepped forward gently. “Don’t worry about anything. I’ll take care of everything. I…” she hesitated, “I will accompany you to the Southern Isles.”

There were no more words.

The redhead stood up with slow, almost clumsy movements and left.

He couldn’t even remember what had happened after that. He only knew that, at some point, he had found himself walking through corridors, eyes fixed on tapestries he didn’t recognize, and that in the next moment, the windows no longer opened to the mountains—but to the sea.

He didn’t cry. At least, not in the strictest sense.

But there was a moment—unforgivably human—when he stopped to lean against a column, and there, simply by closing his eyes, he felt something inside him quietly come undone.

The days that followed were wrapped in a constant haze—less of the weather than of the spirit.

The ship carrying them to the Southern Isles moved forward with discipline, cutting through the waters with a determination that bitterly contrasted with the despondency of those aboard.

Hans didn’t speak. He approached no one.

He remained on deck, standing or seated depending on the wind, staring at the horizon as though it were a riddle.

He didn’t eat. And if he ever closed his eyes, it was only to interrupt a world that stubbornly kept moving.

The guards watched him in cautious silence, not daring to interfere. Gleb and Dimitri, who had accompanied the Queen as her protectors, would now and then appear at his side with a coat, a warm cup, or a wordless gesture. Hans never thanked them. But he never refused anything, either.

The water stretched before him like a bottomless mirror, and without meaning to, he sank into a memory—almost unable to tell the past from the present.

“Cadet Hans Westergaard, of the Sixth Naval Division, for distinguished merit in celestial navigation, fleet strategy, and practical maneuvering,” announced the admiral in a firm voice, “is hereby awarded the rank of Midshipman of the Royal Fleet of the Southern Isles.”

A brief but distinct murmur rippled through the hall. It was unusual—though not unheard of—for a prince to receive such a royal honor at so young an age. But Hans had completed every exam, every maneuver, every damned day of training with quiet perseverance, driven by an urgent need to prove he was worth more than his surname and capable of honoring the legend of his great-grandfather.

He rose with resolve, his ceremonial uniform still slightly stiff across the shoulders, and walked toward the stage under the watchful gaze of his peers—and of his mother, seated in the front row. The queen watched him with an expression that mingled pride and restraint, but her hands were the first to come together in a solemn applause, soon joined by the rest.

At her side, Aldric broke protocol slightly by clapping with barely restrained enthusiasm, smiling as if his own brother had just conquered the sea.

Hans climbed the steps without stumbling—a miracle, given the new leather boots—and received the decoration: a silver brooch bearing the fleet’s emblem, an anchor upon a star. He bowed as protocol required, murmured his thanks, and stepped down again, avoiding eye contact with anyone. Only when he reached the last step did he lift his gaze… and there he was, waiting with open arms and that mocking smile that hadn’t changed since they were children.

“Congratulations, little brother. I knew you will be useful one day.”

Hans raised an eyebrow without stopping.

“And you thought I couldn’t write my name without help.”

His brother burst into laughter and pulled him into a hug without warning. The sound of it echoed through the columns, and Hans had no choice but to accept it with a half-resigned smile.

“I’m proud of you, brat.”

“Alright, alright, let me breathe,” Hans protested, making a vague gesture of complaint while failing, quite clearly, to suppress another smile.

“You look good, Hans. Really good,” Aldric said more seriously as he straightened the new medal on his chest. “Mother’s going to cry.”

And indeed, she wasn’t long in arriving. The Queen Mother—tall, elegant, her hair swept up with grace and a gown of amethyst hue—moved through the crowd wiping away tears.

She embraced him at once, without asking permission, and kissed his cheek with proud affection.

“My little prince, I’m so happy for you,” she said, pulling back to look at him properly. “I wish you dressed like this every day. You’re a vision.”

“Mum… don’t make a scene in front of the other officers, please.” he pleaded in a low voice, clearly uncomfortable.

“Oh, pardon me—Your Excellency, the Illustrious Midshipman,” she replied with mock drama, raising her brows. “Does it offend you that your mother is proud of you?”

“It offends me that you’re announcing it to the entire hall,” he muttered, trying to fix his ceremonial cravat.

“Then prepare yourself,” she said, lowering her voice and giving him a playful pinch on the sleeve, “because once we’re back at the palace, I fully intend to have a portrait of you in that beautiful uniform hung in the royal gallery.”

She let out another soft laugh and gave him a final kiss. The teenager barely had time to suppress a sigh before a tense murmur swept through the room like a cold breeze. Several heads discreetly turned toward the windows of the north wing, where the gallery overlooked the inner garden—and, unintentionally, a scene far from regal.

Richard, his cloak barely fastened over his shoulders, was gesturing furiously at Princess Alysanne, his new wife. Though the glass muted their voices, their faces made it abundantly clear that the argument was fierce.

He pointed at her, exasperated; she responded with a clenched jaw and rigid posture, as if holding onto her dignity by sheer will.

They had been joined by convenience, not affection—certainly—and every word they exchanged seemed to remind them of it cruelly.

Suddenly, the heir to the throne turned sharply and strode away across the garden, not once looking back.

Alysanne remained. She didn’t cry. But for several seconds, she stood perfectly still, as if she needed to collect not only her face but her very soul before returning inside.

Hans saw everything but chose to look away.

Beside him, the Queen Mother noticed the change in his expression. Perhaps by instinct. Or perhaps because she had long since learned to read her children in silence.

“Your father…” she began, without waiting for a question, “…had an urgent commitment. He told me this morning.”

Hans didn’t answer. He only lowered his gaze—and with it, the invisible weight of what he already knew.

He could no longer expect anything else.

“You know how he is,” she continued gently, stroking his sleeve. “It’s not easy for him to be everywhere at once. He bears a great responsibility. And you know that—”

“I know,” Hans interrupted, still not looking at her. “You don’t have to remind me.”

She said nothing. Because she knew. And she couldn’t deny it. And because, deep down, it hurt her too.

Alysanne came back inside shortly after. Her posture was straight, but her cheeks still flushed. She walked directly to her brother-in-law, and without a word, hugged him tightly—more tightly than he expected. Then she pulled back and smiled as if nothing had happened.

“You look taller, your highness.” she said. “ And braver too.”

Hans tilted his head in a half-smile, almost grateful for the distraction.

“Looks like the future king missed his nap.”

Alysanne gave a short, hollow laugh.

“He arrived late, and his brilliant excuse was that ‘it was just a medal.’ That it wasn’t worth rushing for. He’s a selfish brute!”

She paused, her expression tightening for a moment.

“I told him it was important to you. That he should be here for his family. But you know how he is,” she added bitterly. “The moment I contradicted him, he left.”

Hans didn’t respond. He only lowered his gaze again. The princess gently touched his arm.

“Hey. He doesn’t matter. Today is about you. And we’re going to celebrate it, alright?”

And with that, she gave him a soft squeeze and stepped away.

The silence she left behind didn’t last long.

Because as soon as she moved aside, Thomas and Frederick appeared behind him—like thorns, perfectly timed.

“How touching,” Thomas began with a crooked half-smile. “A teary mother, and now even a heartbroken princess giving you her blessing.”

“Congratulations, little brother.” Frederick followed. “Now you can scrub decks in embroidered uniform. Our father must be so proud… he forgot to show up.”

Hans didn’t respond right away. His fists clenched slightly.

And Aldric, not far off, turned around with a casual air.

“Well, Frederick, I didn’t think you’d come. I assumed you’d be busy devising a plan to convince your fiancée not to abandon you at the altar.”

The prince scoffed haughtily.

“I don’t need to please anyone. Father arranged the marriage. And once she’s queen, I’ll be king too. An honor, of course, that you two can only dream of.”

Aldric let out a brief laugh. There was no humor in it, only sharpness.

“Lucky you, Frederick,” he said with a calmness that hurt more than fury. “They handed you a throne without you sweating a single day for it. Hans, on the other hand, earned this”—he gestured slightly to the silver brooch—“with effort and more discipline than either of you could endure for a week. You two can’t even button your own trousers without a servant’s help.”

The elder prince scowled.

“Jealous, Al?”

Aldric held his gaze coldly.

“Not at all. My brother and I don’t need a crown to feel worthy.”

Silence.

A thick silence—one that could not be broken without making a fool of oneself.

Frederick scoffed and walked away briskly, his cloak flaring behind him. Thomas, for once, found no reply.

Hans remained still and quietly grateful… but at the same time, slightly exposed.

Because although he had said nothing in that moment—although he had given everything for that medal—he still felt it wasn’t enough. There was a part of him—small, and deeply ashamed—that did wish for what Frederick had by birthright: the crown… and the king’s regard.

And then it happened.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a vile sound that shattered the silence.

Hans turned his head sharply, startled.

Elsa was beside him—she had run up from the starboard stairwell, paler than usual and breathless—and without a word, she leaned over the railing and vomited with such raw desperation that, for a moment, all the solemnity in the world seemed to vanish.

It took Hans a second to react.

“Your Majesty…?” he asked, his voice hoarse from disuse, wearing an expression somewhere between alarm and mild confusion.

Elsa straightened up, clumsily wiping the corner of her mouth with the sleeve of her coat.

“I’m fine,” she said, with wounded dignity. “I just… hate ships.”

Hans blinked. And for the first time since they had departed, a flicker of life—almost a laugh—appeared on his face, brief and unexpected.

“First time?” he asked, slipping his hand into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief and offered it with flawless grace.

She took it without looking at him, dabbing at herself with as much discretion as her pride would allow.

“First and last.” she replied, still breathless. “If any noble wishes to see me in the future, he can come to Arendelle himself… or make do with a letter and a portrait.”

She leaned over the railing again with a tragic sigh.

“I just want this to be over…”

Hans let out a low chuckle as he watched her surrender once more to the sea’s relentless sway.

“Oh, no,” he murmured, his tone deliciously mischievous. “There’s still the return journey, Your Majesty.”

Elsa made a sound that wasn’t entirely human. Something between a groan, a squawk, and a barely contained threat.

Hans turned slightly to hide the smile he could no longer suppress.

He gave her back a light pat but said nothing else. He turned his gaze back to the sea and left the incident behind as if it had never happened.

But he had spoken.

Since the journey had begun, Elsa hadn’t known what to do with his presence. She would glance toward him and always find him the same: leaning on the railing, or walking in silence with his hands in his pockets.

She missed—without meaning to—his insolent retorts, his sarcastic gestures, even his stubborn pride.

Now, none of that remained.

Only a tall, silent redhead whose face seemed carved more by salt than by life.

But the wall had cracked.

And she wasn’t willing to let it rise again.

“I’ve never visited another kingdom before,” she resumed gently, carefully breaking the silence between them. “The Southern Isles—are they as beautiful as they say?”

At first, Hans seemed not to have heard her, for he kept staring out at the sea.

“They’re… ordinary, I suppose,” he replied at last, his tone distant and tired.

Elsa hesitated, unsure whether to press further—but curiosity, and a sincere wish to ease his sorrow, won out.

“Ordinary? That’s all? Surely there’s something more intriguing about them, especially being so far from Arendelle.”

Hans sighed softly, more in resignation than irritation, and turned slightly toward her, his expression unreadable.

“We’ll arrive first at Navigator’s Crown.” he said at last, still somewhat reluctant. “It’s the main island—the largest of all. That’s where the castle is, the royal courts, and the rest of the family. They’re waiting for us there.”

Elsa nodded slowly, noticing the tension in the prince’s face.

“I see. Is that where you grew up?”

“Yes,” he replied shortly.

An uncomfortable silence threatened to settle once more, but Elsa, determined to keep him distracted—and genuinely intrigued—gently pressed on:

“And the other islands? There are seven in total, aren’t there?”

Hans seemed to wrestle with himself for a moment before giving a brief reply:

“Yes, seven. Each one different from the others.”

“And which is your favorite?” Elsa asked quietly, surprising even Hans with the genuine curiosity in her tone.

He frowned slightly, thrown off by the queen’s persistent interest. Then, almost in spite of himself, a spark of enthusiasm lit his features as he answered:

“Elysium. Without a doubt, Elysium. It’s connected to the southern currents, so its waters are always the warmest. It’s simply dazzling. I had a magnificent mansion there, right on the coast… the sunsets were so beautiful. Oh, and the women—” His enthusiasm faltered abruptly at the sight of Elsa’s raised eyebrow and her subtly amused expression. He cleared his throat quickly, a faint flush rising to his cheeks. “The women, well… were ordinary. I mean—the landscape. The landscape was the most charming thing. I didn’t mean—what I meant was…”

Elsa pressed her lips together, suppressing a laugh, though her eyes sparkled with amusement.

“I have no doubt the landscapes are stunning, Prince Hans,” she replied, her voice laced with gentle humor.

The redhead straightened, awkwardly adjusting his coat in an attempt to recover his composure.

“And the other islands?” Elsa continued kindly, offering him a way out of his embarrassment. “What are they like?”

Grateful for the change of subject, Hans relaxed a little. His gaze, which had been hesitant, rose over the queen’s shoulder and settled on the horizon. Something out there, silhouetted against the pale glow of sky and sea, had caught his attention.

Without a word, he stepped forward and, with a gentleness uncharacteristic of him, lifted a hand and pointed into the distance.

“Do you see that out there?” he said quietly.

Elsa turned, following the line of his arm. Through the sea mist and the rising sun’s glare, a softly shaped silhouette emerged—an echo of land amid all the water.

“That’s Anchorfall,” Hans said, with the quiet authority of a true seafarer. “It was the first island discovered by my great-grandfather, Harrison Westergaard. His crew was fleeing a cruel regime, searching for a land where they could start anew… and when the anchor dropped, it was there. That’s why it’s named so. ‘The anchor didn’t just touch bottom—it touched free land.’”

The Queen of the North felt strangely moved, as though being aboard that ship allowed her to feel the weight of history.

“Now it’s a commercial island,” he continued, in a slightly livelier tone, “bustling, vibrant, full of life. I think your sister… and you… would love the markets. It’s, without a doubt, the Southern Queen’s favorite island.”

He gestured lightly toward the sea, though there was no land in sight in that direction.

“You can’t see it from here, but farther back is Ironhaven. It’s essential for our defenses, just like…”

He paused for a moment. His voice faltered slightly, and his lips pressed together discreetly.

“…just like Stormwatch,” he said at last, without looking at her.

A brief silence followed—one that didn’t become uncomfortable, thanks to how swiftly he picked up the thread again, forcing control back into his voice.

“Behind Navigator’s Crown is Starborn,” he went on. “There are universities, observatories… and scholars who preserve all our knowledge, especially maritime. My brother, Prince Andrew, is a professor there.”

“And Siren’s Keep?” Elsa asked with curiosity. “My father once mentioned it, and your brother never stops writing about it in his letters…”

Hans nodded thoughtfully.

“Yes, it’s quite a special and wealthy island. Many seek its rare gems and unmatched pearls.”

“Are there really sirens there?” Elsa inquired, her voice soft but genuinely intrigued.

Hans’s lips curved into a faint, skeptical smile.

“My brother Thomas insists he saw one, just like our great-great-grandfather. Personally, I doubt it… my brother is a world-class liar, and I don’t believe in sirens.”

Elsa looked at him, smiling gently.

“Well, I do believe in sirens. If powers like mine exist in this world, then surely they could too.”

Hans looked at her for a moment, his expression softening further.

“Perhaps you’re right, Your Majesty. Maybe I’m the one who needs to reconsider what I believe.”

Elsa smiled warmly, pleased to see that, at least for now, the prince’s melancholy seemed to have eased.

The gentle rhythm of the waves continued to thrum beneath the ship. Elsa remained silently beside Hans, her gaze thoughtful, still reflecting on their earlier conversation.

“I really would like to visit Elysium someday,” she admitted softly, casting a glance at her companion.

He looked at her, momentarily surprised by her sincerity, before allowing a faint, weary smile to appear on his lips.

“I… would take you there gladly, Your Majesty,” he murmured, turning his gaze back to the horizon with a pensive air. “Though, given our circumstances, I’m not sure we’ll find the occasion.”

Elsa nodded in quiet understanding. A brief silence followed, until curiosity moved her to speak again.

“How do you know so much about each island? Did you used to travel a lot through the Southern Isles?”

Hans hesitated, weighing his words carefully before replying.

“I was part of the royal fleet,” he finally confessed. “I trained in Ironhaven. Not the most welcoming island—harsh, cold, and heavily militarized—but that’s where naval training takes place.”

Elsa listened closely, a trace of compassion softening her delicate features.

“That must have been difficult,” she offered. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

Hans shook his head gently, surprising her with his reply.

“It wasn’t so bad, actually. I enjoyed it. Being part of the fleet was exciting… and it kept my mind off of… other things.”

He paused, as if a shadow had passed through his thoughts.

“After all, not everything at home was pleasant.”

Elsa nodded slowly, hearing the barely contained sorrow in his voice.

“Your brother… Aldric? Was he in the fleet with you?” she asked delicately.

“No,” Hans replied, his voice low but firm. “It wasn’t for him. But he always supported me.”

There was a brief pause as his gaze fixed on the horizon.

“When our mother disappeared, I took my responsibility in the fleet even more seriously.”

He drew a deep breath, as if voicing something that still hurt to say aloud.

“She was last seen on a diplomatic mission to Siren’s Keep. She was attacked by pirates at sea.”

He looked away, his posture tense.

“I organized patrols, combed the coasts, interrogated every man who crossed these waters. But we never found the ones responsible. Not a single lead. No answers.”

His jaw tightened slightly.

“After that, protecting the Isles stopped being an obligation. It became personal. Even if I never found out the truth… at least since then, there have been no more incidents.”

Elsa’s expression softened further as she listened, recognizing the deep sense of duty behind Hans’s words.

“I didn’t know,” she said gently. “I’m so sorry.”

Hans turned to her, his gaze sincere—though it quickly gave way to his familiar mask of sarcasm.

“You couldn’t have known,” he said lightly, trying to use humor as a shield against the pain. “Few people outside the Isles do, especially Arendelle, with its conveniently closed gates to the world for years.”

He gave her a quick, ironic smile, perhaps expecting a playful retort, but Elsa’s face remained serious, her eyes filled not with amusement but quiet empathy.

“That must have taken a great deal of courage,” she murmured with genuine appreciation, choosing to ignore the comment—and acknowledging instead what his defense had truly meant.

Hans watched her thoughtfully for a moment, and the hardness that so often shadowed his face seemed to gradually melt away.

“I suppose it did,” he admitted with a quiet pride. “But courage is easy when there's something worth protecting.”

Elsa smiled at him softly, her eyes sincere and kind. She was about to respond, but her words were interrupted by the cry of a sailor from the crow’s nest.

“Land ahead! Navigator’s Crown on the horizon!”

Hans straightened, quickly turning to face forward as a flicker of apprehension crossed his features. Elsa drew a calm breath, understanding that their journey had come to an end.

“We should prepare to disembark,” Hans murmured, his voice steady, though restrained.

“Yes,” Elsa nodded, casting one last glance toward the approaching land. “We should.”

Together, they walked toward the crew that awaited them, their conversation lingering in the air between them.
An island had emerged—clear and defined—on the horizon.

“At last!” exclaimed a familiar voice the moment Hans crossed the threshold of the royal palace’s entrance hall. “Look who has deigned to grace us with his most august presence!”

Hans barely had time to smile before he was engulfed in a fierce embrace, steeped in the scent of parchment, sealing wax, and cinnamon tea—the unmistakable essence of Aldric Westergaard.
His older brother pulled him close with overwhelming enthusiasm, making him momentarily forget the weight of his soaked coat and the months spent on deck beneath merciless skies.

“Oh, I missed you, brother,” said Hans, stifling a laugh as he tried to catch his breath.

“Hans Westergaard, Admiral of the Royal Fleet. You look like you stole that uniform off a naval museum mannequin.”

Hans smoothed the collar with a sly grin.

“It’s the same cut as the old one, though I suspect I fill out the shoulders a bit better now. The sea tends to have that effect.”

“And not just the shoulders, from the looks of it,” Aldric replied, narrowing his eyes in mock suspicion. “The palace maids will be fainting one by one when they see you.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Both laughed as they made their way through the central gallery, their footsteps echoing between the marble columns and the walls lined with ancestral portraits.

“Tell me, truly,” Aldric said, a mix of pride and fraternal curiosity in his tone. “How have you been? Life at sea, Elysium… is it really that hard to answer my letters, you scoundrel? I thought your officers might’ve offered you as ransom to a band of pirates by now.”

The prince gave a faint smile.

“Life at sea… doesn’t change much. Sunrises, storms, discipline, the occasional smuggler. Same old, really. Sometimes I think if there’s no wind one day, at least there’ll be no surprises.”

Aldric watched him for a moment but didn’t press. He knew when Hans didn’t want to talk.

“And here…” Hans continued, shifting the conversation. “How have things been? Any royal tragedies I’ve missed?”

“No tragedies,” Aldric replied, half-laughing. “In fact, things have been going fairly well. Richard… well, he’s changed.”

Hans raised an eyebrow.
“Our Richard?”

“The very one. Hard to believe, I know. He’s more… receptive. He even promoted me,” he added, with a mix of surprise and pride. “I’m part of the council now. Seems he actually cares what I think.”

“By the gods,” Hans muttered, barely hiding his skepticism. “Someone write this down; the age of miracles has begun.”

Aldric smiled, still watching him with a blend of humor and patience.

“I’m serious,” Aldric insisted. “And I’ll tell you more: Richard asked if you… if you’d still be interested in joining the council.”

“Joining the council?” Hans paused for a moment, as if the very idea nauseated him. “No, thank you. Hard pass. I have no interest in sitting in the circle of bootlickers that idiot surrounds himself with. Although… I suppose I’ll have to flatter him a little today. I need him to approve double my monthly allowance.”

Aldric stopped.
“Double it?”

“I want a new ship,” Hans said with perfect ease, as if asking for a cup of tea. “The North Gale smells too much like gunpowder and crashed horribly into some rocks near Stormwatch. It’s time for an upgrade.”

“And what makes you think Richard will agree to something like that?”

Hans smiled. The kind of smile that suggested there was a whole chapter’s worth of story behind it.

“Oh, he owes me a favor. A big one. Believe me, he wouldn’t dare say no.”

Aldric frowned.
“What favor?”

Hans glanced at him sideways, with that look he always gave when he had no intention of confessing anything… yet still managed to leave the other person dying to know.

“Nothing you'd want to hear right before Christmas.”

Aldric looked at him for a moment, weighing whether to insist… but simply let out a sigh and changed the subject.

“Hey… did you hear what happened to the King and Queen of Arendelle?”

Hans tilted his head, a mocking smile already forming.
“The royals of Arendelle? What could possibly happen to them, locked away as they are? Did they trip and fall in their own hallways?”

“Hans,” Aldric interrupted, more seriously. “Their ship sank. No survivors were found.”

That was enough to wipe the smile from Hans’s face—though only for a second.

“Oh. How… tragic.”

“It is. Their daughter, Princess Elsa, is now the heir to the throne.”

Hans narrowed his eyes with sudden interest.
“So… she’ll rule. Has she been crowned yet?”

“Not yet. From what I’ve heard, she hasn’t reached the official age. A couple of years still. In the meantime, Arendelle’s council keeps things running.”

Hans nodded, though not solemnly.
“Well. A young princess. Orphaned. Future ruler of rich and mysterious lands… And single, I take it?”

“Don’t start,” said Aldric, already smiling.

“Who’s starting anything?” Hans replied, feigning innocence. “I’m merely… analyzing the political landscape.”

“She’s out of your reach,” Aldric replied. “No one knows anything about her. She’s been isolated from the world since childhood. Richard tried to help you—he sent a marriage proposal to the Arendelle royals in your name a few months ago.”

Hans stopped dead in his tracks, spinning around with a look of alarm.

“What???”

“Mhm.”

“And you’re just telling me this now ?”

Aldric raised an eyebrow, amused.

“I wrote it in at least two letters. But since you never read them, idiot…”

Hans put a hand to his forehead.

“For heaven’s sake, Aldric! You’re telling me I was a candidate to marry the future Queen of Arendelle and I find out by accident, walking down a hallway ?!”

Aldric opened his mouth to say something, but an unexpected reaction from his brother stopped him. Suddenly, Hans threw both arms toward the sky as if thanking every sea god for his sudden coronation.

“This can’t be happening! It can’t! Bless you, Richard! I love him! I love him madly!” he exclaimed, spinning in place. “When I see him, I’m going to kiss him. I don’t care if the Queen is present—he’s getting a kiss for this!”

Aldric crossed his arms, sighing.

“Hans…”

“What did the court say?” Hans asked, still grinning brightly. “Did they send an envoy? A letter? A portrait of Elsa? Come on, out with it!”

“Hans…” Aldric repeated, this time more serious. “They didn’t respond.”

Silence dropped like a stone.

“What do you mean, didn’t respond?”

“Exactly that. Nothing. No yes, no no. Not even a ‘thank you, we’ll consider it.’ Total silence. Richard tried again a few days ago, now that the King and Queen are gone. He thought the assembly might reconsider… but again, nothing.”

Hans’s expression froze. The enthusiasm died as quickly as it had flared.

“Cowardly councillors.” he muttered with disdain. “They don’t know what they’re missing.”

Aldric chuckled under his breath.

“Maybe they’re just trying to honor their royals’ wishes… they don’t want strangers near the princesses, Hans. Maybe it’s time to accept that that door isn’t going to open.”

“My dear Al,” Hans replied, lifting his chin slightly, “if there’s one thing I’ve kept after years of storms and gunpowder… it’s my charm. Believe me: if I ever set foot in Arendelle, Princess Elsa will know exactly who I am.”

His brother laughed out loud.

“I just hope she doesn’t find out the hard way.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, she’ll be enchanted. Speaking of which…”

As if fate itself wanted to hand him a stage, a group of young noblewomen in lavish gowns turned the corner. They were chatting in low voices until one of them looked up—and stopped dead.

The first widened her eyes in disbelief. The second let out a small gasp. The third simply dropped her gloves on the floor.

Hans, of course, needed no cue. He stopped with a flawless smile and bent down slightly to pick up the gloves, taking the hand of the nearest girl.

“Ladies,” he said, in that low, charming tone he reserved for causing absolute chaos, “what a joy to discover the palace still guards its most beautiful treasures.”

The young woman stammered a greeting, barely finding the strength to curtsey.

“Your Highness… it’s a pleasure to have you back.”

“The pleasure,” he replied, kissing the back of her hand with precision, “is entirely mine.”

“Will you be staying for the festivities, Your Highness?” another dared to ask, cheeks flushed.

Hans shook his head lightly.

“Sadly not. But I shall do everything in my power to ensure my time here… is not wasted.”

The three girls exchanged nervous glances and stifled giggles before scurrying off—each one turning back at least once to look at him again.

Aldric ran a hand down his face, shaking his head.

“See?” Hans said as he smoothed his uniform. “Pure charm.”

“You’re a danger to society.”

“A handsome one, I know,” he added, with only a hint of modesty.

But just as the young ladies disappeared beyond the arch of the hallway, a more discreet figure appeared behind them. Her dark hair was tied back with a simple ribbon, her brown skin in stark contrast to the pale girls ahead. She walked with restrained elegance, drawing no attention—yet commanding it all the same.

As she passed them, both brothers fell silent.

“Good morning, Prince Aldric,” she said softly, with a precise curtsey.

The prince beamed from ear to ear, returning the gesture with equal devotion, though his eyes never left hers.

“Good morning, Lina.”

She held the gaze just a fraction longer than etiquette allowed—then continued on her way.

Hans watched her go, frowning slightly.

“What the hell was that?”

“What was what?”

"Don’t play innocent," Hans said, crossing his arms. "You only stopped short of kneeling. Since when do maids get that kind of bow? Do you like her or something?"

Aldric shrugged, though a faint flush crept up his cheeks.
"And what if I did?"

Hans blinked.
"No. No, brother. That can’t be. I thought spending all that time with His Majesty had taught you more than how to draft reports. We’re princes. Not blacksmiths or merchants. Princes. There’s a line."

"That’s enough, Hans."

"I’m just saying… don’t mistake desire for honor. You can sleep with her if that’s what you want, but don’t tell me you’re thinking of something more… something serious. For heaven’s sake, Aldric!"

"And why not?" his brother replied, without raising his voice, but with a look Hans couldn’t quite place. "Not everyone’s obsessed with titles and wealth the way you all are."

Hans sighed, shaking his head.
"You’re a lost cause, brother. You need to stop reading those hopeless poets. You should come with me to Elysium for a while. There are women far more beautiful than that Lina girl, and you can’t imagine what they’re willing to do once they find out you’re a prince."

Aldric let out a stifled laugh, shook his head, and ruffled Hans’s hair in a brotherly gesture.
"I hate it when you talk like that. You sound like a sailor."

"I’ve lived among them," Hans said with pride. "I’ve picked up the best of them."

"Only the worst," Aldric muttered, already resigned.

Hans turned with a light sigh, smoothing his tousled hair.
"Anyway, I need to find our King before I leave. There are matters to attend to."

"He’s in a breakfast meeting with the lords from Starborne. Better not interrupt him."

But Hans was already walking down the corridor.
"Interrupt him? Come on, Aldric. He’s probably dying to see me."

After wandering through the palace for a while, the prince ascended the stone staircase leading to the west balcony, where the scent of toasted bread and honey still lingered in the morning air. Two royal guards posted at the entrance straightened at the sight of him.

"Easy, boys," Hans said with a half-smile. "No need for formal announcements. We’ll pretend I was invited."

The guards, visibly uneasy, stepped aside to let him through.

On the balcony, conversation came to an abrupt halt. Four lords were seated at a long table, steam still rising from their tea. At the head, the King held a document in one hand, his expression focused.

The first to react was Queen Alysanne. She stood with a radiant smile, though she did so with some effort, one hand resting gently on her rounded belly.

"Hans!" she exclaimed, stepping toward him.

"My Queen," he said with a dramatic bow, just before she wrapped him in a warm embrace. "You look absolutely radiant. Motherhood suits you better than any crown."

Richard stood as well, offering a calm smile. The weight of the crown already showed in the lines of his face.

"Hans… Welcome home."

"Richard! I’ve missed you so much, brother!" Hans exclaimed, stepping forward with arms wide open, as though he hadn’t ignored every single letter for months. "You can’t imagine how often I thought of you out there. The sea is cold, but nothing like the sweetness of home."

Richard gave a brief laugh as he embraced him.
"Your visit honors us."

Then he turned back to the lords.

"If you don’t mind, gentlemen… would you give us a moment alone? My brother doesn’t visit Navigator’s Crown often, and I’d like to steal a few minutes."

The lords exchanged uneasy glances but retreated with polite bows.

Alysanne, with an intuitive gaze, kissed her husband’s cheek.
"I’ll leave you alone. I’m sure you have much to talk about."

Hans winked at her as she walked away. The moment the balcony door closed, Richard poured two cups of tea.

"I’ve been sending you letters."

Hans sat down with a melodramatic sigh.
"I know. And it’s not that I don’t want to write back, truly. It’s just that I’ve been… up to my neck in obligations. But believe me, I think about you and the family constantly."

"Of course," Richard replied, without much emphasis.

"In any case, it’s good to see you," Hans continued with a warm smile. "And I’ve heard what you’re doing. All this effort for the kingdom… truly admirable. Aldric told me you’ve been strengthening the council."

Richard nodded slowly, placing a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder.
"Yes. In fact… I’ve been thinking. I want you to come home, brother. I want us all to be united… as a family. I’m prepared to offer you a formal role on the council. Minister of Naval Defense. A royal position. Stable. Worthy of your experience."

Hans pretended to be touched for a moment.
"My king… that would be an honor. And I truly appreciate the offer. But I can’t. You know the sea is my place, I have no role to play in this court. Besides, you know that saying of family and business."

The monarch nodded, a little disappointed.
"I understand."

"However," Hans said more seriously, "there is something I needed to ask. A small favor. But important. I need you to double my monthly allowance. Just for this month."

"Hans…"

"It’s not vanity. I need to purchase a new vessel. One lighter and faster, to patrol the coasts. It’s for the safety of the isles. Believe me—I’m not asking for myself."

Richard set his cup gently on the saucer.
"I can’t."

Hans’s brow furrowed slightly.
"What do you mean, you can’t?"

"Winter funds are under strict supervision. I’m working with the ministers to make everything last until spring. I can’t authorize an expense like that."

"Richard, please…"

"I truly am sorry," said the king, with a firm but not hostile tone. "You’ll have to make do with the North Gale a while longer."

Hans leaned back in his chair, looking up at the sky as if trying not to lose his composure.
"I understand. Truly. And you’re right," he said calmly, almost too calmly. "You’re the king. You have to care for the kingdom. For everyone. And for your family..."

The mention was no more than a whisper—a drop of poison sinking without a ripple.

"Although, when you really think about it… which would cost less, brother? A new ship for me or…"

Richard lowered his gaze, his face suddenly paler.

"There’s no need to go there."

Hans smiled.
"I completely agree. So… will you double my allowance?"

Richard nodded slowly.
"I’ll see what I can do."

"That’s all I wanted to hear."

Hans stood, patting his back with mock affection.
"Thank you, Your Majesty. You’ve saved the isles once again."

The memory faded like a candle extinguished by the wind, leaving a hollow in his chest. Hans blinked. The murmur of the sea pulled him back to the present.
The ship had just docked at  port, and before the sailors had even finished securing the lines, the Queen of the North was already disembarking—almost in a hurry.

Hans watched her go with a pace unbefitting a monarch, and couldn’t help but arch a brow.

Elsa descended the steps as if fleeing a nightmare, and when her boots finally met solid ground, she released a sigh so long and dramatic that even one of the guards turned discreetly to look.

After a few seconds, she finally raised her gaze.
Navigator’s Crown lay before her.

The city stretched with the solemnity of an ancient kingdom—older than Arendelle, without a doubt—and one could feel it in every line of its rooftops, in the carved stone pediments, in the rusted shields that still hung from a few balconies. The houses were tall and narrow, with facades that had watched the tides for centuries. There was a constant hum of motion: merchants unloading crates, soldiers marching, children darting through alleys with laughter. Life, despite everything.

She found it beautiful. And yet... strange. As if she could not fully comprehend how this vibrant city—with its bustling squares and streets full of commerce—could belong to the same nation where the royal family now prepared to bury one of its sons.

Perhaps the strangest part was the memory the city stirred within her without knowing it. A story her father used to tell with great affection—one that the King of the Southern Isles hadn’t hesitated to recall the day they met:
Decades ago, when her grandfather—King Runeard—came to this very port, seeking aid from Queen Alexandra.
It was she who gave him ships and maps to explore the north.
It was from here that the expedition set sail which would eventually found what is now Arendelle.

And now, Elsa thought—without knowing why that detail returned to her—it was his granddaughter who had come back.
Not as an explorer.
But as herself.
A queen.
A friend offering her support to an old friend.

That was when the sound of hooves echoed across the cobblestones, and a sky-blue and gold carriage stopped before them. A guard stepped forward and announced clearly:

“Her Majesty, Queen Alysanne of the Southern Isles.”

The carriage door opened without waiting for protocol.
Alysanne stepped down swiftly, her dress billowing around her like a banner. She did not wait to be presented. She asked for no permission. She didn’t even look at Elsa.
She went straight to her brother-in-law.

“Hans,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around him before he could speak a word.

Throughout the journey, he had held back his exhaustion and a deep ache.
But in that instant, in that silent, certain embrace, he allowed himself to crack just slightly.
No one had held him with such tenderness in a long time.
Still, he didn’t cry. But his body trembled, as if something inside had finally given way.

“I’m so sorry for all of this,” she whispered, as he held her tightly, as if seeking refuge in her arms.

When they finally parted, she looked up at Elsa.

“Queen Elsa,” she said, with cordial and serene poise.
“It is an honor to welcome you.”

“Your Majesty,” Elsa replied with equal grace, bowing her head.

“Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for accompanying the prince to our isles. I hope the voyage wasn’t too harsh. My husband... sadly, did not feel fit to come, but I trust you will see him very soon.”

Before more could be said, a Southern guard approached with a tense expression.

“My queen, the weather is turning. We should return as soon as possible.”

Alysanne nodded with a soft sigh and turned to Elsa.

“Come, Your Majesty, you’ll be more comfortable at the palace.”

Elsa nodded and stepped into the carriage with help, still maintaining that air of regality that neither nausea nor travel had quite broken.

Hans lingered for a moment before following them, casting one last glance at the sea.
As if hoping to find an excuse to delay the inevitable.
But there were no excuses.
Only gulls, docks, and the murmur of a city that kept on living.

The port welcomed him with indifference. The city, with nonchalance. But the palace… the palace to which he returned was no longer the same.

The brother who once waited for him at the stairs was gone.
So was the other, who had offered him a fragile truce.
Gone, too, were the arms of his mother, and the warm laughter that had once filled the halls.

He was afraid to arrive.
Because there is no return more silent than the one where no one waits for you.

Hans climbed into the carriage in silence.
And the door closed behind him with the same sad sound as the turning of a page.

The castle of Navigator’s Crown had been, from the very first moment, a surprise to Elsa. Upon crossing its gates, it wasn’t the grandeur that struck her, but its history. The tall stone-carved corridors, the galleries open to the sea, the iron-forged hanging lamps… everything spoke of centuries past and a lineage forged in storms.

And yet, what surprised her most was how different everything felt. There were no tapestries with lilies, nor polished glass windows. The sea could be seen from almost every hallway, as though the castle refused to forget it had been born from sailing.

Elsa observed it all in silence, offering no judgment—though her soul was more restless than she wished to admit.

Now, standing before the cathedral, she waited alone. Kay had gone inside a few minutes earlier to confirm the seating arrangements. Only Gleb and Dimitri remained at her side, firm and alert like two sentinels of iron. She, in contrast, was lost in thought.

The cathedral’s façade was severe, crowned by slender towers that seemed to hurl prayers into the sky. On the steps, lords and ladies from other courts exchanged surprised glances upon seeing that the Queen of Arendelle—yes, her—was there.

Elsa knew what they were thinking. What is she doing here, after everything that happened with Hans?
But she neither needed nor could justify her presence. She was there to offer condolences to the royal family. Nothing more.

So deep in thought was she that she didn’t see a man crossing in front of her.

It was a slight movement, barely a brush against her cloak, but Dimitri had already stepped forward.

“Careful!” he exclaimed sharply, shifting to block the path.

“It’s fine,” Elsa said, raising a calm hand to stop him. “Nothing happened.”

The man stepped back, confused. He was short and thin, with a pale face and a gaze that seemed distant. He gave a quick bow.

“My apologies.”

And then, raising his head, he looked at her with eyes that didn’t quite seem anchored in the present.

“Queen Elsa of Arendelle, is that correct?”

She nodded, slightly puzzled.

“Yes… How did you…?”

But he was no longer listening. With a gesture born of sheer boldness, he took her hand.
And what he said next froze her in place.

“Snow that sings. And water that remembers.”

Elsa narrowed her eyes, confused.

“I’m sorry?”

“A forest asleep.”

She tried to pull her hand away, but he held it with unsettling firmness. 

“The fear you carry… it will not break you. Arendelle is just a shore. You will be the bridge.”

There was no violence in his words, no menace. And yet Elsa felt exposed—uncomfortable in a way that even silence couldn’t explain.

That was when a familiar voice broke the moment.

“Queen Elsa,” said the king, approaching with steady steps, his tone balanced between courtesy and protection.

Elsa lifted her gaze toward him, releasing a sigh she couldn’t quite contain. Richard noticed the tension in her posture, the restrained discomfort on her face.

“I see you’ve already met my brother,” he said with a faint smile. “Prince Andrew.”

“Your brother?”

Andrew did not seem to hear them. His attention had drifted entirely to a hanging lamp that swayed faintly in the breeze. He watched it as though waiting for it to speak.

“Don’t worry if you don’t understand what he says,” Richard added in a lower voice, attempting to soften the strangeness of the moment. “No one does. Our brother is better received in Starborne, where his students… at least believe they understand him.”

Elsa tilted her head slightly. The king had approached with courtesy, but sorrow remained etched on his face. He wore a formal black ceremonial uniform, severe and adorned with silver accents. Upon his head rested a crown that seemed carved by the sea itself: a ring of silver shaped by waves and wind.

“Believe it or not,” Richard continued, crossing his arms with restrained resignation, “Andrew is one of the Westergaards who causes the least trouble. He has a noble soul.”

At that moment, Andrew, still staring at the lamp, calmly said:

“Thank you, Richard. You have a noble soul too.”

The king remained still, blinking slowly. A brief silence followed. Then he cleared his throat gently and turned to his men.

"Guards, escort my brother inside. The ceremony is about to begin."

The soldiers nodded, but Richard wasn’t finished. He leaned slightly toward Andrew and, with tender patience, murmured:

"Andrew, why don’t you go see if the stained-glass windows have any new stories to tell you?"

His brother nodded.
"Yes, of course."

Andrew turned toward Elsa and offered a deep bow.
"May the tides not sweep you away before your time, Your Majesty."

And without another word, he walked off.

Richard watched him for a moment, sighed, and then looked at the blonde woman with a trace of embarrassment.

"My brother… as you can see, doesn’t often attend public events or speak with courtiers. I apologize for his behavior."

Elsa offered a faint laugh, still slightly tense.
"It’s all right, don’t worry."

Then her expression shifted to something softer and more solemn.

"I’m truly sorry for your loss, Your Majesty. I can only imagine the grief you're enduring."

Richard lowered his gaze for a moment. When he looked up, his expression was composed, but not empty.

