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Chapter Text

Being the youngest of thirteen sons was equivalent to being of no value. Hans learned this when he was six, and the family went on a sailing outing in the summer. They visited some of the local fishing towns and villages and so forth, and in all the hullaballoo, Hans was left behind after lunch, while the royal sailing boat departed from the shore.

Hans sat on the pier. He’d stuffed slices of rye bread into his pockets over lunch, and he took a slice out now, breaking off crumbly pieces and dropping them into the dark, salty-fish smelling water. They floated off, bobbing between the boats tied to the long pier.

The pier was lined with buildings and businesses painted in bright colors: flat strokes of yellow, pale blue, teal, orange. They were all different colors, but they all looked the same, with flat facades and reddish-orange tiled roofs.

Hans had twelve brothers, was removed from the next oldest by four years, and they had all built their own alliances, sizing each other up by their place in line to the throne, or by an assortment of skills, or by sheer likeability and charm. Hans’ oldest brother was twenty, and everyone inbetween was being groomed for politics, or the navy, or academia, or for maintaining alliances with the rest of the nobility, and also influential members of the merchant and artisan classes.

Hans was six-years-old, the youngest of thirteen, and probably the most his family expected of him, if they expected anything, was that he very quietly go into the navy, or the priesthood, and keep his nose out of everyone else’s work and play and politicking.

Hans was six-years-old, and already he knew that if wanted to get anywhere, he had to keep up with boys older and more experienced than him. He had to stand up straight, and keep quiet during parties and functions, except when the adults expected him to smile and be charming. Then he’d let the older girls and their mothers and their grandmothers coo over him, and he’d smile and be charming.

If he was bad, his parents scolded him sharply, and his brothers would wear looks varying from exasperated to vastly superior and self-important. If he was very good, probably no one would notice him at all.

---

At twenty, Hans was a perfect prince, in nearly every way. He could fence with both hands, had physical strength and endurance. He had been educated in politics, trade, diplomacy, and court manners—mostly from trailing after his older brothers’ tutoring sessions, and “borrowing” their books while they were engaging in horseplay.

He knew how to read people. He knew how to be exactly the kind of person they wanted to see, whether easy and dashing, or straight-backed and competent, or else smiling and awkward and self-depreciating. The funny thing was how often you could get what you wanted, just by allowing people to underestimate you. They thought they had a handle on you, and then it was easy to turn around and slide the metaphorical, or literal, knife into their back.

Actually, Hans had never killed anyone before. On the other hand, he wasn’t particularly bothered by the notion.

Once, his brother Caspar had gotten into fight with another member of the nobility. Something about a girl they were both competing for. So the two aristocratic hot-heads had arranged for a duel on the lawn behind the palace, and Caspar had left the other man lying on the lawn, unable to scream from a punctured left lung, blood seeping into his white shirt. Caspar’s two sibling compatriots, Gustav and Karl, had congratulated him of course, clapping him on the back, all of that nonsense.

Hans had climbed a tree to watch. No one had noticed him, of course. At eleven, he was wondering, in a detached way, if Caspar would have been better off killing his rival straight-out, putting the man out of his obvious misery.

But honestly, he didn’t know. It didn’t matter to him, one way or another. As far as he could tell it, life had always taught him that he was just about interchangeable with any other fellow. This was true, no matter how hard he worked, no matter how “perfect” he was, or maybe he wasn’t really perfect enough. Maybe it didn’t matter. People always saw exactly what they wanted to see, anyway.

At twenty, Hans sailed to Arendelle for the new queen’s coronation. Four of his other brothers had come as members of the diplomatic party, but while they mingled with other ambassadors and royalty, or drank wine, or flirted, whatever they were up to—Hans sized up Arendelle’s two royals. Queen Elsa was a quick study. All she seemed to see were people with whom she had to put personal distance between. She was elegant, cool, and reserved. Men flirted with her—it would have been strange if they hadn’t, given how beautiful she was—but her aloof manner quickly doused any attempts at real warmth. Elsa would have been a waste of Hans’ time. Idly, Hans wondered if Her Majesty would have preferred the romantic affections of a woman—which was possible, but that was one thing that Hans couldn’t change about himself at a moment’s notice.

Her Highness, Princess Anna on the other hand—she was practically a child, despite being all of eighteen. He didn’t love her—but then again, he was not sure he had ever been in love with anyone at all, and he could not imagine a more perfect scenario: ruling as king, while Anna amused herself with boating and horses and parties and chocolates.

From the town square, Hans watched Anna stare at the ships sailing into Arendelle’s fjord, her mouth open, and every line of her light with innocence—and Hans slipped on a smile and urged his horse forward: every inch of him princely, and gentle, and full of warmth.

Chapter Text

Humans who were smart understood that animals were smart as well, if not sometimes smarter than them. Sitron had heard of kingdom farther down south, where a horse was head of the local law enforcement, and stories about adorable squirrels gone vindictive if you were ungracious about their gifts of nuts.

Prince Hans was a smart man, and he understood that the animals he worked with had to be measured up the same as humans. That said, Sitron still wasn’t sure sometimes why Hans had picked him as his personal horse. Sitron always tried his best, but there were other horses who were far more effortless graceful and grand and dignified. Sitron still sometimes tripped over things, or bumped into people if they came up behind him.

Hans spent several months with various horses in the royal stables, and at the end of it, he’d taken Sitron out on a ride, then dismounted out where they were alone, looked Sitron in the eye, and said, “All right. I’ve decided that you’ll be my horse, and I want to have a word with you.”

He seemed different that day, Prince Hans. Normally he was smiles, or he was quiet, or there were other people around and he was both all smiles and quiet, but that day there was something very serious in his face, not quite grim, but it made Sitron stand up a little straighter.

“I am not a kind man,” Hans said, and Sitron already knew that.

“I treat people well when I think they can be useful to me, but I am not a kind man,” he said. “We’ll be spending a lot more time together, now that I’m eighteen, and now that I need to figure out how not to be the invisible thirteenth son. I’ll be traveling a lot. I’ll need a horse. We’ll spend a lot of time together, and it’s tiring, always having to ‘be someone’ around everyone, so you’ll be in my trust, from now on. I know that you’re a loyal horse. That’s why I picked you. I don’t want to have to get rid of a perfectly good horse, because of a mistake in my judgement.”

Sitron simply inclined his head slightly to one side, to show that he was listening. He knew that “get rid of” meant horse steak and glue.

Then Hans, grinned, suddenly, “And I know that you’re too good-natured, even when I’m threatening you with horse steak and glue. It makes me sound like I’m taking advantage of you, even though you’re the one who could trample me without too much trouble.”

Hans fished an apple out of the saddlebag and then offered it to Sitron. It was a gesture like offering a business transaction, rather than having any warmth, but Sitron ate the apple up, crunch cruch.

The reality was, Hans just needed someone to talk to.

They traveled to neighboring kingdoms, for Hans to take his measure of the resident royalty, meet any potential eligible young women in his tentative plans to marry into power, and all in the meanwhile, making political and diplomatic connections, practicing his court manners, getting an autodidact’s education. Hans’ ultimate aims were towards the northern kingdom of Arendelle, which had two heir princesses close to his age, but word was that the two ladies would be socially inaccessible until the eldest’s coronation. It was all very mysterious, but Hans wasn’t overly worried.

While they traveled, Hans talked to Sitron a lot. He vented and complained about the people he met, naïve young women or self-important monarchs or grasping courtiers with no sense of finesse. He didn’t always complain. Sometimes he just start rambling on about books he was reading, or a new fencing technique he’d picked up. Sometimes he went out on rides into open countryside, and laid against Sitron’s side after lunch, and Sitron very politely did not move.

In all ways, Sitron was adequately cared for. After all, Hans needed a healthy and beautiful horse as his royal transport.

Of course, Hans didn’t fuss or coo over Sitron. Hans talked a lot about how he didn’t love or feel much affection towards most everyone. He just didn’t understand the concepts of it all. There wasn’t any real love out there, anyway. Most everyone just wanted other people around for selfish reasons. Sometimes, Sitron was even sure that Hans was telling the truth of what he believed, or at least part of the truth.

But then sometimes they stopped at countryside inns or farms for a meal, and Hans overpaid their hosts purposefully if he was treated well.

And he talked to people they passed on the road, even when he didn’t have to, even when he could have stuck up his nose and been a prince.

And when they were outside, having lunch alone and Hans was lying against Sitron, Sitron looked down and thought: there was a kind of look in his face, that wasn’t smiling or serious or grim or wanting of anything. It was a look a little like bitterness and sadness mixed up.

Sitron knew that Hans would have him killed on the spot of he ever betrayed his prince in any real or damaging way.

But Sitron would have been loyal to Hans anyway, as best as he could be.

It was just…looking at Hans, and even with all the faces of him, Sitron couldn’t find it in his heart to be any other way.

Chapter Text

Hans returned home in disgrace.

When he walked off the ship, leading Sitron by the reins, he was wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing for the last week. He smelled. His hair was in a disarray and he needed a shave, several days ago.

Sitron nudged Hans’ shoulder a little, and Hans climbed onto the saddle, once they were on the pier.

They returned to the castle. Sitron went to the stables, and Hans washed, and shaved, and dressed, and he went to his brother’s court.

“I don’t understand,” said his Royal Majesty, King Immanuel of the Southern Isles, and also Hans’ oldest brother. “You character was always so weak, growing up; I never imagined you disgracing us like this, returning home in such scandal.”

He said this in front of everybody. It was a public humiliation, and Hans could hear snickering from the peanut gallery that called itself his siblings. Seven of them, anyway, the ones who happened to be in the capitol during his return.

