Work Text:
Kurt picks at some dirt lodged under his fingernails while he waits in the palace hall. Given no time to clean up first, simply ordered to appear before Prince d’Orsay immediately, his appearance is somewhat disheveled.
Not that it matters. No coin guard will ever be proper enough for the likes of a noble.
Whatever this is about-and that is entirely lost on Kurt-he simply wants to get it over with, take his lumps and get on with it. He has recruits to train, and they sorely need it.
Suddenly the door across the hall opens and an attractive young woman in a servant’s uniform with dark hair pulled back into a tight bun steps out. “Lieutenant? They’re ready for you,” she says, gesturing to the room beyond the door.
Kurt removes his hat, running his fingers through his hair before he stands and is about to approach the door when two young rascals appear out of nowhere, crashing into him at full speed, both of them knocked from their feet to their arses on the marble floor.
“Children!” a voice from inside the room booms.
The two youths look at each other before getting to their feet and entering the room ahead of him.
“Lieutenant, if you will be so good as to wait there for just a moment while I deal with this?” the prince asks, turning his attention to the children standing sheepishly inside the door.
An older man in a waistcoat drags both of the children up to the prince by their lapels. One is slightly taller and blonde, his hair curling up over the tall collar of his coat. The other has dark hair that peeks out from under a hat at odd angles, his hands perched on his waist defiantly.
Standing, the prince is an intimidating figure with cutting blue eyes and a villainous mustache that curls up at each end. He paces before the children, his own blonde curls bouncing with each step.
“What have you been told about running in the hall?”
“Father, we were on our way outside,” the blonde replies in a small, squeaky voice.
“That is no excuse, Constantin! You could have gotten your cousin hurt.”
The darker haired child looks about to speak up but with one glare, they’re both silenced. The blonde drops his head to his chest, defeated.
“Now, for this latest infraction, the two of you will be spending your afternoon in a way that will ensure you don’t forget the rules again. Wait in the hall outside.”
The two children nod and turn and walk back in Kurt’s direction. As they get closer, the dark-haired child looks up at him, blue eyes widening and cheeks flushing, drawing his eyes to a strange mark on the lower left side of her face.
What Kurt originally mistook for two boys turns out to be one boy, a very young princeling, and his cousin, an equally young lady in trousers and a waistcoat.
Once the door is closed, the prince calls out, “Lieutenant, thank you for waiting.”
Kurt turns his attention back to the prince and slowly approaches the throne, his hat in his hands, fidgeting with the brim for a moment until he tucks it behind his back.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why you’ve been called here on such short notice. As you can see, my son and my niece are…undisciplined," he says with a sigh. “I’ve been told that you are one of the best trainers in the barracks. Tough, but fair. Honorable. And you’re also the youngest. Which is why I sent for you.”
“I don’t follow, your lordship,” Kurt replies, still fidgeting with the hat, arms crossed at the wrists behind him.
“I need a talented guard to take up training the two of them. Someone they can relate to, but who I can trust to keep them safe. You would be playing double duty as both their guard and their instructor in swordplay. And you will be compensated as such.”
So this is not about some slight Kurt has forgotten. It’s an offer for a job. A potentially lucrative one.
“I understand that, while it is a generous offer, it also requires great upheaval for you. You would be expected to move into the guard quarters and to take your meals here in the palace, all provided as part of your compensation. You would also be training every day of the week but not the weekend, unless a prior engagement supersedes, and guarding the children whenever deemed necessary. The rest of your time is yours to do as you wish.”
Not wanting to sound too eager, he asks, “May I see the contract?”
“Of course. I would be alarmed if you didn’t ask…”
The prince motions to the older man who produces a rolled paper, passing it to him.
Opening the paper, Kurt skims over the details. The length of the contract is open-ended, simply stating ‘until the two youths are satisfactorily trained’ instead of a number of months or years. But the pay is generous indeed. Not enough to make him rich, but enough to save up for some kind of retirement. If he survives that long.
Already prepared to say yes, and who in their right mind would say no to the prince, Kurt asks, “How long is this offer on the table?”
“In light of the demands and expectations, I will give you one week to come to a decision. Does that sound fair?”
“More than fair, your highness,” Kurt replies, bowing and backing out of the room.
The young girl looks up at him again, a smile turning up the corner of her mouth, and that blush creeping back up to her cheeks.
Damn, he has his work cut out for him.
He turns and places his hat back on his head as he marches down the hall and out of the palace, passing back down the long corridor to a locked gate which a fellow guard opens, releasing him into the street where he walks along in a daze.
Finally, once he is a good distance from the palace, he allows himself to lose his composure just a bit at the prospect. No more missions. No more recruiting and training young men to fight and die. Instead training two greenhorns, who will never see combat, watching their backs. And getting paid handsomely all the while.
His first thought is of Rose.
Quickly, his feet carry him down to the lower boroughs, to the boarding house where she lives. As he enters, he steps into the office, paying her rent up for the next several weeks. With this contract, eventually, he can move her somewhere better. Safer.
He removes his hat as he climbs the stairs, again running his fingers through his hair. Leaning in against the door frame, he knocks with his knuckles against the door. “Rose, it’s Kurt.”
The sound of several locks turning and sliding precedes the door opening and Rose pulling him through it, wrapping her arms around him, the smell of herbs filling his nose, a comforting scent, like home. If he had ever had one.
