My voice sounded out just before Count Wagner's son could kick the woman in the stomach. That wouldn't have been pleasant to watch.

"You! Hold it right there."

The boy wheeled around, raring for a fight, before spotting the baton in my hand and flinching. Instead of provoking the armed man -- good move -- he began slowly backing away with his hands in the air under the steady gazes of my guards. I'm actually not too sure how he'd have responded if they weren't there; for now, all I could do was be grateful that they were. Of course, if the worst came to pass, I still had a pistol and a knife as an insurance policy.

Not sure how shooting a Count's son -- no matter how well-deserved -- would go down, however.

I motioned Rosenberg and his partner over after making sure that the boy would neither run nor try something stupid. It wasn't like the former would have helped him; I could authorize his arrest at his family's estate(s), or have the guards forming my perimeter stop him. Still, it'd make my job easier if I could deal with him right after ensuring the woman's safety: my agents would have to do 'less legwork', as Elise would say.

Both figuratively and literally.

"Sergeant, check the waitress for injuries," I said to Rosenberg. "In case of any severe ones, get her to the hospital. Don't worry about me."

"Aye, sir." He gave me a quick salute, before turning to his partner "You, greenhorn! Stick with the primary, am I clear?"

"Yes, Sergeant!" The apparent 'greenhorn' gave a curt nod, his eyes never leaving the Count's son and his gaggle of cronies. Commendable professionalism. These men were highly trained; I would be lying if I said my chest didn't puff out a little bit with pride.

Satisfied, Rosenberg gave me a nod and kneeled to pick the woman up in a bridal carry. He gingerly opened the door to the restaurant before setting her down on a vacant chair. I couldn't see what he did after that -- likely went to get ice and basic medical supplies to perform first aid. Good, that was the first problem taken care of.

Now to deal with the second.

I exhaled slowly, before adjusting myself so I stood face to face with the Wagner boy. My next words came out slowly, and by the reactions of the crowd around us, very, very menacingly.

"Now what the hell do you think you're doing."

He scoffed, though it was all bravado. The poor boy was trying to look brave and failing miserably -- you could tell he was nervous by his slightly pale complexion. His obvious lack of confidence didn't seem to deter him from attempting to deliver biting one-liners, however; if anything, he amped his sorry attempts to compensate for a lack of spine.

How utterly pathetic.

"The same could be asked of yourself. So?"

"My job," I replied tersely. "I am doing my job when I should have a day off. And as for yourself?"

The look on his pretty little face was priceless. I would be hard-pressed to suppress my laughter if the situation weren't any less appropriate. As it stood, I smothered my amusement, drew myself taller, and gave him a scathing glare. He couldn't meet it and flinched away. Coward.

Still, I will applaud him for the remarkably short time he took to formulate a response. At least whatever sorry excuse of etiquette lessons he received taught him to maintain composure under pressure. That, or he was still high on his earlier wave of braggadocio -- with his behavior in mind, the latter seemed far more likely.

"Teaching a damn peasant a lesson. And who the hell are you to interfere with the business of a Count's son?" The Wagner boy screamed, though it came out more like a series of piteous shrieks. "I suggest you back off now, officer -- lest my father takes your head!"

Was he serious? He couldn't be. There was no way he got through day-to-day life by pulling rank. Surely, the legends regarding such idiots were the product of myths and superstition. A walking, talking human being could never be so stupid? Right? I gave him a stare and he responded with a defiant puff of his chest.

I suppose I was wrong. There was a specimen of such lacking intelligence standing right before me: quick, someone put him in the zoo!

My eyes wandered to his group of friends standing to the side. Their reactions were a mix of horrified, bemused, and irritated -- the horrified ones likely recognized the uniforms my guards wore. Good. I could count on them not to interfere with what came next. At a snap of my fingers, the guard beside me withdrew a pair of handcuffs and a gag and began advancing towards the loudmouthed lout opposite of me. Members of the crowd noticeably shuffled to my left -- it appears some of the guards forming a perimeter moved closer to cover me. Excellent initiative.

The Wagner boy looked at the guard move towards him, eyes full of fear and desperation. "W-what are you doing?" He stammered out. "Don't touch me, you filthy commoner!"

I shook my head and began walking back toward my family. Lunch had been put off for too long. Elise must have been starving. The guard I sent forward ignored his provocations and attempted to restrain him. When I glanced back, he was having some difficulty doing that: the Wagner boy was putting up a formidable resistance by wildly thrashing around. At that point, I would have just used my baton to beat him into submission, but the guard was obviously careful not to overly injure the boy.

