Hohenfels

Arne stood at the bow of the steamboat Adelar, suppressing the urge to jump into the cold water below to avoid the fate looming behind the next riverbend. The first towers of Halden were already visible, and the river was teeming with barges loaded with coal, timber, and grain.

“Finally!” His cousin’s booming voice ripped him out of his contemplations. When the inevitable Hohenfels-style greeting impacted his shoulder, Arne once again found himself glad that the bruises caused by the “farewell spar” with his sister had mostly healed.

“Don’t be so gloomy, Arne. It’ll be fine, trust me!” Anticipation. Compassion.

“I sure hope so,” Arne murmured.

Friedrich von Hohenfels-Steinberg was one of the few people Arne considered a good friend. The younger man rarely had any deceitful thoughts, and scheming was a foreign concept to him. In many regards, he was similar to Lisa – his primary concerns and talents were combat, weapons, and physical exercise. Friedrich might have become the shining martial star of the Hohenfels family, had the princess not set such an exceedingly bright example.

“Just look at the bright side: We’ll get to beat up silklings every day!” Friedrich’s malicious glee was almost palpable.

“Be careful not to get beaten up yourself, Fritz,” Arne snorted. “Matthias von Falkenstein will attend the academy with us, and so will Leonhardt von Wessen.”

“All the better! The only thing more fun than bullying self-important losers is dueling true warriors!” Friedrich put his foot up on the railing, grinning proudly into the distance like a northern warchief. The heroic image was slightly marred by his choice of attire: A stained shirt and worn-out training pants.

“Stop showing off and go get dressed. I can already see the docks.”