I was just a little off kilter as I walked downstairs. Being injured did not suit me. Normally I took stairs two at a time as a matter of course. The risk of further injury was barely enough to keep me still. Of course, on an ordinary hot summer afternoon I'd be looking for excuses to stay sedentary, but the mere fact that I couldn't do anything more active made me want to. It suddenly seemed the perfect day for a long ride or even some sword practice.

As I stepped onto the first floor, I heard a quiet cough and turned. Behind me was the girl I'd rescued. She looked even younger in daylight, tall for her age maybe but not more than ten years older than Conrart. She was a cheerful looking redhead and smelled like smoke and soap. She was also beaming awkwardly up at me and blushing.

I hoped for a moment that I might be rescued, but Gunter didn't even know who the girl was. And someday it might do me some good to stop instinctively fleeing any remotely emotional interaction that didn't involve my unrequited love.

"Good afternoon." I tried a smile. Probably wasn't a very good smile. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, thank you, um, Your Lordship. I'm just fine. Thanks to you. I just wanted to thank you for saving me."

It was nothing didn't seem quite the thing to say. Neither did I'd have done the same for anyone. Just defied common courtesy. "You're welcome." That was as neutral as it could get. "You should be more careful in the future. Or start carrying a boot knife. Well, not carrying, exactly. Buckling on. I know of a smith in town who will probably give you a good price on a pair of them. You'd better be careful about choosing, though. Your hands are smaller than they're usually made for."

She giggled, covering her hand with her mouth. I hoped it was feminine coquettishness, which Anissina had once explained to me. If it wasn't I was pretty lost. "Thank you, Lord Von Voltaire." She curtseyed and left, headed toward the kitchen.

To my everlasting horror, Gunter burst out laughing the moment she was gone. "Gwendal, has anyone ever even tried to teach you to talk to girls?"

I tried to swallow my embarrassment. Before I turned back, to buy time to force away my dismayed expression, I shook my head. "Ah… no."

"Well, you've certainly got an admirer."

I finally convinced myself to look back at him. "She's the one I rescued from Rochefort. It's no wonder she'd be appreciative."

"Yes, and you're the youngest and handsomest of the Ten Aristocrats. What I find astounding is that you really aren't playing dumb." Gunter's teasing smile was very subtle, and all the worse for it. "Being the knight on a white horse does come with some perks, you know. Damsels in distress."

"I did it because she needed help, not because…" I felt my cheeks color a little.

"I know that. Don't take everything so seriously, Gwendal. And you know, this is the time of your life meant for sowing wild oats." He winked at me. It was sort of an awkward wink, and I hoped the awkwardness meant Gunter had sowed no oats at all of his own, either, wild or cultivated.

Oh, that was an awful thought. Me or him. I tried not to seem flustered and absolutely, unequivocally failed. "I, er… That's absolutely outside my purview of interests… I mean, duties, and considering the demands on time…"

Even when directed at me, his laugh was beautiful. "Stop, stop. Dig yourself any deeper and you'll need a shovel to get out. No pretty, willing maids for you. I suppose that's more for the rest of the noblemen your age."

The rest were mostly heirs training to take over one day the duties that were all mine now. If they felt it a good use of their time to pursue pretty servants, that was their affair. Literally. It would not be mine and I found it an uncomfortable subject. Particularly with the case of Mother and her latest husband on my mind, I found the very idea unsavory.

And especially with Gunter right beside me. I belonged to him or no one. And no one was a lot more likely. In another century or so I'd adopt an heir.

"I just… I would find it unconscionable to take advantage of her or any other passing fancy and raise hopes that shouldn't be."

"Gwendal, I doubt very highly that most of the maids engaging in trysts with aristocratic scions have hopes of anything more than a bit of favor and prestige."

"Then, well, then she and I probably wouldn't get along anyway."

"So serious and so moral. You really need to learn to relax a little, Gwendal. You'll burn yourself out in the next ten years if you're not careful." He patted my shoulder. Oh, even with the teasing, that was nice. "I promise, no one will blame you for kissing a pretty housemaid." I shook my head. Hard. It hurt, but I felt it was worth it for the emphasis. "Fine. But at least try not to respond to flirting with shop talk about daggers."

I could see his point there, and nodded. By then we were down in the dining room. Lunch looked mostly over, but there was enough left on the buffet style setup to scrape together a small meal. My appetite wasn't quite back, so the meager portions didn't bother me too much.

