Hohenfels

“Any suggestions on where to go from here?” Arne asked, trying to bait out whatever schemes she had cooked up.

“I think you should make a public statement as soon as possible,” Katharina explained. “If you denounce Princess Klara right now and blame everything on her bad temper, public opinion will turn against Eisengrund, which should dissuade them from any heavy-handed actions.” Calculation. Guilt. Panic.

Arne stared at her in disbelief. “That would be ridiculously dishonorable.”

“Maybe, but I believe it is necessary if you wish to end this uncertainty.”

“And what if the other houses simply think of it as a childish tantrum? My reputation would take a nosedive as well,” he said skeptically.

“A risk worth taking, if the alternative is open conflict,” she warned, though her aura betrayed her inner turmoil. “I can handle the proclamation in your name, if you’d prefer to stay off the stage.”

So she wanted to formalize their ties, under the guise of sparing him the stress of a public appearance. Eisengrund was just collateral damage.

Arne vividly remembered Katharina’s burning ambition when she spoke of establishing herself as a diplomat, but now she was throwing it all away. Had she already written the Princess off? Just how bad was her state?

Even so, her plan was harebrained. The Western aristocrats would simply nod along, but Falkenstein and Greifenau would not look kindly upon such weaselly behavior, something Hohenfels really could not afford right now. Banking on House Eisenberg faltering in the face of political opposition was a stretch as well, given their indomitable sense of honor.

When Katharina wound up for another round of arguments, he held up his palm. “What is going on?”

That stopped her cold. She didn’t even manage a reply, so he continued on.

“You’re being way too hasty. What is going through your head right now?” he asked, looking her straight in the eye.

Katharina physically flinched, her aura clenching with stress and fear. “I– It’s just–”

“Tell me,” Arne implored her with every ounce of sincerity he could muster.

He could sense her emotions waging war against each other – ambition and desperation fighting guilt and anxiety.

In the end, ambition lost, if only barely. And even so, a sliver remained.

It took her a short while to find words again, and when she did, they came out haltingly.

“Everything is going wrong. Again! It all looked so promising, and now–” She interrupted herself to stifle a sob, and did not try to continue afterwards. Despair. Shame. Dread.

So that’s what it was. All her plans had spontaneously gone up in flames, leaving her without prospects once more. Now she was impatiently grasping at every straw to salvage what she could.

He tried to imagine himself in her position. What would he do if he was caught up in this situation, but without the unconditional backing of the Empire’s most powerful margraviate?

Then the realization hit him: A single sentence from a certain arrogant piece of shit could put the blame for everything squarely on her shoulders.

It wouldn’t even be difficult for Ludwig. He only had to imply that Katharina somehow caused the rift between Eisengrund and Hohenfels to deepen with her public intervention in the ‘engagement’ dispute, and both aggrieved houses would happily accept her as a scapegoat to avoid open conflict, no matter how flimsy the reasoning. A ‘tentative alliance’ between two students would count for nothing in the face of that.

Hohenfels was certainly not in a position to wage a solitary war against Eisengrund, and he suspected that the situation looked similar or worse on the other side, which kept the region stable. However, if Princess Klara died, House Eisenberg would be honor-bound to react violently – unless a convenient way out presented itself in the form of a young woman with a reputation for meddling with matters out of her league.

His chest ached with sympathy as Katharina quietly sobbed, her aura fluctuating between bottomless dread and self-recrimination. House Silberthal was powerless against the forces at play, with their strongest ally actively working against their daughter’s best interest. Thus, she found herself isolated and desperate.

Of course, all of this assumed the worst case scenario. She would probably be fine if Klara recovered or if Ludwig decided not to meddle with the situation – which he most likely would, since a simmering Eisengrund–Hohenfels conflict was great news for the West. Still, it was very possible for everything to go awry, ending in her indefinite imprisonment for an offense she did not commit.

Arne steeled himself, preparing his heart for what he was about to do. It would have consequences, and he did not know if it would be worth it in the end. But right here and now, his honor left him with only one choice.

He reached over the small table and gently took her hand.

= = = = =

Katharina froze, both her body and mind stopping in their tracks. The only thing that kept moving were the tears rolling down her face.

She couldn’t believe her idiotic, desperate idea had worked. He had actually taken her conveniently placed hand to comfort her.

“It’ll be all right,” the Prince said, his quiet voice drowning her minor moment of triumph in an ocean of guilt. His face showed nothing but sincerity and compassion, even though he probably knew exactly what she had done.

Blinded by tears, Katharina closed her eyes and silently cried, taking undeserved solace in the warmth of his hand. By the time she regained enough composure to speak, she had no energy left to think. She simply spoke her mind, consequences be damned.

“...How?” she asked shakily. “There is nothing I can do. Mother was right, and my life is as good as over.”

She had seen Princess Klara's state yesterday. All signs pointed towards a severe brain injury, something even magic had trouble healing. The glassy, unfocused eyes, the profuse bleeding from her ears, eyes and nose… Only the church might be able to help – but they would demand a king’s ransom for a low chance of success, something Eisengrund simply couldn’t afford.

Klara’s death was all but certain. After that, it would only take an offhand comment from an impulsive man who passionately hated her, and both her life and House Silberthal’s reputation would be ruined.

Arnold grasped her hand a little tighter.

“It’ll be fine,” he insisted. “Whatever happens, we’ll manage somehow.”

Her heart seized when his words sunk in. ‘...We?’

She should be making plans right now. Employing everything she learned from Mother to make the best of the situation, and ingratiate herself further with this insane man who seemed willing to enter an actual alliance with her, not just a tentative one. But all she managed was a quick prayer in between intensifying sobs.

