Alek knows they're going to have to leave Vienna the day his daughter comes home with a bloody nose.

He's in his study, answering some correspondence, when he hears a sniffle at the door. He glances up, then looks again, rising from his desk and halfway across the room before he can notice more than my daughter and blood.

"Sophie! What happened?"

She sniffs again. Her dress is filthy, her brown hair a mess, and tears are glittering in her eyes, but she lifts her chin defiantly. "I was fighting."

He sits her down in the chair in front of his desk and tips her face back, searching for damage. "Who?"

"F-freidrich," she says, her voice quavering as he gently examines her nose. But she isn't crying: Heaven forbid that his darling little girl cry over something so trivial as getting punched in the face. He pulls out his handkerchief and dabs at the drying blood on her chin.

She adds, "And Werner."

She seems to be all right, and the bleeding has already stopped. He sits back on his heels, giving her a stern look along with his handkerchief. She knows she's not supposed to fight – particularly not with the sons of Vienna's elite. "Sophie."

The defiance evaporates. Her gaze drops to her bruised knuckles, the bloodied handkerchief twisting between them. In a small voice, she says, "And Hans."

"Sophie."

His daughter sits up straight again, eight hundred years of Habsburg royalty (and untold generations of stubborn Glaswegians) blazing forth anew. "I had to! They were telling lies about you, Papa. And about Mama!"

He studies her. "What were they saying?"

"They called you a traitor!" she says, fiercely indignant. "And they called Mama – they called Mama a whore! I told them they'd better take it back, but they laughed at me. They laughed, Papa!"

Well. Alek suddenly hopes that Sophie got in a few good hits of her own before the fight was over, and he no longer feels like apologizing to the boys' parents. In fact… He cuts a glance at the sabers hanging on the wall, which, unfortunately, are purely for show. "So you fought them."

"Yes." She breaks into a ferocious grin; any trace of contriteness is long gone. "And I won! Three to one, Papa – that's quite difficult, you know."

He stands with a sigh, sticks his head out into the hall, and asks the maid to bring a bowl of water, a washrag, a towel, and some ice. Then he closes the study door.

"Your mother is going to be furious," he says, not adding with those boys. That might undermine this lecture.

But Sophie knows her mother, and the corner of her mouth curls up before she quickly adopts the pose of a pious, wounded innocent. "Please don't tell her I ruined my dress, Papa," she says.

Every morning at breakfast, Sophie presents herself with hair curled, ribbons tied, dress pristine, shoes polished. And the next time Alek sees her – be it in five minutes or five hours – she looks like she's been crawling through both a farm and a fuel intake valve. He doesn't know how she does it.

"I don't think it's the dress that she'll object to," he says.

Sophie touches her swollen nose with the handkerchief and can't quite hide her wince. "I just couldn't let them get away with – with saying those things. You understand, don't you, Papa?" Eyes wide and beseeching.

He looks at her. She might, he thinks wryly, have him completely wrapped about her finger, but at least he knows her tricks when he sees them. "I understand perfectly well. Where were your brothers during all of this?"

His daughter sniffs – derisively, this time. "Playing in the garden. With Nanny Liesel."

The maid knocks on the door and curtseys her way in with the requested items. Alek thanks her and dismisses her with an exchange of small, rueful smiles. All the staff are aware of Sophie's proclivities – and, it must be said, merely love her the more for them.

He dips the rag into the water and cleans the last of the blood off of his daughter's face. Then he wraps the ice in the towel and gives it her to hold against her nose. "I think it would be a good idea for you to join them, for the rest of the day. Go put on a clean dress first."

"But Papa –"

"Now," he says, bringing all of the authority of his own heritage to bear. "Your mother and I will discuss your punishment later."

"Yes, sir," Sophie says, finally, truly chastised.

"And the next time," he says, taking a seat behind his desk again, "that Friedrich, Werner, or Hans have something to say about your mother, remind them that she's not a bad shot, either."

It's rather the opposite of what he had originally thought to say, but he's pleased by his daughter's proud reaction to the words. Bella gerant alii will only take you so far, after all. Then you have to wage your wars… be them large or small.

"Yes, sir!" Sophie bounces up and out of his study – although not before darting around his desk and giving him a kiss.

Alek finishes his correspondence, then puts the pen down and rests his head in his hands. He had hoped to stay on in Vienna a while longer. Surely, he'd thought, the world had changed enough to allow his family a measure of peace, if not acceptance.

He ought to have known better.

"Deryn is going to kill those boys," he says aloud, and starts making arrangements, as his father once did, to move the household to Konopischt.