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Arne stormed down the stairs and jumped into the arena, his hands quivering with fear and anger. He willed them to stop with a quick burst of magic as he approached his unmoving cousin and knelt down beside him.
Judging from the angle of the sword and Friedrich’s weak, but steady pulse, it had missed his heart. A quick inspection showed countless stab wounds, especially on his arms and legs. Some were already half-closed, others were bleeding profusely. ‘He is completely out of magic.’
He rose and looked around the stunned audience, randomly choosing someone to point at. “You! Notify the Castellan of Hohenfels Hall immediately!”
The young man stormed off with a panicked expression, and Arne went to find medical supplies. He did not have to look for long, since Katharina came running out of a storage room, hauling every bandage and tourniquet she could get her hands on. He shot her a grateful look and began taking care of his cousin’s worst wounds, Katharina’s apparent expertise helping the process along greatly. Once he was reasonably certain that Friedrich was out of immediate danger, he turned his attention towards the Eisenberg princess.
She too had suffered a multitude of injuries ranging from harmless surface scratches to deep cuts into her musculature. They had to tie off both her arms in a hurry, since Klara had also utterly exhausted her reserves and was losing precious blood every second.
Unfortunately, they couldn’t do much about her head injury. She was alive, at least – but she was completely unresponsive, her unfocused eyes dilating and contracting erratically.
To his great relief, Lord Hartmut arrived shortly after, accompanied by the head of Eisengrund Hall and a team of academy physicians. The following hours were a blur. He remembered escorting Katharina to her dorm, and then trying to coherently explain what little he knew about the incident to the Castellan.
Only when the physicians finally allowed him into Friedrich’s suite with the assurance that he would probably be fine in a week or two did he allow himself to relax.
The doctors had given him a prohibitively expensive alchemical stimulant to revivify his magic, and it was already working wonders. His wounds were no longer staining his bandages with blood, and his shallow breathing had turned steady again. ‘Thank Christ for his absurd resilience…’
Now that the immediate concerns were solved, Arne’s thoughts turned towards the looming consequences. If Princess Klara died or was permanently injured, the simmering conflict between Hohenfels and Eisengrund might finally erupt into actual war. And even if she recovered completely, relations between the factions would be at an all-time low.
The timing was absolutely terrible. This incident would undoubtedly dominate conversations for the foreseeable future, eradicating Katharina’s and Matthias’ efforts and further entrenching the image of the barbaric Easterners in the minds of the public. At worst, this could even severely hinder House Hohenfels’ bid for dukedom.
He decided to take a very long bath.
= = = = =
Matthias von Falkenstein sat in his favorite armchair, nervously rubbing his face. All his plans had evaporated literally overnight, thanks to that accursed Friedrich beating the shit out of Princess Klara. If his sources were to be trusted, she was still unresponsive and threw up anything the physicians fed her. Her survival was unlikely at best.
“What do we do now, sweetheart?” he sighed.
Elenor, who was perched on his lap with her arm slung around his shoulders in an entirely inappropriate manner, returned the sigh. “I have no idea. Everything was going so well…”
He leaned back, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves. There had to be some way to get things back on track. They needed this conflict between Hohenfels and Sonnenfeld. A distraction like this played right into Maximilian’s – or rather, House Altendorf’s – hands, drawing the aristocracy’s focus away from the increasingly restrictive and heavy-handed decrees the Emperor was passing on a weekly basis.
The worst thing about it was that it had been nothing but a lucky coincidence for them. Had it been a carefully laid plan, he would have been able to respect the effort. But crafting any plans surrounding a subject as volatile as Princess Klara was a fruitless endeavor, doubly so if it revolved around two such individuals.
He suddenly straightened up as an idea came to him. It was reckless, dangerous, insane – but it was the only way to solve the puzzle.
“Sweetheart?”
“Mhm?”
“I need your help.”
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
= = = = =
“What the fuck were you thinking?!” Arne hissed at his cousin, who was shrinking away from him. He was sitting beside Friedrich’s bed, still a little out of breath from sprinting over the moment he heard that the subject of his ire had woken up and was gorging himself on veritable mountains of breakfast.
“I’m sorry,” Friedrich whined, his tone utterly juxtaposed with his bulk and the breadcrumbs lining his chin. “I thought we’d have a quick duel and–”
“Goddamnit, Fritz! You know how your last battle with her went!”
“...Yes,” came a meek reply. “I’m really sorry.” Contrition. Remorse. Worry. Fear.
