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Chapter Text

Four years ago

The captain lifted his mug to his lips before taking another strong sip and tried to ignore the growing voices in another corner of the tavern behind him. Kurt didn't often get the chance to see his comrades. After all the years he had already served in the palace and thus neither at the front nor in the garrison, the distance between him and his former comrades was now palpable. Nevertheless he came here – he was still part of the guard and as long as comrades were found who drank and played with him, it was enough for him.

"And you really don't want to break them up?" Radolf inquired. He was a few years younger than Kurt, but he hadn't been wet behind the ears for a long time. Unlike the two Kurt tried to ignore. They still didn't know when it was enough. But they were adults. At least in theory.

"He's off duty. Let them", Irmgard replied. She was about half a dozen years older than Kurt and belonged to those who did not distance herself from him just because his duties included marching day and night behind the three noble cousins from the palace. When he wasn't teaching them how to use weapons himself.

Those very three nobles, Amalia, Constantin and Emile, had entered the tavern about an hour ago. It was possible that they had even been given permission to come here. But considering their clothes – which still looked expensive but were simpler than what they usually wore and the absence of a bodyguard, Kurt guessed it was the second. Just as he was pretty sure that Constantin and Amal had persuaded their cousin, who was just barely still under age, to come along. When the soldier had met the three of them almost eight years ago, he had quickly noticed the quiet nature of Emile. And that even at the age of eleven, he had sometimes sounded like a fifty-year-old. At least he had not been picked on. Green Blood – as Kurt called him – had often been the target of ridicule from early childhood because of a strange greenish mark on his left lower jaw. It started just below the ear, ran down the jaw and extended almost to the chin. Some of its extensions reached to the cheek, others down to the neck. Today he hid it behind the high collar of a cloak, which the mercenary had seen when the three of them had stepped in.

The guardsman continued to check his cards before deciding to play the lowest picture, still trying to ignore the swelling voices in his back. Eventually, the three of them did the same – assuming that his students had simply not seen him. They probably didn't expect him to be here. Perhaps it would be his job to bring the three back to the palace, but after weeks of visiting the de Portaus estate with them, he desperately needed a night off. Which only worked partially, considering that his three protégés, for whose safety he was responsible during his service, were also here.

"So you really want to stick to your statement," he heard Amal's voice follow. She had turned twenty a few weeks ago, which theoretically meant she was of age according to the laws of the Congregation of Merchants. In practice, her temperament went through her almost as often as it did at twelve. Although the soldier had by now gained the impression that she allowed herself to be like that. She could control herself if she so wished. But it seemed that this was almost never the case.

"What? Does he need a girl to defend himself?" replied a deep voice. The mercenary knew without even turning around that it belonged to a brutish guy whose shoulders were almost twice as broad as those of Amal. The Guardsman had glanced in her direction for a moment when he had noticed that someone had thrown a snide remark at Constantin, but his relatives had rushed to his aid immediately. Whereby Emile had become more and more quiet – Amal's and his negotiating style seldom matched.

"He does not – but I do hate it when others pick on him," she replied, not sounding the least bit intimidated. Kurt was not surprised – with the exception of Constantin's parents, nobody seemed to have this effect on her and even they were often enough confronted by her. And not infrequently on occasions when even the soldier thought it wiser not to do so. As soon as the prince and his wife found out where the three of them were staying tonight, such a situation would happen again, he was quite sure.

"He must be good in bed," the guy returned.

This time his statement made the mercenary turn his head slightly to make it easier to hear them. But he didn't look over at them yet. The three had been accused of sleeping with one another several times in the past. Kurt knew that there was nothing to the rumours. Those who made such claims simply did not understand the connection between the three. Moreover, the guard was pretty sure that the man did not know who he was dealing with, nor that the three were related to each other.

"Really, my friends..." Constantin tried to defuse the situation, but his cousin interrupted him.

"Perhaps you and I should take this outside," she suggested, sounding as if she was explaining the way to her counterpart.

"Ouh, that could be interesting," Irmgard said and Kurt gave her a look, but she looked over his shoulder in the direction of the greenhorns. The soldier laid his cards face down on the table before he turned around on his chair as well.
The guy who had first called Constantin a clumsy weakling and then started an argument with Amal had meanwhile risen and stood up in front of her. He was almost one and a half heads taller than she was, so the young woman had to put her head a little way down her neck to look at him. On her lips lay a slight smile. She still did not take the whole thing seriously.

"I mean – it could be that you get back in on your own," she added and grinned at her counterpart.

The other one stopped for a moment. He probably needed a wink to realize that the noblewoman had just admitted that her chances against him were not very good. Which meant that she was still not off the hook. First the guy had to realize that she had given in.

But Amal upped the ante when she turned around and shouted across the now almost silent taproom: "Innkeeper! A round for everyone and a double for my new friends here!"

Then enthusiastic shouts rang out from all corners and the brutish man opposite her seemed to finally understand that she was just apologizing. Kurt tilted his head slightly. Maybe she was becoming something like an adult after all. He was about to turn around when he saw the guy lunged out and landed his hand on Amalia's bottom with a good pat.

"Ha! I like that chick," he barked out.

The young woman, on the other hand, froze for a moment in her movements. Kurt knew she was no child of innocence. Her affairs were well known at court and even if he had not heard about them, Amal had not hesitated to talk openly with her cousins during the breaks from training about who she was targeting, who was courting her or who she had just 'conquered', as she called it. And yet for a moment this gesture was too much for him. Though it was not up to him who looked at her and how. As long as no one got seriously physical.

As quickly as Amal had paused, the smile returned to her lips, but this time it was calculating as she slowly shook her head and turned back to the guy who was still challenging her – though now in a completely different way. He was probably a good ten years her senior. Kurt had never understood how people of that age could believe that someone so much younger saw something in them.
"So that's how you meet women?" she asked in a soft voice as she reached for his left with her right hand and put her other hand on his cheek, only to let it wander down to his neck and take another step towards him.
"Works just fine," the guy returned, grinning smugly.

For the blink of an eye Kurt thought she wanted to defuse this thing in a completely different way but then she let her fingers wander along the neckline of the tunic to the other shoulder and the soldier realized what she would do next.
"Then I will tell you a secret," she added, standing on her toes. Her counterpart turned his head slightly to one side and brought his ear to her lips. Amal took advantage of his distraction, stepping back quickly, twisting his arm and exerting pressure on his shoulder, turning his upper body to the side and a blink of an eyelid later colliding with the tabletop, while she continued to control his arm with the lever.

"There are exactly two women on this continent who like to be addressed like this by men," she added much louder, bending slightly over her victim: "Your sister and your mother!"

The man snorted and his breathing accelerated.

"Uh... she didn't get that from you, did she?" Irmgard asked Kurt.

"The handle – yes. The other one – no," Kurt just replied. He didn't have the time to add that Amalia had already been so brazen when he had taken over the training of the three of them, because at that moment, greenhorn number two spoke up: "Well, there should be three, shouldn't there?"

Of course. Had there been any chance to solve the whole thing quietly before, the chance was over now. Normally, Constantin was able to maneuver his way out of difficulties, but still he managed again and again not to recognize when to use this training in diplomacy and whatever they learned in their other lessons, and when not. Kurt grabbed his mug and emptied it before he put it back on the table behind him without looking over his shoulder.

"Who are you talking about?" Amal digged in and looked at her cousin.

"His grandmother. Somewhere his mother must have it from," he replied, smiling as if he had just made a harmless joke. And then chaos erupted.

Chapter Text

Four years ago

He had suspected that this trip had been a bad idea. But Constantin and Amalia had been looking forward to it so much. After all the weeks they had spent together with the de Portau family, it was hardly surprising that both of them had wanted to escape the court once more. And in and of itself, Emile had no problem moving around the city. But it had rarely turned out well when they had escaped from the palace without permission. Amalia had scouted out the way, as she had done so often – her ability to get through the corridors of the palace unseen was impressive. When the three of them would get together in the evening because one of them was worrying about something or otherwise unable to sleep, it was she who stole wine from the cellar while Constantin took care of some food from the kitchen.

And Emile had hoped that tonight could be another of such evenings. But then his cousin had suggested that they go to the tavern of the Guard. There had been a fire weeks ago. But in the meantime, the damage had been repaired and everything went its usual course, as far as the young nobleman could judge.

At least until Malia had insisted that this man repeat aloud the remark he had made about Constantin behind his back, and that he should look her in the face while doing so. After that... things had started to pick up speed, although for a moment it still looked as if the evening would end peacefully after all. Amalia had ordered a round for everyone and Emile took the liberty of breathing a sigh of relief. Until the big guy's hand had landed on his cousin's buttocks and she had pushed him onto the table with the help of a lever.

When Constantin then added a snide remark about the man's grandmother, while Amalia had been too distracted and had loosened the lever, the situation had escalated. The guy had straightened up as quick as an arrow, pushing Malia off him, who had staggered back. Still, she had managed to avoid the first blow from him. Even the second. But then Constantin had been pushed and stumbled into her. Both had gone down and the guy had come towards them – as well as some of his friends, who had also risen from the table in the mean time. Other tavern visitors had got up and started to line up near the scene.

Emile's relatives tried to get on their feet, but they would be too slow. The guy already swung out with his foot to make it crash into Malia's side. At that moment Emile let his magic flow. The attacker froze in mid-movement as purple streaks flitted across his body, holding him in place.

"A mage!" a woman let out diagonally in front of said mage. She looked around searching – apparently she hadn't noticed who had cast the spell.

Some others also looked around, but at this moment, Constantin stood up.

"My friends – no need to get violent," he let himself be heard and raised his hands in a calming gesture. If only he had thought of it earlier...

Again someone pushed him, but this time he caught himself. He quickly turned to the person and dodged the next blow from the woman who had been sitting at the guy's table a few moments earlier.

Meanwhile Emile had to struggle with the fact that this very man was resisting the magic. The young nobleman was still able to hold him, but he felt his connection to him diminish. And it didn't get any easier because his eye contact was briefly interrupted when someone pushed past the statue-like fellow and attacked Amalia.

Before Emile knew it, it got loud and he himself was shoved aside as more onlookers pushed past him. His concentration broke and the guy let out a scream when the rigor fell off him.

"Who is that dirty little Thélèmer?!", it escaped him and his gaze wandered through the tavern.

Magically gifted people actually only existed in Thélème, a strictly religious nation with which the merchants had an alliance. Emile was the exception within the Congregation of Merchants as far as he knew.

The man's gaze touched Emile, but it did not seem as if it would give him an idea who could cast magic here. Nevertheless, shortly afterwards the fellow stumbled forward and a blink of an eye later the young nobleman realized that Amalia had jumped on his back.

"Well – is this how you imagined your riding trip today?", she yelled at him, while trying to squeeze the air out of him. Which, given the circumference of his neck, Emile thought was a bad idea.

Then he saw someone sneaking up behind Constantin and lifting a mug over his head. Again, Emile let his magic flow and the person froze in the middle of the movement. His cousin didn't even notice what was happening because he still avoided the fists of the woman, who had been joined by another man in the meantime. The tall fellow turned quickly and tried to throw Amalia off, but she had clasped her feet around his chest. Even though her legs did not reach all the way around.

Someone tugged at her and finally she fell to the ground. When the first attacker threw himself onto her, Emile made him pause again right in the air. Malia, her face turned to the ceiling, grinned when she realized that she would not be buried right under this guy, rolled to the side and quickly got back on her feet. Her gaze wandered through the crowd, finding Emile and she nodded at him, smiling.

"That's the Thélèmer!", someone let out, and before the young nobleman knew it, someone pushed again to the right of him, and immediately he was shoved back just before the woman who had discovered him reached him.

A man stood in front of Emile, a little taller than himself and with broader shoulders. Unlike most of the people in the taproom, his posture was upright, calm and somehow familiar.

"Hey! He's playing foul," the woman's voice came to Emile's ears and he raised his eyes. She tried to push herself past the man in front of Emile, but he put a hand on her shoulder and turned her around.

"He is off limits. Find someone else," he replied in a dark voice before he conducted her back. Emile knew this tone of voice...

The woman gave the mage another angry look over his shoulder, but then she was pushed to the side. Meanwhile half of the taproom seemed to take part in the brawl. Nevertheless the young man tried to get next to those in front of him.

"Kurt!" he shouted over the rising noise. Some were cheering for the fighters – although Emile didn't really know who exactly they were cheering for. The screams were too inarticulate and too many of too much different content.

His master of arms briefly took a look out of the corner of his eye before he looked at the bystanders again. At this moment Constantin went down, but he quickly got back on his feet.

"Won't you intervene?" Emile inquired, but he had to keep on shouting to drown out the commotion.

"I already do. I'll see to it that the wise one of you doesn't get involved", the guardsman returned.

Emile's gaze flew back to his two relatives. Meanwhile Malia had to deal with three opponents, one of whom was still the big guy. She ducked away under another blow, but she didn't see one of them coming from behind. This time Emile was too slow and instead caught someone behind the attacker, who then froze in motion.

"But... they could get hurt," he objected when he saw Amalia's face distorted but only shook briefly and then started to attack.

"They are learning a lesson right now that I can' t teach you in training," Kurt countered.

At that moment the young nobleman noticed two other figures coming towards him. Again the soldier pushed himself in front of him, got hold of the first one, turned her quickly around her own axis and pushed her back towards the hustle and bustle where Emile immediately lost sight of her. The second attacker was brought to the ground by the guardsman using a similar lever that Malia had used at the beginning.

"Things are getting uncomfortable. Get out," the mercenary said, and shortly after that Emile noticed an arm around his shoulder and Kurt was dragging him towards the door.

"But the others...", he tried to object, but the guardsman cut him off: "You first. I can't look after all of you at once."

A blink of an eye later, the young nobleman stumbled to the side when someone had fallen halfway against Kurt, almost throwing them both off balance. But the master of arms prevented them from going down at the last moment. Which, given the increasing narrowness, would certainly not have had a good outcome.

Finally the door came within reach, even though the soldier pulled him back again. Someone staggered past the mage towards the taproom. Emile didn't know if he was plunging back into the turmoil, because Kurt pushed him through the door into the open. The noise got quiter a bit as the door closed behind them. The young nobleman turned around and saw his master of arms leaning with his back against the wood and looking at him. The lanterns at the entrance made the scars, which ran diagonally through his right eyebrow, across the bridge of his nose and the guard's lips, seem even deeper, giving the mercenary a grim expression, to which the determined gaze from the steel-grey eyes added to the effect. Nevertheless, this man meant safety for Emile and his cousins. He had been teaching them for eight years on the different weapons and was their bodyguard, who had fought more than one battle for them.

"I will go in and get the others. Might take a while. You stay here. If anyone comes out, stay out of their way," he told him. Emile nodded, then the soldier disappeared back inside. For the moment the door was open, the shouts echoed loudly out into the night before being muffled again. The young man took a few steps to the side and dropped his back against the wall. Only now did he feel that his knees were turning to jelly. If something happened to Constantin or Amalia... For a moment his thoughts wandered back to the time when Malia was fourteen and had been poisoned. But thanks to her aunt Josette, who also knew such substances very well, she had recovered. Just as Constantin and Emile had done with another poisoning almost four years later. Apart from that, this was probably one of the most dangerous situations the three of them had ever found themselves in.

But Kurt had trained them well. Moreover, to Emile's great relief the soldier was here. He would bring them to safety, as he usually did. Which meant... Kurt was off tonight. He had come here to relax. And they'd just about turned his night off into work.

Emile closed his eyes for a moment. Either way, the guardsman had his hands full with them. He shouldn't be forced to look after them in his spare time. After all, they should all be old enough by now. It was bad enough that they had gone away from the palace without permission. They might have got away with it. Perhaps no one would have noticed that they were not in their beds at the time. But now their guardians would be informed.

Emile stood in the cool night air trying to imagine what punishment they would face.

He hadn't got far yet when the noise began to rise again not far from him as the door swung open again. Amalia stumbled outside and shortly after that Constantin. A moment later the soldier followed, closing the door again before turning to the three of them.

"Ha! What idiots," the young woman said with a laugh, before putting an arm around her elder cousin's shoulder and helping him to stand up.

"I don't know... they had... quite striking arguments," let Constantin hear and gave her a doubtful look. Then his eyes flitted down the street and spotted his other cousin. "Emile! You're safe," a smile lit up his face, but it faded immediately and he held his side.

"Are you hurt?" the mage inquired and stepped up to him.

"Nothing bad. Surely I just need some rest," Constantin replied and struggled to smile again, but Emile knew that his cousin was in pain.

"Come on, back to the palace. Before someone in there notices that you're no longer here," Kurt ordered and pointed his head first at the tavern and then up the street.

"What could happen anyway?", said Malia and raised her shoulders slightly.

"Your title will not help you here if they are so upset. And I cannot take on the whole taproom," the mercenary countered.

"Your rescue was truly unique, Kurt. I'll make sure it is rewarded," Constantin said, nodding slightly to the master of arms.

"Can't hurt. It's possible that I'll be unemployed after tonight," the soldier objected.

"Move!", he demanded again and this time the three of them followed suit immediately.

"You got us out – why would they throw you out for that?", Amalia wanted to know, who continued to support her older cousin.

"Pretty sure they will think about it after this thing," replied the guard.

"They need not know that we have been here," the young woman objected.

"They will," the soldier assured them as they turned into another street. There were hardly any people on the road at that time of night. Only now and then did they pass a figure that had sunk against a house wall. Some of them reached out their hands to beg for alms. For others, Emile was not sure if they were still alive or if the Malichor had already taken them.

"You don't want to wake them," Constantin inquired, and his voice was tense, more because of the impending encounter with his parents than the dark streets they were walking through.

"Either way, they will know you were here. Some in there recognized you. And they also know that I was there. And even if none of this were the case, I'm sure Your Excellencies would find ways to hold me responsible," replied the guardsman.

"I agree with Kurt. We have acted irresponsibly. And we should not cause him any trouble," Emile replied.

"It wasn't that bad, was it, Kurt?", Malia followed up, but the mercenary did not answer.

"What she actually wanted to say was: We are sorry that you had to look after us on your evening off," Emile replied.

"I am sure they will compensate him for that. The way they try to eliminate all their problems," said the young woman, and the mage was sure that she would have raised her shoulders if she didn't continue to support Constantin.

"Some things cannot be weighed in gold," Emile reasoned. He loved his two cousins with all his heart, but sometimes Amalia in particular took after Constantin's mother – and the young woman detested her aunt. He had not yet found the courage to point this out to her.

"Those are wise words, cousin. Kurt, please accept our sincere apologies," Constantin said, turning his head towards their master of arms.

"Once we are in the palace. We should all keep our mouths shut until then. The streets are not safe, especially not for three dainty nobles," the soldier replied.

"You have trained us too well to...", his student began, but the guardsman silenced her with a single, harshly whispered word: "Amal."

The mercenary was the only one who abbreviated her name that way. Eventually, it came up during training and got stuck. And as so often, when he said nothing else, the young woman fell silent and did as she was told. What she usually did only with Constantin and Emile. And sometimes with their guardians, when they were administering the proper punishment. The mage was afraid that they would look for another one tonight and perhaps find one. But first they had to arrive safely at the palace. Emile guessed that the guard was right. The news of robberies was piling up, Emile knew so much from the conversations with his uncle. So the four of them continued their journey in silence.

Chapter Text

Four years ago

They reached the palace without any incidents. Kurt made them stop twice when noises came from adjacent alleys, but each time, they could continue their journey unhindered. The guards at the gate had taken a stance as their small delegation approached them. If Emile had correctly interpreted the expression on the faces of the soldiers who had been assigned there in the light of the torches, they had not been thrilled to see their comrade in the company of the three. Presumably because they would also be blamed for the young nobles leaving the palace unnoticed.

Kurt only stopped when they had passed through the main entrance. A short rustle and scuffle followed when Amalia and Constantin suddenly ran into the guard.

"Green Blood, what's the protocol?", the soldier wanted to know, after everyone had taken a step away from each other, and turned to them. He held up the lantern, which he had taken from one of the guards, so that he could see the three of them better, only looking at Emile.

"We must wake up one of the servants, the valet or the maid, who in turn will wake up our guardians. Considering that my mother sleeps alone, one of the maids would be the better choice," he replied. He almost had the impression that his words were thrown back from the high walls.

"Ivette, isn't it?" the mercenary went on.

"Right, that's my mother's maid," Emile confirmed.

"And where does all this take place?" their master of arms inquired.

"In the small council chamber. They like to tell us off there. But they let us stew first. So we will go to Constantin's chamber until they send for us," Amalia said, her voice sounding as if she was repeating something very boring.

"You have already left once tonight. If I let you out of my sight now, you will turn back immediately," the soldier objected.

"Kurt, we're going to get in trouble anyway, no reason to make things worse now. And none of us want you to lose your position. We already owe you thanks for our rescue," Constantin replied.

The guard's gaze wandered from one student to another until he finally looked at Emile.

"You have our word," he said.

"All right. I'll take you there, then I'll wake Ivette," he finally agreed and turned around again.

"We'll find the way on our own," Amalia immediately contradicted him.

"We only have one lantern and with my luck one of you will break his neck if I let you stumble through the darkness alone. I won't take any chances," he gave back as he walked ahead. The three cousins set off and followed him.

***

It wasn't the first time they waited in Constantin's chamber to be called to their three guardians. Nevertheless, being patient until finally a servant appeared to accompany them to the small council chamber seemed to have become hardly easier in all these years. At least for Emile. Amalia had pretended, as always, that she was not interested in what happened next and Constantin had tried not to look too worried. Yet none of them said a word as soon as Ivette had picked them up and escorted them through the corridors.

When they entered the small council room, the three guardians were sitting at the long side of the council table, as always: Prince Pascal d'Orsay in the middle, to his left his wife Josette and to his right Emile's mother, Princess Valerie de Sardet. Emile's father, whom his mother married twenty-five years ago to strengthen the ties between the House of d'Orsay and de Sardet, had died in an expedition before he was born. Amalia's mother had died giving birth to her first child and her father Armand, the younger brother of Pascal and Valerie, had lost his life in a carriage accident almost a dozen years ago.

Unlike on previous occasions when they had been summoned to this room, their guardians wore only dressing gowns and nightdresses. Kurt was also present, which had rarely happened before. He stood beside the council table, arms crossed, and if Emile was not entirely mistaken, the guard was not particularly fond of being here. As a teacher he was impeccable – even after all these years he still pushed the three of them to their limits without overdoing it. But still he hadn't had much to do with their guardians and Emile had got the impression that the soldier was quite comfortable with it.

The three cousins stood next to each other and glanced at their guardians, who returned the look. Aunt Josette looked more than disgruntled, Pascal d'Orsay looked disapproving, and when Emile's gaze met that of his mother, a fleeting, indulgent smile appeared on her lips, which she immediately hid again under a wait-and-see expression.

"A trip to the tavern of the guard. After all these years we thought we knew what to expect from you. But obviously we were mistaken. You are both of age, Amalia and Constantin!" the prince finally began. At the start, his voice had been quiet, but as he went on, it had become louder, while at the same time it had gained in sharpness.

"Father, please...", Constantin began, but the prince silenced his son with a quick gesture.

"Kurt told us what had happened. Also that he did not intervene immediately," the nobleman continued, and at the last words he let his gaze wander towards the guard.

"Thought a lesson can't hurt them, Your Excellency," he replied and raised his shoulders, still with folded arms.

"They have been injured. It is your job to see that nothing like that happens," aunt Josette replied, pointing to the three of them.

Amalia had washed the blood from her lip but you could already see that it was getting thick and Constantin's posture was also sloppy.

"Actually, he was off duty today," he said, straightening up, although Emile could not help feeling that his cousin was still in pain.

"He was near, and you were in danger. It would have been his job to protect you. After all, he is paid on his days off," his mother coldly held against it.

"If you had raised us better, this would not have been necessary tonight," Amalia gave back unmoved.

Thereupon all eyes wandered to her and Emile wished once more that she had not said anything.

"You dare to criticize us after such a failure on your part?", her uncle demanded to know.

She raised her shoulders: "Obviously. And you are not surprised either. You can save your attempts to save faces. You let us train with Kurt for two hours every day and send him along every time we leave the palace. He knows how this works."

The ensuing silence only lasted for a moment, but it seemed to lie so heavy on the room as if it could only be cut open with a sharp blade. Probably it was not only that which made her uncle continue in a cutting tone of voice: "Then we should probably come to your punishment. Not only did you leave the palace without permission, but you also caused a disturbance in the tavern and endangered the reputation of our houses. You cannot imagine the extent of the consequences of your actions, but we will see to it that the punishment will be appropriate. Perhaps then you will understand the responsibility of belonging to the houses d'Orsay and de Sardet."

His eyes wandered from one to the other until he finally came to rest on his son. The prince's voice lacked all kindness when he asked his heir, "Are you hurt?"

"It's... almost nothing. Just... a stabbing pain in the side," he replied haltingly, still trying to maintain an upright posture.

"How dare you bring our son here in this condition," aunt Josette said to him, and again she gave Kurt a look that was not far from murderous.

"He probably broke a rib or two. Hurts, but usually doesn't kill you. If it had been otherwise, I would have informed the doctor first and then Your Excellencies," the soldier replied.

"You see? He is very responsible," Constantin said, probably in an attempt to break another lance for his master of arms.

"You know about such injuries?", the prince inquired.

"Had the pleasure myself in my time in the regiment. Burns, hinders you in breathing, but usually heals by itself," the mercenary explained.

"How long does it take to heal?"

"A few weeks, maybe two months," the guardsman replied.

"Mmh...", the prince put the tips of his fingers together, while his gaze wandered from the soldier back to his own son.

"Then this is your punishment. You will receive no painkilling potions. Maybe you will finally not disappoint us anymore," he finally said.

Constantin sucked in the air, but immediately expelled it sharply and held his side.

"That seems a bit harsh to me. What if it is something more serious? I do not want to deny Kurt's experience, but I think a doctor should check on him regularly," said Valerie de Sardet.

Her brother looked at her before bowing his head slightly.

"Once a week a doctor checks on him."

"Would you not rather have someone check on him twice a week to better assess the progress of the healing? Not that it is like with Mathis," his sister said, with her tone softening at the mention of her late nephew.

The name of Pascal's son from his first marriage was hardly ever pronounced aloud. He had succumbed to the Malichor fourteen winters ago at the age of seventeen.

"No one could help him," replied the prince, his voice having the sharpness of a blade.

"Yet you should not on a whim jeopardize the health of your sole heir, should you not, uncle? After all, that would not be very responsible," his niece reminded him unmoved.

Her uncle's head jerked around and for the blink of an eye Emile had the impression that his uncle would shout at her the next moment. But that would be the first time in all these years that he would experience that.

"You have no restraint... if Armand could see you, he would be ashamed of you," her aunt Josette objected.

Emile thought he saw his cousin stiffening for a moment, but then she looked at her aunt and replied, "I really have no idea what my father would say to me. And I don't think you knew him well enough to know what he would say."

"Enough," the prince intervened.

"The decision stands – because I agree with my sister. A doctor will check on you twice a week. Which brings us to your accomplices," he continued, looking first at Emile and then at Amalia.

She stepped forward.

"I persuaded them to go to the tavern. A beer, nothing more. Not that I intended to stick to it, but that was how I convinced them to leave the palace. So if you want to punish someone – give Constantin the painkilling potions and punish me. Separate me from them for the duration of the healing," she suggested, raising her shoulders again at the last words.

"That does not seem to have impressed you very much all those years ago," aunt Josette countered.

"But of course – after all, you must not have called us here for three years afterwards," her niece replied plainly. Emile thought that the irony in her voice was not very helpful.

"The fact remains – Constantin will not receive any potions. But I think that separation might be the right approach. Emile will not speak to either of you for the duration of the healing and vice versa. Meanwhile, you will be taught separately," the prince replied.

"You cannot do that...", Amalia gave back, but again he raised his hand and continued in a sharp voice: "With every word from either of you, the time will be doubled."

Emile's cousin stared at her uncle with her mouth open for a moment before closing it again without having said anything. Her gaze wandered to the ground before looking up at Emile, who gave her an encouraging smile. None of them could have foreseen these consequences and he knew that Amalia would have preferred to go into what they called 'solitary confinement' rather than let him serve this sentence.

"Let us come to you. You have only grown more difficult over the years. Affairs long before you came of age, duels that you provoke just because you know you can win them... And you came out of this 'lesson' without significant wounds. It seems that Kurt's training encourages you to behave irrationally", their uncle continued.

"You will be excluded from it for the duration of the healing process. Perhaps then you will finally learn that modesty is a virtue," he added.

Amalia's gaze had wandered back to her uncle and Emile could see her wrestling with herself, but she said nothing.

"I do not think that this does the whole affair justice," Constantin's mother said again.

"She admitted herself that she was the instigator. So her punishment should be three times as long. One for each of them. She should also continue to attend training. However, she will not take part in it, she will only watch," she added.

"And should she have the idea to skip a training session, Emile's punishment will be extended as well," the princess finally concluded and a smile flashed across her lips.

Amalia stared at her and when his cousin looked at her again, he saw that she had clenched her hands into fists, but she remained silent.

"This will take care of everyone. Kurt, take Emile to his chamber and then post guards outside their quarters so that they do not visit each other," the Prince ordered.

"Your Excellency," the soldier lowered his arms and bowed briefly before leaving his place at the side and approaching the youngest cousin. Then the latter exchanged a look with the other two, nodded to them and then followed his master of arms out into the corridor. Their shadows danced across the walls in the glow of Kurt's lantern, but both men moved as silently as the twitching silhouettes on the wallpaper.

Only when they reached Emile's room did the guard addressed him: "You need light, don't you?"

The nobleman nodded and opened the door.

"That would be good," he replied and walked towards his desk where one of the oil lamps was. Kurt followed him, closing the door.

After Emile had lit his lamp on the flame in the lantern, the soldier continued: "I have seen several battles before I got the position here. But that was brutal. Reminds me why I prefer to fight with weapons rather than with words."

"They mean well," Emile replied.

"Yes... some people have a strange idea about that," returned the master of arms.

"To be honest, I had hoped to teach you a lesson. But I had rather thought of a week of separate lessons. Nothing like that," he added.

"We will get through it, that's what we did last time," the nobleman just said. At that time, after Amalia had been taught separately from her cousins at the age of nine, after their first unauthorized departure from the palace, the three had written letters to each other, which they had smuggled into Amalia's chamber. Their cousin had replied to them in the same way. Emile guessed that this time it would be similar and the thought made him smile. He would not really be alone, he had never been.

"Yes, that's what they implied... That was before my time, wasn't it?", the mercenary asked.

Emile nodded: "It was just after Constantin's tenth birthday. The three of us ... It is a rather long story."

"I'd listen, but I suppose if their Excellencies get wind that I was talking to you instead of keeping watch, they will think again about throwing me out," the soldier replied.

"That is possible, and you have already had enough trouble because of us today. Please excuse that your evening off has taken such a turn. And thanks for protecting us."

"No problem. As your aunt said: That's what I'm paid for," he returned.

"It still will not bring back your night off. Please pardon us," Emile objected before bowing towards his master of arms.

"That's all right, Green Blood. It's better as if something really happened to you", the guardsman replied.

"Once more I will take you at your word and fetch the other guards. Guess I don't have to remind you to stay here," he added.

"I am staying here. I will see you at training tomorrow," Emile replied.

"See you tomorrow, Green Blood."

Kurt nodded at him, then he left the nobleman's room. The mage looked at the closed door for a moment before he sat down at the table and began to write a letter to his two cousins. He wanted to make sure that they would be patient and not do anything rash, which would prolong their punishments. And in Constantin's case, Emile wanted to make sure that he didn't fake a quicker recovery, just in the hope that their punishments would be over sooner.

Chapter Text

Half a year ago

Her uncle's fork caused a quiet rattling when he put it next to his plate before reaching for the napkin to wipe his mouth. Amalia did not pay much attention to him, but glanced at another piece of the roast that was on the table not far from her. As it was the case so often when the three cousins were eating together with their guardians, Prince Pascal d'Orsay took his place at the front of the table. His wife, Josette d'Orsay, sat on his right and his sister, Valerie de Sardet, sat on his left. Amalia sat between Constantin and his mother. She assumed that she had been assigned this seat years ago so that she would not notice her parents' absence so much and so that she would not feel like the orphan she had been since her father's accident. But after all those years she was almost happy to take that place – so she could at least act as a kind of physical buffer between her aunt and cousin. Emile sat opposite her, looking at his plate, which still contained some of the salad that had been served as one of today's side dishes.

"We have decided that it is time for you to take on more responsibility," said her uncle.

This made Amalia look up to him, as did her cousins.

"Lady Laurine of Morange has built up New Sérène, but it is time for our family to strengthen our presence there," he continued.

The young noblewoman listened attentively. New Sérène was the most recent town founded by the Congregation of Merchants and was located on the island of Teer Fradee, newly discovered some fifteen years ago. The Bridge Alliance had immediately begun settling part of the island and the strictly religious nation of Thélème followed suit all too soon, although the two countries were at war with each other. The merchants had been the last to set up a post on the island, but that too had been a few years ago. Teer Fradee was the farest point of the Congregation's empire. The sea voyage there lasted at least weeks, sometimes even months, Amalia had heard.

"Therefore, you will be installed there as the new governor," the prince explained, his eyes wandering past Amalia to his son.

"Me?", it slipped Constantin's mouth and surprise was clearly audible in his voice.

Inwardly, she was annoyed by the obvious astonishment of her cousin. Such a thing was generally regarded as weakness at court and as if to prove this, his mother showed the hint of a disapproving shake of the head. But Amalia could not really blame him: she herself had not foreseen this move by Prince d'Orsay. He was almost never satisfied with Constantin. That he now gave him responsibility for what was perhaps the most important project of the Congregation was more than astonishing.

"It is time you learned the duties of a regent and gained experience. It will be a long time before you are up to this," his father explained, and in his last words he let his gaze wander over the pillars of the hall as if they carried the entire congregation. Typical – of course it only looked as if he trusted his son. Amalia had stopped wondering years ago if her uncle would ever see more in Constantin than an inadequate substitute for his first son Mathis. His death was so far back that she could not even remember his face and voice. Instead, she remembered that Pascal d'Orsay had only grown cooler towards his second son.

When she looked at Constantin, he had his eyes fixed on the table in front of him for a moment before nodding and forcing himself to look at his father again: "Of course. As you wish."

Amalia put her right hand on Constantin's left and pressed it lightly.

"You will do a great job," she said and smiled at him.

Her cousin returned the gesture and also the smile, but it seemed resigned and not encouraged.

"You will not go alone. After all, reliable allies are important for such an undertaking, and Lady of Morange is sometimes too inclined to make decisions that are not necessarily for the good of the Congregation," the Prince continued.

The young noblewoman looked back at her guardian, but his gaze had wandered to her other cousin.

"Emile will accompany you as ambassador of the Congregation. We will continue to strengthen our relations with the delegations of Thélème and the Bridge Alliance on Teer Fradee," he declared.

"What a Legate of our family is best suited for," concluded Emile, tilting his head slightly towards his uncle. "Your trust honours me, Uncle."

"You have proven yourself a most capable negotiator so far. I expect you to bring all your skills to Teer Fradee in the spirit of the Congregation and refine your skills there," the Prince replied.

"Of course," confirmed Emile and bowed his head once more.

Amalia's gaze wandered back to her guardian, who beckoned a servant. The latter replenished him before he resigned. Prince d'Orsay put his hand around his silver cup and took a sip of the wine, but he said nothing more and seemed unaware of his niece's gaze. Though she was sure he knew she was looking at him, but it would not be the first time he pretended not to pay attention to someone and thereby persuaded them to act. Usually, she did not try to fall for the manoeuvres of her guardians, but this time Amalia's curiosity prevailed over her pride.

"What about me, Uncle?" she wanted to know.

"What about you?" returned her uncle and turned his face to her.

"What task shall I undertake for the Congregation on Teer Fradee?" she asked.

"None. You stay here," he replied.

"What? You cannot do that!", she exclaimed. She was sure that her surprise was even clearer than that of Constantin a few moments earlier.

"We cannot?" echoed her uncle. Had he sounded doubtful at best to his son before, his voice now had the sharpness of a freshly sharpened blade.

"Remember your place, child. I can and I will," he held against it.

"You are impulsive and uncontrollable. With your selfishness you have more than once risked defiling our reputation and breaking important alliances," Josette d'Orsay added sternly.

Amalia's gaze wandered on to her aunt.

"I only act according to what is shown to me," the young woman replied serenely and put a noncommittal smile on her lips.

"That does not explain your affairs and your penchant for duels," Emile's mother now spoke up, her voice sounding at least a touch worried.

"These are trivialities," replied Amalia.

"You may think so, but we have told you more than once that you cannot go on like this. But you preferred disobedience to responsibility," Lady d'Orsay replied.

"I...", Amalia broke off when she could think of no other argument. Yet she defiantly glanced back at her aunt. For the last twenty-three and a half years the young woman had not let her guardians tell her who she was, she would not start today.

"Perhaps Amalia could prove herself," Emile suggested. His tone was calm, almost gentle in comparison with the others.

All eyes were fixed on him.

"In what way?", her uncle demanded to know, but the strictness had hardly left his voice.

"Well, if you think that her... affairs and duels are a danger to our relations, she could promise not to do either," her cousin explained.

"She has given her word more than once that she will not cause us any further trouble," contradicted Princess d'Orsay.

"But surely we will not leave tomorrow? From what I have heard, it takes months to prepare such a journey. During this time she could prove that she could put the interests of the d'Orsay and de Sardet houses above her own," her other cousin now came to her aid.

"You think she could keep her temper for so long?" Emile's mother, Princess de Sardet, inquired and tilted her head slightly.

Her features were pale, as so often in recent times, and for a moment the question twitched in Amalia's mind as to how long her guardians had planned all this and kept it from her and her cousins. If anyone had the slightest conscience about this, it would be Valerie de Sardet.

"Longer, if need be," Constantine confirmed almost effusively.

"And as you said, for my job, I need people I can trust completely. Amalia has fought more than one duel to protect my reputation. I can rely on her as blindly as I rely on Emile. And would not two ambassadors be more practical than one? Imagine San Matheus and Hikmet demanding our attention at the same time while a crisis has broken out in New Sérène?" he continued.

His father looked at him and for the first time in a long time, he looked as if he were really thinking about what his son had just told him.

"As if we could rely on her really to keep such an agreement ...", Josette d'Orsay threw in a derogatory remark.

"Do you mean to tell me that you are not informed of all her steps?", her husband asked coolly and looked at her.

His wife looked down at her plate as if something incredibly interesting had suddenly appeared there.

"So what do you think of your cousin's proposal?" Pascal d'Orsay asked Emile.

"I think he is right. Constantin and I could always count on Amalia, despite all the grief she caused you. She would be an asset to our plans on Teer Fradee," he replied.

The prince looked at him for a moment longer before his gaze glided over to his niece like a snake in waiting. Amalia had listened to every word and had only ever let her uncle out of her sight for a moment. She returned his gaze as calmly as possible.

"If you promise not to get involved in affairs or duels or contests of any kind until you board the ship for departure, you will be appointed as second ambassador. You will report directly to Emile and Constantin. If they make a decision that you do not like, you will still submit to them," he turned to her.

Amalia bowed her head slightly. There had been very few moments in the past when she had disagreed with one or both cousins. And even if they started now, it was better than staying here alone while the two of them sailed away.

"I am waiting," demanded her uncle.

She raised her gaze and looked into his brown eyes.

"I promise not to get involved in any competitions, duels or affairs, nor to actively seek them out until we set sail and put Sérène behind us," she said.

Prince d'Orsay nodded slightly as he reached out for his wine goblet and placed his hand around the vessel. The movement lasted a tiny bit longer than before: this time he let his fingers fall one after the other on the metal. He was satisfied.

At that moment Amalia realized that he had only waited for her to make this promise. Her gaze wandered to his wife, who wore a slight smile on her lips where one could have cut oneself. They had played Amalia. They probably had no intention of keeping her on the continent anyway, unbridled as she was. And now she had done them the favor of falling into that trap. Her gaze wandered on to Valerie de Sardet, who showed a gentle smile – Amalia could not tell whether she was satisfied because her brother and his wife's plan had worked out, or whether she was perhaps really happy that her niece would accompany her son and his cousin.

But Emile's smile was all the more real. She thought she saw him trying to restrain the relief that radiated from his brown eyes for a blink of an eyelid.

"Wonderful! We will all set off together," Constantin said enthusiastically, and she felt him squeeze her hand before she looked at him. His face seemed to glow – which was a special feature considering that his parents were present. It was difficult not to be infected by it. What was the point – she would leave this continent, the court intrigues and the Malichor behind, together with her dearest people. What did the few duels mean compared to this? Since she had only started her current flirtation to annoy her aunt Josette.

Amalia returned Constantin's smile and put her fingers around his for a moment.

"You are right – it is wonderful. I can hardly wait."

Chapter Text

Two weeks ago

The soldier stood at the edge of the forecourt, his eyes fixed on the two fighting people. Almost no ball passed at the Congregation without a duel. This one was no exception. Two young nobles – Isabelle something and the older de Portau brother circled each other, the tips of the rapiers facing each other, but too far apart to touch each other immediately. Isabelle made another drop, which her opponent avoided, only to thrust his blade in her direction at almost the same moment. But the young woman was quick. A duck, a step aside and then her weapon grazed the cheek of the other nobleman. A murmur went through the crowd as a red line appeared on his skin and two small drops of blood came out of the cut.

"You owe me an apology," Isabelle reminded him as she wiped the blade of her rapier with a handkerchief.

De Portau pulled his eyebrows together, but he quickly tightened his posture and his face took on a neutral expression as he bowed towards the noblewoman.

"I beg your pardon. My words were as thoughtless as they were untrue," he said, his voice seeming a touch too smooth to Kurt.

But his opponent seemed satisfied. She bowed her head slightly. "Apology granted," she said majestically.

"All right, ladies and gentlemen. There's nothing more to see here. The wine is getting warm," Kurt let it be heard, and stepped forward a little to disperse the crowd before any more nobles got the idea of stabbing each other. For whenever things went wrong, the merchants seemed to think it was a good idea to blame the guards – who at the same time were not allowed to do anything about the duels. Not to mention that it would have been much safer if the guardsmen fought each other instead of the nobles, but apparently, the merchants' honor forbade that. Or that was what they believed.

Some of the d'Orsay's guests went back to the ballroom, others walked down the gravel paths leading to the palace garden in small groups. The soldier's gaze wandered contentedly over the scattered nobles as he caught sight of a well-known figure who spotted him at the same moment and promptly changed direction. Amalia d'Orsay wore a violet or purple dress today – he had never been good with colours. What he knew was that it matched well with the brown of her hair, which she had pinned up, thus showing off her neck. If one let one's gaze wander down to it, it was led straight to the neckline of her dress, which was just wide enough to show that the base of her breasts swayed slightly with quick steps like this. She had previously worn more elaborate dresses, but now she seemed to understand that less could often be more.

Nevertheless Kurt limited himself to looking at her face. She had been his student for a long time – he shouldn't look at her any differently now than he did then. And even if it wouldn't have been one of his principles, there would still have been this threat that her aunt had made. It had been twelve years ago now, yet he remembered the words of Constantin's mother very clearly. Back then, when she had advised him never to approach his students in private:

"If your attitude toward them should ever change, I recommend that you leave our services before you waste a thought on approaching them in any other way. It could be your last."

The memory was shoved aside when Amal pushed past a small group and finally reached him.

"Kurt!" she greeted him and for a moment the hint of a smile flickered across her face.

"It is almost unbearable here. So terribly boring," she continued, turning slightly, so that her gaze went across the terrace in front of them.

"Would you like to swap?" he countered.

The young noblewoman gave him a look: "To break up the crowd and walk up and down here in front does not look so difficult now. I think I could manage that."

"You really want to exchange drinking wine and dancing for sticking your neck out in case one of your protégés or guests gets hurt in a duel?"

"I have never quite understood why you should be to blame if one of us does something stupid," she replied and raised her shoulders.

"When students make mistakes, teachers are often blamed," he replied.

"Which reduces us to how good or bad our teachers are. As if we could not do anything alone," she replied and her eyebrows narrowed as her gaze wandered further over her family's guests. Then she pressed her lips together for a moment, as always when a thought wandered through her head that went in a different direction than before.

Finally she turned to him: "Have I made things very difficult for you these past few years?"

The soldier turned his head a little to one side. "Difficult? You?", he asked, half amused.

"I have probably started twice as many duels as Emile and Constantin put together. If anything worse than those two scars had happened to me, you would have been held responsible," she explained.

Kurt crossed his arms and allowed himself half a smug smile: "I didn't have to worry. You've been well trained."

Thereupon a grin lit up Amal's face.

"You are admitting for the first time that you are proud of me," she said, with a mischievous look in her eyes.

The guardsman shook his head slowly and held against it: "I didn't say that."

"Are you saying that you are not proud that I am considered one of the best fencers of my generation?" she followed up. Her face looked like that of a cat waiting to jump into a pot of cream. He knew that of the three cousins, Amal was the one who had absolutely no problem with lack of self-confidence.

So he didn't answer her and let his gaze wander again across the forecourt in front of him. Most of those present were back inside by now, only a few had disappeared in the park. At the end of the night the soldier would find out how many young couples had been caught in a rendezvous. The current bets of the palace guard of the d'Orsay's amounted to three.

"Kurt!" protested the young woman, when it seemed to dawn on her that he would say nothing, but a laugh resonated in her voice. Yet she lightly slapped the back of her hand against his upper arm.

"Lady d'Orsay, no wonder you are not among the others if you prefer to keep the staff company."

At once, Amal's laughter died and she turned to the speaker – Isabelle something.

"He is not 'the staff', but my master of arms, Kurt Pakusch. I owe half my talents to him," his former student replied.

"So? Then you should have enough time to talk elsewhere, instead of doing it now and neglecting your guests," the other noblewoman objected.

"If they were my guests, that would be the case. But since this feast was my aunt's idea, I can spend my time as I please. Indeed, I would rather talk to people I have known half my life than expose myself to the danger of acute tristesse that the company of a few distinguished guests would bring," replied Amal, each word sounding as if one could cut oneself, similar to the smile that now lay on her lips.

"How dare you? Was the demonstration not enough to prove that I do not take insults lightly?" Isabelle asked.

"Lady de Sillègue, you are far too intelligent to interpret a banal utterance from me as an insult to you," she replied to the other person in a glib manner.

In situations like these, Kurt was never quite sure that words were not Amal's strongest weapon – although she was his best student and he was proud of her skills with saber, dagger and pistol. Which he would never tell her that way.

"A single glance can often say more than a thousand words," de Sillègue objected.

"I think the greater discourtesy would have been if I had not looked upon you as my opposite," contradicted Amal, striking a semi-conciliatory tone. The soldier had seen her face to face with others often enough to know that she was just following protocol.

"Now excuse me for a moment – I have a few words to exchange with my master of arms before I get back to the festivities," she continued and suddenly Kurt felt her arm slip under his and put her hand on his forearm. They had fought with each other for years, with and without weapons, but she had never touched him like that before.

"Have a good time, my dear, and continue to leave the conversations with the dreary guests to me," she called half over her shoulder before walking towards the railing.

Kurt had little choice but to follow her if it didn't look as if she was going to drag him along with her. The crunch of her footsteps on the gravel sounded too loud in his ears and his gaze wandered from side to side, looking for more nobles or soldiers to pay attention to them, but it seemed as if no one was near them for the time being.

"Amal, my job is your physical safety, not to be your companion," he rebuked her quietly when they were out of earshot of her opponent.

The young woman let go of his arm immediately. A small part of him regretted this. But he knew it was the right thing to do. Her cousins and she were his protégés, no more, and a dozen years younger than the guard.

"I am sorry," she replied, sounding much more sincere than a few moments ago. Her gaze wandered back to where the other noblewoman had stood before, but she had disappeared.

"I needed an excuse to escape, so as not to break the agreement with my uncle after all," she explained, and expelled the remaining air before looking at the guard again.

"You are really trying hard," he said.

"That I will not be involved in any duels or affairs until we leave for Teer Fradee? Yes. Otherwise I will have to stay here," she replied.

"You would rather sneak aboard than let them go without you," he said, raising his shoulders.

Constantin, Emile and Amalia had been almost inseparable in all the years that he had known them by now. Of course their circle of acquaintances had expanded. But even when they had grown old enough for first infatuations and later affairs, one rule had still applied: Whoever wanted to be involved with one of them in one way or another was not allowed to speak ill of the other two. Or even give the impression of not thinking well of them.

A grin lit up her face: "I have not thought about that yet. That is a very good idea!"

"No need to break your promise now," he tried to curb her enthusiasm.

"If you should be involved in a duel tonight after seeing how we talk to each other, I will certainly be held responsible," he reminded her.

She sighed, but he was sure she was overdoing it with the theatricality of it.

"Very well. For the last two weeks I can do you a favour, too. Even if it probably does not outweigh the difficulties I have caused you over the past years," she repeated.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," he said and crossed his arms again.

Amal's smile seemed a little relieved, but somehow it didn't seem to reach her eyes when she replied, "I am glad to hear. I would not like to leave you with a bad impression of me when I depart."

"You won't," he replied, mustering her a moment longer before adding, "I'll go with you to Teer Fradee."

"You are coming with us?" she followed up in surprise.

He nodded, her face brightened. If one wasn't careful, the smile that just lay on her face could look like the sunrise after a particularly dark night. Which was why Kurt tried to avoid it as best he could. He let his gaze wander across the park in front of them again before looking back at her.

"That is great!" she continued and straightened up a bit and only then did he notice that she had neglected her posture before.

Her gaze wandered towards the palace that lay behind them.

"There are a lot of people I will not miss when we leave, but I am glad that you are not one of the handful of people I will miss," she added, her voice becoming a little quieter.

"Wait until we are on our way. Sooner or later you will complain and feel supervised," he prophesied. Mainly because he wanted to take the wind out of her sails a bit. He planned to continue to look after them, but his time as master of arms of the three cousins was officially over since the preparations for the journey had begun.

"Have I complained about you so much in the past?" she asked.

"You were not only my best student, but also the one who lamented most," he countered.

"If you criticized me unjustly ... yes!", she replied, but her voice sounded more amused than angry.

"Perhaps you thought my criticism was unjustified ...", he objected, leaving the rest of the sentence hanging in the air.

"You are no more infallible than I am. And no matter what you say now, this is the best news I have received today. You will not change anything about it," she returned and smiled again.

"I know you like to pretend that you are here just for the money, but unlike you, I have no problems admitting when I like someone. You belong to us and I am glad that you are with us," she continued, her smile widening even more.

"Glad to hear," he finally admitted and raised his shoulders with arms still crossed.

"Oho – it looks like I will have to take back that you cannot talk about your feelings," she replied mischievously, but changed the subject seamlessly, whereby her voice lost a little of its enthusiasm: "I will go back inside and take care of those who I will not miss."

She nodded at him, then turned towards the palace. Her footsteps caused a soft crunch, but she paused after the second one and turned to Kurt again: "Wish me luck that they are not all like certain young ladies, then I will get through this evening without a duel."

"You don't need luck. You just have to keep your temper in check," he countered.

"Yes, Captain!", she replied and saluted casually before turning away and walking back to the ballroom.

Kurt expelled the air and turned his gaze back to the park.

Chapter Text

Today

Emile held his hands in front of his body and instantly let his magic form a shield. Only a blink of an eye later, a bullet bounced off the purple shimmering barrier. Kurt and Mother Iratia had made him practice such defensive techniques hundreds of times. And even though this was not his first real fight, it was still something different when the person opposite you really wanted to kill you. But he had no time to think about such things, because already a sabre rushed towards him and he had to concentrate on keeping the shield upright. The moment the blade touched the barrier, the nobleman let it collapse to the outside. His attacker was hit by the shock wave and Emile sent a magical projectile after him, which knocked him down for good.

A few arm's lengths away, a sword passed through the air, so fast that he would have had to focus on the blade to follow its movements correctly. Kurt's weapon struck down a woman. She emitted a gurgling scream that gradually turned into a wheezing sound as the fight continued.

There had been five of them: Three women and two men had pounced on Emile de Sardet, the future ambassador of the Congregation of Merchants, and his bodyguard and former master of arms Kurt Pakusch as soon as they entered the alley. Now only one of the attackers, a woman, was still standing. The soldier had pushed her into a corner – her back was against the wall of the house and her eyes, which could be seen above the cloth, were wide open. The diplomat thought he saw black, snake-like lines next to her eyes.

"Kurt, let her go," he turned to the guard, whose weapon was only two hands' breadth from the woman's chest.

"She wouldn't do us the same favour," the mercenary countered without letting his victim out of his sight.

"I am sure she has learned her lesson," Emile said and approached the soldier.

The mercenary examined the bandit opposite him. Then he lowered his sword and walked half a step aside, still staying in front of the ambassador.

"Get out of here," he just said.

The woman ran past them, stumbled over the corpse of one of her cronies, but immediately picked herself up again and disappeared in one of the adjoining alleys. Only when her footsteps had faded away did the guard start to move and squat down with the other woman, who was lying on the ground still coughing. Her movements were so weak that Emile was not sure if she was even aware that she was still moving. Kurt pulled out a knife and pushed his free hand under the back of her head. The nobleman turned away. He suspected what was to follow, even if he had only once watched his former master of arms cut the throat of an attacker who had been beyond rescue. A smacking noise sounded, then the rattle died.

When Emile turned back to the soldier, the guard had pulled the scarf from the woman's nose, revealing the rest of her face. Black lines ran across her face as if dark earthworms had pushed themselves under her skin and died there. Her wide open eyes were already showing the first signs of dullness, indicating that she was approaching the final stage of the Malichor. The plague had appeared on the continent about two centuries ago. At first, there had been isolated cases. But by now, it was ravaging all the nations known to the Emile. It was not clear how it was transmitted: The Malichor was transmitted neither by touch nor by animals. Its sacrifices were so arbitrary that none of the factions that inhabited the continent could be accused of taking advantage of it. Poor and rich, young and old, strong and weak were all afflicted by it. Some families lost only isolated members, others died out completely.

The sight of the dead made Emile's thoughts wander back to his own mother. It was not an hour ago that he had said goodbye to her:

He had gone straight to his mother's room after breakfast with his uncle and aunt. Since the Malichor had demanded her sight, she hardly left it. Emile had always walked a few steps with her in the last few weeks, but that would no longer be possible starting today. He put his hand on the door handle, even though he would have liked to delay this encounter further. The ship would leave with the tide in the evening and the Prince of the Congregation had made it clear that there would be no further delay to this journey.

So the Ambassador opened the door, which made a faint squeaking sound and revealed the view of Princess Valerie de Sardet, sister of Prince Pascal d'Orsay. Her posture was as upright as ever, almost as if she was still sitting in the throne room at the side of her brother and his wife. Her dress could also have been worn on almost any courtly occasion. Her milky eyes wandered as she heard the sounds coming from the direction of the door, as if she was trying to look at someone, although she had not been able to for a long time.

"Who is there? Did no one teach you to knock? I have asked a thousand times," she said in a scratchy voice, taking away some of the severity that resonated in the words.

The young man had approached her armchair and reached for her hand while he sat down in the squatting position.

"Emile", it escaped her and suddenly her tone of voice became soft and her face took on a peaceful expression that even the black, almost finger-wide, snake-like ulcers that the advancing Malichor left on it could not completely disfigure.

"Mother," he replied, although he still had to swallow when he saw her like that. Not because the sight of her frightened him, but because it reminded him how much she suffered. His mother never showed it to him, but he had learned enough about the Malichor to know that she was in great pain. There had also been two days when she had only been in a dusky state and had not recognized him. These days would increase, he knew that, even if he would not be here to experience it. Which caused him all the more trouble.

"'Today is the great day, is it not?', she inquired as she laid her other hand on his. She sounded much more confident about it than her son felt at that moment.

"It is," replied Emile, though his heart seemed to grow even heavier at the thought of these words.

"Then you leave for Teer Fradee today. I am sure Constantin and Amalia are ..." she broke off when she had to take another breath. For days, she had found it increasingly difficult to breathe as she tried to produce several sentences. "... very eager for it," she finally added.

Emile squeezed her hand.

"So eager that when they celebrated last night they forgot the time. Kurt and I will go and look for them right away," he replied.

Prince Pascal d'Orsay had not been pleased when his son and niece had not appeared at breakfast and the servants had reported that they had not spent the night in their rooms. It was not the first time that one of them had spent the night outside the palace – or in Amalia's case, sometimes simply in another bed – but the day before departure it was more than unusual. Nevertheless, he would worry about his two cousins later.

His mother laughed softly, which soon turned into a cough. Emile put his other hand on her shoulder as she bent forward to give her some support. She gradually calmed down and pressed his hand with hers.

"I was surprised not to hear them outside the door. Do not blame them for their exuberance, they hope..." she struggled for breath again, "... for a better life for the three of you on Teer Fradee, just like me."

The young man felt how the stone that had formed in his throat before entering the room seemed to grow larger.

"But to leave you in this state, mother, when you are ill and suffering..." he replied, but did not manage to finish the sentence.

But he did not need to. His mother again put her other hand on his and held it carefully.

"I am dying, Emile. There is nothing you can do to ease my suffering," she replied softly before she took another deep breath and exhaled again. Only with the second breath she continued: "But I know that you will be safe from the Malichor. No one on Teer Fradee has ever been sick with it. And who knows..." again she had to interrupt to gasp for breath. Watching her, it was like a blade cutting through his chest. Nevertheless, he stroked her forearm slightly with his free hand to let her know that she did not have to hurry. What she did anyway, she was gentle, but still a bit stubborn: "... maybe you can even find a cure. After all, they say there are all kinds of miracles on this island. Imagine..." she took another deep breath, expelled it unused and took another run at it: "Imagine the face of my brother when Constantin, of all people, helps to heal the continent."

The hint of a mischievous smile was stealing into the corners of her mouth. But despite her disfigured features, Emile was for a moment, as if the sun was breaking through the clouds for a brief glimpse after long days of rain.

"But for this you must go. And you must find them," she added, a little slower this time. She released her hands from his and turned a bit to the other side. There was a little table, on which there was always a cup and a jug of tea. Only now Emile noticed that today there was also an amulet lying there. The fingers of his mother, which stroked searchingly across the table, stopped when they reached it and she picked it up to turn back to her son. With one hand she reached for his, then she put the pendant inside. It was about half as wide as Emile's palm and round. But unlike the shimmering, finely crafted silver necklace on which it hung, the pendant was cool and heavy. A pattern was carved into the surface, but before he could look at it more closely, his mother put the fingers of his own hand over it.

"It is a family heirloom. I want you to carry it with you always," she said softly.

"What is it?" he wanted to know.

"Something that I hope will bring you luck. And now go... or the ship will sail without you," she replied, and despite her battered voice she managed to give the last words a teasing tone.

Emile put the necklace around his neck and stowed the pendant under his tunic before he rose. He leaned forward, gently placing one hand on his mother's shoulder before leaning forward and kissing her forehead. He had known that this moment would come. And yet the realization that this was the last time he saw her passed through him like a lightning bolt.

He felt the tears in his eyes as he stood up and looked at her once more. His hand moved from her shoulder down to hers.

"Farewell, mother. And thank you for everything," he replied.

"Take care of yourself. And thank you for being my son," she answered and squeezed his hand.

"I will always be," he replied softly, while a tear found its way out of the corner of his eye. But he did nothing to stop it from running down his cheek and into his beard.

"Go," she said, still softly but firmly, and squeezed his hand.

Emile bent over again, this time kissing her cheek. Somehow he managed to step away from her afterwards. He wanted to say something else, but his throat was closed. And he did not know what else he could have said. So he turned around and left the room.

"Green Blood."

Emile shook his head and turned to Kurt who was still holding his sword in his hand and standing in the middle of the small square.

"I know this isn't easy for you, but we still have to find the other two greenhorns," he reminded him.

"I am sorry," Emile answered and caught up with him.

"No harm done. And at least you were in the palace this morning," the soldier returned as they set off. His gaze wandered from side to side as he watched for possible attackers.

"I hope nothing has happened to them," replied the ambassador.

"Probably they forgot the time, drank themselves under the table or just wanted to annoy Constantin's parents," said the guard, raising his shoulders slightly.

"You are probably right. Maybe they are really waiting for us at the harbour," Emile agreed with him.

Chapter Text

Today

Amalia carefully moved the lock pick, whereby a scraping sound was heard. She paused at once. But it remained quiet in the corridor in front of the door.

"Do you have it?" Constantin asked whisperingly.

She looked at her cousin and shook her head slightly. They had both woken up in this storage room about an hour ago, if Amalia had to estimated the time. There was a small window right under the roof, but it was too narrow for her to fit through. Judging by the light that came through, it was still early in the morning. Which was good, because they should be somewhere else very soon. But apparently, they had messed with the wrong people the night before while partying. Their memories were sketchy towards the end. How she and Constantin got here, she couldn't remember exactly. They had gone to one of the taverns. And then into another. And then... it got blurry.

It didn't really matter – because if they didn't get out, the ship would probably leave without them. So Amalia tried again. Whoever threw them into this room had taken their belts, coats and swords. But they had not taken their boots, so the young woman still had her lock picks, which she had hidden in the bootleg.

She guided the thin metal pin a little further into the lock and turned it slightly. She felt a resistance. Carefully she exerted pressure and finally a scratching noise was heard, followed by a clacking sound. She put her free hand on the latch and pressed it down to test it. The door opened.

Amalia glanced at her cousin with a grin.

"Malia, you are incredible," he said, his enthusiasm thwarting his attempt to whisper.

She put one finger to her lips while she put the lock pick back into the bootleg with the other hand. Then she opened the door which let an ominous creaking be heard. Both cousins froze in the movement. But nothing happened.

Amalia was the first to leave the room. Behind it was a corridor. Again, the walls, ceiling and floor were made of wood. Apparently, no nobleman had taken them. Or the kidnappers had not yet handed them over. She quietly put one foot in front of the other while her cousin followed her down the corridor a little. Diagonally opposite them was a door. Amalia opened it carefully. The young woman paused momentarily at the sound of a squeak. She counted slowly to five in her mind, but the house remained quiet. Then she pulled the door open far enough so that she could take a look into the room behind it. She saw boxes standing in the opposite corner and two normal windows. Good, that would give them some orientation. Amalia crept into the room, but there was no one to be seen here either. Which didn't have to mean anything – just because the creaking hadn't alarmed anyone, it didn't have to mean that nobody was here. Perhaps their captors just thought a door had opened by itself or one of their cronies was moving through the house. To her right was another door, which she stepped upon quietly.

A creaking behind her made her cringe and twirl around, but all she saw was Constantin raising his shoulders apologetically. Relieved, Amalia expelled the air, then continued on her way. Behind the door was a kind of writing room – albeit much more plainly furnished than the one she knew from the court. The furniture, a few shelves, a desk, an armchair and two stools, were roughly knocked together. She had not even seen such simple work in the tavern and brothel of the Guard, although the furnishings there were already very different from those of the palace.

As her gaze wandered to the side, she glimpsed another table – on which their belongings lay. She turned to her cousin and pointed her head towards the room so that he would follow her, then she went over to the table. Amalia put on her weapon belt, then she checked her pistol. Loaded, as before, but secured. Only then did she put on her coat and finally her hat. She still had some headache, probably from too much alcohol, but now that she had her things back, she felt more like herself again. She walked over to the window in front of which the desk stood while Constantin put on his belt.

The windows were not glazed, but only had some wooden struts so that no one could break in easily. Her gaze fell into a muddy courtyard. Apparently they were on the first floor of the house. She could make out marks on an access road, probably from carriages or coaches. Then the floor was replaced by a kind of platform on which more crates were stacked on top of each other. As she pressed herself against the wall to see what was right in front of the house, her eyes fell on two figures.

"Do you really think anyone's coming?" she heard someone downstairs say.

"Didn't you see their clothes? With those fancy things, someone must be paying a pretty sum for them," replied the figure at the stack of boxes.

"And what if nobody does?"

"Let's cut their throats and sell their shit. That simple," the man replied.

He had pulled his hat to his face, so that Amalia had recognized his gender only by his voice.

At the casual mention that they would kill Constantin and her, a slight shiver ran down her spine, but at the same time she felt that she was getting angry. Nobody would throw them into any canal and certainly not the few people down there.

She heard soft footsteps beside her and when she raised her eyes, she saw that Constantin had approached the window on the other side and looked down into the courtyard.

"Let's do it now. Waiting is annoying," said a third person who Amalia could not see from her post.

At that moment another figure came down the path where the wagon tracks led behind the house.

"What's the situation?", one of the others wanted to know.

"All quiet," replied the other person, a woman in voice.

Behind the courtyard there were roofs, chimneys and the masts of ships. In all probability, they were still in Sérène. At least that was something.

When Amalia raised her eyes, she met her cousin's. She pointed with her chin to the room behind him from which they had come. He tilted his head slightly, then turned around and went back

"They are ordinary vagabonds," Constantin quietly remarked as they reached the hall.

His cousin nodded.

"Obviously, they do not know who they have kidnapped. Otherwise they would not consider cutting our throats," she replied whisperingly.

"What do you think about showing them that they have made a mistake?", her cousin suggested.

Amalia allowed herself a smile: "We should hurry back to the palace, but... I think we will be quickest if we take the front door."

Constantin and Amalia met no one on the way out. Only when they were at the door did they stop and draw their weapons. The young woman put one hand on the handle and looked at her cousin.

"Ready?" she asked, moving only her lips so as not to warn the people in the yard. A crunch sounded from outside. Probably someone was just passing by the door.

Her cousin nodded. There was a flash of light in his eyes and with each moment his mood seemed to change from excited to tense and back again. Amalia blew open the door and walked through, followed by her cousin.

"Gentlemen," she said, and let her eyes wander over the surroundings. In front of them stood one of the bandits, his figure seeming to sink almost completely into his large coat. Not far from him stood one of the women, wrapped in a worn-out frock coat, trousers and unkempt, mud-crusted boots. Amalia spotted the third bandit further back in the yard, by a stack of boxes. Where was number four?

"Ladies", Constantin said, as he stepped beside her, sword in hand.

"We thank you for your hospitality, but we will leave now," he added and took a step forward, but the two figures opposite them drew their swords.

"No? Well... what a pity," he commented, and the tone of his last word seemed to express the exact opposite.

Amalia had continued to survey the surroundings. As Constantin walked past her, she spotted the last kidnapper. She had been leaning against the wall of the L-shaped house, and only now, when Amalia's cousin was no longer blocking her view, could the noblewoman see her. And the pistol that she was holding in her hand.

"Constantin!", Amalia exclaimed. She dragged her cousin over to her side and pulled the door against them both. Only a blink of an eye later, a loud bang sounded, and at once the acrid smell of gunpowder filled the air. Now it was time to be swift.

"Was that..."

"They have no other firearms," Amalia interrupted her cousin and rushed past him to the other bandit. At least the young woman hoped she remembered correctly, for she had no time to look, since the woman opposite her was coming towards her with a drawn sword.

Amalia needed a moment to find a secure foothold and evaded her opponent's first strike rather awkwardly, but after that she consistently drove the woman back with an ever-changing sequence of feints, thrusts and strikes. She heard further fighting noise behind her, accompanied by cries of "Do not overdo it" and "Careful – otherwise you will stumble."

She knew that neither was for her, but Constantin's calls reminded her that they were currently outnumbered. And their master of arms had taught them not to let opponents out of their sight longer than necessary. So Amalia let herself fall back again and used a carelessness of her attacker to push the tip of her sabre into her opponent's thigh. The woman cried out and her movements became considerably slower.

The noblewoman jumped away from her and turned around – only to see that the other woman was already filling new gunpowder into her pistol.

"Constantin – to the left," she urged him as she approached him and without further ado tied his opponent's sword with hers. The bandit's gaze wandered from one to the other, apparently confused that he suddenly had a different fencing partner.

"Do not worry, my good man, you are in the best of hands," her cousin let it be heard, while he quickly left.

Amalia followed the movements of the opponent's weapon with hers and saw how her counterpart became increasingly frustrated – and finally stopped when another shout sounded: "Gentlemen, Milady – may I have your attention, please?"

The bandit's gaze wandered to the side. Only then did the young woman allow herself to do the same.

Constantin had made the woman drop the pistol. The tip of his sabre floated in front of her chest like a bee and she had her hands up.

"I ask that all those present drop their weapons and then leave this compound," he added.

Amalia first looked at the man who was standing not far from Constantin – but too far away for him to reach him with a quick breakdown. Then her gaze wandered on to the man opposite her, whose blade was still tied by hers. Finally, she looked at the woman who she had hurt in the beginning. She had dragged herself to a pile of boxes, on which she now leaned. She still held her sword in her hand, but it almost seemed as if she was clinging to the weapon.

"Now, please, since my cousin and I still have a lot to do," Constantin said again when no one made any effort to comply with his request.

Finally, there was a clatter to Amalia's right as the wounded woman threw her weapon away. The two men exchanged a glance, then they also let go of their weapons. Amalia's opponent raised his hands before slowly taking a few steps back.

"You may go," Constantin said patronizingly.

"Not her – we will keep her until we are safe," Amalia immediately turned and stepped backwards towards her cousin to protect him from possible attacks.

"Well, then the other three may go," he corrected himself.

"I think your companion could use some help with that," the noblewoman said, pointing to the injured woman with her chin.

But the two men retreated further. When the first one reached the corner of the house, he turned around and ran, the second one did the same.

"Looks like she will have to stay here. A shame. There seems to be no loyalty these days," Constantin said, shaking his head slightly.

"Well, dear lady, you will keep us company for a little while yet," he turned to the bandit, whom he still threatened. Her look seemed to want to pierce the two cousins, but Amalia was not impressed. It was not the first time she had been attacked. It wasn't that it had happened to her often, but after all, they had brought the situation here under control. No, in fact she was more afraid of the blast that would undoubtedly await them in the palace as soon as Constantin's and her absence would be noticed.

Amalia also turned to their hostage and pointed her sword at her.

"Walk along the wall of the house until we tell you otherwise," she instructed the woman. The latter threw a glance at the young noblewoman as if she wanted to pounce on her. Amalia raised an eyebrow slightly. But when nothing happened, she pointed with her chin to the corner of the house, behind which her comrades had disappeared. Finally, the bandit pushed herself along the wooden wall. Amalia walked in front of her cousin and took turns watching the surroundings and their reluctant hostage.

But nobody ambushed them. Around the corner, a muddy path led to a gate. Its left wing stood a little open. She could see that people were moving there and already now the sounds of the street stretching behind it could be heard. Knocking and clattering of cartwheels, which now and then drowned out conversations and footsteps.

When their small group reached the gate, she exchanged a glance with her cousin, who walked around Amalia and opened the gate a little further.

"That is it," he noted in surprise, looking back at his cousin. She kept the tip of her sabre pointed at the kidnapper.

"We will now say farewell. Do not get the idea of following us," the noblewoman turned to her.

"And try to find more loyal companions next time. Fare thee well," Constantin added, bowing his head slightly towards the bandit, just as if he was saying good bye to a nobleman of equal rank.

Amalia lowered her blade and slowly walked backwards, never letting the woman out of her sight. But as soon as the woman was no longer threatened, she rushed past them and towards the open gate, bumping into Constantin, who in turn fell halfway against Amalia.

"Forgive me," he immediately let it be heard as soon as he had regained his composure and reached for the shoulders of his cousin to give her support.