"Thank you. I sincerely appreciate it. It is a pity, truly, that you came to know our Isles under such skies. But I am honored by your presence. And even more so that you accompanied my brother. I imagine it must have been just as difficult for you."

Elsa gave a small shrug. Her reply came with calm, though not with coldness.

"I couldn’t remain apart at a time like this."

Richard seemed to study her more closely than protocol required, but he said nothing. Elsa, after a second, looked away.

"Would you like me to escort you?" he asked, regaining his formal tone. "They must be waiting inside."

He offered his arm with courtly grace.

She hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then, with elegance, she rested her hand on his forearm.

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

They walked together toward the cathedral entrance, and did not look at one another again.
But the air between them carried more than just solemnity.

Inside, the atmosphere was heavier—laden with incense and muffled murmurs. In the distance, beyond the stained glass, the sea roared its constant litany, indifferent to the sorrow mourned within.
The candlelight flickered against the columns, reflecting the solemn faces of the attendants.

Elsa remained near the back of the sanctuary, beside her advisor and guards.
She barely paid attention to the monarchs of other nations or the kingdom’s ministers seated in the front rows.

Her eyes never left Hans.

He stood at the front, beside his brothers.
All of them attempted to maintain noble composure.
He, however, kept his gaze lowered—almost as if refusing to face what lay ahead.

The King spoke gravely, his voice steeped in solemnity and grief.
Beside him, the Queen listened in silence, her hands folded gently before her.

“Today we bid farewell to a son of the Southern Isles. A prince of noble blood… but of an even nobler spirit. His name was Aldric Westergaard. Twelfth son of a king, brother, counselor, and friend.”

He paused for a moment and lowered his gaze. His voice grew softer, almost intimate:

“As representatives of the Crown, from childhood we were taught to be heirs, soldiers, pieces in a greater game. But Aldric refused to be only that. In a family shaped by duty, he chose kindness. In a land that honors strength, he taught us the value of compassion…”

The speech went on, evoking memories of childhood, of battles won, of a life lived with purpose. One by one, the prince’s brothers had stepped up to the pulpit to share words in his memory. Near the end, Richard lifted his head and announced:

“But before I deliver the final farewell, it’s my duty to yield the floor to Prince Hans, our younger brother.”

A whisper rippled through the cathedral. Elsa saw Hans stiffen.

“Hans and Aldric shared more than royal blood,” the king continued. “They were childhood companions, grew up in the same room, received the same education, cared for each other in sickness. If anyone should speak the last words in his honor, it is he.”

Silence fell completely.

The anticipation was palpable—but for the wrong reason. Elsa felt the discomfort in the air. Murmurs soon rose again, and it wasn’t hard to guess why.

Hans, the banished prince. The traitor of Arendelle.

They looked at him in disbelief, some with open disapproval. As if he had no right to be there. As if his grief were less legitimate than everyone else’s.

Hans tried to raise his eyes to the audience but immediately dropped them again. He struggled to steady his breathing. He also refused to look back where he could feel the coffin carrying his brother’s body. At first, his voice was barely a whisper.

“My brother…” He stopped. Swallowed hard. “Wasn't an easy man to understand.”

A few faint smiles flickered among the crowd. Hans drew a steadier breath and continued:

“Not all siblings are fortunate enough to get along. I myself… was never close to most of mine.”

Some faces shifted uncomfortably.

“But Aldric was different.”

Elsa listened intently.

“When we were children, we shared a room. He used to read aloud at night, though I pretended to be asleep. I never told him, but I loved listening.”

A brief pause.

“When I fell from a horse at nine and no one thought it serious, Aldric did. He took me to the castle healer and stayed with me until they assured me it wasn’t grave.”

Hans let out a quiet laugh.

“Of course, afterward he called me an idiot for falling off in the first place. But somehow, that made it all the more genuine.”

Elsa felt a light pressure in her chest.

Hans spoke with unguarded sincerity. Genuine affection.

But not everyone listened with the same sensitivity.

Behind her, a man whispered to his wife with a look of contempt:

“Look at him. Pretending to be sad… He’s probably relieved inside. One less obstacle to the succession.”

Elsa froze. The paper she held in her hands stopped mid-motion.

Kay noticed at once and wrapped his hand around hers to take the parchment away.

“Your Majesty…” he murmured cautiously.

But Elsa barely heard him. Indignation swept over her with surprising speed. How dare that man? How could they judge another’s grief?

Especially when, at that moment, Hans clung to the edge of the pulpit as if reality were crushing him.

“I know I did things that kept me away from him for so long,” Hans lowered his gaze. “That I wasn’t a good man… nor a good brother. I regret so much not being there in his final moments. I hope wherever he is, he hears me and knows I will miss him.”

The rest of the sentence caught in his throat.

He could no longer continue.

The King stepped forward and, without a word, embraced him. It was a firm gesture, an acknowledgment of the loss they shared. At first, Hans barely returned the embrace, unsure how to react. They had had so many rifts that still hurt. But when his elder brother gave a warm pat on the back—unexpectedly gentle—Hans tilted his head slightly, feeling for the first time in years that they were not strangers.

The guards prepared to close the coffin, the speeches concluded. But Hans turned abruptly, pulling away from Richard.

“No!” he exclaimed, voice breaking and sudden. “Stop! Don’t do that. Not yet.”

Until that moment, he had barely allowed himself to look at it directly.

There lay Aldric, dressed in his formal uniform—one he rarely wore—and a silver crown that looked lighter than it should. His expression, in the tranquil stillness of death, was so serene that for a moment, Hans believed he could wake. And that thought was his undoing.

He leaned in, and with trembling hands, brushed his brother’s motionless face. A tear slid slowly down his cheek, warm and stubborn.

He wished he could tell him so many things. That it was alright now, that he should rise. That if he was punishing him for not answering his letters, he’d succeeded. He had him there, crying like a fool in front of everyone. He wanted to thank him for teaching him to shave without slicing his face like a novice, for teaching him to ride a horse without falling every other step, for being the only one who never left him behind, not even when the rest would have gladly done so.

He wanted to tell him that he loved him—and that he hated him a little, too. That he admired him despite everything. That, as ridiculous as it sounded, he had changed him. Truly. And that if he was crying like a baby, it was because that man had been the only decent compass he’d ever had in life.

But none of that turned into words. Everything got caught between his chest and his throat.
The audience was completely on edge. Richard stepped forward again, placing a hand on his shoulder. When he spoke Hans’s name, it was barely a whisper, fractured and wet. Hans did not answer. He only nodded, as if that gesture cost him half his soul.
And then, among all that went unsaid, he found the one thing he could say. The one thing Aldric might have needed to hear.

 “I’m here, brother.”

 Nothing more.

Then he straightened slowly, took a step back, and walked away—feeling, with devastating certainty, that a part of himself would stay there forever.

The ceremony continued. The coffin was blessed, and the cortege began to leave the cathedral in protocol order: first the king and queen, then the princes, each accompanied by their wives, their children, and attendants who clasped their arms and whispered words of comfort.

 Hans remained behind, alone.

 Elsa saw him pause for an instant.

The cathedral was immense, but the central aisle seemed even longer as he began to walk it. Everyone’s eyes were on him, as though they were watching an unexpected spectacle—an echo of past mistakes daring to follow his brother’s coffin.

The air felt scarce.

Each step felt heavy; the sound of the sacred music came to him distorted, as if from a faraway place. The echo of his own footsteps enveloped him, and his chest tightened in an oppression that almost stopped him from moving forward. Murmurs slipped between the pews. He knew what they were saying. He knew what they thought.

Elsa saw him hesitate, take a few steps back. His shoulders trembled imperceptibly. She saw him clutch at the buttons of his uniform as if he wanted to tear them off just to breathe. It was then that she understood.

It wasn’t a conscious decision, but an irresistible impulse. Elsa moved forward before she could think twice, ignoring the glances turning her way. Her steps sounded softly against the marble. Hans didn’t see her until her hand slid into his.

 A shiver ran up his arm.
 

He turned his face to her in surprise, as if he couldn’t comprehend what was happening. Elsa held his gaze, and in that moment he saw something he hadn’t expected: no judgment, no empty pity—only a firm, warm presence.

 “Breathe, Hans. Breathe.”

She inhaled beside him, and they exhaled together a couple of times. The pressure on his chest began to ease.

The murmur of the attendees grew louder. Elsa paid them no mind. Her hand remained firmly intertwined with Hans’s as they walked together, following the coffin to the cathedral’s exit.

Outside, the coastal air brought a salty freshness that could not lighten the sadness of the moment. Hans walked beside Elsa, now more serene, his breathing even, his gaze fixed ahead.
It was then, upon reaching the outer steps, that he saw her.

 Among the gathered crowd—commoners, servants, curious onlookers—a trembling figure caught his eye. Lina, standing to one side, barely visible among the others, cried with her face buried in her hands. She wore no mourning dress, no rank ribbons; her gaze was fixed on the ground, as though she feared being seen. They had not allowed her inside. Only royalty could attend the ceremony.

Hans stopped. Elsa halted too, confused, but she did not ask. The prince looked at her for a moment, as if seeking permission in her silence. Then, without a word, he slipped away. He crossed the threshold marking the space between the people and the royals, and approached Lina with a slowness that jarred against everything he was. She saw him coming and straightened abruptly, as if she had made a mistake. She began to apologize, even to turn away, when Hans extended his hand.

He said nothing. He only offered her his hand, open and waiting.

The girl looked at him in bewilderment, her eyes red and wet. She had never received from him anything but indifference or cold remarks. But now… now it seemed they both understood something without saying it: neither of them deserved to be alone that afternoon.

She nodded, trembling slightly, and placed her hand in his. And together, they walked toward the cemetery.

Elsa watched them walk away, unmoving. She didn’t know why she had done it, but she didn’t judge. It wasn’t a time for judgments. It was a time for gestures. And that one had been undeniably beautiful.

Night had fully fallen over the Southern Isles, and the banquet hall glowed with warm light that contrasted with the day’s chill. The music was soft, restrained. No one laughed too loudly. No one toasted enthusiastically.

 Ministers spoke in hushed tones, international delegates maintained their composure, and servants moved with nearly inaudible steps. At the center of the main table sat the King, present, yet absent. His cup remained full, his hands motionless, his gaze lost somewhere beyond the plates. Beside him, Queen Alysanne watched him with sorrow and patience.

Elsa, for her part, had been seated among diplomats from various houses, which did not surprise her. What did surprise her was the man seated to her right: a nobleman, evidently, though more like a war survivor. He was covered in bandages, with one arm in a sling and a casted leg resting on an embroidered cushion. Yet his smile was lively… perhaps too lively.

“Queen Elsa!” he exclaimed, with an enthusiasm out of keeping with the event’s mourning. “What a joy… well, not joy exactly, given the circumstances, but… a true pleasure to see you in person at last. The mysterious Queen of Arendelle… years I’ve heard of you, always locked away in your castle. I doubt any painter could capture your beauty.”

Elsa turned with contained grace.

 “Thank you, sir…?”

 “Thomas. Prince Thomas of the Southern Isles,” he said, puffing out his chest slightly as though the title played its own fanfare. “Don’t be alarmed by my condition. I suffered a fall during a risky mission. Of course, I managed to save everyone. The people are what matter.”

“Oh… I’m so sorry about that.” Elsa forced a smile.

“But the good news is I’m here, in one piece.” he added, winking at her. “And ready to accompany the most fascinating queen on the continent through this long night.”

Elsa glanced at Kay to her left, hoping he might diplomatically rescue her. But her most loyal advisor was engrossed in his sweet potato soup.

“I’m very sorry for what my brother Hans did to your family, Your Majesty.” he continued. “I know the Westergaard name brings you painful memories. But I assure you that with the right brother… you could change your mind.”

 Elsa looked away and rolled her eyes.
“Actually, I’ve been told I have a warm heart. It might balance out your… gift nicely.”

 “Balance my gift?”

 “Exactly. Fire and ice. North and South. Arendelle and… me.”

 His shameless smirk showed no embarrassment, and when he tried to scoot closer, he dragged his tray, the cutlery… even part of the tablecloth.

 Elsa held her breath.

 It was then that Gleb appeared, like a shadow trained for chaos.
Without a word, he dragged the prince’s chair at least a foot to the right with one arm, as though the weight of that man were but a feather to him.

Thomas jerked upright.
“Sir! We were having a conversation!”

“One more word, Your Highness … and I will be forced to drag you even further,” the honor guard spat, taking a stand between him and his queen like a wall of flesh and uniform.

Elsa fought back a smile, and when Gleb settled, she whispered softly:

“Thank you."

“I’m simply doing my duty, Your Majesty.” he replied, not looking at the prince.

And at last, the blonde was able to sip her wine in peace.

She lifted her gaze and let it wander across the hall. Several of the princes—whom she vaguely recognized from their speeches in the cathedral—were casting glances at the injured prince and stifling their laughter as best they could. One even mimicked his exaggerated pose, leg outstretched.

Elsa did not laugh. But her lips pressed into a barely perceptible, straighter line.

It was then, in the midst of that survey, that she noticed an absence.

She hadn’t thought of it before, but now that she considered it… she hadn’t seen Hans since the cemetery. Not even once since he walked away with that young woman.

She frowned slightly.

“Kay,” she whispered, leaning toward her counselor, who was finishing his third course with remarkable composure, “Prince Hans will come to dinner?”

Kay paused, took a delicate sip of water, and replied in a low voice, “I haven’t seen him, Your Majesty. But the castle is well guarded. If your concern is that… he might flee” his tone dropped even lower “I assure you, that’s impossible.”

“No… it’s not that. I was just… asking.”

Kay nodded, though he didn’t look convinced.

Elsa lowered her eyes to her glass. The thought lasted only a few seconds. Then, with a decision she hardly understood herself, she stood.

And, like a well-trained spring, her guard followed.

“Gleb, it’s not necessary,” she said quickly, turning to him with a smile. “I’m only going to the ladies’ room.”

The man didn’t move at once, and his expression remained unchanged.

“I’ll be fine,” she insisted, her tone softer.

“As you wish, Your Majesty.”

Elsa nodded politely and walked away from the table. She didn’t know where she was headed, but she did know her destination.

She didn’t know the palace well, nor had she ever intended to memorize it. All she knew was that she couldn’t remain seated while Hans’s absence weighed heavier on her than his presence ever had.

A few maids, visibly uneasy to see her outside the banquet hall, simply gestured politely in the direction they had last seen him:

“Your Grace,” one of them whispered, “Prince Hans withdrew to his brother’s chambers. He passed the study and went through the second door on the left.”

Her companion nodded, sympathy clear in her eyes.

Elsa thanked them with a slight nod and continued on her way.

When she arrived, the door was ajar. Inside, the light was soft, cast by an old lamp that flickered gently in the sea breeze. The room was modest: books still lined the shelves, a cloak lay folded with meticulous care over a chair, and the bed… was perfectly made, as though the prince might return at any moment.

But it was Hans who was there. Sitting on the floor, back against the bed, elbows resting on his knees, his face buried in his hands. His body trembled in silence, as if his grief had long since run out of strength to be heard. He didn’t notice he was no longer alone.

Elsa remained at the threshold, paralyzed by a mixture of modesty and compassion. She had already crossed a line in the cathedral. Now she was about to cross another. And yet, staying back felt crueler than moving forward.

She approached with slow, nearly soundless steps. When she neared, Hans looked up abruptly. His eyes were red, and his expression—more than sorrow—was devastation.

“Your Majesty,” he said, trying to compose himself. “What are you doing here?”

Elsa met his gaze with quiet sorrow.

“I didn’t see you at dinner,” she replied gently. “You haven’t eaten in days…”

Hans lowered his eyes, saying nothing.

“I was wondering if you were alright,” she added.

He took a moment to answer.

“I’m fine. I’m not hungry,” he murmured at last. “I just… need to be alone, that’s all.”

Elsa nodded slowly. She wouldn’t argue. She understood that need better than most. But she didn’t move.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked quietly. “If you’d like me to bring you something—anything…”

Hans didn’t answer. He simply turned back toward the bed and let the edge of the cloak fall through his fingers. He placed one hand on the mattress, as if standing took too much effort. And then, without warning, his body trembled again. A tear slid down his cheek. Then another.

Elsa held her breath.

She moved closer with quiet care, and when she reached him, she placed a hand on his arm. The touch was gentle, cautious—almost afraid. As though she feared she might break him.

“If you want to talk… I can listen.”

Hans took a deep breath. Once. Twice. The trembling in his shoulders didn’t stop.

“I ruined everything,” he whispered.

Elsa frowned in concern.

“What do you mean?”

“I was a terrible brother.”

“Hans…” she began, not entirely sure what to say, “The things you said at the ceremony, what your brother Richard said… I understand that siblings have their differences, but Aldric knew you. I’m sure he knew you loved him.”

He let out a short, hollow laugh.

“You don’t understand,” he said, voice rough, low, but certain. “You don’t know what happened that day.”

Elsa’s brow tightened.

“What are you talking about?”

There was a pause. The silence grew heavier. Hans swallowed hard, as if confessing a crime.

“The last thing I said to Aldric…”

The cell was neither damp nor dark, as tragic poets so often liked to describe them, but its chill did not lie in the stone — it lived in the silence. A thick, oppressive silence, broken only by the intermittent drip of a distant gutter and the lazy shuffle of a guard’s boots.

Hans sat on the narrow cot, hands clasped over one knee, brow furrowed, jaw clenched. His hair, longer than usual, fell messily across his forehead, and though he had lost some of his former princely composure, the fire of his pride still burned with stubborn defiance in his green eyes.

When he heard the echo of two sets of footsteps descending the stone staircase, he didn’t bother to rise. He didn’t need to see them to know who they were.

The door opened without ceremony. Richard entered first, followed by Aldric, whose expression was darker than usual. Hans didn’t move.

“What an honor,” he said with a crooked smile. “The king and his shadow. Have you come to witness how failure lives?”

“Queen Elsa has agreed to your return to Arendelle,” Richard announced, not allowing him the chance for more provocations. “Under certain conditions. You will work under supervision — not as a prince, but as a servant of the Crown. It’s your only chance at redemption, if you still care to salvage what little remains of your name.”

Hans let out a short, dry laugh.

“Wow. I shouldn’t have doubted your abilities. And how did you convince her? Did you seduce her? Don’t tell me you stooped so low as to use that old courtly charm of yours on the woman your little brother betrayed.”

Aldric shifted uncomfortably, not quite understanding what he meant. Richard, however, said nothing. His jaw tightened. For a second — a mere flicker — something cracked in his expression.

And though what passed between him and Queen Elsa had indeed been political — restrained, respectful — he couldn’t deny that his thoughts had, for the briefest moment, wandered into a more personal admiration. It had been just a moment. But it was enough.

Hans, ever the bloodhound for weaknesses, sensed the crack. And struck.

“Oh, but of course. The great King Richard, chosen by the tides, chosen by the people, defender of honor, preacher of redemption… What would Alysanne say if she knew you were making eyes at the Queen of Arendelle during your audience? I knew the moment you saw her, you wouldn’t be able to help yourself.”

Richard narrowed his eyes, patience thinning.

“Stop it. Nothing of the sort happened. We only spoke of you, Hans. Of your situation and what a second chance could mean for everyone.”

“A second chance… what a splendid phrase. And what exactly am I to be grateful for? That I’m allowed to return to the place where I’m hated, mocked, and watched like a dog? What kind of redemption is that?”

“It’s more than most would ever get,” Aldric interjected, struggling to keep calm. “Do you know what Richard had to do to make it happen? He knelt before the Queen. He begged. He placed the pride of our kingdom in her hands — all for you.”

Hans lifted his head then, a slow, twisted grin forming on his lips.

“Oh, I’ve no doubt he knelt. I can picture it perfectly… though I’m not sure whether it was out of compassion or sheer habit.”

The effect was immediate.

Richard froze for a fraction of a second, as though the air had seized in his lungs. But in his grey-green eyes, a searing flame ignited. He didn’t reply with words. There was no warning, no shift in posture — he simply moved.

In an instant, the King of the Southern Isles ceased to be a king. He was just a man, blinded by rage, ready to break his brother’s jaw.

“Your Majesty!” the guards shouted, stepping in with trained reflexes.

Two of them blocked his path, grabbing him firmly by the arms just as he reached Hans. Even then, Richard struggled against their grip like a beast caught in a trap. His face burned with fury, and his voice tore from his throat in a broken roar:

“Don’t you dare say another word!”

Hans stepped back just slightly—not out of fear, but from the pure delight of seeing his brother exposed before his own men. One eyebrow raised, his lips curled into a smile that knew no mercy.

“What’s the matter, Richard?” he said loudly, making sure all could hear. “Don’t want your soldiers to know you’re cheating on the queen you swore loyalty to?”

“Shut up!” Richard bellowed, struggling harder. “Damn you, Hans! You swore you’d never say anything!”

“Oh, brother,” Hans replied with mock sympathy, “I guess you’re not the only one in this family without honor after all.”

Then, with a half-smile, he added:

“Though really… it would be such a shame if no one heard the best part.” He turned slightly toward the guards present. “Our good king didn’t just break his vows. He did it… with one of his wife’s own ladies-in-waiting.”

The blow landed so precisely that the air seemed to vanish from the room.

Richard no longer spoke, he roared. He thrashed wildly in the arms of the soldiers restraining him.

Richard no longer spoke—he roared. He thrashed wildly in the arms of the soldiers restraining him.

“Let me go! I command you!” he shouted, his eyes bloodshot with rage.

“Your Majesty, please! Calm yourself!” one of the guards begged, struggling to hold him back.

Aldric stepped between them at once. He raised his arms, his deep voice striving to restore a sense of order that had already crumbled.

“Enough, both of you! For the gods’ sake, enough!”

Richard yanked against the grip of the guards, and for a moment it seemed he would lunge at Hans again. But he didn’t. 

All eyes had turned to him.

The guards stood still, uncertain. The weight of their glances was not cruel, but it stung nonetheless, cautious, waiting, and filled with quiet disillusionment.

But it was Aldric’s gaze that cut the deepest. Not sharp, not furious, just steady, and unmistakably laced with sorrow. With disappointment.

And Richard… couldn’t bear it.

It pierced through him more surely than any sword. The shame curled into his gut like smoke, filling every breath, every corner of his chest. He had wanted to protect this kingdom, uphold it, rebuild it with his own hands, and now it trembled beneath the weight of his own failure.

And then, almost voiceless, throat burning, he said:

“I love her.”

It was a whisper. Not a declaration, not a defense. A confession. As though saying it aloud might somehow stop everything from shattering.

“Alysanne…” he continued, eyes fixed on the floor. “She doesn’t deserve this. I know I shouldn’t have done it… I never wanted to see her hurt. Not because of me.”

He pressed a hand to his chest, as if something inside him tore open in that moment.

“Why…? Why did you have to say it?”

Hans frowned, but Richard didn’t give him the chance to speak.

“Why in front of everyone?” he pressed, his voice laced with desperation and pain.

He brought his hands to his face for a moment, as if to shield himself from the inevitable.

“Do you really want to destroy everything?”

He looked at Hans, his eyes gleaming with more than just anger.

The prince took a step forward, and each word he was about to say tore at his throat and heart. But they were words he had been holding back for years:

“You had everything, Richard. Everything. You had Father’s love, Mother’s tenderness. You had everyone’s respect. The kingdom. The glory. The damn crown of our great-grandfather. The perfect wife. You had all of it… and still, you felt entitled to step on me. To mock me. To correct me with that superior smile and a firm hand, like I was worth less than a dog.

The hall remained in absolute silence.

“And now you come to speak to me of redemption. You. After destroying what you had with your own hands. You come to me as if I were the only one who failed. But at least now they all know who you truly are.”

Richard stood still. For a moment, the only sound was the faint creak of his own breathing.

Then, as if a final truth had unveiled itself within him, he lifted his eyes to his brother and murmured—low, almost incredulous:

“Ah… So that’s it. That’s what you want.”

In one swift motion, he turned to one of his guards and, without force or threat, took the sword hanging at his side. The guard didn’t dare stop him. No one did.

Richard turned back to Hans. And without dramatics, without rage, he let the sword fall at his brother’s feet.

The metallic clang as it struck the floor echoed like cold thunder.

“Then do it. If this is what you always wanted… if you care nothing for my defeat, my remorse, or my love, only for my place…then take it.”

He stepped closer, his face hollowed by a mix of smothered fury and irreparable sorrow.

“Take my crown. My kingdom. The glory you so despise in me. Kill me! like you nearly did to those poor girls.”

Silence fell at once. Not a guard moved. Not a breath dared interrupt that moment.

“I won’t defend myself,” Richard went on, his chest lifted and his eyes wet, but steady. “I’m right here.”

His gaze wasn’t pleading for redemption. Only truth.

“I know I failed you. All of you. I wasn’t the brother you deserved. But I’ve tried to change, Hans. I’ve tried to mend what I broke. What our father built… And despite it all”—he paused, just a breath—“…I love you.”

He placed a hand over his heart, as if he could hold together what was beginning to fall apart.

“I love you as I love all my brothers. As I love my wife. As I love this kingdom… even if it’s getting harder to hold it up.”

Hans didn’t bend. He didn’t touch the sword. He didn’t say a word.

The hall remained in absolute silence. Not even the guards dared to move. No one breathed more than necessary.

At last, Aldric spoke. His voice did not shake, but it cracked through the heavy air like a clean strike.

“This is not why we came. We came to help you, Hans. Not because you deserve it, but because the harm you caused demands reparation. We’re not sending you back out of mercy—but because we have a duty not to let your mistakes devour what we can still save.”

“Saving?” Hans snapped. “He’s not saving anyone. He’s only saving himself—his treaties, his alliances, and his crown. And now you ask me to kneel before them the same way he knelt before her.”

“Hans, please!” Aldric shouted suddenly, his voice ringing through the cell like a bell. “Let go of your pride! This isn’t punishment—it’s a chance. What more do you need to see that someone still believes in you?”

Hans looked at him, and for a moment, something cracked in his expression. It wasn’t weakness—it was rage, barely restrained.

“And you?” he spat. “Now you’re just another servant of the king? I grew up believing you were different. That at least you understood. But look at you—defending the same man who let us be trampled for years. You know what? You both deserve whatever’s coming. Because if you think I’ll stay in Arendelle begging for forgiveness, then you’re blinder than I thought.”

“You’re going,” Richard said sharply.

“Oh, I’ll go,” Hans snapped. “But not because you order it. I’ll go because I’ll find a way to escape all of this. From you. From this rotten kingdom and its false redemption.”

Then he turned to Aldric, eyes blazing.

“And you… I hope you enjoy your loyalty to the throne. Because that was the last time I called you my brother.”

Aldric didn’t reply right away. He remained motionless, his gaze fixed on Hans, as if searching his face for some trace of the boy he had once defended, once whispered secrets with—whom he still, silently, called brother. But he found nothing but hostility. Pain, wearing the mask of fury.

At last, he spoke. His voice wasn’t loud, but it was steady, weighed with a sorrow that didn’t seek to move—it only meant to speak the truth.

“And what will you gain from this, Hans?” he asked softly, without harshness. “What do you gain by lashing out at those who once tried to help you? By tearing down, with words, those who—even with all their flaws—fought to give you a second chance?”

The younger prince looked away, visibly uncomfortable.

“I don’t expect you to understand it now. I don’t even expect you to be grateful. But maybe one day, you’ll remember that we weren’t here just out of duty to the crown… but because we care about you, Hans. Even when you don’t deserve it.”

He turned without waiting for an answer and left the cell.

Richard stepped back as well, disappointment etched into every line of his face.

“Get him ready,” he ordered the guards. “He leaves at dawn.”

And without another word, he exited the cell, leaving Hans alone, with the echo of his own words as his only company.

The door closed with a metallic creak. He didn’t move.

None of the three, in that moment, could have imagined that it would be the last conversation they ever shared.

Nothing left his lips. He couldn’t bring himself to repeat those words aloud. The memory had ended, but the weight it left behind… never would.

Hans remained staring into the void, his eyes bloodshot, his breathing uneven. Then, suddenly, he felt it…

The gentle brush of fingers against his arm.

Elsa was still there, sitting beside him in silence. Without judgment.

And for the first time, Hans became fully aware of that gesture.

He turned slightly, his eyes searching for her in confusion. Their gazes met. It lasted only a moment—nothing more.

And yet, an unexpected and unspoken warmth surged in his chest.

And it terrified him.

Without warning, he pulled away. The movement was sharp, abrupt, and the distance he created between them felt like a wall slamming into place.

“Are you insane?” he spat, his voice cutting and sharp—filled not with anger, but with fear disguised as fury.

Elsa raised her eyes, still not fully understanding.

“I tried to kill you. Don’t you remember? I nearly married your sister just to steal your kingdom. Why did you had take my hand? Why are you here?”

Elsa opened her lips to reply, but he didn’t give her the chance.

“I’m not insane, Hans. I just know what it feels like to lose someone… and not want to be alone.”

He laughed. A dry, hollow, cruel laugh.

Then he took a step toward her.

And another.

Until there was no space left between them.

“Ah…” he whispered. “Now I see.”

He looked at her with an intensity that chilled the air.

“This is your good deed, isn’t it? Let me tell you something: If you think that one day I’m going to look you in the eyes and say I regret what I did… If you expect profound apologies, redemption and tenderness… Let me spare you the wait.”

His tone dropped—low, cruel. She had to step back.

“If I could go back in time, I’d marry your sister. I’d marry her just to strangle her on the wedding night… and crown myself King of Arendelle.”

The air seemed to crack.

“And you,” he added, stepping closer, “I’d run through with my sword and watch as you beg for one last breath.”

The temperature dropped in an instant. White vapor escaped both their lips.

Elsa clenched her fists. Frost began to form along the walls, as though her power had been wounded—

as if the violence of his words had awakened something brutal.

Hans could feel it.

And without hesitation, he seized her frozen hand and pressed it against his chest, over his heart.

“Go on,” he whispered. “Finish it. Right here, right now.”

She couldn’t speak.

Her blue eyes stared at him, torn between devastating compassion and horror.

And then she understood.

He didn’t want to hurt her.

He wanted her to destroy him—

because he couldn’t do it himself.

And so, she pulled her hand away with quiet firmness.

“ No . I won’t do that.”

Hans blinked.

As if he hadn’t expected that answer.

As if, in his delirium, he had counted on the mercy of an end.

“I know what you’re trying to do.”

And it was as though those words broke something inside him.

The prince stepped back, his face twisted in horror—

as if he had just heard himself for the first time.

He turned away, unable to meet her gaze, and began to cry again, in silence, with tears he could no longer hold back.

“Just… hate me,” he whispered, his voice shattered. “Please. Do it. It’ll be easier if you hate me.”

Elsa didn’t answer. She remained standing just as before, unmoving, wordless.

He turned halfway toward her, his face red, his eyes burning, his voice even more broken.

“You’re too… good,” he said with effort. “And I wanted to hurt you. I… I never deserved your mercy, or your kindness, or even your presence. Not even for the Southern Isles. I don’t deserve the way you’re looking at me right now.”

And then, in a movement so clumsy it broke the heart,

he fell to his knees before her.

“Forgive me, Queen Elsa,” he said, eyes shut tight, as though saying the words was tearing him apart. “I’m truly sorry. For everything. For what I said. For what I did. For what I planned to do. To you, to your sister, to your kingdom. I was a coward. Ambitious. Petty. Blinded by something I didn’t even know how to name…And if I could change it”—his eyes remained shut as tears fell freely now—“I would…Without hesitation.”

Elsa looked down at him.

Her chest rose with effort.

A part of her healed in that moment, and her eyes welled with tears she couldn’t stop.

He wasn’t asking forgiveness from her alone.

He was asking it from every voice he had silenced. From his brother. From his past. From everything he could have been.

Elsa, slowly, reached out her hand. Her fingers slid gently through his red hair.

“Hans…” she said, her voice caught in her throat, “I’ve already forgiven you.”

He shook his head, still not looking up.

“You can’t. No one could.”

Elsa lowered herself to her knees until they were eye to eye.

Her dress rustled softly over the marble floor.

Her eyes were glassy, her face paler than usual.

“I can,” she whispered. “Because it’s what must be done.”

Hans looked up. Their eyes met.

“Why?” he murmured, almost in disbelief. “Why are you like this?”

But Elsa couldn’t explain it. Not in words.

She felt it in her chest, in her throat like something that clung to her own sorrow and refused to let go.

She was crying. And even through the tears, she looked at him.

“Why can’t you say this to my sister?” she asked. “She has suffered just as much as I have. She needs to hear this. “

Hans closed his eyes tightly. His voice trembled when he replied:

“I don’t know. Even if I wanted to, I can’t. It’s just that… when I’m with her… it’s not like when I’m with you.”

The silence that followed was brutal.

Almost sacred.

They remained on their knees, face to face. Exhausted and disarmed.

But one question still hung unspoken.

A need that lingered in the air, pulsing on their skin, holding their breath hostage.

Hans hesitated, his lips slightly parted, as if a word was trying to be born. But nothing came.

And then, without knowing how, without meaning to, he leaned in, just a little closer to the Queen…

and she didn’t move away.

Only a sigh separated them.

His eyes fell to her lips, and something inside him tighteneda mixture of vertigo and longing.

His mouth went dry. His fingers itched to touch her. Both had closed their eyes, aware of the nearness, of the tremor they shared. Their noses nearly touched. Their hearts beat wildly, rhythmically, driven by an emotion neither had invited, yet both recognized.

And still… they hovered.

Suspended between falling and holding back, between reason and recklessness.

But they could no longer pretend they didn’t know. They could no longer deny that just the thought of tasting that kiss was slowly pulling them toward it.

One more breath.

“Ooooh Hans… ” sang a soft, dreamy voice.

…and it would have happened.

The floor might as well have shifted. Both straightened with almost comical urgency Elsa fumbling with the folds of her gown, and Hans abruptly turning his face away.

Andrew stood at the threshold, hands clasped behind his back. His eyes, as pale as they were unreadable, regarded them with a serenity that was deeply unsettling.

“The King wants to see you, Hans.”

“The King?” Hans echoed, still dazed, as if reality hadn’t fully returned.

His older brother let out a strange little laugh.

“Our brother, you fool. He’s in his study. He says not to keep him waiting.”

Then he turned to Elsa.

“Your Majesty, your companions are terrifying people in the washrooms. You might want to go calm them down.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll go right away,” she replied, avoiding both their eyes.

Andrew turned slowly toward the door, but just before leaving, he murmured without looking back:

“It was a beautiful moment. Don’t worry. I won’t tell a soul. Only water will know. ”

And then he was gone.

Hans and Elsa remained silent.

He rubbed the back of his neck, visibly unsettled.

“If you’ll excuse me… Your Majesty,” he murmured without daring to meet her eyes, and left.

Elsa remained alone in the room, still feeling the warmth of a closeness that never happened.

Her heart was pounding.

Her pulse trembling.

Hans walked down the corridor as if fleeing from something, though each step only led him deeper into confusion. The night air drifted in through the open windows, brushing his face with a coolness that did nothing to extinguish the fire in his chest.

God.

He had almost kissed her.

Elsa.

If Andrew hadn’t appeared. If Richard hadn’t sent for him…

The question hit him squarely.

They had cried, they had forgiven, they had broken and rebuilt each other in a single instant. And in the midst of that emotional abyss… their faces had drawn near. Their lips had nearly touched.

What if they hadn’t stopped?

Hans exhaled harshly, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He felt like a damned man undone.

He finally reached the study. The guards stepped aside without announcing him.

Richard sat with his back to the door, reading no documents, studying no maps, just staring out the window. Outside, the waves moved calmly beneath the moonlight.

Hans, however, stormed across the room like a gust of wind.

“I hope you have a damn good reason for calling me,” he snapped without so much as a greeting. “Because you have no idea what you just interrupted.”

Richard turned his head slightly, confused.

“ What ?”

“Why did you summon me?!” Hans demanded, exasperated.

The elder King slowly furrowed his brow.

“Hans… I didn’t summon you.”

Hans stared at him, jaw slack.

“You didn’t…?”

And then it hit him.

Andrew.

That bastard.

His half-mad, half-mystical brother had just interrupted the most important moment of his life for a reason not even the gods could comprehend.

“That…” Hans muttered, eyes wide and wild. “That son of a—”

He didn’t finish.

Instead, he grabbed a cushion from the nearest sofa and slammed it into his own face with all the force of a man betrayed by fate. Then came a long, deeply dramatic scream that made the chandeliers tremble.

Richard watched from his desk with the expression of someone who had just seen a wild boar charge into a cathedral—utterly bewildered.

“…Hans?”

The redhead raised a hand, eyes shut, breathing hard, as if he still needed to exorcise his spirit.

“Just… give me a second,” he said through clenched teeth. “Just one second. Please.”

He let out a long, shaky sigh, dropped the cushion aside, and straightened his coat with wounded dignity.

Then he turned toward the door and, without looking back, muttered:

“I’m leaving.”

But before he could reach the handle, his brother’s deep voice stopped him.

“Hans… I’d like to talk. Just for a moment. Please.”

“I don’t want to talk, Richard. I want to throw myself down the stairs.” he replied flatly.

“Please,” the king pleaded, still standing at the window.

“We haven’t spoken since you left… I shouldn’t have let that much time pass.”

His younger brother didn’t respond. His expression was a mix of exhaustion and skepticism.

But he didn’t leave.

Richard studied him closely, as if trying to read what was left of the boy he used to know. At last, in a low voice, tinged with something almost nostalgic, he said:

“Arendelle has done you good.”

“Oh really? Is that what Queen Elsa told you?” Hans replied, a trace of sarcasm in his voice, though it lacked real force.

Richard inclined his head slightly. “She’s been rather generous in keeping me informed. Says you’ve been working hard. That you’ve changed.”

The prince let out a short, almost bitter laugh.

“I know what happened.”

A faint chill crept down Hans ’s spine. For a moment, the possibility that his brother knew what had occurred just moments ago left him frozen.

“Wha… what happened?” he asked with effort, trying to sound indifferent and failing miserably.

Richard narrowed his eyes.

“The Queen took your hand and walked with you behind the coffin after the ceremony. It was a noble gesture on her part. It helped your image a lot today.”

Hans looked up slowly, as if unsure he’d heard correctly.

“My image?” he repeated, with a calmness more dangerous than any shout.

Richard hesitated—perhaps realizing, too late, where this conversation was headed.

“Well, I’m glad, Richard. Truly. I’m glad my grief served a purpose. That my devastated face on the way to my brother’s burial enhanced your diplomatic portrait.

What a… functional kind of comfort.”

Richard’s brow tensed.

“Hans, don’t twist what I meant—”

“Oh? Then what did you mean?” Hans replied, his fury held barely in check beneath his low, steady voice.

“That a queen offered me her hand to keep me from falling apart in front of the whole damn world… and your first thought was how useful it looked?”

Richard stepped toward him.

“That’s not—”

“Yes, it is. That’s all you care about. What you can squeeze out of us. Just like our father did.”

The king’s face stiffened. A muscle in his jaw twitched. For a second, his gaze dropped to the floor, but when he looked up again, his eyes were burning with restrained fury.

“I am not like him!” he shouted suddenly, his voice cracking as if the words hurt more than any insult.

Hans looked at him in silence, but said nothing.

Richard inhaled—once, twice—trying to reclaim some dignity after the outburst.

“Hans… it’s not just your reputation I care about. It’s you. It’s always been you. Even if I never showed it the way I should have.”

His older brother sank into the sofa, sad and defeated, barely able to hold back his tears.

Hans, without saying a word, walked over and sat beside him.

He didn’t look at him.

He didn’t pretend to be strong either.

Silence settled between them—one that was difficult to break.

“How was it?” Hans asked at last, without embellishment or hesitation. He needed to know everything.

Richard didn’t answer immediately. His lips pressed together, and a muscle in his jaw tensed.

“I don’t know for sure,” he admitted. “I only know what the officers at the Bastion told me. He was determined to come home. He was weak… but he refused to stay in bed. He got up in the middle of the night. He wanted to find someone to bring him here…”

The King closed his eyes tightly, as if the words struck him directly in the chest.

“He didn’t even make it to the gates. He barely got down the stairs… and collapsed. By the time they found him, he was already unconscious.”

“Did he say anything?” Hans asked, his voice nearly a whisper. “Before…”

Richard slowly shook his head, without looking up.

“They say he could barely speak. He wasn’t in his right mind. He could only call out for our… mother.”

Hans turned his face away. The pain struck him unexpectedly, like a wave crashing down and dragging everything with it.

A tear slid down his cheek without resistance.

“He wrote to me,” the younger brother confessed, barely louder than a breath. “He wrote to me… and I was too stupid to answer.”

Richard said nothing.

Not because he lacked words, but because no words—no matter how careful—could dull the sharp edge of the guilt his younger brother was swallowing.

He let him cry in silence.

“He wanted to marry,” Hans added, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “One of the palace maids. Lina. Did you know?”

Richard’s gaze seemed vacant.

“Yes.”

Hans waited a few seconds for him to say more, but finally had to press:

“And would you have accepted it?”

There was a pause. Then came a response as honest as it was hollow:

“It doesn’t matter what I would have said, Hans. Aldric is dead.”

The younger of the two nodded slowly. And yet, both knew what Richard would have said. Whether Aldric lived or not changed nothing. They were princes. Their only, most noble duty was to serve the Crown and make it stronger.

Not to succumb to personal affections.

But then Richard continued, as though something still weighed on his conscience:

“But if you want to know…his lands, his belongings, everything he owned will be transferred to her. Discreetly. It’s not much comfort. But it’s what I can do.”

