#heirlast

she hears the violent teasing from across the yard, nestled between the courtyard and the stables, and signals for one of her ladies to fetch her son in a flash of, what might be, maternal sympathy and mercy and protectiveness.  but once the boy arrives, she knows little of what to do with him.   ❝ marta? ❞   she addresses her lady again instead of her son.   ❝ fetch prince hans a book or two from his rooms. ❞   perhaps reading and sitting quietly won’t completely unnerve the both of them, practical strangers though they are. 

     nimble fingers fidget with her corset. cassandra had tightened it too much and she wasn’t comfortable as the fabric constricted her lungs. she was already nervous enough knowing she was going to be representing her family once again as the visitors from the southern isles were arriving. she looked down at her feet. at least this time she remembered shoes, even if they did pinch her feet. 

       “   I think you’re overcompensating somehow.   ”  it’s said far too bluntly. There’s no censoring in Kristoff’s words but he rarely means them to be cutting. It’s strange seeing Hans working, like a typical working man.  “   I mean, it’s normal to be afraid of death but it’s also a part of life.  ”   Kristoff works in a dangerous field likewise. He is no stranger to it. His parents had died at such a young age, too.    “  Anyways,  ”  he adds, brushing away the comment,   “  I don’t want to kill you. I wanted to hit you before I’ll admit but Anna did enough of that.   ”   anything more would just be repetitive.