White Queen

Silk and Satin

They had never discussed of it.

Had only passed through briefly between them when she had first noticed of it when he had his gloves off, of the scars that littered the palms of his hands, pale and old, questioning on why they were there, maiming him with wounds she was sure was not there by mere accident, and he had only given her the shortest answer that had silenced her from questioning further.

"Life can be hard."

After that, she never mentioned them anymore.

Yet it did not mean that it had gone completely unnoticed and off her mind.

She felt them whenever his hands brushed against her skin, harsh if compared with her soft touch, pressing against her own palms as his fingers intertwined with hers, trapping her hands in between his and the pillows underneath.

There were times when he refused to even taken his gloves off, refused to open himself before her and unrevealed his secret, and it felt as if she was looking through a mirror. For both has secrets they were hiding from the world beneath the silk of the gloves they wore, and only with each other did they finally dare to show their true form, no matter how imperfect it may be.

When she found herself in nights where she was unable to fall into the restful sleep that she needed such as this night, she would have taken hold of his hand, finger gently running over the paling scars, wondering just how much struggle he had overcome, she would find herself admiring the man that possessed the ability to reach passed the walls she had built for years, to break them and set her free of the isolation she had drowned herself in, to prove her that her heart had not been frozen the way she had thought it had.

"My brothers are not always the kindest."

The mysterious land where her husband had been born and raised held so many secrets about him, of his childhood he had never wished to bring up more than a few vague words every time she had tried to encourage him into telling, had always made her wonder of the reality behind the walls where the royal family resided each time the Southern Isles had been mentioned. What had made Hans the way he was? Gentle and yet still so full of secrets even when they were almost married for two long years.

Shifting beneath the blanket that he had pulled over the both of them until she had herself lying on her side to face him, she nestled her head against the crook of his neck, loose platinum blonde hair brushing against his jawline as his arms came to wrap around her body in such automatic way, and again she could feel the scars on his palm as his hand rested against her back, warming her skin up.

With eyes getting heavier as she watched the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, she let herself being drawn into the sleep by the lulling that soon enveloped her in nothing but the dark.

In her dream, she recognized the room all too well.

The air was chilling down her spine even when she could not feel the cold, there was no moonlight that shone through the large triangular window thus why the room was so dim that she had to truly try to look at her surrounding, the carpeted floor felt stiff as it held her down until she was unable to move from where she stood.

"Stop it," the low whisper came from the figure curled at the lounge by the window, hands balling tightly that if she was not wearing gloves her nails would have dug into her own palms and drew blood, thin layer of ice crawled on the smooth surface of the glass, and from the looks of things, it had not been something that was meant to happen. "Control yourself."

At nights like this, where she could not sleep and left to her own thoughts, often than not that she would make her way toward the window overlooking the fjord below, dark water hosting the ships that had docked in Arendelle. And she would try to practice, to learn on how to maintain the control she desperately needed over her magic, because if she was to do so then she would finally be able to let herself out of the isolation that her parents had put her through for her own sake and her sister's.

The fifteen years old girl had stood up from where she sat, clad in her light blue nightgown that matched the one her sister wore in the other bedchamber, and had faced her with such cold stare that she would have taken a step backward if she could.

"Why did they do this to us?" She had questioned, voice making her shudder from how it had sounded so ghastly. "Don't they love us?"

They do. She knew her parents loved her, just in a different way, a way to keep her and everyone else safe. Her father had told her that it was for the best, and had promised her that once she had controlled her own powers then she could not have to stay hidden any longer.

Yet the question had stung her more than she would have anticipated, for there were times where she did questioned it, of her parents method of treating her like a—

"Monster." The teenage girl had finished her own thought before she could, eyes casting downwards as she looked at her gloved hands before they flickered back at her, staring without a word until she had turned and made her way to sit back to her initial place on the lounge by the window, pulling her legs close as her arms came to wrap around them. "Don't turn yourself into them. You're better than that."

--

She marveled on how much a pair of gloves could hide.

From the simplest thing of a noble's hand to even the iciest of magic, from calloused palms of a hard worker to scars that were not meant to be seen, all sitting just beneath satins and silk that wrapped around one's hand so perfectly.

She marveled on how with her and her husband each wearing their own pair, she could not feel what he hid just as much as he was unable to feel the coldness of her touch.

After this morning's event of her waking up in a thin layer of sweat and a racing heart, -not to mention how her nails had dug into the skin of his arm as she had apparently held onto him so tightly in her sleep, Hans had questioned of her wellbeing over breakfast, one that she had lightly dismissed as a mere nightmare he did not have to worry for.

For it was nothing but a reminder for her, bitter yet needed.