"No harm done," she replied, putting her sword back into its sheath.

"Such a rude thing! We let her go," said her cousin, shaking his head, before they passed through the gate together.

"At least she will not follow us then," Amalia said to consider.

"That remains to be hoped for," her cousin replied, but his face already brightened again: "Nobody would believe us that we were captured and freed again independently within a day!"

"Yes – I had not thought that our adventure would start before we left Sérène," she agreed with him and smiled.

"And how quickly we were on the scene – I am certain Kurt is proud of us," continued her cousin.

Amalia's head swayed slightly: "Considering that he has never said anything like that about any of us before... I rather think that he will skin us alive for letting four people capture us."

"Well, I guess you are right," her cousin relented.

"But... who knows, perhaps he will not even know if we hurry," she said and grinned.

"Do you think we will make it back to the palace in time?" Constantin inquired and his gaze wandered up the street. They knew they had to go up if they wanted to get back – it wouldn't be too difficult to find the way.

"Not if we stand around here forever," she replied.

Again her cousin smiled and nodded at her.

"Probably true. Come!", he shouted the last word and ran off. Amalia joined him and together they ran up the street, past shops that opened slowly, the car of suppliers and passers-by.

Chapter Text

Today

Kurt Pakusch, former master of arms of the three cousins, walked towards the docks at Emile's side. Nauts – easily recognizable by their face tattoos – rushed towards some of the ships loaded with crates and bundles while unloading other things. Again and again shouts echoed through the air, occasionally drowned out by the screeching of the seagulls. The soldier saw a total of four ships, but he knew that more could dock down at the quay. His former student stopped and let his gaze wander over the scenery in front of them before he started moving again and headed for a Naut who shouted orders: "You there! Be careful, this porcelain is worth more than your life!"

Not a pleasant prospect – and as if the wearer had realised this too, he stumbled at that moment. The two bundles of strapped linen that he had carried fell to the ground with a loud rattling and clattering. The string of one of the bundles tore and some shards of broken porcelain rattled across the cobblestone pavement.

"So much for the porcelain," Kurt murmured.

He knew what it was like to be surrounded by things more precious than one' s own life. Twelve years of service at the palace had taught him a great deal about the values of the Congregation of Merchants. There seemed to be no problem they couldn't solve with gold. Which in the case of the Guard often succeeded, after all they were mercenaries. That didn't mean that they were immediately bought by the next best thing – they only signed contracts for a limited time and as soon as the end was near, they asked for further offers. Which often earned them an increase in pay.

Green Blood had changed course and rushed to the fallen man who was about to pick himself up again.

"Are you hurt?", the ambassador inquired and gave the Naut a hand to help him up.

"No harm done," replied the latter.

"I would not call it nothing. Go back to the wagons and make sure it doesn't happen again," the other man joined in. Kurt inspected him. He was about the same size as Green Blood, but clean-shaven, which made his numerous tattoos on his face easy to spot. The mercenary had only dealt with Nauts from time to time, but he knew that their rank could be read from these signs and it was like with the Guard – the more signs, the higher the person stood. There wasn't much room left on the face of this Naut, except for the nose, cheekbones and forehead.

"Of course, Captain," the other Naut read before hurrying past him.

"Do not be too hard on him. My cousin never liked this dinnerware anyway," the ambassador turned to the remaining sailor after he had taken a look at the shards on the pavement.

"You... are the governor's cousin?", the Naut inquired. He examined the two men opposite him, his gaze resting longer on the nobleman than on the guard. Kurt knew this behaviour from the last dozen years well enough. He was easily recognized as a bodyguard and thus often lost the attention of most. Which did not mean that he did not listen. He'd picked up on a lot of things over the years.

"Emile de Sardet, nephew of the Prince and ambassador of the Congregation," the latter replied and extended his hand in greeting. The other man took it and shook it briefly.

"Captain Vasco, I presume?", the diplomat asked.

"That's right," replied Naut.

"If everything is all right, we will soon set sail in your boat."

The tone of Naut's voice became noticeably cooler when he replied: "It's a ship. Not a boat."

"Apologies," Green Blood replied immediately. Of the three greenhorns, he had always been the most thoughtful. During the first months Kurt had trained the three, he had assumed that the boy was simply afraid of conflict. This was true in part, but in one of the better ways: Emile always tried to resolve or defuse disagreements with words before they escalated. Constantin also tried the former and often failed the latter. And Amal liked to cause conflicts just as much as she liked to resolve them with a duel, often in her favour.

"You are not the first to call it that," replied the captain.

"You did not happen to see my cousins?" Green Blood wanted to know and let his gaze wander over the docks once more.

"No. They are not with you?", the Naut inquired.

"They were not at the palace this morning after they went to celebrate last night's forthcoming voyage. I had hoped that they might already be here, but then I will go and look for them," replied the ambassador.

"I hope nothing has happened to them. Or that they have changed their minds. The tide won't wait," the captain gave to consider.

A slight smile settled in the corner of Green Blood's mouth: "They have not changed their minds in any case. Perhaps they took a room in the tavern when the way seemed too far for them."

As far as Kurt knew, this had already happened once in Constantin's case – although the future governor had been much younger at the time.

"When you're there – could you keep an eye out for one of my crew members? He hasn't reported for duty yet and was last seen there two days ago," the Naut inquired, but Kurt only listened with half an ear, because something else was attracting his attention: Between all the bypassers and the screeching of the seagulls, two persons were approaching their small group. He turned around a little and saw Constantin and Amal coming towards them. There was a smile on the lips of the nobleman, which widened when he saw his former master of arms. The smile of his cousin might have seemed more restrained at first sight, but it turned into a grin as she approached.

"Kurt! Emile! Forgive us for being late," shouted Constatin and accelerated his walk for the last few arm lengths.

"Constantin! Amalia!", Green Blood received them, hurrying towards them and embracing them one by one.

Kurt called it the two-hour hugs because he felt that they did it every time they were two hours apart.

"Is that our brave captain?" asked the future governor after he and his cousin had let go of each other and inspected the Naut.

"Captain Vasco," he confirmed and nodded to him.

"Constantin and Amalia d'Orsay, we are delighted," the nobleman introduced his cousin and himself.

"We need about two more hours before the ship is fully loaded. If you wish, you can already go on board and settle in. Although... the cabins probably don't quite correspond to the comfort you are used to," the Naut gave to think about.

"I have never entered a ship before, I am sure it will exceed my expectations by far," Constantin countered enthusiastically.

"For once, we will look after your cabin boy. Perhaps we will be lucky and find him," Emile objected.

"I would be grateful for that, but if there is no other way, we will sail without him. Your journey has priority," the captain replied.

"Do not worry – Emile will make sure we will be back on time," said Amal, smiling at her cousin.

"We will not keep you any longer," the ambassador confirmed, before turning away and heading for the inn.

"Sorry for being late," Constantin began, as they walked back up the road.

"Where were you two?", Green Blood wanted to know, and first took a look at his cousin walking by his side and then at his other cousin walking behind him.

"We were delayed," she replied vaguely.

"We were kidnapped and then locked up in a horrible house. But they had not expected Malia's lockpicks, nor that we would find our swords again and teach them a lesson in return," reported Constantin.

Kurt shook his head slightly. The future governor was twenty-five, Amal twenty-four and Emile twenty-three - and he was still the most reasonable of the three. The soldier had slowly begun to believe that the three were gradually growing up, but, as it seemed, this was only true of Green Blood, who at sixteen had already argued like a much more experienced man.

"You let yourselves be kidnapped? How?", the guardsman wanted to know.

"That... is a bit sketchy," Constantin confessed and looked over his shoulder in the direction of his former master-at-arms.

"How sketchy?", the guard added.

"Neither of us really knows anymore. We assume that they put something in our drink and then hoped that someone would pay for us. At least they sounded that way this morning, but we have not asked them about their motives," replied Amal, who walked next to him.

"Well, we hardly had time for that either. Kurt, you should have seen how quickly we got them on the run," her cousin began, but the guard immediately stopped him: "How many?

"Four. Rogues, I tell you. They were..."

"You let four fellows take you captive? Did you not learn anything from me? One would think you wouldn't want to leave. If you care so much about the court...", he immediately objected, but broke off.

Already after his first words he had felt a touch on his forearm and looked at Amal. She had shaken her head a little and looked briefly in Constantin's direction. He had lectured her and her cousins more than once in all this time. In the beginning, when they had been children and teenagers, Amal had tried to talk her way out of it with lies, but in the last years she had seldom contradicted him – and even thought in the right direction at least once in a while. That she interrupted him now was not due to her lack of respect, but to her cousin.

"I assure you, Kurt, we are not anxious to stay here. But do not let Amalia stop you from sharing your opinion with us," Constantin replied, who looked over his shoulder again.

"I did not say anything!", she countered a little too quickly. A gentle smile appeared on Constantin‘s face: "Are you saying that you did not give our esteemed master of arms any sign that he should let go of me?"

Amal's gaze wandered briefly to the ground before she looked at her cousin again and raised her shoulders: "I just think that we have been reprimanded enough already in the palace."

Then a shadow rushed across Constantin's face, as so often when it came to his parents. Kurt could not quite blame him.

"Please, all they had to do was stock up on supplies. After all, they will not have the opportunity to do so for the next few months," he replied, but smiled again at the end.

"Come on. Let us find that cabin boy," he added, accelerating his steps.

The soldier stayed behind for a moment, as did his former student.

"I suppose Your Excellencies were not amused when you two showed up after breakfast."

She threw a glance at him and her good mood seemed to have vanished for the moment.

"Not even close. If it had been up to me, we would have left the palace immediately after changing clothes, but Constantin might have regretted one day not having said goodbye to his parents. And Aunt Valerie... at least gave us a few kind words and told us where to find you."

"Four people?" he asked.

Again Amal nodded, "I know we did not cover ourselves with glory."

That was almost reasonable by her standards.

"At least you made it out of there on your own," he said and raised his shoulders.

Thereupon a smile lay again on the face of his former student.

"I cannot imagine what a telling off you would have given us if you had had to save us."

"Better be glad," the soldier confirmed. Although he knew he wasn't responsible for the upbringing of the three. Especially now that he was only employed as their bodyguard. And responsible for Constantin's guard once they reached Teer Fradee. But first, they had to leave.

Amal and he quickened their pace so as not to lose Emile and Constantin.

Chapter Text

Today

Half of the tables in the tavern had been occupied when they had arrived there. Constantin had thought that they would ask around a bit, but that they would eventually leave without having done anything. But he had been mistaken. The innkeeper had actually remembered the boy and had pointed them to a card player sitting in a corner and eating something that was probably called 'stew'. The future governor had asked him what had happened to Jonas. He had even prepared to use the name of d'Orsay to get the man, whose appearance clearly revealed that he had been suffering from the Malichor for months, to talk, but he never got that far. The gambler told them about Jonas – and that he had allegedly been addressed by a nobleman,whose name the player even knew.

Constantin thought all this was more than doubtful, but Emile had thanked the man and they had left. On the way, the prospective ambassador had explained to them that the Fontaine family belonged to the lower nobility. They had some property in the outskirts of Sérène, but had hardly any influence within the Congregation. The impression of their property confirmed this: although it was a two-storey building, it probably had only five or six rooms.

They had been led immediately to the lady of the house, but she did not seem to know what they were talking about. Her husband was away on business and she had never heard of a cabin boy named Jonas.

"I am sorry I cannot be of further assistance to you," Lady Fontaine said again.

"That is unfortunate, but it cannot be helped," replied his youngest cousin.

"Thank you for your time," he added, bowing.

"Lady Fontaine, could I ask a tiny favor? I am already half a day on the road and the next few weeks only on a ship ... would it be possible for me to freshen up here?" Amalia inquired with a friendly smile on her lips. And a glance. She usually did something like that only at court, but Constantin did his best not to let the astonishment about it show.

"Of course. My maid will show you the way," the lady replied.

"Thank you very much. You may wait outside. We do not want to overstretch the hospitality of Lady Fontaine," Amalia turned to the other three.

Her two cousins exchanged a glance, then raised their shoulders and said farewell. Kurt followed them as they left the house and crossed the small square in front of it.

"That was most unusual," Constantin finally said as they took a few steps.

"Indeed," confirmed Emile, his eyes wandering back to the house.

"Either she's lying, or she doesn't know anything about her husband's machinations," threw in the mercenary, who stood beside them with his arms crossed, his voice even darker than usual.

"You think he is doing something to the boy?", the future governor wanted to know, after turning to his former master of arms.

"A man who kidnaps a teenager and his wife doesn't know about it? It doesn't take much fantasy to imagine why he would do that. I would inform the Guard, but they won't get far with someone from nobility," the soldier replied.

The Coin Guard, abbreviated to Guard for simplicity's sake, usually took over the duties of guards within the Congregation. Constantin knew from their lessons with Sir de Courcillon that most of its members originally came from the country of Algerm. About one hundred and fifty years ago they had fought wars of expansion when the population of Algerm had become too numerous. They had conquered large tracts of land in a short time – but they had failed in the administration of the captured territories. They had lost large parts of their territory and had finally decided to sell their fighting power. Since then they have worked for Thélème, the Bridge Alliance and the Congregation. No one over twenty was allowed to stay in Algerm unless they had previously served abroad. Some left before their twentieth birthday. Thélème and the Bridges Alliance used most of their own soldiers to go to war with each other, and the Congregation had saved the training of its own recruits for city guards, bodyguards and soldiers in general since that agreement with Algerm. It was cheaper to pay the people of Algerm than to train their own guards, and if the Congregation could save gold anywhere, it did so. He had learned this before he had even heard of the existence of a country called Algerm.

"How disgusting. Perhaps we should... inform my parents," Constantin gave to consider. He felt Emile reach out for his hand and squeeze it. The future regent gave his cousin a grateful smile in return. They both knew how unwilling Constantin was to return. There was also the possibility that his parents would dismiss the matter as unimportant and accuse him once again of irresponsibility.

"Maybe Amalia will find something," said his cousin, and an encouraging expression appeared in his eyes.

At the mention of their cousin and the prospect of not having to go back to the palace again, the pressure in Constantin's ribcage eased noticeably, even though it was only then that he realized that this feeling had been there.

"So you also thought it strange that she suddenly complemented us and wanted to freshen up again," he asked his younger cousin.

"Clearly."

"Suppose you'll find out in a moment," Kurt said, pointing with his chin at Amalia's figure, who in the meantime had also left the Fontaine's house and was approaching them.

"You have really cleaned up," Emile noted. The future governor had to agree with him: She had previously worn her hair in a simple braid, now it fell over her left shoulder in a fine herringbone braid.

"And you... smell different, too," Constantin noticed when she reached the three men and suddenly there was a heavy, flowery smell in the air, where he could only just suppress the instinct to put one hand in front of his nose and take a half step back.

Amalia's smile became a hint of resignation as she raised her shoulders: "I had to make it look as if that was really why I stayed there. When Lady Fontaine wanted to check if I was finished, I reached for the first bottle of perfume on the toilet table. Not my best choice. In my haste I also tied the braid too tightly. But I can fix that on the way to the warehouse."

She pointed her head into the next alley and they started moving.

"So you used the time to sneak around again," Kurt concluded.

One of Amalia's lovers had shown her how to use lockpicks years ago and since then she had broken into other rooms several times, both in the palace and on other occasions. Constantin could only remember two times when she had stolen something. His cousin was above all curious, it seemed.

"Of course," she replied, grinning at him before continuing: "There is not much in Lord Fontaine's study. As Emile said on the way here – a small family with little property. No wonder they were never invited to any of the balls. But there is a warehouse further down in the city. I think we should try our luck there."

"Malia, you are incredible," Constantin said and threw a smile at her.

"I'm just trying to keep up with you two," she replied.

"As if you had to," objected her elder cousin.

"Which way?", the guard interrupted the two of them.

"Dyer's Lane. You know where that is?" she wanted to know.

He nodded.

"Well – I do not, and I am afraid the two are no different," she replied, looking briefly at her cousins who were also shaking their heads.

"Sometimes I wonder if I am a bodyguard or a nanny," the mercenary replied and started to move down another alley.

"How about a valued companion?" Emile suggested.

Constantin heard the soldier snort and exchanged a look with Malia, who raised her shoulders with a smile. They all knew that the mercenary liked to be a bit harsh.

"Save your sweet talk for your post as ambassador," the soldier replied, but it sounded less grim than his question before. The three followed their former teacher through the alleys of Sérène.

Chapter Text

Today

It felt almost a bit surreal to finally walk down the docks to the ship in the light of the sun slowly sinking towards the horizon. But if they stayed longer, the tide would turn and their boat – ship he corrected in his thoughts – would not be able to leave the harbour for another day. And Emile could not imagine what his uncle would say when he realized that their delegation was not yet on its way to Teer Fradee. The young man turned around once more and looked up. He thought he could make out the palace in the distance, on one of the hills of Sérène. The question of whether his mother would stand at the window flashed through his mind for a moment, but it was followed by the bitter realization that she would not be able to see him anyway.

"Let's go, Green Blood," Kurt's gravelly voice brought him back to the moment. The soldier sounded almost soft for his standards.

"Otherwise the two of them will leave without us and I'm not sure if that means more trouble for us or Teer Fradee," the guard added after the ambassador had finally turned to him.

He joined his former teacher and they followed the others. The captain went ahead, Emile's relatives followed him on foot.

Amalia had put her arm in Constantin's and both of them walked down the quay with long steps. His oldest cousin had placed the broad-brimmed hat at a slight angle on his ash-blond head and the laps of his frock fluttered in the rising wind. Amalia's brown hair was braided into a plait that hopped slightly from side to side with each step.

"Seems as if they would rather run," the mercenary next to him said.

"Does it surprise you?" Emile inquired and looked at him.

"Not really. Just wonder when I last saw them so enthusiastic. Apart from one of your many reunions," he replied.

Kurt had teased his students from time to time over the years that they often seemed as if they hadn't seen each other for weeks when it had only been two hours. But he always did it with that half smile on his lips that was rarely found there, so none of the three had taken offence. Even Amalia had only tried to defend herself once. But then she had changed her mind and only raised her shoulders, grinning.

"To be honest, I cannot tell you that either. What about you?", the ambassador asked.

"I won't complain about getting out of this hornet's nest," the soldier replied, his voice seeming to get a little darker.

"Like me," confirmed Emile as they turned onto a quay where only a single three-master was lying. As he approached, the young man could spot crew members hurrying across the deck, but unlike his first encounter with the crew and captain a few hours ago, no one was busy loading the ship. They probably knew that departure was imminent, for the captain had sent Jonas ahead as soon as Emile and Amalia had returned with him to the docks. The ambassador tried to make out the shape of the cabin boy, but he could not find him. Perhaps he was busy below deck or on the sails. Then the diplomat let his gaze wander further over the ship and finally over a kind of wooden jetty, which had been assembled from several transverse planks. It led from the pavement of the dock up to the recess in the railing.

Their captain stopped in front of it and pointed to his ship with his hand: "Gentlemen. My lady."

Although this gesture was clearly intended to welcome them on board, everyone else stopped and looked up at the high masts. The ambassador almost expected to see the top of the masts touching the orange-tinted bellies of the clouds that were floating gently across the pink sky. But when his gaze reached the end of the highest mast, he realized that it was much further up to the sky.

The three cousins had never left the continent before and had never entered such a ship before.

At that moment Emile noticed a movement in front of him. He lowered his eyes just in time to see his oldest cousin sprinting towards the jetty, crossing it with long steps, almost jumps, and landing on the deck of the ship with a laugh in one leap. He took advantage of the remaining momentum, stretched out his arms and turned on his own axis, while still laughing, putting his head back on his neck. But only a moment later he closed his arms around Amalia, who had followed him in a rapid sprint and both stumbled, still spinning on their own axis but not letting go of each other, in a circle.

Emile smiled, happy to see them both so relaxed.

"The enthusiasm of your relatives is... remarkable," said the captain and looked at Emile from both of them.

He returned the look of the Naut and bowed his head slightly.

"The voyage was long awaited by both of them," he explained. Emile knew that Constantin still wanted to satisfy his father – even if this seemed to be a matter of impossibility. And Amalia... She was the most skilful of them as far as the intrigues of the court were concerned, yet he knew that she left them more than willingly.

Emile smiled at his master of arms, "Teer Fradee awaits us." He gave the soldier a nod before passing the ship's captain and following the other two.

He heard the steps of Kurt and the Naut behind him.

"Ha ha! Look at it! A real ship," his oldest cousin said.

Amalia and he had loosened their embrace to such an extent that now they had only put one arm around the shoulder of the other. His other cousin shaded her eyes while she put her head back and looked up at the mast that was closest to her.

"I see it," Emile confirmed to him with a smile.

"Ah, it is as if I can already breathe more freely," Constantin replied.

"Wait until we are at sea," said Amalia and grinned.

"And there will be no sign of Sérène? Oh, it will certainly be an indescribable feeling," his cousin replied, putting his other arm around Emile's shoulders.

"Everyone to their posts! Weigh anchor and prepare to cast off," sounded the voice of the ship's captain behind them. In a moment, the crew was filled with activity. Had they been quick before, their actions had become downright industrious. Emile could see out of the corner of his eye how some Nauts climbed up the rope ladder-like structures before his cousin pulled Amalia and him towards the front of the ship.

"Come! I want to get as far forward as possible," Constantin shouted half over his shoulder.

Emile granted his cousin. This was the best mood he had seen him in a long time. He hoped it would last as long as possible.

***

"It is so... boring," Constantin said, with his voice climbing up to the middle of the sentence, only to go back down again at the last word, which gave his statement a certain theatricality.

They had only been at sea for half a week. On the evening of their departure, they had soon changed from the bow to the stern – in the meantime Emile had learned a few more nautical terms – and watched the night descend over Sérène, while it seemed to get smaller and smaller on the horizon until darkness had finally swallowed the city. Emile had had the feeling that the stone had returned to the pit of his stomach and stayed there. Back there, by the lights that seemed to go out, was his mother. How much time she had left was uncertain. Some doctors suspected that she would already be dead when the three of them reached Teer Fradee. Emile had continued to stay at the side of his relatives. If only because he knew his mother would not want him to be so gloomy.

So far, their journey had been quiet. They had wind and, as far as Emile could judge, they had not encountered any difficulties. At least he hadn't noticed any excessively hectic maneuvers so far.

"I could lend you a book," Emile suggested to his oldest cousin.

"Somehow I should have expected that this suggestion would come from you," said Amalia, grinning as she leaned against the ... rigging, the word for the rope ladders leading up to the masts.

"Oh, please. That is what Sir de Courcillon used to suggest! Why should one hide like an old maid in a book in such weather?" his cousin demanded to know.

"Far be it from me to add to your boredom," Emile replied, raising his shoulders slightly, while Amalia muttered , "Constantin," her tone of voice ranging between reprehensive and indulgent.

The young governor's gaze wandered to her, who in turn nodded in Emile's direction. When his oldest cousin looked at the ambassador, he raised his shoulders only smiling. He himself loved to read, and even though Amalia, Constantin and he shared everything else, this passion was not one of them.

"My dearest cousin, I'm sorry. I did not mean it that way," Constantin replied immediately and reached for Emile's hand.

He squeezed his cousin's hand: "Nothing happened. It is a pity I can't help dispel your boredom."

"We were warned," his other cousin reminded him and smiled as well. But the Legate knew her well enough to suspect that she was as bored as Constantin.

Behind Emile there was a creaking sound, different from the one the ship sometimes made. Almost a squeak.

"Kurt!" cried his cousin and immediately pushed himself off the railing.

The ambassador also turned around and saw their master of arms winking into the sun, holding his hand over his eyes and glancing obliquely at the sky, before shaking his head briefly.

"I thought you would sleep forever! You poured plenty of wine yesterday," Constantin greeted the soldier.

"I tried sleeping until some lamenting greenhorn crowed me awake," growled the guard. He staggered towards the railing and didn't even stop moving when he grabbed a bucket that was attached to a rope on the way.

"Woken up by crowing? Please, we both know my voice is not that strong," the future governor replied with feigned indignation in his voice as he followed his master of arms.

"He must mean Emile," Amalia grinned.

"One would think that you two are old enough to occupy yourselves alone," grumbled the soldier as he began to lower the bucket on the railing into the depths.

"One would think you know us well enough to know that this is not the case," his former student held against it with a laugh in her voice.

Emile took advantage of the fact that his relatives were otherwise occupied, at least for a short time, and climbed the steps up to the quarterdeck. He was briefly pressed against the railing as their ship crossed another wave crest. Although the sea was not particularly rough, he still had a little trouble moving around the ship.

When he had climbed the afterdeck, he turned to the two Nauts who were at the wheel not far from him. Their captain had put his hands to his sides and looked out to sea, while the woman next to him, with steady hands, corrected the course a little from time to time.

"Do you have a moment, Captain?", the diplomat asked.

"What is it, Ambassador?", replied the Naut and turned to him.

Emile knew from conversations with other members of the crew that the man opposite him was about twenty-five years old. The tattoos on his skin – blue, wavy lines that were nevertheless found in symmetrical segments on both sides of his face – would otherwise have made it difficult for him to estimate the captain's age. Overall, there was not much contact between Nauts and the nobles of the merchant community. The ambassador knew from his time at court that most nobles regarded sailors as necessities and still regarded them as their subordinates, even though the Nauts were a separate people. But only the Nauts knew the secrets of how to survive long sea voyages unharmed, so the Congregation and all others who wanted to leave the continent depended on them.

"I wanted to request that you let us know if my cousins or I were too much of a burden to the crew. Or you", Emile replied.

His counterpart raised his eyebrows slightly before shaking his head: "Don't worry, Lord de Sadet. You are not the first passengers we carry."

"That does not mean we have to make things unnecessarily difficult for you or your crew. It will certainly happen more often during the course of the journey that we make a mistake through carelessness or ignorance. Do not hesitate to point this out to us," Emile replied. He underlined his statement by leading his right hand to the side.

The captain paused for a moment before bowing his head slightly: "Of course, Lord de Sadet. But as I said before, don't worry."

The ambassador would have liked to reply that he respected the Nauts, but a surprised exclamation from his oldest cousin made him pause and turn his gaze towards the deck. He saw Constantin standing half with his back to him and a puddle of water formed under him. Kurt stood in a similar puddle. Only Amalia was dry. She held the empty bucket in her hands and laughed. Emile had assumed that the soldier had used the bucket to wash himself, but apparently he had tipped it over his head – or Amalia had somehow taken it and caught both Constantin and the guard with a throw of the water.

"You... you will pay for this," the future governor said.

"You will have to catch me first," she replied with a grin, before turning around and running quickly across the deck. Constantin immediately started to move and followed her. Amalia ran around a mast and swiftly turned around so that she could keep an eye on her cousin. When he ran to the left, she did the same and when he changed direction, she did the same again.

"I..." Emile began to look at the captain. Although the Naut's face was often hard for him to read because of the tattoos, he was sure to find a slightly surprised expression there this time.

"You do not have to say anything. I will take care of it right away," the diplomat added and made his way to the stairs. But before he reached the lowest step, he saw Kurt approaching the mast around which the other two were still running.

"Enough, greenhorns," he said.

"But..." Constantin started, but his former teacher interrupted him: "No buts."

"Ha – you will have to go faster," Amalia said still laughing.

"We'll sort this out another way," the soldier added, whereupon the young woman's smile widened even more.

"With a practice fight? Kurt, you know exactly how this will end," Constantin complained.

"You practice attacks. And Amal will only react if you do them wrong," the soldier explained, whereupon Amalia's face took on an unwilling expression.

Emile knew that she enjoyed being the best of them at fighting. And Kurt knew that, too. Yet she did not object, which in and of itself bordered on a small miracle. On the other hand, in recent years she had taken all her teachers more and more seriously, starting with the soldier.

He turned around and let his gaze wander over the deck. He only stopped when he discovered the ambassador at the foot of the stairs: "Green Blood! Get rid of your frock coat – you three have been loafing long enough," continued the master of arms, waving his protégé to him with his left.

Emile smiled a little. Apparently he was getting help to spare his relatives from boredom.

"Go, go, go. We haven't got all day," Kurt continued as the diplomat approached him and his two relatives.

"Actually we do," Amalia corrected him, but took a few steps towards the middle of the ship.

"Really? Then we'll see to it that we use the time as wisely as possible. Get down in the push-up. You may not have to scrub the deck, but you'll get to know it well anyway," prophesied the master of arms.

Chapter Text

Today

Emile followed Constantin into the community cabin. It was located at the end of the corridor from which their small sleeping cabins on the left and right were accessible. The community cabin, where they regularly ate, took up half the width of the ship. The other was taken up by the captain's cabin, which Emile had never been in. The community cabin was furnished functionally: There was a large table bolted to the floor, as well as benches on the long sides. A dresser was attached to the wall, containing a few books and a battered set of playing cards. However, it was a Thélèmian card game, so none of them knew the rules.

The table was set as usual: there were bowls and spoons in the middle and next to them a large pot with steaming ingredients, the spicy scent of which could already be smelled at the door. Next to it was a wooden bowl with hardtack.

"A stew. How... creative," Constantin commented as he walked around the table and sat down.

"I am afraid we will have to get used to that," replied Amalia, who took a seat next to him.

"If you greenhorns don't want to – I'm not complaining about another serving," Kurt intervened and sat down on the opposite bench.

"As guests you can enjoy warm meals. The crew usually only gets hardtack, pickled fish and vegetables – if there are any left," another voice said. The tone of voice was kept neutral, although the ambassador thought he heard something like subliminal rebuke in it.

The captain of the Nauts had left his adjoining cabin.

"Captain! What a delight! Will you be joining us again today?", Constantin asked happily.

They had now been at sea for almost a week and a half, and so far the Naut had only eaten with them once.

"Tonight, yes," he answered and approached the table.

"Well then, brave captain – there is always a place for you here with us," replied the young governor. Amalia and he immediately slid to the side, making room for the Naut.

"Many thanks", he replied and settled down next to Constantin and opposite Emile.

The latter took a bowl and began to fill it before passing it on. His cousin took it from him and passed it on to the young woman. "Thank you very much," she said, reaching across the table to find a spoon, while Emile continued to serve the stew in the bowls.

"What do you do the other evenings?" Constantin wanted to know and looked at the Naut.

"Usually I eat alone while I determine and correct our course. If that should be necessary. Or I eat with the crew," he replied.

The captain nodded slightly at Emile as he handed him his bowl.

"I would have expected you to spend more time with your guests," Amalia said in between spoons.

"It is important to know how the crew is holding up. Even though we Nauts are a family, you should talk to everyone regularly so that no one is left out," the Naut replied.

"Meaning – his duties don't allow him to amuse you," Kurt remarked before bending over his bowl.

Emile had finally served the food and sat down as well.

"We are adults – we do not need anybody for our entertainment," Constantin objected.

"Sounded different this morning," contradicted the master of arms and looked over his spoon at the young nobleman.

"Maybe we were just complaining so loudly so that you would finally join us," Amalia objected and her eyes flashed mischievously in the light of the oil lamps.

"Meaning that you wanted to be pushed through a training session. I believe you, but not your two cousins," the guard replied, and the smile on the face of his former student widened to a grin.

"Please, Kurt, we always appreciate your advice and your lessons," Constantin said.

"Yes, Your Excellency," the soldier ironically rebuffed, "you might as well say that you miss intrigues at court."

"I may not have been your best student, but I have always preferred your lessons to those of the court," the young man countered.

This time Kurt only bowed his head slightly before continuing to eat.

"Captain, a question, if I may," Emile turned to the man opposite him.

"Go ahead, ambassador," he replied.

"I could not help but get the impression that the Nauts address each other only by one name. And it sounds a lot like these are first names."

The captain nodded.

"Do the Nauts also have last names?", the diplomat asked.

"We do."

"So Vasco is your first name," Amalia concluded, leaning forward a bit so that she could look at him past Constantin.

"Correct, Lady d'Orsay," he replied.

"What is your last name?", she inquired.

"Our surnames only make sense to other Nauts and are rarely used," he responded.

"That was not an answer," the young woman noted, and a soft smile settled in the corners of her mouth, but not in her eyes.

"We do not share it with outsiders," replied the captain.

"You do not? How unusual," Constantin said, who had previously listened in silence to this conversation.

"Indeed. With us, it is a sign of trust if you call each other by their first name, but with the Nauts it seems to be different," Malia pondered before taking another spoonful of the stew.

"You address everyone beneath you by their first name," Kurt countered.

"This is... not completely wrong," admitted Constantin, although his voice had sounded as if he wanted to vehemently contradict at the beginning.

"Not completely wrong? None of you or the other nobles has ever used my last name in all these years," replied the soldier.

"What should we have called you then? Captain Pakusch?" followed Amalia and looked for a moment as if she was trying this name similar to a new dish, but then she shook her head slightly.

"Master Pakusch?" she tried again, but still did not seem very convinced.

"I like it," the soldier argued and half a smile settled in the corner of his mouth, while Amalia rolled her eyes.

"Of course. I have known you half my life. I am not going to start with formalities now," she contradicted.

"As if it would harm you to show others a little respect," he objected.

The young woman made a light gesture to the side with her free hand, with her palm facing upwards: "What am I supposed to say, I have little respect in general. But believe me – of all our teachers, you got the most of it."

"Somehow it's not hard for me to believe that you took the others even less seriously."

Amalia paused for a moment, and indeed, the mischievous expression on her face seemed to fade somewhat when she replied: "If you got the impression that I had not taken your lessons seriously, I must have been doing something wrong all these years."

"I would say that your numerous dueling successes should have shown that you listened to him," Constantin argued.

"Wait until you meet something other than bored nobles out there," Kurt objected.

Amalia pulled her eyebrows together slightly, but this time she didn't reply. Silence fell for a moment, but it was again Malia who broke it: "Captain, since my cousin has already started asking questions, would you allow me to ask one?"

"Of course, Lady d'Orsay."

"It has not escaped my notice that there are sometimes noises from the lower decks which can be attributed quite certainly to coitus. How is that settled among the Nauts?", she wanted to know and looked past her older cousin in the direction of the captain.

For a moment Emile thought he had misheard while staring at his cousin.

"Malia... do you really think this is an appropriate topic for dinner?", Constantin inquired, though one could hear that he was more than a little piqued by her question.

She looked at him.

"Do not be such a prude. It is not as if I had asked him about his personal favorite positions. It is more of a technical question and since he has already made it clear that he cannot spare much time for us, I thought I better ask right away before I put my food in my mouth accidentaly," she replied.

Emile put his hand to his forehead and shook his head slightly while avoiding looking at the captain. Although, as ambassador, it would probably have been his duty to apologize for Amalia's behavior.

"So you rather do it on purpose?" Constantin returned, but sounded more amused than reproachful.

"Who else should I have asked how things are arranged on the ship?", she objected.

"Still... even for you, this is a very direct question," said Emile, trying to make his voice sound normal.

"It is not as if I want to join in, but I only know the conditions at court and I was curious to know how these things are handled here," she replied.

Then her gaze wandered from her cousin to the Naut: "But if I have offended you by my question, I apologize, Captain."

As Emile followed her gaze, the Naut shook his head only slightly, and indeed the hint of a smile seemed to linger in the corners of his mouth. The ambassador could not tell whether it was amused, indulgent, or merely fake.

"Not at all, Lady d'Orsay. As a rule, anything in mutual agreement is permitted. As long as it does not interfere with work. During the shifts, such activities are forbidden," he replied.

"Sounds reasonable. Do these rules apply to everyone on the ship?", she asked.

"As I said – as long as the parties involved come to an understanding, nothing stands in the way of this outside of service," the captain replied, while Emile shook his head again.

His cousin had always been very direct – and had given little attention to etiquette. Normally he did not mind this trait of hers, and more than once he had admired her for it. But just today he felt the blood rise to his cheeks because of it.

"That is – you are included in this rule," she concluded.

Emile, who had just wanted to take another spoon of the stew, dropped it back into the bowl with a splash, trying to cover his surprise with a cough, while Constantin gave his with a loud "Malia!" away.

"What is it this time? I am only curious," she defended herself again.

"Captain, please pretend you never heard this question," the prospective governor turned to the Naut on his other side.

"We apologize for the behavior of our cousin. Usually her questions are reasonable," Emile added, bowing his head towards the other man.

"Don't worry, gentlemen," he swayed and nodded briefly in Constantin's direction, glancing first at him and then at Emile before looking at Amalia.

"To answer your question, Lady d'Orsay, in theory yes. In practice, I take myself out of this. To get involved with passengers would be unprofessional. And if I got involved with someone from the crew, I would feel like I was exploiting my rank," he replied.

"An extremely honorable view," Constantin responded, perhaps to prevent her from asking further questions.

"I am sure that Malia's curiosity was satisfied adequately," he added, giving her a piercing look during the last words.

The young woman rolled her eyes.

"You almost sound like...," she began, but then broke off and her gaze flitted to her other cousin, but it was so fleeting that he could not tell whether she was actually looking at him or whether he had just imagined it.

"Like...?," Constantin followed up.

"Like one of my dearest people whom I had embarrassed Please forgive me," she relented, put her spoon aside and reached for his left with her right hand.

"And I owe you an apology as well, Captain. I was more than cheeky, please accept my apology," she turned to the Naut.

"Your questions were somewhat unusual. But they did no harm," he assured her.

Constantin squeezed her hand and smiled as he said: "You say whatever is on your mind. I admire you for that. Even if it is sometimes embarrassing to others."

"I agree with that," Emile added, for which Amalia threw him the hint of a grin across the table.

"And now – it would be best to leave this somewhat uncomfortable conversation behind. Anyone else want some more?", Constantin inquired.

"Oh – does it suddenly taste good?", Malia wanted to know.

"I never said that it did not," he objected.

"That sounded quite different a moment ago," she countered teasingly.

"I think I'll just have the rest while you two continue to argue," Kurt spoke up and pulled the pot towards him by the handle.

"Waaaaait!" Malia objected immediately and reached for the thick cloth rags that had been lying next to the pot before she also reached for the pot, over which she grinned challengingly at the soldier.

Emile cleared his throat quietly and shook his head as he looked down at his half-full bowl. Amalia may have had most of the affairs of the three of them – but she was also sometimes the least adult, although she was the middle of their trio.

When the ambassador raised his eyes again, he looked over to the Naut, who watched the verbal and somewhat playful exchange between Kurt and Amalia, in which Constantin now also became involved. Again there was a slight smile on the captain's lips and Emile looked at it a moment longer. But he gradually got the impression that it seemed more amused than anything else, for which the diplomat was grateful.

Then the other man unexpectedly turned his head and seemed to notice the look of the ambassador. He tried to save himself by looking in the direction of the other three before he looked at the captain again and raised his shoulders slightly. Then Emile looked down at his bowl again. Perhaps he should concentrate on the food. Before Naut got the idea that the diplomat had been staring at him.

Chapter Text

Today

He had closed his eyes and pushed his hat into his face to protect himself from the sun. The captain had warned them on the first day that they should stay in the shade as much as possible so as not to burn their skin. Constantin and Amal had not followed this warning, which caused the cheeks of the future governor to compete easily with those of the brothel girls for a few days. The young woman had been even more seriously affected – her whole face had been red, as if she had had a high fever. Even her scalp was burned – since then, the two of them had been wearing wide-brimmed hats as well.

The soldier had dozed off, while Emile and Constantin had talked quietly. The ambassador had tried to entertain his cousin with something which he had managed more badly than well. The creaking of the sails and the soft splashing of the waves had largely covered up their conversation. But the steps that now moved across the deck sounded familiar. The guard pushed his hat up a little and saw Amal heading for her two cousins. A bag dangled in her left hand, about the length of a forearm. The dark green fabric from which it had been made looked expensive.

"I think it is time for a little diversion," he heard his former student say, but by then he had let his head sink back and pulled the hat back over his eyes.

"Diversion would be a blessing," replied Constantin and his words were followed by a small, theatrical sigh.

"Then I hope that this helps," she said.

"What is this?"

"Presents. I thought it would get a little boring for us at some point," she added.

For a short moment silence stretched out, only broken by the creaking of the ropes.

"This... is a card game, is it not?" Constantin finally inquired.

"This is not a Congregation hand. We dealt with something like this at Halis' court when we visited the Bridge Alliance," Emile replied.

Kurt gave up trying to get some more sleep and sat up so he could lean against the railing while looking over at the three nobles. Constantin held a few round cards in his hand, which he looked down on.

"I have asked the merchant to lay out detailed instructions. It seemed a bit complicated, but I thought, together we would find out what it was all about," said Amalia, who was crouching in front of her cousins and looking at them. The bag lay beside her on the deck and she turned a little to dig in again. Her eyes glanced at Kurt, but she concentrated on getting a smaller bag out of the pouch, the fabric of which was dark red. The shape was rectangular, whatever was inside seemed to be sturdy. Then she turned around again and handed it to Emile.

"This is for you."

"Thank you," he replied in surprise before taking the bag and unlacing it. He pulled out a book. The cover was dark red, but shimmered gold when the young man opened it.

"The Collected Works of Javelot," he noted and turned the pages, while Constantin briefly let out a soft laugh.

"That is very kind of you, Malia," Emile added and smiled at her.

But she looked at her other cousin: "Why are you laughing?"

"Well..." he started, but was interrupted by his relative: "It is not important."

"Emile ..." said Amal, her voice sounding a little reprehensible for once.

"Our cousin has taken on board a complete edition of the works of Javelot," Constantin explained, raising his shoulders slightly.

"Oh..."

It was rare that she was at a loss for words, but apparently this was such a situation.

"How stupid of me!" it finally escaped her.

"It does not matter. It is the thought that counts," countered Emile, reaching for her hand.

"Besides, he will not have time to stick his nose in any book anyway, because first of all he will help us to understand this," Constantin objected and held the cards up a little.

"And should we get tired of playing, we could always rehearse a piece with the help of the books," he continued, his eyes glowing.

He and Amal had always been easy to excite – when it came to the right things.

"I doubt the crew is just waiting to see a piece of Javelot," Emile said.

"Then we will read it with distributed roles – Malia and I hardly know anything about him, after all. That should provide some distraction," Constantin said.

"But first – a game. Let us find out what it is all about," he added and pulled out a few pages of writing.

"Start reading, I will be right back with you," Amal replied before she rose and turned around. She headed straight for the soldier and only stopped when she had reached him.

Similar to her cousins, she sat down in the squatting position, which put her on a par with her former teacher. She had a small, dark blue bag in her hand, which she held out to him.

"What's that?" he wanted to know.

The little bag looked similar to the one she had given to Emile, except for the color.

"A gift," she replied, and a smile fell on her lips.

"Why?" he asked. He had known the three for twelve years. Never had the mercenary been given anything by anyone at court, except Lady de Furet and Fayette. But it had been different with both of them, because Kurt had been with them in one way or another. The greenhorns, on the other hand, had been his students and even when that time was over, the responsibility for their safety was still his.

"Why not?" she held up her hand and her smile widened a little.

Kurt reached out for the bag and took it from her. The fabric was soft and thicker than he'd expected. He pulled up the cord and looked inside.

"I was not sure what I could give you," she began, as he reached into the small bag and shortly afterwards pulled out a wooden cup. The wood was dark and completely smooth inside. Around the outer edge, at the top and bottom, there was a tendril-like carving with gilded leaves. Inside the cup were a few cubes, as dark as the cup and also with gilded numbers. The soldier felt others in the bag and let them slide into the cup with a rattling sound.

"I am not sure what exactly you are doing when you are not watching over us. I know that some of the guards of other nobles throw the dice while they wait for the balls and other celebrations to end," she added, and only now did the guard look at her again.

Amal's gaze was inquiring as she looked from him to the cup in his hand and back again.

"Because dice games are short. If you suddenly have to leave, the loss isn't that high," he explained and put the cup and its contents back into the small bag.

"To be honest, I'm more of a card player," he added, whereupon the young woman raised her eyebrows slightly.

"Then I was wrong about two presents," she concluded.

"I had thought of giving you a new grindstone and oil, but... that would look as if I was giving you something in return for taking even better care of us, and a pair of new boots would have been practical overall, but not for passing the time here," she added, raising her shoulders.

"You've given it some thought," he noted.

A crooked smile lay on Amalia's lips. "Obviously not enough. Otherwise I would not have been so wrong with Emile and you."

"You're not entirely wrong about me. And this is the first time that either of you have ever given me anything. Thank you," he nodded to her, whereupon her face brightened a bit.

"Next time I will try to find something more suitable," she replied.

"If you want to keep the rhythm, you have twelve years," he answered.

Amal grinned: "I do not think I will take that much time. But it is nice to hear that you still want to be with us then."

"As long as you pay," the mercenary countered, which she answered with the usual rolling of the eyes.

"Malia! We think we got it!", Constantin shouted at that moment.

She looked over her shoulder.

"Kurt – how about it, ready for a game?" the future governor added and his eyes wandered from his cousin to his former teacher.

"If you can lose, greenhorn," he countered and stood up. Amal did the same.

"Oho! We will see about that," the young governor returned laughing.

Kurt and Amal went over to the two of them and settled down opposite them.

"Let's hear it – how is that going to work?", the soldier asked.

"The goal of the game is to have as little sum as possible on your hand," Emile began to explain.

Chapter Text

Twelve years ago

He walked down the corridor that led to Her Excellency's salon. The evening sun fell through the high windows on his right as he passed by paintings showing some deceased or perhaps still living members of the Congregation. Kurt Pakusch had been master of arms of the three cousins Constantin, Emile and Amalia for a few weeks. The former was the heir of the merchant prince, the other two his permanent companions, although so far only the girl had shown some kind of talent for handling weapons. The two boys were nevertheless equally trained by him – they would be able to fight, but they would not outdo him, he was sure of that. The little girl on the other hand... she meant work, he had already guessed that when they first met. She was stubborn, and after the first few hours of practice she had hurled accusations at him that one wouldn't expect from a young girl of noble birth – but in the end all children were probably the same: cheeky, impetuous and difficult to control.

It didn't take a month before she had accused Kurt of trying to touch her during a training session. Which was only partly true – he had actually wanted to correct her posture. He probably should have guessed that the girl had accused him of trying to touch her in a completely different way.

Kurt had replied without further ado that he was not at all interested in what was under her clothes. He was here to teach them how to use weapons, but if she preferred to fight this way, she should do it elsewhere.

The incident had happened just four days ago. Since then, Amalia had never said anything in training and that had made it much quieter. Nevertheless, the twelve-year-old had given him defiant looks, which he had confidently ignored. He had survived more battles than these children had experienced winters. He would not be intimidated by something like this.

The servant who had led Kurt down the hall stopped at the door and knocked. Both men only had to wait a moment until they were called in.

"Your Excellency – Kurt Pakusch", the servant reported the already obvious and bowed before Josette d'Orsay – princess of the merchant community. She was not yet forty years old, and Kurt knew that there were women who were only half her age, but who would have given anything for the princess' appearance. Her hair shone in the colour of harvest ripe grain in the evening sun and in her grey eyes there was a sting in the green. But above all, her upright posture and her manner betrayed that she was very well aware of her position. She had been sitting in one of the armchairs made of the dark wood of the Makkua tree, but had stood up when the two men entered.

With a slight nod, the princess indicated to the servant that he could leave. The man immediately complied with the request and shortly afterwards they were alone. That is... not completely alone, for only now did Kurt notice Amalia's slender figure standing next to one of the ceiling-high windows, half concealed by the shadow of the wall which it cast in the setting sun.

"Kurt. My niece has brought charges against you. I am sure you know what I am talking about," the princess began.

The guard's gaze had wandered from the girl to the adult.

"If it's about me correcting her posture – I'm supposed to train the children in weapons. There is no way to avoid getting close to each other. I am not Lord de Courcillon. I cannot instruct them with words alone," he explained. He was aware that his answer probably carried no weight for her.

"She told nothing of this. It is about what happened after the training. Amalia, tell us what you told me earlier," she demanded of her niece.

The girl had remained silent until then, but out of the corner of his eye he had noticed that she had looked at him. Now that she had become the center of attention, her gaze wandered to the ground and she cleared her throat quietly.

"He kept me there after practice. For a... 'special unit', as he called it," she murmured.

Kurt couldn't believe his ears. That hadn't happened. Not that he hadn't thought about giving her a lesson in how to behave. In the form of thirty extra push-ups. Not in the way she just hinted.

"Speak up," the princess interrupted her niece.

Again the girl cleared her throat and her gaze flickered briefly in the direction of her trainer, but it reached Kurt's boots at most.

"He kept me there to teach me a lesson. I didn't like the way he looked at me and..."

"You should look at him when you do that. The people will not believe your accusations if you do not manage to look into the eyes of those against whom you bring them out," demanded her aunt with severity in her voice.

The girl raised her gaze. In her eyes there was almost a similar grey as her aunt's, but it seemed a little darker.

"He said we could not do this unit with so much clothing and that I should undress. When I did not comply with his request, he approached me and stripped off my vest and shortly afterwards pulled the tunic over my head. As he reached for the waistband of my trousers, I protested. I had no idea what he meant. But he just grinned and said that nobody would believe me anyway. I pushed him off me and somehow he tripped and fell backwards. Then I ran away," the young noblewoman described.

The soldier had never heard such a brazen lie – at least not when he knew for sure that the truth had been quite different. A tiny part was almost impressed that Amalia managed to tell her story very coherently and confidently. She would later make herself great at court with all its intrigues. How Kurt despised these nobles and their lies...

The far greater part of him, however, wondered whether he would leave the palace alive again.

"And this is exactly how it happened?" the elder noblewoman replied.

The girl nodded.

"Amalia, I asked you a question!"

"Yes, that is the truth," said this one vehemently and glared at her aunt.

The guardsman did not know why, but the confirmation of the lie upset him even more. Only that it would not help him to keep his head on his shoulders. He was just a mercenary, hired to teach the offspring of nobles. He had guessed that this task would not be easy and that he might be thrown out after a few weeks. He hadn't seen it coming that this employment might end with his death, because a little noble snotty brat couldn't control her temper and made up a walloping lie about him.

The princess bowed her head slightly before looking at the soldier.

"What do you have to say to this?" she wanted to know.

"She is lying, Your Excellency. Yes, she stormed out of training four days ago – after she accused me of... touching her inappropriately when I corrected her position. But her two cousins were also present and only left after her," the guard replied. He had not survived the night training to end up in the palace hanging by a rope.

The adult watched him for a moment longer.

"Constantin and Emile both confirmed this independently of each other," she replied calmly, before quickly turning her head towards her niece: "You left the training before them. And nobody saw you storming through the palace half-naked."

"But... I... it was evening! After practice! He came to see me and..." she began.

"Kurt was on patrol that night with other soldiers. And the other evenings, too. You lied, Amalia," her aunt interrupted her again.

The girl's gaze flew to the ground and for a moment the guard thought she was going to storm out of the room again, but she remained exactly where she was.

"What do we do if there is too much evidence against us?" her aunt asked her, with no indulgence in her voice.

"We say sorry," muttered the girl.

"We ask for forgiveness," the elder princess corrected her.

Silence seemed to descend upon the room, not unlike the sun in front of the high windows.

"We are waiting, Amalia", her aunt said.

"Forgive me," mumbled the little one.

"More clearly. With eye contact," demanded the noblewoman.

Amalia raised her eyes and looked directly at the soldier.

"Please forgive me, Kurt, for my lie," she finally said, before laying one arm lightly on her back, the other hand on her belly, indicating a bow in his direction, briefly breaking eye contact, but then looking at the soldier again.

Her aunt nodded, apparently satisfied with the process.

"Kurt?", she wanted to know and turned to him.

The soldier was not far from turning on his heels, leaving the palace and never coming back. But he knew that his commander would not approve of a sudden break in relations with the de Sardet and d'Orsay families. Kurt would therefore not only lose a well-paid post, but probably also a part of the support of the Guard. So he forced himself to nod slightly, "It's all right."

"Good. Amalia, you may go," her aunt closed the subject, her voice making it clear that her niece should leave the room.

The girl looked past Kurt and complied with the request, which almost astonished the soldier. Only when the door had closed quietly behind her and the sound of her footsteps in the corridor had faded away did her aunt continue: "She will have to learn to lie more convincingly if she wants to get away with it one day."

Only then did she look at the soldier again.

"I suppose you can be persuaded with a suitable sum to keep quiet about this incident?" she asked.

For a moment the guard didn't know what to answer when it occurred to him that the princess had not been concerned that Amalia had lied, but that she had not done it convincingly enough. He knew why he preferred to fight on the battlefield – it was much more honest there than in the palaces of the nobility.

Nevertheless he forced himself to nod again.

"Good. I will see to it that a well-filled coin purse finds its way to you," she replied.

"May I leave?" he asked.

He hated these rules of conduct at court.

"One more thing: You know what would have happened to you if there had been even the slightest chance that she was not lying, do you not?"

"Your Excellency, I would never take advantage of one of my protégés in this way," the soldier replied.

Kurt hadn't missed out on anything in the past, but there were things one just didn't do, and one of them was exactly that: approaching a pupil with an intention other than that of a mentor. Even if said pupil might have thought he or she had feelings for the teacher that went beyond the usual relationship between instructor and apprentice.

"Good. If your attitude toward them should ever change, I recommend that you leave our services before you give even a thought to approaching them in any other way. Otherwise, it may be your last," the princess explained.

"You may leave," she added, pointing with her hand towards the door.

Like his student shortly before, he quickly complied with the request. And it took him a lot of effort not to slam the door behind him.

Chapter Text

Today

"Is that all?" Amal wanted to know, and looked at him.

The distance between them was only a few arm's length. The space for training on the ship was limited, the captain had restricted it even further by having lines drawn with chalk on the deck.

The young noblewoman stood opposite him, knees slightly bent, hands in front of her, just as he had taught her and her cousins the basic position of unarmed close combat.

He had chased the three greenhorns through a training session at noon today, until their tunics clung to their bodies, wet with sweat. Constantin and Emile had already retired to freshen up, as they called it.

"Are you sure you want to continue this and not rather follow your cousins?" he followed up as he studied her posture. She offered him no real point of attack. He was a little proud of having done his job so well despite all the adversities of the last few years.

"Unlike them, I am not made out of sugar," she replied with a grin.

Mentally, he agreed with her. The soldier was also convinced that her cousins wanted to avoid the rain, which had started as a light drizzle a few minutes ago. Meanwhile drops were splashing on the deck and the crackling of the water hitting the ocean waves drowned out many of the other sounds.

"So to the end," he concluded, taking a step aside in the hope of getting her to let her guard down for a moment when she needed to realign herself.

"As usual," replied Amal, and her smile became a touch more mischievous.

In fact, she had been the one who had been dragging out the training for years – not because she was making so little progress, but because she still wanted to do a unit, sometimes much to the displeasure of her two cousins, who had also always had to stay longer. After the incident twelve years ago, Kurt had been careful for a long time not to be alone with her. Even though – at least as far as he knew – she had never again made an attempt to discredit him as she did during his first weeks in the palace.

She followed his movements and then he finally saw an unprotected spot. He pushed his heels off the wet planks and made a leap towards her. Amal swerved to the side, but got hold of his right arm. While he was still half in the air, she dived under him. But just as she was taking advantage of his momentum and he realized which throw she was about to make, something went wrong. For instead of throwing him past her, she suddenly pulled him down with her. Kurt felt a pull in his shoulder and thought he could hear the crackling sound despite the clatter of the rain as the joint shifted further than it should have. Pain flared up in his shoulder, superimposing the one when his hip hit the deck.

The young noblewoman gave a gasp when she also collided with the planks.

"Are you hurt?", she asked as she tried to stand up, which made the pain in his arm flow over his shoulder like liquid fire. It was a moment before the soldier noticed that the fall of his upper body had been absorbed by hers, but that was exactly why her movements made his arm slip to the side.

He carefully supported himself with his other hand on the wet wood underneath them before he brought himself into a sitting position.

"Nothing that can't be set right again," he replied. At least the rain cooled his shoulder. Even if that didn't help in the long run.

"You..." at that moment, her eyes grew larger.

"Your shoulder!", it escaped her and she slipped over the wet planks to him until she sat next to him.

"I am so sorry! I did not mean to," she quickly added. Her tone of voice was higher than when she had asked him before.

"It can happen," he replied.

"Really, Kurt, I am very sorry," Amal said again.

"Let's just set the shoulder back in place," he just said.

"Yes, right ... let us try this somewhere where it is dry before something else goes wrong," she replied, slowly seeming to recover. Then she rose and made a move towards the door leading below deck.

"It's easier when I'm lying down," he objected.

The young woman stopped and looked down at him. "There are beds for that, and at least they are dry," she returned and stretched out her left arm in his direction. Kurt looked at the offered hand.

"I do not want to slip on the floor again. Otherwise I might make everything worse," she added.

Finally, the soldier nodded, but ignored her hand and stood up using his left.

"It's easier this way," he explained as he met the questioning gaze of his former student.

She nodded and her face brightened a little at once. "I was afraid that I would not be allowed to help you up after this," she said before she turned away and quickly walked towards the door. She stopped it so that Kurt could go through.

"If I was afraid of anyone after such an incident, it would affect half of my comrades," he returned. As the door closed behind them, he stopped for a moment to get used to the darkness. He stretched out his left hand and guided his way along the wall. He touched a door, behind which presumably one of the other two nobles was staying, at least some light fell out of the gap below into the corridor, as well as under the door diagonally to his right.

"My cabin is the last one on the left," she said behind him. Kurt started to move and, followed by the young noblewoman, went down the corridor.

Amal opened the door and held it open again until Kurt had stepped through. The cabin was small: two steps in front of him began the frame of the bed. The furniture was attached to the wall, the length of which was also the longest in the room. Next to the headboard was a board, which probably served as a desk. In front of it was a stool.

"Lie down," she said, pointing to her bed.

"I'm completely soaked," he returned.

"It is only water. It will dry again," she said and repeated the gesture.

Kurt expelled the air and sat down on the edge of the bed, taking off his boots with his left hand only. He was annoyed that he was so slow, but every movement seemed to radiate directly into his right shoulder, only fanning the fire of pain. He knew that the sensation would quickly subside once his shoulder was back where it belonged.

He heard Amal shouting down the hall: "Constantin! Emile!"

Almost instantly, the sound of a door closing was heard, followed by hurrying steps. Just as the guardsman was getting upright again, the future governor appeared in the doorway and his cousin right behind him.

"I need light," she said to them.

"What happened?", Constantin inquired.

"Dislocated shoulder," replied Kurt, who at the same time tried not to feel uncomfortable under the young nobleman's gaze. This situation could easily be interpreted against him...

"Would a doctor not be better suited for this matter?" Constanin investigated.

"I am sure I can handle it," she replied.

"But only if I have enough light. Now!", she demanded of them.

"Do not worry, dearest cousin, we will not leave you in the dark," Constantin replied, with a smile flowing over his lips, probably due to the pun, which only came to the soldier's mind when the two noblemen had disappeared from his field of vision. In the case of the young governor, however, the absence did not last long. This time, both the sound of his footsteps and the approaching light announced him.

Amal took the oil lamp from her cousin. She took a small cloth and put it around the glass, which protected the flame from drafts, to raise it. Then she lit the wick of the lamp on her table before putting the glass back over it and returning it to her cousin.

"What exactly happened?" he wanted to know and his gaze wandered from his cousin to his former teacher.

"The deck was wet and instead of turning Kurt's attack into a throw, I slipped and dislocated his shoulder in the fall," reported Amal.

"I suspected that training in the rain was not a good idea. I hope it is a lesson for you", Constantin replied.

"On the battlefield, you can't choose the weather either," Kurt countered. Although he had to look up to his former student, he seemed to shrink a little under the eyes of the master of arms.

"True. I hope your injury will not leave any permanent damage," the young nobleman replied.

"It won't. And it won't stop me from chasing you three across the deck again tomorrow," the soldier prophesied to him.

"Nevertheless, I would like to start here. So get out, the cabin is already too small for two people," she shooed her cousin out.

Constantin hinted a bow before he took a step back and closed the door behind him. Amal turned to the guard and her gaze wandered to his injured arm.

"We should make sure you have not broken anything when we fell," she said as she took the lamp and lit another one, which was attached to the wall above the bed. She then put the first oil lamp back on the table and turned the wick out a little so that the flame grew bigger and gave off more light.

"I don't believe this happened," he replied as the young woman turned to him.

"I will check your arm anyway. Better safe than sorry," she replied and pulled up the stool to sit on it. Then she reached for the soldier's right hand and pushed hers under the back of his hand. With her left hand she carefully pressed first on his wrist, then on his forearm before she let both her hands wander a little further over the wet fabric of Kurt's tunic and repeated the procedure.

The guardsman turned his gaze forward, but there was not much to see. Due to the slight flickering of the oil lamps the shadow of the noblewoman danced over the wood. He did not want to stare at his former student. He had seen her grow up. There were some lines that were better not crossed. Not that Amal made it particulary easy for him in that regard. She had grown from a snotty-nosed twelve-year-old with too much temperament for her slender body to a young woman who had made sure that some heads turned after her at court when she passed by. It was only partly due to her appearance. She knew how to tuck her hair up to emphasize her slim neck, even though she had always simply tucked her hair together at the back of her neck during training. Her nose was almost as big as Emile's. He was able to soften this with his brown full beard, Amal lacked the advantage. But the look from her grey eyes, with a small part in the left one, which was darker, had something very determining. Like her aunt, the young woman knew exactly who she was and how far her privileges extended.

Kurt remembered that it was a few months before her twentieth birthday when the question of what Amal would look like without clothes crossed his mind. And what she would feel like. The soldier had been visiting the brothel more regularly than before and that was the end of the matter. No more distractions during training or afterwards. And he didn't want to give those thoughts any room now. Which was helped in this moment by the fact that he had to grit his teeth in pain. Her touches had hardly been felt near her hand, but they had become more painful the further she had worked her way up his upper arm.

"I do not hear any bones crunching – let us hope I am correct with the diagnosis," she finally said as she reached the shoulder.

"Lie down," she asked him again and pointed her head to the headboard of her bed.

"You can do that while I'm sitting, too," he objected.

"A moment ago you said it was easier lying down. Let us hope I am better than Emile and Constantin," she replied, repeating the gesture.

The guardsman gave up. He was able to stand up to her on the training ground. Outside it was different, but he knew he was not alone in this: When Amalia d'Orsay set her mind to something, there was hardly anyone who could stand up to her. The only exceptions were her two cousins. And occasionally their parents - if they found the right leverage. He turned to the side and slowly let himself sink backwards onto the mattress.

"All right," she said, sounding as if she was trying to bolster herself up while she put her hand around his wrist. She pushed her other hand under her elbow.

"Pull evenly," he reminded her and glanced at her.

She had pressed her lips together, but nodded. Then she leaned back slightly and began to pull his arm away from his torso. He felt the stretch increase, then there was a muffled bang. The pain subsided instantly and Kurt expelled the air.

"That's it," he told her.

"Really?" She sounded surprised, but came back to the bed and carefully put his arm down.

The soldier nodded and slowly straightened up again.

"It took much longer with me then," she said and pulled her eyebrows together slightly.

"Or it seemed to you because your two cousins couldn't manage it," the guard conjectured as he tried to stand up. When Amal was sixteen, something similar had happened to her during training. Constantin had miscalculated and dislocated his cousin's shoulder.

"You need a sling," replied Amal. "Wait a moment, I will get you something," she added and left the cabin.

The mercenary settled back on the edge of the bed and heard her take a few steps down the hall, followed by another door. Shortly afterwards, a rumble and a suppressed curse sounded from the cabin on the right. Another rumble followed, then her steps came back again.

"You have the choice between light green and dark red, I was not able to find anything else in a flash," she said. His former student held two wide scarves in her hand, of which one probably cost more than Kurt earned in a week.

"I'm sure I'll find something else," the soldier objected.

"You should fix the arm immediately – not later. So, which one do you want?" she wanted to know and briefly moved both scarves.

Resigned, the guard stretched out his healthy hand for the light green cloth, but he could not reach it.

"This one? The other one would bring out your eyes better", Amal replied.

Kurt looked at her from the scarf.

"Do you really think I care about something like that?" he asked. For a moment he thought he saw something like insecurity flickering across her face, but then she turned away a little and threw the dark red cloth towards her pillow.

"Your decision," she only said and approached him.

"I can..." he began.

"You are hurt. And I caused it, so I am responsible. You got Constantin to take care of me then, too," she reminded him, while she sat down on the stool again and unfolded the cloth. Kurt could see that a pattern of diamonds had been woven into it. Perhaps it was more like a week and a half's wages that the garment was worth, as fine as the threads looked.

"You told Emile to give him his scarf and then Constantin made me a sling. He was almost proud of himself afterwards," she remembered, with a smile in the corner of her mouth as she pulled the fabric so far that she could grasp the middle.

"However, I have always wondered why you asked him and Emile to put my shoulder back into place before you showed them how to do it," she added, while she carefully lifted his right arm and bedded it on the cloth.

"Didn't want anyone to accuse me of taking advantage of the vulnerability of my protégés," he replied.

Kurt could just see her eyebrows drawn together, then she bent over and brought the scarf together from both sides behind his neck.

"You? Taking advantage of us? Who said anything like that?" he heard her ask not far from his ear. He felt one of her hands brush briefly across his neck as she tied the ends of the cloth together. Then she leaned back and sat down on the stool again.

"You," he replied and let his arm sink into the sling as a test.

The shoulder still hurt, but much less than before, and as far as he could tell, the scarf was the right length for him to carry the main load of the arm.

"Me?" she repeated and surprise resonated in her voice.

"You don't remember?" he asked, looking up from the light green fabric. He knew that the little bad liar had turned into a pretty good one. He had not only been their master of arms, he had been responsible for the safety of the three of them often enough to see how they had slipped through the courtly intrigues. Whereby Amal had come through much more coordinated than her two cousins. And who had initiated one or two of them herself.

She shook her head.

"After our first few weeks you told your aunt that I tried to undress you," he replied sternly. It was not one of his most fond memories.

"I did what?", she replied and laughed briefly. But when her gaze met his, she became more serious again.

"I guess it was probably not very pleasant for you. Why did I do that?" she wanted to know, curiosity seeming to resonate in her voice.

The soldier raised his shoulders – for which he was promptly punished with pain in the right one.

"I have only been with you a few weeks and have corrected you a lot. A few days earlier you were angry when I criticized your posture and touched you. That was the first time you had insinuated that I... tried to take advantage of my position," he continued.

"When I told you that I didn't care what was hidden under your clothes and that you should fight with such tricks elsewhere, you stormed away angrily. I had thought that that was the end of it, but before the end of the week you were trying to convince your aunt that I was trying to abuse you," he added.

Amal had listened to him, put her hands together and slightly narrowed her eyebrows. Only towards the end had her gaze wandered away from his eyes. Now she looked at the wall next to him, but it seemed as if she was looking at a point far behind. Finally she nodded.

"I think I remember. My aunt made me tell you what I had told her. I was hoping you'd get thrown out because I was so angry with you. Never before have I been told I am doing something wrong as often as I have in your training," she said and looked at him again.

"I was not thinking about the consequences then," she confessed.

"If my aunt had not seen through the lie, it would have cost you your life, would it not?" she finally asked.

The soldier nodded, "Very likely."

Thereupon her eyebrows moved up a little. "I certainly did not mean to – but I was twelve. I had no idea what I was doing."

"Thought so."

"Still, I should not have done that. I was a real monster," she concluded.

"A monster with potential," he admitted.

"Did you see it that way back then?" she wanted to know.

"After the first week I was convinced that you were the only one of you who could ever win a duel. But the other two have been doing quite well," the soldier said.

It was true – Constantin was a reasonable fencer and Emile would at least be able to take on a simple soldier if he had to fight with weapons. Which was mainly because Emile relied more on his magic, with which he could keep enemies in check far better than with his sword.

"And despite my lie, you stayed," she said.

"It was easy money compared to the other duties of a soldier," he replied, causing Amal to roll her eyes.

"Of course, it was only the precious money. Do not pretend that you did not enjoy chasing us around the training yard all these years and putting us in our place," she countered.

"As I said – easy money," he said, smiling slightly.

"It almost cost you your head, though. And I think I never said I was sorry," she replied seriously.

"Your aunt has made you apologize, and for the incident has once again increased my monthly wages," he replied.

"I think we both know that I meant it about as seriously as Constantin did when he said that he was happy to dine with his parents. And you cannot compensate all things with money, as Emile always says," she objected.

"It was a long time ago," he replied.

"That makes a sincere apology all the more important: Please forgive me, Kurt. I did not think and it could easily have cost you your life. And if I have made your task as master of arms more difficult in any other way, I am also sorry," she said and lowered her head for a moment.

The mercenary examined his former student. Unlike the petite girl who had stood before him twelve years ago, she seemed honest. Yet it was unusual – no one apologized to a simple soldier, except Emile and, on very rare occasions, Constantin, the latter, following the nature of his mother, always accompanied such words with a sum of money. Amal usually played down events or made her counterpart feel guilty if they were not her cousins. Until now, the guard had only seen her behaving like that towards them. The rest of the family had always been treated with the proper etiquette, but one did not have to be a nobleman to see through the fact that she had merely followed rules.

"Apology granted?" he finally said, not sure what response was appropriate in this situation.

A slight smile appeared on her lips as she raised her head again.

"Good. And just for the record, I never had the impression that you were approaching either of us in an improper manner. I do not know how I came up with that at the time," she said.

"Maybe you heard somewhere that you get rid of such unpleasant employees," the soldier surmised.

"Probably. It was still not a nice move on my part. In comparison, the shoulder is probably a pleasant side effect," she said.

"At least one expected. In a few days it will be as good as new," Kurt replied and stood up.

"I am glad to hear that. Otherwise it would be very boring on this boat if I could only fight Emile and Constantin," she replied and stood up as well.

"You can take the cabin next door. We store our things there, but we will just put them here with us," she added and pointed her head to the wall on her left, behind which the soldier had heard rumbling when she had looked for the scarf.

"My things are stored with the crew," he held against it.

"Climbing ladders with one hand is careless, which you are not," she replied smiling.

"Anyway, I never understood why you are not staying with us. You belong with us – not with the Nauts," she added.

"That almost sounds as if it was a bad thing to belong to them," the soldier said.

"That... no, I did not mean that. It is just... they are the staff. All we have in common is money changing hands, for which they take us to Teer Fradee. You trained and mentored us for over a decade. No matter how hard you try to tell yourself you are family," she explained.

"A not exactly easy family with a difficult background and ungrateful children, if you believe my aunts and uncle, but you could have quit at some point," she added shrugging her shoulders and grinning a little.

Chapter Text

Today

The weather was calm, the sun was shining and the Cavalo-Marinho gently plowed through the waves. They were on the move quickly. If things stayed that way, they might reach Teer Fradee a week earlier. Vasco stood on the afterdeck, next to him stood his first mate Gumercinda – who was simply called Cinda. She kept the helm steady, which was no feat in the current sea state, but she was just as good at it when the waves slapped the deck and the crew had to be careful not to fall out of the shrouds.

The d'Orsays stood at the bow, both leaning on the railing in their backs, and chatted with each other while the soldier played cards with some of the crew members who were off duty not far from them. De Sardet was also on the afterdeck. He had turned up about half an hour ago with a book and had asked the captain if he would be bothered if he sat in a corner and read. Slowly Vasco got the impression that the ambassador seemed to consist only of politeness. From this point of view he was probably a good choice for his post on Teer Fradee.

