I also commented to Lord Palmerin that I had been in Toussaint for a relatively short time and this was the first time I could remember a night going past without there being a ball or a party of some kind.

He laughed at that. He told me that it was actually quite common for there to be a pause for a few days after the last big ball so that people would remember it more. Then he grinned at me and wondered what my presented art form was going to be for the party the day after tomorrow.

Apparently, he can play a tin whistle.

Natanis the Succubus laughed at him. Apparently her art form would be presented behind closed doors.

Palmerin blushed at that.

I was tired that night and I had a dreamless sleep. Only to be woken up again by a grinning Kerrass.

“Come on,” he declared, “we're late.”

I stared at the smiling Witcher for a long time that morning. “What's got into you?” I demanded, but then the answer became obvious and I gasped. “You got laid.”

He sighed in dissappointment. “You stole my thunder there Freddie, I was going to make a joke about something getting into someone else instead.”

I gazed at him flatly as I stirred the honey into my porridge. I might prefer my tea relatively sour but I prefer a lot of honey in my porridge. Go figure. “That's disgusting Kerrass.”

“Yes it is. Now hurry up and eat your breakfast so that we can go and train, then we're going to come back here and I'm going to tell you all about it in excruciating detail.”

“Can we not? I mean, I'm just having breakfast.”

“Freddie, in the not too distant future, you are going to marry your Vampiric sweetheart and all the repressed sexual energy that the two of you have been buttoning up and swallowing for the last year is going to come boiling out of you in a torrent. Honestly Freddie, have you even been laid since Marion?”

“My understanding is that it's Lady Marion nowadays and I have not. Not that it's any of your business but certainly not since Ariadne agreed to marry me. That and...”

“I don't think that she counts. Not really although she would be really angry with me if she heard me say that.”

“Perish the thought.”

“So you're going to get all gooey, both literally and figuratively, with your Vampiric wife and lover as you both give in to the...what... nearly two years of sexual tension?”

I said nothing and used the pause to shovel more porridge into my mouth.

“So you will forgive me if I enjoy telling you all about my own sexual conquests a bit. Especially one that has been quite this amount of fun.”

“Where is Ariadne anyway?” I wondered, looking around the room.

“Apparently, she and Laurelen had an errand to run. Mark is sleeping in as he's made himself quite tired over the last few days and Emma has meetings.”

“She always has meetings.” It was not a sour comment, more of a teasing one.

“Yeah, but that's the way of things. Are you done?”

I looked at his uncharacteristically cheerful face. “Are you babysitting me?” I wondered.

“Yes.” Kerrass said with a smile. “I'm not even going to hide it. Yes, I am babysitting you. Just as I was yesterday and Ariadne took over in the afternoon. To be fair though, the last time you wandered off by yourself, you fainted and hit your head.”

“True.” I admitted while utterly failing to ask if there was any other reason that I was being looked after and escorted everywhere.

We went outside and trained for a few hours. Mostly things about building up stamina. Again, I was staggeringly lacking in this area but there was another problem that I was struggling with. Namely that I was getting emotional in the middle of the combat training. As Kerrass and I fought, ir as I worked the training dummies, I was astonished to find tears pricking at the back of my eyes and found the breath shuddering in my throat.

Kerrass would always spot it and lead me off to another activity. The drills were bad as well although that was for a different reason. In going through the same movements over and over again, I found my mind wanting to drift and with the aches and pains in my limbs, my mind seemed to want me to go to some quite unpleasant and painful places.

“What's happening Kerrass?” I asked, relatively calmly as the tears began to stream down my face.

“There's a technical term for it.” He said calmly as he handed me a skin of water with the smallest hint of wine in order to purify. “Although I do not know what it is.”

“It's called emotional resonance, or occasionally, emotional context.” Said another, much more unwelcome voice. “No don't get up Lord Frederick. I can tell that you are too weak right now for proper pleasantries.”

I looked into the sneering face of of Sir Raoul Le Blanc who had come onto the training field. Even his arming jacket was white and again, like his formal attire had been, it was absolutely spotless. How they all managed that is something that I will never know. I can well imagine him getting changed into things just out of sight. Just round the corner there would be a group of servants who's job it is to get him into all of these things so that he appears spotless and pristine. Then they will take it all off him when he was done training before putting a new jacket on and wandering off down the corridor, still looking pristine.

“I've seen it before.” Sir Raoul went on. “It happens sometimes when a man is not strong enough for the trials that they have been through. Admittedly in my case, it is to do with men who have fallen from their horse or taken a severe injury in combat and are working to get back into their former standards. They will be training with an instructor or a training dummy and then suddenly, all the physical exertion will remind them of the time that they did this when they were hurt. So then their body and mind go back to the same place. The body will feel the pain that they felt at the time. The mind will feel the fear and the anguish and then there will be the physical results of that. Tears, shakes and so on.”

He smiled at me. Even though, had I wanted, the smile could easily have been mistaken for a sneer.

If I wanted to think of it like that.

“It is nothing to be ashamed of. It just means that you were not strong enough for the things that you went through.”

“I thank you for your concern, Sir.” I told him as I felt the first tremors take my limbs. I reached for my jacket that had been discarded when I was warming up and pulled out the medicine bottle before taking a swig. There had been nothing in anything that he had said that I could really call insult at. But he had insulted me and I desperately wanted to smack him in the face.

“Do not mention it. As you are so obviously out of commission for a while. Witcher?”

“Mmm?” Kerrass looked up.

“I have long since wanted to test my blade against a Witcher. Lord Geralt never seems to be willing to take me up on my desire to train with him. As I flatter myself that I am among the more skilled swordsmen here, would you care for a bout?”

Kerrass really wanted to I think. There was a glint in his eye that I hadn't seen in a while. The desire to cut a pricked up idiot down to size.

“No,” he said shaking his head. “I am afraid that I must care for my friend and help him work through his problems. Given that they are, at least partially, my fault.”

“Ah, I see.” Sir Raoul nodded and smiled. “A child must climb back aboard the horse after falling.”

“As you say sir.”

“Very well. I will see if I can find a couple of other people to train with. I need a couple of people to push me you see.”

“Have you tried the Knights of Saint Francesca?” I wondered before I could stop myself.

He snorted in blatant derision. “Those poor excuses for knights are a blight on the name of your sister.” He told me, just this side of a snarl. “With a couple of exceptions who were trained in the old ways, I would not even pause in my stride as I cut my way through their entire organisation. Only Guillaume would give me a real test and he was always better on a horse than he was on foot. How he managed to secure the hand of Lady Vivienne I will never know?”

“I rather thought that he loved her and showed her proper devotion.”

“Or so the story said.” Sir Raoul showed me his real sneer. “Personally I think it much more likely that the stupid bitch allowed herself to get pregnant. They certainly ran off after the wedding quick enough to disguise a mistimed pregnancy. Rumours of the time said that Guillaume was in and out of her tent regularly at night.”

“Which might confirm the rumours of genuine and heartfelt love.” I said. Not really wanting to listen to this much further.

“Love.” Sir Raoul sneered. “Love is unimportant next to status, wealth and security. To be honest, I have never really believed that love exists. It is an excuse for irresponsible behaviour, that is all. Lust I can understand although I cannot claim to understand what some women see in... certain men.”

I don't know who he was talking about when he said that last part. Whether it was a dig about Ariadne and I, whether it was about Lady Vivienne and her feelings for Sir Guillaume. Or whether it was a dig at Kerrass as if he knew about Kerrass and Lady Moineau. I have no idea. But it seemed to be all encompassing. As though it might also be that he is cross because of all the women that didn't find him attractive.

A woman's mind is a wonderous mystery but I don't think that there is any wondering at all about why there wasn't anyone that found Sir Raoul attractive enough to be receptive to a marriage proposal.

“After all,” he went on. “At the time, Guillaume was an, at best, above averagely skilled knight. His wealth is not great and he would always be second to his uncle. Wheras I come from a rich, old family. My estates are beautiful and.... well, no point in going over old ground.”

“Were you interested in Lady de Tabris yourself?” Kerrass wondered.

“I was more than interested. I was already deep in negotiation with the Duchess and I am sure that Her Grace would have been receptive to my suit soon.”

We stood in uncomfortable silence for a while. I had not been there, nor had I ever been involved in that kind of conversation. But I was more than a little convinced that the Duchess had been stringing Sir Raoul along and that he would never have been allowed to even begin to woo one of her ladies in waiting.

“Well.” Kerrass said, deciding that he had enough of all the awkwardness. “Time to get you moving against Lord Frederick,” he never calls me that, “you will forgive us Sir Raoul?”

“Of Course. Have at it gentlemen.”

I levered myself up to my feet and Kerrass moved with me to a part of the training field that was far away, but not so far away that we would look as though we were avoiding Sir Raoul.

“I don't understand.” I said. “I would have thought you would enjoy the chance to humiliate the fucker.”

“That guy?” Kerrass wondered. “I would. But this is his arena. And when it comes, I don't want him to see what I can do.”

“What do you mean?”

“You remember when we were watching the contests and it was mentioned that that knight, whatsisname, was having difficulty lifting his arm.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, I don't want that idiot to see whether or not I can lift my arm.”

“Fair enough.”

“And it's a practice field. He would easily turn it round and suggest that I had cheated and not worked within the realms of the practice yard.”

I took that in and considered it for a bit as we worked for a while longer.

We worked for another half an hour or so before it became obvious that Sir Raoul was watching us closely which was making us both a little uncomfortable. We did some stretches and some basic exercises. It was uncomfortably like being spied on. As though we were being judged for doing something sacriligious.

