It was a surreal experience, being annointed by the Sword of Galaden on this day, the day of Galt's coronation. He felt the weight of the sheathed blade in his hands, realizing to his surprise that it was not a broken heirloom, but a well forged sword that happened to be used for ceremony. He would be able to admire it later, but right now he was far more focused on the bloody King of the country, who loomed over him with his scepter, granted to him by the Bishop of the Holy Sepulcher. Galt tried to take deep breaths, but he was feeling a bit overwhelmed, almost dizzy.

No, you are not going to faint in front of all these lords and ladies, he scolded himself.

After a few, long seconds, he realized the meaning of the king's words, and he stood up abruptly. It was a bit too hasty, and he nearly shook from nervousness. Galt wasn't what you would consider a brave man, though he would bet a mint coin that he had been in more scrapes and near-misses than most of the dandies in the room. He tried to think of that when he gazed across at the masses now gathered, all eyes on he and the King.

Among the Grand Hall of the King's Palace, row upon row and balcony upon balcony were filled with aristocrats and commoners, merchants and laborers, locals and foreigners. The chamber was hallowed, built with whitestone and furnished with tapestries of green and gold, and a red carpet that lined its vast entirety. As the music reached its crescendo, Galt was filled with a trepidation that rose in his breast. Perhaps he had truly earned this, even if he felt unworthy or out of his element. The golden light of the sun that pierced the stained glass windows shimmered on the silks of those that watched him, and he bowed before the congregation of citizens, truly humbled by this magnificent honor.

The applause wasn't deafening, but it was a wave of noise that sounded like a roar to Galt. No one had ever clapped for him before, actually. He lost himself in the pomp and ceremony going forward, blinking and leaving the raised platform he had shared with the King as swiftly but as stiffly as he could. He made his way out through the postern gate that led into the dining hall, the thousands of tons of stacked stone around him had a surprising amount of cold to it. No wonder the hearth was so huge, and all the lords and ladies were swathed at all times of the day.

The walls were lined with footman, wearing steel breastplates and conical helms with plumes atop them. In their hands were spears, nine feet from base to steel tip, and small, crested shields at their sides. As Galt entered the hall, servants hustled to and fro, placing plates and silverware down, bringing it casks of ale and bottles of wine. The smell from the kitchen was intoxicating, Galt tugging his collar a bit, his hunger agitating him. To the left, out of another corridor stepped a man with an impressive mustache and a resplendent red cloak over a vest. He gave a small gesture of relief with a wave of his hands and stalked toward Galt, smiling.

"There you are! I was just looking for you." He said breathily.

"Who are you, again?" Galt asked pointedly, raising an eyebrow. The courtier looked aghast and offended for a moment, but they pushed it down. Galt guessed servants, even highly valued ones, had to swallow their pride a lot, which was likely why he had seen a few kick people below them as well.

"I am Vedrick Frankhardt, one of the royal aides. You are to be the guest of honor when the ceremony concludes, which will be any moment now. Follow me and I'll show you how to stand properly and give a greeting they would expect." He explained, beckoning Galt to follow. Galt sighed, loathe to leave the smell of the food, but he did so without complaint. The guards around him kept his tongue behind his teeth. He might outrank Verdrick and any of the guards, but this was the first time in his life a footman wasn't trying to cut his head off. It would take some getting used to.

"Rather easy on the eyes for a lowborn," Lady Margerie whispered with a giggle. There was a small group of young women, all of roughly the same marriageable age, gathered together to bear witness to the coronation. Despite being daughters of counts or barons, they were acutely aware they would only be granted a title if they took a husband with such stature. This fact made Galt an attractive prospect to all but one of the present company- not that she would admit it. Silke had become quite adept at feigning interest in male nobility to maintain the pretense of normality. She smiled and nodded in agreement, though her interest in the newly appointed man was not in the least romantic.

