Author's Note: Getting engaged to a handsome prince after knowing him for a day thinking it's True Love, only to be left alone to die? That's a pretty rough introduction to love.

This oneshot explores what could have happened if Anna had been profoundly affected by Hans. Her concept of love is completely warped as a result, and she associates the mutual, consensual physical abuse with him. Since he's already been twisted by his upbringing, he's more than happy to carry on their relationship without love getting in the way.

Set in post-movie canon. I'm assuming the movie takes place in the 1830's, so the story takes place in Victorian London.

Originally posted to my account on AO3, and cross-posted here.

"Anna."

She tilts her head as a sign she has heard him.

He sighs. "Anna, please explain why you're here."

"I can't even begin to explain it."

"Start from the beginning."

Anna walks closer, her hands reaching for him. He lets her curl her fingers in the fabric of his jacket. "I'm already here at the beginning."

A prince is still a prince, even if he's attempted regicide in a foreign kingdom; life goes on after a perfunctory slap on the wrist. The twelve older brothers – eleven princes and one king – don't really care what Hans does, so long as he's not attempting regicide at home.

Generously pensioned off, Hans gravitates to London, the focal point for gentlemen with little focus.

She finds him in a cosy gentlemen's club.

To his credit, he doesn't overreact.

"Anna, what are you doing here?"

She looks at him, and he sees her for the first time; the light that he remembers is tarnished somewhat, and it makes him uneasy. Anna isn't wearing her hair in two braids now (swept up, but different from the coronation day), and the white lock of hair is gone.

"I was looking for you," she says, "and now I've found you."

"Why?"

She pretends she doesn't hear him.

He buys her a meal in a nice restaurant, where gentlemen dine with ladies; not one of his filthy dives where the wenches can be bought for coins – Hans feels it's the right thing to do since she's come all this way from his past to see him.

She oohs and aahs at the impeccable waiters, the unfamiliar English food, and the crisp English accents, and he wonders why she's the same on the outside.

Over dessert (he ordered her chocolate and she clapped her hands in delight), Anna tells him she's engaged.

"It's been three years," he says dryly, sipping his coffee. "A little long, don't you think?"

"That's because Kristoff really cares for me, and isn't a bastard like you who only wanted the throne and left me to freeze to death," she replies primly, and he has to smile.

"Language, Princess Anna."

"I'm not that naïve girl you used to know."

Hans sets down the china cup with a clink and leans over on his elbows. "Convince me."

Quick as lightning, she leaps up, seizes his cravat, and punches him right in the jaw. His head snaps back but he doesn't fall – Hans grunts in pain when her fist connects, and again when his body is jerked back by the knotted cravat.

Anna lets go and he slumps back into his chair, blinking the stars from his eyes. He tastes blood.

Oblivious to the silence that's descended over the restaurant and the stares in their direction, she sits back down and arranges her hands in her lap.

"How was that?"

Hans' fingers explore his tender jaw, the rapidly swelling lip, and forces a lopsided smirk. "That punch felt the same."

She laughs.

They aren't thrown out of the restaurant – the British manager is far too well-mannered for that – but they asked to leave immediately in no uncertain terms.

Hans can barely speak and Anna's still laughing like it's the biggest joke in the world. But suddenly he feels cool slim fingers on his face, and her apologetic gaze is the same as his memories.

"Let me take you back to my room," she says, taking his hand.

Anna makes him shed his jacket and sit down on the bed while she bathes his jaw.

"That's new," he comments thickly around the swelling; she pouts, and presses a little harder. Hans hisses in pain.

He doesn't talk again until she's done, and he's holding a wet rag to his face.

She pulls a chair over to face him, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "My wedding is in a month's time," she begins, "but I wanted to see more of the world before I – you know – settled down."

"Dear innocent Anna, did no one tell you about the joys of married life?"

She scowls. "I know very well what men and women do behind closed doors, Hans."

