Hohenfels

Princess Klara’s aura shook with reluctance, shame, and suppressed anger as she stared at the cousins.

“What do you want?” Arne asked, matching her tone in forgoing protocol.

“I… Ugh,” she groaned. “I owe you for yesterday.”

‘Come again?!’ Arne had expected threats, demands, vows of eternal vengeance… And so had Friedrich, whose aura exuded irritation and confusion in equal measure.

“That duel was a close call,” she continued through clenched teeth. “As much as I hate to admit it, you did me a favor by stopping it there. My reputation might have taken a severe hit had it continued in the same manner.”

Arne could understand that line of thought, since it was exactly what had prompted him to intervene on his cousin’s behalf. However, he had surmised that Klara would consider the result either quid-pro-quo or a severe offense.

“It goes against House Eisenberg’s – no, my honor to owe a favor of this kind,” she spat. The ‘to the likes of you’ written in her indignant expression was left unsaid. “So, name your demands.”

Arne was conflicted. Her aggressive request practically invited an exchange of insults and a refusal to acknowledge her ‘debt’. In fact, that was probably what she was aiming for. An easy way to paint them as honorless savages with no regard for Imperial customs.

If, however, he decided to accept her request and pose a demand, an entirely new series of pitfalls would materialize. If she considered his demand too insignificant, she could easily frame it as House Hohenfels mocking House Eisenberg’s honor. Conversely, a hefty demand would leave them open for accusations of unseemly greed and thus, dishonorable behaviour.

The one ray of hope in the current situation was Friedrich recognizing that he was out of his depth and resigning himself to glowering at the belligerent princess as darkly as humanly possible.

Arne carefully observed her aura. To his great surprise, he could not find a single spark of deceptiveness – but as his recent experiences taught him, that did not necessarily mean much. ‘What should I do…?’

And then he had an idea. An idea so magnificent, so wondrous that he was half-convinced an angel of the Lord had delivered it unto him.

“Very well. You shall address me as ‘Prince’ from now on.”

The expression of sheer horror on her face nearly broke his carefully controlled countenance. He felt Friedrich’s aura shift to malicious glee next to him, as Princess Klara struggled to find words.

“That is not– No, I can’t– This is utterly ridiculous! How could I–”

“So that is what your vaunted honor amounts to,” came a snide remark from Arne’s right.

“F-Fine! I will comply with your demands!” she half-screamed. Frustration. Rage. Helplessness. Indignation. Panic.

Panic? …Oh. I suppose she will have to explain herself to her father once he inevitably hears of this,’ Arne mused and promptly dismissed any sympathy that had wormed its way into his heart. She had gotten herself into this position by her own volition, after all.

“So?”

“...”

“We are waiting,” Friedrich helpfully supplied.

“...Prince Arnold von Hohenfels. I will not forget this.”

“Neither will I. Have a good night, Princess Klara.”

She gave them one last furious look and stormed off.

The moment she left the cousins’ view, Friedrich broke into howling laughter.

“Ahahahahaha! Did you see her–” he gasped for air, struggling to hold back his laughter long enough to speak. “–her face, Arne? Gahahaha!”

Friedrich’s spiteful joy was infectious, and by the time the two young men had reached their suites, they were roaring with laughter, leaving a gaggle of befuddled dorm residents in their wake.

= = = = =

Arne spent the next morning sparring. First with Friedrich, and then with a group of young men who got lured by the clashing of metal and were eager to impress the Hohenfels heir. ‘I wonder what they will think of me once Lisa officially takes that mantle…’

Female successors weren’t unheard of, but they certainly were a rarity. Particularly if the current holder of the territory in question had a son. But special circumstances required special treatment, and Lisa was the first – and, considering the clergy’s attitude during her anointment, probably the last – woman to claim the illustrious title of Paladin. That alone afforded the Margrave more than enough justification to nominate her as the heir to the house.

Together with her wealth of military successes and her matrilineal marriage to Count Erwin von Rotenbach, it was impossible for Arne to look competent next to her. He would have to match her excellence to be considered anything but a jester on the throne – and he had absolutely no intention of even attempting such a feat.

And yet he had to play the part until Lisa’s ascension was made public. So, he indulged the sycophants, playing along with their pathetic attempts at flattery. At least for a while, until the succor provided by his amulet was no longer enough to keep the headache at bay.

He was acutely and painfully aware that holing up in his room was not an option in this situation. Getting a reputation as an ‘isolated prince’ this early would severely damage his initial standing, something Mother would never let him live down. So, he took a bath, changed into a more presentable outfit, and set out for the one place the glory-seeking young aristocrats would never follow him to: The library.

