Hohenfels

Katharina’s mind was nothing but chaotic noise.

After Prince Arnold openly threatened Prince Ludwig and subsequently stormed out, the cluster of nobles had naturally dissolved, leaving her and Princess Klara on the balcony. The princess promptly excused herself and left the hall, her furious expression carving a wide path through the guests.

When Katharina returned to the ballroom, she found herself faced with an ever-growing onslaught of curious aristocrats.

“Lady Katharina, did you see what happened?”

“Lady Katharina, why was Prince Arnold so angry?”

“Lady Katharina, where did Princess Klara go?”

“Lady Katharina, what about–”

“Lady Katharina–”

She woodenly replied to some of them, and then tried to find a chair to give her shaky legs some reprieve.

‘Everything is going wrong.’

Mother would never forgive her. This single interaction had killed Silberthal’s future. Her little brother would inherit a doomed house. It was over.

House Sonnenstein was openly opposing her. Publicly ridiculing her. She could do nothing about it. She was ruined, and so was Silberthal. And it was her fault. It was all her damned fault, not being able to shut up, again. All her fault, getting illusions of grandeur. She was just a stupid girl playing games she could not handle.

How should she tell Mother? Would she be pulled out of the academy? Married off to some old baron and forgotten about? Was there anything she could do? Anything?

Her head was spinning. Someone tried to talk to her, she brushed them off. She needed fresh air, now.

When she stepped onto the plaza, the cold evening wind brought some semblance of sanity back to her mind. She could not be seen like this. She needed to compose herself.

Sonnenfeld Hall loomed over her head.

She could not bring herself to enter. The red sun on House Sonnenstein’s banners mocked her, watching her every step with a sneer.

The quiet library was close by. She could go there instead, get herself back under control.

She saw only very few people on the way there, most students either congregating on the plaza or enjoying Prince Maximilian’s soirée. ‘Thank Christ.’

The library was completely deserted. She stumbled through rows of shelves, collecting some bruises from clumsy collisions.

Finally, the secluded niche was just one collapsed shelf away. She turned around the corner–

The bent figure of the Hohenfels prince greeted her, slumped against a shelf.

She had already half-turned, preparing to get away as quickly and quietly as her evening dress allowed – but then she heard a soft dripping sound.

It was so very out of place in a library that she could not help but look back.

In front of the prince, a small red puddle had formed. Blood dripped along the blank edge of his saber as he grasped it tightly with stiff hands, like a drowning man holding onto a rope. His breathing was shallow.

“Prince Arnold?!”

Katharina’s mind went from utter chaos to an empty void.

She knelt down next to him, trying to pry the weapon out of his trembling fingers. He barely seemed to notice her presence, even when she fruitlessly struggled for control of the saber.

‘Banesilver…?’

A different approach was needed. She reached out with her mind, feeling for his aura.

She found it locked down like a Helvetian fortress.

A careful prod with her magic finally had a sudden effect, though it was the opposite of what she had intended. The prince flinched badly, his hands grasping the saber even tighter and turning the small trickle of blood into a steady flow.

His wide eyes stared at her as he regained a sense of his surroundings. The weapon clattered to the floor, and he tried to stand up on shaky legs.

“I apologize–” he wheezed, “I… once again apologize for… the unsightly–”

His knees gave in, and he barely managed to stumble to the bench, smearing blood all over the table.

She hurried to his side, fishing for the handkerchiefs stuffed into her dress to stop his bleeding. As she gingerly went to work, she noted that the deep cuts were already beginning to close, once again disproving the rumors of frailty and magical ineptitude. So did the drops of blood on her hands, almost burning her skin with magical power.

“You– you must… think me so pathetic, Lady Katharina,” he managed to say.

Her hasty attempts to deny his assumption were ignored.

She finished up the improvised tourniquets, carefully wiping up some blood with her last handkerchief. Then, she gathered all of her courage for one question.

“Pardon my curiosity, Prince Arno–”

“Argh. Don’t.”

She flinched. “I apologize, Prince A–”

“Don’t!”

Her jaw snapped shut, panic drowning out all other emotions.

His head jerked around, eyes wide with shock.

“I’m so sor– I apologize. I did not…” he stammered.

This situation had gone so far beyond her mother’s lessons that all she managed to do was not to cry.

“Just… just call me Arnold, will you?”

“What?!” When she realized that she had squealed her thoughts out loud, it was already too late.

“Please?”

“I–I couldn’t possibly, Pr–” she caught herself at the last moment.

“Only… only here,” he said, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice. “Only for now.”

‘He hates his title,’ she realized belatedly. ‘He hates it, and he can’t show that to anyone.’

Her heart began to race again. If she could become Prince Arnold’s trusted friend here, her failures could be redeemed. House Silberthal might be saved. All she had to do was ignore what remained of her conscience–

“On second thought,” he said, eyes suddenly sad and distant, “forget I said anything.”

= = = = =

Arne felt lost and alone.

The humiliating state Lady Katharina had found him in was something only his father and Lisa had ever witnessed before. It had been a moment of such all-encompassing weakness that he had grasped at any straw that offered itself – which, unfortunately, turned out to be the troublesome daughter of some imperial count.

And then, when he was at his lowest, when he tried to make a single damned friend for once, he had gotten a taste of the usual. Cold calculation. Plotting. Guile. Ambition.

Now, after he had retracted his ill-considered plea, her still-suppressed aura exuded shock, regret, and confusion in equal measure.

Her eyes were fixed on the table, her mouth opening and closing repeatedly, but not finding any words.

He looked down at his painfully stinging hands. The bleeding had already stopped, thanks to Lady Katharina’s surprisingly competent aid. Now, his magic began to do the heavy lifting, flesh knitting together even as he watched. ‘So fast,’ he wondered, sluggish thoughts drifting back to his first military campaign. ‘Back in Batuul, this would have taken days. I wonder what–’

A sudden spike of emotion from Katharina snapped him out of the memory. It utterly obliterated the expertly crafted imitation of an aura she usually kept up. Self-loathing. More than that. Regret. Fear. Helplessness. Shame. So much Shame.

“I messed it up. I messed it all up again, didn’t I?” Her voice was barely a whisper, but in the silence of the library, he could hear it easily.

Her eyes fell on the saber, lying discarded on the floor in a pool of blood. Her body tensed as she rose from the bench–

Within a heartbeat, he stood in front of her, gently pushing her back onto the wooden seat.

As she lifted her head, he saw tears streaming down her face. Her aura was a whirlwind of desperation and shame.

“Take a deep breath,” he ordered, carefully pushing her a bit further along the bench and sitting down next to her. He did not trust his legs to carry him much longer.

It seemed that his words had called her back to reality, since both her face and her aura were suddenly radiating sheer horror.

“Your Highness– Please forget–”

“Take a deep breath.”

She did, although it turned into a sob halfway.

“We’re even now, huh?” He showed her a forced grin. Thankfully, it accomplished what he wanted it to.

She chuckled through her sobs, relaxing just a little bit. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

“For Christ’s sake, just call me Arnold.”