"If you were looking for me to gain some closure, move on in life, and all that bullshit, you made the wrong decision."

"I wasn't."

"Then?" The swelling's receded quite a bit, enough for him to put down the rag. Hans watches her, notes the changes in her; physically he can't really tell, but he sees that the light in her eyes is definitely different. He remembers being completely taken aback by her naïveté, the bright innocence of a child. This young woman is older and more experienced; the purity is still there, but there's a darker edge to her, like a shadow.

She's watching him touch his injured jaw, and he sees her bite her lip.

They order dinner to be brought up to the rooms.

"Sandwiches," says Hans, "you remembered."

"They didn't have chocolate fondue," she shoots back, and takes a bite of his sandwich. He takes it from her and shoves it into his mouth.

"My favourite."

Anna meets his gaze and holds it as she licks away crumbs from the side of her mouth.

"Mine too."

At night, he doesn't insist on leaving and she doesn't ask him to. "I'll take the bed, and you can sleep on the couch over there," instructs Anna.

"Fine." He's tired; it's been a long day, and he's in no mood to argue. His jaw's beginning to hurt again from chewing his dinner.

Right before he's about to fall asleep, he hears soft sounds coming from the bed.

Hans lies awake all night.

Breakfast in the hotel's dinner hall is a quiet affair, and he savours it. "Coffee?" he asks.

She wrinkles her nose. "Ugh. No. Too bitter."

"Still such a child."

Anna lets the snide remark pass, chewing on her chocolate croissant.

Somehow, she convinces him to take her sightseeing.

"Don't even think about it," he warns her after catching her look twice at the railing of London bridge.

She huffs. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"And climbing Big Ben's out of the question. I like London, and I would hate it if they deported me back to the Southern Isles."

"I would never – "

" – you would. I know you."

Instead of pouting, sulking, or even ignoring him, something cold glints in her eyes. He's taken aback.

Anna whirls around, her body taut with tension. "Stop acting as though you know me," she hisses through clenched teeth, "You don't, not anymore."

Hans mirrors her, his own eyes hard. "Are you going to tell me just how much you've grown over the past three years? Have you done some adult things, other milestones like that?"

She looks like she's going to slap him, but she doesn't.

"You haven't even told me why you came. Why you found me," adds Hans, his voice tight. She's grown a little; he doesn't have to bend his head as much to look her in the eye.

Anna doesn't falter for an instant; she pulls his face down the last few inches and kisses him.

They make it back to the hotel somehow, and he has just enough time to close the door before she occupies his attention.

"Why – " pants Hans. Anna cuts him off with another hungry kiss, her tongue aggressively pushing into his mouth.

He makes short work of her dress; she's much more brutal with his clothes, almost tearing his shirt as she yanks the collar down to gain access to his neck. He's fucked before, but never as animalistic as this, and from the least likely person he's expected. Hans growls as she nips his clavicle, and then soothes the angry red marks with her tongue.

Pushing her back down on the bed, he bends over her and kisses her neck; Anna subsides as he bites and licks his way over her ear, jaw, and lips.

She doesn't relinquish control for long.

While he's occupied, her hands have found their way inside his trousers. Hans grunts in surprise but stands up and helps her remove them.

As soon as it springs free, Anna takes him into her mouth with a smoothness that surprises him; where does a princess learn to do that as professionally as a common whore? She's good, too – he groans as she runs her teeth over the soft skin of his penis and tangles his fingers in her hair.

"Fuck, Anna – !"

When he comes, she waits for him to finish before pulling him onto the bed and straddling him. Hans takes his time coming back to earth and doesn't protest.

She grinds into his leg, her hips moving rhythmically; the movement is incredibly arousing and he finds himself rising to the challenge.

Anna smirks.

Hans grabs her by the hair, pulls her back down. He's just a little annoyed she's a lot less submissive like the other women were and she's still partially clothed. Her underwear's literally ripped off her body and he presses open-mouthed kisses to her breasts.