“Well, your traveling privileges will be revoked,” Immanuel said. “You won’t be permitted to leave the kingdom without a damn good reason and an escort, and this will be until you’ve… ah, until you’ve demonstrated some real change in behavior I suppose. We’ll have to send some diplomatic gift to the Arendelle, a gesture of apology and goodwill, but of course you won’t be involved with that. You’re dismissed.”

Immanuel waved him out.

Hans left the hall without looking at anyone and without saying anything.

When he returned his personal suite, he picked up a beautiful, decorative vase filled with flowers and smashed it against the wall.

--

Sitron knew that Hans hated being at home.

Hans hated it a lot.

He hated being among his brothers, and he hated being among the people of his kingdom who were perfectly aware of his status as a nobody.

It didn’t help either that he seemed to have a hard time making any real emotional connections with pretty much anyone, but Sitron could chalk that up easily to the fact that Hans just wasn’t honest with most people. He wasn’t honest about what he was really thinking, or why he did the things he did. Even a lot of acts of apparent kindness, he’d say to Sitron later, “There’s no value in treating anyone like dirt. People are more willing to do something for you if you’re nice to them—but honestly, who wants to hear that. The real, selfish motivations of a man.” He’d smile, and something—something of the real him would come out in the corners of it, sharp and nearly grim, and strangely self-depreciating. But Sitron would just look back at him, shake out his ears a little, and then keep trotting down whatever country path they were heading down.

Ever since coming back from Arendelle, Hans spent a lot of time alone, with Sitron, taking long rides out in the country. It was summertime, so it was good to take advantage of the fair weather while it still lasted. Hans brought books with him, and would sit under a tree while Sitron lay in the grass and enjoyed the sweet air and the view of fields and dark hills.

He knew that Hans had tried to execute the queen of Arendelle, and that he’d also been perfectly willing to allow Arendelle’s princess to die from a magical curse without doing too much to help her. Servants and sailors gossiped. Sitron had heard the whole story, or at least several versions of it.

Sitron also knew that Hans really had been trying to bring back summer to Arendelle.

And that whatever else you could say about him and his motivations, he would have ruled Arendelle well. People would have called him a good king, and a kind one, even if it would have been hard for Sitron to tell sometimes if that kindness was genuine or self-serving.

Maybe Sitron wasn’t very bright about all of this, but he’d spent a lot of time with Hans, over the last few years—and maybe this was being as naïve as a puppy, or a hunting hound—but he really loved his prince. He really did. Sometimes it hurt to think about it, because he knew that Prince Hans wasn’t always a good man, but he wasn’t always a bad one either.

Sitron just wanted to always lie next to Hans in the countryside, where there wasn’t anybody except the birds and field mice and Hans’ books, or when they took long, galloping rides and it was really nice.

But always there was Hans’ home, the royal court calling, and all of that intrigue and bickering and meanness, and Hans didn’t much give Sitron kind words either, even when they were alone. But sometimes he’d sit there with his books, lying against Sitron, and he’d reach out and put his hand against Sitron’s neck, almost gentle-like, for just a moment. And summer didn’t last forever, but sometimes Sitron wished it would.

He really did.

Chapter Text

Living at home was doing nothing good for Hans’ health.

Three weeks after returning to the Southern Isles, Hans’ came to the stables late one night with a bruised face and reeking of wine. It looked like he had been in a fight, probably with one of his brothers, again.

Before, he’d escaped through traveling, but now that he was required to remain in residence at the castle…

Sitron nuzzled a little at Hans in worry while Hans leaned against his box stall.

“Sitron,” he said, patting at Sitron, and nearly poking him in the eye. “You, you are my only friend. And isn’t that the sad truth. I’m not even sure I want any friends , but here you are. Here we are.”

Then he giggled.

He always giggled in a goofy way when he was drunk, but there wasn’t anything goofy, or funny, about the way he looked then, purpling up around one eye, and then he slid down the stall door, and then he began to cry.

Sitron couldn’t even get down to where Hans was, the stall door was in the way, so he could only look down, and listen while Hans cried into his hands like someone wrapped in their own secrecy and shame.

There were times and places wherein animals could be treated or acted like humans. There was the horse in a kingdom further south, and who was a chief officer of law enforcement. There were squirrels who quarreled over rules of etiquette and graciousness. But Sitron was only a fjord horse, a prince’s transport, and he couldn’t even get out of his stall.

After Hans left, Sitron couldn’t sleep.

He looked out his stable window at the clear night sky, and for the first time, he wished that he could be something other than a horse. Hans needed someone other than a horse, and Sitron loved his prince very much.

---

The next morning, Hans returned to the stable in the late morning, after recovering from a hangover with coffee and bread and butter, and then there was a lot of yelling because his horse was missing, and this strange person had been sleeping in the stable instead, they’d tied him up, your highness; and then Hans looked like he wanted to throw things at everyone, and he said, not shouting, but somehow still full of bite, “You idiots, that is my horse, hasn’t anyone here ever seen a textbook example of sorcery before? For the love of God.”

Sitron always knew that his prince was very smart.

So they untied Sitron, and let Hans take him away.

---

“Well,” Hans said. “After that fiasco in Arendelle, I tell you nothing is really going to take me by surprise again, but maybe I’m surprised anyway. Surprised and disappointed.”

They were sitting on the balcony of Hans’ personal suite in the castle, and Hans was feeding Sitron sandwiches.

“You wished for this?” Hans asked. “Really?”

Sitron nodded around a mouthful of sandwich.

“You fool,” Hans said, sounding tired, but not actually angry, which was good, probably. Sitron slurped down some tea to wash down the sandwich. “You realize that the only reason I spent so much time with you was because you couldn’t talk and now you can. I’ll have to get rid of you now, and how am I to replace my horse? You know that my living expenses are now bare minimum, ever since my disgrace. I’ll be lucky to get a farm horse for riding.”

Sitron looked at his plate of sandwiches. Hans had piled them on from the platter brought in.

He wondered if Hans really would get rid of him.

You never could tell, sometimes, with Prince Hans.

Oh, maybe he was a dumb horse, after all.

If this had been a mistake, if Hans really was going to replace him—

“Oh, stop looking like I'm going to kick you,” Hans said, and Sitron couldn’t tell what Hans meant by that tone of voice, at all. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Turn into a human so that you could leave, have a better life than being transport and pack animal. Frankly, I’d understand it. If I were a horse, I’d want the same. A regular Pinocchio story. Now you’re a real human.”

Sitron put down his half-eaten sandwich, and then looked over at Hans, wide-eyed, and then down again, and then he’d come around, and knelt down—clumsily, he still hadn’t the whole knack of only two legs—and he said, soft and rough with a still barely used voice, “I want to be your friend.”

“I knew it’d be easy to take advantage of you, when I picked you.” Hans sounded tired, more tired than ever. “Worse than that princess in Arendelle. If only you had someone who could show you the loyalty you’ve shown me—someone who actually lov—“

Then Hans stopped and put his face in his hands.

There were so many things that Prince Hans did and did not do, things that did not add up, things that contradicted. He was cruel and kind and self-serving and compassionate in a way that may or may not have been real compassion.

Sitron was only a horse.

He did not have grand dreams for his life, except then, and it was a very un-horse-like dream, perhaps.

He laid his check to Hans’ knee, and Hans did not move, letting him.

Chapter Text

“I could get you a job working the stables,” Hans said, feeling dubious. They were in the stables, Sitron was socializing with the other horses. Sitron seemed to understand them, apparently, and he had been engaged in some kind of debate with Jubilation regarding the advantages of thumbs versus having four powerful legs that ended in hooves.

Sitron slipped Jubilation some sugar cubes from his pocket; Jubilation kind of butted his head at Sitron’s hand in a friendly way, chewing sugar.

“I could,” Sitron said, slowly, “but—I’m your horse. My first duties are to you.”

“You didn’t think this through, did you?” Hans demanded. “You’re not a horse anymore, and I don’t want you as my manservant.”

Sitron sort of seemed to deflate a little, which was ridiculous, he was not a small man—actually, he was taller than Hans, with broader shoulders. Jubilation gave Hans a dirty look, and Hans returned it in kind.

Hans said, “I don’t want you as my manservant because I don’t think you’d like doing it, and yes you’d probably be terrible at it, I had to help you into your new clothes, all this trouble over buttons and having newly minted fingers to button them with. I don’t want you becoming dependent on me either, what’s going to happen if—” then Hans broke off and took Sitron by the arm. “Oh, come on, I don’t want to be talking to you about this in front of your horse friends.”

“Bye,” Sitron said to Jubilation and Rose of Isle and Regal Parade, and all the other horses who were watching them from their stall doors, the shameless gossipers. The stable hands and grooms were probably eavesdropping too, never mind that Hans had ordered them out of sight.

Hans towed Sitron outside, and then he let go of Sitron’s arm and started walking towards the open lawns behind the castle, and Sitron trotted alongside, keeping up.

Then Hans stopped and turned around. He said, like statements rattled off a laundry list, “I’m not a good person, you know that. Every dirty secret, every terrible thought that’s passed through my head, I’ve told you.”

He said, “I have a cold heart. I don’t… I don’t love anyone. I’m completely selfish. I’ve attempted murder. Maybe if I had kept it all to myself this wouldn’t be such a problem for me, I could keep you around as a servant, whatever needed doing, it wouldn’t. It wouldn’t matter.” He smiled then, wide and grim. “That’s probably it. If I hadn’t opened my damned mouth, because look what’s happened now. Just look.”

Sitron shifted his weight whilst listening, back and forth. He looked even more like a horse then, or the horse he used to be, all the weight of him unbalanced on two legs. He looked uncertain. He shook his head slightly, back and forth, and finally he said, “Even if you didn’t tell me, it wouldn’t change what’s in your heart. It wouldn’t change who you are. You are my prince. I… It is good, knowing who you are.”

