Once again making her way up and around the spiraling staircase which eventually led to the Count’s quarters, Lady Merida thanked her lucky stars that she engaged in regular physical exercise. She could not imagine how that Castle’s elderly butler managed to clamber up these steep and numerous steps so often every day, let alone at twice the pace that she could manage. As she neared the top of the spire which held the Count’s current residence, a strange, loud clamoring could be heard emanating through the doors, which had been left cracked slightly open.

“Get off me–no, off! And quit your blubbering--”

While she was not willing to act so undignified as to intentionally conceal herself and eavesdrop, Lady Merida still stopped just before the door to peek curiously at the chambers within. There in his bed sat the Count–or at least, the man she assumed to be the Count for they had not officially been introduced to one another–and straddling atop him were the two butlers of the Castle, who were much preoccupied with tightly embracing their master while bawling wetly into his shirt.

“W-we were worried about what might’ve happened, your Lordship!” Belfort blubbered. “First you d-disappeared, and then you collapsed and slept for days. Oh, I was so afraid to think that I would be masterless once again!”

Having had quite enough of this nonsense, and with some effort, Count Niklas pushed with all of the strength he could summon into his spindly arms and forced the two servants back off of him. Then the sound of a loud creak emanating from the door brought this trio to a sudden halt, their heads perking up like meerkats as their gazes swiveled in unison to rest upon the figure of the Lady Mayor who had just entered the room. In less than the time it took to blink, the two servants stood dutifully at attention at their Lord’s side, who himself had fallen back onto his pillow.

“Ahem!” Belfort cleared his throat, though his voice was somewhat rough, and his eyes were red and puffy from crying. “My Lord Count, may I present to you Lady Merida, Mayor of the City of Stoppridge!”

Lady Merida gracefully lowered her head and bent her knees in a small, but regal bow, before she raised her familiar, distinctively violet-colored eyes and met Niklas’ gaze.

Niklas gulped audibly as he took in her appearance for the first time. She was a beautiful and mature woman, with an upright and austere demeanor– that is to say, she strongly reminded him of his sister, Frith.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance!” He said in greeting and although his frayed nerves had caused him to speak a little too loudly, he was relieved that he had managed not to stutter.

Her voice was smooth and unperturbed as she returned his greeting with her own. “Likewise, my Lord. I apologize for meeting with you while you are still in the midst of your recuperation. However, considering the importance of the upcoming event, I felt it necessary to act with some haste, even if that meant I must be a little discourteous.”

Niklas wore a puzzled face then. “By all means, if the matter is urgent then it cannot be helped. But please elaborate: to what are you referring when you mention an ‘upcoming event’, my Lady..?”

It was her turn to wear a confused expression then. “...Has nobody informed you? Neither your servants, nor the Countess herself?”

“Ha!” Niklas couldn’t help but scoff, his reaction causing Lady Merida to cock one elegant eyebrow. “The Countess and I do not speak to one another much, if ever.”

“...Ah.” Lady Merida looked like she was lost in thought for a moment, a small smile forming upon her face as she recalled some vivid memory in the back of her mind. “Yes, I suppose it would be like that.” She spoke softly, giving an impression she was speaking more to herself than responding to him. Returning to the present, she then turned her eyes to the two servants, one young and one old, who stood a bit more rigidly as they received her attention.

“W-we were just getting to that, m’Lord–” Stammered Hemsley, his face and ears going slightly pink.

“--Never you mind; I shall do it. You may leave us.” Lady Merida declared with a dismissive wave of her hand, and no sooner had the command been given than the two manservants were already on their way out the door.

“Now then, I don’t suppose you are aware of what a Petrician Moot entails?” Merida asked.

Niklas scratched his head briefly for a moment, trying his best to recall any relevant information. He had taken note of it during his recent studies–it was an older tradition, but one nonetheless treated with a great deal of respect due to the severity of its nature. “...Vaguely.”

Lady Merida sighed and thought for a moment before she continued. “Do you feel fit to walk, my Lord? It may be better if I just show you.”

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From his current position stood before the large balcony window that looked down upon the courtyard, Niklas took in the bustling throng of people and clusters of hastily-made tents that now populated this once-lonely Castle. He was most thankful for the arm that the Lady Mayor had hooked through his own to help steady his walk, for he was still of a shaky constitution, and this surprise nearly made him lose his footing.

“Whoo boy!” Niklas exhaled audibly with a note of exasperation. “Are these… are they all–?”

“--The heads of most of the nearby villages, the Mayors and Lords of some of the more distant towns and cities, and their entourages as well, of course.” Lady Merida listed matter-of-factly.

