KEEP GOING NORTH

In the entire palace, only one ballroom had been cleaned, and that was only because the princess had deigned to take dance lessons there. But that large room – large enough for two – couldn't accommodate all the nobles, and the stage was almost entirely taken up by a piano. While the young people were watching the sunset and beginning their first dreams, the cleaners scrubbed and waxed the parquet floors, and the concierges refilled the crystal chandeliers with candles.

With hours remaining until the ball, the castle filled with the rustle of skirts and the shuffle of shoes. Anna, who had woken up almost as early as usual, had been sitting in the gallery since early morning, counting the ships entering the harbor and the carriages approaching the gates. With each count, she moved her hands, as if not listing the guests but following the beat of a waltz, and imagined herself dancing with some count.

Her older sister didn't share Anna's joy at all. Elsa adjusted her gloves with trembling hands, constantly pulling them up higher and tucking the edges under her sleeves so that not a single centimeter of skin would be exposed. Her curtains were drawn so that she couldn't see the vast number of people for whom she would be making her debut as hostess of the ball today.

The company of books and documents was far more pleasant. Today, Elsa clung to the estimates and bills for the ball as if they were a lifeline. Strange – she didn't remember her parents serving alcohol to the servants when she was a child. Of course, it was intended for those who prepared the party, not for those who worked at it, and these people always celebrated the end of a difficult day at the same time as the hosts, but ordering drinks for them separately? Even the cheapness of wheat ale didn't justify the expense. Servants were paid and could afford to relax at their own expense.

Elsa rolled a small wad of tobacco from a pinch and inhaled deeply. This measured breathing calmed her, and a slight dizziness blurred her anxious thoughts. But this morning the tobacco seemed too much; instead of pleasantly relaxing her, it made her already limp hands shake so much that the princess could no longer underline the word "wheat" every time it appeared in the text without a ruler. This year, it seemed, had been a very fruitful one for wheat; all the flour came from it. Elsa even wondered why Arendelle hadn't sold even three hundredweight this year, and where to put all those supplies.

His Highness was the most indifferent of the castle's young inhabitants. He was returning from pleasant calm to the familiar social life. It was six of one, half a dozen of the other. He arrived at the gallery after Anna and found her dancing to the music in her head. Hans saw the girl's zeal for palace life, in the traditional sense as a youthful impulse that needed to be savored before it gave way to a craving for a quieter life.

Today, he was the only one looking out the window without excitement or anticipation, gazing out at the sea as usual and indulging in daily dreams of sea voyages. Of course, the prince hoped to find his bride at "their" window. It wasn't that he was tired of the company of the youngest heiress; Anna would always be someone he was glad to see, but today, in particular, he wanted to talk to his betrothed. She had urged him to go out into the city, and she hadn't asked about the outcome either yesterday or today.

And the ball would be less in honor of him as an important guest than a celebration of the future queen's engagement. People would be eyeing him, currying favor, trying to secure a place under the rising sun. He needed to discuss what she planned to do with the nobility upon her accession to the throne. Or, given her experience interacting with people, to suggest how she could use the nobility in domestic politics.

"Your Highness, allow me to join you," the prince said, extending his hand to Anna, inviting her to dance. "Where is your sister?" he asked curiously. "People you probably knew from childhood are gathering right now. Wouldn't she like to reminisce with loved ones?"

"Elsa would rather reread the entire library than greet guests," the girl smiled.

"That's a shame," Hans responded. "Perhaps you could tell me something about the crown's friends?"

"Arendelle isn't a very large kingdom, so everyone here is related, and the crown has no friends," the princess replied sadly. "Even our aunt and uncle are here not for us, but for the throne. My aunt, my father's sister, married young to maintain the family's friendship with my uncle's duchy. They were lucky – they fell in love, but he owns a patch of land with two villages on the other side of the fjord, and she has studied statecraft even less than I have. You've noticed that Elsa rules the kingdom, not them? But they manage the treasury, and Uncle's duchy grew thanks to lands purchased from neighbors. Elsa knows; she even devised a land reform to redistribute the fields," Anna justified her uncle's actions. "Everyone got villages with good soil around them, and Uncle got away with it," the princess interrupted the dance.

"So she can govern the country, but she can't moderate the ardor of a small landowner?" Hans asked, surprised.

"Her signature isn't required on decrees," Anna shrugged. "On the contrary, she hushed up a major scandal. Imagine if everyone found out that even a not-so-rich duke could carve up the kingdom's lands solely for his own benefit. The nobles would squabble over every scrap. And so Elsa's authority was preserved, and the nobles are friends."

"An interesting solution," the prince said thoughtfully. "And a situation that shouldn't be allowed to happen, otherwise it will happen again. You said Elsa was in the library?"

"I don't think so. I mentioned the library by accident. In her chambers, most likely," she smiled. "Dorothea, find Her Highness and tell her we invite her to tea in the greenhouse," she sent the maid away. "Gunter, have the table set in the gazebo while we take a stroll." When the man had left, the princess suggested her friend take the long hallway so that the servants could serve tea and Elsa could get ready.