Cinda was just turning the wheel when a call came from the lookout: "White squall from astern!"

The Naut whirled around. Indeed – the crests of the waves wore treacherous white crowns and they were rapidly approaching.

"White squall! Reef the sails! Passengers below!" he barked.

Instantly the crew came to life, even before Cinda had repeated the orders with the bosun's whistle. The card players jumped up and climbed up to the sails to catch up, while his mate looked over her shoulder and grabbed the helm tighter.

"This will be fun," she murmured, still with the whistle between her teeth.

Only his passengers were lethargic. The future governor, accompanied by the guardsman, strolled towards the quarterdeck.

"Is there trouble, brave captain?" he wanted to know.

"Below deck. Immediately!" he replied, but by then the Cavalo-Marinho was already bucking. Suddenly, water and snow whirled through the air so that one could hardly see anything. The sea raged like a betrayed lover and the wind howled so loudly that one could no longer understand a word. Vasco clawed his hands around the railing. He knew that Cinda could hold the wheel. And that they had to endure this madness for only a short time. White squalls often came without warning and disappeared just as quickly. The ship was thrown from side to side as if it were the toy of an upset child.

The Naut saw the mercenary pull the nobleman with him across the wet deck towards the cabins. The Cavalo-Marinho leaned precariously to one side before being unexpectedly thrown in the opposite direction. The wind drove her ahead of it – despite the sails being at least partially reefed. Cinda made the helm dance to compensate for the movements of the bucking sea. Just as she steered in the opposite direction again, a scream rang out.

Vasco pulled up his head and saw a figure fall only a few arm's lengths in front of him. And then stop in midair, as if an invisible net had been stretched there. The ship continued to plough through the waves – suddenly the Naut was within Vasco's reach. The captain continued to hold on to the railing with one hand while he reached for Flavia with the other and pulled her up.

As it turned out one blink of the eye later, he could have saved himself the trouble. As the ship continued to drift forward, the two Nauts collided roughly and fell to the ground. Vasco coughed and with one hand blindly reached for the railing above his head to avoid sliding over the deck while the Cavalo-Marinho continued to lurch over the waves. With the other he clasped his crew member so that she would not be washed away from the ship. He heard someone calling out, but could not understand what. It was just a word, but whatever it was – the rushing wind made it impossible to understand anything.

Another wave threw the ship to the side and the Naut felt the muscles in his arm protest as he slid across the quarterdeck. The cold in his face made the tip of his nose numb and water ran into his eyes.

And then – as quickly as it had started – it was over. The Cavalo-Marinho rocked a little more, but apart from that it was quiet.

"Lucky," Cinda said to him from above him. When Vasco looked up at her, she just took her hands off the wheel, and her white ankles slowly returned to a normal colour. Like the captain and everyone else on deck, she was completely soaked. A few strands of her dark hair hung in her face and seemed to match the tattoos.

"Thank you, Captain", Flavia said after she had rolled herself off him. "That was close," she added, not quite knowing what had happened, following her expression.

"I didn't do anything," he held against it as he took the offered hand and let her pull him onto his feet. As he looked around, he spotted de Sardet sitting on the side of a step of the control board stairs and holding on to the railing. He looked around as if he did not yet trust the peace.

"It's over," the captain assured him and walked towards the nobleman.

He tried to free his legs from the banister. Apparently, he had thought it a good idea to hold on to it additionally. Not the stupidest idea, as Vasco had to admit.

"Did you just..." but the rest of his sentence was interrupted by a shout before he could ask the question if the ambassador had used magic, "Green Blood!"

Captain and diplomat looked at the soldier who hurried towards them from the bow.

"Amal was washed overboard," he reported, his voice sounding even darker than before.

"What? How?"

"Were you just in the same storm as me?" the guardsman returned with a rumble.

Vasco put his own whistle to his lips without further ado and blew in two quick sequences. The first was to keep the sails reefed, so that they would not take up speed and might possibly move away from the young woman. And the second was that the lookout should watch out for people who had gone overboard.

A squeaking sound was heard, followed by hurried steps and the voice of the future governor: "Emile, Kurt... where is Malia?"

Vasco had brought out his spyglass. "Cinda, port," he just said. His first mate nodded at him, ordered Flavia to the helm and did the same. Both Nauts stepped to the railing on opposite sides and searched the sea.

He heard de Sardet answer in a flat voice, "No longer on board."

"No! It cannot be!", it escaped his cousin.

Waves, water, ocean. Vasco put down the spyglass for a moment and tried to see with the naked eye. The problem with people going overboard was that it was easy to miss them behind the crest of a wave. Therefore it was not advisable to let one' s gaze wander too quickly across the water, even if instincts drove one to hurry.

"Is she able to swim?" called Cinda over to the nobles.

Vasco had already asked himself the same question. It wasn't something the landwalkers were used to. At the moment, the answer to that question would not really help them. Non-swimmers and swimmers drowned almost equally in the Naut's experience. Moreover, they could not easily abandon the search.

"A little? It is enough for a calm lake," replied the ambassador, with doubts clearly audible in his voice.

"Could save her life out there," said Cinda, although she sounded less confident.

"We will find her, by all means!" d'Orsay held against it agitatedly.

Vasco glanced at the two nobles. They climbed up the quarterdeck and rushed to a railing to look for their lost cousin as well.

The captain did not share their enthusiasm. Even if she could swim, it was possible that the storm had washed her away too far. Unless she hit her head when falling overboard. Or lost her bearings underwater. Nevertheless, the Naut put the spyglass on again. He hadn't lost anyone for twenty-three trips. He would not start today.

Chapter Text

Today

Kurt looked at the cards in his hand. If he played the five, Alvara might have been forced to follow suit. If she had the right hand. Nivaldo and Dario had folded in the last two rounds, but were still sitting with them and watching their game.

The day was quiet, the sun was shining and in the background he could hear the occasional laugh and scraps of conversation from Constantin and Amal, who were standing not far from them at the bow of the ship. Green Blood had disappeared somewhere with a book. Now and then Emile needed a little time for himself. He had already been like this as a child, and after all that the soldier had experienced at court, he could understand the ambassador's impulse.

Suddenly, a call echoed across the deck from far above. Kurt had not been listening, but he raised his eyes.

"White squall! Reef the sails! Passengers below deck!" barked the captain a moment later, and almost instantly several rapid whistles tore the calm apart.

The soldier rose and although he was not slow, the Nauts were faster. Together with their other comrades who were on deck, they sprinted to the rope ladders leading up to the sails. Constantin and Amal approached the soldier.

"Is something the matter?", the young woman inquired.

"Apparently we're supposed to go below deck," said the guard.

"Let us go and ask", the future governor suggested, and set off for the quarterdeck. Kurt did not like the whole thing, but when he let his eyes wander, the sea seemed calm. So he followed the nobleman.

"Is there trouble, brave captain?" Constantin called up to the man next to the wheel.

"Below deck. Immediately!", he commanded his passenger, and at that moment Kurt realized that something was very wrong.

The calm ocean suddenly turned into a roaring sea and the deck seemed to tip sideways beneath them. Waves crashed on the planks and the soldier was just about to grab Constantin by the shoulder when the noble risked to slip. Wind whistled in their ears, rain rushed down on them as if it wanted to throw them onto the planks. It seemed to the mercenary as if there was snow too, but he did not take the time to watch the spectacle. Kurt pulled the young nobleman with him. Another shudder went through the boat and the roar of the waves drowned out all other sounds. Just as the door came within reach, the boat was thrown to the side. Kurt leapt forward, dragging Constantin with him, and got hold of the latch of the door. Just a moment later, the ship changed course again and they slid in the opposite direction. The door swung open - and Kurt somehow managed to push Constantin through.

"Amalia!", he shouted.

"I'll get her - stay here!"

Kurt had to scream to drown out the roar of the sea and the howling of the storm. Then the ship continued to sway - and the guard quickly pulled back his hand, thus preventing it from being crushed by the slamming door. The mercenary pressed himself against the wall in his back and let his gaze wander across the deck. The crates on which he and the Nauts had been sitting shortly before were gone. Just like Amal. The deck was empty. His eyes wandered to the masts. Maybe she had clung on it.

When the ship bucked again, he used the momentum and let himself slide forward so that he could hold on to the first mast. But there was nobody here. Another lean angle and Kurt slipped and shortly after that crashed into the railing. His hands clung to it while he searched the masts. Empty. The soldier pulled himself up and almost got thrown off his feet again when the ship broke out to the side again. His gaze still flitted across the deck, but it remained as empty as the first time. Finally he turned around and looked out to sea. The waves threw the ship around furiously, rain and snow hampered his vision.

"Amal!" he cried, but the word was torn from his lips. The storm raged so loud that he could not hear himself.

Then, all of a sudden, it was over. The waves calmed down and the rain stopped. He continued to stare at the water, but Amal remained missing.

Kurt pulled himself together and turned to the quarterdeck, where the ambassador was talking to the captain.

"Green Blood!" he shouted, which immediately got him the undivided attention of both men.

"Amal was washed overboard," he continued, feeling an uncomfortable tug in the stomach area.

"What? How?" it escaped Emile.

"Were you just in the same storm as me?" the guardsman growled, but realized even as he replied that the ambassador was not to blame. Kurt had been the bodyguard of the three for over twelve years. Never had he had to tell any of them that he didn't know where one of the others was.

The captain took out his whistle and a moment later the whistles rang out across the deck, mingled with hurriedly approaching footsteps.

"Emile, Kurt... where is Malia?" Constantin wanted to know and his gaze wandered from one to the other and then across the deck, as if his cousin was hiding there somewhere.

"No longer on board" replied Green Blood, lowering his head.

"No! It cannot be!" cried his cousin, and he stepped toward him, half-pushing past Kurt.

The soldier took a few steps back and turned back to the railing. Even if he didn't believe that he, of all people, would find Amal, keeping an eye out for her was still better than just waiting. Though not much better.

It seemed like hours to him, though it was only minutes, before the relieving call of "Person, starboard ahead!" rang out. The Nauts launched the dinghy and the captain needed some convincing to keep Constantin and Emile from accompanying him. Probably the argument was that neither of them had any experience at all with rowing, which would make it difficult for them to move and would make the rescue of their cousin take even longer.

Still, the two reminded Kurt a lot of the two boys he had started training over a dozen years ago as they stood excitedly at the railing watching what was happening at sea. Although the soldier also felt relief when the boat approached them again and he could make out Amal's figure on the back bench.

When she finally came aboard, Constantin helped her over the rail and instantly pulled her into his arms, followed by Emile, who unceremoniously embraced them both. Kurt liked to claim that he was a cold-hearted mercenary - but seeing the three of them reunited gave him some relief. And he knew it wasn't just that it wouldn't have been a badge of honor for his bodyguarding skills if they hadn't found Amal again. The three of them had always been together. No one, no intrigue and nothing else had been able to tear them apart and the soldier was a little grateful that at least today he had not had to watch them lose each other. Even if this event showed him once again how fleeting some things could be that one took for granted.

Finally, Amal released herself from both of them to change her clothes. She had come aboard in the captain's coat, without boots and dripping wet.

The Nauts resumed their work while Emile and Constantin continued to talk. Kurt turned away, arms folded, and looked out to sea.

Although he knew the three greenhorns were fine and safe for the time being, there remained an uncomfortable tugging in his chest, as if at the end of a bad cold. He knew he shouldn't get sentimental - if only because his loyalty should lie first and foremost with the Guard and only then with his employer. But he had never been so close to losing one of the three and been so powerless at the same time. He knew he couldn't protect all of them all the time. If only because Constantin would stay much more in New Sérène as governor on Teer Fradee, while Amal and Emile would explore the island and strengthen relations with the other nations. Which led him to the need to urgently look for a bodyguard for the eldest greenhorn and another for Amal upon arrival. He himself would accompany Emile - Green Blood was an excellent diplomat, but still the most reserved of the three in battle. That's why Kurt wanted to keep an eye on him, and he was sure his two cousins felt the same way.

The mercenary was drawn out of his thoughts when he heard Green Blood's and Constantin's voices get a little louder. He turned to see that the young noblewoman had stepped onto the deck again. Once again, her eldest cousin embraced her and his cousin returned the gesture, while Emile placed a hand on her shoulder.

The voices of the two cousins became louder again and snatched Kurt from his memories. When he turned around, he saw that the young noblewoman had entered the deck again. Again Constantin embraced her and his cousin returned the gesture while Emile put a hand on her shoulder.

In fact, the pressure in the soldier's chest decreased as he watched this scene. Even though the oppressive feeling did not disappear completely. Sentimentality could shift loyalties. Something he could not afford.

Still, he interrupted his brooding when he noticed how his former student had broken away from her cousins with a smile and was now approaching him. She did not let him out of her sight for a moment, and with every step towards the guard, her face became more serious. For a moment, the question flashed through his mind whether she had just been fooling her cousins, or it was him she was fooling. For if the latter was the case, she was better at it than he had assumed.

"I know this was not my best performance. I'm sorry...", he began, but he broke off when she didn't stop. Instead, she dropped gently against him as she slid her arms under his and finally leaned her head against his shoulder.

For a moment he was too surprised to do anything. None of the three had ever hugged him.

She slowly took a breath and then expelled it again unused. Only then did the soldier get the idea to return the hug. He felt her wet hair on his cheek as he leaned his head slightly against hers and put his arms around her. It was nothing he did often. When he tried to remember the last time he had held someone, he could not recall a particular event. It had probably been years ago, back then with Fayette, and probably that was why he was so clumsy about it. He expected a cheeky comment from Amal at any moment, but she remained silent and kept holding him. It did not last long, but it was enough to drive the rest of the oppressive feeling out of his chest.

"Thank you," she finally muttered before she broke away from him.

He let her go as well, but examined her: "What for?"

Amal took a step back and looked down before she replied, "For bringing Constantin to safety. When I was washed away from the ship, I was afraid that you two were also carried away by the wave. As soon as I broke through the surface, I went looking for you. I panicked when I did not find anyone – and not only because I was afraid I would die in the sea. I thought maybe one of you was unconscious or even both of you."

Only then did she look at the soldier.

"Then the boat came and the captain told me that you took him to safety. Thank you," she repeated.

"It's my duty to ensure your safety," he objected.

"Yes, but ... not from such things. You have not been trained for this any more than we have," she said.

Amal leaned against the railing in her back and for a moment she pressed her lips together, while she ran her stretched fingers of her right hand over the palm of her left and finally closed the hand around her fingers. Her gaze had wandered back to her two cousins, who were talking to each other.

"When my father died, I was nine years old," she said, without taking her eyes off them.

Kurt had heard about it. He hadn't been at court then. Amal's mother had died giving birth to her. Armand d'Orsay, the younger brother of Prince Pascal d'Orsay and Princess Valerie de Sardet, had died in a carriage accident.

"I do not know much about him except that afterwards I was terribly angry and sad and helpless. I do not even remember if I really loved him. Or what his face looked like," she continued, and only at the last words did her gaze scurry briefly to Kurt, almost as if she wanted to make sure that he was still standing next to her.

"But they often say that Constantin looks a lot like him," she added, looking back at her older cousin who was laughing at something Green Blood had just told him.

"I do not believe that there is any truth in the rumors that Constantin could be my half-brother," she said and finally looked back at the soldier.

"But I know that Constantin and Emile are the only family I have. Aunt Valerie has made an effort, but I have never felt any connection to her and we both know that Constantin's parents are not even capable of loving their own son. They had even less for an angry nine-year-old," she said.

"I do not know what I would do if I lost one of them. I do not know if I could live in a world where one of them is no longer with me. So: Thank you."

She nodded to him again and a smile fell on her lips, but unlike the hundreds of times he had seen her smile in many ways, it seemed depressed. Her gaze wandered past him out to sea and finally back to the ground. She seemed almost a little lost, as she stood there and said nothing more. For a moment Kurt wanted to go to her to hug her again and hold her tight. There was nothing he could say to her, nothing that could ease the fear she had felt at sea. Yet he stayed where he was. He had once been her teacher, now only her bodyguard. For both positions it was not appropriate behavior.

Eventually she pushed herself slightly off the railing, but before she turned away, she looked at him again: "And, Kurt? I am glad that nothing happened to you either."

Just when he had thought that she would have been done with surprising him today... But if he was honest with himself, they had crossed the line between bodyguard and protégé today anyway, so he could stay a moment longer in this area before they returned to everyday life.

"I can only return that," he replied and nodded slightly to her.

A smile flickered across her face and for a moment a spark of light-heartedness seemed to glimmer in her eyes again, even though it went out almost immediately. She returned the gesture before she turned around and went back to Constantin and Emile.

Chapter Text

Today

The first hours after the white squall had been uneventful, but then a storm had caught up with them, which lasted for three days. Today it had finally settled in the afternoon and in the meantime the deck and sails were mostly dry. Vasco knew that his crew loved life at sea, but such things still hit the mood – though not as much as with the passengers. He had only ever looked briefly after the nobles, who had spent most of their time in the small dining room in front of his cabin, passing the time more or less by playing games, reading stories and playing music. De Sardet and the governor had played on instruments, although Vasco had heard the strings of the ambassador's mandolin more often than the flute of his cousin. They were surprisingly good, even if their songs sounded somewhat different from those the Naut had heard on the ship. At least the four of them had not given the impression of developing a ship's tantrum, as some of the Nauts' passengers sometimes did when they were at sea for too long. When their movement was restricted by storms, quite a few of them tended to want to vent their bad mood on the captain or other members of the crew. Nothing that Vasco would allow, and he was a little grateful that this time he had not put his 'guests' in their place. Although he had only thought about the two d'Orsays anyway. The soldier was certainly ten years older than the Naut himself and had already experienced more situations like this one. And de Sardet was probably just too polite to be rude to anyone. After all, he apologized at every opportunity, even during the conversation when Vasco had wanted to thank him for Flavia's rescue after Lady d'Orsay's return:

"Lord de Sardet, a word if you have time," the Naut spoke to him.

The nobleman raised his eyes from his book. The pages were wavy. Apparently it was the book with which he had come onto the quarterdeck before the squall. At least he had not lost it.

"Of course", he replied and got up on his feet. His cousins, who were sitting nearby playing cards, took a look at them, but they made no attempt to interfere.

Vasco took a few steps aside before turning to the other man: "Did you use magic to save my crew member earlier?“

"I did. How is she?" he asked.

"She is well, thanks to you. If she had hit the deck, she would have broken a few bones, if not worse. I thank you for saving her," the Naut replied.

Immediately, something like a guilty expression appeared on the face of the nobleman.

"I... was lucky. And strictly speaking, I did not obey an order from you quickly enough, for which I would like to apologize," he explained and bowed slightly towards the captain.

The latter pulled his eyebrows together.

"You are aware that my crew member could be dead without you?", he went on.

"I am glad that I could help her. Nevertheless, it does not relieve me of the duty to apologize for my omission," the nobleman explained. But he seemed to be aware of the critical gaze of his counterpart, for shortly afterwards he asked: "Too... courtly?"

Vasco nodded.

"When you save a life, almost any omission is excused," the Naut countered.

The ambassador raised his shoulders slightly: "Not where I come from. But it is pleasant to know that things are not the same everywhere."

In fact, a smile then apprearedon his lips, which seemed a touch more cordial than the one the nobleman had shown during their previous conversations.

"I can' t speak for other factions," the sailor objected.

"It is perfectly sufficient if you speak for the Nauts," said Lord de Sardet.

"That is the duty of the Admiralty. But I can speak for my crew and myself", replied the captain.

"I would like to hear more about the organisation of the ranks of the Nauts, if you have the time", said the diplomat.

"What for?"

"My cousin would probably call it curiosity, but since I hold the office of Legate, it is my job to mediate between the Congregation and its allies. The more I know about them, the better I can understand their concerns and fulfill my task," explained the nobleman.

And no matter how hard Vasco tried to find a hint of condescension or pomposity in his words, he found none of it.

"We can talk about it at the next dinner. That should be tonight, if nothing unforeseen happens," offered the Naut.

"Thank you," replied the ambassador.

The storm had indeed intervened and Vasco had only exchanged a few words with his passengers on the way to his cabin and out. Nevertheless, he had no time today to catch up on this evening's dinner. He had tapped a barrel of beer to compensate the crew for the last days. Some Nauts sat together and played cards, others had brought out their instruments. Cinda was at the helm, but wanted to be relieved in an hour, which Vasco had assured her of. She had earned an evening off just as much as the rest of his crew, who had done their duty for the last few days without complain. The captain stood at the edge of the glow of one of the lanterns and watched the others as they sat together.
At that moment the two older nobles strolled past him. The future governor nodded at him, then they continued their way to the musicians who were just about to unpack their instruments.

"Captain Vasco," he heard the ambassador next to him say and turned to him.

"Lord de Sardet," he replied, bowing his head slightly.

"A question, if I may," the Legate began.

The Naut smiled. "You're full of questions, aren't you?"

"I... do not want to bother you", the nobleman quickly turned and made an attempt to follow his relatives.

"You should know that I will tell you if it is the case," the captain reminded the diplomat of a previous conversation between them.

The gaze from the brown eyes of his counterpart seemed uncertain, finally he looked down, cleared his throat and then seemed to try to adopt a more relaxed attitude.

"You said that and I should take you at your word. I wanted to ask you about one of the songs the crew sings over and over again. It is about a love that is so great and so wide that no single heart could ever fully grasp it. It is unpredictable and at the same time constant. And I ask myself: Is this the sea?", he wondered and looked at the man across from him.

Vasco had to admit that he was a little impressed that the nobleman had guessed the meaning of that love. The words "sea" and "ocean" were as absent as "water", "wave" or "tide". Nevertheless, he had his own rules – rules that said that he would not get involved with his crew or passengers. Yet he couldn't resist the temptation to ask, "Are you asking me or are you asking yourself?"

Promptly something like a reddish glimmer seemed to creep into the cheeks of the nobleman. Normally, the Naut would have been unimpressed by such a thing, but de Sardet, despite his title and his otherwise thoroughly polite nature, sometimes seemed so innocent that the captain found increasing pleasure in leading him a little down on the slippery slope. And the ambassador knew where he stood – Malia had questioned Vasco about the rules and regulations of sex on the ship during their first dinner together and later his rules on sex on the ship, which had more than shocked both her cousins.

"I wanted to ask you. If this also belongs to things you do not share with outsiders, I apologize," the nobleman explained.

"We may not talk about our... magic, but our songs are no secret," the captain replied. "You are right. It is about the sea. Or seafaring, if you like. It is an explanation why we are always drawn out to sea," he added.

"Are there any others?" the diplomat asked.

"We are good at this – no one can compete with us at sea. And no matter how many doldrums you experience – time at sea always holds an adventure, as you have already experienced first-hand," the captain replied.

"By the sheen of gold – nothing that I would like to experience again so quickly. How you and your crew got us through the squall and this storm deserves admiration," replied the nobleman.

"That? The squall was a little difficult, but the storm was nothing out of the ordinary. We've survived much worse," Vasco countered.

"I... am not sure I would like to see anything worse. I am probably a landlubber through and through," the ambassador admitted, raising his shoulders slightly.

The captain laughed when he heard the other man use the Naut word for all other nations. Most people took it as an insult, but de Sardet had sounded a little resigned but smiled.

"I've met worse landlubbers. After all, you have figured out the secret of the ‚Unsteady, steady one‘ " the captain objected.

"Is that the name of the song?", the legate inquired, whereupon his counterpart nodded.

"It is very nice. And very suitable", said the nobleman.

"I have a book with some of our poems and songs, in case you are interested," offered the Naut, even though a moment later he was no longer sure where this impulse had come from. He had never lent one of his few books to a passenger before.

In reply, he received a smile from the other man, which was as warm as the glow of the lanterns: "I would very much like to read it."

"You... know that you don't have to answer out of courtesy," the captain tried to row back.

The nobleman raised his shoulders again: "As my cousin always says: Can it be read? Then it is definitely something for Emile, whether it be adventure stories or trade contracts."

"Really?", the Naut said.

"Let us just say... contracts are useful. I may not enjoy reading them, but I still find them easier to read than my cousins. I am lucky: the details very often seem to stick in my memory just like that," the diplomat explained.

Before he could reply, the young governor's call echoed over to them: "Emile, they are letting you play along! Get your mandolin!"

"Please, I really do not mean to impose myself," replied the ambassador, but approached the small group.

De Sardet – polite as always. When Vasco had met him at the dock, he had taken him for another typical nobleman. Even after the legate had promised that they would search for the cabin boy Jonas, the Naut had assumed that they would at most ask in the tavern and then return without having done anything. But instead they had stayed away for over an hour, until Vasco had started to think about whether he should send out a search party himself. And what the prince of the congregation would say when he learned that his son and his relatives had been lost in the search for a cabin boy. But then the young governor and the soldier had appeared to assure the Naut that Jonas was free and said goodbye to his parents before he would come back to the ship.

Parents... Nauts did not usually know their family unless they were Nauts' parents themselves. Anyone born on a ship was given to the Nauts because they were a so-called sea-born child. In addition, there were families who made contracts with the seafarers that were so lucrative that the Nauts demanded a child in return. Vasco himself knew nothing about his parents, although he was sea-given, which meant that he had not been born at sea. As Jonas' return to the Cavalo-Marinho had shown, he was originally from Sérène and was the scion of the noble Fontaine family. His father had traded him for a contract, but left Jonas' mother in the dark about it, and now – after almost seventeen years – they had tracked down their child and wanted him back. But Jonas had returned to the Nauts – his real family.

The boy had told more than once how the three cousins had rescued him, always mentioning de Sardet in praise. He had accompanied him to his mother with Amalia d'Orsay after the three nobles had freed the cabin boy from the captivity in one of his father's warehouses. Obviously his father had thought he could hide the boy until the Cavalo-Marinho had left. But the three cousins had managed to find his whereabouts and convince his father to let him go, and the young governor had apparently had an easy time of it with the help of his title. Then the latter had returned to inform Vasco that the other two were taking Jonas to his mother and then back to the ship so that there would be no unpleasant surprises after all.

Since then, Jonas had been very fond of de Sardet, perhaps because of the book he had lent him after a few days' journey. Whenever the two of them were on deck, the ambassador exchanged a few words with the cabin boy and he never seemed impatient or angry. His two cousins rather kept their distance from the crew, as Vasco was used to from his noble passengers. They joined them only when they wanted to pass the time. They were not rude, just inattentive in the usual way. Lady d'Orsay was in the habit of suddenly asking questions when she found something interesting, but apparently she lost the interest just as quickly. The young governor sometimes seemed to be a little more gloomy than his two relatives, but showed this very rarely, although his cousins were always there to cheer him up when they found him in a depressed mood.

Vasco's eyes wandered back to the youngest nobleman, who talked to the musicians and finally nodded. Then he made his way to the cabins, inevitably passing the captain. When their eyes met, an almost clumsy smile appeared on the ambassador's face.

"Your crew is kind enough to let me play along," he explained in passing.

"You saved one of ours," Vasco reminded him as the nobleman was already halfway past him. He turned around and walked slowly backwards: "Then let's hope they will not change their minds because of my playing."

Then he disappeared below deck. And despite the smile on his lips, during the last sentence he had sounded as if he really feared to disappoint the other Nauts with his skill on the mandolin. So he was not only easy on the eyes – especially when he blushed a little – he was still modest. As much as Vasco was looking for it, so far he could not find a catch to this man. It was not the first time he wondered whether his rules were absolutely necessary. But this time he suspected that these rules would save de Sardet and him from a difficult parting in a few weeks.

Chapter Text

Today

Kurt stood at the edge of the light of a lantern and looked over to the Nauts and Green Blood who had gathered around it. Constantin put a hand on his cousin's shoulder and said, "Let's hear it, dear cousin!"

After the white squall – that was apparently the name given to this type of brief storm that had taken them by surprise almost two weeks ago – the Nauts had invited the young nobleman to join them with his mandolin. The soldier had the impression that it was related to the rescue of Flavia, who would probably have been hit on the deck and wounded, if not worse, had it not been for Emile's magic. The young man had gratefully accepted the invitation and what had, at first, seemed like a one-time thing, now appeared to last longer. Since that night, if one could sit on deck, he sat with them in the evening and played together with them.

Emile exchanged a glance with the other musicians, who nodded slightly at him. Then he began to play a lively tune. Still a bit too squiggly for Kurt's taste, but far better than most things he had had to listen to at some balls. Shortly after that the other two started. Maybe they were playing by ear, the soldier didn't understand such things. To him, it only had to sound halfway good, and that it did.

He felt a touch on his right hand, which was lifted shortly afterwards. When he turned, he saw Amal smiling at him, saying, "Might I have this dance?"

"In all these years, have you ever seen me dance?" he objected.

Her smile widened slightly as she raised her shoulders, not letting go of his hand, and replied, "There is a first time for everything."

"Soldiers in general are not good dancers. Especially since the common people do it a little differently than you do at your balls," he objected.

"I did not only dance at balls," she returned.

That was true. He had met her twice by chance in a tavern when he was off duty. And once she had danced with some fellow she had later disappeared with.

"That still doesn't make me a dancer," he objected.

Amal pulled her eyebrows together a little, but took a step towards him.

"Is it that you simply do not want to dance, or ... you do not want to dance with me?" she asked, her fingers seeming to wrap a little tighter around his hand. Almost as if she feared that he would pull his hand back.

What he should have done long ago. And yet he did not.

"I'm really no good at this," he replied.

"You do no need to. I am not that good at it, either," she said.

"Save your lies for court," he replied, as always when he caught her doing it. "You may sometimes deliberately make such a mistake, but when you dance with the other two greenhorns, you make no slip ups," he continued before she could object. Which she hadn't done for a while, though, when he exposed her shenanigans.

Her gaze flickered briefly onto the planks before she looked at him again.

"You could learn something from me for a change," she offered.

"So you can tease me about it forever? No, thanks," he held against it.

"I would not. Not in this case," promised Amal immediately.

He studied her. Kurt hadn't danced in years – another thing he'd done a couple of times with Fayette. He knew how clumsy he was about it.

"I'd only step on your feet," he tried again, but her smile, which had been fading away before, only flared up again.

"Never mind. You do not have to move much", she replied.

Amal took a step back, this time to the beat of the music, so that his and her arms were stretched out. But she stayed in this position for only a moment. Then she turned in Kurt's direction, with her arm around her and then his. A blink of an eye later she stood in front of him and her back pressed lightly against his chest. Her touches were gentle and at the same time light-hearted. None of this he had expected, but even less had he ever expected to hold her in his arms as he did at that moment. For the length of one blink he felt an almost uncontrollable need to put the other arm around her and just keep holding her. But then she grabbed his hand with her other one and turned away from him in the other direction before she turned away under their hands once more. Only then did she stop, still with a smile on her lips, though not as wide as before. It almost seemed a little uncertain.

"You really do not enjoy this, do you?" she asked and mustered him.

Kurt shook his head.

Amal took a breath before she looked down at his hand, which she still held on to, before she looked at him again and approached him so that their arms were no longer outstretched.

"Or... would you rather be left alone? Because I am actually part of your job?" she wanted to know.

The soldier looked at her. In the old days, she would never have thought about such things.

"Where did that come from?" he asked her.

"From Emile. When you took us out of the Guard Tavern, he said we ruined your night off. And strictly speaking, your evenings are free during the crossing. And... he remarked the other day that we should not keep you occupied all the time," she explained.

"It's a ship. We can't really avoid each other here," he objected, which made her raise her eyebrows.

"Besides, I would tell you if you got on my nerves," he added, just when it seemed as if she wanted to take a step back.

Then the hint of a smile settled on her lips.

"True. That is one of the qualities I like most about you: You say what you think and I never have to worry about how it is meant. Much easier than all those things at court," she said, raising her shoulders slightly.

Kurt pulled his eyebrows together a little, but tried not to let the surprise show. She had never said she liked anything about him before.

But as if their conversation was over, she took another half step towards him and turned to the side to look at the musicians. The guardsman did the same as she did. But she did not let go of his hand. Had she... forgotten?

On the other hand – it was not unusual for her to hold one or both cousins like that. She had said that Kurt belonged to them – even though he almost didn't want to believe that she meant that he belonged so much. Or was she trying to trick him in some way?

It was Constantin's enthusiastic voice that tore him out of his brooding: "Amalia! I see your dancing partner was not exactly... thrilled. Would you care to dance with me?"

The young nobleman stood not far from his cousin, half turned towards her. At the last words he stretched out his arm in her direction and bowed. A thoroughly courteous gesture that Kurt could never imitate in such a way. Even if he wanted to.

"With pleasure", replied Amal.

The soldier felt her release his hand and only then did he allow himself to look to the side, but by then Amal had already approached her cousin and placed her hand in his.

"Excellent! So, my dear – may I lead?", he inquired.

"You may," she agreed with a resigned laugh, while Constantin led her a little further onto the deck.

Then the two of them lined up, as Kurt had seen them do about a dozen times before, and began to move light-footedly across the planks. Another thing the mercenary couldn't do.

Almost instantly, the music changed. Both nobles paused for a moment, then immediately started again. This time their steps were longer, while they kept moving away from each other – but instantly towards each other again. Had Kurt not known beforehand that Amal had lied when she claimed she couldn't do it – this would have been the proof.

He heard her laugh as she turned away from Constantin once more: "You realize that this is actually a courtship dance?"

Her cousin pushed one arm behind her back and put his hand on her hip, while Amal put her arm around his shoulder and they turned together.

"Of course. It is for celebrating an engagement, if I remember correctly. And we have seen that at weddings too," he said.

The young woman released her hand from his shoulder and moved it along his arm, while Constantin also made this gesture. How had Amal gotten the idea that Kurt could do something like that?

"We spend the rest of our days together without such ceremonies," she replied with a grin.

"You sound very sure. You do not know what plans they have for us after Teer Fradee," her cousin objected, although something like uncertainty seemed to resonate in his voice. The soldier could not blame him. As a mercenary he could not necessarily choose his duties either, but after all those years in the palace he was more than convinced that it was better to belong to the Guard than to the nobles of the Congregation.

"That is true. But I know that I will not give in to their plans if they try to take me away from Emile or you. Someone reminded me that I do not have to obey for that," she replied, still with a smile on her lips, while her cousin turned her around. This time they were facing each other but shifted and each had placed one hand on the other's hip. As Amal let Constantin turn her, her eyes fell on Kurt and for a moment the soldier felt as if her smile widened. He had told her that, a couple of weeks ago, at the last ball that had taken place in the palace before the departure. Then Constantin and she kept whirling around each other and she seemed to have eyes only for her dancing partner again.

Only then did the guard notice that he had been looking at her the whole time. He turned his eyes away to look for a few card players. Perhaps then the place at his side would not seem so strangely empty to him.

Chapter Text

Today

Amalia looked up from the book in her hand and her gaze met that of Constantin, who waited impatiently for his cousin to read the reply so that he could read the next text.

"This really is unbelievable nonsense," she said.

"No complaints, my dear. You refused to read the woman's parts," he reminded her and smiled at her over his edition.

"But he has already kissed her. Why all this sneaking around in the garden?" the young woman objected.

He threw a glance at Emile, which the latter returned with a slight shrug.

"It seems that our dear cousin does not understand the romantic aspect of all this," said Constantin.

"He can just go up to her and get his leg over her," the noblewoman objected.

"Amalia!", it slipped the young prince's mouth.

"She is only fourteen," Emile reminded her.

"Then... let him kiss her again, and be done with it. How many more acts does this play have?" she wanted to know and turned a few pages forward, her eyebrows narrowing visibly. Constantin had to smile a little: He was sure that Amalia was not aware of this reaction on her part.

"Three?!" Her eyes wandered to Emile and the young governor did the same. Their youngest cousin had been in a gloomy state of mind for the last few days, but since they had begun to read the play by Javelot, his mood seemed to brighten. Constantin was glad to see an amused smile on his lips.

"You do not have to do this," the ambassador said as he approached Amalia and reached out a hand to take the book from her.

"No way. She has agreed to read with us. We just have to motivate her a little," the future regent argued and let his gaze wander over the deck of the ship.

The day was quiet. If one disregarded the storm a few days ago, their journey so far had been almost monotonous. Which was why they had decided to read Javelot's works with assigned parts. At least officially. Because unofficially, they had also wanted to cheer up Emile. And Constantin knew that Malia felt the same way, even if they hadn't talked about it before. Nevertheless, he would have to keep her entertained if this was not going to be the last work of Javelot that they performed.

"Maybe we can make it a little more exciting..." he murmured until his gaze touched the railing and an idea came to his mind. He quickly turned to his two relatives.

"Dearest cousins, we are going to perform it, not just read it," he explained. Then he turned quickly and climbed up the railing, right under the rope ladders leading up to the sails. He climbed up the first two cross braces before trying to push his arm through one of the loops. But he missed. He felt himself tipping towards the ocean and his stomach seemed to sink even faster in the same direction.

"Constantin!" it escaped Amalia, who leapt forward. He also noticed a purple glow when Emile conjured up his magic, but then he had gotten hold of one of the ropes with his free hand. It took him a moment before he had found a secure footing, then he breathed out as calmly as possible.

"All is well, my dears. No need to get excited. Now, Romain, to your position," he said and smiled encouragingly at the two of them, even though his insides felt more stirred up than the sea in his back. Amalia took a few steps back.

"I will not read the whole beginning again," she said, lifting her gaze once more from the book in her hand which she had looked down on before.

"Just be amazed by my appearance," Constantin replied and made a sweeping gesture with his left hand, with which he did not cling to the ropes, slightly throwing his head back.

Amalia laughed softly before she began to read again: "And what jewellery is she wearing there on her neck? Oh, if only I were that necklace, and could nestle myself so gently against her neck!"

"Oh, poor me," Constantin then let himself be heard in a high voice, trying to achieve a particularly theatrical tone when he read the lines of the languishing Julie. He heard a soft laugh from Malia's direction and as his gaze flitted towards Emile, he noticed that his cousin was smiling. Not polite or interested or resigned, but liberated as he had not been in days.

At that moment Malia continued half whispering: "Listen! She speaks! Oh, speak again, fairest of the fair!"

"Oh, Romain. Why Romain? Take off your father's name. And if you do not, swear your eternal love to me and I will no longer be a Capon," continued the future regent in the role of Julie Capon. Then his gaze wandered to Amalia, who read the next lines from Romain Montagne – scion of the family with whom the Capons had always had a bloody feud – "Do I continue to listen to her words or shall I reveal myself?"

Immediately thereafter Constantin replied in a high voice: "It is only a name – Montagne! It is neither hand nor foot, nor face! And would a flower not smell just as lovely, even if it had a different name? So Romain, even if you had a different name, you would still keep his dear perfection. Even without the title. Oh Romain, put down your name and take all of mine instead."

"At least she is right about this name thing," said Amalia, looking down at her book.

"No comments, my dear," the future governor urged her.

"Why? At court there is always someone talking," she held against it and looked at her elder cousin.

The young prince stretched out his hand, in which he was still holding the opened book, towards their other cousin: "And you do not think that our dearest cousin deserves to hear the plays of his favourite poet without interruption for once?"

Thereupon there was a guilty flash of light in her eyes. She cleared her throat and glanced briefly at the planks before continuing in the role of Romain Montagne who was in love: "I am relying on it. I no longer want to be called Romain."

When she looked at him again, he gave her a consenting smile before reading on as Julie: "Who is it who pushes his way into my heart in the dark?"

"I cannot give you a name, for it, oh shining light, is your enemy and I despise it," replied Amalia, walking resolutely towards Constantin, until she had to take her head a little to the back of her neck to look up at her cousin standing on the railing. Much like Romain, who walked through the garden towards the balcony where his beloved was sighing at the stars.

"I hardly heard a hundred words from those lips, but I suspect who it is: is it you, Romain, the Montagne?" let Constantin hear in a high voice and shielded his eyes with his free hand as he searched the deck and his gaze finally caught on his cousin.

"I will not be it if one of them displeases you," Amalia fervently countered, holding her edition of the collected works higher so that she could look at her acting partner sooner. Her gaze wandered over the edge of the book towards him.

"How did you find your way here? And why are you here? The wall is so high, even dangerous to climb. If one of my cousins saw you here!", Constantin continued to lament.

He heard a soft laugh and his gaze wandered briefly to Emile, who had put his fist over his mouth. But it was not enough to hide the cheerful expression on his face.

"Are you laughing because we are making such a fuss or because our cousins would rather encourage us in this situation?" Malia asked him.

"Both," Emile replied, still smiling but a bit too fast.

In the last few days their younger cousin had been in a much worse mood. He hadn't wanted to talk about it until Constantin had finally got it out of him:

"Cousin, what is it?", the future governor called out for the third time today when he approached him. Emile had dismissed the other times and even asked them for forgiveness for his gloomy mood. As if he would ever have to do such a thing to them. He had retired to the quarterdeck a while ago.

Amalia and Constantin had finally followed him. Both agreed that it wasn't one of the usual phases in which their cousin needed some time for himself and that he looked out to sea, which stretched behind the ship, suggested that he wasn't here to watch the captain either. His two elder cousins had also briefly discussed this affection of him, but they had decided not to speak to Emile about it for the time being.

When they reached him now, he turned to them and let his gaze wander from one to the other. Then he loosened his scarf and gave it to Malia, before he grabbed his collar again and pulled out an amulet from under his tunic.

"What is this?" she wanted to know and came closer.

"I do not know," he replied. Emile hesitated for a moment, then took a step away from the railing and removed the jewel. He handed it to Constantin.

"It looks like an amulet, but... it seems to be made of stone," said the latter, who lifted it into the sunlight to have a better look at it. The gem was round, and various lines had been carved into it, some straight, others like wavy or serpentine lines. The future governor had never seen anything like it before.

"This pattern is not exactly matching the necklace," he continued before looking at his youngest cousin.

"I assume that the necklace did not originally belong to it," he explained, while Constantin handed the pendant to Amalia, who in turn looked at it.

"Where did you get it?" she wanted to know and looked back at Emile.

"My mother gave it to me when I left. She said it was a family heirloom," he explained quietly.

The young noblewoman narrowed her brows a little. Constantin also found this answer strange. What was it supposed to represent? It did not seem to be jewelry in the conventional sense.

"Could it be some kind of congregational seal? Or of the house de Sardet?", the young noblewoman inquired after she had examined the amulet again.

"You really believe that our cousin would have missed this?", Constantin followed up a little amused. Emile had been the best at heraldry all these years. He had even found ways to get his cousins to memorize most seals and coats of arms.

"It is not a coat of arms known to me. But I do not know them all," the ambassador objected.

"But the pendant is only half of it, is it not?", the prospective regent asked softly, just as Amalia was handing the gem over to her younger cousin.

Emile looked down at it before he put it around his neck again and let it disappear under his tunic.

"A little. It... has been eight weeks since my mother lost her last eyesight," he finally said, looking at them again.

Constantin and Amalia approached him and embraced him while Emile took a quiet, trembling breath. The vast majority of the people suffering from the Malichor died within six weeks of complete blindness.

Constantin had no idea what it was like to lose one parent, let alone his second. Something that had always distinguished him from his two cousins, ever since they were born. Which made it all the more important for him to be there for them in such difficult times. So he had asked Amalia to read Javelot. The fact that she agreed immediately, even though she thought the plays had far too much text for far too little plot, showed that she knew what it was all about.

"You think we are making absolute fools of ourselves," she concluded, grinning.

"A... little," Emile still admitted with a smile.

"Then I hope that we will continue to live up to this high standard," Constantin joined in from the railing and bowed his head graciously towards his two relatives. He would have bowed, if he hadn't still been busy holding on to the ropes, in order not to lose his grip.

"But I can only do that when Romain finally reads on," he continued and his eyes wandered to Amalia.

"Right. Where were we?", she looked at the pages and finally found the lines that followed. She laughed softly before clearing her throat and reading out: "The gentle wings of love carried me. No man-made bulwark is high enough that they could not overcome it. Neither could your cousins stop me."

Constantin immediately replied in a high, dismayed sounding voice: "They would kill you if they saw you!"

"It would be more dangerous if you were not of good mind to me. Your friendly look alone is armor enough for me against their hatred," Amalia countered, making a particularly theatrical gesture first toward her elder cousin and then toward the imaginary, attacking Capon cousins.

Constantin's gaze once more went over Emile's face, in whose brown eyes lay an amused sparkle. At last. For the smile on his face, he would read through all of Javelot's works, if necessary.

Chapter Text

Today

They had spent half the day at the railing, always looking out at the water. Then a dense fog had come up, which the crew had assured them belonged to the island.

"That's probably why we haven't found it for so long," surmised Jonas, who was standing next to Emile. He had had the last watch on deck, but he didn't look tired, although he had been awake much longer than the ambassador and his relatives. It was almost as if he was excited. Now he stared out into the muddy grey together with them.

"Have you ever been here before?", the legate inquired and looked at the adolescent.

"Twice. We've never been as fast as this time", he replied.

"Not so enthusiastic, Jonas, otherwise our passengers will think that we've hurried to get rid of them," the ship's captain replied and approached the railing on the other side next to his cabin boy, but gave the nobleman a smile.

Emile tried hard to withstand the look from the light grey eyes. He had had a few conversations with the Naut, and with each of them he had taken a better liking to the sailor. As shocked as the ambassador had been by his cousin's questions about the subject of intercourse on the ship, he had been glad that he had known that nothing would ever come about between the captain and him. Nevertheless, it had felt a bit as if he and the Naut were dancing around this topic. Which was actually more Malia's style. She often threw insinuations and suggestive glances around when she was courting someone - often in more than one direction to make the object of her desire jealous. He himself usually tended to be different. He would openly express his feelings, which sometimes caused pain or even deception, but when that was the case, Constantin and Malia had always cheered him up. And if the feelings had been mutual, it had been more than worth it.

Maybe that was why the matter with the Naut felt so... unfinished for Emile. Although he wasn't even sure if the captain really liked him or just found him a little interesting.

"I think no one would blame you if we had been so fast just because of that," the ambassador finally countered.

"Do you really want to say that other nobles wouldn't hold it against me if I told them so?", the Naut followed and looked at the legate.

"Well... if you say it to their face, probably so. But as Jonas put it, it would be very difficult to make an insult out of it," he replied, smiling at the cabin boy next to him, who replied with a grin.

"Oh, that reminds me, your book!", it escaped the young man and he suddenly straightened up.

"I had hoped to have finished reading it by the time we arrived. I'll get it for you!" he turned on his heel, but Emile stopped him. "Wait."

Jonas turned and looked at him.

"You have not finished reading it yet?" he said.

The ship's boy shook his head.

"Then keep it. One should not just interrupt a good story in the middle," the ambassador added.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Thank you! I'll bring it to you as soon as I've finished it and we'll come to Teer Fradee next time!", Jonas promised smilingly.

"This is not quite the point of a gift, but you are welcome to come to the embassy. Maybe I will have something new for you then," the nobleman replied.

"Emile! Look at that!", Amalia's enthusiastic call echoed loudly in his ears as she stood only two arm's lengths away from him.

Nevertheless, he did her the favor and turned around. In front of them the outlines of the island were peeling out of the fog. In the middle of the land mass, majestic stone slopes rose up, converging into a kind of high crater that represented the highest point of the island. Emile had heard that there a volcano was supposed to be in the middle of the island. He knew pictures of such formations, but it was something completely different to see them with the naked eye. For once they had already sailed much closer to Teer Fradee than he had expected.

"That's our sign, Jonas, off to the shrouds with you," the captain said and both Nauts left. Shortly afterwards, shrill whistles rang out, passing on the captain's orders to his crew.

But Emile - like Kurt and his two relatives - was far too busy looking at the island. Even though the volcano dominated the centre, a considerable amount of land mass extended around it, which was much more hilly on the left side of the volcano. They could make out dark and light green patches - meadows and forests. And at the shores one could discover some beaches. But directly in front of them they could make out houses that seemed to grow rapidly while the ship continued to drift towards them.

"New Sérène!" it escaped Constantin.

"Your city," Amalia added with a laugh.

"Our city - I may be the governor, but this is to become home to all of us," her older cousin corrected her immediately and Emile felt Constantin reaching for his hand. As the ambassador glanced to the side, he saw that his cousin was holding the right hand of their other cousin with the other, while his gaze continued to focus on the city.

"So much for the free evenings," Kurt, who stood to the left of Malia, said.

"If you miss them, you only have to say a word," she replied.

"What - because then you'll exchange me for someone else?", the mercenary held against it and crossed his arms, whereupon Amalia rolled her eyes.

"Because then we will give you the evening off. One cannot weigh such things with gold," she replied.

"Where did you get this?" asked the guardsman amused.

"Emile always says that," Amalia replied immediately, sounding more defensive than her cousin was used to. She pointed at him.

Kurt's gaze wandered from her to the other ambassador and the slight smile in the corners of his mouth deepened for a moment as he nodded at him.

"Well done, Green Blood," he said and something like appreciation resonated in his voice.

"You never tell me this," Malia interjected.

"And you seriously asked me if you complained most out of the three of you," the soldier replied and glanced at her with arms still crossed and a smile still on his lips.

"Besides, of all of us in training, you probably heard the most that you did something well," Emile objected.

"Am I the only one who thinks that talking is ruining the mood right now? That is Teer Fradee up ahead! The island of miracles!", Constantin exclaimed and pointed with his arm towards the island.

"Excuse us," Malia said immediately and put her arm around his shoulders.

"As if I could be angry with one of you for a long time," sighed the latter, replied the gesture and put his other arm around Emile.

"I am very curious to see what awaits us there," added his elder cousin.

***

In fact, it took a while before they had finally arrived. But at last the ship was moored and the landing stage was laid out so that they would not fall into the gap between the quay wall and the ship. Constantin took another moment and looked at the harbour that stretched out in front of them. As far as Emile could tell, it was much smaller than the one in Sérène. It had room for three or four ships of similar size, and it didn't look as if there were docks hiding somewhere else.

Then Constantin took the first step onto the jetty and crossed it, followed by Amalia and Emile. Kurt joined them.

"The... ground feels strange," his cousin said after they had taken a few steps and he turned back to them.

Malia also looked a little questioning.

"That's because your bodies no longer have to compensate for the movement of the waves. It will subside after a while," the ship's captain's voice said. Emile hadn't noticed that he had also left the ship.

"Captain - thank you for this unique passage. You have done your job very well. Should you ever need a recommendation from my house...", Constantin turned to him, but the Naut cut off the rest of his words with a slight, but nevertheless vehement shake of his head.

"That will not be necessary. It was my pleasure," he replied, bowing his head slightly.

"It could have been a lot more pleasurable for you if you had... Ouch," Amalia broke off and when Emile let his gaze wander to her, he saw her rubbing her side at the level of Constantin's elbow and giving him a look under her narrowed eyebrows, who in turn ignored her and turned back to Naut: "The pleasure was all ours. We will not keep you any longer. Come, my dear, let us find our escort."

With these words he linked arms with Amalia and turned towards the road that meandered away from the port between the warehouses.

"What, is Kurt not enough anymore?" she asked.

"I'm not cut out for it," he said.

"Nonsense," Malia objected, but their voices already became quieter as Constantin led them away from them.

"Please excuse my cousin," Emile said to the captain.

"Her words have done no harm," the sailor assured him.

"I am glad to hear it."

"Although I will miss your apologies a little," the Naut added.

Emile blinked.

"I... would have hoped that our conversations would have left a positive impression on you," he replied when he had finally found his voice again.

The captain's cat-like smile widened a little as he bowed his head slightly and replied: "You will be remembered fondly, don't worry.

"I am glad. You... will sail back to the continent?", the ambassador replied, hoping to be on less embarrassing ground. For once he suspected that Malia would later tease him a little with this non-affair with the Naut.

"I'll report to the admiral in charge here and see what she has for me," the sailor replied.

"And you are expected as well," he reminded the legate and hinted with his head at a point behind Emile. When he turned around, he saw Constantin talking to another woman, while Malia looked back at her younger cousin and waved him over.

"I wish you well, Captain Vasco," said the ambassador, after which he turned back to the sailor and extended his hand to him.

"The same to you, Lord de Sardet," he replied and reached for the offered hand.

A glance, a brief handshake, then the Naut turned away and Emile also turned around to see who his relatives were talking to.

Chapter Text

Today

It had taken the rest of the day to follow around after the three greenhorns. They had been looking at the palace. The building was much smaller than the one in Sérène, but still had so many rooms that the mercenary had lost the overview along the way. Then they had gone to the embassy. It was much more clearly arranged. A small library on the left of the entrance hall, a salon on the right. Behind it was the dining room and the stairs in the entrance hall led up to the bedrooms and guest rooms. From the dining room and the entrance hall there was a corridor leading to the kitchen and the pantries. One of the two pantries had a door leading out to the backyard. There was also a servants' staircase next to the kitchen, which went up to the second floor, where the servants' quarters were located.

Claudette, one of the maids, had brought him up here and assigned him a chamber at the end of the corridor. The room was small, had a cupboard, a narrow bed and a bedside table. There were also a few hooks on the wall and a small window - at knee level, because the chamber was under the pitch of the roof. Meanwhile he had brought up his bags and put them on the bed. Probably he would not even fill the cupboard completely. He wondered if he would get an armour stand in here. It would be easier to store his equipment on it.

"Kurt?"

The call came from the corridor and he knew the voice only too well. Although he had been a little glad not to be in its immediate vicinity, for it was there that ideas came to him that he did not want to have in relation to a student. Besides, he was too old. And not noble.

He turned around just as Amal appeared in the doorway.

"Here you are," she said and smiled, but her face became a little questioning as her gaze wandered over the walls and finally got stuck on his luggage.

"What exactly are you doing here?" she wanted to know and entered the chamber.

"Unpacking," he replied, even if it seemed more than obvious to him.

"But not here," she held against it.

"There are six bedrooms down there. Choose one," she said and turned back towards the corridor.

"I am your guard, not your guest," he replied.

She turned to him.

"So? That is not to say that you cannot be accommodated well. Besides, you can guard us much better if you sleep on the same floor as we do," she objected, grinning before she disappeared through the door.

He looked at her for a moment. It hadn't exactly been easy to move into the cabin right next to her on the ship. It had kept him from dampening his arousal by masturbating more times than he could count. In the end, he had either waited until late at night to do so or had done the job on the lavatory. Not a pleasant place for it - although everything from it thankfully fell down into the sea - but at least one where he hadn't stopped at every creak because he somehow feared that Amal might hear it. And she was the last person he wanted to think about during that times - even though it was anything but easy to banish her from his mind. Especially after she had gone swimming with the Nauts in the sea that one day, when it had been calm. He had never seen her naked before, and it had taken him weeks to lock the image of her body in the farthest corner of his mind and try to throw away the key to that dungeon.

If he followed her now, it could come to such a scenario again. At that moment her footsteps on the corridor came back in his direction.

She looked at him briefly and raised an eyebrow questioningly before she passed him without further ado and took his backpack. The pack was perhaps half her size, so she swayed a little as she put it on, but she caught herself again, just as he approached her and held her arm.

"It is all right. I will not have you reproach me for not even being able to carry things by myself," she said, and a mischievous grin fell on her face when she finally stood securely. The soldier took a step back and let her go.

"Shall I take your other bag hostage as well?" she asked and a flash of amusement appeared in her eyes.

"So that in the end you'll reproach me for not being able to carry anything on my own?", he just gave back and shouldered the other bag.

She was still smiling as she turned around and walked down the hall in front of him. He had been at court for over a dozen years and he had seen some nobles with their bodyguards - he was quite sure that this was not normal behaviour. On the other hand - Amal seldom followed rules of which she did not understand the meaning of. He had already noticed this during the first year of training. She had only completed the exercises when Kurt had explained why they should warm up, do push-ups and other things that at first and sometimes second glance had nothing to do with fighting.

When they reached the first floor and left the servants' corridor, he let his eyes wander over the doors. Three on the left, three on the right and almost in the middle of the wide corridor was the staircase leading down to the entrance hall.

"I wanted to take the room at the back, but if it suits you, I will simply take the one next to it," she explained and pointed down the corridor.

With which this room and its neighbour were definitely out of question.

"Emile has that one there - it is quieter because it goes out the back. Just look at them," said Amal as she put the backpack down and leaned against the banister of the stairs.

The soldier responded to the call and took a look into the rooms. The furniture differed in details, but on the whole the rooms were similarly furnished: A large bed at one end, near the stove. Opposite the bed was a chest of drawers, a small table with two armchairs and a washstand between two windows, in front of which another chair was placed. The furniture was darkly stained, the walls covered with patterned fabric wallpaper - he had never understood who thought such things were pretty, but the greenhorns had as little influence on the furnishings of the house as he did. In the end, he decided on the room at the other end of the corridor, because the stairs led in that direction. He didn't really believe that he would have to fight in this house, but this way he was closer to potential attackers.

Just as he left the room, Green Blood came out of the one on the other side at the end of the corridor. When his eyes met those of his former master of arms, a slight smile fell on the ambassador's lips.

"I see Malia has successfully completed her first diplomatic mission," he said, nodding to the soldier.

"She has taken my luggage hostage," the guardsman held dryly against it, which drew a soft laugh from Emile.

Amal looked back and forth between the two men and raised her shoulders slightly: "I also told him that he could guard us better if he stayed with us."

"That, in turn, seems a good reason," her cousin agreed with her.

"It makes sense. But... you know that Their Excellencies would put their bodyguards with the other servants, don't you?", the soldier added.

Thereupon his former student shrugged his shoulders.

"Presumably. Should there ever be a shortage of space here, it could happen that this could be temporary," he admitted.

"In the event that it does, you and I will sleep in the same room," his cousin held against it and nodded in Emile‘s direction.

He raised his eyebrows slightly, but bowed his head a little .

"I think I could manage to pull myself up one floor," the guardsman objected.

"But I like having you around, so Emile and I can share a room for a while. If it should ever come to that. Which room would you like?", Amal inquired and turned to him.

The mercenary returned her gaze for a moment. It wasn't that he didn't like having her around him, too. He liked her easiness and that she tried not to let anyone tell her what to do, which she often succeeded in. But with statements like that she didn't make it any easier for him to stay in his role.

Finally, he pointed to the room he had chosen. The young woman lifted the rucksack, this time carrying it in front of her. The soldier came towards her and took it from her.

"I can do it," she held against it.

"I like to take care of my own luggage," he explained as he shouldered the rucksack.

For a moment the smile seemed to fall from her eyes and the corners of her mouth, but she quickly put on a calm expression and nodded at him.

"All right. Well... see you later," she replied before turning around.

"Malia and I want to have breakfast with Constantin in the palace tomorrow morning," Green Blood informed him.

"I'll take you to him," he assured him.

"Because we cannot manage the hundred steps in broad daylight by ourselves. We are not children anymore," argued Amal, who had meanwhile arrived at the door to her room.

"Letting you walk around alone is pretty much the opposite of what I am paid for," he objected.

She rolled her eyes.

"You could have confidence in your training," she objected.

"I do. I still like to get paid and therefore I've got to do things like that," he replied.

Amal did not look very convinced, but she did not give any objections.

"If you don't need me anymore today, I'll go to the garrison later," he added.

Emile and she exchanged a glance.

"You are welcome to take the evening off," Green Blood replied.

"Afterall we do not want to wear you out", Amal said with irony in her voice. Then - without waiting for a reaction from either of them - she disappeared into her room and closed the door behind her.

As Kurt's gaze wandered to Emile, he looked as surprised as the soldier. But Green Blood said nothing.

"So - take all the time you need", the nobleman said once more before nodding to him.

The soldier returned the gesture before he turned away and took his luggage to his new room.

Chapter Text

Today

It was already dark when he entered the garrison. His last visit to the garrison in Sérène had been weeks ago. When he now entered the building, on the outside of which the coat of arms of the Blue and Silver Company - the part that worked for the Congregation of Merchants - was attached, he had the feeling that he was finally moving again on familiar ground. He had not bothered to unpack but had left the embassy immediately. He had to find a suitable bodyguard for the other two greenhorns and there was at least one person who came to his mind. He crossed the corridor and entered the office room behind it. Sitting at a desk, bent over a few pieces of paper, was another guardsman with brown hair, whose figure looked familiar to him.

"Still quartermaster, Manfred?" he inquired and approached the other man. The other man raised his eyes.

"Kurt! Still captain, I see," he greeted him and stood up. He reached out his hand to the mercenary.

"Welcome to Teer Fradee. Did you arrive by ship this afternoon?", Manfred asked.

He nodded.

"I was not told you were joining us. Who sent you here?", the quartermaster checked.

"The Congregation. I am still a bodyguard," replied Kurt.

"Still? How old are they now?"

"Twenty-three to twenty-five. Which doesn't make it any easier than nine years ago," the captain replied.

"Does the girl still run away?"

"She soon got over it. They have all been entrusted with highly important posts here," the captain explained with irony in his voice.

"Constantin is governor and the other two are his ambassadors. That's why I need reinforcements. I can't guard all three at the same time," he explained.

Manfred nodded: "We have a few people we can spare. The best thing is to talk to the trainers. Or did you have someone particular in mind?"

"I did. His name is Reiner Manger. He is twenty-one. Recruited him myself back then," he replied.

"Reiner... doesn't sound familiar, but I'll have a look," said his counterpart and immediately began to push the papers aside and pull out a big book.

He opened it and let his finger routinely run over the columns on the pages.

"Reiner... Reiner," he murmured.

"Here he is. Reiner Manger...", he said, but his face darkened as he read the name and let his finger wander to the side on the paper.

"Transferred. Three weeks ago," he went on and raised his eyes.

"Transferred? To where?"

Manfred looked around as if he wanted to make sure that nobody was around. Only then did he answer in a lowered voice: "Nowhere. This has been happening again and again lately. Good recruits suddenly get the order to report to an unknown camp. When I asked the officers who picked them up, they said it was none of my business."

Kurt pulled his eyebrows together. Sure, sometimes it was easier to leave one's subordinates in the dark or one didn't feel like explaining something. Sometimes it was even necessary that nobody outside a certain regiment knew about things. But the few missions where this had been the case had not pleased him. He had always been glad when they had been over and he had been able to return to the court. No matter how much he had otherwise disliked being there.

"Do you know the officers?", he wanted to know, but the other one shook his head immediately.

"They don't wear badges either - except for rank."

That was unusual. Normally the uniforms showed the coats of arms of the respective faction as well as their rank. Even if they came directly from Algerm, they would wear the colors of their homeland.

"I know you wanted to hire Reiner, but it looks like someone beat you to it," Manfred added, raising his shoulders.

Kurt nodded.

"Can I talk to these officers?", he wanted to know, but his counterpart shook his head again.

"They don't come regularly. I don't even know when they'll pick up the delivery that came for them today," he replied.

The captain knew which boxes the quartermaster was talking about. He himself had made sure in Sérène that they would get on the ship and come here with the greenhorns and him. Even though he had felt more like an errand boy than an officer.

"But they would give you the same answer as they gave me: That they only report to a commander and you have to ask Torsten yourself," the other soldier continued.

Kurt snorted and crossed his arms: "Which is very convenient, since Torsten is on the continent."

"Right. I'm sorry I couldn't help you. But I'll give you the names of the trainers, then you can ask them who they would recommend," said Manfred.

"I don't think I have any other choice. Let's hear it," said the captain.

*** *** ***

In fact, he had met the instructors in the evening in the guards' tavern. Two of them were Agnes and Sieglinde. They had all been trained together, but only Agnes had made it into the Ghost Squadron, so Kurt had mainly carried out missions together with her. Nevertheless, he was happy to know that Sieglinde was also here on Tar Fradee. After she had repeatedly rebelled against the methods back in the training camp, she had had to flee. But instead of hiding, she had traveled all the way to Algerm and told the leaders about the ghost camp. As a result, it had been disbanded, but by then Kurt's training had already been completed.

Both women had someone for him, Sieglinde a single soldier, Agnes three at once. Kurt had planned to attend training the next day, as soon as he had dropped the greenhorns off at breakfast at the palace. But it was not come that far.

They had just taken the first steps leading up to the palace when the mercenary heard a voice behind him: "A to, oi! Sients rádidaw cwint da dégewd me en?"

When he turned around, he saw a young woman, perhaps as old as Emile, standing in front of the two soldiers who were standing guard at the foot of the stairs, preventing her from further entering. Her age was not the only similarity with the youngest of the three. There was a greenish mark on her right jaw, the tail of which ran up her cheek and down her neck. Even though Green Blood hid it under his full beard as far as possible, the guard had seen it often enough in recent years. And were there twigs in the young woman's hair?

She looked at the guards when she noticed that the greenhorns had stopped and turned to her, but didn't react further.

"I must speak to the chief of your village," she continued. It sounded as if her tongue was not as used to the words as the previous ones.

"What do you want from the governor?" Amal inquired and came down the stairs.

"I am Siora, daughter of Bládnid. My mother is mál, leader of the clan. I am here as an ambassador of my people and I must speak with the chief... governor," she replied.

"Then... you are a princess," concluded Emile, who had followed his cousin.

Kurt looked at the young woman at the foot of the stairs. Apart from her peculiar appearance, she seemed to pose no danger at first. Which didn't mean anything - at court, those who looked the least dangerous were often chosen as assassins.

"A... what?", she asked, sounding confused.

"Princess - the daughter of a leader who will take his place in the event of his death," Amal explained.

"Come, we will take you to the governor," she added and waved her up. The two guardsmen before her exchanged glances, but then let the young woman pass. Kurt kept an eye on her as they walked up the steps and entered the palace. The young woman looked around as soon as they entered the entrance hall. If he had to guess, she had probably never been in such a place before. He remembered his first visit to Sérène's palace well. He had let his eyes wander over the wallpapered walls, the curtains and the servants in a similar way to her, and it had seemed to him like an anthill. He had wondered then how he would ever fit in there. He had very soon received the answer: Not at all. He had been neither a real servant nor a nobleman, but a necessary appendage of the greenhorns.

"Their Excellencies are expected", a servant greeted them and curtsied as the two cousins crossed the hall. She pointed to the side, where there was a door. They followed the gesture and found themselves in the dining hall after a few steps.

"Malia! Emile! It feels like an eternity... who is this fascinating person?", Constantin inquired. At the first words he had approached his two relatives with outstretched arms, but then he had lowered them and looked at the stranger.

"My name is Síora, daughter of Bládnid, daughter of Meb. My mother is mál, the leader of our clan, the Gaís rad, the red spears" she introduced herself.

"I am honored to make your acquaintance, Síora," he replied, bowing his head slightly.

As the highest ranking person in the room, he had the privilege of not having to bow to anyone. If Kurt had it right, he was theoretically the only person on the island the other two greenhorns had to bow to. Which, practically speaking, was very rare.

Constantin took another step towards Síora and inspected her before he looked back at his youngest cousin.

"This is incredible. You look so much alike as if you were related!", the governor noted.

"Will you dine with us?" he wanted to know and turned back to her.

"Dine?"

"We would like to have breakfast," Emile explained.

"There's no time for that. I have a request: My people need your help," she replied.

"I had hoped to discuss such things at leisure, but please continue," Constantin replied and nodded at her.

"The Lions... the bridges alliance and my people are at war with each other. My mother has sent me to you in search of allies. I fear that bad things will happen to our clan without your help. We have already lost so many souls."

"This is an important request. However, we cannot simply declare war on our neighbours," replied the governor, putting his chin to his left, which he in turn supported on his right.

"Perhaps we can negotiate a truce? That would give us time to see things more clearly," suggested Green Blood.

"Excellent! Then go and negotiate with the ... um ... queen," his cousin agreed with him immediately.

"I am sure Emile can do it alone," Amal said.

Apart from a "Good morning" and the words on the stairs, she had not yet spoken anything, which did not fit her at all. If the guardsman had to guess, he would say that she was angry. At him. Though he didn't know exactly why, but for the time being there was more important thing than one of her moods.

"Malia, we both know that you would much rather go out there and meet the people of this island than stay here. Go with Emile and Kurt. You are both ambassadors," Constantin replied.

"But - I will not let you go hungry anyway," he added immediately and waved a servant who had just entered the room. He carried a tray with several dumplings on it.

"Pasties - and I eat them on the way," Amal said with regret in her voice, took two and gave her elder cousin a kiss on the cheek. Green Blood followed her example, then they turned to the door.

"Kurt - you of all people should keep up your strength," he heard Constantin's voice behind him.

The soldier shook his head, but turned around once more and also took one of the dumplings.

"Thank you for your concern ... Your Highness," he replied. The nobleman bowed his head.

"Take care of them."

"I will."

Chapter Text

Today

Síora, daughter of Bládnid, daughter of Meb, took a quick step when they left the city. Amalia had to work to keep up and not to spread the filling of the pâté on her tunic on the way. So much for her first day on Teer Fradee. On the other hand - when she looked at the young woman at her side, it should be quite interesting. Síora was a little paler than Emile, probably because the weeks at sea had given him some color. Her hair was ash blond, similar to Constantin's, but more voluminous. And it actually seemed as if something like a small branch was growing out of her head to the left and right, winding along the back of her skull. At least they were in her hair and looked as if they were part of it.

"How long have you been at war with the Bridge Alliance?" her cousin asked after he had eaten his fill.

Probably the question had been on his mind the whole time, but it wasn't right to speak with his mouth full. Amalia didn't care, but he did. By now they had reached the forest. The light was a little dim and trees rose on the left and right. With the exception of hunting, Amalia had rarely been in forests. She heard crackling in the undergrowth and rustling when the wind gently passed through the branches. A few birds were chirping in the distance, but apart from that it was quiet.

"We have been fighting them for a long time. At first they were peaceful, but then they began to kidnap our people," the daughter of the mál replied.

"That... could cause tension," Amalia remarked. Slave trade was forbidden in the Congregation.

"Perhaps it is a misunderstanding," Emile suggested.

Síora stopped suddenly and turned so quickly to the ambassador that he almost ran into her. "A misunderstanding? They are kidnapping our brothers and sisters! And those who return are no longer themselves!" she said to him. She took another step towards him, but Kurt was already at Emile's side and pushed himself between them.

"Easy," he said and examined the young woman.

"He has trivialized the pain of my people," she held vehemently against it.

"She is right, Kurt. It is all right. I am sorry, Síora. I certainly did not mean to play down the sufferings of your people," Emile objected and passed his former master of arms.

The young woman glanced from the soldier to the nobleman and nodded slightly.

"He would not have needed your protection. I wanted to look for allies - not new enemies," she explained before she turned on her heel and continued on her way as quickly as before.

"I am paid for the protection of the two of them," he replied.

Amalia rolled her eyes. As if they really needed it. She had no idea why he insisted so much on this position. They had spent a lot of time together on the ship, which of course had been due to the limited space. But since they had gone ashore, she had the impression that he was retreating. First this insistence on the room under the roof, then the fact that he had taken away his rucksack from her at the end and finally his stubbornness that he had had to take them the hundred steps to the palace in broad daylight.

"Then they are no warriors at all?" Síora inquired and her gaze wandered to the woman at her side.

"They know half the way around a weapon, but one more blade can't hurt. And people in important positions are often protected by hired guards," he replied.

"We have not yet properly introduced ourselves to you," Emile remarked there.

"This is Captain Kurt Pakusch and my cousin, Amalia d'Orsay. I am Emile de Sardet," he added.

"So many names for three people," the young woman remarked.

"Kurt is enough," he said.

"De Sardet and d'Orsay are families of the Congregation. It is like saying 'From the family of d'Orsay'", explained her cousin.

"But... you just said she was your cousin. But you are from different families," Síora objected.

"You are right, Princess," Emile agreed with a smile.