We went back inside for lunch to find that Mark was in the rooms while lunch was served.

“Wait.” I said as I saw him waiting there. “You were waiting for us weren't you?”

“Yes.” Mark admitted without shame. “Need to make sure that you're healthy.”

“So you're part of this whole conspiracy as well?” I accused. “I thought I could at least get some solidarity from the man who would understand what it's like to have people fussing over you all day and every day.”

“And you have my everlasting sympathy.” He retorted. “But if you think that this means that I'm not going to keep an eye on you for any length of time then you need to think again.” He took on a brotherly attitude of superiority. “It is a big brother's duty to remind his younger siblings how much better than them he is in just about every way.”

Kerrass chuckled as he made himself a ham and cheese sandwhich out of the stuff that had been left for us.

“Also,” Mark went on. “I thought it would be made clear by now that, as a priest, a lot of what I talk about is a case of “Do as I say” rather than “Do what I do”.”

“Ooof.” Kerrass said.

“Bit harsh on your fellow priest there brother mine.” I told him.

“Not particularly.” He sniffed, a flash of anger darting across his face. “Not even that harsh on myself if we're being honest with each other.” The anger was followed by a look of sadness. “When I started my work about returning the Eternal Flame back to it's more traditional values of service, charity and care, I was doing it because it would make me stand out from the crowd. It would help me to be noticed by the hierarchy. That and it seemed to fall in line with some of the things that we had been taught when we were younger.”

He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“But the thing about being told that you are terminally ill is that it's actually quite freeing in many ways. I no longer have a future, or a career to protect. I don't need to jealously guard influence or wealth. I can just do what I want and say what I want and the repercussions are immaterial. I mean, what's the worst that they can do to me?”

There was pride in his voice. Also anger and bitterness.

“But still. I can see things for how they are now.” He went on. “Illness has stolen all the illusions from my eyes. It is as though a cover has been torn away from me and I see the world for what it is. Which means that I have also been exposed to the hypocrisies that the church of the Eternal Flame subjects itself to. As well as the horros that we have done to our fellow man, let alone the non-humans that we share the continent with.”

He thought about this for a while.

“One of those revelations is that, we came through the conjunction. The Elves came similarly. We also know that there have been conjunctions before and there will be conjunctions again. We drove the Elves to extinction. What happens if, next time the pathways between worlds open, someone comes through and is to us what we were to the Elves? Will they not judge us based on what we did to the Elves and what the Elves did to the Vran and the Werebubs?”

He stared at the two of us for a moment and a look of almost comical dawning horror came across his face.

“Sorry.” He said after a while. “The two of you don't need to listen to the Existential fear of a dying priest.”

“This is true,” Kerrass agreed. “However, if you will forgive some crypt level humour, you won't be around to enjoy it. Therefore you can life without fear from the coming apocalypse.”

We laughed a little wryly.

“Ah but Kerrass, my friend.” Sam went on with a sly smile. “You are missing the point about being a priest. It is my task to prepare people properly for the coming horror and terror that will, inevitably sweep the land.”

Kerrass laughed. “Fair point.”

I basked for a moment. Thinking that the two men had come a long way in their relationship since they had first met. A wary Witcher and a condemning priest.

“But, you are correct.” Sam said. “Now is not the time for such doom laden prophecising. I want to hear something funny. Tell me all about your romantic conquests of the good lady Moineau. If ever there was a woman who needed some joy in her life then it is that one.”

“She needs something in her life certainly.” I leered at Kerrass.

“Or something in her.” Mark agreed. Astonishing both Kerrass and I.

“Your Grace.” Kerrass bellowed in mock astonishment, obscuring some of the tittering that I heard from the Knights that were still lining the walls. Including from the female ones.

“I've said before, and I will say again. I have heard things in Confessional that would make your toes curl. I have heard things that were, honestly, kind of... extreme. Even when they weren't acted upon by the people under my care. A woman claiming that all she wanted was a good hard shag from someone with a greater length and wider girth than her husband was actually relatively tame, given some of the things that people would tell me from time to time.”

Kerrass and I exchanged glances. “Tell me more.” Kerrass said leaning forward with interest.

Mark laughed. “Oh no. Seal of Confessional and all that. Besides which, it's your turn. I never had any interest in that side of life except when I get to live vicariously through other other people.”

“Yes. Since my self-impost celibacy...” I began.

“As well as your illness related.” Mark added.

“Yes, that. I, also, would like to hear of your adventures. Even if that leads to your utter and abject embarrassment.”

Kerrass grinned at me. “Challenge accepted.” He said ominously.

It might sound more lascivious than it actually was. But the truth was that the story was actually kind of sweet. There was an extra dimension to it, to be sure, given that both players had kind of known what was going on. It was almost... It was as though both of them had had a romantic fantasy that they were playing out. On Kerrass' part, he was the Witcher. The uncouth vagabond who protected himself from the world and the generalised feelings by projecting an outer shell of hardness and aloof restraint while underneath he secretly just wanted to be loved.

For her part, she was the demure and proper woman, trapped in an unhappy marriage with a man that did not appreciate either her beauty or her charms. She longed for a caring and loving touch and, I suppose, an escape from societies constraints.

It was like a story out of some kind of cheap, hokey romance book. The kind that Emma used to read when we were younger so that she could laugh at all the silliness. (Father used to buy them for her in the hope that she would get interested in boys. Heh, seems funnier now than it probably was at the time.)

But here was the kicker, both Kerrass and Lady Moineau knew that this was what was going on. They knew that it was ridiculous. They knew that it was over the top and they knew that such a thing would never actually happen in the real world.

But they both fit their roles and just because it was a romantic cliché, in this case, it was also true. They were both lonely, romantically starved, both attractive and without discussing it, they were both playing their roles accordingly.

The story had started shortly after our arrival. While Sir Alain was off dissappointing another lover...

(Freddie: Kerrass would pass on the gossip from Lady Moineau. Apparently, he was nearly called Alain the Lightening. Because he was “Lightening fast”. A joke that was passed around some of the women until Alain heard it and in order to have a quiet life, Lady Moineau had told him that it was a nickname that was born out of his speed with a blade. Sir Alain had taken this to heart and for a while, he had ordered lightening bolts to be added to his armour. Apparently, it had soon stopped being funny.)

… Lady Moineau had been at one of the early receptions that Kerrass had been at and had been unable to take her eyes off the Witcher. Like all women in the area, she had met Lord Geralt and had noticed that Lady Yennefer had not shown any of the... tension or frustration that is common to her gender in those parts and the gossip said that this was because Lady Yennefer had the attentions of... and she quoted... “a real man.”

When we had last been in Toussaint, like all of the people there, Lady Moineau had been caught up by the story of what happened to Francesca. Her husband had tried to keep her out of it, but all that he had achieved was to stoke her fascination in the subject. As a result she had gone out and purchased, through a maid apparently, a full copy of my diaries and had read them voraciously. She had, again apparently, all I have for this is Kerrass' word on the subject, been particularly fascinated by the story of Kerrass and Sleeping Beauty. She had wept, cheered, laughed and wept again throughout the course of that entire story. Then she had felt her heart go out to him for his stymied and frustrated romance with the forlorn, neglected and abused Princess.

So what was a frustrated romantic to do when Kerrass came back to Toussaint, but to set about seducing him. She had been overjoyed when Kerrass had picked up on the signals that she had sent him and he had set about fulfilling her fantasies about what it would be like to love such a man as this.

Kerrass laughed as he told her all of this. But I think he was also genuinely moved. He would never agree with this and refuses to acknowledge it. But I think I'm on to something here.

Kerrass is lonely and he is frustrated about his lack of romantic life. Although he does have a very healthy sex life, he is lacking some honest connection and longer term romantic life. So the ability to spend some time in one place and enjoy the attentions of a beautiful woman who would love him, however briefly, for who and what he was, was attractive and intoxicating. He was moved that this unhappy and miserable woman would find him and consider him worthy.

Overall, my judgement was that they were both starved of some romance and affection. I would guess that either of them could find sex if they really wanted it. But that sense of longing?

So as Sam and I had observed. In the intervening time, the pair of them had played their little game. The aloof, frustrated and longing woman. The surly, unpleasant and uncouth Witcher with the heart of gold. They had flirted, avoided each other while being sure to always bump into each other. They found each other in isolated areas where they would kiss before one or other of them would realise that “they couldn't possibly” and fleeing leaving the other with tears of frustration upon their cheeks.

Kerrass described it as a game of chicken. How close could they get to actually having sex without losing their own senses of control. Which was iron clad in both of them.

Then, the other night, without communicating with each other, it had come to a head. Kerrass had been hunting “something” near the villa where Lady Moineau was staying, without her husband so that he could cut a swathe through the ladies in town, and she had gone out to meet Kerrass.

Again, I stress that this account is from Kerrass.

She had found him in a hidden dell where Kerrass was examining the ground. Being a Witcher he could hear and smell her coming. She was wearing a loose, if demure dress and her hair was a simple arrangement. She had a picnic hamper and a blanket and tried to tell him that she had brought him food and wondered if she could join him. They had eaten, Kerrass pretending to be shy in the presence of so beautiful and cultured a lady and then, as he had gotten up to “return to work in the early evening gloom,” she had caught his wrist and pulled him into, what Kerrass described as, a searing kiss.

He had returned the kiss at first before pulling away to continue the game and say that she was too good for him and that he was unworthy of her.

But she had looked at him with her eyes wide and a flush in her cheeks before she whispered. “Am I so ugly?”