“I’m no one,” Hans bit out. He waved a belligerent hand at the scene of the castle behind them. “I’m practically interchangeable with any man out there.”

“No,” Sitron said simply. He was looking at Hans, unflinching. “You are my prince, and I love you.”

The last was said with such innocence, Hans might have wanted to hit Sitron, but he didn’t. He would never raise a hand against the other man who was once a horse, who was a horse; he wouldn’t harm his little finger.

It was a terrible thought; a damning one.

Hans asked, almost bitterly, “Why did you have to become a man? Why did you have to learn how to speak, when it was so satisfactory knowing that I could say whatever I wanted, and never have to hear you say anything in return at all.”

Sitron looked down at the grass, and the expression on his face was like Hans had reached into his chest and broken his heart.

Hans said, “See. It’s not so wonderful after all, is it, hearing everything. Hearing the truth.”

Sitron said nothing.

And then, because he was a selfish, wicked man, Hans strode over, and took Sitron’s face in his hands, and kissed him.

When Hans pulled away, he said, nearly whispering it, “I’m sorry that I hurt you, and that too is the truth.”

Sitron stared at Hans, wide-eyed, and also breathing hard, from the kiss.

“You never apologize for anything,” Sitron said, like the idiotic innocent that he was. “I mean, when you’re being honest about it, like this.”

Hans grimaced then, a little. “I know, I know.”

Sitron smiled, tentative and lopsided, and Hans stepped back. They did not hold hands, as they walked back towards the castle, but Hans talked about perhaps taking Sitron out to the cities amusement garden, just outside the city, with the theatre, and the restaurants, and the mechanical amusement rides. And Sitron smiled and seemed happy, walking alongside, and Hans hoped that he would be. Hans hoped that Sitron would be happy. It hurt his heart to think such a thought, an unfamiliar kind of hurt, but there was nothing to be done. And Sitron chattered about wanting to watch the fireworks over the gardens’ lake, sometime when they actually lit the beautiful fireworks for holidays, and Hans quietly listened, as they went together back up the path.

Chapter Text

For someone so self-interested, Hans spent a lot of time putting himself in harm’s way.

Sitron noticed this as he circled the base of the tree in an anxious way. They were just outside the castle, in a copse of trees that Hans liked to practice climbing in. Of course Hans had done this before. Sitron never liked it, and at least now he could talk about it, except Hans kept telling him to stop worrying and then Sitron thought, oh, what if he distracted Hans and Hans fell down, all two stories of that insufferable tree.

Hans was perched near the top, his legs swinging, graceful as a bird. He’d left his jacket for Sitron to hold onto. Sitron sat down at the base of the tree, wrapped himself up in Hans' jacket, and laid his forehead against his knees. He thought about broken bones and bruises. He thought about all the fights that Hans got into with his brothers, and that wasn’t even the worst of it.

Hans would harm himself to get what he thought he wanted. It was terrible. Just terrible. If he thought that he needed to be the perfect prince, or if he needed to be stronger, faster, a better swordsman. If he thought that he needed a kingdom. He’d walk around in the cold and pass out blankets and talk to people to make a good impression, or maybe because he thought that was what it meant to be a good ruler, or whatever was going on in his head, and it was so cold outside. So cold, and snowing, and not good for him. Or when he went to search for Princess Anna, and going up that mountain, being a leader and then taking on that frozen monster all by himself. Hans had nearly died. He’d nearly fallen into the ravine. Hans wasn’t a coward, but that wasn’t what Sitron was worried about. Hans really did think, seem to think, that he was interchangeable with any other man, valueless on some base level, which was why he had no trouble being so cruel, sometimes.

It was terrible.

Just terrible.

Sitron heard branches rustling up above him, and then he jumped up, and oh, oh Hans was coming down, finally! Sitron jumped up and slipped off Hans’ jacket, ready to give it back.

Hans landed on the ground. He was looking at Sitron with an utterly inscrutable expression. He took back his jacket, and then said, “Sometimes I wonder if I ought to make up a song. ‘Horses are better than people,’” he said in a sing-song way. “‘People will beat you, and curse you, and cheat you; every one of them’s bad except--”

Hans trailed off, his expression going even stranger, and Sitron said, helpfully, “I’m not really a horse anymore.”

“More’s the pity,” Hans said, with an obviously dramatic roll of his eyes, and then he reached over and brushed some leaves out of Sitron’s hair, and Sitron beamed at him and then suggested lunch. Lunch was one of the best parts of the day. It was hard for Hans to break any bones while eating a sandwich.

Chapter Text

Not all of Hans’ brothers were terrible. Some of them (and there were a lot of them) were decent, all things considering; they just, hadn’t stood up for Hans, growing up. Or, they hadn’t stood up for him consistently. Hans had always been the child who’d been mostly forgotten, or shoved into a corner.

Some of Hans’ brothers really were awful though.

It was morning. Hans had planned to take Sitron out for a country ride, borrowing some of the other royal horses in the stable that belonged to his brother Mathias (“he doesn’t even use half of the horses he owns,” Hans had said dismissively, the previous night) but Hans was still just waking up and preparing for the day, so Sitron had wandered out and was looking at paintings in one of the castle’s long halls. There were a lot of galleries of tapestries and paintings. Sitron wandered along, walking into another hall lined with windows, which was when he ran into Hans’ brothers, Gustav and Caspar.

Both fellows were in their thirties, and officers in the navy. They didn’t usually spend a lot of time at the castle, having property elsewhere, and of course their work and duties, but here they were, and Sitron decided that he was going back in the direction he’d come from.

“Hey, you,” Caspar said, loud and lazy with it.

Sitron stopped and turned to face the two men.

“Aren’t you that servant that Hans is aways keeping around him these days?”

Sitron kept his mouth closed and nodded once.

Both men walked closer. Caspar appraised Sitron up and down, while Gustav crossed his arms and just looked at Sitron.

“Funny looking fellow, aren’t you. Hey, are you sleeping with my brother,” Caspar asked, and he was nearly leering at Sitron now.

Shocked by the bluntness of that question, Sitron heard himself gasp out, “No, of course not.”

That only made Gustav laugh, for some reason. “See, I told you our Hans had to be a virgin. Too cowardly to try anything, even with a servant.”

“You shut your mouth about Hans!” Sitron burst out, which was when Caspar slapped him, hard across one cheek.

“How dare you,” he said, and that was a tone that Sitron didn’t like; a dangerous tone. Sitron didn’t see the second blow coming, or the third, which got him straight in the ribs. He did see when they heaved him into an old storage closet, which was when things got very dark, and he could hear the sound of something being shoved up against the door.

Sitron lay on the floor, up next to boxes and buckets and brooms that he couldn’t see, trying to catch back the wind of him. Then he carefully stood up and tried opening the door. When it was clear that something really was jammed up against it, he tried to pound on the door, calling for help. There was nobody out there.

After a while, afraid and hurting, he simply sat down and tucked his head against his knees.

This had happened before. He’d been a horse then, of course. Three years ago, just before an important public celebration, where the royal family would go together to the main square, Hans’ brothers had led Sitron to a secluded stable and then locked him in. Sitron hadn’t even realized what was happening until it was too late, and then he was kicking violently and uselessly against his doors. Hans hadn’t found him until late that night. Hans had been...very upset.

Now Sitron was locked in a dark closet, the whole familiar routine. At least the stable had a window and light.

Sitron huddled against himself and tried not to worry about how long he might be stuck in there.

Some time passed. It felt like a very long time, but Sitron didn’t know, and then he could hear footsteps outside, and Hans calling his name, some kind of weird fear and desperation just starting to creep into his voice.

“Hans!” Sitron called back. He stood up and started pounding again against the door. “Hans, Hans--”

Sitron could hear Hans swearing as he rushed over and pushed something aside, with the sound of wood scraping against wood.

Sitron had to blink against the sudden light of the door opening, and then after a few moments he realized that he was looking at Hans. Hans’ shirt sleeve was ripped, and he was bleeding from a split lip. Another fight, it looked like. Distantly, Sitron wondered how Gustav and Caspar were looking, if not worse for the wear as well.

Standing there, Hans didn’t touch Sitron. He just looked at the other man: a wide-eyed, almost searching look, perhaps trying to see if he looked hurt, but then he just turned around and walked to a nearby table and laid his hands against it, his head bowed down.

“Hans?” Sitron asked, now feeling uncertain.

“Change back,” Hans said. His voice sounded rough, and unlike him. “For God’s sake, change back to the way you were. At least back then I would have known--they wouldn’t have really hurt you. Taken you away, maybe, but they wouldn’t have hurt you. You were too valuable, a royal horse. Now, you’re only human. Expendable.”

Like the princess and queen of Arendelle had been to Hans, Sitron thought, but he didn’t say it. He knew what kind of situation he was in, now. He did.

“I can’t be only a horse, anymore,” Sitron said at last. “I don’t--It’s too confusing, but I’m not the same anymore. I can’t.” Then, standing up a little straighter. “Anyway, it’s my life to do with what I choose.”

Hans stood up then. He turned around, and then he said, “Sitron, do you really love me?”

Sitron did not like that tone of voice. It was the voice that Hans used when he wanted something out of someone. Sitron was quiet, looking away, but he couldn’t lie. Not about this. “Yes,” he said, reluctant to answer, but also meaning it.

Hans smiled then, but it was a dark and hurting look.

“If you love me,” he said, “you’ll protect yourself. You’ll keep out of the way of my brothers. You won’t talk back to them, or give them any reason to look at you twice. I don’t want to send you away. I’m too selfish to want that. But I will, if you make me. If you push me to that.”

