Hohenfels

Chapter 8

After forcing herself to listen to the unnecessarily long-winded speech delivered by the unenthusiastic principal, Katharina felt drained. The awareness of her colossal mistake loomed over every thought and she could feel her knees begin to shake.

Nonetheless, she had no choice but to engage in friendly conversation with the thankfully low number of young high-born aristocrats who approached her. She did not even try to work on any relationships, recognizing that her mind was not in the right space for positive socializing.

She needed to come up with a plan to handle the Hohenfels situation, and fast.

Two of her potential courses of action had dissolved into thin air. Ignoring Prince Arnold was off the table for obvious reasons, and so was trying to undermine his relationship with other high houses. That was a battlefield she had absolutely no place on, lest her entire family be crushed in the relentless mills of politics.

Thus, she was left with only one option: Trying to get into his good graces. A daunting prospect considering she knew absolutely nothing about him besides his ability to run circles around her in polite conversation.

When she finally managed to escape from the great hall, she dodged the groups of minor nobles littering the plaza, hurried to her dorm as fast as her formal dress allowed, and locked herself into her room.

She needed a plan.

= = = = =

Arne sat on the bench in his library niche, the blank blade of his saber resting against his cheek. He reveled in the soothing quiet, finally able to breathe again.

All things considered, today had been extremely productive. Klara von Eisenberg had been far more cooperative than he had expected, and Maria von Greifenhain going with the flow was the icing on the cake.

He was worried about the eventual bill he’d have to foot. There was no way the Greifenhains would let this stand without wanting something in return. Though, he’d probably have some time before that happened. Maria would have to send a letter home and then wait for a reply, and even if she hired the most expensive couriers, that would take at least a week. Probably more.

For now, his most pressing concerns would be surviving the impending lectures. He would have to handle them without backup, since Friedrich was sure to avoid something like ‘Domain Management’ or ‘Jurisprudence’ in favor of spending all day with the combat instructors.

Thankfully for his cousin, there were no assessments here like they existed at the universities. They would have been a farce anyway, considering there were extremely few instructors willing to fail the son of a baron, let alone the heir to a duchy.

Instead, it was all a matter of reputation. A student visiting primarily administrative lectures could garner a reputation as a skilled administrator if they applied themselves enough, practically guaranteeing them a high position at a duke’s court. Conversely, a student spending all their time at the training fields could, after earning enough prestige, be certain to net a high rank in that duke’s military.

Personally, Arne had very little interest in most courses. Administration was certainly not one of his few strong points and he had no intention of fighting against his nature. He had “people for that”, as Lisa once had so eloquently put it.

House Hohenfels’ status as keepers of a border region required that he attended every lecture on military tactics he could. ‘History of the Empire’ was a necessity for polite conversation. He was competent with most relevant languages, thanks to the various teachers his father had hired, so those courses weren’t necessary.

‘Diplomacy and Etiquette’ was a necessary evil he would have to deal with, just like ‘Rhetoric’.

The only lecture that seemed even remotely interesting in this semester’s broad curriculum was called ‘The Rich History of Ritual Magic in Central Europa’. It would undoubtedly be filled with esoteric nonsense and borderline blasphemy, but he’d rather deal with that than with traditionalist military instructors desperately trying to prove the superiority of obsolete infantry tactics. But, as usual, he had little choice in the matter.

Still, he would somehow find a way to squeeze the lecture on ritual magic into his soon-to-be-busy schedule.

Arne sheathed his saber, heaved a long sigh, and left the library to find Friedrich.

Stolen novel; please report.

‘There is absolutely no way he hasn’t gotten himself into trouble by now,’ he mused.

His concerns were confirmed when he entered the now crowded colosseum, forcing himself not to subconsciously clutch his amulet. Down in the arena, Friedrich was in the process of thrashing the pretentious son of some inner count – an honest-to-God silkling.

According to the deferential lower nobles he asked about the situation, the poor sap had, in an ill-advised bout of ambition, decided to challenge Friedrich to assert dominance and make a name for himself.

Thankfully, Friedrich seemed bored to the point of apathy. He half-heartedly swatted the pillowknight’s toothpick around, occasionally applying one more saber cut to his visage.

