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Parties weren’t dull exactly, but König never enjoyed attending them. By virtue of existing, he stood apart from the ideal Noble image. Too tall, too shy, too strange. He was head and shoulders above the other nobility, tall enough to wear a great-sword at his hip instead of carried over his shoulder. His family colors were dark and foreboding; and his continuing refusal to remove the executioner’s hood hiding his face only made him more noticeable. It was miserable.
Men and women twirled about the dance floor, richly dyed fabric billowing in their wake. The second princess was among them, dancing with a foreign prince. That was the reason for the party, a group of foreign dignitaries from an eastern country were testing the waters of alliance. Several members of their royal family had come, with younger men unlikely to rule but no less deserving of the King’s second daughter.
“I heard that he never takes his mask off.” A noblewoman murmured to a friend, painted lips hidden behind her hand fan. König perked up, curious as to the gossip happening so close to the shadow he’d placed himself in. “He used to be the crown prince, but he’s been all but disowned. Last in line to inherit the throne.”
“I wonder what he did…”
König’s eyes wandered to the high table, where the Royals sat. Indeed, there was a masked man sitting with the delegation. Even at a distance, the enameled design gleamed, the fallen prince’s face concealed behind savage white teeth. The image of a snarling beast. His clothing wasn’t as colorful as everyone else’s much like König’s, mostly black and shades of grey. He knew nothing about the man’s home, and wondered if the color meant something.
All König knew now was that he was intrigued. He used the shadows cast by the chandeliers and pillars in the great hall to move closer to the table, to where the court feasted and conversed. The disinherited prince was talking, his head tilted slightly and the corners of his dark eyes creased in a sly expression. The man sitting next to him, Duke Declan O’Conor, laughed boisterously. He was from a western territory, a competent military leader and occasional advisor to King Majka Ridgeback.
“There is more to a bet than the thrill of risk.” The prince was saying, his voice deeper than König had expected; and made quiet by distance. His accent was smooth and pleasing to the ear. “It is a way to measure the mettle of one’s foe. How cautious is he? Is his confidence misplaced? There is much to gain in a wager, and often worth the loss.”
“Is gambling not illegal in your country?” Duke Declan asked, curious but eager. “You’re a braver man than I am to act so shamelessly.”
“Did I say I was gambling?” The prince asked, tone amused. “It cannot truly be gambling if it’s unofficial. An agreement made with words alone.”
“Is that how you got those scars? Or did you earn those in battle like a man?” The machismo common to the men of their nation was displayed flagrantly, but the prince only laughed. It was a beautiful sound.
“Warfare, an art like none other. More honest than the court at least, that is why I prefer it.”
König was utterly enraptured. Up close, he could see the scars peeking out from under the mask and cutting through thick dark brows. The jewels on the chain of his spectacles, and the gold embroidery thread glittered in the light of the room. At this angle, König could even see the hint of a sword hilt peeking from the folds of his foreign clothing, a glossy silk tassel dangling from the pommel. König was reminded of the beasts he oft hunted in the wilds of his Northern Duchy; an apex predator awake but at rest, unbothered and unthreatened by his surroundings but still so beautifully dangerous.
Dark eyes slid to the side, König’s breath catching in his chest when the subject of his silent admiration met his gaze. The man’s head tilted slightly, a gesture of open curiosity. Duke Declan followed the prince’s look, brows pinching slightly in a frown, before relaxing when he saw König standing in the shadow of a column.
“Ah.” The Duke said, his face expressive and voice easier to hear. The benefit of being able to see his mouth also made his words clearer at the distance. “Duke König, of the North. I dare say that he is… Unsuited for a sophisticated event such as this. The North is known for its lack of civilization, you see. A good ally to have in battle, but I would not allow war hounds in my home.”
It was the usual gossip; König was more than used to it by now. His fearsome reputation was a useful tool, if a bit isolating. His people were strong, cold like the great river and twice as unyielding. The citizens of König’s duchy did what they needed to survive, and to hell with what the rest of the kingdom thought. Rumors may swirl in the capital but it was just words. They still wanted what luxuries only his people could provide, furs and quality timber. Ore from their mines.