Hans slowly turned his face toward him. He didn’t say anything.

But a brief glimmer of gratitude passed through his eyes.

The redhead took a deep breath. What came next wasn’t any easier to admit:

“I’m sorry I compared you to Father.”

Richard didn’t respond right away. He simply gave a solemn nod.

Hans lowered his gaze to his hands.

“Have you ever wondered… why he was like that with us?”

“Yes,” Richard said at last. “Constantly.”

Hans sighed.

“I don’t understand why he was so harsh. With Mother. With us. As if we were trying to disappoint him on purpose. Nicholas, Isak, and you had… something more. But Aldric and I…”

He stopped, because he was getting too close to an open wound.

Then Richard took the crown that still rested on his head and held it in his hands.

“It was because of this.”

He looked down at it, as if the answer were carved into its very edges.

Hans watched him, waiting for more.

“At first, I didn’t understand it either,” Richard added slowly. “Until they placed it on me.”

And, to Hans’s surprise, Richard extended his arms and offered him the crown. The prince stood still, as if that offering were too heavy for his will. He didn’t touch it at first.He looked at it with the same childlike wonder he’d always felt. The story of a crown forged by a free people for the one who would become the first King of the Southern Isles had always fascinated him. He had always secretly longed to try it on, just once. But he had only ever seen it atop his father’s head. Then, atop Richard’s. And sometimes wrapped in velvet, sealed in the royal vault, gleaming like a symbol that did not belong to him.

“Take it,” Richard said again, gently.

Hans hesitated. 

Then, almost reverently, he took it with both hands. A faint tingle ran through his fingers. Not from power, not from ambition. It was history that he felt. The weight of the metal, heavy with generations. The echo of those who had forged it. The whisper of a lineage that, though denied to him, was still his. Richard looked at him, with a trace of tenderness rarely shown. He drew a breath before continuing:

“You already know the story. Our great-grandfather wasn’t a king. He was a navigator. He fled a land of slavery with hundreds of people, promising them something better. And when they arrived here, there was nothing. No streets. No laws. No shelter. Only the promise. He kept it. And his daughter—our grandmother—built on that promise. She founded institutions, established the council, forged the first alliances. It was she who laid the foundation of the kingdom we have today.”

Hans listened intently.

His expression had softened.

“Father grew up with that story,” Richard went on. “With the pressure not just to preserve what they’d done—but to surpass it. To make it richer, stronger, more worthy. And in his race to measure up… he forgot to see us.”

Richard lifted his gaze. He looked tired, but not defeated.

“I feel that pressure too. I won’t deny it. But I’ve learned something he realized too late: you can’t build a great kingdom on the ruins of your family.”

His words weren’t sweet. They were firm like a foundation finally set in the right place.

“I want to love my wife, Hans. I know what I did was foolish, but I want to make it right. I want to care for her, and make sure she doesn’t feel merely tolerated. I don’t want to impose a crown on her like a burden—I want to share it. And if one day I have a son, I want him to grow up knowing that his worth isn’t tied to how much he resembles a navigator who died two centuries ago.”

Silence returned—deeper than before.

Richard lowered his gaze, his voice softer now, carrying the wear of grief and time.

“Losing a son… and a brother… in the same year. Those things change a man. I don’t want to lose you too, Hans.”

He looked up again, and though his voice remained steady, it carried the ache of something honest.

“With you, I want to do things differently. We don’t have to be rivals for our father’s memory or a crown. You’re my brother. And it hurts to realize that only now—now that Aldric is gone.”

Hans took a deep breath. He didn’t respond right away.

His eyes remained fixed on the crown in his hands.

“As crazy as it sounds… I never wanted to be King. Or to chase glory. I just wanted someone, someday, to say that I was enough too.”

He moved a little closer, hesitant. Then, without warning, he reached out and grabbed his brother gently by the collar.

Richard’s eyes met his, and in them he saw a mirror of his own pain.

And then—dragging the words out from deep inside, letting them tear through every wall he’d built—Hans spoke:

“You are enough, Richard. You’re a good king… and you’ve been a good brother.”

The words hung in the space between them like a long-awaited truth.

Richard blinked rapidly, trying in vain to keep the emotion at bay. But it was no use. A tremor passed through him, and with a broken breath, he collapsed into his brother’s shoulders.

Hans embraced him slowly, almost cautiously as if holding both the man and the years of silence between them.  There were no more apologies to make. Only the quiet recognition that they were no longer at war.

 And for the first time in their lives, they were not king and prince, duty or disappointment.  Two brothers, wounded but willing to begin again.

Somewhere in that silence, Aldric’s absence made itself known as a presence felt through everything that wasn’t said.

There were no longer thirteen brothers. But those who remained still had each other.

And that, too, meant something.

Even after the light of one star fades, the others keep burning. And sometimes they can shine brighter for the one that’s gone.

Chapter Text

The clock struck six when the three were gathered—not in the council chamber nor the gardens, but in the king’s private study. A gesture that, in itself, was cause for alarm.

The King, his cloak still draped over his shoulders and his brow carved as if by chisel, closed the door himself. Then he turned to the two young adults before him, both standing with the stiffness of those who would rather be anywhere else in the world.

“Would you be so kind,” he began, his voice like ice, “as to explain how it is that the entire court speaks of nothing but your performances within the palace walls? Apparently, you two are more entertaining than a sword duel.”

“Your Majesty, if you’d prefer I fight with swords, it would be infinitely more pleasant than enduring someone’s commentary on the linen trade before the entire court,” Richard snapped, arms crossed.

“And what exactly was I supposed to say?!” Alysanne shot back, turning toward him, her face flushed with fury. “That the heir to the throne considers linen cultivation a rural pastime unworthy before the delegates of the Agricultural Chamber?”

“It isn’t,” said Richard, with a sardonic smile. “It’s just that some topics are so mind-numbingly dull they make one question the point of existence.”

“You yawned deliberately to humiliate me!”

“And you repeat every argument three times, as if you believe the court is deaf.”

“Enough!” the king’s voice thundered.

Silence fell at once, taut as a lute string on the verge of snapping.

Leopold stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with that terrible mix of disappointment and political calculation.

“Stop behaving like children. You are not. Nor are you martyrs. You are heirs. This union was forged for the good of the realm.”

Alysanne pressed her lips together. Richard lowered his gaze, for once offering no retort.

“With all due respect, Father,” Richard said at last, his jaw tight, “perhaps if you had chosen a wife whose priority wasn’t to correct me in public—”

“And did I ask for a husband who winks at the lady’s of the court during supper?!”

“You’re exaggerating, Alysanne!”

“Oh, am I? Was I also exaggerating when you greeted the Countess of Vinterra with a kiss on the hand that lasted longer than the national anthem?”

“Yes, you were. I wasn’t kissing her that long! I merely leaned in to look at her ring, it was a rare emerald.”

“AND YOU’RE A COMMON IMBECILE!”

Leopold struck his scepter against the floor. The echo was so sharp that two candles flickered out.

“Enough!”

Both fell silent, though their jaws remained clenched tight as violin strings.

“Richard,” the king said gravely, “you may admire the jewels of every noblewoman on the continent once you’re dead and buried. But as long as you’re alive and my heir, your duty is to her”—he pointed at Alysanne, who, of course, smiled in triumph—“She is your wife. Your future queen. And you’d best start treating her as such.”

Richard swallowed hard, angry but visibly chastened.

“I am not asking you to love one another,” the king went on. “But you will honor and respect each other before all. You will not tarnish the throne we have worked so hard to build. A royal couple must be strong and united, or at the very least, appear so. What impression do you think you’re giving? Just yesterday, an ambassador said you look like cousins forced to share a bed.”

Alysanne and Richard exchanged a defiant glance.

“Not an entirely inaccurate comparison.”

“Thank heavens I’m not your cousin,” Richard shot back with scorn. “It’s already bad enough having you as a wife.”

Leopold looked at them both as if seriously contemplating sending them into preventive exile.

“You have one week,” he declared at last, each word like a sentence. “Within that time, I want a formal, public dinner. Dignified. I want to see you seated side by side, smiling, acting as though the future of the realm does not hinge on your tempers. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” they murmured in unison, without looking at each other.

“Very well,” Leopold nodded, turning back toward his desk.

Alysanne was the first to leave. Her stride was swift, composed, and left behind a trail of perfume and obstinacy.

Richard lingered, still seated on the sofa, weighed down by that particular tension only a father can recognize.

Leopold said nothing for a few moments. Then, with measured calm, he sat behind his desk and, without raising his voice, said:

“I expected more from you, son… I hope you find it in yourself to change.”

Richard pressed his lips together. His gaze drifted toward the tall window, where the afternoon was already beginning to sink behind the sea.

“Father… I can’t do this. Why did it have to be this way? Why her?”

Leopold didn’t reply. He waited.

“I can be king,” Richard continued. “I know the laws, the alliances, the naval routes, the council’s limits. Everything you’ve taught me. I can bear the weight of the crown without having to bear… this farce.”

Leopold looked up. And for the first time, he didn’t seem irritated—but tired.

“You think you don’t need her?” he asked softly. Then a strange smile, almost nostalgic, flickered on his lips. “You don’t know what you’re saying, son.”

Richard turned to him, puzzled by the response.

Leopold leaned forward slightly, his fingers interlaced on the desk.

“There is no greatness in ruling alone. Believe me, Richard… a time will come when you’ll need someone who looks at you without fear. Who tells you when you’re wrong. Who stays when the people stop cheering—when the crown keeps you awake at night.”

The prince let out a bitter laugh.

“And what do I need with a wife who can’t even stand me? We haven’t even…” he made a vague motion with his hands, searching for a less embarrassing word, “done that… thing… that married couples are expected to do in private. We’ve been married a year and nothing! The only friction between us is when she kicks me in her sleep.”

Leopold said nothing, watching him in silence.

“I can’t stand being around her,” Richard went on, fully unrestrained now. “We sleep like ambassadors from rival kingdoms! She claimed the better side of the bed and put a damn plant between us as a ‘symbolic division of marital space.’ A plant, Father!”

““Oh… poor little son of mine… Your wife won’t even let you touch her? What a tragedy,” Leopold muttered with a dry laugh. “Shall I go and beg her to grant the little prince a taste of affection?”

Richard clenched his jaw, humiliated, his cheeks burning.

“I’m not asking for that, Your Majesty.”

“Good. Because I won’t do it,” the king replied, and his tone darkened. “No one cares whether your wife loves you, or shares your bed… at least not yet. What matters to the realm right now is that its future king and queen are capable to help them without starting a war in front of the council.”

He straightened in his chair, eyes fixed on his son.

“You are my eldest son. You should be an example to your brothers, the pride of this nation… and here I am, wasting time on this nonsense. ‘She put a plant between us,’” he repeated with a scoff. “Is that all it takes to undo you? Start behaving like a man.”

Richard looked away, ashamed.

“Princess Alysanne is not here to make you happy, Richard. She’s here to help you when the kingdom crushes you. Because it will—no matter how prepared you think you are to reign, it will crush you every single day without mercy. Even when she drives you mad, and you wound her without meaning to. The princess is an intelligent woman, shrewd, and with great political strength. She will be your most loyal shield, if only you stop treating her as a burden.”

A brief, but heavy silence settled between them.

Leopold lowered his voice slightly. He stepped closer to his heir and gently lifted his chin with the brush of his fingers.

“I too was just as proud as you, for far too long. And I failed to see the worth of the good woman I was joined to… until she was gone.”

The room grew colder, as though the silence had drained the air from it.

Leopold’s eyes shifted toward the frame of a family portrait one where the queen mother still smiled with her eyes closed. His fingers tensed, almost imperceptibly.

Richard felt a hollow ache in his chest as he watched his father’s gaze darken.

“We always longed to see you become King… but for that, we could never stay,” he said softly. “But Alysanne can. We have faith in her. Don’t waste her.”

Richard bowed his head, offering no reply, and walked toward the door. Leopold watched his son leave in silence. He knew Richard respected him—perhaps more than any other man—but he also knew, with that bitter clarity only a father could possess, that in this matter, respect would not be enough. That despite everything said, his son was not yet ready to listen. And perhaps, he wouldn’t be in time.

It was not the first time a king had watched his heir walk away without understanding the counsel he most needed.

He said nothing more. He only turned again to the window, as the sun disappeared and the entire kingdom seemed to rest upon memory.

Queen Elsa leaned back against the headboard, her gaze fixed on the moon hanging like a cold jewel above the ocean. The constant murmur of the waves was all she could hear—but her mind found no peace. Once again, her thoughts returned to him.

To Hans.

To the moment that should never have happened.

To the kiss that almost was.

But that wasn’t what troubled her most…

It was how much she had wanted it.

That impulse—so sudden, so visceral—had shaken her like a wave crashing over a reef. How long had she felt this way? Had it always been there, unacknowledged? Or was it the chaos of recent days that had confused her? How could a woman who had faced far greater storms… feel so utterly lost?

She brought a hand to her lips, as if she could erase it, as if that could ease the unease in her chest. But it was useless. A line had been crossed, and she no longer knew how to return. It wasn’t just what she had felt… it was what she still felt. A warmth that made her uneasy—even afraid.

“What did you do, Elsa?” she whispered, eyes closing.

Even her magic felt strange. It didn’t spill into the world, but inside her… it vibrated oddly, as if stirred by an emotion it couldn’t name.

There were no answers—only a growing anxiety twisting in her stomach. After a few restless minutes, she rose abruptly. She couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t quite breathe. Her mind could think only of… chocolate, strawberry tarts, bread, anything.

She opened the door quietly. As expected, Dimitri stood there, as still as a statue. Neither cold nor sleep ever seemed to touch him.

The soldier flinched slightly at the sight of her.

“Your Majesty? Is something wrong?”

“Dimitri…” she murmured, with a childlike hesitance. “Are you hungry?”

He looked at her as if unsure whether he’d heard correctly.

“Would you like something to eat? I can have someone—”

“No, no, I don’t want to wake anyone,” she replied quickly, somewhat embarrassed. “It’s been a long day. The staff must be exhausted. Besides… a walk might do me good. Do you know the way?”

The soldier, who rarely allowed himself a smile, let the faintest curve touch his lips. It wasn’t the first time his queen or the princess had interrupted the night watch for a craving. He found it endearing.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

They made their way through the silent corridors, passing other guards who merely nodded. Elsa moved like a white shadow draped in silk. When they reached the kitchens, the queen raised an eyebrow upon seeing a faint light already glowing inside.

“Do you think someone…?”

But the question was never finished.

Seated at a table nearly buried beneath plates, spoons, jars, and crumbs, was the Queen of the Southern Isles. And what she was eating defied any polite description: a slice of almond tart with marinated sardines and whipped cream.

Elsa blinked, uncertain whether to apologize or flee.

Alysanne looked up, her mouth still full, and froze at the sight of her unexpected witness.

“Oh…” Elsa said softly. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I… I didn’t know anyone was here.”

The other woman swallowed with effort, then sighed in relief.

“ By the gods, I thought it was one of my ladies.”

The Queen of the South wiped her lips with a kitchen rag and offered her a kind smile.

“No, no, please…” she replied with a small, slightly nervous smile. “Come in, Your Majesty. It’s quite alright. I could actually use some company.”

Elsa hesitated. She glanced sideways at Dimitri, still standing at the door. Alysanne noticed, and added with a trace of humor:

“Besides… if my attendants find me here, at least I’ll be able to say I was sharing a formal meal with a foreign queen. Sounds far more dignified than admitting I snuck in for cake.”

Elsa let out a soft laugh. Dimitri understood the gesture and quietly stepped away.

“In that case…” Elsa said, approaching with caution, “what do we have here?”

“Chocolate cake. It’s ridiculously good. Believe me, it was worth every silent step to get here,” Alysanne replied as she sliced a piece. “Would you like some?”

Elsa nodded and took a seat across from her. The cake was creamy, still warm, and smelled divine.

“This is…” Elsa took a bite and closed her eyes for a moment. “This is very, very good.”

Alysanne gave a knowing nod.

“I know,” she said, as if sharing a secret. “The cook’s going to be furious tomorrow when she sees there’s none left of this beauty.”

Elsa smiled and immediately brought another spoonful to her mouth without losing her grace.

“I suppose watching my husband so affected this afternoon ruined my appetite at dinner,” Alysanne continued, shrugging as she cut another piece. “Everything felt too heavy. Too many people staring. I didn’t feel like myself.”

She took a bite and sighed with relief.

“But now… now I’m starving. Don’t expect too much royal solemnity from me tonight, Your Majesty.”

Elsa nodded with a gentle smile, understanding. Alysanne toyed with her fork for a moment before speaking again, her tone lower:

“Richard insists my ladies keep track of what I eat. They’re always watching, as if counting every bite. The guards too… sometimes it’s just overwhelming. I really needed a quiet moment.”

Elsa looked at her closely, setting her fork down.

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“Oh no, I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful,” Alysanne said quickly, raising a hand. “I know he only does it because he wants to make sure I’m alright. It’s his way of showing care. Even if… sometimes, it’s a bit much.”

Her smile held, but her gaze shifted slightly, as if recalling something she couldn’t speak aloud.

“I suppose it’s good to have someone who cares that much,” Elsa said in a neutral tone.

“Yes…” Alysanne murmured, eyes lowering to her plate. “It is.”

A small pause followed. Neither felt the need to fill it with words.

“So… how did you meet the king, Your Majesty?” Elsa asked at last, changing the subject with a faint smile.

Alysanne looked up with a mischievous grin, as if she hadn’t expected the question—but was delighted it had been asked.

“Do you want the official version or the fun one?”

“The fun one, please,” Elsa said, picking up her dessert again. “I love a good bit of gossip with cake.”

“So do I!”

Alysanne took a sip of milk and continued:

“The truth is, it was an arranged engagement. I remember being told the prince was serious, responsible, destined for greatness. What they forgot to mention was that he was the most insufferable, cold, and selfish man in all the seas.”

Elsa raised her eyebrows, amused.

“That bad?”

“Oh, darling… In our very first conversation, he spent three whole minutes talking about himself after I merely asked how the weather was in the Southern Isles,” said the Queen of those lands, while her companion struggled to maintain her composure. “He spoke as if he were reading a royal decree every time he greeted me. But at least he was handsome. That saved him a bit. You know, one can’t have everything.”

Elsa dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin.

“And now?” she asked, with genuine interest.

Alysanne shrugged and gave a soft smile.

“Now he’s just as stiff… but more handsome. The throne’s given him worry lines that, somehow, I adore.” She bit her lip, but then continued in a more serious tone, “He promised me we wouldn’t be together just out of duty. That if we were to share an entire life… it was worth at least trying to care for each other. And somehow, over time… he began to change. He gave my voice weight in the council and tried to be present for his family.”

Elsa listened in silence, never interrupting.

“He often reads books I like so we can talk about them for hours at night. He arranges for my friends to visit the palace. And every time I have a day where I’m too tired… too weary to face the world… he notices. He never says anything, but without fail, he brings me a slice of cake. This cake.”

Alysanne smiled faintly, as if that simple gesture had come to mean everything.

“I love him,” she said suddenly, without anyone having asked. “I love him deeply.”

She fell silent. For a long moment. As though something inside her had spilled over without warning. She blinked once. Then again—too quickly.

“Oh, heavens…” she murmured, bringing a hand to her eyes. “This is ridiculous.”

Elsa leaned forward, concerned.

“Are you alright? Do you want me to call someone?”

“Yes. No. I… can you just give me a minute? I’m sorry. This is so embarrassing. I don’t even know what’s happening to me. I just…” She stopped, exhaling as if battling something she couldn’t quite name. “I’m sorry. What I’m about to do is unforgivable.”

And without further explanation, she stood with sudden resolve, crossed the room to a tray, and picked up a bowl of cold shrimp left over from the banquet. She examined them briefly, opened a small jar of mustard, poured it over them mercilessly, and—just to make matters worse—dipped them into the remaining chocolate from the cake.

Then she ate them. With satisfaction. With pure delight. As if it were the most natural delicacy in the world.

Elsa froze, fork suspended midair, blinking as though she had witnessed something entirely outside the bounds of logic.

Alysanne looked at her, eyes slightly damp, wearing the expression of a woman who had just crossed a point of no return.

“Sorry,” she said, mouth full.

Elsa could only offer a polite, mildly panicked smile, the most graceful reaction she could muster in her confusion. But the desperation took hold of the woman before her.

“Your Majesty… I know we barely know each other. But if I tell you something—something personal—from one queen to another, from one woman to another… would you promise not to tell anyone?”

Elsa blinked.

“Of course. Yes. I promise.”

“I’m pregnant.”

Silence.

Elsa looked at her like someone who has just witnessed a slow-motion collapse.

“…What?”

“I’m pregnant!” Alysanne repeated, half laughing, half crying. “And I haven’t told a single soul. Because… because Aldric died, and Richard’s a complete mess, and the council is more tense than ever, and all my ladies are watching me like I’m a porcelain vase glued back together! No one lets me breathe! And I just wanted to eat some cake in peace, but I can’t, because EVERYTHING IS A SECRET and my hormones are throwing a party without me and now I’m crying in front of the Queen of Arendelle while eating shrimp dipped in chocolate! WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?!”

Elsa remained silent. Her expression shifted slowly—from surprise to something soft, sincere, warm. Her eyes gentled, and her voice came out effortlessly:

“Queen Alysanne… congratulations. That is beautiful news.”

The woman didn’t reply at once. She lowered her gaze, and for a moment, it seemed she held her breath.

Because it wasn’t entirely beautiful news.

Not when the last time had brought her to the edge of death.

Not when, upon waking, she had seen Richard more shattered than she had ever seen him.

Not when they had sworn—with trembling voices—that they would never go through it again.

And yet, here she was.

With life growing inside her.

And fear growing just as fast.

She knew the council would not celebrate it. The other princes would not welcome it. And Richard… Richard would lose control. Not violently. But he would lose it all the same.

Still, Elsa—unaware of it all—had offered congratulations. Gently. Joyfully. With a light in her eyes that carried no pretense. Only tenderness.

And somehow, that was enough to calm her.

Alysanne sat down again, the plate before her, her hands clasped tightly as if needing something to ground her.

“Thank you,” she said at last, her voice quiet. She didn’t lift her eyes.

She added nothing more. She didn’t want to break again. She didn’t want Elsa to see her as someone fractured. She was a queen. She was strong. That would have to be enough.

A short silence settled. Elsa didn’t break it. She honored it.

Then, with a long, faintly theatrical sigh, Alysanne gathered herself, tucked a strand of hair back with dignity, and served herself another slice of cake.

“Well,” she said in a lighter tone, raising a brow, “enough drama for one night.”

Elsa looked at her, uncertain whether to follow her lead or not.

“Tell me something,” Alysanne continued, leaning in slightly with a nearly mischievous glint in her eyes. “Is there a lord in Arendelle who ever makes you smile foolishly in the middle of a council meeting?”

Elsa blinked in surprise. The change of subject was so sudden, it took her a moment to catch up.

“…What?”

“Oh, come now, you’re a beautiful woman. Don’t tell me there isn’t a single man in your kingdom who’s managed to steal your heart. Or has he?”

The way Alysanne said it—almost in a singsong tone, with mischief gleaming in her eyes—could have made anyone blush.

And Elsa… did.

The warmth rose to her cheeks before she could stop it, and though she tried to hide it by lowering her gaze to her plate, her mind had already betrayed her.

The image came with brutal clarity:

His hand, gently brushing the curve of her cheek, as though touching something he didn’t dare break. The way he leaned in, lips barely parted, the subtle brush of their noses.The world holding its breath around them, waiting.

And she… she didn’t move. Not a sigh, not a word. Just that tremble in her chest, that mix of longing and fear, bound so tightly she couldn’t tell one from the other.

“No,” she answered curtly, her voice a touch lower than usual. “There’s no one. At the moment, I’m only trying… to make up for lost time with my sister. We were apart for far too long. She and the kingdom are all I think about now.”

Alysanne seemed to notice the subtle shift in tone, but she didn’t press. She simply nodded, slowly, lowering her gaze in quiet respect.

“No one ever understood why your family withdrew from the world… so many stories were invented about your seclusion. But no one imagined it all began simply because you had a gift so… wondrous.”

Elsa looked down at her hands and smiled with quiet nostalgia.

Alysanne lowered her gaze, fiddling with her fork. Then she set it aside and clasped her hands together over the table.

“If I may… there’s something I need to say.”

Elsa raised an eyebrow, expectant.

“I want… to thank you,” said Alysanne. “For your kindness and mercy. For the opportunity you’ve given Hans. For allowing him to return and make amends for the past.”

Elsa said nothing, but she lowered her gaze slightly. Alysanne went on:

“And I want to thank you also… for the peace you’ve given my kingdom, and my husband. You don’t know this, but ever since this began… Richard sleeps better. He breathes more easily.”

Elsa looked down, remaining silent.

“Hans and Richard never had an easy relationship. At times, it felt like all they knew was how to clash. But… Richard wants things to go well for him. Even if he doesn’t know how to say it. Even if he hasn’t always shown it. He wants… to be there for his brother. And this chance you gave him, this second life, has brought hope to all of us. Especially to him.”

Alysanne took a breath, preparing to cross into more personal territory.

“And I… I thank you, Your Majesty. For letting him say goodbye to Aldric. That was more than a noble gesture. It was an act of true compassion. And we won’t forget it.”

Elsa looked up at her. Something stirred within.

Because the way the Queen spoke of her brother-in-law… as someone who was part of something greater, someone who was loved and had a place, it struck a chord. It hurt. It hurt because she understood it. Because she had seen it. She wouldn’t admit it, she had felt it too.

Because Hans, the same man who had just knelt before her with a broken plea, had spent months trying to make things right. That man, who had lost one brother, now had another waiting for him with awkward, but open arms.

And suddenly… Elsa wasn’t sure Arendelle was still the place he was meant to return to.

She didn’t reply at once. But the doubt, silent and sharp, had already made a home in her chest.

Alysanne leaned back in her chair with a calm expression, as if she had finally taken a full breath.

Elsa, meanwhile, stared at her empty plate, still feeling the weight of everything she had just heard. Then, with a faint smile, she rose gracefully from her seat.

“Thank you for sharing this evening with me, Queen Alysanne” she said sincerely. “.It was a delightful conversation… and an extraordinary dessert.”

“Thank you.” Alysanne replied, even warmer now. “I think I needed this more than I realized.”

Elsa nodded, her hands folding gently in front of her skirt.

“I’d love for us to talk again sometime, in a calmer moment… but I’ve just remembered I need to meet with my advisor. There are some matters that cannot wait.”

“Of course,” said Alysanne without losing her smile. “Just tell me when—and I’ll bring more of this cake.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Elsa replied with a soft laugh.

Both women exchanged a discreet, affectionate bow. And as Elsa walked away down the quiet corridor, the murmur of their conversation lingered in the air.

In another wing of the palace, the scene could not have been more different

The study was bathed in the warm light of the fireplace, and the neatly arranged books had been replaced by empty bottles, half-filled glasses, and stray breadcrumbs. Hans and Richard were slouched in opposite armchairs, laughing so hard they seemed to have forgotten they’d spent years unable to do so.

“I swear we did it!” Hans was nearly breathless, tears of laughter in his eyes. “Aldric and I changed the time on every single clock you used for three weeks, Richi. Three. You lived an hour ahead—and never noticed.”

“What?!” Richard slapped a hand to his forehead, horrified. “UGHH! So that’s why no one ever showed up on time to meetings!”

The King burst into laughter, releasing years of pent-up teenage frustration.

“You bastards! I thought everyone else had issues with punctuality!”

“No, the problem was you,” Hans replied. “But at least Father gave you that dual-time watch. He thought you were ill!”

Richard doubled over with laughter, pounding the armrest.

The conversation spun in circles—from laughter to memory, from memory to silence, from silence back to uproarious laughter. And, of course, the drinks kept flowing.

“Want to talk about mischief, little brother? I know a good one.”

Hans looked at him warily.

“Please don’t.”

“Does ‘The Wild Kings of the Jungle’ ring any bells?”

Hans froze.

“No. No, no, no.”

“Yes. Yes, yes, yes.”

The King managed to get to his feet, pointing at him with a glass in hand, laughing uncontrollably.

“You and Al ran around the palace stark naked wearing paper crowns and a cape made from the curtains! You took the gardener hostage!”

Hans buried his face in both hands.

“Richard!”

“And the gardener swore loyalty only because Mother found it funny!”

“I was four!”

“That doesn’t make it any less hilarious!”

Richard leaned on the table, tears streaming from his eyes.

“‘I am King Hans of the Trees!’” he mimicked between wheezes. “I never got over that scene! Neither did the gardener!”

Hans shot him a glare—but he was already laughing too, defeated. He took another shot of whiskey, and the next thing he knew, they were both on their feet, hugging each other like they’d done it a thousand times… and also like it was the very first.

Richard rested his forehead on his brother’s shoulder and mumbled something unintelligible.

“What?” Hans asked, half-laughing.

“I said I hate you!” Richard barked, his voice breaking. “Stupid brat.”

Hans burst out laughing again… but a second later, both of them were crying.

They cried and laughed. Laughed because they were crying. Cried because they were laughing.

They were Westergaards.

“Damn it,” Richard said, collapsing back into the armchair. “I’m getting soft.”

“No, just old,” Hans replied, sinking into the cushions like he was floating.

A distant chime echoed from the clock. Richard looked up, still a bit teary-eyed, as if that hollow note reminded him of a duty he’d forgotten.

“Oh, heavens… Alysanne must be waiting for me to come to bed,” he murmured, running a hand down his face. “I completely forgot.”

Hans didn’t respond right away. He watched him in silence, with that careful kind of compassion one reserves for truths that need to be spoken, even if they hurt.

“Are you still… seeing her?”

Richard turned, and for a moment, it seemed he didn’t understand the question. But the meaning hit him like a weight. His face changed.

“No,” he answered after a pause. “Not anymore.”

He lowered his eyes to the floor, and what came next seemed hard to admit:

“It became… unbearable. I couldn’t be in the same room with Alysanne knowing she was still there. The guilt was crushing. Every gesture, every word… reminded me of what I was doing. I was a fool.”

He finished the last of his drink, as if trying to swallow the weight along with it.

“So I asked her to leave. Luckily, she did—quietly. But that was the end of it.”

Hans nodded slowly, without judgment.

“Hey, if it’s truly over,” he said calmly, “then don’t tell Alysanne.”

Richard lifted his eyes, clearly thrown by the response.

“Don’t tell her?”

Hans held his gaze, and for the first time that night, his voice carried that tone Aldric used to have—when he didn’t want to argue, only to be understood.

“People make mistakes, brother. Things happen in every marriage that no one wants to say out loud. I’m not saying it was right… but it’s done, isn’t it? And now you know it wasn’t worth it.”

Richard didn’t reply, but something in his expression softened ever so slightly.

Hans went on:

“You didn’t choose your marriage. Father forced it on you. We all know that. But you fell in love with her anyway—and she with you. Not many people get that kind of luck. Don’t destroy it all over guilt. Telling her now won’t bring anything good.”

Richard frowned slightly and ran his fingers along the rim of the empty glass.

“Sometimes… when I watch her sleep, I think I should tell her everything. Because we share so much. It feels unfair. But then I remember how she looks at me… she thinks I’m better than I am, and I don’t know if I could bear watching that look fall apart.”

“Don’t tell her.”

“But—”

“Don’t tell her,” Hans repeated, firmly. “You’ll ruin it.”

The silence that followed was longer than any that had come before. Richard pressed his lips together, defeated, though he didn’t nod.

Hans took a slow breath and, without softening the moment, rose to pick up his vest from the armchair.

“Well, time for me to go. Tomorrow I’m back to Arendelle for another chapter of ‘The Redemption,’” he said with a faint smile. “I’d like to get some sleep—I don’t want to see Queen Elsa’s face if she thinks I’m hungover.”

Richard chuckled softly but didn’t move. He looked at his brother and then said it—almost without thinking:

“I wish you could stay.”

Hans smiled, tired but sincere.

“Hey, I’ll come back someday, won’t I?” he said, trying to keep the tone light. “Besides, you can write to me.”

Richard raised an eyebrow with clear skepticism.

“You? Reading letters? Since when?”

Hans smiled, lowering his gaze, that old nostalgia tightening in his chest.

“I swear. This time I’ll write back.”

Richard clumsily crossed the space between them and embraced him without hesitation. Hans returned the hug, strong and steady.

“I love you, brother,” Richard whispered.

Hans held the embrace a moment longer, then pulled back just enough to see his face.

“I love you too, old man,” he said with a crooked smile. “And thank you… for not giving up on me.”

His older brother looked at him, more moved than he would have liked to show. Hans gave his shoulder a warm pat before stepping out without looking back.

Left alone once more, Richard poured the last of the bottle into his glass. He did it slowly, without haste, and walked toward the window. The sea, darker now, seemed completely still. He took a sip. Then another.

From the hallway, muffled voices began to rise. At first, he paid them no mind. Then he caught something familiar.

“Turn back, Your Majesty. The King is not to be disturbed at this hour.”

“I insist. It’s important.”

“I’m afraid we cannot allow—”

“With all due respect, gentlemen, she is the Queen of Arendelle. I’m certain His Majesty would understand…”

Richard raised an eyebrow but didn’t fully turn.

“Queen Elsa?” he asked, his voice just loud enough to carry.

One of the guards peeked in, visibly uncomfortable at breaking the quiet of the night.

“My King… it’s her. She insists on seeing you.”

Richard set the glass down gently on the table and, with a louder—and dangerously charming—tone, said:

“And since when does my finest northern ally need permission to interrupt me?”

He turned with purpose, feigning more sobriety than he still possessed.

“Let her in.”

The guards exchanged glances, uncertain, but obeyed.

And then, Elsa entered.

Dressed simply, yet with an unshakable dignity, she crossed the threshold followed by her advisor, Kay. Her steps were steady. Her expression, measured.

Richard gazed at her for a moment, as though her presence had interrupted a dream he wasn’t ready to leave.

“Queen Elsa,” he said with a short bow. “If it isn’t the most unexpected of visits—and the most welcome.”

Elsa didn’t respond immediately. She glanced around the study—the fire still burning, the abandoned glass—and then looked directly at him.

“I’m sorry for arriving unannounced, Your Majesty,” she said. “But I needed to speak with you, and I wasn’t sure I’d get another chance.”

“When it comes to you, you may interrupt my thoughts, my nights, and my meetings whenever you please,” he replied, the smile still lingering on his lips—though perhaps less refined than he intended. The drink, though he tried to hide it, had begun to cloud his judgment. “How may this old and simple king be of service?”

Kay stepped forward, but Elsa, without taking her eyes off the man, raised a hand—small, barely perceptible. The gesture was clear: leave this to me.

Richard seemed to realize that this wasn’t a diplomatic courtesy, nor a casual visit in the late hours. There was something different in the way she looked at him.

Without a word, her advisor slid a leather folder from inside his coat and placed it into the King’s hands.

Richard opened it carefully and withdrew the single sheet inside: a parchment sealed with the crest of Arendelle… and the signature of its Queen.

The moment he saw it, Richard’s expression changed.

“I, Alysanne of Velvaris, born of a house that is no longer mine, forged in a kingdom I now leave behind, present myself before these isles as servant, consort, and queen by right earned.

Today, before the eyes of the living and the memory of the dead, I renounce who I once was—my lineage, my crest, and the blood that raised me as a princess.

I leave behind my land, my name, and all that I once knew, so that nothing in me may belong to any realm but this.

I swear fealty to your Isles.

I swear to guard their secrets as my own, and protect their children as if they were mine.

I swear to be your shield in the storm and to speak against injustice.

I shall be counsel in times of doubt, light in darkness, and flesh if the realm demands blood.

May the seas drown me, 

May the sand erase my steps,

And may my name be remembered neither in stone nor song

If I ever let these oaths be broken.”

When the final echo of her vow faded among the hall’s pillars, silence reigned.

The High Custodian of the Crown—an elder with a grave voice and eyes like riverstone—stepped forward. He wore the colors of the Founding Council: ash gray and deep blue, the colors of exile and sea.

In his hands he held the queen’s crown: a delicate circlet of ancient silver, set with pale pearls, fragments of coral, and a single green-blue gem at its center—like a tear from the deep.

He raised it before the assembled lords, and his voice, though weathered by age, cut through the hall like a blade through still water.

“Let all present bear witness,” he proclaimed.

“Let the legacy of those who came in chains, who founded these isles with blood, courage, and remembrance, never be forgotten.”

Alysanne knelt, her hair gathered with precision, her gaze lowered, hands folded in her lap like an offering.

The High Custodian looked upon her with solemnity. Then, with both hands, he lowered the crown onto her brow.

“By the will of the Founding Council, by the blood of free men, by the winds that guide and the waters that guard, we receive you, my lady.

And we proclaim you Queen of the Southern Isles, Mother of the Tides, Star of the Navigators, and Protector of our Seven Isles.”

The crown touched her forehead with a faint metallic sound, as if the kingdom itself had exhaled.

Alysanne looked carved from stone. Not a tremor, not a flicker of doubt, not a shadow in her bearing. Her voice had not faltered even once. And as the lords raised their voices to acclaim her name, a figure in the shadows behind her could not help but think how unrecognizable she seemed in that moment. So far from the young woman who used to contradict him out of sheer pride. So serene. So alone.

And yet… she was his queen. His.

He had watched her enter that hall with her chin held high and not a tear on her face. And in that moment, he understood—with painful clarity—that she was ready to rule.

Was he?

His father had died barely a week ago. And though the realm demanded continuity, nothing in Richard felt ready for what it was coming. Since he was a child, he had been told this would be his. That the throne was his birthright, his duty and destiny.

And yet, as the voices rose in praise of the new queen, he didn’t feel that destiny belonged to him.

He only knew he couldn’t breathe.

All eyes were on her. Until the High Custodian raised a hand, and silence fell like a mantle.

“Richard Harren Westergaard, step forward.”

The sound of his full name, spoken before the entire court, struck his chest like an invisible blow. For a moment, the air left him. Not because he was surprised—but because it had never weighed so heavily as it did now. Like Alysanne, he felt as though he were about to leave his name behind.

Richard swallowed softly. He stepped forward. His heart thundered in his chest, as if pushing him from within.

“Are you willing to swear before the gods, before the lords, and before history?”

“Yes,” he said—and though his voice was quiet, it was steady.

At his words, the Navigator’s Crown, guarded by the Honor Guard, was handed over with utmost reverence, just as protocol demanded.

Richard bowed his head and knelt.

The silence in the hall was absolute. Even the sea beyond the windows seemed to hold its breath.

And then he spoke.

“I, Richard Harren Westergaard,

descendant of the Navigator,

son of the king who guarded these isles with steady shield and sound judgment,

kneel in oath.

I swear by the waters that brought my ancestors,

by the free blood that founded these lands,

and by the names of those who died in chains so that I might be born with a crown.

I swear to protect the freedom our people claimed,

to honor the exile that became our homeland,

and to preserve the light that guided our ships.

I swear never to rule by fear,

nor to punish by whim,

nor to raise the sword if the word will suffice.

I promise to hear the people before the gold,

to shield the weak before the powerful,

and to guard the laws as though I had written them myself with the price of my soul.

I will protect my kingdom, my queen, and my family above all else.

And if ever I betray this oath,

may the crown burn me,

may the sea reclaim me,

and may the just reclaim all that I have taken from them.”

The silence was absolute.

Richard remained kneeling before the High Custodian, his eyes fixed on the polished stone floor. The echo of his vow still seemed to linger in the air, but he no longer heard anything—only the erratic pounding of his heart.

He thought of his father.

He wondered if, in his many years of rule, the man had ever felt this same fear—that silent unrest that sinks into your bones when you know there is no turning back.

He didn’t know.

He had never asked him in life.

And now, Leopold was gone.

He had taken with him all the answers his son never dared to seek.

Richard swallowed hard. The crown had not yet touched his head, and already, he felt its weight.

From that day forward, if the kingdom was ever in danger, they would look to him. If war came, or famine, or injustice… the throne would have no back but his.

There would be no father to turn to.

No wiser man to answer for him.

Only him.

And in the heart of a cathedral filled with lords, brothers, ministers, and allies, Richard Westergaard felt—with painful clarity—utterly alone.

The footsteps of the High Custodian approached, slow and ceremonial.

Richard closed his eyes.

The crown descended.

And when it finally touched his brow, it was no adornment. It was a sentence. A cold iron that fell upon his soul with a weight older than himself. In that moment, Richard ceased to be a son—

And became a king.

“By the legacy of the Navigator, by the will of the sea and of free men… I crown Richard Harren Westergaard, King of the Southern Isles.”

He rose slowly, carrying with him all the solemnity of the centuries, and opened his eyes.

A new era had begun. And then, like a thunderclap held too long, the cathedral erupted in a single, resounding cry:

“Long live the King! Long live the Queen!”

The banners waved. Palms struck against stone. Chants filled the vaulted ceilings of the cathedral. The coronation was complete.

And yet, the first thing he did was look to his left.

Alysanne still stood there, composed, regal. She did not look at him. Her gaze remained forward, just as protocol dictated.

But Richard saw her.

Saw her as if for the very first time.

During his mourning, she had been there for him. She had spoken when he could not speak. Had stayed beside him when he shut the world out. Not out of tenderness, but out of duty. And yet, she had never wavered.

In all their short marriage, he had not treated her with the same respect, nor honored her as she had just honored him. And still, there she stood.

Not for her name. Not for her crown.

For him. For his family. For a kingdom that was not hers… and yet one she now defended as if it were.

Richard felt a knot rise in his throat—one he could not disguise with any royal posture.