Courteous, but a mistake.

Suddenly, Wagner's son broke free by staggering him with a well-aimed kick to the knee. Instead of running in the opposite direction, through the crowd -- which would have bought him a few minutes at best -- he made a mad dash towards me, fist cocked back, ready to strike. To his credit, his footsteps were muffled by the white noise of commercial activity, and he retained the element of surprise by making an otherwise silent approach. The cries of alarm from assorted spectators would have been far too late to act on.

I would have suffered a minor concussion if his strike connected. If I were alone, then he might have won the fight -- I wouldn't fancy my chances fighting my way out of an ambush.

Unfortunately for him, I was not alone. The guards who moved to cover me sprang into action. Quick as lightning, one of them drew their baton and interceded on my behalf before I could even turn around. By the time I managed to face the apparent threat, all I could see was the Wagner boy staggering back while clutching a bloody, ruined nose, tears streaming down his face, cursing ineffectually all the while.

The crowd hushed, stunned by the apparent brutality of the attack. The guard was unfazed -- he merely flicked errant droplets of blood off his weapon before continuing to advance on the retreating boy.

"My father will have you hanged! You i-imbecile! How dare you strike me!" His pained protests were ignored, the apparent hypocrisy of his statement glossed over. The guard who deflected his initial strike wordlessly raised his baton and loosed a vicious swing towards the boy's jaw. It connected with a sickening crack.

"Mmm-auuuuuugh!"

Wagner's son reeled back, continuing to scream incoherently through a broken jaw. His assailant snorted contemptuously before moving to help his comrade to his feet. Together, they managed to subdue the boy after a fashion -- and a small pool of blood on the sidewalk -- before wheeling around to salute me.

"Sir, the threat has been neutralized." They stood the now handcuffed and unconscious boy up and unceremoniously marched him to my position. "What would you have us do with him?" One of them reached around to pull his head up for emphasis. The only thing that did was bare his ruined face for the world to see.

"Well, for one-" I replied tiredly, over the gasps of the crowd. "Take him to the hospital. You did a number on him." I pointed to the boy's jaw and bloodstained clothes. "After that, one of you notify the Gendarmerie and have his warrant drawn up for assault of a private citizen and unlawful property damage."

"Not for assaulting the Minister of the Interior, sir?" The guards asked in unison, before giving each other a stare. Eventually, one of them cleared his throat before speaking again. "I apologize, sir, but such an action carries the death sentence. Are you certain you want to let him go?"

I sighed irritatedly. "I came here to get lunch, not see to an execution."

The crowd around me let out a sigh of relief, and my guards saluted and went off to carry out their orders. No one stood in my way as I marched to the Pearl Gardens, family in tow.

No one said a word.

--

"Rosenberg, these dumplings are delicious."

When we arrived at the restaurant, I offered to pay for the entire entourage -- the guards laughed, knowing that the cost of their meals will be billed to the Interior Ministry headquarters. So did I, of course: I was the one who instituted the policy. All active-duty guardsmen involved with the personal security of a VIP had their meals paid for, within reason.

You couldn't expect a sergeant in the army to make enough to cover back-to-back luxury meals, after all. I mean, you could, if you also expected him to live with the bare minimum otherwise. Obviously, I didn't: employee satisfaction was an important metric. Might as well give them the best you could; doubly so if said employees were involved in the personal safety of the Empire's most important government officials.

The worst kind of guard was not an incompetent one -- no, that'd be a close second -- but a vengeful one.

So, anyway, we were seated in groups of twos, threes, and fours. I dragged Rosenberg along to sit with my family; call me paranoid, but my nerves were still a tad frayed from the earlier altercation. While I betrayed no hints of alarm on the surface, I was still tense: my eyes scanned the room constantly, even as I tried to make small talk. Despite the relatively secure environment, the extra security would not be amiss.

"Aye, sir. Makes me wonder why we didn't establish trade earlier. These are well worth their weight in gold," He speared another one with his fork, and admired its oily surface appreciatively. "I mean sir, let's be real. What would you rather have? Two pounds of this or two pounds of gold? I'd take the former any day. Can't bite bullion -- trust me, I've tried it. Lost a tooth and my pay that way."

I chuckled. "True enough, and spoken like a soldier. Food and drink, the two gods of your life, huh?" Rosenberg nodded, before taking a sip of his beer and flashing me a toothy smile. Sure enough, one of them was missing. I doubt it was because he bit gold, though -- likely bit a toothache instead,

"You make me sound like a barbarous pagan!" He took a big bite of the dumpling he had captured, chewed, then polished the rest off before swallowing. "Which I am. These would turn any God-fearing man into the filthiest infidel, I'm telling you!"