"What do you think of him, Silke?" inquired Lady Frescea. The entire group turned to look at Silke expectantly with anticipation of how she might respond, as they did every time there was a new man in the court.

To most of the aristocracy, she knew she was a beloved enigma, one they never tired of trying so solve. She was slightly taller than most of her sex and slender, but while she was beautiful in her right, she did not stand apart from her peers. There were ladies of her age and younger that were prettier, perhaps because they had brilliant blue eyes, golden blonde hair, or tiny button noses. It was her demeanor that drew attention to her more than her appearance ever would or could. She carried herself with a composed, elegant confidence, and listened with a patient intensity when duchesses prattled on about inane topics. Silke always seemed to remember details of the lives of her companions, paid meaningful compliments in most conversations, and picked up on subtle social cues, such as when a subject ought not to be discussed. Since her debut some years ago, she had become popular for her personality, and attracted a crowd wherever she went.

The curiosity about her, however, that Frescea, Margerie, and the rest wanted to solve was why she had not wed. Suitors had presented themselves to her, but she had declined their overtures both kindly and firmly. When pressed on the matter, she always sidestepped an answer, or gave a vague dismissive response. The ladies of the court were mystified and were excited by the challenge of finding her a match, especially since she had proven herself to be a matchmaker when she was so inclined, and helped facilitate at least three proposals.

"I think he's interesting," Silke said after a brief pause. "Anyone who earns the title of count is quite interesting, don't you think?" she explained with a smile. It was a bit of a non-answer, but to the ladies gathered around her, they took it as a sign of possible romantic interest, which had them quite excited.

After the king and the guest of honor left the grand hall of the palace, chatter had broken out among the congregation as they waited for the ceremony to conclude and the revelry to begin. While the arrangement during the coronation proper had been relaxed, allowing Silke the flexibility of standing or sitting with whomever she pleased, it would be more challenging to approach Galt during the feast. Protocol would dictate she sit with her father, Count Johann Kasper, and with her brother, Vincent Kasper. She chewed on the edge of her bottom lip as she was temporarily lost in thought. Ideally she'd talk to him without her family attached at her hip, neither of whom would be particularly friendly. Johann worried about any man that might 'steal' her away from the household while Vincent held all men to impossible standards and was endlessly abrasive to potential suitors.

"Frescea," Silke began sweetly. "Do you think that perhaps you could distract my brother long enough, should an opportunity arise, so I may speak with Galt? I promise to put a good word in for you if you do," she promised, knowing that the flaxen-haired woman was enamored with her brother. Vincent didn't reciprocate with her or anyone else; he was awkward and stilted when he spoke to women. When they were growing up, Vincent and Abelard had seen Silke one of them, an "almost boy" that could run just as fast as they did and scale any tree. Once the Kasper boys became men, they realized they couldn't treat ladies like they treated Silke, and the eldest Kasper still struggled with knowing how to relate to the fairer sex.

"I would be honored," Frescea replied quickly, "so long as you make an excuse to invite me to dinner in exchange."

Standing there in his fashionable attire, a vest that accentuated his shoulders and a swept cloak of red that clung to his raised right arm, Galt made quite the count. His black hair was untidy, but in an attractive way, thanks to one of the king's courtiers fixing him up and Galt subsequently messing it up in his own fashion. It gave him a new, roguish quality none of the lords or giggling ladies had ever seen before. In fact, more than a few of the latter watched him with interest, wondering what was going on in that heroic, wily head of his.

Galt was just hungry.

He was privvy to none of these assertions, nor any of the machinations that were likely being whispered or spoken of behind closed doors. As the gentlemen and gentry began filtering into the dining hall, Vedrick Frankhardt had Galt near the hearth, a few meters away from the very head of the table. Of course he would not sit there, as it was the King's seat, but he stood where all would see. The King was not present, likely dealing with some business elsewhere before the meal. However, Duke Valdemar of Mrugalstern appeared, breaking off from the crowd. A hale man passing his middle years, his wide smile spread the salt and pepper beard he sported as his arms went out wide. Resplendent in red and purple and silver, the loud colors he wore betrayed his eccentric personality.