And then, without thinking further, he extended his hand.

He broke protocol.

And intertwined his fingers with those of his Queen.

She lowered her gaze, startled by the gesture. She looked at him directly—without words, but with a silent question in her eyes.

And Richard said nothing. Because he didn’t know how to say it.

But in that simple gesture—quiet, intimate, seen by all and yet meant only for them—there was an apology, a gratitude, and a promise:

“We’ll do this together.”

Alysanne did not smile.

But she gripped his hand with enough strength to hold up a kingdom.

And in that moment—brief as a breath, eternal as a vow—he and she, without words, sealed something greater than a coronation. Not because love had bound them, But because duty had placed them side by side…

And now, at last, they had begun to truly face one another.

Only the gods knew how many storms would come.

Would they be strong enough?

Would they hold each other when the world began to shake?

The door opened softly, and Richard entered slowly, his steps slightly uncertain. The day—and the liquor—still weighed on his body, though he tried to maintain his composure.

He looked up and saw her there, sitting in bed in a silk gown, surrounded by papers, the lamp lit at her side. Alysanne lifted her gaze, and upon seeing him, let out a quiet breath of relief.

“Richard,” she said with a sigh, sitting up a little. “I was starting to worry.”

He closed the door behind him, more slowly than necessary.

“Forgive me, darling,” he murmured, taking off his jacket with hands more tired than clumsy. “I stayed in the study a little too long… a few things came up. But everything’s fine now.”

Alysanne watched him with gentle eyes as he came closer.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Oh, I was just… reviewing a few resolutions from the council,” she replied with a small shrug, beginning to gather the scrolls. “I wanted to get ahead of things, so you wouldn’t have to worry about it tomorrow… or the next day. I’ve spoken with the ministers. I’ll be handling decisions for a while.”

Richard looked at her, and a blend of weariness and gratitude crossed his face.

She held out her hand, and he moved toward her as if the entire day had been an uphill climb just to reach that gesture.

“You look exhausted,” she said tenderly, caressing his face. “Would you like anything before bed?”

“How do you do that?” he asked, with a mixture of wonder and adoration. “How are you like this? Perfect. Incredible. Sometimes I think you can’t be real.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, then lay down, resting his head in her lap. Alysanne welcomed him without another word, letting her fingers slip into his hair.

“You always take care of everyone, my love. I suppose someone here has to take care of you.”

“It embarrasses me that it’s always you.”

“Don’t say that,” she replied, brushing his cheek gently. “We’re here for each other, remember?”

Alysanne continued stroking his hair in slow, tender movements, as if each touch could erase the weight of the day.

“Your speech was beautiful, my love,” she said softly.

Richard closed his eyes and sighed.

“It wasn’t mine.”

She paused for a moment.

“No?”

“Aldric wrote it. When our father died. I found it a few days ago. I thought… someone ought to hear it someday.”

Alysanne lowered her eyes, a knot forming in her throat she didn’t want him to see.

“It was beautiful all the same. Everyone loved it.”

Richard didn’t respond, but he curled closer to her, as if trying to disappear beneath her voice.

But inside, the peace didn’t last.

Don’t tell her. You’ll ruin everything.

Hans’s voice returned with the clarity of a sentence.

But the guilt was stronger.

There she was—so calm, so entirely his, so real—carrying the weight of the kingdom so he could rest, guarding his grief as if it were her own, combing through his hair like she still believed he was a man worthy of such tenderness.

How could he stay silent?

How could he lie to her with every minute he spent in her hands?

He gripped her waist more tightly.

Every caress from her was a wound he could no longer bear.

Tell her, whispered his conscience.

Don’t, warned Hans.

And caught between those two forces, Richard felt like a man shipwrecked in open waters. He shut his eyes. Breathed deeply.

I love her, he thought. By the gods, I love her.

And perhaps for that reason, he couldn’t stay silent any longer.

But before he could speak, Alysanne did.

“Richard, I need to tell you something.”

He looked at her, surprised.

His mind, already drowning in guilt, rushed to respond.

“I… I need to tell you something too,” he said.

Alysanne looked down, visibly nervous for the first time that night. She bit her lower lip slightly.

“Better… you go first.”

He sat up on the bed. He couldn’t say it lying down, not with his head on her chest, not with her hands on him. He pulled away gently, as if the air between them had turned fragile.

Alysanne watched him, holding back something she wasn’t ready to name.

Richard didn’t meet her gaze. He couldn’t.

“I…” he began, but his voice faltered.

He took a deep breath.

“I broke our agreement,” he said at last, voice low, cracked. “I was with someone else.”

Silence. A silence so still it almost felt absent of life.

Alysanne didn’t move. She made no sound. She just looked at him—she didn’t need him to repeat it. She had heard him perfectly.

Then, very slowly, she shifted. She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands stiff upon her lap.

Richard watched her. He could barely stay upright. He wanted to speak—to say something—but the words caught in his throat.

And then she spoke.

“And you tell me this now…” —her voice was low, hollow— “because your brother is dead and you think I can’t say anything?”

Richard stood stunned.

“Is that it?” she repeated louder, her eyes wet but still dry. “Now’s the perfect moment because your mourning ties my hands?”

He went pale.

“No,” he said, shaking his head, his voice breaking. “I told you because I couldn’t hold it anymore. It was eating me alive. Because… I couldn’t keep living beside you with that on my chest. It wasn’t fair to you. It wasn’t fair to either of us.”

Alysanne stood. She walked to the other side of the room, slowly, without looking back. Her movements were graceful, deliberate, but something in them trembled. Something had unraveled.

She stopped with her back to him. Closed her eyes. Then asked again, this time with a thread of pain more visible:

“Was it because I can’t give you children?”

Richard sat upright, as if struck.

“No,” he said at once, desperation in his voice. “No, Alysanne… for heaven’s sake, it wasn’t that.”

She still wouldn’t look at him.

“Then why?” she whispered. “Why would you do this to me?”

Richard parted his lips, but no words came. Only a thick, shameful silence. He lowered his gaze.

“Because I was a fool,” he muttered. “I didn’t think. I—”

“No.” Her voice cut through his like a blade, suddenly firm. “Don’t tell me you ‘didn’t think.’ That’s not enough. You did it. You had time to think. You chose it. So tell me why.”

He stood frozen, rooted to the floor like a condemned man.

“I was… exhausted,” he said at last. “The pressure, the crown, it was too much. I just wanted a distraction.”

Alysanne looked at him as if she no longer recognized the man before her. Her lips trembled.

Then she laughed.

It wasn’t a joyful laugh, nor a bitter one. It was broken—one that lasted only seconds before dissolving into silence.

“The throne?” she asked, incredulous. “That’s what you’re telling me?”

Richard took a step toward her.

“Do you think you wear that crown alone? Do you think I’m not at every council, every ceremony, every meeting with those men who’d rather see me silent and compliant? I’m queen too, Richard! And not because of a crown or dresses. Out of duty. Everything I’ve done for this kingdom… I’ve done for you, too.”

“Aly, it’s not the same—”

“How dare you?” she snapped, backing away. “How dare you say it’s not the same?”

Her voice trembled, not with rage, but with deep indignation. Richard regretted it immediately.

“I know. Forgive me, I didn’t mean that. There’s no excuse. Only… that. It was cowardice. But I swear it’s over. You’re the one I love now.”

“Now?!” Her voice cracked. “How long has this been going on?”

Alysanne felt a wave of nausea and turned her back to him again. She walked to the center of the room and stood there, arms crossed tightly, as if holding herself together from the inside.

“Who else knows?”

The question fell like lead. He couldn’t give her an answer. Hans knew. His guards. Perhaps some of her ladys. Members of the council.

He closed his eyes.

Her silence was worse than a scream.

And then she said it, in a low, restrained voice, barely more than breath:

“So I’ve been the laughingstock of my court… all this time?”

She turned at last. And this time, her eyes weren’t empty. They were full of a sorrow deeper than anger.

“Is this how you dishonored my name? Is the dignity of your Queen worth so little to you?”

Richard felt each word strike straight through his chest.

“I never meant”

“But you did!” she cried, her voice breaking. “You promised me! You said the past was behind us. That we would respect each other. That you would walk beside me. And now this?”

He stepped forward, almost kneeling before her.

“Forgive me… please…”

But she backed away firmly, retreating to the far end of the room.

“Don’t touch me,” she murmured.

And that whisper, spoken with such sorrow, such weariness, stopped him as if he’d struck an invisible wall. The silence that followed was long and sharp. And then, as if it were the final crack, Alysanne spoke in a quiet voice:

“I’m pregnant.”

Richard turned slowly. His face didn’t show an immediate reaction—only the confusion of a man unsure if he’d heard correctly.

“What…?”

“I’m pregnant, Richard,” she repeated, her smile crumbling. “Again.”

He didn’t move. Not even a blink.

“How…? How is that possible?”

She let out a short, bitter laugh, cruel by necessity.

“Are you seriously asking me that? You? Of all the men in the realm, are you really going to pretend you don’t know how it happens?”

He closed his eyes for a moment.

“We swore it wouldn’t happen again…”

Alysanne turned sharply to face him, eyes blazing, her face lit with a fury held back by tears that had not yet fallen.

“And what do you want me to say? It happened!” she snapped, her voice rising. “I didn’t plan it. I didn’t want it. After all the ones we’ve lost, do you think this brings me joy?! Don’t you dare blame me! Because I don’t recall much restraint on your part either.”

The words struck like a whip. Richard didn’t answer. His eyes, once soft with grief and pleading, hardened with a cold and implacable gleam. Something inside him had twisted terribly. Though his body remained still, it tensed like a man bracing for war.

“Guards!” he called, loud and commanding.

Two sentries appeared at the doorway immediately.

“Wake the Queen’s ladies. And bring the physician. Now!”

The order rang out like a gunshot.

Alysanne stood frozen for a second, as if reality had yet to reach her.

“What…?” she whispered. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer.

“Tell me! What do you think you’re doing?”

He turned to her, his eyes wet, his jaw tight with tension.

“What do you think I’m doing? We’ve lost babies for years, I buried my brother today! We lost a child just months ago! And you nearly died… do you think I’ll just stand by and let it all happen again?”

Alysanne was stunned.

“I’m not asking for your blessing. I’m informing you.”

“No. This isn’t a conversation. This is a decision! A decision I will make if you refuse to see what’s at stake!”

“You have no right to decide for me!” she shouted, crossing the room in one step. “Not anymore!”

Richard didn’t move. His breathing was ragged.

“I am the King!” he roared. “And I will not sit idly by while you drag us back into the same hell that nearly destroyed us!”

“And I am the Queen! Not your prisoner.”

The guards were still there, petrified. They didn’t know whether to move or stay. One of them shifted, hesitating.

“Don’t move,” Alysanne ordered, her gaze fixed on her husband.

“Obey your King!”

“They won’t,” she replied, her voice loud and unwavering. “Those men are sworn to me! And they will protect me… even from you.”

Richard froze. That sentence struck like a blow.

Silence returned—but it was no longer the same. It was a battlefield. A room torn apart by the pain of two people who once swore to be companions.

Alysanne trembled. But she didn’t step back. She looked at him with shattered eyes, and her voice, though quiet, rang out like a final lament:

“I don’t know who you are anymore.”

The words cut deeper than any reproach. Richard closed his eyes for a moment, as if he needed to contain something more than anger.

But he said nothing.

Alysanne took a deep breath, and without looking at the soldiers, murmured:

“Please… gather my things. I’ll sleep elsewhere tonight.”

But before they could move, Richard had already stepped forward. He grabbed his coat from the back of the chair, put it on without haste, and turned toward her.

“Don’t bother,” he said in a grave voice. “I’ll go.”

At the door, he stopped and cast a steely glance at the guards.

“Listen to me carefully,” he said, without raising his tone, but with a clarity that cut through the air.

“From this moment on, you will not leave the Queen alone. Not during the day. Not at night. Not when you’re hungry or want to sleep.”

His voice was so cold, so commanding, that even the floor seemed to tense beneath his feet.

“You’d better fulfill your oaths, because if anything like last time happens again, because of your damn negligence…”

Richard’s eyes gleamed with something dark.

“I’ll have your throats slit right in front of your families.”

The guards, still stiff, snapped to attention immediately.

“By our honor, Your Majesty,” one of them whispered. “Nothing will happen to the Queen.”

Richard didn’t respond.

He stood there for one more second, watching them as if already memorizing their faces for the day he’d have to keep his word.

And then, without looking back at Alysanne…

He walked away.

And behind him, not just a door closed.

A chapter of himself closed too.

The next day…

Hans walked through the palace corridors with the strained determination of someone who would rather be anywhere else… than exactly there. The sun—far too bright for that hour—struck him with a cruelty that had no mercy for his hangover. His head hurt. His neck hurt. His pride hurt.

And worse: it hurt to remember.

At what point had he thought it sensible to lean toward the Queen of Arendelle like some deranged poet?

And why hadn’t she pulled away…?

He didn’t want to think about it.

But the memory—damp like an open wound—kept returning. The curve of her chin. Her slightly parted lips. The cold suspended between them like a wall… or a thread about to snap.

He turned a corner and, to his misfortune, fate decided to show no mercy.

Hans muttered a curse under his breath.

There she was.

Standing, poised as ever, ethereal and composed. Elsa.

Hans froze at once—too dazed to think. He lowered his head and gave a brief, awkward bow.

“Your Majesty,” he said stiffly. “I just wanted to inform you that your entourage’s luggage has already been sent to the harbor. I… I only returned to say goodbye to my brother.”

Elsa observed him in silence for a moment. Then she spoke, calmly:

“Thank you, Hans. But before that, we need to talk.”

He didn’t move.

Were they going to talk about that?????

That glorious moment of stupidity now haunted him like a ghost.

He swallowed, nervous.

“We… ?” he asked, awkwardly.

Elsa tilted her head slightly.

“You, Kay, and I.”

Hans exhaled, relieved… though not entirely.

“Of course,” he nodded. “Let’s talk.”

The three entered a small meeting room—simple, with high walls and tapestries embroidered with naval motifs.

Kay stood beside the Queen, unfolding a few documents across the table. His face, as always, a blend of courtesy, severity, and diplomacy.

When he spoke, it was with a clear, measured tone.

“Prince Hans,” he began, “your efforts during your stay in Arendelle have not gone unnoticed. Although there were… minor incidents, you’ve shown sincere commitment to your redemption, and your conduct has been, on the whole, honorable.”

Hans raised an eyebrow, still unsure what this was leading to.

Kay continued:

“Her Majesty the Queen, in her infinite mercy, and in light of recent events —among them the loss of her brother, Prince Aldric— has deemed that your immediate return to Arendelle is no longer necessary. On the contrary…”

He paused briefly.

”…the Queen wishes to grant you, without further delay, her pardon. Official and final.”

Hans stared, speechless.

Kay continued:

“You are free to remain in your homeland, the Southern Isles, as a citizen and prince in full standing, with no remaining obligations to the Crown of Arendelle. Your service is concluded. Your debt, repaid.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was simply… overwhelming.

Hans reached out to take the document.

The sheet, though light, weighed more than any chain he had ever worn.

There, in bold, firm strokes, were the signatures of Elsa, of Kay… and of Richard.

Hans blinked.

His brother knew.

Suddenly, the room felt colder.

There it was, in front of him: freedom.

He could return. Return home. To his lands. He could be a prince again or sail the seas if he wished.

Well… almost.

Because deep down, he knew things would never be the same. Not after what he had done. Not after the public disgrace and exile.

Still… it was the return he had longed for, for so long.

And yet, nothing. No relief. No triumph. Not even peace. Only an unexpected void. As if, by signing that paper, he was giving up something else.

That look from her the night before, the one that never turned away. The thing that almost happened. The thing neither of them knew why they wanted to happen.

Hans slowly raised his eyes, searching for her.

But Elsa didn’t look back. Her gaze remained fixed anywhere but on him.

Kay gently offered him a pen.

“Only your signature remains, Prince.”

Hans was silent for a few moments. Then he spoke with all the respect he could muster:

“Your Majesty… Lord Kay… I’m deeply grateful for this opportunity. For this mercy. It is more than I deserve. And I know it.”

Elsa said nothing, though her expression softened slightly.

Hans looked down, then back up.

“But if I may… before signing, I would like to speak with my brother. To thank him as well. And… to make sure I fully understand what this decision means.”

Kay raised his brows, surprised.

“Speak with your brother?”

“Yes,” Hans repeated, improvising, but resolute. “It will only take a few minutes. If I may.”

Kay hesitated. Elsa was watching him with quiet confusion.

Finally, the counselor spoke, his voice dry but not unkind.

“Very well. You have twenty minutes. The document must be signed before we depart for Arendelle. We can’t delay the journey any longer.”

Hans nodded firmly.

“Of course. I’ll be back in twenty minutes. With the document signed.”

Kay held his gaze a second longer, then gave a small nod.

Hans gave a short bow to them both and left the room.

And the moment the door closed behind him—

“Shit, shit, shit, ” he muttered under his breath.

He began walking briskly.

Twenty minutes. Just twenty minutes. And if he didn’t find Richard before then… He’d never know what to do with what he felt.

The castle’s hallways, once familiar, now felt endless, labyrinthine, and completely deserted.

Where the hell is Richard?

He turned a corner. Two ladies of the court were walking by, chatting softly with fans in hand.

“Have you seen the King?” Hans asked, without preamble.

“The King…? No, Your Highness.”

“Thanks. Incredibly helpful, as always,” he muttered, and kept running.

He went down one staircase. Up another. Hurried through the tapestry corridor. Nothing.

He asked a passing servant carrying a tray.

“The King? Ah… perhaps in his chambers, Your Highness.”

He headed there.

Empty.

The study.

Empty.

The library.

Nothing.

He even opened a random door and found a cellar full of barrels. He shut it immediately.

“Riiichaaaard!” he shouted at last, shame long forgotten, as he crossed the Hall of Shields.

A group of pages stared at him like he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had.

He checked the main corridor again. Ran into a guard.

“Have you seen the King or Queen? It’s urgent.”

“I haven’t, Your Highness.”

“You haven’t seen them? What are they playing, hide and seek?!”

The guard opened his mouth, but Hans was already gone.

He bolted down another corridor, his boots echoing against the tiles like some ominous herald of disaster.

Hans stopped short beneath a stone gallery, panting.

The air felt heavier—or maybe it was just his chest. He pulled the folded parchment from his pocket.

Seven minutes left.

What was the point in running anymore?

He leaned back against one of the columns and slid halfway down, the document trembling between his fingers. With a sigh of resignation, he drew the pen.

There was nothing left to do. This was his fate. He braced himself to sign.

“I thought I saw you, wearing that look you use when you think no one’s watching...”

The voice arrived like a playful echo, half-sung.

Hans turned his head. It was Andrew!

His brother was strolling casually down the hallway, walking with that usual uneven rhythm and muttering nonsense like a lullaby.

Hans straightened like a spring.

 "Andrew!"

 The other stopped, wearing an absent smile.

"Have you seen the Queen?" he asked, straight to the point.

 Andrew tilted his head, delighted simply to exist.

 "Hello, Hans."

 "HELLO!" he repeated, desperate. "Have you seen the Queen?"

 "We had an interesting night, didn’t we?"

 "Andrew, please! Did you see the Queen?"

 "The Queen Elsa?"

The mischievous joy with which he said the name was so evident, so shameless, that Hans blushed instantly. He dropped his gaze as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice on him.

"Oh, come now," Andrew sing-songed. "It’s no sin to blush for love, is it?"

"The Queen! Our sister-in-law! Alysanne!" Hans snapped, shutting his eyes tightly, trying to contain both his embarrassment and his urgency. "Have you seen her or not?"

Andrew looked at him with that cosmic calm that never seemed to dissipate.

“Oh no… The ducklings have stopped singing.”

Hans froze. He closed his eyes in pain and inhaled deeply.

He tried not to scream. He tried to remember that this was his brother. That, theoretically, he was supposed to love him.

But talking to Andrew had always been like trying to reason with a fly.

Why did everything feel like a joke played by fate?

He leaned, defeated, against the corridor railing.

And then he saw them.

Out there, in one of the inner gardens, by the pond. A figure in a pale coat, standing, shoulders slightly hunched forward. Alysanne. The Queen.

She was tossing bits of bread to a group of ducklings splashing idly in the water. Her ladies stood at a respectful distance. Nearby, her guards kept quiet watch.

Hans froze.

“…it can’t be,” he whispered.

He spun around toward Andrew, who still stood there, as serene as some pagan statue.

“You…” Hans grabbed his brother’s face in both hands and planted a kiss on his forehead.

“I love you, brother. You are completely useless, but miraculously precise.”

Andrew blinked, happy.

Hans didn’t wait another second and dashed down the stairs. A minute later, breathless and heart pounding—not just from the run, but from something deeper he couldn’t name—he arrived at the garden.

“Alysanne…”

She looked up. Her face, for an instant, seemed distant. Then she forced a smile.

“Hans,” she said gently, as if not wanting to disturb the peace of the garden.

“I heard the good news. You’ll be staying with us… at court.”

Hans shook his head, still catching his breath.

“No, no I… I need… I need to speak to Richard. Do you know where he is?”

The moment the name left his lips, Alysanne’s eyes darkened. Her smile vanished completely, and something in her expression shut, like a door closing.

“No. I don’t know where he is,” she replied, her voice now dry. “In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever really known.”

Hans blinked, confused. That answer held far more than he could understand. But he didn’t have time to decipher it.

“Please,” he pleaded. “I’ve searched the entire castle. His study, his chambers, the library… he’s nowhere to be found. If you know of any place—any corner he might be—I need to find him. It’s urgent. Truly, almost life or death.”

Alysanne looked at him for several seconds. She hesitated.

She didn’t want to see Richard. She didn’t even want to think of him. But seeing Hans’s face—the anxiety in his eyes, the tremble in his voice—softened something in her.

“Maybe,” she whispered after a moment.

“I think I know where he might be…”

The Queen stepped forward, and everyone followed. A few minutes later, they stopped in front of a door. One Hans had passed five times already. He couldn’t help but curse under his breath.

“I think… he’s in here.”

Hans looked at her, puzzled.

“Here?”

“It’s the room that…” she hesitated. “…that we were going to prepare for our baby. It was never finished.”

She said nothing more.

Hans swallowed hard, gave a gentle nod, and pushed the door open.

The room inside was bathed in the soft light of midday. The walls were bare. A trunk sat in the corner. A folded tapestry lay over a chair. At the far end, a balcony opened toward the salty wind.

And there, leaning against the railing, with a half-empty bottle in one hand and an unlit cigar in the other, was Richard.

The sea breeze ruffled his hair, but he didn’t move.

When he heard footsteps approaching, he didn’t turn. Not until he heard a trembling voice.

“Richard…”

He turned slowly.

Hans stood before him, sweaty-faced, eyes intense. The youngest Westergaard looked as though he stood at the edge of something: panic, courage, collapse.

“Brother,” Richard murmured, and pulled him into a weary hug. “You’re staying. Queen Elsa is kinder than I imagined. You’ve been lucky.”

Hans pulled back slightly, still catching his breath.

“Richard… I need you to void the document. The one you signed. The one that frees me.”

Richard frowned, confused—and slightly wounded.

“What are you saying?”

“Please,” Hans repeated. “Void it. Say whatever you have to. Make something up. But I don’t want to stay in the Southern Isles—not yet! I want to go back to Arendelle.”

At that moment, Alysanne arrived—silent, escorted by her protectors. She stopped a few steps away, watching them. Richard saw her approach, but he couldn’t meet her gaze. And she didn’t speak a word to him either.

Hans went on, not even noticing.

“Please, Richard… quickly!”

His older brother didn’t understand his desperation.

“Hans… from the very first day, you made it clear you didn’t want to go. You said the journey was a punishment,” he reminded him. “In fact, you said you’d rather be shot and fed to sharks than ever see Elsa again. And now that they’re offering you the chance to stay home with your family… you want to go back there? Why?”

Hans swallowed hard. He wanted to tell him—but it hurt. He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t put it into words without feeling like he’d lose everything.

Richard watched him for a long moment, as if hoping to find in his eyes what his lips refused to say. But all he found was evasion.

“Are you plotting something?” he asked, stepping back. “After all this, are you going to lie to me again?”

“No!” Hans cried at once, stepping forward, anxious. “It’s not that, I swear. I just… I just need you to trust me. Just this once.”

“And how can I do that if you won’t even tell me what’s going on?” Richard shot back, hurt and confused. “Don’t you see how absurd your request is?”

Hans lowered his head, defeated. Then slowly lifted it again, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“I’m not finished.”

Richard frowned.

“Not finished… with what?”

“I have to do things right,” Hans said at last.

His voice didn’t tremble, but the battle inside him was evident.

“If I stay now, people will think the pardon was granted out of pity. That it was a symbolic gesture, not something earned. I want Arendelle to see me and know I’ve changed. I want Anna…” he hesitated, “I want Anna to truly forgive me. And I want the people to know I came home because I deserved to. Not because someone felt sorry for me.”

Richard looked at him in silence. His expression had changed, but not softened entirely.

“Hans, even if I wanted to help you, I can’t,” he said at last, voice firm. “The letter was sealed. It’s an official document, not just a sheet of paper I can tear up with an excuse. I can’t take it back without compromising my word before an entire kingdom.”

“Please, Richard.” Hans pressed on, his plea now laced with exhaustion. “Say there are still formalities left. That I must continue in diplomatic service. That you demand it as King. Say whatever you must. But please… do it for me. I’ve never asked you for anything.”

Richard raised a brow.

Hans exhaled.

“Nothing… that mattered as much as this.”

The King turned away, breathing heavily. The weight of his title, of grief, of duty… wrapped around him like a mantle he no longer knew how to remove.

Alysanne, who had remained in the background, her hands clasped and gaze lost on the floor, finally spoke.

She didn’t shout. She didn’t raise her voice. But each word was as sharp as a needle.

“Is it really so hard to help your brother?”

Richard turned slowly. She met his gaze without flinching.

“All he’s asking is to stay where his soul still has something left to say. And yet you doubt him.”

He didn’t reply. He closed his eyes for a moment, overwhelmed by a wave of inner conflict he chose not to reveal.

Then, without giving full approval—but no longer denying it—he raised his voice:

“Guards,” he said. “Escort Queen Elsa of Arendelle and her delegation to my study. Now.”

Hans exhaled as if he had been holding his breath for hours.

The clock struck the tenth hour when the door to the king’s office opened with a soft creak. The room was lit by the gentle morning light, but there was nothing peaceful about the atmosphere.

Elsa entered first, her posture upright as usual. At her side, Counselor Kai carried a small document case, his expression calm, though a tense line crossed his brow.

Richard did not move upon seeing them. He was already standing behind his desk, though his posture lacked the royal composure he usually displayed. His shirt sleeves were slightly rolled up. The jacket hung over the back of the chair. And in his hand, a glass filled with strong liquor, whose scent lingered in the room like an insolence.

Without a word, he lit a cigar, inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. The gesture—unthinkable for a diplomatic audience—only made the scene more unsettling at that hour of the day.

Kai, still expectant, was the first to speak.

“Your Majesty,” he said carefully, “I don’t wish to appear imprudent, but we don’t understand why our departure has been delayed. The document, as far as we knew, was ready to be signed. Has something… changed?”

Richard took his time before answering. He took a sip, set the glass down slowly on the table, and only then lifted his gaze to meet theirs.

“First of all, I wish to thank Her Majesty of Arendelle,” he said, his voice rougher than usual, “for her immense generosity. Last night, her words were… noble. She wished to grant my brother the right to remain. To return to this court and be with his family. And that is something I value deeply.”

Elsa didn’t reply. She simply looked at him. Her expression was calm, but it seemed she was beginning to connect invisible threads.

Richard inhaled again from the cigar before continuing:

“However, I was not in the right state of mind last night to finalize such an agreement. My judgment… wasn’t entirely clear. And after reflecting on what happened, I’ve decided it should not be carried out. Prince Hans will return with you to Arendelle.”

The silence that followed was immediate. Like a sudden lash of wind.

Kai straightened slightly, still maintaining his composure.

“Excuse me, Your Majesty?” he asked as courteously as possible, though the tension was clear in his tone. “Are you suggesting you’re retracting this…? Just minutes before our departure?”

“Not suggesting. I believe I was quite clear.” Richard replied with a slight shrug. “I’ve changed my mind.”

Almost instinctively, everyone turned to look at Hans.

The prince stood by one of the windows. He hadn’t said a word. But the flush in his face was unmistakable.

Elsa, still silent, was watching him closely.

And then Hans stepped forward.

“Brother!” he said, turning to Richard.

“I beg you to reconsider. Queen Elsa has been extraordinarily generous with me. She’s given me the chance to stay home, among my people. To be part of this family again. I beg you, don’t take that away from me now!”

A flicker crossed Richard’s face. His jaw tightened.

“ What are you doing?”

Hans didn’t hesitate. He stepped further into the room, his voice slightly raised.

“I know I don’t deserve such kindness. But if the Queen has chosen to give me a second chance… who am I to refuse it?”

Richard narrowed his eyes in entire disbelief. He leaned in a little and muttered under his breath:

“You asked me to say this.”

But Hans, without even looking at him, raised his voice in a tone so wounded it might have brought any lady to tears.

“Oh, Queen Elsa! I knew my brother would do this. I knew it! He… he has no heart.”

Kai stood tall, his bearing firm.

“Your Majesty,” he said, choosing each word with careful patience “with all due respect, it was you who signed this document last night. In my presence, no less. You were fully in favor of the proposal. And now you mean to annul it at the last possible moment, with no justification beyond a mere ‘change of opinion’?”

Richard let out a dry, joyless laugh, brittle as the bottom of his emptied glass. And without the slightest hint of shame, he tore the document in half before everyone present.

“Yes. That’s exactly it. Is there a problem, my lord?”

Kai did not reply at once. But his lips pressed into a tight line at the king’s insolence.

Elsa, still seated, did not avert her gaze from Richard for even a second.

“The problem, Your Majesty,” Kai said at last, “is that this ‘change of opinion’ is a grave insult to a treaty forged in good faith. Does your word mean nothing?”

But before Richard could respond, an unmistakably ironic laugh rang through the room.

Everyone turned slightly. Alysanne had not spoken until then, but her quiet laugh said everything. 

Richard looked at her. For a moment, his expression cracked. Not enough for most to notice, but Elsa did. He blinked slowly, as if trying to swallow a sudden bitterness.

Without a word, he reached for his glass again, took a sip, and then inhaled deeply from his cigar.

Only after that did he speak again.

“Good faith! What a convenient expression. The Southern Isles have shown good faith to your kingdom for decades. We lowered tariffs. We cleared exclusive maritime routes for you. We sent men, provisions—entire fleets. And all of it, all of it, in return for being treated as if we still owed you something.”

“That’s not fair,” Kai replied, his tone firmer now, though still controlled. “This conversation concerns your brother, not trade agreements or old wounds.”

“Does it not?” Richard retorted, stepping forward. His boots struck the floor with new weight. “Because ever since this began, it’s been nothing but Arendelle. Arendelle. Arendelle. Your conditions. Your law. My brother made mistakes, yes—but must my entire house bear his guilt forever? Are we to repay his debt for the rest of our lives, while you grant him only partial forgiveness?”

“He attempted to take the lives of our sovereigns, Your Majesty,” said Kai, now without the softness of diplomacy. “That was not a mistake. It was a crime. And allowing him the chance to redeem himself was already an act of generosity.”

Richard stood still. Then, he lowered his voice—so low one had to hold their breath to hear it.

“An act of generosity your kingdom has made excellent use of, it seems.” he said bitterly. “My brother will return to the North and fulfill what is required of him for the agreed duration. You will not send him back five months early just because you’ve grown tired of him.”

He leaned in slightly toward the counselor. His eyes, once burning with anger, now held something darker.

“And I suggest you don’t push further, my lord.” he said. “Because if you do, Arendelle might just find out how tired the South is of giving everything… and receiving nothing but crumbs in return.”

The guards at the door tensed, as if a single word more would be enough to unleash them.

Kai opened his mouth to reply, but didn’t get the chance.

Elsa stood.

The silence broke with the sweep of her cloak falling over her gown.

“Did you just threaten a member of my diplomatic corps?” she asked. Her voice wasn’t raised, but there was frost in it.

Richard didn’t even look at her.

“You tell me, Your Majesty.”

Before Elsa could think, her hands began to release a soft, restrained white mist. Alysanne noticed it and stood at once. 

“No,” she said quickly. “He did not. Your Majesty, please,” she added, turning to Elsa. “I beg you… my husband is not in his right mind. This morning has been… difficult.”

Richard slowly turned his face toward her. His gaze was not violent, but so restrained, so worn down, it hurt to see.

“You have no right to speak for me,” he said quietly, though each word landed like a heavy blow. “No one does.”

Alysanne stepped back, as if wounded without a single further word.

Hans moved between them almost instinctively, trying to contain the situation.

“Richard,” he whispered, “you’re taking this too far.”

The king closed his eyes, clenched his teeth. He inhaled, swallowing the rage.

Then, very slowly, he turned back toward the window, took another drag from his cigar, and with his eyes fixed on the horizon, said:

“We appreciate your gesture. But the Southern Isles have fulfilled every condition imposed by your court: every clause, every restriction, every act of good faith. My brother will complete the term stated in the original agreement. And you would do well,” he added, his voice now ice, “to uphold your end of the bargain.”

Silence fell like a dense snowfall.

Kai seemed ready to argue further, but Elsa shook her head. It wasn’t worth it.

“That will be enough,” she said aloud, without turning back. “You may all leave.”

The room seemed to breathe again. Kai bowed with a curt nod. The Queen’s ladies and guards moved in silence. Hans hesitated, but Alysanne touched his arm gently, guiding him toward the door.

Elsa was the last to move.

She didn’t say goodbye. She only looked at him, silently, with pity. Unable to recognize the man before her.

Richard knew she was still there. He could feel her presence like an open door in winter. And even as he kept his eyes fixed on the horizon, the last thing he said was:

“Safe travels, Your Majesty.”

Elsa did not answer.

But as she crossed the threshold and the door shut behind her…

…it wasn’t just the room that fell empty.

It was him.

Richard stood motionless before the window, his gaze fixed on the sea stretching beyond the palace walls. Yet the blue horizon no longer offered him solace. The vastness that had once whispered of freedom now seemed as unreachable as it was absurd.

He lingered there a moment longer, pretending he could still breathe.

And then, almost without realizing, he turned his head ever so slightly… and saw it.

The portrait of his father stared back from the wall—majestic, unreachable, eternal. King Leopold, painted in regal stillness, with a gaze as hard as ocean salt. A painting Richard had once admired now seemed to hold a silent judgment more merciless than any tribunal.

Something within him splintered.

What would he have thought? What would he think now, if he could see what his son had done?

He had betrayed his queen. He had raised his voice against his allies. He had spoken with violence to his own people.

What oath had he not yet broken?

The man who had once stood at that same window—young, determined, vowing to be a better sovereign than the one before him—where had he gone?

His hand lifted, almost by reflex, to his head.

The crown was still there. The Navigator’s Crown. He had worn it since the ceremony, a gesture of mourning and of duty. He removed it now with slow, deliberate hands. The metal shimmered faintly in the pale light. For years it had been revered—passed from his great-grandfather to his grandmother, and from her to his father. But in his grasp, it felt like an anchor.

It had been forged by slaves—men and women freed by the navigator they crowned as their first king. That foreigner who had crossed the seas alongside them had brought hope. They built a new life in the South and, in gratitude, crowned him.

The crown had not been taken. It had been given—out of love and freedom.

And yet now, in Richard’s hands, it felt like a curse.

How could something created to honor liberty have enslaved him so completely?

It had taken everything—from him, and from his family. The ease of living without weight duty and the pressure of greatness. The right to love without explanation. The chance to err without consequences that swept across nations.

He loved his homeland. Fiercely. With the devotion of a son who had given his life to the sea and soil that bore him. But he loathed the king—the one who stared back at him from the mirror. The man shaped by inheritance.

He loved his father. But he hated what that love had forced him to become.

The pain of that contradiction gripped him like a vice. The crown was no longer a symbol. It was a sentence. Every silver facet carried the weight of centuries—and within them, the death of the man he might have been.

And suddenly, as if possessed by the anguish itself, he hurled the crown across the room.

It struck a column and fell, clattering against the floor with a sound far louder than its weight. A sound that seemed to split the world in two.

He was tired. And it was a weariness no drink could numb. A weariness that had begun the day that crown was placed upon his head—and had only deepened with every passing moment since.

He remained standing, hollow and broken within.

What was he then?

A husband? A brother? A man?

Now, perhaps… none of those things.

Chapter Text

Winter had arrived in Arendelle with solemn punctuality.

Snowflakes fell with such delicacy it seemed the sky itself was trying not to disturb the kingdom’s silence. From the window of the royal study, Hans watched the white landscape with a stillness he rarely allowed himself.

It wasn’t the ice that had once threatened to destroy everything. It wasn’t magic, nor chaos. It was simply winter: beautiful, inevitable, and strangely peaceful.

He caught himself remembering winters in the Southern Isles, which were little more than a cool morning breeze. Sometimes Aldric would joke that the only way to see snow there was to dream of it. Thinking of his brother still hurt, but on days like this, the memory felt warmer than cruel.

“This is work, not a theater for contemplation,” a voice teased behind him with playful sweetness.

Hans blinked, startled. Anna was sitting on the edge of her sister’s desk, legs crossed and a knowing smile playing on her lips. Olaf peeked over the desk beside her, clearly enjoying the scene.

Hans opened his mouth with a sharp retort ready—he had one at the tip of his tongue—but stopped when he felt a gaze fixed upon him.

Elsa, seated behind her desk, was watching him silently. She wasn’t judging him—not yet—but one look was enough to remind him of the conversation they had shared days ago. The forgiveness, if it was even real. And how much he could ruin if he slipped back into old habits.

So, he lowered his gaze, pretending to busy himself with a few documents, and said nothing.

Elsa turned her eyes toward her sister, a faint smile on her lips that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“So, Anna… what else did Kristoff say?”

Anna’s face lit up instantly, as if someone had lit a candle inside her.

“Oh, Elsa! You can’t imagine. It was so romantic! He prepared a surprise picnic by the lake with floating lanterns and everything! And later, when he thought I had fallen asleep, he started saying things…”  she paused dramatically, resting her chin in her hands “ beautiful things.”

“What things ?!” Olaf cried, leaning forward on his chair. “You can’t stop there!”

Elsa let out a soft laugh. Hans, hearing it, couldn’t help but smile as well.

“Oh, Olaf, calm down,” Anna said with a laugh. “He said… I’m his safe place. That even if the world crumbled, he would know everything was fine as long as I smiled. Can you believe that?”

Elsa opened her mouth to reply, but from his corner, Hans let out a brief, involuntary laugh—a sharp, cynical little snort.

Both women turned to look at him at once.

Hans raised an eyebrow without fully lifting his gaze.

“Apologies. I sneezed,” he said, wiping his nose with his sleeve. “I must be allergic to so much sugar.”

“Well, swallow it,” Anna muttered, narrowing her eyes.

“Gladly, Your Highness,” he replied, bowing his head once more.

Anna turned back to her sister, her broad smile restored.

“Sister… I truly hope you find that, too. Someone who looks at you like that. Who says those things. Who loves you the way you deserve. So we can talk about it every day, like two silly girls in love.”

Elsa remained motionless, as if the comment had robbed her of air. Her treacherous eyes flicked briefly toward Hans, who pretended to be absorbed in arranging some books.

He felt it. He felt that one second when she looked at him.

She felt it too, and quickly said:

“Yes. Of course. Someday.”

Silence fell for a moment. Until the door opened and Henrik appeared, his usual martial posture intact, though his voice betrayed the faintest tremor as he spoke:

“Your Majesties, forgive the interruption. Prince Hans is to be reassigned. He has been given a new task.”

“By all means, Henrik!” Anna exclaimed. “Please, take him as far away as you like.”

Hans left the room with resignation.

Olaf gave him a military salute with a twig. Anna waved her hand theatrically, as one would bid farewell to a court jester. And Elsa, for a moment, simply watched him go.

A few minutes later, Hans was walking beside Henrik through the long hallway of the south wing, in silence, until the echo of their footsteps became unbearable.

“So… where am I being sent now?” he finally asked. “Unclogging a latrine? Killing a spider in the pantry? Or back to polishing portraits?”

Henrik didn’t answer immediately. He had that irritating habit of letting silence speak first.

“Nothing so epic,” he finally replied, without turning his head. “You’ll be training a new maid.”

Hans glanced sideways at him, frowning.

“Come again?”

“A new girl. From a village beyond the mountains. She was sent as a token of gratitude to the Queen. You are to teach her court protocol.”

“Me? Why not… literally anyone else? I mean, someone who actually wants to.”

“The other servants are busy with preparations for the Queen’s diplomatic dinner. You’re available.”

“Available? I was cleaning books, didn’t you see?”

Henrik said nothing. Just kept walking. As always. Calm. Calmly infuriating.

“And what exactly am I supposed to teach her? How the Queen likes her tea?”

“She knows little of the castle. They say you’ve mastered the routines well enough. It would be useful for her to learn from someone working close to Her Majesty.”

Hans rolled his eyes.

“Wonderful. My life’s ambition. Training clumsy peasants.”

“You could take it as an opportunity to show some empathy.”

“Empathy? Look, I can show her where the bucket is. That’s already more than anyone showed me when I started.”

Henrik allowed himself a faint grimace. Barely noticeable to anyone else—but to Hans, it was practically a roar of laughter.