Then he began to explain how family names were handled at weddings within the Congregation.

*** *** ***

They reached the village after about two or three hours. It was a collection of huts that looked as if someone had put a semi-circular bowl of stone upside down. A stone stele was placed in the middle. Spiral patterns were carved into it. The people's clothes resembled those of Síora: they were made of simple fabrics and sometimes skins. Here and there she saw coloured feathers, which had been inserted into seams or stitched. Some of the villagers had painted their faces with dark paint, interrupted only now and then by white stripes or circles. At first sight it did not look like anyone else here was wearing this green mark that connected Síora and Emile. Amalia did not like it very much that they suddenly found such a similarity, even if it was only a vague feeling at the moment, like a dull sensation in the stomach, where one was not sure if it came from eating or from a bad hunch.

Many eyes had been fixed on them when they had reached the settlement. Síora had talked to another woman. The conversation had been short and in the end the princess seemed to be casting something like a curse, or at least her tone of voice sounded like it. Amalia could not understand a word, since they were talking in their own language.

But then the princess had approached them and told them that her sister and her mother had already left. They had followed them at once and hurried through the forest. More than once, Amalia had feared to fall. For once she still wondered what exactly they were trying to do once they got there. They could not simply attack the soldiers of the Bridge Alliance. It would be considered an act of war by the Congregation. When she had told Emile her fears while they were scurrying through the shade of the trees, he had only brought out between two breaths that perhaps it was still not too late to negotiate.

Amalia's hopes of that sank when they reached the battlefield and she noticed the smell of gunpowder. Síora had led them up a path that ran through an archway that reminded them more of the gate in a city wall than the huts they had seen shortly before. To the left and right of it there were remains of the wall. And behind it, there was battle noise.

As they walked through the arch, Amalia's gaze wandered across the clearing in front of them. Soldiers of the Bridge Alliance, easily recognizable by the dark green and brown tones of their clothing, lay on the ground. Some had their eyes still open, but they seemed to be gazelessly staring at the sky. In between lay the bodies of Síora's people. Amalia thought she could still see movement here and there in those lying on the ground, but her gaze wandered on to the few warriors still standing. There were three members of the locals, facing about ten bridge soldiers.

"Halt! In the name of the Congregation!" Emile said in a loud voice.

But the only reaction was that some of the guardsmen swung their rifles around and now also took them under fire. There was a bluish flash of light as the bullets bounced against a magical barrier that her cousin had quickly raised.

"That didn't impress them," Kurt noted and drew his sword.

Amalia already had her sword in her hand. She hadn't brought a pistol with her, and she had actually taken the sword only to be able to tell the soldier that she could defend herself if they were attacked on the ridiculously short way from the embassy to the palace. That they now actually had to use weapons was something she had not expected when she left this morning. But there was no time to think. Some of the bridge guards reloaded, but others had also drawn close combat weapons and rushed towards them.

The noblewoman swerved to the side so as not to get in the way of the others and parried the first blow, of the bridge mercenary, dived under a second one and made a rapid strike against his thigh. She missed, but followed immediately. The terrain was uneven, rising a little behind her and after two steps she had to swerve again - this time to avoid tripping over the body lying on the ground. She had no time to check if the person was alive or dead, let alone if she was one of Síora's or the Bridge Alliance's people, because the soldier opposite her struck again. At the same time she noticed a movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head and looked directly into the eyes of a guard who had a rifle pointed at her. Amalia quickly crouched down and hopped to the side. A shot rang out and the soldier who had attacked her stumbled past the spot where she had been standing just before. Unfortunately he had not done her the favor of intercepting the shot for her, but if she interpreted the sensations of her body correctly, she herself was unharmed. At least for now.

She jumped up and carried her weapon upwards. Her opponent struck hers with his blade, but they met each other unhappily and the tip of her sword slid up his edge. She almost lost her footing again and fell halfway forward as she took a lunge - thrusting the blade through her opponent's throat. She felt a quick slash in the back of her head when she realized she had just killed the man. That was all she allowed herself. She quickly drew back her weapon, but stepped towards the stunned, staring guard. He was too confused or weak or both to raise his weapon any further. She slipped an arm under his and moved forward with him, even though she felt blood running down her tunic. At least so she offered little room for the other soldier to attack. As Amalia looked over the shoulder of the gasping man who stumbled helplessly along with her, she thought she saw something like confusion on the woman's face. Then a purple light hit the shooter and she was pushed slightly to the side.

The noblewoman dropped the man to the ground, sat over his body and engaged the guard in close combat. The mercenary's rifle was both an advantage and a disadvantage at the same time. She could hardly stab with it, but it was hard enough to break the blade of Amalia's sword when she made a good thrust. So Amalia tried not to give her the chance. She put all her strength into the stab when she pushed her weapon forward. The tip of her rapier sank into the thigh of the woman, who then let out a scream and dropped her gun. Amalia pulled back her blade as the guard broke to her knees. The noblewoman kicked the rifle to the side so that it was out of reach of the soldier and her gaze flew across the battlefield. But she saw only two mercenaries of the Bridge Alliance - far too far away for her to reach them. One aimed at one of Síora's people and the princess screamed, perhaps a name or a curse, while the other woman of her people sprinted towards the guard, even though he still had his gun pointed at her. Síora fell to her knees and pressed her palms to the ground. Just a blink of an eye later, huge tendrils burst out of the ground directly behind the other soldier, twisting around his ankles and pulling him up. Amalia took a stunned step back, although the whole thing took place several man lengths away. Meanwhile, the other woman had grabbed the remaining guard's rifle and pulled it, causing him to lean forward because he had not let go of his weapon. Thereupon the warrior woman had gotten behind him with a roll over the man's back, taking the gun with her and hitting him twice as fast with the butt that he didn't even have time to scream. Amalia thought she heard a crackling sound. Perhaps her senses were making her believe it. Then the woman pulled a dagger from her belt and threw it in the direction of the last mercenary, who was hanging upside down on the vine, screeching. The blade unerringly drove into his eye and he fell silent.

"By Victor's golden underwear," it escaped her, and she kept staring at the woman. Síora hurried towards her.

"Amal, are you all right?" Kurt's voice came to her ear and a moment later she felt his hand on her upper arm. She turned to him, half of her own accord, half because he turned her towards him, but it took a moment before she realized that he was really standing there.

"All is well. Is not my blood', she murmured. It was not her first fight, but her first battle and something like that she had never seen before.

"Malia! Are you...", Emile began, who now seemed to have freed himself from his rigidity and was hurrying towards her.

"Not hurt," she immediately objected. As she looked down at herself, she understood the questions of the two - the blood of the guard covered most of her chest. It had severely damaged her light-colored tunic and her leather vest had not been spared either.

"When the fight is over, we can take care of the wounded," she finally said and looked at the mercenary who had gone down shortly before. But her eyes were empty. As Amal's gaze wandered down on her, she saw that the bloodstain under her thigh had reached her boots by now. Presumably she had caught the vein.

"Damn it," she murmured.

"You had no choice," she heard the soldier next to her say and felt him gently squeeze her upper arm. Then he stepped half in front of them as the others came towards her.

"Who are you?" the stranger demanded to know who had killed the last soldiers. Just before she reached the three of them, she raised her blade, but before she could strike, Kurt had tied hers with his. The woman glared at him. Then Síora approached her and put a hand on her shoulder. She spoke softly to her in their language. Finally the other woman lowered her weapon, although she did not put it away.

"Who are you?" she repeated, with a heavy accent in her voice.

"Amalia d'Orsay and Emile de Sardet, ambassadors from the Congregation of Merchants," replied her cousin.

"And which side are you on? Are you slaughtering our people too?!", the woman continued.

"We have just fought our allies for you!" Amalia held against it and passed Kurt.

"And then are we supposed to trust you?"

"Eseld, please!" Síora insisted.

"What about your mother, Síora?" Emile asked.

"She has fallen. You are too late," replied the other woman scornfully.

"I am sorry. We came as quickly as we could," replied the ambassador, bowing his head.

"That may have been your plan!" she countered.

"You are actually accusing Síora of wanting to abandon her own mother? She ran all the way from your village to here and before that she hurried to New Sérène," Amalia objected.

She felt the need for a more forceful response, but as so often, Emile's and Kurt's presence reminded her that she had to keep cool. Her cousin was always so calm that she envied him and the soldier had reminded her more than once in training that rash actions could cost one one's head. She had the feeling that the current situation could be one of these.

"We should search for survivors," her cousin objected.

"That... is true. And deliver the dead to earth. Let's look for our mother," the other woman finally said and turned around. Síora nodded and followed her.

Chapter Text

Today

Amalia looked after them.

"She said... our mother. They are sisters?", it slipped her as the meaning of the last words sunk in.

"It would seem so," her cousin agreed with her.

She shook her head. She saw something in the corner of her eye. When she turned back to the soldier, she noticed a dark red spot just below his right shoulder on the blue part of his uniform, which slowly spread further down.

"You are hurt!" it escaped her.

"Noticed the shooter too late," he replied dryly.

"We should take a look at that," she said, and let her gaze wander across the battlefield. There had to be a place somewhere where there wasn't a corpse lying just arm's length away.

"Is it bad?" Emile inquired.

"I'm still standing, so I'm all right. A bandage might help, we can do the remaining things in New Sérène", said the soldier.

"Then we will do it... there," Amalie decided, pointing to a patch of grass at the edge of the wooden barricades that had been erected at the edge of the clearing. Apparently, the Bridge Alliance had planned this battle a long time in advance.

"We didn't bring any bandages," the soldier objected as she walked by.

"Well, something will turn up. First we will have a look," she argued, then she continued on her way. Anything was better than standing further among all the dead.

The two others followed her. Amalia tried not to look at the bodies she passed. She thought she could see out of the corner of her eye how Emile hesitated when he walked past a corpse. She knew that her cousin could handle it worse than she could, for which she loved him a little more. He was less cold than her in many places and she often felt as if a small part of his gentle nature was rubbing off on her in such situations.

Finally they reached the grass strip.

"Can I... help in any way?" Emile inquired.

"I'm not even sure what Amal is up to. But I doubt it takes two greenhorns to patch up a soldier," Kurt objected.

"Then... I will see if I can find wounded", her cousin finally said.

"Emile," she stopped him before he could turn away. She walked up to him and held him in her arms. She felt him drop against herself for a moment. Amalia put one hand on the back of his neck.

"Try not to look too closely. Just follow Síora. She could use someone at her side when they find her mother's body and you probably have more patience with her than I do," she said softly as she pressed him against her. She felt her cousin nodding. Then she let go of him. They exchanged one last look, then he turned and walked slowly across the battlefield.

The young woman sat down in the grass opposite the guard and was glad that he had set his eyes on the field behind her and that she saw only him and the wooden palisade in the background.

"Well, we shall have a look," she said, trying to keep a light tone of voice.

Even if, on closer consideration, it was indeed possible that she could not do anything. Amalia had learned in a special class with her aunt Josette to mix all sorts of poisons and antidotes and all kinds of other things that were needed for the planning or prevention of an intrigue. Treating wounds had only been a very marginal part of the training - and even then it had only been about poisoned wounds. But the young woman was not ready to agree with Kurt - she would at least apply a makeshift bandage. Even if she had to cut up the remains of her doublet to do it. Everything was better than facing the dozens of empty eyes in her back.

"It's just a bullet wound. The bullet will probably prevent more blood from escaping," the soldier replied.

"How reassuring. But it also means that it could slip if we keep walking," she held against it.

"There's not much we can do about it here anyway. I'm sure when we get back to the village, someone can help me," he replied.

She pulled her eyebrows together.

"Are you seriously going to argue with me now? I have just decided not to be angry with you anymore."

Kurt raised an eyebrow slightly.

"Did you now?"

She looked away for a moment. It had not been a conscious decision and she half feared that he would say the 'Save your lies for court' remark again, as he always did when he caught her lying. Even if she hadn't been aware of it at the time of the lie. Just like now.

"Let us say... a battle puts things into perspective," she confessed and looked at him again.

Finally, the soldier began to open the buckles of his doublet.

"Why exactly were you angry?" he wanted to know.

"Because you still treat us like children, even though we are no longer," she replied as she reached for the buckles on his neck and opened them to help him.

"Am I?" he went into it.

"You insist on still taking us everywhere. As if we can do nothing alone."

"Yesterday you said you liked having me around. Now it sounds like you want to get rid of me."

She lifted her gaze from the second buckle and when she looked into his steel-grey eyes, there was that dull feeling in her stomach again. On the other hand she was on a battlefield for the first time in her life. In places like this, such feelings should not surprise one.

"I would gladly take you with me. From my point of view you are a friend. But you always treat us like a task or a necessary evil," she explained before she loosened the last buckle and began to pull the doublet from his shoulders.

"Those of us without noble origins have to work for our money," he countered.

"And therefore we cannot be friends?", she added after the jacket had landed in the grass.

She opened the lacing of his tunic and leaned forward to look at his shoulder underneath. She saw blood, some of which dried, and a round opening under the collarbone in the soldier's skin, from which a small red stream was still running.

"Take off the tunic," she said as she sat down again and began to open her vest.

"There's nothing we can do here anyway," he objected.

"We can," she countered. Her fingertips were sticking because the blood on the cords hadn't dried completely and she had to wipe them off regularly. Then she threw a glance at him.

"Are you always so stubborn when a woman wants you to undress or just with me?"

The mercenary's eyebrows went up, but before he could respond, she added: "Besides, you know what I look like naked, so - time to pay back a little."

There had been lulls on the ship at times - and the ship's captain had then let the crew go swimming. Amalia had joined in without further ado. Since the ship's captain and the Nauts, who had rescued her after the White Squall, had seen her without tunic, chest strap and trousers anyway, she had simply worn nothing while bathing, just like the Nauts. She didn't like the sticky feeling of clothes on her skin anyway, and so at least she had gotten clean everywhere. And unlike her cousins - who at least had gone into the water with their underwear - she had never been able to persuade Kurt to go swimming with them at the same time. He had been in the water a few times after she left. Another situation in which he had kept his distance.

"A joke, Kurt. I have a bleeding friend of mine in front of me, dozens of dead bodies behind me and I'm trying not to be too nervous," she explained.

Finally, the mercenary complied with her request. He made an unwilling sound as he pulled the garment over his head, probably because he was in pain, which she regretted. But he was right about that part: there was nothing they could do about this. She took advantage of the time, reached under her own tunic and quickly loosened her chest strap.

"You...", the soldier broke off when he saw her pull the band from under her tunic. It was already dyed blood-red in places. Not exactly the ideal condition to cover a wound cleanly.

"Closest thing to a bandage," she explained, and pulled her handkerchief from a pocket of her waistcoat. Fortunately, it had been spared from the blood. She placed the bandage on her knees and began to fold the handkerchief into a small rectangle before pressing it onto the wound.

"Hold on," she ordered.

This time, the guardsman complied with her request without grumbling. She felt his fingers half covering hers, but remaining loose so that she could pull hers out from underneath. As so often, his closeness and calmness made her feel safe. She noticed that she was about to become unfocused, but as her fingers stroked along his as she pulled them out from underneath, the restless buzzing that had appeared in the back of her head subsided. Then she picked up the bandage and began to guide it around the soldier's ribcage. After the third loop, she had to tie a knot. Although she led it under one armpit, across the chest and over the other shoulder, it was not any longer. When she let herself sink back onto her heels, she looked at her creation.

"Too tight? Too loose?", she asked.

Kurt slipped two fingers under the bandage, pulled on it and shook his head.

"Feels good."

"Good... I am glad," she replied.

And although it was not appropriate to the situation and she had planned not to take advantage of the moment at all, she could not stop her eyes from wandering across the rest of his chest. When she caught herself doing so, she quickly looked to the side, but the brief glance had been enough. It wasn't the scattered gray hair that had crept into the dark ones on his chest that had caught her attention. Nor was it the slight curvature of the skin that gently suggested the muscles beneath, but the scars that made her look back again.

"What happened there?" she asked, pointing to his upper body before looking at him again.

Kurt picked up his tunic and pulled it back over his head.

"Various things."

"But... I cannot remember you coming back from your missions hurt often," she replied.

"That's right."

"So they are from the time before that," she concluded.

"Most of them."

She pressed her lips together and turned her gaze to the side. Dead soldiers of the bridge and warriors of Síora's people lay not far from them, half fallen over each other. Enemies in life, united in death. It was more than ironic.

"Your life was quite different from ours before you came to court," she finally said.

Meanwhile Kurt had put his doublet back on and started to close the buckles.

"I sometimes forget how privileged we are. If... this is why we cannot be friends, I understand. Well... I would at least try to understand it," she said. Because without knowing what had happened to him, she couldn't even begin to guess what he had been through.

"You seem to think a lot about it," the mercenary commented as he rose.

She did the same.

"Battlefield, dozens of dead... I prefer to worry about everything else but this," she confessed.

At that moment, a cry echoed across the field. It was loud for only a moment, and then it went down immediately, but there was so much pain and anger in it that it stung Amalia, although she was sure that it had not been Emile who had expelled it.

"That didn't sound good," Kurt said, and they both ran off at once.

She focused her thoughts only forward as she passed over lifeless bodies. Once she almost slipped in a pool of blood, but they hurried on towards a gap between two stone ruins. From there they heard voices and one of them she knew for sure.

When they reached the small meadow behind it, they saw a bridge soldier. He was not the only one, but he was still alive. He leaned against something or someone, a banner rose behind him. Tendrils had grown over his body, narrower than those at the end of the battle, but they had the same source: Síora was kneeling half over the man, her hand resting on his chest. If one looked only fleetingly, one could mistake the gesture for a tender one, but after all Amalia had seen here, she knew better.

"Síora! You cannot just kill him. That would be cold-blooded murder," Emile said at that moment. In his voice there was a firmness and at the same time a deliberateness that his cousin envied him once more.

"They would show us no mercy either!" Síora‘s sister objected.

"If you kill him now, you are no better than they are," the ambassador argued without taking his eyes off Síora.

She continued to stare at the guard. Amalia and Kurt had stopped. There was nothing they could do anyway.

Then, very slowly, almost as if she was in a trance, the princess withdrew a little from the mercenary and with her, the vines that sank back into the ground.

"We are better than they are," she said resolutely before she straightened up.

"Thank you, I...", the soldier stuttered, but then the other princess had pulled out her blade and let it run down on him.

"No!", it escaped Amalia and she sprinted off, even though she knew she would be much too slow. But the weapon never reached the guardsman. About two handbreadths above him, it got stuck in the air while purple streaks chased across the young woman's skin.

"Eksel!" cried Síora.

"I am very sorry, Princess. I do not wish to harm you or your people, but I cannot allow this," said Emile, looking further towards Síora's sister to keep control of the spell.

Amalia, together with Kurt, pulled the soldiers aside so that the other woman would not reach him once the stasis ended.

"I know the pain of losing your own mother. But his death will not bring her back to you. I will lift the spell now and ask you to be lenient," Emile continued.

Then the second princess began to move again. Her weapon went through the air in front of her and she let out a scream. She threw herself to the side, but before she reached the ambassador, her sister was with her.

Again she talked to her in their own language, while Emile slowly retreated. Kurt had hurried to him and once again pushed himself between the legate and the angry princess, but she did not raise the blade once more.

Eventually she seemed to calm down, at least to the point where she wouldn't rush at anyone right away. Still, Amalia's hand lay on the handle of her rapier. She had no intention of starting a quarrel, but she would defend her cousin and his principles with all means, should it be necessary.

"We have fought enough for today. But your loyalty to such creatures speaks against you," the other princess finally announced.

"It is called compassion, and if everyone had had more of it, this battle would never have happened," Amalia objected.

The gaze of Síora's sister shot across to her, and for a moment the noblewoman was glad that the other woman apparently had no other dagger at hand.

But before the princess could reply, a faint voice spoke behind Amalia: "They have taken her... with them. The queen. To our camp."

She turned round. The Bridge Alliance soldier looked up at her. Then his gaze wandered past her and she turned quickly. The sisters approached her.

"Lie!" it escaped one of them.

"Our mother would rather have died than be taken prisoner!" Síora agreed with her.

"Maybe she had no choice," Emile objected.

Amalia drew her sword as the two women walked towards the man.

"I really do not wish for this to escalate," she said, shifting between the guardsmen and the two of them.

"He dares to sully her inheritance with his last breaths!" continued the other princess.

"Have you found her body?", the ambassador held against it. The two women exchanged a glance before shaking their heads.

"Then he could tell the truth."

"Let him show us the camp!" Síora's sister told them.

"Princess, you are in no condition to negotiate. Leave this to us. We will do everything in our power to bring your mother back to you safely," Emile spoke again and approached the two of them.

"We can take Síora with us," Amalia suggested. In the end, she seemed to be the more thoughtful of the two.

"This is a good idea. Then she can make sure that everything will happen as your mother would have wanted," her cousin agreed with her.

Once again there was a dispute between the sisters, during which the other princess briefly became louder. But finally she calmed down and nodded.

"If Síora does not return to us, the Congregation will have gained another enemy," she promised them.

"Believe me, we do not wish that," Emile assured them.

Amalia would have said that she would handle it in the same way when it came to him or Constantin, but she felt that more than enough heated words had been exchanged for today. Finally the other princess turned away and returned to the few remaining of her people, while Síora approached Amalia after she had put away her sword.

"Can you cure him?" Emile turned to the remaining princess.

She looked down at the man.

"They would not do it for us," she said reluctantly, but sat down in the squat and reached out for him. The man made a choked sound and tried to crawl backwards, but he was too weak.

Amalia looked at her cousin. He smiled slightly. He looked tired, but also a little confident. So she did not intervene and looked back at the princess. She had put her hand on the man's wound, closed her eyes and then ... something happened, even if the noblewoman couldn't have said what exactly. It was as if the wind came up, but only for two blinks of an eye, then it was over. Síora opened her eyes and straightened up.

The guard stared down at his leg. Carefully he moved it.

"This... it can't be!" he said.

"Blood and fire", Kurt murmured next to Amalia.

"She can do that?" she wanted to know and her gaze wandered back to Emile, who nodded slightly.

"That... if the people on the continent knew that," she whispered.

"Maybe they already know and that's why you were sent here," the soldier at her side objected quietly and they exchanged a look. He looked as if he thought this version was anything but unlikely. And she had to agree with him.

"Thank you, Síora. We should take him back to his camp," said the ambassador and approached the man from the Bridge Alliance. The latter let him help him up and his eyes wandered from one to the other.

"You have nothing more to fear," Emile assured him.

Chapter Text

Today

The day seemed never-ending. The first day as governor – he had been so excited about it, but as the hours went by, his enthusiasm had faded. It had begun with Emile and Malia not being able to have breakfast with him, but the princess' concern had been important. After all, a battle could hardly be postponed. If anyone could do it, it would be those two.

It was already dark when a guard had informed him that someone who claimed to be an ambassador of the Congregation wanted to enter the city. And now he hurried through the streets of New Sérène at the side of that same soldier. The city gates were closed at nightfall and opened only on the order of the governor or chief guard. Such a precaution might have been useful, but it was just what stopped his two cousins. At last the gate was in sight and his heart beat a little faster when he saw the familiar figures of the three before it.

"Open the gate," he commanded instantly. Only a few moments later they were reunited.

"Emile, Amalia," he greeted them and embraced them at once. His relatives responded just as warmly, and for a moment all three remained completely silent.

"You have returned safely," he said as they parted.

"Yes... Kurt was shot, but he has been healed," Malia replied.

"He ... I beg your pardon?", Constantin followed up. He knew that the doctors of the Bridge Alliance were the best on the continent, but even they could not heal a gunshot wound in the course of a day.

"Síora has healing magic," explained Emile.

"Such... such a thing... exists?", the regent looked up and examined his youngest cousins. The torchlight from a nearby building made the shadows on his face appear even deeper, completely obscuring the green mark on his jaw.

"I have never heard of it on the continent, but we have seen it with our own eyes," confirmed Amalia.

"Come, my dears. You must tell me everything. Let us go back... to the palace," Constantin replied, putting an arm around the shoulder of each of them.

He heard Kurt and the other soldiers in the background exchange a few words, but he led his relatives towards his new home. Even though he was a little envious that Amalia and Emile still lived together. But he was sure they would do everything in their power to see each other as often as possible.

"How was your day?" Emile inquired as they walked through the streets of the city.

"Much more boring than yours. I had the feeling that it had at least twice as many hours," he returned before telling them a few anecdotes from some of the petitioners. He didn't stop until they were sitting in his private salon on the top floor of the palace.

"You certainly have not eaten," he said, waving his valet over.

"Not since this morning. Emile did not think it a good idea to ask a village for food after we have brought back the body of their dead queen," his other cousin replied.

"What would you like?" Constantin asked his two relatives.

"We do not wish to cause any inconvenience," Emile replied.

"Fiddlesticks, my dear. I heard they brought fresh fish today. Bring him a stuffed cod. You never liked roast very much," the elder cousin ignored the objection of his youngest cousin.

"Did you say 'roast'?", Amalia inquired with a grin.

"Indeed, my dear. Some of that for her, along with fresh rosemary potatoes. And also bring some of that fantastic dessert that the kitchen has conjured up earlier," he replied, looking at the servant before he dismissed him with a movement.

He bowed in the direction of his master: "Very well.

"Wait – Kurt needs something to eat too", the young woman stopped him.

"No need to bother, Your Excellency", the soldier immediately objected.

"Don't give me 'Your Excellency', Kurt," she replied, and the temperature seemed to drop for a blink of an eye as she gave the mercenary a look that she had usually reserved for Lady Isabell de Sillègue and other opponents.

"Bring me something cold. Nothing that needs to be prepared in a fancy way," the guardsman finally turned to the servant.

"Of course", another bow followed, then he finally left.

"Do you want to stand around at the door forever?", Amalia inquired.

"It's my post," replied the soldier.

"And you want to eat standing up? The palace is not only guarded by you, you could call it a day," she objected.

The soldier's gaze wandered to the regent.

"She is right – you were up all day. Sit down and relax," he said. Amalia knocked on the back of an armchair on her left and the guard started to move.

"So – what did you see?" Constantin wanted to know and looked from Emile to Amalia and back again.

*** *** ***

Their story sounded more than exciting. A real battle – until today, none of them had ever taken part in one. The Congregation settled most of their conflicts with contracts or weddings – and some were resolved by unexpected deaths.

He was glad that both of them survived this conflict unharmed.

"So we killed soldiers from the Bridge Alliance. I think this is something that should be discussed with Governor Burhan," he concluded, nodding towards his youngest cousin.

"So you have decided which one of us will go and see whom?", his other cousin replied.

"We both know you would prefer the Bridge Alliance, but I think this is exactly why you will first contact the Mother Cardinal in San Matheus. Sooner or later, however, you will make representations to both governors anyway. It would unnecessarily complicate our business if anyone were to doubt your identity because up until then they had only had contact with the other ambassador," the governor explained.

"That is a wise decision," Emile replied, taking Constantin's hand and gently squeezing it, smiling.

"He is right. When should we leave?", Amalia inquired.

"As much as I like having you around: Tomorrow. We do not want to keep them waiting too long. They might take that as an insult," the governor replied.

"I would like to postpone the departure for a day, Your Excellency. I haven't had the chance to take a closer look at the guards I want to put at your and your cousin's side," the guardsman replied.

The nobleman looked at his former master of arms.

"That sounds like a plausible reason. Will one day be enough for you?", he inquired.

"It will," Kurt assured him.

"Very well, then you shall have it. After all, I want those two to be well protected. And you can stick to my first name when we are just among ourselves," he replied, nodding to the guard who returned the gesture. When they were at court, Kurt followed the protocol. Outside, he had always neglected it, but apparently he was aware of his position towards the three of them.

"The fight was perhaps not the most exciting thing today," Emile began.

"It was not?", Constantin took up the subject thoughtfully. What could be more exciting than putting one' s life on the line?

"The battle took place not far from some ruins that resemble the houses on the continent. Síora's tribe live in small stone huts. She told us that this place is considered forbidden. Strangers came here decades ago and built these houses. But they became more and more intrusive and greedy until even their own people were afraid of them. Siora's people then sought help from the... spirit of the island. So the first Nadaigs were born, huge creatures that chased the strangers away and destroyed their homes. Only a few strangers escaped," his youngest cousin continued.

"Giant creatures ... as the reports mention?" Constantin inquired. They had all heard about it, but so far there were no drawings or anything like that.

"It is quite possible," Emile admitted.

"And these ruins – have you had a chance to take a closer look at them?", the governor asked. What would he give to be able to make such explorations with them. But as regent he could not afford such distractions. The two of them could do it at least as well as he could.

"As I said, they consider it a forbidden place. I have explained to them that we would like to see them, but that we first want to let them say goodbye to the Queen in private. They have agreed to receive us in two weeks' time and to talk about it," the ambassador explained.

Constantin put his hand to his chin while he pondered the words of his relative. It was the right thing to wait. That was the decent thing to do, after all, they had just lost a leader. Even in the Congregation it was considered improper to take advantage of such phases of grief. Which, of course, did not stop some from doing just that.

"Then we will do this. Perhaps you can learn more about these healing powers. If they heal injuries as you describe them... maybe they could help with the Malichor," he considered and let his eyes wander from one to the other.

"She let the bullet wound in Kurt's chest grow back just like that. The bullet rolled out of it and then it closed again as if it had never been there before," Amalia reported.

"Really?", he wanted to believe his cousin, but there had never been anything like it. His eyes wandered on to Kurt. The dark red spot on his chest was about the size of two palms.

"I've never seen anything like it," he confirmed, as he felt the nobleman's gaze rest on him.

"What did it feel like?" the regent asked.

"It pulled a little, then... tickled. And then it was over and the wound had vanished," explained the guard.

Constantin would have loved to know if all the natives on this island had such magic. He knew from Lady Laurine de Morange that there were several villages on this island and although they considered themselves as one people, they acted mostly independently of each other. But after Princess Síora looked so much like his youngest cousin, the governor was more than curious what would come out of further contact with these people. Who knew what wonders were still waiting for them here? First someone who looked like Emile, then this healing of Kurt's injury... Maybe they would really find a cure for the Malichor here. Even if it would be too late for Aunt Valerie, and he felt a twinge at the thought of Emile's mother. His eyes wandered to his cousin, but he did not look sad. Constantin decided to ask Amalia about it when they set off, when Emile was not within earshot. But the rest of the time they had left, he wanted to spend with more pleasant things.

"So, my dears. Since we have exchanged reports and eaten – how about a game of cards?", he turned to his two relatives.

Emile nodded with a smile as he put their plates together and then moved them to a small table on the other side of the room.

"If I win, I want to sit on your throne one day," Malia said with a grin as he shuffled the cards.

Chapter Text

Five years ago

The strings began to play a quieter piece, so that their music was almost drowned in the soft murmur into which the chatter of the present nobles joined in. The banqueting hall of the House of de Chevreuse was brightly lit, the chandeliers flashed in the light of the candles, the glasses and mirrors of the oil lamps, which were attached to the wooden panelling of the walls, were polished to a high gloss, as if they wanted to compete with the shining jewelry of those present.

The nineteen-year-old Amalia swirled the chilled sparkling wine in the long-stemmed, high-walled glass and let her gaze wander over the crowd. Dancing couples were found in the middle, including her cousin Emile together with Cyrian d'Ramis. They made a handsome couple. Cyrian's hair was blond and quite short. It always looked as if he had forgotten to comb his hair, but Amalia knew that the young man used pomade very carefully and a lot of time so that his hairstyle gave exactly that impression. His blue eyes flashed when her cousin turned him once more. Emile's dark brown hair provided a pleasant contrast to the light hair of his dancing partner, although it was much more orderly: They fell gently over his ears before their tips ran down to his neck. Despite the thorough shave, there was a dark shadow on his chin in some places, and perhaps it would not be long before he could finally grow the full beard he so desired. A smile lay on his lips as Cyrian turned away from him at the next figure, but returned instantly.

She let her eyes wander on, searching for Constantin. She had last seen him in conversation with Claudia de Rochelle, but that was some time ago. Perhaps it was because she was looking for him, that she heard his name clearly:

"Should this bungler Constantin really succeed to the throne, I would think very carefully about whether one should really still be loyal to the d'Orsays. He lacks everything his father has: intelligence, taste and elegance."

Amalia turned to the speaker. Valentin de Portau, scion of a family similar in age to that of the d'Orsays. Perhaps this is why they were so fond of doubting the claim to a seat in the council of the princes of Amalia's uncle. The young man was surrounded by a few other nobles, mostly below his rank. The young woman smiled and made her way to him.

"My teacher says he has made his way in the last years," Daliah d'Bonacieux objected. She was a few years younger than Amalia, and it would probably be some time before she would impress others, whether by her looks or her actions.

"Please! He is now almost twenty. A tree must be bent while it is young," Valentin held against it and raised his gaze towards the ceiling in a theatrical gesture, while at the same time spreading his arms.

"I rather think that you are the one who should learn something. Manners, for example," Amalia interfered as she arrived at the group.

She did not pay attention to any of the other people present, who immediately took a step back to make room for her, but fixed the braggart in front of her.

"I have plenty of manners, my dearest," he replied.

"I think not. You have just spoken badly of my cousin. We both know that you consider yourself too lofty to admit that your assessment of his person was a mistake. There is only one kind of satisfaction to be given for such an insult anyway," she replied.

Valentin paused for a moment, then his well-shaped, blond eyebrows tightened a little.

"Is this what you really want, Lady d'Orsay? I would hate to ruin your dress. It suits you admirably."

"You would have to be capable of being a serious threat, which you are not," she replied coolly.

The surrounding nobles audibly called the air in.

"You insult me, Lady d'Orsay," replied Valentin.

"It is only an insult if it is not true," she held against it, while smilingly resisting the gaze from his light brown eyes.

"If you insist, my lady - let us go outside," replied her counterpart, pointing with one hand to the ceiling-high windows, some of whose wings opened out onto the vast garden.

She bowed her head slightly before she obeyed his request, picked up her skirts and walked towards the terrace. She heard the murmur of the others who joined them immediately. Her gaze crossed that of Emile, in whose eyes seemed to lie a questioning expression. She responded with a grin and a wave across the dance floor. As she stepped out into the cool evening air, the murmur faded for a moment, but it became louder as more nobles streamed out into the open.

Amalia took a few steps on the area strewn with light gravel, which stretched in front of the wide glazed front of the ballroom. It was already dark and her immediate surroundings were lit by torches, but she knew that the gravel area turned into a well-maintained green lawn that gently sloped down and was only occasionally interrupted by a neatly trimmed tree or bush.

"What is going on here?", a familiar, worried sounding voice wanted to know, and as she turned to the side, she saw her other cousin.

"Constantin!" she greeted him with a smile.

"Valentin de Portau thought it appropriate to make fun of our family. I will teach him a lesson for that," she replied.

"Do you think that would be a good idea?", her cousin asked and took her hands in his.

The young woman squeezed them lightly and let her smile widen a little: "Do not worry. His master of arms is not as good as ours."

Constantin's gaze wandered to Valentin, who had lined up a few meters away, still surrounded by a small bunch of nobles. At that moment he waved a guard of the hosts.

"If any of us can beat him, it is you," Constantin agreed with her and nodded slightly. He led her hands up, leaned slightly forward and breathed a kiss on her fingers before he let go and stepped back.

At that moment Valentin turned to them, holding a sword in each hand.

"Ah, Constantin d'Orsay. Would you not spare your beautiful cousin the humiliation and take up the fight she demands in your place?" he asked, and derision resonated in his voice.

Amalia saw out of the corner of her eye how her cousin's gaze wandered to her, but she replied to Valentin before Constantin found the opportunity to do so: "I have demanded satisfaction. If you continue to try to avoid it, you will only prove that you are afraid of me."

Once again, Valentin's eyebrows pulled together. He was good at handing out insults, but very bad at getting over them when they were thrown at him.

"Are these our weapons?" she asked and stepped past her cousin and toward the other nobleman.

"The choice is yours," he replied, and presented her with both swords so that she could test them. Some guards of the de Chevreuses stood a little aside, two of them unarmed. Apparently Valentin had ordered them to provide the weapons for the duel. It was unlikely that one of them had been manipulated in any way, yet she took first one and then the other sword in her hand. Their blades both had small embrasures, but were sharp and the handles were stable. Finally she held the second weapon out to Valentin.

"Until the first drop of blood?," he inquired.

Amalia bowed her head slightly as she slowly took a few steps back.

"If you ask for forgiveness afterwards," she added.

"Only if you win."

"If you win, I will of course admit my mistake to you - if it turns out to be so," she replied, turning slightly sideways and putting her right foot a little bit in front of her left to have a more secure footing and at the same time offer less room for attack.

"But it would be the first time I was wrong about you," she continued, allowing herself a snide smile.

Her dress was long, the skirt had several layers - her mobility was far inferior to that of her counterpart. But he was even more impatient than her, she had experienced this several times in the past.

"You must not believe everything you are told," de Portau replied and raised his weapon while he also turned a little to the side.

"I do not, my teachers see to that. I am simply judging you on the experience I have gained during our little liaison," she replied, taking two steps forward. She was still too far away from him to reach her, but now it was his turn to react.

Once again Valentin pulled his eyebrows together and a soft murmur went through the crowd surrounding them. This matter had - like all affairs - certainly been a topic of conversation, but as usual, none of the parties involved had admitted anything along these lines.

If Amalia was quite right, it was the first time in years that anyone openly addressed such a liaison.

"But perhaps it was also because you thought you had to mock my cousin? Because it was over too quickly for you then," she followed up.

A small wrinkle appeared between the curved eyebrows of her counterpart, who, according to her, further reduced the distance between them.

"You are mistaken if you think that I consider something like this an insult," he returned.

"Did you really not?", she wanted to know and took another slow step forward. She could hardly move faster, because she had to push the fabric of her skirts forward with her foot to avoid tripping over a hem. With that she would lose the duel in an instant.

"Why should I? It is common knowledge that you rarely stay longer at a liaison. In case you really only have affairs one after the other," he replied.

A slight clang sounded as the gap between their weapons closed. For a moment they looked at each other across the bound weapons, then Valentin made a quick exit, which she avoided by stepping aside and turning.

"Thus for you to be like me, more than one person must find you attractive at the same time. As far as I know, this has never been the case," she replied and followed up her words with another blow, which she directed at his blade instead of his body. He was too far away from her for her to stretch her upper body to hurt his.

Kurt had trained them well, but fighting in a dress had not yet been one of their lessons. But he had taught them to stand in a circle and defend it against attackers. She intended to apply what she had learned here.

"Even then, I would never think of letting those I court believe that there was no one else," he replied and struck again.

But his eyes flickered from the point he was apparently attacking to her other side. She let his feint go nowhere and again dodged the thrust that was aimed at her left shoulder instead.

"I never said you were the only one then," Amalia replied, allowing herself a suggestive smile. It was not as if she slept with all her admirers, or even several times. At first she had been almost shy, but by now she had found out that with the right partner you could have a lot of fun between the sheets. However, one did not know who was suitable before trying it out.

The wrinkle between his eyebrows deepened a bit, which she reacted to with a slow loss of her own. In doing so, she made it look as if her clothing was restricting her freedom of movement even more than it already did. Valentin countered her attack, and the blade of his sword slipped along hers, forcing her to take a quick step backwards, but her attacker relented immediately. She feinted to turn right and changed direction at the last moment, forcing Valentin to run past her into the void. For a moment he turned his back on her, but before she realized that this was her chance, he had already untwisted again and tied the tip of her weapon with his.

"Have mercy and enlighten me: The how many on your list was I?" he inquired.

His words were accompanied by another blow, which she blocked with a slight sideways movement of her weapon.

"I do not count. That is only for trophy collectors," she countered.

"But maybe you can tell the number I have been on your list? The second or the third? That would explain your lack of... technique," she continued, moving her gaze toward his crotch as she made her last words.

Valentin's eyes seemed to double in size as his eyebrows rose, then he made a thrust in her direction. She leaned back slightly, so the blade did not hit her. Angrily, he relented. Amalia turned to the side, let his attack run in vain and pulled her weapon along him at waist level. She felt that the sword had struck - Valentin's subsequent scream and the reddish shine on her blade confirmed her suspicions.

She raised her weapon so that bystanders could examine it in the light of the torches.

"It seems you need lessons in technique on more than one level," she remarked and looked at the other nobleman again.

Valentin had turned away from her, but with his free hand he held the cut on his hip. As he looked down at the palm of his hand, a bloody trail appeared there.

"You have ruined my clothes!" he replied.

"Should I have aimed at your face? We can try a second round if you dare," she suggested.

"I think that is enough," a calm voice said.

Her cousin Emile pushed his way through the crowd that had gathered in front of the glass front of the de Chevreuse Palace.

"Besides, it would not be honorable to fight against someone who is injured. You cannot win either way," he rebuked her softly.

Suddenly, Amalia felt a hint of a guilty conscience. She had embarrassed Valentin in front of everyone present, in more ways than one. She should learn when it was enough.

"Then it is up to him to come up with an apology," she finally said, looking over at the wounded nobleman.

Reluctance twitched across his face, but he quickly regained control and bowed his head slightly.

"Lady d'Orsay, I beg your pardon...", but she interrupted him: "You have insulted Constantin. It is up to him to take the blame from you, which you have loaded upon yourself," she corrected him.

For a moment, Valentin looked as if he was going to attack once more, but then he turned to her other cousin, around whom the people had retreated a little, and bowed: "Prince d'Orsay, I have questioned your qualities as a future council member and I apologize for this insolence."

Constantin bowed slightly: "Apology granted."

It was silent for a moment, then slowly the conversation resumed. Amalia had returned her weapon to one of the guards when she saw someone approaching her out of the corner of her eye. She turned around and recognized her cousins who were pointing at her.

"Dearest cousin, once again you have defended my honor and I am indebted to you," Constantin said. Then he put his left leg back a little, put his right on his stomach, his left on his back, and bowed in her direction.

She laughed.

"You do not owe me anything - except maybe a kiss," she replied and turned her head slightly. Her cousin approached her, put his hands on her shoulder and briefly touched her cheek with his lips.

"We can save the formalities for the others," she said and linked arms with him before looking at Emile.

"You were good," he said and nodded to her.

"But as often as you are involved in duels, one might think you do it on purpose. Last time, it was my honor you defended. And I still do not know what Isabelle de Sillègue said about me," he added, but the smile on his lips did not seem as if he was angry with Amalia for that.

"I'm pretty sure it's on purpose," another voice interjected.

When the young woman turned around, with Constantin also having to turn around a bit, since she made no effort to remove her arm from his, she discovered her master of arms.

"Kurt! Are you proud of how well my brave cousin fought?" Constantin greeted their teacher.

"That was nothing," Amalia replied. Even though she was quite proud of herself for having made Valentin look like a fool in more ways than one. But modesty was a virtue, so Amalia intended to at least give the impression of preserving it.

"In fact, I didn't see anything to be impressed by," the soldier replied, crossing his arms.

Amalia raised her eyebrows and promptly felt her cheeks getting a little warmer. But she bit her lower lip a little - so that one couldn't really see it, she had practiced it often enough in front of the mirror - not to contradict. She had never won against the guardsman when she had contradicted him in the exercise yard.

In return, Constantin did her the favor of protesting: "But she just won a duel, and that even though her dress was certainly a disadvantage."

The soldier let his gaze wander from her older cousin to her: "You let your first chance to end the duel pass by unused."

"That was on purpose! Thus Valentin thought he was safe," she blurted out.

"Save your lies for court. He had turned his back on you, and you could have ended the matter with a light blow. Instead, you were either too vain because you wanted to keep throwing insults around, or you were too inattentive. Both have no place in a fight," he reasoned.

If she had felt a slight warmth in her cheeks before, it seemed to suddenly turn into a full-blown fire that extended behind her forehead. She looked down when she could no longer stand the gaze of her teacher.

Then she felt Constantin put his other hand on hers, which rested on his arm.

"Never mind. I think you did wonderfully," he said, his voice having a warm tone.

Amalia worked her way up to a smile. For one thing, she didn't want to show any weakness towards her master of arms, and for another, she was more than grateful to her cousin for having such a high opinion of her and for standing up for her.

"Your praise is the only thing that matters," she said and briefly put her hand over his.

"Perhaps we should go back inside," Emile inquired, who had followed the whole scene - as so often - in silence.

"You want to dance with Cyrian again before we leave," Constantin teased him, but his tone of voice was more affectionate than mean.

His cousin cleared his throat and looked down briefly before he looked at his cousin again and raised his shoulders slightly: "Guilty as charged, but actually I intended to dance with one of you first. We have had little opportunity to spend time together since our arrival here.“

"You are right. So - in with us," Constantin decided, before looking back at her teacher: "See you later, Kurt.

He nodded, but said nothing more.

"See you later," Emile also said goodbye, and Amalia quickly added, "See you," before Emile linked arms with her on the other side and they walked back together to the ballroomFive years ago

The strings began to play a quieter piece, so that their music was almost drowned in the soft murmur into which the chatter of the present nobles joined in. The banqueting hall of the House of de Chevreuse was brightly lit, the chandeliers flashed in the light of the candles, the glasses and mirrors of the oil lamps, which were attached to the wooden panelling of the walls, were polished to a high gloss, as if they wanted to compete with the shining jewelry of those present.

The nineteen-year-old Amalia swirled the chilled sparkling wine in the long-stemmed, high-walled glass and let her gaze wander over the crowd. Dancing couples were found in the middle, including her cousin Emile together with Cyrian d'Ramis. They made a handsome couple. Cyrian's hair was blond and quite short. It always looked as if he had forgotten to comb his hair, but Amalia knew that the young man used pomade very carefully and a lot of time so that his hairstyle gave exactly that impression. His blue eyes flashed when her cousin turned him once more. Emile's dark brown hair provided a pleasant contrast to the light hair of his dancing partner, although it was much more orderly: They fell gently over his ears before their tips ran down to his neck. Despite the thorough shave, there was a dark shadow on his chin in some places, and perhaps it would not be long before he could finally grow the full beard he so desired. A smile lay on his lips as Cyrian turned away from him at the next figure, but returned instantly.

She let her eyes wander on, searching for Constantin. She had last seen him in conversation with Claudia de Rochelle, but that was some time ago. Perhaps it was because she was looking for him, that she heard his name clearly:

"Should this bungler Constantin really succeed to the throne, I would think very carefully about whether one should really still be loyal to the d'Orsays. He lacks everything his father has: intelligence, taste and elegance."

Amalia turned to the speaker. Valentin de Portau, scion of a family similar in age to that of the d'Orsays. Perhaps this is why they were so fond of doubting the claim to a seat in the council of the princes of Amalia's uncle. The young man was surrounded by a few other nobles, mostly below his rank. The young woman smiled and made her way to him.

"My teacher says he has made his way in the last years," Daliah d'Bonacieux objected. She was a few years younger than Amalia, and it would probably be some time before she would impress others, whether by her looks or her actions.

"Please! He is now almost twenty. A tree must be bent while it is young," Valentin held against it and raised his gaze towards the ceiling in a theatrical gesture, while at the same time spreading his arms.

"I rather think that you are the one who should learn something. Manners, for example," Amalia interfered as she arrived at the group.

She did not pay attention to any of the other people present, who immediately took a step back to make room for her, but fixed the braggart in front of her.

"I have plenty of manners, my dearest," he replied.

"I think not. You have just spoken badly of my cousin. We both know that you consider yourself too lofty to admit that your assessment of his person was a mistake. There is only one kind of satisfaction to be given for such an insult anyway," she replied.

Valentin paused for a moment, then his well-shaped, blond eyebrows tightened a little.

"Is this what you really want, Lady d'Orsay? I would hate to ruin your dress. It suits you admirably."

"You would have to be capable of being a serious threat, which you are not," she replied coolly.

The surrounding nobles audibly called the air in.

"You insult me, Lady d'Orsay," replied Valentin.

"It is only an insult if it is not true," she held against it, while smilingly resisting the gaze from his light brown eyes.

"If you insist, my lady - let us go outside," replied her counterpart, pointing with one hand to the ceiling-high windows, some of whose wings opened out onto the vast garden.

She bowed her head slightly before she obeyed his request, picked up her skirts and walked towards the terrace. She heard the murmur of the others who joined them immediately. Her gaze crossed that of Emile, in whose eyes seemed to lie a questioning expression. She responded with a grin and a wave across the dance floor. As she stepped out into the cool evening air, the murmur faded for a moment, but it became louder as more nobles streamed out into the open.

Amalia took a few steps on the area strewn with light gravel, which stretched in front of the wide glazed front of the ballroom. It was already dark and her immediate surroundings were lit by torches, but she knew that the gravel area turned into a well-maintained green lawn that gently sloped down and was only occasionally interrupted by a neatly trimmed tree or bush.

"What is going on here?", a familiar, worried sounding voice wanted to know, and as she turned to the side, she saw her other cousin.

"Constantin!" she greeted him with a smile.

"Valentin de Portau thought it appropriate to make fun of our family. I will teach him a lesson for that," she replied.

"Do you think that would be a good idea?", her cousin asked and took her hands in his.

The young woman squeezed them lightly and let her smile widen a little: "Do not worry. His master of arms is not as good as ours."

Constantin's gaze wandered to Valentin, who had lined up a few meters away, still surrounded by a small bunch of nobles. At that moment he waved a guard of the hosts.

"If any of us can beat him, it is you," Constantin agreed with her and nodded slightly. He led her hands up, leaned slightly forward and breathed a kiss on her fingers before he let go and stepped back.

At that moment Valentin turned to them, holding a sword in each hand.

"Ah, Constantin d'Orsay. Would you not spare your beautiful cousin the humiliation and take up the fight she demands in your place?" he asked, and derision resonated in his voice.

Amalia saw out of the corner of her eye how her cousin's gaze wandered to her, but she replied to Valentin before Constantin found the opportunity to do so: "I have demanded satisfaction. If you continue to try to avoid it, you will only prove that you are afraid of me."

Once again, Valentin's eyebrows pulled together. He was good at handing out insults, but very bad at getting over them when they were thrown at him.

"Are these our weapons?" she asked and stepped past her cousin and toward the other nobleman.

"The choice is yours," he replied, and presented her with both swords so that she could test them. Some guards of the de Chevreuses stood a little aside, two of them unarmed. Apparently Valentin had ordered them to provide the weapons for the duel. It was unlikely that one of them had been manipulated in any way, yet she took first one and then the other sword in her hand. Their blades both had small embrasures, but were sharp and the handles were stable. Finally she held the second weapon out to Valentin.

"Until the first drop of blood?," he inquired.

Amalia bowed her head slightly as she slowly took a few steps back.

"If you ask for forgiveness afterwards," she added.

"Only if you win."

"If you win, I will of course admit my mistake to you - if it turns out to be so," she replied, turning slightly sideways and putting her right foot a little bit in front of her left to have a more secure footing and at the same time offer less room for attack.

"But it would be the first time I was wrong about you," she continued, allowing herself a snide smile.

Her dress was long, the skirt had several layers - her mobility was far inferior to that of her counterpart. But he was even more impatient than her, she had experienced this several times in the past.

"You must not believe everything you are told," de Portau replied and raised his weapon while he also turned a little to the side.

"I do not, my teachers see to that. I am simply judging you on the experience I have gained during our little liaison," she replied, taking two steps forward. She was still too far away from him to reach her, but now it was his turn to react.

Once again Valentin pulled his eyebrows together and a soft murmur went through the crowd surrounding them. This matter had - like all affairs - certainly been a topic of conversation, but as usual, none of the parties involved had admitted anything along these lines.

If Amalia was quite right, it was the first time in years that anyone openly addressed such a liaison.

"But perhaps it was also because you thought you had to mock my cousin? Because it was over too quickly for you then," she followed up.

A small wrinkle appeared between the curved eyebrows of her counterpart, who, according to her, further reduced the distance between them.

"You are mistaken if you think that I consider something like this an insult," he returned.

"Did you really not?", she wanted to know and took another slow step forward. She could hardly move faster, because she had to push the fabric of her skirts forward with her foot to avoid tripping over a hem. With that she would lose the duel in an instant.

"Why should I? It is common knowledge that you rarely stay longer at a liaison. In case you really only have affairs one after the other," he replied.

A slight clang sounded as the gap between their weapons closed. For a moment they looked at each other across the bound weapons, then Valentin made a quick exit, which she avoided by stepping aside and turning.

"Thus for you to be like me, more than one person must find you attractive at the same time. As far as I know, this has never been the case," she replied and followed up her words with another blow, which she directed at his blade instead of his body. He was too far away from her for her to stretch her upper body to hurt his.

Kurt had trained them well, but fighting in a dress had not yet been one of their lessons. But he had taught them to stand in a circle and defend it against attackers. She intended to apply what she had learned here.

"Even then, I would never think of letting those I court believe that there was no one else," he replied and struck again.

But his eyes flickered from the point he was apparently attacking to her other side. She let his feint go nowhere and again dodged the thrust that was aimed at her left shoulder instead.

"I never said you were the only one then," Amalia replied, allowing herself a suggestive smile. It was not as if she slept with all her admirers, or even several times. At first she had been almost shy, but by now she had found out that with the right partner you could have a lot of fun between the sheets. However, one did not know who was suitable before trying it out.

The wrinkle between his eyebrows deepened a bit, which she reacted to with a slow loss of her own. In doing so, she made it look as if her clothing was restricting her freedom of movement even more than it already did. Valentin countered her attack, and the blade of his sword slipped along hers, forcing her to take a quick step backwards, but her attacker relented immediately. She feinted to turn right and changed direction at the last moment, forcing Valentin to run past her into the void. For a moment he turned his back on her, but before she realized that this was her chance, he had already untwisted again and tied the tip of her weapon with his.

"Have mercy and enlighten me: The how many on your list was I?" he inquired.

His words were accompanied by another blow, which she blocked with a slight sideways movement of her weapon.

"I do not count. That is only for trophy collectors," she countered.

"But maybe you can tell the number I have been on your list? The second or the third? That would explain your lack of... technique," she continued, moving her gaze toward his crotch as she made her last words.

Valentin's eyes seemed to double in size as his eyebrows rose, then he made a thrust in her direction. She leaned back slightly, so the blade did not hit her. Angrily, he relented. Amalia turned to the side, let his attack run in vain and pulled her weapon along him at waist level. She felt that the sword had struck - Valentin's subsequent scream and the reddish shine on her blade confirmed her suspicions.

She raised her weapon so that bystanders could examine it in the light of the torches.

"It seems you need lessons in technique on more than one level," she remarked and looked at the other nobleman again.

Valentin had turned away from her, but with his free hand he held the cut on his hip. As he looked down at the palm of his hand, a bloody trail appeared there.

"You have ruined my clothes!" he replied.

"Should I have aimed at your face? We can try a second round if you dare," she suggested.

"I think that is enough," a calm voice said.

Her cousin Emile pushed his way through the crowd that had gathered in front of the glass front of the de Chevreuse Palace.

"Besides, it would not be honorable to fight against someone who is injured. You cannot win either way," he rebuked her softly.

Suddenly, Amalia felt a hint of a guilty conscience. She had embarrassed Valentin in front of everyone present, in more ways than one. She should learn when it was enough.

"Then it is up to him to come up with an apology," she finally said, looking over at the wounded nobleman.

Reluctance twitched across his face, but he quickly regained control and bowed his head slightly.

"Lady d'Orsay, I beg your pardon...", but she interrupted him: "You have insulted Constantin. It is up to him to take the blame from you, which you have loaded upon yourself," she corrected him.

For a moment, Valentin looked as if he was going to attack once more, but then he turned to her other cousin, around whom the people had retreated a little, and bowed: "Prince d'Orsay, I have questioned your qualities as a future council member and I apologize for this insolence."

Constantin bowed slightly: "Apology granted."

It was silent for a moment, then slowly the conversation resumed. Amalia had returned her weapon to one of the guards when she saw someone approaching her out of the corner of her eye. She turned around and recognized her cousins who were pointing at her.

"Dearest cousin, once again you have defended my honor and I am indebted to you," Constantin said. Then he put his left leg back a little, put his right on his stomach, his left on his back, and bowed in her direction.

She laughed.

"You do not owe me anything - except maybe a kiss," she replied and turned her head slightly. Her cousin approached her, put his hands on her shoulder and briefly touched her cheek with his lips.

"We can save the formalities for the others," she said and linked arms with him before looking at Emile.

"You were good," he said and nodded to her.

"But as often as you are involved in duels, one might think you do it on purpose. Last time, it was my honor you defended. And I still do not know what Isabelle de Sillègue said about me," he added, but the smile on his lips did not seem as if he was angry with Amalia for that.

"I'm pretty sure it's on purpose," another voice interjected.

When the young woman turned around, with Constantin also having to turn around a bit, since she made no effort to remove her arm from his, she discovered her master of arms.

"Kurt! Are you proud of how well my brave cousin fought?" Constantin greeted their teacher.

"That was nothing," Amalia replied. Even though she was quite proud of herself for having made Valentin look like a fool in more ways than one. But modesty was a virtue, so Amalia intended to at least give the impression of preserving it.

"In fact, I didn't see anything to be impressed by," the soldier replied, crossing his arms.

Amalia raised her eyebrows and promptly felt her cheeks getting a little warmer. But she bit her lower lip a little - so that one couldn't really see it, she had practiced it often enough in front of the mirror - not to contradict. She had never won against the guardsman when she had contradicted him in the exercise yard.

In return, Constantin did her the favor of protesting: "But she just won a duel, and that even though her dress was certainly a disadvantage."

The soldier let his gaze wander from her older cousin to her: "You let your first chance to end the duel pass by unused."

"That was on purpose! Thus Valentin thought he was safe," she blurted out.

"Save your lies for court. He had turned his back on you, and you could have ended the matter with a light blow. Instead, you were either too vain because you wanted to keep throwing insults around, or you were too inattentive. Both have no place in a fight," he reasoned.

If she had felt a slight warmth in her cheeks before, it seemed to suddenly turn into a full-blown fire that extended behind her forehead. She looked down when she could no longer stand the gaze of her teacher.

Then she felt Constantin put his other hand on hers, which rested on his arm.

"Never mind. I think you did wonderfully," he said, his voice having a warm tone.

Amalia worked her way up to a smile. For one thing, she didn't want to show any weakness towards her master of arms, and for another, she was more than grateful to her cousin for having such a high opinion of her and for standing up for her.

"Your praise is the only thing that matters," she said and briefly put her hand over his.

"Perhaps we should go back inside," Emile inquired, who had followed the whole scene - as so often - in silence.

"You want to dance with Cyrian again before we leave," Constantin teased him, but his tone of voice was more affectionate than mean.

His cousin cleared his throat and looked down briefly before he looked at his cousin again and raised his shoulders slightly: "Guilty as charged, but actually I intended to dance with one of you first. We have had little opportunity to spend time together since our arrival here.“

"You are right. So - in with us," Constantin decided, before looking back at her teacher: "See you later, Kurt.

He nodded, but said nothing more.

"See you later," Emile also said goodbye, and Amalia quickly added, "See you," before Emile linked arms with her on the other side and they walked back together to the ballroom.

Chapter Text

Today

The soldier sat down in one of the armchairs of the salon. It was still unusual to be in these rooms. It was not that he had never entered a salon or the like, but on the continent he had only done so when he had been summoned to one of the Highnesses. Or as bodyguard of the three. But after Amal had put him up here in New Sérène, in the same corridor as Emile, Green Blood had also emphasized when entering the Congregation Embassy in Hikmet that the guard should move normally - as if he owned the house. Sure, Kurt had also given orders to servants in the past, but it was strange to somehow "belong" to the three greenhorns now. He could simply take one of the books from the shelf and read it. What he still didn't do - he didn't like to read very much. But he could do it.

His gaze wandered over the furnishings of the room. The walls were papered in a yellow tone. Something that did not exist in servants' quarters. There, the walls were merely whitewashed. The wood of the chest of drawers, armchairs and side tables was dark brown, the upholstery in a similar tone to the wallpaper. His eyes remained fixed on the small cupboard. Cabinet was the name if he remembered correctly. For whatever reason. More important was what was inside.

Kurt stood up and walked towards the almost dainty-looking piece of furniture. He opened both doors and inspected the bottles that were behind them. Finally he decided on a brandy and took it out.

"Good choice - will you pour me one too?" sounded Amal's voice behind him.

"Do you still like sneaking up on people?" he inquired as he reached for two glasses that were neatly lined up in the compartments above and below the bottles. At least she was still at the other end of the room. Otherwise he would probably have been startled and he did not want to grant her this triumph today.

"Sometimes. But I did not really make much of an effort right now," she answered and stepped next to him.

"Of course", he returned with irony in his voice and poured in.

"Really," she answered with a smile in her voice before taking a glass from him.

"You know that there will be food a little later? Emile wants to finish a few more letters. But - for that, Constantin will join us for dinner," she added and smiled at the last words.

"That's fine with me, as long as there's still something in the bottle," said the mercenary, raising his shoulders before returning to the armchair in which he had previously sat.

"I do not know if I can keep up on a half-empty stomach, but I like your attitude," the young woman replied with a smile. Then she glanced briefly from him to the other chairs before deciding on the sofa, which was half facing his armchair.

She settled down on it, and when she looked at the soldier again, she seemed a little more serious.

"But since we are among ourselves - is there something wrong?" she wanted to know and looked at him.

"What should be wrong?", he asked, not sure what she was alluding to. The journey from Hikmet to here had been uneventful. Green Blood had introduced himself to Burhan, the governor of the Bridge Alliance on Teer Fradee. Who had asked them to look for an expedition from him. Ambassador and soldier had found a survivor in the wilderness - and shortly thereafter, Green Blood had entered into negotiations with a village of the people living on Teer Fradee, since the rest of the scientists had been captured by them. Finally, they had accompanied all survivors back to Hikmet. From this point of view this trip had been quite successful.

"You seemed tense at the welcome," she replied and her eyes seemed to fixate on him, as if she didn't want to miss his reaction under any circumstances.

Thus she was right:

When he entered the residence, he could already hear rapid footsteps on the stairs. What was often a signal for trouble on the streets, meant the opposite for Green Blood and Constantin when they returned from their excursions, the guard had learned that in all those years. A moment later Amal was in the hallway and flung her arms around her cousin's neck.

"You are back!" the soldier heard her say, while her cousin returned the hug and both held each other for a moment.

"Everything went well," Emile confirmed to her before letting her go. His cousin beamed at him: "Sounds good. I want to hear everything over dinner."

Then she stepped past him, towards the mercenary and pressed herself against him without further ado.

"Welcome back," she said, giving him the impression that her voice sounded a little softer than the blink of an eye before. Which was impossible. After all, Emile and Constantin were her favorite people in the world. Kurt was just the old teacher who now accompanied them as their bodyguard.

Nevertheless, he had briefly returned the hug, clumsily like the last time she had hugged him after that brief storm on the ship, when she thanked him for taking Constantin instead of her to safety.

"Not used to having one of you hug me," he replied honestly.

Then her face brightened noticeably: "Is that all?“

"I was your teacher and now I'm your bodyguard - not exactly the positions where you're hugged as a greeting," he said.

"Mmm ... possible. But you are not only our bodyguard. You belong to us," she held against it and smiled before she took a sip from her glass.

"Besides, there are teachers who are greeted quite differently. Lord de Instéde, for example," she added.

"Exactly... Because the man is such an example of how to deal with one's students," Kurt replied cynically.

Lord de Instéde had been a language teacher and had been employed at some courts of the Congregation, the Bridge Alliance and even at Thélème. Perhaps de Instéde was not even his real name, for he had changed it over time, but de Instéde was stuck. He had had a fondness for young people and he had been caught several times having affairs with his students before they reached the age of maturity. More than once he had been chased away, but somehow he had always managed to find employment. The last time he was said to have married a young woman the day after her twentieth birthday, when he himself was around fifty.

"At least he assured himself of their affection. But, yes, he is really not a good idol. At least his wife came of age in the end," Amal returned.

"The others weren't before," the guardsman objected.

She nodded slightly: "Probably true. I once met someone who had been taught by him. She had lost her virginity to him and had thought it was great love. Sometimes I wonder what such people think."

"People like him? They take advantage of their students' weakness," Kurt replied, shaking his head.

People like de Instéde disgusted him. He could almost understand Amal's aunt's impulse to threaten someone with death if they crossed this line.

"That is true. But what I really meant was why de Instéde seemed to have such a preference for young people, perhaps even virgins. I mean - nobody knows how to do that the first time. And usually not the third or fourth time either. Honestly, the thrill of being the more experienced in bed wears off pretty quickly," she said.

For a moment, the guard didn't know how to respond. For weeks he had been trying to suppress such thoughts about Amal and himself. Talking to her about it now would not help. So all that was left was the escape: "Possible - nothing I want to talk to you about."

She tilted her head slightly. "Suddenly prudish? It is not as if I had offered to subject our experiences in this area to a practical comparison," she held against it and a mocking smile crept up to her lips.

"Wouldn't accept such a suggestion either," he objected before emptying his glass, but immediately rose to give himself a refill.

"Because...?", she followed up.

"We just talked about it - I am not an Instéde," he replied over his shoulder and without looking at her while pouring the brandy. Then he turned around and returned to his armchair.

The young woman laughed: "Of course you are not."

"As I said," he returned, feeling even more clumsy than when he had hugged her at the greeting. And more insecure than he had been for years.

"No, I think you assume you have something in common. De Instéde gave his students the worldly, well-travelled teacher with impeccable manners to make them fall in love with him. He told them about foreign cultures to show them how little they can do and thus make him look better himself. You have only ever shown us how little we can do compared to you when we became overconfident," she explained and grinned at him. Considering that he had had to put Amal in her place time and again, he was a little surprised that she was chatting about it in such a good mood. On the other hand, she had become a real danger for him on the training yard. In the last years it had become more and more difficult to win against her and a few times she had even surprised him and won.

"And I can hardly imagine that you would manipulate someone in the same way as de Instéde. And if we continue the theoretical scenario of just the two of us: I have come of age a few years ago and am anything but inexperienced in bed. Far too old and self-confident for someone like de Instéde," she continued.

"So - if you would reject this purely hypothetical proposal just as theoretically, it would be for reasons such as that my nose is too big for you or my temperament is too difficult," she added, still smiling.

"Besides, you're nobility," he added, taking a sip of the brandy, while holding her gaze, which was not easy. For over a decade he had had no problems with it, but since they had been on the ship, there were moments when he suddenly found it difficult. No, actually even before that, but that was when they had been at court. Everyone had known their role and Kurt had done his best not to leave his own. Since they had left, things seemed to be slowly changing and he had no idea how to stop it. Or if he even wanted to. And whether he was allowed to want how things changed, if he didn't want to stop it.

Amal pulled her eyebrows together for a moment, but her face quickly returned to a relaxed expression.

"Not a really good argument - hypothetically speaking. None of us three gives much on the difference in status," she replied.

"That's true of Emile. For him, the title means responsibility. Constantin believes that the difference is there for a reason, like most of us. And you... you only make exceptions for a few people. You continue to treat everyone else as you learned in the palace, without a thought for how much easier your life is than theirs," he objected. It was only after saying these words that he realized that they might have been a bit harsh. But that did not make them any less true.

Amalia looked at him. For a moment it seemed as if she didn't have an answer this time.

"Did I behave like that towards you?", she wanted to know, and she almost sounded a bit uncertain.

"You tried, at first. But only the first two or three years. Doesn't mean that you treated the servants in the palace, whom you knew at least as long, differently," he replied.

He thought he could see that she wanted to disagree with him. She had pulled her eyebrows together again and it seemed as if she was looking for words. But then her gaze left his eyes, as if she could find an answer somewhere in the salon.

At that moment the door opened.

"Malia!"

Her face brightened at once and the young woman rose as she rushed towards Constantin and embraced him.

"I am glad you are here," she said as she held him. One of their typical two-hour hugs.

"It is also nice to have finally escaped from the duties. If only for the evening," her cousin replied before he let go of her, but let his hands rest on her shoulders a moment longer and looked at her.

As they parted, the young governor nodded at the soldier before he too went to the couch and fell on it. His gaze wandered to the glass in the guard's hand, before he looked at Amal, who made a move to follow him.

"Would you be so kind as to give me some of what he has?" he asked his cousin.

She nodded at him and shortly afterwards handed him an identical glass.

"Thank you," Constantin sighed before he took a sip.

Only then did his gaze wander back and forth between Kurt and Amal.

"What did you talk about?", he asked.

"About de Instéde, among other things," replied the young woman quickly.

"De Instéde? I hope his ears itch. After all, he hadn't been a topic of conversation for at least two years," he replied, sipping his brandy again.

"You know, I miss those rumors a little bit. Everything here suddenly seems so serious and has meaning. Every single action, every word," he added.

His cousin raised her shoulders: "A little. But look at the advantages - the family dinners are much more relaxed now."

She smiled again and added: "And that means that we need not only have deep philosophical conversations. We could also pass the time until dinner with a round of cards."

"Excellent idea. Kurt, will you join us?", the young nobleman addressed his former teacher.

"If Your Excellency doesn't mind...", he replied stretched out.

"Please, we are here among ourselves. Just stick to my first name," suggested Constantin. Then he stood up and went over to the table.

The soldier glanced at Amal and she avoided him, which happened rarely enough. Still, he could see her lips getting a little narrower as she rose and followed her cousin. Kurt did the same. For today he had had enough of difficult subjects.

Chapter Text

Today

When he awoke, daylight was already falling through a gap in the curtains. The ambassador stood up and pulled them back. The sky shone blue over New Sérène. He could not see the sun from here because he had the west side. Kurt and his cousin had taken rooms on the east side. Nevertheless, it could only be a little after sunrise.

At that moment, his stomach called for his attention with a loud growl. It had been a long time since Emile had been so hungry that he had heard it. He wanted to wash himself, but he had not yet received fresh water. When he took a look into the hallway, he did not see any cans or bowls either, although they were usually found there when they slept in. Without further ado, he returned to his room, slipped into his clothes from the day before and went downstairs to fetch water from the pump in the court. Through the door in the entrance hall he entered the corridor leading to the pantry, the storeroom and the kitchen. Hopefully, he would be finished in time before Constantin came over. They had had dinner together the evening after Emile had returned from Hikmet. Yesterday they had had tea together and today their cousin wanted to have breakfast with them here. Just as Emile was about to go to the storeroom, from which a door led to the court, he heard a loud clattering, followed by a dull noise and a curse, but it turned into a cough. He hurried towards the kitchen and when he opened the door, he thought for a moment that something was burning because the air was filled with white smoke. But as it turned out a few blinkers later, it was flour puffing through the air. At the other end of the kitchen stood Malia, still coughing, waving her hand in front of her face. She was covered over and over with the white powder. Her brown hair looked gray and only her eyes and mouth were like holes in a white mask, like some of the mimes wore during the entertainment of the balls.

He took his sleeve to his mouth, crossed the kitchen and opened the windows.

"Thank you," she finally coughed.

"I should probably be glad I have not yet fired up the oven," she said as she let her gaze wander through the kitchen, where the flour dust settled very slowly. Sir de Courcillon had explained to them more than once why mills were built outside settlements: Flour dust was highly flammable, and if one entered the room where milling was going on with a candle or oil lamp, an explosion or fire could occur.

"What are you doing here anyway?" he wanted to know. He stepped up to her and tried to tap her clothes. On her bright tunic the flour was hardly visible, but on her dark vest and pants it was all the more noticeable.

"Let it go - I fear it will not be so easy," she replied resignedly.