"What am I supposed to say again?" Galt asked Vedrick quietly.

"Call him 'Your Grace' and give a bow, before informing him what an honor it is to see him." He whispered to Galt, before stepping back to greet another courtier and shake his hand in perfect poise. Galt slowed his beating heart with a deep breath and repeated what Vedrick said to himself quietly. Once the Duke was a mere pace away, Galt began.

"Your Gra- UGH," Galt was suddenly swept up in a hug by Valdemar, crushing him in his arms. Galt was lean but not a small man, however Valdemar was suitably large for one of his lofty station. He laughed happily and set Galt back down, letting his breath. The former thief tugged at his collar and cleared his throat. He gave out a wheeze of "_{It's good to see you again.}"

"My boy! It is rip-roaring to have watched you in the ceremony. The power, the honor! You will make a fine count, I just know it!" The Duke exclaimed, his smile reaching his bright blue eyes. Behind him, the lesser nobles began to congregate and speak to one another in earnest now, some eyes looking Galt's way and other's staring at the Duke's back, whereas a few were discussing private matters of military or secret import in the corner. Drinks were served and families gathered together, but no one had yet taken a seat. Galt could only give the party a glance the scant second it took for the Duke to stand aside and introduce his wife, a woman about a decade older than Galt, prim but warm in countenance. "Allow me to introduce you to the Lady Dahlia, my darling wife."

"My lady," Galt said with a relieved smile, glad to see she would not also lift him up like a ragdoll. She presented her hand, and he gingerly took it in his kissed it. Galt was not used to noble company, but he had done his fair share of flirtation in his life, and there was very little difference between a suave greeting to a noble lady and trying to woo a busty barmaid unused to being treated like royalty. "It does my heart well to finally meet you."

"Oh no, I am just so grateful you saved my darling, Valdemar." She intoned. Her hair was woven into a braid that nearly reached Galt's height, and he couldn't begin to fathom how it was tied up in such a fashion. It looked more difficult to weave than the locks of a bank. He had to keep his fingers from wiggling when he saw the glint of her bejeweled rings that graced her hand. If he stole something here, he would be slain so quickly he wouldn't have time to regret it. Blinking, he realized she was still talking. Damn, I was just looking at the jewelry. Fuck. "-and the baron was much detracted from the whole ordeal. I nearly guffawed, darling!"

"Er y-yes of course," Galt said with what he hoped was a winning smile, shifting his gaze to Valdemar. "Your Grace, you never told me your lovely wife was such a gifted story-teller."

Behind the chattering Valdemar and Dahlia, a very proper looking gentleman whom Galt had never seen before, one Vincent Kasper, waited patiently with a hawkish expression. Behind him, a few nobles began flocking to stand in line to speak to Galt. Galt did his best to hide his nervousness. He did not expect a pretty woman to glide over and whisper in the man's ear, grabbing him by the arm and leading him away, eyes never leaving his as he tried to protest but could not out of the veritable cage politeness brought to such an event. Well, at least that lightened the load a bit.

"We really should not keep you, my boy. I will go and await the king's approach. But we simply must talk more soon, yes?" The Duke inquired, and Galt nodded. He might be out of his element, but he was glad he had saved the man's life, and not only for the vast rewards he was receiving. As the Duke left, he called for whomever would like to accompany him to meet the King in person. A few of those awaiting Galt jumped at the opportunity, seeing the chance to raise their station in a once in a lifetime opportunity. They would be able to speak to Galt later, of course. Not that it diminished those looking to meet him, but it thinned the herd of the impatient ones. Except for one.

A woman Galt thought was quite lovely. He cleared his throat and stood to his full height. Vedrick gave a bow, something Galt was a bit too distracted to think on. "Count Galt, may I present the Lady Silke Kasper."