“I promise, I’ll keep out of their way,” Sitron said quickly, but Hans had already sunk into a chair, staring at the floor and hunched into himself.

“I can’t--I can’t keeping living like this,” Hans said, his voice ragged. “I--hate this life. I hate--everything about this castle, everyone here, my sorry excuse for a family--”

Sitron knelt down at Hans feet and put his head against Hans’ knee. What had Hans said? That he had loved it when Sitron had been a horse and said nothing, but Sitron said, forcefully, “Hans, this isn’t forever. There’s so much you love too. You love going outside, and seeing the sun. And being in the trees, I guess. And someday, your brother Immanuel won’t make you stay here anymore, powerless, and we can leave.”

“For the first time in forever,” Hans began, quietly, and then he grimaced. “I don’t know what I’m doing with my life anymore. I used to have everything planned out.”

“Yeah, with marriage or murder,” Sitron pointed out, exasperated with it, and then Hans laughed. It was a terrible joke, an awful one, and also Sitron had liked Anna too, he liked a lot of people really, Hans couldn’t just go around murdering people like that, or letting them die, but Hans was kind of laughing, and he said, “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it is better that you can talk back to me, now.”

“Of course!” Sitron said, standing up.

Hans stood up too, and for a moment, they were even holding hands.

Hans let go first, when they started walking, but Sitron couldn’t let go of the warm feeling. For the first time in forever, maybe, things really were going to change for the better.

Chapter Text

Hans had a peculiar relationship to physical contact with others. He always wore gloves. He was a bit like the Queen of Arendelle had been, in that way, but unlike Queen Elsa, who drew attention to her gloves with her generally cool nature—Hans diverted attention away. His smile was warm and he was easy about initiating physical contact. He clasped palms and clapped people on the back, bumped shoulders, kissed the backs of women's hands like a gentlemen, before leading them away into formal dances that required contact at hands, shoulders, the small of one's back. All the time of it, he wore his gloves. When he took his gloves off, it meant something. More often it meant he was baring fang, preparing for a fight of some kind, or a kill; he was showing something of his true face.

It hadn't escaped Sitron's notice that Hans always wore his gloves around him.

It also hadn't escaped Sitron's notice that Hans limited their physical contact. He kept his distance. There had only been that one kiss, and they rarely held hands, except when absolutely necessary. Sometimes he allowed Sitron to lay his head against Hans' knees, but then Hans would inevitably drift away again. In that subtle, almost barely noticeably graceful way of his, Hans maintained space between himself and Sitron. It was when Sitron had been a horse of course, in all the obvious ways.

Once, at night in the sitting room of Han's suite, Sitron had watched as Hans put out the candles lit on the table. Hans had taken off one glove, and the extinguished the flames with his bare fingers, one, two, three. It was his way of doing things, but it hurt to watch it.

Hans had gone away to bed, and Sitron curled up on the couch in front of the fireplace. It was summer, but the nights were cool. A low fire was crackling on, and Sitron thought of Hans only coming into intimate contact with things that could hurt him, or that he could hurt. He thought about how Hans tried never to touch him, and he curled up deeper into the cushions, watching the light of the fire.

Chapter Text

In the autumn, there was an enormous celebration: the 100th year anniversary of the breaking of a curse that had once befallen the Southern Isles. It had been the usual business of a princess and a prince and all the fairy tale trimmings. Every kingdom had that kind of story, or three. For the celebration, royalty and dignitaries and diplomats were invited from all of the surrounding kingdoms, including Arendelle.

Hans' brother Mathias came to his room personally to inform him of the caveats regarding the thirteenth prince. "You're not invited to the formal ball," was what Mathias told him, and he had the grace to look apologetic about it too. "And no, don't give me that look, you brought this on yourself you know. In deference to the princess of Arendelle, you're being publically snubbed; you'll be barred from the dance and the dinner. You're welcome to join the peasant celebration in the main square though. Honestly, it might even be good for you."

"Why don't you all disown me too, then, while you're at it?" Hans asked. He was lying on the couch. He wasn't even looking at his brother anymore. "Skip the pleasantries and diplomacy."

Mathias gave a little laugh then, like at a joke made by a kid. "Oh, don't be idiotic, Hans, no wonder no one ever takes you seriously."

Mathias left, then, and Hans did everything except grind his teeth together, and Sitron tried to keep quiet, from where he was sitting on the floor and eating an apple.

"I've never been to a festival as a human," Sitron offered, after several minutes had passed. "They'll have fireworks, won't they? I love fireworks."

Hans covered his face with a pillow. "I don't want to go," he said through the pillow. Then he put the pillow back down and said, "Don't you understand? After Arendelle, I'm on the blacklist of all our neighboring kingdoms. No one wants anything to do with a treasonous snake in the grass like me, and if I was to run into anyone, even in the town—" He waved his arms above him, somewhat dramatically.

"Maybe I can go by myself, then," Sitron said in a smaller voice, curled up over his apple.

"Maybe you should," Hans agreed, unexpectedly. "Get to know people. Have fun. It's not healthy for you to cling to me."

He swatted a little at Sitron, and Sitron didn't say anything, nibbling at his apple morosely.

--

Human people still made Sitron nervous, especially in crowds.

He felt a lot smaller in crowds, than he used to be.

Horses on the other hand. He loved spending time in the stables. He loved gossiping with the other horses, and especially when newcomers were in town.

When the royal guests began arriving, their horses were kept in the royal stables of course, and Sitron trotted over the morning of the ball to greet new faces. There had been talk about a certain horse named Maximus having come all the way from the kingdom of Corona as security escort for the princess and prince consort. Maximus. Every horse knew about Maximus, the only horse who'd managed to work up to a leadership position usually reserved for humans.

By the time Sitron arrived at the stables, all the horses were already talking over breakfast, sharing local news from their kingdoms, gossip about their royal owners, and there was a bit of a hubbub going on over at Maximus' side of the stables, everyone wanting to know what it was like to finally be able to lord it over human subordinates. Then Sitron arrived and there was all the chatter about this horse who actually became human, and Sitron spent the whole morning talking with the horses and Maximus about this and that, and Maximus said things about what a relief it was to finally be getting crime cleaned up in his kingdom, what a mess it had been, and now he was glad to just be getting in a little travel with his humans, keep an eye out for riffraff, that sort of thing. See, he'd heard about a pretty awful human in the area, some prince, and yeah, he'd be barred from the royal celebrations, but you never could tell with those scoundrel sorts…

Which was the part when Sitron became equal parts nervous and embarrassed, and tried to laugh it off with the others. The resident horses exchanged looks, they knew who Maximus was talking about, and the relation to Sitron, but thank goodness they knew how to keep quiet about that. How embarrassing.

So he and Maximus were getting into a spirited exchange regarding local law enforcement organization when someone, or someones, came up behind Sitron, and he heard a female voice ask in delight, "Oh, you can talk with Maximus too? That's fantastic!"

"Yeah, adorable fleabag, isn't he?" added a dry, but joking male voice, and Maximus shot the second newcomer a dirty look, and meanwhile Sitron had nearly fallen off his stool. Then he really did fall off his stool.

Sitron looked up from the floor, and there was a pretty young woman wearing a pink dress, and also a man. The woman was wearing a circlet with diamonds in it, shaped like flowers. A princess, then. Or some kind of royalty, probably. Sitron jumped to his feet and bowed low. "Your highness."

"Nope, no, forget all of that," the woman said, waving her hands, and smiling in a way obviously meant to put him at ease. "Please, just Rapunzel. And this is Eugene; Eugene Fitzherbert." She looked at Sitron inquisitively. "Soo. You talk to horses? I've always noticed that some people have the knack for talking with not-humans, and others just don't have it. Eugene, for example, can't understand Pascal at all—" she gestured to the chameleon perched on her shoulder, who was staring at Sitron appraisingly, "—but Pascal and I have been together for so long, it's easy for me. Maximus wasn't but a hop and skip off of that."

"I used to be a horse," Sitron said, like an idiot. Then he said, "I mean. Yes. So it's easy for me too."

"A…horse?" Eugene asked, not hiding his patented disbelief at all. Rapunzel punched him gently in the shoulder.

"Eugene, what have I told you about tact, and also about being so surprised all the time at every least little thing. Honestly. Horses turning into humans shouldn't be any weirder than my formerly magical glowing hair." Rapunzel tugged at a lock of her short brown hair, and Sitron found himself wondering what it had looked like when it glowed. Then she turned to Sitron and said, "But you know, I've never met a horse turned into a human either! Do you like it, like this?"

"Yes," Sitron said immediately. He smiled back at Rapunzel, feeling a little shy about it. "I have a… friend who needed a human friend a lot more than a horse friend."

"Oh! A friend, that's sweet!" Then Rapunzel leant over a little, like someone about to whisper a secret. She asked, "Is he your dream? The way you said it, it sounded a lot like—like you really, really like him."

Sitron looked at the floor, feeling his face heat up. He nodded, really fast. It was weird. No one had ever talked to him like this before; like the things he wanted or dreamed about not only mattered, but were completely normal. As though he were completely normal. Mostly, the other humans at the castle treated him like Hans' strange shadow, so to speak, and Hans himself could hardly be described as interacting with anyone in the ordinary way.

"Yeah, yeah, like everybody else he's got a dream—Rapunzel, you have got to stop mortifying every human soul you come into contact with." Eugene was grinning at Rapunzel while he talked though. "You're going to break something someday with your kittens, ducklings, and rainbows routine."

