Hohenfels

The library was quiet, with both young nobles desperately trying to compose themselves. They sat in silence for what felt like an eternity, neither of them particularly willing to speak.

The sun was setting outside, and the many-colored light falling in through the window grew dimmer and dimmer.

Katharina considered her options. While very far from optimal, the situation was still salvageable. She was mortified to have been seen in such a state, but the prince– no, Arnold was sure to feel the same way, which guaranteed his silence about the incident at the very least.

She glanced at his bloodied hand and noted that the deep cut had already turned into a strip of fresh, whitish skin. A rather impressive display of regenerative abilities, proof that he must have undergone extensive, and probably grueling, training.

He noticed her gaze, his eyes flickering over to hers for a brief second with an expression steeped in discomfort. ‘I was wrong,’ she thought. ‘He truly is an amateur.’

There was no way he could have trained his magic, his body, and his conversational skills to such a high level. He was simply too young for such a feat, especially considering that he was very likely proficient with his saber and several other weapons on top.

Many Eastern aristocrats were still using the longsword in combat, so Katharina assumed Arnold would know his way around it. Most young noblemen were at least minimally competent with a smallsword, and she did not doubt that he was among them. Even she had gotten a few lessons and could probably hold her own in a duel, not that she cared to find out.

That gave her a very conservative estimate of at least three weapons the prince could handle. Combined with all else she had observed, training would take up such a huge amount of time that Arnold would have to be a prodigy among prodigies to match her on the social battlefield as well.

So, why? Why did she always end up on the back foot?