Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

"What is it I hear about this ball everyone's been talking about?" Henry asked, a wooden sword resting across his shoulders. It was so late in the evening that no one frequented the combat arena anymore, and there were only a couple of men standing guard. They hardly paid them any mind.

Hans gave his sword a few swings before blatantly staring at Henry, horrified. "Christ, Henry, don't tell me you, of all people, need reminding."

"I know it's your birthday. I just don't understand what all the fuss is about. Surely, you've noticed."

"It's a special occasion. You don't turn twenty every day."

"Technically, all our days are special when you think about it."

Hans snorted and shook his head fondly. "I curse the day you learnt to read. Truly."

"Because of this? Not because I learnt before you?"

"Hardly. Master Bruno obviously favoured you. Still does, actually. I was given much harder texts so you could put up your feet and doze off."

"I read the same texts you did. I just had the better sense to do my assignments beforehand. That part hasn't changed, I'm afraid."

"Kiss my arse."

"That's a very generous offer, Your Grace, but I'm fairly sure I've come here for the sword fighting."

"Then shut up already and let's get to it."

Henry rolled his eyes and shook his head, but there was a smile on his face that was soft and fond, warming Hans right to his very core. It was so easy to mirror it, even if Hans had been so hell-bent on this being a very serious matter just that morning.

He told Henry not to go easy on him like last time, and that Bernard had been training with him viciously these past few weeks. Henry told him to prove it, and his eyes glinted in the way that made Hans fidget in excitement even before he took up his position.

They circled each other with slow, calculated steps, eyes never straying. There was no tension in Hans's shoulders as he let the moment linger in muted anticipation that seemed to envelop them easily, even if this wasn't anything new and there wasn't anyone to impress. Not really. They hardly even wore any armour.

All that existed for Hans in that moment was that combat arena and everything in it. The rest of the world was there for the taking for everyone else. Not for him. Not tonight.

Even if there was nothing at stake and they'd done this a thousand times by now. Hans felt his hands brim as if he were truly a knight about to face down a bandit and not a duke training with his best friend. And he just wanted to win.

He attacked first with a flourish that made Henry smile after he dodged it without trouble. Hans didn't let that hinder him and kept on pushing as much as he could without getting winded, all the while looking for an opening as if he was dying of thirst and this was the only way he could quench it.

"You were right. You got better," Henry said, slightly out of breath, stepping away a bit to give them both some breathing room.

"Of course I did. Fuck's sake, Henry. You shouldn't sound so surprised."

"There's a difference between surprised and impressed. Surely you don't need Master Bruno's teachings to know that much."

Hans opened his mouth to retort, but then his eyes found Henry, not smirking. Smiling. It was lopsided and lazy and so far from everything they'd both been taught to do when dealing with matters of the court. It looked honest. Patient. It asked for absolutely nothing but gave so much.

It was more than familiar at this point. Hans loved seeing it. Loved being on the receiving end of it. But after almost twenty years, it was still yet to get old.

Then Henry blinked once, twice, that smile still firmly in place. He was far from presentable - he rarely was when the situation didn't call for it - but, then and there, with the moon shining on him from one side and the torches from everywhere else, blue eyes glinting with that light and eyelashes seemingly getting longer by the minute, he was plain and simply a sight. The kind minstrels spun ballads about that would make everyone cry.

Hans found himself wondering what about Henry in particular they would focus on.

And then it was too late to see the mistake. To notice that Henry tightened the grip on his sword again and was only seconds away from swinging and doing something that Hans, under normal circumstances, would have been able to dodge in his sleep, and then would have been absolutely offended that Henry ever thought of attempting something so cheap.

But then and there, Hans didn't see it, and he moved too quickly and in the worst possible direction, opting to use his gloveless hands to shield the blow. He knew it cut deep the moment it happened, and that there was no way he could hide it and pretend nothing happened. The sword fell from his hands, and he clutched one hand with the other to his chest, as if to protect it from further harm.

"Oh shit," Henry said, sounding strangely breathless all of a sudden. "Hans, I'm so sorry."

"What for?" Hans groaned through gritted teeth, waving off the few guards that turned to them in alarm. "You beat me. Fair and square."

"But I didn't mean to—"

"And you didn't. So stop looking at me like that. Really, it's barely a scratch."

"You're bleeding."

"That's what scratches do, genius."

Henry snorted, but his look softened into something Hans actually recognised. It spoke of mild frustration but stubbornness that easily matched Hans’s own. Both sadly and thankfully. "Let me have a look. It's the least I can do."

Hans rolled his eyes. "Fine. If you must insist." He showed his hand flippantly but with the palm open. It honestly wasn't so bad. He'd inflicted worse on Henry throughout the years.

But Henry must have had a very selective memory, or he simply paid it no mind because he cradled Hans's hands with gentleness that Hans wasn’t ready for, even though he knew Henry possessed it despite all the long-gone blisters and cuts that made his hands so uncharacteristically battered for a nobleman.

(Henry sometimes joked it would be his downfall with the courts. That no one would look at him twice once they took notice of his hands. Hans called him an idiot and then vowed to graciously save him from this predicament by hiding his gloves each time they were supposed to wear them for that meeting or that ball. And also by accidentally forgetting his own, of course.)

The gentleness wasn't anything new. Hans just didn't expect to be at the receiving end of it, along with having his hand inspected as if he had just handed Henry some old text in Latin with a very complex sentence structure when it was just a simple scratch barely worth mentioning.

And Hanush had the gall to tell Hans that he tended to exaggerate.

"It's not so bad," Henry said, but there were obvious creases between his eyebrows. "But I should bandage it just in case. I have something in my pouch."

"Of course you do," Hans said, annoyed but not really, and let himself be guided away from the combat arena to where they left their stuff. Henry wordlessly instructed him to stand in the light, still holding on to Hans's hand.

"Don't move," Henry said.

"We have people for this, you know," Hans said.

"We also have two perfectly functional hands that can do the job just fine."

"Is 'just fine' enough for the future duke, though?"

"Shut up, Hans."

Hans laughed but left Henry to it with a slight wince as Henry poured water over his wound as the only sound that made it out. He watched, mesmerised, as Henry searched through his pouch for something and then pulled out a couple of long, slim leaves. Hans didn't recognise them, and before he could ask, Henry put them in his mouth and chewed, completely oblivious to Hans's staring.

Then he unceremoniously spat them out on Hans's hand.

