Clean Up This Mess, Countess

To: Viola Mundilfari, The Grand House, 4 Assembly Avenue, Arendelle

From: Peony Sinclair, Marble Hall, 1 Conduit Road, Hong Kong Island

My dear Vi, my Countess Mundilfari.

Story art by Alanna (@alhuart)

It’s been many moons since we last exchanged words, let alone met. It seems you’ve had your hands full over in Arendelle, now that you’re that kingdom’s prime minister. You’ve focused our eyes on your leader, Anna, ever since you burned down the Southern Isles. You’re as impulsive and devil-may-care as always. It’s perhaps why His Imperial Highness wanted you to join us, hoping to rein you in as a member of the Exalted.

I, for one, knew that you couldn’t be tamed. There are few nobles in the courts of Asia and Europe more charming and irresistible than you. You’ve left not a few broken hearts and damaged souls – women and men alike – in your destructive wake.

I miss our brief but intense time together. Do you even remember our encounter in that nobleman’s ballroom in Munich? Do you have any memory of the fragrance I wore for you?

A memory for another time, perhaps. I have orders from Lord Yixin.

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Fjord Times Exclusive: Interview with a British Delegate in Arendelle

It’s a wonderful morning, but I can’t enjoy it. After months of covering international stocks, I’m on my first real interview. 

The Persian is tall, impeccably dressed and with brilliant olive skin. I find him overseeing the bustling docks like a man planning on buying it all. His face lights up, though his handshake is measured. I squeeze his hand. The flesh is like stone. 

He immediately gets to talking. He’s magnetic, making his business theories sound as sacred as creeds. The accent is Queen’s English, but he clearly and accurately pronounces foreign words as most Englishmen cannot.

My purpose here seems simple – to whittle away some of the mysterious visitor’s mystery.

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History made as Queen Victoria Visits Arendelle

By Torsten, Reporter for The Arendelle Guardian

Art by @inArendelle, Arendellian royal artist 

History was made in Arendelle today as Queen Victoria of Great Britain and Ireland arrived at our shores this afternoon.

The sovereign of the British Empire was welcomed personally by Queen Anna and a full cannon salute from Her Majesty’s flagship and General Mattias’ warships. The two monarchs will share a state dinner at the palace tonight, before being given a full tour of the kingdom tomorrow. Queen Anna will also take her to the North Mountain to visit Marshmallow and the snowgies’ home.

Victoria’s second night will be occupied entirely by a grand ball at Arendelle castle, with most of Arendelle’s political, economic, cultural, and civic elites invited to pay homage to both monarchs.

High society is alight with gossip about how Victoria will get on with Honeymaren, the new Head Liaison of Northuldra-Arendelle Affairs and Anna’s de facto foreign secretary.

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Queen Anna, Shaper of History

It was raining lightly.

I didn’t bother with an umbrella. I hurried towards Arendelle Castle’s courtyard. Shrouded in darkness, with only the lamps to provide light, the guards saw me and quickly stood aside. I rushed into the plaza and headed straight for the main door, where an attendant awaited. I allowed him to take my damp coat, thanking him quickly. I strode to the dining room, my high-heeled boots tapping lightly through the carpeted corridors of the palace. I walked into the high-ceilinged room, where Her Majesty and Kristoff were standing by the fireplace silently. Kristoff’s arm was around Anna’s, and when I stepped forward, he looked at me and moved back, releasing his wife.

“Evening, Your Majesty. How are you, Kristoff?” I said grimly, unconsciously running a hand through my damp hair. I shared a brief nod with the royal consort. Kristoff and I both had an interest in watching over Anna, and he was a partial stockholder of The Arendelle Guardian.

Still in her pink nightgown, her red hair draping down her shoulders, Anna slowly turned to me, her eyes tired. “You’re not usually late, chief,” she said, addressing me by the joke title given to me by my junior journalists. She didn’t wait for my reply before turning back to watch the crackling fire and burning wood.

“I was dining at the Nokk Club with the editors of the other papers,” I replied, although I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to explain myself. She knew where my regular haunt was. Perhaps it was because the queen seemed unusually exhausted and drained.

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