“And what’s my apprentice’s name?” Hans asked with resignation.

“Inga.”

“And what’s she like? Does she know what she’s doing?”

“Couldn’t say. She nearly fell over trying to curtsy when she arrived.”

Hans sighed as Henrik opened the door to the service corridor.

Inside, a young blonde girl of humble appearance and a nervous demeanor was already waiting. Or rather, standing stiff as an awkward marble statue. She wore a white apron, slightly askew, her hair braided with care… and little practice. Her hands, clasped tightly before her, betrayed more fear than preparation.

Henrik, ever so generous with details, simply said:

“Inga, this is Prince Hans Westergaard.”

The girl paled slightly but said nothing. Clearly, she had heard enough about him.

The soldier continued, in the same calm tone one might use to announce the slow death of a plant.

“Well… you’ve probably heard of him. He’s not a prince here. Today, he’s simply your instructor. He’ll show you what you need to do today. Don’t worry, he won’t harm you. I’ll be here. Besides,” he added with a sideways glance at Hans, barely raising a brow, “he’s already quite well castrated.”

Hans arched an eyebrow and let out a brief, feigned laugh. Henrik did not respond. He simply remained in place.

Inga nodded quickly, still nervous. Yet Henrik’s biting remark had managed something unexpected: it drew a small, genuine smile from her.

“A pleasure, Your High— I mean, Mr. Westergaard.”

Hans observed her, slightly amused.

“Pleasure to meet you, Inga,” he replied, with an almost kind gesture. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

And so, accompanied by an atmosphere teetering awkwardly between duty and irony, they began their march through the private wing.

“Now then, Inga,” Hans began, distractedly, as they walked. “This is the private wing. Here you clean hallways, windows, deliver reports, and if you’re unlucky perfumed letters. Everything must be done discreetly, without disturbing anyone. Understood?”

“Yes, Mr. Westergaard.”

“Don’t call me Mr. Westergaard.”

“Sorry, Mr. Hans.”

He sighed.

The first task was simple: placing fresh towels in the Queen’s bath chamber.

Inga did so… in the shape of swans. One with a twisted neck, the other seeming to die of love.

Hans observed the scene in silence. He frowned. Inhaled. Exhaled.

“This isn’t a romantic mountain lodge,” he muttered. “It’s a monarch’s bath.”

“But… the mayor’s wife liked it this way…”

Hans stared at the towel creatures with a look fit for a funeral.

“Well… maybe Elsa will like it too.”

“Your Majesty,” said Kai, his voice firm yet restrained. “The ambassadors have replied. They will not come prepared to negotiate. If Vesterland breaks the treaty, the mayors of Hölenfjord are threatening to withdraw their financial support.”

Elsa nodded slowly. She stood before her work table, fingers clasped behind her back. Her posture was as regal as ever, but to any observant eye, the tension in her jaw and the stiffness of her shoulders did not go unnoticed.

“We cannot yield,” she said at last, her voice lower than usual. “If we do, everything we’ve built these past months will collapse. Tonight we must maintain balance. No mistakes.”

Kai bowed his head in respect.

Further back in the study, Hans was—at least in theory—supervising Inga.

“First, place the trade documents on this shelf, and the administrative ones… on that one. Got it?”

“Like this?” Inga asked, lifting a small stack with anxious hands.

“Yes, yes.” he replied, not really looking at what she was doing.

The truth was, he wasn’t thinking about the treaty, nor about Kai, nor about his task with Inga. He was thinking about the Queen of Arendelle.

Or rather, staring at her.

There was no polite way to put it: he simply couldn’t stop. Ever since the night of the “almost-kiss,” as he’d dubbed it, that night neither of them had dared mention since, something had broken in him. Or perhaps ignited.

Now, every one of her movements undid him. Every curve, every slight inclination of her body when she turned, every graceful motion of her delicate hands seemed unbearably enticing.

“Was she always this perfect when she moved?” he asked himself. “Damn it. Don’t look. Stop looking so much.”

But his eyes slid without permission from her braid to the elegant line of her neck, then inevitably down to that waist cinched by her dress, a waist that seemed designed to challenge any self-control he had left.

While Elsa spoke of routes and treaties, Hans heard none of it. All he could think about was the lingering sensation of her nearness, the warmth of her breath, the softness and chill of her touch.

“Mr. Hans…” Inga murmured beside him. “Is this right? Should I place them like this?”

“Yes! Just leave it” he snapped, exasperated.

Inga blinked, confused, but continued.

Hans narrowed his eyes, completely caught in his trance. His lips parted slightly, unconsciously. It wasn’t crude desire. It was deeper. It was longing—for her. For all that she was. For all that he couldn’t have.

And there he remained, in a contemplative daze, when the Queen, still deep in conversation with Kai, suddenly turned to point at something on the map… and caught him staring straight at her.

The impact was immediate.

Hans, caught in the act, straightened abruptly, cleared his throat awkwardly, and grabbed the first book he could find to feign attention.

“Uh… this isn’t right, Inga. Let me help you.”

Elsa said nothing. But the faint arch of her brow was enough to charge the air with discomfort.

And just then, as if the universe delighted in his misery, Inga, trying to reach a higher volume, lost her balance. Her arm knocked over a small inkwell, spilling its contents over several official documents yet to be filed.

Hans snapped out of his trance just in time to witness the disaster unfold.

“Inga!” he exclaimed in a low, urgent voice, stepping forward quickly.

Elsa turned once more with measured swiftness. Her blue eyes landed on the scene: stained documents, a petrified young maid, and Hans with his hand halfway outstretched.

“Your Majesty! I’m so sorry!” the girl stammered, trying to wipe the ink with her sleeve—only making things worse. “I… I thought I should… I wanted to help… truly!”

Kai pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes briefly.

Elsa, who years ago might have frozen the ink without blinking, showed no anger. On the contrary, she took a slow breath and leaned forward slightly, palm raised in a calming gesture.

“Please. Stop.” she said, striving not to sound too harsh.

Inga froze instantly, her eyes already shimmering with tears.

Elsa studied her carefully, without judging her — perhaps even with understanding in her eyes.

“Are you new?” she asked, with a warmth no one in the room would have expected at that moment.

“Y-yes, Your Majesty. I’m Inga, I come from Hölenmark… from the mountains. Everyone there admires you for how you saved our village from the flood. Mayor Sigvard sent me as a token of gratitude. And now… I’m ruining everything. I’m sorry…”

Elsa shook her head gently.

“Don’t worry. We all make mistakes at first. Just be more careful next time.”

Inga felt as if she could finally breathe and gave a small curtsy.

“Of course, Your Majesty. Thank you for your kindness.”

“Don’t thank me, I just hope life at court will not seem harsher than life in the mountains. And that you find here a place where you can grow.”

Elsa smiled faintly, and then  not entirely by chance turned her eyes toward Hans.

Her gaze was calm. Her tone, light. But the undertone could not be misunderstood.

“I hope you’re teaching her well.”

Hans held her gaze a moment longer than necessary. And in that instant, everything he wanted to tell her burned in his chest.

His voice, when he finally spoke, was brief. Almost hoarse.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Elsa held his gaze for just a heartbeat longer… then returned to her work as if nothing had happened.

However, three tasks later, the self-exiled Prince of the Southern Isles was beginning to lose his patience. Not because Inga was bad, though she was , but because she was trying. Enthusiastically. And that, oddly enough, was what irritated him most.

“Why the hell am I getting stressed about this?” he muttered to himself, watching her fold sheets with military precision, but arranging the colors alphabetically. “They don’t pay me enough. In fact, they don’t pay me at all.”

And so, a new plan was born.

“Inga, you know what? You’re doing excellent. Truly. You have a gift. See that hallway? Perfect for you.”

“You want me to clean the entire wing?”

“Of course! Go ahead, show everyone how it’s done. Come on now, the world isn’t going to sweep itself.”

Henrik, who had been watching the whole scene from the back, raised an eyebrow.

“Are you assigning her your tasks?”

“You asked me to teach her. Now let me teach.”

Inga was kneeling over the polished wooden floor, scrubbing the baseboards with a dedication that seemed almost artistic. Her face was damp with sweat, her bun half undone, yet she didn’t stop for a second.

Hans, at the other end of the hallway, sipped his tea with the air of a satisfied supervisor.

“Excellent, Inga. Impeccable. Your circular scrubbing technique… revolutionary. Truly marvelous,” he said, raising his cup as if to toast her. “Keep shining, all right?”

Inga turned with an innocent smile, a slight blush on her cheeks.

“Do you really think so?”

Hans blinked, a little surprised.

“Uh… yes. Of course. You’re doing… splendidly.” He smirked slightly. “I would never scrub like that… I assure you.”

She gave a nervous giggle and sat back on her heels for a moment, sighing.

“Thank you. You have no idea how much it means to me to hear that.”

Hans, about to take another sip of tea, paused and looked at her.

“Oh, really?”

“Yes…” Inga said more softly. “When I lived in the mayor’s mansion, I always dreamed of coming to the castle. I heard stories about how everything was more elegant here, and magical. I thought I’d feel out of place, that I wouldn’t be able to keep up. But… now, even though some things are different, many are the same. And knowing I’m doing well, even just a little… makes me feel useful. Like I really belong here.”

Hans slowly lowered his cup. Henrik shot him a sharp glance but did not move from his spot.

Inga looked down, fiddling with the cloth in her hands.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to ramble. I just… wanted to thank you. For being patient with me.”

Hans watched her in silence. For a moment,  a very brief moment, he saw himself, much younger, trying to stand out among the king’s sons who never noticed him. He too had once believed that working hard would be enough to be valued.

That thought lasted precisely five seconds.

“Right, well…” he said, clearing his throat and resuming his usual tone. “Don’t make me cry. Keep cleaning.”

“Yes, sir. I mean… yes, Hans.”

“And that curtain-shaking technique with that twist… brilliant. Do the same with the other seven, will you, darling?”

“Of course!”

She stood up eagerly and hurried to the next window, while Hans sighed and leaned back against the column with his tea in hand.

“You’re going straight to hell, Westergaard,” his guard muttered under his breath.

Seven curtains later, Inga turned with a mix of exhaustion and joy. Her cheeks were flushed, her blonde hair disheveled, and a bead of sweat slid down her temple as proof of her effort.

“That’s it, Inga!” Hans exclaimed triumphantly, stretching as if he had just won a war. “This, my dear, is called teamwork. You cleaned and organized everything perfectly, and I… supervised you with admirable dedication. Congratulations on your first day at court!”

“Did I really do well?”

“Inga, you did everything. It’s impossible to do it better,” Hans said, dramatically placing a hand over his chest. “In fact, if this were a competition, you would’ve humiliated me. And that’s no small feat.”

She let out a timid laugh as she picked up her bucket with evident satisfaction. Henrik raised an eyebrow slightly. From him, such a gesture was the equivalent of shouting: “Hans, you are an absolute scoundrel.”

But Hans remained unfazed. He merely lifted his empty cup in a gesture of invisible toast.

At that moment, the familiar sound of Gerda’s firm footsteps echoed through the corridor. She entered the scene with her usual precision and poise.

“Inga,” she said without raising her voice, “would you leave us alone for a moment?”

“Did I do something wrong?” the girl asked, instantly worried.

“No, my dear. I just need to speak with your… tutor.”

Hans smiled, a bit tense. Inga gave a small curtsy—almost without stumbling this time—and hurried out.

Gerda turned to Hans. Her face, though composed, radiated an indignation so carefully contained it might well have been served on fine porcelain.

“Is there anything you’d like to tell me, Your Highness?”

Hans raised both hands.

“What you just witnessed was an exemplary display of applied instruction. Inga showed great enthusiasm, and if she excelled, it was… undoubtedly… thanks to my dedication.”

“Your dedication to sitting while she performed each of your tasks?”

“I call it leadership by delegation.”

“I call it abuse of authority,” the woman replied.

Hans pressed his lips together.

“Well… that’s also a name.”

Gerda took a step closer. She did not raise her voice, but when she spoke, her tone was that of a sentence carved in stone.

“From this moment forward, you will be responsible for washing all the dishes used during tonight’s dinner.”

Hans paled.

“And when you finish that, you will go directly to the library. There are volumes from the last century that haven’t seen a dust cloth in far too long. You will clean them until dawn.”

Hans swallowed hard.

“And… is dawn… negotiable?”

“No.”

Henrik, still at the back, gave a soft cough. Hans turned and met that inscrutable look that clearly said: “Told you so.”

Later, the palace rested in an almost solemn silence. The lamps in the great hall were extinguished one by one, and the corridors lay shrouded in shadows.

Elsa entered her chambers with measured steps. She closed the door without haste, unfastening her cloak clasp with hands that knew no tremor.

Throughout the dinner, not a single concession had been won. The conversations, wrapped in courtesy, had failed to mask the reality: her allies were abandoning their treaties, the world was changing and despite everything, there was nothing she could do.

Standing in the center of the room, the Queen lingered for a moment. Then, she quickly changed into her nightgown and let herself fall onto the bed.

She lay motionless, staring at the ceiling with wide-open eyes, as if simply closing them would be futile. Her thoughts, like waves crashing against the shore, ebbed and flowed incessantly. Echoes of her meeting still resonated in her mind: 

Lord Hauer's measured tone. The warning disguised as a courtesy of Sjordal's men. The answers she didn't give. The ones she may not have had to pronounce. Every decision felt more like a burden than a solution, and though the world slept, she could not afford such a luxury.

She rolled to one side, then the other, clutching her pillow in a vain attempt to find solace. Finally, she sat up with a frustrated sigh. It was clear that rest would not come—not while her mind was caught in this whirlwind of thoughts. Perhaps, she thought, a book might offer some relief. Something dull enough to calm her mind, or, hopefully, interesting enough to distract her.

And so, wrapped in a shawl and moving lightly, she made her way to the library.

She ordered her centinels to stay where they were, as she didnt wanted to be more disturb for the night. The silence of the castle at this hour held a special weight, as if time itself had paused. Only the soft creak of the floorboards beneath her feet broke the stillness. Upon arriving, she pushed open the heavy library doors carefully, expecting to find it shrouded in shadows and filled with the comforting aroma of old paper. But to her surprise, she was not alone.

Halfway between the shelves, a male figure straightened from a low bookcase. A cloth in his hand, sleeves rolled up, gaze shifting from surprise to composed politeness in a mere second.

Hans.

For the briefest instant, both froze, not because they didn’t know how to act, but because the memory of all that remained unsaid hovered, subtle, between them.

But as if by tacit agreement, they both swiftly regained their composure. Elsa did not falter, nor did he.

The young prince turned, placing the book back on the shelf.

“Your Majesty.” He bowed his head with restrained courtesy. “What brings you here at this hour? A sudden passion for reading?”

Elsa held her stance with elegance.

“I might ask the same. Isn’t it a bit late for cleaning duties?”

Hans lifted the cloth with a resigned gesture.

“Oh, you know how it is… One tries to fulfill one’s duties and somehow still manages to offend the staff. In the end, they deemed that the dust on these volumes would be the most impartial judge of my character. Frankly, I find it an undeserved honor.”

Elsa let out a brief sigh, more weary than stern.

“And do you expect me to pity you?”

Hans replied with his usual irony.

“I would never dare presume so much. I’d settle for Your Majesty admiring my resilience in the face of adversity.”

For a moment, their gazes met. Both seemed to weigh their words more carefully than usual. There was a recent echo between them—and though neither spoke of it, it certainly remained.

“And tell me,” Elsa continued, attempting to reestablish some distance, “has it become an habit of yours to avoid responsibilities?”

Hans held her gaze with that dangerous spark so characteristic of him.

“Let’s say I choose my efforts carefully. But you haven’t answered me yet: what brings you to the library in the middle of the night? Don’t tell me you’ve been punished as well.”

Elsa drew a deep breath, her chin slightly lifted.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

Hans nodded, as though this had been obvious.

“I thought as much.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“You thought as much?”

“I was present at the dinner. Those men gave you no respite, though despite the outcome, you held yourself remarkably well” His tone softened. “. Though, if I’m honest, it wasn’t your speech that held my full attention.”

A faint, almost imperceptible blush touched Elsa’s cheeks, which she swiftly masked with a colder tone.

“And tell me, what distracted you, then?”

Hans smiled a gesture laden with meanings that could not cross the bounds of propriety. And yet, as though entirely by chance, he passed just behind her to place a volume back on a shelf, brushing against her ever so slightly.

“I believe you can imagine it… Your Majesty.”

Elsa maintained her dignity, though the air in the room seemed to thicken.

“You should be more careful with your words, Prince Hans,” she said, her tone firm but laced with a nuance that betrayed absolute severity. “They could easily be misunderstood.”

Hans inclined his head slightly.

“It was not my intention to offend. I was, of course, referring to the Duke Halverson’s excessive wig. An unforgivable distraction.”

His response was so offhanded that Elsa’s laughter escaped before she could stop it, brief and genuine. She covered her lips at once.

“You shouldn’t say such things.”

“What? The truth?” Hans replied, his eyes gleaming. “Or the fact that His Lordship seems to have inherited some rather concerning ornamental tastes? I believe Your Majesty ought to convene a meeting with other rulers to stage a humanitarian intervention and to find out what on earth is happening in Vesterland, or whether they all dress like that. For decency’s sake.”

The laughter that followed was impossible to contain. For a few seconds, the icy weight of the night seemed to melt away.

Hans said nothing more, watching her with an expression that was neither insolent nor mocking, but full of something both recognized and neither dared name.

“This may not be the best place to seek distraction,” he continued softly, gesturing toward the dusty shelves. “Most of these volumes are filled with medieval tragedies. I wouldn’t want to dampen Your Majesty’s charming mood.”

Elsa, still smiling, replied,

“And what do you suggest, then?”

Hans moved toward another shelf, his fingers trailing slowly along the spines of the books in a gesture that seemed distracted, though his words were anything but.

“Perhaps something less solemn. There are stories here that might better suit your taste.”

His fingers stopped on an old but well-kept volume, which he carefully pulled out. He studied it for a moment, then looked back at her.

“This one might interest you. It’s about a princess who defies her father and must make a decision that could change her life forever.”

Elsa blinked. She wanted to smile at what seemed like a carefully chosen response, but couldn’t. The words resonated within her in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

“And what does she choose, exactly?” she asked, her gaze never leaving his.

Hans smiled slowly, a deliberate gesture that seemed to hold more than he was willing to express.

“I’d rather not spoil the ending, Your Majesty.”

The words hung between them. For a moment, the library vanished: there were no books, no shelves, no lamps. Only the two of them, in a space suddenly too small to contain so much silence.

With a delicacy that sent a chill through Elsa, Hans offered her the book.

“I hope you find it interesting.”

Elsa took it, holding it to her chest as if it still carried the warmth of his hands. Her gaze sought his once more, and though her lips formed a faint smile, her eyes could not conceal what her bearing fought to hide.

“Thank you for the recommendation… Good night.”

Her words were quick, almost curt. She turned and walked toward the door with measured steps, as if each one required conscious effort.

Hans watched her go, unmoving.

And then he felt it again: that weariness, not of the body, but of the soul.

He had come to Arendelle seeking redemption, a redemption he could no longer separate from her. He had wanted to believe his cause was noble, that fulfilling his duty would be enough. But the night, her nearness, her voice, her gestures…all betrayed that lie.

He was tired of the wall they both continued to build. Tired of feigned indifference, of dressing his words, of keeping silent when everything inside him burned to be spoken.

He saw her hesitate just as she reached the threshold. And before he could stop himself, his voice escaped.

“Queen Elsa.”

The words rang out, unmistakable.

She froze, not turning. One hand pressed the book tighter to her chest; the other barely grazed the doorknob.

Hans drew a deep breath. When he spoke, his voice was firm, laden with a truth both simple and absolute.

“It wasn’t my brother who decided I should return.”

The silence that followed weighed heavier than any word.

Elsa remained facing away, unmoving. But her breath caught, almost imperceptibly.

Without opening the door, she felt Hans approaching, his steps filled with the same contained longing they both shared.

Then, almost without realizing it, she turned her head slightly—as if fearing a greater movement might break something sacred.

Hans stopped just a few steps away. His gaze met hers in that fleeting, fragile angle, yet charged with meaning.

For a moment, neither spoke. The air was tense.

Then Hans, not daring to step closer, added in a voice barely above a whisper,

“ You know why I’m here. ”

The words hung in the air like a whispered truth impossible to ignore.

She remained with her back to him. The Queen’s fingers gripped the book tighter, as though it might anchor her against what she had just heard.

There was no possible reply. She knew it. She had known it from the moment their eyes had met that night. And yet, to admit it… was another battle.

Everything in Elsa screamed that she should leave, break the invisible thread that bound them. Yet her feet refused to move.

Very slowly, almost fearing her own boldness, she turned a little more toward him. Not completely—just enough for her gaze to seek his over her shoulder.

The sight was devastating.

His green eyes, heavy with unspoken emotion, enveloped her with an intensity that nearly made her tremble. There was no arrogance in them, no empty seduction. Only brutally honest desire—and a longing he could barely conceal.

Elsa swallowed hard, her breathing now unsteady.

Then, without knowing when the decision was made, without reasoning the gesture, she turned fully. Her trembling hands released the book, which fell softly to the floor at her feet.

Before she could stop herself, before reason could reach her, her hands sought Hans’s face, her fingers trembling as they traced the line of his jaw.

He remained motionless, as though the slightest movement might shatter the moment. His lips parted, his gaze locked upon hers.

And then she kissed him.

It was a clumsy touch, brief, scarcely more than a breath of contact—charged in equal measure with nervousness and longing. Her lips trembled, inexperienced, uncertain of how to sustain that first assault.

But Hans, who had burned for far too long, could endure no more.

The instant he felt the trembling of her mouth upon his, the faint gasp that escaped her at the contact, his last reserve broke.

His hands rose, one slid reverently along the curve of her waist, the other lifted to her face, framing her cheek with a tenderness that belied the hunger consuming him from within.

He returned the kiss with a deep, restrained passion. His lips, warm and certain, claimed hers with a confidence that left no room for doubt.

Elsa clung to him, her fingers seeking an anchor, still awkward, but filled with a need she could no longer deny. Her body quivered beneath the tide of unfamiliar sensations, yet she did not retreat.

Hans, between each brush of his lips, battled his own instinct to lose himself entirely in her.

And so, when he sensed her hesitate for the briefest moment, he drew her closer, whispering against her mouth in a voice hoarse and thick with emotion.

“I’m here.”

Elsa’s breath faltered against his lips. There was no turning back now. With a faint, stifled sob, she surrendered entirely to the kiss, her mouth seeking his with newfound resolve, learning his rhythm, giving herself over with a fervour that astonished even her.

Hans trembled against her. His control frayed with every second. His hands slid lower along the curve of her back, drawing her in, deepening the kiss with a reverent, desperate urgency, as though all the time he had been silent now surged forth in each caress.

In a fleeting moment of clarity, Hans remembered the door left ajar. Between kisses, without breaking contact, he groped blindly behind him, seeking the handle.

His palm struck the doorframe. Then the wall. Then what he swore was the moulding of a shelf.

“Damn it,” he muttered against her lips, unable to pull away from her.

Withouth knowing his intention, Elsa drew him even closer, imprisoning him against her. And then, barely gasping against his mouth, she spoke his name.

“Hans…”

It was all he needed.

That fragile murmur full of longing, was all he needed to cast every thought aside.

Reason deserted him entirely.

With a low, contained growl, he abandoned the door and cradled her face in his hands, devouring her lips with unchecked hunger. The kisses turned frantic, searing; their bodies pressed together, leaving no room for doubt.

Elsa clung to his shoulders, responding now without fear, her body surrendering to the rhythm that consumed her.

He lifted her slightly, without breaking the kiss, guiding her back a few steps until her spine met the nearest bookcase with a gentle thud. There, overcome by a desire neither could deny, he kissed the Queen’s neck with a passion that burned them both, his hands tracing her back with feverish tremors.

Elsa smiled in delight. Where this was heading, neither seemed to know, nor did they wish to stop it.

And then, suddenly, a sound sliced through the air like a whip.

“Y-Your Majesty?”

Elsa pulled away with a startled gasp, one hand flying to cover her lips, her eyes wide in shock. Hans turned, his chest heaving violently, still struggling to catch his breath.

There stood the  little and innocent Inga, frozen in the doorway, eyes wide as saucers, her cheeks burning. Her gaze darted between the two of them, unable to settle on either.

The young maid swallowed hard, the weight of what she had just witnessed written plainly on her face. Unsure of what to do, she stammered,

“I… I came to tell you,  Mr. Hans, that… you may retire now. It’s no longer necessary for you to… keep cleaning tonight. That was all. I— I beg your pardon!”

Without waiting for a response, she fled, shutting the door hastily behind her.

The silence that followed was unbearable.

Elsa remained frozen, trembling, her lips still parted. Hans dragged a hand down his face, cursing inwardly.

“She… she saw us.” Elsa whispered at last, her voice breaking, as though only now realizing the full weight of what had just happened.

“She’s just a clumsy maid, no one will believe anything she says,” he said at once, a feeble attempt to soothe her.

Elsa shook her head, taking another step back.

“This should never… this should never have happened. It can’t be!”

Hans moved toward her, trying to calm her.

“Your Majesty… Elsa… please, it’s all right.”

“No,” she cut in urgently, her eyes shining, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Don’t say anything. Don’t say anything, please. We’ll just… we’ll just pretend it didn’t happen. Yes?”

“You want us to pretend this never happened?” Hans asked, his voice strained, cracking with frustration. “That all of this… that what we feel doesn’t exist?”

Elsa shut her eyes, as if that hurt more than the kiss itself.

“I can’t ignore it.”

“You must,” she insisted. “You have to. This isn’t right.”

Hans let out a harsh breath.

“Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think I haven’t told myself every single day? But I can’t help it. I can’t stop feeling this for you. I know this sounds crazy, but Elsa… I have come to love—”

“Stop!” she cried, stepping forward in desperation. “Have you lost your mind? Don’t say such things! Never!”

Hans faltered, his chest rising with the effort of holding back everything boiling inside him.

The door remained shut, but it was already too late. The young queen, breathing hard, took another step back.

“I can’t stay here. I shouldn’t have come.”

“Elsa… wait.”

But she was already turning, her eyes shining, her breath ragged. And before Hans could stop her, she rushed to the door and disappeared through it, shutting it with a dull thud.

Hans remained alone, his body still trembling, his lips burning. He pressed his forehead against the edge of a bookshelf.

If he had stayed in Arendelle seeking answers—he had them now. Though perhaps not as he had hoped.

The pale morning light barely managed to filter through the tall windows of the study, casting faint glimmers across the tapestries.

Elsa sat in her work chair, her posture as straight as ever, though her clasped fingers betrayed an unusual tension. Beside her, Anna listened with attentive curiosity; at the far end of the table, the ever-faithful Kai presented the latest updates with meticulous precision.

Around the room, a few servants moved in silence, clearing documents, arranging papers. Among them was Hans. And though he seemed focused on his tasks, the glances exchanged between him and the Queen spoke a language of their own.

“…and regarding the treaty with the Southern Isles,” Kai continued, a faint bitterness slipping through his otherwise controlled tone, “His Majesty King Richard will send a delegation to renegotiate the shared waters. Captain Bay will lead the envoy. They will await you at the port for luncheon.”

Elsa nodded, but her mind wandered far from the southern seas. Each of Kai’s words seemed to dissolve in the air, drowned out by images that rose unbidden: Hans’s lips upon hers, the heat of his hands at her back, the trembling brush of his breath along her neck.

Her breathing quickened slightly, though with effort she maintained her composure.

“Sister,” Anna interjected gently, leaning toward her. “Are you all right?”

Anna knew her too well; Elsa feared her sister might read the truth in her eyes. She frowned, and her voice came out harsher than she intended.

“I’m fine.”

Anna studied her a moment longer, her expression a mix of concern and tenderness.

“You don’t seem fine.”

“Please, Anna. I am” Elsa replied more firmly, striving to master her rising anxiety. “. Let’s focus on what matters, shall we?”

But before anyone could answer, the door opened with a faint creak.

Inga entered then, trembling, a silver tray in her hands. Elsa felt her breath catch, the knot in her chest tightening to the point of pain.

Hans stiffened at once, his fingers clenching around the parchment he held.

Kai, however, continued speaking, unaware of the sudden charge that had filled the room.

“…the council deems it prudent that we convene the ambassadors before proceeding, Your Majesty.”

Inga advanced, pale as paper, unable to lift her gaze to the Queen. When she reached the table, her trembling betrayed her; the tea service on the tray visibly rattled.

Elsa watched her as if hypnotized, her own pulse racing.

As Inga attempted to pour the tea, a slight tremor caused the liquid to spill over the saucer with a grating sound.

Elsa closed her eyes, striving for composure.

“That’s enough.” she said softly, barely above a whisper.

Inga, not understanding, continued awkwardly, her hands shaking even more.

Then Elsa rose abruptly. She snatched the cup from her with a sharp, almost violent gesture, setting it down on the table with force.

“I said that’s enough!” her voice, though controlled, cracked through the air like a whip. “Did you not hear me? Out! Now!”

The young maid stammered an apology, her eyes brimming with tears, and fled from the room.

Elsa did not stop there. Her icy gaze swept over the other servants.

“You as well. All of you. Leave immediately.”

The servants hurried to obey, the air thick with tension.

Hans was the last to move, his expression grave. He cast a brief, restrained glance toward Elsa before leaving in silence.

Kai and Anna remained where they were, frozen by surprise, as if afraid that any movement might result in the same fate.

Slowly, Elsa returned to her seat, her hands trembling. She pressed her fingers to her temples, fighting the vertigo that threatened to overwhelm her.

“Continue, Kai. Please.” she murmured, without lifting her gaze.

But before Kai could respond, Anna rose decisively from her chair.

“No, Kai. Do not continue,” she said firmly. “Elsa, you cannot go on like this. You are in no state to continue.”

Elsa looked up, her eyes weary and desperate.

“I am fine, Anna, please.”

“No, you are not,” her sister replied softly, yet firmly. “Last night was hard on all of us, and you know it. You have carried too much on your shoulders this week. You do not have to do it alone. I will go to the luncheon with Captain Bay.”

Kai inclined his head in agreement.

Elsa opened her mouth, as if to object… but no words came. Her strength was spent.

Seeing her thus, Anna gave her a tender smile and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“Please. Let yourself be cared for, just this once.”

At last, Elsa gave a faint nod, her eyes closing once more as her fingers returned to her brow.

“Kai,” Anna said as she left the room, “don’t give Elsa too much to do today. I need her in good shape for our picnic tomorrow.”

Kai, who had remained respectfully silent, inclined his head in acknowledgment.

“Of course, Princess Anna.”

Once Anna had left the room, Kai resumed his formal posture and picked up where he had left off.

“If I may continue, Your Majesty, you might be pleased to know that the preparations for the Christmas celebration…”

But Elsa was no longer listening. Her mind betrayed her again, dragging her back to the library, to the way Hans had said her name, to the intensity of his lips on hers. The images were so vivid she could almost feel the weight of his hands on her face once more.

At last, unable to endure it any longer, she interrupted Kai.

“I think we should remove Prince Hans from my service.”

The counselor blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in conversation.

“Prince Hans, Your Majesty? May I ask why?”

Elsa hesitated, searching for the right words.

“I have noticed that… lately, he has not been fulfilling his duties as he should. He is easily distracted and… no longer necessary.”

Kai frowned slightly, visibly puzzled, but nodded slowly.

“…I see. Is there a specific reason behind your dissatisfaction?”

Elsa turned her gaze to the window, avoiding Kai’s inquisitive eyes.

“There is no need to go into details. I simply believe it would be better to assign him different tasks. Something more… physical. Perhaps assisting in the gardens or helping with repairs at the port.”

Kai inclined his head slightly, still perplexed, but respectful enough not to press further.

“As you wish, Your Majesty. I will see to it.”

Elsa nodded and wrapped both hands around her now lukewarm tea. Her thoughts spun relentlessly. She knew this was the right decision. Allowing herself even a flicker of longing for Hans was dangerous. 

She had always prided herself on her self-control, on her ability to place duty above personal desires. But in that fleeting moment, she had faltered. She had crossed a line that could not be undone, and she could not allow herself to cross it again.

Hans would have to be removed from her presence. It was the only way to ensure she would not repeat her mistake.

Her chest tightened painfully at the thought, but she forced herself to push the feeling aside.

“Oh, and one more thing,” she added. “That young maid, Linda…”

Kai blinked again, momentarily confused.

“You mean Inga , Your Majesty?”

“Yes. I want her removed from the palace immediately,” Elsa stated, her tone now cold, almost cutting. “She lacks the composure and the proper training to serve at court. Have her sent back to Höllenmark. And inform Mayor Sigvard that his recommendation proved quite… inadequate.”

Kai inclined his head slowly, visibly uncomfortable with the Queen’s expression.

“A pity, my Queen. But I shall inform the mayor.”

What had transpired in that library could not be allowed to spread under any circumstances. And though it pained her, she would do whatever was necessary for Anna’s sake, for Hans’s, for her own… and for the kingdom.

The knot in her chest tightened even more, but she pressed her lips together and forced her voice steady.

“Now then. You may continue.”

Chapter Text

Sweat burned at the nape of his neck. His fingers, stiff with ice. And the damn snow… it never ended.

Hans shoveled with rough, repetitive motions, striving to ignore the absurd paradox that encased him:

How in hell could a man be freezing to death and sweating at the same time?

Each time he heaved another mound of snow, the skin of his wrists burned beneath the damp sleeves. His feet were blocks of ice. His back, a furnace. And the air… harsher than a slap.

Perfect, he thought bitterly. I hope you’re pleased, you fool. You wanted to return to Arendelle, didn’t you? Well, enjoy it.

He shoved another load with a grunt, and as he straightened for a moment to ease his back, his gaze wandered to the grey sky, heavy with slow, relentless flakes.

That was not the cold he longed for.

The cold he longed for… that cold knew how to pierce his bones.

It was the cold that radiated from a certain blonde with ice-blue eyes, capable of freezing him not with a gesture, but with a word.

The cold that had sparked at her fingertips when she dared to brush his face.

The one hidden in the soft skin of her neck when his lips sought it.

The cold that had trembled in the muffled gasp she let escape, between kiss and kiss.

The cold he had sworn to avoid… and for which now he would give anything to feel again.

For that ice was no punishment. It was life.

It was the spark that had consumed him more deeply than the heat of a thousand fires.

And now, here he was, lost amid piles of dead snow, seeking in vain a cold that offered him nothing.

His heart pounded.

He drove the shovel forward with renewed force, with a fury he could no longer restrain.

Damn it, Elsa…

No sensible man could fathom that the queen of Arendelle might harbor feelings for a man like him. And yet, Hans Westergaard could not deny the truth of that kiss.

It had been a fleeting moment, no more than a whisper within the vast silence of the library, yet enough to alter the course of his life.

She had kissed him.

It was a thought that tormented him, and at the same time, filled him with an inexplicable, maddening joy.

But if doubt had troubled his spirit that night, Elsa’s reply at dawn had struck with the precision of a dagger: utter silence, cold distance, and a decree that removed him from service within the castle, assigning him instead to tasks which, though not beneath his station, had been designed with the clear intention of keeping him away from her.

And so here he was:  clad in four sweaters beneath his coat, fingers on the verge of freezing, diligently shoveling snow from the palace entrances, a sight that in another life would have been laughable.

He had faced storms on the high seas, political conspiracies, and a public humiliation without precedent. Yet never had he felt so utterly wretched as he did now.

“This cannot go on,” he muttered to himself, straightening up and wiping the sweat from his brow.

“Complaining about honest work, Westergaard?” came a voice beside him.

Hans turned his head and found Henrik there, solemn in posture, though a faint smile played upon his lips.

“I’m not complaining about the work,” Hans replied, cheeks flushed, nose frozen. “Only about the irony. I went from the palace halls to this.”

Henrik gave a dry huff. “Who knows what you did to so displease Her Majesty. It will do you good. Perhaps if you clear all the snow, you’ll redeem yourself before the kingdom.”

Hans said nothing, unsettled by the strange mingling of heat and cold upon his skin.

“Come to town with me tonight,” Henrik offered suddenly. “A group of the guards gathers at the tavern after the shift change. You can’t keep wearing that face of a condemned man.”

Hans frowned, indignant. “Thank you, but I don’t think that would a good idea.”

“It would be” Henrik insisted. “. You need it. And besides, Her Majesty asked it personally.”

Hans stared at him, bewildered. “The Queen?”

The thought lashed through his mind with cruel swiftness: Why?

She had not spoken to him in days. Had offered no explanation, no reproach. Nothing. Only that cold decree.

And now… she asked Henrik about him? Asked that he go out, enjoy himself?

For an instant, the ice around his heart cracked, if only slightly. Did she care? Was it guilt? Was it affection? Or merely a more graceful way of keeping him at a distance without breaking him entirely?

He did not know. And that was the true torment.

For if anything burned fiercer than the wound of his exile, it was this relentless uncertainty, this brutal longing to know.

To know whether the kiss had meant anything to her, despite her fear. Whether she had trembled as he had. Whether she thought of it,  of him,  when she closed her eyes.

But all she offered now was distance. And a permission to forget.

“ Is that all I was to her?” he asked himself bitterly. “ A problem to be distracted, removed, and silenced?”

He clenched his jaw. The cold had nothing to do with the shiver that coursed through him then.

“The moment they let me through those gates, I’ll run away from you.”

Henrik sighed. “Run all you like, Prince. Just remember: when I catch you, you’ll wish you’d never been born.”

“You underestimate me. I already wish that , no catching required.”

The guard let out a hearty laugh, though his stance remained as upright as ever.

Hans wasn’t sure what had convinced him. Perhaps the prospect of a few hours away from the snow, and from his own thoughts, was more tempting than he cared to admit.

That evening, the tavern held that warm, boisterous air that suited Arendelle’s cold nights so well. The tables were packed with sailors, merchants, and off-duty soldiers, all with tankards in hand and easy laughter on their lips. In one corner, a band of musicians played a lively tune, adding to the cheer of the place.

Hans couldn’t recall the last time he had been somewhere like this. Ever since he had started working in the castle, his days had been filled with early mornings and endless tasks, leaving little room for distraction.

But now, surrounded by guards who laughed and toasted with unguarded enthusiasm, the weight of the past days felt, for a moment, at least, a little lighter.

“And what about you, Henrik?” asked one of them a balding man with a voice roughened by drink. “How much longer do you plan to watch over this one?”

Henrik, with the ease of a man who had answered that question far too many times, raised his tankard. “Until Her Majesty decides he’s no longer a threat. Or until he becomes a full-time snow-shoveler,” he added with a sly smile.

Hans rolled his eyes, but the jab struck him as almost affectionate. Henrik no longer spoke with the same disdain as before.

“I’ll admit he’s improved,” he continued chimed in. “Hasn’t tried to overthrow the kingdom in months.”

Laughter burst out around the table, and Hans, despite himself, smiled. It had been a long time since his company had not been met with sheer discomfort.

Perhaps the drink had put them all in a more generous mood, for the evening unfolded pleasantly enough.

”…and when we opened the door to the armory, there was the baker’s donkey. Standing right in the middle of the battle helmets!” one soldier recounted, gesturing wildly. “No one knows how it got in, but the stubborn thing refused to leave. Franz had to dress up as a little donkey and lure it out with carrots before our commander arrived!”

The whole table erupted in laughter. Hans leaned back, laughing hard, shoulders shaking, stomach aching from the effort. The image of a solemn Arendellian soldier dressed as a sweet little donkey was simply too absurd to resist.

“Damn it, I have to go!” one of them exclaimed suddenly, leaping to his feet with his tankard still in hand. “If I come home like this again, Helga will have me sleeping on the couch.”

Fresh laughter echoed through the room.

“Bah! Your wife’s got you well tamed, Erik.” another teased, nudging him with an elbow.

“Tamed, perhaps, but loved!” he shot back with a wide grin, entirely unashamed. “And blessed for it, because nothing in this world could make me trade her cooking, or the way she smiles when I walk through the door.”

For a moment, the din of the tavern seemed to fade in Hans’s ears. He felt inescapably apart from it all. In his mind, the room dissolved into shadows, into the persistent memories that reminded him that no matter how hard he tried to distract himself, he could not escape the truth.

She had kissed him. And afterward… discarded him.

Perhaps this was simply karma, Westergaard. For all the times you had done the same to others.

His glass hovered halfway to his lips. The knot in his throat returned with brutal force.

He forced a smile, pretending to follow the joke, but his eyes no longer laughed.

“Excuse me for a moment,” he murmured, rising carefully from his seat.

Henrik watched him go, without moving.

Hans made his way to the bar and sat down, letting out a long breath as he rested his elbows on the worn wood.

“Another round?”

The feminine voice pulled him from his thoughts. Hans looked up and found the bartender—a young woman with dark hair pinned back and a slender figure. She regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and caution, as if she had already seen too many men in his condition.

“Please.” he said, pushing his empty tankard toward her.

She took it and refilled it with practiced ease. Then, instead of leaving, she leaned against the bar and glanced at him sideways.

“You drink like a man trying to forget…”

Hans felt the air catch in his throat. He looked at her, surprised by how easily she had read him.

“How do you know?”

She shrugged. “I know these things.”

He let out a short, bitter laugh. “And what else do you know?”

“Is it about a woman? I think you’re punishing yourself. You believe that if you drink enough, maybe tonight you’ll sleep without thinking of her.”

Hans didn’t answer at once. He lifted the tankard to his lips and took a long draught before speaking.