“I suppose I have landed myself in quite a pickle, then?” Niklas said to her, his pale face wearing a nervous and slightly-frantic grin.

Lady Merida grinned back down at him, replying with, “If you were to think of yourself in terms of pure social importance, you have accomplished something very great. Before today, a Moot has not been called in Petrice for over forty years!”

Niklas did not feel reassured to hear that, and as he looked back down towards the courtyard as his belly filled with butterflies. “I can already hazard a guess, but… what exactly does the Moot entail?”

His taller companion exhaled through her nose and looked up at the ceiling, as if recalling something she had learned long ago. “For the Moot, beginning with the lowest heads-of-state and traveling upwards in rank, each person will list your crimes against them and the grievances they have with you. Once that process is completed you will be given the floor in order to defend yourself. Finally, the heads-of-state will hand out their sentences for you, beginning with the highest authorities present and working their way back down the ranks once again.”

Niklas gulped audibly as Merida’s explanation concluded.

“Historically speaking, the most common sentences from the Moot have been Deposition, for crimes great enough to enrage most of the province, and Recommendation of Duel, given for more minor grudges between Lords. Considering your situation, you are likely to face the former. What with the Countess here, and her bloody reputation, I doubt any present would bother attempting the latter.”

“Well then...” Was all Niklas replied in a distant tone of voice, obviously still absorbing this information.

The two of them stood there in silence for a few more moments, looking down upon their people. Then a strange noise, like a high, squeaking sort of growl, interrupted the peaceful moment between the two. It had come from Niklas’ stomach.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

“...Would you like to visit the dining hall, my Lord?” The Lady Mayor asked dutifully, to which Niklas simply nodded, his ears turning a little red with embarrassment.

And with that the two turned and made their unsteady way around the balcony and down the grand staircase towards the dining room below.

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The doors that lead into an opulent office swung open suddenly, and the man behind them quickly made his way inside. He was obviously not at his full strength, and he walked with a heavy limp before collapsing heavily into a tall, cushioned wooden seat positioned before a wide desk. Across from him and sat at the other end of the desk was the silhouette of a heavyset man, surrounded by many papers and pieces of parchment that appeared to be in various states of disarray, with many of them obviously having been written upon, crumpled up in frustration, and then unfolded again.

“I see you have failed to complete the retrieval, unless you happen to have that small Count tucked somewhere beneath your cloak.” Spat Mayor Borney. The man’s countenance was a bit pale and glistened with cold sweat–he was nervous. He looked like a child who knew he was doing something his parents disapproved of, but still committed to doing it anyways, and right under their noses. “Our benefactor does not pay you your ludicrous fees just for you to fail.”

Manqoba arranged himself in his seat to better appear upright and poised, even as the great swath of tender, burned flesh on his back cursed him with a pain so terrible as to cause sweat to break out over his brow.

“They paid me to guarantee that your little venture becomes a success.” He replied in a deep and accented tone, his voice deliberately neutral.

Mayor Borney grimaced at the man across from him, his face twisted with a passionate anger fueled by nervous anxiety. “You were supposed to bring him back! Now everything must be moved forward ahead of schedule..!”

The handsome dark-skinned man sighed and rubbed his temple in response to his colleague’s enraged nagging. “Success is never guaranteed when dealing with those Monster Hunters.” And then he scoffed at the thought. “Ha, they are called ‘Monster Hunters,’ but they are just as much Monsters themselves.” He felt the pain radiating up his spine grow in intensity even just thinking about them.

He then turned and directed a sharp glare at the nobleman sat across from him, who startled slightly to receive such a rebellious attitude from this dangerous hireling. Mayor Borney balked at his glare and pointedly looked away so as not to make contact with his eyes. “As if anybody even believes in ‘Monsters’ anyways…” He grumbled under his breath.

“They are real. I have seen them.” Manqoba replied, startling the Lord once again, who had not expected the other man’s hearing to be so keen. Even still, Mayor Borney simply laughed in amusement at the notion, and Manqoba sighed with some exasperation as his statements were dismissed.

I pity the people of this City, for whom this man is their Lord. If one of those Monsters makes its way here, the loss of life shall be devastating. But then his eyes shot back open and narrowed into another glare. But… that is none of my concern.

With an effort of will, he suppressed his pain once more and smoothly rose back to his feet and turned back towards the door. “I shall retrieve that little Count for you, and you will keep up your end of the bargain.”