Emile realized that she was probably right, but he left his hands on her shoulders and sought her gaze.

"So: What are you doing here? Where are Claudette, Victor and Francois?" he asked and examined her.

Her face took on a guilty expression under the white powder layer: "I have given them a day off."

"You gave... what?" he asked, surprised that she did such a thing. Amalia was the most impulsive of the three, but so far it had never extended to the staff.

At that moment he heard a shout, "Hello? Anybody home?"

"Constantin," it escaped his cousin.

"I will get him," replied Emile.

"Nonsense, you will only get dirty," Malia objected. The ambassador gave her a smile: "This is no problem." Then he left the kitchen and hurried through the corridor back to the door.

His cousin stood in the entrance hall, accompanied by his bodyguard, and let his eyes wander over the walls until he spotted Emile.

"There you are! Where is the staff? I had to let myself in," his cousin received him and spread his arms. The ambassador embraced Constantin for a moment before releasing himself and replied, "The staff is off today. Malia is currently trying to make breakfast for us."

The regent raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Breakfast. And... how is she holding up?" he inquired, with a little concern resonating in his words.

"Not good. I think she could use our help," Emile replied honestly.

"Then we should hurry to her aid. You can wait in the salon, Friederike," he instructed his bodyguard. "Of course, Your Excellency," she replied, nodding curtly at him. Then the two cousins started to move and went to the servants' quarters.

"Do not be afraid, salvation is at hand, dearest Malia," Constantin made a sweeping gesture as they entered the kitchen. He let his arms sink slowly as he saw the white-sprayed areas and in the middle of them Amalia's powdered figure.

"Constantin," she replied, but her mealy-white smile was not as warm as usual. If the Legate had to guess, he would guess that she was a little uncomfortable about the other two seeing her like that.

"What exactly is going on here?" her older cousin inquired after he had approached Malia and, despite a brief protest on her part that he was going to get dirty, had given her a hug.

Now he looked around and tried to knock the traces of flour out of the front of his frock coat.

"I... thought I would fry up some pancakes for breakfast and looked for the flour," Amalia explained in an embarrassed manner.

"Obviously you found it. Tell me, is there anything left, or is that all your supplies of it?", the regent asked and let his hand wander to the side.

"Constantin - I think enough flour is the least of our problems right now," Emile intervened.

"Right. So - we can of course go to the palace for breakfast," the elder returned to the real reason for his visit.

"No! I... well... I would not want your staff to work more because of us," Amalia replied.

"But that is what they are there for. After all, they are staff," he objected.

"Yes, but... they had not expected it. Besides, they should not take responsibility for my... ill-considered actions," she contradicted.

"Nonsense. They will certainly have prepared something for us in no time. I will let them know and you can get changed," he replied.

"No, Constantin. That...", she broke off and her gaze wandered to Emile, who calmly returned it. Something was bothering her, he was just not sure what exactly. Yet it was his other cousin who asked the crucial question: "What exactly is the problem here, my dear?"

Her gaze flickered to the ground. She took a breath and expelled it again unused. Her two cousins approached her. Constantin was closer to her and reached her before Emile, so he put a hand on her shoulder, since her older cousin had already reached for Malia's hands.

"Kurt said the other day that... I do not worry about how the staff is doing. And that my life is much easier than theirs. I thought I would do them some good and give them a day off. I thought, it cannot be that difficult to make breakfast," she finally replied, raising her eyes as they moved back and forth between her cousins. Emile smiled encouragingly at her, while their older cousin let out a laugh.

"Oh, Malia. I am sure he meant nothing by it," he replied, squeezing her hands.

It looked a little amusing to see how her face took on a doubtful expression under the layer of flour.

"I think Kurt always means things exactly as he says them. After all, he is not from the court," she replied.

"And I appreciate that a lot about him. Even... if it was not a nice disclosure," she added and slowly pulled her hands back.

"I still think he did not want to hurt you," Emile replied.

Her gaze wandered to him again and she nodded.

"Well - since we have no staff and you do not want us to put mine to work, we will probably have to make our own breakfast. Let us get started!" Constantin announced and raised his fist in the air, as soldiers did after a speech. Emile smiled and Amalia's face relaxed a little, too. Together they began to look around in the kitchen and pick out recipes and their ingredients.

Chapter Text

Today

They had started cutting vegetables and cracking eggs, with four landing on the table that was in the middle of the kitchen where they were preparing breakfast. Which was still better than if they had landed on the clothes. Eventually, they had put the eggs in the pan, but all too soon smoke had filled the air and even the open windows had done little to stop it. Finally, the three of them had decided that it could be dangerous if they continued to try to cook, and that they should rather move on to setting the table in the dining room. Just at that moment Kurt appeared in kitchen.

"What happened here?" he asked.

"Apparently, you happened," Constantin replied, and Amalia instantly felt the urgent need to sink into the floor. Her older cousin could not have guessed that she was uncomfortable with the soldier seeing her in such a situation. More or less, because she was currently kneeling on the floor behind some cabinets, searching them for plates. She had seen some earlier, but where?

"Me?" the guardsman echoed, a little confusion resonating in his voice, as if he thought he had simply misheard.

"You talked Malia into giving the staff the day off," the regent added.

There was no flap through which she could disappear into the ground. And if you couldn't dodge, you were supposed to take the initiative, she had been taught that in a wide variety of lessons. Among others by Kurt. So she straightened up and looked at the mercenary.

"What exactly did I do?" he inquired, his eyes moving to Amalia. She tried to ignore the rising turmoil in the pit of her stomach as best she could when his gaze met hers.

"You said that I have no idea how our staff is doing and how difficult their tasks are. So I thought I would do them some good and give them the day off. However, I underestimated how difficult it is to prepare breakfast," she replied as gracefully as was possible when standing in the smoke of charred egg and burnt bread and covered in flour in a kitchen.

The soldier looked as if he didn't know whether to be amused, worried or confused. At least this way she kept the initiative a little longer.

"And thus, you were right. I would have appreciated a slightly... gentler and earlier hint of that lapse on my part, but still, it is a very important lesson. Thank you," she added, bowing slightly in his direction.

"By the way, you are free to go to the tavern for breakfast. We are not sure if it is possible to enjoy what we have prepared," she continued.

"Oh well, it will not be that bad," Constantin objected, moving the scrambled eggs from the pan into a bowl with scraping noises.

"Let us just say... this meal is not lacking in good intentions, but it probably lacks sufficient experience," Emile interjected. He had spread some raw vegetables on a platter. Whereas Amalia had never seen carrots with so many corners before.

"You three have been... cooking," the mercenary noted, looking back and forth between them.

"Something like that, yes," she said with as much confidence as she barely had. Which probably would have been nothing without the support of her cousins. Her gaze wandered to the side and there she spied a stack of plates along with cutlery. Indeed - Emile had put both out when they had started to prepare breakfast.

"So my dears - let us eat!" said Constantin, lifting the bowl with the scrambled eggs. It was so big that he needed both hands for it, but not even half full. The three of them had decided against pancakes after the batter had become one big lump.

They each had to run twice until the table was set. Only then did it occur to her that the table had always been set by the time the food was served. That probably made things easier. But finally they had everything they needed. Kurt had said goodbye. Apparently, one of the officers had fallen ill at the garrison and he would be taking her shift for today. However, he had left only after they assured him that he was off and that they would contact the garrison immediately if Emile or Amalia left town unexpectedly. Or if they planned to move into New Sérène after dark, in which case he had looked at Amalia first and foremost. She knew she had run away more often than either of her cousins, but that had been a long time ago. Still, she had assured him that they were planning nothing of the sort, and Emile had promised him that they would include him if their plans changed.

Now they were sitting at the dining table, each had something on their plate and they had begun to eat.

"It... is extremely crispy," Emile noted, just taking the second fork of the scrambled egg, the color of which could be broadly described with those from the color palette of browns.

"How in the world do you manage to eat any more of it?" Constantin wanted to know. At that, he tossed the napkin into which he had spit the first bite of scrambled eggs next to his full plate.

"The only edible thing here is the bread," he added, taking another slice.

"Because we have not baked it," Amalia commented, feeling a slight twinge. It was her fault that the other two didn't get a proper breakfast.

"And the vegetables," Emile interjected, while fishing another of the oddly cut carrots off the plate.

"True enough," their oldest cousin agreed with him.

"I am sorry I ruined our breakfast," Amalia said, looking back and forth between her cousins.

"You only meant well," Emile countered, reaching for her hand.

She returned his smile before lifting her shoulders and saying, "At least this is better than Pierre."

Constantin, who had just brought the bitten slice of bread to his mouth, lowered it again and looked at her under slightly furrowed brows.

"I hardly dare ask it, but my curiosity wins: How on earth did you get from this meal to the courtesan?" he inquired, curiosity and confusion seeming to balance in his voice. His mother had had a courtesan come to the palace for Amalia after one of Amalia's affairs. She had shared her bed with him several times a week for almost four months, and presumably Josette d'Orsay had thought herself safe, but then Pierre - despite his many talents - had become boring for Amalia and she had gone back to conquering some of the young men at court. Much to her aunt's displeasure.

"Not that I was not delighted with him at first. He has been able to teach me quite a bit. But... in the long run, having a courtesan is like being served a feast where you eat completely alone. At some point, even choosing is not fun anymore and you long for a completely burnt edge of bread when you can only eat it in good company," she explained.

"Well, this is a little better than burnt bread, then," Constantin indicated with a slight smile, lifting the slice in his hand slightly.

She laughed softly.

"I would even rather finish this scrambled egg than go back to the thing with Pierre. Rather, the heart and head have excellent company than only the body," she explained. At that, her older cousin's smile became a little more indulgent and he reached for her hand as well.

"We love you very much too, Malia. Even if it means we have an inedible breakfast ahead of us. The main thing is that we spend the time together," he agreed, squeezing her hand. She grinned and nodded to both cousins.

At last, Emile seemed to give up, too. He left his fork and reached for another slice of bread.

"And I am not entirely sure your body will find company at all on Teer Fradee. The choices here are severely limited. If you are interested in a new affair?" her older cousin inquired, leaning back in his chair and eyeing her.

Amalia felt a little caught when she now felt Constantin's gaze resting on her even if she didn't know exactly why. After all, there was no affair at the moment, let alone the prospect of one.

"No, not at present. They did end up being rather dull," she replied. The noblewoman had often pondered on the ship why most of her other lovers had meant so much less to her than Édouard. At some point, it had occurred to her that Édouard had not been important to her either in the beginning, but over time she had come to realize that he was also good for the heart and the head, and that the body had even become a minor matter at some times. To a very pleasant triviality, but it had been more important to her at times to be able to be near him and had sometimes been enough for her just to hold his hand or kiss him. With the exception of her first attempts at a liaison, only a very small number of her affairs had otherwise been similar. And with Léandre de Courtilz, whom, however, she had never been able to conquer.

"What about you?" she inquired before Constantin could broach the subject.

"You know the whole thing is not for me," he replied, raising his shoulders. Constantin had tried both sexes, as had she. But after her second woman, she had given up thus. The young governor, on the other hand, had given each side a similar number of tries, but finally stopped altogether.

"They will choose partners for us within the next few years and we will continue the families. As long as it is someone who cares as much about the welfare of the Congregation as I do and who is not averse to your presence, that is enough for me. And with you two, how could there be room for anyone else in my heart?" he added, throwing them both a smile. Whereas, unlike them both, he had even more family. But he avoided speaking of his parents as such. Amalia suspected it was in equal parts because his relationship with them was so strained, and as well as to avoid pointing out the obvious to Emile and her: That he himself still had parents just now.

She tried to return her older cousin's smile, even if it didn't feel genuine. Even if Constantin seemed confident to her, his view sounded a little... lonely.

She let her gaze wander to Emile. Maybe he saw things similarly to her.

"You have a point - it is likely that at some point we will have to secure the alliances of our houses," he agreed, but in contrast to Constantin's smile, that of her younger cousin seemed saddened. Presumably, she should not be surprised that the diplomat, of all people, saw the reasonable solution as the right one. Originally, Emile had not wanted to try to sleep with anyone at all, knowing that he would eventually have to marry a woman to produce heirs. But Constantin and Amalia had kept talking him down until their youngest cousin had finally dared to sleep with Sylvain de la Pailleterie, his affair at the time.

"Is that why you have not begun anything with the captain?" she inquired.

The noblewoman could see Constantin shaking his head slightly out of the corner of her eye. They had decided together on the ship that they would not take their youngest cousin up on it, but they were not on the ship now. But apparently the regent still stuck to the view that Emile shouldn't be asked about it.

"That... um... no. I mean, he obviously was not interested in me in that way," the latter objected. Amalia found it a little cute any time her younger cousin struggled for words, because it happened extremely rarely and in such moments his gaze wandered back and forth between everything in front of him but the people who were talking to him.

"If it had been up to me, we would have let this matter rest. But now that we are at it: Emile, I love and appreciate you very much, but this is absolute nonsense. If the captain liked anyone of us, it was clearly you. After all, he has not spoken to Malia and me half as often as he has talked to you, even if you add up all the conversations between us and him," Constantin objected, leaning forward a little in his chair and interlacing his hands.

Emile's gaze flickered to him, but then wandered back to the napkin the ambassador was twirling between his fingers.

"I..." he finally cleared his throat before placing the piece of cloth on the table, slowly smoothing it out and looking at his two relatives again.

"I think it was his rules then. They are important to him and I did not want him to break them for me," he replied and it seemed a bit like a confession to Amalia.

"Why? They are obviously nonsense if they keep him from being with you," she countered.

"Besides, it was foreseeable that we would part ways," Emile explained, raising his shoulders slightly.

"So... you are also quite happy to have spared yourself the pain of parting," Constantin speculated.

"A little. Although I would have liked to know if he felt the same way I did," the ambassador confessed.

"His loss. I am still in favor of making a wedding out of it the next time you have an affair. One way or another, we will get the ten representatives together for that," she said, grinning at her younger cousin.

One of Javelot's works, the one about Juliette Capon and Romain Montague, was based on a true story. The two had married secretly and ended up tragically - or rather idiotically, if one were to ask Amalia - dead. But it was the secret marriage that had troubled the Congregation, which is why a law had been passed after that affair, according to which a marriage was only legally valid if sufficient witnesses were present, who were also considered as such by the Congregation. So what were only higher nobles and other highly placed persons of allies, after all, witnessing a marriage was also an excellent way to make or consolidate alliances.

It was perhaps the third or fourth time she had brought up the subject to Emile, and like the last few times, his gaze flew toward the tablecloth before he looked at her with a slightly guilty expression, "You know I do not want to cause them any trouble."

"Besides, there are other solutions for such cases," Constantin interjected.

Rumors of lovers were not uncommon at court, especially when it came to same-sex relationships. After all, no children with a claim to the title could come out of these. However, if someone of a different sex was preferred, this could only be pursued after the birth of a mutually agreed number of heirs. Even though in Emile's case it was clear that he would theoretically be allowed to have someone besides a wife - she did not want him to have to do such a thing. And she was sure that he himself found this solution unsustainable.

But at the moment, such considerations were null and void anyway. After all, they were on Teer Fradee, far away from the continent and the problems and intrigues that thus accompanied it.

"What do you think - are we brave enough to wash this off?" she asked, letting her eyes wander over the remains of their breakfast.

"You want to do the dishes, too?" it escaped Constantin.

She looked to him and grinned, "And after that, I want to make beds. And sweep out the ovens."

"Oh my! And what else?"

"Then... I want to have lunch at the tavern, I think we can all stand that," she replied.

At that, a relieved smile settled on her older cousin's face, "Finally, a proposal to my liking. Then let us begin, my dears, while my stomach still thinks it is something like sated."

Chapter Text

Today

The tavern was noisy and the air was not exactly what one would have called fresh. It smelled of beer and sweat and all around them excited ideas were exchanged already. Amalia looked around and discovered the end of a long table where some chairs seemed to be free.

"Thanks for bringing me here," she said, nodding to her bodyguard Margarete. "You are welcome to take some time off. I will let you know when I want to leave again," she added.

"As you wish, Your Excellency," replied the guard and returned the gesture. Then she pushed her way through the almost invariably crowded tables to the bar.

The noblewoman then remained there for a moment. She did not want to follow her bodyguard immediately, that would have made the farewell just silly somehow. Amalia wondered a little what she was doing here. In Sérène, she had gone to taverns alone from time to time. Then she had played with others and now and then found someone she found interesting enough to test his skills in bed. But now that she was here, she realized that that was not why she had come here. And as if fate was mocking her, her gaze met his at that very moment: Kurt was sitting at a table near the bar. He had put his right hand around a pitcher and nodded slightly at her when he recognized her, but then he looked again at the cards in his left. There was no more room at his table. Maybe that was a good thing.

After all, she meant work for him. For a moment she was tempted to ask Margarete right away to take her home or just leave. But the soldier would probably find the former funny - even if Amalia had the impression that the guard would not say that out loud to her. And the second would be disapproved by Kurt as soon as he heard about it, which would probably be the case that very night. And then she would feel like she was in the salon again, after he had told her that she was only a spoiled noblewoman who could not appreciate others.

Her thoughts wandered further back a few days when she had bandaged him on the battlefield: "Those of us without noble origins have to work for a living."

So stupid... If she had listened carefully, she would have noticed what he had thus meant to tell her: That she did not know what it was like to work for a living. And he was right. Just as was true that she took everyone for granted who was not Emile, Constantin or himself. She had behaved like that towards the Nauts and before that towards the other servants in Sérène. She did not even know whether her chambermaid in Sérène, who had served her for years, had been married or had had a family elsewhere.

All those years of teaching and Amalia felt that there was absolutely nothing that had prepared her for this. Well, she had been prepared for this matter as a legate. The trip to San Matheus and the first negotiations with Mother Cardinal had been no problem, but she had not been prepared for the whole thing: That she realized how ignorant she was and that she had no friend in this world besides Constantin and Emile. Which was no surprise, now that she knew how she behaved toward others.

Finally, she gave herself a push and went over to the bar as well, to have a glass of wine handed to her. Then she moved through the crowd back to the table where she had spotted a few empty seats at the beginning. For a moment she thought about sitting down on the first free chair, but then the taproom would be in her back. Which went against the lessons Kurt had taught them. So she stepped around the end of the table and put a hand on the back of the chair before she remembered, seething, that she was already taking it for granted again that she could sit down. "Is this seat still available here?" she inquired of the people who took up most of the table. A few glances wandered to her, two women nodded, then they turned back to their conversations.

"Thank you," she murmured, pulled the chair back and sat down on it. Then she took a sip of the wine. The innkeeper hadn't had any that she had known, so she had just let him give her one. It was more sour than she was used to and she couldn't avoid making a face. Then she realized what she was doing and shook her head over herself. She could not even drink without acting like a spoiled noblewoman.

Amalia had just finished a third sip when the chair on her right was pulled back and a man in uniform sat down on it. Like all mercenaries in New Sérène, he belonged to the blue-silver guard. She did not know what the badge of rank meant. Another one of those things she had been inattentive to.

"What brings someone like you here?" he asked.

She turned to him. He had brown hair, maybe as dark as hers, but brown eyes, which made her think of Emile. Instead, his chin was clean-shaven, and he was probably half a dozen years older than her younger cousin, if not more.

"An excellent question," she replied, and struggled her way through to a polite smile. And although his tone of voice had not been unfriendly, she immediately had the impression that she did not want to spend any more time in his presence. Normally that would be the point at which she would name her title and send him away. She had already opened her mouth to say something, then Kurt's words came to her mind again: "You only make exceptions for a few people. You continue to treat everyone else as you learned to do in the palace, without giving a thought to how much easier your life is than theirs." So she remained silent and tried to justify her hesitation with another sip from the jug.

"You like to play the mysterious one," the man concluded and grinned.

In fact, she had done so a few times - earlier, at balls on the continent. One could attract conversation partners and thus either start an affair or make a discarded conquest jealous. But that was not why she was here. She drank alone, because she had spent almost the entire last two days with Constantin and Emile. And as nice as it was to pass the time with her two dearest people, she had noticed that there were some things she had to think through on her own.

"Not at the moment, no," she replied and shook her head.

"Or are you here to look around the basement?" he continued. Amalia saw the stairs not far from her. From there, shouts and stale air also came up here.

"What is there?"

"Another taproom, the arena and of course the brothel," he replied, lowering his voice conspiratorially at the last word.

That the Guard had a brothel was nothing unusual. In Sérène, as in other cities, there was a tavern and a brothel in one wing of the garrison. The soldiers got slightly more favorable conditions and the employees of both establishments got the protection of the Guard. It was the middle section that made her sit up and take notice.

"An arena?"

"A place to fight. It's pretty rough there. It often gets bloody. No place for a lady," he replied.

She raised one eyebrow. Did he know who she was?

"Believe me, I am not so squeamish," she held against it.

"I just didn't want you to be frightened," he said and raised his shoulders.

She took another sip of the wine, which, at least in comparison to the man, made the better impression on her.

"But if you don't know why you came here anyway, why don't we just leave and see if we can't banish your gloomy mood together?" he added, and when she glanced at him, he looked at her with a look she already knew from court. But she had only very rarely given in to it. It was like catching fish from a barrel when one got involved in such things, and often it was too boring for her.

"I think I will stay here a little longer," she replied.

"Are you afraid?"

"No, I simply do not feel like it," she objected.

"Have you ever slept with a soldier? I'm sure there are some things I could show you," he replied.

For a moment, she raised her eyes to the ceiling before fixating on him: "I have shared a bed with a courtesan dozens of nights. Aside from the fact that he was more concerned with an attractive appearance than you, I am curious to see what you think you can still show me."

"Certainly there are some things he didn't know," the mercenary objected, but he sounded more uncertain.

"Perhaps. But even if that were the case, I have no interest in you. You can withdraw now or wait here until I use my training in diplomacy and rip your dignity into tiny little shreds in front of everyone's ears, until not a single person even sleeps with you out of pity," she replied, lowering her voice at the last words.

He opened his mouth, probably to contradict again, but she continued: "As if anyone ever did, though, because obviously cleanliness is a foreign word for you. Take this advice with you: If you are looking to get someone for the bed, it would be advisable to bathe at least once a week."

She continued to look at him until he lifted the chair back and rose muttering "Fury". Then he turned away and disappeared in the crowd of the taproom. Amalia looked after him for a moment. As she let her gaze wander back, it caught on a pair of steel-gray eyes that returned it. On Kurt's lips lay the hint of a satisfied smile. Maybe he was holding a good hand. She forced herself to smile again, though she felt much more insecure than she did when she made the polite gesture a few moments ago, before she looked back at the table and emptied her jug. The wine ran sourly down her throat, but this time she was able to keep her face from twisting. Maybe she should leave. Or go to the brothel. Kurt knew about her affairs, although he probably did not remember any names. But now, here, walking up to a prostitute right under his nose left an uncomfortable feeling behind her forehead.

She looked again through the taproom and wondered whether she could join a game of dice or cards. But when she spotted a few players other than those around her former master of arms, it occurred to her that she did not feel like it either.

The noblewoman stared at the bottom of her empty jug, hoping to find an answer to her questions there. Only after a few moments did it dawn on her that she would have to start asking herself these questions. Something she had avoided so far. At that moment, the chair opposite her was pulled back, whereupon she looked up.

She raised an eyebrow slightly while Kurt sat down opposite her and placed a fresh wine jug in front of her.

"They say you've got a problem when you drink alone," he said as he toasted her with his beer mug.

"I have no problem," she replied immediately and instantly declared herself a fool. The soldier saw through almost every one of her lies. Of course she had a problem. It was sitting right across from her and for some unknown reason had brought her a drink.

"This refers to an alcohol problem, Amal," he explained in that voice she had heard thousands of times in the training yard. The tone of his voice was not directly reprehensive, but more as if he was resignedly explaining something obvious.

"Oh," she just said, before she pulled the new mug towards her. "There was always something mysterious at court when someone drank alone at one of the balls. Most of the time, they would not be alone for long. What was often only taken as a prelude to the beginning of an affair," she continued, and it was only in the last words that she noticed that he probably was not interested in it at all.

It took a moment before the guard replied, "Are you looking for one right now?" And somehow it seemed to her as if he wanted to get up and leave again right away.

"An affair? By Victor's golden underwear, no way!" she replied, when it dawned on her that he might think he might be in the way of finding her a bed partner. And although she had felt a little odd around him for quite some time, she didn‘t want him to leave, now that he sat opposite to her.

"But... apparently I gave that impression to another mercenary," she replied, to say anything, and raised her shoulders. Then she took a sip of the wine. Either she had gotten used to it by now or it was a different sort, because it tasted less sour and even a bit fruity at the end.

"Hagen. You got rid of him quite confidently," the soldier replied.

"It was not quite easy. I was not trying to be offensive, but when he still insisted on sleeping with me after two polite no's, I had to bring out the heavy artillery," she replied, before she took another sip from her jug.

"I had already thought that you were going to take him down a peg or two. His face looked as if someone had wiped the training yard with him," said the guard, and for one blink of an eye there was that satisfied smile in the corners of his mouth again. But it quickly disappeared behind the mug when he took another sip from it. For a moment this relaxed expression on his face had distracted her too much. But then the meaning of his first words came through to her: "You knew what his intentions were when he came to me?"

"He was sitting at my table before. When he saw you, he said some very explicit things about you," Kurt replied, his gaze wandering briefly to the side. With the exception of that brief conversation in the salon, at the end of which the soldier had told her plainly that she was conceited, they had never talked about anything like that.

She stared at him.

"And you did not keep him from...", then she broke off when she realized that it had not been his task. He was paid to be their bodyguard. Nothing more.

"Stopped him from coming over here? You haven't needed anyone to defend you in years, whether with words or weapons. Constantin's parents were the only exception, and even from them you usually didn't let anyone tell you what to do," he replied.

Amalia opened her mouth, then closed it again when it occurred to her that she had no idea how to respond.

"That... is what you think about me?", she finally broached the subject, even if it cost her some courage. Which was silly - she never needed courage to ask anybody anything.

The soldier had raised his mug again, but paused halfway to his lips and examined her.

"You know you're going to leave empty handed when you're fishing for compliments from me," he said.

"I am not fishing for compliments. I merely find it remarkable that you would say such a thing about someone whom you consider an ignorant noblewoman. Which you are correct about: In fact, I have never thought about what it is like to have to work for a living. Or how it is for the people who work for us," she objected.

Her counterpart slightly pulled his brows together and put down the mug without taking another sip.

"It really got to you," he noted, sounding a little surprised.

"Of course. You are much more family to me than Constantin's parents or Emile's mother ever were. I had thought that in the last few years we might have become something like friends. To find out then that you do not like us - or at least not Constantin and me - was very discouraging," she explained.

For a moment the guard seemed speechless. Then his gaze wandered to the mug in his hand before he looked briefly at the people at the other end of the table. Whatever the reason he did that, as far as Amalia could tell, the majority of the people there did not care about either of them.

"It's not quite like that," he finally replied.

Thereupon she raised her eyebrows again.

"Which means what exactly? That you do like us? Would it kill you to say that?" she asked.

Again his gaze shot to the side before he looked at her again.

"Not here."

"What? Why that?" but he did not let her finish: "Drink up."

It was the same tone of voice he had used in the exercise yard when she had objected too often or tried to make them remain quiet in an unsafe neighborhood at night. For a moment she tried to hold his gaze, then she complied with his request. Kurt stood up and pointed his head at the door. She followed him, but when they reached the exit, she paused: "I must let Margarete know."

"She knows that I'll take you to the embassy," he replied. She looked at him. His face was still serious. So she walked past him into the fresh and chilly night. The sounds from the taproom suddenly became quieter as the door closed behind them. Even though the light inside the tavern had seemed dim to her, she had to get used to the darkness outside for a moment. Torches hung from the houses and spread sparse light, but the streets here were so wide that their light did not reach from side to side. Kurt continued to remain silent and started to move. Amalia followed him. She had no idea what was going on, only that he had not wanted to continue talking. And after all these years, she still could not fight this tone of voice. Which made him the only person besides Constantin and Emile who had such an effect on her. But her cousins always managed to silence her with friendly words and in Constantin's case perhaps a shocked exclamation. With them it felt less like an order.

The noblewoman crossed her arms in front of her chest while walking through the night next to the soldier.

"It is not always easy to be teacher and bodyguard for three noble offspring," he finally began, after they had surely gained a few dozen steps away from the tavern.

"People like to talk and believe that you think you are better than them or that you are somehow exploiting your position. And sooner or later someone gets the idea that you are having an affair with one of your protégés," he continued.

"But you never had that," she objected. He gave her a look, but they were in the gap between two torches, so the shadows made it impossible for her to tell what might have been on his face.

"That's right. But that doesn't stop people from joking about it anyway. Way before the three of you were of age," he added.

"Ouh. This is... not so good, I suppose?" she added.

"If one of my superiors had believed such rumors, I'd have been dismissed. If Constantin's mother had found out about it, I might have had an accident," he replied. His voice sounded even darker than it already was. The idea that he might have stopped working for them because of some stupid talk, or that he might have been killed by her aunt, made her put her arms even tighter around her upper body.

"But... we are all of age now. For several years now. Even if such rumors came up now - would you really be transferred just like that?", she wanted to know.

"Maybe. Maybe not. Still don't want gossip to come up. The others already believe that I think I'm better than them because I'm with nobles day and night," he replied.

For a moment she was too stunned to answer.

"You worry about what they think about you," she finally said, just as they were crossing the point in front of the palace.

"A little," he admitted almost hesitantly. Kurt Pakusch, the most skilled fighter she knew, the most stoic person she had ever met, feared that his comrades might gossip about him?

"But... you have little influence on that anyway," she finally replied.

"Doesn't mean I have to stir up the rumor mill," the mercenary answered.

"And that is why you do not like us?"

"That's why I didn't want to talk about it in the tavern," he objected as they reached the embassy. He took the key to the estate from a pocket of his quilted doublet.

She waited until he had unlocked the door, then she stepped into the entrance hall behind him. She fumbled along the wall in the dark while the guard locked the door again. Finally she bumped into the cabinet she had been looking for. Her hands found the tinder box that was in the drawer and after several attempts she lit one of the oil lamps that were on the small piece of furniture.

"You have not answered the question whether you like us," she finally said more quietly and turned to him. Emile was perhaps already asleep and although it was one floor above them, she did not want to wake him.

The soldier was still standing at the door, but looked at her.

"You're persistent," he noted and shook his head, but she thought she saw a brief flash of amusement in his eyes.

"That ought not to surprise you after all this time," she replied and stepped up to him. Indeed, there was the hint of that smirk she had seen in the tavern.

"That's right. Can you lend me that?" he wanted to know and pointed with his chin to the oil lamp in her hand.

"If you answer my question," she objected.

"I could have done worse with my employment in a noble house," he said and took the lamp from her. She felt his fingers fleetingly brushing hers as he put his hand around the lamp's base. It was only a brief touch, yet it seemed to completely absorb Amalia's concentration.

Which almost made her miss her opportunity to respond, as Kurt turned away and went into the dressing room, which was to the left of the stairs. She followed him and stopped in the doorway while the soldier placed the lamp on one of the chests of drawers and then unbuckled his weapon belt. She decided to be a little more courageous: "Was there anyone you would have preferred to be employed by?"

Once again he gave her a look.

"What did I tell you about compliment fishing?" he replied again in that training yard tone of voice as he unbuttoned his quilted doublet.

"Oh, no. This time I am not letting you get away with it. You cannot always rebuke me like you did when you were our teacher. If you do not want to talk about something, you can just say so," she objected, ignoring the need to follow his hands with her eyes as they slowly exposed the tunic underneath. She had already noticed on the ship that she liked it when Kurt wore less than his usual equipment. Still, she would not be distracted by that right now.

"So you can ask why I don't want to talk about it? No way," he countered.

"So that you can tell me on an equal footing that you do not want to talk about something and I can respect it. But if you continue to treat us like your students instead of as equal adults, I will insist even more at such points," she replied, again crossing her arms.

"I'm paid by you and have to obey your orders. That's not exactly suited for equal footing," he objected.

"Have I ever given you an order in the last few years?" she went on.

The soldier had just reached the last buttons and paused.

"In the beginning you...", but she did not let him finish: "You cannot reproach me for every thoughtlessness of my youth. That would be unfair. After all, you were already an adult when we met. Have I ever given you an order since my twentieth birthday?"

He shook his head: "You did not."

"I would appreciate it if you could do the same favor for me in the future," Amalia replied.

"I can try," he said and stripped off the jacket before hanging it on one of the free hooks on the opposite wall.

Not being looked at by him made it a little easier to ask her following question: "Were there... times when you would have preferred to work for someone else? Other than the first few weeks when my lie almost cost you your head?"

Again he paused and glanced at his equipment for a moment, but it didn't seem like he wasn't going to answer, more like he was looking for words. Which she could relate to - she was probably not asking him easy questions at this point. And if she was honest with herself, she was also afraid of his answer: if he said the name of any other family now, something inside her would shatter. Even though she had no idea what exactly.

"I never got the impression at any of these events that I would rather have worked for someone else," he finally said and turned back to her.

"Satisfied?", he wanted to know when he picked up the oil lamp again.

Amalia had already begun to grin at his last words. She nodded and took two steps back, thus allowing the guard to leave the dressing room.

"Of course I never spent as much time with anyone as I did with the three of you. It may well be that others would have turned out to be better students," he said as he walked past her, but his tone of voice was much more relaxed than a few moments ago.

"You could not have just left it there, could you?" she asked, still smiling as she walked up the stairs beside him.

"We both know that you are confident enough. Just want to prevent anything from going to your head. In the end, you'll take off and bump into the ceiling," he countered, and this time the corner of his mouth twitched in obvious amusement.

"So you are worried about me. Very kind of you," she said with a grin, just as they reached the second floor.

"Good night, Kurt. And thanks for talking to me," she quickly added before he could deny that he was worried about her. She knew that this was not the case, but for today she would like to pretend. She lightly squeezed his upper arm before she turned away, leaving the soldier and lamp behind her as she headed for her room at the end of the hall. She heard him say "sleep well" as she reached her door. But she slipped through without looking back at him again, for by then the light source had already moved away from her. She was still smiling as she lay in bed.

Chapter Text

Two and a half year ago

The twenty-second birthday of Amalia d'Orsay had been prepared for weeks, like all the celebrations in the palace. Kurt had never understood why the nobles made such a fuss about it when they turned one year older. The food was excellent – as long as one was among the guests and not the staff. And as master of arms of the three, he clearly belonged to the latter. There was music, which he still found too complicated, there was dancing, and sooner or later there was at least one duel. On this day it was already the second one he supervised.

The soldier stood with crossed arms at the edge of the terrace, not far from a group of curious nobles. In general, it felt like all the guests had gathered here, but he guessed that some were still in the various salons and in the gardens.

Amal and her opponent circled each other. Once again the young woman lunged out. The young man opposite her recoiled, a murmur went through the crowd. And Amal barely missed her opponent for the third time. Kurt had already asked himself the first time what had gotten into her today. He would blame it on too much wine, but she - from her obvious lack of ability to put the skittish boy in his place - showed no sign of it. Not that Constantin and she did not like to drink, and especially Amal had been drunk more than once in the past years, but nothing of the same had happened in the last months. Besides it would have been a bit early for that. The sun was just about to set.

"We can go on like this all evening, my dear," she announced and fixed the gaze of her opponent, which seemed to shrink under it, like a rabbit in front of a snake.

But then he dared a blow in her direction. Too timid, with too little strength. Amal would easily parry this attack. But for some reason she jumped right into the boy's reach. She moved her weapon to the side with too much momentum, the blade of her opponent sliding over it. Kurt couldn't exactly see what was happening because the boy's back was blocking his view, but suddenly a badly suppressed gasp went through the crowd and both opponents paused. The young man stepped back a little and lowered his weapon.

Blood ran down Amal's forearm. She looked down and raised her eyebrows slightly.

"This... is unexpected. It seems that I was wrong about you, Lord de la Pailleterie," she said, although at the beginning there was a surprised tone in her voice, but by the end it had taken on the coloring that was intended for formal apologies.

"I sincerely apologize for my presumptuous words, Lord de la Pailleterie," she added, bowing in the direction of her opponent.

"Apology granted," he replied, although Kurt had the impression that he was still nervous despite the duel he had just won.

At least the protocol was done now. He hoped that the evening would pass without another fight – for which it was best if the nobles scattered.

"If the ladies and gentlemen would like to go back inside ... the fight's over," he said in a loud voice and stepped into the square to make it clear that they were welcome to go elsewhere.

Constantin and Emile rushed to their cousin and her younger cousin reached for her left hand, while Constantin took her right and looked at the cut.

Kurt couldn't hear exactly what the three were talking about because of the slowly returning conversation and the crunching of the guests' footsteps on the gravel. But that could be changed quickly.

As soon as the crowd had dispersed and he could be sure that at least in the next few minutes no more duels would erupt, he made his way to them. Emile had apparently already left them and Constantin nodded at Amal before he walked towards the ballroom. The young woman moved on in the opposite direction – the one that went to the side wing of the palace. The guard quickened his steps to catch up with her before she could disappear into it.

"What exactly was that?" he wanted to know as soon as he had reached her.

"A duel," she replied, and her voice sounded as if he had asked her about the weather of the last days.

"You missed at least three opportunities to put an end to this," he objected.

"Only three?", she glanced at him and there was a sparkle in her eyes before she opened the door leading to the tract with the private rooms of the nobles. As soon as she entered and the door closed behind them, the conversations behind them subsided and a cool silence surrounded them.

"I thought there were at least four opportunities. But then perhaps not everyone noticed how much effort I put in to lose," she added in good spirits as they continued down the corridor.

It was quieter here – the servants were all busy refilling glasses, bringing food and clearing dishes, and the guards secured the grounds, making sure no one entered unauthorized areas that were none of his business.

"You wanted to lose?" he dug deeper.

"Believe me, it was not easy. Maybe we should practice that sometime during training – to lose without it seeming like it," she added as she turned into another hallway. Kurt followed her.

"Why exactly did you want to lose?"

"That was Sylvain de la Pailleterie," she replied as if that would answer his question. Then she turned left and went through another door that she left open behind her.

"To remember the names of the other nobles is not part of my duties," he objected.

Only then did he notice that they had not turned into another corridor, but into her room. To the left of the door was a closet with white colored wood and gilded decorations. On the wall next to it was a fireplace in the middle, in front of which two armchairs stood. Between two windows stood a large bed, probably more than twice as wide as the one of the soldier. The wood was also white and dark blue curtains were tied to the posts with neat bows. On the right wall was a table with several drawers and a mirror, to the left was another chest of drawers and to the right of it a partition. Kurt knew it from the training room – since Amalia also wanted to do some exercises in her dress, she changed behind it. Amal had gone over to the table with the many drawers and took out bandages before she gave Kurt an amused look.

"You could listen to us now and then. His name was mentioned more than once during training. Emile has had a crush on him for weeks," she said before she walked over to the washbowl that stood on a sideboard, poured water in and began to clean her wound. Her movements seemed a bit clumsy, which was hardly surprising given that she was right-handed and had to work with her left hand right away.

"And how exactly does it help Emile if this Sylvain wins a duel against you?" he asked.

"Sylvain is not taken seriously, yet he is a really nice boy. It was not easy to twist the words in his mouth in such a way that I could turn them into an insult to me," she replied, without looking up from her arm, which she carefully dabbed dry.

"Now he belongs to the handful of people who have won a duel against Amalia d'Orsay. This should at least increase his prestige among some of them – and then Emile might be able to have a conversation with him at times without someone interrupting them with mockery against Sylvain," she added as she walked back to the table on which she had placed bandages.

"In the past, you would have challenged the others, not Emile's chosen one," the Guardsman objected.

"I know. But that often made them even more of a laughing stock. I thought this way it would help Sylvain more," she replied, and a scent of herbs filled the air as she soaked the compress with a tincture that would prevent infection of the wound.

The soldier crossed his arms. She had accepted humiliation, thus making someone else look better who meant a lot to one of her cousins. When he thought back to the impetuous twelve-year-old who had been introduced to him ten years ago, she had come a long way.

"It almost sounds like you're growing up," he said. Amal, who had just tried to put a bandage on her arm, but had not gotten very far with it, raised her eyes.

"Kurt, I am twenty-two, that is generally considered to have been grown up for two years," she objected.

"Just keep telling yourself that," the soldier objected. He did not have to praise her too obviously, she was self-confident enough already.

In response, her smile widened to a grin and for a moment she just looked at him. It was probably thanks to this moment of silence that they could hear the rapidly approaching, energetic steps in the corridor. Suddenly her face lost its mischievous expression. It almost seemed as if she was getting paler as she muttered, "And here we go."

A blink of an eye later, Princess Josette d'Orsay was standing in the doorway.

"How dare you!" she began and stepped up to her niece, who rose.

"I was only defending my honor," she objected, but her voice sounded less self-assured than the guard was used to.

"Defended? You have lost! On your birthday! Against the de la Pailleterie boy!", her aunt berated her.

"I know – and Kurt has already torn a strip off me" lied Amal, which came across as so slick that the soldier would have believed her if he hadn't known it wasn't true.

Thereupon the princess turned around and flashed at the master of arms.

"After such a demonstration, I wonder what we paid you for all these years," she said to him.

"It is not his fault," Amal immediately intervened, and this time her voice was firmer than before.

"I wanted to lose," she added.

"You ... what?", her aunt seemed too stunned to be brusque for a moment.

She turned back to her niece.

"Why on earth did you want to lose?" she demanded to know. Apparently, she had already recovered from the surprise, for her voice sounded just as if she doubted the mental health of her ward.

Amal's gaze wandered to her feet, but she could not see them under her dress. Then she raised her gaze again: "I hate the dress you have chosen for me and wanted an excuse to change."

"You hate the ... so find another one next time! Spill a little white sparkling wine, at least it will not ruin it!" demanded the princess.

The young woman obviously tried hard to hold her aunt's gaze, but slowly redness crept into her cheeks. It wasn't the first time Kurt had seen her like that, but the last time was nearly half a dozen years ago. It had been in training at the time and Amal had contradicted his corrections with flimsy claims. In response, the soldier had made it very clear that he knew what he was talking about and that she should save her lies for court.

"That would have been much more boring," his student argued.

"Boring? This whole celebration is for you and you dare to be bored? Others would consider themselves lucky!" her aunt shouted at her, whereupon her niece lowered her gaze again. As if she would admit defeat. Something that Kurt had hardly ever witnessed.

The young woman sat down on the stool and reached for the bandage without looking at her guardian any further. But every time she tried to begin to bandage her arm, the cloth slipped down again and fell into her lap.

"You are impossible! Kurt, take care of it. And then you will see to it that she does not start another ridiculous fight for the rest of the evening," the princess turned to the guard.

Amal's head jerked up and she threw an angry look at her aunt.

"That is not part of his duties," objected his student. Perhaps she wanted to make it sound vehement – but it seemed rather powerless to the soldier.

Josette d'Orsay coolly returned her niece's look and replied, "He will do whatever he is paid to do."

With these words she turned away and left the room just as quickly as she had come.

Amal had looked at her aunt for a moment before she looked down again. Kurt had not seen her so ashamed since she had been a teenager. Her cheeks were almost fire-red and her shoulders slumped forward. Finally, with her left hand, she collected the bandages, stood up and stepped towards her teacher. Wordlessly she held out the bandage and the compress to him.

"Let's go over there," he said, pointing to the two chairs that stood in front of the fireplace.

She followed him silently, let herself sink onto one of the chairs and bedded part of her forearm on the armrest of the chair so that it would not slip. The mercenary sat down opposite her, put the compress with the soaked side on her wound and began to apply the bandage.

"I am sorry that you got into trouble because of me," she said, as he circled her arm with the bandage for the third time.

"And that you were condemned to play nursemaid. That is really beneath you."

For a moment he was tempted to answer that the princess was right – he was paid to be here. But Amal was also right: making sure that none of them did anything stupid was not really part of his job. After all, the motto of the Guard was 'Fight with honor' and not 'Watch out for nobles who do not obey silly rules'.

"I only have to play nanny if you act like a child. And you've already proven today that you are not necessarily one anymore," he argued, while he wrapped the bandage around her arm one last time and knotted the two ends together.

Amal opened and closed her hand tentatively before she raised her eyes.

"Then I will do my best not to disappoint you," she said.

"And now ... I guess I should change," she added, looking down at herself. Only now did Kurt notice that her dress had gotten a few drops of blood on it.

"Will you wait for me for a moment?" she wanted to know as she stood up and went over to the closet.

"Didn't think there was any danger of you doing anything rash in the corridors," he countered as he too got up and walked toward the door, but stopped there and looked at her.

"I...", she began, but then she broke off and her gaze wandered to the floor as if she could find the right answer there.

Months could pass in which Amalia d'Orsay was never at a loss for words. To see her in such a situation twice in one day was a rarity.

"I will wait for you outside the door," he replied. Then he nodded at her and left her room.

Chapter Text

Today

"And a princess is... what again?" the very one wanted to know, while walking next to Emile. The accent that resonated in her words seemed as if someone had tried to draw a circle that was more like a square with very round corners.

"The daughter of a king or queen. The princess becomes queen when both her parents have died," Emile explained patiently.

They had picked up Síora at her village. After exchanging the usual pleasantries with her and her people and inquiring about their condition, the ambassador had again asked to be allowed to visit the ruins in her presence. And as so often happens, once her younger cousin had begun to make a request, it had been impossible to refuse him. Eksel – Síora's sister – had stayed behind, but had urged them that this would be the only opportunity they would be given.

"And your cousin is a prince. So his parents are... king and queen?" the young woman inquired.

Amalia had to grin a little. This matter was a little more complex than Síora assumed. The noblewoman glanced at Kurt, who was walking behind the two of them, which he returned briefly before going back to examining the surroundings. As always, when they were on the way. And as always when he did that, she immediately felt a bit safer even if she hadn't had the impression of being in danger before.

"No. His parents are also prince and princess. The Congregation of Merchants is governed from a council of five. Each of them is a prince or princess, as well as any direct relatives of theirs," the ambassador replied.

"Then... aren't you a prince and princess?" the young woman wanted to know, glancing briefly over her shoulder in the direction of the nobles.

"Strictly speaking, yes, but for the sake of simplicity, only first-degree relatives are addressed by that title, that is, children and siblings," the latter replied.

Síora's dark blond eyebrows drew together a little as she looked again at Emile, who was still walking beside her.

"You have such complicated rules..." she finally commented.

Kurt let out a soft snort, but when Amalia looked to him this time, he seemed to be busy letting his eyes wander over the undergrowth.

"They are not entirely easy. How is the matter settled among your people?" the ambassador inquired.

"We have a mál. He or she leads the tribe when it comes to war. Then there is a doneigad. He or she consults with the mál and is responsible for speaking with the spirits of the island," Síora replied.

"So you have a secular leader and a spiritual leader," Emile concluded.

"Secular?" echoed the princess.

Amalia's cousin began to explain the differences between the two types of leaders, but the noblewoman did not listen to him any further.

"You just sounded like you agreed with her," the legate said softly, addressing the guardsman.

He turned his face to her for a moment, but then looked straight ahead again and shrugged.

"You have a lot of rules at court, very few of them make sense," he returned.

"I agree," she joined him.

Again he glanced at her and this time a smirk played around his lips.

"I noticed."

"Glad to hear I have not been just your most difficult student," she replied, grinning.

"Never said you've been the most difficult," he countered.

At that, she tilted her head a little.

"Did you not say at the ball back then that I was the one who complained the most?" she followed up.

"I did. But you learned faster than most, so you were a complaining student, but not a bad one," he explained.

She raised her eyebrows slightly, unsure if she could take that as a compliment.

But before she had finished thinking about it, they passed under the remains of a brick archway that looked distantly familiar to Amalia. As they stepped into the clearing beyond, she recognized the scene. Not only because of the dark patches where some of the Bridge Alliance shells had scorched the grass, but also by the remains of the barricades. The bodies had also disappeared by now.

Amalia's gaze wandered over the structures that rose in the distance. The masonry was smooth where it was still intact. The stones had been carved and were much better finished than those she had seen in the village of the Red Spears. In addition, these ruins had window openings. Some window lintels were even curved in the shape of an arch – the huts of Síora's people had no windows at all.

"Do you know who once built these buildings?" Emile wanted to know, looking from the ruins in front of them to the princess.

Their group continued to move toward the hill where most of the remains of the buildings stood. They rose into the sky like broken teeth, even though they barely towered over the trees surrounding them.

"I only know the legend of did e kíden nádaigeis. They were people who came from the sea. They started cutting trees, cutting stones and building houses. But they did not only take what they needed. They destroyed everything that was in their way," the princess replied. Her voice had become flatter. Emile and Amalia exchanged a glance, then both halted to give Síora time to speak.

"These people were evil. Their warriors killed so many that even their own people were afraid of them," the young woman continued. Although she herself had said that she had not been there at the time – indeed, she might not even have been born – she sounded as if it pained her to tell the story. At the same time, she seemed as if it was necessary, almost like a kind of purification.

"They built a terrible city here, spitting out clouds of ash and death...like a dying volcano. Our kings and queens were desperate. They went to the heart of the island and the island heard them. From the woods came the first Guardian. He was taller than a city and with every step he shattered a dwelling. It was a Guardian of Rage and the city could not hold up to it."

Although it was clear that these people had done terrible things to Síora's people, Amalia could not help but think that there was also something like sadness in the princess's voice. Did she regret the dead of the conquerors?

"Since that day, the Earth answers our call for magic, and in return we become ol menawí... We keep the pact that our kings and queens once made," she finally said, and only then did she look from the ruins to the others again.

"This is a most sad story. I am sorry that your people have suffered so much," Emile replied, bowing his head.

"It sounds anything but good. Both the thing with the city and those... Guardians. Do they still exist?" inquired Amalia.

Síora nodded.

"Yes. But they are now guarding places on this island. So far, none of them have attacked the lions," replied the princess.

"I hope we never do anything to anger such a Guardian," the noblewoman commented.

"Who do you think those people were?" she turned to her cousin.

The latter swayed his head slightly, "Perhaps they came from the continent. Some of the islands around the continent were eventually conquered by the great nations as well. I doubt that any of the peoples living there would have made it here."

"What do you think?" she wanted to know, looking to Kurt.

The mercenary raised his shoulders, "I don't know. Whoever they were – they certainly weren't here to make peaceful contact."

"What about Algerm? Could it be that they fought that war of conquest a hundred and fifty years ago, not just on the continent?" she echoed.

The guardsman's gaze wandered from her eyes to the ruins. But finally he looked back at her and repeated the gesture.

"I can hardly imagine that."

"Did you have ships then?" she wanted to know.

"I don't know. You certainly learned more about Algerm in your classes than I did," he countered, his voice seeming to darken a shade.

"Then at least you were not wasting your time with meaningless historical facts," she replied, shrugging slightly.

Then Amalia looked to the ruins before them. "Maybe we can discover something," she finally said and started to move. The others followed her.

As they approached, the noblewoman noticed that rotten wood adorned the window openings – that was probably all that was left of the window frames.

"This looks... like back home," murmured Emile next to her, who had also approached one of the walls. She nodded. Most of the houses in Sérène and the other towns were at least a few dozen years old. Others, like the palace they had grown up in, were even over three hundred years old. And as far as she could tell from this ruin, it certainly resembled some of the grand buildings of the Congregation. In any case, it was more similar to the buildings on the continent than to the huts of the islanders. These had no windows at all, and wood only at the doors. They were also round and small – these buildings here had had several stories before they had fallen to the Guardian's fury.

"Let's see if we can find any clues as to who has been here," Amalia finally said, nodding at him.

Chapter Text

Today

They rummaged through the lower rooms of the ruins, which were still reasonably safe to enter. They found destroyed tables, overturned chairs and shelves. Now and then there was a cracking sound under their boots as they walked through the remains of earthenware. But there was something else Amalia didn't see.

"I would have thought there would still be bodies here, or at least the remains of them," she said, letting her gaze wander around the room. Shards of glass glittered among the sand and leaves on the floor not far from the windows. A table had been pushed into the corner, a few chairs stood around it, and there had once been shelves against the wall, but they had long since collapsed to the floor. Whether they had done so in the attack of the Guardian that Síora had told about, or whether they had simply fallen to the ravages of time, it was no longer possible to say.

"You'd better be glad. It's been a long time, but it's still not a pretty sight," Kurt said, trudging through the ruins behind them.

"I am not exactly fond of it, either. I just find it remarkable," she replied.

"My people buried the fallen. There used to be a field stretching out behind the city. That's where they were buried," the princess explained.

Amalia glanced at her.

"That was... very kind of your ancestors. I am not sure the Congregation would do such a thing," the noblewoman replied.

"It's better than risking the spread of a plague," the mercenary objected. At the same time, his voice remained relatively matter-of-fact, as if he had just been talking about his favorite weapon oil. The young woman let her gaze wander to the soldier, who returned it a moment later.

"You... have already done something like that," she surmised, trying at the same time to imagine what it must have been like to dig a grave for fallen enemies.

The guardsman nodded tersely before letting his gaze continue to wander around the room. For a moment, she didn't know what to say in response.

"I cannot even begin to imagine what that must have been like for you. I am sorry," she finally said.

Kurt looked at her again and raised his shoulders, "It's been a long time."

"That hardly means I have to be indifferent to what you went through," she countered.

This time it was the soldier who remained silent for a moment. Then he inclined his head slightly.

"Síora, do you know if your people buried the dead with all their belongings back then?" she inquired, looking to the other young woman as they stepped back outside and headed toward another dilapidated house facing them diagonally.

"Of course!" the latter immediately replied. "We're not... what do you call people who steal from the dead in your language?" she wanted to know, and at the question the indignation drained a little from her voice, but not from her face.

"Vultures," Kurt answered.

"That... is a term for it," Emile commented, walking alongside the guardsman.

"We are not vultures," Síora finally finished her sentence.

"I was not implying that, Princess," Amalia countered before stepping through the doorway into the dim light of the ruin. She stopped after a few steps to get used to the dimness.

"But if they had taken something from them, it might save us from having to dig for it," the ambassador mused.

"You do not want to...Malia, you cannot!" her cousin objected.

"Only if we do not find anything," she replied. Amalia wasn't exactly eager to dig for dead bodies. They wouldn't be the first bodies she'd see, but certainly the first that were over a dozen years old.

"And what is... a corpse supposed to tell you? By that time, have the clothes not decomposed?" objected Emile.

"Possibly. At the very least, it's unlikely you'll be so lucky as to stumble across crests," Kurt pointed out. His uniform, like that of all guardsmen in the service of one of the three great nations, displayed the respective coat of arms. That of the Congregation was a white shield, pointed at the bottom and horizontal at the top. On it was an inverted, dark blue V, on which were a total of five golden dots, one at the top, the other four evenly distributed on each leg of the V. They represented coins and, at the same time, the five members on the Council of Princes, which had governed the Congregation for centuries.

"Probably. But if there was someone who used a seal, it should still be intact," the noblewoman indicated, raising her left hand. Even if the signet ring she wore there on her index finger was currently covered by the glove.

"But this should only be a last resort," she finally countered.

"Which I hope we will not need," Emile replied.

***

In fact, the inspection of the lower rooms revealed nothing. Finally, they left the last house and let their eyes wander over the ruins.

When Amalia looked to Emile, he was already looking at her, "I still object to us searching for bodies."

"I thought so," she replied, before looking back to the walls again. Her gaze lingered on the remains of a house that had been built further into the center of the former settlement. It had probably once had three floors, but the top one was only remembered by the barren remains of a wall that stretched lonely towards the sky. But the floor below was still partially intact.

"Then we continue to search here," she said, stepping toward the house.

"We have already been there," Emile objected.

"Not the upper floor," she objected, stepping toward the wall. The part with the stairs had also collapsed, but if she tried hard, she could climb the stonework.

"Malia, you are not thinking of..." her cousin began, but he was drowned out by Kurt, "No way."

She looked back at the other three. Síora merely frowned and let her gaze wander back and forth between the noble and the building. Emile looked worried and the soldier... Well, he didn't look enthusiastic, at least.

"We have not found anything. It is possible that the Bridge Alliance looted everything. But maybe they have not been up there," the noblewoman explained.

"More likely, you'll break your neck trying to get up there," the guardsman countered.

Amalia allowed herself a grin, "Sounds like you are worried about me after all."

"I'll never find another job if one of my charges breaks their neck out of wantonness," Kurt objected.

"As if most nobles were not convinced that everyone else is behaving irresponsibly anyway" she countered. Then she turned back to the brickwork. "Besides, we have Emile with us. Nothing will happen to me," she added before placing her hand on the first stone. The mercenary let out a grumble, but kept it at that.

She focused on the stones leading up. At first it was like a staircase, later it turned into more of a ladder. At one point, one of the bricks broke away from under her foot. "Malia!" sounded Emile's worried voice from further down, but she clung with her hands to those above her and quickly regained her footing. Getting to the second floor nevertheless took longer than she had expected. However, climbing had not been part of her training in recent years. And in the case of the palace wall, which they had sometimes crossed for their unauthorized excursions into the city, they had always used a rope to help them.

At last she reached the second floor. She held onto the wall and carefully tested each floorboard with her foot before stepping on it. Slowly – the further she got away from the splintered edges, the more confident she became. Again, there were no bodies and very little furniture. But she spotted a chest. It was dusty, and the metal fittings and lock were rusty. Nevertheless, the chest reminded her of the one in which her uncle kept his documents. Amalia crouched down in front of it and took out a lock pick. A small pocket was sewn into all her boots, in which she kept the lock picks. Bags could be forgotten, frock coats and vests left lying around. She had never lost or forgotten her boots.

***

But no matter how hard she tried, the lock would not open. She had rubbed it with some lamp oil and then carefully inserted her lock pick. But nothing happened. The first lock pick had broken off, the second one was bent... something like that had not happened to her for a long time. Amalia stared at the rusty hanger, which seemed to mock her.

"Malia?" a concerned call rang out from below.

"I am here!" she shouted back. Then she rose and carefully moved back along the wall a little way to the edge of the floor. She saw the other three standing diagonally below her. Her cousin looked worried, though she could tell he was trying not to let it show too much. Too often, after all, she told him herself not to worry. Kurt's expression looked as if he had just picked her up in a tavern on an unauthorized trip. Only Síora looked her way with curiosity.

"I found a chest, but the lock is rusted. It will not open," she reported.

"Then come back down!" the soldier shouted.

"But not when a few answers are so close," she countered, grinning, at which Kurt raised his eyes to the sky and shook his head.

"I'm sure the answers aren't worth breaking your neck for," he objected, and her smile widened. Somehow, she felt warm around the pit of her stomach – yet she wasn't afraid of heights at all.

"Malia, he is right," Emile now agreed.

"Nothing will happen to me. You know that I am good at climbing," she countenanced, giving her cousin her most reassuring smile.

"What if the ground caves in? And then more of the ruin? You could fall and hurt yourself! I might not be able to catch you then!" he indicated, taking a step in her direction. Which didn't help much, after all, there were still a few feet separating them.

"Injuries from this height are often not that serious," she objected. And somehow she couldn't imagine falling in and Emile not being able to catch her with his magic then.

"Unless you fall stupidly," the soldier countered.

Now it was her turn to roll her eyes. As if that would happen. However, it gave her an idea.

"I will be right down!" she replied, then made her way back to the chest. She stepped carefully around it so that she could push the chest along the wall. When she reached the first corner, it took her a while to maneuver the chest around it, but eventually she approached the splintered edge of the floorboards.

"What are you going to do?" the guardsman called out.

"Throwing the chest down. That should open it," the legate explained.

"More likely destroy it. Green Blood, Princess, take a few steps back," he instructed the other two.

"Malia, be careful," she heard Emile call, but Síora and he did as they were told.

Once they had stopped to a safe distance, Amalia knelt behind the crate again and pushed it over the edge. A rumbling and crashing sound could be heard, and when she glanced down, she saw that the chest had remained largely intact.

"See – not enough damage from the fall," she commented, looking to the others who were now walking back toward the chest.

"Doesn't mean it ends this smoothly every time," the mercenary objected, stepping up to the chest. He pulled it a few steps away from the masonry before craning his neck slightly and looking at her, "Come down."

"But I am not done here at all," she objected, though somehow it was harder for her than usual.

The mercenary shook his head, then dropped to one knee in front of the box and drew a dagger. Without further ado, he struck the lock a few times with the pommel of the weapon. The banging as metal clashed against metal echoed unpleasantly in her ears and seemed to shatter the silence of the forest, but after the third time it faded away. A scraping sound rang out and then the guardsman flipped open the chest.

"Malia, will you please come down?" sounded Emile's voice, and only now did she notice that he had also approached Kurt, but unlike the soldier, paid no attention to the contents of the chest. And as so often, she couldn't go against her cousin's request. So she climbed down again. This time she tested each step twice before setting foot on it. It wasn't long before she had solid ground under her feet again. Her cousin rushed up to her and hugged her instantly.

"All is well," she said softly, putting her arms around him.

"I know," he said with a sigh as he broke away from her, but held her by the shoulders a moment longer. The warmth radiating from his brown eyes made her feel a sharp sting behind her forehead. He had been worried every single moment she had been up there.

"Let us go and see what we found," she said, looking over at the crate that Síora and Kurt were standing next to. Unlike her cousin, the mercenary's look was a touch reproachful, which only added to her guilty conscience. Still, he said nothing more about it, but pointed to the open chest, "Looks like you were successful."

She followed the gesture and knelt in front of the chest: Books, scrolls and letters lay shuffled around wildly inside.

Emile reached in and retrieved a few of the letters from it, while Amalia picked up one of the books.

"What is this?" asked Síora, approaching them.

"Records of resources and expenditures. For the entire base, if I have it right," the noblewoman answered, showing the princess the pages on which there were tables. The first column was always filled, but the following ones were not always. They looked similar to the inventory lists that Amalia had regularly gone through on the continent with the administrator of the d'Orsay family. Not one of her favorite activities, but since she had come of age she had been the heiress to her parents' fortune, which included properties and estates as well as a considerable sum of money and valuables.

"What's that good for?" the princess asked.

"It helps us keep track of what costs how much. And whether we have enough supplies for the winter, for example. And how much money we have left," Amalia explained.

"Our people didn't know money until the lion ships arrived. It is a strange invention," Síora replied.

The ambassador smiled. This thought had occurred to her a few times during some of the meetings with Monsieur Hugo – when she had had to decide whether to hire or fire workers from estates she visited at most once a year, if at all. Even today, it felt strange to decide on the lives of people she didn't know. Which was why she had been all the more excited about the trip to Teer Fradee – now Monsieur Hugo was taking care of everything on her behalf and she could focus on other things. Even if her assignment as ambassador could sometimes have more far-reaching consequences than decisions about her estates. But Amalia didn't worry about that most of the time.

"As a member of the Congregation, I am not really allowed to agree with you – but you are right. Giving all things, and sometimes people, a value in gold is not the best idea we have ever had," she admitted.

"Malia...", Emile spoke up, his voice sounding like he had to take a running start to say her name. He was still kneeling next to the chest, but now he looked up at her and handed her a few of the letters.

"Look at the seals," he said quietly as he took more documents from the chest.

She took the papers from him and turned them, so that she could study the wax seal that was on the edges of the envelopes. It showed a circle with a V inside it. And on it, seven circles. One at the angle, the other six evenly distributed on the thighs.

"This..." she looked up and glanced at Emile. In his brown eyes was the same concern she felt at that moment.

Then she continued to look at Kurt, who was standing a few steps away, keeping an eye on their surroundings. Then he turned to them and when he noticed her gaze, a questioning expression crossed his. She looked at the crest on his right breast. An inverted V with five circles.

"That is the seal of the old council," she finally said, and suddenly there was a pressure on her ears and a burning behind her forehead. Her vision blurred for a moment as the meaning of that seeped through to her. When it cleared, she saw that Emile had stood up. He looked at the other young woman and opened his mouth, but Amalia wouldn't let him get a word in edgewise, "They sent us here – knowing that we have been here before!"

She shook her head and turned around. Her feet carried her away with difficulty. Emile said something behind her, in a quieter voice. The word 'apology' came up – or maybe Amalia just believed it, because that was exactly what they were supposed to do. Even if it wasn't enough. The way Síora had described the conquerors, her people had had every reason to chase them off the island with these creatures. The noblewoman staggered around the corner of another building, but after a few steps she stopped. Where did she think she was going? What was she supposed to do? She felt like she couldn't take all the breath she needed, and her breathing was coming in short bursts. The young woman spun around, again and again, as if she could find an answer to this whole farce that the assignment of her cousins and her obviously was. Her gaze flew over the ruins that surrounded her. Houses destroyed by a Guardian because their inhabitants had been too greedy. Because the Congregation had been too greedy. Memories rushed to the surface, of the voices of other nobles at court, back in Sérene. How they discussed profits and losses, with a cool tone of voice, as if it was none of their business that human lives also hung in the balance. Her uncle had known about it. More than that, Aunt Valerie had known. For sure. Constantin's father had never kept secrets from his sister. An angry scream escaped Amalia's throat and she slammed her fist against the nearest wall. Pain jerked through her arm and up into her shoulder, but at least it was real. If so much else wasn't. Aunt Valerie... Emile's resemblance to Síora....

Her hand went back and she wanted to slam it against the wall again, if only to numb the thoughts rising with the pain, but she didn't get to because someone was holding her arm and her impulse was distracted by it.

"Easy," a dark voice said as she darted around to face him, having followed the movement of her hand that he had successfully deflected away from wall.

She blinked, and only then did she recognize Kurt.

"If you want to fight, we can do so in a practice fight if you like. But if you keep hitting the bricks like they have a face, you'll hurt yourself," he added. His tone was almost a little teasing, but his expression was serious as he eyed her.

Slowly, she lowered her hand. But she did not let go of the mercenary's arm.

"It was the Congregation that came here all those years ago," she finally brought out. "And they sent us here without telling us!"

"Are you sure your guardians knew about this?" the guardsman inquired.

A bitter laugh escaped her throat.

"House d'Orsay has had a seat on the Council for over two hundred years. The old council was abolished seventy years ago. I will bet you anything that the documents are not two hundred years old," she countered.

"You know better than I that deceptions are commonplace with the Congregation..." he began, but she didn't let him finish, "Exactly! They have deceived us. Not only Constantin's parents! Aunt Valerie, too! Or do you think it's a coincidence that Emile and Síora …"

Amalia broke off. She didn't want to say it out loud. For she sensed that then a trapdoor would open in her innermost being, where one of her dearest people would disappear into bottomless darkness – out of her own life, in which she had always assumed him to be a sure constant. Into a life for which he had actually been destined. At that moment, the princess and the ambassador turned the corner of the house and headed towards them.

"I have asked Síora to forgive the actions of our ancestors. Even if that is not enough," the legate explained.

"Your ancestors may have brought violence to this island, but so far the new Congregation has done nothing to my people," the latter objected.

"I would not be so sure," Amalia countered.

"What do you mean?" the other young woman wanted to know.

The noblewoman raised her shoulders slightly, "They had some kind of plan when they sent us here. I am just not sure which one."

"That may be. Or they may not have known about it at all," Emile objected.

Amalia rolled her eyes.

"Kurt said that, too. But an undertaking of this magnitude – which house should have done such a thing?" she objected.

"Le Plessis? De la Porte? Maybe they never told us in class all the reasons why they were expelled from the Congregation," he countered.

She looked at her cousin. His dark brown hair reached just above his ears and was carefully trimmed. It was the same color as his full beard, with which he hid most of the green mark that linked Síora and him. His eyes were only a few shades darker than his hair. But probably his look would not have been less warm even if his eyes had been steel gray like Kurt's. Only now did she notice that she was still clutching the mercenary's upper arm.

"Sorry," she murmured, glancing at him.

"No harm done," he replied, but by then she had already looked back at Emile.

"Fine. We do as you do and assume the best, as always," she finally relented, even if she heard herself how unconvinced she sounded in doing so. Still, she saw a smile instantly settle on her cousin's features.

"Thank you, Malia," he reached for her hand briefly and squeezed it.

"And now – shall we return?" she inquired.

"We should continue the investigation and pack up the documents," he replied.

"Thus we can show them to Constantin?"

Emile made a slight movement to the side with his head, "And thus no one else can find them. Until we are certain what happened back then and, above all, which houses were involved, it is important that we keep this discovery to ourselves."

Chapter Text

Today

The day had dragged on. Emile and Amalia had left shortly after sunrise. They had said goodbye only briefly, but the way to the princess's village took almost two hours. And from there they still had to get to those ruins. And although Constantin knew that it was possible that his two relatives would not return until the following day, his gaze wandered out of one of the high windows of his residence once and again. When he caught himself doing this for what felt like the tenth time, he tried to avoid it. Time would not pass faster and the two would not return more quickly just because he kept looking out for them.

At least Kurt was with them. Their former master of arms had also been their bodyguard for a little over twelve years and had always been at the side of the three of them. Only now and then had the Guard asked for his assistance on missions. Then someone else had taken his place. The soldier had always returned and taken over his duties again. He would also now bring the other two back safely. But despite the reassuring fact that the guardsman was with his two relatives, Constantin could not help feeling a slight worry until evening. He had had conversations with ambassadors from the other two nations, and in between even Captain Vasco and the admiral of the Nauts – a woman a good head shorter than her subordinate – had dropped by. But Constantin had not been able to help them. The situation had been different for a noble of the Congregation. This certain nobleman had wanted to reopen a quarry – which the locals had supposedly declared unsafe. Well, maybe Constantin hadn't helped him exactly, but after consulting with Lady de Morange – his predecessor – and seeing the papers on the matter, he had decided not to authorize this venture. Síora's people – for lack of a better term, that's what he was currently calling them – were opposed by the Bridge Alliance, and the Thélèmers were certainly trying to convert them. The Congregation should present itself as a friend to them – violations of agreements would not help. The nobleman had departed in a huff after the governor had reminded him that the House d'Orsay bore the coat of arms of the Congregation – as did all members of the council. The smaller houses had their own seal, which included the symbol of the Council of Princes, but it was very small at the top of the seal. People who could move up to the Council – like Emile and Amalia, and more recently Constantine himself – kept a two-part seal. One half was reserved for that of their house, the other for that of the Council of Princes. The regent remembered only too well the moment when his father had entrusted him with the seal of the Congregation:

Constantin waited until the servant who had led him to his father's writing room had departed. Prince Pascal d'Orsay wore a white tunic and over it a dark blue vest with gold buttons. The trousers were of the same color as the vest. Except for the brown soft leather of which the Prince's shoes had been made, he was completely dressed in the colors of the Congregation. The regent sat in a high-backed armchair, with his back facing the window. Nevertheless, the furniture was arranged so that enough light fell on the paper in the hand of Constantin's father. The young noble turned away and approached one of the shelves. Thanks to his lessons with Sir de Courcillon, he knew most of the books on it. His eyes fell on two volumes bound in dark brown leather. They looked old and he could not remember ever holding them in his hand. He looked over his shoulder, but his father made no motion to take notice of his son's presence, so Constantin pulled out the first of the two volumes. "Secrets of the Wide Sea," it said on the first page, and as he turned the pages further, he saw a fine, curved script and occasional pictograms, like drawings. One showed a wheel with many struts – which went beyond and were of a round shape. The whole thing was connected to some sort of contraption made of wood and ropes that led along below it to a piece of wood that stood vertically, but was much lower than the wheel. He wondered what it was supposed to represent. Who would need such a device? And for what purpose?

