Hohenfels

Despite his best efforts, Arne could not avoid the nightmare that was the entrance ceremony, and it was shaping up to be significantly more unpleasant than he had considered.

When he arrived at the great hall in his dress uniform, he was ushered into a waiting room by an attendant after a quick rundown of how the beginning of the ceremony was to play out. Students belonging to high houses would be called upon in ascending order of importance, meaning he would be rather late to the whole affair, entering just before the ducal heirs.

Fortunately, his high station meant waiting in a comfortable salon filled with fluffy armchairs.

Unfortunately, his high station meant waiting uncomfortably in a salon filled with ducal scions lounging in fluffy armchairs.

Thanks to his mother’s machinations, the attendant had not led him to the waiting room for the children of margraves, landgraves, and imperial counts, but instead right into the maw of the proverbial beast.

“Prince Arnold! I am delighted to see you!” Prince Matthias von Falkenstein did not miss a beat in declaring their houses’ tentative alliance and acceptance of his recently claimed standing, much to the annoyance of most others present. Clearly a calculated move, judging from the smugness permeating his aura.

Arne did his best to cordially reply to the greeting, then returned the Altendorf and Sonnenstein successors’ openly dismissive nods with a nod of his own, adding greatly to their annoyance. Maximilian von Altendorf even sneered at him, causing Arne’s heartbeat to quicken – he had not made friends here, and though Maximilian may only be the third son of the Emperor, he was still the third son of the Emperor.

‘That was inevitable,’ he tried to calm his fraying nerves. ‘House Altendorf has a vested interest in preventing Father’s ascension, after all.’

He turned to the two princesses in the room, who were currently trying to hold amicable conversation – and seemingly failing, judging from their auras. Klara von Eisenberg and Maria von Greifenhain made for a stark contrast both in appearance and temperament.

Princess Maria wore an ornate dress in her family’s colors, green and gold, and lounged elegantly on her armchair, the very picture of a highborn lady.

Conversely, Princess Klara was clothed in the Duchy of Eisengrund’s cavalry dress uniform and carried a smallsword on her side, breaking with tradition in the most flamboyant ways possible. While Lisa’s overall behavior had desensitized Arne to such things from a very young age, he could feel the judgment in Maria’s aura. And while the princes regularly shot glances at Maria, Klara was clearly not subjected to their badly veiled interest.

To his surprise, Princess Klara offered him a – decidedly non-ladylike – bow. Annoyance. Shame. Defiance.

“Prince Arnold,” she greeted, again breaking with protocol by speaking first, unbefitting a lady of similar standing in a formal setting. Still, Arne was utterly elated by this turn of events. He had half-expected her to only address him in this manner in more private settings, technically keeping her word while not jeopardizing House Eisenberg’s standing.

“Princess Klara,” he jovially returned the brash greeting and bow.

The intense spikes of sheer surprise from behind him made obvious that none of the princes had expected this turn of events, either. ‘Still, isn’t this a bit much?’ he asked himself as one particular spike carried no small amount of panic and dread with it. ‘Even if Eisengrund somehow ends up supporting Hohenfels, they’re still one of the least influential duchies. What is Maximilian worried about?’

Maria had since risen from her chair, her aura whirling with conflicting feelings. Outwardly though, she showed no sign of her immense inner turmoil.

“It gladdens me to see you in good health, Princess Maria,” he said, putting significantly more effort into his bow this time.

She curtsied gracefully, taking her time to sort through her thoughts.

“The feeling is mutual, Prince Arnold. It has been a long time, has it not?”

Arne could barely believe how well this day was going so far.

= = = = =

Katharina von Silberthal sat in her surprisingly comfortable chair in the great hall, watching the slow procession of imperial scions with waning interest. After her own introduction to the assembled masses of lower nobles, two other children of imperial counts had followed. Then came the landgraves’ successors, then the progeny of the margraves Niederland, Penau, and Wehrach.

The announcer spoke up again, finally reaching the first name to actually matter in the grand scheme of things.

“Lord Leonhardt Karl August von Wessen, first son of Leonhardt von Wessen, Margrave of Westmark; heir to the Margraviate of Westmark!”

The young lord entering the hall wore his family’s dress uniform, befitting a militaristic house such as his. The cavalry saber on his hip bore the crest of the Lion of the West.