Mayor Borney shrank back in his chair at the man’s intimidating words, watching fearfully as his conspirator limped back out the doors until they had clicked shut behind him. Once he was alone the tension left him in a rush, and he began grumbling to himself in the otherwise silent office.

“I hate him.” The Mayor declared aloud. “Unpleasant fellow! I wonder why Baron Otkorn keeps him around. Come to think of it, has he ever even mentioned the man before..?”

His gaze then turned down to the table before him, where beside his plate sat that Seal–that stamp that was emblazoned with the symbol of the House of Petrice, and which denoted the signature of its Count and the Countess. He reverently took the thing in his hand, as he was habitually wont to do lately, and a small chuckle of nervous excitement parted his lips as he looked it over, despite his best effort to stifle it.

“Soon… I just need a little more time!”

Standing up from his seat, he then reached over and loudly shook at a gleaming brass bell, and no sooner had he done so then the door peeked open again, allowing the little servant Alvin to creep inside. The corner of his mouth was quite red, as a fresh cut was visible crossing the right side of his lips. Beneath the thick curtain of his bangs the dark swelling of a wicked bruise could just barely be made out. He also clutched at his ribs with his hand as he walked, a spot whereupon no doubt many more such bruises and welts lay unseen beneath his clothes.

“I am heading out. Prepare my carriage.” He commanded the lad.

Alvin exhaled in pain and exhaustion as yet another task had been added onto his already cruelly long list of them, as he had been summoned while he was still in the midst of clearing away the remainder of Borney’s supper. Having been reminded of this, the Lord stopped and leaned in close over the young man until that the two of them were eye-to-eye, the servant grimacing at his proximity.

“If I catch you giving away my leftovers to those filthy street urchins again, then compared to what you got today, it’ll be two-fold worse for you tomorrow! You burn it all properly, and don’t leave out a single morsel.” He growled, before he finally left, slamming the door shut behind him as he did so.

Alvin clutched at his aching side a little more protectively at hearing such a threat, clenching his teeth with frustration even while his expression sank in dejection. His only hope now lay with that young Lord, wherever he may be now...

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Having finished a brief but most appreciated meal, Niklas now stood before the door that led into the Countess’ study. He still rested his weight against the firm arm of the Lady Mayor Merida who walked patiently at his side. He looked up at her pleadingly as he hesitated at the threshold, even though he knew quite well that this was something that he must eventually face.

Lady Merida let a little grin appear on her normally impassive face. She had found that, over the course of the conversations they shared as they walked together that morning, he was not the man whom she had been expecting to meet based on the rumors and the uproar stirred amongst the villagers. What’s more, she had quickly begun to take a liking to him.

“Respectfully, my Lord, it will do you no good to delay the meeting with your Countess any longer. Especially if the matter concerns the state of the territory–she must know of it.”

Niklas sighed. “I know, I know. It’s just… I cannot say that any of our past interactions have been exactly pleasant.”

The Lady Mayor then recalled her own memories, going back to the one time that the previous Count had visited her Hold with his fledgling daughter in tow. Uldred had been a girl of only three years then, for this had happened many years ago, and what a timid child she had been. Too shy to even say a word of greeting towards her father’s sister, she had instead hid silently behind his cloak, stealing glances when she could, but tucking herself back out of sight whenever their eyes happened to meet. She had remained just as shy for the entire duration of their stay, never leaving her safe orbit around the Count’s ankles, remaining ever quiet until something disturbed her, which would lead her to throw one of her many loud and weeping tantrums.

…It appears my niece has not changed much since then. Lady Merida thought to herself in amused introspection.

“My Lord Count, might I give you some advice?” She asked him, to which he peered up at her with a look torn between gratitude and intrigued curiosity. She had to stifle a laugh, for from how he looked at her then, one would think she was some Goddess offering the gift of fire down to the forefathers of men.

“Perhaps when you speak to the Countess, try thinking of her as a cat?”

Niklas’ rapt expression transformed into pure confusion at that, so she elaborated further.

“Picture a massive and exotic cat, one that would take your hand off if she bit you, but a cat nonetheless–think of her in such a way. When you first meet a cat, you must put out your hand and allow it to smell you. So, figuratively, extend your hand to her. Move slowly, and first and foremost, allow her to know your intentions. Treat her patiently, respectfully, and with great care, and she may become more at ease with you.”

Niklas nodded to her. “I… I will try to do that. Thank you, my Lady.”

He then slipped his arm out from where it had been hooked with hers and knocked upon the door to announce himself, before pushing inside and letting it fall closed behind him.

Before him sat the Countess at her desk, resting the chin of her masked face upon her crossed fingers. “You have some explaining to do...”