Arne had asked his sister about the academy’s renowned library, but, to absolutely nobody’s surprise, she had not once seen it from the inside. ‘She missed quite the view,’ he thought as he leisurely strolled through rows and rows of bookshelves stuffed with priceless tomes. The atmosphere was serene, and the handful of students he saw were quietly perusing heavy volumes in designated reading corners.

He took the first book that caught his interest – A Study of Pagan Blood Rituals in the Far East – and began looking for a nice spot to read in peace.

His search led him deeper and deeper into the innards of the library. The further he got, the more abandoned the place felt. While the books and shelves near the entrance were kept immaculately clean, the ones back here carried layers of dust as thick as his finger. The only source of light were small windows high up on the walls.

Hidden in a corner behind an ancient shelf on the brink of collapse, he found it. A recessed, semi-circular seating niche built into the wall, with a sturdy table in the middle. Right above the alcove, a round window of stained glass provided enough light to comfortably read.

‘So this is what paradise looks like,’ Arne concluded. He dusted off the table with his sleeve and sat down on the not particularly comfortable bench. ‘I’ll have to bring a pillow next time, though.’

He opened the tome and soon found himself absorbed in it. Half of the text was clerical drivel, but the vivid descriptions of horrid rituals revulsed and fascinated him in equal measure. ‘They did what with the goat’s liver…?’

Arne had not the faintest idea how much time had passed, when a soft cough ripped him out of his trance and almost made him jump.

His surprise was evident on his face, prompting the young woman looking at him from behind the huge stack of books in her arms to offer him an apologetic smile. Her deliberately understated dress matched her dark hair, making it rather difficult to see her in the twilight of the library. Or at least that was what Arne told himself so he didn’t have to admit his failure to notice her in time.

“Please forgive my rudeness,” she said quietly, not wanting to destroy the almost sacred atmosphere despite no soul other than them being even close to earshot.

“May I take a seat at your table? I shall do my utmost to not disturb you any further, Mylord.” Weariness. A little bit of impatience. ‘She has no idea who I am,’ he realized. She had not yet offered her name either, so he was more than happy to keep it that way.

“Please do, Mylady. I only just found this wonderful place, and it would be remiss of me to keep it all to myself.”

“I truly appreciate it,” she replied amicably while placing her books on the table.

While she sorted through them, Arne considered her aura. Her grip on her magic was adequate for a decently well-trained young noblewoman. But something felt… off.

Aura was essentially nothing more than emotionally charged magic leaking from a trained individual’s body, and the tighter one’s mental grasp on it, the smaller the leakage. Not that it helped much against Arne’s senses – even the tiniest amount felt like a trumpet blaring directly into his mind if it caught him unprepared.

In moments of particular emotional intensity, people would leak an abnormally high amount of magic. Those spikes were usually short and intense, quickly receding after an initial outburst. The young lady’s aura spikes, however, seemed dull.

A regular aura probe – secretly prodding someone else’s aura with one’s own – would most likely not pick up on that. Even Arne needed a moment to understand what irked him, and he had to hold back a gasp when he realized what was going on.

She actively projected magic out of her body in an attempt to mask her true aura. It was a titanic feat of control, meaning she was either supremely talented or had endured specialized training. Most likely both.

“While I appreciate the attention, your gaze is rather distracting, Mylord.” Amusement. Mischievousness.

‘Shit.’ “I sincerely apologize, Mylady. My thoughts must have drifted off after reading for so long.”

Her eyes drifted to his choice of reading material, and an impish smile formed on her lips. “I assure you, Mylord, my flesh is fully incompatible with all manners of ghastly rituals. Thus, I must ask you to refrain from misappropriating it.”

Arne barely managed to contain his laughter to a quiet chuckle. “I appreciate the warning. Looks like I have no choice but to find another subject, then. A shame, you seemed so promising…”

“If you tell me your criteria, I might be able to help you find another candidate,” she giggled, clearly enjoying the banter. Her grip on her aura loosened a little, and her authentic emotions–

‘She’s testing me,’ Arne realized with a start. ‘Christ in heaven, she almost got me.’

He mentally thanked Lord Hartmut for his newly acquired vigilance.

= = = = =

Katharina von Silberthal was growing irritated. Whenever she thought she had the situation under complete control, the enigmatic young lord in front of her subtly shifted his attitude. He clearly wasn’t particularly skilled in controlling his expression or body language, since every such shift was accompanied by some kind of physical tell. A twitch of his eyebrows, a nervous rearrangement of his short brown hair, his feet anxiously moving underneath the table. All signs of inexperience. Yet, he was easily keeping her at arm’s length. No mean feat, since she had been subject to her mother’s ruthless social drills for as long as she could remember.

‘Who exactly is this man?’