Note: This was inspired by a photo I saw on the Konopiste Castle website. (It's a museum these days – the Czech government seized it from the Hohenberg family after the war. Princess Sophie von Hohenberg filed a lawsuit in 2000 to get it back. Good luck with that, Your Serene Highness!)
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"Get rid of them?" Alek echoes, surprised. "Why on earth would I get rid of my father's hunting trophies?"
Deryn bites down on an exasperated groan. "Only because the entire barking room is covered in them, maybe?"
He looks around, as if he's never stopped to notice that this otherwise lovely part of Konopischt castle is bristling wall-to-wall with carefully mounted antlers. And this is only the one room: Alek's da had been mad for hunting, when he wasn't getting on the wrong sides of emperors, and all three stories and all four wings are stuffed full of the evidence.
Now Alek's inherited the whole lot, and if Deryn has her way, the trophies will be one remembrance left behind.
"Not the entire room. But why does it even matter?" he asks.
"It doesn't," she says, "unless you want me spending longer than five seconds here. Blisters, Alek, it's pure sodding creepy, having this many dead animals around!"
He puts his hands on his hips, princely and amused. "It's no less unsettling than all of those living fabrications that you Darwinists employ. Indeed, if you ask me, those are much worse than a few antlers. You are simply not used to them."
There's some truth to that, she's sure. Every aristocrat in Britain probably has scores of hunting trophies hanging about their estates. She wouldn't know; Konopischt is the only castle she's wandered through freely.
But the hunting trophies are still bloody disgusting. Fabs are one thing – they're bred for what they become, be it an airship or a fine leather jacket. Each of these trophies, however, mark a living animal killed purely for sport, and it turns her stomach, thinking about that.
She rolls her eyes. "Aye, and I'm not going to get used to them, because you're going to pack them away."
"I certainly will not. This is my home and I shall do as I please," he says – which would be absolutely insufferable, if he didn't have that gleam in his eyes that tells her he's only winding her up.
Well, two of them can play that barking game. "I'll move back to London, then," she says, stepping closer and putting her hands on her own hips.
"Excellent. Please do. I'm sure I'll have no trouble finding a young lady who adores hunting trophies." He gives her a wicked grin, obviously proud of himself for that sally – until he sees she's no longer smiling. His expression instantly changes to one of concern. "Deryn, I didn't mean –"
She hides her triumph (he's so barking easy to fool) and says, "I suppose I might be able to forgive you if you get rid of those trophies."
To his credit, she's not fooling him anymore. His eyes narrow and the grin reappears. "Hmm. I might, except I have yet to hear a compelling argument why I should."
"Barking spiders, Alek!" she exclaims, breaking into a smile as well, for all that she'd like to give the Dummkopf a good smack. "They're antlers, not wallpaper!"
His gaze flicks around the room again, resettling on her. "That's true enough. The walls will look very empty without them, however."
"So I'll draw some sketches and pin them up until we find something better. Though anything's better than antlers. Besides - a few years on, we don't want the sodding things scaring the children, do we?"
"Children?" he repeats, his grin softening into something infinitely more tender.
"Aye, they're a bit like lorises - clingy and repeat your words a lot - only you don't hatch them –"
He stops her talking with a kiss. It begins as one, anyway – his lips pressed against hers, his hands drawing her in close. It goes on for a rather long while, however, and by the time she remembers that they're supposed to be discussing proper wall hangings, her shirt is half rucked up and his jacket's off. To say nothing of where his hands have gone.
She leans back, heart pounding and knees a squick more wobbly than normal, and gives him an arch look. "You mean for us to start on the children sometime soon, then?"
"Absolutely. This very moment, if not -" He sucks in a breath as she lets her own hands wander south. "God's wounds - If n-not sooner."
"Fine by me, love," she says, "but first –"
"Some of them," he concedes, interrupting her. "I'll remove some of them."
"Aye, that's all I wanted," she says cheerfully, and kisses him again.