“The worst part is… I shouldn’t even be thinking about her.”

The bartender tilted her head. “Why? Is she married?”

Hans shook his head. “No. But it’s… complicated.”

She smiled with quiet amusement. “It always is.”

Silence stretched between them.

“So what happened?” she asked at last.

Hans hesitated. Why was he telling this to a stranger? But perhaps because she was a stranger, the words came.

“I thought I was imagining it all,” he confessed. “That what I felt wasn’t real. That she never could… But then she kissed me.”

The woman  raised her eyebrows, surprised. “That doesn’t sound so terrible.”

He let out a humourless laugh. “It was. Because the next day, she cast me out of her life as if it had never happened.”

She studied him for a moment, as if weighing the best way to reply. Then, resting her elbows on the bar, she leaned a little closer.

“Let me guess. You’re forbidden to love her.”

Hans narrowed his eyes slightly, but nodded in silence.

“And yet here you are, drowning in beer because all you really want is for her to look at you again.”

He exhaled. There was no point denying it.

The woman smiled, with a touch of melancholy.

“I’ll tell you something. If it were truly impossible, if she truly felt nothing for you, she wouldn’t have kissed you.”

Hans lowered his gaze.

“I don’t know.” he murmured.

“Oh, don’t tell me you don’t know! She wants you and you know it! Now what are you going to do about it?”

Hans looked down, idly running his finger along the rim of his tankard.

“If I could… I’d do anything. Whatever it took. I’d go to the ends of the earth if it meant I could be by her side. But it’s not only about me. She must be afraid, there’s too much at stake. Too many who could get hurt. And I… I don’t want her to suffer, or lose what she loves most.”

The bartender smiled, this time with a look more mischievous than compassionate, leaning in just a touch closer.

“A true gentleman, hm? Well… if you ever tire of pining for this mysterious lady,” she said with a sly smile, “we do serve fine rum here… and offer even finer company.”

Hans looked up, slightly caught off guard. For a moment, he simply stared at her, almost surprised to feel the faint twinge her words stirred in him.

“I do thank you” he replied, managing a sheepish smile. “. But I’ve enough trouble with one woman driving me mad. I doubt I could handle two.”

She let out a soft laugh and tapped his hand.

“Fair enough, love. Good luck, then. You’ll need it.”

The night wore on. When Henrik finally dragged him out of the tavern and through the streets, Hans was far too lost in his thoughts to protest. He allowed himself to be led by his companion, the drunken haze clouding his senses all the more—yet the bartender’s words still echoed in his mind.

A few minutes later, thoroughly drunk, he staggered down the palace corridors with the stealth of an overturned carriage. Each of his steps echoed with alarming lack of coordination, and his laughter, interspersed with incoherent murmurs, bounced off the walls with scandalous abandon.

“For the love of the gods, Hans, be quiet! You’ll have us thrown out of the palace,” Henrik growled, catching him by the arm just as he was about to trip over a rug.

“They can’t throw us out. I’m a prince. ” Hans whispered, leaning far too close to his companion’s face.

Henrik clenched his jaw and gripped him tighter.

“Yes, a drunk, noisy prince. Your title won’t help you much if the Queen orders you tossed into the moat.”

Hans laughed and stumbled over the edge of a carpet. Henrik barely managed to catch him before he collapsed onto the floor.

“At least if they toss me in the moat, make sure there’s water in it.”

“You’re a disaster.” Henrik muttered, dragging him down the corridor. “If my commander sees us like this, I’ll be mucking out the stables for a month. Keep quiet, will you? People are trying to sleep. You could wake Their Majesties.”

Far from lowering his voice, Hans began clomping down the hall even louder. His laughter burst out unchecked, as if the night itself were unraveling with him.

“Oh, come now!” he cried, raising his voice. “No need to worry, I’m not the one who’ll wake the Queen. Queen Elsa! Your Majesty!! Queen Elsa!!!”

Henrik looked on in horror, knowing full well Hans was on the verge of doing something that might cost them more than a scolding. Without a second thought, he rushed forward and clamped a firm hand over Hans’s mouth.

“Enough, damn it! ” he hissed, voice low but leaving no room for argument. “Have you lost your mind? Do that again, and I swear I’ll kill you!”

Hans tried to pry Henrik’s hand away, but rather than resisting in earnest, he surrendered to helpless laughter, unable to contain himself.

“What’s the matter, Henrik?! Afraid you’ll wake Sleeping Beauty?!” he cried between gasps, still struggling half-heartedly against his friend’s grip.

Henrik let out a sharp breath and hastily pushed him toward the guest chambers before he could say or do anything worse. Once inside, Hans collapsed heavily onto his bed while Henrik shut the door with a resigned sigh.

Silence fell between them for a moment, broken only by the sounds of Hans fumbling awkwardly beneath the covers. Then, without warning, the prince spoke in a tone oddly at odds with his drunken state.

“Have you ever been in love, Henrik?”

“I am never going out with you again.”

“I’m serious. Tell me.”

“ No .”

“Never?”

“Never,” Henrik said curtly, pulling off his boots. “Candidates for the Honor Guard take a vow of chastity. Our loyalty and love belong to the Realm… and to Her Majesty.”

There was a silence.

Hans opened his eyes—wide. Very wide. He leaned toward Henrik, mouth slightly agape in pure astonishment.

”…Wait… wait, wait,” he murmured. “Are you telling me you’ve never been with a woman? Not even a kiss? Not once?”

Henrik glanced at him sideways, uncomfortable.

“Never.”

Hans threw both hands to his head, as though he had just witnessed a Greek tragedy.

“Never!” he repeated, as if unable to grasp it. “But… how is that possible?! What do they teach you in the Guard, to run from women?”

Henrik sighed, resigned.

“It is a sacred vow. Our desires come second. The lives of Their Majesties must come before anything else, even before our own.”

Hans ran both hands through his hair, laughing halfway in disbelief.

“No, no, no. This is unbelievable! What were the council thinking? Who in their right mind imposes such a thing?!” He pointed at Henrik, smiling and swaying slightly. “You have no idea what you’re missing!”

Henrik snorted with patience.

“I’m not missing anything.”

Hans let out a hoarse laugh.

“Ah, my friend… if only you knew.”

He leaned conspiratorially against the wall, lowering his voice:

“Listen… when all this is over…” he winked. “If you ever want a change of scenery, I can get you a place in my brother’s Royal Guard. In the Southern Isles, that vow…” he waved a hand ”…is interpreted far more flexibly, I can assure you.”

Henrik rolled his eyes in exasperation.

“Thanks, but I think I’ll survive… without your generous offer.”

Hans laughed louder.

“As you wish, chaste soldier. But if you ever change your mind… you know where to find me.”

“And you?”

“Me what?”

“Have you ever been in love?”

Hans paused, as if trying to gather his thoughts.

“Only once.” he answered after a moment, gaze drifting toward the ceiling.

And then, as if the word itself tasted strange on his tongue:

“And I think… it’s happening again.”

Henrik gave a short laugh, settling beneath his blanket. “And who on earth could you be in love with besides your shovel and the snow?”

“Someone.”

“And does she know?”

Hans let out a bitter laugh.

“She knew. For a moment.”

“And what happened?”

“We kissed.”

Henrik rolled his eyes. “And when, in the name of all that’s holy, did this happen? I’m with you all the time.”

Hans grinned with the mischief of a man holding too delicious a secret to share.

“Those were the best five minutes of bathroom break you ever took.”

“You’re insufferable.”

Hans let out a soft laugh, but then, without warning, his expression shifted. He fell silent.

When he spoke again, his voice was barely a whisper:

“It wasn’t supposed to happen… I shouldn’t feel this way.”

Henrik frowned.

“What do you mean?”

Hans swallowed hard, fingers curling into a fist against his chest.

“It hurts to feel this… but I can’t stop.”

His shoulders trembled faintly. He swallowed again and continued, more to himself than to his companion:

“She’s seen me, Henrik, not the prince or a prisoner. Just… me. And still, she didn’t turn away. Even when she should have. She looked at what I was, and somehow believed I could be more.”

The knot in his throat tightened. His breathing grew unsteady.

“And when she kissed me… for a moment… I thought yes. Maybe I could be someone better. For her. For her world.”

He covered his face with both hands, as if trying to hold back the tears.

“But I can’t… I can’t have her. And yet… I don’t know how to stop feeling this.” His voice trembled, overflowing. “Gods… if only I could speak to her. I never knew loving someone could hurt this much.”

He curled in on himself.

“If you could see her eyes, Henrik,” he whispered, broken. “They’re like ice. But to me… they’re the only place where I can breathe.”

Silence hung in the room, broken only by the prince’s ragged breaths as he struggled to contain the sobs shaking his chest.

“She won’t let me sleep. She won’t let me live. And… I will never have her. What the hell am I supposed to do with this?”

Henrik watched him, puzzled.

“Hans… what are you talking about?”

The redhead opened his mouth, but stopped. For a long moment, he seemed caught between speaking and staying silent. The question hung in the air, heavy. Hans felt the answer was more complicated than Henrik could ever understand.

A royal guard, even one who was something close to a friend, would never truly understand what he felt. And that terrified him. If he spoke the truth, if he let it slip, what would happen? Would he be judged? Rejected?

No. He couldn’t.

And so, instead of answering, he remained silent, heart pounding in his chest, fighting to keep his emotions at bay.

“Nothing. Forget it,” he murmured. “I think I drank too much tonight.”

Henrik let out a sharp breath.

“For the gods’ sake, act like a man. It looks like you’ve just lost an arm. And now taking vows doesn’t sound so crazy, does it?” He stretched out on the bed, closing his eyes. “Sleep well, poet.”

Weeks passed. The cold was tightening its grip on the kingdom. On that particular day, the spirit of the coming festivities could be felt in the air.

The great hall of Arendelle Castle was steeped in a peculiar blend of scents: the fresh aroma of pine, brought from nearby forests, and a faint trace of human frustration that not even the most festive of air fresheners could mask.

That grand hall, imposing in its architecture, was at that very moment under the obsessive scrutiny and meticulous command of Princess Anna, whose mood, as radiant as a midsummer noon, directed the Christmas decorations with the fervor of a general leading her troops.

Unfortunately for Hans, the role of foot soldier had fallen entirely to him.

At that moment, the unfortunate prince was perched atop a precariously swaying ladder, attempting to hang a decorative garland across one of the great wooden arches. His boots slipped alarmingly on the top rung, while Anna, standing firmly at the base of the ladder with hands on hips and eyes alight with enthusiasm, issued orders with the precision of a metronome.

“A little more to the left, Hans! No, wait… a little higher! Well, lower it a bit. Yes, yes… right there!” Anna exclaimed, her cheerful voice already provoking an involuntary twitch in Hans’s left eye.

“ Up, down, left, right?” Hans thought grimly as he adjusted the garland. “ Why doesn’t she just ask me to hang myself from the ceiling like a human ornament? I can’t believe I almost married this lunatic.”

Though his mind brimmed with biting, sarcastic retorts, Hans kept a perfectly neutral expression. He had learned through endless days of enduring Anna’s directives that his sarcasm was utterly lost on the princess’s unshakable optimism.

“ Ah , perfect!” Anna finally declared, clapping her hands with a triumphant smile. “Although… now that I think of it… maybe move it just a little more toward the center.”

Hans clenched his teeth, along with the garland. If his patience were a velvet ribbon, Anna was about to unravel it completely.

“Is this all right, Your Highness?” Hans asked, his tone polite but laced with venom.

Anna narrowed her eyes, assessing his work critically.

“No. It’s crooked. Can’t you manage something so simple? Maybe I should do it myself.”

Hans looked down at her from the top of the ladder with a strained smile that showed more teeth than goodwill.

“ By all means, go ahead. Climb up and display your unmatched talent for hanging garlands. I promise I’ll hold the ladder with the utmost devotion.”

“And leave you on the floor? No, thank you,” Anna replied, folding her arms. “You’d surely let me fall.”

Hans swallowed the reply that had already reached the tip of his tongue, though the burn of irritation still pulsed in his chest. He climbed down the ladder with an exaggerated sigh and set the garland on a nearby table.

“Perhaps what you need is not help, but a miracle.” he said with a shrug, brushing a stray pine branch off his coat.

Anna ignored the remark and spun toward another table, where an army of golden bells awaited in perfect order.

“Don’t forget to place these on all the tables” she ordered, her tone now tinged with impatience.

Hans picked up one of the bells between thumb and forefinger, inspecting it with disdain.

“ Of course. How could I possibly forget the precious bells? We wouldn’t want to ruin the kingdom’s Christmas.”

“Don’t just stand there,” Anna shot back, as if reading his thoughts. “Quickly! The guests will arrive in an hour.”

Hans let out a dramatic sigh as he reached for another bell.

“It is comforting to know my existence serves such a noble purpose as hanging bells on candelabras” he muttered under his breath.

Anna threw him a withering look.

“If your existence had any purpose at all, believe me, we’d know.”

The tension between them filled the hall like an approaching storm. And yet, despite their constant barbs…the decorations progressed, and almost miraculously, the hall was beginning to look like a setting truly fit for a royal Christmas.

Hans cast a glance around the room and, though he would never admit it aloud, there was something undeniably beautiful about the place. Not enough to justify the torment he was enduring, of course, but perhaps, just perhaps, it wasn’t quite as dreadful as he had imagined.

“Finished already?” Anna’s voice broke through his thoughts.

“Unless the little bells need their own tiny bells, I believe so, Your Highness,” he replied, with a mocking tilt of his head.

Just then, a murmur of admiration swept through the hall. The heavy oak doors opened softly, letting in a rush of cold air that heralded Elsa’s arrival.

Her velvet-blue gown flowed with the grace of a crystal stream, trailing lightly over the steps as she descended. The candlelight danced across the delicate silver embroidery, making her shine as though she were an extension of winter itself.

Anna looked up, and even Olaf, who had been bouncing around a pile of boxes, froze in place, mouth agape in pure, contagious awe.

“Wow!” someone finally managed to say.

Anna, her excitement brimming, ran toward her sister with open arms.

“Elsa, you look incredible!”

“Yes!” Olaf chimed in, thrilled. “You look like a giant snowflake!”

Elsa laughed softly.

“Thank you. I wanted everything to be perfect… after all, it’s our first Christmas together,” she said, letting her sister wrap her in a warm embrace.

Yet her gaze wandered briefly across the hall, as though searching for something… or someone. And then she saw him.

The smile that had just begun to form on her lips vanished at once.

He, in turn, remained perfectly still. His eyes, usually sharp with irony and cynicism, reflected something different now. It had been weeks since they last saw each other. 

That furtive encounter, wrapped in the winter’s silent complicity, had been as brief as it was intense. Since then, Elsa had avoided him, overwhelmed by her own confused emotions and the certainty that it must not happen again.

Now, face to face, neither dared to hold the other’s gaze for too long. Elsa turned back toward Anna, who watched her with a mixture of admiration and curiosity.

“The hall is beautiful. You’ve outdone yourself, sister. Is everything ready for the celebration?” Elsa asked, striving to keep her composure.

Anna, seemingly tireless, replied:

“Yes, everything’s ready! Except someone still needs to pick up all this mess.” Her eyes flicked briefly toward a frustrated Hans, then to the ladder and the empty boxes scattered about.

He shot her an exasperated look but said nothing. With an exaggerated sigh, he began dragging the items toward the exit.

Just before crossing the threshold, he turned just enough for his eyes to meet Elsa’s. It lasted only an instant, but the intensity of that gaze seemed to thicken the very air. Neither spoke. Everything they could not say lingered there, suspended between them.

When he disappeared through the door, Elsa looked away, absently toying with her braid. Anna, unaware of the exchange, returned to her usual overflowing enthusiasm.

Before anyone could speak, Gleb entered the hall and bowed to Elsa.

“Your Majesty, the bell is in place. The citizens are gathering in the square, waiting for it to ring.”

“I can’t wait another minute,” Olaf interrupted, spinning around with arms outstretched. “This is going to be the best moment of my life, or at least until something even more amazing happens.”

Anna laughed and gave him a playful nudge.

“Come on, Olaf. Elsa, are you ready?”

Elsa nodded, though a shadow of nervousness lingered on her face. “Yes, let’s go.”

As they left the hall, they were greeted by cheers and applause. The air in the square thrummed with anticipation. Elsa, her expression serene yet filled with emotion, approached the rope tied to the great golden bell in the tower, its surface gleaming beneath the soft glow of the lanterns. The crowd fell silent, expectant. Anna, standing beside her, gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, a silent reminder that she was not alone.

Elsa drew a deep breath and began to speak, her voice clear yet charged with undeniable emotion.

“Citizens of Arendelle,” she began, letting her words carry across the square, “tonight, as we ring the bell that means so much to our people, I cannot help but remember my father’s words. The true strength of a kingdom lies in the unity of its people. Seeing you all here tonight, I know those words still hold true.”

A murmur of assent swept through the crowd as Elsa continued.

“Christmas gives us the chance to celebrate the bonds that make us strong, the family, the friendship, and the love we share. Though this year has brought its challenges, I am grateful for your resilience and for the spirit that keeps Arendelle alive.”

Beside her, Anna smiled warmly, though a faint glimmer of nostalgia shone in her eyes.

“We wish you all a Christmas filled with joy and a prosperous New Year,” Elsa concluded. “May tonight be only the beginning of many more celebrations together.”

With those words, Anna and Elsa turned toward the bell. Together, they pulled the rope, setting the heavy bell in motion. The sound that rang out was deep and resonant, filling  the air and the hearts of all those present.

As the bell rang, a faint glimmer of nostalgia crossed the sisters’ faces. It had been so long since they had heard that sound, so long since they had felt that emotion. It was impossible not to think of those days when, as little girls, they had rung the bell alongside their parents.

Elsa let out a barely audible sigh and glanced at Anna. How much things had changed, she thought, though her gaze held gratitude for the moment they now shared.

When the echo faded, Elsa’s magic unfolded in the sky. Shimmering snowflakes began to fall, forming fleeting shapes that danced among the lights of the square. The crowd erupted in applause and cheers, a spectacle that spoke of hope and new beginnings.

Elsa turned to Anna and whispered, “I think it’s time we invite them to the banquet.”

Anna nodded enthusiastically, but just as they were about to speak, they noticed the square beginning to empty. Smiling and grateful families were departing, carrying with them the warmth of the moment.

Elsa frowned, and Anna, a mixture of confusion and concern in her eyes, tried to stop some of them.

“Mr. and Mrs. Olsen,” Elsa called, catching up to an elderly couple moving slowly. “Wouldn’t you like to join us for the banquet in the great hall? It was prepared especially for all of you.”

Mrs. Olsen offered a kind smile. “Oh, Your Majesty, that is a lovely gesture, but we have a family tradition. Every Christmas Eve we sew stockings for our grandchildren. It is a moment we wouldn’t trade for anything.”

Mr. Olsen nodded warmly. “Besides, we wouldn’t wish to intrude on your family’s traditions. This night is special for you as well.”

Elsa tried to insist, but the couple was already moving away, leaving behind a silent void that not even the magical snowfall could fill.

When Anna and Elsa returned to the great hall, they found it completely empty. The meticulously decorated tables, the gleaming candelabras, the carefully set plates… all remained untouched, like a beautiful stage left forgotten.

Anna let out an exasperated huff.

Hans, who had just entered the hall, raised an eyebrow as Henrik gave him a pat on the arm.

“Well, Prince, looks like you’d better start clearing up.”

Hans closed his eyes and let out a theatrical sigh. “What?”

The fallen prince’s energy seemed completely drained. It felt like a cruel joke of fate, after having endured Anna’s frantic orders all afternoon.

As he began clearing the decorations from the tables with slow, deliberate movements, the sisters gazed upon the hall with sadness.

“I can’t wait to hear about your Christmas traditions!” Olaf exclaimed, oblivious to the heavy atmosphere. “Tell me, tell me, tell me!”

Anna seemed to think for a moment, but nothing came to mind.

“Elsa, did we have any family traditions?”

Her older sister hesitated, her hands tightening slightly on the folds of her dress.

“Well… we used to ring the Great Christmas Bell.”

“That was for the kingdom, wasn’t it? Isn’t there anything else? Something just for us?”

The answer hung in the air, unspoken, for they both knew the truth. They had no personal traditions. The distance Elsa’s powers had imposed between them had prevented them from sharing anything beyond fragmented memories.

“When the doors were closed, we were never together,” Elsa murmured, turning away, her eyes shimmering with tears. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault that we have no traditions.”

Without another word, she left the hall. Anna tried to stop her, visibly distressed, but Elsa closed the door behind her.

Hans, who had witnessed the scene, remained silent. Laden with the weight of the moment, he simply continued with his task.

A little later, carrying a stack of boxes in his arms, he made his way to the attic. The echo of his footsteps was the only sound accompanying him. But as he turned a corner, he stumbled into a decorated tree. The ornaments crashed to the floor with a clatter that seemed to echo his foul mood.

“For heaven’s sake…” he growled, kneeling to gather the fallen decorations.

“Do you need help?” asked a soft voice behind him.

Hans looked up, and his furrowed brow softened at once. There was Elsa, her face slightly flushed, her eyes swollen from crying. There was a fragility about her, as if the weight of the night had utterly exhausted her.

For a moment, Hans felt his heart soften. Not knowing quite what to say, he simply nodded.

She knelt beside him, carefully gathering the ornaments with slow, deliberate movements. Neither spoke, yet the tension in the air was almost palpable. Elsa avoided meeting his gaze, while Hans fought to ignore the trembling in his own hands.

There was so much they wished to say… and yet the silence between them spoke more than any words could.

Together, they climbed up to the attic. The space was wrapped in heavy shadows, softened only by the faint glow of a lamp Hans had clumsily set upon a dusty table. Around them rose stacks of boxes, trunks, and forgotten objects, silent witnesses to Arendelle’s past.

Hans let the last box fall with an exasperated sigh.

“Well, at least that’s done,” he murmured ironically, piling the Christmas decorations haphazardly in a corner. “Don’t worry, it’ll be someone else’s problem next year.”

Elsa let out a soft laugh, though her expression still held a trace of melancholy. Together, they leaned back against a box, catching their breath.

“I’m so sorry, Hans. After all the work you did, no one stayed to enjoy it.”

Hans looked up, meeting Elsa’s blue eyes, which shimmered faintly in the lamplight.

“It’s not the first time I’ve done something in vain, Elsa,” he replied lightly, though a note of bitterness crept into his voice.

Elsa lowered her gaze, absently toying with a ribbon hanging from one of the boxes.

“Even so… the intention was good. That’s what matters, isn’t it?”

She let out a short, joyless laugh. “Of course.”

Sensing the wall of ice still between them, he crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.

“And you? Are you all right? That argument with your sister… it didn’t look easy.”

Elsa turned away, pretending to examine another nearby box, but her voice betrayed the tension within her.

“I acted like a fool. I ruin everything. We had no traditions together because I never allowed it. It was all my fault.”

Hans took a step toward her, his green eyes softened with an expression Elsa hadn’t seen from him in a long time.

“You can’t carry that guilt. It isn’t fair.”

Elsa gave a short, bitter laugh.

“That’s easy to say.”

“Elsa…”

“No, it’s the truth.” She looked up, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “If it weren’t for me, Anna would have had a normal childhood. Everyone in Arendelle would have a normal life, and my parents…”

Hans fell silent for a moment, his thoughts turning as he kept his gaze fixed on her. Finally, he straightened with a sigh that seemed to fill the space between them.

“You know what’s ironic?” he said in a lower tone. “I haven’t had a normal Christmas either.”

Elsa looked at him, surprised by the confession.

“What do you mean?”

“When my mother disappeared, everything changed.” Hans paused, as if struggling to form the words. “We used to have simple traditions. Baking cookies together, sitting by the fire… normal things, I suppose. But after she was gone… My father—” he let out a humorless laugh, “let’s just say he wasn’t exactly the kind of man who kept traditions alive. Even though Richard tried to make things different, I was too proud to share anything with my brothers. I preferred being alone.”

Elsa watched him, moved by the vulnerability in his words.

“I’m so sorry.”

Hans looked away, pretending to dust off his hands.

“And your brother…” she asked suddenly, “did you send him a letter for Christmas?”

A smile spread unconsciously across the prince’s lips.

“I did. He even sent me a present “ Runar’s Compass” . It was my favorite book as a child. I was fascinated when the hero went on missions across the high seas.”

Elsa smiled instantly.

“I loved that book too! When the witches made his compass spin out of control and led him to the ends of the earth, it was spectacular! But one day… I froze it by accident. The pages were completely ruined. I never found out how it ended.”

Hans let out a soft laugh.

“I’ll lend it to you, don’t worry. Though first Henrik will have to finish it. He’s convinced there’s a secret message hidden between the pages.”

For a moment, silence filled the attic; it was not an awkward silence, but one heavy with understanding. It was as if they both recognized a reflection of themselves in the other.

At last, Hans straightened, his gaze fixed on her.

“Elsa…” he said, his voice firmer now, weighted with something he seemed to have held back for weeks. “Can we… talk about what happened?”

She felt the air around her grow heavier.

“Hans, I don’t think—”

“Please,” he pleaded, stepping just a little closer. “You’ve been avoiding me all this time. You pulled me from your service and reassigned me to… what? Shoveling snow? Hauling bricks at the port? Why? What we did that night… what I told you… none of that has changed.”

Elsa felt a knot in her throat, but Hans didn’t give her time to answer.

“I know you’re scared. So am I. But… could you be honest with me? Please.”

She swallowed. Her fingers tangled nervously in her lap.

“Hans…” she murmured at last, lifting her gaze only slightly. “I… I was just confused.”

It was as if those words had drained all air from his lungs. He stood still, blinking slowly, as if trying to absorb what he had just heard.

She went on, her voice trembling but resolute.

“That night… I had just come from a very stressful dinner. I was exhausted and under too much pressure. You were kind, and funny… and I… I didn’t know what I was doing. It was… curiosity. Nothing more.”

Hans tilted his head slightly, a crooked smile forming on his lips that did not reach his eyes.

“Curiosity? ” he repeated, in a tone that aspired to lightness, yet betrayed a sharp undertone. “How flattering… to be the subject of such a scientific experiment. I do hope you were at least satisfied.”

Elsa closed her eyes briefly, hurt by his words.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she continued softly. “But… you were confused too. Since we went to the Southern Isles, after what happened with your brother… it’s only natural that—”

“No.” He cut her off sharply, his voice regaining an unexpected gravity. “That has absolutely nothing to do with how I feel about you. And I wasn’t confused. Not then… not now.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. For a moment, neither dared to look at the other.

“Although, after this conversation… I might have to reconsider,” he added quietly, barely audible, with that final shield of sarcasm he knew so well how to raise when his heart could bear no more.

Elsa felt her heart sink.

“What we did was dangerous and irresponsible.” Her gaze hardened for an instant. “I had to dismiss an innocent girl. If she had told anyone… many people could have suffered for something that never should have begun.”

Hans, his chest burning, looked at her with an expression that hovered between disbelief and pleading.

“She wouldn’t have said anything, Elsa!”

“I couldn’t know that! Do you think I don’t feel awful about what I did to her? But I can’t risk everything I have… everything I am… for this. ” Her voice broke faintly on the last word.

Hans swallowed. His throat burned; it would have been easier if she had lied or been cruel. But no, her honesty wounded him more than any falsehood ever could.

Then, with a trembling gesture, Elsa reached for his hand. Her fingers, cold to the touch, clung to his with a faint tremor.

“I’m sorry.” she whispered. “Forgive me… for pushing you away and for not telling you the truth.”

Hans held her gaze. And in those blue eyes, so beautiful beneath the golden light of the attic, he did not find the hope he had longed for, but a pain so like his own that it nearly stole his breath.

“Is there any chance we could be… friends? ” Elsa asked softly.

He closed his eyes for a moment. Inside, something was cracking.

“If that is what you wish.” he replied at last, after a long sigh. “I will never try to force you into anything. Yes… it’s all right. ”

Elsa exhaled a small sigh of relief. She smiled, and before he could prepare himself, she leaned in and placed a light kiss on his cheek.

He froze. Quite literally. His eyes flew open, as though he had just been struck by lightning.

“ Please… ” he said dryly, bringing his hand to his cheek and rubbing it with exaggerated care. “Don’t do things like that. It confuses me terribly.”

Elsa let out a genuine, bright laugh.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to… I promise. Thank you for understanding.”

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. Hans glanced at her sideways, a resigned half-smile on his lips.

“Well… may I at least ask you a small favor? As friends .” he added, deliberately weighing the word.

“Of course.” Elsa replied at once.

Hans gave a slight shrug.

“Could you… out of charity … avoid sending me to shovel more snow or haul bricks? Frankly, it’s freezing out there and… I’ve no fingers left to thaw.”

Elsa laughed, tilting her head a little.

“Deal,” she said. “You’ll return to my service. And I’ll try not to send you back out into the snow… unless you provoke me too much.”

Hans gave a more sincere smile this time, though deep down, the wound still burned. And yet, as he watched her laugh in that painfully endearing way, he knew he would take whatever she was willing to offer. Even if it was only this.

“In that case…” he went on, standing up beside her. “I have something for you. I found it this morning. Well… it was already yours. But I imagine you’d forgotten about it.”

Elsa raised an eyebrow, amused.

“Oh really? And how do you know it’s mine?”

“Let’s call it… a hunch.”

“And why did you open it?”

Hans raised his hands, feigning innocence.

“I didn’t open it! It fell on me. Very different. But come, you might find something you’ll like.”

Elsa glanced at him sideways, with amused suspicion, and stepped closer to the trunk he had just opened. Inside, dozens of perfectly stacked gloves lay in near-reverent order.

As her gaze swept over the contents, a small object immediately caught her eye. Elsa froze. A shadow crossed her face, soft but deep.

And then, in a thread of a voice that was barely a whisper, she said,

“ Sir Jorgenbjorgen…”

Hans looked up, surprised by the sudden change in her tone.

Without thinking, Elsa took the small cloth penguin in her arms, holding it tenderly. In her words and in her gesture there was a mixture of sweetness and old sorrow that tightened Hans’s throat.

“ Aw… I thought I had lost him…” she murmured, smiling sadly. “He was always… a great listener.”

With infinite care, her fingers traced the poorly stitched threads of the tiny head, as if afraid a single rough gesture might break the memory it held.

Hans watched her in silence. And, without quite knowing why, he felt a strange knot tightening in his chest.

Elsa lowered her gaze to the penguin, as if summoning long-buried memories. Hans wanted to say something, to offer a word that might ease that sadness, but before he could find it, she placed little Sir Jorgenbjorgen on the edge of the trunk and began carefully rummaging through its contents.

Suddenly, she pulled out a small chest decorated with Christmas motifs. Her eyes lit up with a spark of hope that transformed her entire face.

“This could fix things with Anna!” she exclaimed, with such spontaneous joy that it seemed to brighten the entire attic.

Hans couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her. It was as if a ray of sunlight had pierced the darkness.

“What is it?” he asked. But Elsa didn’t answer.

Instead, she turned toward him and, without thinking, embraced him. The gesture was brief, impulsive, yet full of gratitude. And for a moment, he felt as though the world had stopped.

“Thank you, Hans,” she whispered, so sincerely that it left him breathless.

By the time he thought to reply, it was too late. Elsa had already stepped away, the chest in her hands, her stride resolute toward the door. The echo of her footsteps lingered in the silence she left behind.

He remained still, a forgotten glove between his fingers, staring at the door through which she had just disappeared. It seemed to him the air still held her presence, the warmth of her words, and the trembling of her hands.

But it also carried the weight of all those things she could not yet say.

He sighed, letting the glove fall into the trunk. And as he lifted his gaze, his eyes met those of Sir Jorgenbjorgen, who watched him from his corner with that solemn air only old confidants know how to maintain.

“I’m afraid not even a Christmas miracle would be enough to fix this.” Hans murmured, shaking his head with a bitter smile.

Chapter Text

The rain fell with relentless fury upon the deck of the ship, as though the heavens themselves sought to wash away with water what had taken place.  The wind lashed the sailors’ drenched hair and whistled through the torn masts. In the distance, the pirates’ vessel, stripped of sails, burned amidst the crackle of dampened powder, sinking slowly with the groan of splintered wood. The flames reflected on the sea like tongues of judgment, while the ocean, indifferent, swallowed all.

At the prow, upon the slick, blackened floor, two men knelt, their hands bound behind their backs, their faces smeared with grime and dried blood. The wavering light of the torches failed to conceal the arrogant expression of one; the other, younger, shivered, whether from cold or fear was uncertain.

Before them, upright beneath the storm, stood Hans.

Barely a few years younger, yet his shoulders already bore the weight of a war that devoured him from within.

He pressed his lips together and exhaled, preparing once more to deliver words that, though the speech of an officer, within him began to sound like the plea of a desperate son.

“By order of His Majesty, King Leopold of the Southern Isles,” he declared with solemnity, his voice steady despite the wind, “you are granted a single chance at redemption. If you consent to reveal any certain knowledge concerning the whereabouts of Queen Mother, your lives shall be spared, and you shall be treated with the mercy reserved for those who cooperate with the Crown.”

No one answered. The sea struck the wood like a funeral drum, and the hollow eyes of those brigands regarded him with contempt.

“If you persist in silence, your only end shall be the gallows.”

Hans held their gaze. He waited. But no confession came, not even a plea. One merely spat blood upon his boot.

The prince did not so much as flinch. He inclined his head with the faintest nod and turned away.

“That is enough for today,” he ordered, his voice weary yet commanding. “Take them below.”

The sailors moved to drag them towards the stern prison, amid vulgar protests, fetid laughter, and the clatter of rusted chains. Yet halfway, one of them twisted round with effort, and though his lips were torn and his teeth loosened, he spoke. A single phrase. Barely audible beneath the rain.

But enough to freeze the crew, and the young admiral, where they stood.

“Fear not, fools! The Queen is well. We left her with the new men. The younger ones must learn also.”

The pirate grinned, his broken teeth gleaming.

Hans advanced slowly, as though his steps were weighted with lead.

“What did you say?”

The other officers did not stop him. The ship’s captain, a seasoned and weathered man, did step forward upon seeing him move to draw his blade.

“Mr. Westergaard, I command you to restrain yourself,” he murmured, soaked to the bone. “This is not what the King desires from you. Do not forfeit your honour. They seek only to provoke.”

In that moment Hans felt the crushing weight of the choice: whether to obey his captain or yield to the thirst for vengeance that suffocated him. Yet there was no remedy left.

He unsheathed his sword in a single, fluid motion. The steel gleamed beneath the storm.

“Say it again,” he whispered, the point already at the pirate’s throat. “Just once more. Come. Grant me that pleasure.”

“Mr. Hans Westergaard! You have been ordered to desist. I demand you lower your sword and respect the chain of command.”

The pirate smirked.

“Well, prince… you two have the same eyes, when they are about to weep.”

That was enough.

The captain lunged to restrain him, yet even he could not withstand the brutal force with which Hans drove the blade through his neck. The body fell with a dull thud. The second prisoner writhed like a hog at slaughter, but his cry never formed, the admiral had already buried the steel in his chest.

In an instant, the only sounds were the pounding rain and the whistling sea.

Hans stood motionless, breath ragged, drenched in water and blood, trembling within and without. No one dared approach him.

The captain, however, regarded him with grave eyes.

No further word was spoken.

Years later.

Winter had faded like a long and weary dream. The snow had retreated from the fields, the trees had returned to life with an almost insolent vigor, and in the narrow streets of Arendelle, the air felt lighter than anyone could remember. The weeks had passed with the deceptive stillness of those seasons where nothing seems to happen, and yet, everything changes.

For Hans Westergaard, that transition had been a test of unyielding discipline.

As he had promised, he respected the Queen’s decision. He never forced words that were not offered to him, nor sought glances that were not freely given. He continued to fulfill his duties with flawless correctness.

Elsa, for her part, always carried herself with that calm tone so characteristic of her. Though more often than either might have expected, they shared the occasional laugh.

One morning, while supervising a shipment of silk for the palace tapestries together:

“Don’t ask me to comment on colors, Your Majesty.” he said with a half-smile. “Good taste doesn’t run in my family.”

“Then you’re the first of your line to admit it” she replied, a genuine smile lighting her face, one that still burned in his memory.

Another day, while watching the sunset in the courtyard, they caught sight of Olaf dashing between the guards.

“If only I could bottle that energy…” she murmured to herself, clearly delighted by the sight.

“The entire court would be grateful, truly.”

Almost at once, the blonde let out a melodious laugh, which she tried to muffle with her hands.

Their eyes met in that moment. He felt his heart stop as he saw the sunset reflected in her pale blue gaze.

And yet… it always stopped there. Always.

When the conversation ended, the ice returned.

“Thank you, Hans. That will be all for today.”

Soft words that somehow drew an invisible wall.

So, day by day, the hope that had once consumed him began to fade.

Except… perhaps on one spring night, after the princess’s birthday something happened that, if only for a moment, blurred the distance between them.

The castle lay in solemn silence. Only in the Queen’s chambers was there any movement.

Elsa, curled beneath her blankets, had spent the day hiding a cold she refused to acknowledge. But now, with fever and glassy eyes, she could no longer hide her discomfort.

When Hans entered, two maids were already there: one preparing tea, the other checking her temperature with quiet professionalism. Hans kept to the side, changing the sheets as instructed.

But when the girls left momentarily to fetch more water, a soft voice called to him:

“Hans… “ she whispered.

He stepped closer, unsure whether he had heard right.

“Your Majesty?”

Elsa blinked, her lips curving into an unusual smile.

“Has anyone ever told you… you’re quite handsome when you… simply do as you’re told?”

Hans stared, stunned. The remark was so out of character, for a moment he thought he’d misunderstood. But there she was, smiling at him from her pillow, dreamy and slightly out of sorts.

He let out a soft, incredulous laugh.

“Looks like the medicine is working.”

“Is it?”

“How are you feeling?”

“As awful as I look, I’m afraid” she replied bluntly, closing her eyes for a moment.

Hans studied her in silence for a beat.

“Then you shouldn’t feel awful at all.”

Elsa opened her eyes again, slowly. Her smile this time was more lucid and sweet.

“That was… unexpectedly kind.” 

“I’m sworn by the courts of Arendelle to only speak the truth.”

Elsa chuckled softly, hiding her face beneath the sheets for a second. Hans moved to continue his task and leave, assuming the conversation was over as always, but this time, it wasn’t.

“Tell me something nice, Prince Hans” she said suddenly.

Hans hesitated, feeling a little unsteady in the moment, but continued.

“I have nothing to tell, Your Majesty. All I did today was clean up after your sister’s lovely birthday party and help the guards gather your dear little Snowgies around the castle. Does that count as nice?”

She laughed.

“Poor you” she replied with amusement  “What on earth did you do to deserve that?”

Her laughter faded slowly, like a breeze, and silence returned, gentler this time. Then Elsa reached across the bed until her hand found his.

Hans held his breath. Elsa, feverish, disheveled, her cheeks flushed and her hair loose looked nothing like the immaculate queen of the halls. And yet, he had never seen her more beautiful.

“Would you… stay a moment longer?” she whispered “Just a moment. Anna’s asleep… and I… I don’t want to be alone.” 

Hans glanced toward the door, as if expecting footsteps. But the hall was still.

Elsa’s hand remained in his, warm and trembling.

Inside, he wanted to say yes. He would stay the whole night if she asked him to.

But he couldn’t.

He swallowed, brushing the back of her hand lightly with his thumb.

“I think… you should get some rest, Your Majesty “ he said gently.

Elsa lowered her gaze and let go of his hand, as if returning to herself.

“Oh. Yes… You’re right” she murmured.

Hans leaned in slowly, adjusted the blanket over her shoulders with care, and without looking back, left the room.

He tried not to let that moment shake him or pull him back into dangerous thoughts.

But as he walked away, what echoed in his chest was her laughter.

Her voice.

And that soft plea:

“Just a moment.”

Even so, life carried on. Spring brought new responsibilities and new visitors, and among them, a hollow space that was hard to fill.

Old Admiral Gustav Kaas, Naval Defense Advisor and near-permanent figure at court since the reign of the late King Runeard, had passed away weeks after, leaving behind not just a vacant post but a sincere sorrow in many hearts. His resolve, loyalty, and vast knowledge of the seas had been pillars of Arendelle for years. His death, though expected, deeply unsettled the Council. A quiet sense of mourning lingered in the air.

Fortunately, or perhaps by fate, the Admiral left behind a grandson, Erik Kaas, a well-born young man who had spent many years abroad. His arrival in Arendelle had been met with courtesy and enthusiasm, and the court awaited his first appearances with keen interest.

Young Kaas possessed the presence his grandfather’s age could no longer offer: tall, charming, with a confident gait and a well-tempered voice. To many, he seemed a fortunate addition.

To Hans Westergaard, however, there was something about him that felt… unsettling.

Perhaps it was the way his words always seemed to seek the Queen, or the barely concealed gleam with which he watched her in the great halls.

Elsa, as always, remained composed. Her manner was polite and measured: every bit as irreproachable as her position required. If the man hoped for anything beyond formal civility, he found nothing but the impenetrable wall of her majesty.

Still, to many in the palace, the young Admiral was a refreshing novelty.

On sunny afternoons, he could often be found having tea on the terrace with Princess Anna and Olaf, who had quickly deemed Erik a surprisingly patient listener. Far from being disturbed by the magical snowman, the Admiral appeared rather fascinated by his presence.

“Do you melt if you drink something hot?”

“Oh no!” Olaf replied proudly. “Nothing can melt me… They’ve tried!”

