Chapter Text
It’s a night of celebration for Valfrey. The taverns are warm and bright, and music and merriment fill the city’s streets. Hermann passes multiple revelers on his way back to the castle. He had just made it to the apothecary before they had closed for the evening, but now he needs to rush back home before his father thinks too much of his absence. He clutches a vial of powder in the pocket of his robe and walks as quickly as he can.
By the time Hermann arrives, the great hall is full to bursting. He pushes through the crowds and approaches the dais, taking his seat at the end of the table and ignoring a not-so-subtle frown from his father. His sister, Karla, smiles at him and passes over a basket of warm rolls that were just out of Hermann’s reach.
“Thank you,” he mutters.
“You missed Bastien’s return,” Karla says. “He was bragging about his slaying before he even stepped foot inside the castle.”
Hermann rolls his eyes, and Karla laughs teasingly, knowing her brother’s dislike for their kingdom’s coming-of-age tradition.
The youngest Gottlieb prince, Bastien, is seated in the place of honor at his father’s right hand. There is a purpling bruise on one of his cheeks, and he’s missing his left eyebrow, but he’s smiling so wide that it’s as if he doesn’t notice. He gesticulates wildly as he explains a scar on his forearm. It’s a relatively small wound, considering the circumstances. Hermann silently thanks the gods that his little brother still has his life.
“That shield spell you taught him really helped,” says Karla, scooping a spoonful of buttered greens onto her plate. “The dragon broke his pike, and breathed fire when Bastien reached for his sword. He used the shield spell before he was burnt to a crisp.”
Hermann hums. “Pity about the eyebrow.”
“It’ll grow back,” Karla laughs. “The scullery maids think he looks dashing.”
Hermann shakes his head.
The hall is filled with voices and laughter as the kingdom celebrates Bastien’s victory. There’s a much-needed sense of joy in the air—a welcome feeling after the disaster of Hermann’s own ceremony just a year before. A few people glance up at him, whispering behind their hands, but by now, Hermann is used to ignoring them. He enjoys his meal and listens to Karla, who continues to talk animatedly at his side.
The feast is enormous—larger than usual. The air is thick with the scent of fish: fried or baked, drizzled with vinegar and olive oil. There are heaping bowls of boiled potatoes, fresh garden greens, and crisp slices of onion. There’s shrimp dressed with squeezed lemon and garlic, and even seabirds roasted whole and sprinkled with herbs. Hermann has a small appetite, but he can’t help indulging; there won’t be another feast like this until summer solstice, and that’s still months away.
“Looks like father’s about to start the speech,” Karla says, leaning in to whisper by Hermann’s shoulder. Hermann looks up.
Lars Gottlieb, king of Valfrey, is rising from the table with a goblet of wine in one hand. The townspeople immediately begin to fall silent, and the king speaks in a voice that booms through the entire hall.
“We’re gathered here tonight to celebrate the highest of honors: the coming-of-age of my youngest son, Bastien.” The hall bursts into applause, and Lars tugs his son up by one arm, pulling him to stand beside his father. “Bastien was sent to slay the Reed Wyrm of the southern swamps. He arrived home victorious, with the beast’s head on a spear!”
There is more applause; hooting and hollering echoes among the rafters. Hermann claps politely.
“My son is now a man. Not only did he slay the dragon, but he arrived home with nary a scratch on him. Many would falter—come home crying or crippled, but Bastien is strong, he has brought honor to the Gottlieb name!”
The crowd continues to clap, but it has become muted and awkward. Hermann sinks down a bit in his chair, his face burning with shame. He can feel people looking at him to see his reaction to his father’s words.
“Forget him,” Karla whispers. “He’s just—you know how he can be. He doesn’t think before he speaks, sometimes.”
Hermann doesn’t say anything. He looks down at the table, then at his lap, then at the cane by his side. He listens to his father extol the virtues of brawn and courage.
When the speech is over, there is more cheering, and private conversations begin anew. Dinner is replaced with dessert, and Hermann wills his anger away while sipping at a mug of hot tea.
“It’s just a speech,” Karla says, patting Hermann’s arm. “It’s all exaggeration and bombast.”
Hermann huffs. “The Reed Wyrm,” he says, irritated. “That thing is barely a snake compared to what I had to—” He stops himself and stabs a strawberry with his fork. “The Wyrm killed how many? A dozen cows and a flock of sheep?”
“It took the miller’s boy—Tomlin.”
Hermann purses his lips.
“Hermann, I know how you feel about what happened, but please try to be happy for Bastien’s sake.”
Hermann looks up at his brother, who has left the dais to sit with a group of friends, regaling them with his story for what is surely the third or fourth time.
“I’ll congratulate him,” Hermann says. “But I won’t speak of it to father.”
