Hohenfels

As Friedrich stormed down into the arena to grab a semi-blunt practice weapon, Arne leaned back in his seat. ‘This is perhaps the worst possible way to start our stay at the academy,’ he silently despaired. They had immediately gotten roped into a very violent and very public conflict with a ducal house. Depending on the outcome of this battle, Friedrich’s – and by extension, his – reputation at the academy might start off heavily tarnished. ‘Mother would cry tears of blood…’

“I greet Young Lord Arnold of Hohenfels.” While Arne was lost in his thoughts, a young man with dark hair and a very prominent nose had approached him and was now bowing in the manner of the northern countships. The emblem on his chest reminded Arne of Landgrave von Schonach’s coat of arms, but the variations denoted him as a member of a somewhat distant branch family.

“Prince,” he absentmindedly corrected.

“Ah, I- Uh, I deeply apologize, Prince Arnold. Please forgive my transgression!” Shock. Surprise. Annoyance.

“Consider it forgotten. The change in title is a recent development after all,” he offered the still bowing young man. “Who am I talking to?”

“I must apologize again, Prince Arnold. My name is–”

Both of them winced when the initial exchange between the fighters produced a horrible sound of clashing metal, accompanied by a gust of wind.

“Ahem. My name is August von Schonach-Arfeld. I hope your voyage to Halden went smoothly, Your Highness?” August had reasonable control over his aura, more than enough to ward off any tentative probing by his peers. Unfortunately for him, it was far from enough to keep Arne in the dark about his utter disinterest in the prince’s well-being.

‘And so it begins,’ Arne complained to himself, bracing for the type of conversation he hated most.