If she ever had a moment to spare, then something had gone wrong—unless, of course, someone else asked. For those worth her time, she always had ample spare. When not asked, though, there was always something to do and so she strived to always be doing it. If nothing else, there were always thoughts worth thinking.


    It was not a trivial thing to accomplish all those tasks she wished to accomplish. Every avenue inevitably had some limit, some frustration for her. She had, so far, tempered herself well and used her efforts to the best effects. If the bishop would not come to her, she would not drag him. Otherwise, where possible, she planted such seeds that would one day dislodge these limits. If there were not enough literate peoples, she would build more schools.


    Other limits were more subtle. She couldn’t unravel the city too quickly, the bulk of her goodwill already spent on overhauling the courts. It was one thing for her to set out an agenda, another thing entirely for the people responsible for implementing it to do so. Her efforts with the guild’s master had certainly made her ambitious goals possible, yet, even after two years, she was not satisfied with the courts’ state, hard to both rewrite the laws and expand the courts as rapidly as she desired.


    It was not enough to tell people that her way was better: they had to believe it. She had to show them, she had to convince them, which required changing, not just the system she wished to change, but the very thinking of every person in the city—and many of those beyond.


    Her mother had written extensively on how to gain and solidify power. An abstract thing, in her own view, which represented a person’s ability to reshape the world. And yet, such power was insufficient. It was the kind of power that afforded a lord or lady a luxurious lifestyle and little more.


    People detested change, often even when it benefited them. Enshrouded with fear. There were those in the textile guild who had secretly broken spinning wheels, those who had “accidentally” broken them. Not that she entirely blamed them. Change, for most, meant worse. There was safety in the familiar. Rather, new lords who wished to meddle, fresh merchants with foreign ideas, were often eager to squeeze a few drops more blood from the stone.


    So she sought to adjust the situation, to make it so that the workers saw the benefits of such progress.


    Plans within plans, no, she simply had countless plans that worked towards the same goals—towards a single goal. It was not a selfish goal, which was precisely why she knew no one would consider it. Even if it was a selfish goal, though, she knew well how to align interests.


    One need not agree on everything, enough to only agree on something important.


    “Prince Friedrich, Count Styria,” she said, bowing in her seat. “Pray forgive my rudeness as I did not expect company at this hour.”


    While the Prince kept his composure, the Count did not, grin broadening as he tapped his fellow guest with his elbow. “I did tell Sir that we should really have left a message and visited in the morning.”


    Her gaze sharpened, pinning his next chuckle in the back of his throat, only for her to soften as she turned upon the Prince. “Sir is right to visit at whichever hour he so chooses, only that I am unable to show suitable hospitality at this time and so I may only apologise.”


    His expression showed nothing. In casual steps, he crossed the lounge and took a better position to see her. Although far from late, the winter hours brought darkness early and so it was the light of candles and a fire which kept back the afternoon’s gloom, bathing her face in warm colours.


    Yet he asked, “Is My Lady unwell?”


    “Until the day I die, I shall be in perfect health,” she said with a teasing smile, her tone light, only for the moment to then be punctured by a cough. “I hope the dust doesn’t upset Sir. This place is spacious enough for a family while I have little need for so many staff on my own.”


    He stared at her a moment longer, then shook his head. “No, a little dust shouldn’t bother me,” he said, a quietness to his voice.


    “Well, it really should. Sir is too good for a dusty lounge. I should hire another maid first thing in the morning,” she said.


    This time, he couldn’t help but laugh, a bark of laughter that tugged his mouth into a smile which lingered after. “If the dust is upsetting My Lady’s throat, we should return in the morning after the room has been dusted.”


    “I would not impose on Sir another visit. My throat may disagree with the dust; however, it is nothing some tea cannot relieve,” she said, then turned to look beyond him. “Mr Cromer, I believe Lord Styria would enjoy the print that arrived the other day.”


    “Very well, My Lady,” her butler said, bowing. “If My Lord would take a seat, I would have the material brought here.”


    Styria played along with his brand of theatrics. Never before had she seen a man need make so many gestures just to walk over to a table and sit down—and she had spent much time with the mayor who, despite how clean his German had become, at times very much showed his Italian heritage.


    As for the prince, she gestured to the chair at an angle from her on the couch. He sat down without a fuss.


    “I wonder, Sir does not strike me as one interested in hunting doe nor such small game as fox nor hare. Perhaps, in Austria, I have heard there is to be a boar hunt at the month’s end,” she said, a touch of roughness to her quiet voice.


