Interlude I – The Rooster’s First Cry

Imperial Count Philipp von Silberthal stared incredulously at the letter on his desk.

“That is ridiculous,” he muttered. “What in Christ’s name is Prince Ludwig thinking?”

“He probably has his reasons, given that girl’s temperament,” his wife replied, exasperated.

“This is not the time for jokes, Antonia,” he sighed. “Her history with the Prince does not warrant such treatment. This is an insult to House Silberthal.”

“...I shall write to the Duchess, to express our displeasure.”

“You shall not,” he ordered. “Georg?”

The door opened, revealing the old chamberlain’s bowed form. “Yes, Mylord?”

“Princess Dorothea’s private teacher. Johann Gottlieb Seidel. He was the one interested in a professorship at the university of Weissenberg, right?”

“Yes, Mylord.”

“See to it that it happens.”

Georg exited with another bow. Antonia frowned.

“Duke August will not like that.”

“He is not supposed to.”

“Can we really afford to antago–”

“We can, more than ever,” he said, tapping the letter. “If even half of what Katharina wrote is true, the East is moving much faster than we anticipated. It is Sonnenfeld who cannot afford to antagonize us.”

“...You believe her?”

“I do not think she would lie to us about associating with the Hohenfels heir and the Eisenberg girl. That is hardly a prestigious thing to do in our circles.”

“So, why are we putting any value on it?”

“Because the next generation of Falkenstein, Greifenau, Eisengrund, and apparently even Westmark is openly accepting Young Lord Arnold’s new title already. Though I suppose poor Leonhardt did not have much choice in the matter.”

“I will send a letter to Castle Wessen posthaste,” Antonia said, immediately recognizing the opportunity.

“Do that, please. Contact Lady Adelheid as well, if you would.”

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“...Are you certain, dear?”

“As certain as can be. We cannot afford to be late to this particular event. Make sure to refer to their Young Lord as ‘Prince’, too.”

Antonia shook her head in mild irritation, but did not complain.

Just as she set out for her own study, the sound of hasty boots on stone floor rang through the corridors.

“Lord Philipp!” The exhausted messenger had wide eyes and panic written on his features.

The Count sat up straighter. “What is it?”

= = = = =

Margrave Arnold von Hohenfels stood in his study atop the tower, looking out over the wide bogland below.

“I admit, I underestimated our son.”

Adelheid chuckled softly. “Reading between the lines, it seems like he stumbled into most of his successes.”

“Even so, it must have taken him some effort. What do you make of the Schwarzwald situation?”

His wife mulled it over for a minute. “Princess Charlotte is clearly up to something, but I cannot tell what it is. The arranged marriage with that greasy Count sounds like an excuse. Though I suspect this is a personal project of hers, judging from the last letters I exchanged with her mother.”

“Should we investigate?”

“Let’s leave it to him and that Silberthal girl. It is their battlefield, not ours.”

“Right,” Arnold chuckled. “That said, we should probably contact Count Philipp. Perhaps even Margrave Leonhardt, for good measure.”

“We shouldn’t,” Adelheid disagreed. “Let them come to us.”

“If you say so,” he shrugged, trusting his wife’s instincts. They had rarely led Hohenfels astray, after all. “Did you hear anything from your sister regarding Erzfeld?”

“Nothing yet. They’re still figuring out the finances.”

“All right, then. I never thought I’d be happy to hear about Fritz almost killing a princess.”

Adelheid sighed deeply. “There is little to be happy about, all things considered. The Academy seems to be reinforcing his worst tendencies. I worry for the boys.”

“Good thing we sent Lisa ahead of schedule, then.”

“Indeed. She will get him under control.”

A deafening knock at the study door made both of them flinch.

“Enter.”

A tall man, still clad in muddy riding clothes, entered, almost collapsing on the floor from exhaustion. “Lord Arnold, we– Argh–”

“Breathe, Karl,” Arnold ordered. He could feel a vague sense of fear and urgency radiating from the knight, putting the Margrave on edge immediately.

Karl took a few gulping breaths, then found coherent words.

“Lord Arnold, there is trouble brewing in Francia. The people have seized their king. He is imprisoned, and rumors said he is to be executed within the year.”

Arnold and Adelheid sharply rose from their chairs. “A revolt?” he asked, though he knew the answer.

“Yes, Mylord. They have taken the queen, too.”

“Good heavens,” Adelheid gasped. “Are you certain?”

“As certain as can be, Mylady,” the knight heaved.

Arnold’s mind raced. If Maria Eleonore von Altendorf was imprisoned, the Emperor would not take kindly to that. He would mobilize everything to free his sister and restore the Francian throne.

He turned to his wife, who had come to the same conclusion.

“This is our chance.”