Kaas, lifting his cup, paused with a slightly raised brow.

“Interesting…”

A light seemed to spark inside Olaf, as if some magical connection had been made in his snowy brain. Suddenly, he straightened so abruptly he nearly knocked over the tea tray.

“Oh my gosh! Have you ever fought a kraken, Admiral?”

“Uh… “ Kaas blinked, setting his cup down. “Thankfully, no. Though I did once see a very grumpy octopus off the southern coast. Quite imposing, I must say.”

Anna burst out laughing as she reached for the spoon Olaf had sent flying.

“Don’t provoke him, Admiral, or he’ll start asking about mermaids too.”

“MERMAIDS?! You’ve seen one?!” cried Olaf “Oh, please say yes! And did they sing? What key did they sing in? C-sharp? I’ve always wondered if they have perfect pitch!”

Later that same afternoon, as Elsa approached, Erik rose with practiced ease and gave a flawless bow.

“Your Majesty” he said gallantly, “the light of this day felt incomplete until you stepped into it.”

Elsa smiled politely, nodded in acknowledgment, and sat beside her sister without further comment. Anna, however, nudged her beneath the table, amused, as always, by such attentions, even when expected.

Beyond his charming manners, young Kaas had not come to Arendelle to idle. In his first few weeks, he had overseen improvements to the northern shipyard, proposed patrol routes less vulnerable to seasonal drift, and reorganized guard rotations at the inner harbor.

The older officers watched him with quiet suspicion. The younger ones, with near instant admiration.

At the castle, he greeted everyone by name, from the ushers to the gardeners. He never passed a group of maids without a slight nod of his head, nor walked the corridors without leaving in his wake the steady trace of a presence that was confident, yet never arrogant.

If any shadow hung over Erik Kaas, it was not visible to the naked eye.

So the days passed, beneath the shy sunlight of a spring already yielding to summer. And in the deep waters of Arendelle, other currents began to stir…still invisible, but ready to rise.

One night, as the pendulum clock struck an indecent hour, Admiral Kaas was summoned to the Queen’s study. Elsa was waiting, standing by the map table, her brow slightly furrowed and her fingers loosely intertwined. The fire in the hearth burned low, casting wavering shadows across the tapestries.

“Forgive me for calling you at this hour, Admiral” she began, straightforward yet civil “But I’m afraid the matter warrants it.”

Kaas entered with his usual mix of military obedience and well-timed charm, offering a slight bow.

“There is nothing to forgive, Your Majesty. I am at your service.”

“The Duke of Redford’s ship has not arrived” Elsa said.  “It was due yesterday afternoon. Today, there’s been no sign or crows, nor flares, nothing.

Kaas kept his expression composed. His voice, however, took on a note of courteous condescension.

“With all due respect, Majesty, I don’t see cause for alarm. Delays at sea are more common than we’d like. A minor storm, an unfavorable current, or even a hesitant captain… We mustn’t assume the worst.”

Elsa looked at him silently. Her fingers rested against the edge of the map.

“I’m sorry… I don’t believe it’s simply a delay” she replied gently. “The route was direct, with no detours. The fjord’s conditions have been stable. And the Duke of Redford is not one for improvisation. That ship carried priceless jewels for our national treasury, not to mention his crew and his own family.”

Kaas tilted his head slightly.

“You suspect a kidnapping?”

Elsa lowered her gaze for a moment, as if speaking the word was itself a transgression.

“Yes” she whispered. “I do.”

She leaned over the map, her fingers tracing the eastern coast of Arendelle.

“If the current dragged them, or if they were forced to alter course… and if, indeed, they were intercepted, I believe they might be somewhere along this part of the coast. Not too far yet. We could send a crow to the watchmen at Norell Bastion.”

“Your Majesty” Kaas interrupted, his tone as smooth as it was dismissive, “if I may, I doubt that’s the most likely explanation.”

Elsa slowly raised her head.

“That region is heavily guarded” he continued, pointing to the map. “Pirates, desperate as they may be, are not fools. They wouldn’t choose such a visible route, so close to our watchtowers. It would be suicide.”

He shifted slightly, moving to stand beside her. His finger glided northward across the map.

“In my opinion, they’re likely headed for the Dark Sea. It’s madness, yes, its tides are wild, and the fog blinding. But that’s precisely what guarantees their anonymity. Pirates have a better grasp of those currents than you’d think. And if that ship carried anything worth stealing… I have no doubt that’s where we’ll find them.”

From his spot near the door, Hans had remained still. He hadn’t spoken, he had little to add, and Elsa’s concern was more than justified. But at the mention of ‘the Dark Sea’ his brows lifted in sudden disbelief. The attentive reader might have noticed the shift, though no one else in the room did.

“I can dispatch patrols immediately” Kaas added, without turning around. “If that is your wish.”

Elsa didn’t respond at once. Her eyes remained fixed on the inky-gray sea drawn on the map, though her mind was far elsewhere.

“But… it’s dangerous” she said at last, almost to herself. “What if they don’t come back?”

Then Kaas did something unexpected. With a disturbingly calm demeanor, he gently took Elsa’s hand and ran his thumb across it in a deliberate, lingering touch.

A gesture far too intimate for a man discussing military strategy.

Elsa, startled, didn’t pull away, she simply froze.

“I will do whatever is necessary to protect this kingdom, Your Majesty” he said, with a faint smile. “You don’t have to carry every shadow alone. Let this worry fall to me.”

For a moment, Elsa didn’t answer. Her eyes returned to the map, as if it might offer the answer her heart still hesitated to give.

Hans drew a quiet breath. His lips parted slightly.

Then he stepped forward.

“Admiral Kaas. Wait.”

The man turned at once, surprised. Elsa, too, looked up, shocked to see him stepping between them.

“Why are you saying that to her?” Hans asked, not raising his voice, but keeping his gaze fixed on him. “Why are you offering a solution you know makes no sense?”

“Excuse me?” Kaas began, clearly offended.

“Hans” Elsa warned with a tone sharp. “What are you doing?”

He glanced at her briefly, then back to Kaas.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty. But I can’t remain silent while you’re being encouraged to send men to die based on a baseless theory. No one. no one.  Not even the most desperate man, would sail into the Dark Sea. And you know that as well as I do. The tides, the fog it isolates ships for days. The reefs aren’t even mapped. Once you enter, you don’t come back."

Hans stepped forward just enough to meet the Admiral’s eyes.

“So I’m struggling to understand why you’re suggesting something so absurd. Is it a calculated strategy, Admiral? Or simply a sign of your stupidity?”

The silence that followed was glacial. Kaas blinked, as though he hadn’t heard correctly.

“Are you seriously… “ he began, incredulous. “Are you seriously questioning my judgment in front of the Queen? And by what authority do you presume to speak in this room, sir?”

“By the authority of reason, if that still holds any weight here “Hans replied, his tone dry.

Kaas let out a humorless laugh and stepped forward.

“I have no obligation to justify myself to you” he said coldly. “But if you must know, I was trained in the finest naval academies on the continent, with twenty years of uninterrupted service as an officer. And what do you have, besides a disgraceful reputation and a sentence pardoned by royal grace?”

“Enough!” Elsa’s voice rang out, firm enough to shake the air.

Both men fell silent.

“Both of you” she added, with an authority that silenced any objection. “Gleb. Dimitri. Escort Prince Hans out. Now.”

Hans turned toward her, stunned, about to protest.

“I don’t wish to hear another word from you.” Elsa stopped him, without meeting his eyes.

Gleb exchanged a brief glance with his companion, and both approached the prince discreetly, trying not to escalate the situation. Hans did not resist, but the wound to his pride was evident in his expression. His eyes sought Elsa’s, but she did not turn around.

Once the doors closed behind him, the chamber fell silent, broken only by the restrained breath of those who remained.

Kaas, upright, gloves still in hand, seemed to be the only one capable of preserving his dignity amidst the ruins of the scandal.

“Forgive me, Admiral.” she said at last, turning toward him, her cheeks flushed with anger and shame. “I have no words to explain what just happened. And I sincerely apologize for involving you in it.”

The man lowered his gaze for a moment, as if weighing the validity of her apology, then raised his head with calm composure.

“I appreciate your words, Your Majesty. And do not worry… I know exactly who Hans Westergaard is.”

He paused, long enough to make the silence meaningful.

“You…two know each other?”she asked

“Oh yes, I know him. Not just for his current reputation, of course. But for his lineage, the history of his kingdom, the education he received… In fact, we even attended the same academy for a time. Though, truth be told, I doubt he remembers.”

Erik paused again, unable to fully conceal the bitterness in his voice.

“He was… an outstanding officer, of course. Always had the respect and attention of every captain. In my case… “ he began, but didn’t finish right away. He took a moment, lifting his eyes to some distant point beyond the room. “Being my grandfather’s grandson earned me no favors. He never acknowledged me. Only in his final days, did he ask to meet me. And then he offered me a seat on your Council. I still don’t understand why. Perhaps he felt he still owed something to Arendelle. Or perhaps… just regret.”

Elsa watched him in silence. The sobriety of his words stirred an unexpected compassion in her.

Without speaking, she reached out and gently laid her hand on his.

Erik flinched slightly, as if the touch had startled him more than he wished to show. He looked at her, for just a second, then lowered his eyes to the floor, restraining any gesture that might be misinterpreted.

“In any case… “ he continued, shrugging lightly, as if the memory no longer pained him. “I hold no grudge. In the end, he was generous. I inherited his wealth and his lands. I’ve had the privilege of knowing this palace… your family… and you, my Queen. So, whatever came before… I consider myself grateful.”

He smiled, and she returned the gesture, just barely.

“A name may carry weight in the mouths of others, but it doesn’t row the oars for you. Everything I am and know, I’ve earned through study and sheer discipline.”

Kaas lowered his tone and stepped respectfully closer to her.

“If I proposed sending your marines into the Dark Sea, it was for a reason.

If that ship carried priceless jewels and noblewomen who could be used as currency, then they won’t be cruising along our routes. These pirates are daring and swift. And that is the kind of sea they choose: treacherous, deadly. Not one that can be neatly mapped.”

Kaas’s voice dropped slightly.

“If Prince Hans felt intimidated, I understand. He’s always had the comfort of a palace waiting for him at the end of the day. But I haven’t. I grew up among nautical charts and storms. And I know these waters, My Queen, just as well as my grandfather did. And I will protect them. We will recover the Duke’s ship, no matter the cost.”

Elsa closed her eyes for just a second, as if that determination had soothed something within her.

“I thank you, Admiral.”

He gave a satisfied smile and bowed.

“Always an honor.”

Elsa said nothing more. She turned around, her cape billowing behind her like a ribbon of frost pulled by a firm will.

She crossed two hallways in silence, offering no explanations to anyone. The echo of her steps was the only sign of her passage across the carpeted corridors.

The door opened abruptly.

Hans looked up from where he sat, hunched over, and knew instantly that nothing good would come of this meeting. Elsa had that glint in her eyes that came before a storm.

“Leave us” she said, not raising her voice.

Her escorts bowed respectfully. The door shut behind them with a sharp click, leaving a reluctant silence in their absence.

For a moment, she simply stared at him, chin raised, with a frozen fury barely restrained by her will not to shatter the air with words.

He straightened uncomfortably in the chair.

“If you’ll let me explain—“

“What on earth is wrong with you?” she snapped, her voice trembling with controlled rage. “How dare you interrupt a state meeting? Accuse a member of my council of manipulating me?”

Hans didn’t reply immediately. He took a long breath, preparing for the blow.

“Because he is manipulating you. And if you don’t see it, it’s because you don’t want to. What he said is madness, and you know it. Or do you actually believe some fool would sail willingly into the Dark Sea? Shall I draw you a map of how many ships have been lost there?”

Elsa stood taller, her stance cold and regal.

“Do you think I need you to open my eyes? That man is the son of one of Arendelle’s most loyal servants. He gave his life to this crown: he served my grandfather, my father, and me in his final years. I have no reason to doubt his only heir, nor his judgment. He’s only trying to do what’s best for everyone.”

Hans narrowed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as if a headache had just begun to throb.

“You owe no loyalty to anyone, Elsa. Least of all to that man” he took a step closer, voice firmer now.  “He hasn’t lived in Arendelle for years. You don’t know who he answers to. And today, right in front of you, he lied. Deliberately.”

Elsa pressed her lips together, her breath uneven.

“I am Queen Elsa to you” she said, struggling to remain composed. “What’s gotten into you? Do you think that just because we kissed, you somehow have a right over me? Or any right to defy me?”

Hans froze. A flicker of pure confusion crossed his face. Then he let out a breath, sharp and bitter, but not mocking. 

“By the Gods…” he muttered, running a hand over his face. “Do you really think this is about that?”

“Isn’t it? Otherwise I doubt you’d care so much about what Kaas does or doesn’t do.”

Hans stepped toward her. Hurt and heart laid bare.

“You think this is about us? About a kiss you pretended not to feel? About the things I said, that you didn’t even have the courage to answer?  No, Queen Elsa. That no longer matters to me.”

He took another step forward, his posture broken by pain. His voice lowered enough that only the two of them could hear.

“I know you don’t love me. I get it. To you, that kiss was a mistake. A moment of weakness you’re ashamed of. Fine. I’ve swallowed that. We promised never to speak of it again. I’m warning you because I care about what is coming. Because I care about your people. And yes… —“ his voice faltered for a breath. “because I care about you. But not because of… that damned kiss. Don’t confuse the two.”

She felt the knot in her throat tighten.

She didn’t know what hurt more: his anger, her fear… or the brutal honesty of his words.

“You… you can’t speak to my ministers like that. You can’t discredit official decisions. Who do you think you are?”

“I’m someone who spent years fighting the kind of pirates who now have your ship” he snapped, unflinching. “I know how they move and where they go.”

He stepped closer still. And then, in a voice heavy with gravity, he dropped the truth burning in his throat:

“I’ve seen what lies beyond this fjord. I’ve fought in seas where compassion doesn’t exist. While you and your sister…” his eyes met Elsa’s  “have lived locked away in here, singing through the halls, hiding from the outside world. You don’t know what it’s like out there.”

Elsa turned pale.

The blow struck deeper than she cared to admit.

“So that’s what you think?” her voice trembled with fury. “That Arendelle is weak?

That I am weak?”

Hans pressed his lips together and exhaled slowly.

“My Queen, listen to your instincts… There’s still time to act. Seek council in your other captains. They’ll guide you. The Duke’s life and that of his family is in danger”  he said more softly, taking one final step toward her. “Don’t send your marines into the Dark Sea chasing a ghost ship. You can save us all. Arendelle’s coasts are unguarded under Erik Kaas’s command.” 

His eyes searched for hers, as if deep down he already knew he had lost them.

Elsa lowered her gaze for a moment. Her lips trembled, and for a second, Hans thought she had hesitated.

But no.

“I choose to trust him” she said at last, with a calm that hurt more than anger. “And I do not do so blindly. Kaas has earned his place in my court, and his word weighs more than yours… for now.”

Hans looked at her with a silent plea. Elsa raised her chin.

“Even if it didn’t seem like it, my patience has a limit. It was already a mistake to allow you to remain here.Defy me again, Hans, and I will show you no mercy.”

She turned, her evening gown trailing behind her, and as she opened the door, Gleb and Dimitri were already waiting on the other side.

Hans followed her instinctively, almost without thinking.

“Please! Queen Elsa…”he called, with a desperation he rarely allowed himself. “Don’t let your pride cost innocent lives.”

She didn’t even turn her head. She walked straight down the corridor, and her voice, firm and dry, addressed her men:

“Take him to his quarters. And tomorrow, assign him to the construction of the hospital. I don’t wish to see him again until the work is finished.”

Hans turned toward her, but before he could say another word, she disappeared around the corner, leaving him standing there, heart pounding with a force he wasn’t sure came from rage… or fear.

The silence she left behind fell on him like a sentence.

Despite everything he had said, she hadn’t wanted to hear him. Or worse: she had heard him, and still chose silence. Because reason said Kaas was right, and he was just a dishonored liar.

The fleet would set sail at dawn toward the Dark Sea. And with it, many of men who had no idea they were heading into nothingness.

His chest tightened with a fear that wasn’t only for the Duke’s family or the innocent soldiers, but for her. If she suffered because of this decision…

The sound of laughter echoed down the hallway, a vibrant melody in the middle of a funeral. He lifted his gaze, startled.

Just a few steps away, emerging from the opposite corner of the corridor, was Anna. Still dressed in her green sleeping robe, her hair in two braids, and a bowl of strawberries and chocolate in her hands.

She walked leisurely, a soft smile on her lips, unaware of the storm brewing around her.

Hans froze, not entirely, but his steps faltered.

A thought struck him like lightning.

The only person who might speak to Elsa now and not be rejected… was her. The only voice that could break through that icy armor and make her doubt.

But what he was thinking of doing was madness.

She wouldn’t speak to him or listen. And certainly wouldn’t believe him. And the guards? They wouldn’t allow it.

One wrong move, and they’d strike him down without hesitation.

His blood pounded in his temples. It was a foolish, dangerous idea. One that could cost him his life. And yet, he couldn’t let it go.

Anna drew closer, still distracted, and upon seeing Gleb and Dimitri, offered them a sleepy smile.

“Good evening, gentlemen” she said kindly, raising the bowl slightly in greeting.

Both guards gave a polite bow, returning the gesture out of sheer reflex.

And that was the moment.

With a swift, precise move, Hans spun around, yanked Dimitri’s sword from his belt, and slammed him into his fellow guard.

In the same motion, he grabbed Anna’s arm and pulled her into the nearest room.

The young woman barely had time to scream before the redhead slammed the door shut behind them and wedged the sword hilt through the door rings, blocking the entry.

Outside, the guards shouted:

“Princess Anna!”

“Let her go, damn you! Open this door right now!”

Hans was breathless. He leaned his back against the door, in shock.

When he finally turned to look at Anna, he knew: He had crossed a line he could never step back from.

She looked at him as if she no longer recognized him.

“What are you doing!?” she exclaimed, stepping back in disbelief. “Are you insane?! GUARDS!”

Her hand instinctively reached for the fireplace tools.

She raised a poker like a weapon.

Hans lifted both hands in peace.

“Please. I don’t want to hurt you” he said, though his voice was more desperate than soothing. “I just… I just need you to listen. Just for a moment. That’s all.”

“GUARDS!!” she screamed again, louder this time.

“Anna, I’m begging you” he said, taking a step closer. “I’m unarmed. Look. I didn’t come to fight. I just… I just need you to talk to your sister. Please.”

More voices rose from beyond the door.

But Hans didn’t back down.

Time was running out. And this might be his last chance.

“Anna. I know this is madness. That this probably makes you hate me even more. That after this, you’ll have me hanged, and that’s fine. I just want to do the right thing.”

She stared at him, stunned.

“You realize this is kidnapping, right? “ she said, still pointing the poker at him. “How am I supposed to help you when you’re… kidnapping me!?”

“Well I didn’t think you’d grant me an audience!”

he shot back.

“Oh, so you thought kidnapping your ex-fiancée you once tried to kill was going to help your case?!” she burst out, a mix of disbelief and nervous laughter. “What exactly did you think would happen next?!”

Hans tilted his head, weighing the question.

“I didn’t think it through, okay?! Just listen to me, please! The Duke of Redford’s ship has been hijacked somewhere in this fjord, about to reach open waters”

A fist slammed violently against the door, cutting him off. The wood groaned. Voices rose in panic.

“Anna! Are you all right?!” It was Kristoff. “Open this door, now!”

“He’s armed!” shouted a guard. “Break the door down!”

Hans trembled slightly. Then, in a low, urgent voice, he turned back to Anna.

“And your sister is about to send her marines into the Dark Sea to look for that ship!”

Anna frowned. The silence between them lasted only a second.

“And?!”

Hans blinked. Just a second. But it was enough for disbelief to shake his composure.

“And…?!” he repeated, stunned. “Anna, for heaven’s sake, there’s nothing there!

Does anyone in Arendelle learn about geography? The Duke isn’t there.

That sea is a graveyard. She’s only doing this because Kaas told her to.”

Anna narrowed her eyes, slowly lowering the poker.

“Kaas? He’s her Naval Defense Minister. He knows what he’s doing. What do you want me to do? Contradict him?”

“Yes. If you have to” he replied, his desperation restrained. “I don’t know what his intentions are, but he’s not trying to save anyone.”

“How can you talk about him like that?”

“Because I know he’s lying!” his voice cracked as he grabbed her by the shoulders. “If the pirates find out Arendelle’s coasts can be crossed without resistance… they won’t stop at one raid. They’ll come for everything. This isn’t a game.”

She looked at him. Her face had gone pale. She lowered her eyes and took a step back.

“Hans…” she murmured quietly. “Let me go. Please”

And for a moment, everything in him seemed to collapse.

The shouting from the hallway had stopped abruptly.

They both turned toward the door.

And that was when they felt it: a deep, frozen creaking echoed through the walls. The entire wooden surface began to ice over, delicate blue filigree spreading across the oak. A second later, with a thunderous crack of frost, the door shattered.

Elsa burst in like a winter gale. Behind her, the guards stormed in with force.

In an instant, Hans was thrown to the ground. The weight of their armor pinned him down with ease.

“Hold him down!” one of them ordered.

Elsa rushed to Anna, who still stood frozen in the center of the room. She embraced her tightly, pulling her against her chest without saying a word.

Kristoff arrived a moment later, panting, and wrapped his arms around both of them.

Hans, from the floor, looked up at her.

And she looked back.

Neither of them knew what to say.

Her face was a storm held back: confusion, fury, something close to horror… and a deep pain. 

And then, a new voice joined the chaos.

“By all the Gods!” Kaas exclaimed, pushing through the soldiers. “This is outrageous, Your Majesty. Kidnapping the princess is an unforgivable crime. You cannot allow this to continue!”

Elsa looked at him, then at her sister, still trembling in her arms. The entire room held its breath, waiting on her. The inevitable stood there, looming.

She closed her eyes for a second. But when she opened them, only emptiness remained.

“Take Prince Hans to the dungeon,” she said, in a voice even she barely recognized.

The guards nodded. But she wasn’t finished.

“Kay, send urgent messengers to our embassy in the Southern Isles.” she continued. “Due to recent events, their immediate withdrawal is required. The alliance between Arendelle and the South… is over.”

Hans was lifted by the soldiers. He tried to call out to her.

“Queen Elsa…”

But she had already turned away.

The sound of footsteps echoed against the oak floors as they dragged him out of the hall.

Just before crossing the threshold, Erik stepped closer to Elsa. He placed a brief, comforting hand on her shoulder.

“You did what it had to be done, Your Majesty,” he murmured.

And as Elsa kept her gaze forward, devastated, Kaas turned his head ever so slightly. His eyes met Hans’s.

No words passed between them.

Just a look.

A single moment. And within it, the bitterest of truths: that everything done, everything attempted… had been in vain.

The castle dungeon, though clean and quiet, was still a place of shadows and silence. The stone walls breathed dampness, and the echo of each step seemed to multiply his isolation.

Hans paced from one end of the cell to the other, his face gaunt, his eyes lost in the air, as if still searching for answers. When the doors opened, he froze immediately.

Kay entered, carrying a single scroll carefully rolled under his arm. Henrik was beside him. Though his posture remained stoic, something in the weight of his gaze betrayed a heaviness of spirit.

“Prince Hans of the Southern Isles,” Kay began, unrolling the parchment with precision. “By decree of Arendelle’s Council of Justice, and with the approval of the High Court of Laws, you are hereby formally charged with the following: Forcible entry into a restricted royal chamber, use of force against members of the royal guard, attempted evasion of custody, and most gravely, the abduction of Her Royal Highness, Princess Anna of Arendelle.”

Hans felt a low ringing in his ears. His face showed no surprise, but a veil of weariness suddenly clouded his eyes.

Kay continued:

“In light of these events, and in accordance with current law, you will be transferred to the North Tower to await trial under reinforced security. No diplomatic intervention from the Southern Isles will be required, as the Crown of Arendelle reserves full right to deliver its sentence… even a final one.”

A long silence spread through the room like thick fog.

Suddenly, Hans felt the weight of the entire world settle on his shoulders.

His breath halted for just a moment as he came to the bitter realization that this, finally, was real.

There were no more second chances. They were going to kill him.

And in the midst of that terrible stillness, his eyes turned, slowly and painfully, toward Henrik.

Ever proper, Henrik stood still. But something in the tightness of his shoulders, or the sudden rigidity of his jaw, betrayed what he felt.

The long night shifts. The forced labor. The dry jokes at the end of freezing days. All of it came rushing back to Hans’s mind.

He just wanted him to believe him now.

Kay, however, seemed ready to leave. But Hans stepped toward the bars.

“Lord Kay…” His voice was hoarse, desperate. “I beg you to listen. The Queen is in danger. What happened tonight… it wasn’t an act of violence. It was a desperate attempt to stop a tragedy. I’m telling you the truth!”

The man looked at him with restrained compassion.

“I deeply regret that...despite all your brother did for you, and the trust Her Majesty placed in his word… you still chose to betray them again… like this. I truly believed you would be different, Prince Hans.”

The young man lowered his eyes for a moment, as if the judgment had struck him square in the chest. But when he looked up again, there was a plea in his gaze that was nothing close to deceit.

“I am.” he said, stepping forward behind the bars. “I am different. I swear it. I would never hurt the princess again. Or the Queen. Not after…” His voice faltered. “I only… I only wanted to help.”

Kay gave no answer. His gaze remained steady, though not entirely impenetrable. There was a short breath perhaps of doubt… or sorrow.

Hans then turned, suddenly, toward Henrik, who stood to the side of the cell, unmoving, like a statue. His eyes were veiled by shame.

“Henrik…” Hans pleaded, his voice cracking. “Please… you know I wouldn’t. Please! The Queen is in danger! You can still help her. You can save her. Just listen… please…”

The soldier didn’t move.

He only looked at him, as if something inside him had begun to fracture.

Kay watched the scene in silence, until at last he spoke in a dry voice:

“It’s late. We should go.”

He was the first to leave, his steps echoing down the stone corridor.

Henrik, however, remained still. He stood in front of the cell, his eyes fixed on Hans.

And he hold his gaze.

“Henrik… do not trust Erik Kaas.” he murmured, barely audible.

He said nothing more.

Henrik seemed torn, between what he wanted to do, and what he was meant to do.

At last, he looked away and turned his back.

Hans watched him walk away with the same expression one wears while watching a candle burn out into darkness.

When the guard finally disappeared down the corridor, there was no sound left but the quiet fluttering of the torches on the walls.

Silence returned to the barracks.

And that was when Hans felt the cold. A thin wind slipped through the upper slit of the cell, carrying with it the breath of dawn’s frost.

It was the herald of a new day… but held no promise.

He didn’t know whether he had acted out of desperation or reason. But he knew something terrible was approaching. Something already in motion, like a shadow unfolding over the sea before the storm.

And deep within him, in the most hidden part of his soul, Hans wished the night would never end. That the cold would never lift and that daylight would never come to claim its price. 

Chapter Text

King Leopold’s chamber was steeped in a heavy, stifling air. The smell of bitter medicines and sickly sweat seemed to mingle with the sea-damp wind that slipped through the half-open windows. The thick curtains allowed barely a trace of light, and the fire on the hearth crackled without conviction, as if even the embers resisted the idea of lingering any longer.

Upon the bed, the king lay propped against the pillows, gaunt with fever, though his gaze still held a spark of unbending severity. Beside him stood Richard, upright and alert; Andrew, eyes fixed on some invisible point as he muttered unintelligible phrases to himself; Aldric, silent, arms crossed and brow drawn tight; and the captain, whose very presence added weight to whatever was about to unfold.

The door swung open at once. Hans appeared on the threshold. His figure was drenched, his uniform plastered to his body, and dried blood stained his hands and face. A near-reverent silence fell over the room.

For a moment, everything paused. The sight of the boy, still contorted by the fury he had unleashed, was too harsh for the solem chamber. Hans swept his gaze across the faces present. The irony of the moment curved his lips into a hollow, joyless laugh.

“An intervention… Your Majesty?” he murmured bitterly, lowering his head in greeting.

King Leopold parted his lips, startled. In his rough, failing voice, there slipped a note of alarm he rarely granted his youngest son.

“Your commander has brought me troubling reports. I wish to hear from your own mouth what occurred at sea.”

Still dripping, Hans stepped forward. His eyes, dark and defiant, passed over each person before settling on his father.

“Your Majesty, the prisoners refused to confess. Neither pleas nor threats had any effect. They mocked our queen… so I did what had to be done.”

The king raised a trembling hand, silencing him.

“It was not yours to pass judgment.” he said with cutting solemnity. “Justice of the Crown is not delivered by you, nor according to your temper or resentment. You disobeyed your captain and stained the honor of our fleet.”

Hans pressed his lips together, forcing down the reply burning to escape.

“With respect, Your Majesty. You weren’t there, you don’t know how it was. I merely did what my superiors refused to do.” he answered coldly. “Those men were already condemned; it changes nothing.”

Richard stepped forward, unable to contain himself.

“Hans! Do not defy our father like this.”

The younger prince turned on him as if struck.

“What are you even talking about? Shut up!” he spat. “What do you know about any of this? Go argue with your wife, that’s the only thing you’re genuinely good at.”

Richard flushed with anger and stepped toward him.

“You insolent—!”

Aldric slipped between them, raising his hands.

“Enough!” he cried. “Our father is ill! Can you not see you are killing him with these quarrels?”

The king sliced the air with his hand, commanding the room.

“Silence!” The word thundered across the chamber. “You will apologize, Hans. To your captain, for your insubordination. And to me, for dishonoring our laws.”

Hans breathed harshly, swallowing his rage like poison.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty.” He lowered his head, voice deep though his eyes remained burning. “It will not happen again.”

He made to leave, but the king’s voice froze him where he stood.

“No, Hans. It will not happen again.” The words fell like a blunt strike. “Because as of today, the search ends.”

Hans halted in the center of the room. Slowly, he turned his head, as if needing to ensure he had heard correctly.

“Ends…?” he repeated in disbelief.

“It is for your own good.” The king spoke slowly, each syllable heavy as lead. “Months have passed without a single trace. You are still a boy. This obsession will destroy you.”

A bitter laugh escaped Hans.

“For my good?” he murmured, stepping toward the bed. “Since when has Your Majesty ever cared for my good? In all my years, I have never dared ask for affection or interest from you… and now, now that the only thing I beg is to keep searching for my mother, you deny me this?”

For the first time, something like a shadow of unease passed through the king’s eyes. But his voice did not waver.

“My decision is final. I will not send more ships chasing a phantom. It is time you consider the other possibility…”

Hans clenched his fists, desperation bleeding into his words.

“I beg you, Your Majesty. Do not deny me this one plea. Let me continue. She may be alive...alone somewhere on these waters. I cannot abandon her. She would not want you to do this.”

The king lowered his gaze, visibly moved, yet unmoved. Hans’s eyes darted across the room, desperate, searching for help in the faces of his brothers.

“Richard… Aldric… Andrew…” His voice trembled, breaking under the weight of the plea. “She is your mother too. Help me!”

Richard looked away, jaw set. Andrew muttered senselessly, adrift in his own world. Aldric was the one who answered, his voice soft yet aching:

“Hans… I long to find her as well. But I fear losing you to that endless sea. I no longer recognize you, brother.”

Hans dropped his gaze to his blood-stained hands. He stared at them as though they belonged to someone else.

“I’m fine…” he whispered, though the conviction faltered. “Everything is fine. I just need to find her.”

He turned back to the king, eyes blazing with plea.

“Please, Your Majesty. I won't participate but please… do not stop the search.”

The king regarded him coolly and let out a sigh heavy with years.

“I am sorry, son.” The word son fell oddly from his lips, as though it had never belonged to him. “But the decision is final.”

Hans’s eyes widened at the word, as if it had wounded more deeply than any rebuke.

Leopold straightened his voice, solemn and unyielding.

“You will obey your captain. You will be stationed in Elysium, guarding its shores. That will be your duty, if you still wish to retain the honor of serving in the royal fleet.”

Hans trembled with fury, lips tight, hands clenched until they hurt.

“I will not accept it…” he managed, voice breaking. “She may be alive! I will not allow her to be forgotten!”

But the king’s gaze was stone.

“I am the king,” he thundered, “and you will do as I command.”

The fire in Hans’s chest consumed him. He did not answer. With a violent turn, he left the chamber, the slam of the door echoing like an open wound across the walls. At once he found himself before the tall windows of the corridor.

The glass was fogged with sea-moisture, and beyond it lay the vast bay of Navigator’s Crown, its stone towers carved against a brooding sky. The lights of the anchored ships flickered like weary fireflies, and beyond them, far beyond, stretched the open sea, dark and immense, swallowing the horizon.

Hans set a hand against the cold pane, as though touch alone could bridge the distance. His heart tightened with a sharp, unbearable ache: his mother was out there, alive or dead, and he would never know the truth. The sea mocked him with its immensity, condemning him to the helplessness of a son who could do nothing.

Soft footsteps broke the silence. Andrew approached and laid a light hand on his shoulder. For a moment, Hans thought he would offer solace, that some brotherly word might come to his rescue. But what left Andrew’s lips was something else entirely:

“I know it hurts, brother… but once you are king, you will have the answers you’ve always sought.”

Hans turned to him, stunned, the words knocking the breath from him. It was the sort of thing Andrew might well say—but something in Hans stirred, a faint, dangerous thought he did not wish to acknowledge. Yet disbelief quickly curdled into anger: the words felt like mockery, a cruel reminder of what he could never reach.

“Go to hell, Andrew.” he muttered through clenched teeth as he walked away.

He pulled away sharply and strode down the corridor, leaving his brother behind, still, motionless, his gaze lost upon the sea as though beholding a fate no one else could see.

The pale light of dawn filtered through the office windows, casting a faint blue tint over the folds of the curtains. On the desk, a single letter rested before Elsa: a white envelope sealed with the emblem of Arendelle’s High Court of Justice.

She held it between her fingers, lacking the courage to open it. She already knew what waited inside.

Within that paper lay the fate of Hans Westergaard.

Her hands trembled. She tried to steady them, pressing the envelope against the desk, but the shaking continued. A faint grimace tightened her lips.

God… she had wanted to believe Hans was changing, that his time in Arendelle had not been for nothing. She had seen him laugh with the guards, fulfill his duties, endure scorn in silence. She had even learned to respect him, and to… admire him.

And now, all of that was crumbling. Because of one desperate act of madness he had mistaken for heroism, everything was lost.

She raised a hand to her forehead, shutting her eyes tight. The weight of it all crushed her: not only the imminent war with the Southern Isles, but the shame, the guilt, the betrayal, and the empty certainty that nothing in this world could stop what was coming.

Hans had meant to help, in his clumsy, stubborn way. He had done it out of conviction..and even for her. And now he was going to die because of it.

A knot rose in her throat. She struggled for breath. For a moment, she wished she were not queen.

A soft knock at the door pulled her back to the present.

“Your Majesty…” The voice was cautious, respectful. “May I come in?”

Elsa straightened, drew in a deep breath, and set the envelope aside. She discreetly wiped away the tears that had not quite fallen.

“Yes… come in.”

The door opened with care. It was Kay.

“Your Majesty,” he announced with a small bow, “Captain Linda Kaiser, as you requested.”

Elsa nodded faintly.

“Yes, Kay. Please let her in.”

He stepped to the side, and moments later the captain crossed the threshold. Her bearing was impeccable: straight posture, composed expression, freshly pressed uniform, and her hair perfectly in place. She bowed to the queen and stood at military attention.

“My Queen.”

Elsa rose slowly from her seat, her movements gentle, as if a sudden gesture might reveal her fragility.

“Captain… at ease.” Her smile was slight, barely held together.

Linda lowered her arms but kept her composure intact.

“Your Majesty. The ships have been supplied, and the men are ready. We await only the bell and your order to depart.”

Elsa nodded, studying her with both gratitude and admiration.

“Thank you for your diligence, Captain. I know these last hours have been difficult, and I appreciate deeply the devotion with which you’ve carried out your duty.”

Linda bowed briefly.

“It is always an honor, Majesty.”

Elsa watched her for another moment. Something in the woman’s firmness, her discipline and her calm mastery of herself, stirred a quiet pride within her. Elsa’s eyes drifted to the medals gleaming on Linda’s uniform. She lifted a hand and brushed lightly over one of them, almost as if she feared damaging the dignity it represented.

“You have been an exemplary officer, Captain.” she said softly. “I know my men respect you, and trust your judgment.”

Linda, visibly moved, lowered her eyes.

“I hold the same regard for them, Your Majesty. It is all I could ask for.”

Elsa remained silent for a few seconds, observing her with an intensity that would have unsettled anyone else. Linda stood firm, though the faint tremor of her breathing betrayed her.

Elsa was searching for something in her gaze. At last, she spoke, quietly:

“Captain… if I were to ask you something, could you be completely honest with me?”

Linda blinked, startled. For a moment her rigid posture faltered. Her eyes flicked toward Kay, who remained silent. Then she looked back at the queen.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” she answered, her tone measured. “I could never lie to you.”

Elsa nodded softly and stepped closer.

“I want to know what you think of Admiral Kaas’s proposed mission,” she said slowly. “Sailing into the Dark Sea is dangerous, and I need to know what my men feel. What you feel.”

Linda went still. The question seemed to drain the breath from her. Her gaze dropped to the floor, and when she spoke, she did so with carefully controlled words.

“Your Majesty…” she said at last, “it is not my place to judge the decisions of my superiors. My duty is to follow orders, not question them.”

Silence followed, thick and suffocating. Elsa fixed her eyes on her, then let them drift toward Kay. She stepped a little closer, her voice lowering to almost a plea.

“Captain, Kaas is not here. It is only you, Kay, and me. I am not seeking criticism or dissent, only the truth. I want to do what is best for everyone. Tell me… is the Dark Sea truly our only hope?”

Linda lifted her head, and for an instant, the mask of the officer cracked. Fear flickered in her eyes.

“Your Majesty…” she said with effort, “the Dark Sea is a spiral of death. Nothing that enters it ever returns.” She paused, barely, but enough. “This mission… is suicide.”

Elsa’s breath caught. The cold finality of the statement struck her like an invisible blow.

Suddenly, the door burst open.

Erik strode into the room, flanked by two guards in dark uniforms. His arrival was so abrupt that everyone started slightly.

Kay turned immediately, and Linda snapped back into a rigid stance, her posture straight as a blade.

The minister paused, taking in the sight of the queen and the captain together. His eyes moved from Elsa to Linda, measuring the space between them. Then he smiled his practiced, polite smile.

“My Queen,” he said with a graceful nod, “forgive the interruption. I was looking for Captain Kaiser. She is needed at the docks; the ships will be departing shortly.”

“The mission is postponed, Admiral,” Elsa said firmly. “I want us to reconsider our alternatives.”

For a moment, Kaas looked genuinely surprised. Then, slowly, his expression darkened.

“Queen Elsa…” he said with wounded decorum, “do you doubt my decisions? I believed I explained clearly why the duke’s vessel could only be found there. I regret if I failed to make my reasons convincing.”

Elsa drew in a breath, preparing to speak, when the door flew open once again.

“Elsa!” Anna’s voice rushed into the room like a blast of cold wind. She burst in, hair loose, face full of worry. “Have you seen Olaf? I can’t find him anywhere.”

Elsa blinked, thrown off balance by the sudden interruption.

The political tension, the weight of the envelope, Kaas’s stare, Linda’s confession, and Anna’s panic, all collided into a dizzying rush.

“Anna,” Elsa said, trying to maintain composure “this is not the moment.”

“I’ve searched the entire castle.” Anna insisted, stepping forward. “He’s not in the kitchens, or the gardens… something feels wrong.”

Something was wrong. Elsa pressed a hand to her chest, as if she could feel something too. She was about to respond when hurried footsteps echoed down the hall: voices, commands, the thud of boots on wood.

Kay turned toward the door just as two guards burst in, breathless.

“Your Majesty!” the first cried, face pale. “The prisoner Hans Westergaard has vanished.”

Silence fell at once.

“What…?” Elsa whispered.

“He is not in his cell.” the guard continued, struggling for breath. “The men guarding him were overpowered. And…” He held out a sealed envelope. “He left this. Said it could only be read by you.”

For a moment Elsa could not move. With trembling hands, she managed to take the crumpled paper.

Everyone watched her: Anna, Erik, Linda, Kay, the guards…

No one dared to breathe.

The Snow Queen stood frozen in time, heart hammering against her ribs, the letter from her tragic former love resting in her hands, waiting to be opened.

Hours earlier…

Dawn had not yet touched Arendelle. The night had descended with a cold that felt born of the far north.

The castle corridors were nearly empty, even after all the turmoil, leaving only the sound of his own breathing in the air.

Henrik had been standing for hours, fulfilling his shift, though it wasn’t physical fatigue that weighed on him. It was the thought, stubborn, gnawing, of the last words Hans Westergaard had spoken before leaving him.

“Henrik, do not trust Erik Kaas.”

Henrik was not a man who doubted easily. He had sworn to obey, and for him, duty was a near-sacred virtue.

And yet, those words had left him in a state of unbearable unease. He could not reconcile the image of the prisoner he had come to know: arrogant, yes, but sincere, capable of unexpected humanity, with the criminal everyone had once again decided to despise.

Something within him refused to believe Hans had acted without reason.

A voice behind him interrupted his thoughts.

“Soldier.”

It was one of his superiors. He straightened at once.

“Admiral Kaas requests Captain Kaiser in his office. Escort her immediately.”

Henrik nodded, adjusted his cloak, and took his position.