"My lady, uh, how do you do?" He asked, making sure his voice did not waver. He offered his hand to shake, and then pulled back since that wasn't proper etiquette. Vedrick's eyes went wide, and Galt looked at him with a mixture of guilt and accusation, as if to go "I know I fucked up, but I'm your responsibility."

When Silke saw her brother queue to speak with Galt, she had allowed the tiniest hint of a frown to tug at the corners of her mouth. It was not that he had done anything terribly unexpected; Vincent was a proper gentleman who took his courtly responsibilities very seriously. The ghost of displeasure had been at the notion that a new count might meet her brother before any other member of the aristocracy. In her opinion, it would have been a shame if the hero's first exposure to nobility (omitting the duke) was someone so impersonal. Vincent was exponentially worse with women, of course, but she couldn't remember anyone, male or female, complimenting her on his charms.

Thankfully, Lady Frescea was quick-witted and light on her feet as she seized the opportunity to approach Vincent Kasper and take him by the arm. From a short distance away, Silke could see her brother's lips open and close as he tried to articulate an argument. He had been figuratively cornered by the time he had regained his composure enough to speak. By then, the duke had wandered off, the line had dwindled to nothing, and there was no queue for him to return to. It was incredibly satisfying seeing her plan so perfectly executed. Even her group of count's daughters and baron's daughters intuitively understood what was happening and naturally melded away as she took her first strides away from them.

The room was a veritable kaleidoscope of colors. Silke wore a gown of deep cerulean blue, embroidered at its edges with delicate silver and white embroidery, that hugged her slim figure. The precise hemming of her skirt just above the floor, as well as her smooth, elegant gait, gave the illusion of her gliding rather than walking. Her hair, a deep chocolate brown that matched her eyes, had been swept back from her face into an elaborate braid for the occasion, then decorated with sapphire ribbons and tiny white flowers. While she could not compete with the most beautiful women in the room, she enjoyed dressing well. Clothes were both the weapons and armor of a courtier.

Silke had been watching and evaluating Galt silently before her approach. Everyone knew he had saved the duke's life, but she was interested in far more details than her peers. Her father, brother, and most of the people in the room were content to know he knew how to wield a sword, dismissing the rest as unnecessary. That answer did not satisfy Silke. Quietly she studied him and noted that he had a more fluid stride than a knight, that his gaze drifted away from the duchess's face when she spoke, and that when the conversation was not so stiff and formal, he had a palpable charisma.

"Vedrick," she said, her voice as warm as if she were greeting the oldest of friends, "I do hope you haven't been too hard on the count. The very best of us struggle to match your level of composure and refinement." From nearly anyone else in the room the comment would have sounded more akin to a passive-aggressive jibe than an earnest compliment, but Silke spoke with a sincerity that made it clear she was praising the royal aide.

Redirecting her attention towards Galt, Silke leaned forward and took the hand the hand that had just been withdrawn, clasped it, and gave a firm shake. "There is nothing wrong with a little deviation from protocol. It'll be our little secret," she added with a mischievous conspiratorial whisper. No one was looking their way other than Vedrick. Truth be told, even if someone had seen the gesture, they wouldn't have been scandalized. Since establishing herself as a darling of the court, her few eccentricities were overlooked, or they were acknowledged with a good-humored laugh and shake of the head.

For a lady of her station, Silke's grip was surprisingly strong. Similarly strange, whereas ladies had perfectly smooth skin from their luxurious lifestyle, her fingers had small callouses from her secret archery practice. The count's daughter kept the handshake brief, unwilling to discuss the abnormality he might discover, and flashed him another bright smile that was a sharp contrast to the other maidens in attendance. They saw him as an eligible bachelor and so they were coy and flirtatious. Silke had no intention of every wedding. Galt was a fine man, as far as she knew anyway, but she was not meant for grand things such as a happy marriage.