Kerrass had lost his control then. He told us that there had been a painfull honesty in that whisper that had caught at his heart and he knew that the game was over.

So in his words, he did his best to show her that she was far from ugly.

They had stayed outside for that, being kept warm by Kerrass' warm stones trick. He was confident that he would hear anyone sneaking up and watching them and the two had talked which is where they had come to terms with honesty.

She freely admitted that part of the problem was that she loved the idea of her husband. The noble, handsome and dashing knight. Pride of the jousting field. But that the reality was so utterly disappointing. She envied Lady Vivienne, who she had been friends with before their respective marriages, and Lady Vivienne's curse had caused them to drift apart. She envied Lady Vivienne her loving and devoted husband. She had thought that she could change Sir Alain before it had been proven impossible. So she was left, isolated on family estates. Too distant to maintain friendships except by letter. Too seperate from a husband to either provide children or company. She had looked around herslef and thought, “This is my life now.” Before something in her rebelled at this.

She admitted that she was of Toussaint enough to know that she would never leave her husband. She was not trying to trap anyone into duelling her husband, but she was left kind of hoping that someone would and kill him for her. Not that she ever said that aloud. The problem was that while Sir Raoul was the best Jouster in Toussaint, with only Sir Gregor and, more recently, Sir Guillaume to give him pause. Sir Alain was the best sword.

By some margin apparently.

The problem was that the sword tournaments were not nearly as prestigious as the joust and so Sir Alain had insisted on taking part in the Joust as well.

So she would never actually try and manipulate anyone into duelling Sir Alain which, apparently, many other women of her caste and standing would. This was because she knew that they would probably lose and she might as well just slit the poor man's throat instead. So she had confined herself to small, fleeting affairs with travelling bards. Men who would not stay for long and would not even dream of trying to duel a man like Sir Alain.

Did Kerrass love her? We asked him a few times and he claimed not. After a bit more probing and questioning by the pair of us, we got it out of him that he might, eventually, love her given time, access and openness. But he was honest enough to admit that he loved the idea of her. He loved the fantasy of the beautiful noble woman falling for a man like him.

He also admitted that she loved the idea of him. But she was too much of her caste and her nation to be able to consider any kind of long term love with a Witcher. She could certainly never marry him if Sir Alain were to die. She would not follow him on the path and he could not stay in Toussaint.

So they had agreed to a torrid, if careful, but passionate affair while he was in the Duchy. Which, after all, was going to be for at least a month longer yet. Then they would kiss each other on the cheek and move on with some happy memories to keep themselves warm as Kerrass went on the path and she returned to an unhappy marriage.

Indeed, he was supposed to meet her that very evening. Sir Alain was in town and the woman that Lady Moineau was staying with was sympathetic to Lady Moineau's plight. She would claim ignorance if Lady Moineau and Kerrass were caught though so there was an arrangement of pretended secrecy. Kerrass would arrive, climb into Lady Moineau's bedroom and folk would ignore the cries of passion that came from the bedroom.

And in the morning, her host would ask Lady Moineau for all the salacious details.

Much like we were asking Kerrass for now.

Kerrass took it with agreeable good graces however and stayed with us until early evening when Ariadne arrived back from wherever it was that she had gone. Kerrass nodded as she arrived and left almost immediately.

I stared at them all as levelly as I could before laughing at them all. “You folks are taking this all a little seriously.”

“Taking what seriously?” Mark snapped,

“Ummm.” His sudden temper took me back. “This shift pattern that you're all arranging. I feel much better.”

“Oh.” Mark subsided, visibly relaxing.

“I mean, I still feel tired all the time and a regular headache but...”

“I'm sorry Freddie.” He told me. “I umm...”

“Don't worry about it.” I said, losing some of my own good humour. “I just have to get used to everyone looking out for me all the time. But,” I forced some humour into my voice, “if you think that you're all going to wrap me in swaddling clothes during this entire thing, and I'm not going to have some fun with it all. Then I have to admit that you don't know me very well at all.”

Mark forced a smile before rubbing at his eyes.

“I know.” He said. “I'm just.... you're not the only person that's having to....” He took a deep breath. “Get used to things.” He finished before rising to his feet. “I think I'm going to go and have a lie down.”

“Are you alright?” I asked. “Mark, are you alright?”

“I'm fine. Although if I could quickly check a few things with Ariadne I think I would appreciate it.”

Ariadne nodded. “You'll stay here Freddie?”

The conversation had gone serious when I wasn't looking. “Are you sure you're ok?” I demanded of Mark.

“I said I'm fine.” He snapped and stomped off towards his room.

“Ok, so now I'm really worried.” I told my fiancee.

“I will check.” She said, moving to follow my brother. “Do not worry, I will tell you if there is anything going on that you need to worry about.”

She was in the room with Mark for only a short while before she came back out. “He's worried Freddie.” She told him. “He's worried about you and he's feeling his mortality a little bit today. Do not concern yourself over much. He just needs a bit of rest.”

She pulled me into a hug. I had not enjoyed the sharp edges of Mark's temper being directed at me again. It reminded me a little too closely of times gone by for my ease and comfort.

“Are you alright Freddie?” Ariande wondered when I started trembling.

“No.” I forced myself to be truthful. “I... Ummm.... I have been so caught up in what's happening with my mind and body that I've forgotten what's going on with everyone else and I...”

“You are being foolish Freddie.” She told me firmly. “Guilt for your own illness is unfounded. We have all told you that you need to take care of yourself and to take things easy so you are not to blame if you have followed our instructions.”

She squeezed me gently as part of the hug.

“Speaking as someone who is not an outsider, I think you all sometimes forget how similar you all are to each other. You all want to fix everything all the time and Mark is no exception. He is struggling with the fact that he has done as much as he can and that is all out of his hands. He wants to head north again so that he can get on with his work but he wants to stay here because he's enjoying himself and feels the need to look after you and Emma.”

“Emma doesn't need looking after.”

“No she doesn't. But remember this. To you, Emma is your big sister, your female role model and your feminine influence when you were growing up. She was your mother as well in many ways and you look up to her and idolise her. Whereas to Mark, she is the little sister that he remembers having to protect from Edmund when Edmund wanted to pull her pigtails. He thinks of her, the same way you think of Francesca. He thinks of all of you that way and he is struggling with that.”

We sat and talked for a while, exchanging gossip about this and that. We talked for a while without really saying very much. Just enjoying each other's company and I found, much to my astonishment, that I felt as though I had missed her. We hadn't spent nearly as much time as we would both have liked given everything that was happening and had happened and it was good to just take the time to sit and chat.

Emma arrived a few hours later just as it was coming to be time to begin to get ready to go to dinner that evening. She came in with a face like thunder.

“Mark?” She demanded.

“He's in his room.” Ariadne replied.

Emma had stormed off before Ariadne had even finished the sentence.

Laurelen was a much calmer influence as she came in and poured herself a drink.

“What was all that about?” I wondered.

“Ariadne told me about Mark's little temper tantrum earlier.” Laurelen told me reasonably.

I glanced over at Ariadne who shrugged.

“I'm not sure how I feel about my fiancee having a direct telepathic link to my sister in law.” I commented.

Laurelen blushed a little. She always likes it when I refer to her as part of the family. Although Mark has managed to make a friendship with Laurelen now, he still sees marriage to be the barrier for Laurelen to properly join the family. A product of his priestly training we assume.

“In this case it was relevent.” Ariadne replied “as part of what is going on with your brother involves Emma so...”

“Which part?” I wondered. Not unreasonably I felt.

“Sorry.” Ariadne said. “Told in confidence.”

There was no getting away from a touch of the awkwardness that came from that. We changed for dinner but there was a tension in the air as we joined the Duchess and some of the other dinitaries that are always coming and going in Beauclair for dinner. It was not the best dinner or evening that we spent in Toussaint. I think that the passage of time will tell us as to whether or not it would be considered the worst though.

I found the process incredibly jarring and unpleasant. There had been far too many awkward dinners and conversations at my family dinner table for precisely that kind of unpleasantness. Arguments between father and one or more of his children. Arguments between children and that kind of passive aggression is something that I have always despised. It was disheartening for me as I had rather come to hope that, as a family, we had moved past this kind of nonsense. That Edmund and father's deaths would have removed a lot of the causes of that tension.

But whatever else he had done. Father had brought up children with strong personalities and it seemed a little as though the honeymoon period was over and that we were reverting to type a little.

As I say, I found the entire proccess to be intensely depressing and by the time the third course, an undeniably delicious roast pheasant with a red berry jus, had been served, I just wanted the evening to be over. Ariadne arranged matters so that she could sit next to me and whenever possible, even through conversations with other people, she would hold my hand and talk me through things using our link so that I didn't just explode.

She steered me through that night. It was tough, there is no way of obscuring that matter and more than one person, including the Duchess, enquired as to whether or not I was alright, only for Ariadne to skillfully divert the attention and lead me off to another area so that I could catch my breath.

Ariadne and I left the gathering as early as we could without feeling as though we had been rude or unpleasant to anyone and it was a good job that we had. Even with a swig of the medicine that I had been given, I was still shaking like a leaf by the time that we got back to our quarters. Ariadne led me into my room where Anne had already got back from wherever she goes during the day.

Between the two women they got me out of my formal clothes and they held me on the bed as I shook, wept and waited for me to come out the other side of what was affecting me. This was one of those times where I don't remember to much coherent about what I said and what I do remember was rather embarassing.

At the time, I didn't know much about Anne's life before she came into mine, but I knew that it couldn't have been easy. I didn't want to talk about family history and about how the behaviour of my brothers and sister were affecting me at the moment but between the pair of them, they dragged stories about what life had been like round my father's dinner table.

