Elsa sat quietly, drumming her fingers. Waiting.

She did what she always did when she was made to wait, making shapes in the snow on the table. It was like her own personal zen garden. What in god's name could be taking so long?

It was always this way with Anna. Late. Perpetually late. Then, she'd inevitably burst forth from the hallway, full of excitement and wonder; never once even considered the ramifications of making Elsa, the fucking queen for god's sake, late.

I wonder what she wanted to talk about this time, she thought. Anna had set up the meeting two days ago. Likely another suitor had caught her eye and, typical Anna would've fallen for the fellow.

How many husbands had she had? Elsa, astonishingly, could not remember. It had to have been 5 by now. Did you count Hans? Not really. Ah... Hans. Even though he'd tried to capture and kill Elsa, not to mention take over the kingdom, she'd grown to like Hans over the years.

Hans fixed things that needed fixing. When importers realized the ports of Arendelle were so much more advantageous to ship to and from, they left the Southern Isles (of which Hans was now king) like an old handkerchief. That meant, that Hans needed Elsa more than she needed him. Quash a peasant rebellion on the outskirts of town? Hans did it. Murder Clareance of Roth, husband #3 (or #4)? Hans did it.

Not that Hans, that tricky dog, hadn't tried to woo Elsa years after trying to kill her. He had. Lustfully, but Elsa, per usual had given him what all suitors termed "the cold shoulder."

Sex just wasn't an option. Would any man risk a frozen dick? Furthermore, what would happen? Hell, that one time she masturbated back when she was 15 resulted in four feet of powder. What was she going to do, have sex with Olaf?

No, she wouldn't. She would, naturally, just stay a frigid bitch.

And that was when Anna burst in.