The foreign prince’s eyes narrowed further, turning almost feline. His head tilted in the other direction. The masked man’s overall posture indicated that he was replying to the Duke, but with his voice lowered and lips concealed, König had no idea what was being said. Declan’s frown only deepened, but he clearly conceded. The prince’s gaze still had not left his.
König heard the clicking of shoes on the tile behind him and deftly stepped to the side as a man stumbled into the pillar where he’d been standing. The man gave a shout as the crystal glass in his hand shattered all over the floor, splattering wine like blood across König’s shoes. Several women shrieked and leapt back to avoid getting wine stains on their gowns. König realized that his hand had instinctively fallen to the hilt of his bihänder sword.
“Watch where you’re going, you absolute oaf!” The man snarled, reeking of drink stronger than the spilled wine. Conversation died as everyone turned to take in the scene. The drunkard, a Count who happened to be much lower than König socially, lifted his foot to inspect a shoe.
"Entschuldigung, pardon me." König said, which was much kinder and more polite than the man deserved. The Count’s face twisted up in fury.
“You lummox ! You ruined my boots!” He shouted, drawing more eyes to the pair. König felt a nervous sweat beginning to build up under his arms and on his face. The leather of the unfamiliar Count’s shoes was glossy and polished, but lacking in grain and too evenly dyed, a leather he knew from speaking with leather workers back home to be poorer in quality. The wine would wipe off and the shine could be fixed with a fresh polish.
“They are not ruined.” König pointed out, trying to calm the man down. The Count was beginning to turn the same shade of red as the puddle of wine on the floor until he looked up. Then the blood drained from his face and left him as pale as freshly fallen snow.
“D-duke König!” He stammered, voice suddenly small. He cowered back, as though König were holding his favored war-hammer in threat. “Please, forgive me!”
König instinctively raised his hands with his palms open forward when the man bowed deeply. Too deeply to be exchanged between men of their stations. The sensation of dozens of pairs of eyes weighed heavily on his shoulders and only served to make a nervous sweat break out on his face and under his arms.
It was different, being the center of attention here than at home or on the battlefield. The palace was a den of vipers; spies who used insidious speech to stab each other in the backs and ruined lives with carefully spoken comments. Where one wrong word could topple empires. These nobles were honorless in a way that was different from men of war. Court was deadly the way poison was deadly, honey and venom on the same tongue. There was no armor that could protect a man from this.
“How fearsome.” A whisper floated past and König felt his heartbeat pick up. Their eyes bored into him like stiletto knives.
“A beast shaped like a man.” Someone sneered and König’s lungs stuttered. The air was stifling and he couldn’t breathe.
“So scary.” A woman said to her friend. It felt like there was ice flooding his veins, the way fear took root in his bones.
“Why was he even invited?” He needed air, desperately. König turned and fled.
The air outside was cool, refreshing after the stale heat produced by the dozens of bodies in the ballroom. The stars glittered in the night sky, and the moon glowed softly overhead. The breeze carried with it the fragrance of flowers, and König lifted his veiled hood to better take in the scent. He felt the weight of someone’s eyes on his back, and the hair on his arms stood on end.
“You have a staring problem.” König said bluntly, tired of being looked at like a performing bear. He was surprised when he heard a laugh, deep and smooth, familiar and unfamiliar both.
“Says the man who stalked me from the shadows.” The foreign prince replied. “Is that kind of thing normal around here?” The man was making fun of him, he had to be.
“Speak plainly or leave me be.” König felt irritated, stressed out. He no longer cared that he was speaking to a prince, did not care that his straightforward mannerisms could potentially be taken as an insult. König was tired. He’d had more than enough people mocking him, he longed to return North to where people said what they meant and didn’t care about frivolous verbal sparring.
“You’re different from those puffed up pigeons.” The prince stated, a fact that often plagued König. It needed not be said again. “I find that interesting.”
“Do you?” König asked through gritted teeth. “You too, are different than the rest of your nobles. Did you hope to find something in common with the barbarian in Duke’s clothing?” He spat the words like they were foul, like the sooner he spoke them the less sour they would taste on his tongue. It was not like König to be cruel with his speech, but that beast the others claimed him to be was rattling the iron bars of its cage. He’d been insulted repeatedly, and in the custom of the North he was within his rights to call for blood.
“Duke Declan called you no better than a dog.” The prince said coolly. “I have nothing in common with a mutt.” König heard the leather of his gloves creak as his grip on the ornate railing tightened.