Anne had been upset on my behalf and although I remain grateful to her for many things, the fact that she could remain outraged for a small nobleman feeling awful because of a family history while showing me sympathy, understanding and care is one of the big ones.

Ariadne's face went stony before she smoothed her features and focused on convincing me that any family, whether the highest in the land down to the lowest village begger, deserved to have open love and friendship around the family table, even if there was no other time that that could be managed.

I was somewhat pleased that Anne seemed to agree.

Emma, Mark and Laurelen arrived back at our suite later on. Ariadne looked up at their arrival and her head tilted to one side. She is much more practised at making sure that her movements and behaviour follow human patterning now. So it's much rarer to spot the fact that she isn't human except in moments of extreme emotional stress. Even then, she resorts to human behaviour and hiding her emotional response behind a mask of reserve and care.

But the way her head turned and tilted in that moment reminded me of a bird that was looking around itself because it had heard something in the bushes.

I know that certain species of Vampire have an affinity for birds and the like, for reasons that I do not understand and have never asked Ariadne for fear of being rude. And which Kerrass claims he doesn't know. He just knows that women who attract the company of birds need to be watched carefully. But this was the first time that I had seen Ariadne displaying any bird like behaviours. When she allows other, more animalistic behaviour to shine through, she behaves more like a cat or a dog. Maybe a wild fox, especially when she is afraid.

“Time for me to go?” She said, gently helping me into bed. I reached for her in my half asleep, half drugged up state. “Shhh. My love.” She said, taking my hand and kissing it. “I will not be far and Anne will take care of you. I have some things to say and some things to do.”

“I will be here.” Anne had taken the moment to quickly change into her night clothes and climbed in next to me, pulling me into her arms.

Ariadne had left by the time I thought to look for her. “I am still here.” her voice echoed in my head. “Rest now my love.”

Despite the love and care that Ariadne sent my way through the link. Despite the warm and beautiful woman that held me close and muttered gentle and soothing words into my ear. Despite the potions running through my system and my emotional fatigue. It took me a long time to sleep.

I thought I could hear Ariadne shouting.

Once again, it is easy to look back on these things and tell myself that I should have been paying more attention. And yes, if I hadn't been drugged, upset and emotionally exhausted, I might have followed through on that half dream, half memory in the morning.

But I didn't. Because I could only dimly remember it in the morning. And the morning was full of activity.

This was the monthly gathering of artist's party that was helf at the estate of a lady called Orianna. The lady herself was not in town, or even in Toussaint from what I heard. This due to there being some kind of scandal that I didn't get to hear everything about. Apparently, she had had a massive argument with Lord Geralt and Lady Yennefer about something, but no-one could quite tell me what that argument was about. The Duchess herself had gotten involved due to a long standing friendship with the Lady Orianna but, much to everyone's astonishment, the Duchess had sided with the Witcher and the Sorceress rather than the Lady of longstanding occupation in Toussaint.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

No-one knows why although, apparently, it was something to do with the Orphanage on the outside of town.

But that isn't important to what was happening with the party and with us. The Lady Orianna was supposed to be a famed patron of the arts and many is the artist that owes their livelihood to that lady herself. She seemed to have delighted in all forms of artistic expression and she had been known to enjoy the company of famed painters, all the way down to the sculptor who had taken up a chisel for the first time.

To that end, she would host grand parties at her residence in Beauclair itself where everyone would come in order to demonstrate what they were capable of before the lady herself who, or so i'm told, would remain on her balcony, ignoring the fashion or theme of the party itself, where she would watch the party below with a goblet of wine in her hand and a small smile on her lips.

Lord Geralt and Lady Yennefer have obviously made themselves welcome in Toussaint, their decision to stay out of the way of the more experienced wine makers rather than interfering in their vinyard being one of the things that has garnered them some of that respect. Having said that, there is still some resentment among certain elements of the nobility of Toussaint, that they have been responsible for the disappearance of Lady Orianna.

The fact that the Duchess seemed to agree with the course of action does not seem to matter a great deal.

The parties themselves have taken on a slightly different hue since the lady herself is no longer in attendance. It is still a time for artistic expression and the money to host these parties has to come from somewhere, but where that is seems to be in some form of argument. But now, the parties are themed.

The winter party seems to have been declared to be about enjoyment. It was something designed to remind people that art is difficult and that artists should not be taken for granted.

I can see the argument and apply it to my own experience. One of the earliest arguments that I had with Father was about my chosen field of study. I wanted to study history and he told me that I could pursue that as a hobby while I took care of much more important work. I told him that this was ridiculous and that the proper study of history would take time, effort and investment. Naturally Father was incenced. He believed that you could read a book on the subject and know everything there was to know about it. Whereas the truth of the matter is that you could read several books, talk to people that were there to witness the events in question and you would still not have learned everything there was to learn on the topic. Indeed, many of the books and points of view would tell you something completely opposite to each other and it is therefore, the skill of a historian to find the truth of the matter. Even as we acknowledge that the actual truth of the matter will never be found.

So it is all to easy for me to imagine a sculptor being told that sculpting is easy and why should the purchaser of the statue pay so much for, essentially, a pretty lump of stone when anyone could pick up a hammer and a chisel and produce the same thing.

Without guessing the cost of the stone, the type of the stone, the weight of the hammer the sharpness of the chisel, how to cut, where to cut, how hard to swing the hammer, how many different hammers and chisels do you need, how much time it takes, how big the statue is, and so on and so on.

Artistry is a craft as much as a talent. Ariadne and Laurelen both agreed that it is much the same as magic in that regard. Part knowledge, part craft and part talent and it entirely depends on what needs to be produced as to how much of each thing is needed.

So this particular party was about proving that to all the people that would come.

The price of entry was that everyone that came, no matter their wealth or their status had to bring some kind of art to the party. Whether that was a piece of poetry, or a song. A sculpture or a painting. You had to have produced, or produce that art yourself. So you could carve your own statue, or you could paint your own painting. But you could sing a song that someone else had written or perform a piece of poetry that someone else had written.

But there was one other rule. You could not use a piece of art that you had already made money off. For example, I could not have brought any of the pieces of writing that had already been published in order to profit off it.

Or as another example, Professor Dandelion would not be able to perform any of his “Saga of the White Wolf.” He would need to bring something new. However, I could perform a part of the piece should I so wish it.

It was a party where people went to laugh at each other as much as it was a party to elevate the artists that were in attendance. Other than those lucky few people that had time to commit to some kind of hobby away from their day job. And where that hobby was some kind of artistic expression. People were expected to be good sports abtout he entire thing and it was considered bad form to duel someone for making fun of their lousy attempts at stringing some words and sentences together in order to create poetry.

I was not looking forward to the party. No matter how much I tried, I could not twist any kind of history or recounting of history into an art form. As I write this, I am actually some distance from these events and it is with the benefit of a clearer head and better thought processes, that what I could actually have done was to stand and tell one of the epic tales of Skellige. One of the shorter ones that I had been told while we were travelling on the Wave-Serpent. Or something that some apprentice Skald had told in the hall. But at the time, when Emma and Mark were teasing me about what I was going to perform. While Kerrass was practising his own art form...

He was going to do some tricks with Alchemy. I had no idea what it was but he had told Ariadne and she had said that if it worked, then it was certainly going to be a sight to see.

… and Ariadne and Laurelen were conferring about what they were going to do, the idea escaped me. I still had a brain that was befuddled by left over drugs, fatigue and emotions from the previous day. The air seemed to have lightened more than somewhat in the family itself and the atmosphere in the room was much lighter and more pronounced.

I tried to go for a walk in order to clear my head but I was told, in no uncertain terms that I needed to take someone with me which was impossible. Ariadne and Emma were still preparing a few things, getting their cantrips in the right order and the like while Kerrass had gone off to find a nice quiet basement in order to brew some of the potions that he would need that night.

So I didn't even have the space to let my mind relax and come up with anything. Frustration is, in my experience, not the best thing in order to help a mind come up with anything creative. I paced, up and down quite a bit, much to everyone's continued amusement.

I did not react well to the laughter. I wanted to be looking forward to the coming festivities, but instead, I was going to end up being the butt of everyone's jokes. There are times and places for that kind of thing and if I had been feeling better then I think, I hope, that I would have taken this entire thing a lot better.

But that's not how the brain works is it. I wanted to go to the party, drink the drink, eat the food and cheer the displays of the various people. I wanted to go “ooh” at the fireworks and gasp in admiration at whatever it was that Kerrass had in mind. I wanted to show pride in what my bride to be produced and I wanted to smile along as Emma sang some kind of bawdy tavern song that she learned while she was hanging out with the merchant caravan.

In the end, I resolved to do something similar...

That's not quite true. I actually resolved to stay at the back somewhere and hope that I wouldn't get noticed so that I could escape out the back before my turn came. Cowardly? Yes. Absolutely and I only have a little bit of shame at the fact that this was so. I also, rather unfairly, thought that my status as an invalid meant that I would be able to avoid having to sing, dance or do whatever it was.

But this was not a good enough excuse apparently.

The other obvious solution that occurs now, at time of writing, is that I could, simply speaking, not go. I could have stayed at the palace and have an early night. But again, it had been decided that I needed to get out a bit and have some fun.

Here's another lesson for those people that might know someone that is struggling with the way that their brain works. If they are not well or struggling with their mood, then do not force them into doing something or going somewhere that they are obviously uncomfortable with. They will thank you for it.

