Daughters and Sons of the Horned Rat,
Like all of you, I have learned that a terrible tragedy has struck the border of Kislev. The only thing I will do without hesitation or fear of being wrong is to send my support to those of you who would be affected by this war, directly or indirectly. May what has been destroyed can be rebuilt, whether material goods or lives.
I would like to take this opportunity to thank Mennina and Navanastra for their support, which is more than welcome for me at this time, when I am entering a somewhat hectic period. Thanks to them for their latest drawings that I invite you to discover on DeviantArt, on the ChildrenOfPsody page.
Glory to the Horned Rat!
The main gate of the city of Steinerburg was by far the largest, widest, and tallest. Facing northwest, the direction of the Empire, it was a few miles from the foot of the hill on which the city itself extended. Sixty feet high, forty wide, it symbolized the pride of the capital of the Rat Kingdom: a city completely restored in just a few years, through hard work accomplished with professionals. A solid, determined, flourishing city in the middle of once barren plains, now suitable for the best harvests.
The guards posted on the ramparts had a magnificent view, and nothing coming from the main road which led to the city could escape them. The ground was clear for miles around. The darkest night was necessary to allow someone isolated to approach the walls of Steinerburg without being detected.
Also, the defenders of Steinerburg could not ignore the presence of the delegation which was heading towards the capital with great fanfare.
There were about ten horsemen, tall men protected by elaborate armours, with impressive decorations. Each wore a multi-coloured tabard, a sparkling shield, and a sword at the side. The horses were protected by equally colourful caparisons.
Behind this regiment, about thirty foot soldiers, all wearing a red and gold uniform, followed the leaders at a regular pace to the rhythm of the drums.
Sergeant Säger, on duty that morning, didn't hesitate long when he saw this delegation. He immediately sent one of his men fetch Captain Klingmann. The cohort was only a few minutes' walk from the gates when the spotted Skaven arrived on the ramparts.
- Damn it! he grumbled nervously pulling his moustache. We don't need this!
- They don't look like locals, Captain, the Sergeant muttered.
- They don't, indeed. This is the first time I see this kind of equipment...
- Estalians? Imperials?
- No, Bretonnians!
Klingmann and Säger turned simultaneously to a soldier. The Sergeant asked:
- Are you sure, Private Gebraut?
- Absolutely, Sergeant. Before coming in this kingdom, I did a year's service in Bretonnia, by order of my Graf. All nobles had such stuff.
Walter's gaze then lingered on the imposing banner presented by the leading Knight. It represented a white horse in its entirety, rearing up on a red background, surrounded by a golden frame.
- Soldiers, something is telling me we're about to walk on eggshelves. Sergeant Säger?
- My Captain?
- Get four full regiments. We'll receive them, I shall listen to what they want, but let us remain on our guard.
- From Bretonnia?
- Yes, your Majesty. Well, more precisely, from Pourseille. It is a town located on the border of Vereinbarung, to the west, a few days away from Hoffnungshügel. According to the Temple of Verena, the population is predominantly Bretonnian. The burgomaster is called Henri de Beyle, he is a little Bretonnian Lord who came to try his luck here.
- Ah, I remember him, indeed. I must have met him a couple of times, no more. He seems very quiet to me.
- Until now, he has always paid the taxes, obeyed the laws, and made no fuss, your Highness. On the other hand, the leader of this delegation claims to come directly from Bretonnia. His own Lord is currently installed at de Beyle's.
- Has this messenger announced clearly his intentions, Captain Klingmann?
- Not yet, your Excellency, but they didn't seem very friendly to me.
- Hum… In this case, it would be wiser to take precautions. Fetch my two eldest grandsons, Captain. Then you will bring in the messenger. You will remain outside the throne room, ready to intervene if necessary.
- At your command, your Highness.
A few minutes later, the large double doors of the throne room opened. The two brothers were each standing at one side of the throne. Kristofferson glanced briefly at Sigmund. The Black Skaven remained impassive, but already the smell of distrust was tickling the brown Skaven's nostrils.