‘Since when have these things been en vogue again?” she thought, the library encounter still fresh in her mind. She had tried to make out the young lord she met two days ago in the crowd, but failed despite her best efforts.

Leonhardt von Wessen walked up to the Principal’s podium with measured steps, carefully receiving the silver medal denoting him as a student of the Imperial Academy and sitting down in his seat of honor afterwards.

According to protocol, the next person to be introduced would be the Hohenfels heir, Arnold. She had not heard a whole lot about him, as he supposedly was a frail and sickly young man who had spent most of his youth bedridden until he recently awakened his magic. There were even rumors that he might be a bastard child. Not that anyone cared overmuch – it was an open secret among the ducal families that his immensely capable sister, Elisabeth von Hohenfels, would most likely be declared heir apparent in the long term.

She knew rumors that House Hohenfels was recently pulling out all the stops with their bid for dukedom, and had even heard first-hand accounts of Matthias von Falkenstein acknowledging Arnold as “Prince”, putting Falkenstein’s name behind Hohenfels in an open bid for power and influence. Anyone not addressing Arnold as such would be directly questioning House Falkenstein, which was a rather significant deterrent.

Still, House Hohenfels would have to hurry. Elevating the current Margrave to dukedom would, though uncomfortable for the houses enjoying the status quo, be well within tradition. If, however, Elisabeth inherited the title and became Margravine before then, not even her status as Paladin would be enough to create the ridiculous precedent of elevating a new duchess. Officially naming her as the heir would significantly worsen their chances already, which was probably why they were taking their sweet time doing that.

‘The Margrave should still have eighty to ninety years left if they keep him on the throne for as long as possible,’ she mentally calculated before the announcer interrupted her musings.

“Prince Arnold Sigismund Wilhelm von Hohenfels, first son of Arnold von Hohenfels, Margrave of Hohenfels; heir to the Margraviate of Hohenfels and the Eastern Marches!”

The titanic doors swung open, revealing a young man. He wore a dark gray and green cavalry uniform that starkly contrasted with Lord Leonhardt’s much flashier red, but suited his short brown hair surprisingly well. On his hip hung a saber, the metallic accents on its sheath gleaming in the light falling in through the massive windows.

While an ill-disposed observer might have described him as ‘lanky’, it was obvious to Katharina that his considerable hardiness was simply overshadowed by just how tall he was, towering over the principal as he received his medal. There was no trace of the supposed frailty or sickness to be found.

As he turned around to claim his seat and she could finally see his stony brown eyes, growing suspicion turned into terrible dread.

‘What have I done.’

= = = = =

“Princess Klara Elisabeth Henrietta von Eisenberg, second daughter of Albrecht von Eisenberg, Duke of Eisengrund!”

While Princess Klara strode through the brightly lit and richly decorated hall, Arne had only one thing in his mind.

‘I need to get out of here.’

“Princess Maria Theresa Eleonore von Greifenhain, second daughter of Heinrich von Greifenhain, Duke of Greifenau!”

The amulet felt like a noose around his neck. The banesilver saber promised salvation, but drawing it here might very well spell the end of his life.

“Prince Matthias Franz Joseph von Falkenstein, first son of Matthias von Falkenstein, Count of Karstberg; second in line to the Duchy of Falkenstein!”

Even minutes after his gruesome march through the ghastly swirl of auras, the occasionally returning stares of the audience felt like boulders on his chest.

“Prince Ludwig August Georg von Sonnenstein, first son of August von Sonnenstein, Duke of Sonnenfeld; heir to the Duchy of Sonnenfeld!”

Arne forced himself to breathe through his slowly restricting throat, careful not to make a sound.

“Prince Maximilian Conrad Leopold von Altendorf, third son of Leopold von Altendorf, Holy Emperor and Duke of Altengau; third in line to the Duchy of Altengau!”

He must have lost himself for a while, since only the clatter of the chairs next to him roused him from his stupor. Desperately relying on his countless hours of marching practice, he somehow managed to get out of the hall.

The dorm seemed leagues away. He would never make it there.

But where else could he go? The students would soon emerge from the great hall. He could not be seen collapsing in the middle of the plaza.

An image flashed through his mind. Dusty shelves. A niche in the wall. Silence.

He marched on.