Hans barely restrained himself from snatching his hand away. "What. The. Fuck. Henry?! It's not enough, I can't use my hand properly now. You want me to be sick as well?"

"It's plantain," Henry said, as if it explained everything, and to him, it most likely did. "Plantago, for you."

"Ha-fucking-ha," Hans said. "Doesn't really explain why it's on my hand along with your spit now, does it?"

"It helps to stop the bleeding."

"How would you know?"

"I read about it," Henry said. The smug bastard. "Now, stop squirming. I'm almost done anyway."

They didn't talk as Henry put on the bandage and tied it up. He was focused, careful, and still so gentle, handling something so small and trivial as if Hans shall perish this instant if he didn't.

Hans watched him, transfixed, with his shoulders loosened and chest light. Unable to look away from the meticulous way Henry's hands moved or the way the light danced on one half of his face.

"There," Henry said once he had sufficiently tightened the bandage up. "All done, Your Grace." And when he raised his head, Hans was still watching him, still as transfixed. Blue met blue. Their breaths hitched. Neither looked away. Easy focus had never been something Hans possessed, but this held his attention without asking for it. Just that. Just Henry's eyes, shimmering, staring right back with a lifetime of devotion that Hans hoped to god Henry could see mirrored right back at him.

If Hans didn't know any better, he could swear that when he leaned a bit more in, Henry did the same. But he'd already been cheated by his eyes that day.

Then Henry looked away, and Hans looked at his hand instead, and the moment got away from them like a poacher very good at hiding their tracks. "You know," he said after clearing his throat once, "this isn't half bad, actually."

Henry snorted, back to normal, but whenever their eyes met again, he made them look elsewhere. "That's some high praise."

"It is. You could potentially do something with it. If you weren't a noble."

"But I am."

"Yes," Hans said, feeling the truth of that one simple statement warm him from the inside despite everything. "You are."

"What do you mean I have to pick someone?" Hans asked far too loudly, even though the dining hall was empty and there was only one empty seat between him and his uncle.

Hanush sighed. Not for the first time. "I mean precisely what I said. You're of age. It's time to pick a spouse." Another sigh. "We've talked about this. There's really no reason for you to act so surprised."

"But you never said anything about having to do this on my birthday. Of all possible days."

"It's the perfect opportunity for it. There'll be many eligible lords and ladies, dying to impress you no matter what I or you or anyone else has to say about it."

Hans threw his hands up. "I can't believe you're doing this to me. It's supposed to be my day. Not a way for you to gain more influence."

"Are you seriously forgetting that the moment you get married, any influence I could have gained goes to you?" Hanush asked. "That was a promise I made to your father, and I plan to keep it. As for the actual power I hope to get from this, you can save your breath and listen for once. I chose this particular ball for a reason, and I mean it when I say that you can pick anyone in the attendance. I'm leaving that part entirely up to you. Without exception."

Hans hesitated, going over the wording one more time, remembering all too well that many of the invitations had already been dispatched and to whom. That it had never been just the esteemed lords and ladies from lands far and wide who were fortunate enough to be invited to the balls that had been held particularly in his and Henry's name, but their friends like Theresa, Bianca, Klara and everyone else. Common folk who didn't have a drop of noble blood to their name, and yet the invitations always went to them first if Henry and Hans had anything to say about it.

Hans knew Hanush knew. Not that it changed anything because Hans had never thought of any of them as more than his friends, but to a certain extent, it helped. It meant something that, as much as he was still being forced to this, it wasn't set in stone who he had to choose. And who knew? Maybe, if his uncle could be so benevolent about this, he could be so about other things as well. Maybe whoever Hans chose, he wouldn't have to necessarily marry in the end. It might be just about picking someone for the moment and seeing where it would get him. It might not be such a tragedy after all.

But then Hanush let out the most daunting of sighs yet, and the air that dared to ease for a minute turned into one of foreboding again. "You know," Hanush started, thoughtful, tired, "I always thought you would end up with Henry."

Hans whipped his head and almost choked. "What, him? And me?"

Hanush nodded. Mercilessly so. "I even thought of having that arranged, if you can believe it, but Radzig stayed my hand as always. Said that you shouldn't grow up with that on your shoulders and that you should be given a choice."

Hans felt as if his chest was being squeezed from the inside. What in God's—

"I can't say I agreed with him at the time, but now it's clear to me that whatever happens, the allegiance between our houses will stay true. The marriage wasn't even needed. Not that it would change anything if it were, if the rumours are believed to be true."

Hans whipped his head again. "What rumours?"

"You and Henry are of same age. If you're looking to marry, then surely he must be as well. And there's talk that he already has someone in mind."

"Who?" Hans asked quietly, quickly fishing for a memory that would answer that before his uncle could, but he couldn't recall anything.

"Lady Rosa of Ruthard," Hanush said. "You know her. She's been one of our esteemed guests for close to a week by now."

Because some of the ball attendees had come in advance. Including Sir Radzig and Henry.

"Is that why she's decided to come sooner? Because of Henry?" Hans asked with clenched fists. Henry never mentioned any plans of courting anyone. Let alone her.

Hanush paused, inspecting him with eyes that couldn't quite make out what they were seeing in front of them. As if Hans had just turned into a bloody wolf. "It's possible," Hanush said, voice devoid of all mockery, which was such a rare phenomenon Hans almost didn't hear the rest. "Nothing's been said or agreed officially, but you know as much as I do that rumours of this kind tend to have some truth to them if you're willing to look hard enough."

Hans knew, but he said nothing.

"In any case," Hanush went on, "I think that if you must know, go and talk to Henry. The last thing we need is the future duke getting tied into some sort of scandal just before the ascension."

Hans said nothing again, but he left the room, inwardly screaming at the whole world.

He moved quickly through the hallways, not paying any attention to whomever he passed on his way outside, where he suspected Henry still loitered for one reason or another. Because he never could stand absolutely still.

But he wasn't in the courtyard or the combat arena. Hans didn't catch him talking animatedly with Pebbles or with Mutt where the horses were.

And just as he was about to go back to try the library, it occurred to him to check the square. There, by the baker's stand, Henry stood, paying handsomely for a piece of pastry Hans suspected strongly wasn't meant for him.

Because Henry wasn't alone.

Next to him stood no one else but Rosa, laughing at something he said, and Hans felt something drop to his stomach with the weight of dozens of barrels, filled to the brink with wine. The bitter kind no one would drink for some time unless they had to.

Hans found himself taking a step back, fleeing before Henry could spot him.

