A Wedding, A Disaster.

Elsa was still on the floor.

She was on her chest and sprawled out like a corpse, staring up at the giant temple ceiling like maybe, just maybe, God—or whatever it was that they served– would take pity on her and kill her right then and there.

But no. She was still here, alive and well.

The crowd was dead silent, staring at her like she had just committed a war crime instead of tripping on a stair.

The priestess had her mouth wide open too, obviously still frozen and probably questioning her entire life choices.

Elsa on the other hand was debating whether to just roll under the nearest pew and live there forever. Or maybe she should just pretend to have fainted.

And then as if her misery clearly wasn't enough, Iris spoke up, as the 'ever the helpful voice of support.'

"I honestly don't know whether I should congratulate you for this dramatic entrance or offer you an award for your flawless performance in the 'falling-on-your-face' category."

Elsa squeezed her eyes shut. "You know," she hissed internally, "I could still throw myself out of a window or something. That's an option."

"I wouldn't recommend it though," Iris replied smoothly. "Knowing your luck, you'd survive and end up in an even worse situation. You have a knack for bad luck."

Before she could decide between fake fainting or just lying there until the ceremony got canceled, a hand suddenly extended toward her.

Warm. Firm. Unwanted.

And it belonged to the worst person possible, the one person she did not actually expect to help her at all.

Tristan.

"You know," he mused, his grip steady as he pulled her up like she weighed nothing, "anyone would be nervous about facing my father's death stare. I can hardly blame you for your… graceful fall."

He had the usual smirk on his face. That smug, arrogant, insufferable smirk.

Elsa wished she could punch it off his face, but then he offered some help, did he not?

The crowd, now that someone had given them permission to breathe, let out a collective chuckle. Elsa barely heard it. She was too busy trying to not combust on the spot.

And she definitely wasn't looking at the king. She could not bring herself to do that. It seemed like she would turn into a block of salt if she dared to.

She could already feel the disappointment radiating off him even without looking at him, like she'd personally offended his ancestors. Which, honestly, she probably had. The man looked like he was debating whether to execute her or just pretend this never happened.

And Elsa thought that was the worst of it.

Then the priestess decided to finally get the show moving, she seemed to have had enough drama for the day too. She proceeded with the rites and everything else that Elsa found weird but did not dare talk, she felt it was better this way than to make another mockery of herself so she okayed along with every single thing she was asked to do until—

"To seal the ceremony, you may now kiss your bride, your majesty."

It was at this point that Elsa's brain short-circuited. Her eyes flickered to the king at that exact moment for the first time since the rites had started and then back to the floor. Then to literally anywhere else.

Kiss?

KISS?

Oh. OH. NO.

Her face drained of color so fast that even she was surprised she had not passed out on the spot yet.

Kiss the king? The old, terrifying, possibly-soulless king? How? How was that supposed to happen?

Was she expected to just lean in? Was he going to grab her? Did he even want to do this in the first place? Was this needed to be done given the type of period? Was the universe simply messing with her?

Elsa's hands fisted at her sides. The entire court was watching. The entire kingdom was watching.

Yet Elsa was simply about to have a full-blown crisis.

Just as Elsa had finally mentally prepared herself for the horror of this unholy kiss—fate, in a rare act of mercy, intervened.

The priestess collapsed.

She fully crumpled. One second, she was standing there at the altar explaining and making rites and the next thing, she went down like an old curtain giving up on life.

For a second, nobody moved, it was as if they were all trying to vet if this was a dream or it actually happened. And then the next second, it was a total pandemonium.

People screamed. Someone gasped so dramatically it could have won an award. Courtiers rushed toward the fallen priestess, yelling about getting a healer, a doctor—anyone.

And Elsa? She just stood there, frozen and blinking, her brain buffering.

What the hell just happened?

"Oh, thank God," she breathed before she could stop herself. She was so relieved that she could have gladly kissed the floor at that moment, as long as it was not the king.

Was it horrible that she was feeling this much joy at someone else's medical emergency? Absolutely. Was she going to hell for it? Probably.

But did she care? Not even a little.

Someone somewhere yelled for a physician. The crowd descended into chaos and the rest of the wedding was officially derailed.

Elsa was swiftly ushered out of the temple, practically dragged away before she could even fully process the fact that she had miraculously avoided the kiss. She barely had time to celebrate before she was shoved into some chamber—

—where her mother was unfortunately, already waiting.

And she looked very much pissed.

"You absolute disgrace!" her mother shrieked the second the door slammed shut. "Do you have any idea what you have just done?! Do you know the gravity of the stupidity you put on today? Do you know how furious the king is?!"

Elsa, still reeling from everything that had happened in barely hours, just stared at her.

What did she want her to do? Rewind and redo everything correctly? Or better still, resurrect the priestess?

"Mo–uh," Elsa stopped herself, deciding against calling the stranger her mother, she was not going to start pretending with that, at least not yet. 

"What do you want me to say?" Elsa exhaled, rubbing her face. "Do you want me to start looking for a place to hide. You know, somewhere far away from the king? Maybe underground?"

Lady Agatha was not amused. In fact, she looked like she was about to start throwing any furniture nearest to her.

"You know," Iris chimed in casually, "you're probably going to be killed. The king seems like the type to hold grudges."

Elsa's heart sank. "What?" she hissed internally.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll be fine," Iris continued, way too relaxed about this. "Worst case scenario? He hangs your head in the town square. And personally, I think it'll be a good character-building for you, really."

Elsa groaned, her palms pressed to her temples. "Iris. You're so not helping right now, so can you shut it."

The door swung open cutting through her thoughts and a servant, visibly sweating, entered. She wouldn't even look her in the eye.

"Your Majesty," she said, bowing low. "The king requests your presence. Immediately."

At this, Elsa's stomach did a full Olympic dive.

Oh, fantastic. This was it. Her execution.

Iris, of course with her lack of self-preservation instincts decided to offer one last 'encouraging' thought. "Think of the positive part of this, at least you didn't have to kiss him."

Elsa let out a weak laugh. She wasn't sure if that was a joke or a silver lining. Either way, it didn't matter. She took a deep breath, straightened her spine, and walked out to meet her fate.