So we all dressed up in yet another suit of fancy clothes that had been made for us by the Duchess' own tailor and we headed down to the house. It was a large place near the gate of the city that led past the gardens. The walls of the complex, because it was a complex of buildings rather than a simple house, were rather high and Kerrass made a joke about them being so high to prevent people from escaping having to take their turn at singing along.

I glared at him.

“Do not worry,” Ariadne whispered in my ear as she linked her hand through mine. “Whatever happens, I will link my arm through yours, kiss you on the lips and tell you that you did really well.”

“That's not reassuring.” I told her. “Also, what happens later when I give you a book to read that I have written and you link your arm through mine, kiss me on the lips and tell me that I did really well.”

She put her head on one side as she considered.

“I had not thought about that.” She said. “Then I shall endeavour to be as honest as possible. It will not spare your feelings but I promise that despite everything else, I will still love you afterwards.”

She was astonished to hear that this did not actually make me feel any better.

I won't lie, it was a hell of a party.

We had to queue to get in. as there were servants on the door that were taking notes as to who was in attendance and what each guest were going to perform. It gave me a chance to listen to some gossip from some of the other guests who were looking forward to some of the entertainment. There seemed to be some trepidation about the Knights of Saint Francesca taking over the security of the realm. Something about them being untested in regards to current circumstances and that maybe they would be better off if they would allow themselves to ask for help from more experienced parties.

I didn't hear what it was that they actually needed to ask for help with because just as I was about to learn that, Emma or Mark would speak over what was being said rather loudly. Much to my annoyance.

But we also learned that a lot of these kinds of parties were masquerades rather than the open faced nature of the party that we were attending that evening. Why this might be the case seemed to be something of a mystery although it seemed that a couple of the more wealthy patrons, who saw to keeping the parties running in the absence of the Hostess, had insisted that this be the case.

It came to be our turn. The servants took us aside into a covered tent like area where they took our names and asked us what particular artform that we were going to demonstrate and as to whether or not we required any kinds of specialised area to set up our displays or whether anything needed to be roped off or prepared.

I said that I needed none of these things and the servant in question must have recognised the nervousness in my voice as she gave me a knowing and sympathetic smile.

They moved the side of the tent aside and we descended down some steps. How I got to the bottom of the steps I will never know because my eyes were under assault. There was one word that was going through my head over and over again.

“Colour.” My brain seemed to be screaming at me. “So much Colour.”

At first, I could take in nothing other than this assault to the visual senses. Swirling patterns of primary and secondary patterns, sometimes clashing but sometimes blending together in horrible, horrible ways that drew the eye, hypnoitsed and repulsed with equal abandon.

Ariadne, hanging off my arm laughed with delight at what we saw. We had all dressed with much less reserve than we had used earlier.

Other than Mark of course. No matter how much he tries, he can never escape the fact that he is a churchman first.

But Ariadne looked radient. She had transferred her holy symbol of the Eternal Flame to a choker which showed off her neck and now she was wearing an off the shoulder dress that did interesting things to her upper body. But even despite the fact that we had made an effort to be in a more partylike series of outfits, we were still dressed sedately.

We got to the bottom of the stairs and servants were offering the entering guests a small cup of a strong red wine and when I asked what it was the servant laughed. “It is Joy,” he said.

Another servant came to collect my cloak that I had absently removed. It would seem that the patrons of these parties could afford to persuade Lady Vigo, or some other mage, to cast some kind of warming spell over the courtyard. It was entirely necessary considering some of the displays that were going on as both men and women performed their considerable artistry wearing little or nothing.

I have nothing against the naked bodies of people. I certainly quite like the naked female form and although it holds no physical attraction for me, I can recognise an attractive male form when I see one. But even I thought that the naked fire juggling was a little bit much.

I don't know why and more than one person of Toussaint has laughed at me when I discuss this. As have Laurelen and Ariadne although both ladies pointed out that Emma and Mark both shared my views. But I tend to feel that nudity and the sight of bare skin should be earned in some way. I always feel that it is a gift when a lady removes their clothes in my presence.

But then something strange happened in my head. It was as though I looked out and I saw the swinging manhood of a man who's musculature could have been taken from some kind of picture as part of an anatomy lecture. I turned to Laurelen who was also bemused at the sight, much to Emma's amusement, and I said. “I've seen bigger.”

“So have I.” She said. “But then again, after a while they get to a point where they hurt.”

“Really?” Emma asked. I couldn't tell if she was genuinely interested or if she was just asking to wind Mark and I up.

Kerrass had gone off to set up his potion area in case you are wondering.

“Oh yes.” Ariadne commented. “An average penis, properly used, is far superior to a large one handled clumsily.”

Laurelen agreed, snagging a pair of drinks from a passing tray.

“It also has to be said.” Ariadne went on. “That a skilled tongue and talented fingers can also obscure many many sins in that regard.”

“Now that I can agree with.” Emma laughed.

And something in my head just shut down. It was as though my mind just threw it's hands up in the air in disgust and walked away.

“I suppose it must be a lot like breasts.” I said to the three women. “I mean, I can see the attraction of a large pair of breasts but sooner or later you get to the point where you find yourself wondering if they're not so large that they might hurt the ladies back.”

But Emma wasn't going to let me off that easily. “So what is the ideal breast size then Freddie?” She asked gesturing to the fire dancers who were smearing burning oil across their bodies before seeming to brush the flames off their skins with their hands in a display of timing and grace that truly deserved better than to be oggled at for the physical features. Sure enough though there were a couple of ladies with smaller breasts and one lady with larger.

“Ariadne's breast size.” I said smugly.

“Good answer love.” Ariadne told me with a smile and a pat on the arm.

Mark had listened to this entire conversation with spluttering outrage. He has come to terms with his younger siblings enjoyments of their own sexual partners, but I get the impression that he doesn't like it being thrown in his face quite as much.

“I think,” he declared, “that I am going to find where the food table is before trying to find some artwork that is not going to make me fear for my soul and the souls of everyone around me.”

We laughed at him.

And just like that, the nakedness was no longer tittilating. The fire dancers were not the only people that wore next to nothing. A man, much braver than me and much more brawny than me was juggling with swords. Several painters were painting nudes of various people, including Natanis the Succubus as Lord Palmerin looked on with a grin. One painter was even painting what looked, to me, like some kind of giant orgy scene based on the small pile of naked men and women that were on an island on the small, courtyard pool.

Yes, there was a pool in the courtyard. It is only amazing to me now as I look back on the thing.

I wouldn't mind, but I saw that artist shouting at some of his subjects to at least pretend to act as though they're making love and enjoying it. I have never seen a woman look quite as bored as I did a blue haired girl as she bent her head to simulate felatio on a clearly uninterested dark skinned man. I know that he was uninterested in what the girl was doing because he was clearly more interested in the naked sword juggler that I mentioned earlier.

It was the most chaste, but also debauched party that I have ever seen. The clash between the two souls of Toussaint. The soul of the drunken party goer along with the chaste, demure noble person in one place.

In the middle of one pedestal there was a small man in his mid forties that was carving a likeness of the Duchess from memory. It was a game for some of the people there to try and distract him but he was there in a dirty smock, a dirtier pair of trousers and dust covered face.

There were no less than three musical bands that were playing and trying to get people's attention. A group of acrobats were using the house and the grounds as their apparatus for their swings, jumps and contortions. I wouldn't have minded but the edge of the house fell down to a cliff so those acrobats didn't just risk injury, they also risked death.

And then it turned out, that these were the least talented exhibitions. These were the small artists looking for patrons. The truly talented would come later.

And arrive they did. One man had set out a group of cages inside which there were a series of songbirds that he had trained to sing together to his own conducting. How he managed to achieve that feat I will never know and didn't get the chance to ask him.

The entire place hushed as a huge, corpulantly fat, grotesquely ugly man stood forward and sang with the voice of an angel. I have no idea what he was singing about as I could not make out the words but he needed no amplification. There were no acoustics for him to take advantage of. No walls for his voice to bounce off but the power of his voice reduced me to tears as he wiped his brow with a red cloth.

After he stepped down another man rose to the stage and placed a table down. A group of servants appeared and started to place glasses of crystal on the table which he filled with various liquids. It seemed to take a long time and I was not the only person that was beginning to feel restive. Then he licked the tip of his finger and started to run the pad of that finger around the rim of one of the glasses until the vibrations that this caused made the glass sing. Then the next glass and the next and the next.

A man constructed a flute out of a series of wine bottles.

Another man stood up and started telling jokes until everyone there were crying real tears of laughter.

Then another man stepped forward and started to sing a song of dubious quality. Horribly off key and with his voice cracking. The crowd laughed and booed good naturedly as he bowed with the most elaborate flourish that you have ever seen in your life.

I saw so many things that night. I saw a puppet show that would not have been out of place at a children's festival. But the richest and most noble families of Toussaint laughed with all their might. Lord Palmerin got up and danced a clumsy jig while Natanis rose from her couch, much to the complaining of the man painting her, and clapped along before joining his as the final part of the dance.

They looked beautiful together and it warmed my heart to see a man who had once wept the tears of a broken heart looking so happy.

A servant approached me and reminded me that I had yet to perform anything. I told him that I was waiting my turn.

Kerrass stood up and helped some servants manhandle a table into place before he set out some alchemical formula. He told the audience that he had come to talk to them about Explosions. He told them that he had brought examples of every destructive force known on the continent with him shy of a dragon's blast and then, only because he hadn't been able to convince a dragon to arrive.

I was astonished. I had seen him give a similar lecture that first winter before we set out on the road together. But that was delivered cold and clinical. This was full of jokes and fun. He passed out examples to the prettier ladies in the crowd and instructed them to throw the vials and the mixtures at the ground so that people could see them explode and flash.