"It is nice to meet you, Count Galt," she greeted. "It must be quite overwhelming to have so many new faces and names to commit to memory all at once. My father is Count Johann Kasper," she added helpfully, pointing to where he stood across the room, waiting for the king's entrance and in close proximity to the duke. Silke was a blend of both her parents' physical traits, and it took a close look to see the resemblance between her and her father. Vincent Kasper, however, took after him heavily to the point their resemblance was remarked on frequently.

"I was hoping you might regale me with the story of your rescue of the duke." Her countenance, while still warm and inviting, had a soft intensity. Her request was not a flippant attempt at casual conversation. No matter how he answered, Silke would pay rapt attention to every word, every description, every detail, and analyze it thoroughly. She had her suspicions about this man. Perhaps if she asked a direct enough question, she might be led to a response that would tell her whether or not he was worthy of her cause.

Galt felt somewhat intimidated by the woman. Yes, there were other lovely ladies in the great dining all, many simpering to their peers or sending eyes his way. But Silke had caught his own eye for the moment, and she was a bit stronger than she looked. He appreciated that about her, as well as her forthright but warm way she carried herself. She was and graceful, though it was hard to tell in the ball gowns the ladies wore. Oh, and you want to find out, right? He asked himself sardonically.

"He's learning, but a bit slowly for my tastes," Verdick remarked with his nose in the air, though he could not help but smile at Silke's presence. Galt had the distinct feeling he was being lightly facetious at Galt's expense as well. The newly anointed count gave him a look, and then regarded Silke again.

"It is very overwhelming," He conceded, giving a gracious but handsomely curt bow. "It is my pleasure to meet you. I believe I've heard of your family, but only in passing."

That was maybe a lie. He had heard many names since he had come here, dozens upon dozens over the past day. Whether Kasper was one of them, he could not begin to recall. Galt was accustomed to lying to get ahead, though he did his best to curb that habit of his. Lying now could get him in more trouble, mostly because he had more to lose now than ever before. As he took her next question in, the King arrived. One could tell as the crowd both parted and grew larger all at once, the King's scepter easily seen through the throng of high class onlookers. Even still, some eyed Silke and Galt, but he felt better for not being the center of attention there.

As one, servants pulled the high-backed, cushioned chairs out with a low thrum of wood sliding on wood. The table was long and fitting with delectable steaming pork and chicken, with various vegetables and fruits stacked in wooden, lacquered bowls. Wine and water were brought forth, poured in glasses that were just waiting to be refilled by eager servants. Galt looked at them with confusion. They were as low born as he, but he would never have been so happy to serve. Then again, he was born outside of a great castle, where favor was worth as much as gold.

"Where is he? Where is my new Count of Gavony?" The King called, his voice rising over the din of the crowd as he ended the small talk and called for the newly anointed noble of the hour. Galt stood at attention, and Vedrick pushed Galt forward. Galt would not ignore such summons, but before he did so, without thinking he offered his arm for Silke to take. It was an unconscious action from a commoner who wanted to appear chivalrous. He did not think of the implications, and had two thoughts in his head at that very moment. 'It would be rude to ignore her so readily,' and the ever important second thought of 'cute girl, come with me.'

The King raised an eyebrow at Galt once he approached, but Galt paid it little mind except a subtle thought of 'yes, I do move quickly.'

"Lady Kasper, you are radiant as always. I see you have become acquainted with our new gentleman. Count Harrowmark, would you take a seat next to me at my table?" The King asked in proper fashion. He was a tall man, with a brown beard and hard eyes that betrayed a humorous nature when it fancied him, but Galt could imagine them flashing with wrath when provoked. The thief was going to be kneel, but realized he would pull Silke down like a ragdoll, so he gave a bow.