The girl, looking around nervously, entered the greenhouse. If Hans had been told on the day of his arrival that the cold, impenetrable lady would be sitting across from him, fiddling with her fingers as if she had nowhere else to put them, he wouldn't have believed it. Back then, he'd seen his bride as a block of ice, and now she was beginning to melt and thaw. And it would have been fine if she'd been preparing for a scandal, but she was loved, after all.

"What are you so worried about?" the prince inquired, stirring sugar in a mug. "Is something wrong?"

But Elsa remained silent. Her gaze darted across the table, and her hands hidden in the folds of her skirt, fiddling with something in her pockets. Anna didn't attach any particular significance to her sister's behavior. Everyone worries differently. She was expecting something grand, a lavish ball, important meetings, a pleasant evening, while Elsa was anticipating problems, unexpected expenses, and time spent in the company of nobles squabbling over privileges.

Hans and Anna couldn't get a clear answer from the heiress; she kept citing Count Gutberg's land claims, which he would certainly express the next day, or the postponement of important lessons due to the arrival of guests.

"You don't need to worry about me," Elsa smiled politely. "You've been looking forward to this evening for so long; it's you who should be worried." "You'll get tired of dancing all evening if you're not used to it," the older sister remarked solicitously.

"I'm used to dancing for long periods," the younger sister immediately retorted. "His Highness was so kind as to give me extra dance lessons," Anna placed her cup on the saucer. "Let me demonstrate. Your Highness, a white dance," she announced briskly, smiling and extending her hand.

The couple twirled along the stone paths in a quiet waltz. They truly looked beautiful together, Elsa could see it. She saw how joyfully Anna looked into his face, how confidently Hans held her hand. And it would have been nothing more than a good dance if Elsa hadn't noticed them yesterday on the shore. Yes, she had suggested they run away together, yes, she herself couldn't stand it when either of them disturbed her peace, but now, for some reason, her heart was burning with jealousy. Even she herself wasn't sure who she was jealous of—her sister, smiling sweetly at her betrothed, or her fiancé, who so openly showed which of the sisters he preferred—but she longed to disperse their imaginary orchestra and sit in silence with each of them individually.

It seemed the clink of a spoon falling from the table disturbed the non-existent musicians, and the dancers stopped.

"You must have much to discuss," Anna smiled nervously, noticing her sister's darkened expression. "And I'll go try on my evening gown again," the girl said, leaving the greenhouse. The servants, entertaining themselves with gossip and dusting picture frames outside the door, exchanged glances, and Dorothea hurried after her mistress, leaving the other two to clean up, perplexed, and wondering why the prince and princess were alone.

"You shouldn't dance with her at the ball, gossip will spread," the girl ordered dryly.

"I wasn't planning on dancing with anyone but you, Your Highness," Hans tried to smooth things over and extended his hand. "Does your maid play anything? Or we could go to the small hall, where Gunther can play for us," he suggested.

But the princess merely shook her head silently and placed her tense hand in his. The girl also longed to feel that same closeness, the kind that allows one to dance with someone without music, without counting the rhythm, simply looking into their eyes and savoring the moment.

He immediately felt the chill of her hand, as he had on the very first day. "There's always winter in this woman's soul, even if summer blazes outside," Hans thought, squeezing her fingers. This unhealthy chill was frightening, although with her reclusive lifestyle and addiction to tobacco, it was no wonder she was unwell. There was no one to warm her. She even talked to her maid in a very detached manner. He had never seen this girl in the gallery, the one who was now waiting outside with Gunther. The prince wouldn't even have been surprised to learn that she was yesterday's waitress and that Elsa had hired her until the guests left.

The princess, however, almost burned herself on his warm hands. Her last touch had been fleeting, merely offering her hand for a kiss. Back then, the touch had seemed superfluous, a mere silly formality that could easily have been dispensed with. But now it had a much deeper meaning. Now it wasn't some visiting prince thanking her for the welcome, but her future husband inviting her to his first dance. Jealousy gave way to excitement. Not the fear that had been plaguing her since the morning, but the jitters Anna had been experiencing since the announcement of the upcoming ball.

Happy human emotions had long ceased to occupy her mind. The princess felt like she was back in childhood, when no one was afraid to touch her, when she wasn't afraid of her own abilities. How long ago that was. And how wonderful… She wasn't Her Highness, the Crown Princess of Arendelle, forced to carry an entire kingdom on her back. Under her parents, the problems of governing a state were only in textbooks. Mistakes could be made, wrong decisions could be made, and the right answer was never certain. That would never be the case again. Every rash step could cost lives. Every thoughtless word could spark a rebellion.

Hans took the first step, and Elsa immediately picked up the rhythm. Most of her lessons were spent alone. There had been a time when the queen had tutored her daughter, but now her guardians only checked her progress. But this had no effect on the princess's ability to sense the rhythm of the dance and maintain it evenly.

Hans was even surprised by the strange glimmer of warmth in her cold blue eyes. The ice sculpture the heiress had so painstakingly sculpted began to melt. "What's going on in this girl's soul?" the prince tried to figure out. Formal, disciplined, perfect from every angle, she hid some terrible secret within herself, and to protect it, she'd grown this mirror-cold crust of an "ordinary girl." She'd become so accustomed to it that this image had become her second skin. Hence the frost on her hands. But the touch of a real person melts this icy armor.