Three Humans entered the reception hall, three very tall, muscular, stern-looking fellows. All three wore impressive heavy ornate armour, decorated with symbols carved into the metal, with a colourful tabard and an intricately embroidered cape. Each held in his left hand a helmet surmounted by a crest in the effigy of a fantastic animal: dragon, unicorn and hippogriff.
The knight with the hippogriff helmet advanced and planted himself at the foot of the dais on which the throne was placed. This tall man had a ruddy complexion, long blond hair, and a well-trimmed goatee. His clear eyes darted a look of steel, which would have destabilized more than one interlocutor. Not the Prince, who remained focused.
- Be welcome to the Kingdom of Vereinbarung, Sir Knight.
The Bretonnian gave a small nod, and spoke in a voice tinged with an accent that neither of the two Skaven had ever heard.
- My name is Guillaume de Lombard. I am the Standard-Bearer of Lord Horace de Vaucanson, who is himself a Knight Banneret of the Province of Montfort.
- Very well, Sir de Lombard. To what do I owe the honour of your visit?
The Knight cleared his throat, and announced:
- I represent my Lord, therefore, as an emissary, I am protected by diplomatic immunity.
- You have nothing to fear, Sire de Lombard. Citizens who don't exhibit our features nevertheless share our upbringing and values. You must have figured that out already, haven't you?
- My word, Prince Ludwig Steiner; but my Lord is not of this opinion. He deplores the development of a society where ratmen mix with honest people.
- I don't see how that concerns or worries him, de Lombard. The people of Vereinbarung live very well in harmony, and even if that was not the case, Bretonnia has nothing to fear from us. If King Louen Leoncoeur is worried, I invite him to come and see by himself our society rests on the same sound and solid foundations as yours.
- That is not the point, Prince Steiner. This is the opinion of my Liege. The Principality of Vereinbarung represents in his eyes a vile and shocking aberration, which must be opposed. Lord Horace de Vaucanson considers as his duty to smother the fire before it spreads. Also, through my intermediary, he has the advantage of declaring war on you, Prince Ludwig Steiner. Unless you surrender immediately, the army of Lord de Vaucanson will march to your capital. Any citizen who agrees to submit to us will be accepted as a vassal. Any citizen who refuses will become a renegade, and will be thrown in prison.
Sigmund's ear twitched nervously at the words. The rhythm of his heart accelerated abruptly. He had trouble hearing the Prince who asked, without losing his composure:
- If Lord de Vaucanson wishes collaboration, he doesn't need such extreme means. If he wants, I can even send him some Humans and Skaven to help him finish some construction?
- I said "the citizens". We don't consider as citizens this unclean brood snatched from your sewers.
Kristofferson felt an unpleasant tingle tickle his vertebrae. Even though Sigmund remained impassive, the musk of fury that emanated from him was almost visible to the naked eye.
- Do you know you have just insulted my whole family, Sire de Lombard? These two gentlemen by my side are my two grandsons. Their mother is my daughter by adoption. I resent seeing the herald of a Bretonnian Lord speak like this about my subjects and my lineage, though he didn't come with friendly intentions anyway.
The Standard-Bearer took a cylindrical leather case from his pouch. The Prince made a small gesture towards Kristofferson. The brown Skaven approached de Lombard, and handed the case to his grandfather. Steiner opened it, and pulled out a sheet of paper. He took a few seconds to read it.
- It is a declaration of war in good and due form, he noted aloud.
- His Lordship Horace de Vaucanson will know how to be magnanimous, and grants you a period of one week to prepare your submission. After this time, we will send our army to pacify the Rat Kingdom, village by village.
- You will thank your Lord on my behalf for his generosity, the Prince quipped. I won't fail to show him how well we know how to give any visitor the hospitality he deserves, especially if he comes to Steinerburg.