He wasn't avoiding Henry. Not really. He just had quite a lot on his mind, and that made it easy for him to lose track of time. He wondered why Henry hadn't told him he planned to court someone, that he fancied someone enough for that.

He wondered what it meant that he had to court someone and that the moment to choose someone was so soon upon him. And imagining it might have been Henry of all people he would have to marry. If things had gone differently. In another life. Where Hanush wouldn't even bat an eye at Radzig's words.

The thought sat uncomfortably in Hans's chest, following him everywhere he went, to the point it didn't even register that he skipped dinner that night.

"Haven't seen much of you after you went to see Hanush," Henry pointed out after catching up to him in the middle of the courtyard the next day. "Where did you go?"

"Just... here and there," Hans said, waving it off. "I went to the archery range for a bit. You were nowhere when I got back."

Henry frowned. "I was at dinner, though. You weren't."

"I had a lot on my mind. I must have forgotten. It happens, Henry. No need to make it your problem now."

He meant to walk away, but he felt a hand on his forearm. Solid, firm, warm, and so impossible to shrug off just like that. "If it's something that bothers you, it is my problem," Henry said.

"Nothing's bothering me. Everything's alright."

"Why are you lying?"

"I'm not. I'm just...," he trailed off with a groan. He didn't want to tell Henry. It wasn't something he wanted to talk about in general. It wouldn't have changed anything. It wouldn't have helped.

And yes, he was also feeling cross with Henry at the moment, who wouldn't understand how dreadful Hans's situation was if he were happily doing his part already. And the fact that Hans had to find out about Henry's infatuation from Hanush of all people just took the fucking cake.

So, no, he didn't want to talk to Henry. But he knew if he said nothing, Henry wouldn't leave him alone.

"Hanush told me what the ball's about. Aside from my birthday, that is."

"And?" Henry asked, eyes so full of sympathy already that Hans just wanted to throttle him.

"And it seems that in order to finally inherit what's been promised to me, I have to get married."

Hans felt how Henry went stiff at the words before promptly letting go of Hans's arm. "What?" Henry asked.

Hans groaned again. "I have to find someone to join me in holy matrimony. Surely you've heard of such a thing." He'd been planning to court someone for fuck's sake!

"I know what it means," Henry said with a bit of edge to his voice. "I just don't understand it. He's never mentioned it before. Father would have said something if he did."

"Well, then he must have changed his mind."

"And you're alright with it?"

"No, Henry, of course I'm fucking not, but what can I do? You know as well as I do how Hanush gets. He's not going to change his mind just because I ask him nicely."

"Oh, you never know. He might. I don't think he's ever seen you ask for something nicely in your whole life. I don't think I have either, on that matter."

Hans shook his head, hating the fact that despite the uproar in his heart, a smile broke onto his face. "Why do I even bother?" he asked, turning away to leave again, but Henry reached for his arm just as wordlessly and instinctively as before and pulled him back in.

"I'm not talking about this with you if you continue to approach it with such levity," Hans scoffed. "This is my life we're talking about."

Henry smiled, unrestrained and free. And fond. So much so that Hans could have sworn his eyes glinted with it. "Then talk about something else while you let me check your hand."

"This again?" Hans asked, rolling his eyes. "God's wounds, Henry, if I knew you'd make such a fuss over a scratch, I would have insisted we used pillows instead of swords like we did when we were little."

"As I recall, you turned up battered and bruised back then, too."

"That's because someone insisted on wrestling on the bloody floor!"

"Well, we had to finalise our ties somehow!"

"And where was that brilliant reasoning when we had to explain ourselves to Hanush and Radzig?!"

The hand was more than alright. No more bloody plantago, although Henry did insist on some salve this time. Hans let him, meaning to complain, but the moment Henry nudged the bandages away, all words died on his lips, and Hans did merely what he did the day prior - he watched.

Henry didn't seem to mind, too focused on his task, too gentle and giving. He moved his fingers slowly, in tandem, over places where the wound didn't even go. Hans wanted to ask about that, but then an image of Henry and Rosa together, happy and free to show it, crossed his mind, and then it was all he could see.

Would Henry be so gentle with her? So patient? So generous with his attention? Would she return it or simply bask in it? Would she have the gall to turn it down? Would Henry be heartbroken if she did?

"Hans? Are you alright?" Henry's voice suddenly reached him from some place very far away. He was staring at Hans worriedly as if they'd just been locked in a tight room and he didn't have the key. Hans frowned and followed Henry's gaze to his other hand, which was clenched into a fist so tight it turned white.

"What is it?" Henry asked even after Hans forced himself to relax.

"Nothing," Hans said, unable to stop staring at his hand in novelty. His right hand that wielded the sword and drew back the string. The one which did nothing his entire life but listened to him to the letter. But now it felt as if he was seeing it for the first time.

His left hand was still in Henry's hands—the warmth of it such a distant memory by now—before he snatched it away, ignoring Henry's protests that he had to bandage it again. Hans jumped to his feet, insisting that he had to meet with Master Bruno to go through the etiquette of courting and that he'd ask one of the healers to bandage it instead, or Master Bruno himself.

He left without waiting for Henry's reply.

"What's your take on that noblewoman from Kuttenberg?" Hans asked Henry as they waited for their horses to be saddled to go for a short morning ride. He played absent-mindedly with a single piece of straw as he watched Henry fidget and roam because the stablehand didn't let him help.

Henry stopped at the question, eying Hans in surprise. "You mean Lady Rosa?" Hans nodded. "Well, I'd say she's very good company. Smart, kind, open-minded. Very learnt, if you care for that sort of thing."

"Do you?" Hans asked next. "Care for that sort of thing?"

Henry shrugged. "I guess? But I honestly don't see how that's relevant, Hans."

"Well, you seem to be fond of her. I was just wondering what your honest opinion about her was."

"You should talk to her yourself, then. So you can make your own opinion."

How? She's with you all the time!

"Why'd you ask?" Henry asked.

"No reason," Hans said and moved to Aethon to check the straps of his saddle, waving the stablehand away. "Just curious. That's all."

Henry said nothing, but he had a deep scowl on his face that didn't ease for the rest of the day, and Hans hated that he didn't know what to tell him.

"Would you mind reading on, Sir Henry?" Master Bruno asked with the most put-upon sigh as he pointedly stared at Hans with something that should have been disappointment, but he had far too many memories to be caught off guard at this point. "It seems I have made a terrible error by assuming his grace was mature enough to be above such frivolity."