"I love ducklings," Rapunzel said, all coy, cool confidence, her nose in the air, and then she said to Sitron, all smiles, "Do you want to come with us to the festival? We were coming here to pick up Maximus, spend a few hours out on the town before the ball later, but you should come too! What's your name? Should we go commandeer your friend too? You live here, right? So you can tell us about what are the best things to see in this kingdom, and we can treat you to lunch."

Sitron was about to open his mouth and say his name, and also that his…friend, was a little bit occupied at the moment, so it would be best to leave him be, when another party of people came in, this one including a young woman, a young man, a reindeer, and… a living snowman with a small snowing cloud loitering above its head.

"Rapunzel, darling, are you coming?" Princess Anna of Arendelle yelled out, throwing her arms wide.

Then she noticed Sitron.

"Oh, hello, who's your friend?" She grinned at Sitron, warm and sincere with it, and Sitron pretty much wanted to crawl into the nearest stall and hide under a bed of hay at that point.

Chapter Text

“My name is Sitron, and I used to be Hans’ horse,” Sitron blurted out. “Prince Hans. Of the Southern Isles. He tried to kill Queen Elsa of Arendelle. That one.” He covered his face with his hands. “I should go.”

He started to try to make his way towards the backdoors of the stable, but Eugene had got a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. “Woah, woah, now wait just a minute friend. No need to be so skittish.” He guided Sitron so that Sitron’s back was to Maximus’ stall and he was cornered. The party from Arendelle had come over too, and now he was really surrounded on all sides. For a wild, crazy moment, Sitron wondered if they were going to execute him for misleading royalty, and then turn him into glue.

But all Eugene did was stand back, cross his arms over his chest with an appraising look at Sitron, and he said, “Okay. Now, I like to think of myself as an excellent judge of character--”

“Eugene,” Rapunzel said, exasperated.

“Hey now, just give me a minute. So, you’re Hans’ horse turned into a human, I’ve got that part straight right? But, geez, I’ve known my share of ruffians and scoundrels, and you’ve got the face of an innocent--”

“So did Hans,” Anna broke in. Eugene looked over at her, one brow arched. She nudged Eugene aside, and then strode up to Sitron. “Sitron,” she said. “You’re the horse that saved me and Hans from going into the water that day, aren’t you.”

Sitron nodded. He felt nervous, and uncertain. He looked at Anna, and then at the floor, and then back at Anna. Anna was frowning at him, a little, like she didn’t know what to do with him. “You know, we had some of our people investigate the situation, question Hans and the Duke of Weselton and all the other nobles, and as far as anyone could tell, Hans worked alone. Less risky that way, you know? And I guess, it’s been weird for me, since then. I didn’t know if I should be more suspicious of people I don’t know--but then again, I’ve met so many people who turned out to be perfectly fine and friendly. I guess it’s not healthy to run around scared of your own shadow, anyway. Sometimes I wish I was little bit more like Elsa, to be honest. She’s not so gullible.”

She sort of inclined her head at Sitron, like trying to figure him out. Then she blew out a long breath, traded looks with Eugene and then Kristoff behind her, and then she said, “Oh. I don’t know. Isn’t there a saying about keeping your enemies close and your friends closer? He’s got to be one of the two, I guess.”

“It’s the other way around,” Kristoff said, and Anna ignored that, saying to Sitron, “Anyway, I want to ask you all kinds of embarrassing questions about Hans. It’s true that horses know all the best gossip, isn’t it? Does he...say, really pick his nose and eat the boogers? Enquiring minds want to know.”

“What?” Sitron asked.

“It’s a long story,” was what came from Kristoff’s direction.

Sitron felt Maximus nudging him a bit from behind, and then when he looked over at Maximus, Maximus just told him, oh, come on. We ought to go now. Besides, I personally am of the opinion that you’re harmless as a rabbit, and I should know. It’s not a coincidence that crime dropped practically overnight in Arendelle once I was put in charge.

“You’re not just looking after him because he used to be a horse too, are you Maximus?” Rapunzel asked, opening the latch of Maximus’ stall, and Eugene said, “How do you even do that?”

“What, open latches?”

“No, the other thing--”

Meamwhile, Kristoff was kind of giving Sitron the sideways look, and he said, “I’ll be keeping an eye on you buddy--”

The snowman, Olaf, said happily, “Oh, hey, me too!” Olaf patted Sitron on the leg, and he said, “We’re going to have so much fun, eating and dancing and talking and being friends!” He waved his hand at the open door. “Onwards and outwards, traveling buddies!”

“You really never have a bad day, do you?” Eugene wanted to know.

“Not yet, I haven’t!”

They set out.

--

The group had lunch out in the town, eating open sandwiches made with rye bread and topped with butter spread and fish and cold cuts. There was dancing in the square, Eugene and Rapunzel and Anna and Kristoff joining the crowd. Even Olaf danced in circles, while children came over to ooh and aahh over his tiny winter flurry.

Sitron stuck by Sven and Maximus, mostly. Pascal too. Pascal sat on the table and munched on grapes. Maximus was watching the crowd, ever mindful of his position as security escort--he took his job, very, very seriously--and Sven ate carrots. After a while, Rapunzel came out of the crowd and took Sitron by the hands, “--oh, come on and dance with us, Sitron--” and Sitron was dragged out too.

After dancing, they walked the streets, and Sitron described the different neighborhoods and businesses, and then they came to the piers lined with pastel colored buildings, and Anna and Kristoff went into one of the shops to get hot chocolate. Anna was a bear for hot chocolate, apparently. Eugene was buying apples for Maximus, while Olaf threw lopsided snowballs into the water and Sven watched.

Rapunzel went to stand next to Sitron, and she asked, “That friend, who you said was your dream--it’s Prince Hans, isn’t it?”

Sitron looked over at Rapunzel, a little wide-eyed.

Rapunzel looked out at the ships, and she said, “You know, there was someone in my life who I trusted, very much. And that person turned out to be...she was not a good person. But it gets confusing, even thinking back on it. I get confused. But I know that--you shouldn’t let people like that take advantage of you, even if you’re confused about them. You can’t let them just take what they want from you. I guess I’m just telling you all of this, because I’ve heard a lot about Hans. A lot. I met him at Arendelle, during the coronation ball, briefly, and then I heard all of these terrible things, after the snow storm was over. And you… you seem nice. I could be wrong, but it’s no skin off my nose to try to give well-meant advice, too.”

Sitron rocked back and forth a little on his feet, listening to her. Then he said, “Thank you. And, you’re...right. Hans isn’t...he’s not a good person. I know that. But he’s not a bad person, either. It’s complicated. And I’m not going to lie and say that people should trust him, because I don’t think that’s true.”

Rapunzel looked at Sitron in the eye, and then asked, “He hasn’t done anything to hurt you, has he?”

“Hans would never hurt me,” Sitron said. “And that’s the worst part. And the best. And the worst.” He shook his head. “I don’t know how to talk about it.”

“It’s okay,” Rapunzel said quickly. “Actually, I should apologize. I’m prying, and I know it.” Then she said, “I guess it’s kind of funny, though. The person, in my life--she died. It was a blessing and a curse, because even though I’m free now--I’m also not. I’ll never be able to ask her why she did the things she did. I guess with you--I hope that things work out for you. That you don’t regret your dream.”

Sitron didn’t say anything.

Rapunzel clasped her hands behind her back, and then Eugene was coming over with hot chocolate for her and Sitron too.

Boats came in and out of the harbor.

The sky began to darken, and then it was time for the visiting royals to return to the castle for the ball.

Sitron did not go to the ball. He said goodbye to his companions from Arendelle and Corona, and he stopped by the kitchen to scrounge up supper for himself and Hans. When he got back to Han’s rooms, carrying the supper tray, Hans was sitting by his window. He was looking at the lanterns strung up in the castle gardens, and the people moving through them, dressed so beautifully. You could hear the distant music.

Sitron put down the supper tray, and he asked, “Can I sleep with you tonight.”

Hans started and looked over at Sitron. His brows were arched, and his expression was still somehow unreadable.

Sitron bowled on, “I don’t even mean making love or anything, I just mean--to be next to you.”

When Hans still didn’t say anything, Sitron looked down and said, “I’m sorry, that was stupid of me, I shouldn’t have--”

“You know that I don’t experience sexual attraction to anyone, don’t you?” Hans voice was strange, and nearly distant. “I never have.”

“I guessed that,” Sitron confessed. “I’m still a little confused, since you kissed me, but that’s all right, it doesn’t matter.”

Hans stood up from the couch. “It does matter,” he said. “I kissed you because I wanted to. But sex--I’ve never understood that. I thought that meant I would never love anyone, too, but apparently--you’re proof that isn’t true.”

Sitron stared at Hans. This was the closest Hans had ever come to saying that he loved Sitron, in so many words.

Sitron blurted out, “Oh, who even cares about sex anyway.”

Hans laughed at that, loudly and with just an edge of harshness. “Sitron, don’t lie to me. You used to be a horse, I never expected you to be completely celibate in your soul.”

Sitron didn’t respond to that. It was true. Well, anyway that problem was easily solvable, while still being loyal to Hans. “You should eat something,” Sitron said. “It’s going to get cold if you don’t.” He set down the tray and lifted the silver cover.

Hans sat down next to him. And then, deliberately, Hans tugged at the fingers of his right glove, slipping it off. Then his left. Then he touched Sitron’s knuckles, ever so gently, before reaching for the supper still steaming on the tray.

Chapter Text

The morning that the visiting royals departed from the Southern Isles, Sitron went down to the docks to see them off.

Princess Anna told Sitron to tell Hans that “he’ll always be a stinker in her heart,” but on the other hand, Sitron was “pretty okay” in her book. She waved at him from the boat after going up the gangplank, and Sitron waved back, and also at Kristoff, Olaf, and Sven. “Take care of yourself, you crazy thing you,” Anna yelled down at him in a friendly way.