Finding a meal and a seat was easy, and Gunter was hovering nearby, which suffused the air with general wellbeing as far as I was concerned. Once I'd settled in, though, I began to feel eyes on me. I tried to ignore the gazes, but knew I'd earned them. So my swan song was general knowledge, was it? Excellent. I tried to seem very interested in evenly distributing mustard on my sausage, but one could only remain riveted on a plate for so long.

In my case, so long being the exact length of time it took for the meal to start making me feel a bit ill. My stomach really seemed weak lately. I blamed not eating for a few days for this one, though the heat was still a problem and stress certainly contributed. I was pretty sure I'd keep the meal down, but I didn't want to look at what remained on my plate.

There was whispering. Oh, damn it all to hell. Stares I could take, but the little hissing comments I was supposed to hear, but everyone would pretend I wasn't? Those were beyond me. I should have asked for lunch to be brought. I was getting twitchy. I needed to knit something. Or get in a fight. Another fight. Maybe one with knitting needles as weapons. Anything to get out of this room where every noble in the castle was passing and had a comment to make. Quietly.

Then Wolfram popped out from under a chair and climbed into my lap. "You woke up!" he said cheerfully, hugging me around the neck.

"Yes."

"Good. I was worried. You looked really sick. Plus I wanted to say thank you. And make sure you weren't burned too badly." He looked truly distressed. I didn't want him fretting and forced myself to soften my look.

"Oh, you've burned me worse yourself. Remember when you used to set your crib on fire?"

"No. I was a baby then."

'Ah. Right, how silly of me."

"Wanna know something?"

"Alright."

"Conrart has a girlfriend." He covered his mouth and giggled. "Her name is Emily and her father is a knight of Von Wincott and she has red hair."

I couldn't help but feel he was a little young for that, but thanks to antiquated tradition the kid was an adult. And just because Conrart could relate to people much more readily and naturally than I meant nothing for me, or so I told myself. "Well, that's good for him."

"But girls are gross."

Personally, I agreed. I wondered if Wolfram shared my distaste for the opposite sex. Well, he was a bit young to tell. Everyone believed in cooties at Wolfram's age. "What about Giesela? Don't you have a girlfriend of your own?"

"No! She's a girl and she's my friend."

He'd be saying that a very many times, wouldn't he? I smiled and ruffled his hair. "Don't give Conrart too hard a time." There was a certain amount of trouble Conrart had making friends. His ancestry was no secret. "It's okay to tease him a little, though."

"Good." He smiled wickedly. "Oh, yeah. Giesela wants to say thanks, too. And Mama wants to talk to you."

I nodded as he hopped off my lap. What a nice respite. Now again the eyes of the room were on me. At least the crowd had shrunk as the meal began to be cleared away. Gunter had been speaking to Lady Von Gyllenhaal (I'd snuck quick glances while Wolfram spoke), but now he turned back to me.

"The good news is most seem to be on your side. Lady Ermtraud approves your actions. She's the only one to go that far, but the Wincott and Grantz lines have been officially silent. Unfortunately the Radfords seem to feel the action unconscionable as well as the Rocheforts."

"So all I've done is bring the situation to a head. There've been no great shifts."

"No. I'm not sure if things have become more or less dangerous. But once they've placed bombs I like to think things can only get better." He handed me a glass of lemonade, which I deeply appreciated. He'd remembered! Or, well, it had happened to be there. That seemed more likely.

"They didn't kill anyone with bombs."

"I hope that wasn't their intention." Gunter looked pained at the very intimation. His sweet spirit wouldn't like to think on it, of course. I experienced a brief flicker of fond annoyance, but then felt like a cad. His innocent gentleness was what I loved best. "I'm convinced that stunt was a reminder of their power and a threat, but had they intended anyone's death, the attack was very poorly executed."

"What about the second attack that was interrupted?" Hopefully Anissina's information was reliable.

"That does upset my theory a little. Another grand gesture would be redundant, wouldn't it? Did they just want to keep us all scared?" Gunter looked miserable at the mere thought. I wanted to hug him. "In any case, I think they've already spoken to your mother, and I'm sure she'll want a word with you soon."

"Yes. She already asked."