"I would be honored, your highness. W-Would the Lady Silke be allowed to sit next to me?" Galt inquired. His accent was thick and very unrefined compared to the rest of the assembly. Beyond their talk, a protesting voice was heard. In the midst of the crowd strode forward a younger fellow, who looked much like Duke Valdemar were he thirty years younger. He wore a more sporting vest, however. Something that could be clad atop a brigandine in case of war, and at his hip was a sidesword with a swept knucklebow. The hilt was exquisitely made, fashioned out of brass and carved into the likeness of a fiery comet.

"I do not know your game, sir, but I am to sit next to you." He remarked, eyeing Galt suspiciously. Galt blinked, perplexed at the problem. He continued with a haughty countenance. "My father and you sit closest to the King, and then it is I. You may only plant your arse there for this celebration alone. Were it a normal occasion and not your coronation, you would be a dozen seats away from his royal highness. The Lady Kasper must take her leave and be with her family, as it has always been."

"Vildraven!" The Duke Valdemar snarled, glaring at his son for his impetuous words. The tension seemed palpable, but it was broken instantly by the laughter of the King, all eyes drawn to him. It was like a mixture between rocks crashing down a hill and the chiming of great cathedral bells, rough but reverberating beyond most men's range.

"Young Duke, normally you would be correct." The King reasoned, glancing at Vildraven of Mrugalstern. The King's face, particularly his eyes, transformed before Galt's own gaze, and his earlier prediction of humor turning to wrath seemed to be providential as he watched it happen right before him. "But I believe the guest of honor may invite who he may to sit, where he may. And even were it a normal ceremony, I would think you would be more grateful to the man who saved your father's life, rather than thinking of only your own station."

Vildraven balked, his jaw clenched. Hastily, he gave his apologies and waded back into the mass of aristocrats. Galt felt a bit guilty. He began to speak, to say he could sit elsewhere with Silke, but Verdick placed a hand on his mouth and set him in a bow, bowing as well. The King looked back, and everyone was standing at attendance, ready to be seated. He smiled, satisfied, and the music continued once more as he made his way to the head of the table. To his left, the Duke Valdemar and his wife, the Lady Daliah. To his right, Galt sat, pulling out Silke's chair a bit more for her and inclining his head to her.

"Let the feast begin!" The King announced, clapping his hands.

Minutes later, once Galt had waded through the pleasantries of the King and Duke along with Silke entertaining them for a brief conversation, he turned to her and could finally answer her question.

"The Duke was, um, the Duke had been attacked by brigands. Brigands that had already captured me, you see? The guard with the Duke had been scattered or killed, and he was fighting for his life in their midst. I was... their prisoner, er..." He didn't want to admit they had tied him up for failing to steal from the Duke himself, and for debts he owed. He decided that was something he could skip. Dalti's boys had employed Galt for years as a thief and smuggler. He even liked a few of the lads. But they had tied him up and he was nothing if not a survivor. He hoped none of the ones he knew had been hanged. "I'm good with my hands and feet, so I escaped their ropes and slipped past their sentries, before I stole a horse from their hideout. As I was fleeing for my life down the forest road, I happened upon the Duke and took him aboard." He had trampled old Godwin, something he still regretted. "We were chased as far as the Grandwood, but we managed to get him safely back to his castle."

The king's entrance did not draw her attention as much as perhaps it should have. She respected the man, and held his governance in high esteem, but she had seen him plenty of times before. Galt was comparatively much more interesting. He was an unknown quantity and she was keen to discern what rumors already circulating the court were based in truth and what were the result of wild speculation. There also little that the attention of their monarch could do for nor she for him; she was without ambition for higher status and he would not have granted it to her as a woman.

Having already resigned herself to a very short private conversation with Galt, Silke was disappointed but not surprised when they were interrupted by the king's summons, and was prepared to step back so the new count could present himself. The proffered arm, however, took her entirely by surprise. As a woman who prided herself on her powers of perception, she was ashamed to admit that she hadn't anticipated his reaction, and that his wish for her to accompany him was unexpected. Internally she cursed to herself. There was no opportunity to explain herself. If she rejected him at that moment, it would reflect badly on them both, but to accept could have far-reaching consequences personally and politically.

