"Are you thinking of her?"

Although asked with a level voice, he couldn't help but chuckle at the jealousy within those words. "She is my wife, after all, so it is only natural."

His companion didn't quite scoff, but the breath leaving his nose and slight jerk of his head certainly gave a similar impression.

That chuckle lingered as a smile. "Does it show?" he asked.

"It does. I noticed it first when you spoke of her, how gentle your expression grows."

He could believe that. "Is that so?" he muttered, his hand coming up as if to check how gentle, checking first his cheek before settling onto his chin.

For a moment, silence fell between them. He sat comfortably, held himself well, chin up with his gaze on the estate's grounds. At his side, his companion didn't fidget, yet there was no sense of peace in how he shifted his weight around, his breaths coming out as sighs, gaze low, flickering here and there.

Until finally his companion spoke. "Tell me there is no need to worry," he whispered.

He did not, did not answer right away, silence held a little longer for thoughts to fall into place. "I do love her greatly. That is not something I would deny. You of all people know my past, know it so intimately. What she has brought into my life is something I spent so many years yearning for and, even though I had given up on it, this time with her has… filled an ache in my heart I thought numb."

A chuckle came from his side. An empty chuckle. "I fear you misheard me and decided to give me reason to worry instead."

"Karl."

For a long second, his companion hesitated, then slowly turned to face him.

With a tender smile, he said again, "Karl."

His companion held his gaze, then—slowly—his lips curled, a broad smile colouring his pale face. "What is it, Éric? You would distract me with cheap tricks? Is that another thing she has taught you that I cannot?" he asked, his attempt at pettiness weak enough to break by that last word, ending in a whisper.

"What does my expression show now, when I think of you and you alone?"

Second by second, they stayed like that, only for his companion to soon break and turn away. "Who knows?" he muttered.

"I know, and I know you know for I see it on your face too," he whispered, then broke into a chuckle as he turned to look ahead once more, gaze on the grounds.

A modern estate, the only hint of farming being an orchard peeking over the rise of the land. What good leaving all this land unused did, he couldn't think of, yet that was, in the simplest sense, the point. While men went to war over land, this estate's owner could let this all lay idle.

At which point his expression grew gentle again. He had learned of his wife's provocations against those scheming merchants and, with what had happened with the Crown Prince, he naturally noticed a concerning pattern, all of which came right after her ordeal with the late Marquess of Bavaria.

So of course he had confronted her with the intention to bring back her sensibilities about this. He knew well how, after battles, some men seemed to remain in them with both a sense of paranoia and gruesome nightmares. Some curse of the mind those men could only ease out of with the support of their friends.

However, she had an answer intensely chilling for him: "Now that I have fulfilled my filial duty, there is no need for me to have a particular attachment to living. Whatever else I wish to accomplish with my life, I have made it so such things will naturally be accomplished with my death too."

What answer could he have given to that?

"Has she truly given you reason to think of her so much this trip?"

At that question, difficult in its own way, he could only sigh. "She has. However, I hope you understand that, as I would barely say a word of you to her, I shan't divulge matters between us to you."

His companion reached up and brushed at the little hair loose from his hat, then took a moment to neaten up up there. "That I understand it does not mean I like it."

In the moment of silence that followed, distant footsteps approached them. He took a deep breath and, in a blink, a certain composure came over him.

"Duke Bohemia, my thanks for hosting us on such short notice." His words, calm, spoken as he stood up and turned, warm smile on his face, eyes a touch pinched.

The man who had approached them held himself well, arms crossed, mouth thin as he stood a little away. Although the man had some weight on his face, it was not an empty weight. His posture not of one who spent his days idle.

"Whilst I have nothing but respect for Prince Frédéric, I am afraid I have reason to hold a grudge against Sir's wife. It is for her that Sir has come to visit, is it not?" he said, voice low, not hoarse, but roughened up by an indulged habit, even out in the fresh air a whiff of stale tobacco on the breeze.

He did not disagree, spreading his hands in silent acknowledgement. "These matters, I shan't lie nor mislead," he said, his voice quieter, but no less firm. "All I ask is for Your Grace to hear what I have to say. Whichever answer is given, not a word more need be spoken of it."

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Although the duke did not give a particular reaction, his disdain lingered in his eyes, a tense gaze that seemed to look through his guest to someone far, far away. "And if I should not even wish to hear her calculating words from another's mouth?" he said, a hint of strain to his voice.

He regarded the duke for a moment, then broke into a smirk. "Of course, I am here because she knows she is unwelcome, so my mouth will have to do."

The change in tone rendered the duke still, then he broke away with a shake of his head. "Sir knows the intended meaning."

"Indeed, I do, my answer intended for that meaning. My wife is someone who would not waste effort convincing someone to do something they do not wish to do," he said with a lightness.

"Really? I could be forgiven for thinking otherwise, given her last… visit," the duke said, hand coming up to press between his eyes.

"A visit she made knowing how desperate Your Grace was."

The duke broke into a sly smile, gaze returning to his guest's as his hand fell back into place. "Why, pray tell, should I be so desperate at this time, then? Has she knowledge of something I do not?"

He did not give an answer, his own expression melting into blank, yet he did not look away from the duke's eyes. "My wife… considers people as they are. In that regard, she is, perhaps, more exceptional than anyone else. So, she would not visit you as she knows well that you would not consider her proposal. However, I am different to my wife, I am willing to consider who people may rise up to become."