At some point, his opponent, on the verge of tears of humiliation, surrendered and stormed out of the arena. Friedrich just sighed and called on his magic for the first time today to jump several paces up into the ranks, drawing performative “oooh’s” and “aaah’s” from various groups of young ladies. Under the disapproving stares of the male audience, he closed in on Arne and flopped on the seat beside him.

“I sure hope this won’t be the norm,” he grumbled. “This isn’t nearly as fun as I thought it would be.” Disappointment. Boredom.

“Not everyone can be Lisa,” Arne shrugged, enjoying that everyone’s attention was focused on his cousin instead of him for once. ‘I should try to push his reputation.’

“I know, but still,” Friedrich complained, “that guy had neither talent nor drive. Where are all the real fighters?!”

“Leonhardt von Wessen would probably be delighted to test himself against you. And so would the heirs of the other margraves.”

“Sure, but that’s maybe five people in total, including Prince Matthias and that bit- Princess Klara. Back home, I could train together with a dozen of Father’s knights whenever I wanted.”

“Don’t be so gloomy. I’m sure there will be some competent fighters in the lower ranks.”

“If not, I’ll have to make you fight me every day.”

“You wish.”

“Oh come on, what’s the harm? Just an hour or so!”

“I really don’t feel like getting beaten up for an entire hour each day. And think about what that would do to the Hohenfels name.”

“Boooriiing.”

“Deal with it.”

Arne’s senses suddenly alerted him to the stares they were drawing and he quickly fixed his sitting posture. He had easily matched Friedrich’s behavior and had sunk into an almost slouching position in his seat.

“Ahem. In any case, I am certain you will find worthy opponents among the students,” he proclaimed, looking meaningfully around the colosseum.

The unabashed bait worked wonders, and Friedrich was soon swarmed by young men – and even a small number of women – challenging him to bouts.

He shot Arne an appreciative look and led the small crowd back down into the arena.

When some of the more socially inclined onlookers seemed to get ideas about approaching him, Arne all but fled the scene, heading back to Hohenfels Hall.

He found Lord Hartmut in the inner yard, giving orders to the dorm’s servants. Arne had been delighted to learn that Hohenfels Hall employed only a fraction of the manpower other dorms had, since even though it meant less comfort and more chores for the residents, it also meant less uncomfortable interactions with people who wanted nothing more than not to talk to him. He may not have been able to read their auras thanks to them severely lacking in magic, but he could still see it in their body language.

“Young Lord Arnold, what can I do for you?” The Castellan had approached him after dispersing orders and was now looking at Arne with the caring expression of a kindly grandfather.

“Could we head to your study first, Lord Hartmut?”

“Of course, of course.” He gestured invitingly in the direction of his office.

Once inside and behind closed doors, Arne began recounting what had happened in the waiting room earlier.

“What do you think of these developments, Lord Hartmut?”

“First of all, drop the formalities in private. Just call me Uncle,” he ordered. Arne was all too happy to comply.

“Secondly: You did well by forcing the Eisenberg girl into this position. But keep in mind that this will not last.“

“Will the Duke intervene, Uncle?”

“That much is certain. But even before that, she will jump at any opportunity to get back at you.”

“I had feared as much. How shall we proceed in regards to House Greifenhain?”

“We’ll sit back and wait. They are deeply entangled with Falkenstein, so it was just a matter of time for them to follow suit anyway. Your Eisenberg situation accelerating the process is simply serendipity.”

“I see. What should I do if they come to me with demands?”

“Fulfill them if it is within your power. Otherwise, come to me and I’ll figure it out with your Father.”

So Arne was not expected to handle everything himself. He allowed himself a breath of relief, to which Lord Hartmut chuckled.

“This is only the beginning, Arnold. Don’t relax too early.”

“Understood, Uncle. I truly appreciate the guidance,” Arne smiled. “Speaking of which: Your lesson from a few days ago saved my hide when I met a young lady in the library.”

“Oh?”

“I still made myself look horribly foolish, but it could have gone much, much worse had I not realized what she was doing.”

“Then I am delighted to have such a receptive student,” the old man chuckled. “Was she anyone of importance?”

“I... am not sure. I did not get her name,” he said.

“That’s a shame. After today, she will certainly have gotten yours. Be careful that she does not gain too much of an upper hand.”

“I will, Uncle. Thank you.”