- Whatever your decision, get used to naming this city the "Little Couronne".
Without turning his head, Steiner made quickly flutter his eyes towards the two Skaven. None of them had reacted, but he felt they were on the verge of explosion, especially the younger one. He wanted to temper the Bretonnian.
- You seem sure of yourself, Sir Guillaume de Lombard. Would your Lord have gathered such a large army?
- We have the numbers, we have the equipment, but above all we have the support of the Lady of the Lake. Our faith assures us of unity. All of our soldiers are devoted to the same cause, and by the power of the Grail, we will defeat the Rats who inhabit this Kingdom.
- Do you think my soldiers and my citizens do not have the same unity? They all have built this Kingdom with their own hands, and protect it with all their might. Others than you have tried to overthrow us, they are no longer there to regret it.
The blond Knight cleared his throat, and a nasty little smile slipped on his lips.
- Your citizens need your leaders to keep this unity: the military, the clergy, the scientists, and the members of the Princely Family. Now, what would happen if all these people were to disappear, one after the other?
- Could you be clearer, Sire de Lombard, please?
- I can, Prince Steiner. I've heard your Master Mage had a… light digestive problem lately.
The tall Black Skaven felt his fur catch fire. He decided to act. He took a step forward and asked firmly:
- What did just you say?
De Lombard didn't react. He continued to the attention of the Prince:
- Who knows, maybe the next banquet could be struck by a similar misfortune?
- I've just asked you a question, de Lombard! Sigmund barked.
- That's right. De Lombard, please look at my grandson and respond. If you don't like his face, at least have the decency to respect his person!
For the first time, the Bretonnian Knight deigned to turn his head towards the Black Skaven.
- You were present that evening, perhaps?
- You seem rather well-informed for someone who has nothing but contempt and disdain for us!
- One does not prevent the other, quite the contrary; you have to know your enemy before you face him, and we have been watching you for some time now. So the news ended up reaching the ears of our host, de Beyle, there is nothing surprising, Sir... Sigismund, is that it?
- "Sigmund", more precisely Captain of the Black Guard of Vereinbarung, and son of Prospero Steiner, of whom you speak with a very outrageous casualness!
- Your passion is touching, although a little clumsy.
- I can show you who's clumsy!
- Calm down, Sigmund, ordered the Prince calmly. And you, Sire de Lombard, are you insinuating that the Lord of Vaucanson would have some responsibility in this tragedy?
- I am not insinuating anything, your Highness, I am observing. On the other hand, I do not much like to see you suppose any complicity between my Lord and vulgar poisoners.
Sigmund took a second step toward de Lombard, his hand clutching the hilt of his sword.
- I've heard Bretonnians like duels, huh? So, accept mine!
- I didn't come for that, young man.
- "Captain Steiner", Sir Guillaume de Lombard! You insult us, you threaten us, and you refuse to face the consequences? You're a coward!
The two other Knights were about to draw in turn. Kristofferson leapt forward and grabbed his brother's arm with his right hand.
- Stop it, Siggy! You do not raise your hands on an official messenger!
- LET HIM DIE!
Sigmund shook himself to force the brown Skaven to release his hold. But this one, quicker, drew his own rapier from its scabbard with his left hand and struck him with the pommel on the back of the skull. Sigmund collapsed, immediately knocked out.
The doors to the throne room swung open to reveal Captain Klingmann and three of his soldiers.
- Your Highness, is there a problem?
- Not at all, Captain, don't panic. On the other hand, take Captain Steiner to the barracks, I will take care of him once I am done with our guest.
On an order from Klingmann, two of the soldiers lifted the great Black Skaven, and all five quickly left the throne room, under the amused eye of the Bretonnian emissary.
- If this is the way the Captain of your Elite Guard behaves, there is nothing to worry about. Our victory is already achieved.
In turn, Kristofferson felt his patience slip away.
- De Lombard…
- Enough! Steiner cut in a loud voice.