‘Please, Lord, let Princess Klara survive.’

= = = = =

“–in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.”

Klara woke up with a gasp. Her head stung painfully, and it took a while for her eyes to focus. When they did, she immediately shut them again, praying for the first time in a decade that all of this was just a bad dream.

But reality was not so kind, and she found herself staring up at the roof of Halden’s cathedral, bedded on a soft blanket in front of the ostentatious altar. Surrounding her stood seven priests in a neatly arranged circle, including the local bishop, who gave her a magnanimous smile.

“Rejoice, for you have been saved by His grace,” he told her when she raised her head. “The Almighty Lord has deemed your time on His earth too precious to be ended so abruptly.”

Unable to muster an appropriate response, she resigned herself to her fate. “I pray that I may live up to His expectations. Amen.”

“Amen,” echoed the priestly chorus.

“Please rest for a short while longer, Princess Klara. Salvation is never easy on the worldly body.”

She nodded and laid back down, the motions sending a sharp pain through her skull.

This was the absolute worst case situation. She remembered very little from the fight, but one detail stood out with perfect clarity: Her blade, flashing towards Friedrich’s heart in a reflexive motion.

She had killed a scion of House Hohenfels. The East would drown in blood and steel.

The situation would have been so much simpler to solve had she died as well. A duke’s second daughter was a more than acceptable ‘trade’ for the life of a margrave’s nephew. It would have been just another dark footnote in her family’s annals.

Instead, she had survived, inviting bloody vengeance upon Eisengrund, while the duchy was still recovering from the last war with Polania. And if that wasn’t enough, the Housemaster must have invoked his authority to ask the church for help, which never came cheap – especially not for protestants. House Eisenberg would have to shoulder the enormous fees despite their empty coffers.

Her family would pay them happily, she knew. Mother would be worried to death once she got word of the incident, and even Father would be glad not to lose another child.

Still, the guilt felt like a blade through her own heart.

After a few minutes of rest and more half-hearted words of feigned gratitude, she left the cathedral, her soft white dress swaying in the evening wind. ‘Just how long has it been since the fight?’

The Housemaster, her Grandfather’s cousin, stood next to a large carriage, waiting for her. His face lit up like a beacon once he spotted her, and he hurried over to support her slightly unsteady gait. “Klara! I’m so glad!”

She responded with a tired smile. “Thank you, Master Heinrich.”

He helped her into the carriage, and once it was moving, she dared to ask the question that loomed over her head like a dangling sword.

“What do we do now?”

The graying old man was caught completely off-guard. “What do you mean? The most important thing right now is for you to rest and recover.”

“How can I rest in this situation? We need to prepare for the war!” she shouted, incensed by his nonchalant answer. Her skull made her regret it immediately.

“War?” His genuine confusion only infuriated her further.

“Hohenfels will want revenge, now that Friedrich is dead!”

He blinked a few times. “Oh. Don’t worry. The Hohenfels boy is alive and kicking.”

“He… What?! But I stabbed his heart!”

“Fortunately, you seem to have missed it by a hair’s breadth.”

“...Really?” Relief flooded through her body, her painfully tense muscles finally relaxing.

“Yes. I’ve hashed everything out with Hartmut von Hohenfels. There is no new blood debt between our houses.”

Klara sunk deep into the padded bench with a sigh of relief.

“That said, we owe them a different kind of debt, now,” the old man sighed.

She looked at him uncomprehendingly. Another debt? To Hohenfels?

“Young Lord Arnold saved your life.”

The sentence hit her like a punch in the gut. “...How? And why?”

“He arrived at the scene minutes after your fight ended, and not a moment too early. According to the head physician, you would have bled out if not for his aid. As to why, your guess is as good as mine. All I know is that he made a huge spectacle out of it.”

This was bad. Seriously bad.

“What… should I do now?”

“It might be time to stop being so antagonistic,” Heinrich remarked, not unkindly despite the harsh criticism in his words.

“But–”

“I know, I know. I’m not asking you to become best friends with them. But perhaps you should refrain from getting into more duels. And if that is not an option, at least don’t aim for the heart.”

She grimaced. “That was an accident. A reflex.”

“Then get your reflexes under control,” the old man said, a stern note creeping into his voice. “This is not a game.”

“...I’ll try my best.”

“Well, at least the challenge did not originate from you this time. We can still spin this as your answer to an unprovoked insult. That will afford us a much better position in the eyes of the aristocracy, and may damage Hohenfels’ reputation. Particularly so if Friedrich keeps acting like a lowborn mercenary on leave.”

‘But who would take our side over this?’ In her heart, she knew the answer: Nobody would. Even the residents of Eisengrund Hall were wary of her. Meanwhile, that savage had no shortage of friends. Fools, every single one of them.

She stared at the carriage floor for a few minutes, gathering courage for a question.

“How much did it cost?”

“...”

“Tell me. Please,” she begged with a heavy heart.

“We might have to sell Erzfeld,” Heinrich sighed.

“Oh no. Oh nonono. Why didn’t you just let me–”

“Quiet.” He fixed Klara with an angry stare. “Don’t you dare say that. Our House values your life far more than a few mines.”

She closed her mouth in shame.

‘A few mines’ was vastly understating Erzfeld’s significance. The small border region had the potential to become the backbone of Eisengrund’s slowly recovering economy once the duchy could afford to invest money and labor in its rich salt and iron deposits.

The loss would be negligible in the short term. Most active mines were located in the duchy’s developed heartlands. It would, however, significantly limit their future options.

And the worst part of it all was that only a single faction in the Empire was both interested and affluent enough to acquire Erzfeld.

Hohenfels.