"Good. I didn't know she knew you were up." She probably didn't, but I didn't correct him. "Oh, I'd been meaning to ask. Since I've been here I've been… Well, not just me. But mostly me. Organizing a lot of the younger nobles into an organized martial practice. You know most of them are sword-mad, and with everyone together tricks get shared, I can get some teaching in, and unarmed combat gets a little attention, when it usually gets overlooked. It really does teach coordination and instincts better than fencing, you know. Conrart's already started turning up." He smiled at me cheerfully. "I know you're not naturally enamored of hand-to-hand combat, Gwendal, but I thought you might like to come when you're feeling better. Just for practicality's sake you should work on that sword."

"I have. Some." I wasn't entirely hopeless!

"Good. But practice won't do any harm. And if you're going to get in blind tussles with various heirs, you should work on your boxing." Even I cracked a smile at that. He laughed. How I loved that laugh. "Really, I can see where he hit you. Besides, with your help I can add some tactics to the repertoire."

"You were a commander longer than I," I said deferentially.

"And yet not half the officer you are. For one thing, I've retired. I prefer not even to speak of it. Sending our soldiers to die makes me ill. I told your brother the other day that I hadn't been in a battle. I feel so distant from and disgusted with that self it might as well be true." He paused and looked away. I should have said something, but I came up short and my moment passed. "I was almost never the senior officer. I relayed orders. Half the time when I had to make my own decisions I made the wrong ones."

He had to be exaggerating. He'd never have remained in active service if he'd made that many mistakes. But this was my Gunter, and I knew every man he lost however unavoidable would hurt him forever. "You made the best that you could and saved every citizen you could. What could make a better commander?"

He smiled a little hollowly this time, but at least he was pretending I'd said something right. "In any case, your help would be appreciated and I'm sure you'd be a boon to my other students."

"Some of them must be almost my age."

"A few are older. Maturity and wisdom sometimes come early." He patted my hand and stood. "Not for a few days, though. I want you fully recovered. This afternoon if you're free I'll come to treat what I can."

The castle no doubt had staff doctors who should have been doing it, but I could no more deny a chance to have Gunter's cool hands against my skin, radiating peace and healing, than I could fly. I smiled as we left together. He probably went to mentor some clumsy young nobleman or save stray kittens or whatever it was he did when I wasn't playing his shadow. I went upstairs to snatch a moment before I went to speak to Mother. Or, more accurately, speak to Stoffel, clearly already more Maou than she was.

First, though, time to collect myself. I was quite mortified by the prospect of trying to teach tactical theory to a roomful of my peers, but surely I could weather that to spend time training with Gunter. I'd made a hopeless fool of myself. The little skill I had gained with a sword was sure to vanish the moment he was watching. But it didn't matter. How much lower could his opinion of me get, after all?

Maybe the most hopeless student in the class might experience more hands-on teaching.

Maybe he'd finally notice me staring and punch me in the nose with those slim, strong knuckles.

I could only imagine how he'd move. Unarmed combat, was it? I'd already deduced he'd done enough boxing to suit his versatile hands to it. I might not have had a hope myself, but I'd had to learn to read how every soldier was suited to fight. Gunter's swordsmanship wasn't necessarily counterpart to his unarmed martial arts. Without a sword to complicate matters he could rely more on his long reach and speed. His movements would be even smoother, faster but less complex, springing and darting, dodging fluidly and freely. My white tiger.

"Gwendal Von Voltaire!"

My eyes snapped open and I realized I'd fallen back on my bed and wrapped my arms around my pillow. And of course Anissina had arrived to witness this particular indignity. I sat up quickly, knowing I wasn't going to recover any lost dignity. "What?"

"I've been knocking for almost a minute, Gwendal." She sat in my desk chair backwards, legs wrapped around and arms crossed atop the back. "That display at lunch was truly pitiful."

"Some of us lack your total lack of shame. I'm sure I fully earned the looks I was getting."

"Do you think I bothered to care about bored nobility whispering about whose face you chose to punch, Gwen?" She raised an eyebrow at me. Then, apparently feeling the withering look wasn't nearly enough emphasis, she poked me in the forehead with a knitting needle drawn unnervingly rapidly from her sash. "I am referring to your endless and silent drooling over Gunter Von Christ!"

"Oh." Lunch hadn't been more or less pathetic than usual, really. "You've referred to that whenever you're too bored for twenty years."