The Prince descended from his throne with a brisk step, and stood before Lombard. The Bretonnian didn't blink.
- Go back to your Lord, and tell him I have no intention of watching him set fire to my Kingdom without doing anything. If he wants war, he'll get war. Each of his actions which would be detrimental to the humblest peasant, to the most miserable commoner, will be sanctioned as it should be, and without delay. And if I find out, somehow, that my son was murdered on his instructions, I will deliver him to King Louen Leoncoeur, and I will arrange for him to be tried and permanently disgraced according to your laws.
- We are not in Bretonnia, Prince Steiner. The King has no authority here, unless you agree to take an oath of obedience to him, of course.
- That's why I said "I'll deliver him to King Louen", and you'll be the next! So spoke the Prince!
Sir Guillaume de Lombard made a small pout, then left the throne room, closely followed by his two compatriots.
- Kristofferson?
- Yes, Opa?
- Accompany these gentlemen to the gates of the city and ensure that they have left the vicinity. You will report tonight.
- As you wish, Opa.
The brown Skaven left the room, leaving the tall Human alone with his worries.
Quarter an hour after the departure of the delegation, the Prince finished explaining the situation to his family. Heike, Gabriel, Bianka and Isolde had listened in silence. Gabriel hadn't dared to ask his grandfather why his two older brothers were absent.
- There you go, you know everything. It's official, and I'm sorry about it, but this Lord Horace de Vaucanson has declared war on us.
- What… what horror, stammered Isolde, tears in her eyes.
- I don't think he represents a great danger for us, my darling. Here we are safe from an army. But we will have to prepare to fight.
- This Lord has chosen his moment well! Heike grumbled. Between the child abductions and the... well, it's an extra misfortune!
- Mother, don't forget what the Standard-Bearer said: what happened to Father may be their fault!
- I know, Bianka, I know! But we shouldn't lose our calm, it would make us more vulnerable.
- You are absolutely right, my angel. We have to act with tact and organization. In my opinion, our army will be sufficient to dislodge de Vaucanson from Pourseille, but we'll have to make sure of it first. From this evening, I will send scouts. And if it turns out that his army is bigger than expected, we will ask our allies for help.
- Are you thinking of Prince Calderon?
- For example, Bianka, but I hope not to come to that. I'm thinking more of Bretonnia itself.
Gabriel jumped.
- Wh… what? But… they are at war with us!
- Horace de Vaucanson doesn't represent the whole Bretonnia on his own. I will seek the help of the Grail Knights. Even outside of Bretonnia, a true Lord cannot do whatever he pleases without being accountable to the guarantors of Bretonnian Courtesy. Invading a Kingdom that lives under the Human customs without provocation or immediate danger is frowned upon by the code of conduct of the Nobles of that country.
- Do you think they would agree to give us a hand?
- Bretonnian Courtesy is sacred, Bianka. A noble Bretonnian who soils it also stains the reputation of the Lady of the Lake and the power of the Holy Grail, even if he commits such acts outside the borders of the Kingdom of Bretonnia. The King can't let this pass. I shall write him a missive to this effect, as a precaution. Perhaps Horace de Vaucanson is acting under his orders, perhaps he's a renegade to the Crown already wanted by the Grail Knights.
- What if King Leoncoeur considers us in turn as vermin to be exterminated? Heike wondered. Even if de Vaucanson took an initiative without his opinion, the King may approve it? And join him in fighting us?
- If we prove to him that Skaven are equal to Humans on the soul level, he'll have to focus on Vaucanson's reasons for acting.
A succession of crazy images jostled in the mind of the High Archivist. She saw herself presented in the middle of a tribunal made up of stern-looking Humans who stared at her like a strange freak, she imagined stands ready to gut each other apart to recognize the Skaven's right or not to be recognized as citizens equal to Humans, Skaven parked in slums, forced to learn Bretonnian language and praise the Lady of the Lake...