Not long after, Linda appeared in the corridor, impeccable even at that hour: hair tied back, dark uniform crisp, steps steady. Her face, however, held more than discipline… it held exhaustion.

“Captain.” Henrik greeted with a slight bow.

She returned the gesture, polite but distant.

They walked in silence through the east wing.

Henrik noticed the captain breathing deeply, as though she too sensed what was coming.

When they reached the admiral’s office, Henrik announced her presence as protocol demanded, then waited by the door. He remained still, though his mind was trapped in Hans’s warning.

From inside, the minister’s firm voice sounded:

“Enter.”

The captain stepped inside and saluted with military precision.

“Admiral.”

“At ease, Captain.” he replied, not looking up from the documents he was signing. “At this hour, formality only wastes time.”

She lowered her arms slightly but kept her spine straight.

“You requested my presence, sir?”

Kaas nodded and set down his quill.

“Indeed. I need you to prepare six ships.” he said calmly. “One hundred men in each, ready to depart at dawn.”

Linda watched him in silence, waiting.

“So many?”

Erik finally lifted his gaze.

“The Duke of Redford’s vessel never reached port. His log went silent three days ago. The queen is concerned, and rightly so. We must locate the ship; it may be under pirate attack. Prepare your men well.”

“And where are we sailing?” Linda asked, barely masking the tension in her voice.

Kaas leaned back slightly in his chair.

“To the Dark Sea.”

The captain froze. Her breath caught for a single, sharp moment.

Excuse me, sir?”

“You heard me correctly,” he replied with glacial calm. “Your course will be the Dark Sea.”

“Admiral… the Dark Sea is not navigable. How could we possibly fight pirates there?”

The minister studied her closely. There was something in his gaze that no longer bothered to pretend, he despised having his word questioned.

“I know, Captain.” His voice dropped lower. “Believe me, I take no pleasure in giving this order. But my duty is not to please myself, it is to do what circumstances demand.”

“It would be better to explore other routes, or perhaps send messenger pigeons to neighboring islands to see if they’ve sighted—”

Erik cut her off at once with a flick of his hand. After a brief pause, he leaned forward, resting both hands on the desk.

“My grandfather spoke of you,” he added, with a faint, vague smile. “I believe he admired you… said you were a capable woman, strong-willed… with a habit of contradicting everything he said. He found it amusing. I assure you, I do not.”

Linda held his gaze, though the color had drained from her face.

“The only way to recover that ship is to intercept it before it’s lost in open waters. And that is what we will do. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Kaas nodded.

“Good.” His tone returned to its usual formality. “I will give you detailed instructions in writing. You will share them with the other captains. And I advise you to study them carefully—your men’s lives will depend on your precision.”

The captain drew in a long breath, struggling to keep control.

“What are the orders, Admiral?”

Kaas smiled, though his eyes remained utterly expressionless.

A few moments later, Linda bowed and moved to take her leave. As she passed Henrik, he sensed her fear. And in that instant, watching her disappear down the hallway, he understood with a chill that Hans’s words had not been delusion. The air in the admiral’s office held a strange weight, as if something unseen and dark drifted through the shadows.

Henrik remained where he stood, immobile, with a growing certainty that something terrible was about to begin. And for the first time, he felt afraid, not knowing which side he belonged on.

The impulse came immediately. Without asking permission or without even thinking about it, he headed for the northern towers. He crossed dim corridors, descended damp, silent stairs. The sound of his boots echoed with steady rhythm, though the heartbeat beneath his chest was uneven and anxious.

When he stepped outside the castle, the mist of dawn was beginning to settle across the walls, and the path toward the barracks seemed to lengthen with every step. When he arrived, two guards stepped in front of the dungeon door.

“You can’t go in, Henrik.” one said firmly. “Direct order: no one approaches the prisoner.”

Henrik held the man’s gaze for a calm second.

“The Queen sent me. She wants the prisoner questioned again." he said simply. He needed say no more. The guards hesitated, then opened the door, entering the stone corridor together.

Hans lifted his head the moment he heard the approaching boots. His heart lurched.

“Henrik? Did the Queen send you?” he asked, his voice rough but full of hope.

Henrik stopped before the bars. His face was tense and his gaze cold.

“I need to understand.” he said at last, his tone clipped. “Tell me, Hans: why did you do it? After everything we did for you, why choose to betray us like this?”

Hans stared at him, bewildered by the tone.

“Henrik, I… I didn’t want to hurt anyone, I told you that. I only wanted to stop a massacre. The Duke’s ship cannot sail into the Dark Sea. No one would come out alive!”

“And you expect us to believe that?” Henrik shot back, ice in his voice. “That you wanted to save everyone when minutes later you threatened the princess with a sword? Would you lie again, Hans, even now?”

Hans closed his eyes for a heartbeat. When he opened them, there was more exhaustion than anger in his gaze.

“I wouldn’t. But no one would believe me even if I told the truth, would they? Not even you.”

Silence thickened between them.

Henrik held his gaze a moment longer. Inside him, duty and trust waged a silent war.

Then he turned on his heel.

“I’m finished here.” he muttered. His voice carried the weight of disappointment.

The guards stepped aside to let him pass. Henrik took three steps toward the exit… and then, without warning, he spun with a movement none of them saw coming. The first guard barely had time to gasp before collapsing from a sharp blow to the back of the neck. The second reached for his weapon, but Henrik brought him down with a clean, precise strike.

Hans, inside the cell, recoiled instinctively, heart pounding.

“What—what are you—?” he whispered, stunned.

Henrik, breathing hard, knelt beside one of the unconscious guards, took the keys from his belt, and rose to his feet. Without hesitation, he turned the key, pushed the door open, and stepped into the cell.

Hans jolted upright. He stared at him as though seeing a ghost. His companion looked like another man entirely; startled, the prince stumbled back when Henrik raised his sword, convinced for a moment that the guard meant to take revenge into his own hands.

“Henrik, are you out of your mind?” Hans burst out, his voice cracking between disbelief and fear. “You’ve just condemned yourself!”

Henrik didn’t respond at once. His breathing was heavy, the edge of his sword gleaming under the flickering torchlight.

“For your sake,” he said at last “I hope you told me the truth.”

Hans let out a bitter, humorless laugh.

“The truth? It doesn’t matter if I tell the truth, Henrik. We’re already dead. We’re two men—” he lifted his hands helplessly “—two! How do you expect to save a ship besieged by hundreds of pirates?”

Henrik shot him a cold look.

“We have thirty minutes,” he said sharply. “The next shift arrives soon. If you want to get out, it has to be now.”

Hans clenched his jaw, struggling to breathe. Then, wordlessly, he knelt beside one of the guards and began removing his uniform. His hands trembled.

When he finally dressed, the collar sat crooked and the helmet tapped against his forehead. Henrik, wasting no time, opened the door and nudged him gently into the corridor. They walked with firm, steady steps, trying to embody the soldiers they pretended to be. Their boots echoed through the stone halls.

Several times they crossed paths with other guards. Hans kept his head down, feigning focus, answering each greeting with a curt nod. But sweat ran down his neck. Every encounter pushed him closer to collapse.

When they turned into a side corridor, Hans grabbed Henrik’s arm abruptly.

“Wait” he whispered, pulling him into an empty room. He shut the door behind them and leaned against it, breathing unsteadily. “I need to think.”

Henrik faced him, expression stern.

“We don’t have time. We have to go.”

“I don’t care!” Hans snapped, frustration boiling over. “What do you think we’re doing? Marching heroically toward the fjord? We can’t save that ship without the queen’s fleet. We need her troops, her ships, her! Everything! We can’t do this alone!”

Henrik watched him with a strange blend of patience and stubborn resolve.

“What you said was true. The fleet captains know the duke’s ship isn’t in the Dark Sea. Erik is putting everyone at risk...the Queen and the royal family.”
His voice dropped lower, graver. “If that’s the case, I’d rather die trying to do what’s right.”

Hans looked at him for a long moment, fatigue weighing down his face, then exhaled.

“May the gods help us.”

He stepped toward a table and began rummaging through old scrolls until he found a scrap of paper and a dried-out quill. He bent over it, muttering to himself as he drew crooked lines.

“All right… according to the duke’s log, and if what the Queen said is true, the ship must be hidden near Norell Bastion.” he murmured under his breath. “Probably waiting for the perfect moment to cross. If we follow the northern current…”

He stopped. Stared at the improvised map, his ink-stained fingers still hovering above it, and exhaustion overtook his features.

“We’d get there too late… Kaas must have sped up whatever he’s planning,” he muttered, almost defeated. “It’s impossible.”

Henrik leaned over the paper.

“We can make it. If we leave now and take horses through the Elinvar pass, we can reach it before noon.”

Hans lifted his gaze slowly.

“Henrik, this is a suicide mission. We can’t take back that ship. They’ll kill us before we even reach the helm.”

“We don’t need to reclaim the ship, just save the hostages. What we need is a distraction.”

Hans leaned back, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to think.

Then he turned his head toward the window.

Dawn was tinting the palace gardens with a pale gray. And there, among the shrubs, a small white figure was dancing with fireflies, humming a cheerful tune.

Hans allowed himself the faintest smile as he met Henrik’s eyes.

“There won’t be a better distraction.”

Henrik planted both hands on the table and let out a long breath.

“Fine. Let’s do it.”

Hans rolled up the map decisively.

But before leaving, he paused and rummaged through the papers. He found another crumpled scrap of parchment and the same quill.

“Give me a minute.” he said quietly.

Henrik raised a brow.

“What are you doing now? We don’t have time.”

“A letter.”

“A letter? For whom?”

Hans didn’t answer right away. His gaze drifted for a moment, as if in the silence he could see Elsa’s face.

“Henrik… I don’t think we’re coming back from this. Maybe this is the only thing that can save us.” he whispered at last.

Henrik understood and stepped back, giving him space. It took only a few seconds before the scratching of the quill filled the silence between them.

Outside, the fireflies continued their dance, and the little snowman hummed his song, blissfully unaware of the fate he had just become part of.

“Damn you, Hans.” Elsa whispered to herself, the thought had slipped out before she could stop it.

With a held breath, she unfolded the letter. The trembling of her hands was visible even to those farthest from her.

Her eyes skimmed the first lines.

And the world seemed to stop.

“Your Majesty… Elsa.

I don’t know how to begin this. My hands are shaking. I can barely breathe as I write. We’re heading to Norell Bastion, the Duke’s ship is there, I’m certain of it. I may not be alive by the time you finish reading this, or I may already be gone before dawn reaches the sea. I don’t know. But if these are my last words, I want them to be true.

Do not fear for Olaf. He’s with me, and I swear on whatever strength I have left that nothing will happen to him. He’s done nothing wrong, nor has Henrik. If anything happens, do not punish them. Henrik only wanted to protect you, even if his way of doing so is as clumsy as mine. He believes this is how we can save everyone, and I… I believe it too. If I die, it will be for that. 

I’m not afraid to die. What terrifies me is the thought of you suffering. I couldn’t live knowing something happened to you, or that you might make a decision that would hurt you because you trusted someone who didn’t deserve it. That’s why I did what I did, even if it seems madness. It wasn’t for me, it was for you. It has always been for you.

I can’t stop thinking about the last thing you said to me. You asked if I did it because you still mattered to me. I told you no… and it was the worst lie I’ve ever spoken.

You do matter to me. More than you should. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the day I bowed before you in the Southern Isles. That moment changed everything. We were so close… and all I wanted was to kiss you. And when I finally did, when I realized you were real and not a dream, I knew there was no turning back. That kiss was my ruin, Elsa. And my salvation.

Sometimes I wonder what things might have been like if fate had been different. If, at your coronation, I’d had the chance to speak to you, and not to Anna. I wouldn’t have approached you with the purest intentions, of course; perhaps my ambition would have doomed me even sooner. But I still wonder if anything would have changed.
Fate, I suppose, made sure to keep us apart… again and again. First the sea, then life, then our mistakes. But in the end, I’m glad. I’m glad that, despite everything, I met you. Because if there was ever anything good amid all this madness… it was you.”

You changed me. You gave me another chance when I didn’t deserve it, not even the first.

I don’t know if this is love or punishment, but if it is… let it consume me entirely. I would rather die knowing I loved you, than live pretending I never did.

i love you, Elsa. I only wish I knew if, despite everything, you ever felt the same…”

Hans.

The handwriting trembled toward the end.
She had to read the final line twice before slowly lowering the paper.

Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

Air refused to reach her lungs. Anna was the first to speak, her voice cautious.

“Elsa?”

The blonde blinked, jolted back to herself as if waking from a dream.

“Hans…” she gasped, the words barely forming. “He… he took Olaf.”

The room erupted.

“What?!”

Anna lunged for the letter, but Elsa, in a panic, clutched it tightly, then tore it into pieces.
Shredded fragments fluttered to the floor like ink-stained snowflakes.

“There’s no time for this!” she exclaimed, turning toward the officers. “Hans is heading to Norell Bastion. We have to go nowand bring Olaf back.”

Captain Linda stepped forward, her voice tense yet obedient.

“My Queen, I’ll prepare the fastest vessel and—”

“That won’t be necessary, Captain,” Kaas interrupted. “I will personally lead this mission. I will escort the Queen and the Princess. We will bring Olaf home and deliver that traitor to justice.”

Linda bit her lip, suppressing her unease, and nodded.

Anna reacted instantly.

“I'll go Kristoff.”

Elsa gave a single nod. Without another word, she strode out of the room. Anna followed, along with Linda, Kaas, and the guards.

The doors shut behind them with a hollow thud, leaving the chamber wrapped in a strange silence. Kay remained there...alone.

Everything had happened too quickly: the orders, the revelations…
But what unsettled him most was the way the Queen had torn that letter before anyone could read it. There had been something in her gesture, something more than anger that he couldn’t decipher.

His gaze lowered to the floor. The fragments of paper lay scattered like melted snow. He hesitated but then, guided by a quiet impulse, he bent down and picked one up.

The scrap was crumpled. He smoothed it gently and read the phrase fate had chosen to leave intact:

The fjord wind blew cold and salty, whipping white foam into spirals against the cliffside rocks. From above, Hans watched the horizon through a spyglass pressed to his eye.

Below, two ships sailed side by side across the clear waters: one bearing the banner of House Redford, and another darker vessel with patched sails and a black flag flapping like a sneer in the wind.

Hans slowly lowered the spyglass, a bitter smile crossing his face.

“And they said I was wrong…” he muttered, handing the instrument to Henrik.

The soldier took it seriously, looked through the lens, and sighed. “Unfortunately… you weren’t.”

Before he could say anything else, Olaf, perched precariously on a lower rock, snatched the spyglass out of his hands.

“Oh! Pirates!” he exclaimed with genuine fascination. “How considerate of them to use skull flags so no one mistakes them for friendly merchants.”

Hans and Henrik exchanged a silent look, one of two men who had already exhausted their patience long before getting there.

“Although,” Olaf added thoughtfully. “I don’t think skull flags make the hostages feel very calm…”

“Let’s go.” Hans cut in, dry as stone, turning the horse waiting among the shrubs.

They descended the rocky path, the clatter of hooves lost beneath the roar of the sea. From the base of the cliff, Norell Bastion rose in the distance, a gray fortress emerging from the mist.

Soon after, they stopped the horses and approached the shore, where a makeshift rowboat waited, damp planks, a rope barely holding it together. Olaf swayed impatiently beside it.

Hans crouched, adjusting a small shield he had fashioned for the snowman out of a barrel lid and a piece of rope.

“Olaf, you remember what you have to do?”

“Of course!” Olaf chirped. “But… what exactly do I say? Do I talk about the sea, the sun, the earth… or hugs?”

Hans closed his eyes for a moment and breathed out with resignation.

“Just be yourself. Distract them as long as you can, and when they point something at you… row fast.”

“I can do that!” Olaf said brightly. “Anna and Elsa are going to be so proud of us.”

Henrik snorted.

“Right… very proud.”

Unable to recognize even a hint of irony, Olaf climbed into the boat. Hans and Henrik shoved it into the current. The little vessel, carried by water and luck, began to drift away, wobbling clumsily toward the ships gliding down the fjord.

Hans straightened and watched the tiny white figure shrink against the shimmering water.

“If we survive this, I’ll build him a statue.”

Henrik, eyes fixed on the sea, replied:

“If we survive this… I’ll help you.”

Out on the water, Olaf paddled with enthusiastic fury, waving his arms as if driving an invisible carriage. When the first pirates spotted him, shouts of confusion rang from the Redford’s deck.

“By the seas what is that?!”

“A ghost! A frost spirit!”

“It’s staring at us!”

Olaf beamed.

“Hellooo, ocean friends!” he shouted cheerfully. “Fear not! I’m a friendly representative of the crown!”

Pirates stepped back from the railing, some tripping over one another just to get a better look. In the chaos, none noticed the glint of metal arcing through the air a few meters away.

From a small boat, Henrik had raised his crossbow and fired with perfect aim at one of the Redford’s main pulleys. The rope snapped with a sharp crack, and the sail collapsed over the deck like a canvas monster, trapping two sailors beneath its weight.

The ship lurched and came to an involuntary stop.

“Good.” Hans murmured, pocketing the spyglass.

“Let’s go,” Henrik said, already rowing.

They paddled between the waves, hidden by the nervous laughter Olaf continued to provoke. Once close enough, Henrik hooked a grapple into the ship’s side; the ropes groaned under tension.

“For the Queen.” he whispered.

And together, they began climbing up the hull.

Once on deck, they slipped immediately into the interior corridors, where everything was damp, soaked in salt, blood, and fear.

Outside, they could still hear the uproar of pirates marveling at Olaf’s presence, he was still drifting on the far side of the ship, humming an incoherent song about summer flowers.

Hans moved first, sword in hand, his steps muffled against the wood. Henrik followed close behind, watching every shadow. Neither spoke. They both knew that even a whisper was a risk.

Turning into the main passageway, a creak stopped them short. Two pirates were speaking in low voices, hunched over a set of barrels. Hans lifted his gaze only slightly; Henrik was already watching him. They didn’t need to discuss it, one silent count was enough before they lunged.

One man fell without a sound, Henrik’s rigid arm crushing his throat; the other barely had time to turn before Hans covered his mouth and knocked him unconscious. The bodies went still. Not a sound disturbed the air.

They reached a hatch secured with a bolt. Henrik forced it open with his sword, and the faint screech was enough to reveal what lay inside: a wide, shadowed chamber where dozens of bodies lay piled together, bound with ropes and stained bandages.

The stench of confinement and terror was almost unbearable. Hans froze. For an instant, an ugly memory slammed into him.

From the gloom, a trembling voice rose:

“Lance! Lance, look!” cried a young woman. “They’re guards! Royal guards! The Queen has come for us!”

She was a red-haired girl, fine-featured and pale-eyed, dressed in what remained of a torn silk gown. Beside her, a young man lay unconscious, his skin grayish, his chest wrapped in a crude bandage.

Hans knelt to examine him as Henrik guarded the door.

“What happened to him?” he asked, his tone low and grave.

The girl stammered, hands pressed to her chest.

“One of them… one of the pirates…” Her voice broke. “He tried to— My brother tried to protect me.”

Hans felt his stomach tighten. He looked at the boy, then at her.

“He’ll be all right,” he said firmly, though he wasn’t certain of it. “But we need to get out. Can you walk?”

She nodded, fighting back tears.

“Listen to me,” he continued, cupping her face gently in his hands. “You have to be strong. There’s no one else. It’s just us.”

“What?” Her disbelief was immediate. “But… the Queen?”

Hans let out a slow, rough breath before answering.

“The Queen doesn’t know you’re here,” he said with regret. “She wanted to find you, but she was made to believe this ship was somewhere else.”

Henrik confirmed it with a small nod. The girl turned away, horrified.

“We need to leave now,” Hans urged. “Those who can still move must help us carry the others. We have a boat at the ship’s side.”

A weak murmur rippled through the room. Some prisoners tried to sit up; others wept.

Hans and Henrik began cutting ropes and lifting the wounded.

The young woman knelt beside her brother, trying to wake him.

“Come on, Lance… they’re getting us out.”

Hans watched her with a flicker of gentleness.

“May I know your name?”

She rose, standing despite her trembling hands, and answered with solemn pride:

“Lady Rosalinde Freyja Amarantha of Redford.”

There was a pause. Henrik raised a brow. Hans studied her a moment, then gave a slow nod and a half-smile.

“For now, we’ll call you just Rose.”

“Rose?”

“Yes.” Hans offered a hand to help with her brother. “Easier to shout if something explodes.”

The lady allowed herself a faint smile.

Around them, the prisoners were beginning to rise. The plan was in motion, every passing minute increased the danger of being discovered.

The planks of the Redford groaned beneath them. Henrik moved up and down among the hostages, helping them descend to the waiting boat. Hans, sleeves rolled up, gaze fixed, held the rope that creaked with each drop.

Wounded bodies slid down slowly toward the uncertain safety of the sea.

“Faster.” Hans muttered, gripping the rope tighter.

Suddenly, Henrik lifted a hand.

“Wait.”

Above deck, hurried footsteps rang out, boots hammering the wood, muffled shouts blending with the wind.

“What’s happening?” Hans whispered, looking upward.

Henrik narrowed his eyes. The pirates had returned to the deck… and Olaf had gone silent. A cold knot twisted in Hans’s chest.

Henrik clenched his jaw.

“There’s no time.”

They worked faster, lowering the last survivors. The wind rose sharply, and the Redford tipped slightly with the swell of the waves. Then, from high up the mast, a shadow shifted.

One of the pirates, a gaunt lookout with a spyglass hanging from his neck, leaned over the edge by chance.

Hans looked up the very instant the man glanced down and their eyes met. The pirate blinked, took two seconds to understand what he was seeing, and slammed the bell.

“No…” Hans breathed.

The metallic clang thundered across the ship, and chaos erupted.

Henrik cursed under his breath.

Only young Rosalinde remained, but she did not move. Her eyes filled with tears.

“I can’t go!” she cried, her delicate voice cracking. “My father… they still have him. I won’t leave without him!”

Henrik turned to her, his face tight with urgency.

“We have to go, my lady. This is not safe for you.”

“I won’t leave him!” she repeated, trembling.

Hans looked at her for a heartbeat and understood nothing would move her. He handed her a small knife, the curved blade worn and the leather handle frayed.

“Here.”

She stared at it, terrified.

“I—I don’t know how to use this.”

“Then pretend you’re cutting butter,” he replied with deceptively calm ease. “If anyone comes near you, stab. Don’t think about it.”

The bell rang again, and with it, hell broke loose.

On the far side of the fjord, the midday sun rose over the sea. Elsa stood at the prow, her gaze lost on the horizon. The wind whipped her hair, chilling her cheeks.

“Your Majesty” said a gentle, familiar voice, “the wind is merciless out here. You shouldn’t expose yourself so long.”

She didn’t turn. Her eyes remained fixed ahead, her brow slightly drawn.

“The cold doesn’t bother me, Admiral.”

He let out a soft laugh, taking a few steps closer.

“Yes… I forget that sometimes.” he murmured. “I suppose there’s no frost crueler than the one born within.”

Elsa turned her head only slightly.

“I did not expect such a poetic comparison from you.”

“Poetry is usually born from pain.” he replied with a brief smile. “And the sea and the ice… I guess they understand it very well.”

An uneasy silence stretched between them. Only the whisper of water against the hull filled the air as the sky slowly brightened.

“You know… I can’t imagine my grandfather sailing these waters or any waters really. When I met him, he was already so old he couldn’t even feed himself.”

“He was a good man.” she answered quietly. “He fulfilled his duty as far as he was able.”

Erik offered a faint, almost wistful smile.

“So they say, Your Majesty.” he replied softly. “Although truth be told… I could not have been more different from him.”

There was something in those words, and in the way he looked at her, that stirred a vague unease in her. She opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but a muffled cry shattered the silence.

Elsa spun around at once. A few paces away, Anna was in a man’s grip, held from behind with a knife pressed to her throat. Kristoff, Dimitri, and Gleb were there as well, overpowered by other men.

The air snapped in an instant. Elsa raised her hands instinctively, ice crackling around her fingers.

“One more move.” Erik warned “and that blade will cut her throat.”

Elsa’s eyes blazed with fury.

“I warn you, I will freeze you all.”

He didn’t flinch; a shadow of a smile crossed his face.

“She’ll die all the same.” he replied with cold logic. “I advise you, Your Majesty, to lower your hands.”

Anna, gagged, lifted her gaze toward her sister; her wide, terrified eyes begged the words she couldn’t speak. Elsa hesitated for the briefest moment. Then, slowly, she curled her fists, and the frost dissolved with a sigh.

“Why are you doing this, Erik?”

He let out a short, sharp laugh.

“Why?” he echoed bitterly. “Is it not enough that your honorable council and your noble family stood by while one of their most esteemed ministers cast a sick woman out of her kingdom...with her child in her arms?”

Elsa stared at him, shaken and unable to understand.
Erik stepped closer, the anger burning in his eyes barely contained.

“My mother begged you for help” he said, his voice rough with fury barely held in check. “She pleaded with the crown of Arendelle and its righteous council not to let her die or to at least protect her son, who had every right to live in the land of his blood. And what did they do? Nothing. They chose to protect Gustav Kaas and my father, to preserve their spotless lineage rather than their honor. They wanted her to die as what they believed she was: a mistake.”

Elsa said nothing, though her chest ached with the weight of his words.
Erik went on, his tone turning sharp, almost venomous.

“I had to carve my own path, like a beast fighting for its life. The only thing I inherited from my dear family was this cursed talent for reading the sea, and that was the only thing the world ever valued in me. No one reached out a hand… no one except the pirates. At least they were honest about what they were and never pretended to be virtuous.”

He let out a bitter smile, cold and humorless.
“But not everything was misfortune. One day, old Gustav remembered the poor bastard he’d left behind. He offered him lands and gold in exchange for protecting the kingdom… and its precious queen. As if that could erase a lifetime of contempt.”

His eyes darkened as he added,
“My family was vile as Arendelle’s council. As vile as your grandfather and your father.”

Elsa stepped forward, her voice trembling with restrained anger.
“No. My father was not a cruel man. Nor was my grandfather. Neither of them would ever have allowed something like that. There must be a mistake.”

Erik regarded her for a moment, his gaze caught between pity and disdain.
“Then, Her Majesty, doesn't know her family as well as she thinks.”

Elsa drew a steadying breath, her eyes hardening.
“My sister and I welcomed you into our home. We trusted you.”

He gave a low, mirthless laugh.
“Then you were fools. Take my advice, forget those days. Erik Kaas serves no crown now. Only himself.”

Elsa drew a slow, steady breath, containing the indignation burning in her chest.

“My sister and I welcomed you into our home. We trusted you.”

He let out a dry, humorless laugh.

“I advise you to forget all that,” he murmured. “Erik Kaas serves no one but himself now.”

Elsa clenched her jaw, but said nothing.

“For what it’s worth: I didn’t want it to come to this. All I wanted was your ship, but of course, you had to interfere.”

Erik smiled.

“But it seems fate favors me again. You know...There are rulers who would pay unimaginable fortunes for the power of the ice in your veins. They’d wage war among themselves for even a fragment of it. And some… would pay even more just to behold your beauty up close.”

Elsa held his gaze, a storm building behind her eyes. After several seconds, Erik turned away.

“Take her. And don’t let her out of your sight.”

His men obeyed silently. Without violence, they forced her across the deck.

Elsa kept her eyes forward. Her mind was a whirlwind.

Hans had been right.

There was danger in her waters. And now, thanks to her disbelief, or worse, her pride, Anna was in the hands of a traitor, Kristoff was restrained, and she herself… was bound like a prisoner.

The weight of that guilt pressed harder on her chest than the iron shackles on her wrists. What would they do to her sister? What would become of Arendelle if she fell? For an instant, she felt the urge to unleash her full fury, to call upon the deepest ice within her and tear the sea itself apart. But then, something unexpected happened.

“Elsaaa!” cried a familiar, bright, cheerful voice that cut through the wind.

The two henchmen and Elsa froze where they stood.

And there, floating on a plank in the fjord, with a smile that defied every law of nature, was Olaf.

“You’re not going to BELIEVE THIS!” he shouted, waving his arms. “The current brought me here so fast it almost feels like magic! HAHA! Oh, but be careful! There’s a ship up ahead with lots of very grumpy-looking men!”

The two henchmen exchanged bewildered looks. Elsa, however, seized the moment.

With a swift motion she raised her hands, an explosion of ice burst forth. The men were blown overboard in a single sweep of wind, and the chains shattered from her wrists with a crystalline crack.

In the same breath, she reached toward the water.

A streak of blue light wrapped around Olaf and lifted him onto the deck. The little snowman landed wobbling and looked at her with a mix of surprise and delight. She pulled him into a fierce embrace with her heart pounding.

“I’m so happy you’re safe.” she whispered.

But there was no time. She set him down gently and turned. She surged up the steps, the wind swirling at her heels. The men holding Anna and Kristoff barely had time to react, one gesture from Elsa's hand sent them flying into the sea like leaves in a storm.

At the far end of the ship, Erik recoiled in terror at the sight of her free. Their eyes met, hers blazing with fury, his filled with fear.

She took one step forward. The air around her crackled with frost.

“You made a grave mistake.” she said, her voice low and dangerous, like a glacier splitting open.

Erik had no time to answer. Behind her came the sharp snap of a crossbow being drawn.

She froze completely, the frost gathering around her hands halting at once.

The air on deck smelled of salt, smoke… and blood.

Hans moved first, sword raised, dragging Rose behind him while Henrik covered the rear.

Pirates burst out from every direction, from behind barrels, from the masts: sweaty, furious men with eyes bright with rage and adrenaline.

“Rose?” Hans growled through clenched teeth as he deflected a blade. “Where is your father?”

The young lady, pressed against his back, tried to stay low as she ran between broken ropes and blood-slick planks.

“Near the helm!” she gasped. “Up on the platform!”

Hans glanced upward for a brief instant, dodging another slash. High above, on the steering platform, he spotted a massive figure lying on the floor, barely moving.

The duke.

“This way!” Henrik barked, hurling a pirate overboard when the man tried to grab Rose by her dress.

The guard was a whirlwind, advancing like a human battering ram, every strike equally precise and brutal, but there were too many of them.

Hans seized Rose by the wrist and pulled her toward the stairs. A pirate lunged from the side with an axe raised; Hans blocked it with a metallic crack that burned down his arm to the shoulder, and Henrik finished the man with a stab beneath the ribcage.

“Keep moving!” Henrik roared.

Halfway up the stairs, Henrik shoved a massive barrel with all his strength. Its contents—spilled oil and a fallen torch—erupted into tall, furious flames. The pirates chasing them staggered back at once, retreating behind the blaze.

The platform was only a few steps away, but Rose rushed ahead.

“Father! Father, I’m here!” Her voice broke as she fell to her knees beside him. “Are you all right?”

The Duke of Redford was a fallen giant. He tried to speak, but had no strength left. His face was gray, his elegant clothes stained with dirt and blood, and his mouth so parched he could barely form a sound.

Hans and Henrik crouched beside him at once, trying to lift him, but they couldn’t. The man’s weight was like trying to heave a wall upright.nThere was no way to carry him.

“Let’s try again!” Hans ordered, desperate.

Henrik gritted his teeth, muscles straining, trembling with effort.

“I… can’t…!” he gasped.

Rose wept silently, trying uselessly to help.

Then a dull crack, and a side door slammed open.

A massive pirate filled the doorway.

Tall as an oak, broad-shouldered, his beard wild, his weathered skin slashed with old scars. A man who should not still have been alive at his age, and yet was clearly still deadly.

Henrik barely had time to turn before a massive blow smashed his skull against the railing like he was made of straw.

“Henrik!” Hans shouted.

His companion rolled to the floor with a choked groan, a deep gash on his head spilling dark blood.

Hans raised his sword just as the pirate moved in to finish him. The man didn’t even flinch, he charged at Hans with brutal force.

The metallic clash rang like thunder.

Hans staggered back three steps, his arms vibrating from the impact. But the pirate swung again, surprisingly swift for his size. The prince managed to block one strike and dodge another… but the third carved into his forearm and sent his sword flying overboard.

Rose screamed in fear.

Hans stumbled back, unarmed, staring into the man’s eyes for the first time. The pirate breathed heavily, his copper-colored hair hanging in filthy strands, his expression as empty and dangerous as the bottom of the sea.

“Hans Westergaard.” the man rasped. “Isn’t it?”

Hans, panting and bleeding, stared at him in confusion.

“Well...” he said after a few seconds, catching his breath, “you’ll have to forgive my manners. I don’t think I’ve ever met such an ugly bastard in my damn life.”

The pirate let out a rough, broken laugh, showing shattered teeth.

“I’d recognize you anywhere, boy.” he said, advancing.
“How could I forget the prince who butchered my best men in the Southern Isles? You were a machine back in those years…”

Hans frowned, and the pirate continued:

“And of course,” he added with a twisted grin, “you’re famous for what you did to the Queen and Princess of Arendelle. Word travels in every sea.”

A blow of shame struck Hans so hard he nearly faltered. But before he could speak, the pirate leaned in with narrowed eyes.

“Though what gives you away most…” he said, his tone sharpening, “are those beautiful green eyes. The same ones your mother, the Queen, had, if I recall.”

The world narrowed into a red thread for Hans.

“Go to hell.” he growled.

But before he could say more, the pirate was already lunging.

Hans dodged by sheer desperation and landed a blow to the man’s side, yet the pirate barely noticed it. The retaliation was so violent it knocked Hans flat on his back, the breath torn from his lungs.

The pirate shoved him down again when he tried to rise. Hans rolled, dizzy, trying to stand, but the world spun. Without him noticing, the man drew a long, curved knife from his belt.

“You know…” the pirate said, leaning over him,
“back in the Southern Isles, for a brat your age, you were something. I actually thought you had… potential.” He let out a coarse laugh. “And you still might. A boy like you can be useful. If you want, we can deal with the Queen of Arendelle together.”

Hans spat blood straight into his face.

“Do it.” he whispered through blood-stained teeth.

The pirate’s smile vanished.

With a roar, he grabbed Hans by the chest and drove the knife downward.

Hans caught the blade with both hands, stopping it, but only barely. Inch by inch, the knife pressed closer. The prince screamed as he used every ounce of strength he had left, tears slipping down his temples.

“How curious,” the pirate murmured, savoring every second.
“You’ve got the same look your mother had when she thought she was going to die.”

Hans felt the world rupture inside him.

“What—?” he panted.

“Oh,” the pirate said, cruelly soft, “well, since you’re about to die anyway, and since you wanted answers so badly… Yes, I had her at my mercy. Who knows—maybe I killed her. Maybe I didn’t.
You can ask her yourself.”

The blade descended, breaking through Hans’s weakening defense.

“NO!” Rose screamed.

The girl hurled herself at the pirate with the knife Hans had given her earlier and she plunged it into his side.

Rose surprised herself with her own courage, but immediately stumbled back when she realized the man… hadn’t even flinched. He grabbed her by the neck and threw her against the deck with such force that she rolled twice before lying still and dazed.

“ROSE!” Hans tried to move toward her, but the pirate dropped his full weight onto him again, this time with even greater fury. The blade touched skin, then tore muscle. Hans could feel the iron forcing its way in, feel the heat of his own blood spilling across his chest. The air grew thick; every breath burned like fire going down his throat.

And yet, the first thing that came to his mind wasn’t the pain. It was Richard. His brother finding his body. Cursing himself for not saving him. He could almost hear him calling him an “idiot” the moment he learned what had brought him there, using that broken voice that always hid more affection than scolding. Hans thought of the last time he saw him… how absurd it was to die without truly saying goodbye.

Then he thought of Alysanne. Of the kindness in her gaze. He wondered, with a devastating pang, if she would cry for him.

The knife sank a little deeper; he felt something hot spill inside him, like ink escaping a shattered inkwell. Hans swallowed hard, fighting to think. Henrik. God… Henrik. He was dying just a few feet away. And Rose, poor girl, whose innocence should never have brushed against a horror like this. He had wanted to do what was right… and he had failed them.

His vision blurred, but his arms still resisted, still pushed against the dagger as he clung to life. The pirate pressed down harder. Hans felt the iron advancing, felt his chest give way as life leaked through his fingers.

And then, at the very edge of darkness… he thought of her. Elsa. Her brief, timid laugh. The way she had driven him mad since the moment he arrived in Arendelle... And how desperately he wished he’d had more time with her. To stop hiding behind pride and excuses and say, before the whole world, if he had to: that he loved her, without restraint, even if he didn’t deserve her.

The pirate raised his head to finish him. But then, a monstrous crack tore through the ship. The deck tilted nearly forty degrees, ropes snapped taut, and barrels rolled overboard. They could no longer feel the sea beneath them; as if they were floating. 

The man lost his balance and was thrown across the deck. Hans rolled in the same direction and his hand closed around the knife the pirate had dropped without noticing. Before either of them could understand what was happening, Hans met him with a single, clean slice across the throat.

His neck opened like a black flower. The pirate clutched at it with both hands, eyes wide and shocked; Hans held his gaze as the life drained out of him. And immediately he understood his mistake.

“No… no!” he whispered, pulling the knife away and pressing both hands over the wound. “You’re not dying, do you hear me? You’re not dying now!” Blood poured between his fingers, hot and thick.

“Tell me where she is,” he begged, leaning over him. “What did you do to her? Tell me!” The pirate tried to speak, but his mouth was filling with blood, and only a wet choking sound escaped him. Hans leaned closer, desperate, but no words formed.

“Talk, damn you!” he pleaded, pressing harder as if he could hold the man in this world by force alone. “Please!” The pirate trembled one last time, and his eyes went blank forever.

Hans remained there for a moment, breathing raggedly, his hands drenched in red, knowing he’d lost the only answer he had searched for his entire life. The ship was still tilted at an impossible angle. Ice was forming along the rail, clear and blue.

Through the pain and confusion, for a brief moment, he felt relief at the thought that Elsa might be there. But he couldn’t think of her yet. When the ship righted itself, he dragged himself,gasping, toward Henrik.

His guard and friend remained unconscious, pale as the moon. Hans grabbed his shoulder with shaking hands.

“Henrik… Henrik…” he whispered with his voice breaking.

His own blood dripped onto the wood. He tried to stand, but the pain in his chest shattered him. The knife had pierced too deep. Every heartbeat was fire, every breath a tearing wound.

Suddenly, the world began to pull away from him. And then he heard her.

“Hans!!”

Elsa’s voice, desperate, cut through the chaos like a line of light.

He wanted to answer her, to go to her… but his body no longer obeyed him.

He saw her extinguish the flames with her powers and run toward him, her guards following close behind. Her footsteps rang across the deck. They were so close… so close, and just as her hand should have reached him, he sensed something different in the air.

That old scent of cinnamon, the same one from the candles his mother used to place in his room when he was a child.

“Hans… wake up… please…”

Even without opening his eyes, he felt the pull of a small hand. And he heard the roar of a terrible storm. Suddenly he was there, in his bed in the Southern Isles, and Aldric, no more than eight year-old boy, stood before him, wide-eyed and teary.

“I’m really scared… Come on, let’s go to Mother and Father.”

Hans, not fully understanding where he was or why, simply nodded. Following Al felt so natural… as if it had always been his duty.

They walked through the dark palace corridors, lit only by the lightning tearing open the sky outside.

At last they reached the great doors of the royal bedchamber.

Two guards stood watch at the entrance. One of them, a man who had always been as severe and rigid as a statue, raised a brow when he saw them arrive, trembling and terrified.

“My princes.” he said, attempting a tone of firmness that came out pitifully awkward “you cannot go in. Their Majesties are resting.”

Aldric, lips quivering, insisted:

“But the storm… it’s very strong…” His voice broke. “And Hans is scared. Very.”

“I am not—!” He began, but a thunderclap shook the castle, and he clung to his brother instantly.

The guard blinked. Tried to recover his composure.

“I… deeply regret it, my princes, but protocol states that—”

Another thunderclap. Both children jumped and clung to the guards’ legs. The two men swallowed hard.

From inside the room came the king’s deep voice, thick with irritation:

“What is it now?”

The guard paled. With trembling voice, yet loyal to protocol, he announced:

“Your Majesty… Prince Aldric and Prince Hans… respectfully… request… to sleep with you tonight.”

There was a silence so absurd it was almost theatrical. A rough sigh came from within, followed by a growl.

“For all the seas… let them in.”

The guard, his dignity in tatters, opened the door.

There was the Queen, a candle beside her casting a soft glow over her face. Her hair was loose, and her arms already open toward them, as if she had been waiting all night for them to come.

Aldric released a choked sob and ran to her.

Hans, now seeing her, abandoned all pretense of bravery and threw himself into her arms as well.

“My sweet boys… come here. It’s over now. Mama is with you.” she murmured, wrapping them with a tenderness that could undo any hardened heart.

The king remained reclined, brow furrowed in visible annoyance. But when the two little ones climbed onto the bed, still trembling, and nestled on either side of their mother like fledglings under her wings, he let out, against all expectation, a brief laugh touched with tenderness.

As if something inside him had quietly cracked open.

“You spoil them too much, Claire.” he said, trying to regain his gravity… and failing.

The queen ignored the remark and kissed both their foreheads.

“Now… rest. You’re safe. I’m here. Nothing will harm you.”

His brother had already closed his eyes, as had their father. Hans looked up. His mother’s eyes shone and looked at him with love. Aldric’s hand gripped his with an affection that asked for no explanations.

And there, wrapped in the love life would never again grant him, the little prince let his eyelids fall.

And at last, in the middle of the world’s storm…He fell asleep.