"Oh, give over!" Hans exclaimed. "Even you have to admit there's a suspicious number of curva and curvus in that text. Surely, not everything had to be bent."

"I'm afraid his grace has got a point, Master Bruno," Henry said, not even trying to hide his own amusement. "Perhaps a change of subject will do us all some good."

"Very well," Master Bruno said. "We shall move on to French, then."

Hans snorted. "Better not. Henry is horrid at French."

"The last time I checked, you were no troubadour yourself," Henry protested.

"At least I can read it."

"I can read it as well," Henry insisted. "And I'll gladly show you." With that, he rose to his feet and approached the shelves. He skimmed through them, grabbing a book that was small and well-worn. Hans recognised it as a tale full of adventure and forbidden love. He used to read it often. Henry never did as far as he could recall.

Master Bruno must have come to the same conclusion because the moment he saw the book, he let out a soft scoff and shook his head, fondly, without judgment and no trace of his previous annoyance. He simply walked to the nearest window, his back to both of them, and said patiently, "You may proceed, Sir Henry. Go at your own pace. We're here to learn after all."

And Henry did, and he did fairly well. So much so that the smug expression on Hans's face gave way to something much harder to grasp, but it was gradual, quiet, and quite deceitful in how encompassing it was. Especially when Henry came to the part where the knight started confessing his undying love for the cunning merchant who had never received anything freely, let alone something as precious as someone's heart.

I always thought you would end up with Henry flashed through Hans's mind, and for a moment, Hans indulged the thought. Just for the hell of it. That Henry wasn't merely reciting someone else's words, but that they truly came from his heart. That they had no other place to come from and no other place to go to. Just his own heart, beating restlessly his whole life.

It was most curious. His best friend, who'd always been that. Nothing else. Henry, picking him over anyone else, including intelligent, witty, beautiful Rosa.

How would he go about it? Would he just spring it on him in the most inopportune time imaginable? Would he plan it all out? Court him properly? Would he ask Hanush for his blessing?

I always thought you would end up with Henry.

Hans felt his heart flutter.

How? Why?

Henry kept reading. He was still doing pretty well, but then he unexpectedly stopped, and he raised his head to look at Hans, sitting right opposite him, chin leaning on his hand, listening intently despite his inner turmoil.

Hans froze when it happened, and his eyes raked over Henry's entire face as if to get their fill. Even if he had years and years of doing just that, without ever needing to.

He had no idea why Henry stopped. Whether he needed reassurance that he was indeed doing better, to gloat or because he found some tricky place he needed help with after all. Hans didn't ask, and neither did Master Bruno.

And Henry just sat there, looking at Hans with something in his eyes that wasn't littered with expectation or triumph. It was much gentler than that, and it was so captivating that Hans felt hopeless not to stare.

Then Henry smiled lopsidedly, making Hans's heart rattle almost violently yet again, before his eyes fell on the page, and it looked like he wanted to resume his reading.

He was still in the middle of the knight's confession. This was an important moment. Hans had read it so many times that he had some bits memorised. He knew exactly what was coming.

Mon cœur s’embrase à l’écho de ta voix.

But Henry said instead, Mon cœur se rase à l’écho de ta noix.

For a moment, Hans thought he must have been really lost in his thoughts. Surely he hadn't heard it right, but then Henry must have realised and he corrected himself with great emphasis on the word "voix" and Hans didn't know whether it was that or his own hopeless efforts not to laugh, but Master Bruno promptly turned around and approached them, hands behind his back, looking more tense than Hans had ever seen him.

"I think that's quite enough for today," he said, the epitome of nonchalance even though he must have known that both Henry and Hans could see right through him. "I can indeed see you've improved, My Lord. Aside from... a hiccup here or there, I'd say your command of French is sufficient for a man of your station."

"What was that last line he read?" Hans asked, thrilled to bits, when Master Bruno offered him a withering stare. "I don't believe I remember that part."

"I think we both know you've heard plenty of lines of similar nature. Surely you can live without this one, Your Grace."

With that, Master Bruno ushered them both outside, locking the door behind them. Hans looked at Henry. Henry looked at Hans. A second passed. Then they both burst out laughing.

"Do you have any idea what you said?" Hans asked.

"I think I can guess," Henry replied. "Do you think Master Bruno will ever forgive me?"

"You serious? He's known me my whole life. I'm sure he heard worse," Hans said, taking a deep breath once the laughter completely subsided, and putting his elbow on Henry's shoulder, leaning with most of his weight. "But I admit that he might have been a bit baffled that it came from you. Still, he was right. You've improved."

Henry raised his eyebrows, not moving away. "You really think so?"

"Of course. I'm sure you'll be charming your way in French in no time. Though I'd advise against saying something so crude,"

"You're that worried about me embarrassing you?"

"Please, Henry, as if you could possibly do worse than me," Hans snorted. "It's more about someone actually taking you up on the offer. And then where would we be?"

It was supposed to be an off-hand comment, said in jest, but the silence grew, heavy and poignant as it sank in, and as Hans realised how close they were standing. It wasn't that uncommon for them, but maybe it was the crude words from before or the idea of Henry one day, inevitably, confessing his feelings for someone, probably not in French, but definitely in some way. It just felt different. Loaded with something Hans didn't dare to name but which seemed to have grown heavier the longer Henry stared at him and waited for something Hans had no idea how to give him. Or if he was even the right person to give him anything.

Suddenly, the arm on Henry's shoulder burnt intensely despite the layers of clothing making that contact seamless and insignificant. Hans pulled it back to his side and took a few steps back to give Henry some space, ignoring the sudden frown on Henry's face as he did so.

It was well established by now that both the young sirs thrived on swordplay. And they were quite good at it, too. So much so that whenever they asked most of their guards to train with them, no one needed to hold back. There was no threat of being sent to the stocks hanging over anyone's head. Every man knew he had to give it his best when either Henry or Hans asked, or suffer being the laughing stock of the whole garrison when he lost his sword in a matter of seconds.

These were moments of incredible reprieve that both sought naturally. And nowhere was it more true than when they fought side by side against a handful of opponents.

Like that afternoon, when Zizka, the commander of the garrison, along with Kubyenka, a soldier no one understood was still part of the Rattay garrison, challenged them to a duel. Zizka and Kubyenka, in the rarest moments of sobriety, being some of the few people who could defeat them, both Hans and Henry jumped at the opportunity and took up their positions with no words, no signs. Just two steady heartbeats, choosing in this particular moment to beat as one.

