Hohenfels

“Can I be your second? Pleeeaaase?” Friedrich begged with shining eyes.

Arne did not need long to decide. There was only one alternative – and he was unwilling to owe Matthias a gargantuan favor in addition to giving him a prime opportunity to meddle with things.

“Of course,” Arne grinned. “Make sure to annoy Maximilian as much as you can.”

Ludwig had named the Altendorf prince as his second, and sending Friedrich – the son of a mere count – to negotiate with the third son of the Emperor on equal terms would be absolutely hilarious.

“Oh, I will,” Friedrich chuckled darkly. Anticipation. Spite.

“Just make it clear that it won’t be a duel to the death. I don’t want to kill the man just because he’s an idiot.” Arne was not particularly worried about the result of the fight – he had seen Ludwig handle a smallsword, and while he was not a total beginner, he wasn’t anywhere near competent. Even Katharina would have a decent chance at beating him.

“Third blood, then?” asked Friedrich with a particularly nasty smile.

“Third blood,” Arne confirmed with a similar expression. Three opportunities to stab the arrogant prick with a real sword sounded delightful. “It’s just a shame that he will never agree to a saber duel.”

“Now that would be great,” his cousin cackled.