I'm Afraid of What I'm Risking if I Follow You

Part 2

I'm Afraid of What I'm Risking if I Follow You

Chapter 2

She hated this stillness.

Or rather, she hated sitting here, day after day with her arms crossed in the hut, expecting Hans to do something—anything—to undermine her. Elsa was there to serve him food, to watch him as he slept, even, until she passed out from sheer exhaustion. When he bathed, she stayed nearby, only turning to stay modest and expecting the worst. Her presence seemed to keep him at bay, at least, even if it never failed to make her flush. According to the Northuldra, he was healing well using their herbal remedies, but even still he rarely got up, rarely spoke, except for polite murmurs. Occasionally he'd get this far-off look in his eyes, like he was trying to reminisce on something. No doubt thinking about all his past mistakes, his regrets. The terrible things he could never undo, and for which would never be forgiven.

She thought he'd say something snarky, try to rile her up. But the days soon passed in boring succession, each one making Elsa yearn for what she'd had before. No more rides on the Nokk, no more flurries for Bruni. She hardly even felt Gale's presence since Hans arrived.

"Nothing's stopping you from leaving," Yelena pointed out, handing a pitcher of water over to Hans. "I assure you, each of us can handle ourselves."

"I know him too well," Elsa replied stubbornly, crossing her arms tight over her chest. "He'll try something the moment I leave."

"Your loss." Yelena shrugged and stood to exit the hut. "The spirits miss your presence terribly, and you're the only one who can figure out why they're acting out so much."

They were just going to have to wait. Elsa just kept up her childish pouting, close enough to Hans to try and analyze his face.

Really, on first glance everything seemed normal. Sure, he had a tiny scar above his left eyebrow now, and he'd be boasting those bruises and scrapes on his skin for a while. The huge gash on his torso was what was taking forever to heal, with good reason. When prompted, she begrudgingly even produced ice to help out with numbing the pain. He finally had a bit more color in his cheeks with the food he'd been fed. Now he could even sit up without wincing so much, though he still needed assistance standing and walking, which the Northuldra were all too willing to oblige.

Hans paused after taking a sip of water, that look in his eyes again. Elsa didn't comment on the matter, not when she'd seen it a dozen times by now. She tried not talking to him at all, if she could help it.

But he broke the silence. "You can't possibly think I would try anything after what happened after your coronation," he said, his voice cracked like he was trying to get used to the sound of it again. "Have you seen the state of me? I couldn't hurt a fly."

"Physically you might not be able to do anything, but I know how your mind works," Elsa shot back. "You manipulate people with your words. Those are more dangerous."

Hans set down the cup, rolling over so he could face her properly. The dying embers made his hair look more red than she remembered—or maybe it was because he had so much more of it now, unkempt and falling straight over his shoulders. "You don't think anyone can change in three years?"

"Not you, no," said Elsa stubbornly. "You're a monster. You wanted a crown so much you were willing to murder two innocent girls for it. That's already reason enough for anyone not to trust you."

He sighed, turning his eyes down for a moment before facing her again. His green stare had this intensity behind it, like it was looking directly inside her soul. With that furrowed red brow, Elsa didn't know if she could meet such a gaze. "Three years is a lot of time for introspection," he said. "I think at some point I realized that while yes, running a kingdom would be wonderful, I really just wanted to get off the Southern Isles by any means necessary. You've never been, have you?"