Hans loved every second of it. He thrived on the knowledge that he never needed to ask Henry anything, that he never had to look his way, that he somehow always knew where Henry was or where he was going to be. And that this was something he could always put his absolute faith in. Henry having his back and vice versa.

It hardly even mattered whether they won or lost. It wasn't a matter of life and death. But it worked so seamlessly and was so effortless. In a world full of pointless disputes, manipulation, and passive-aggressive remarks, here Hans could laugh, close his eyes without being afraid of misstepping in any way, and turn off every defense mechanism he'd been mastering to perfection in preparation for his succession.

And with the ball approaching, and all that entailed with it, of course, he wanted to use this feeling to the best of his abilities. So he made it last and twirled more than necessary, goading, deflecting instead of looking for the most effective way of attack. He knew Henry had noticed because he'd seen him smile and shake his head with fake annoyance more than once.

Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one who'd noticed.

"Your Grace, please," Zizka said with actual annoyance that was more than palpable, even though he was facing off against Henry at the moment. "This is hardly the time for you to show off. Who are you trying to impress anyway?"

And of course, the ever helpful Kubyenka said, "Sir Henry, of course. Who else?"

Hans whipped his head to look at Henry, his heart gripped with fear. It left him entirely open, and when Kubyenka moved to attack, Hans dodged it in the last possible second, which sent him falling to the ground. He scrambled, trying to reach for his sword, which had fallen from his hand, already aware it would be too late and that Kubyenka was raising his sword to point it towards his neck - a sign for him to give up.

But then the sword was stopped. By Henry's sword. Henry, who now had to face two foes instead of one. Hans wanted to get up and help him, but the angle was all kinds of wrong, and Henry had far too little room to manoeuvre if he wanted to keep both Zizka and Kubyenka off Hans. It was all over sooner than it began, and Henry fell to the ground next to Hans, raising his hands in surrender.

"Not your lucky day today, it seems, young Sirs," Kubyenka said, but Hans barely heard it because his eyes remained on Henry, who was sitting next to him, still trying to catch his breath. He laughed easily as if it completely escaped him that he should be upset by the outcome.

Hans stared at Henry. The way his chest moved rapidly, the way he carded his hand through his hair, the way his skin glowed from sweat.

He stared at so many things, and each time he thought he was done, he somehow found yet another thing to focus all his attention on. And when Henry shook his head at Zizka, who offered to help him stand and looked instead at Hans, Hans's heart raced anew.

They didn't get up. Hans remained lying on the ground, propped on his elbows, Henry sitting next to him, completely facing him.

Hans had a treacherous thought that it wasn't enough. That he wanted them closer. That he wanted so much to ask Henry to do just that. Either in words or not.

"You do realise that if this were a real fight, we'd both be dead by now?" Hans asked instead.

Henry shrugged, unperturbed. "You wouldn't be. No one in their right mind would kill a duke."

Hans frowned. "You're a nobleman, too. They'd get ransom for both of us. You know as much as I do that if the situation arises, we're to let them take us."

"Aye, but I wouldn't."

"You wouldn't what?"

"Let them take you. Even if I had to die to prevent it," Henry said, brutally honest.

Hans's heart fluttered, but something else lurched at the mere idea. "You're not dying for me, you bloody idiot."

Henry just smiled and shrugged again. "With all due respect, Your Grace, I'm afraid that's not exactly your call."

Hans's frown deepened, and his chest got so tight that he momentarily stopped breathing without realising it. Part of him wanted to shout at Henry, to tell him to shove that respect to his arse, and to forget about the title for a goddamn minute, even if Hans had done so rarely himself.

But when it came to Henry, the title had never existed for Hans. Right from the start, when they'd met and Henry was so battered and filthy, Hans had mistaken him for a peasant; it had never played a part. Hans never wanted it to play a part.

Henry was just... Henry. Someone who knew what plantain was and what it was good for, and probably what other plants did as well. A lord who wasn't loved just by his own fiefdom, but also by the people of Rattay. An excellent warrior. He was kind, smart, with a heart so big Hans doubted it could ever get completely filled, and yet he wished nothing more than to occupy it wholly.

His thoughts went back to the story Henry had read in French, particularly to the knight's confession and how Henry had said it. He was such a slow reader when it came to French or Italian, and he hardly ever put the stress where it was supposed to go, making the sentences sound stilted and anticlimactic. But Hans had listened, captivated, and his heart hammered at the memory.

Again, he indulged the thought when it came. Unbidden and free and so so unaware it would cause so much of most of what he'd known and trusted his entire life to fall. Just for a moment, he imagined what it would be like to hear Henry say all of that and mean it.

And it was clear to him in a matter of seconds that he'd been bested in the most tragic sense he'd ever thought possible.

The knots in his stomach were an instant thing, which got even more pronounced when Henry momentarily lowered his head and smiled in a way that was so gentle but still knocked the breath out of Hans. All of a sudden, he didn't know what to do, but he knew he needed to move. Somewhere. Away.

He scrambled to his feet quickly as if burnt, saying he had to go, that he was needed elsewhere. Henry looked scared as he followed suit. It was the same as with the cut on Hans's hand again, but much worse. He asked what was wrong.

"Nothing," Hans said, feeling miserable to the bone. "I...I'm...I just forgot about something, but I'll find you later, alright?"

But he knew he wouldn't, and his heart shattered when he saw Henry nod.

Things... shifted after that. Hans and Henry still talked. Obviously they did, but where Hans would easily make an excuse to go spend time with Henry before, now he didn't resist any of his mentors. The servants didn't have to run around the castle, trying to locate him and think of yet another explanation for Hans's tardiness to give to Hanush. Everything was running smoothly.

But those were the changes everyone talked about. Everyone was mentioning that the young duke was finally growing into his role, taking on responsibilities and putting the duchy first.

A much smaller number of people talked about how he seemed to have fallen distant and quiet for no reason. That his hunts turned solitary more often than not these days, and that sword practice wasn't accompanied by laughter as much as it used to.

He tried drinking it away. Oh Lord, did he try... but everywhere he looked, thoughts of Henry followed and clung. Like fleas in the fur of some dog. And just like fleas, they weren't something he could easily hide.

Because Henry would smile at him, or say something infuriatingly witty or funny, or Hans would find him stretching his arms, or helping carry something despite his noble heritage, and Hans would be at the complete mercy of such stupid fancies that were never going to be anything else.