"Constantin," his father's voice snapped him out of his contemplations. The young noble did not flinch – he had gotten out of the habit of doing so more than a decade ago, but the impulse to do so was still there. Quickly, but still careful not to damage any of the other books, he put the volume back and turned to his father. His hair – a little darker than Constantin's, but not reaching the brown of Malia's and certainly not that strong, dark brown tone of Emile's – shone in the sunlight that fell through the high windows in his father's back. The regent's light brown eyes wandered back to the shelf for a moment before he looked at his son again.

"The seafaring books are a legacy from my grandfather. He had ambitions, but they failed. In the end, no one can match the Nauts and their magic," he explained, as if he had seen his heir's question clearly on his face. The latter tried to continue holding up the gaze.

"That is why we still rely on them," the prince continued, rising. He stepped around the massive desk and picked up a ring that had been lying in a small bowl.

"You will leave tomorrow and you will assume your duties on Teer Fradee. The council agrees that you are now a full envoy of the Congregation. Therefore, you will receive this ring. It is a token of the trust we place in you. Never lose it. Never lend it out. Not even for a moment. To no one," the regent continued, holding the gem between them at chest level. It almost seemed to Constantin that his father was handling it like a weapon. A weapon he was as proficient with as Kurt was with his longsword.

"Surely you do not mean Amalia and Emile thereby," Constantin countered, holding his hand out to him, but his father did not drop the ring into it. Instead, his eyes narrowed at his son's statement. "Both of them have their own seals that already distinguish them as ambassadors of the Council. This is the seal of a regent. Only you may wield it. Even if you should be ill, you will leave it to no one else."

"Father, no one is more loyal than Emile and Amali..." he began, but the prince did not let him finish, "We often hope to trust those to whom we are attached to. It is not for nothing that the weddings of the high houses of the Congregation are carefully planned. But those who are bound to us by blood can disappoint us the most. And those we trust most need only a very short blade to stab us in the back."

The regent's gaze was piercing, his voice lacking any kindness. In and of itself, this was nothing unusual, but Constantin had never heard his father speak of his cousins in this way.

"Emile and Amalia have proved themselves often enough," he countered.

"That may be, and especially Emile's loyalty I do not doubt. So far. But even your shared past may not prevent them from disappointing you. Or deceiving you to gain an advantage for themselves," he countered. Only at the last words did the prince avert his gaze and let it wander to the painting on his left. It showed Constantin's grandparents with their three children: Pascal, Valerie and Armand. The parents were standing behind their children. Their mother, who also came from the d'Orsay line and had held a seat on the council at the time, had placed a hand on Pascal's shoulder. Still, her light hair stood out clearly against the darker ones of her children, who outwardly seemed to take more after their father. Only the look from the eyes of the prospective prince and that of the reigning princess was the same: Determined and implacable. Valerie looked as if she was struggling to keep up in seriousness with her older brother, while Armand – the youngest of the three, with eight years separating Pascal and him, but only three years younger than his sister – already showed an almost pensive expression. Almost as if his thoughts were not with the family in the picture at all, but somewhere else entirely.

"I am sure he meant you no harm when he married her," Constantin objected softly.

His father's gaze shot back to him like a bullet. "The d'Anjous have not come so close to a seat on the council in two hundred and fifty years as they did by this marriage!" he retorted. "He should never have gotten away with such a thing," the regent muttered, shaking his head slightly.

Constantin knew that his uncle had married Adaliz d'Anjou, a low noblewoman, against the plans his brother and mother, who had been alive at the time, had made for him. But Armand had managed to find enough credible witnesses to the marriage. This story was always told behind closed doors at hunts and balls when the court stories of the recent past were no longer any good. It was said that Armand had been much gentler than his brother Pascal and also than his sister Valerie. And much more cheerful. Neither was hard to imagine – compared to Pascal d'Orsay, even Kurt was a source of cheerfulness on his taciturn days.

"Be that as it may – you will never give up this ring," his father inculcated him again.

"You have my word," Constantin replied, bowing his head slightly. At last his father dropped the jewel into his heir's hand.

"Do not disappoint us," added the prince. It was not a question that resonated in his voice.

"I will not, father."

The regent's gaze had wandered out the window for a moment before he looked once more at his son. "That remains to be seen."

He had then dismissed Constantin. Emile and Malia had found their cousin shortly thereafter. Emile had noticed all too quickly his cousin's gloomy mood. As soon as they had heard that he had spoken to his father alone, Amalia had suggested that they spend the evening in a tavern. Constantin had been only too happy to join. Which made him think that Malia and he had been kidnapped then. After all, Emile and she wouldn't....

He shook his head, and at that very moment the door to his writing room, where he had by now retreated, opened. Constantin had written down the events of the day. Lady de Morange had recommended this procedure to him. It kept track of who one had talked to about what, and according to her, it sometimes made things clearer.

"Your Excellency, please excuse...," his valet Ernestin got no further, for Amalia stepped past him, followed by Emile, Síora and Kurt.

"He can see that we are here, right?" she said, her tone sounding more harsh than her cousin was used to.

"You are back safe and sound," Constantin noted with relief, rising. His gaze wandered to the window. The sun was just setting.

"Depending on how you look at it," Amalia replied, and her eyes wandered briefly to Emile, but he stepped past her and toward the regent. They embraced each other, and when they broke away from each other, Amalia also approached her older cousin to hug him. But even after that, she hardly seemed more relaxed.

"We are unharmed, but we have much to talk about," Emile assured him before Constantin had a chance to ask the question.

"Then we will do that. At your place. I have not been out of the palace all day," the prince replied, nodding to him.

"Princess, I thank you and your people for giving my relatives the opportunity for this investigation," he addressed her.

The native bowed her head slightly. It was not quite as graceful as most at court did, but still there was a determination inherent in this simple gesture that could easily rival that of Malia when the latter had set her mind to something.

"You have asked and respected our customs," replied the princess. Her dialect was downright delightful. She lengthened the i a tiny bit, while the e and the a were shortened a bit.

"Will you do us the favor of being our guest for a while longer? We could make up a room for you here, if you wish. I would like to learn more about your people, if your time permits," Constantin replied.

"I will stay. For a while," she replied.

"Excellent. But first – a supper. Shall we, my dears?" he turned to his relatives. They nodded, with Amalia's lips conspicuously narrowed.

"Are you well, my dear?" he inquired, as they, followed by Kurt, strode through the great hall, behind which was Constantin's study. He put a hand on her shoulder.

"Let us...talk about it over dinner," she answered.

"All right," he agreed, nodding slightly at her. Then he let his hand move from her shoulder to her hand and gave it a quick squeeze.

"Whatever it is – it is certainly nothing we cannot solve together," he said softly. At that, a smile finally settled on her lips, but her voice remained restrained as she replied, "I hope you are right."

***

They had joined Kurt and Síora in the embassy dining room. Emile had begun the descriptions of their investigation even before the meal had been served. Finally, his youngest cousin handed him some documents which they had found in the ruins.

The prince looked at the seal. The acute angle with seven coins. For seven council members. The old council of the Congregation. Only then did he turn the paper over and skim the lines on it. All that could be read as a signature was "The Will of the Council."

"Then... we are not the last to have settled this island. We were the first!" Constantin said. Only then did he raise his eyes. "They sent us here – and said nothing!" he continued.

"Maybe they had no idea," Emile countered, but his voice didn't sound particularly firm.

"The hell they had! Of course they knew. The question is – what were they trying to accomplish by doing so?", Malia immediately objected.

Constantin stared at her a moment longer. Hence her gloomy mood. That was why she doubted whether they would be able to solve it together. And for that one moment, he himself wasn't sure either. Why hadn't his parents told him? Even if his father had kept it a secret from his mother, who after all was not a council member, why did he send his own son without telling him? Not enough that the Congregation had already been here – no, they had invaded as conquerors. If what Síora had told them was true, right after they had settled down at the table, the Congregation had been merciless against locals and even their own people. Until they had been chased off the island. The council had known about it – and so had his father.

"Why?" was all he asked. Though he guessed that neither of the other two had an answer for him.

Malia raised her shoulders, "Who can say what they had intended by this? Thus, we do not even know whether we are playing into their hands or thwarting their plans."

Her voice was dark – as it often was when she spoke about her guardians.

"Malia, please. This is not what this is about. We are seeking a cure for the Malichor," Emile reminded her gently.

That was true. Strictly speaking, they couldn't care less what the Congregation had done here all that time ago.

"You are right, my dear. And... who knows? Perhaps the Malichor is the answer of Teer Fradee to the depredations by our ancestors," Constantin objected.

At the last words, his gaze wandered to Síora.

"My people are not capable of such acts," she replied.

"Of course, they are not. But... you said that the island answered your call for help. What if it was more than that? What if the island not only empowered your people, but cursed ours at the same time?" the governor offered.

"I... can't imagine it. But I haven't been doneigad for long either. The others will know more about it," she countered.

Constantin inclined his head in her direction. "Then we will seek them out with your permission. And Princess – I am infinitely sorry for what my people have done to yours. We will shed as much light as we can on this matter. Even though it may become impossible to bring those responsible to justice."

"Thank you, Constantin. Your relatives have already assured me of that, but it's good to hear that their Mál feels the same way."

Constantin's eyebrows drew together a little at the familiar address. But perhaps she didn't know how things were at a court. In fact, if he thought about it longer, he was sure of it.

"Really? We are assuming that the island has cursed us?" echoed Amalia, disbelief clearly audible in her voice.

"The idea already occurred to me in the ruins," Emile objected gently.

"That still does not explain why all the other nations are as affected by it as we are," she countered.

"Maybe it is contagious after all," Kurt mused.

"They would have figured that out by now," she objected.

"We are going to get those other... Doneigad you say?" turned Constantin again to the princess. The latter nodded.

"We will contact these other doneigads as soon as it is possible. But first we should speak with the Nauts," he continued.

For a moment, the others fell silent. It was Malia who broke the silence, "You think they brought us here even then?"

The prince raised his shoulders, "We never really had a knack for shipping. I guess our great–grandfather tried it once, but was not particularly successful. Besides, it would take months before we get an answer from the continent, so the obvious thing to do is to ask the Nauts first."

At that moment, they heard voices in the hallway. It had slipped Constantin's mind until just now that when he left the palace he had sent a messenger to tell the sailors that the two ambassadors were back in New Sérène. Whereby they had only asked for Emile. And apparently their request was urgent, because only a moment later the door was opened. A servant entered and announced the two guests.

They had all been trained not to let their emotions show, though Malia often applied those lessons only at her own discretion. Emile, however, kept his composure for usual. But after their conversation about the Congregation's machinations on Teer Fradee had been anything but easy, and had so far given them no clarity about anything, Constantin couldn't blame his youngest cousin for his features slipping for a moment as the Nauts entered.

"I hope we're not intruding," Admiral Cabral greeted those present even as she strode through the door. And behind her, Captain Vasco followed, nodding to the table company.

Chapter Text

Two months ago

After the meal had ended, they had all gone on deck. The captain had gone to the wheel, and the other four had joined the Nauts, who were sitting in the middle of the ship on the planks and a few crates. Here and there a lantern stood or hung, spreading a soft light, but making the darkness around the ship seem even more all-encompassing at first glance. Some of the crew members were playing cards, others were singing along to the notes of a harmonica and a flute. The song was quiet, almost sad, and seemed to carry a longing far beyond that which the lyrics described.

They stopped at the edge of one of the circles of light and looked over at the Nauts playing music, listening to the lines that told of a love so great and wide that no single heart could ever fully comprehend it.

Emile felt Constantin reach for his hand on his left. Both cousins exchanged a glance, while the ambassador now in turn placed his other hand around that of Amalia. For a while they stood there in silence, continuing to listen to the singing. It was about how unpredictable and at the same time constant this love was. At the court, there had rarely been concerts where singing had taken place, and when it did, it was never by more than one person. At smaller gatherings, when Emile had played, they had sung as a trio, but this was the largest group he had ever heard sing. Now there were ten Nauts sitting in front of them, all singing the same song, and some of the card players were humming along as well.

"So this is it – our new life," Constantin said quietly, presumably so as not to disturb the singing.

"The beginning of it. We are going to experience great things together," Amalia replied, and when Emile looked to her, he saw her smiling at both her cousins.

"You are right. We will see a new island – a whole new city! And all without the court, its tiresome obligations and intrigues," the prospective governor agreed with her, his face brightening as well.

At that moment the singing ended, but the instruments instantly resumed – this time more quickly, almost cheerfully. The chanting began only a little later, following the melody as it climbed, bouncing liltingly from one note to another.

"That's a galliard!" noted Amalia, and promptly there seemed to be a sparkle in her eyes as she looked over at her cousins.

"You are right," Constantin agreed with her before extending his free hand in the direction of his cousin. "Shall we?"

"Only too gladly," she replied with a laugh. They both let go of Emile and took up positions next to each other a few steps away. Then they began to move, their feet always performing small jumps while their upper bodies moved rather slowly. They took a few steps away from Emile, disengaged their hands from each other, only to grab each other's right hand again and now turn around the axis in the middle with small jumps.

The ambassador let his gaze wander and noticed that Kurt had joined the card players in the meantime. Emile didn't feel like dancing – and he would certainly be asked next – or playing a game. Then he spotted the captain, who had taken the helm. Considering the strange conversation they had had at the beginning of dinner, perhaps an apology would be in order. The diplomat made his way to the quarterdeck and approached the Naut.

"Captain, would you have a moment for me?" he inquired.

"As long as I don't have to leave the helm to do it, go ahead," the latter replied, but did not look at the other man, instead continuing to hold his head slightly back on his neck for a moment and seeming to let his eyes wander over the stars in the sky.

"I know my cousin has already asked your forgiveness, but I also wanted to ask your forgiveness for her somewhat... indecent questions. She tends to disregard courtesies all too often," he said.

This time the Naut gave him a look.

"You seem to apologize for your relatives very often," he noted.

"I am an ambassador, so all diplomatic matters fall under my purview."

"I thought you didn't take up that post until Teer Fradee," the captain countered.

"That may be true, but to be honest I have always made sure that people get along well and that invidiousness is as rare as possible," Emile explained.

It took a moment before the Naut retorted, "I suppose an affront means trouble."

Abruptly, the noble became aware that there were some words that were used, especially at court – which the Naut had probably never attended. "Excuse me, I guess I still have to get rid of courtly language. An invidiousness is a slight or even a challenging insult," he replied.

Again, the captain glanced at him before looking back toward the stars and lightly moving the steering wheel.

"How many times do you apologize in a day?" he wanted to know, and Emile couldn't quite gauge whether his tone was reproving or curious.

The ambassador smiled a little, "It depends entirely on the occasion and the company. Usually maybe once when I have cut someone off or not let them finish their sentence."

"And how often do you ask for leniency on behalf of your relatives?" the Naut inquired.

"Now and then? More often for Amalia than for Constantin, but I suppose you have already figured that out," replied the diplomat.

"So you take responsibility for them more often. Are you the eldest?" the captain wanted to know.

"No. That would be Constantin. Amalia and him are separated by half a year, I am a little less than a year younger than her. And Amalia may put me in unpleasant situations more often, but she has saved me from at least as many in her own way."

In the ensuing silence that spread between the two men, the song that had changed again and sounded from the deck to them seemed to grow louder, though Emile was sure it was just an imagination on his part.

"But I have not come here to bore you with tales, but to beg your pardon. I cannot promise that such an incident will never happen again, but I will do my best and take care of my cousin," he added, bowing slightly in the captain's direction. Then he was about to turn away, but before he had completely turned his back to the Naut, the latter addressed him, "You really should work a little on getting rid of your courtly habits. Just because someone doesn't answer right away, it doesn't mean he hasn't been listening to you. Or is not interested in what you are telling them."

Emile turned back to the other man.

"It may be that he was simply distracted by his current task. Or he may have been thinking about what you said. At least, I've heard that such things happen," he added, and this time there was clearly an amused smile at the corners of the Naut's mouth.

"I... was a bit too hasty, I never meant to impose my company on you," he explained.

"Lord de Sardet, I am captain of this ship. You can assume that if anyone should get in the way of my crew or me, I will make it clear. Here there are not so many clangers to drop" the captain continued.

Emile felt a bit of relief come over him.

"That is very kind of you," he replied, to which the Naut gave him another look, but before he could say anything, Emile raised his hands. "I know, the courtly manners. It... is not quite easy to discard them after all these years," he confessed.

"I can imagine. I suppose they've gotten you and your relatives out of some unpleasant situations," the captain surmised.

"They have," Emile confirmed.

"Still, it's hard for me to imagine how exactly Lady d‘Orsay got you out of similar situations, if you're as skilled with words as you seem to be," the captain added.

"She can do that with words at times, even if we both have different strategies. Also, she is a skilled fighter and has defended my honor or that of someone very important to me in this way on more than one occasion," Emile acknowledged.

"So she has fought for you in the literal sense of the word," the captain concluded.

"Indeed. I am far less skilled with the blade and the pistol than Constantin and she," the ambassador countered.

The Naut again moved the steering wheel slightly after patterning the sky. Then he looked at the noble, seeming to size him up.

"I am sure you have other talents instead that they do not have," the captain said.

Emile nodded, and for a moment he considered telling the sailor about his magic. But it had always been something on the continent that had made him stand out even more from the crowd, sometimes even more than the green mark that he now mostly hid with his full beard. Even though he had heard that the Nauts also made use of certain spells...

"Just as your people stand out from others. I know that the Nauts have an island of their own, but there are also the sea-gifted, who originally belonged to another nation. Do all members of your people have magic?" the ambassador wanted to know.

"To... some degree," the Naut replied, and for the first time since the ambassador knew him, he sounded evasive. Then again, they hadn't had much chance to talk yet.

"I have heard that it is forbidden to teach them to outsiders. Is that correct?" he inquired.

In fact, he was curious. He had had good teachers – but apart from these, he had not met any other spellcasters and they had all, without exception, come from Thélème. And if the sailor was allowed to show others his magic, Emile could reveal that secret about himself, too.

"That's true," the captain countered, and the ambassador felt disappointment spreading in the pit of his stomach, even if he tried not to let it show.

"Understandable. You want to protect the secrets of your guild. The Congregation would hold it similarly," Emile replied.

"I will retire. Thank you for your time, Captain," he added, bowing slightly toward the other man.

"You're welcome," the latter said, raising his shoulders slightly, but already looking back up at the sky.

Chapter Text

Today

Vasco had reluctantly agreed to the admiral's plan. But after he had been to San Matheus and knew firsthand that the Inquisition there was giving the Nauts a hard time, he had put aside his reservations. He knew who could help them – in this case, his admiral was right. At first it looked as if they would have no luck in the afternoon after his return from the Thélèmic city, because the young prince could only tell them that his relatives were on the road and he did not know if they would return today. But a few minutes ago a messenger from the palace had arrived to inform them that the prince's cousins were now back in New Sérène.

So they had immediately gone to the embassy and here they were. Admiral Cabral, who was about a head shorter than he was, had entered the dining room before him. It was almost as long as his ship, the Cavalo Marino, was wide. Prince d'Orsay sat at the front, on his right a young woman who, from the mark on her jaw, belonged to the people of Teer Fradee. Next to her sat Lord de Sardet, opposite him the soldier. The young lady, who sat between the mercenary and the regent, had to turn around in her chair to see who was entering. In contrast to the ambassador's face, which seemed surprised for a moment, a series of emotions flitted across her features, too quickly for the Naut to catch. But in the end, a telling grin lingered on her lips.

"Captain – what an honor," she said with irony in her voice, nodding to him after the servant who had ushered the two Nauts inside introduced them.

"I had them sent word. They were looking for you," the prince informed them, nodding in the direction of his relatives.

His youngest relative seemed to have regained his composure, clearing his throat and asking, "Would you like to stay for dinner?"

"That won't be necessary," Vasco let slip. Even though it would probably have been more polite to accept the offer, but politics had never been something he liked. That was usually taken care of by the Admiralty. And, of course, the respective captains on their ships.

"Please, have a seat. We have some questions we can discuss right then," the Regent replied, gesturing to the empty chairs at the bottom of the table. Admiral Cabral exchanged a glance with her subordinate before pulling back the chair next to the soldier and sitting down on it. Vasco paused for a blink, undecided whether to walk around the table and sit next to the ambassador or stay put. He decided on the latter and took a seat next to the admiral.

"I am pleased that you were able to arrange it on such short notice," the prince continued.

Already the matter of the questions had made the captain sit up and take notice. Actually, the Nauts had come to ask a favor. Now the regent sounded as if he had ordered them here... Vasco was grateful to be relieved of the burden of making decisions and answering with the admiral at his side.

"We feel the same way, Prince d'Orsay," Admiral Cabral replied. She had placed her hands clasped together in front of her on the white tablecloth. At that moment, the door at the other end of the dining room opened and servants entered. Each of them carried two plates, only the last one only one.

"Ah, the food!" the governor let out.

"It can certainly wait," interjected the ambassador.

"What – are you not able to talk and eat at the same time?" his cousin wanted to know, and something amused resonated in her voice.

When Vasco turned to Lord de Sardet, he seemed to avoid his gaze. Instead, he looked at the table for a moment before looking at his relative, "No one should do that at exactly the same time. It is rude. And can be dangerous."

"But this is not the main reason why you want to put off eating," she returned cheerfully. The soldier grumbled something, whereupon the young woman made a slightly annoyed sound, but then fell silent. The prince gave a wave of his hand to the servants who had been waiting behind the nobles' seats. Thereupon they disappeared again without having brought the matter to an end.

"So – you had asked about my relatives this afternoon," he resumed the thread.

"That's right. News reached us from San Matheus that the Inquisition is keeping a very close eye on the Nauts there and is getting in the way of their work," the admiral began.

"In what way?" the regent inquired, surprised.

"They want to inspect warehouses that, according to the treaties with San Matheus, are part of our territory. We have asked the Mother Cardinal to forbid the inquisitors to stay at the docks, but that does not seem possible. And we believe that the Inquisitors will not give up pursuing our people in San Matheus," she continued.

"How do you come to this assumption? Have your comrades broken the law?" the governor asked.

"Not that we know of. It's not clear to us why the inquisitors are keeping such a close eye on us," the Naut replied. Another point on which Vasco disagreed with her. For she certainly had ideas about it.

"We thought the Congregation could be helpful," she continued.

Vasco had first met Cabral seven years ago, when she had risen to the rank of admiral. He had just come from a crossing where he had served as first mate for the first time. They had spoken only briefly, but by reputation she ran a not inconsiderable amount of politics for the Nauts. Of course, there was an admiral of the Nauts in every major city, thus there was a representative there on a par with the supposedly high-ranking figures of that nation. The captain did not like politics very much, which was why he did not place particular value on the rank of admiral at the moment. Not that it was in the cards anytime soon. After all, there were still a few ranks below that, but not as many as between captain and ship's boy.

"Of course. Amalia has already been to San Matheus. She would be happy to accompany you there," the regent replied, inclining his head slightly.

"Oh, already so used to command," the young woman let slip, but a laugh resonated in her voice and the Naut could see her place a hand over her older cousin's.

"We would prefer Lord de Sardet to take over this task. Also, Captain Vasco will accompany your ambassador thus ensuring that our interests are protected. I'm sure you understand," Cabral replied.

The captain had to hand it to her that she spoke much more confidently to the prince than he would have dared. Not that he would have been fawning over him on the ship, but if a favor was being asked of the Congregation, he would have assumed that they should proceed a bit more cautiously. But as it turned out, her tactic was exactly the right one.

"Of course. I was planning to have my relatives act in both cities anyway," the prince replied.

"I would be interested to know what your opinion is based on, though, Admiral? Neither of us has yet had the pleasure of making your acquaintance," Lady d'Orsay inquired, leaning forward a little to get a better look at the Nauts.

"I trust the judgment of my people. I'm sure the Congregation handles it similarly," the Naut returned impassively. At that, the slight smile on the noblewoman's face widened and her gaze moved on to Vasco.

"And your motive for recommending my cousin?" she inquired.

"Malia..." said both her cousins at the same time, Lord de Sardet sounding rather pleading, while there was clearly a reproachful tone in the Regent's voice.

But the Naut was not disconcerted by this. Compared to the first questions she had asked him back at dinner on the ship, this was harmless.

"I got the impression during the crossing that he was the more level-headed of the two of you. And when it comes to the safety of my people, I'd rather have someone who resolves situations with words rather than a duel," he replied calmly.

At that, the smirk on her face widened into a grin, "I had not told you my dueling stories at all. I am sure..." at this point she suddenly broke off and there was a brief twitch in her face before she resumed the thread with a more conciliatory tone, "Emile will complete your task to your complete satisfaction."

"Then if we could get back to our questions..." the prince objected, giving his cousin a penetrating look.

"My relatives have found evidence that the Congregation has been on the island since before the Bridge Alliance," he continued, now looking back toward the Nauts.

Vasco looked to his admiral. He was not aware of anything of the sort, but Cabral remained quiet and shifted one hand a little more over the other.

"What kind of clues?" she inquired.

"Writings with the seal of the old council," the regent replied gravely.

"I'm not that versed in the history of the Congregation the old council was... what?", Cabral echoed, but Vasco got the impression that she was not doing it out of interest, but to stall for time. Which rather alarmed him.

"The old council ruled the Congregation since its foundation. Then there was an attempted coup in which two families tried to take over the Congregation on their own. The rebels were killed, their families banished, and the council reduced in size," the prince countered.

"How long ago was this coup?" the admiral inquired.

"Something like seventy years...Emile?" he turned to his relative.

"Seventy-six," the latter replied, regret seeming to resonate in his voice.

"Well – you see, that was well before the Bridge Alliance settled the island. And the records speak of ships of the Nauts. You understand we have questions," the Regent continued, and unlike the ambassador, his tone became more forceful.

"We do. As long as you understand that our people must be helped first. If this thing happened over seventy years ago, a few more days won't matter," Cabral replied calmly.

She did not seem the least bit surprised toVasco.

The regent leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. "You want a deal," he stated.

"If that's what you want to call it," the admiral countered lightly. Vasco had no idea what she wanted to call it, but it sounded quite like it to him, too.

"Good. As soon as my cousin and your captain are back in New Sérène, we will reconvene and you will answer us fully," the prince replied.

Cabral nodded. "We will."

"Emile, when do you intend to leave tomorrow?" the regent turned to the ambassador.

"Right after breakfast. It... might be a little later than your usual time," the latter admitted, and at the last words he looked at Vasco. The Naut returned the look: "At seven, then?"

"If you wish..."

"At nine. As always. You will need two days to San Matheus either way. A possible earlier arrival will not get you much further," Lady d'Orsay interjected.

The Naut leaned forward slightly to look at her across the table. "The sooner we get there, the sooner we can make sure my comrades are no longer pursued," the countered.

"If that will even be possible. If you think marching straight from the streets into a regent's hall and making demands is the way to go, you have a lot to learn, dear captain," she objected. Whereby her voice had lost the playful tone she had displayed at the beginning of the conversation.

" It is all right, Malia. The sooner we leave, the more likely we can prevent this from becoming an actual problem for the Nauts. The city gates will open at sunrise, so we will leave then," her younger cousin objected.

"Thank you, Lord de Sardet," the captain nodded to him.

"Well – then our business is concluded. May you have a safe way home," Prince d'Orsay ended the conversation and bowed his head in the direction of the Nauts.

"Thank you, Your Excellency," the admiral replied, returning the gesture before rising. Vasco followed her. They left the dining room and the embassy. He did not address her again until they had taken a few steps in the cool night air, "We brought the Congregation here, didn't we?"

"That's a matter for the Admiralty. You concentrate on getting the Inquisitors to stop their constant inquiries. It's inconvenient that the three of them found this information so early. Find out what you can about de Sardet anyway," she instructed him.

Vasco didn't particularly like this assignment. But he had told Lady d'Orsay the truth: he had been in favor of Lord de Sardet taking over this mission because he thought him the more capable ambassador. That this matter played into the hands of the Admiralty was more of a coincidence. Nevertheless, the captain was probably similarly curious about the ensuing conversation as the three cousins were. Silently, Cabral and he continued on their way to the harbor where the Nauts had their quarters.

Chapter Text

Today

To say that Emile was excited when he left the dressing room in traveling clothes the following morning would have been an understatement. He was soothed by the sight of his cousin, still looking sleepy, standing near the front door in her sleeping clothes, robe and slippers.

"You really did not have to get up with me," he turned to her.

"And let you go without saying goodbye? No way," she countered, smiling before stepping up to him and hugging him. She was sitting next to him at breakfast, drinking a cup of tea. She would go back to bed as soon as he was out the door and would have breakfast with Constantin at the palace later. Emile was grateful that his oldest cousin would not start the day alone. It was hard enough that he now lived apart from them, even if only a few minutes away. But that distance would become noticeable in time, of that the ambassador was sure.

He squeezed Malia before taking a half step back and letting her go.

"Have a nice day," he replied, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

"You too - I hear the views along the way are fantastic," she replied with a grin. Emile just shook his head and headed for the door. "Keep an eye on him," he heard her say to Kurt behind "I get paid to keep an eye on everything else," the mercenary countered.

"Yeah, right. This is the only reason you are here in the first place," she returned with irony in her voice, but the legate was busy taking a deep breath and reached out for the handle. In that moment there was a knock at the door. So the Naut was already there. Somehow Emile had hoped that he would arrive a little later. So that it wouldn't seem like Emile was dawdling. And so that Amalia would be back in bed. Nevertheless, he opened the front door.

The captain was standing in front of it, a backpack on his back, the tricorn on his head. And, of course, he wore the long coat he had so often worn on the ship.

"I hope I'm not too early," he greeted the nobleman.

"No, we are ready to leave. I was afraid we were too late," the latter replied.

"Ah, Captain Vasco," Malia's voice sounded from the background and she was already standing next to the ambassador.

"Lady d'Orsay," he nodded to her.

"I hope you appreciate my cousin's company. After all, you chose him yourself," she replied, and promptly Emile felt the blood rush to his cheeks.

"Weren't you going back to bed?" said Kurt.

"Are you trying to stop me from embarrassing Emile even more right now? You do not even get paid for that," she countered with a grin.

"Don't worry, I won't make a habit of it," the guardsman retorted.

"You already have. Denying it is futile," she countered before approaching him and giving him a kiss on the cheek. She would often do this with Constantin and Emile when she had been cheeky before, as her Aunt Josette would probably call it. The legate himself was almost never bothered by her directness - except to the captain. Since the latter was obviously not interested in Emile.

"I wish you a good voyage. And good luck," she addressed everyone after taking a step back from Kurt.

"See you soon," Emile said goodbye, nodding to her once more before stepping out the door into the cool morning air.

The sun was not quite up yet, but the horizon already seemed to glow as they left the small square. He cast another glance over his shoulder and saw Malia waving. Emile returned the gesture, then they turned a corner and she was out of sight.

"Thank you, Kurt," he turned to the guardsman.

"No problem, Green Blood."

"Sometimes it is difficult to counter her... direct manner," the noble added.

"Mhm. Especially if you have a soft spot for her like Constantin and you," the soldier returned.

"You just handled that well for that," the Naut spoke up.

Emile looked at the captain. Kurt had always treated them all equally. If anything, he had trained Amalia the hardest of them all because she had been making the most progress.

"Careful, sailor. I only get paid to be nice to my charges," the mercenary countered.

"Is that actually part of your contract?" the sailor inquired.

Kurt gave him a look he usually reserved for the three cousins when they were supposed to be quiet at night as they moved through dangerous areas.

"Captain, do you have any other information that might be useful to our task in San Matheus?" interjected Emile.

"I've been there myself and talked to the harbormaster. He says the inquisitors ask a lot of questions about our customs and keep a close eye on our actions in port," the naut replied.

From his lessons, Emile knew that the inquisitors were a grouping within the Thélèmic hierarchy that had been formed for special tasks. They persecuted those who turned away from the faith and were sometimes sent on vehement conversion missions. In addition, they supervised part of the Thélèmic hierarchy, but were still subject to its highest members. Thus, in the case of San Matheus, the Cardinal Mother Cornelia was in command of the Inquisition.

"Inquisitors, to my knowledge, often work independently. They only approach their superiors with facts that are a fait accompli. Perhaps it would be a good idea to look into the matter at the port before approaching Mother Cardinal," the legate reflected.

"What do you think?" he wanted to know from Kurt as they headed toward the New Sérène city gate.

"You're the ambassador. But... sounds good to my ears," the latter replied, raising his shoulders. Then he nodded to the guards standing at the gate as they passed through.

"Is this course of action acceptable to you, captain?" he turned to the latter.

"It is," the latter confirmed, nodding. Together, the three men walked down the road to San Matheus as the sun began its journey across the sky.

Chapter Text

Twelve years ago

The three children stood in front of him. Constantin on the right, next to him Emile and then Amalia. Perhaps the other two had instinctively taken the youngest into the middle. The soldier had heard what the other children called him. Green Blood. Because of the birthmark that started under his left ear and ran down his jaw almost to his chin. Tails of it ran a little up his cheek and down his neck, but didn't reach his collarbone by a long shot. It was very reminiscent of a plant - and the fact that it appeared in a washed out green tone, much like the bark of old trees, helped to make it more than noticeable.

"Did we... do something wrong?" inquired Constantin, eyeing his teacher from his light gray eyes. He looked like he wanted to be brave - even though he had shown little sign of it so far. Except to these other children.

Kurt taught all the children together - including the others who were currently visiting the palace with their equally noble and haughty parents. That was why he had spoken to Princess de Sardet and suggested an exercise lesson just for the three of them. Which Emile's mother had officially announced as a punishment - so she wanted to make sure that no one but the cousins would be present.

"No. Take practice sticks, we'll go over your defenses again," the mercenary instructed them. Just because Emile's mother had lied - albeit for a good cause - he wouldn't do the same. The boy slumped a bit and heaved a sigh, yet all three followed the instruction.

"Emile, you train with me," the guardsman began after each of the three had taken a wooden stick. The sticks were almost as long as the children were tall, but it was enough for a start. Kurt had argued with the prince at the beginning of his employment about when they should be given real weapons, though the soldier had finally managed to get his way. They wouldn't start training with metal weapons until after the first year. And even then, not every time. The mercenary had almost had the impression at the time that the guardian of the three had been... satisfied thus, as soon as the soldier had emerged from the dispute as the apparent winner. The court and its intrigues...

But the three before him were - if one disregarded Amalia - still far from being like that. And even the girl probably hadn't really known then what she had done when she had told her aunt the lies about Kurt.

Emile took up a position opposite the guardsman.

"Legs hip-width apart, knees slightly apart," he immediately corrected the boy's stance. A few arm's lengths away, the other two were already beginning to circle each other.

"Then show what you can do," he urged him.

Emile studied his teacher. The boy took a cautious step to the side. Then forward. His hands gripped the wood a little tighter before he attempted a lunge - much too slowly.

"Faster - and watch your hands. They gave away your attack before you consciously decided to do it," Kurt explained.

The boy's gaze drifted to the ground as he swallowed and then nodded. Almost as if the mercenary had reprimanded him. Not as if he'd given him a few pointers. He knew that expression that was on the boy's face. He had seen it then, when he himself had gone through the 'special training', as the Guard had called it.

"Again," he prompted Emile. But again the boy was too slow. This time he betrayed himself by taking a step at which he had hesitated a little before. Emile was a slow learner when it came to fighting anyway, but in class earlier that afternoon it had been as if he had never gone through a training session with Kurt. Even though he had been doing it regularly for over half a year.

"That's not the way to do it, Green Blood," the mercenary said before lowering his cane and stepping towards the boy, who flinched involuntarily at the last two words. Again his gaze shot to the ground, as if there was something immensely interesting to discover at his feet. Not far from them, an occasional clack sounded as the staffs of the other two clashed.

"They're teasing you with that, aren't they?", Kurt wanted to know, dropping down to a crouch in front of the child. Even from this position, where he had to look up at Emile a little, it was almost impossible to look into the boy's brown eyes as he tried hard to avoid his teacher's gaze.

"It... is just a word," the child finally replied. He looked as if he had learned this answer by heart.

"Doesn't mean it won't hurt," the mercenary replied, and when Emile's gaze flickered upward briefly, he knew he'd hit the mark.

"I... mustn't get upset about it," the boy finally said. That, too, sounded learned by heart. To which Kurt assumed that getting upset wasn't Emile's problem. Amalia's - yes, Constantin's - maybe. But Emile's? He didn't get angry - he got sad, at most. That much the soldier had learned about him so far.

"Really? Then we'll practice that. Every time I call you Green Blood, you say you do not care. Until you feel it in here," Guardsman countered, raising his hand and tapping his finger lightly on Emile's chest.

"Got that?" he echoed.

The boy nodded, albeit hesitantly.

"Good." Kurt rose and took a few steps back.

"Then move into position, Green Blood."

Emile did as he was told.

"I can't hear you," the soldier commented after the boy said nothing. The brown eyes seemed to get even bigger than they already were, and it seemed like the kid took a running start before saying softly, "I do not care."

"We'll practice that again right away. Defense posture, Green Blood," the guardsman followed up, raising his wooden staff.

Again Emile followed the instruction, but this time muttered at the same time, "I do not care."

"Counter top right, then bottom left, Green Blood," Kurt let it be known before making both attacks in rapid succession.

Sure enough, the boy parried. After the second blow, he replied again, "I do not care," and this time it almost sounded a little like he might mean it.

"Hey! You cannot address him like that!" sounded Constantin's voice to Kurt's left. His cousin and he had paused and were looking over at them.

"This isn't about you two. Get on with it," he instructed them, turning back to his charge.

"Now you with the attack...," the soldier began, but broke off when quick footsteps sounded to his left. He turned quickly and caught the end of the stick that was whizzing towards him with his hand. The girl glared at him and tried to free her staff from the guardsman's grip.

"You will not hurt him too!" she hissed and jerked the stick aside, but the mercenary held against it.

"I won't. I'm teaching him to defend himself against it," the soldier objected.

This seemed to irritate her, because she paused.

"But... you are insulting him," Constantin spoke up again, having approached them by now.

"Because you only learn to defend yourself when your attacks are serious," the guardsman explained. He had told them that several times. Sometimes he wondered if anything stuck with them. But on good days, he noticed they picked up on his lessons.

"He has no need for that. We are taking care of him!" retorted Amalia. By now she had given up trying to free the stick from the soldier's grip. The latter let go of it.

"And you think standing in between will help? Words aren't bullets - you can't take them for him," he countered.

The girl's eyebrows drew together - a gesture he'd seen Constantin's mother make half a dozen times before. Presumably, that's where she got it from.

"But...he is fine," Constantin interjected, but he sounded even more uncertain than he looked.

"Just because you can't see a wound doesn't mean it's not there," the soldier objected.

"And just because you don't talk about it doesn't mean it doesn't hurt," he added, looking back at Emile, who had returned to eyeing the floor.

His two cousins approached him. The boy put an arm around Emile while the girl took his hand.

"Is he right?" inquired Constantin quietly, to which his cousin pressed his lips together and nodded briefly without looking at either of them.

"But... I want to try this," he said, raising his eyes.

Silence remained for a moment and Constantin squeezed his cousin's shoulder.

"Fine, but if he's too mean to you, let us know. Between the three of us, I bet we can get him down," Amalia said before giving the soldiers a look that looked like she'd like to hit him again with a stick.

"One of these days. Maybe. When you finally start listening. Now get on with it," he replied, gesturing with his head to the side.

They both let go of their relative and walked back to the other half of the room.

"Now, Green Blood, one more time," Kurt prompted him, raising his staff.

Emile eyed it, then put his foot forward, and almost immediately the cane followed - at least a little faster than before. The guardsman parried the blows with ease.

"I do not care," the boy repeated again. It almost had the air of confidence about it - but it was still far too quiet.

"Did you say something?" the mercenary echoed, eyeing the child before nodding to prompt another attack.

The kid struck again and this time the "I do not care" was a little louder. The other two would probably be yelling at Kurt by this point, but Emile wasn't like that.

"You know, I really can't hear you," the guardsman replied before making an unannounced lunge. Which he took his time for, thus giving the boy a chance to parry.

"I do not care," Emile repeated, a bit louder this time, having deflected the blows just in time.

"What did I say about defending and attacking?" the soldier echoed.

"That they must be... intended seriously," Emile repeated, though the pause in the middle had come about more because he had been thinking, not by hesitating. Something, at least.

"So again," the mercenary opined.

"Me two strikes, you two strikes, Green Blood."

This time the youngster immediately replied, "I do not care," even before Kurt had begun an attack. But the soldier didn't even give him enough time to catch his breath before making the first lunge. "Green Blood," he said as his stick crashed against Emile's.

"I do not care," the latter objected, even as he stumbled because his feet had been too close together.

"Watch your footing, Green Blood," the guardsman reminded him.

"I do not care."

"Then do it right, Green Blood," the mercenary urged him.

"I do not care!" the boy returned, correcting his stand some more. Kurt allowed himself a smile.

Progress, he could work with that.

Chapter Text

Today

To say that it was unpleasant to walk through the Nauts' warehouse together with Emile de Sardet and his bodyguard Kurt Pakusch while the ambassador was examining it for evidence of magic would have been an understatement. Vasco had not forgotten how the ambassador had asked him about the Nauts' magic on the crossing and how he himself had told him that they did not share it with outsiders. Now he was doing just that. Whereby Lord de Sardet was not even necessarily an outsider. But he didn't know that yet. However, Admiral Cabral would be true to her word and fill him in after this, Vasco was sure of that.

After arriving in San Matheus, they had first spoken with Fernando, the town's harbormaster. He had told them about the disappearance of the Nauts. Then they had asked around at the docks. One had disappeared right in front of the tavern, so they had continued their investigation there. Arriving at the garrison tavern, the legate had used a mixture of arguments and bribes to gain access to the guard's prison. Captain Pakusch had no command authority there, as he had explained to the Naut, since each regiment was directly subordinate to the commanders of the nation for which it worked. His rank played no role here. Still, he had made it clear that he would defend the noble against any of his comrades in that garrison if they got nowhere with the bribes. But that had not been necessary, and so they had freed the Nauts from the prison and escorted them back to the docks. Afterwards, the ambassador had insisted on examining the warehouses to which the inquisitors had been denied access. He had given his word not to reveal anything of what he would find there. Vasco had then convinced his comrades to let them in. And now Lord de Sardet stood before the equipment responsible for the so-called magic of the Nauts: Sextants, barometers, and the Dolphin's Cry, the latest invention of the Nauts. It measured the distance between the ship's hull and the seabed. This was to reduce the risk of running aground on reefs. Vasco's ship did not yet have such a device, as the route to Teer Fradee was sufficiently well known.

"And this is all?" the ambassador wanted to know, turning to the captain. The latter returned the look and nodded.

"I see," the legate murmured, disappointment resonating in his voice as he let his eyes wander again over the equipment they had gathered from different corners of the warehouse.

"You do not have magic at all. You are simply technically superior to everyone else. But if that became known, people would try to steal these inventions and copy them. Then your people would lose their monopoly on seafaring," he concluded, returning to his usual matter-of-fact tone.

"Monopoly?" echoed Vasco. The legate might otherwise hardly remind him of other nobles, but the language was the same.

"When you're the only one with something. The Congregation is familiar with things like that," the soldier interjected.

"Pardon the courtly expression. Kurt is right - we also strive for monopoly. It gives one a powerful bargaining position. However, it also creates imbalance," the ambassador conceded, looking again at the Naut.

If Vasco had enjoyed confusing the ambassador a bit on the ship, he now wondered why on all the seas he had done it. Now he was the one who was stuck - and not because Lord de Sardet was giving ambiguous signals, but because his own people were so attached to their secrets and he had lied to someone who could help them.

"What are you going to do now?" the Naut inquired.

"I think it would be good to find out what the Inquisitors are planning. Because according to the testimony of your freed comrades, this is not all they were up to. For that, we need to talk to Mother Cornelia. She has the authority to order an investigation of the inquisitors' quarters," he replied.

"How are you going to do that?"

"I was trained for years by Mother Iratia of Thélème, and so I have a proper understanding of their magic to judge it. You made the right decision when you chose me for this task. My cousin has certainly studied this land, but I think that when it comes to magic, the opinion of someone who practices it might weigh more heavily," the noble replied.

Vasco had not chosen him because he was a mage. He had known that Lord de Sardet could work magic, but he had had no idea until now exactly how it worked. He had preferred him because he was the more thoughtful of the two ambassadors. And it had not been inconvenient for him to travel with someone he liked. Although that was probably exactly what was responsible for the uneasiness in his stomach now. It made him think back to one of the first severe storms he had witnessed. He had thought he was going to die because he had spilled all his stomach contents over the railing. Now it felt similar. Except he knew he would retain control of his stomach.

"I thank you for not revealing our secrets," the Naut replied, even though the words felt stale on his tongue.

"Do not thank me too soon. You may accompany me to Mother Cornelia, but you will most likely not be able to be present for the search of the inquisitorial quarters," the ambassador objected.

"Why?"

"I will not reveal your secrets - but this ties my hands if Mother Cornelia decides that you should not be present at the investigation. Since I am acting as legate, I will keep an eye on things for you. That is all I can do for the Nauts," he replied, and indeed regret seemed to resonate in his voice. Although he had just learned that the Nauts had been lying to everyone else for decades. And that's exactly why Vasco couldn't disagree. Still, an objection occurred to him, "How will you prevent them from eliminating evidence while you talk to the Cardinal?"

"That could indeed become a problem. Kurt, can you keep watch outside the inquisitors' quarters? That way you can at least keep an eye on it to see if anyone enters before I arrive," the legate turned to his bodyguard.

"Can do... However, then I won't be with you, which is what I'm actually paid to do," the latter indicated.

"I know. But I think it will have to do for the short distance," the noble replied.

The soldier eyed him for a moment before nodding. "All right. Then we should go to the embassy first - I'll just stand out here in uniform."

In fact, Vasco had begun to wonder if the blue and light gray uniform wouldn't be about as conspicuous as a ship in the middle of a marketplace. For Thélème's colors were a strong red, on which was a yellow sun, the center of which was a circle, also red. But obviously the mercenary had already considered that.

"On to the embassy, then. Hopefully, by evening we will have this matter completely cleared up," the noble concluded.

Vasco had indeed not been allowed into the inquisitors' quarters. However, the guard captain had nothing conspicuous to report when the ambassador, the Naut and the Mother Cardinal had arrived there with their entourage. The captain had waited outside the house and it had taken almost an hour and a half before the ambassador, soldier and cardinal had left it. The Cardinal had apologized to the Naut and assured him that she had known nothing of the machinations of the Inquisitors. Some of them had been led away by guardsmen in Thélème's red and yellow uniforms toward the garrison. She wanted to draft another letter for Admiral Cabral and have it delivered to the embassy later. Since the sun was already about to set, Lord de Sardet had suggested they spend the night at the embassy and leave at daybreak. They had had dinner and Vasco had been given a room that had been more spacious than his cabin. The bed had been comfortable and yet he had found it difficult to fall asleep.

Now they were on their way back. Vasco carried the Cardinal's letter, which he would present to the Admiral. Her words still haunted his mind 'Find out what you can about de Sardet.'

Which he didn't want to do. Not because the noble didn't interest him. In fact, he did more than Vasco could have imagined before the crossing to Teer Fradee began. But he didn't want to be a spy for the admiral. If he had known what to expect before leaving Sérène, he probably would have tried to take another crossing.

"Are you all right?" the ambassador's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"I am. Thank you for your help," the Naut replied.

"I am glad that it turned out well for your comrades. Although I regret that they were still exposed to the torture of the Inquisitors," he objected.

"I'm sure the Cardinal will provide sufficient compensation. And we will think twice about transporting an inquisitor in the future. No matter where," the Naut returned.

"About time for a rest, Green Blood," the soldier spoke up. San Matheus had already shrunk considerably on the horizon since their departure that morning. And by now the wind was coming from the sea, even if Vasco could only smell it, since a copse blocked their view of it. The mercenary pointed to a fallen tree near the path. The noble followed the gesture and settled on it, while the guardsman walked a round around it, eyeing their surroundings.

"Do you think we will be ambushed here?" inquired de Sardet as he unpacked provisions from his pack.

"You can never be too careful, Green Blood. You know that as well as I do," the soldier returned, but then settled down on the tree trunk as well. Even though his gaze kept wandering to his surroundings.

"Have you been attacked many times on the continent?" the Naut wanted to know, while he broke off some of the bread that the servants of the embassy had packed for him.

"A few times. I lost count. Kurt saved us from being killed or kidnapped every single time," the noble replied.

"You haven't been entirely idle the last few times," the guardsman conceded.

"Which we have your training to thank for alone," the ambassador replied, nodding appreciatively at the mercenary.

"You haven't behaved entirely stupidly," the latter replied.

De Sardet and his cousins were not the first nobles the Naut had transported on his ship. But they were the first to treat their bodyguard so casually. Lady d'Orsay, in particular, seemed to do so. According to Vasco's observations, the governor had often behaved like a student towards the soldier, although he was the oldest of the three. And de Sardet - always remained polite, appreciative and sincere as far as the Naut could tell. As if there was no catch to him. If one disregarded the courtly mode of expression.

"Where did your nickname come from?" the Naut turned to the noble.

"I beg your pardon?" this time the captain seemed to have snapped him out of his thoughts, though Vasco had the impression that the ambassador had been looking in his direction even before his question.

"Green Blood," the latter replied.

"Oh, that one," the noble replied, his eyes wandering over his surroundings.

"Do you have any others?" the Naut inquired.

A smile settled at the corners of the ambassador's mouth and he glanced briefly at the captain before continuing to survey the surroundings.

"When Amalia was significantly younger, she is said to have called me 'Millie' because she couldn't pronounce 'Emile.' However, I was so young that I don't remember it," he replied.

The Naut grinned. He could actually imagine a three-year-old Amalia pointing at an even younger Emile and addressing him that way. So she had sympathetic qualities, too.

"And what about Green Blood?" he returned to the topic at hand.

"Some children have teased me with it. I must have been...twelve or thirteen then. Kurt showed me that you need not be afraid of such names," the Legate replied, finally looking back at the Naut.

"Why did they call you that?"

"Because of the mark that is under my beard. They said my blood was green and that I had scratched myself too much, hence the green scab. In fact, it could never be removed no matter what I tried. Which my mother discouraged me from trying most things."

"And then you kept the name?" the Naut inquired. It didn't quite make sense to him why a teasing name was carried around.

"It turned out that it upset the other children that I stopped responding to their slights. It threw them off when Kurt continued to address me that way," he explained.

"Speaking the same language as a servant - unthinkable for the little snots," the soldier interjected with amusement before taking another bite of the dried meat.

"Those snotty noses are now head of House de la Baronne and successor in the council for House de Sillegue," the ambassador pointed out.

"Add that to your list of secrets you're not allowed to tell anyone," Kurt retorted, a half-smile settling into the corners of his mouth.

"Your secret is safe with me," the ambassador replied with a smile.

Vasco looked back and forth between the two. This interaction was indeed unusual, but not unpleasant. Which made his task all the more difficult. He was not looking forward to the meeting with the governor. And even less did he want to be there if Lady d'Orsay would be present.

Chapter Text

Today

Amalia eyed the entrance to the cave, which was located between the roots of a tree. It was lit by torchlight - which had already been burning when they had followed one of the Storm Warrior villagers here. Which meant there was at least one more person inside. Or even more.

"Let's follow him," she decided, and started moving. Síora and Margarete, Amalia's new bodyguard, joined her. The noble had conducted a few practice fights in the garrison against candidates for the post, and in the end had decided, together with Kurt, that Margarete would accompany her, while another guardswoman named Wilhelmine would stay with Constantin in New Sérène.

Originally, Amalia had assumed that her post as ambassador would be more about negotiating treaties and the like and less about sneaking around, but on this mission the latter seemed to be more of a necessity. They were here at the request of Mother Cardinal. The Thélèmer were convinced that the Storm Warrior village worshipped a demon responsible for the Malichor. Even though Amalia knew that her cousins theorized that the origin of the disease could be on Teer Fradee, or at least related to the Congregation and their attempted conquest decades ago, she thought the demon idea was a bit far-fetched. Why worship something that was harming an enemy far away? Without knowing if these efforts were successful?

Nevertheless, the Congregation could not afford to ignore the request. Therefore, Constantin had instructed Amalia to investigate the matter. She had set out here with Síora, since the doneigad knew where the village was located. And although Amalia would have bet that Síora would give them an advantage, the villagers behaved dismissively toward them. Nevertheless, the three women had asked for lodging in the village and had been allowed to pitch their tent on the outskirts. Thélème's emissaries, who were camped not far from the village, had previously informed the three women that some of the villagers crept into the forest at nightfall, but that they had never been able to follow them successfully.

As it turned out at a clearing, this was due to a special kind of door located under the roots of the tree. It had closed behind the last villager. But when the three women had entered the circle surrounded by stone pillars in front of it, the doneigad had stopped and closed her eyes. A wide variety of emotions had flickered across her face in rapid succession, and Amalia had feared she was about to have a seizure, but eventually Síora had reopened her eyes and begun to light the candles on some of the pillars. Just when the noblewoman had wanted to open her mouth to ask what it was all about, hissing sounds rang out as the roots retracted, revealing the tunnel opening.

Amalia exchanged an astonished glance with Margaret before the three of them set about creeping down the passage into the cave. Soon they heard several voices, rustling and clattering. They slowed their pace as they approached the mouth of the tunnel. But contrary to Amalia's suspicions, there were no guards waiting for them there. The three women sneaked to one side and ducked behind some rocks so as not to be seen so easily. The cave was large and presumably open to the top, at least the ceiling reached up into the air and the legate thought she saw a few stars twinkling in the distance. But it was the twisted, gnarled, leafless tree in the center of the cave that caught her attention. Some sort of oval lichen resided on the bark and its spurs entwined around the trunk a bit. A member of the tribe – somehow Amalia was sure, that he was an on ol menawí – paced in a circle around the tree. His was face covered by a wooden mask whose upper end merged into stylized horns or branches. At least two dozen villagers stood and knelt at greater distances around the tree. In the torchlight, Amalia could make out their faces only poorly, but she thought she could still see the painting of brown and white tones on them that the villagers had worn even during the day when she had questioned them. The question was - what were they doing here?

The on ol menawí in the mask reached out a hand and let it wander over the bark of the tree as he began to speak and continued to pace around the trunk. His voice revealed that he was the doneigad of the Storm Warriors. He used the language of the natives, at least the sounds were very much like it, for so far the noble knew just greetings, farewells, as well as the word 'renaigse', with which the people of Teer Fradee referred to people from the continent. Often with a derogatory connotation. But she did not understand the words that now flowed over the doneigad's lips. It sounded almost like an incantation. Similar in fluidity to Thélèmic prayers, yet more forceful. After a few sentences, the doneigad raised a stone blade and cut his hand. So did the bystanders. Then they pressed the injured palm to the ground as he continued to recite. And then the trunk of the tree lit up.

Amalia blinked. She had never seen anything like it. It was not the entire tree, but the lichen that shone with a white-blue light. A voice sounded, no, many voices, but they spoke the same words. A chorus of many voices, yet speaking as one. Now it sounded less like prayer. More like... commands? Without knowing the content of the words, she could not say with certainty. Then the apparition fell silent, the light faded, and the villagers cried out - not in despair, but militantly, raising their weapons. The noble looked to her companions and signaled them to duck deeper behind the stones. Only a blink of an eye later, there was movement among the crowd.

Amalia had to make a decision on how to proceed. She had been a guest at a Thélèmic court for a few months in the past and had participated in the prayers and chants and whatever else went with it. Never had she felt or even seen anything that would have convinced her that there was a being that did not need a body. But what she had experienced here slowly raised doubts that this was really the case. And yet she could not say with certainty that it was a demon.

The first ones went to the exit, which Amalia took as a sign that - whatever had taken place here - was now over. Without further ado, she rose.

"May I ask a question?" she said aloud, and promptly the people whirled to face her. Many raised their weapons and pointed them at the noble.

She heard rustling and out of the corner of her eye saw the other two stand up as well.

"You have no place here, renaigse," the doneigad let out.

"On the contrary. I am the one who stands between you and an attack by the Thélèmer. Because if the Inquisitors get proof that a demon is up to its mischief here, that is exactly what they will do," she replied, taking a few steps to the side to walk around the stones behind which they had previously taken cover.

"Let them come. The Storm Warriors are famous for resisting even the toughest foes," another voice spoke up, and as the noble let her gaze wander to her she recognized Derdre, the mál of the clan.

"I am not your enemy. I am here to find out the truth. Even though I have... seen things I cannot explain, I do not believe it is a demon. What was that just now?" she demanded to know.

"Why should we tell you our secrets?" the doneigad objected in a loud voice, and the legate heard murmurs of agreement from different directions.

"They have assisted the Red Spears in their fight against the lions and wish to learn," Síora spoke up and stepped next to the noble.

"Why should we believe them?" he objected.

"You can ask me whatever you want about the Congregation. I will answer you honestly," the ambassador offered, taking another step toward him. Not to threaten him. She left her rapier in its sheath. Kurt had trained her well, yet she assumed she would probably succumb in a fight on uneven ground. And probably the mercenary would also have let out a disapproving 'Amal' when she had stood up, while Margarete only stood silently diagonally behind her.

"We don't care about the Congregation! And you should have known better than to get involved with them!" he countered, looking to Síora at the last words.

"She was merely trying to help us. It was my decision to follow your people. After not receiving any answers from you. What would you have done if you had been denied answers?" she objected, holding up to the gaze from the slits of the wooden mask.

"How do you know we are not lying to you?" Derdre now spoke up again, stepping up next to the doneigad.

"We cannot be sure of that. We have to trust your word," the diplomat replied.

"This is a ritual that gives strength to our warriors. We have always lived in harmony with nature, our existence evolving around it. She speaks to us and has many faces. You have just seen one of them," the mál explained, remaining surprisingly calm when Amalia thought back to how she had only sneered at them when they first met a few hours ago.

"Because of the threat of the renaigse, we asked for their blessing. And they appeared to us," she finished her explanation.

That... didn't necessarily sound like it wasn't a demon. These also had many faces and offered trades. Nevertheless, Amalia still didn't want to believe that the Thélèmer were right. Why would she encounter a demon here?

"Is it possible that we contact them?" she inquired, letting her gaze wander to the lichen on the tree. But no light showed and the doneigad also shook his head.

"Renaigse," he muttered, but Derdre replied, "This has not been a conversation. But if you visit another sanctuary, you might see one of the faces and you can talk. You must go past the mountains and into the swamps. There you can perform a ritual. You will see them coming. But you may not like what you will hear..."

And if Amalia was not entirely mistaken, something like a smile appeared on the mál's face.

Chapter Text

Today

The three women had returned together with the villagers. They had spent the night in their tent and had left the next morning in the direction of the swamp where, according to Derdre, another sanctuary should be located. Here they had met an old hermit of the islanders. He seemed harmless, a little forgetful but cheerful. He had told them that a short time ago a group of the Bridge Alliance had passed by here. It didn't take them long to find them. Or rather what was left of them. At the end of a small clearing were smashed crates, destroyed tents, and the bodies of four people in green and blue uniforms with lion crests on their chests.

Amalia knelt in front of the corpse of a female soldier of the Bridge Alliance and looked at the body. The eyes were open, but the limbs were at unusual angles to the rest of the body. It was as if someone had thrown the woman around.

"Someone did them bad," Margaret's voice rang out.

"Or something," the noble objected. For safety's sake, she opened the dead soldier's mouth. She saw blood, which didn't surprise her, but no dark points, and she couldn't see any abnormalities on the nose, ears or eyes. That didn't rule out all the poisons Amalia knew, but a not inconsiderable number. And when she took a closer look at the Bridge Alliance camp, it really looked like someone had ravaged it, killing the four people in the process. The young woman rose and walked toward Síora, who was standing at the edge of the camp.

"I suppose on ol menawí do not usually finish off their enemies like this?" she asked the doneigad.

The latter shook her head. Her blue eyes showed concern, which Amalia could not blame her for.

"No, I've never seen anything like that. Although the storm warriors of Derdre's clan are particularly strong, I hardly think it was them," she replied.

Amalia glanced over the dead once more. They were badly battered, and two of them showed open fractures on their arms and legs. And even if she didn't like it, the noble let her thoughts wander back to the battle of the Red Spears against the Bridge Alliance. And how the battlefield had looked afterwards. But unlike the dead there, she didn't see any direct stab wounds or cuts like the stone blades the natives of Teer Fradee would leave behind.

"Do you have any ideas?" she turned to Margaret.

The soldier raised her shoulders and shook her head. "No, your Excellency. It's probably been a while, so it's probably not here anymore."

Whereby she didn't give Amalia the impression that she actually cared about it, either. Sure, like Kurt, she also let her eyes wander over the surroundings, keeping an eye out for potential dangers. But unlike Amalia's former master of arms, she didn't seem to care what had killed these people as long as it wasn't here anymore. Of course, the legate had not expected her new bodyguard to be able to replace Kurt. But she didn't realize that it wasn't the same until now, when she was on the island without him for the first time. On the continent, that had happened from time to time, on the rare occasions when Amalia had visited another noble family alone. But somehow it had been something else back then.

Whatever it was, what was more important now was what they could find here. And in one thing Amalia agreed with her current bodyguard: Whatever had killed the Bridge Alliance people was no longer here. Otherwise, they would have seen it by now.

So they continued to search the camp. They found equipment, but also alchemical supplies in a shallow chest behind a tree, which was likely why it had escaped destruction. There was a book with notes of a scientist. Observations on the flora and fauna of Teer Fradee were neatly recorded in it, but Amalia let her gaze wander only briefly over the first lines before flipping to the last written pages. Apparently, the Bridge Alliance had attempted to perform a ritual of the on ol menawí. For this, one had to beat drums in the correct order. Thereupon an altar was to appear, on which one had to offer a brew. The recipe was meticulously noted and that they had filled several doses at once in case the ritual did not work right away. The notes ended thus that they were going to give it a first try.

"Obviously, they have performed an on ol menawí ritual," Amalia said, looking to her companions.

"Which one?" inquired Síora, approaching the other noble. The latter described to her what she had read in the book.

"I haven't heard about that, but each clan has its own rituals, too. And the hermit said that the impatient can call the faces," the doneigad replied.

"Since this book ends with the description of the first attempt, I assume they were either ambushed during the ritual or succeeded and were killed by it. Whatever they invoked with this," the ambassadress concluded.

As a child, Aunt Valerie had read them stories of nobles, mages, thieves, and peons. Sometimes they had been heroes, sometimes the villains of the story. At that time, Amalia had wished she could be a mage, too, but only Emile had that talent. And as it had turned out after a few years, he could not summon anything. No one on the continent could, as far as the legate knew. And if she had been asked before that ceremony in the cave last night, she would have said that she didn't believe anyone could. But what had Derdre said? They could talk to the faces here. So they had to try.

"We are going to give it a try. They have made enough potions so we can afford a few failed attempts," the noble said. She knelt in front of the chest and took out the earthenware vials. She uncorked them one by one and carefully took a smell sample, just as her Aunt Josette had taught her back then. The smell seemed to be the same in all the vials, and when she dripped a little of it on a dried leaf, she saw a dark liquid. Probably the elixir that the Bridge Alliance had made to perform the ritual.

"Let us see if we can find some answers," she added and started moving.

The drums were only a few steps away from the camp.

"Your Excellency, do you really want to... summon... whatever this has been?" echoed Margaret, walking at her left side while Síora strode in at her right.

Amalia looked to the guardswoman and raised her shoulders, "The Bridge Alliance has been fighting the inhabitants of Teer Fradee for a long time. It is quite possible that this creature attacked them for that reason. We, on the other hand, mean no harm to anyone."

"If you say so..." the soldier let slip, looking as if she were trying not to let her displeasure be heard.

Amalia missed Kurt a little: he would have said outright if he thought something was a stupid idea or too dangerous. She would have liked to know where he stood on the matter, but she would probably only be able to ask him afterwards.

The three women climbed a few stone steps and stood in front of three drums. Each was as tall as Amalia's torso long and stood on a wooden stand. From the music lessons Amalia had attended for less time than her couins, she knew that the drumhead was made of animal skin that had been tanned and finally pulled over a wooden frame. However, most of the drums Amalia had seen so far had no decorations on the drumhead. Here, each drumhead showed a different animal, and she knew from the scientists' notes that drums were supposed to be beaten in order of the food chain.

"Now let's see if the people from the Bridge Alliance were right," she murmured, holding out her hand for the first drum, which had a dragonfly on it. She hesitated for a moment, then struck the center of the drum once with the fingertips of her index and middle fingers. The sound of the beat echoed through the swamp, and she felt as if it were traveling across the open space that lay behind her. But when she glanced over her shoulder, it was just as empty as before. A few shrubs and brush grew there. Here and there a muddy pool was visible, in which one could probably sink in if one got too close to it, and mists drifted across the ground. She turned to the next drum, on which a frog could be seen, and once again struck the drumhead with both fingers. Nothing happened. So she repeated the procedure with the last drum, which showed a snake. Again the sound died away, but this time there was a gurgling and almost squeaking noise. She turned quickly and saw something rising from the swamp not far from the steps. It was... some kind of wooden block? Branches protruded from it on either side. They were twisted and leafless, much like that of the tree in the cave last night. After the block stopped moving, Amalia stepped closer. Perhaps it was also an altar? There was a hollow in the center, the edges of which rose a little, as if the wood were forming a bowl.

"Síora?" she turned to address her.

"I've never seen anything like it," the princess replied.

"This is not exactly reassuring. But... fortune favors the brave," the legate said. She dropped down into a squat position so that she was at eye level with the hollow, took out one of the earthenware vials, uncorked it, and tipped the liquid into the bowl. For a moment, nothing happened and she felt stupid. Summon something? Had she really believed that...

At that moment, the altar moved. Almost as if it was shaking.

"What is that?" she murmured, just as the movement repeated again. Amalia immediately straightened up and took a few steps back. The altar rose until the bowl was at eye level, also while standing. And then it rose even higher. Thick, root-like formations appeared beneath it, wrapping themselves around what was beneath the bowl. Only when another sound rang out, almost a growl, did Amalia realize that just a few handbreadths below the bowl was a mouth - with human-looking teeth, albeit proportionately at least three times the size of that of a human.

"That..." but before Amalia could finish the sentence, another gurgle and chatter sounded and the creature pulled an arm out of the ground. Then another. It braced itself on either side and pulled a massive body from the depths of the swamp. Water rushed as it flowed into the depths from which this creature rose. The three women slowly backed away. What in the world was that?

But it also occurred to her that they would hardly find out by standing around. Amalia pulled herself together, took a step towards the creature and began to introduce herself: "My name is Amalia d'Orsay. I am an ambassadress of the Congre..." The rest of her sentence was lost in a scream from the creature, which instantly lunged at her.

The noble reacted instinctively, throwing herself to the side and rolling off. She felt water slosh into her sleeve and also run down one of her legs as she got to her feet immediately after, but at the moment there were more important things: the creature had rushed into the void, but now turned and headed for Margarete. The roots hanging down from the monstrosity's head suddenly twitched in the direction of the guardswoman, who jumped back and made a swift slash with her sword. The roots were knocked aside and once again the creature cried out.

"She is a nádaig!" shouted Síora from the other side. Amalia drew her rapier, but her gaze flew to the princess for a moment.

"A what?"

"A guard!"

And as the Legate stumbled backward through the swamp, she remembered the story Síora had told them at the ruins. When the Congregation had first been here.

"Can we talk to her?!" she called back. And promptly the creature turned to her.

"No! They have completely abandoned themselves to this place!"

Not the answer she had wanted to hear, but she had other things to worry about. The creature rushed toward her, once again the roots swung from side to side, and when only a few arm's lengths separated her from the monster, the roots jerked forward. Amalia jumped to the side, but this time stayed on her feet and executed a downward strike to direct the roots toward the ground. But they jerked up so quickly that Amalia felt the blow up her entire sword arm. She stumbled back further and fell, holding the weapon in front of her. Water trickled down her collar and the creature stomped toward her - until it suddenly stopped and turned with an angry screech. Amalia saw Margarete, who had attacked the nádaig's unprotected back. And now that Amalia was situated behind it, she could see a wound of some sort, with a dark liquid oozing from it as well.

"That way, then," the noble muttered. A hand appeared in her field of vision. She let Síora help her up and nodded to her.

"So we cannot talk to her," the ambassadress stated again, exchanging a quick glance with the princess.

The latter shook her head regretfully. "No, we can't."

"Derdre knew about this, I would even bet on it," Amalia grumbled, raising her rapier. Her pistol had become wet and thus useless.

She rushed towards the creature just as it swung its hand at the soldier. The guardswoman dodged to the side, yet ran right into the swinging roots, which sent her to the ground and immediately struck her again. Amalia ran toward the nádaig, and just before she reached the creature, she switched the way she held her rapier. She now clutched the hilt like a spear and plunged the blade into the creature's back wound.

A loud howl rang out and the nádaig reared back, roots flailing wildly. One caught the noble on the arm. Reflexively, she let go of her weapon and staggered back. The nádaig turned to face her. And Amalia had no rapier anymore. One step. Another step. Then the creature collapsed to its knees and toppled forward. The roots twitched once more, then went limp.

The Legate eyed the nádaig a moment longer, then moved carefully around it and stepped toward Margarete.

"Are you all right?" she wanted to know from the guardswoman, looking briefly at her.

The latter shook her head.

"Not really, Your Excellency," she replied, but straightened up.

"We will fix you up in a minute," the legate replied as she heard splashing noises behind her. The ambassadress spun around, but it was only the old man stomping toward them.

"Ná! Cer toncedág! You have killed her! Monster! Murderers!" he snapped, throwing his arms in the air.

Amalia's eyebrows drew together. But before she could say that it was self-defense, Síora asked, "You knew her, old man? Before she became a nádaig?"

The hermit shook his head angrily, and his eyes looked as if they were glowing in the line of dark color that crossed his face, "May the earth swallow you all! You and all those from this dark island! You must all be destroyed!" His cheerful obliviousness was swept away.

"We were only defending ourselves," Amalia objected.

The man's gaze darted to her. He narrowed his eyes and hissed, "En on míl frichtimen will stop you. He will chase you murderers all away! His hunt has begun!"

"She is right: we had no choice. The nádaig attacked us," Síora objected, her tone remaining calm but determined at the same time.

The old man just shook his head and turned away muttering "Murderer!"

"What exactly is going on here?" Amalia wanted to know, looking to the princess.

"He knew the doneigad before she became a nádaig," the latter replied.

"Doneigad? Like... you?" the legate echoed in surprise. Her companion nodded. "That means this being was once a woman?"

"Yes. The doneigad bound herself to this place. In exchange for power, she gave herself up completely and became one of the faces," the on ol menawí explained.

Amalia opened her mouth, but for a moment she did not know what to say. Her gaze wandered back to the body of the nádaig. She was certainly twice the size of a human. And her arms were much longer than they should be at that size. Her whole figure... sure, she had arms and legs, and her skin was dirt-encrusted, but smooth and not covered in fur. Still, instead of hair, she had roots that she had used in battle. That had once been a human?

Only then did she recall the soldier.

"Síora, Margarete is hurt. Can you heal her?" she inquired of the princess. The latter nodded. Amalia offered Margarete to support her, but the soldier declined and slowly staggered toward the stone steps. There they would not be up to their ankles in water.