Silke hesitated. Taking his arm filled her with dread for the discussion they'd inevitably have later regarding their respective intentions. She didn't know how many times she had to gently refute a man's romantic overtures. Since being honest about her reasons was not an option, she would get to know a suitor long enough to find an excuse, one sturdy enough to dissuade further attempts, that she would then present as proof of incompatibility. Most titled lords had egos large enough to handle being turned away and she did not feel guilty for doing so. Arguably a lady telling them, 'No,' did them more good than harm. There were a few, though, that tugged at her heartstrings, genuinely distraught over what they believed was defects in their person.

They were greeted by the king, who said the same predictably pleasant things he always did, and Galt had the sense to bow when she curtsied. A smile was planted on her lips, face belying none of her inner turmoil. Out of the corner of her eye she could see less composed members of the court watching them. Older, more gossipy matrons were visibly smug in the knowledge that no one, not even the elusive Silke Kasper, could avoid potential matches. Her peers were besides themselves with glee at the exciting story of Count Harrowmark, a newcomer hero, making such an impression on their mysteriously unattached friend. It was the gaze of the younger gentleman, those who saw her as challenge to be conquered, or who were chafed at her rejections, that worried her. Fortunately, many men whom she had turned away had moved on and found their happiness, and some others never cared to make advances on her, but there were plenty that were glaring or barely concealing their contempt.

Galt asked if Silke could sit with him. If she hadn't been such an exemplary courtier, she would have either laughed, vomited, or fainted, hopefully not all at once. For half a second she fervently wished she could sink into the floor and disappear. It was equal parts amazing and terrifying that he unconsciously navigated from her from minor crisis to disaster, blissfully ignorant all the while, yet maintaining perfect precision for creating as much calamity as possible. Her arm stiffened against his as she tensed and braced herself for figurative impact.

Mentally a stream of very unladylike words described her feelings on the situation.

And then, because fortune itself must despise her with the intensity of a thousand suns, it came to bear that she was taking Vildraven's seat. The ducal son was not the sort that liked to share. Galt's appearance in his father's life in the form of a young, dashing savior, must have made him unsettled to say the least. As the eldest son, heir to a fortune and an enviable title, he had a rampaging sense of entitlement. Silke was confident that Vildraven would be wretchedly jealous of Galt for being so adored by the duke, having the praise of the king, and being touted as an icon of courage and selflessness.

As luck would have it, he was also someone whom Silke had rejected (twice since he did not take her first refusal seriously). She sucked in her breath as Vildraven's tantrum was cut off by the two men whose approval and affection he most craved, and their eyes met briefly before he retreated into the mass of well-dressed lords and ladies. It wasn't over. Everyone else might have considered the matter settled, but she knew Vildraven well enough to know that he would fight to the bitter end to take back what he believed had been stolen from him by Galt. Unfortunately, that included her, and there was nothing she could do to stop what had been started.

When they finally sat down at the table her stomach, which had lurched into her throat minutes earlier, had resettled. Silke recognized that Galt was not the best at small talk so she led the conversations with Valdemar and his majesty, all while managing not to seem as if she were doing so. For the duke she inquired about his recovery after his ordeal, congratulated him and his wife on a recent anniversary, and complimented on their taste in attire, admiring the duchess's exquisite jewelry. The king and she chatted about a hunt he held a fortnight ago and a couple pieces of artwork he had commissioned and placed in the royal gallery. She was going through the motions, smiling brilliantly, and being her charming self, and quietly trying to find a solution to her romantic predicament.