As a finale, he told the crowd that explosions and healing was not the only use of Alchemy. And that with the correct herbs and the correct formula. He could produce a thing of great beauty. He returned to a glass container that he stirred for a few seconds before he ran forward and hurled the liquid into the air. The liquid seemed to evaporate into a gas almost instantly before turning green and spreading out over the crowd. Then there appeared to be sparkels in the cloud which glinted and glittered before tiny silver stars fell from the sky onto our upturned faces.

The crowd went wild.

We watched as the displays went on and on. Periodically I would wander among the different displays to see what was happening elsewhere. I was encouraged to take tiny little bladders that had been filled with paint in order to throw them against a canvas that was spread across a wall. The idea was to create a painting of the evening that all of the guests would have contributed to.

I was yelled at when I entered a room where a man was painting a nude picture of an undeniably beautiful woman wearing a masquerade mask and a set of jewels only. Not because he had been disturbed, but because the blast of cold air had caused goose-bumps to rise across the skin of his subject which had caused her to shift her weight.

There was a poetry reading taking place in another quieter area. Almost a room constructed in the courtyard where people were taking advantage of the subdued noise from elsewhere as they recited poetry with the solemn faces that only poets can achieve when they are reciting their own works. It took me a minute or two of stopping to listen before I realised that the poetry was not only really good. But it was also intensely erotic in nature.

And that was what seemed to be happening and I wondered if there was something here that could tell me more about Toussaint in general. I found a quieter area in order to try and get my thoughts in order on the subject. About there being two Toussaints. There was the demure, straight laced and formal Toussaint. The formal dances, reserved manners and genteel, courtly romances.

On the other direction there was the passionate Toussaint. The Toussaint of the clandestine romantic assignations. The part of Toussaint that admired the naked bodies of their fellows. That lived, loved and laughed with equal abandon. I thought about this for a while and decided that it was all Toussaint. That the two different philosophies about life were entirely valid and that both of them were the same. That it was two sides of the same coin.

“You have it wrong Lord Frederick.” Lord Palmerin de Launfal told me. I had taken my newly formed theory to him and we stood talking as we watched the artist work on his portrait of Natanis. “It is not opposite at all, there is no coin for there to be two sides to. It is all Toussaint. It is the same thing.”

“I do not follow.” I was feeling a little dismayed. I will admit to often being wrong but I had rather flattered myself into thinking that I had achieved some kind of insight there. Lord Palmerin noticed my face falling and clapped me on the shoulder.

“You were not to know my friend. For all that your family and yourself are welcome here and, for the most part, beloved, you are still an outsider.” He smiled at me. An oddly fatherly smile given that we were watching his naked, otherworldy lover laughing at something that the artists had said.

“What you are seeing now is the natural progression of the story.” Lord Palmerin told me. “I have been outside the Duchy many times and do you know what people always say of Toussaint?”

I felt more confident in this moment. “They call it “The Fairy-tale Kingdom”.” I said.

“That they do. We are obsessed with stories. We are actually remarkably similar to Skellige in that regard. Something that only occurred to me after reading your extraordinary account of your time on the archipelego. We are obsessed with stories and yes, we love the stories of the fairytale and chaste romance. Of the courtly love and the remote adoration. But people forget that the stories don't end there do they. I mean yes, when we tell the stories to the children, we stop the story before we get to the rescued Princess' wedding night. We talk about how the damsel in distress is rescued by the dashing hero but we don't talk about what happened when the dashing hero and the damsel are forced to share a blanket for warmth later.

“But the rest of us know that it happens. Why does the young man go and try to rescue the girl of his dreams from the giants?”

“It's because he loves her.” We both said at the same time.

“So, it follows, that in the world of fairy stories... No matter how ludicrous it really is for that kind of thing to happen in the real world. The damsel is rescued by the hero and they fall in love. That is the romantic ideal after all. But after that takes place do we honestly think that that love is manifested in sitting on a tree trunk and staring into each other's eyes for hours at a time? Or do they go home and get down to things.”

“I suppose.”

“This is the extension of that.” He told me, waving at the rest of the party. “It is the extension of the courtly love. It is the moment at which the object of the courtly love gives a reward to the person worshipping them. It is the moment where the person is rescued and in the height of the emotional fallout for that, reaches out to their rescuer in love.”

He grinned at me.

“After all.” He went on. “We have both been rescued, have we not Lord Frederick. Natanis rescued me from my heartache. You rescued your Princess and she loved you. Not just for the rescue but for other matters as well. Then she has gone on to rescue you. And you love her. Your love is chaste and courtly for now but sooner or later you will get to your wedding night and you will give into your...”

He leered at me. “I even understand that you have been rewarded for your chaste devotion.”

“What?”

“Sir Walther is a friend of mine.”

I winced as I realised he was talking about Anne “For a Doctor, he has a big mouth.”

Lord Palmerin laughed.

“And...” I went on. “Anne is no reward.”

“Maybe not.” He smiled. “We are a nation of romantics.” He told me, waving expansively. “We believe in romance and Love. And sooner or later, romance must be consummated in one form or another. That is what you are seeing here. This is a celebration of the consummation of the romance.”

A servant arrived at my elbow again. “Lord Frederick. I am under duty to remind you that you have yet to perform.”

I nodded my acknowledgement and Lord Palmerin smiled at my discomfort. “Speaking as someone who knows Lord Frederick. Better to get the task done the quicker.”

I went back to the stage. Still frantically trying to come up with something that I could perform. I even wandered near the exits to see if there was a way that I could escape but I could also see other servants who were standing next to the doors with lists that were letting some people out but preventing others from leaving.

But I found myself back and standing before that main area of the stage in time to see Mark climb up. He was wearing one of his cassocks. A brighter red than would normally be worn by someone of his own status and it was cut in order to, at least, pay some service towards the fashionable party that we were attending. He stood forward and held his hands up in order to get everyone towards silence.

“This is a song of my homeland.” He explained into the relative silence that followed. “It describes the longing of an orphaned shepherd boy for his father to come and collect him from the hillside before night falls. He knows that his father is dead and that his mother will not be at home, cooking his meal. He knows these things but as he stares up into the deepening gloom of the night sky, he finds his heart longing for the warm strength of his father's embrace and for the smell of his mother's baked bread.”

He bowed his head for a moment before he straightened and his mouth opened.

A noise happened. I had not heard the noise in a long time and I had forgotten it. What that noise is, is the gasp of all the people listening who have not heard Mark sing before.

It's a kind of sharply indrawn breath followed by a kind of subdued “oooh” sound.

It's easy to forget sometimes, that one of the things that churchment do in order to praise the flame is to sing. Mark would have sung as part of his duties to the church as a lay priest, as a priest and as a Bishop. He probably still leads songs as he worships now but it's one of those things that you always forget when you think about the priests of the Eternal Flame.

You think of fire and hate and the purging of non-humans. You forget that once upon a time, they were guides who would call the lost home by lifting their voices in song and raising the light of the fire so that the lost could find their way.

I have heard the song itself before. I will not be insulting when I say that I have heard it sung better as well. Mark does not mind. He doesn't think he's that good and I have heard this song sung by professionals. It is a very sad song and is the first part of a duet between a man and a woman as part of a larger song that is performed on the stages of Novigrad and Oxenfurt. I have no idea who wrote it although I was once sharing a drink with Professor Dandelion in Novigrad while Kerrass was out and about somewhere. One of the minstrels started this song with his female partner and Dandelion got this stricken expression on his face before fleeing into the night.

I asked him about it later and he said that he had known the girl that had written it and it broke his heart every time that he heard it. Apparently she had died at some point when the plague had struck Vizima and had broken Dandelion's heart. But not in the way that you think.

He called her “Little Eye.”

But the song starts with the lost and lonely shepherd before realising that there is a woman that loves him nearby. The woman talks about going round the village and finding out what the shepherd missed and going out of her way to provide it for him. She fails utterly, but her efforts in trying to console the Shepherd bring him out of his grief and he is able to move on and find love with the woman. It is a good Song. Sad, funny, touching and deeply romantic.

Mark chose well. If only he could have found someone to sing the other part with.

The final notes of his song fell into the silence and after taking a moment to realise that he had finished, the crowd roared their approval.

“Fuck.” I muttered. How was I going to top that.

“You'll think of something.” Ariadne had come to my side again.

“What are the two of you doing?” I demanded as she smiled up at me sweetly.

“Never you mind.” She said with a wicked smile. “You'll just have to wait and see.”

I grumbled something in audible.

“The truth is,” Ariadne said. “That you should have gone up after Mark. People would be more sympathetic if you were feeling less than confident after a performance like that.”

“True. But, it looks like someone else has beaten me to it.”

Emma was doing a card trick involving some slight of hand and a Gwent deck. You see this kind of thing on any street corner but here was Emma doing it on one of the highest stages in the land.

“I'm surprised that the Duchess isn't here.” I commented to Ariadne. “I mean, I know that Syanna and folk have duties but, with a crowd this prestigious, I would have thought that the Duchess would be here.”

Ariadne laughed at me. “Oh Freddie.” She said kissing my cheek. “Don't ever change.”

“What” Why?”

“The Duchess is here.” She said before leaving me with that cryptic comment.

Emma had moved onto some coin magic. I have no idea as to the truth of this statement but I have since been informed that coin magic is actually amongst the hardest forms of sleight of hand “magic” to perform. I had to take the man's word for it because Emma stood there, her arms bare, and made coin after coin disappear before having those same coins reappear in the strangest of places to an appreciative audience.

