Clear skies. Several days of a journey by ship, and the skies never changed from their cloudless blue. Hans looked down at the water and saw only the gentlest of waves pushing away as the elegant brow of the Sirocco sliced through the water.

A prevailing westerly would make great time. Indeed, this was every trading merchant's dream weather, the kind they'd be on their knees giving praises to the gods. Yes, in all of the times Hans had sailed, he knew this was the best weather he'd ever experienced on the open sea.

Figures. He looked back at the sailors and other deckhands, who eyed him warily whenever he met their gaze. He was a prisoner, and everyone knew it. There was no sense shackling him at this point, he had nowhere to run to except an early grave.

So close. I almost had it. For a plan that had to be revised on the fly, Hans had to admit much of it had worked to his advantage. With so many unknowns like Queen Elsa's strange sorcery, and the determined little upstart Anna, the fact that the plan held together so well was astounding.

But no sense dwelling on it too much: He'd be returning home soon enough, and the freedom of the open sky and westerlies would be replaced by cold iron shackles and a prison cell to await trial. A nonsense formality if there ever was one. The real question would be hanging or beheading, and which of his brothers would beg the hardest to get the privilege of holding the axe.

At least then, they couldn't pretend I was invisible.

Might as well enjoy the moments he had left. Hans leaned over the railing and let the salt spray get on his face. Then he strolled across the deck, ignoring the continued stares of the sailors and guards. They knew he wouldn't jump into the ocean. He'd freeze long before he reached land. If he was going to die, it might as well be in a place that was warm.

During the next day, the winds still held calm, and land was spotted on the horizon. By midday, the harbor of Varisen, the Royal Capital of the Southern Isles, loomed closely. The guards found Hans quickly, and were eager to slap the shackles back on him. Both guards who did the job were not gently, and gleefully grinned the entire time.

At least they let me keep my gloves. He was escorted off the ship to the pier, where a line of guards flanked both ends, their swords drawn in strict discipline.

A royal welcome? Not for me. Who's coming to greet their dear old brother? The guards stood to either side of Hans.

A shout from one guard caused them all to draw their swords in military salute, as a finely dressed man in full military uniform walked out to the pier and took agonizing slow steps towards Hans. Once he reached him, he stood with ramrod straight posture, his face as blank as the Grand Statue of King Elias in the Harbor Square.

"Greetings, Sebastian." Hans took it on himself to speak first. As fourth brother born, Sebastian was nearly twice Hans's own age, married and with three children of his own. So far down the line of succession, he was free to choice his military career with the blessings of the family, and brought glory to the family with his skill on the battlefield. It was a good fit anyway, Sebastian was terrible at politics.

"You've certainly outdone yourself, Hans." His voice revealed no emotion, neither anger, fear, or even amusement. Sebastian was always the hardest of the brothers to read.

"Did you get stuck welcoming me back, or did you volunteer?"

"I volunteered, of course. Attempted regicide, a coup? Have you any idea what this means?"

"If you are concerned about trade, I remind you that edicts of kings and queens have been subverted in the name of money time and time again." That was part of the reason why Sebastian was better suited for the soldier's life. His only idea of diplomacy was a sharpened piece of steel.

"I don't care about gold. The honor of the Westergard family, and the Southern Isles, is at stake. Only your blood will satisfy that grudge."

"I haven't been tried yet, Sebastian. Do you seek to execute me without trial?"

"Don't hide behind our laws to protect yourself after disregarding them so blindly!" Sebastian pulled out his sword, letting the point rest still against Hans's throat. Summoning his sternest look, Hans glared at his older brother.

"Yes, there will be a trial. We might even show mercy and let you decide who gets to deliver the blow. Ask for me, I can make it clean." Sebastian put his sword away, and turned away from Hans.

That was bracing. He didn't expect to see one of his brothers so soon, but he was sure the rest would make their way. Hopefully, Hans would be in his prison cell before that point. Solid iron bars as a barrier and a free set of hands made those men less dangerous.

###

Duke Albert Weselton seethed as he looked over trade agreement after trade agreement. All of which would be null and void now that Queen Elsa forbid trade between Arendelle and Weselton.

Those years of the queen being a shut in had been a total blessing. Cultivated relationships through bribes, marriages, and even a few assassinations made wealth so easy to obtain. Now it was gone. Queen Elsa may have been young, but she was shrewd and thanks to those two blundering idiots who failed to assassinate her, now he was a pariah. While most of the nobles were focused on that wretch Hans and his lies about the Princess Anna, attention would turn to Weselton, and the Duke, once that little upstart was executed.

He looked again at the trade agreements. While he tailored his contracts to get the better end of every deal, nobles and merchant houses of Arendelle profited from trade with his country too. They would stand with him, if not in public, than in secret. Every day he wasted was a day of less money, and the possibility that, needing a new trade partner, his allies would jump ship. The Southern Isles would try to ingratiate themselves with Arendelle, prove that Hans's little coup began and ended with him. They'd follow Arendelle's lead and block Weselton trade, and then the trouble would really start.

No, I have to do this before that little wretch is executed and he has all of the attention. According to the laws of the Southern Isles, high justice and cases of treason required testimony, and in this case, Queen Elsa was alive to give it. She would have to travel to the Southern Isles. If anything happened to her there, even if the little wretch couldn't take the blame, relations between the Southern Isles and Arendelle would deteriorate. They might even go to war. And there was nothing better for business than a good war, except maybe a famine. But there'd be time for that later.

Albert began to write. Message after message, to be sent to his allies. Some in Arendelle, some in the Southern Isles. Queen Elsa still had trade meetings to attend in Arendelle before she went to the Isles, his carrier pigeons could reach his allies before she'd get there.

Unlike that wretch, Albert believed in sensible, well-thought plans, with no margin of error.