"Also whenever you were too content. But that was fine while you saw him but once over all those years, Gwendal." Her eyes flashed. Always a bad sign. "I'd assumed it was just your excuse for never finding yourself a paramour, since you'd have to go and talk to someone to do that. But this is clearly serious. So, Gwen, I'm here to tell you what should be and is obvious!" She was suddenly standing, one foot and both hands braced on the chair so she could scold me with maximum looming. "Stop being a first class imbecile!" That knitting needle was embedding itself in my unprotected flesh again.

"Ouch." I pulled away. She hadn't drawn blood, but I was going to have spotty bruises if she kept that up. And she would. Once Anissina settled on an emphatic gesture it stuck around a while. "I'm coping the best I can. Your concern is appreciated but please leave me to it, and don't you dare… invent anything."

"I don't need any of my inventions to tell you to stop coping." Huh? I looked up, blinking a bit confusedly. Knitting needle to forehead. Right between the eyes this time. "Stop suffering in silence and speak, you idiot! You may have somehow not noticed, Gwendal, but people fall in love and marry every day. Your situation is not unique. Only your singular combination of overblown nobility—by which I mean morals and not birth—and strange inferiority complex."

"Oh, marriages for love by aristocrats, that sounds likely," I said sourly. Petulantly. The reasons Gunter was too good for me and the best I could hope for was preserving our friendship would be lost on her. Utterly lost.

"Your parents were a love match."

"Mother claims to love every swain she has."

"It's Stoffel I heard it from, not your Mother. Besides, as another bit of news that seems to have escaped your notice, you have complete say. You are Lord Von Voltaire, and the only one who can make a marriage contract for you is you. People might talk if you opted to forgo immediate political or monetary advantage in favor of someone you can write poems about—"

Oh, she hadn't! "How did you know about that?"

"I didn't. But now I do. I'll have to read them sometime. I'm sure they're very pretty." Poke. I was seething too much to care. "Furthermore, Voltaire to Christ may not be the most materially advantageous match you could make, but I guarantee you not one eyelid in the entirety of Shin Makoku will bat at such a union, especially given both your positions at Mother's court."

"You don't understand…"

"And I don't care to understand the convoluted and self-defeating logic that's brought you to this conclusion." Poke. "It's no doubt grim, confusing, and entirely Gwendal-ish and masculine. Tell me one good reason you wouldn't be entirely in your rights to court, propose to, and hopefully marry a friend and ally of almost identical social and economic standing to yourself."

My mouth opened, but no words came out. Too young, too foolish, not nearly handsome, brave, or clever enough. Unworthy. Unthinkable. But any excuse Anissina would buy? Not a single thought came to me. Anyone could look and see Gunter was too good for me. I muttered something to that effect.

"In that case, he should be good enough to let you down gently if you've got no chance and go on being your mentor cum confidante." Poke. "What have you got to lose?"

"Gunter!"

"Wrong!" I had to move backward to avoid her splitting my skull with her needle that time, and she actually hopped up onto the chair. I was surprised (and a little disappointed) that the wobbly seat didn't tip her right off again. But if it had she'd probably have kept blithely berating me. "Gwendal, are you going to spend the rest of your life shadowing and obeying an admittedly sweet and pretty if hopelessly naïve ex-Admiral? Keep devoting yourself to love poems, wet dreams, and pathetically fishing for his compliments?"

When she put it that way… I was forced to shake my head.

"Good! Because for one thing people are going to start to notice, and then where are you left? Stupid, that's where. If you were wondering." Poke. That one was for fun more than emphasis, I think. "Also you might as well be the little brother I'm pretty glad I didn't have, considering the failure the older one is. I would prefer to see you being less stupid. Now what are you going to do?"

"Sit here until you get bored and leave." I hoped.

"Wrong!" I was starting to grow numb to knitting needle jabs. "You are going to fulfill a time honored tradition of not being a whining, infatuated shadow and go pick some flowers. Once you have a nice bouquet—I'd suggest one or two big, brightly colored roses, a few small irises for uniqueness, baby's breath to round it out, and a branch of jasmine tied with some ribbon I can provide if you need it—you will ask him to join you for tea and whatever's playing at the threatre in the city. During this date, which you will never clearly state is a date, you will compliment him at least three and as many as five times, mentioning his eyes at least once. If you play your cards right, or, more likely, endearingly, awkwardly wrong, there will be a kiss goodnight. Are. We. Clear?" With each of the last three words she jabbed the bridge of my nose.

"I think you drew blood!"