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

"I'm not disagreeing, Sergeant." I paused to take a bite of my own dumpling, before washing the taste of fried dough away with a splash of wine. "My reactions are just a bit more subdued than yours. I have an image to maintain, you old front hog."

He shrugged off my playful needling.

"Of course, sir. Tenda' become one when you spend damn near a quarter of your life fightin' one battle after another. Small wonder I'm not dead actually." He sipped his beer contemplatively. "Ah well, at least I have some good stories to tell and a few scars to show off. Can't say for same for you pretentious noble brats."

"I will ignore the deliberate insult to my honor." I sniffed delicately while he tried miserably to suppress a smile. "But I've been dying to ask: do the plots of your stories revolve around you getting shot at? Perhaps your friends getting shot at?"

"Of course. All the best ones go something like that." He shrugged. "Gotta have some action. Ain't no fun listening to a buncha idiots sitting round' a fire roastin' horse flesh."

"You'll have to forgive me for not wanting in, then. Sounds like a fun experience all around, though. What a shame." I replied sarcastically while sipping my glass of wine. "Terrible shame."

Rosenberg chuckled heartily. "Aw, don't be sad, sir! I've been told you almost got hit in the back of the head today!" He punctuated his point by miming a fist colliding with the side of his face. "Not quite like that, but I'm sure being the Minister of the Interior has its own share of excitement."

"It sure does, Sergeant."

We fell into a companionable silence, and I took a moment to survey the room. All the other guards were engrossed in their own conversations, though at least one per person per table kept track of the nearest entrance. Elise was quietly sitting and nibbling on her food -- very despondently, might I add -- while Mother slowly stroked her hair. That was unusual: she's typically more cheerful and energetic. Was she under the weather? Or was it something else? Repeated glances at her sullen expression revealed nothing, except for the fact that she was sulking.

My thoughts were interrupted by the waiter setting down our entrees. Lunch was delicious, though I couldn't help but worry that something was wrong. Sensing the change in my mood, Rosenberg stayed silent for the rest of the meal.

We all did. The only thing you could hear was the clinking of utensils and coins.

--

We -- meaning Mother and Elise -- decided to forgo whatever activities previously planned for the afternoon and instead head home. Considering everything that happened? A sensible decision. The idiocy of one particularly idiotic noble scion has turned what would have been a pleasant day off into a melancholic mess. What a bother.

As we headed to the motorcade parked a few streets away, Elise practically attached herself to my arm, but not in a playful fashion like in the morning. No, she seemed anxious and scared, though I don't know what from. Well, I had a few ideas -- mostly involving one of my guards caving in the Wagner boy's jaw -- but didn't broach them with my sister in the middle of the street. Such topics were far better discussed in the secure confines of an armored staff car, away from prying eyes and listening ears.

I gently prodded her forward, and she reluctantly obeyed while still clinging to my arm, which had the unintentional consequence of making me stumble. She gasped in surprise, expecting a rebuke that would never be forthcoming. I couldn't bring myself to criticize her in the best of times, and most certainly not now when she was so somber. Instead, I swung her legs up and picked her up in a bridal carry -- sitting her on my shoulders would make her susceptible to sniper fire. That would have been an unacceptable result.

She snuggled up against my chest. It was endearing, in the most painful possible.

When we got to our car, I gently let her down so she could get in before me. A wordless exchange with my mother -- a conversation using our eyebrows instead of our mouths -- had her taking the passenger seat normally occupied by me. I went into the back with Elise -- she clearly wanted to be close to me for something.

It was almost definitely related to her depressive state.

The moment I shut the door behind me, Elise enveloped me in a tight hug, which I awkwardly returned. I stroked her hair as she drew herself closer -- did today's events shake her that badly? That question was answered when she nuzzled her way to my chest and buried herself there, never loosening her grip on my arm. It was quite painful, but I didn't complain -- if it made her feel better, it made her feel better.

Still, might as well ask the question now, and break the awkward silence.

"Sister, are you alright?"

"No." was the succinct reply. She snuggled her way closer, so her next words came out muffled. "Not at all. Do I look alright?"

I sighed. "You don't. But what's wrong, little spitfire? You aren't often like this." I paused for a moment to collect myself. "Please tell me, Elise -- I've been worried since before lunch." That wasn't a lie either. Ever since I saw her slip into the state she was in now, her situation was always at the back -- or the front, as it is now -- of my mind.