“Yeah, I love you too,” Olaf chorused from next to her, and then they were both pretty much cackling with laughter, and Kristoff looked embarrassed-but-not-really to be next to them, and Sven did not even seem to care, butting up next to Kristoff.

“I still don’t really get the magical horse thing,” was what Eugene said, at the gangplank to Corona’s royal ship, and Rapunzel shoved Eugene along, telling him to “be polite.” Maximus went up too, but Rapunzel lingered behind, just drinking in one last sight of the pier behind them, and Sitron seized his courage and dropped to his knees. “Your Highness,” he said, bowing low, “I have--a have huge boon that I wish to request of you. Or at least to tentatively ask you about. Or mention. Or--something.” He was babbling now, nearly shaking with nerves, and Rapunzel quicked leant down to pat him on the shoulders and say, “Please, stop kneeling, you’ll ruin your nice trousers.”

Sitron stood up, and said, “Prince Hans won’t be under kingdom arrest forever. Eventually, his brothers will forget about why they were even punishing him in the first place, or just forget about him in general, and he’ll negotiate for a reprieve. When that happens, I don’t want him to stay here, in the Southern Isles. Or, I want him to have a choice. All our neighboring kingdoms have travel sanctions against him, including yours, but I want him to have a choice. The family and political atmosphere here is toxic for Hans. He’ll just get worse. If you thought he was a treasonous villain back in Arendelle, I can guarantee that he’ll just...it’ll be even more terrible if you leave him here, and ignoring a problem isn’t going to make it go away, I know, I’ve seen it.” He bowed his head, feeling his hands shake. “I humbly request Corona’s consideration in allowing Hans to travel Corona, in the situation of him being able to travel. Hans doesn’t even know I’m asking this. I’m doing this because--because he’s my dream, and I don’t want to give up on him. And I’ll take full responsibility for him, I swear it.”

Eugene called down from the ship, “Hey, what’s going on over there?”

“Give us a minute,” Rapunzel yelled back, and Sitron looked from Rapunzel to Eugene, then back to Rapunzel.

“I’m not asking you to make a decision now,” Sitron added quickly. “Just--I had to mention it. I had to ask.”

Rapunzel shook her head, and then drew herself up, hands folded in front of her. She looked, then, like a princess, like a protector of her kingdom. She said, looking at Sitron steadily, “Sitron, that’s not a small thing you’re requesting. What do you imagine that Hans is even going to do in Corona, if we let him come to my kingdom?”

“Hans is a very smart, educated person,” Sitron said. “He could be an amazing asset to you. He could be an asset in regulation of domestic trade, improvement of education and other public services, any of that--if he was just allowed the chance. If he was given the opportunity to do something. He may be self-interested, but he also likes to be perfect. He likes to be that perfect, competent person that people can look up to. Here in the Southern Isles, he has twelve brothers who step all over him if he even attempts to make anything of himself. Some of them seem to find that funny,” he added, bitterly. “But--all of this, I’m not saying they would happen right away. I don’t know. I think, with time, he might change. I don’t know. Maybe this would be a bad idea. Maybe he’s not trustworthy now. But a few years from now--I had to ask you. I had to ask, before you sailed away. I wanted to ask: if I wrote to you, some years from now, sending a report on my assessment of Hans’ character, and a request for travel, would you consider my request?”

Rapunzel was quiet for a long moment. Sitron could see Eugene, Maximus, and Pascal watching from their ship.

“Write to me,” she said at last. “Write to me, and I will consider your request, though also bearing in mind my kingdom’s best interests first.” She smiled at Sitron, but it was a kind of sad smile. “I promise this. And Princess Rapunzel of Corona always keeps her promises.” She touched Sitron’s shoulder, and said, “Let me know if you regret your dream, or if it was everything that you’d hoped it would be.”

Sitron bowed low to the princess. “Thank you,” he said, hoping that everything that he was feeling then came out in those words. He wasn’t sure why he was crying, shaking all over with it.

Rapunzel looked at him, still smiling softly, and said, “Goodbye, Sitron.”

“Goodbye, Rapunzel,” Sitron said.

Rapunzel went up the gangplank to join her husband and friends. Sitron watched as the ships sailed away from the docks.

He wouldn’t tell Hans. Not right away. He knew Hans well enough to know what could have been the consequences of him doing certain things. But somehow, it was enough to know that there was hope, somewhere. That he had done something, this one small thing, so that he could see a way out of this poisonous living situation in the Southern Isles.

What was that song, like the music that people sometimes carried in their hearts and sang to each other. Love is opening a door. No, that wasn’t it.

Or, maybe it was.

It was for Sitron, and he carried it in his heart as he walked back to the castle, leaving the boats of the pier behind him.

Chapter Text

Sitron was out in the courtyard just below the windows of Hans’ rooms. It was still early in the morning—just after dawn. Hans was curled up in the window seat, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, looking down. Sitron was talking animatedly with a squirrel. The squirrel offered him a nut, and Sitron accepted it with a friendly smile.

Sitron had woken up first that morning. He’d woken up and been obviously sexually aroused. Actually, he had nearly fallen over himself in his hurry to get out of bed and to the bathroom, possibly as not to bother Hans. Hans had pretended to remain asleep, and Sitron had never come back to bed.

Hans pressed his forehead against the cold glass of his window, watching Sitron. It was late autumn, and there was a kind of white grayness to to the trees, under the light blue grayness of the sky.

Perhaps, if Hans were to compromise—but something about the thought disgusted him, and he grimaced, burrowing deeper into his blanket. His fingertips were getting cold. If Hans had ever married a woman—he would have had to tell her, perhaps, that there was something physically wrong with him. Perhaps he had some kind of medical condition that made him respond...differently to certain affairs related to romance than other men. He would have, of course, emphasized the purity and virtuousness of his love and loyalty to such a woman, and then made obvious overtures to compromise himself in other respects…

The notion made him feel nearly sick. Another reason in a laundry list of them as to why allowing the Princess Anna to perish hadn’t exactly been a conflicted one for him. She had so obviously been such an eager, energetic young woman. She was probably climbing that ice harvester consort of hers like a tree on a regular basis.

Sitron was sitting under the tree in the courtyard while the squirrel introduced him to some friends of his, or some such business. There were squirrels nested in his hair. He looked happy.

...It was funny, how Hans had never managed to get anything right. Or anything done right to the satisfaction of his family. Gustav and Caspar had cottoned on to his lack of sexual proclivities fairly quickly, and had mocked him for a perceived weakness of character and lack of masculinity. And then lately, with this business involving Sitron—well, unsurprisingly, some of the stinging comments had gotten worse. Theodor had come by the other day to tell him that he needn’t be so desperate that he seek companionship with… you know… And then Mathius had told him, “Honestly, Hans, I nearly preferred it when you at least had some...ambition in these areas. Whatever happened to the young man who wanted to marry a nice, rich young lady with political prospects.” Because that would have been normal, was the unsaid, but discretely underlined sentiment following.

There was something wrong with him. There always had been, and when Hans looked at Sitron outside, something… hurt in his chest. Hans thought then, distantly, of Princess Anna waiting for her true love’s kiss, her heart slowly turning to ice. He thought about his cruel words to her. He thought about the nature of poetic justice.

Hans stood up then and went to his bedroom. By the wall, there was a medium-sized, carved chest that Hans had given Sitron to store his belongings in. Hans knelt down and opened it. There were mostly only clothes in there, an extra pair of good boots, a carved horse that Hans had given to Sitron. There was also something that Hans did not immediately recognize: a kit of simple stationary and writing implements. Hans opened the kit, and a letter written on heavy, expensive paper fell out. The broken seal was embossed with the royal insignia of Corona’s royal family. Inside, there was only a relatively brief letter, but penned by the crown princess. The Princess Rapunzel wanted to thank Sitron for the lovely day in the Southern Isles, and she hoped to hear how he was doing, as one friend to another….

Hans skimmed the letter, and then replaced all the items back in the chest as he’d found them. He shut the lid, and stared down at the worn surface of it, and thought: well, the calculating part of him had already had the thought that Sitron was making connections with members of foreign royalty, and how invaluable that could be. Sitron was an innocent. You could see it in his face, and also the way he always tripped over himself, and in his sincere sweetness. Of course they would trust him. Besides which, Hans had heard a lot about the princess of Corona. She was a very open, friendly person herself. It must have been...too easy.

Then Hans thought: and of course, this was the way he always did things. Hans always rummaged through other people’s personal belongings, their personal affects, all their dreams and hopes, so that he could use them.

The idea of it was like a slow, acidic burn inside his head, inside his heart. It was like a kind of self-loathing.

He had to get out of there.

He couldn’t… he was slowly losing his mind, and Hans thought about his brother Theodor, who was overseeing some of the maintenance work being done on the outskirts of the city, the main roads and bridges and so forth. They were working with an architect and engineers to beautify the area, there was work to be done, and payments to oversee, and men to organize—Hans liked Theodor as much as he liked any of his other brothers, which was very little, but he would bargain for work. He would beg for something to do, anything and no, he wouldn’t be trying to steal any of the limelight for this work from his brother, he knew that this had been Theodor’s pet project for some time now…

He had to get out of the castle. He had to get out before he damaged anything or hurt anyone, and he thought of Sitron, and when Hans left, he did not leave a note or tell Sitron where he was going.

—

Hans stayed out in the city for two days without returning to the palace. He found a room at a modest inn, and spent the days being his brother’s fancy errand boy, running messages and going to pick up documents and make deliveries. At least, it was good to be out in the bracing air, and even with the usual attitudes that his brothers in general tended to give their youngest, Hans was grateful for the chance to get out of his own head for a few hours.