All Henry had to do was just be Henry. Hans used to find such comfort in that.

Not anymore.

Rosa was good with a crossbow. Of course, Hans had to find her and Henry at the archery range one morning. Of course, she laughed heartily when Henry missed almost every single time. Of course, Henry had to pick up all the bolts. Even hers. Smiling so warmly, Hans found it utterly unbearable.

She was also an avid reader and wrote her own stories, and not in fucking French, so of course that Henry must have read them and found them enjoyable enough to keep it up. They were talking about it animatedly when Hans bumped into them in the hallway.

He made quick work of excusing himself, not looking back once as his chest felt tighter and tighter, hating that it always was her these days and never him.

He should have kept moving when he heard the familiar barking, fully aware that where Mutt was, Henry couldn't be too far off behind, but his chamberlain had caught him before he could get away after breakfast and was just drilling into his head which families didn't like each other and why—and it was always a very idiotic why—and any sort of excuse to put a stop to it was welcome. Even if it meant Mutt jumping on him at almost full speed and taking absolutely no pity on his clothes whatsoever.

"Mutt!" came the all too familiar voice and Hans's heart skipped a beat before he even saw Henry approaching them. "What has gotten into you?"

It was a very serious question, and Henry looked apologetic enough to actually mean it, but Mutt had always had a mind of his own in certain matters, and this time was no different. He didn't come to Henry's heel and remained where he was, propped with his front legs against Hans's abdomen and licking his hands with a generous amount of saliva and… something else Hans decided not to dwell on.

Henry had no other choice but to come all the rest of the way and pry his dog off of Hans himself. He apologised and then smiled in that lopsided way of his when Hans just waved him off. The chamberlain merely sighed and excused himself before Hans even remembered he was supposed to dismiss him.

"Thanks for the rescue," Hans said and got on his knees to give Mutt a proper scrub behind his ears. It was met with a wagging tail and an enthusiastic lick to his face that had him laughing.

"He's missed you," Henry said, and Hans looked at him, taking a note of his slouched shoulders, folded arms, and the way his stormy eyes weren't telling him anything and yet they seemed so heavy with meaning.

He forced himself to shrug despite how stupid and insufficient it felt. "He sees me every day."

Henry shrugged too and looked away absentmindedly, and Hans couldn't help but wonder whether he was waiting for something. Or someone.

He rose to his feet with his chest feeling heavy and legs that seemed as if they weren't his own. He looked at Henry—really looked—at the way he wouldn't quite meet his eyes, or when he did, at how his eyes seemed extremely tired. Hans's fingers itched to reach out and offer whatever Henry would ask of him, right in that moment or in twenty more years. He wanted to write poems about Henry's eyes and cheeks and lips and hair and arms and legs and everything else even if he knew he wasn't any good and Henry would laugh at him if he did, but at least Henry would know.

Instead, Hans asked him where he'd been at breakfast, for they'd always shared it together, along with Hanush and Radzig. Even now.

"I'd been up and about for some time by then," Henry said. "Been having trouble sleeping lately."

Hans sighed in sympathy and briefly considered telling Henry to come find him the next time before he felt heat on his face and sweat on his hands.

"Chamomile helps," he said, clearing his throat. "Or valerian. Or so I've been told."

That finally put some semblance of a smile on Henry's face. "And you've remembered?"

Hans rolled his eyes. "Contrary to popular belief, I do actually listen to what other people have to say."

"Aye, when it's convenient."

When it's you, Hans wanted to say, but stopped himself in the last possible second and shook his head, a small smile slipping through. "But seriously, have you tried anything like that?"

Henry shrugged again. "It's not that bad, actually."

"Not that—Henry, that in your language might as well mean that you've been awake for days."

"But I haven't. I just wake up very early and have trouble falling asleep. It's nothing for you to worry about. It's been doing me some good, actually."

Hans just stared at him. "How in the bloody hell can that be doing you any good?"

"Well, I went for a ride this morning and I came across this nice little clearing in the woods. The way it looked… I've never seen anything like it."

"What makes you say that?"

"I don't think I have the words for that," Henry fumbled, scratching the back of his head before he looked at Hans again and took one step toward him. "But it was beautiful. Breathtaking even. It surprised me that I've never noticed it."

Hans studied him. "Really? It sounds like a simple clearing to me."

Henry shook his head, but the smile on his lips was incredibly fond. "It's not, but I guess you'd have to be there to believe it."

Ah. So it was that kind of clearing. "Have you shown it to Lady Rosa yet?"

Henry looked at him as if he had just kicked Mutt right in front of his eyes. "What?"

"If it's as beautiful as you say, she should see it," Hans added, hating how vile the words tasted on his tongue. "It sounds like something she would enjoy."

Henry eyed him, blinking rapidly, mouth slightly agape, obviously wanting to say something, but before he could, Hans looked in the direction of the castle and pretended that he'd just remembered he was running late for yet another lesson.

"Yeah, right," Henry said. Mutt whimpered.

Hans walked away, feeling like screaming.

Katherine insisted on making sure he knew how to dance. He laughed in her face and said he wasn't born yesterday and that he was a duke. Of course he knew how to dance.

She insisted on a few hours of his time anyway—just to make sure. Seeing as the ball was supposed to be such a fateful thing for him, it was only proper that he would be familiar with all the dances scheduled for the event.

He rolled his eyes and complained loudly, but he said yes before she mentioned that Henry would be joining them as well. The dolt.

Luckily, Lady Rosa and Lady Jitka were also asked to join, and while normally witnessing any moment between Henry and Rosa would have Hans's blood boiling, this time he felt relieved. Because if Henry had to dance with Rosa, then that meant he wouldn't dance with him.

And Jitka was pleasant company. She was a friend. But that didn't mean it was easy.

"Please, pay attention, Your Grace," Katherine told him. "You know how important this particular dance is."

So Hanush had told him. Repeatedly and quite at length. Of course, you don't have to court the first person you dance with, but the whole room will be looking at you as if you were. Hans clenched his fists then, and he clenched his fists now.

So you better take it seriously, Hans. The fate of the whole duchy relies on it.

"Sir Henry! How many times do I have to tell you that this sort of dance is inappropriate?"

Hans's head snapped away from Jitka to look at Henry and Rosa, who were interlocked in a round of some jig Hans knew people in the village were fond of, not giving a tinker's cuss that it didn't match the slow music George and Michael accompanied them with. They were both out of breath and smiling. Hans felt like throwing up.