"Oh, no, Gwendal. This nice little needle wouldn't draw blood. Mr. Very Pointy Stick here draws blood. See, I just now invented it.' She brandished a smaller but much sharper needle and jumped down from my chair. "Now walk out that door and ask Gunter on a date."

"But—"

"This minute, Gwendal Hieronymus Voltaire, or I start reading your love poems at dinner." I started to protest that she didn't know where my notebook was, but before I could get a word out, Anissina slammed her elbow down on the cassone at the foot of my bed and the secret drawer popped out.

Oh, right, she'd built that for me.

"Are you going?"

What was I going to say? Her arguments sounded so damn… reasonable. And that was frightening. If logic could force its way through a cloud of Anissina it was undoubtedly there and strong. And she was right about everything. I was making excuses. Surely Gunter wouldn't punish me with coldness for my adoration. He was too kind for that. And… Well, she was right as well that my hand was my own to grant and that it wasn't, in bare essentials, at all a surprising marriage. Any one the ten great families making such a contract with any other was barely an event. I was willing, indeed, eager to help raise his child. Our provinces were distant, perhaps, but both peaceful and largely self sustaining. No damage would be done if either of us wasn't home for a while. Mother would have a perfectly united pair of advisors to keep her rule strong and her policies wise without handing over too much to Stoffel and Evert. Conrart and Wolfram would gain an enviable brother-in-law. And I would have all my heart desired.

I'd never forgotten Anissina was in the room before, but I was so lost in this lovely daydream I was quite shocked when she poked me one last time. Thankfully not with Mr. Very Pointy Stick. "Go!"

Already I was losing my grip on the dream, but she was right. I nodded and stepped into the hall. As I opened the door there was a loud thunderclap.

"Summer storms. Come on you out of nowhere." She was smiling so demurely one ignorant wouldn't know her for the hollering, needle-wielding she-wolf of a few moments before.

A good omen, as far as I was concerned. I'd been born during a storm. Electricity in the air always made me feel better. Stronger, sharper, more fit for battle. I actually smiled.

"Gwendal!" Conrart hopped likely three or four stairs and was suddenly in front of us. "Mother's looking for you. I think it's important.'

"This is a temporary respite. I'm watching you." Anissina grabbed my shoulder and leaned in to whisper, just in case I hadn't gotten it, "Watching!"

I followed Conrart downstairs. By the time this meeting was over my courage would probably have failed me, but Anissina was probably planning on that. I'd leave recreating my determination to her, then.

"Gwendal, what happened to your face?"

"Her."

"Oh."

I opened the door to one of a dozen small offices that filled the castle, ready to be filled with diligent and knowledgeable assistants as soon as I had the time. Mother, Evert, Stoffel, and a man I was almost completely sure was Lord Von Rochefort were quietly speaking around the table. Mother motioned me in with a smile a little less brilliant than usual. Even she was disappointed with me.

"Gwendal, you've missed most of the proceedings." Wolfram's father smiled politely to rub in the neat little insult he'd snuck in. This was clearly an official meeting, and being married to my mother really made him no relation of mine at this point. I should have been addressed as Von Voltaire.

I nodded, figuring there was no real answer I had to give, and sat down. This meeting was more thinly attended than I'd have liked. It certainly looked as though Von Rochefort was very outnumbered, but I didn't trust that anyone was on the same side anymore. I'd never trusted Mother's husband, and I didn't know my uncle anymore.

I still couldn't believe the man had been about to hit me.

"What it all boils down to is that last night's incident was regrettable, but no more than some youthful high spirits got out of hand." Rochefort smiled at me. I wanted to punch him in the teeth. He was the sort of person one usually wanted to punch, but his current supercilious manner just strengthened the urge to give him bruises twin to his son's. But fine, let him call it that if some agreement had been reached.

"However, it's brought to the forefront the regrettable hostilities in place between the exiting and the entering royal houses." Stoffel smiled. I looked around and spotted Raven hovering off to the side. He was very good at hovering. I was surprisingly glad to have him there. Certainly nothing could change the family's most devoted retainer, gentle Raven, often more a father to me than my uncle, Von Voltaire, and any of Mother's suitors combined. He looked uncomfortable. I didn't need the hint, but my own unease grew a little.

"So we've determined that the best solution is a marriage contract between families. Wolfram is a little young, perhaps, but waiting less than a decade won't put too much of a damper on the proceedings, and Lord Von Rochefort the younger can certainly wait."

