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It’s funny how subtle Anna and Kristoff think they are. With their held gazes, secret smiles, and their tendency to leave crowded rooms together (one at a time, of course). Oh, and their weekly “sleigh rides” up to North Mountain—yes, very innocuous. Never mind their mussed up hair, flushed cheeks, swollen mouths, and very much laced fingers upon their return, that was only due to the vigorous sleigh ride. Of course.
Granted, out of courtesy itself, Elsa has often turned her gaze the other way and acted like nothing has happened. Gerda had taught both Elsa and Anna enough on how to protect themselves when engaging in matters of the flesh; she can only assume Kristoff had gotten the same conversation from his own Troll parents. Both of them know how to take care of themselves, know how to act around each other in public, so as not to attract whispers and scandal. Saves Elsa the trouble of getting involved.
Sometimes, though, Queen Elsa finds herself watching the blooming couple, and her hands clench in her lap. She finds herself remembering being sixteen and sneaking away from her room (prison) to secret, summer rendezvous. She remembers sweet words, warm fingers, freckles on slightly dark skin, and a lush mouth meant for kissing—meant for only Elsa to kiss. She remembers laughter, a beaming smile, and wide hazel eyes that looked up at her with glints of mischief and passion.
Yes, sometimes, Queen Elsa sees Anna with Kristoff and remembers her own romance, as doomed as it turned out. She remembers, and the envy bubbles so much inside her, there’s almost an ache.
Writing about it all has helped over the years, and it still helps. Especially at night, when the memories and visions are most potent. All she has to do is close her eyes, and there they are:
“My name is Marie, of Orléans. Please, do not call me Sun Princess. I don’t understand why my father had that put on the guest list. I haven’t been called that since I was a child!” Laughter.
“My father and I are staying her for the summer!” Grabs hand. “Won’t it be fun, Elsa? Oh, may I call you Elsa? Great!” Smile. “I know we’ll be great friends.”
Hands removing her gloves, small tan fingers lacing with her pale, cool ones. “I quite love your hands, my Princess. Please, do not hide them from me anymore.”
They are little moments, little moments that flash from the past. But to Elsa, they mean so much, even when they induce that familiar hollow ache. And so, when they come, she sits down at her desk, picks up her quill, and records everything.