Sitron found him in the afternoon of the second day.

Hans noticed him watching from the other side of a bridge that was being repaved, and he pretended not to notice. There was quite a crowd of people around, it wasn’t hard. Sitron was watching everything in that open, wondering way of his.

Hans did not even see it when Sitron finally left.

The next few hours seemed to pass in a haze, as Hans mechanically oversaw the work.

He thought, over and over again:

He had to let Sitron go.

If he loved Sitron, he had to let him go.

Wasn’t that what love was? Putting someone else’s needs before your own?

Hans was not even sure he knew what love was, but if Sitron could be happier anywhere else...

Hans’ heart felt like a hundred shards of ice, and probably there was a kind of poetic justice. The only frozen heart here is yours.

—

Hans returned to the castle late that night.

Sitron wasn’t in the bedroom.

Instead, he was in Hans’ tiny, private study, where a cot had once been installed as temporary bedding for Sitron, but Sitron didn’t really use it these days. He was using it that night, though, curled up, and he opened his eyes when Hans cracked open the door. Sitron blinked in the candlelight.

Hans said, “You should use my bedroom, even when I’m not here. It’s better.”

Sitron climbed off the cot, and then padded over to Hans. Then he kissed him. It was one of the few things that Hans did, honestly, enjoy; kissing, that was.

Then Sitron said, “You smell nice. Like outside.”

“I read your letter from Corona,” Hans said.

“Oh,” Sitron said. “Well, you do that a lot,” he said, angling his head a little and giving Hans a bit of an arched look. It was kind of a sleepy look too though, which ruined it.

“You should be angry,” Hans pressed. “I don’t respect personal boundaries. Probably, I’ll exploit your connection to Corona, in some way or another. I always do.”

Sitron gave Hans a long look. “Why are you telling me this?”

Hans threw his hands up in the air, exasperated. “Well clearly because I’m a villain who needs to reveal every diabolical step of my evil plan before I crush you under my heel. Clearly.”

He was exhausted.

He needed a hot bath and as nice as it had been to be out all day, smiling pleasantly at people all the time was exhausting, and especially smiling pleasantly at your brother whom quite often you just wanted to tip off his horse, he could be that insufferable.

Sitron was quiet for a moment, and then he just came in closer, and put his arms around Hans, and tucked his head gently against Hans’ shoulder.

Then he pulled away and said, “If you do exploit me, I’ll deal with it. I’ll live and learn; I mean, hopefully, I’ll learn, and hopefully I’ll be able to do something about it. Or, I will go, if I have to. But if it’s not me you’re exploiting, it’ll be somebody else, I know it.” He pressed his lips together and then looked at the floor. “And at least with me you’re honest about your exploitation.”

“Anybody else would get away from me,” Hans said quietly.

“Ignoring someone hurting doesn’t make the hurt go away,” Sitron said. “It just makes the hurt spread.” He nuzzled a little at Hans’ arm, and then asked, “Do you want me to sleep with you tonight, or—?”

“Please,” Hans whispered.

—

They lay together that night, warm and just close enough, Sitron laying with his head just against Hans’ arm so that Hans could feel Sitron’s hair against his palm.

It was just enough.

It was more than enough.

Hans closed his eyes, and he did not dream.

It was peaceful, that night.

Chapter Text

In winter, construction on the public roads and buildings were halted until spring had thawed the Southern Isles again.

There was a fire burning in the fireplace, and Sitron was watching the first snowfall of the season from the bedroom window. The last time he had seen snow was in Arendelle, in July.

Hans sat down next to Sitron and watched the snow too. The white flakes flurried through the darkness in a beautiful way, settling on the earth.

“The last time I saw snow,” Hans said, “I was nearly King of Arendelle.” The last was said so quietly, almost like a sigh.

Sitron looked over at Hans. He leant his head against Hans' shoulder, and then asked, “You really wouldn’t have regretted it, would you?”

Hans didn’t say anything for a long moment. Sitron peeked up at Hans, and then he tucked himself up more closely to Hans, his cheek against the cloth of the other man’s shirt.

“I wouldn’t have regretted it,” Hans said. His voice was distant. “I wouldn’t regret it now, even. I wouldn’t regret killing a woman I barely knew, and allowing her sister to die of a frozen heart. I wouldn’t care at all… except for you. Except I couldn’t stand looking at you and knowing you could see how ugly I really am, even if I had an entire kingdom that loved me.” Hans softly laid his hand against Sitron’s, holding it. “What have you done to me, Sitron?” he whispered.

“I haven’t done anything,” Sitron said, looking up at Hans. He even meant what he said. “You’ve changed yourself,” he said. “You’ve...changed.”

Then suddenly Sitron flung his arms around Hans and Hans sort of had to catch him, and thank God Sitron hadn’t smacked him in the face, and Sitron said, “Oh, Hans. I know you’re sad, but I want to tell you how happy I am. I’m so happy that I became a human, and that I’m here with you and that I can talk with you. So that you don’t have to come to me when I’m a horse and tell me things when I can’t even say a word back. Nothing would have changed if I hadn’t decided that I wanted to change myself too. Everything is different now, and I’m glad. I’m so glad.”

Hans reached to brush his thumb against Sitron’s cheek and said, “Don’t lie to me, Sitron. Don’t lie to me and tell me you’re happy when you’re crying.”

“I’m crying because I’m happy, damn you,” Sitron said, stupidly. His breath hitched. He was hiccuping from crying.

He had left a life behind, in summer. He could have been in the stables, with the other horses. He could have been cared for, living a comfortable life, with plenty of rides in the city and in the countryside, and apples, and sugar cubes. Life would have been simple.

Except it wouldn’t have been.

He would have watched as Hans sank deeper and deeper into despair.

He would have watched Hans hurt himself, with fighting and drinking.

He would have watched Hans hurt others, and hurt himself again in turn.

Sitron had only been a horse, and now he was only a human, and sometimes still he felt so lost.

Sometimes, he felt so lost.

But it was winter now.

It was winter, and Hans had work he wanted to do. He wanted to spend some days digging through the old books of the castle’s enormous library, now that the weather had them all stuck indoors. He wasn’t lost in plans of power and marriage, like in the old days. He wasn’t mired in the losses and shames of the summer; at least, not completely.

It was winter now, and Sitron wiped at his wet face and his running nose with the back of his sleeve, and then he curled up on the window seat with his head in Hans’ lap.

Hans stroked Sitron’s hair, gently, as they watched the falling snow.

Chapter Text

Two and a half years after returning to the Southern Isles, Hans had successfully petitioned for the removal of his traveling restrictions, for good behavior and general invisibility in the public eye. Around the same time, the Southern Isles ambassador to the kingdom of Corona was retiring from his post. Somehow, Prince Hans had secured the recommendation and request from the crown princess Rapunzel that he fill the now vacated position.

Prince Hans tried to keep the matter very quiet, but of course people talked. And by people, that really meant his brothers talked.

Theodor came round and watched Hans while he packed his belongings, and asked, “You’ve really given up on your gold digging ventures, haven’t you? There’s no way on earth you could try anything in Corona without everybody smelling a snake immediately. What is this, your early quiet retirement as an old fart at age twenty-three? Enjoying the sunshine and sea down there? That’s a little disappointing, even for you, Hans.”

Hans stuffed his riding boots into his trunk and said, looking up at his brother with one of his patented too-pleasant smiles, “Yes, that’s right, I’m retiring. I’m going to get old and fat negotiating trade agreements with Corona, and military aid, and discussions of general relations with our neighboring states, and finally, finally, I’m going to get out of this fucking castle, thank fuck, and would you kindly get off Sitron’s trunk, he’s packing too, you know.”

Theodor looked over at Sitron sideways, and then got off his trunk. Then Theodor said to Hans, “You did a good job, overseeing the recataloging of the archival collections in the library. I was down there last week and it’s looking nice.”

“I’m not staying to be your fancy errand boy any more Theodor, I don’t care how many compliments you try to feed me,” Hans said, but also he was looking at Theodor with some real suspicion, that’s how rare sincerely positive remarks were between himself and his siblings.

“Oh, I’ll get another errand boy,” Theodor said, flippantly, and then he had walked out of the room, and Sitron came over to take the shirt that Hans had been holding, and then to refold it properly.

“I’m still happy to be getting out of here,” Hans mumbled.

“Oh, I’m happy too,” Sitron said.

There had been a rather ugly incident two weeks ago, involving Gustav and Caspar, and too much drinking, and eventually Hans and a lot of bruising. Actually, Hans had been putting himself between them and Sitron when his brothers had gone after the perceived more vulnerable target. So that happened.

Anyway.

“But it was nice of Theodor to stop by,” Sitron added.

Hans didn’t say anything, as he shoved books into his trunk with his clothes.

Sitron went to say goodbye to all of the horses in the stables, and all the other assorted animals he seemed to know around the castle grounds—honestly, Hans thought sometimes that Sitron was worse than the women he knew of who collected those kinds of animal companions—but Hans didn’t really say goodbye to any of his other brothers.

Hans knew that he was leaving a life behind with this diplomatic position—but honestly, he was too relieved to grieve over any of it at all.

Hans shut the trunk on his bed, and then looked at the shape of it under his hands. There was a weird kind of beating in his chest that he tried to quiet, and still.

He was finally going to be free.

Chapter Text

Corona was a kingdom on a hill.

What this really meant, of course, was that there were many streets built on absurdly steep inclines, and of course the house that they would be living in was on one of these very steep streets. They walked the whole way too, which had been nice at first, seeing everything, but now Hans’ calves were aching. Their belongings would be delivered by cart later.