"Where did you hurt yourself?" the doneigad wanted to know after the mercenary sat down with difficulty. She held her left side.

"Think I broke a rib," she brought out.

"Then it would be helpful if you untied your doublet," the on ol menawí informed her.

The soldier's eyebrows furrowed and she looked to the ambassadress.

"She knows what she is doing, not to worry," she replied, giving her an encouraging nod. While Margarete hesitantly complied with the request, Amalia let her eyes wander over the swamp. When she had seen how Síora had healed the soldier of the Bridge Alliance back then, she had hardly wanted to believe it. Right after that, the princess had also taken care of Kurt after Emile had mentioned his injury. The guardsman had been right then: Amalia's bandage had been unnecessary. It had disappointed her a little that she could not help him then, but Síora could. But after sleeping through the night, she had realized that it was much more important that her former master of arms was no longer wounded. It had been silly that her own pride had been hurt by this.

The legate's gaze lingered on the body of the nádaig lying in the swamp. The hermit knelt before it, his head bent over it, and laid a hand on it. The gesture seemed tender. Seeing her like this, it was actually harder to imagine that the three women had had to fight against her for their lives just a few moments ago. To which Amalia remembered something the old man had said....

"It... doesn't hurt at all anymore," Margarete gasped in surprise. The noble looked back at her bodyguard, who had astonishment written all over her face.

"The advantage of traveling with a doneigad," she said. The soldier tucked her sodden tunic back into her belt and began to slip on her doublet.

"Síora, he spoke of en on míl frichtimen. What is that?" the legate inquired.

"It means 'One of a Thousand Faces,'" replied the princess.

Amalia tilted her head a little.

"Faces? Like the nádaig?" she inquired. Because if that was the case, this en on míl frichtimen would probably not be sympathetic to them.

But the doneigad slowly shook her head. "I doubt that you can understand."

"But he said that this en on míl frichtimen is hunting us. Possibly Emile and Constantin's idea that the Malichor came from here is not so far-fetched," the ambassadress objected

"Why would en on míl frichtimen do that?" countered Síora, and this time anger resonated in her voice.

Amalia wanted to object that after the stories about the first settlement by the Congregation, a punishment would be appropriate. But Margarete was here, and she wasn't in on everything. And one of the most important lessons at court was not to let in more people than were absolutely necessary.

"I do not know," she replied evasively, adding, "I did not mean to offend your culture. Please forgive me."

The on ol menawí took one deep breath and expelled it unused.

"You couldn't have known better," she finally replied.

For a moment, Amalia was tempted to retort sharply that she could only know what she was told. But that would not be what Emile would do. And as much as she detested her guardians' games, she knew that her younger cousin was the more thoughtful and sensible one. And considering the fact that they had just killed a member of Síora's people, it was probably better to take Emile's behavior as a model.

"We should put on something dry. And then I would like to ask Derdre a few more questions," Amalia finally said.

"Are you sure she'll let you go again?" Margarete wanted to know, who had stood up again in the meantime.

The noble raised her shoulders, "On the continent, people rarely stand by their assassination attempts - so if there is a direct confrontation, no more will follow. Let us find out how the Storm Warriors handle these things."

Chapter Text

Today

The three women put on dry clothes before shouldering their bags and making their way back. The old man had given them nasty looks. Even Síora had not been spared, even after she had gone and spoken to him again. When they reached the village, the mál was not present, but had left for a hunt. The villagers kept looking at the three women, but none bothered to talk to them. So they tried to make themselves as comfortable as possible in front of the mál's hut. Whereby Amalia knew, thanks to her lessons, that she herself should not look too careless, lest she give a weak impression. She was torn between the need to simply lie on the ground for comfort or to wait sitting upright on a stone. Eventually, her upbringing won out over her need for something like comfort and she remained seated on the stone, keeping her back straight.

"It was kind of you to try to calm him," Amalia said, addressing Síora, who was sitting cross-legged on the ground not far from her.

"He lost his minundhanem. Such a loss always weighs heavily," replied the on ol menawí.

"His minundhanem? What is that?" the ambassadress wanted to know.

"It is... when you are connected to someone with mind and body. Such connections often last a lifetime," the doneigad explained.

Amalia nodded slightly."A bit, like a soulmate," she concluded.

Síora's gaze wandered past her for a moment. "Like souls mating... that sounds right," she said with a smile, nodding.

The soldier let out an uncomfortable clearing of her throat, to which the noble mentally rolled her eyes. As if it was such a special thing to talk about. Well, affairs were only ever rumored at court, but Pierre had taught her that sex didn't get better if one didn't talk about it. And that it was one of the most common things in the world.

"Did I do something wrong?" inquired Síora.

"Not at all. Just say - soulmates can be other people, too. Constantin and Emile are my soulmates, but with us coitus falls away. And Margarete's reaction can thus be explained by the fact that the words 'coitus' and 'mate' offend some people, don't they?" the ambassadress echoed, looking promptly at her bodyguard.

"I'm sorry if I upset Your Excellency," she replied immediately.

Amalia said with a wave of her hand, "No, you have not. And you need not stand there like that. No one is going to attack us here."

"Are you sure, Your Excellency? She sent us into the swamp, where that monster almost killed us."

"It was a nádaig, not a monster!" objected Síora immediately.

"Once a woman like us... yes, we will not forget that so soon," Amalia countered, giving the mercenary a penetrating look, but following it with a resigned shake of her head.

"Of course, I do not know with certainty how things work among the on ol menawí, but as I said before, in the Congregation one failed assassination attempt is rarely followed by a second, at least not in direct confrontation," she opined.

"How reassuring," the guardswoman murmured, then finally settled down to earth.

"You have not had much to do with nobles so far, have you?", Amalia inquired. The guardswoman's expression looked caught for a moment before she put on a neutral expression again and shook her head, "Wasn't any reason, Your Excellency. I worked for real merchants and protected their caravans. You know - the kind that sell at markets."

Amalia had to grin when she heard the phrase 'real merchants'. Her guardians and just about every noble of the Congregation she knew would have taken offense to that. But at the moment, she didn't care to enlighten Margarete about it. After all, the legate didn't know how long they would actually travel together.

"Duly noted. And as if on cue..." the noble murmured, rising as she made out a group of on ol menawí leaving the forest and heading for the mál's hut, which was walking in the middle of her warriors.

The ambassadress was a little annoyed that Derdre could spot them from a distance - she would have loved to see what was going on in the mál's face once she realized that her trap had not worked. Amalia took a measured step down the small hill on which Derdre's hut stood and stopped at the foot of it. Even if it would have earned her an elevated position in the conversation, diplomatic negotiations should always take place at physical eye level as well, as Sir de Courcillon had taught them.

"You have survived," the mál greeted them. Then she made a motion with her hand and spoke a few words in the language of the Teer Fradee people, whereupon her warriors retreated a little, but not so far that they were not quickly on point.

"That means that one of the nádaig is no longer with us, unfortunately," the mál added, turning back to the ambassadress. "Then you must be good warriors. Almost storm warriors," she concluded, letting her gaze wander from one to the other.

"Do I hear this correctly - you admit your trap bluntly?" echoed Amalia.

The mál nodded. "Of course. The swamps rarely give up what enters them. But - I have also kept my word. A nádaig is one of the faces of the island."

The noble flashed an ironic smile. She wasn't really upset: Derdre's village had been investigated by Thélèmers, and the Bridge Alliance was obviously fighting their battles in that part of the island as well. Besides, Amalia and her companions had participated in a ritual of the village without permission. In the Congregation, murder had been done for less. Mostly with poison, which Amalia despised all the more since she knew what it was like to kill with it.

"To be honest, your nádaig fought Bridge Alliance soldiers a day or two ago. She was probably weakened," the noble speculated.

"Still, you defeated her and not the lions," Derdre nevertheless let out an almost appreciative nod.

"I am merely surprised that you exposed Síora to such danger. Not only is she of your people, but she is also a doneigad," Amalia indicated.

In response, the mál merely raised her shoulders as she looked to the other on ol menawí, "It was her decision to accompany you. Our clan does not get involved with renaigse, and neither should hers."

"That is not your decision," Síora objected.

"And I am glad of that, because we hope to expand our relationship with the Red Spears," Amalia interjected, "But we still do not know how to communicate with this being you summoned in the cave."

The mál eyed the three women facing each other with folded arms, her gaze resting on Síora for a long time in between, before finally wandering back to the legate at the end.

"If she won't tell you, I certainly won't. You have already seen enough things that no outsider should see. Keep them to yourselves."

"That's how they make the potion that gives them their powers," the doneigad muttered. The ambassadress turned to her.

"What potion? What powers?"

"The Storm Warriors are known for their strength. And for being able to come back from the dead. This ritual is part of that, isn't it?" the doneigad echoed.

This time, the mál's nod was clearly appreciative.

"That is true. You know part of it now, but by no means all of it. Still, don't give it away."

This was interesting. Warriors who could rise again? Amalia hadn't come to Teer Fradee to start a war anyway. But now - after the encounter with the nádaig and this information - there were even more reasons not to.

"I will keep your secret," the doneigad confirmed.

"And you?" the mál turned to the other two women.

Amalia still did not know what they had seen. But there was no harm in keeping the other side in the dark about it. So she bowed her head, "It would be advisable not to tell secrets to people you do not want to share them with yet. But since we do not wish to harm you, we will keep quiet about it."

"Good, fewer words would have been enough for that," Derdre agreed.

This time the noble allowed herself an amused smile. "I will try to remember that the next time we meet. Farewell," she said, nodding once more to the mál.

"What are your plans now?" inquired Síora as they crossed the village.

"To tell the people of Thélème that there is no demon here. And after that, we will return to New Sérène," the noble replied. For the time being, she had seen enough of the island. She wanted to go back to Constantin and Emile. Besides, she could use a bit of a training with Kurt - she had been dodging the nádaig in battle a bit too slowly for her own liking.

Chapter Text

Today

It was shortly after noon when they reached New Sérène. The Naut said goodbye and assured them that he would bring Admiral Cabral to the palace immediately. Emile and Kurt made a brief detour via the embassy to change their clothes and wash up before walking to the palace accompanied by Amalia and Síora.

"How was your trip?" inquired Emile. His cousin held his hand and walked beside him.

"Oh, successful. We went to this lovely village and the leader sent us into the swamp for some tests. The lessons paid off - I solved the riddles. And thus, apparently, awakened a guardian," she told us.

"A guardian?" echoed Emile.

"Those huge beings Síora told us about?" returned Malia.

The ambassador stopped and looked at his relative in dismay. "Was it... friendly?" he echoed.

"Unfortunately, no. We had to kill it. It really upset her partner," she replied.

"Another guardian?" asked Emile, startled. He had known that moving through the wilderness of Teer Fradee was not without danger, but he had never expected them to encounter these guardians so quickly.

"No. When someone finds their minundhanem, they stay with them. Even if one of them becomes a guardian," Síora explained. "Your word for that is 'soulmate."

"With coitus," Amalia added with a grin.

Emile's gaze moved from her to the on ol Menawí, who nodded in response.

"So... how does one become a guardian?" asked Emile. Until Amalia's description of their mission, he had assumed that these creatures were created in some way, but now it sounded like on ol menawí were turning into them.

"I asked that too - but we are not yet trustworthy enough for that knowledge," his cousin replied in her point.

"It is not for me to share this knowledge. Other doneigads have to decide about it," the latter corrected the noble.

"Was anyone hurt?" the ambassador asked.

"Nothing bad. Maragerte had a few scratches. She put up a good fight, even if she is nowhere near Kurt's talents," she replied, throwing her former master of arms a grin before looking at her cousin again, "Síora healed her after the fight. I asked her if you might be able to learn that as well. And it seems you can negotiate that rather than the Guardians' secrets."

"You think I could learn that?" he turned to Síora. He had already thought about it after the fight against the Bridge Alliance. It would be beneficial if he possessed this ability as well.

"We have never tried to pass this knowledge on to a renaigse. It takes a lot of practice and patience," she replied.

"Then it' s a good thing that Green Blood is the mage," Kurt commented.

"What is that supposed to mean?" inquired Malia with mock indignation in her voice.

"That you would probably drop after the second practice," replied the mercenary.

"I compliment you on your skills, and in return you claim that I am impatient?" she echoed.

"Would only be a claim if it wasn't true. And if you don't want to keep the Nauts waiting, you should keep moving," the soldier replied, pointing at Admiral Cabral and Captain Vasco, who were climbing the steps to the palace.

"He is right. We should hurry," Emile agreed with his former teacher and they started moving again. They caught up with the Nauts before they had entered the palace.

"Vasco has already informed me. We are indebted to you," the admiral greeted him as they entered Constantin's residence.

"I am glad to have been able to help. I would like to discuss the further details in the presence of the governor," Emile replied, gesturing to a servant who would take them to Constantin.

"Of course," the Naut returned.

Emile tried not to give the captain a look as he joined his superior, but failed. And, of course, Captain Vasco noticed the look. A smile briefly flitted across his features, but it didn't seem to reach his eyes. The ambassador sighed inwardly. What had he expected? That the captain would suddenly start to have feelings for him? At least he hadn't expected the Naut to be more distant with their return to New Sérène than he had been on the ship. But perhaps that was just Emile's own perception, since they had spent so much time together on the trip to San Matheus and back.

The servant did indeed take them to a downstairs salon, but they didn't have to wait long before Constantin entered.

"Emile! You are back!" the governor greeted his cousin and embraced him.

He then turned to the Nauts, "I am glad you found the time to come and see us right away."

"No trouble, Your Excellency," the admiral replied. She sat next to the captain on one of the sofas. The Nauts' washed-out blue coats contrasted sharply with the soft, sunny yellow fabric with which the saloon's furniture had been upholstered.

"Well - I suppose my cousin has been able to settle your matter to your complete satisfaction?" the regent wanted to know.

"He has," confirmed the Naut, nodding.

"So - I think you wanted to answer our questions," Constantin continued.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather... just discuss this within the Congregation?" the admiral returned.

"Síora already knows that it was us who attacked her people back then. We would like to clear this matter up as fully as possible," the regent replied. Emile had to concede to him that he was not unsettled by the Nauts.

"As you wish. We discovered Teer Fradee about two hundred years ago. We sold the location to the Congregation a few decades later because they had been our closest ally at the time. We brought them to Teer Fradee, where they established settlements. The nobles turned out to be tyrants and began to exploit the island. Their actions not only upset the locals, but also their own workers and craftsmen. The magic of the locals was awakened and beasts came out of the forests and destroyed the new towns. Only a few nobles and armed men made it back to our ships. The losses were enormous, the humiliation devastating. The Council of Princes paid us well to keep their secrets."

Constantin had put a hand to his chin as he had listened to the Naut's account.

"So they know - all of them! My father deliberately kept it from us," it escaped him, and he shook his head.

"Are you surprised? As if they had ever been so gracious as to tell us the plans for their intrigues," Amalia interjected. She had leaned back in her chair and her expression could best be described as skeptical.

"As for that, I can't be of any help to you. But I can tell you another of their well-kept secrets. If you wish," the admiral objected. Thereupon the eyes of all wandered to her again. Briefly, Emile's gaze brushed the captain's. He seemed similarly reserved as Kurt when he was in the presence of their guardians.

"And what do you want in return this time?" inquired Constantin.

"Nothing. After all, your cousin has seen to it that our interests are safeguarded. But I must warn you. Secrets are often a double-edged sword," she replied.

"Oh, please. Do you think one grows up in the court of the Congregation without having learned that lesson?" replied Malia, bored.

"Probably not. Lord de Sadet - shall we proceed or is the information sufficient for you?" the admiral turned to the ambassador.

"It is up to the governor to decide," the latter replied.

"In that case - no, the decision is yours, because it concerns you," the Naut replied.

"That is enough. We do not need more," the noble woman suddenly interjected.

"Malia, we need as much information as possible," Constantin said.

"No. We do not. I do not care what it is. We do not need it!" she vehemently objected, her gaze wandering back and forth between her two cousins.

"Lord de Sardet?" the admiral continued to eye him.

"Emile, please. It does not matter at all. Trust me," Malia began again. This time she stood up, knelt in front of his chair and put her hand around his.

All eyes were on him now, though he himself didn't know why. Only at the very edge of his consciousness a question came up. A question he had hardly dared to ask... He tore himself away from Malia's gray-blue eyes and looked back at the Naut.

"Proceed," he urged the admiral.

"No! You cannot...", Amalia rose and took a few steps back.

"Malia, my dear, that is enough," Constantin now objected.

"The Congregation, despite its fear, always returned to this island and made expeditions. Your mother came from this island. You were born on one of our ships during the crossing from Teer Fradee to Sérène," she explained.

"But... I know my mother. She is not from Teer Fradee. There are pictures in the palace of her being a child," he objected, though the words came sluggishly to his lips.

"It must be a shock to you. I don't know why Prince Pascal had decided to break the pact with us and take you into his family," the admiral countered. The ambassador stared at them and finally lowered his eyes to his hands. All these years... lies, nothing but lies.

"My father took him in?" echoed Constantin.

"He did," confirmed the Naut.

A clatter sounded, followed by rapid footsteps moving away.

"Blood and fire," Kurt grumbled. " Shall I...?"

"Let her go. We will deal with her later," the regent replied, rising. Only now did Emile find the strength to lift his gaze and let it wander around the room. Amalia had vanished and Constantin closed the door.

"That means... you are one of us," Síora spoke up. The legate looked to her.

"He is also one of us," objected the Naut, but Emile heard these words as if through water.

He was not his mother's son. He was not Constantin's and Amalia's cousin. He was not even from the continent.

"Admiral, perhaps this is better discussed at some other time..." said... the captain? The ambassador didn't know for sure. The room around him seemed to shrink and at the same time the walls fell apart on all sides. The island, the ocean, the continent - everything was just a finger's width and hundreds of miles away at the same time.

In the end, he didn't remember exactly how he had gotten to the embassy. Sure enough, there had been Kurt. He had asked him something, Emile had answered something, then the soldier had left the room. Kurt, who was paid to watch over three nobles. But there were only two. Suddenly Emile didn't know how to breathe. Only when he fell to the side and the impact on the mattress of his bed drove the remaining air out of his lungs, did something in him remember how. He took a breath too quickly and too deeply, coughing loudly until his chest hurt. But at least his breathing gradually slowed.

"Take care of yourself. And thank you for being my son."

She had known. Princess Valerie de Sardet had known it all along. And she had decided that he had to find out on his own. Without ever getting the chance to ask her any questions. Tears welled up in his eyes at the thought of saying goodbye to his malichor-stricken mother. Emile closed his eyes and rolled over onto his back. Why had she decided he had to find out on his own? Had she thought it would be more merciful? He wished fervently that he would just wake up and it would all be a dream.

Chapter Text

Today

Constantin had seen off the Nauts, told Lady de Morange to temporarily take his place, and then he had hurried into the embassy himself. Now he was pacing up and down in the salon while glancing at the window. It had been only a few minutes since Emile had appeared and spoken to him briefly. Then he had asked the princess of the on ol menawí to speak with him in private. Constantin knew that his cousin was not doing this because he was suddenly keeping secrets from him, but because what he needed most at the moment was quiet. And too many people in one room would only be a disadvantage to that in Emile's current condition. Which led the young governor to note that one person was missing. He paused and took another look out the window, which overlooked the square in front of the embassy. People were going about their daily business, but still no sign of Malia.

"Enough of that. We go find her," he finally said. Kurt rose to his feet.

"Any idea where you want to start, Your Excellency?"

"She is angry - usually the training dummies have a face then, but we have no training yard here and since you are here too, I have no idea!" he replied, looking at the guardsman.

"We can try the barracks," the mercenary suggested.

"Excellent. Off we go," the governor decided, heading for the door. But he paused when he heard his name behind him:

"Constantin. Wouldn't you rather stay here - with Emile?" the guardsman objected. He rarely called the oldest of the three cousins by his first name since they had reached Teer Fradee, and even then only when they were among themselves. Just as it should have been.

"He wanted to talk to Síora. And knowing Emile, he needs some time to sort out his thoughts afterwards. But as soon as my dear cousin is in the mood for our company, we better be complete. So - we have no time to lose," Constantin decided.

He had rarely been alone with his master of arms. Normally they had always traveled in a trio, and since they had arrived on the island, he had accompanied Emile in particular. Which made the regent happy, because he wanted his cousins to be guarded only by the best, even if it meant that he was often alone in his palace.

But when they reached the garrison, Malia was not to be found in the exercise rooms or the yard.

"Where could she be?" he turned to the mercenary.

"No idea, your Excellency. Had counted on finding her here."

"The port? No, she is not one to stare idly out at the water. The woods would be more Emile's style, too. Kurt, where could she be?" he repeated his question and looked at the soldier again.

The latter raised his shoulders, "I really don't know."

"Oh, stop it. I know you two are thick as thieves. If anyone knows where she is right now, it is you," he snapped at the guardsman.

"We're not..." the latter began, but Constantin didn't let him finish, "Let it be, Kurt, we both know that I have not been your favorite student, and that while you rightly think Emile the most sensible of us, you also have never joked with him as much as you have with her. You like Malia's fighting spirit, you are cut from the same cloth. So you should be the most likely to think of where she is! Is there any place where she could start a duel?"

His gaze rested on the mercenary, who drew his eyebrows together, but then that expression settled on his face that Constantin had seen almost only there when Kurt had been dealing with his parents.

"There is. And the place isn't fit for nobles," he finally said.

"As if that ever stopped Malia from doing anything," the regent countered.

The soldier just nodded, then turned. Constantin followed him. For a moment he thought Kurt was leaving the barracks, but just before they reached the door, he turned left. They hurried through the kitchen and the tavern, which adjoined it. There, the guardsman headed straight for the stairs. The noble was struggling to keep up with him. At this time of the day, the tavern was quite crowded and it seemed as if he would not be recognized, because no one avoided him. Perhaps he should have resumed his old habits and visited the tavern from time to time. But he had wanted to leave behind the irresponsible behavior of the continent to prove to his parents that they had made the right choice with him as governor.

In the basement of the tavern, the party was even louder than in the upstairs area - even though the sun had only recently set. Still, that was nothing compared to the noise that awaited them behind the double doors right next to the stairs. Shouts blared towards them and were reflected back from the cellar vault around them. The room was huge - Constantin couldn't see the opposite wall from his position. Which could also be due to the many backs that were in front of him. Chambers went off to his left and right, but a crowd had just gathered, the dimensions of which turned out to be larger than he had thought as he got closer.

"What is this place?" He had to shout to drown out the loud exclamations of bystanders. Men and women, some in uniforms, others in ordinary clothes, crowded close together and loud expressions blared out again and again. There was clapping here and there, but Constantin could not make out the reason.

"The arena!" Kurt called back over his shoulder, making his way through the crowd.

The noble wanted to inquire what exactly this was all about. He squeezed between two women to catch up with Kurt, but that was when he saw what the soldier meant: there was a fighting ring in the middle of the hall. It was square and had been dug into the ground, with steep walls. There was a ladder facing them, but as crowded as the hall was, it could have been at the other end of the island. In the ring was Malia. Her vest was half-open, a few strands of her hair had come loose from her braided plait. Opposite her were three figures, and if Constantin interpreted the posture of these three people correctly, they were her opponents. What surprised him was that Malia had no one on her side.

"Kurt, we have to stop this!"

"Takes too long before anyone here realizes who's fighting!" the latter shouted back. The edges of the pit were covered with wooden planks on which the spectators stood. A makeshift railing of ropes swinging from wooden post to wooden post prevented onlookers from falling in. Kurt lowered himself into a squatting position and lifted one of the ropes. Then he sat down on the planks so that his legs dangled over the edge.

"Stay here!" he instructed the regent before pushing himself off the planks and dropping into the pit.

"Good grief!" it escaped Constantin.

The shouts grew louder as the crowd saw that another fighter had entered the field. Someone somewhere was shouting out something, but the noble took no time to listen. He did as his former master of arms had done, squeezed under the ropes and settled on the planks. Even from this position, however, he saw that the pit was certainly as high as he was when he stretched his arms above his head. Nevertheless, he let himself fall into it. The impact was less severe than he had expected, but also only because he had instinctively crouched down.

He rushed over to Amalia, who was wrestling with a man. As he did so, he dodged Kurt, who threw another man to the ground, and moments later turned to the woman who was in the ring with him.

"Constantin, damn it!" snapped the mercenary as he passed him.

The noble cast an irritated glance over his shoulder. And saw that at that moment more people were jumping down into the arena.

"What is happening?" he wanted to know.

"Three on one - that's the rule," returned the soldier.

"Constantin?", Malia's astonished voice sounded behind him at that moment. She had tackled the man to the ground and twisted his arm behind his back.

"What are you doing here?"

"The question is more like..."

"No time, greenhorns. Constantin, you take the woman on the far left. Amal, secure his flank."

"And you want to take the other four, or how do you figure it?" she returned.

"First come, first serve. Don't turn your back on any of them. And make sure they're incapacitated," he reminded them. Then he, in turn, went on the attack, which earned him the attention of not one but two female fighters, and one male fighter, while the others moved toward the two nobles.

For the next few moments, Constantin was fully occupied with dodging blows and dealing them as soon as he saw an unprotected point. He barely had enough time to even think that he owed his quick reflexes to Kurt's training, so much were they pressing in on him.

But despite all his skill, he was finally pulled to the ground. His opponent sat on him and lashed out with her fist, but before she could bring it down, Malia threw her off him. Shouts echoed through the air and Constantin got back up. He got hold of a man who was rushing towards his cousin and thus got his undivided attention. The governor dodged the first blow, spun out of the second a bit before twisting his arm behind his back and pushing him off - straight towards another attacker.

It felt like an hour to him, though it was certainly only minutes before most of the attackers had given up.

"You are not supposed to be here!" shouted Amalia to him, who was wrestling with a woman.

"None of us should, my dear!" he returned.

He heard snorts from the other direction and saw that Kurt had caught another woman rushing toward them. In return, the other opponent gave Kurt a punch in the face. Without further ado, Constantin came to the aid of his former teacher.

They defeated the last opponents. Outraged and delighted cries echoed from the ceiling, while two of their counterparts were still rolling on the floor.

"I have not asked you for help!", Amalia snapped at the other two. Her lower lip was split open and blood was running down it. Also, her tunic, vest and pants were full of dust, as were her face and hair.

"It's not like you didn't need it," the guardsman argued.

"That is not true at all! I could have handled this on my own!"

"And how long were you planning to stay here?" the mercenary countered.

She instantly objected, but Kurt paid her no further attention, turning to Constantin, "Talk to her. I'll make sure they don't start another round."

With those words, he ditched the two nobles and walked to the edge of the arena.

"How dare you?!" she hissed at her cousin.

"Malia, we are not..."

"First this matter with Emile, and now you meddle in my affairs as well? Do you have nothing better to do?"

"Do you have nothing better to do? Emile has just been told that he has been adopted."

"What did he have to follow up on? I begged him not to!" she huffed.

"Malia, enough."

"Oh, you want to play the older one? We can settle this right here!"

Constantin blinked for a moment, but then raised his hands in a dismissive gesture.

"We both know how this is going to turn out. And we both know that you are going to regret what you just said. I forgive you. Now come on, we have to get back to Emile. I am sure he is feeling very alone right now."

"All alone? He is a Naut and one of the on ol menawí! You saw Síora when it dawned on her that he is one of her people!"

"Do you really think that all this will undo the last years? All our hours together? Do you really think Emile loves us less just because it is not the same blood that is running through our veins?", Constantin contradicted. Sure, the thought had crossed his mind too, but they knew each other so well after all these years - what did it matter that they weren't really related? For once, their parents had invested a lot in this deception. And he knew Malia disliked playing into the hands of her guardians in intrigue, but this time Constantin would be more than willing to side with his parents if it meant not losing Emile.

Her gaze flickered to the floor. He stepped toward her and reached for her hand. She pulled it away, but he reached for it again, more carefully this time, and she let him.

"I think Emile's world just came crashing down. We should show him he has not lost us," he added softly.

"Do you think he still wants that? After I simply walked away?"

"Malia, who on earth could not want you in their life?" he countered. The hint of a guilty smile fluttered across her lips.

"Are you done? They want to see more fighting here and then we shouldn't be here," their former master of arms spoke up.

"Kurt! Victor's golden underwear!" it escaped Malia. Indeed, the mercenary did not look well. Blood ran from a cut above his eyebrow, and unless Constantin was completely mistaken, he was holding one side. Much like the noble himself had done back then after the tavern brawl in which he had broken a rib. In addition, his uniform showed more bloodstains and tears.

"Let's go," was all he said, gesturing with his head to a rope ladder to their left.

"You have..." began Malia, but he didn't let her finish, "We'll go and check on Emile."

She refrained from further contradiction and followed him. Constantin took one last look around the establishment before joining them. Very soon they would be laughing with Emile over this. As soon as they had convinced him that nothing serious had happened to any of them.

Chapter Text

Today

The sun had already set while he was still sitting on his bed, this time next to Síora. He had asked her if she knew about the kidnappings, but the doneigad had been unable to help him. The Red Spears had not lost anyone twenty-four years ago. For that, she had suggested checking in with other clans. The possibility that he still had family who didn't even know about him was both frightening and a glimmer of hope he hadn't expected.

"And your mother didn't tell you?" the princess inquired.

The ambassador shook his head. "She was very sick at the end. She... is probably dead by now. The letter should be coming any day now," he replied. And although he felt betrayed by her as well, he had a lump in his throat at the thought that she was no longer among the living by now. No matter what her motives had been for not telling him about his origins, she certainly hadn't wanted to hurt him. And perhaps she had also wanted to spare herself pain when he thought of her farewell. Yes, perhaps she had feared that he would no longer consider her family once he knew she was not his birth mother. And possibly she hadn't had the strength for it in the end. She had already been sick with Malichor when it had been decided to send him and his cousins to Teer Fradee. An island where she thought he would be safe. And perhaps she had also hoped that here, far from the intrigues of the court and the Malichor, he would live a happier life.

Emile did not stop the tears as they burst forth again. He took a slow breath and expelled it just as slowly.

"Carants, this is not an easy time for you. But we are a proud, strong people. You have gained much today," Síora said softly.

He nodded, though tears continued to run down his beard.

"Is it appropriate to hug at this point?" she wanted to know, looking at him from the side.

"Do you... do our people do that in these situations?" he asked, looking to her.

"Usually," the princess replied.

"Good," and despite all the sadness and feeling of betrayal, he had to laugh a little. Síora put her arms around him and he leaned against her. He had found things - maybe he even still had family. In that sense, maybe he really had gained something. He would so love to share it with his mother. Tell her that he wasn't angry, even if he was hurt. And that he knew she hadn't meant to hurt him. But he couldn't do that now. He had taken nothing from her. Except...

He slowly broke away from the princess. "Síora, my mother gave me a pendant," he began, pulling it out from under his tunic.

"Is it from Teer Fradee?" he wanted to know, handing it to her after taking off the necklace.

"Yes. This is our craftsmanship. This will help us find your family," she replied with a smile.

"Really?"

"Most definitely. We can leave as soon as you're ready," she replied.

"That is...very kind. But I think first I need something to sort out my thoughts. And then I would like to talk to Constantin and Amalia some more. So... it will not be today," he replied.

"Of course, Carants. I'll be in your parlor if you wish to speak with me," she replied, rising.

"Thank you, Síora," he nodded to her, then the princess left his room.

Emile looked down again at the necklace in his hands. The dark stone, the curved lines really looked a lot like the craftsmanship of the on ol menawí. Now he finally knew where it came from. He had to tell Constantin and Amalia. He rose, took a fresh handkerchief from the dresser, and dried his tears before blowing his nose.

As it turned out, his relatives were not here. He had asked Síora first and then Claudette, one of the servants. She knew that Constantin and Kurt had left the embassy, but she couldn't say exactly where. Emile retreated to the small library that was to the left of the entrance hall of the house. At first he had considered looking in the latest volume of the "History of the Congregation," but he suspected that he would find it hard to concentrate. So he had chosen one of the tales, but he kept looking out the windows that overlooked the small square in front of the embassy. At last their figures peeled out of the shadows of the alley. Emile jumped up and hurried toward them. His feet carried him through the entrance hall and he did not stop to close any door, but ran toward them over the cobblestones. Malia quickened her pace as well during the last few steps, but stopped when they reached each other. His first impulse was to hug her, but when he saw that her lip was split open and her clothes dusty, he stopped, startled. "What happened?"

"I... have been foolish," his cousin replied, her gaze drifting to the ground.

"Were you mugged?" he asked, letting his gaze wander further. Constantin showed no injuries, but Kurt was bleeding from a cut above his eyebrow and there were more traces of blood on his clothes.

"By Louanne's treasure - Kurt, are you all right?" he echoed.

"No, but it will be all right, Green Blood. What about you?"

"I..." he swallowed, because now that he was asked directly about it and his concern for the others was pushed back a bit, the uncertainty and confusion came back full force.

"I do not know," he finally answered honestly, looking at his former teacher. Not only because the latter had asked him, but also because Emile feared that Amalia was angry with him and he didn't know if he would be able to bear it.

"It will be all right, dear cousin, believe me," Constantin spoke up and put a hand on his shoulder. At last, the ambassador dared to look at him.

"I hope so."

"Of course it will be all right. Whatever my father's plans may have been - our aunt adopted you. It does not matter if we share the same blood. You are part of our family," Constantin assured him, stepping around him to place his other hand on his other shoulder.

"That is... if you still want to," Malia's voice came softly to his ear. His gaze flickered to her. She stood beside them with her shoulders slumped, looking to the ground, but when she felt the other's gaze on her, she looked at the ambassador. The last time he had seen her similarly sad had been after Édouard's wedding. Emile turned to her, causing one of Constantin's hands to slip from his shoulder.

"You know the court and its intrigues all too well. You no longer depend on any of that. You belong to the on ol menawí. You have a new family now. Or two, considering that, strictly speaking, you are also a Naut," she continued, finality resonating in her voice.

"But... do I have to give you up for that?" he asked cautiously. He didn't know what to do if she said yes. Just when he had thought, with all the shock of this discovery, he might have found something too...

"Nonsense, my dear. Of course you do not have to. You can belong to all of us - Congregation, Nauts, on ol menawí. It was probably even part of Father's plan, but that need not hurt you," Constantin objected, putting his arm around Emile's shoulders.

"Yes - but Emile does not have to belong to all of them. What if he likes the others better? He does not have to stick with us now - he has alternatives," Malia countered, this time more vehemently than before.

"Are you going to cast him out? It is not his fault that Aunt Valerie and my father decided to take him in!" objected Constantin.

"Of course not!"

"Then why do you say such terrible things?" her older cousin demanded to know.

"Because he has a choice now! What if we are not good enough anymore?" she burst out.

It took almost all of Emile's courage to continue looking at her.

"You will always be good enough for me. But... I understand if you no longer want me in your life," he finally brought out, his gaze darting to the floor at the last words. He saw her boots suddenly move towards him and looked back up.

"I cannot even begin to imagine my life without you," she objected, reaching for his hand, though her face still seemed tight-lipped. She looked down at their hands for a moment before looking back up at him.

"I... was just afraid that you would not want to be with us anymore," she added softly.

"But... I still love you," Emile replied just as softly.

At last her features relaxed and he saw tears come to her eyes.

"I should have known that. I am sorry," she said and hugged him. Emile returned the gesture immediately. He heard Constantin let out a sigh beside them.

"I love you, too. I... was afraid of losing you," her tear choked voice reached his ears. The ambassador also let his tears run free again.

"You will not," he replied, hugging her even tighter.

"Finally! That really is enough heartache for one day," Constantin spoke up and put his arms around them both.

"And next time, please start with the obvious and tell each other how much you care for each other," he added, managing to let his tone waver between reproving and indulgent.

Neither Emile nor Amalia could suppress laughter as the three held each other. She hadn't been angry with him - not really. She had been afraid of losing him. Considering that she had been the first of them all to lose her parents, it was hardly surprising. But now that it had been fifteen years since Armand d'Orsay had died, it had slipped the ambassador's mind again how hurt she had been then.

Finally they parted from each other.

"Shall we move this inside?" inquired Constantin, looking back and forth between them. The other two nodded.

"I did not mean to hurt you, please forgive me," Malia said again softly and looked at Emile, holding his hand tightly.

"It is all right," he replied, smiling a little, even if it felt strange because his cheeks were still wet from the tears.

They entered the embassy and Constantin was already making his way towards the salon.

"Green Blood," the mercenary addressed the ambassador. Emile turned to him and only in the light of the entrance hall did he notice how badly battered his former master of arms was. An incipient bruise was showing on his neck and his clothes were torn in several points.

"Kurt, for Constance's sake! We should get you some bandages!" it escaped him, but the guardsman shook his head.

"I'll take care of it," he countered.

"And it should go without saying: Nothing has changed for me. I will keep watching over you," he said, nodding at him.

Emile returned the gesture, "Thank you, Kurt. That means a lot to me."

"Not for this," the mercenary said. The ambassador felt Amalia let go of his hand to walk toward the soldier.

"I should help you. After all, I am responsible for your injuries," she began.

The guardsman looked from Emile to her, "I will ask Síora if she can repeat her trick."

"I...", Amalia looked to the ground, but before she could continue, her former master of arms interrupted her, "Breathing is not pleasant with a broken rib, and you have other things to deal with right now." He then gestured with his head in the direction of the other two.

She glanced at them before looking at Kurt again and nodding.

"See you later then," she murmured, turning back to Constantin and Emile.

"We will send Síora to you right away," the ambassador assured him.

"Thanks," he nodded to them once more, then went up the stairs that led to their chambers.

"And you my dear, really have something to clarify," Constantin added as he fixated on Malia.

"We will go now to the salon, let us have something to drink, and then you will explain how on earth you came to think that it was possible that Emile no longer wanted to belong to us," he continued.

"Let her be, Constantin," Emile objected. He was glad she wasn't angry with him and didn't want her to feel any worse than she obviously already did.

But his cousin shook her head and forced herself to smile, bringing her hand to her swollen lip, "No, Constantin is right. Better we talk about it now than have even a small piece of it stick with me."

"Well, my dears. In with us. And then let us toast to old and new families," Constantin decided. He put a hand on each of their backs and gently pushed them toward the parlor.

Chapter Text

Today

Vasco knocked on the door of the embassy. He remembered too well how the young governor had seen off Cabral and him at the palace not quite two days ago. It hadn't taken much for it to be called a sacking, but the Naut couldn't blame the noble. Learning the truth about his cousin had certainly not been easy for Prince d'Orsay. And what his other cousin thought the captain could only guess, but he would probably find out soon enough, if she wasn't on the road. But considering the early time of day, he assumed he would run into her as well.

He gave his name and his request to the servant who opened the door for him, and shortly thereafter he was led into the dining room where he had also been before their trip to San Matheus, when they had asked the Congregation for help.

And once again, everyone was seated around the table, though it seemed that breakfast was already over, as the servant began clearing the plates.

"Captain Vasco, to what do we owe the honor?" inquired Constantin d'Orsay from the head of the table.

But the noblewoman beat him to it, "If you have any more startling news, out with it." Her tone was anything but friendly and the look she gave him seemed as if she wanted to stab him.

"That's one of the reasons I'm here. I...wanted to apologize. It couldn't have been easy to learn that your cousin was from Teer Fradee," he replied.

"Apology accepted," the regent replied, inclining his head toward the Naut.

"Strictly speaking... there is nothing to apologize for. You are not to blame for what happened," Emile spoke up. Vasco let his eyes wander from the older noble to the youngest.

"Possibly. However, I knew who you were before we left for San Matheus," he replied. Surprise flitted across de Sardet's face.

"You knew?!" his cousin snapped, and she seemed tempted to jump up. But she was stopped because the guardsman put a hand on her shoulder in a flash and pushed her back on the chair. Still, she glared at the Naut.

"Admiral Cabral told me. I should find out how much you know about it. And... if it is possible to win you over to our side," he continued, looking from Lady d'Orsay to the other ambassador at the end.

"A strange way to recruit someone," the governor commented.

"I don't think I can convince your cousin of that. He is, of course, free to join us at any time. I wanted to ask a personal favor," he continued.

"After all this, you think we will grant you a favor?" Lady d'Orsay snapped at him.

"He just admitted things he need not have told us," the elder d'Orsay objected, before looking from his cousin to the captain. "Why did you do that?"

"Because - in my limited experience with ambassadors - honesty has more to do with it than I thought. I wanted to ask if I could accompany your ambassadors while my ship is underway. Because as it turns out, it can be helpful to know something about diplomacy. After all, it was your cousin's negotiating skills that brought freedom to my comrades while keeping our secrets," he replied, causing the governor to raise his eyebrows.

"What do you think?" the regent turned to the other two.

"I think this is a good idea. This way we can strengthen our relations with the Nauts at the same time. He can move into one of the free rooms and accompany Amalia or me as soon as we leave on a diplomatic mission," Lord de Sardet replied. In fact, a slight smile settled on his lips as he looked from his cousin back to the Naut, but Vasco could see nothing but friendliness in it. It didn't seem as if the young noble was angry with him for the fact that Vasco had already known who he actually was during their journey together.

"And that is the only reason you are here? You do not intend to recruit him secretly after all?" echoed Lady d'Orsay.

"Malia, I do not believe he would have told us otherwise," objected her older cousin.

"He can still tell us himself. Captain Vasco?" she turned to the latter.

"I don't. I just want to learn to be of use to the Nauts. That's all," he replied, calmly returning the look from her dark gray eyes. Something seemed to change in them and she nodded curtly before rising.

"Good. I would also only let you get away with his recruitment if you did it to want him to continue to be close to you because you do not wish to part with him after all. He is not only an excellent diplomat, but also quite handsome and I think you know that," she added.

The young local woman sitting next to Lord de Sardet quirked her eyebrows and tilted her head as the noble continued to eye him. The soldier shook his head and finally propped it up with one hand while her two cousins murmured her name again.

"Surely such matters should be settled first and foremost between your cousin and myself," the Naut countered.

The noble's lips narrowed a bit before she said, "Milady."

Now it was up to the captain to turn his head a little to the side. "I beg your pardon?"

"Milady. When you tell someone that you do not care about their opinion or that you will do exactly the opposite of what they want you to do, you end the sentence with their title, especially if their social rank is above yours. This way, you give the impression of showing them respect, even if you have just openly proven that the opposite is true," she explained.

"So, do you still wish to travel with us and learn from us, Captain Vasco?" she echoed.

He had guessed that she would not be enthusiastic about his idea. But he had not expected to clash with her immediately. Finally, he nodded, "I do. It will be at least three months before the Cavalo-Marino is back."

She turned and looked at her two cousins, "So - what do we say?"

"I still think it is a good idea," the ambassador replied.

"I agree with him. But will you be able to cope with it, my dear?" the governor wanted to know.

At that moment a smile lit up her features.

"I have just taught him his first lesson. Of course I can handle it," she replied, before turning to the Naut.

"Vasco - that is Síora over there, she is doneigad of the Red Spears. You already know Kurt, as well as Emile and Constantin. In this house we do not dwell on formalities, otherwise we would never be done with anything," she continued blithely, as if they had just spent a few minutes just chatting about pleasant things.

"And speaking of which - I am going to see if our luggage is ready," she nodded at him before walking past him and out of the dining room. The Naut looked after her until it occurred to him that he was just looking at a closed door.

"Well, Captain, welcome to the staff of the Embassy of the Congregation," the regent's words snapped him out of his astonishment. The young governor had risen and patted the Naut on the shoulder before following his cousin. The soldier showed a half-smile before he too disappeared through the door into the hallway.

"To a good journey together," Síora interjected, nodding at him.

"Likewise," he replied. Finally, the ambassador approached him.

"Amalia has not been kind to you. I am sorry," he began immediately, but the captain shook his head and looked at the other man.

"No, this time you really don't need to apologize. I think after keeping you in the dark about your past, I deserved that," he replied.

In fact, de Sardet's gaze flickered to the side for a moment, but he quickly looked back at the Naut, "I am sure you were just following the orders you were given."

Vasco tilted his head slightly, "Doesn't mean that following them was the right thing to do. So - it's my turn this time. I'm sorry I didn't tell you right away."

The young man eyed him for a moment before asking, "Did you already know in Sérène that I came from Teer Fradee?"

The Naut shook his head, "No. Cabral only told me when she saw that you had come on my ship. However, I already had a hunch thanks to your mark."

"That is understandable. We are traveling with Síora to a village of the On ol Menawí to look for relatives of mine. Do you want us to let you know as soon as we get back to the city?" he inquired. Vasco tried to imagine what it would be like to find relatives of his. Something like that could happen to him - if he knew what family he came from. He was sea-given, which meant that he had not been born on a ship. So there was a contract where the Nauts had demanded a child in return... Even though he felt that demanding a child was harsh, he felt that giving up his own child for something like that was even more compassionless.

"I could accompany you in a moment. But if you'd rather do this alone, I understand," he replied.

"Not at all. I just thought it might get boring for you," the ambassador replied, raising his shoulders slightly. And there was that smile again, but this time it seemed a touch embarrassed. Which pleased Vasco all the more. He smiled as well and replied, "I can hardly imagine."

Chapter Text

Today

The trip to the village to which Síora had wanted to take them had been uneventful. Amalia had not been able to come along on the trip to the second settlement, to which the doneigad had taken Emile to look for his family. The governor of Hikmet had wanted to discuss something with a Congregation ambassador, in person. So she had gone, thus leaving her cousin to search for his relatives in peace. But even then he had not found anything. It was now altogether the third village of the on ol menawí to which Síora had taken them. And somehow Amalia was more nervous about it than she had been on the first trip. The princess had told something about the different clans on Teer Fradee, and the noble had done her best to listen and ask questions. In the evening, by the fire, Vasco had told about customs of the Nauts and Kurt had trained with Síora and him. The princess had asked to be instructed by him in the use of weapons and the mercenary had included the Naut. He had justified his decision thus that Vasco should be able to fight when he was already part of their escort. After that, Síora, Emile and Amalia had talked, longer than they should have: Amalia had the third watch and the other two had gone to sleep just before it.

But that was not the reason for Amalia's lack of concentration, which reached rock bottom when they saw the settlement shimmering between the trees. It had been built on a plain on a cliff. In the background they could see the sea and, to the left, large white bones rising into the air.

"They come from sea creatures," the princess had explained to them. However the on ol menawí had come by whale bones - for even in this village, Amalia discovered no signs of significant seafaring on the part of the locals. The mál of the Vígnámrí settlement, Ullan, was much friendlier toward them than Síora's sister Eksel, who was herself now leader of the Red Spears. He was also less reserved than Duncas, the mál and doneigad of the first village they had visited. Ullan was even interested in a trade relationship with New Sérène. And while Amalia's uncle might have been pleased that at least some of the on ol menawí were so open to the Congregation, she could feel no joy or remote satisfaction in this. For the question burned in her soul, which Emile asked after exchanging the first pleasantries: "Was a woman abducted from this village? About twenty-five years ago?"

"A kidnapping? Why do you ask that?" the mál wanted to know.

"My mother is from Teer Fradee and I am looking for my family," the ambassador answered honestly. Amalia pressed her lips together, but it didn't help that Emile's words caused a sharp stab in her chest.

"Our Doneigad disappeared many years ago. Her sister lives in the hut with the two stone pillars in front of it. She is our doneigad now," Ullan replied.

"Really? That is... astounding," Emile gasped. As much as it hurt to see him looking for another family, she couldn't blame him for being surprised. Was their search really going to be over?

"You can ask her," the on ol menawí replied.

The ambassador nodded and turned, absent-mindedly. Amalia wanted to say something, to hug him... but she couldn't. He was busy with other things at the moment, things she was not a part of right now. Síora thanked Ullan and their group left the hut. The noble let his gaze wander through the village, finally stopping at a small, semicircular dwelling, in front of which stood two stone pillars.

"This must be it," he whispered.

Finally, he seemed to pull himself together and looked at the others once more. "I would like to talk to her alone first. Is that all right?"

Kurt raised his shoulders, "As long as you scream in case it gets dangerous."

"I am sure that will not be necessary," the ambassador countered.

"Maybe it's really better if you talk to her alone. If she is your aunt, it is certainly a big surprise that she has a nephew," Síora remarked.

"Do you think she speaks our language?"

"All the Doneigad and Mál do. And some more," the young woman replied.

"Good," Emile expelled the air and looked like he was about to leave, but then he turned to Amalia, "Is it all right for you, too?"

His brown eyes looked serious, though there was still the gentleness she loved so much about him. So she put on her brightest smile and nodded, "Of course it is. Go."

He smiled a little as well, though it seemed much more uncertain, before nodding to her and walking towards the house. Every step he took felt to her like he was moving a hundred miles further away from her, yet she stayed where she was. He knocked on the door and indeed, a woman opened. Amalia couldn't see her well because her cousin covered half of her. He exchanged a few words with her and she let him enter. Then the door closed behind her and although the noble was much too far away to hear anything, she felt as if it was echoing loudly in her ears.

"First the arena and now you're lying to him?", Kurt's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. She looked to the soldier, but unlike usual when he caught her in a lie, there was no disapproving expression on his face, just a waiting one.

"What was I supposed to say? Do not go? If you like her better than me it will break my heart? I mean - I was forced on him. He had no choice at all but to like me - he only had us. And now he has a choice," she replied, looking to the ground. The villagers were currently keeping their distance from them and going about their activities, but they kept casting glances at the strangers and Amalia felt no desire to look at any of them. Apart from the fact that she did not feel in the condition for any diplomatic activities at the moment, she also feared to recognize Emile's face in one of the villagers' faces. So she stared at the ground in front of her boot tops.

"Have you been to the taverns at the harbor?" the captain spoke up.

Amalia raised her eyes to look at him, but it was Kurt who answered, "Several times." His voice lacked any enthusiasm, for these trips had all been without permission from their guardians and the soldier had gotten them out of there each time.

"Have you seen comrades greet each other who used to serve together but are now stationed on different ships?" the Naut wanted to know. Those trips had been a while ago, and if the noble was honest with herself, she hadn't paid attention to such things back then, so she shook her head.

"Only very few Nauts have a choice of which ship they're stationed on. You get into a crew, you live together for months or years by necessity, and you settle in. It's vital, as you experienced for yourselves on our crossing. Not everyone becomes a friend. But those you become friends with, you greet even after years, as if you had last seen each other yesterday, if you happen to land in the same port. Then you laugh, drink together, reminisce about old times and exchange news. All because you served on the same ship and tried to make the best of it. And even the thousands of miles that keep separating you don't change those friendships," he continued.

"Do you really believe that?" she asked.

"I don't have to believe it - I've seen it dozens of times and have experienced it myself. Some very good friends of mine serve on other ships. Two are now stationed on our island," he replied.

"That... thank you. That sounds encouraging," she conceded as she let his words sink in. Finally, she straightened up a bit.

"And, Vasco? I am sorry for giving you such a hard time the last few days," she added.

The Naut showed the hint of his feline smile, "I deserved part of it for being so secretive."

"That is not to say that I must hold it against you forever. Emile has forgiven you, and he is the wounded party in this case, so - I should not hold it against you anymore either," she replied.

"I appreciate that," the Naut countered.

"Suddenly not angry anymore?" echoed Kurt.

But before she could reply, Síora inquired, "Are you angry often?"

"I..." her gaze wandered to the guardsman, on whose face a slight, knowing smile had settled.

"I am not angry that often," she answered the princess, but immediately a soft laugh sounded from Kurt's direction.

"Hey!" she protested.

"You mean - when no one is bothering Constantin or Emile at the moment. Or tells you to do things you find pointless?" he countered.

She rolled her eyes.

"I am rather displeased aboutthe latter. I did not think that counted as angry, too" she returned.

"Keep telling yourself that," the soldier retorted, but turned aside and let his gaze routinely wander over their surroundings.

"There are many who hide their grief behind anger," the doneigad continued, causing Amalia to look to her again. She wanted to disagree, but she sensed that Síora was right. And Kurt had just caught her in a lie, she didn't want to hear him say that again today.

"It makes you feel less powerless. But sometimes you have to allow yourself to feel powerless. But I don't think you have any reason to be sad. You're like siblings. Even if you don't share the same blood," the princess continued. Although she probably had more blood in common with Emile than Amalia.

"Thank you. That is truly kind of you," the Legate finally replied. Síora smiled and squeezed her upper arm before moving away a little and settling on a stone.

Amalia looked at the doneigad's hut, but nothing was happening, so she took a cue from the princess and took a seat on the ground, leaning her back against a small wall that lined the path. Even if this meant she had to turn her head a little to look at the hut of... Emile's aunt. If it was her, of course. Vasco had walked around a bit and finally stopped at the cliff, looking out to sea.

After a while, Kurt settled down beside her.

"If you were trying to look over to the hut in a low-profile way - you still have to work on it," he informed her.

She sighed.

"Is it that obvious?"

He nodded. "But not surprising. And if you ask me, the others are right. You have nothing to worry about. The three of you have always been as thick as thieves. That's not going to change just because a few more people might come into Emile's life," he said.

She expelled her breath again. "You are right, after all. All of you are right. Your encouragement should not even be necessary. I am an adult and should be able to handle things like this on my own."

"Adults don't get their act together like this either. Most just don't show it. Often doesn't turn out well in the end," the guardsman objected.

She looked at him from the side. As he often did, he let his gaze wander over the surroundings. Finally, she leaned against him and put her arm under his to hold on to him. Kurt was a bit of a rock. Relentless, tough, but also just always there - whether a storm was raging or the sun was shining.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"It makes it harder for me to draw my sword when someone's holding my arm," he countered.

"Really? We are in the middle of a village here. Do you think a group of bandits is about to jump out from behind the next hut to attack us?" she questioned doubtfully, straightening up again but not letting go of him.

The mercenary returned her gaze. "We are on foreign territory here. I'm being paid to protect you. So I have to be ready for that."

She shook her head and let go of his arm.

"We all have our job," she murmured as she tightened her knees and wrapped her arms around them. No comparison to the security the grumpy mercenary offered her, but she had enough to deal with her jumbled feelings about Emile and his possibly new family. There was no room to deal with her ever-present desire for Kurt's closeness.

"Which one do you have right now?" the guardsman echoed as he rose. Presumably he was going for another round. He rarely stayed in one place for long.

"Letting Emile have his space. And not eavesdrop on this hut," she muttered.

"What is taking so long?" it escaped her, but when she looked to the side, the door opened.

"Guess you'll find out," the soldier replied. She got to her feet in a flash and her first instinct was to run to Emile, but he was leading an older woman out into the open.

So Amalia stayed where she was, even if it took all her willpower. She reached for Kurt's hand.

Instantly, a reproving "Amal" rang out, but when she gave him a pleading look, he only took a breath before looking back at her cousin and wrapping his gloved fingers around hers. Emile waved them over and they slowly stepped toward him and the stranger.

"This is Slan. Her sister, Arelwin, had received a pendant like this from her husband when they were married," Emile explained, holding up the necklace. Amalia had seen it on the ship, but had completely forgotten about it.

"Is he here, too?"

But Emile shook his head.

"He died chasing after those who kidnapped Arelwin," Slan replied. She spoke slowly and her accent was stronger than Síora's. Still, she was easy to understand.

"So... are you related?" it finally crossed the Legate's lips, and it was only when she felt Kurt squeeze her hand lightly that she realized she was practically clutching his. She loosened her grip a little, but did not take her eyes off Emile.

"His eyes are just like hers. We haven't spoken much yet. And yet I recognize her gentle soul in his," Slan continued.

"That... describes him pretty well," Amalia replied, though her mouth suddenly felt dry.

"This is why I wanted to introduce you to each other. I figured if she is my family and you are my family, then... you are also family in a way," Emile said, looking from the doneigad to her.

"That's right, my mágem," the latter replied.

"I... would like to meet her," the words finally crossed Amalia's lips, and this time the words didn't feel quite so stale. Abruptly, the ambassador's face brightened.

"Good, I was hoping you would say that. Shall we sit together?" he asked, reaching for her free hand.

The noble nodded hesitantly. She let go of Emile and Kurt again and approached the doneigad. "I am Amalia, Emile's cousin," she introduced herself to Slan.

"Kurt, will you please let the others know and join us?" she heard Emile say as the older woman bowed her head.

"He's already told about you. And about a Constantin. Is he here?" she inquired.

"No. He had to stay in the city. But... you will surely meet him soon," Amalia replied. Then she exchanged another glance with Emile, who had stepped to her other side and put a hand on her shoulder.

His family was her family. Maybe it really was that simple.

Chapter Text

Today

Vasco pulled on a fresh doublet and put on his belt. Kurt had put him through training with the other two, and even though the Naut was far from untrained, he was learning a lot about weaponry. He had only encountered pirates a few times in his life - but fighting on ships had a lot to do with opportunity. The guardsman taught him how not to wait for such things to overpower an opponent. The Naut had wondered for a while on the ship why the mercenary had stayed with the three cousins after all these years. Amalia and Kurt in particular tossed this question back and forth between themselves. But by now the captain understood that the soldier was not only a teacher and bodyguard, but also somehow a friend of the three of them. Even if the naut believed that no one would say it outright.

Vasco combed his hair before tying it into his usual plait at the nape of his neck. He took a scrutinizing look in the mirror. He had his own cabin on the ship, but it couldn't compete with the luxury of not having to pay attention to the swaying of the ship when shaving. Nor could it compete with the room he had occupied at the embassy. He turned to leave and his gaze swept the window. At the far end of the courtyard, right in front of the wall, he saw Kurt and Amalia circling each other. Just as they always did - even when they weren't training.

For the first few days that his four passengers had spent on the Cavalo-Marinho, he had thought that the mercenary and the noblewoman were sleeping together. It had only gradually dawned on him that there was nothing official about it. In the meantime, it only amused him that none of the four of them were aware of what was going on between Amalia and Kurt. He had once made a casual suggestion to Emile, but the ambassador had obviously not taken it as such and had only meant that Kurt had always trained Amalia the hardest. It had taken the naut some self-control not to make another allusion to “hard training”. To which the ambassador would certainly have reacted with shock. But it wasn't Vasco's business what soldiers and nobles did - or didn't do - with each other. On the other hand, it was very much his business what he himself did.

The Naut's gaze wandered to the slim volume about Thélème that Emile had recently given him to read. When Vasco had gone to the embassy a little over a month ago, he had been serious about the lessons. And of course Emile had taken it exactly the same way. He had given the captain books to read and regularly made time to talk exclusively about diplomacy. This not only included things like manners, but also had a lot to do with knowledge about other nations, their culture and - if available - religions and other customs. At first, the Naut had almost been struck dumb. It hadn't taken much and he would have given up. But then Amalia had joined in during one of these lessons and had pointed out to her cousin that the Naut would certainly not be present at as many events as she was and that a basic knowledge of many areas could already help him. She had also made it clear that most high-ranking personalities regarded the nauts as mere servants anyway. She had then pointed out that this position had its advantages. It would be easier to underestimate him and think of him as a pawn rather than a more important chess piece.

He weighed the book in his hand and decided it was time to move on to other things. Still, he took it with him as he left the room and turned to the room next door.

Just as Vasco raised his hand to knock, the door opened and the ambassador flinched briefly as he nearly ran into the Naut. “Captain, I... sorry. I wasn't expecting to find you at my door,” he began immediately and Vasco smirked a little as he noticed the nobleman falling back into old patterns and almost sticking with the formal form of address again.

It had taken almost a week and a half - and of course an impressive hint from Amalia - before he had called Vasco by his first name. Another characteristic of the ambassador that made the captain smile. Otherwise, however, he seemed rather reserved. The naut had not been pushy, but he had hoped for a little more... openness from the nobleman.

Of course, the ambassador immediately caught himself, took half a step back - so that they weren't standing too close to each other - and looked at the Naut: "How can I help you? The book isn't particularly engaging, but it contains the most important facts about Thélème. But I can try to summarise them again more briefly."

The Naut shook his head.

"I think I can manage with the book. But there's something else I wanted to talk about and - to use the courtly expression - it suits me that your cousin is busy elsewhere at the moment."

For a split second, a smile flickered across the ambassador's face as he recognised the allusion to their conversation on the ship, but it quickly faded. Still, he stepped aside and made a welcoming gesture so fluid that Vasco wondered for a moment if they had learnt such things in some class at court. Probably.

"What can I help you with?" he enquired after closing the door behind the captain.

"Actually, I wonder if we can't... help each other. So to speak," he replied.

The ambassador's eyebrows moved together again, but this time they looked more enquiring than concerned. Nevertheless, he maintained his courtly demeanour as he often did: "I'm afraid I have no idea what you mean by that."

The naut was on the verge of crossing his arms. But he had not become captain because he was avoiding possible difficulties. Or because he preferred to keep his opinion to himself.

"I didn't like Amalia's directness towards the two of us. But she was right, wasn't she?" he followed up and finally saw the reaction on the ambassador's face that he had been expecting. Emile's eyes widened for a moment and his gaze flitted to the floor as he cleared his throat. He took a step to the side, further into the room, but also away from the other man. Finally he stopped, looked at the Naut again and nodded slightly.

"My cousin has always been able to judge me very well when it comes to such things."

Now it was Vasco's turn to raise an eyebrow: "That sort of thing?"

He had no idea how Emile handled his relationships. But his impression was that he wouldn't take them lightly. If he'd ever had one in the first place.

"I've always had a hard time with relationships. The Congregation is... a bit particular about that," he began, and again his gaze drifted to the side, but this time it seemed less like he was trying to avoid the Naut and more like he had to search for the right words. Finally, he exhaled and looked at the captain again.

"I knew when I was ten that I only liked boys. In and of itself, it is not a problem to have a same-sex relationship within the Congregation and the common people can also marry. But not the nobility. They expect heirs, which is why there are only marriages between men and women. I already knew that at the age of ten. Back then, I had decided never to get involved in a relationship other than the one with my future wife. I didn't want to experience what heartbreak felt like," he began to say as he sat down on the edge of his bed.

Vasco took a seat next to him without being asked and put the book to one side. "You sound like you've figured it out anyway."

Another smile flitted across the nobleman's features, but this time it was rather saddened and he looked towards the floor again: "As it turns out, such an attitude does not protect you from the grief of unrequited love. I was nineteen when Constantin and Amalia persuaded me to enter into a liaison with another man. It was... beautiful. While it lasted, because even beautiful things end. Even if, fortunately, I've never had to share Amalia's experience. Nevertheless, I'm really not good at approaching things like this lightly. Your ship will be back in two months and you'll disappear back out to sea."

He only raised his eyes at the last words. Vasco had already noticed on the Cavalo-Marinho that Emile was not exactly a cheerful person, but he had only seen him as depressed as he was at that moment after the ambassador had learnt that he originally came from Teer Fradee.

"I don't necessarily have to leave immediately. If Cinda does well, I could give her another crossing. That would be three to four months more," he replied.

"I... appreciate the offer, but it wouldn't change anything in the end. And I've seen you on your ship - that's where you belong."

"The end? Emile, I haven't had anyone in years. As much as I appreciate my first mate - I wouldn't leave the Cavalo-Marinho to Cinda just to sleep with you a few more times."

As eloquent as the nobleman was towards him - this time he didn't seem to know what to say. So Vasco leaned forward a little and let his eyes move back and forth between the ambassador's: "Just because I'm going out to sea doesn't mean I'm not coming back."

The nobleman's eyes widened for the second time. "You mean..." he broke off again, as if he first had to realise what the naut was suggesting. Or was Emile simply too polite to say "no"? But then why Amalia's insinuations - which she had fortunately stopped after a sharp criticism from the naut? Or was it because of the difference in status? Vasco knew that there was a possibility that he himself came from a prestigious family - though not necessarily one as powerful as Emile. But how many families were important enough to negotiate contracts with the Nauts that required a child? And it wasn't as if Vasco had never toyed with the idea of finding out where he came from. But whoever his birth parents had been, at least one of them had willingly given him up. He could do without people like that.

"Or is it that I'm not a nobleman?" the captain asked, watching the ambassador.

As speechless as he had seemed before, he now shook his head quickly. "Absolutely not. To be honest, I've never met anyone like you."

"A naut?" he asked jokingly, although he suspected that Emile hadn't meant that. Nevertheless, he was rewarded with a slight smile from the nobleman: "Someone who has power and sees it solely as a responsibility. Not as a burden, not as a bargaining chip. Not as something you can use to build up pressure. Only responsibility for his own people, for their protection and welfare. The court is full of intrigue, whether in the Congregation, Thélème or the Bridge Alliance. And the smaller nations emulate this tradition. Seeing you take care of your crew and your ship was inspiring. If the powerful of this world behaved like that, many would be better off, despite Malichor."

Towards the end, he had become more serious again, but at least he no longer seemed sad.

"That's a pretty high opinion you have of me," Vasco replied, scrutinising Emile. A smile flashed across his face again, this time embarrassed, and his gaze flitted to the side for a moment.

"I couldn't do much with your looks," he confessed.

The naut grinned a little and leaned forward a little further: "We can save that for later."

But the ambassador became a little more serious again, even if he didn't flinch. His gaze flickered briefly to the Naut's lips before he looked at him again: "I must warn you. I'm very slow and reserved when it comes to relationships," he replied.

Vasco allowed himself a grin, "I've already noticed," he said before capturing Emile's lips with his own.

Following his own words, the nobleman remained completely motionless for a moment before returning the kiss and placing one of his hands on Vasco's left. Emile's beard tickled the naut, but he still moved in and put his arm around the other man.

They only parted when the need to breathe took over, but even then the tips of their noses could almost touch. This time there was a bright smile on Emile's face, the kind Vasco had only ever seen on his relatives from time to time.

"I'll be honest - I might find the book rather boring after this," Vasco said with a slight grin.

Once again, a hint of embarrassment crept into Emile's smile, but unlike many times before, it didn't fade: "I'm afraid it's my fault for giving you something so boring to read."

Vasco laughed softly before leaning forward again. Just before their lips met, he said softly, "It's only your fault that this is so much more interesting. Then he leaned slightly against Emile and kissed him again. This time the ambassador came towards him and the Naut moved his lips to Emile's, but couldn't suppress a half-smile. This was how he had imagined his stay with the Congregation. He was still smiling when they both broke the kiss to take another breath. This time, however, the nobleman did not follow up as he had hoped, but instead scrutinised Vasco.

"Why me?"

The captain tilted his head slightly and put his other hand around Emile's. It was much softer than Emile's. It was much softer than Vasco's. No calluses on the palms, no calluses on the palms. "I feel comfortable around you - and that's something I've never experienced with a nobleman before."

Emile smiled a little and squeezed the Naut's hand. "I understand that. Let's just say that most nobles consider everyone else to be rather unpleasant contemporaries."

"You see, that's another thing I don't understand about you: from the outside, it looks like your class sticks together, but the closer you get, the more divided you seem and like you can only just put up with the rest of the nobles."

"You were listening to Amalia," Emile concluded, his smile turning resigned.

"Among other things. You're not the first nobles I've met," Vasco reminded him and for a moment the ambassador's expression looked caught before he nodded.

"You're right. I'm afraid we're anything but on the same page," Emile confirmed and a sad expression did indeed appear on his face.

"But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about. I think I was just about to list all your good qualities. Although they should be more than obvious," Vasco replied as he leaned in and kissed the ambassador again. His right hand slowly travelled up Emile's shoulder and he felt the nobleman slowly relax a little. He actually came towards the naut and placed one of his hands on the captain's thigh.

Vasco grinned again and interrupted the kiss, catching Emile adding a little more because he obviously didn't want to end the kiss just yet.

"I hadn't even finished my list yet," the naut remarked.

Emile's face brightened again and Vasco suddenly realised that he was far from tired of that smile. "I would love to hear it in full, but I still have a meeting with Lady de Morange. But... if you like... you could come with me," the ambassador suggested.

"Why not?" Vasco replied, standing up and offering Emile his hand. The nobleman almost grinned as he placed his hand in the captain's and stood up as well.

They left the room and made their way down the stairs and into the cloakroom. Vasco took the opportunity when Emile had put on his frock coat to put his arms around him from behind, earning a laugh from the ambassador, who briefly placed his hands on the naut's. "I should close the frock coat," he said.

"I should close the frock coat," he finally said over his shoulder.

"Am I interrupting something?" Vasco asked in an innocent-sounding voice.

Emile turned round a little in his arms so that he was looking at the captain. "I would describe it more as distracting." And this time he kissed Vasco first. The Naut was caught off guard for a moment, but then allowed himself to be carried away and pulled Emile even closer to him. A small part of him wondered why he had waited so long to bring up the matter between them, but the majority of him was too busy returning the nobleman's kiss.

"Greenblood, are you..." the soldier's voice rang out, but broke off. Just like the sound of his footsteps, as the Naut only realised a moment later, after Emile and he had parted again. There was an awkward grin on the ambassador's face and Vasco was sure it was a reflection of his own. The noble cleared his throat and lightly stroked Vasco's hip with his hand as he let go of him and stepped past him.

"I am ready. Vasco will accompany us," he explained to the guardsman and when the Naut turned to the two of them, the soldier was already looking at him. His eyebrows were slightly drawn together and his gaze was appraising. "I see," he simply replied, giving the Naut another look as if he was about to utter one of the typical sentences that were said in such places. Vasco knew that Kurt would be unpleasant if he broke Emile's heart. But the guardsman didn't have to say it.

The captain took his coat, threw it on and followed the other two. As they left the embassy, Kurt let himself fall back a little, as he often did when the three of them were travelling together. The naut grasped the ambassador's left hand with his right, but the nobleman immediately withdrew it and glanced in both directions.

"So reserved?" the naut enquired, allowing himself a smile. But it faded when he realised that Emile wasn't returning it.

"I... will you give me a few days to figure out how I want to handle this... us in public? I... am an ambassador. I can't favour one faction. If the others knew I was involved with someone outside the merchant community... it could lead to unpleasant accusations," he explained, his face taking on a regretful expression.

For a moment, the Naut thought he had misheard him.

"What?"

"I'm expected to marry within the Congregation. Relationships with members of other factions could meet with disapproval," he replied.

"And that's more important to you than this?" the Naut replied incredulously.

Once again, the ambassador didn't have an immediate answer for him, but this time it cut right to the heart. He took half a step towards Emile so that the tips of their noses could almost touch. "The Nauts won't be thrilled about me being with someone who isn't one of them, either. Or at least not one of them. I don't care," he replied quietly.

"I just need a little time to think. I'm sure we'll find a solution," Emile replied. But he did nothing. Didn't reach for Vasco's hand, didn't try to pull him close. Nothing.

The captain shook his head and took a step back. "I'm not going to be anyone's dirty little secret."

"You're not, I..." but this time the Naut didn't let him finish: "Think about it. I'm not going to get in your way."

Then he turned away without waiting for another reply from the other man. He did not turn around again, but made his way to the harbour.

Chapter Text

Today

Emile still felt as if he was completely surrounded by absorbent cotton. It took all his strength to concentrate on the conversation with Lady de Morange.

“You really do not look well. Are you sure you are not ill?” she asked again as she said goodbye.

“Your concern honors you. I ammerely in a gloomy mood,” he replied.

“If you insist. I do hope you feel better soon,” the noblewoman replied.