The duke listened well, then broke away once more, his head shaking as he turned around, a sigh falling from him. "Sir, I give this advice honestly as a sign of respect: Take care with her. She speaks well of grander things to convince others to do her evils."

"I would kill any other man for those words."

Slowly, the duke turned, mouth pulled into a broad, thin smile. "Lucky it is I who spoke them?"

He did not laugh, his face cold and hand on his hilt. "I came to speak to Duke Bohemia, ruler of these lands and these peoples," he said, and the calmness with which he spoke only made his words colder.

"Really? So far Sir has merely spouted that woman's nonsense, no doubt hoping to goad me into a war I have no interest in," the duke said, then gave a chuckle and asked, "Am I wrong?"

For a breath, his hand remained on his hilt, only for him to let go and raise his hand to gesture at the duke. "There is a company in her army, about a hundred men, made up of boys from families who fled your lands a decade ago. In our time together, they asked endlessly of my battles with King Sigismund. In return, they told me of fathers and brothers lost. Most poignant of all, they spoke in admiration of my wife, thankful for both sheltering them and for standing up to that monster when she had no need to."

Although he paused there, he still held the conversation in his hand, no one daring to so much as breathe while he lowered his head, a pained expression flashing, then raised it once more.

"I have seen with my own eyes what carnage this so-called Christian leaves behind in his wake. I have heard the stories of what his men do to those women they capture, what fate awaits the children. So yes, you are correct, I am here to drag you into war."

Step by step, he closed the gap between them until it was only a stride.

"Why is your grudge of greater importance?"

A quiet question, his voice half-broken, yet his anger showed clearly.

"Tell me, is my wife correct about you, or am I? Do you rule for yourself, or for your people?"

A quiet question, yet it sounded like a roar, every word righteous, gaze intense and mouth fierce.

The duke held that gaze for a few seconds, but only a few seconds. His head dropped and he turned away. After another long second, he quietly said, "This kind of conversation is ill-suited for such a place. Pray give me a moment and I shall prepare to receive Sir and My Lord."

"This place is well-suited to waiting, so there is no need to rush."

With that little exchange, the duke left, his footsteps taking him away from his guests at a steady pace. For a while, the guest watched, then he turned around, his gaze returning to the queer sight of such idle land.

"Is that a trick she taught you?"

The question came both wry and cold, yet he laughed hearing it, his chuckle lingering on his lips as a gentle smile. "If you listened to her rhetoric, you would understand the truth of what I mentioned. She is fundamentally convincing by finding common ground and positioning the conversation around reinforcing that. The rhetoric of a ruler. I, on the other hand, am a leader. It is my… duty to have such fervent beliefs that I inspire others to my cause."

"That is not an answer to my question."

He let out a sigh, his composure melting as he settled into a more relaxed posture. "In a sense. I have learned these lessons through the… opportunities she has given me. That aside…."

As his pause lengthened, his companion let out a sigh, then said, "Go on."

A smile, so gentle, fragile. "What I spoke of, did you not witness it with me?"

Quiet, his voice on the verge of breaking, fists clenched so tight that pain prickled where his nails met his palm. Meanwhile, his companion opened his mouth, yet the words seemed to be snatched back, taking a breath in and swallowing whatever he had been about to say. Instead, he bowed his head.

"Long ago, I thought us… better than our peers. That we alone would drink alongside any man and treat him as our brother. Now more than ever, I am keenly aware that I merely had a different kind of pretentiousness. We are not the same as the commoners. It does them no good to pretend otherwise, such games for our benefit alone.

"We may live merry lives telling ourselves that at least we would not hurt anyone, yet, in my heart, I yearn to… do good. That good which only I may do. This is that good. An ironic good. War, I do not think it may ever be good. What good is there in the murder of our fellow man? However, there shall always be others who embrace war, so we must be ready to show them that such a weapon can and will be turned against them."

His voice, gentle, at times ebbing, at times flowing, paused there a moment as he breathed in deeply, then let it out slowly.

"Although it is not the good written of in the Bible, although it is not the good preached by the Church, I wish to live by the good I believe in with all my heart. Perhaps God shall judge me for it. I… want to believe He shall understand. This is who I am—this is how He made me—and this is how I would do good."

His disparate thoughts now finally crystallised, thoughts that had tormented him for a lifetime. A simple acceptance. Whatever doubts he once had, whatever fears, however much he had hated himself, he now stood tall—not in defiance of those parts of himself, but embracing them. A simple kindness that he had offered others which he now dared show himself.

"So no," he whispered, voice hoarse and small smile warm, "this is not her trick. For all those people who would call her evil, she cannot compel others to violence. That is my trick. The lesser evil, a necessary evil, but evil nonetheless."

His companion showed a pained expression, yet couldn't step closer, his words alone all the comfort he could give in such a place—one word spoken with such gentleness. "Éric…."

"Let us speak of more pleasant things lest I give our host a queer expression upon his return," he said, an empty cheerfulness to his voice. "If he should accept, we shall be enjoying Bohemian wine for some time."

For a moment, his companion continued to look at him with such an expression, then looked away, emotions fading until only a small smile remained. "Perhaps I shall meet a nice lady to marry."

A burst of laughter escaped him, breathless, and he couldn't help but chuckle after his next breath. "Perhaps you shall."

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