In Fantasy

Chapter 6: The Dance

The prince had long since given up on trying to distract himself by rereading a Bible-length history of the Northern kingdoms in his room after dinner, and found himself almost at his wit's end as he checked his pocket watch. He had precious little time before he was expected at an evening tea with Anna and various courtiers, and then performances in the drawing room, before he could even think of attempting an escape.

He was almost grateful for the sudden interruption of Bertram when it came, the older man entering the room in an especially officious and ill-tempered manner.

The prince paused mid-step in his pacing, wearing a frown for effect. "What do you want, Bertie?"

The adviser blinked for a moment, eyeing the young man with suspicion as the doors closed behind him.

"You're still in your dinner suit? Why?"

Hans glanced down at his clothes, and blushed as he shot Bertram a glare. "I lost track of time. Why are you here?"

The older man sniffed, unconvinced. "I have urgent business," he said, and drew out a small, drawstring purse of black velvet from the inside of his coat pocket. He handed it to the prince. "This is for you."

Hans's frown deepened. "What is it?"

"A gift from your dear old Uncle Bert," the adviser sneered, ignoring Hans's look of disdain. "Just open it."

Curiosity getting the better of him, the young man complied, pulling the strings of the bag apart and shaking its contents into his open palm.

A single bronze key fell into his hand, its edges dulled from age but still evidently the work of a master craftsman, given the delicate flower designs etched into its center.

He eyed Bertram with a piqued brow. "What is it for?"

The adviser gestured for Hans to put it back in the bag, glancing at either side of the room before replying in just above a murmur: "The key to the king's private study, in the west wing of the castle. Slipped to me by one of his trusted servants—or rather, one of your father's trusted eyes and ears."

Hans feigned amazement. "So Mads turned someone after all?" he asked, receiving a sharp scowl from his companion. "And so? What am I to do with it?"

"Get in there and find something useful to bring back to His Majesty, obviously," Bertram hissed.

The prince looked bored. "Can't one of his other lackeys he has planted in the palace do it? The princess is expecting me in a few minutes, and then I'm due to hobnob with some dreadful lords and ladies after that—"

"I'm not saying you have to do it now," Bertram cut him off, glowering. "And his 'lackeys,' as you call them, are all otherwise engaged with other tasks. Besides," the older man continued, "it might look odd for a servant to go skulking around the west wing of the palace. You, on the other hand, are an official guest here—the future king of Arendelle, no less." He crossed his arms, eyeing Hans pointedly. "The guards would think nothing of you exploring your future property."

"I won't be king until Agnarr is dead," Hans reminded the older man, who rolled his eyes. "You seem to think you're the only one watching me around here, but I'm sure they're having me followed as well. Undoubtedly they suspect me capable of the same trickery as my father." He shook his head. "What you're asking of me isn't possible, Bertie."

The adviser served his prince a withering look. "Perhaps you'd prefer I told His Majesty that you had been given this valuable item, and squandered the opportunity to use it because it 'isn't possible,' or because you've suddenly been struck by some misbegotten notion of pride?"