A Past She Didn’t Write.

Elsa stared at him, her mind was spinning so badly. His words echoed again and again, each syllable ringing in her ears like a bad joke. 

… Yesterday? What the hell is he talking about?

"Excuse me?" she finally snapped, her voice sharper than she actually intended. She took a step back, water still dripping from the ruined hem of her soaked, butchered wedding dress. "I think you have the wrong person."

The man let out a low, bitter laugh, even though there was nothing remotely amusing about the situation they both were in. Nothing at all.

His sharp jaw clenched, "Oh, stop insulting me with such feigned ignorance," he said, stepping in closer, if it were even possible anymore. His presence was like a wall, towering over her like he was waiting for her to fold. "Stand there if you must, but do not pretend you do not recall what you have done."

Elsa held her ground. "Well, I'm telling you that I really don't recall," she shot back, irritated. "And while we're at it—who even are you in the first place? Let's start there, shall we?"

That stopped him dead. 

His eyes narrowed, something dark flickering behind them, like a sword being taken out of its cover. "Who am I?" he repeated, his voice cold.

She nodded, lifting her chin. "Yes. Who are you to barge into my—uh, the bride's room, throw accusations around, and expect me to know what you're talking about?"

The air in the room turned thick and suffocating, then his lips curved into a mocking smirk, but his eyes still remained like ice. "I see," he said slowly, voice dripping with disdain. "So that is how you are playing this, uh?"

There was a pause, as if he was deciding whether to rip her apart or let her hang herself with her own words. Then—

"Very well. Allow me to remind you, Elsa." Her own name left his mouth like it was some sort of curse.

"I am Prince Tristan Grey, firstborn son of King Oswin Grey, heir to the throne you obviously want so bad. Perhaps you only know me as Tristan for I never thought it necessary to burden you with the weight of my name. A foolish choice, perhaps, though hardly a crime compared to the betrayal you so effortlessly committed."

Elsa's stomach dropped. The king's son? The same king she's to marry right now? 

And then—the rest of his words slammed into her like a train. Yesterday, you were screaming my name…

Oh. Oh no. That is so complicated!

"Wait a second," she blurted out, her heartbeat thundering against her ribs. "So you're saying that you and I…?"

His smirk widened, cruel, confident. "Oh, so you are not just a liar," he mused. "You are a coward as well. You are really going to act like you did not slip into my bed last night, begging for me to touch you—"

Elsa's face went up in flames.

"—only to turn around, end things with a stupid made up fight, and storm out before I could even speak."

Iris's voice suddenly slipped into her head, absolutely delighted. "Oof. So awkward. Sounds like the former Elsa had a bit of a wild streak, huh?"

Elsa's stomach twisted into knots. "I—I don't know what you think happened, but I definitely didn't do that!"

Her own voice betrayed her, cracking as it rose.

Tristan's expression didn't change. If anything, he just looked more amused. Elsa was five seconds away from losing her mind.

Scratch that. She had already lost it.

First, she wakes up in a world that isn't hers. Then, she gets thrown into a forced marriage to some mystery king. Now, she has this random guy standing in her face, acting like she's some cheating, manipulative harlot—

And he has receipts.

Tristan's stupidly perfect, infuriatingly arrogant face smirked down at her as he suddenly pulled a delicate golden bracelet from his pocket.

Elsa blinked. "And?"

Tristan's eyebrow shot up. "This is your bracelet. You threw it at me last night."

She squinted at it. It definitely looked expensive…But that wasn't the problem.

The problem was that she had no freaking memory of whatever he was talking about.

"Oh, you're such a useless guide," she thought toward Iris.

"Oh please, don't blame me," Iris cooed, her voice practically vibrating with glee. "This is the second chance you chose. The chaos is inbuilt, nothing I could have done."

Elsa gritted her teeth while Tristan took one slow, deliberate step forward, closing the little space between them. His eyes were dissecting her like she was some two-faced viper caught in the act.

"What's the matter, Elsa?" His lips curled in disgust. "Run out of lies already?"

"I'm not lying!" she snapped, frustration erupting before she could control it. "I don't remember any of this because… because I hit my head!"

Silence.

Tristan just stared at her. Then slowly, his eyes narrowed. 

"…You hit your head?"

"Yes!" Elsa nodded so aggressively she probably looked insane. "I fell really hard! And now everything's a blur. I barely even remember my own name, I think I might be suffering from a little memory loss due to the impact."

Iris snorted. "Smooth. Really convincing."

Elsa just ignored her.

For a moment, something flickered across Tristan's face. It was gone in a heartbeat, but she swore she saw it—

Doubt. Concern?

Tristan's face hardened again, his usual bored, condescending expression snapping right back into place. "Well," he said, cold and unimpressed. "If you think playing dumb just like you're doing with me right now will help you the same way in this marriage you are getting yourself into, then you might have to think again. Because the king doesn't tolerate this behaviour, especially not from women like you."

Elsa clenched her fists. Women like me?

"And I honestly wonder," Tristan continued, tilting his head like he was trying to make sense of a particularly stupid insect, "how you plan to get through your consummation night, considering you clearly gave your virginity to me yesterday."