"But, My Lady, this dance is very popular in many circles, as I'm sure you know," Henry said.

"I don't care how popular it is. It's not fit for the occasion, and you know it. We're celebrating the duke's birthday and courtship, not this year's harvest."

The smile slipped from Henry's face incredibly fast. For a moment, he looked like he always would when he was shutting off before he offered Katherine an apologetic bow. Hans's eyes never left him.

Henry's didn't land on him once.

It made it very hard to pay attention to the dance.

"Alright, enough," Katherine said, pinching her nose before taking a deep breath and setting Hans's whole world ablaze. "Sir Henry, please do be so kind as to switch with Lady Jitka for the moment."

"What?" Henry asked at the same moment Hans said, "I beg your pardon?"

Katherine glared at both of them. "With all due respect, My Lords, I don't see the point of putting the ladies through this when it's you two who keep messing up. This way, I can give you my full attention. You clearly need it."

"But—" Hans started.

Katherine raised her hand, looking extremely tired. "Just one dance is all I'm asking. Surely you're both reasonable enough that you can give me that."

Hans glanced at Henry who was standing stiff as a statue and aimlessly looking ahead. Such a clear contrast from when he'd been with Rosa or when he'd been with Hans before all of this. There was no smile, no laughter glinting in his eyes when that was the only way he could let it be known, no spirit Hans would raise armies to protect. He stood there, but he seemed so far away, and Hans's chest tightened at the sight and the fact that he'd caused this. That no matter what, he was never going to get back what he'd lost.

His mouth opened before his brain caught up. "One dance, then. If Henry is alright with it."

Henry whipped his head to stare at him, eyes so full of questions. Hans wanted to shy away because no matter what, he only had answers he could never give him.

But Henry didn't voice any of them. Instead, he nodded, still devoid of a smile or any real emotion and said, "Aye, if Lady Katherine thinks it'll help."

Hans nodded and moved before anything could stop him. He bowed as the dance routine dictated and waited for Henry to mirror it. The music started. They both took up their positions and raised their right hands, totally in sync. Even now.

Their palms touched. They both had gloves on as per the etiquette, but Hans imagined a world where he stole them beforehand anyway, not out of principle or to get some message out, but simply to bask in the knowledge that Henry's hand was his to hold. Scars and blisters and all. For just a moment.

He forced himself to think about anything else when he felt the tips of his ears go hot.

"You're not going to pull me into a jig?" he asked after they circled around each other once before changing direction. The music was there, but Hans actually knew this dance well and could perform it to perfection if his attention didn't lie anywhere else. He didn't need the music.

"I fear Katherine would have my hide if I did," Henry said, glancing briefly at the lady in question, who was standing in one of the corners of the room, slightly leaning on a stick she always used during her lessons. Her eyes followed their every move, not straying once to Jitka and Rosa, who danced gracefully not far from her.

"She does look intimidating with that stick in her hand," Hans mused.

Henry snorted. "She can be plenty intimidating without it. Or have you forgotten the scolding she gave us when we let out those nightingales in the throne room when we were little?"

"Which wouldn't have happened if you just worked with me."

"Bollocks! You opened the cage!"

"You nicked the key! And that's not what I mean anyway. I meant that if you helped me to get them back to the cage quickly enough, she might never have known."

"Hans, you sang to them to try to make them listen to you."

"So? It was arguably much better than your idiotic idea with the breadcrumbs. It lured at least a dozen doves inside."

"You must have been seeing double. As I recall, there were three at the most."

"That just proves how well you can count!"

"Or maybe just that your memory needs a bit of work."

"As fucking if," Hans said, but a laugh escaped him easily. It wasn't anything grand, but it was more than he'd laughed in weeks, and it felt bloody good.

He had no idea what Henry saw in that moment that made him do it. He just knew that one second they were switching positions as they were meant to, not touching at all, and the next one, Henry clasped his hand and pulled him close. He spun Hans once as commoners did it before dipping him, eyes never straying, and hands on Hans's hips, feeling so safe and so scorching to touch.

Hans couldn't breathe.

Then Henry lifted him back up, and Hans followed far too eagerly. It just happened. He didn't mean for it to go that far, but the moment got the better of him, and he forgot entirely that there was anything to hide.

Henry lifted him, and Hans followed so closely that their noses brushed.

Henry froze. Hans jumped away so abruptly that the music stopped playing. His entire face and ears were on fire.

"I...I'm just..." he fumbled, not looking any of their way. Just on the ground. Away. Idiot. Absolute idiot. "Apologies for cutting this short, but—I seem to have..." He tried taking a deep breath, but it didn't help. "Excuse me," he finally said and moved, with every step feeling like a death blow to his very core.

He had his horse saddled that evening, waving away any concern the stableboy threw his way about it getting too dark or about going out alone like this. He didn't listen. He needed air. He needed peace. He needed to be somewhere other than where the inevitability of the ball would follow him. He couldn't find any of that within the castle's walls.

And although it was rarely his preference, he needed to be alone.

"A little late for a stroll, isn't it, Your Grace?" A voice stopped him just as he was about to get into his saddle.

"I won't be long," he said, annoyed and fully showing it before he turned around and saw Katherine, outside the stables, atop her own horse.

Hans frowned and crossed his arms. "Are you planning on going somewhere by any chance, My Lady?"

Katherine raised her eyebrows, unperturbed. "I thought you could use some company. No one should ride on their own this late. Let alone you."

"And if I say no?"

"You're the duke. You can do as you wish," Katherine said and prompted her horse to turn towards the main gate. "Even if what you're doing doesn't do you any favours. Sir."

Hans sputtered. "How dare you—"

"This thing with you and Henry," she cut him off and spurred her horse to move. Hans got onto Aethon and followed.

"What about it?" he asked.

"It's been going on for long enough, don't you think?"

"I have no idea what you're on about."

"Right. Silly me. You've only been joined at the hip for the better part of two decades, and now you're going out of your way to avoid him at all costs. It's definitely not the talk of the whole region."

"What goes on between me and Henry is none of the region's concern."

"So you do admit that something's wrong."

Hans whipped his head to find her watching him, certain and unimpressed, but not mocking him. Patient. He glanced back at the road in front of them and shook his head. "I do not wish to speak of it."

"Alright," she said. "Talk to me about the ball, then. It's obviously been weighing on you. Why?"