"Don't worry about me." She snorted and shook her head. It tickled my bosom. "The problem is you."

"Me?"

"Yes, you." She raised a hand and poked my nose, before putting it back down and hugging me even tighter. I didn't think that was possible and let out a short cough, which only caused her to tighten her grip again. Naturally, due to the rather constrictive nature of her embrace, I was a bit short on oxygen as I choked out my response.

"Well, what did I do?" I ruffled her hair while chuckling -- more like wheezing, but semantics. "I'll try on a few more outfits for you if you'd like. How about that, hm?"

"Bribery will get you nowhere." She replied evenly. "But seriously, you need to stop throwing yourself into trouble."

"Pardon?" That was unexpected. "I fail to see what you mean by that."

"Really? Am I going to have to spell it out for you?" Elise scoffed. "You aren't very intelligent for someone who does so much."

"Really, Elise. Please."

"Well, fine. That incident with Count Wagner's son."

"I wasn't in major risk at any point during that encounter, though?" I raised my eyebrow. That was what she was concerned over? There was at least one guard covering me at any point in time. Any overt aggression against my person would have been responded to with small-arms fire or a well-timed baton to the face. "You don't have to worry about me, Elise. I take many precautions to ensure that I am perfectly safe."

"He almost punched you!" She nearly screamed though it was still muffled since she glued herself to me. Then, she added in a quieter voice. "What if you got hurt?"

"I wouldn't have. Rosenberg and his men were there -- he's still here now, see?"

"And if they weren't?"

I let out an exhausted sigh.

"Then I would have gotten hurt. It wouldn't have been life-threatening and would be considered an altogether acceptable injury. The Wagner boy would then have to contend with the death penalty for striking a high Imperial official." I replied with just a slight tremor in my voice, hoping my words were reassuring, even if the tone I delivered them in wasn't.

Elise looked up, her previously downcast face contorted in rage. "Acceptable? That's all you have to say?" I swallowed nervously, but managed to stammer out half a response-

"I fail to see the prob-"

Before I was angrily interrupted.

"Then you're blind, you idiot! So getting punched in the face is 'acceptable' today, huh? What's going to be acceptable tomorrow? Losing a limb? The day after -- your life?"

My sister stared at me expectantly for an answer. I couldn't offer one, so she continued on. By this point, she was half sobbing into my shirt, and the only thing I could do was rock her gently as I held her. Her next words came out in a barely audible whisper.

"I don't want to lose you."

"And I don't want to die either," I answered solemnly. "At least until you get married, Elise -- then I can die in peace."

She laughed: a bitter, grating sound. "Don't -- promise me you won't." She tilted her head slightly, so she could give me a good view of her tear-filled eyes. "Please."

I looked away, my own eyes beginning to water. This was completely unfair; I had no good answer to give. "I cannot, sister. I am sorry."

"Why?" She croaked in disbelief. "Why not, Fredrich?" Her head rose to rest on my shoulder.

There was a pause as we both tried to compose ourselves. Before she could say something else, I proceeded with my response.

"Because tomorrow, it might be just as you say -- that my life is appropriate collateral for achieving an objective. Because tomorrow, I may be asked to walk out and die -- that is my duty as a servant of the Empire. I am sorry, Elise -- I truly am -- but I cannot promise you what I cannot freely give. And that is my own life."

Elise sobbed harder into my chest and squeezed me yet again. I let out a pained cough and tried to blink my tears away. I did not succeed.

"Then promise me you will not run recklessly into danger like you did today."

"I will try not to."

"No, you won't." She sighed and wiped her nose on my inner shirt. "You're lying. But please, don't just think about the Empire or others -- think about yourself and your family. Where would we be if we lost you, Fredrich? We love you, Fredrich, so please -- please, just, just -- don't die."

That was the second time today I've been told that. The second time. I couldn't even muster a response at that point -- I simply continued to hold Elise and quietly let my tears fall. They joined together with my sister's -- a little lake of our sorrow spilled out onto the hard leather seats.

The water of the lake was made bitter by the knowledge that I could promise her nothing but only try everything. I will do all I can today to keep tragedy at bay; tomorrow, I will pray that I have done enough.

One day, Elise, you will not need to cry for me. One day, none of our lives will be on the line. One day, we can all sing, laugh, and be happy all the same.

One day, the Federation will burn, just like the rest of the Empire's enemies, and our troubles will be forgotten.

One day, one day. Until that day comes.

The car drove on, tires skidding softly along the worn asphalt road.

No one said a word.