Jack Frost: King of Thieves

CHAPTER IV: Advice

Elinor of DunBroch walked with purpose through the cold corridors of Abita's Far Tower, her footsteps echoing off the stone walls and arched ceiling, her hands clenched in fists at her side. By any measure, she had lived a full and fruitful life. She had married and loved two kings, though her love for Stefan had been short-lived, a folly of youth. She had given birth to two more and had already seen one of them buried, which had been harder by far than losing her second husband. Indeed, of her ten children—two by Stefan and eight by William—only four had survived to this day. For nearly sixteen years, she had lived as a prisoner, moved from fortress to fortress by order of her husband, William, who had accused her, with good reason, of plotting with her sons to rob him of the crown.

She had gone on a crusade, survived naval battles in the Wyrmmere, and been called a traitor and an incestuous whore and worse. Even now, old enough to feel winter's lingering chill in her bones, she was still Duchess of DunBroch and Countess of Poitiers.

And yet, for all she had accomplished, for all the challenges she had met and overcome, for all the tragedies that had marked the long arc of her life, no one —no one—had ever vexed her as much as her youngest child. That Hans, Prince regent of the realm, was dissolute, irresponsible, and untrustworthy, not even his mother could deny. Though several years past his thirtieth birthday, Hans was still more child than a man, at least in temperament. But these were faults that she had seen in his father, and, though Elinor was loath to admit it, in his brother, the king, as well. Perhaps not to the same degree, but certainly Manny could be as debauched and irresponsible as any man of the court. What was it about men in power that rendered them utterly sapless when confronted by a flask of Benedictine wine and the comely girl serving it?

What troubled her most about Hans wasn't so much his weakness of character as his utter lack of kingly qualities. He lacked his father's subtlety and wit, he wasn't charming or gracious like his brother Willaim, and he had shown no sign of possessing even a fraction of Manny's courage. Treachery, malice, pride— these he had in abundance. But Elinor feared for the Souther Isles if ever Hans should ascend to the throne. At least as he was now. Perhaps it was a motherly weakness, but she still entertained some hope of changing him, of helping him grow into the promise that flowed in his blood. She would have to act quickly, though. She had learned all too well that none of her issues could live forever, not even her son.

Turning a corner onto the hallway of Hans' bedchambers, Elinor saw his wife, Princess Anna of Arendelle, stooped before Hans' door. Anna was a nice enough girl, but she was no more fit to be queen consort than Hans was to be king. Elinor supposed the girl was pretty, though none would have called her enchanting, but she was vapid. And one had only to see her now, outside her husband's bedchamber, listening at the man's keyhole, to know how weak she was.

Elinor cleared her throat as she approached, not wishing to give the girl too much of a start.
Anna straightened and turned, all in one swift, whirling motion. Seeing Elinor, she staggered back several steps, clearly intimidated.

"Your Majesty!" the girl said breathlessly.

"Your Royal Highness," Elinor answered, unable to keep the disdain from her voice. "A Southern Isles princess shut out of her husband's bedroom by a piece of Alsace-Lorraine pastry. Aren't you ashamed?"

The girl raised her chin, showing more spirit than Elinor had expected. "The shame is surely his."

"If you think so, go in and tell him." The words were hard, but Elinor said them with somewhat more sympathy than she had been inclined to offer moments before. "Mewling at his keyhole is neither one thing nor the other."