“Then why are you here?” He asked, voice a low warning growl. “To prod at the monster and see if it bites?” He turned slightly, just enough to look over his shoulder at the prince.
“Are you a monster?” The prince asked, hands hidden neatly in his inconveniently large sleeves. His dark eyes were cold, sharp. König’s cruel words seemed to be successful in making the prince angry.
“If enough people say it, then it must be true.” König countered darkly, teeth bared beneath his hood.
“Is it also true then that violence is all that you are?” The prince wondered aloud, hand dropping to the sword hilt at his hip, tassel swaying in the breeze. A warning and a threat. What would happen, König wondered, if a loathed Duke and a fallen prince killed each other? Would their respective countries go to war for them? Would they say it was deserved? König’s mind drifted to his people, to the common folk going about their lives in a harsh land. They would mourn him, if he was slain, but they would be the only ones. And then they would move on, grief was a luxury.
“That is what the nobles believe.” König said, a non answer and as close to playing the same game as everyone indoors as he’d been all evening. “You say you are different, but you only repeat the same old insults I have heard before. What is so different about you, except your disinheritance?” The prince drew his blade, the finely honed edge not even whispering against the scabbard.
“You are quick to insult, for a man so accustomed to hearing them.” The prince remarked, placing one hand against his lower back and giving his sword a twirl with the other. His body was turned to the side, legs bent slightly beneath the skirt of his ensemble. He was the very picture of composed, body appearing loose and relaxed to the uninformed eye. König knew better. The prince was coiled, like a wildcat about to pounce. Not at ease, simply waiting.
“I sought solitude.” König replied, drawing his own sword. It hung in a complex harness at his side, the shape of a bihänder unsuited to a scabbard. “You sought me out. Do not whine when the beast you provoke bites back.” His dominant hand went to the ricasso, the dull portion of the blade between parrying hooks and cross guard, while his non dominant hand rested on the grip just above the pommel. The space between his hands would allow for a greater range of maneuverability at the cost of decreasing his reach. With his size, that had never been much of an issue.
The prince laughed, an abrupt bark of sound that cut off as he darted forward in a lunge. König raised his sword, hilt up and blade angled down to deflect the swipe. He easily followed the motion into a sweeping uppercut, one that the prince twirled to the side to avoid. The man’s strikes were sharp, but his body moved as though he were dancing. In contrast, König’s sword swung in great arcs of movement, minimizing the motions of his body with exceptions to dodge. His bulk and carefully built muscles enabled him to cut off his swipes in order to lunge and parry.
“Slippery, aren’t you?” König asked, the rush of a fight trampling his anxiety and frustrations to the ground. He tightened his arcs, watching in delight as the prince danced away from what would almost certainly be a killing blow if he hadn’t been so certain that the man could dodge.
“I have to be.” The prince shot back. “I would rather not be cut in half.” König tilted his upper body to the side, a lethal jab harmlessly striking the air where his head had been. It had been so long since he’d fought a man so seriously, especially one who seemed so prone to bantering with an opponent.
“I am glad you are taking me seriously.” König admitted, catching the prince’s next thrust with the parrying hooks and pushing him back. “You are very deadly when you are trying to be.” The prince laughed again, then flourished his sword. König didn’t move at the fancy twirling, blade held vertical for a potential downswing.
“You think so?” The prince asked, amused. “All I wanted to hear, from such a great warrior.” It was sarcastic, the tone a bit biting. König heard what wasn’t being said, that the man was like him. He was having fun . König could feel the sharp sting of a small cut through his clothing. The man had even managed to draw blood.
“Of course I think so.” König said earnestly. The prince faltered, brought up short by the honest compliment. Perhaps also by how easy it was for König to say. “It is very fun for me to fight you, prince.” The prince stopped, dark eyes wide. He lowered his sword, and König lowered his own as well.
“... Horangi.” The prince said.
“Pardon?” König asked. The prince coughed and rubbed awkwardly at the side of his neck.
“My name.” He said. “Use it.” Oh!
“Ah, I suppose we never introduced ourselves.” König realized. He rested the tip of his bihänder on the stone floor and bowed as deeply as the prince, Horangi, had earned. “I am Duke König, of the Northern Province. It is a pleasure to meet you, Prince Horangi.”