When she was done she bowed and descended, pulling a cloak around her shoulders. Laurelen and Ariadne had gone off somewhere to prepare... whatever it was that they had in mind and I approached my sister.

“I didn't know that you could do that.” I told her. “I knew that Mark could sing but I had no idea that you could...”

“Do you not remember me producing coins out of your ear and things when we were little?” She led me over to the punch table where she used a ladle to pour us both a cup of the strong, fruity alcohol.

I thought back. “I seem to remember it annoying father.”

“It did. But there are only so many things that you can do with your hands while you sit in interminable meetings where no-one wants to listen to you.” She sniffed the punch. “In order to keep from fidgeting and being in a place where I was supposed to sit, listen and learn, I would play with cards and coins. I got good enough that Father had me tested for magical ability.”

“Was he annoyed?”

“Not in the end. This was still back when Magic users could command a certain amoung of political power and a daughter who was ignoring marriage invitations while only having eyes for the female servants who might be magical was a positice in his eyes. But as we know. Our family has the average magical talent of a brick.”

“Yes, I've used that saying several times although I usually say that I'm about as magical as a plank.” I replied. “But I think we might be being unfair on the poor old brick. After all, without bricks and planks we could not build houses and boats.”

“True.” She smiled at me. She had opened her mouth to say something when a servant tugged at my elbow.

“Lord Frederick? I am to remind you that you have yet to perform this evening and....”

“Oh for fucks sake. Get fucked would you.” I snarled... a little unfairly I will admit.

“Well pardon me for living.” The servant muttered as he wandered off.

Emma giggled.

“What are you going to perform Freddie?” She asked, topping my punch up.

“I thought I wasn't supposed to be drinking.” I retorted.

“Think of it as some liquid courage.” She told me. “But I notice that you haven't answered the question yet.”

“I don't know.” I admitted. “I keep trying to think of something but for some reason my mind keeps shying away from any of the possibilities that keep suggesting themselves. I'm not feeling good about it all if I'm honest. I can think of several drinking songs that might suit. Or a story or two from Skellige. But I'm no singer, nor am I a story teller.”

“My reading of some of your adventures in Skellige would suggest that you are a better Storyteller than some would give you credit for.” Emma suggested. “And I have always maintained that, just because Mark can sing better than you does not make you a bad singer. And look around.” She laughed as the punch must have hit her system. “A bawdy, drinking song might be just what this crowd needs.”

“You're right.” I admitted.

“As I so often am. But seriously Freddie. It will start weighing on you soon so here's my advice. Wait until the there is some kind of performance that astonishes everyone. Wait until the oohs and the aahs are dying down and then climb up on stage and do your thing. People understand nerves and they will be so buoyed up about the previous perfomance that they won't notice you if you're not quite up to where you want to be. And you will hardly as badly off as that man that tried to demonstrate just how many sausages he could get into his mouth at the same time while trying to claim that it was art.”

“I didn't see that.”

“You are fortunate. My understanding was that he was trying to make a joke, or a political point, or something. But he was thrown out.”

“Now there's a thought...” I began.

“Don't even think it Freddie. Embarrass us tonight and I will have Kerrass hold you while I pull your scrotum from your body with my own two hands.”

“So graphically violent sister.”

“I'm just warning you.”

“I'm also flattered that you think it would take both hands.”

“Fuck off Freddie.”

I laughed as she walked off in disgust but even with that. The laughter did not entirely banish my nerves. What was I going to do. I could probably get away with just singing a bit of a song. That would mean that I would be up there for as short a period of time as possible.

Then I started in with the self flagellation. I should have seen this coming really. I told myself that I had stood in the way of an angry dragon. I had stood up to Vampires, Empresses, Witchers and Queens. I have fought Griffins, Wights, wraiths, Cockatrices and all kinds of other things that you can think of. I have delivered lectures before audiences and I have given speeches in open court. I have also performed in the past as I delivered the story of Father Gardan and his axe (which was wrapped up in my quarters at the time) before a not entirely friendly Royal Court of Skellige.

I have faced Death, Love, Anger and Hate and in all those cases I have overcome. So why was I so crippled by this.

There are many reasonable answers to all of this of course and many of you are probably even thinking of those answers even now. But in tat time and in that place, nothing was immediately occuring.

I watched a few more acts without really taking them in, including more than a few acts that were less polished than some of the other things that people had seen. I saw a sword swallower who had, if you'll pardon the pun, bitten off a little bit more than he could chew. I saw a fire eater spill some of his fuel on the clothing that he was wearing. I saw a man who thought he had trained a dog to perform in a certain way. Although the dog was clearly far more fascinated in the outfit that it's master was wearing and wanted to play with all of the shiny buckles and things.

But there was many many more than that.

If the object of the exercise was to remind everyone that art is a craft and does not come for free, then that goal was achieved. More than one person left the stage with a rueful expression on their faces. Although I wondered how many people would remember the lesson.

In short. Art is work. Pay the artist the amount that they ask. They know how much they are worth and that is how they put food on their tables and keep a roof over the heads of their families.

I will descend from my pulpit now and stop preaching.

I screwed up my courage and made my mind up to sing a song that I remembered from times on the road. A funny song about a man and a woman who refused to acknowledge how much they loved each other.But as I waited to take my turn, Ariadne and Laurelen took the stage and soundly embarrassed me.

“Ladies and Gentlemen.” Ariadne addressed the crowd. As she spoke, Laurelen was muttering and moving her hands in a way that was easily associated with the term “spell-casting” and a darkness fell behind Ariadne.

“Ladies and Gentlemen.” Ariande said again. “I crave your attention.” And just like that she got it. Almost the entire crowd stopped what they were doing and turned to watch. Only those artists that were in the middle of their paintings or carvings carried on. Those men and women that you would not be able to shift even if a dragon flew overhead. You probably know the kind I mean.

“Tonight, I am working with my friend and colleague, the Lady Laurelen, to tell you a story. Last year in Toussaint, many of you will have been aware about the culmination of a story. That story is the tale of a Vampire and a Scholar. A tale of ups and downs, although not as many ups and downs as either of us might like.” She leered and the audience laughed.

“It is a story that contains romance, humour and bravery. It is the story of a rescued Princess and a darkness stymied. It is the tale of two people who should not have even met, let alone fallen in love and it is the tale of ambition that did not know that it was pointless.

“But most of all it is a tale of foolishness. This is the story of how the Scholar met the Vampire and how the two of them fell in Love. So that those of you who only knew the ending of the story, might also learn the beginning of it. This is not the absolute truth. We have taken some liberties with the tale in order to make it more digestible and more... entertaining. The truth is, if anything, far more remarkable. But for your entertainment tonight. We would like to tell you this story.”

And they went on to do precisely that.

I was mortified. Embarrassed isn't the word for it. But also touched and moved beyond my capacity to easily say.

I saw Kerrass and I stopped on the side of the road. But it was not the dirty and sweaty Kerrass and I that I remembered. We were figures of legend, armed and armoured as knights Errant should be. And Lord Dorme was a sinister figure of cackling, hand wringing villainy. We saw the approach to the tower of the Spider-Queen and the fight between Kerrass and I agains the overwhelming odds that Dorme commanded.

We saw my poisoning and the bargain struck. We saw our fight against the formless horrors of the tower before we saw our rescue of the dark lady at the top of the tower.

The story went on and on. I saw myself standing before the dark and formless rage of the wrath of the dark lady. That anger like a storm and myself as a small, shining figure standing in the way. As I did so I saw the dark horror form itself into a lost and lonely woman who rushed into my arms. Before the three of us, the Dark lady, the Witcher and the Scholar turned on the cackling approximation of the sinister figure of Dorme.

After his defeat I saw the figure of the Witcher shoo the Scholar into going for a meeting with the shy dark lady who, as the conversation went on, changed from being a lady of darkness into a lady of light and the two embraced and kissed before the tone turned comical as the two figures started to argue and fight over who would propose to whom before a, fairly accurate, representation of the actual proposal was shown.

I saw the figure of Ariadne flee from the ring while the representation of myself stayed where I was as the terrified Ariadne shuffled forward and the ring was placed on her finger. Then the two stood up and embraced, kissed and then embraced again as fireworks went off in the background.

To say that the crowd went wild is an understatement. Cheering, hats thrown in the air, applause, all of that. Ariadne had been right. It was a story that the people of Toussaint would love. Damsels rescued, villains defeated, chaste betrothals and the promise of some good old fashioned debauchery to follow afterwards.

Unfortunately, my first thought, as Ariadne stepped to the front of the stage with Laurelen to take their well deserved bow was “Fuck. Now I really need to step up my game.”

“I wanted to tell that story.” Ariande told everyone. “A number of people keep asking me why I love Lord Frederick and it occurred to me that some of you might not actually know the reason. Yes, I will admit that the thing that you have just seen was an artistic, a stylised representation of what actually happened. But it is true that Lord Frederick and Master Witcher Kerrass rescued me. I don't think that Lord Frederick would be too offended if I told the crowd that Witcher Kerrass rescued me from the tower. But it was Lord Frederick that rescued me from a monster far worse than what was found in the tower. Lord Frederick rescued me from myself. He stood before the darkness and he conquered.

“I am more grateful to Witcher Kerrass than I can easily articulate for being a good man and a good Witcher as he kicked the door of my prison in and he will always have my respect, friendship and admiration.”

The crowd cheered and many turned to Kerrass who was standing a little way off talking to Lord Palmerin and a newly clothed Natanis. He bowed towards Ariadne formally.