Sitron had gone through the front gate, and was looking up at the house in an awed way. It was a narrow house, built close to other narrow houses, with two stories and little balconies for sitting in. It still had all the furnishings of the previous ambassador. There walls were an orangish-sand color—like the color of Sitron’s hair, really—and there were violet flowers in the window boxes, and also lines for hanging laundry. It was a pretty house, but also a modest one. It wasn’t a castle.

Once, not so very long ago, Hans had wanted a castle of his own. He had wanted a kingdom, and subjects, and power, and adoration, and nothing else would have satisfied him. And now here he was, with a little house in another kingdom, with a horse-turned-into-a-human for a companion.

Sitron looked back at Hans and grinned. Then he ran out to the street where Hans was and scooped him up, Hans protesting of course, and Sitron carried Hans through the gate and up to the door. It was very awkwardly maneuvered. It was made even more awkward when Sitron just stood there at the door with Hans in his arms, because the door was locked, and Hans had the key in his pocket.

“You’re heavy,” Sitron said at last.

Hans just rolled his eyes, brushed a kiss against Sitron’s cheek, and then climbed out of Sitron’s arms. He unlocked the door, but he didn’t go inside. He just put the key back in his pocket, and then turned around to sit on the front steps of the house, looking out onto the street.

Sitron sat down next to him too, their shoulders just brushing.

“We have dinner at the castle,” Hans said. “Oh and, apparently, Princess Anna and Prince Consort Kristoff will be there too. I only found out when we arrived here today. Princess Anna wanted to make sure I didn’t stage another kingdom takeover. You know how it is.”

“Oh,” Sitron said. He considered this. Then he said, “I think you’ll be okay. You really aren’t trying to take over this kingdom. This would be a terrible kingdom for you to try to take over, actually. Everyone would know.”

“Completely impractical,” Hans agreed. He grimaced, and then he put his chin on his hands and looked out at the street, feeling… he didn’t know how he felt.

Everything was different now. Everything was strange. Even the air against his skin felt different and strange, and with the angle of the golden sunlight coming down…

Was this really his home now? Was this what he really wanted? He’d been so happy to get out of the Southern Isles, and now it felt like his feet were unsteady underneath him once again. Damn nerves. Goddamn anxieties. It was easy to hide everything with a pleasant smile, but inside he was shaking, and he didn’t even know why. In Arendelle, he had never been so afraid…

Maybe the old him would have said that growing a heart really had made him weaker. The strangest things would make him feel so uncertain. He used to take what he wanted, without regrets.

“Come take a bath with me,” Sitron said at last, breaking through Hans’ thoughts. “And then we can get gelato for lunch.” When Hans didn’t say anything, Sitron added, tentatively, “I’ve heard it’s good.”

Hans looked over at Sitron, who was looking back and smiling, but he could also see the concern in Sitron’s eyes. Even after these three years as a human, Sitron had remained at Hans’ side. In fact, without Sitron, Hans would have never even been able to come to Corona. It seemed too incredible, that unwavering love and loyalty, and Hans thought about a bath with too many bubbles and the absurdity and intimacy of sharing that with someone you cared so much about, and then of cold sugar and cream melting on your tongue in the temperate warmth of that spring afternoon.

There wasn’t anything to be afraid of, he told himself, he told himself. There wasn’t anything at all, and Hans took off his glove, and took Sitron’s hand in his, and finally they went inside, together.

Chapter Text

It was getting to be a familiar routine.

Sitron would roll out of bed as carefully and quietly as he could—often in the early morning hours—and try to, as they say, take care of himself in the private way, either in the bathroom, or on the cot in the study. He seemed to get aroused lying next to Hans in the night, dreaming whatever dreams he had. Then of course he would always come back after taking care of his needs, and snuggle in against Hans, as loving as ever, but the guilt was beginning to eat at Hans. Or was guilt even the right word? It was the idea that Sitron deserved better than this, this furtive running around.

Sitron was too good for him, really.

One morning, Sitron woke Hans up with his trying to get out of the covers. Instead of feigning sleep, as he usually would have, Hans reached out and caught Sitron by the wrist. Sitron looked back over at Hans, startled.

“Oh, Hans,” he said, looking down at Hans worriedly. “Please go back to sleep. It’s okay, I’m just—”

“If this is about your sexual needs, then stay here,” Hans said bluntly. Or as bluntly as he could, what with his voice still rough with sleepiness. When Sitron just looked at him in confusion, Hans sighed, then sat up a little and said. “Just—you can do it here. If, if you want.” Now Sitron looked even more worried, god damn it, and Hans said, “Just, lie down. I’ll lie with you.”

Sitron looked very worried, and nervous; it looked like the worry and nerves was going to do the work of a cold bath, and Hans led Sitron to lying back on the bed, and Hans curled against the back of the slightly taller man, tucking his chin against Sitron’s shoulder. He stroked Sitron’s hair a little and tried “...You can go ahead, and touch yourself.”

He wasn’t blushing as he said it. Prince Hans never blushed out of embarrassment. Well, not that often.

Sitron rolled over and looked at Hans. “You don’t have to do this,” he said. “You really don’t.”

Hans rolled his eyes. “Sitron. I’ve seen you naked, and congested with cold, and filthy like you’d fallen into a patch of farm manure. Which you have done. All three of those things, although maybe not all at once. If I can’t do this one little thing—”

“You don’t have to prove you love me,” Sitron said. Sitron’s innocent honesty was like a punch to Hans’ emotional kidneys, as usual. “I already know you do.”

“Please,” Hans said. He wasn’t pleading now, he absolutely wasn’t. “It’s fine.”

They lay there, looking at each other in the dim morning light. Sitron worried at his lower lip and then he reached down, pushing up under his long nightshirt.

Hans watched Sitron’s face. It was easy to read the emotions chasing themselves across Sitron’s face, the obvious desire blooming there. Sitron didn’t look at Hans except in furtive glances, and then he was moving forward a little to just tuck his cheek against Hans’ shirt. Hans could hear him breathe in and out, and Hans stroked Sitron’s hair. When he could hear Sitron’s breath quicken, he moved so that he could press his mouth to Sitron’s jaw, kissing him. Hans opened his mouth a little, tasting the sweat on Sitron’s skin. It wasn’t—Hans wasn’t aroused. For some reason, he’d had the idea in his head though, of comfort. The way you’d suck at the skin of a mild burn to soothe it. He thought of soothing Sitron, holding him, protecting him, and Sitron whimpered at the touch and came.

Hans held Sitron in his arms until the other man had stopped shaking, and then Sitron was looking at Hans with these large, dark eyes, with an expression like utter love and wonder.

They lay there like that, until Sitron gave a small smile and said, “I, umm, should clean myself up.”

Hans watched Sitron get out of bed and pad towards the bathroom. Then Hans rolled over and smooshed his face into his pillow. Oh how the mighty had fallen, and the things Hans would do for that one person in the world that he...that he cared about. His heart was exposed now, and weak, but somehow that seemed to matter just a little less, when Sitron climbed back into bed, and they were lying there together warmly, until they had both fallen asleep once more.

Chapter Text

Her Highness, the Princess Aurora, and the man who-was-once-a-horse-but-still-called-Sitron, were over on the other side of the rowing boat, looking into the water for fish. It was funny, how well Sitron seemed to get along with whimsical young women who had a knack for talking to animals. They were having an animated discussion about whether or not they thought they’d be able to talk to the fish, and if perhaps there was anything interesting down there below the glassy surface of the bay, the sort of mysterious things that only fish were privy to.

Aurora had her hair tied up into a loose bun, was wearing a simple linen dress already specked with water and mud on the hem, and her feet were bare. Sitron was wearing a simple white shirt and sandy-colored trousers, and his feet were bare too. They looked like a pair of peasants enjoying the summer sun in the bay surround the kingdom of Corona.

Their beloved and significant others, Princes Philip and Hans, were over on the other side, leaning on their oars and exchanging battle stories, or something along those lines.

A few years ago, Hans would have said that he didn’t have anything in common with this adventuresome, dashing specimen of a man, aside from the superficial. Even that day, the only reason Hans had come along was because Sitron and Aurora had gotten along so swimmingly.

Philip had the confident air of the only son, a prince who’d always had the best handed to him on a silver platter, and who could easily get his way around his father, when he put his mind to it. Hans would have said, of course, there wasn’t anything that they had in common—except Philip had fought a dragon once, and Hans had fought a frozen giant that had nearly knocked him into a ravine, and when Philip thought back on—well, certain things, and for a moment he would look over at Aurora and there was a strange, nearly haunted look. It might have lasted only a second or too, but Hans had too keen of an eye to miss it.

“A witch told me a story once, when she locked me in her dungeon,” Philip said. His tone was hushed. “She told me a story about a princess locked in an enchanted, youthful sleep, and about the prince who grew old in a witch’s dungeon. She told a story about the old man who was released to break the spell cast on a youthful maiden. Every once in a while, I’ll dream about that. Or, nightmares, really. When the stress of taking over running the kingdom gets to me, I suppose. I dream that I’m an old man, and she’s still a young woman in a decaying castle keep, and the look on her face when she’s realized who it is that has come to rescue her.”

Hans was looking out onto the water. He didn’t say anything. Philip was the type who took pleasure in telling his stories, but Hans kept his stories in his heart. He was thinking about his own dreams.

Once, he dreamed that everything he touched turned to ice. He dreamed that he’d touched Sitron with a cursed hand, and Sitron’s heart had frozen solid, along with all the rest of him.

Poetic justice, Hans thought, reaching into the bay to dabble his fingers in the water.

All princes who went into battle came out with scars.