Always eager to learn something despite the dramatic situation, the little light grey Skaven stammered:
- Uh… what is the Grail?
- A sacred and magical artefact in Bretonnian culture, answered the Prince. The Knights of Bretonnia worship a special Goddess, the Lady of the Lake. She owns an enchanted cup, and allows a sip of pure water to the most deserving Knights who perfectly embody the ideals of Bretonnia. A Knight who drinks this water then becomes a Grail Knight, a representative of the Lady of the Lake in our world.
- Even their King is a Grail Knight, specified Bianka.
This explanation puzzled Gabriel.
- You mean that Bretonnians worship a goblet? It's silly!
- That's not the point! the Prince sharply retorted. Everyone has their own beliefs. We do revere the Sigmar's Hammer, which is a very real object in the hands of Emperor Karl Franz. The Grail is just as real, and the Grail Knights' aura of courtesy is no mere legend. When I lived in Altdorf, I had the opportunity to visit the palace of Emperor Karl Franz when he received the King Louen Leoncoeur. My father had been invited, among other influential personalities at Court, and I accompanied him.
- So you have seen the King of Bretonnia for real?
- I saw him from afar for a short moment, and yet, my little Gab, I can assure you that he almost eclipsed the Emperor who was walking by his side, by his only presence. Well, we have no time to waste. We have to organize ourselves, know how many there are precisely and how they are equipped. No way to wait until they have reached Steinerburg having destroyed everything in their path.
Ludwig Steiner looked at his daughter and his three grandchildren one after the other.
- I am counting on you to remain even stronger in the face of this new challenge. I need you all.
Sigmund was furious.
He had waked up with a throbbing pain in his head, and immediately recognized the walls and bars of one of the barracks cells. Once again, the Black Skaven was in prison.
He couldn't have felt anything but burning anger.
First, towards this Bretonnian Knight who had taken advantage of his status as a messenger to despise and provoke him.
Then, towards his grandfather, who was more than likely the one who ordered this new incarceration.
But he didn't know if he was even angrier with himself, or with the other.
The Captain of the Black Guard tried desperately to replay this idea over and over again in his mind: he had only got what he deserved. Normally, unless there was a direct threat to his or someone else's life, an official messenger was an untouchable person. This Guillaume de Lombard would probably tell his Suzerain the dismal conclusion of their discussion, maybe de Vaucanson would exploit this weakness to his advantage?
There was much to be angry with himself, but that anger was intermittently eclipsed by another, equally violent, with the Bretonnian Lord who had had the audacity to send them a challenge.
De Vaucanson… That name alone sounded like a cry of rage in Sigmund's mind. All the anger, the despair, the desire to avenge his father was now concentrated in this person.
First, what could this dastardly person look like, who had planned the poisoning of the Master Mage before sending his arrogant minion to provoke Prince Steiner?
Sometimes Sigmund saw him as a miserable, fearful little worm, hiding behind his throne and counting on his champion to defend him, sometimes Sigmund imagined him as a formidable fighter, taller than Jochen Gottlieb, muscular as a Black Orc, and capable of breaking a bear's spine with his bare hands. It was a better prospect, Sigmund wanted to face a really tough opponent, and not a wimp.
But whatever the representation of this Bretonnian was, it always ended up gutted, massacred, crushed under his blows.
Sigmund wanted to face him fairly and defeat him by the rules, but his instinct, tickled by Black Hunger, wanted to commit carnage even worse than what had suffered Iapoch, the Grey Seer put to death by his father six months earlier.
Every time anger leaned towards his good conscience, he blamed himself for having threatened de Lombard. Every time anger swayed towards de Vaucanson, bloodthirsty thoughts flared in his brain.
Finally, he couldn't hold it any longer, and blurted out:
- I shall KILL HIM!
Prince Ludwig Steiner sighed. He had just walked through the door to the hallway of the cells to go talk to his grandson. What he had heard just now convinced him that there was nothing to hope for now. However, he wanted to finish what he was about to begin.
