Hohenfels

Chapter 12

“I wonder if Eisengrund Hall is still standing,” Friedrich wondered with a spiteful grin on his face.

“Don’t be too happy about this. I’ll have to deal with the fallout as well,” Arne sighed. While the stupid rumors painted Princess Klara in a decidedly more negative light, he would still have to live with the various social consequences and undoubtedly endure dozens of curious inquiries.

‘I wish I could contact Mother,’ he despaired inwardly. A letter would take forever to arrive at Hohenfels castle, and her reply would take just as long. In the meantime, the entire situation would have changed drastically.

Doing the next best thing by talking to Lord Hartmut had not been particularly fruitful, with the old warrior simply suggesting to ‘sit it out and wait’, something Arne had planned to do anyway.

He sighed again, letting his head fall on the wooden surface of the dorm refectory table. Thankfully, the cousins had occupied a small niche in the back, so he did not have to care about optics.

“And of course Prince Maximilian’s soirée is set for tonight,” he mumbled into the table. “That would have been bad enough on its own, and now it got so much worse.”

The invitation had arrived earlier today, shortly before news of the rumors had reached Arne’s ears. It was at extremely short notice, which would have been perceived as rude coming from anyone but a son of the Emperor. But perhaps it was better this way – had Arne known earlier, he would have spent more time dreading it.

“I’m so glad I don’t have to deal with that,” Friedrich said cheerily. “But look at the bright side: That wretch will have an even worse time than you, if she shows up!” Malicious glee.

“She can’t afford not to go. Just like me. It will be so awkward when we run into each other…”

And to make matters even more uncomfortable, Lady Katharina was sure to be around as well. Judging from what Arne knew about her, she would not miss out on an opportunity like that, and her status as high nobility guaranteed an invitation.

“Let’s go spar,” Friedrich suggested. “That always helps my nerves.”

For once, that sounded like a great idea.

= = = = =

Arne cursed his past self. The bruises he got from Friedrich’s practice saber were already healing, but they still made putting on that detestable Francian clothing highly uncomfortable.

‘To hell with it,’ he thought after several unsuccessful attempts at buttoning one of the stiff gilets without cringing in pain. He could have called for an attendant to help him, but he did not care for the discomfort of having someone else dress him. ‘I don’t understand how the silklings bear with this every day.’

Since he was going to stand out anyway, he figured he’d just lean into his status as quasi-foreigner. While he would have loved to wear his favorite doublet, it would have been seen as old-fashioned and reinforced the backwater status of Hohenfels. Instead, he chose a simple, but finely tailored suit-and-coat combination imported from Logres.

‘Getting rid of aristocrats seems to have a positive effect on fashion,’ Arne mused. Logrian clothes were more practical, easier to put on, more comfortable to move in – and most importantly, he didn’t look like an oversized peacock wearing them. The coat even went surprisingly well with his saber, though he grudgingly admitted that the smallsword would probably look better.

Now appropriately dressed, he left his suite to head over to Altengau Hall after making sure that his amulet was secured on his neck.

Prince Maximilian had announced the soirée as ‘casual’, which was a blessing and a curse. On one hand, it meant no annoying introductory formalities that required him waiting in a side room for a dramatic entrance. On the other hand, it meant a slight lowering of social barriers, meaning that lower nobles would be emboldened to talk to him. ‘And I can’t even ignore them,’ he lamented. Since it was highly unlikely to get any of the western duchies – or Eisengrund, of course – on Hohenfels’ side, he would have to build connections with enough smaller territories to make up for that and build up enough pressure on the Emperor.

Arne’s unhappiness only grew the closer he got to the needlessly extravagant building. He encountered more and more small groups of young, gaudily dressed nobles who were obviously heading to the soirée as well. He had expected a much smaller event, but it seemed like the Altendorf prince had sent invitations to pretty much everyone who was vaguely aligned with the western duchies, and neglected everyone from the North and East who was not too important to ignore.

He would be utterly isolated here. Neither Marbach nor Rotenbach had a direct descendant around his age, so his only hope was that Ernst von Liesen had been invited. He doubted it, though. While Maximilian had no choice but to invite both Arne and Princess Klara, the second son of an imperial count from beyond the river Hassel could easily be ignored.

And indeed, the ostentatiously decorated ballroom was painfully devoid of friendly faces. What greeted him were sidelong glances, waves of disdain, and a very unamused Eisenberg princess.

“Prince Arnold. We need to talk. Now.” Barely suppressed rage. Shame.

He noted with some amusement that her fashion choices were just as unconventional as his own. In sharp contrast to most noblewomen present, she had spurned any elaborate Francian costumes in favor of an unpretentious Polanian dress, over which she had strapped a sleek arming belt carrying her smallsword.

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“I concur, Princess Klara. Shall we?” He gestured towards a huge glass door leading to a mostly empty balcony.

Thankfully, she ignored his half-hearted attempt at offering her his arm and strode through the large hall while pointedly ignoring any strange looks she got. Arne did the same, careful not to subconsciously let his hand wander to the hilt of his saber.

The swirl of auras tormenting him faded into the background once they reached the balcony, though it was immediately replaced by Klara’s focused rage.

“Care to explain what is going on?” she spat out. “What did you do?”

“I did absolutely nothing. As you may realize if you used your brain for a moment, I am not exactly benefitting from this situation either,” Arne bit back.