Her back arches.

He's not minded to be gentle; he's been gentle, and he knows this isn't the time for it. While he's rolling one hard nipple around his mouth, one hand is toying with the other nipple, and his free hand is thrust between her folds.

Anna's hips buck shamelessly against his hand. "Harder," she pleads, her nails digging into his back, and he swears he's never been more turned on.

Hans pushes one, then two fingers in. She moans. He tries three, his hand pounding furiously into her crotch.

As she writhes beneath him, he feels warmth on his back where her nails have broken the skin. Anna withdraws one hand and licks his blood from her fingers.

He grows tired of foreplay. Releasing her, he positions himself between her legs and thrusts. His hands grab her thighs to hold her steady as he slams his hips into her.

"Hans."

Her eyes are open but hazy, and she doesn't need to say anything for him to understand that she wants harder, faster, more.

He fucks her relentlessly and her body shudders as she climaxes; he follows not long after and collapses into a boneless heap beside her.

When they wake she makes it very clear she wants more and he complies. It's dark by the time they're done and he has to leave the bed to light the candles.

"You look terrible."

She's propped her head on her hand, her eyes following the movement of his body.

"I could say the same for you."

Hans slides back under the covers and wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her into him; she smells of sweat and blood and sex but underneath that is a smell that's uniquely hers. He doesn't normally stay with the other women after he's done but she's an exception he's happy to make. In the gloom, all he can see is the handprint bruises that brand her shoulder. He kisses a reddish fingerprint.

She turns in his embrace, running her hands over his chest. There's a mosaic of teeth and nail marks over his torso, some open cuts, and some already turning purplish-black. His arms are covered in scratches and Anna knows his back is much worse.

"Do you feel like explaining what happened just now?"

"I needed it," she answers bluntly, touching the reddish mark on his jaw from yesterday and making him wince. "You broke me when you taught me what love is."

"What we had, that wasn't love."

"I know."

"You know I don't love you," he grunts into her ear after they've both recovered. It's dark outside, and he isn't sure what day it is.

"I don't love you either."

He runs his tongue over her thighs and she shivers. "Then this…?"

"Means nothing."

"So you can go home and marry your peasant with a clear conscience."

She giggles and wraps her arms around his neck, angling her face to sink her teeth over his jugular. "Surely you were expecting nothing less, little Hans?"

"You're sick."

"No," she corrects him, "just broken."

When Hans wakes up, she's gone. He doesn't say anything, just gets dressed and leaves.

He doesn't see her until a year later. She's standing at the harbor near a rowboat and he smiles.

"How long did it take you to plan this?" he asks with a laugh.

"Long enough."

They don't need to say anything more.

From the way she kisses him, he guesses she's missed it almost as much as he has. He takes special pleasure in pulling the gold band from her finger before fucking her.

"How's married life?"

She's admiring the bloody lines carved on his body, punctuated with bitemarks, and takes her time to reply. "Boring."

"But he loves you."

"He does."

"And do you love him?"

"With all my heart."

"Then you're a cheating bitch."

"Suits a would-be murderer and usurper," she laughs, and it's a tinkling melody in his ears. "Oh, Hans," whispered Anna, her tone deliberately light, "if only there was someone out there who loved you."

"You could come back to Arendelle with me," she says, toying with the hairs on his chest. "I could give you a fine mansion and servants."

"And you could make me your mistress."

She hummed thoughtfully. One finger traced the freckles that stood out from damaged skin, lingering around his nipple.

"Mistress. I like the sound of that."

"You would, you insatiable minx," he groans as he tries to pretend he isn't enjoying her ministrations. "I've broken you, haven't I?"

"I'm broken and you're bent. But together, it doesn't matter what shape we're in."

He sees her off at the harbor, not far from the little rowboat.

"Will you come back?"

"Would you wait?"

Hans considers it for a heartbeat. "Yes."