It took all my willpower not to drop my jaw and stare at Evert. He couldn't… He wouldn't. Wolfram to that bastard? I might not have had much interaction with the Rochefort heir, but I'd seen his eyes and that was enough. Cold eyes opening to an ugly soul. Youthful high spirits with more than a tinge of pure malice.

I didn't doubt for a moment that my baby brother was tough. Physically he was a monster, the way he controlled his power at that age. He was assertive and bold. No one would ever push him around. But he was sensitive. He'd defend himself heroically, perhaps, and make anyone who wounded him regret it, but the damage would be done. And putting a bridegroom that much younger in the power of a cruel fiancé was heinous anyway. With Wolfram's rather fragile self-worth, the disaster could barely be worse.

Mother looked uncomfortable and Raven was very quietly glaring. Even Stoffel didn't really seem warmed to the idea. He might be a changed man, but no one could change that much.

But… They couldn't seriously intend to marry him at sixteen, could they? Yes, it was legal. Technically. But a marriage contract wasn't even valid until sixteen. A marriage before fifty was rare, before thirty almost unheard of. Once or twice the ceremony might take place at sixteen if circumstances demanded, but no one would let the couple live together.

Something told me circumstances would be made to demand and tradition might be waived. In Wolfram they'd have a hostage and their heir would have an easily damaged, pretty victim all to himself.

That would have to be my argument if I wanted to save my brother. I had no say, after all. Mother and Evert did. I'd never forgive her if she was swayed by her husband, but like Wolfram's retaliation, my anger would serve no purpose. The damage would be done. Between Evert and the Rocheforts my little brother would be made a pawn.

"Wolfram's too young. The contract wouldn't be binding." I tried to stay calm. It was all I could do. Express my real concerns and the façade of friendliness would shatter.

"Well, of course the agreement would technically be informal…" I was surprised to note Von Rochefort wasn't glaring at me. He was almost smiling. A very good actor? Or… what was I doing? What trap was I walking into? Now I was almost afraid to speak.

For Wolfram. "It's altogether inadvisable. The alliance would be desirable, but Wolfram is a child." I thought of another card to play. Probably one that would make various family members even more annoyed with me, but I needed to make sure this didn't happen. Quickly. If I gave Evert time to regain his foothold…

He'd have a son the child, legally, of royal families past and present, as well as tied to two of the wealthier among the Ten. And not even have to give up his heir. His advantage here was also mine.

"Besides, the alliance would be strongest if it encompassed future heads of families. Being the Maou's son really confers no official power. Wolfram won't inherit the Bielefeld title." He stood a decent chance of taking over the Spitzberg household if Stoffel didn't adopt his own heir or get married and produce one. Hopefully no one would think of that at the moment.

"Or current heads."

"What?" I kicked myself under the table for being wrong-footed enough to blurt the question out so foolishly, but I'd expected another cool, reasoned argument, not a glib response and a sort of wicked smirk. Von Rochefort looked an awful lot like his son, now that I was looking.

"Dirk originally expressed interest in a contract with you, Lord Von Von Voltaire. I thought your younger brother would be the better candidate, as he's likely to be at court more, but I had neglected to consider his older brothers on the Bielefeld side. A contract with you would of course be equally desirable."

I could practically hear the metallic snap as his trap closed around me. Turn down the contract and I doomed my baby brother. Let the alliance pass and, while keeping the Rocheforts from digging their claws into more power, I reopened hostilities. I didn't have a damn choice.

'Equally desirable," I echoed idiotically. Never since my father's death had I wished more for someone to take charge of the situation for me, for someone to be the grown up. I was nearly a hundred years old, perhaps, but I didn't really feel that qualified me to carefully and diplomatically handle throwing myself to the lions.

Evert was glaring at me, but the others looked relieved. I'd pulled Wolfram's head out of the noose, at least. There was that to be said. I stood up, trying not to let my knees shake. The good of nation and family, particularly youngest brother, demanded that I not lose my footing. That I not let myself look pale and horrified.

"I assume the usual contract will be sufficient. Circumstances aren't particularly unique." My voice sounded clipped even to me. Oh, now Evert was smiling. It was surely obvious to all how appalled I was, but everyone else had the discretion to hide obvious enjoyment of my distress. "I'll meet with Dirk Von Rochefort later, of course. After dinner seems appropriate. We'll have plenty to discuss. I hadn't realized I'd caught his eye."