“Dak-Cho!” Horangi hissed, resembling an irritated cat in the way he bristled and brandished his blade. König was rather surprised to realize that he found it cute. Satisfied that their impromptu spar was over, König returned his sword to the harness at his side.
“Perhaps we can fight again some day.” König offered, ignoring the way Horangi seemed upset at the formal treatment.
“Each other or together?” Horangi asked, returning his sword to its sheath and walking forward to lean on the balcony railing.
“Either. Both.” König shrugged. The informal manner he used put the prince at ease again, and König decided that he liked that better. “If you come north, we can spar again. Or hunt boar. It is more exciting from the ground than on horseback.”
“As if you could ride a horse.” Horangi pointed out, but he didn’t decline the invitation. “You’re too big.” König startled himself by laughing at the jab, something he hadn’t done in years and nothing so full bodied and genuine.
“I can ride!” König protested through unbecoming giggles. “I have a destrier, Rotchen.”
“Row-chen?” Horangi asked, curious.
“Rotchen.” König corrected. “Little red.”
“You named a war horse ‘little’?” Horangi laughed, a smooth and rich sound. König loved it.
“Everyone is little, compared to me.” König pointed out, suddenly besotted. He wanted to hear Horangi laugh like that again.
“That is true. I am quite tall for my people, but you are taller than any man I have ever seen.”
“I eat a lot.” König replied in a deadpan. He’d been asked too many times what he’d been fed as a child to grow so big. That his snappy remark had the benefit of making Horangi laugh again was a wonderful bonus.
“Ah, I did not expect to have such fun at this party.” Horangi said, leaning on the ornate iron railing. “You are not what I anticipated either.”
“Because I am not a barbarian?” König wondered, genuinely curious. His previous stress and fury had waned in the face of the rush of a good spar.
“Why do they call you that?” The man tilted his head, not answering the question.
“A barbarian?” König clarified. At Horangi’s nod, he frowned beneath his mask and considered how to reply. “They think the people of the north are more savage because we are different. The southern duchies and provinces… They are fond of excess and frivolous luxuries. In the north, it is harder to farm and the days are shorter. It is cold and harsh, we have to spend more time working to survive. Fancy clothes and jewels will not save you if you cannot eat or protect yourself from the land itself. We are practical and straightforward, very different from people here. That is why they think we are uncivilized.”
“You are a Duke, you are wealthier than the rest of your people.” Horangi prompted, and König heard the unasked question.
“I am a leader.” König explained. “Not a ruler. I stand with my people, and they follow me out of loyalty. I make sure they are represented and cared for. In return they support me. If they did not support me, they would see me ousted.”
“Ousted?” Horangi sounded bewildered. It was understandable. The northern territories did not follow exactly the same governance as the rest of the kingdom. In the past, before the provinces united, they had followed their own system. It was merely adapted to allow for nobles.
“Yes.” König confirmed. “Our records show that in the past; nobles who caused harm to the people of the duchy, by neglect or direct action, have been eaten by their own people!” Horangi looked a bit green at the thought, but König was unbothered. It was not the way of most of the world, but it had worked for them for a long time. It helped to know that his people would keep him in check if needed.
“I see.” Horangi said, though König thought that he was just saying that and didn’t actually understand. That was alright. Few people ever understood.
“Tell me about your people. I heard you are also different from the other nobles.” König said, genuinely curious.
“Ah, yes.” Horangi hummed, turning to look out over the garden. “I am.” He fell silent, eyes gazing far into the distance. His fingers tightened on the railing, knuckles blanching white.
“I overheard you speak of risk.” König prompted carefully when it looked like Horangi was struggling to find his words. The prince in question took a deep breath, eyes sliding closed as if to brace himself.
“Risk. Perhaps I enjoy it too much.” Horangi said slowly. “Such vices are sinful, among my people. Gambling is illegal, anyone caught engaging in it is punished and shunned. To take part is shameful.”
“And you enjoy risk.” König murmured, realizing with a chill of anxiety where the story was beginning to lead.
“Yes.” Horangi agreed. “I was careful, did not allow paper records of my activities, but it did not go well. My father found out, he kept it quiet but he could now allow me to keep my place in the line of succession after that. The nobles love to gossip, they may not know exactly why I lost my honor but they can guess.”