    He softly smiled. “Have I no secrets from My Lady?” he asked.


    She covered her mouth, whatever laughter spilled too quiet to reach him, yet evident in her eyes. “Sir thinks too highly of me.”


    For a while, he waited to see if she would explain, only to hang his head upon falling into another of her little traps. Subtle, something which others would not even think to call a trap. However, in her, he saw someone never unintentional. No, she had given him no reason to think her careless nor reckless. Calculating, yes, but not cold.


    Or rather, at these moments he felt her warmth. In his time, he had met many such cold people, especially those around his father—and Prince Hector. They did not understand how to joke and tease, a cruelty to their humour and an inability to be at the centre of a joke. Whereas she had this queer humour, playing with him as if a cherished toy. How she could put whatever words in his mouth she so wished and that which she wished were good-hearted things.


    Those were his feelings. Whether he agreed with them rationally, he did not know. It was easy to avoid those he felt evil intentions from and much harder to avoid those who could hide their evil intentions from him.


    Still, from what he knew of her—and he had come to know as much as one could—he could not discern… evil. The blight of her betrayal against the Duke of Bohemia sat comfortably with him. Intense, but she was a young woman without family, torn between one she knew well and her neighbour, and she had chosen what was, in his eyes, the just side. More importantly, she had committed whole-heartedly to aiding the Marquess of Bavaria, unlike those allies who would always need a little more time.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    Other than that, what was he to think of a lady who seemed so devoted to charitable causes? If anything, she was too kind, word of her more merciful laws becoming something of a joke at certain events. Of course, he took note that those events included a certain prince.


    However, in his experience, those who believed in kindness could not help but indulge. If it was good to give away a single coin, then it was just as good to give away one’s last coin. That she had been so far been measured in her kindness and prone to drawing others into her charity… didn’t unsettle him, but he again saw that lack of unintentionality in her.


    All brought together, he thought it ought to be a good thing for someone competent to be interested in doing good, yet it left him asking: What if she devoted herself to something else?


    Meanwhile, she sipped at her tea, accepting his gaze without discomfort. Eventually, though, she broke the silence, albeit in a quiet voice. “There are few reasons to leave the capital at this time of year, then there is the question of where Sir might be going that would pass through these parts. Of course, a servant briefed me on Sir’s arrival too, so I understood that Sir is travelling light with a hunting bow recognisable beneath a cover.”


    She paused there, her hand covering her mouth for a moment, then carried on.


    “As Sir realised, I framed the observation in such a way that, if I had guessed wrong, it would have come off as polite conversation. This is the kind of skill I learned, practised, and honed while being brought up as a princess.”


    At that last word, he bowed his head with a small smile. “My Lady appears to have thoughts on what I am here to discuss this afternoon.”


    “Pray allow me to first apologise,” she said, even softer than before, still with a roughness. “I am not so arrogant to think myself unshakeable and, at that time, I did find myself shaken. Prince Hector’s wedding, the long months of travel—I spoke out of turn. I let hate guide my tongue and, in doing so, I am sure I caused Sir distress, which is unforgivable. While words spoken may not be unspoken, I would hope to give Sir some comfort that I have been true to my word and forgotten whatever nonsense I spoke of that day.”


    He listened closely, tried his best to read her, yet struggled to believe her so easy to read. If she feigned this self-chastisement, he couldn’t tell. “What did we speak of? Was it that My Lady wished to boast of my visiting?” he said.


    For a moment, she looked unlike how he had ever seen her before with a natural smile on her lips as her head lolled more than tilted, some loose hair not under her hat hanging down the side of her face. An almost intimate feeling to it, something she would not show just anyone.


    “Sir, although I do acknowledge my wrongdoing, it is not the case my proposal was misguided. As crude as the delivery was, the merits I laid out still stand. That Sir is here today is evidence of this. So please, do not think me a fool, for I do not think Sir is. Sir would not visit an unwed lady in her home without good reason.”


    He met her gaze, but soon his own flickered down. “My Lady is not wrong.”


    She went to speak, only for a cough to come out. After a moment to settle and have another sip of tea, she closed her eyes a moment, then opened them. “I cannot answer what I am not asked.”


    “Indeed,” he whispered and brought up his hand to cover his mouth. “Pray allow me to first offer an apology of my own. My Lady spoke so suddenly last time, I did not react well.”


    “I accept Sir’s apology.”