It must be enough, because Karla doesn’t answer. Hermann prods at a seedcake on his plate and gazes around the hall, feeling mildly spiteful towards the joyous revelers. His eye is caught by a woman at the corner of one of the noble’s tables. She is wrapped in heavy furs and wool cloaks. There is a crown made of dragon’s teeth in her wild red hair, and she is peeling a piece of fruit with a bone-handled knife.
“Is that Queen Monica?” Hermann asks. “I didn’t know she would be here.”
“Of course she’s here. It would hardly be diplomatic if she missed something so important to father.”
Monica Schwartz, queen of Aelcliff, has been visiting for ten days, trying to come to a mutually beneficial arrangement that will end decades of discord with Valfrey. Aelcliff is miles away, tucked high among the mountains. It is a large city—much larger than Valfrey—where knights ride atop dragons rather than fight them. Hermann has heard stories of the mountain breed—they are strong but gentle, wiser than any other and domesticated over dozens of centuries. They aren’t like the dragons that Hermann knows—vicious and cruel, with a thirst for blood.
“I heard a rumor,” Karla says. “One of the kitchen maids said that the peace talks are coming to an end. There’s discussion of joining the kingdoms with a marriage.”
Hermann raises a skeptical eyebrow. “A marriage? Who at Aelcliff would be married?”
“The queen’s son, Newton.”
Hermann frowns. Newton is near his own age, set to take over the throne once he finds a spouse. Hermann doesn’t know anything about him, besides that he’s of royal blood.
“Which of us would be chosen?” he asks.
Karla glances down the table, where their brother Dietrich is helping himself to a heaping portion of pie.
“Dietrich is eldest, so he holds the most power,” she says. “His swordsmanship is enviable, and he’s clever enough.”
Hermann snorts.
“Bastien is...unlikely. A bit too young and naive, I think.”
“You would make a good match,” Hermann says.
Karla laughs. “Why me?”
“You’ve slain more dragons than any of us—”
“Not on my own—”
“You’re good in a battle, and your skill with languages would be useful in a political position.”
“And what about yourself?”
“I—” Hermann shakes his head. “No. That’s completely out of the question.”
“Why?”
“They don’t want me. I can’t fight, what use would I be to them?”
“Your knowledge of magic—”
“My knowledge of magic is irrelevant,” Hermann snaps. “Father’s said as much himself.”
Karla falls silent. Hermann glances over at the queen, who is sipping ale from a silver goblet.
“We’re a kingdom of warriors,” he says. “It only makes sense for her to choose the strongest one.”
The queen glances up, and Hermann looks away before they make eye contact. He signals for a refill of wine, and drinks it quickly in hopes that it will dull his memory.
---
The announcement is made just after noon the next day. The belltower signals the end of the peace talks, and the throne room fills with hundreds of people. Voices echo beneath the domed ceiling while Hermann and his siblings wait for their father to arrive.
When King Lars walks into the room, the crowd immediately falls silent. All eyes are drawn to Queen Monica, who follows soon after. She is still wearing fur and wool as if she were traveling in the middle of a snowstorm. She stands with her chin up and her back straight. Despite her rough appearance, she looks more like royalty than anyone Hermann has known.
“The negotiations with Aelcliff have come to a resolution,” says the king. He looks around the room, making sure he has full command of everyone’s attention. “We are putting an end to years of war, and as a symbol of harmony between our kingdoms, Queen Monica and I have decided that our royal families will be united in marriage.”
There is quiet murmuring in the crowded hall. Hermann looks at Karla, who gives him an “I told you so” expression. He rolls his eyes.
“Though there are differences between our cultures, and many miles between our lands, we are confident that this is the best choice for the people. It is a symbol of the trust, good will, and partnership that will bring strength to our kingdoms.”
By now, the townspeople have become restless with curiosity. Hermann notices their stares as many start whispering behind their hands, making guesses as to who will be married off.
“Hermann, if you would come forward.”
The room falls silent, and Hermann’s heart stops. There is a moment where he doubts his own ears, but when he realizes that everyone is looking at him, he knows he couldn’t have been mistaken. He looks desperately at Karla. Her eyes are wide, but she nods her head, urging him forward. Hermann leans on his cane more heavily than usual as he approaches the throne.
“My son Hermann will be wed to the prince of Aelcliff, Newton Geiszler.”
Lars claps a strong hand to Hermann’s back, causing Hermann to stumble forward. He feels light-headed, and silently prays that he doesn’t faint.
“The wedding preparations are to begin immediately! The ceremony will take place one month from today, in Aelcliff, with celebration in both kingdoms—feasting, music, and dance to lift the spirits and unite us all in the start of a new era of peace and prosperity.”
The crowd bursts into applause, but Hermann barely hears a thing. His inner monologue is running non-stop—why me? How could they possibly have chosen me? He looks back at his siblings, all of whom look surprised. Queen Monica takes a few steps closer. She puts a hand on Hermann’s shoulder and squeezes, tightly. Hermann closes his eyes and prays for it all to be over.
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