Arne heaved a deep sigh and refrained from tormenting him further. He had no doubts that this would be a lesson for Friedrich, though it came a little too late.
“How long do you need to rest?”
“Two weeks at the very least, they said. But–”
“Yes, yes, I’m sure you’re feeling fine already. Just promise me to keep your hands off your saber for the next week. Your wounds may look harmless from the outside, but God knows what kind of damage your organs suffered. Just… take it easy. Please.”
“...Got it. I’m still feeling a bit dizzy from the blood loss anyway.”
“Then keep eating and restore your energy. I’ll be back later,” Arne ordered, rising from the chair.
Friedrich had already stuffed his face with another piece of bread and simply waved him goodbye. Arne waved back and left the suite, mentally preparing for what was to come.
When he reached the common room at the bottom of the stairs, he soon found himself surrounded by a gaggle of dorm residents who inquired about Friedrich’s fate with varying levels of urgency. Some of the young women seemed especially perturbed, one of them even bursting into tears upon hearing the good news.
It took Arne some time to shake them off, and he could already feel a headache coming on. He discreetly fastened his amulet and headed out towards the main building for yet another lecture on diplomacy – or was it etiquette today?
The closer he got to his destination, the more stares he felt boring into his back. His determination was ground down further and further, and the prospect of spending an entire day as the center of attention was absolutely dreadful. ‘Fuck it.’
He changed course, briskly walking towards the library instead. Upon arrival, he grabbed some mildly interesting tomes and sequestered himself in his isolated niche.
The blood had been all cleaned up, and the servant they had bribed with the equivalent of a yearly salary had even taken it upon himself to dust off the entire area and put some particularly comfortable cushions on the wooden bench. It looked much better now, but part of him missed the… dusty charm. ‘No matter, it will return with time.’
He had worked his way through two and a half books when Katharina stormed around the corner, her unassuming dress whirling around her legs. “There you are, Your Highness!”
“Good afternoon, Katharina. And no “Highness” in here, please.”
She took the seat directly opposite him, her aura steeped in worry and anxiety. “How is Lord Friedrich doing?”
He smiled at her, genuinely touched by her concern. “He’ll be fine. Probably devouring his fifth loaf of bread right now.”
She sighed in relief. “At last some good news.” She slumped onto the table in a very uncharacteristic display of exasperation. “Do you have any plans on where to go from here?”
“Not really, no. I was planning to observe the situation for today, but…” he shot her a meaningful glance, alluding to his ‘circumstances’.
“Oh, yes… I can see how it would be particularly bad today,” she winced. “I can offer some observations of my own, though.”
Arne gestured for her to begin, and she wasted no further time.
“I completely lost control of the narrative,” she explained, frustration and contrition permeating her aura. “The rumors are taking on a life of their own, on an entirely different scale than normal. I can’t even make out trends – everything is shifting and churning. In some versions, Friedrich murdered Klara in cold blood for some reason or another. In others, Princess Maria of all people orchestrated the entire affair out of jealousy over you.”
“Klara is dead?!”
“Nobody knows for sure. But that doesn’t matter here.”
“...I guess. And what was that about Princess Maria? I barely exchanged three words with her!”
“I have no clue,” Katharina admitted. “There are even some absurd versions going around claiming that the engagement didn’t even involve you, but Friedrich instead!”
Arne choked on his breath. “We should pray that he doesn’t hear of this. I doubt the people spreading that particular rumor would survive.”
She chuckled at that, misinterpreting his words as a joke. They weren’t, at least not entirely – Friedrich would immediately challenge anyone involved to a duel. The women would be able to gracefully decline, but the same did not apply to men.
“What about Ludwig?” he inquired, not wanting to completely give up on their plan. It was still the best option, though its chances of success had dropped dramatically.
“That is hard to say. His name turns up every now and then, mostly in the context of interfering in your conversation with Princess Klara. I stoked the flames as much as I could, but after yesterday’s events, everyone considers me ‘compromised’.” Bitterness.
Arne rested his head in his palms, weariness and worry taking their toll. “Are there any major rumors surrounding the two of us?”
She winced again. “...Unfortunately, yes. Our appearance at the colosseum yesterday left quite the impression.” Anxiousness.
“Ugh. Of course it did,” he sighed. “I hope that doesn’t inconvenience you too much.”
Katharina had apparently expected a different reaction, since a major knot of anxiety in her aura dissolved. “I… Probably not.” Awkwardness. Embarrassment. Worry. Ambition. Guile.
‘Of course, it’s ambition again. What is it about today?’
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