Emile nodded to her before turning and leaving her estate. His throat was tight and as soon as he had taken a few steps away from the house, he stopped. For a moment, everything had been fine. Even better than fine. Tiny armies had marched in his stomach, his head had felt empty and all he'd wanted to do was keep kissing Vasco. But finally he had remembered his appointment with Lady de Morange. And offered Vasco to come with him. And when they had left the embassy, it had all been over again in one fell swoop. Everything in him wanted to run after Vasco. But he did not know whether he could promise the Naut what he obviously wanted: a connection in front of everyone's eyes and ears. Emile would have expected that Amalia and Constantin to put it together quickly - or at the very least, Emile himself would have told them. Kurt had already found the two of them out anyway. But Emile’s job as ambassador required him to be loyal to the Congregation and, to a lesser degree, to the Congregation's allies.

Kurt said something and Emile realized too late that the soldier had, of course, been talking to him.

“I beg your pardon?” he inquired, having shaken off the shadows of his thoughts, at least temporarily.

“I said that your 'gloomy mood' is probably related to a certain Naut. Do you want to go back to the palace?” the guardsman inquired.

The ambassador now turned to face him fully.

“Do we have an appointment with Constantin?” he wanted to know, while he searched his memory for an appointment with his cousin and at the same time tried to fight the rising fear that he might have forgotten something like that because of his budding relationship with Vasco. It did not help that there was a fear lurking in the back of his mind that he had ended things with the Naut prematurely. Or that they should not be. So, even Kurt's shake of the head brought him little relief.

“Constantin is your superior, isn't he? If he doesn't have a problem with you, you've have his support if anyone else thinks about having a problem with you.” the soldier added, seeming to read his thoughts..

“You mean...” the ambassador broke off as he thought about Kurt's suggestion. Emile often felt responsible for the welfare of his two cousins - and that sometimes meant that he also felt responsible for their behavior. But Kurt was right - Constantin was the governor. Emile was subordinate to him. Even if Emile was his cousin.

“We can bring Amal in too, if that makes it easier for you. But I think we both know what she would say,” the mercenary said, raising his shoulders.

Emile was not quite so sure. Malia would either tell him not to give a damn about everyone else's opinion and possible diplomatic consequences and follow his heart - or she would go after Vasco and challenge him to a duel, which he did not want. So he would talk to Constantin first, even though he felt like it was a betrayel to Malia to shut her out, even if it was only for the time being.

Finally, he nodded slowly. “Let us go to the palace.”

They both turned and walked out of Silver Alley, where Lady de Morange's house was located, and which led directly out onto the square in front of the governor's residence. Emile felt as if heavy weights were attached to his limbs, making his progress slow.

Of course, he could have run to finally talk to Constantin, but that would only draw attention to himself.

At last they emerged into the cool silence of the entrance hall. A servant came up to them, but immediately hurried away when Kurt growled “Lord de Sardet wishes to speak to his cousin”. Of course, Constantin was in conversation with someone. They were led into the small library to the left of the entrance hall.

Emile was tempted to pick out a book to distract himself, but he knew that he would read every line five times and still not be able to understand what he had just read. So he approached the window and looked out over a small part of New Sérène, catching a glimse of the beautiful meadows that stretched beyond the city walls. He saw the farmers working at their fields, and to his right, someone was herding a group of cows. But even this peaceful picture could distract him for so long.

When he turned back from the window, he saw that Kurt had remained standing next to the door as usual- though this time he wore a wry smile on his lips. The ambassador had never spoken to the soldier about his romantic endevours but since Kurt had already seen Vasco and him together, Emile was probably better off not trying to hide it.

“Do I look that funny?” he asked resignedly.

The guardsman tilted his head a little. “Yes and no. When I met you, you were eleven years old. It wasn't long before I had the impression that I was sometimes standing in front of an adult in the body of a child. You are so thoughtful that even I sometimes wondered if a little more recklessness wouldn't do you good. You were young and at least the other two had a head full of mischief. But not you,” he explained as he took a few steps towards Emile and finally stopped next to him, but first looked out of the window.

When he turned around, there was something on his face that took Emile a moment to recognize: Insecurity. He suddenly realized that Kurt was probably feeling just as awkward as the diplomat in this conversation.

“Seeing you so confused now can only mean that you've been hit pretty hard. And of course it's complicated. But it always was for you, wasn't it?” the guardsman asked as he leaned back against the window frame and looked at his former pupil.

Emile felt a half-smile appear on his face, although the feeling in his stomach was the exact opposite of joy. When he had realized that he could never fall in love with a woman, he had already known that one day he would have to marry one despite the fact. He had intended never to kiss anyone other than his wife, but as it turned out later, such restraint did not protect him from a broken heart. Nevertheless, it had taken Constantin and Amalia's encouragement before he had dared to enter into a courtship. Sometimes there had been moments in those relationships when he had forgotten that it would have to end one day.

He nodded. “It was indeed,” he replied, letting his gaze wander through the library as if he could discover a book that had an answer to his emotional chaos. But he knew that was not the case, at least they were among themselves.

Finally, Emile looked back at the soldier and although this conversation was not easy for either of them, he was more than a little grateful that Kurt was talking to him.

“What do you think?” he wanted to know from his former teacher.

“Me?”

“About... Vasco. And me.”

The soldier furrowed his eyebrows and surveyed his surroundings before looking at the nobleman:

“I can understand your concern. I've been at court long enough to know that you're probably right to worry about others. But... Amal wouldn't like you being forced to hide and I'm sure Constantin feels the same way. And after what you've learned here on Teer Fradee, I don't know if you owe your uncle anything at all.”

“He took me in. I got a good education and he treated me like his own flesh and blood.”

“He also had your mother kidnapped, your father died looking for her and you were subjected to years of teasing at court,” he countered.

“He also had your mother kidnapped, your father died looking for her and you were subjected to years of teasing at court,” he countered.

The nobleman could not disagree. “I had Constantin and Amalia for that. That... may not make it any better, but I would miss them. Even though I would never have met them if my uncle had not insisted on kidnapping my mother.”

Kurt snorted and shook his head slightly, but lowered his arms again: “To be honest, I'm really glad that you ended up at court. Without you, I would have had a much harder time with the other two.”

The nobleman laughed softly. “Perhaps.”

“No, definitely. Now stop worrying about it. If you really want some advice from your old teacher: be selfish for once in your life, Emile. Especially if it makes you happy. You deserve it.”

He had known Kurt for over a dozen years and he knew that the soldier never told people what they wanted to hear. Perhaps that was why the knot in Emile's stomach began to loosen a little.

“Thank you, Kurt.”

“Not for that, Greenblood. Really,” the soldier replied, raising his shoulder.

Emile wanted to object, but at that moment the door to the library swung open and Constantin came in.

“Emile! You are a balm for my tired eyes and my maltreated soul,” his cousin greeted him, before taking the ambassador's hands in his and squeezing them. And as so often when he saw his older cousin, Emile's heart lightened a little.

“I was not expecting you until dinner. Did I forget an appointment?” Constantin inquired, a hint of worry overshadowing his face.

“You did not. Something... came up that I wanted to talk to you about.” When he saw the other nobleman's eyebrows rise a little in surprise, he quickly added: “Cousin to cousin, not ambassador and governor.” The word 'cousin' felt a little unfamiliar on his tongue now that he knew the truth about his origins. And yet, at the same time, he knew it was right to continue calling Constantin that.

“What is bothering you?” Constantin inquired, still holding Emile's hand and walking with him to a small sofa in a corner of the library.

“I'll leave you two alone,” Kurt said, before nodding to the two of them and leaving the room.

Constantin followed him briefly with his gaze before looking back at his cousin and squeezing his hand again.

“It is about Vasco,” he began, causing Constantin's face to brighten for a moment, but then the worry returned.

“Has he done something? Or is there someone else in our brave captain's life?” his elder cousin spoke cautiously.

Emile shook his head. “It is nothing like that. Rather, it is about what I have done...” he began, but then stopped, searching for the right words.

Constantin frowned: “Did you tell him how you felt about him and he rejected you?” There was already a hint of reproach in his voice and Emile was sure that Constantin would immediately launch into a tirade if he exposed him for even a moment longer to the suspicion that Vasco had spurned or mocked him. Both had already happened, and Constantin and Malia had both reacted very emotionally. Malia had often followed it up with a small act of revenge - that was one of the reasons why Emile now spoke to Constantin first.

“Neither one. He came to me and... said that he wanted more between us than before. We kissed,” Emile did not know why, but even after all the years the three of them had talked about each other's various lovers, it still felt strange to talk about a first kiss.

“But this is wonderful!” Constantin replied, a broad smile on his lips as he squeezed Emile's hand again.

“It was - for a few moments. I had an appointment with Lady de Morange and wanted to take him with me. When we left the embassy, he reached for my hand, but I pulled mine away,” Emile continued.

Now Constantin frowned again. “Why did you do that?” The question ate through Emile's stomach like acid.

“He is a Naut. I... do not know if, as ambassador of the Congregation, I am allowed to be involved with someone from another faction. Would that not jeopardize our neutrality?”

“Our neutrality?” Constantin echoed before laughing, but it was not the carefree, amused laugh that had so often made Emile smile, but one of the kind he used when he learned of one of his father's machinations. “My dear, we are anything but neutral. We may manage this balancing act between Thélème and the Bridge Alliance, but only because both are more useful to us as trading partners than as enemies. It is hardly a noble goal for us to capitalize on them. No, my dear, I do not think it jeopardizes our neutrality,” his words did little to assuage the legate's concerns.

“Do you not think someone would make the accusation that we are giving the Nauts preferential treatment because of this?”

“Of course someone will. You know what fictitious arguments are used at court. But just because someone says it does not make it true. And think about it - if he was a secret lover, sooner or later someone would find out and use it against you. If it came to light then, it would be much worse than if everyone knew from the start.”

“But how can I be sure that I am not favoring anyone because of my connection to Vasco?” he inquired, and as he spoke this question, Constantin's features softened instantly.

“You cannot. No one can. And I may not have as much experience as Malia or you, but is that not what love is all about? Not always being reasonable? And getting involved with each other? If Vasco tries to take advantage of this relationship, you still have Malia and me to make sure he does not take advantage of you. And should you really ever let your feelings get the better of you to the point where you make a decision in favor of the Nauts that you would not have made in their favor under other circumstances - well, let us just say that in the ranks of the Congregation, worse circumstances have favored parties that did not deserve it at that moment.”

He let his cousin's words sink in for a moment and looked down at their hands, still clasped together. Constantin's statement reassured him a little, but not entirely. “So... there is no definite certainty,” he finally concluded and looked at him again.

The older nobleman smiled and squeezed Emile's hand again: “You know that I will always be there for you and help you as best I can. When it comes to Vasco and you - I think it is up to the two of you to figure out how much certainty there is.”

Emile took a deep breath and expelled it without using it. Constantin was right. He could not expect anything more. And he would not find any more answers here. And as he listened to himself, his uncertainty slowly faded, only to give way to a new one - how could he make things right between Vasco and himself?

“You are right. Thank you. I... did not know what to do," he finally confessed.

“That is what you have older cousins for. Besides, you have probably talked me out of difficult situations a dozen times, so the least I can do is talk you out of it,” he replied with a smile.

“And now I think you have a conversation to have with a certain Naut, do you not?” he inquired, his smile widening into a grin.

Emile felt the blood rise a little in his cheeks, but nodded. “I hope he hears me out.”

“If he does not, he is not worth your time anyway,” Constantin replied. “But I am sure that is not the case. Tonight you will already be able to tell me about the good outcome of your conversation,” he added.

“I hope so.” They rose and Emile hugged his older cousin. “Thank you very much. I will see you for dinner,” he said goodbye.

When he left the library, he found Kurt in the entrance hall.

“To the harbor?” the soldier inquired.

“I hope we find him there,” Emile confirmed as he crossed the hall with hurried steps. The mercenary immediately joined him and accompanied him once across New Sérène. Even though Emile knew that the living quarters of nobles were often far away from the harbor and the docks so that none of the sometimes unpleasant smells of the harbor could reach them, he cursed this circumstance all the more now. When they finally reached the harbor, he was greeted by the familiar sight: Nauts walking back and forth between the warehouses and anchored ships. Some were carrying crates or large bales, others were exchanging news or gossip.

Above them all was the screeching of seagulls and the smell of salt, seaweed and tar. Emile slowed his steps a little, but it was a while before he spotted Vasco next to the landing stage of a ship. Other Nauts were busy carrying goods onto the three-master.

“Don't fall asleep, the tide won't wait,” he heard the captain shout.

Emile's heart seemed to skip a beat and he suddenly felt like he had a rock the size of the volcano in the middle of Tar Fradee in his throat. Finally, he broke free of his stupor and ran hurriedly towards the Naut.

“Vasco!” he called after a few steps, but did not slow down.

The captain turned to him, but did not uncross his arms in front of his chest. Emile was so focused on him that he noticed the Naut approaching the jetty from the right with two large crates too late. The ambassador tried to dodge, but he slammed into the crates. There was a loud crash as the crates landed on the pavement just like him.

“Greenblood!” the soldier was instantly beside him. “Are you all right?” he inquired as he helped him up.

“I... think so. What about you?” he turned to the Naut and reached out a hand to help her up as well, but she just gave him a dirty look and stood up on her own.

“Don't you have eyes in your head? The things are ruined! They'll be taken out of my wages!” she snapped at him and only then did the ambassador see that the crates were broken. Presumably some of it was still salvageable, but he also saw shards that looked as if they had once been the pottery of the people of Tar Fradee.

“Easy...” Kurt replied, instantly pushing himself between them. A few of their comrades had noticed them and came closer. It still seemed as if they were merely curious. Nevertheless, the legate was sure that the whole mood could quickly change. Noble or not - he was here in Naut territory and Kurt was an excellent fighter, but even for him there was a certain point at which there were too many opponents.

“She is right. I will reimburse you for the damage,” the legate assured her immediately.

“As if! As soon as you leave the harbor, I'll never see you again and I'll be stuck with the damage you've caused me!” she huffed.

“Would normally agree with you, but you can take his word for it,” Kurt replied.

“Says the mercenary he's paying. You'd smash my head in too if he gave the order!”

For a moment, Emile did not know what to say.

“I'll make sure you don't get stuck with it,” Vasco's voice spoke up.

Emile had not noticed how the Naut had mingled with his comrades, but when he saw him step forward from their ranks, he instantly felt a pang in his chest.

His comrade eyed him for a moment, then nodded.

“And the rest of you are busy too,” the captain turned to the bystanders, who then dispersed again. Then he turned to the ambassador and the soldier.

“Thank you. I will replace the items if I can. If not, I will of course pay the value of the goods and a... scatterbrain surcharge,” Emile began. He did not want Vasco to get into trouble because of him.

“You can go to the harbor master's office to find out how much the goods were worth and pay them there,” the Naut told him.

“I'll do that. Do you have a moment to talk?” he asked, casting a glance at the ship Vasco had been standing in front of earlier. It was not the Cavalo-Marinho, but that did not have to mean anything - after all, the Naut had served on various ships before. Who was to say the Nauts would not make him captain of another ship?

Vasco scrutinized him with his amber eyes and Emile felt his knees consider giving out. But he was still able to hold himself up.

“About what?” the captain finally wanted to know.

“About what happened earlier,” the nobleman replied.

“Did you come up with another brilliant explanation so quickly as to why we should hide? Or was the whole thing a mistake because it would have some kind of diplomatic consequences?”

“Neither one. Although the latter cannot be ruled out entirely, but... that is not important,” Emile replied. The nobleman only noticed out of the corner of his eye how Kurt took a few steps back and demonstratively turned his back on them.

“I was talking to Constantin. Kurt reminded me that he is my superior, even if it was more likely my cousin I was talking to,” he began. For a moment, he feared Vasco would say a snippy thing back, but he did not interrupt him, so Emile continued: “He reminded me that sooner or later, someone will always try to use a relationship of mine against me - no matter with whom. And... if it was a secret lover, it would be all the worse as soon as it came to light. Because then I would not have been honest with others. Not to mention that you do not deserve to be hidden. Please forgive me for even considering it.”

Vasco tilted his head a little as he continued to look at Emile. And as much as he liked the amber eyes of his opposite number, he was beginning to feel uncomfortable under his gaze. Finally, he could no longer withstand the other man's gaze and looked to the side. Kurt was standing some distance away, but not looking at them. Instead, the nobleman briefly caught the gaze of Admiral Cabral, who stood bent over a few documents, but looked over at them for a moment.

“And you got all this from Constantin?” Vasco's voice finally rang out, whereupon Emile looked at him again.

“Only the first part. Even without his help, I realize that I should not have rejected you. I am sorry. I should have found a way to solve my confusion that would not have hurt you,” he replied.

“You were just asking for time,” Vasco replied.

“But that upset you.”

“Of course it did. I had no idea that something like a secret affair could even be on the cards. Do you really think anyone would make a fuss over you having a relationship with a Naut?”

“I suppose so.”

“So... more than the Greenblood teasing?”

Emile lifted his shoulders.

“Everything is used against you at court. People have also tried to use Constantin and Amalia's actions against me or to divide us. At court, everything is used to gain an advantage. Every little feeling. Every inclination,” he replied.

The Naut snorted unwillingly and for a moment his gaze wandered to the side, to one of the ships. Emile guessed what he saw there. His old life. It would be far less complicated if the Naut returned to his post and never looked back. There would be someone else to please him one day, and most likely it would be far easier than being with a noble of the Congregation. Who wasn't strictly speaking a nobleman, but no one on the continent knew that secret yet, except Constantine's parents. On most days, Emile was able to repress the question of what might happen if this secret was also revealed. But here, right in front of Vasco, who was probably imagining how much easier his life would be without the three cousins, it was hard not to think about it.

“Mast and sheet break,” the Naut finally muttered, looking back at Emile.

“If you... want to end it, I understand. I should have told you sooner what complications there might be if you got involved with me,” the ambassador replied, feeling a stale taste on his tongue at these words.

“Rather? It's only been three hours since we kissed for the first time. When exactly should you have told me then?” the Naut inquired.

“Before that. Or right after. Then you would have been in the picture and could have thought about it in peace and I would have...” he broke off when he felt Vasco take a step towards him and grasp his hands.

“It's been a very long time since I wanted to be with someone so much that I'd even skip a crossing or two for it. And I think you feel the same way. That's all I need to know right now.”

Had he heard right? Vasco still wanted him?

“That means... you still want to be with me?”

The Naut let a wry smile show that Emile abruptly knew he had not seen often enough.

“I'm pretty sure I just said that.”

“If those complications make you change your mind...” Emile began, but again Vasco did not let him finish: ”I'm a captain. You only find out how to deal with a storm when it hits. Until then, we can practice evasive and turning maneuvers and I'm pretty sure the other two will support us.”

“I would love to give you a hug, if I may.”

Vasco's smile widened and he looked like a cat again as he leaned forward and replied in a low voice: “You can even kiss me, if you dare.”

Emile was tempted to do so for a moment, but he thought he could feel a thousand eyes on him. Vasco's lips were only a few finger widths away from his... Finally, he put his arms around the Naut's neck and pressed himself against him. He felt the Naut return the embrace and for a moment all worries were banished from Emile's mind. Only when they slowly separated did he murmur: “Sorry. The... the other thing was just too difficult.”

The Naut let out a soft laugh. “You really don't need to apologize for that. We can practice it again tonight,” Vasco replied with a grin.

“That means you are coming back to the embassy?”

“Where else would I be?”

“I thought maybe you had a new command and were leaving,” the ambassador admitted.

Vasco blinked in confusion for a moment before smiling again, “I'm just overseeing Captain Rosa's ship until she gets her affairs settled here. I'll be back tonight.”

This time, Emile felt a grin appear on his face and he could not stop it. In return, the Naut became serious for a moment. “Wait - you thought I might set sail again soon?”

Emile nodded.

“And you still wanted to get involved in this?” he asked.

Emile nodded again, albeit a little unsettled. “Of course.”

“You really are unique,” Vasco replied with a grin.

“I'll see you tonight,” he told him, then winked at him again and turned back to the ship. Emile watched him for a moment before turning back.

“Everything all right again?” asked Kurt, who had caught up with him again. Judging by the slight smirk on the mercenary's face, he had noticed enough.

“That is indeed the case. I just have to settle my debt with the harbor master's office,” Emile replied.

“Then let's not keep the admiral waiting,” the mercenary concluded as they both turned in the direction of the harbor master's office.

Chapter Text

Four years ago

The young noblewoman approached the sweaty man. It never smelled nice in the dungeon, as the prisoners were not given the opportunity to wash themselves, which Amalia had already learned that on her first visit here. But it was different with the commoner in front of her, she could detect the trace of poison in his smell. Nevertheless, she tried to give these thoughts as little space as possible. She approached him and held out the jar.

“You hag...” he said weakly.

“It will save you,” she assured him, but he only spat in her direction. Or he tried to. The thread of saliva ran down his chin.

Amalia hesitated for a moment before immediately shaking her head. Aunt Josette would definitely know, and more importantly, dislike that small mercy.

“The unpleasant way, then,” the young noblewoman replied, squeezing the man's cheeks and injecting him with the antidote. He tried to resist, but he was tied up and so weakened that only a little of the liquid ran over Amalia's hands in the process. Most of it ended up in his mouth. She immediately dropped the wooden cup to the floor, closed the man's mouth with one hand and his nose with the other. He tried to rebel against her touch with his remaining strength, but he choked it down eventually despite the small rebellion. Then she let go of him and he gasped for air.

“You whore, you...”

Suddenly the words seemed to get stuck in his throat. He gasped for air again and although his mouth was wide open, he couldn't seem to get any. Drops of saliva flew out of his open mouth and hit the glass of her protective goggles, but Amalia ignored them. Her pulse raced - where had she made a mistake? What had she missed? Frantically, she turned to the table with the ingredients and her notes. Her hands flew over the sheets of paper. Had she made a mistake with the ingredients? The rattling behind her grew louder and louder and she pulled up one note after another, but despite her haste she was too slow - the prisoner's futile breaths died out before she had found a solution.

She slumped down, but immediately forced herself to turn to the corpse.

Even if he had already been condemned to death, he did not deserve to be ignored by her in death. Her eyes wandered over the gaunt, unwashed figure and she braced herself for her aunt's scolding, which would undoubtedly follow as soon as they were in the carriage. It was the first time in months that she had seen someone die during this training. And although she should have gotten used to it by now - it had happened almost constantly in the beginning - it had hardly gotten any easier for her. If she had seen the man at any other time than during the antidote exercises, she would have found him repulsive at best. Dirt and filth clung to his body, his emaciated arms and legs clearly visible through the holes in his clothes.

Finally, she turned away from the dead man, slipped off her protective goggles and looked at her aunt. She could see the disapproval in Josette d'Orsay's eyes before she knocked on the door. Immediately, a guardswoman opened it and let them out of the small room they had been working in. Amalia did not like this room. She did not like being right next to the victims either, but Aunt Josette had insisted that her niece would have to work under pressure. Thinking back to the horrible moments she had spent helplessly beside Constantine and Emile's bed when they had been poisoned, Amalia had found it hard to disagree. Still, on days like today, Amalia wondered if that was the sole reason her aunt let her mix the antidotes right next to the victims. But even if she asked, she would get no other answer. So Amalia followed the elderly noblewoman through the gloomy corridors. Voices came from the adjoining cells, here and there a hand was thrust through, but by now Amalia had got into the habit of not looking. She could not help it and one day she probably would not even care.

Despite this, the way up the steps still seemed to her like an ascent from a hell that was so popular in the Thélèmic faith. The loud noises of Sérène, the rattling of the wheels of carts, the loud shouting of different voices, the chatter of people, all this seemed overly loud, but at the same time like a warm welcome among the living.

This made her aunt's silence all the more noticeable, which, as always, continued until they were in the carriage.

“You were slow. You need not have checked the recipe a third time,” she said to her niece as soon as the carriage began to move.

Amalia let herself fall against the cushions. Despite the suspension, she always thought she could feel every cobblestone through the wooden boards after these excursions.

“I am doing this to save Emile and Constantin. You would have wanted me not to make a mistake with them,” she retorted, but less vehemently than she wanted to. Besides, she was pretty sure that Aunt Josette would not care if anything happened to Emile. She probably just saw him as a balancing influence on Constantin.

“Still, you need to work on your speed,” she objected, before glancing out of the window.

“Yes, Aunt Josette,” Amalia murmured, glancing out her own window.

The road to the palace seemed long to her - probably because she was on her way to her non-training, as she called it. It would be another fifty-one days before she was allowed to take part in training with Kurt again. It had been thirty-six days since the doctor had confirmed to her guardians that Constantin had made a full recovery. Despite the letters Constantin and she had written to and received from Emile, the time had seemed like an eternity.

She smiled a little when she saw them in the courtyard. Obviously their music lesson was already over. Constantin opened the carriage door as soon as it had stopped and Emile held out a hand to his aunt to help her get out, leaving Constantin to help Amalia out of the carriage.

The older noblewoman thanked her nephew, moving away in the direction of the palace while the three cousins made their way to the exercise hall.

She had liked this place so much, but with every hour she had spent there since her illicit trip to the guard's tavern, she had grown to dislike it more. If only she could finally return to her nomal training...

“Soon you will be able to take part again,” she heard Constantin say as he placed a hand on her shoulder. As if he could read her mind.

Once again, she forced herself to smile, which felt a little more genuine as soon as she saw the regretful expression on her cousin's face.

“At least we are once more reunited,” she countered, putting an arm around each of her cousins.

“So - let's get you to training,” she continued.

Emile opened the door and Amalia pushed him through first before following him and Constantin joined them.

“Greenhorns. What took you so long?” their master of arms greeted them.

Kurt had been leaning against a wall of the training hall, but had pushed himself off as soon as they had entered. He was not wearing any armor today, just a pair of light pants and a loose shirt with the sleeves rolled up. That meant close combat training. Amalia would love to try a throw again, to wrestle someone to the ground - she would even be content to perform lunges with a rapier against a straw puppet. But her punishment was not over yet.

“My apologies,” Emile said immediately.

“I delayed them,” Amalia added.

The soldier's gaze wandered to her and again she felt as if there was a brief twinge in her stomach. But then he looked back at her cousins and pointed to one of the benches at the edge of the hall.

“Constantin, Emile, get rid of your fancy clothes. We're wrestling today,” he instructed them.

“Is that really necessary?”, her older cousin said and Amalia was torn between rolling her eyes and laughing for a moment.

“It doesn't have to be, Your Highness, if you don't value proper combat training,” the guardsman countered, crossing his arms.

He rarely addressed the three of them by their titles. And although Amalia knew Kurt would never intentionally harm them, that he would always protect them (even from things that did not fall within his job description at all) the fact still was that it never meant anything good when he suddenly became formal towards them. Which probably said more about his attitude towards their guardians than the mercenary himself realized, as he always addressed them with titles.

But Constantin seemed to know that now was not the time to talk back. “Never mind. You are the Master of Arms,” he relented and raised his hands slightly. Then he followed his younger cousin, who was already following the soldier's instructions.

Which meant that Amalia was left alone with the guardsman. He turned to her.

“How much longer do you have?” His question sounded geniune enough.

“Fifty-one days,” she replied.

Kurt's eyes wandered briefly towards the ceiling as he shook his head. She had seen the latter in him before, but the first gesture was new. But before she could think about it any further, he looked at her again: “This whole thing is really pointless. They won't even let you do the warm-up, let alone shooting practice.”

For a moment, she wondered if she had eaten something wrong because she felt a little sick to her stomach.

“You... asked them?”

The guardsman raised his shoulders, still with his arms crossed: “You've been doing this for two months. You can't learn everything by watching. But they probably want to extend your sentence by making you catch up afterwards.”

She nodded.

“Looks like it.”

“So - watch and learn,” he replied, his last words followed by a slight snort and another shake of his head.

“As always,” she replied, nodding at him. Then the mercenary turned to her cousins, who had meanwhile exchanged their wardrobe for lighter clothing. Amalia went to one of the benches at the side and sat down on it.

The soldier began to chase her cousins through a warm-up, which he himself also completed - and as always, he was quicker at it than the other two. She tried to count how many push-ups Constantin and Emile had done before Kurt had finished his eighty, but she ended up miscounting - because she was trying to count for both cousins at the same time.

After a few more warm-up exercises, the guardsman had them both face off in unarmed hand-to-hand combat. He stood next to them, his steely gray eyes fixed on the two cousins. The two circled each other until Constantin went on the attack.

But Amalia's gaze remained fixed on Kurt. He was almost facing her - although several steps away from her and for the moment he seemed unaware of her presence. But she was all the more aware that he was there. She had tried to memorize as much as possible of what he was explaining. But she had soon realized that she was forgetting most of it. It helped a little when she watched Emile and Constantin repeat the exercises, but as the mercenary had said, one could not learn everything by watching.

Over the last few weeks, it had occurred to her that she now had enough time to study Kurt's tactics. Maybe she could beat him one day - as soon as she was allowed to fight again. But at some point in the last two or three days, her focus had shifted.

“Get back,” the soldier ordered at that moment, when Constantin had tried in vain to throw his cousin to the ground.

“You have to step all the way behind him first and then throw him over your hip,” the master of arms explained as he demonstrated the exact same sequence of steps.

Amalia knew what he was going to do. He stepped past Emile with his right hand on his left shoulder and placed his right leg behind the young nobleman's before using the lever to bring him to the ground.

Although Kurt's movements were slow - until the inevitable fall - they seemed incredibly precise. He never seemed to waste space or energy on careless or unnecessary movements. This logic - when and how attacks worked and when they did not - was one of the reasons why Kurt's teachings had become her favorite years ago.

The other was that the mercenary did not care for intrigue and poison killings, and Amalia had already understood why poison was more devious than a sword blade after her first poison attack for her Aunt Josette. And that she never wanted to wield a coward's weapon again. She had done it a second time, but her cousins had saved her from doing it a third time. But that was almost five years ago. Most days she did not even think about it anymore.

Today, it still grated on her nerves to see her cousins doing something she would have loved to do herself - and that she knew she was usually better at than them. But it was a little less bad because she could watch Kurt do it. And that realization was... terrifying? Exciting? She did not know. She was not even sure why she liked looking at him so much. It was not as if he was behaving differently towards her. Rather, it was as if she was only now realizing that the guardsman was more than his function.

Kurt had been her master of arms and bodyguard for over eight years. Whenever they left the palace, he was near her, except for a few occasions when he had been on other duties for the Guard, which could sometimes take only days, but sometimes two months. But every time he had returned, it seemed as if things were finally back to the way they should be. He was her shadow and although Amalia had tried to escape him several times a few years ago, she had never been able to shake him off for long. He had always brought her back to the occasions she had tried to escape from. She had either wanted to disappear out of boredom or because she had been curious to see if she would manage to escape before anyone noticed her absence. At some point she had realized that she had made life difficult for the guardsman in particular and that he was no more responsible for his task than she was for hers. From then on, he had not been a nuisance to her, but a reliable companion. In the meantime, she had also noticed that he spoke much more openly with her cousins and her than with her guardians. He tried to avoid her gaurdians both verbally and physically. On the other hand, he gave his three pupils, whom he always accompanied, fairly direct answers when they asked him questions. Especially when they were out and about and there was little chance of any courtiers overhearing them. She was not sure if Kurt himself knew that about himself.

A few days ago, Amalia had asked herself where the scars on the guardsman's face actually came from. One ran across the bridge of his nose and another ran diagonally through his right eyebrow from his forehead towards his nose. There were two more under his right eye. And she had noticed afterwards, once Kurt had taken off his gloves, that there were also some on the knuckles of his hands. Which had led her to another question: did he have scars in other places too?

That question would not have been a problem on its own, but her thoughts never did stop there. Ever since she had brought this question into being, she could not help but imagine what the soldier would look like naked.

Which was very confusing, because until a few days ago she had never seen him in this light. Amalia had slept with men before. She still did not keep a list, but at a rough guess she was currently around sixteen. Which made it all the stranger that when she thought about Kurt's body, she suddenly felt like a child with her first crush. Maybe it was because he was twelve years older than her. Perhaps it was also because he was always there - and she had never looked at him in this way before. And once one started, it was very difficult to stop.

Sometimes, when she returned a look from those steely gray eyes, she had the impression that he could look directly into her head and see what she thought about him. And how little clothing he sometimes wore in her mind. Of course, she knew that was nonsense. No one could read minds, so she continued to strive for normality.

After all, she had only noticed it a few days ago.

And the most plausible reason why her teacher suddenly seemed attractive to her was plain boredom. To say that watching Constantin and Emile train was monotonous would have been an understatement. That was the only reason she had focused on Kurt. And that was probably why her thoughts were trying to make more of this whole thing than it was: Kurt had always been stoic and focused. His eyes were not suddenly prettier than a week ago, and his gaze certainly had not become any more intense. She was just attaching more importance to all these things because she simply had nothing better to do.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the door to the training hall opened. Kurt's gaze wandered around the room and it seemed as if he wanted to take a step backwards, but instead he only stiffened his posture while he bowed.

“Your Highness,” he greeted the woman who entered. Amalia followed his gaze. She had not expected to see Aunt Josette again so soon, but they probably owed this meeting to the young man accompanying her, who was only a little older than Constantin.

“As you can see, Lord de la Vallière, this is our grand training hall,” she announced, making a sweeping gesture that encompassed the entire room.

Constantin and Emile had paused in their exercise and separated from each other. Now the two stood next to the Master of Arms facing the two who had interrupted the (not very) stimulating training session. Apparently, the guest their guardians had announced to them a while ago had arrived.

“I am sure you remember Lord Édouard de la Vallière," she continued, addressing them.

Amalia did.

The young nobleman was about her height and wore his blond hair in a braid at the nape of his neck, which reached just above his shoulder blades. His blue eyes wandered around the hall and he nodded to her cousins.

“Prince d'Orsay, Prince de Sardet,” he replied, bowing to each of them individually.

“We do not use those titles here. Otherwise we would never be able to get anything done,” Amalia spoke up, rising and walking towards her aunt and the young nobleman. Kurt had explained to her years ago why he did not use their titles. In retrospect, she assumed that the mercenary had not been very keen to address his three barely teenage protégés with titles at the time (Emile had still been half the guardsman's age while Constantin and she together had onlyreached Kurt's age).

The surprise in de la Vallière's blue eyes was realr as she approached him further.

“Princess d'Orsay, forgive me, I did not know that you were also present,” he said immediately and bowed to her as well. She returned the gesture.

“Princess d'Orsay has brought you here, I am Amalia. That way we will not be mixed up at dinner,” she replied and gave him a slight smile. He returned it - albeit with more restraint than she was used to. Which was interesting, as the impression she had gotten of him at the balls had been more of a friendly nature.

“Amalia, you are still Lady d'Orsay,” her aunt corrected her.

“How could I ever forget that,” Amalia replied, raising her eyes to the ceiling.

“And your place in this hall is there, as far as I remember,” the older noblewoman added, pointing to the bench where her niece had been sitting earlier.

The only good thing about the way Amalia and her aunt treated each other was that no one would have guessed that Amalia had poisoned Martine de Dolomieu and Sebastien de la Brière on behalf of the princess five years ago.

Amalia immediately bowed towards her guardian and replied with an ironic undertone: “Forgive me. I thought it was impolite not to greet our guest properly.”

When she had straightened up again, she looked at the young man at her aunt's side and nodded to him once more: “Lord de la Vallière - truly wonderful to have you with us.”

Then she turned and went back to her seat. She thought she could feel their eyes on her back, which in the case of her aunt filled her with a certain satisfaction, because she was certainly once again anything but enthusiastic about her niece's behaviour, but apparently found no opportunity to criticize her further. In the case of the nobleman, Amalia was more than curious to see what would come of it. She had the feeling that she would not suffer from her current bordem in the coming weeks he was visiting.

Chapter Text

Three years ago

"Do you really think you can beat that?" teased Arnhild as Siegfried rattled the dice in the cup.

He turned the cup over and it landed banging on the tabletop. The soldier lifted it. Two of the dice showed a five, the other four showed the rest of the numbers except the three.

"Mmpf," Siegfried made, pushing one of the fives aside.

"Every little bit helps," Wilhelmine, the fourth in her round, commented.

"If he wanted to get me with that, he should have started earlier," Arnhild countered with a grin. She had been in the lead for three rounds and her last throw had made it almost impossible to catch up. Kurt was grateful that at least he wasn't completely behind - even if it didn't really matter. The stakes always went to the winner. There were no second-place awards, just like in real life.

"Kurt, you're still here? Thought you were leaving soon," Johann spoke up, having just entered the parlor. He was one of de Bragelonne's guards, the hosts.

"The reception is just over. Now follows two hours of doing nothing, pretending to have anything of importance to tell each other, and then the banquet," Wilhelmine objected, looking up from the table.

At that moment, Siegfried uttered a curse before wiping all the dice into the cup and then slamming it bottom first onto the table.

"Told you it wouldn't work," Arnhild countered.

"But the little lady said...they're about to be picked up..." Johann objected.

"Wishes, maybe," Wilhelmine commented, but Kurt knew she was wrong about that. If any of the three greenhorns liked such events, it was Amalia, even if she had been quiet for the last few days. However, it was not the soldier's business what was going on with the three of them. He was merely their instructor and bodyguard. Not their friend.

"But... she looked like she was leaving the compound. She was at the gate waiting for the carriage," Johann explained, seeming more uncomfortable with each word.

"You let her go?", Kurt reprimanded him, rising.

"She... told me to go and see if you had been told. I couldn't argue with her," the other guardsman stammered.

"Can't be true," the master of arms grumbled.

"Hey, if you leave, you'll lose your bet," Siegfried reminded him.

"Better than losing a noble on duty," Kurt just replied over his shoulder, then he left the guardroom where the other bodyguards and he had been staying. He hurried through the corridor. As soon as he passed the door to the outside, he began to run. He could vividly imagine how his twenty-one-year-old pupil had gotten the guard to bow to her wishes. She could be similarly authoritative as her aunt and treat servants as if they made nothing but mistakes. Or, at least that was how she acted outside of training. He himself had gotten her out of that behavior toward himself before she had turned fifteen.

The soldier hurried across the courtyard and out the gate. Ahead of him, roads led down the hill. Like other families of the Congregation, the Bragelonne had a palace in the middle of the town of Artres. It was smaller than Sérène's, but large enough that one could get lost in it. Or hide. Even if he had no idea what had gotten into Amal. Or had she just wanted to distract the guard so she could steal away with the other two? It wouldn't be the first time her cousins and she had made off, but it had been years since they had tried that while Kurt was on duty. She was twenty-one by now and noticeably acting more often like the adult she was supposed to be, not the impetuous teenager she had been only a couple years ago. His eyes wandered over the streets ahead. Three of them led up to the palace. Without further ado, the soldier decided to take the middle one and sprinted down it. But after a few steps, he slowed his pace when he spotted his student ahead of him. She was walking down the street, but her movements seemed sluggish. Had she drunk too much?The last time had been only two months ago, the mercenary remembered it well.

"Amal!"

She almost stumbled, but then she paused and finally turned around a little, almost as if she were doing it reluctantly. Kurt's eyes searched the surroundings, but he could detect no sign of her cousins. She looked at him briefly, then lowered her head. She did not turn fully to face him. After all, she made no move to go any further.

"What are you doing here?" he asked when he reached her.

"I was going for a walk," she replied, giving him only a quick glance before looking off to the side again.

"You should do your walkin the yard," he replied.

"Kurt, please... I just wanted to leave," she said, and this time she looked at him longer.

Her gray eyes seemed darker than usual and not a bit determined. For a moment he wondered how she had gotten past Johann with that. However, the latter was hardly older than she was. Besides, there was something else on the bodyguard's mind that he needed to ask her: "Where are the other two greenhorns?"

"Still at the wedding. Could we... walk together for a bit? Or... you can meet me in town and tell my guardians afterwards that you caught me again," she suggested.

"The very fact that you were able to leave the compound speaks against me. And I can't just accompany you and leave the other two without a guard, you know that," he countered.

It seemed to him that she was slumping a bit.

"Come on, get back," he ordered.

Amal nodded, then started moving. He followed, always a step and a half behind her. But she made no effort to try to break loose again. She walked in front of him. He had seen recruits on the verge of exhaustion who were faster than her at this. She paused for a moment, but still stopped. She glanced briefly over her shoulder. When her eyes met his, it seemed as if she wanted to say something. But then she turned again and, without saying anything, and continued moving toward the estate. They had gone a little more than halfway to the gate when Kurt saw two more figures hurrying toward it from the estate.

"Malia!" Emile and Constantin crossed the now re-guarded passageway, one of the guardswomen grabbing the older cousin by the sleeve and stopping him.

"Let me go!" the elder commanded them, trying to break free.

Kurt made a movement with his head, whereupon the woman let go of him. Emile, in the meantime, had continued to rush towards his cousin. He took her hands in his and looked at her.

"Malia, are you all right?" he wanted to know.

She hesitated before nodding.

"Kurt brought me back before anything could happen," she assured her cousin, who then squeezed her hands and pulled her close.

At that moment Constantin reached his relatives, barely slowing down and almost knocking them off their feet with his embrace.

The soldier had witnessed many reunions of the three. It wasn't unusual for the three to act as if they hadn't seen each other in months when only a few hours had passed. What was unusual, on the other hand, was how long they held each other this time before parting ways.

"You cannot just disappear like that. We were worried," Constantin said when they finally let go of each other, still keeping an arm around her shoulder. Greenblood continued to hold her hand on her other side.

"Get back," Kurt reminded them. The two cousins looked at him and nodded before starting to move along with Amal. It almost seemed as if the two were supporting her, though to his knowledge there was no reason for that. She wasn't hurt - she hadn't been dueling here, and nothing like that had happened in training.

"Do not worry, we will not have to stay much longer," Emile continued as they passed through the gate again.

The other guards gave Kurt a wondering look, which he answered with a resigned shake of his head. Even he had no idea what had gotten into the three of them today.

"Constantin already told everyone he felt a headache coming on," their younger cousin added, leading them on across the yard.

"I think we will be out of here in two hours at the latest. Maybe sooner," her other cousin now picked up the thread.

Amal let out something that only slightly resembled a laugh. A very distant resemblance.

"You do not have to do this."

"Please, what are we doing at this dull wedding? I am sure when we get back to our quarters we will find something to pass the time with," Constantin countered..

But that was not his business. He was only here as a bodyguard. So he followed the three until they reached the ballroom. Only then did they stop. Amal tried to straighten up, took a deep breath and expelled it unused before saying softly, "I can handle this."

"We will not leave your side," Emile promised, squeezing her hand again.

His cousin exchanged a glance with him, then nodded and entered the ballroom.

Only Constantin turned to the soldier, "Thank you for bringing her back."

"That's what I get paid for," the guardsman replied.

Something like a smile flickered across his student's features.

"I guess that is true. See you later," he tilted his head once more in the direction of his teacher, then followed the other two. The mercenary decided to continue his service out here, even though he didn't really get the impression that any of them wanted to slip away. After all, that's what he had thought earlier as well.

Kurt learned the next day what the behavior of the three was all about. It was still morning when he was summoned to Princess d'Orsay. Constantin's mother was as cold as the steel the soldier carried and much more cunning than any of his comrades. He did not like dealing with her.

"Your Highness," he bowed to her after entering the parlor where she was staying.

"Ah, Kurt. I heard that you saved my niece from doing something very foolish," the princess welcomed him. She sat in one of the cushioned chairs and eyed him.

"Your Highness?" he inquired. Amal had neither gotten drunk nor duelled. The latter was especially unusual for Amal, but the lack of it was not to his credit.

"She tried to make a scene by leaving the wedding early. As far as I know, you stopped her. I am sure she made a drama out of it and fought back," the noble explained, rising.

It was like water flowing upward - one swift movement and she was standing in front of him. But while it could be relaxing to watch a river drift, he always felt a certain tension towards Princess d'Orsay. And not just because of the threat she had made shortly after he took up his post nine years ago. If he feared everyone who had threatened him with death once, Kurt would have no time to sleep. No, it was more the fact that if she ever decided to make good on that threat, he wouldn't see it coming. He hated the court, its intrigues, the poisonings and 'accidents' that happened now and then. On most battlefields, things were more honorable than here among all these merchants.

Constantin's mother walked over to a small table and picked up a pouch that jingled softly.

"Here. Your efforts shall be rewarded," she continued, holding the little bag out to him.

The soldier took it. It was heavy and he had guessed from the sound before what was inside.

"Maybe after this she will finally learn that she should not think she can have everything she wants," the noble added, giving Kurt the impression that she was talking more to herself than to him. Her waving her hand shortly after, accompanied by the words "You may leave," confirmed his assumption. The mercenary bowed and then left the parlor. He took a few steps down the hallway, then stopped and looked down at the pouch in his hand. He had no idea what that was about. Normally he wouldn't complain about an allowance, but it didn't sit well with him that he didn't even know what it had been for. Because if it was indeed for bringing Amal back to the wedding, it made no sense to him. It hadn't been much of an accomplishment; after all, she hadn't gotten far. And she hadn't really put up much of a fight, aside from her brief attempt to persuade him to let her go or accompany her, and even that had turned out pretty low-key by her standards.

Without further ado, he sought out one of the servants and asked him where the greenhorns were hanging out.

Only a few moments later, the guardsman entered the library.

"But he did not believe that the merchant spoke the truth..." said Green Blood, but he looked up from the book in his hand from which he had just read. He was sitting on an upholstered chair, half facing the window. His two older relatives sat on a sofa, with Constantin's hand resting on their backs. His cousin sat sideways on the couch, feet tucked up, arms around her knees, staring out the window she faced. She was the only one not looking at the mercenary after he entered.

"Kurt, what brings you here?" inquired Constantin.

"I just went to see your mother and received an... extra payment that I can't explain. It's apparently for bringing you back," he replied, and at the last words his gaze wandered from his eldest student to his cousin.

She did not answer. It seemed as if she had not even heard him. Constantin rose quickly and stepped between the two of them.

"You know my mother. She overreacted a bit and made a mountain out of a molehill..." he began, but then Amal interrupted him, "Leave it be."

Her cousin turned to her.

"We do not have to lie to him, Constantin." she continued. This was new. Kurt had had to reprimand her more than once in training to save her lies for court when she had tried again to twist the truth or talk her way out of it.

Only now did it seem that lesson had come to fruition. Amal turned around, let her feet slide off the couch, and looked at Kurt.

"You may remember that Édouard de la Vallière was a guest at the palace for a while," she began.

The soldier nodded. It had been rare in recent years that any of the d'Orsays' guests had wanted to participate in the training of the three. Édouard was perhaps two or three years older than Constantin and had joined them. He had been attentive and had obviously taken the master of arms' criticism to heart. At least Kurt had trained quite a few other people who had been less responsive to what he had told them.

"We started a liaison back then, and over time... we realized it was not a game for either of us. Until a quarter of a year ago, when his engagement to Princess Cathérine de Bragelonne was announced," she continued, her gaze drifting to the side at the end. Constantin had taken a seat at her side again and had his hands around her left. Green Blood had closed the book and was also looking at his cousin.

Only now did it occur to Kurt that Amal had indeed not spoken to her cousins about her conquests in recent months. Because there hadn't been any? He guessed what was to follow. But as she continued to speak, it occurred to him that he had never expected this consequence: "We were going to be smart and end it right away. But then we thought it had to end anyway and we could enjoy the time until then. I... begged my guardians to let me marry him in Princess Cathérine's place."

Her gaze wandered to the floor before she seemed to bring herself to look at her master of arms again, "But House d'Orsay did not need to strengthen its bond with House de la Vallière. I had no intention of continuing it after the wedding. Nevertheless, Lady Cathérine and her entourage made it very clear to me yesterday that they knew what was going on and that I should never think of trying it again with Édouard." In the course of her description, her eyes had wandered back out through one of the windows to the street, but at her last words she looked back at Kurt.

Amal had asked to be allowed to marry. Although it would have taken her away from Emile and Constantin. She hadn't wanted to cause trouble for her teacher. She probably hadn't even wanted to be particularly disobedient. She had only wanted to get away from there, which he understood more than well, even though he had never been in a similar situation. Still, he knew how it felt to be made an outsider and an undesirable, even though he had never had to watch someone marry whom he had his heart set on. With all the dark experiences he had had in the past, he was a little thankful that this one wasn't one of them.

The coin pouch in Kurt's hand was beginning to feel uncomfortably heavy. He was paid to teach the three of them and make sure nothing happened to them. Bringing one of them back with a broken heart to the very place they least wanted to be was not one of them.

"That sounds... painful. I'm sorry," he replied.

It was probably the first time he'd ever told one of them he was sorry for something, but that didn't make it any less true.

Briefly, the hint of a resigned smile flickered across her lips before she lifted her shoulders and replied, "There is no one who can teach you to protect yourself from that. Thanks anyway."

She gave him a slight nod.

"This is the whole story behind it. Of course, Aunt Josette found out I tried to run away, but I told her it was thanks to you that I had not," she explained.

"It is possible that I embellished your role a little in the process, but the bottom line is that you got me back in time before anyone but Constantin, Emile, and Aunt Josette noticed. So the family's reputation is still intact, thanks to you."

She rolled her eyes briefly at the words 'family reputation', but even that seemed slower on her than usual. So did almost everything in the last few days.

"From that point of view, you earned the money and so at least one of us got something out of it," she said, glancing briefly at the small bag in his hand.

He wasn't so sure about that. If she had also belonged to the Guard, or at least had not been noble, Kurt would have taken this money and spent it with Amalia and her cousins in the nearest tavern. But that was not possible. He almost startled when Constantin clapped his hands.

"Well, enough of this sad business. Emile, you have a wonderful voice, but I think this story you just read is not enough to dispel the gloom. In fact, let us try a round of cards. Or... a training session?" he suggested, his eyes drifting to Kurt at the end. The mercenary knew his student wasn't really eager to go through another lesson. Which meant he was only suggesting it to cheer Amal up.

But she shook her head, "I am not in the mood. Besides, there is no courtyard here and none of the rooms are big enough." Then she rose and walked over to a small table that stood by the windows.

Emile followed her.

"The cards, then," he said, sounding as if he were trying for an encouraging tone.

"Eemor?" she asked, reaching for a deck of cards.

"Sounds good," Green Blood agreed, still not looking relaxed.

Kurt's gaze wandered to Constantin, who was making moves to follow the two, but the guardsman gestured with his head toward the door. The young man followed him. The mercenary left the library and looked down the hallway in both directions while Constantin closed the door between them and the other two.

"There is only one guard here at the front door. He will leave his place at half past ten this evening. Then you can go out unseen," he said quietly, addressing his student after spotting no one in the hallway.

The noble's eyebrows rose, but the soldier continued before he could ask a question: "You will be back here at three o'clock. And you stick to Emile. If he says you should disappear somewhere or not mess with anyone, you will. If he says a place isn't right for you, you listen to him."

Constantin smiled and nodded, "Of course."

"Good. And... you might want to take this with you," Kurt said, holding the coin pouch out to him. His student's gaze wandered down to it, but he shook his head slightly, "No, she wants you to have it."

"Don't think her Highness needs to know about it," the mercenary countered.

"I was speaking about Malia. You help us enough as it is," the young man replied quietly.

"Just don't get caught," the guardsman reminded him.

"We will not," Constantin assured him.

"Back with you then, Eemor is better played in threes than twos," the soldier countered, pointing his head toward the door.

"You are right about that. And... thank you, Kurt," his student nodded to him once more, then went back to the library.

The mercenary could still hear him ask "You would not have started without me, would you?", then the guardsman turned away and went back to his room. He should get some sleep. Just in case the greenhorns didn't show up in time and he had to go look for them.

Chapter Text

Today

He jerked his sword up, just in time to deflect the blow of Amal's blade. His gaze flitted over her face and he saw resignation and amusement wrestling with each other. On the one hand, she certainly would have liked to take him by surprise after faking the attack from the other side, but on the other hand, he knew she was enjoying this fight- by the sight of her widening grin anyway. Since they had found Emile's aunt on Teer Fradee, she was doing much better. And even though Kurt had been anything but thrilled about her trip to the arena two weeks ago, he was pleased to see that she was now back in her usual good mood. At least she had quickly realized at the arena that she had made a mistake:

The soldier had just settled down on the bed to sleep when there was a soft knock at his door. A few seconds before, the front door had been slammed shut - meaning Constantin had probably left.

When he went to the door and opened it, his hunch was confirmed: Amal was standing in front of it. Her lip was swollen, and judging from the dust marks on her clothes, she had not yet changed after the arena.

"I was hoping you were not asleep yet," she said.

"Was just going to bed," he replied, but still took a step to the side so she could enter.

"I do not want to keep you long by any means," she replied, and walked past him. Kurt closed the door and turned to face her.

She looked down at the floor for a moment as she stroked her outstretched fingers over the palm of her other hand, lost in thought.

"I... I wanted to apologize to you. You got hurt because of me, and that was an... unpleasant experience. And if Síora had not been here, you would have been in pain while breathing for weeks, like Constantin was back then. So: I am sorry for dragging Constantin and you into this."

Kurt crossed his arms. Thanks to Síora's healing abilities, it was painless. It was as if his rib had never been broken, and the Doneigad had also healed the cut above his eyebrow.

"You wanted to fight Constantin - only because he wanted to do the only right thing and take you to Emile. I broke a rib fighting for you. 'Dragged into it' is a serious understatement," he countered.

In response, her shoulders slumped, her lips narrowed a bit for a blink, and her gaze wandered to the side before dropping into one of the two chairs that stood to the left and right of a small table.

"You are right. And I know how to ask nobles to apologize for alleged or actual misbehavior, but this... I have no idea how you could ever excuse it. I... could raise your pay, but that feels wrong. To pay you to forgive me for your injury," she finally said before looking at him.

He was a mercenary. He got paid for things, but she was right: he didn't want to get paid for that.

"Have you been listening to Green Blood again? That you can't put a price on everything?" he countered, settling into the other chair. He saw her shoot him a look, but it seemed less angry- just resigned.

He raised his shoulders. Half because he wanted to tell her 'That's the way it is' and half because he himself didn't know how they would get out of it.

Finally he took a breath and replied, "You made a mistake. Don't make it again."

An uncertain smile settled at the corners of her mouth, and the soldier instinctively suspected that there were not many people to whom Amalia d'Orsay would allow herself to do such a thing. And although he knew she could be manipulative, he didn't get the impression that she was now. After all, she usually saved such things for court.

"I will do my best," she promised, nodding at him.

"Thank you for hearing me out," she added, rising.

"I know how persistent you are. Couldn't leave you at the door all night," he replied, though they both knew she would have gone to sleep if he hadn't opened. Still, her smile widened a bit.

"Sleep well, Kurt," she responded after reaching the door.

"You too," he replied.

By now they were in the ninth round of their practice fight. And Amal had already won four. They had started shortly after breakfast (Which was served rather late). The soldier was used to earlier times, but nobles usually did not have breakfast at sunrise. However, Green Blood had been up earlier, sitting over some papers. Amal had shown up sleepy, but when Kurt had suggested a training round, she had instantly become lively.

By now it had been a good two hours since they had started training. Emile and Vasco had taken their leave to go back inside during Kurt and Amal’s last break, leaving the guardsman alone with his former pupil in the courtyard of the embassy. It was a mostly green area with a tall hedge to both sidest to protect against prying eyes from the adjacent gardens, yet neighboring houses towered over the neatly trimmed shrubs. At the far end, where the exercise area was located, rose the city wall.

A crunch sounded as the two combatants shifted their stance, holding their weapons at their sides, waiting for their respective opponent to make a mistake. Sometimes - like a moment ago - Amal was too impetuous and impatient. But especially in training, she could sometimes display remarkable patience. And right now he had the impression that she really wasn't planning an attack on her part. Kurt also knew, however, that he couldn't wait too long, because otherwise she would come up with something. So he pushed in on her with a rapid succession of blows, but let the first four come down only lightly, and even met her weapon so that Amal barely flinched as he continued to move in on her. But the fifth time he put all his strength into it. The young woman stumbled. She caught herself within the blink of an eye, but that had been enough to push her blade down. The tip of his sword hovered just a finger's breadth away in front of her ribcage. Amal looked down at it and briefly an embarrassed expression flitted across her face, but then she lifted her gaze and laughed.

"It looks like this round goes to you as well," she commented.

Kurt nodded and lowered his weapon.

"I really thought I could beat you for once today," she added with a grin as she sheathed her sword.

"You did four times," he conceded, and did the same to her.

"I mean properly - that I win more fights than you," she explained, spreading her hands a little in front of her.

Kurt allowed a smile to show in response. For that matter, Constantin had been right when they had looked for Amal in the garrison after her abrupt disappearance from his palace: he liked her fighting spirit.

"We can go for another round if you like," he returned, though they were both sweaty and dust clung to their clothes.

Amal, still smiling, shook her head and brushed a loose strand from her face.

"No, because I would have to win at least twice to become the final victor of this training, and how likely would that be? If we end it now, I only have a close loss and I can keep my dignity," she returned.

"If you say so..." he countered, raising his shoulders. He started moving towards the embassy. Fresh sweat didn't bother him, but as a recruit he had learned to take every opportunity to wash and put on fresh clothes. After all, opportunities to do so did not always present themselves, and by the third day at the latest in the unplanned pursuit of a fugitive, it was then very unpleasant to have skipped the last wash.

"But there is one more thing I would like to try," her voice sounded behind him, making him stop. He half turned to face her, as she promptly closed in on him.

"If you're coming at me again with that supposedly foolproof thélèmic leg sweep: No, it won't work unless your opponent is a bloody beginner," he replied. Amal had once been in Thélème for a few months - and from what he had seen of her in training afterwards, he was not thrilled with her fighting instructor there. Nevertheless, she had tried to modify and apply this technique again and again after that. The most recent time was just before they had left for New Sérène.

She laughed softly. "No, you demonstrated that to me very convincingly several times," she replied and took another step towards him, which meant that she was no longer even an arm's length away from him. Surely she wouldn't launch a surprise attack and go into hand-to-hand combat? Just as he took a more secure stance, she took another half step toward him, placed a hand on his cheek and kissed him. She leaned against him and her lips moved on his. They felt much softer than in all his imaginings, which he had banished for so long. For a blink, he returned the kiss, fully catching her lips that had only half met his and pulling her to him. She tasted of water, earth and salt - probably from sweat and for a tiny moment it was all he wanted. But then he felt her put her other hand on his hip, and he remembered, all of a sudden, who he was kissing. His student. A noble who was known for her affairs. One of his protégés. The guard abruptly took a step back. He stared at her for a moment. Her grin was mischievous, almost self-satisfied. As if a plan of hers had come to fruition. Meanwhile, all the things he had banished from his mind due to Amal and himself came crashing down on him. It took Kurt a moment before he finally regained his speech.

"What in the world is this all about?" he demanded to know.

"I thought that I would try it out to see if we were compatible in other areas," she replied, raising her shoulders slightly as if he had just asked her about the weather.

"You know very well that I don't want anyone to talk about an affair between me and one of you!" he countered, taking another step back and shaking his head before shooting her a look.

She looked unsettled for a tiny moment, but then smiled again and raised her shoulders, "We are all alone here. No one saw it."

"No one?!" he echoed, gesturing outwards wildely. "Except your servants who are about to prepare your lunch, but of course they don't count for you nobles. You have no idea what people like us catch on to!"

Slowly, her smile faded. "It was just an experiment after all. I certainly had no intention of offending you," she replied.

"Of course. That's why you crossed the line, after all. And you knew it existed!"

He expelled his breath in exasperation and shook his head. If he was unlucky, this was already the topic of conversation in the tavern in the evening. He knew what his comrades there would say: That he was the pet of a noble. That he was being paid for two kinds of services at the same time. And whether he was good enough in bed that a small country estate was in store for him. And wondering what it was like to fuck a council candidate. Today, tomorrow... if anyone had seen her from the upper floors of the adjoining houses, it could happen anytime. He had never given his comrades a reason to talk. Had brushed off any rumors - only for Amal to now give fuel to the waiting dry timber.

"I am sorry. I would not have thought that a little kiss would upset you so much," she countered.

He turned to her and this time he took a step toward her.

"Not thinking - that's exactly your problem! You never take anything seriously because there are no consequences for you. Emile and Constantin are never angry with you for long, and you don't care what your guardians think of you. You get away with everything. But not this time, Your Excellency. Find another training partner in the future."

With those words, he turned away and trudged toward the back door of the embassy. He heard her rapid footsteps as she ran to catch up with him and briefly felt her hold him by the arm, but he wriggled out of her grip in a flash.

"I am sorry! I did not mean to..." but he didn't let her finish, "You didn't mean to hurt Emile when you ran off either. Or Constantin, for that matter. It was only because of him that you didn't go after him in the arena. And yes - you apologized for me breaking my rib fighting for you. But none of that would have happened if you had thought for even a moment what your running away would mean to everyone else! Maybe I was too easy on you. It won't happen again."

He turned away again and headed for the embassy. This time she didn't try to catch up with him. Even if the servants hadn't seen the kiss - this scene probably hadn't escaped them. He knew that he couldn't act like this towards Amal for long - otherwise the rumors would start all the more. But after all the time he had spent trying to prevent just that, and after all the nights he had spent trying not to think about her, it seemed like all his efforts had been in vain. And all this, even though she knew that he didn't want this rumor circulating in his life. He would serve his duty in the barracks for the next few days. Then he was no longer near her and would perhaps overhear if something was said about them both. Even though he didn't think he had much influence over it, it was better to know what was being said about one than to walk into a room one day where everyone thought he was sleeping his way up. He despised people who did that. And he certainly didn't want to be seen as or - Coin Gaurd forbid - actually become one.

Chapter Text

Today

Constantin put his hands on her shoulders and she could see in his gray eyes how reluctant he was to let Emile and her go. But darkness had already fallen hours ago and he had to get up early the next morning.

“Very well, my dears, sleep well,” he finally said, before pulling her into his arms and giving her a brief hug. Amalia returned the embrace and held on to him for a moment. Constantin had always had a talent for making his hugs seem like he was protecting her from the whole world.

“You sleep well too,” she finally said, before pulling away from him a little reluctantly. Then she stepped aside so that Emile could hug him too. She stood not far from Kurt, which promptly triggered an unease in her stomach.

“I will see you tomorrow for lunch," Emile finally promised, before breaking away from Constantin as well.

“I will try not to count the hours,” her eldest cousin replied and smiled, but it did not dispel the melancholy expression on his face.

Nevertheless, they set off in the direction of the embassy. Emile and she did not say a word as they walked down the stairs followed by Kurt and finally left the palace. She suspected that her youngest cousin's mind was already somewhere else. Or rather: with someone else. Because it seemed that Vasco and he had finally found each other. It had already been obvious to her on the boat how much he liked the naut and that the captain had his eye on him too. Why it had taken all this time here on the island before they had finally kissed was a mystery to her. The two of them had fared better than she had when it came to romance. But nobody knew that except Kurt and her, because she had not told any of her cousins what had happened between the soldier and her. Emile probably suspected that there was a disagreement between them, because the mercenary had only asked Vasco and him to train today. When her younger cousin had asked if Amalia did not want to join, the guardsman had only replied with a quick sideways glance at her that she would find someone in the garrison who suited her.

She was not entirely sure whether he was merely referring to a training partner or to the mercenary who had tried to bed her back then. He probably was not, because Kurt was not mean. Apart from the fact that he had avoided her since the kiss, barely gave her a glance and only referred to her by her title in public. That is, if he addressed her at all.

She heard his footsteps behind her, steady and familiar, just as they always had been, and yet there was this tugging in her stomach. Kurt had always made her feel safe and relaxed. When he was there, nothing bad could happen. Now she had upset him because she had given in to an impulse. An impulse that she still felt when she was around him. And even when she was not. The noblewoman had wanted to find out whether the closeness between Kurt and her was perhaps not based on the same intimacy that connected her to Constantin and Emile. And unlike the first inkling years ago, when she had noticed that the soldier was quite attractive, this time Amalia was sure it was not the simple boredom that usually drew her to new suitors. It could have been the case on the ship, but at that time she had thought he was just a third cousin to her. And she was just a little excited to be around him because it would have been a novelty for her, despite all the time they had spent together.

But that did not explain why he kept coming up in her thoughts, even when she was busy with other things. Nor did it explain why she sometimes felt dizzy in his presence. Not in an unpleasant way. It reminded her a little of the time one of her conquests had shown her how to smoke tobacco. She had inhaled too deeply the third or fourth time and coughed so much afterwards that her throat had hurt for two days. But the moment immediately afterwards had been accompanied by a pleasant numbness of thought, almost as if there was nothing at all to worry about ever again.

Well - that had been once, because what was certain was that since the kiss, not only did she know that was far from all she wanted to do with Kurt, but she also knew that he did not give a damn about her. He was not rude, but that was exactly what bothered her. No jokes, not even at her expense, just the bare minimum of conversation.

She thought she felt his gaze on her back as they entered the embassy, but when she turned around, he was locking the front door. And when Kurt finished that, he was looking in the direction of the salon, from which Vasco had just stepped out- not at her.

“You’re already back,” Emile greeted him and she could see her cousin trying to keep his smile in check. For whatever reason. Even if his happiness gave her a little twinge of envy, she was glad that he was finally with someone, and that he didn’t need to worry about what their uncle would think. Somehow Emile was calmer now that he had Vasco- and not in his already quiet and withdrawn way. Rather, he was more balanced. As if it was less stressful for him to fulfill all of his obligations as Legate of the Congregation. Which he always fulfilled anyway, without a single complaint.

“I was about to say the same thing,” the captain replied and for a moment the two men just looked at each other. Amalia could not prevent a small grin from forming nmon her face.“Why not give me your frock coat so you two can go upstairs?”

As was to be expected, Emile blushed and almost choked on his tongue, while Vasco's smile just widened.

“I'll make sure to keep it decent,” the Naut replied.

“I make no great emphasis on ‘decent’. Just be good to him,” she said, throwing him a glance over her cousin's shoulder as she helped Emile out of the garment.

“He does that. And thank you,” her cousin replied with a quick glance at the frock coat.

“Up you go. And sleep well - eventually,” she said with a meaningful grin. He shook his head slightly, but took the sailor's hand and headed for the stairs.

“I still have to put out the lights in the salon,” he objected. They had released the staff before they had left for Constantin. Vasco had wanted to eat with old comrades and they hadn't needed to do so themselves. So such things were now their own responsibility. Just like hanging up their overclothes. But it was better this way, why should the servants wait for them to return if they did not need them after all? Even if it had taken Kurt's harsh reminder weeks ago for her to realize such things.

“I will take care of that,” she interjected and nodded to Vasco. He returned the gesture and thanked her, then Emile and Vasco finally turned towards the stairs that lead to the upper floor. She knew her cousin never slept with anyone straight away. But perhaps they were sleeping in the same bed - small steps.

Amalia turned to the small wardrobe next to the staircase, which Kurt had just left. The guardsman had stored his equipment there. Now he was only wearing a simple shirt, his pants and his boots. His gaze wandered briefly to her and then immediately to the side again, but she stepped towards him.

“ Do you have a few more minutes? I would like to talk to you in the salon as soon as I have hung this up,” she turned to him.

The soldier returned her gaze for a moment. “What for?”

Just a short word, but uttered so heartlessly that it stung her. “Do I need a reason to talk to you now?” she replied.

“I don't know that we have anything to say to each other.”

“Really? How can you pretend it didn’t happen...” she broke off when she realized that she was mumbling to herself. She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Aunt Josette would have scolded her for such an obvious display of weakness. But her aunt wasn't here and this was by far the least of Amalia's problems.

Finally, she looked at the soldier again: “I would like to apologize to you and I thought a conversation in the salon would be more appropriate than in the entrance hall. There are fewer servants passing by who might think it was a failed liaison.” Her voice had become sharper again towards the end, although she had resolved to remain calm.

The soldier's eyebrows furrowed briefly before he said, “All right.” Then he walked past her.

The ambassador took a deep breath, but started moving again. She felt how her hands had become a little sweaty from nerves, but she was not going to let that stop her. The noblewoman hung Emile's and her frock coat each on a hanger - even if she still found it awkward - before following the mercenary. When she entered the salon, Kurt was standing next to one of the armchairs, his back facing the windows. The shutters were already closed, the oil lamps on the walls bathed the room in a soft light, but it did not necessarily make his face look more yielding. Whenever he was this serious, she started to really notice the scars. Not in a repulsive way, but not in a pleasant way either, like back in training after the tavern brawl. His gaze was waiting and even though she tried not to let it show, it took all her courage to look him in the eye and say: “So... as I just said, I do apologize. I crossed a line with that kiss two days ago. I should not have done that. And you are right: I should have thought about it beforehand. I am sorry that I put you in an uncomfortable situation for you.” She knew it was a very complicated way of putting it, but since the guardsman could almost always see through her lies, she wasn't sure if 'putting you in an uncomfortable situation' would have been too little. After all, apart from the outcome, it had not been at all unpleasant for her.

The soldier furrowed his eyebrows. “It took you two days to come up with that?”

“I was also thinking about how to get out of this. Since I assume you still insist on consequences for me, I suggest that I train exclusively in the garrison for another month. After that, I would like to train with you again.”

Kurt then crossed his arms: “You really think you can get out of this that easily?”

Now it was her turn to furrow her eyebrows: “What exactly do you think would be appropriate?”

His behavior irritated her. Not necessarily that he obviously did not want to kiss her. The realization hurt - but mostly she just tried not to give it any space. And of course he had punished them all at training for deliberate mistakes, but more in the form of more push-ups, extra training or repetitions until he thought they were doing it right. It was the fact that he was now depriving her of training with him, after advocating her earlier re-entry into training years ago, that hurt her so much.

The guardsman remained silent for a moment and just as it looked as if he was about to say something in reply, she interjected: “And please remember that it could have been worse. Yes, the garden was not the most private place for it, but at least I did not kiss you in the tavern in front of half the garrison.”

His face seemed to freeze for a blink, but at least he lowered his arms shortly after.

“Three months.”

“Three?!” she echoed, but when she saw his expression lock up again, she raised her hands defensively, “All right. Three months. In exchange, you stop calling me by my title from tomorrow.”

“You're asking for an apology and setting conditions in the same breath?” he followed up.

“We both know that you use titles like a weapon and I think I have taken enough blows with it. I miss the way we treat each other. Even your usual 'I'm only here because I'm paid to be', which I usually hate. Because it makes me feel like one of those dainty nobles. Or is that all I am to you now? Is Amal dead to you?” It was only when she had said it that she realized how scared she was of his answer. She had no idea what to do if he insisted that this was exactly how things would continue between them.

He looked at her for a moment longer. Finally, he expelled the air and shook his head, “No. She's just being stubborn. As always.”

The noblewoman felt relief wash through her and for a moment she did not know what to say. Her stomach churned as if she had eaten something wrong. The way it had before she had kissed him.

“That should come as no surprise to you after all these years.”

“I suppose,” was all he said in return.

“Then... is everything all right? I know it takes time for things to get back to normal after a fight. At least I feel that way with Constantin and Emile.”

Kurt's eyebrows furrowed a little again, but he looked rather doubtful: “You ever argued with them?”

“A few times? Most of the time it was my fault, which should come as no surprise to you either,” she replied with a grin.

The guardsman shook his head again, but it looked resigned and not as if he was denying anything: “No, indeed it is not a surpise.”

“Then I will not keep you any longer. Thank you for talking to me. And... sleep well,” she said and nodded at him, trying not to let her excitement show.

Kurt returned the gesture, even if it still seemed a little stiff.

“You too,” he replied before walking past her and leaving the salon. Amalia looked after him and tried to bring some calm back into her emotional life. But somehow the last two words had only upset everything even more. As if they were confirmation that everything would be all right again.