Sigmund could smell his grandfather through the bars that held him back. The sound of the Prince's shoes on the cold cobblestones dispelled his last doubts. Finally, the tall, imposing figure of the founder of the Rat Kingdom appeared to him.
- You fooled around again, Sigmund.
The Black Skaven didn't want to give him time for a new sermon. He threw himself on the bars, and exclaimed:
- Opa, I got it, now I have to get out of here!
Steiner tried to keep calm. He breathed calmly, and answered:
- It's up to me to decide. Siggy, I can't let you leave this cell right now. I remind you that you almost caused a diplomatic incident.
- What?! An incident? Opa, do you realize what you're saying? Those Bretonnians murdered my father! Your son! Now their delegation comes to taunt and threaten us, and you don't flinch?
The Prince's gaze then became menacing. His features twitched.
- Siggy, raising a hand on a diplomatic messenger on a mission is a very serious crime, even if he allows himself to abuse the rules of hospitality.
- This damn Lord will understand he attacked the wrong person! I hate him! I hate him! I can't even bear the idea he can breathe the same air as me, in the same country as me! As soon as I get out of there, I'll break him in two!
The Prince replied:
- Come on, my boy, what is the use of displaying so much hatred? It only destroys you!
- HE KILLED MY FATHER! YOUR SON! How can you let this happen? It's worse than a declaration of war!
- We have no proof, Siggy! De Lombard made an allusion, but he didn't claim responsibility for this act!
- You know Vaucanson did, the coincidence is too big! Anyway, he declared war on us! However, you let his bootlicker leave as if nothing had happened?
- I repeat to you that de Lombard is a messenger, whose role is to carry the declaration of his Lord, and that this makes him untouchable, whatever he may do! You know that well, don't you?
- So what? If he had insulted you or pissed on the carpet, would you have let it happen? If he had kicked your ass, would you have let it happen?
- Don't be stupid, Sigmund! You know it's not the same thing. No, I wouldn't have let it happen, but he didn't do anything you just said! He spoke badly, sure, but he didn't do anything more offensive.
- And yet, you let him slip through your fingers after letting him laugh at you. This is not worthy of a real Prince!
At these words, Steiner's gaze became penetrating.
- You think I'm not fulfilling my duties as a monarch?
Sigmund detected the hint of annoyance in his grandfather's voice, that slight nuance that usually preceded a storm. But he was determined to face him.
- I think so and I affirm it, Opa: a Prince who fully assumes his role doesn't let strangers kill his son under his roof and threaten his country without retaliating. If you really are the Prince you claim to be, then organize the general mobilization of the army, put me in command of the soldiers of Vereinbarung, and I will bring you the head of this cursed Bretonnian!
- That's what I'll do, Sigmund. But I can't let you go.
- Why, by Verena's Scale?
- Because you are clearly not in condition to command a troop! So look at yourself! Do you really think you could show enough discernment and discipline to lead a battalion and win, when you can't even restrain yourself from brutalizing a messenger covered by diplomatic immunity?
- I'll do it in the rules: let this miserable coward come before me, him versus me. Not only will I win, but I will ridicule his name so much in front of all his vassals that they will all swear allegiance to us and change side to avoid dying of shame!
Ludwig Steiner remained silent. He sighed, shook his head, and left the room, leaving the big Black Skaven all alone. As he headed for the stairs to go back up to the exit, the Prince heard his grandson shouting again:
- Let me out, and I'll make our family proud! Give the right orders, and Horace de Vaucanson will no longer be a threat to anyone within a week!
The only response he got was the sound of the heavy door separating the cells from the rest of the barracks.
The High Archivist had a terrible headache.
Once again, supper had been really painful. This time, two chairs had remained unoccupied. And the patriarch had decided to answer without a lie the fatal question that Gabriel had posed. If the tall Black Skaven had been absent, it was because he had finished the day in prison. A place where he was going to have to stay for a few days, "time for him to think about his mistakes".