“Sometimes the truth is worse than the rumors.” König ruminated. “But sometimes the rumors are worse than the truth.” Horangi laughed bitterly, then he made a derisive snort.
“Rumors and gossip. Always with the rumors and gossip.”
“It is a national pastime.” König lamented, and Horangi gave another irritated bark of laughter. Even angry, his laugh had a sort of beauty to it.
“...Do you want to give them something new to gossip about?” Horangi said slowly, gauging König’s reaction. “Something that will steal the show?”
“Something involving the both of us?” König guessed. Horangi nodded. “What were you thinking?”
“What sort of things can two men do in this country that would attract attention at a ball?” Horangi asked leadingly. König considered the possibilities.
“Fight?” He said thoughtfully, trying not to hope too much. “Shout? Dance?”
“Dance.” Horangi confirmed. König blushed under his hood; it would certainly get a lot of attention. Same sex pairings were not uncommon among the common folk, but with the nobles who were much more focused on alliances and family lineage? It was one thing to be sweet behind closed doors, and would certainly incite the rumor mill, but to be publicly romantic towards a member of your own sex? That was incredibly scandalous for nobles.
“That would certainly be improper.” König agreed cautiously. Was the man already aware of how smitten König had become?
“The shamed prince and the barbaric duke.” Horangi mused, enjoying the thought.
“You make us sound like a bad romance novel.” König said with an only slightly forced laugh, already looking forward to telling his head maid about the idea. She had a fondness for romance stories, books being one of the few frivolous pastimes common in the north. Horangi’s head tilted to the side and he laughed too.
“They will certainly tell stories about it.” Horangi said, eyes creasing as if in a smile. “So, what do you say?” König considered the idea. He could dance with the man he’d suddenly developed a crush on in front of the eyes of their respective courts, and thus expose themselves to extreme scrutiny. Or, he could take the coward’s way out and decline.
König chose the first option. He dipped a courteous bow and held out his hand. “May I have this dance?” He asked, his most charming grin hidden under the fabric of his mask. Horangi laughed again, taking his hand.
“Of course.” He said, eyes twinkling.
“Follow my lead,” König advised, guiding Horangi back to the hall that would take them to the ballroom. “At least to begin. Do you know how to waltz?” Horangi hummed.
“I know the basics.” He replied, lackadaisical. König responded by lifting Horangi’s hand above his head and silently prompted him to spin full circle. The movement caused the long skirt of his robes to billow and flare out. When they were facing each other again, Horangi’s eyes were wide with surprise. Beautiful.
“Good. The forms of a dance are much like the forms of combat.” König explained over the pounding of his heart. Horangi was too cute like that, off balance and clinging to him. “Trust me to guide you in this.”
“Yē.” Horangi said, sounding almost breathless. His intonation was different from the common language, making it clear that he had defaulted to his own tongue. König was the one causing him to react like that, he realized with a swell of pride and delight. Holding Horangi’s scarred and calloused hand in his own, they continued down the hallway.
Music echoed down the way from the ballroom, the end of a slow and sweeping instrumental. König privately hoped that the band would play something quicker, better suited to his preferences by the time that he and Horangi reached the grand hall. König pushed the door open, feeling the volume hit full force like a physical blow. Heads turned as he stepped in, then away when he looked straight at the gawkers. Afraid to draw his attention and his ire, like always. The various attendees of the gathering switched to more subtle gazes then, especially at the sight of a foreign prince’s hand in his. Especially the shamed former crown prince.
“See how they stare.” König murmured softly. The orchestra’s music drew to a close, and the people on the fringes applauded the dancers as custom. “We are the subject of gossip already.” Horangi’s head was held high, a fire lit in his eyes.
“Then let us give them something to talk about.” He said loftily. König followed Horangi’s lead as the man guided the two to the area cleared for dancing. People skittered out of the way for the prince, and made more space when they saw whose hand he held. Other couples had taken their places, but there was suddenly enough room for the pair to have their own. König was privately amused how the way people instinctively made space for him had given the two a nearly central place on the dance floor.