Hans groaned, fighting the immense urge to just spur Aethon into a gallop and leave her in the dust, but that wouldn't be gentlemanly at all. And he was sick of keeping all of it to himself.

"I'm supposed to pick someone," he said. "To court."

"I know. The whole castle does," she said and paused, her eyebrows puckering in what, if Hans didn't know any better, he would say was concern. For him. "Did Hanush tell you to pick someone in particular? Is he forcing you into a political marriage of sorts?"

"No, it's nothing like that. And even if he were, I just wouldn't listen to him. That wouldn't be a problem."

"If you say so. What is it then? Spill."

Jesus Christ be praised. "He told me I could pick whoever I wished. Without exception."

"Anyone? Then what...oh."

Oh, indeed.

"You want to pick Henry, don't you?"

"I do not," Hans protested. "I can't."

"Oh, please, you've been hanging onto his every word for years."

"Hanging on—excuse me! I do not hang onto anyone's word. That's ridiculous."

"You do many ridiculous things when it comes to Henry. Happily, I might add. Without exception."

"That proves absolutely nothing."

"Maybe, but it's not something everyone has. Many would even kill for it. And yet here you are throwing it all away."

"I'm not—"

"You are, and you know it. The question is why."

Don't make me say it, Hans thought and sighed because he was tired. That tiredness felt like such an essential part of him, and he hated it. "You really don't see anything wrong with my situation, do you?" he asked.

"No," Katherine replied without hesitation. "Aside from what you're doing to it, that is."

"Really, nothing at all? Not even that Henry probably doesn't feel the same way and might tell me to fuck off if I try anything? That sort of thing?"

Katherine abruptly stopped her horse. Instincts to do the same in case there was danger nearby kicked in, and Hans pulled harshly on the reins before petting Aethon's neck for aggravating him so.

He looked around. They hadn't even made it past the tavern yet. The very one Henry and Theresa loved to frequent.

Hans clenched his fists and forced himself to look at Katherine. He expected many things. To be mocked, called stupid or even left behind without explanation. He didn't expect the look she was giving him.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing. I'm just trying to understand."

"Understand what?"

"How a boy who wanted to hunt down a boar when he was six is so afraid to ask someone for a simple dance."

Hans shook his head. "Henry isn't just someone. He's my best friend."

"Exactly. You know him better than anyone, and you really think he would just shut you out?"

Aethon scoffed and stumped one of his legs as if to get the same message out in the only way he knew how. That was what Henry would say, too. Listen to your horse rather than your big head sometimes. It might do you some good. It was a nice thought.

But Hans was too old to believe there was any wisdom to what his horse thought. Aethon just missed Pebbles. Like Hans missed Henry. And instead of being something to lean on, the knowledge that they shared this just felt as if someone pushed him further away from the relief he sought and knew he was never going to get. He just felt more alone, and no matter how much he'd tried to make his peace with the ball, how much he'd braced himself for the first and second and the third and many more dances, none of which would be shared with Henry, there was no more spring to his step. None of the sparkle he'd never fully acknowledged as hope until he utterly lost it.

"You could talk to him about it, you know," Katherine said in that tone that stated clearly that if he chose not to heed her advice, she'd think him incredibly stupid.

He shrugged, sighing in defeat. "What's the point? I know what he's going to say."

"Oh? And what's that, may I ask?"

That he doesn't see me that way. That he never has. That he's already made his choice. That Hans was more like a brother to him than anything else. Everything that the Hans from a few weeks ago had thought and trusted with his whole being.

"He doesn't feel the same way," he said instead. "He likes Rosa. Everyone can see it."

"Did you actually ask him, or are you just relying on what maids tell each other while they collect chamber lye for laundry?"

"For God's sake," he let out, flipping his head backwards and staring at the stars. For just a moment. Just enough to aggravate all the hardships he was carrying in his heart, and reaffirm the painful truth about how easy it was to forget about them before and impossible now. When nothing was set in stone anymore, and digging his own grave seemed to be the natural state of things despite his wholehearted efforts to do the complete opposite.

But it was done. The ball was in three days, and he was going to dance with someone who wasn't Henry. And he was going to marry someone who wasn't Henry.

He would make peace with that world even if so few things in his life had hurt quite this much.

"It's late," he declared and bid Aethon to turn back towards the castle. "I think it's time for us both to retire."

He did his best to look at Katherine and nowhere else as he waited for her to acknowledge the command that was there. To drop it. To let it go. Not just for tonight, but for good. Because his mind was set, as was his heart. And he hated it immensely, but neither could be swayed.

She didn't give him anything for a while. She just studied him in the dim light where most would reach for a torch at this point. It was so different from all those moments when he used to tell her about his adventures and musings when he was younger or even just a few months back. When she would just scoff and shake her head, never refraining from calling him stupid or arrogant and reckless when the situation called for it—which it did, all the time—because they both knew, no matter what she said, no pillory would await her.

There was none of that. Or any disappointment. Just worry and pain that was so rarely on display it felt almost unbearable to keep staring, but looking away felt worse.

"May I say one more thing before we go?" she asked, careful, calculating, but most of all kind.

And Hans, for better or worse, decided to allow it. "If you must."

"It would do you some good to at least recognise how fortunate you are."

"Is that so?" Hans scoffed. "What, on being forced into a marriage, sounds like a dream to you?"

"Quite a few things if you know exactly who it is you wish to marry and you have the freedom to pick him."

"I already told you—"

"No, you told me Henry would turn you down, but that doesn't change the fact that neither Hanush nor anyone else on that matter will stop you. Do you have any idea how many people have that? How many can act on their feelings, knowing the worst thing that can happen is that they will be turned down?"

Hans opened his mouth to argue and then closed it again because he recalled easily his own shock at the revelation that he could marry absolutely anyone without exception. That Hanush was freely giving him that, when it was common knowledge that people didn't get that. When marriage of convenience was a phrase he'd learnt quite early in his life and it had always followed him. Not in any obtrusive way that he actively feared it, but it had always gnawed, and always lingered. Because if the world he lived in decided to play just by slightly different rules, it was possible he'd have to make space for it in his heart, and it wouldn't matter how much he'd kick or scream.

But Rattay was doing well, and times were peaceful, and there was absolutely nothing that hinted it would soon not be so.

"Take it from someone who didn't have any choice in such matters the first time," Katherine said with hardened conviction, one can earn only from one thing really. "If you have a chance to follow your heart, don't do it the disservice by spitting in its face."

With that, she spurred her horse and went, not looking back to see whether he followed or not.