“Of course you are! Hohenfels is a mere margraviate. Just think about it, you buffoon! The mere idea that Eisengrund may have once considered an alliance with you is…”

“You vastly overestimate your importance,” he interrupted, growing more irritated by the second. “We already have Falkenstein at our side. Eisengrund could not possibly compare.”

Klara’s hand twitched towards her smallsword. He demonstratively clasped his hands behind his back.

“That is a blatant lie and you know it, savage. Falkenstein has not fought a single battle in two hundred years.” Indignation. Anger.

“Eisengrund is a poor, remote region. Even more so than Hohenfels.”

“Do you have a death wish…?”

“No, I’m making a point. I gain nothing from this rumor, because Eisengrund is barely relevant in imperial politics. All this does is jeopardize my standing with your rivals!”

“You will take that back or–”

Katharina von Silberthal’s polite cough interrupted them. “Princess Klara, Prince Arnold, please forgive my intrusion.”

= = = = =

Katharina was panicking. She had not expected Princess Klara to immediately drag off Prince Arnold, ruining her detailed plans to talk to each of them privately and bring them together for a resolution later.

Yet another mistake. She had known of the princess’ reputation for brash behavior, but failed to come to the – in hindsight obvious – conclusion that Klara would either not care about or not comprehend the optics of this maneuver. In the eyes of the ever-ravenous rumormongers, the engagement break-off was now all but confirmed, and the angry shouting coming from the balcony did not help the matter.

She had almost decided to let things play out and just keep fluttering from group to group, but there was a severe problem with that approach. If Prince Arnold was aware of her involvement, and the rumor caused him serious issues in the future, her life in the upper strata of society was over.

Her reputation could not survive another major incident, and this time not even her mother would be able to salvage the situation.

Katharina needed to do something. But what?

No time to work out a plan. She had to improvise.

She arrived just in time to keep the heated argument from escalating into violence.

“Princess Klara, Prince Arnold, please forgive my intrusion,” she said, keeping the dread out of her voice and mien.

Both of them turned to stare down at her. ‘Why are all Easterners so damned tall?!’

“Lady Katharina,” the prince replied, his eyes cold as stone. “I am afraid you have arrived at an inopportune time. Might I trouble you to return later?”

She involuntarily shivered. ‘Composure is strength.’

“You’re scaring her, savage,” Princess Klara snidely remarked. “But I suppose you can’t do much about that. It’s simply your nature.”

“That is rich, coming from you. Or are you too blinded by self-importance to realize why you have no friends? Not even your own family–”

“Your Highnesses, please,” Katharina managed to say. “Please consider time and location.”

“Ahem. Indeed, this might not be the best venue to continue this conversation,” Prince Arnold replied, snapping himself out of his – feigned? – anger.

“I agree. Let’s take this to the are–”

“Please! Listen to me for a moment!” Katharina half-screamed in desperation.

Both of them fell silent. Prince Arnold even seemed a little contrite…? Still, she had a major problem now. She had their attention, but de-escalating the situation would be difficult. The easiest way to deal with people of their temper would be to deflect their combined anger towards a third party – but who? It had to be an outside party, who would never care or know about her maneuvering. Someone who would profit from a rift between Eisengrund and Hohenfels. She had no time to think deeply. ‘Polania, maybe? I’ll try it. Both territories share a border with Polania.’

“Consider this: Someone must have predicted that these rumors would lead to conflict between the houses Eisenberg and Hohenfels. Who would stand to gain from–”

“Princess Klara. Lord Arnold.” A familiar voice rang out from behind Katharina. Her blood ran cold.

“Prince Ludwig,” the princess replied with barely restrained anger. Prince Arnold frowned intensely at the Sonnenstein heir standing behind Katharina, but did not return the rude greeting.

She collected all the grace she could muster and moved a few steps to the side, finding herself next to Prince Arnold. A crowd was forming around them, curious onlookers spilling outside. She glanced at Prince Ludwig, who was still ignoring her.

‘Composure is strength.’ Her heart threatened to burst out of her chest.

“I see you have made the acquaintance of Lady Katharina von Silberthal,” the blonde prince said cheerily.

‘Composureisstrengthcomposureisstrengthcomposureisstrength–’

“I apologize for any trouble my little brother’s former fiancée has caused. It is in her nature to meddle with the affairs of her betters.”

= = = = =

Arne barely noticed Lady Katharina’s distress spiking as he struggled with his desire to run. The entire conversation had been horrible enough before the Sonnenstein prince arrived, with him stuck between Klara’s burning rage and Katharina’s desperation.

Now, he got blasted with the auras of two dozen silklings.

It was too much.

Curiosity. Scorn. Vicious delight.

His collar felt narrower and narrower. The amulet felt so heavy that it pulled him to the ground. The saber– ‘Don’t touch the saber!’

He looked at the pompous prince in his eye-piercingly gaudy outfit.

“We shall talk about this later,” Arne told the haughty prick in what he hoped was a calm and confident tone instead of a panicked squeal. Then, he marched towards the balcony door, the sea of lesser nobles parting before him.

CURIOSITY. SURPRISE.

The long walk through the hall was like running the gauntlet. Countless pairs of eyes bored into him.

SHOCK. ALARM. FEAR.

His lungs screamed for air, but Arne could not breathe.

The plaza was teeming with people, barring his way to Hohenfels Hall.

There was only one place he could go.

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