Gabriel had been deprived of one of his appointed protectors, and had immediately had a nervous breakdown. Kristofferson had to put him to bed, after a long, long attempt to reassure him.
Isolde had burst into tears, and nor her mother, her grandfather or her sister succeeded to soothe her grief, slumber did.
A good sleep was probably a good benefit for everyone, her first. But it was still relatively early, so it was possible to occupy her mind with something else before going to bed.
The young ratgirl entered the small office where she used to accomplish her personal work of writing and reading. The missal dedicated to Manann offered by Clarin was still on the table. She had worked a lot with the books of Prince Calderon's ambassador, and had learned to speak Estalian without too much difficulty. She had written the last letter she had sent to him with this language, and the latter had replied in the same way, congratulating her on the quality of her writing. When she read that reply, she couldn't say which had pleased her more: Clarin's encouragement, or the fact that she had understood every word of his missive.
And so, when she was not working on the inventory of the Girotti fund, she devoted herself to the study of the language of Estalia. Thanks to her exceptional intellectual faculties, this apprenticeship didn't pose a problem for her. A few more weeks and she would be able to hold a conversation in the living room of a Magritta merchant prince.
The sight of the many books piled up on the shelves relieved her stress a little. The bound volumes reminded her of the temple at Verena, of the days when she had learned to read, of the little moments when she helped Isolde decipher the characters on the Talabheimers' storybook brought back by their grandfather...
Everything was good to forget the events of this last day.
I don't believe it! Sigmund is in prison again, this is going to screw up everything I had planned! I'm going to have to put more hands in the dough!
Her heart sank when she realized that she felt more anger towards her brother than compassion. Did the huge Black Skaven really deserve such an anathema?
She awkwardly tried to justify herself: this anger was only a facade to hide her grief.
There you go, Siggy… After all, I am like you, and therefore I act like you! the ratgirl thought with a sad smile. It will never change.
She had to do something to support him, instead of pushing him down. If only to be at peace with herself. The next day, she would go to visit him. And certainly not to overwhelm him with reproaches.
In the meantime, the evening promised to be just as gloomy as the previous ones.
She decided not to think about it anymore, and settled down at her work table. But after a few minutes, she had to face the facts. She wasn't in condition to perfect her practice of Estalian.
She got up, rubbed her neck, and went into her bedroom. There was only her bed in the large room decorated with paintings representing landscapes from other countries, imported by the Prince. Isolde now occupied their mother's room. The little ratgirl was unable to find sleep otherwise.
Bianka was alone in the room.
Alone… I'm all alone… Maybe that will never change, either.
The temperature was stifling, the day had been very sunny, even for autumn, which was not displeasing to her, but the atmosphere of the room was heavy. She parted the curtains, opened the window and then the shutters. The cool evening air tickled deliciously her face, and the glow of Mannslieb flooded the room. In a flash, she saw in watermark the horrific image of an Eshin assassin pouncing on her. But she just shrugged, fatalistic.
She looked away, and her gaze slowly fell to her mattress, to lock onto it.
A dazzling envy then crossed her head and lower abdomen.
She heaved a guilty, resigned sigh.
She took off her jewellery first, and put it in a box on her dressing table. The reflection she saw in the mirror didn't please her. Despite the exercises she continued to do, she didn't recognize the freshness and firmness she used to see on her face. Fatigue, lassitude and fear ruthlessly imposed their unwelcome presence.
Then she stayed in front of her bed. She untied the buttons of her dress with an almost mechanical gesture, and let the fabric slide along her fur. The garment fell limply to the carpet, leaving the young ratgirl completely naked.
She took a deep breath, then lay back on the bed. The mattress hugged the shapes of her back and her hips. She felt her chest go up and down as she inhaled and exhaled. A small zephyr made her shiver, she smiled nervously.
So, she began to slide her delicate fingers over her body.