“Place your hand on my shoulder. I will lead with your other.” König said under his breath. Horangi raised a brow, but didn’t balk at the order of his social inferior. When he did, König placed his hand on Horangi’s shoulder blade, their elbows raised to be horizontal to Horangi’s shoulders with his own arm supporting the prince’s. He also raised their joined hands to be level with their arms. The pose was dramatic compared to the other dancers, but that was intentional.
“Looking to make a statement?” Horangi teased as the band struck up a new song. The melody was higher tempo than the previous one, more upbeat. It was perfect for what König had in mind.
“That is what you wanted.” He said. “Lean back.” Horangi did, König’s grasp on him firm and supportive as they performed a dip. König could hear the swell of shocked titters over the music, from both the audience and the other dancers. Guiding Horangi back up, König took his first step to gauge how well his new partner could follow. Together they leaned from side to side, steps sweeping them along as the dancers turned collectively. Long elegant arching of bodies together, hands or elbows raised high at each spin. Horangi’s formal clothing and König’s great fur-trimmed cloak were billowing and swirling as they moved.
Horgani followed well. His skill in combat translated to the ballroom better than König could have hoped. Even the quick motions of their feet didn’t trip the prince up. König hadn’t felt the sharp pressure of a foot on his toes a single time, which was better than he could say for the few times he had been goaded into being someone’s partner. Together they spun in near dizzying circles, Horangi clearly eyeing the flourishes that established pairings adding to their own dances.
“Spin me again.” Horangi ordered, and König laughed in delight. Rather than spin him like he’d done in the hallway, König halted their steps and instead supported Horangi while he walked a circle around him. Physically turning the prince like a figurine in a music box. Only after the rotation, did König spin Horangi the way he’d wanted to be spun. Horangi gave him a glare, but broke quickly, eyes creasing in joy. It was a lovely expression, one König knew he would cherish for a long time.
For a time, it was like everyone else in the room had faded away. The other dancers in his peripherals were just obstacles to be avoided as König swept Horangi around the dance floor. The music in the air was muffled by the beating of his heart, the rushing of blood in his ears. He had eyes only for Horangi, who fit perfectly in his arms. Strong, warm, and pressed to his chest as they danced. From the fight to the dance, Horangi was his match. The other half to his would-be whole. Anxiety and audience forgotten, König felt the happiest he could ever remember being.
Horangi added a few leg lifts of his own accord, showcasing his flexibility. König lifted him, to display his strength. Pigeons, Horangi had called the nobles gathered to feast. Puffed up and showing off. Now the image of eagles came to mind, grasping each other with their talons and free falling to impress a mate. A dance may not be a life or death endeavor, but it felt much the same. Two capable warriors putting on a performance of skill.
König was disappointed when the music tapered off, the song coming to an end. He and Horangi stepped back, facing each other. Horangi bowed at a slight angle, but König dipped lower, bringing the hand that was still lightly in his grasp to touch over his mouth. His face may have been covered, but he heard the gasps and titters of the other nobles. There was no mistaking what they’d done.
“It was an honor to dance with you, your royal highness.” König said, just loudly enough to be heard throughout the room over the murmuring. That set off another round of furious whispering, the rumor mill already in full turn.
“I was pleased that you accepted my offer, Duke König.” Horangi replied warmly, matching König in volume. They may have been performing for the crowd, but there was a fondness in his tone. König could hardly speak through the excited thrumming of his heart.
With the show over, they retreated to the side and leaned against the wall. Long honed instincts made them both more comfortable with their backs protected and a good view of the surrounding areas. They were still attracting stares, between their horrifically inappropriate display and continued association, but otherwise they had enough room to converse quietly.
“You are always welcome in the north with my people.” König offered. “To visit, or as long as you need.”
“I will consider it.” Horangi said, folding his hands in his sleeves again. “And your people will not eat me?”
“As long as you pull your weight.” König teased back. “This is the most fun I have ever had at one of these parties. No one has drawn blood from me before.”
“I drew blood?” Horangi asked, sounding surprised.
“Yes.” König said. “It was well done.” Horangi laughed, then heaved a tremendous sigh.
“If I am to be punished for this, I will see about a trip.” Horangi said. “Exile to your wasteland of a duchy with the promise of manual labor should be a sufficient excuse.”
“We would be happy to host you.” König promised. What he didn’t say was I would be happy to host you. Horangi heard it anyway.