“But I would say, here and now, that the courage that Lord Frederick showed that day showed me the quality of a man's heart. People have criticised him for his illness and his perceived weakness. But I say to you now that I have never known a stronger man. Beloved,” She turned to me. “I would have you know that I love you now and I will love you for the rest of time. Until this life is ended or the world is destroyed and even then I will still love you. But even if that should be the case, I will find you in the next world and the next life and I will love you then also.”

I realised I was as much part of the show as the magic had been and I bowed low to the thunder of the applause. Only to be lifted up and pulled into my love's arms.

“I love you Freddie.” She whispered.

“And I love you too.” I felt a smile on my face. “My lady of darkness.”

She pulled back with a calculating expression. “I may have made an error there.”

“Nah.” I said. “I like the symbology. But thank you.”

“What for?” She wondered. “For taking this moment to tell you how I feel.”

“No.” I answered. “For giving me all the extra pressure.”

She laughed.

“Lord Frederick.” A servant said. “For fear of putting my head in the Dragon's mouth, but...”

“I know.” I admitted and took a deep breath before climbing on the stage.

The crowd stilled as I looked out at them. This had been a mistake. Going on immediately after Ariadne and Laurelen's display had meant that everyone was looking at me now and expectant of something that I wasn't entirely sure that I could provide. What I should have done was to go onto the stage as early as possible. Maybe the second or the third act where I could then be forgotten about in the resulting noise.

But I was here now and there was nothing else that I could do on the subject. People stood there, their faces turned up towards me with wide and expectant eyes and smiling mouths.

I was fucked.

I honestly had no idea what I was going to do. In the harsh light of everything that was going on and all those curious and anticipatory expressions had clear driven my inspiration out of my head. I stood there facing them with mouth agape as I tried to fight me way through to something.

Anything.

“Ummm.” I began unhelpfully. “I would like to begin by tempering your expectations.”

A few people laughed good naturedly.

“Since I came here people have been giving me ideas as to what I should do as a demonstration and I will admit that one idea has chased another idea which was been followed by another idea until I am now quite without inspiration... However I do....”

“If I may.” A voice called from the crowd and I felt my blood run cold.

“If I may speak for just a moment.” Sir Raoul Leblanc walked through the crowd which parted for him. “I have been waiting for you for this entire time,” he went on. “Indeed I have been looking for you all evening.”

“Have you now.” I said. “I have not been hiding. Indeed, I rather thought that I was relatively easy to find.”

“Maybe it was just a coincidence then.” Sir Raoul climbed onto the stage with a massive, condescending smile. “But I was hoping that I could crave a favour from you.”

I sighed. I wondered if this was how a fish feels at that moment when it feels itself being caught by the hook, or being trapped by the nets.

“What is the favour?” I almost groaned it. More than one member of the audience laughed, no doubt assuming that this was all part of some kind of show that Sir Raoul and I had concocted between us.

“Well, if I can address our audience for a moment.” He bowed to me with an extensive and rather overly elaborate gesture.

“Ladies and Gentlemen.” He went on. “Lord Frederick is actually an artist of some renown although you might not think it to hear him. And it is an art form that I admire greatly.”

“Oh?” I wondered. I was frantically thinking about what it could possibly be that might have interested the White knight of Toussaint. I could see Kerrass frantically moving through the crowd towards the stage. But I was trapped.

I have occasionally been giving tentative lessons in these articles on how to be a courtier. Kerrass occasionally jokes that the articles should instead be titled “How to be a suspicious bastard and get away with it.” rather than it's current title of “A scholar's travels with a Witcher.” He is possibly not being unfair. I would hope that it is obvious that if a person wants to learn the art of being a courtier then they should engage the services of a proper tutor rather than to depend on what small hints and tips that I might be able to provide. I would rather think that these lessons are something of an insight as to what life is like for those people that choose to serve with words rather than swords. A different insight and interpretation to the idea of heroism perhaps.

But here is another lesson in that artform...

Heh... just realised what I wrote there.

… That lesson is this. At some point during your career as a courtier, you will be trapped. More often than not, this happens when someone changes the rules on you. You will be at a party of friends and someone will try and ambush you with some kind of statement about this or that after you have been drinking and utterly failing to talk to a pretty member of your gender of choice. And then you find that your host has intentionally gotten you drunk and deliberately peopled the party with people that they know you find attractive before they ambush you with something and set out to make you look foolish.

When you become trapped. There is often only one thing that you can do and that is this. Try and enjoy the journey. You are going to be ridiculed. You are going to be made fun of. You are going to be taken down a peg or two. You are going to look foolish in the eyes of your crush. My advice?

Get over it and move on. If anything you should lean into it. Play up to the jokes. Allow yourself to be the butt of the humour and puncture your own image. It is going to happen anyway so you might as well make use of it. If you are really really lucky. It might even lead to your enemies underestimating you in the future as well.

“The other day I saw a marvel.” Sir Raoul went on. “It has long been known by everyone on the continent that follow such things that Lord Frederick follows the Master Witcher Kerrass. It is also known that Master Kerrass, like all Witchers is a fine swordsman. Among the best in the land. But that is not of what I speak. It is not a marvel to see a skilled man perform his skill.

“What we also know is that, as a result of the dangerous life of a Witcher, Lord Frederick has been forced to learn to defend himself. But he didn't learn to use a lance or a sword aor an axe. He learned to use a spear. This has been fascinating to me for a long time. I was not in Toussaint when Lord Frederick and Master Kerrass were here last. But I will admit that I thought that the use of a spear was odd. In my experience, which is not inconsiderable, a Spear is a weapon designed to be use in a group of people. Because once a swordsman is past the point of a spear then that spear is useless.

“Now Lord Frederick has a counter to that in that he also carries a dagger. But even so. I still think it is remarkable that he would choose such a weapon when there are other, far more practical weapons that would be useful in defending yourself against monsters and bandits on the road.

“I saw Lord Frederick practice with his spear recently and I have been longing to see another demonstration of this skill form.”

“I too would like to see such a demonstration.” Sir Morgan The Black Hand, called from the crowd and something tickled from the back of my mind. “But this is hardly the time or the place for such a display. This is a party and we should use this time for lighter matters.”

“I agree.” I said. “And I am hardly a master of the skill. I know enough to be able to defend myself and others but against anyone else but the demonstration of the use of a spear is hardly a proper subject for a party such as this.”

“Why not?” Sir Raoul asked with a laugh. “After all, are they not called “Martial arts”?”

The crowd laughed.

“And how would I demonstrate such things?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Well, as it happens.” Sir Raoul took his, dazzlingly white cloak from about his shoulders and handed it to a waiting servant. “I have also not demonstrated any kind of artform. Perhaps you might help me in such a matter as I could help you. An impromptu, good natured demonstration duel between us friends, just for people's entertainment?”

Out of the corner of my eyes I could see Emma and Kerrass arguing with someone. I did not have time to see who. After all, the duel had alread started. But then I saw a way out.

“Nothing would make me happier.” I declared. “But my spear is up at the palace.”

“That's odd.” Sir Raoul looked confused for a moment. “I spoke with the servants at the door and they told me that you had handed in your spear as part of the measure for the containing of personal arms.” He said. “I checked as I was hopeful that I would be able to persuade you to talk to me about this subject. If I am not mistaken then...”

He gestured again and sure enough, a servant appeared and handed a very familiar looking long leather bag to him.

“This is your spear is it not Lord Frederick?”

My blood had run cold. I made a show of the thing of course. Taking the two halves of the spear out of the bag, examining them and checking them.

Of course it was my spear. There was no way that it could not be. But I wanted to think.

“I know that you carry your usual dagger on your hip in place of a sword.”

I know that I had left my spear behind. Sir Raoul was quite correct when he said that I carried the dagger that Letho had made for me in place of a sword at the moment. It is the proper way to arm yourself in courtly situations and I was obeying fashion while also carrying a weapon that was familiar to me.

But I had left my spear back at our quarters. I know I had. I was trying to wean myself off the desire to carry it with me everywhere I went. I still took it out for training exercises with Kerrass. But in day to day existence, I was trying to leave it behind. I wouldn't need it after all, I was surrounded by knights of Francesca so much that I had completely forgotten about their presence.

But I was not so far divorced from the habit of always keeping it with me that I had allowed myself to forget exactly where it was at any given moment.

So someone had gone into my quarters and had taken my spear from it's place next to my bed and brought it out here. What else had they stolen?

“Well?” Sir Raoul was playing to the crowd while I thought furiously. “Shall we give them a duel Lord Frederick. Just you and I?”

I looked over, Mark was shaking his head at me. Ariadne was worried. Kerrass was still arguing with someone while Emma looked desperately unhappy. It was Emma's expression that got to me the most. She knew exactly what was going on as she had been trained in this kind of thing as much as anyone.

If I accused Sir Raoul of stealing the spear, or having the spear stolen then at best, he could blame the servant or at worst, he could claim insult and then a friendly duel would turn into a very real one. And I was not at all convinced that I could win a duel against this man, certainly not in my current condition.

So I was trapped there.

It was also possible that Sir Raoul was as much a victim of all of this as much as I was. Someone playing his hatred of everything off for their own purposes. I doubted this but it was a possibility. The risk was that some accident could happen during the duel and that he could kill me with impunity and then claim it was a dueling accident.

I doubted this. It would not do his reputation any good at all. He needed to prove that he was better than me and if he “slipped” and killed me by accident then his reputation as a duellist and a swordsman would be ruined.

From a courtier standpoint? I was trapped.

“Fuck.” I muttered.