"You must have quite the right hook," Evert said mildly. But for the slightest little twitch of my eye I managed not to show a thing. I think.

"But for the time being," I said through gritted teeth. "I'm feeling a bit ill again." In case Rochfort needed reminding of another amusing victory.

"My best wishes for your health," he answered mildly. I made myself nod politely and walk slowly and calmly out of the room. When I opened the door I knocked Conrart over and almost broke the glass he had pressed to the wood.

I picked it up and shoved it into his hands. "Just use the keyhole. It works just as well. Now take that back to the kitchen."

He just gaped at me for a second. "Are you really gonna…?"

"Yes." I started walking. Fond as I was of my brother, I frankly didn't want to see anyone right now.

He followed. "But… Gwendal I've seen him practicing out in the yard. You can just tell when someone fights that dirty in practice bouts. He's…"

"I know." I swallowed. "Me or Wolfram."

"I wish I could help."

He really did. I stopped for a moment and ruffled his hair. "I'd still chose me."

"Uh-huh."

"Don't tell him."

There was a pause, and I was afraid I might have to convince him. However, the ways I generally used to coerce Conrart all were beyond me right now. I wasn't in a mood for noogies, even where they clearly needed to be applied. "I won't."

"Good." He'd have understood. That was the problem with clever children. "I'm going upstairs to rest some. If you see Gunter, tell him not to come up. I'll just be sleeping. He doesn't need to."

Conrart looked at me levelly for a moment. "No."

"What?" Did I need to apply the usual tortures after all? My heart just really wasn't going to be in it.

"No. You'll feel better if Gunter visits you." One couldn't tell with Conrart. He had such a perfect deadpan voice, such a flawless mask. Came of growing up too fast, learned both travelling with his father and living in Shin Makoku, always as half the other. If Conrart didn't want to be read, he was unreadable. I had no idea whether he'd simply noticed who my best friend was or if he knew the truth.

And before I could even try to think of a way I might figure out which, he turned and left me. I waited another moment and then walked up to my room. Anissina was waiting with a glare, but the moment she actually met my eyes she dropped not only the domineering glower but the pair of sharpened knitting needles.

"Gwen, what happened?"

"To ensure a cessation of hostilities on either side I've agreed to a marriage contract with the Rocheforts."

I sat on the bed with my knees to my chest in another moment of feeling fifty years younger than I was. Anissina sat beside me silently. After a long moment she rested her hand on my shoulder.

Had they planned it all along? Voltaire was a bit larger and more fruitful than the Bielefeld province, though no richer. I wouldn't be as easy to control as Wolfram, but I also was more likely to have Mother's ear, as well as Stoffel's, at least. Any control exerted would be put to immediate good use. I was still a perfectly good hostage. And I was already possessed of military credentials, whereas Wolfram was unlikely to ever join the regular army. He really didn't have the temperament for it.

Maybe it was me Rochefort wanted. Maybe it was just taking advantage of a momentary shift. They had about the same tactical advantage whichever of us was imprisoned by this damn contract. Either way, not only had I lost Gunter forever within minutes of having finally hoped to have him in my reach. I was where I'd exalted in never having to be, a loveless political marriage to a distasteful stranger.

I was his or no one's, was I? I was a pawn, just as he'd warned me not to be. I was a rat in a trap, a stupid kid who'd walked right into an obvious snare.

The storm had stopped almost before it began, and now the little spatter of rain was turning to an intolerable steam that made the air as heavy as I felt. Outside a bird shrieked a mockery of my hopes of a good omen. I stretched out on my stomach and buried my face in the pillow. Anissina stayed for a few minutes, sighed, and left me.

I pulled Gunter's handkerchief from its accustomed pocket and held it to my cheek for a moment, then tucked it back away next to my heart. I needed whatever strength it could lend me right now.

Bonus: An excerpt from Gwendal's poetry notebook. There's a reason he didn't want Anissina distributing this drek to a wider audience, but just for fun.

When upon the lilac boughs falls the vernal rain

There appear the fleeting jewels of passing spring arcane.

A whisper of a zephyr blowing through the quaking bloom

Disseminates the fragile soul of rain and sweet perfume.

The scattered drops slide down the grain of flower, leaf, and stem,

Each one to me upon my skin a brief and blessed gem,

Each one a kiss from he I love in blossom, spring, and rain,

He who will soon beneath the hedge kiss me himself again.

…Well, I know I'm embarrassed for him, and the guy's a fictional character.