    Just like that, whatever he had been about to say now gave way to a bark of laughter that he could only stifle, fortunate his hand lingered near his mouth. The heaviness of before was swept away, once again feeling as if in those stands where they watched the men kick and throw the ball around.


    However, they weren’t there, and she still waited for his questions.


    “What is it My Lady would look for in a husband?”


    Although another smile pulled at her lips, it was not as pronounced as before. “I already said as much.”


    “My Lady said that all she wanted from me is the title of princess, perhaps a closer cooperation with my father…” he said, trailing off there as he waited for her acknowledgement.


    Sure enough, she gave a slight nod.


    “However, My Lady also dared say the most preposterous thing of all, which was to consider what we may accomplish together.”


    “Did I?” she asked, tone sweet, as she tilted her head the other way.


    He opened his hands and said, “You did.”


    That shift drained the smile from her and yet he still saw it reach her eyes. Bright eyes, even as her breaths hid a strain. “That is a much longer conversation than we may indulge in today. If I would give Sir a… hint, one perhaps suitable, I find myself lacking someone to lead. Augstadt has a sizeable militia, but it is not an army. It needs someone competent and charismatic. While that person need not be my husband, that is not to say they cannot be my husband,” she said, her voice growing rougher by the end.


    Whatever thoughts he had of pushing on died. “I shall keep that in mind, and My Lady should rest.”


    She smiled at his advice. Rather than retort, she took out a small box that had been hidden between herself and the couch’s armrest. It was about the size of a hand and not too deep.


    “What is this?” he asked, his brow furrowed as she placed it in the middle of the table.


    “If anyone else asks, it is something my father had commissioned before his passing. Something which is unsuitable for myself and, hearing that Sir is to hunt boars, I felt such worry that I insisted Sir take it,” she said.


    He still looked at her, so she urged him to open the box with a gesture. The box itself was like a work of art with elaborate detailing of woven vines chiselled into it and the solid wood exquisitely painted.


    While the box was like art, what lay inside surely was. Gleaming iron, polished wood, and oiled leather. A bizarre shape which took him a few seconds to recognise as a pistol—a word that he recalled at this time, something still uncommon. The craftsmanship shone through its simplicity. The iron lacked any indication of filing, the grain of the wood smooth and following its shape, while the leather had been perfectly cut to shape, unspoiled, and neatly attached to the grip.


    “My butler may explain the specific operation of it if he may accompany Sir after the visit. If Sir should make use of it, I do ask that Sir requests more cartridges. It is not delicate, yet my experience is that, compared to any other, my people are able to make both powder and paper which burns cleaner. It is also the case that a slight layer of wax keeps the cartridges from fouling in the rain or being set off by accidental sparks too. These help the pistol remain reliable, even after much use.”


    His gaze drifted from the pistol to the cartridges she had mentioned: neat rolls of paper with a glint of metal sticking out the end, a dull sheen to them.


    However, he couldn’t look away from the pistol for long. There was something unnatural about how perfect it was. How plain. A great sword could have any number of marks and quirks, even before it saw battle, for it was a weapon first and foremost. Of course, there were those who decorated their walls with pretty swords and there were such swords for ceremonies. Still, for battle, one would rather have a blacksmith than a goldsmith make it, things like the weight and balance and edge more important than having it look perfect.


    This pistol, though—what kind of smith would perfectly make something so plain?


    “Does Sir not like it?” she asked, tilting her head.


    He looked up, face blank at first, then turned away, mouth thin. “How could I accept such a thing?” he whispered.


    “If it is not to Sir’s liking, that is fine. If it is to Sir’s liking, that is fine too. There is no need to think further than that.”


    A smile reached his face as the laugh didn’t make it through his throat, tight as it was. He had so much he wished to say, arguments he wished her to hear first, full of doubt. And he had answers he desperately wished for her to give that would put to rest his doubts.


    However, it all felt so futile with her. She knew herself in a way that he could only find himself envious. In a world that, at times, felt so very vague, every conversation layered in so many euphemisms and such heavy etiquette that what lay underneath couldn’t be easily seen, she laid bare her heart. Without hesitation, with confidence, she would say whatever it is she thought she ought to say.


    It stood in such stark contrast to how Prince Hector had always spoken of her.


    For all he hesitated now, the truth had been clear to her the moment he had arrived. Although he had tried to distance himself from it, it could not be denied, nor would he cling to it.


    “If it would put My Lady at ease, it would be my honour to accept.”


    Their eyes met and, for a noticeable few seconds, he did not reach out to the box. Only once a smile touched her lips did he close the box and bring it up to his chest.