When she pulls away, her eyes are smiling, bright green flecked with gold. She drags him to the sofa, some old velvet monstrosity that came with the room, and tugs him to sit beside her, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, a few strands of white mixed in, giving it dimension.
She is still as beautiful as she was when Kurt was a child, still as warm and kind. He has been careful over the years to look out for her, keep her safe. She’s the only family he has ever known, and he’ll be damned if he lets anything happen to her.
“Kurt, what are you doing here in the middle of the day?”
“That’s why I came. I’ve been offered a job. A contract with the prince.”
“Wh-what kind of contract?” she stammers, her hands gripping his arms tightly.
“Nothing like what you’re thinking. It’s not a military contract. They’ve asked me to train and guard the prince’s son and niece.”
She sighs in relief, releasing his arms and offering him a cup of tea which he waves off. “I’m not surprised they would ask you, but is it what you want?”
“I would be required to live in the palace, I might not be able to come see you as often. But, Rose, I could move you somewhere better.”
“Kurt, I don’t need any more than this,” she replies, gesturing to the space around her. “If you accept this contract, do it for you. Not for me.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t stay. I have to get back to the barracks before they send someone to the palace to look for me.”
“Go. And follow your heart. It will never lead you astray,” she says, one hand on his chest.
After one more quick embrace, Kurt is stepping back into the hall, slipping his hat back on and following his feet back out into the street, casting one look back over his shoulder at the second story window before he dashes back to the barracks on the other side of the city.
Kurt sits opposite Sieglinde, just promoted to the rank of Major, drinking to her advancement.
She glances across the table over her pint and mutters, “Take the job.”
“I want to, Sieglinde. I do. I just…” he trails off, unsure of what is holding him back.
“If I was in your position, I would have already taken it. A contract like this, Kurt, it's the kind of appointment a soldier dreams about.”
“I know,” he replies, removing his hat and scratching his head.
“What more is there to think about?”
“What about you? We both know Major Torsten has it out for you. If he had his way you never would have been promoted.”
Sieglinde is his only friend. The only person aside from Rose who he can count on. When he came to the barracks here, fresh from training camp, if that’s what one would call it, and she saw the scars he bore, she took him under her wing and watched out for him.
“I’ll be fine, Kurt. I have enough support in the barracks. He can’t touch me.”
“I hate the idea of leaving you to fend for yourself, after everything you’ve done.”
She is the only one who knows about the nightmare he lived and the nightmares that still haunt him even now years later. She is the one who saw to it that the camp was closed, and she sees to it that they keep Hermann on a short leash.
And that is why Torsten hates her.
“I’ve not done nearly enough. That bastard should be put down, Kurt.”
‘You’re keeping him from hurting someone else. That’s as much as anyone can ask.”
“Go on. Get out of here and start packing,” she says, raising her mug.
Kurt stands and comes around the table, leaning down and hugging her tightly. Then, because she is just as stoic as he is, stands and leaves without another word.
Even though Kurt had made up his mind that day, he still chose to wait three more days before returning to the palace to meet with the prince and accept the terms of the contract.
The same man, introduced to him this time as Sir de Courcillon, who had held the contract before, now witnesses both their signatures, pressing a seal deep into the fiber and making it official.
For just a moment, a wave of nausea washes over him at the finality of the affair. He is locked into a contract with no certain period of time set forth. Intentionally vague. Possibly bordering on servitude.
“Come with me, Lieutenant, the children are in the courtyard.”
Without another word, Kurt is following behind the man at a quick march to keep pace. He notices the servants they pass all keep this daunting pace, hurrying through their work. Whether because they have so much to do or because of expectations, he does not know.
After a few minutes, they come to a set of double doors that open to a large courtyard surrounded on all sides by a portico that leads to various interior spaces. On the far side stands an iron gate, locked and guarded, that leads out to the upper terrace.
Sir de Courcillon leads him down to the cobblestone path below where the two cousins sit in the shade sharing some kind of treat they likely pilfered considering the way the boy quickly tucks it behind his back as they rise to their feet.
“Children, I would like to introduce Lieutenant Kurt. He will be your master-of-arms for the foreseeable future. Lieutenant, this young rapscallion is Constantin d’Orsay. And this is his cousin, Lady Elizabeth de Sardet.”
Constantin tilts his head and looks up at him curiously, eyes wide as he scans the scars on his face. Elizabeth, who had stared at him quite openly only a few days before, now eyes him warily for a moment before looking away, a tinge of pink rising to her cheeks again.
“You will follow the Lieutenant’s commands, children. He is here to teach you to defend yourselves.” Turning to Kurt, he adds, “His highness has made arrangements for training implements to be delivered to the palace. You may designate an area where training will take place.”
“If it’s not in the way, here is fine.”
“The courtyard?”
Kurt gestures around them. “Sun, fresh air, open space.”
“Far be it from me to tell you how to go about your job. I’ll inform the interested parties.”
With that, the man turns and disappears through the doors where they entered. Kurt turns to look at his new students.
“What would you like to be called?”
“Constantin,” the boy quickly pipes up. “I detest titles.”
“Constantin it is, then.” Kurt glances over to the girl standing quietly by. ”And you?”
“I…”
“You can call me Kurt…if you like.”
She blushes that much more, and Kurt knows he has a problem on his hands. A very serious problem.