Picking up a piece of bread, Silke listened quietly as Galt was finally afforded an opportunity to answer her question from earlier. There was an intensity to her gaze and a sympathetic turn of her lips as he stumbled over his sentences. He was no master deceiver. The facts, as he presented them, didn't quite add up. As a man of poor, unremarkable background, there was no reason for the bandits to take him prisoner, and Galt failed to pro-actively insert rationale. Master manipulator that she was, she knew that for someone possessed of a sharp wit, this omission could damage him- it would be better to have a fabrication prepared if he came under a verbal interrogation. "Quite curious they'd tie you up," she remarked, leaning in, a playful twinkle in her eye conveying she'd caught the slip. "You may want to... polish that portion of your retelling before you recount it again," the noblewoman suggested.

As if on cue, that damnable Vildraven, who had been seated on the other side of her to preserve the seating arrangement to the best of the royal staff's ability, cleared his throat. He had not been eavesdropping since he didn't care about Galt. His interruption was merely to gain Silke's attention to aggressively reassert himself. Groaning under her breath (she was in close enough proximity to Galt he likely heard her), she leaned back in her chair and turned her head toward the insufferable ducal son, a more stiff smile plastered on her face than had been there a second prior.

"Lady Silke," he began, "I would be honored to be your escort for the rest of evening. Surely Count Galt had other ladies of the court he would like to meet after he's had a chance to dine." It sounded like a gracious gesture, advantageous to them both, but she wasn't naive enough to take the bait.

"How very generous of you, Lord Vildraven, but I must decline," she replied sweetly, though her eyes were as cold as ice. "I've already promised Count Galt to facilitate certain introductions." It was a bold-faced lie that she delivered with aplomb. There was no dip or flinch in her voice, her body language remained as still as when she was honest, and it was utterly indistinguishable to anyone other than herself and Galt as a falsehood. Silke realized she was taking a risk exposing her gift to her companion; however, being trapped with Vildraven as her escort was the least desirable outcome.

"How dare you-," he growled in a low tone that did not carry to the rest of the table.

"Careful," Silke chided cheerfully, "for my brother Vincent is watching, and I'd hate for him to misinterpret your actions as hostility. He has a short temper and is quite skilled with a blade," she added, feigning concern for his well-being so adeptly that Vildraven was unable to distinguish if she was sincerely worried about his health. "Why, he's looking over here right this moment," she said as she gave a small wave to her family.

Galt made a small strangled sound when Silke had caught his lack of details in his story. Blinking, he considered just what exactly his problem was. He was a born liar, actually. Either he was truly nervous here, or the woman had a strange effect on him he couldn't quite ascertain yet. Perhaps a bit of both. He took her suggestion with a nod and a 'as the lady suggests,' hiding his grin with a well placed sip of his wine. Galt's mood and eyes went noticeably sharp and more dangerous when Vildraven appeared, mostly because of the man's earlier abrasive attitude. He wouldn't dare make an enemy of him, as Galt truly enjoyed his father. However, he needn't worry. Silke had handled him as easily as Galt could pick a pocket, something he had to visibly keep himself from doing here.

Silke's family was indeed watching, though Galt did not know them well enough to know if their observation was out of concern or interest. Galt decided he would give them a wave a well, something Vildraven took offense to. He growled in annoyance and made his way towards a seat he felt unsuitable for his quasi-royal arse.

Valdemar watched with disapproval, and then shoved some food in front of the lady and I. "Ignore him. He's a smart lad, but I regret to say I haven't taught him much humility. Maybe war would do him good if there ever is one."

"Let us pray we don't have to find out, my friend." The King replied, and the two toasted in agreement over that. There were smaller skirmishes that occurred between minor nobles or city states, or even border disputes, but a full on war had not happened in decades. Galt had heard stories from his da when he was little, but he had never experienced anything like it. Just a knife fight or barroom brawl here or there.

"We all have our struggles," Silke said graciously towards Duke Valdemar in regards to his son, "and life lessons that must be taught to us several times over before we learn to honor the virtues." It was a truth that sounded a bit bizarre coming out of the lips of someone so young. Loss had aged her considerably. Without a mother, despite all the staff they had at their home, she had to step into the role of family matriarch. Much of the court had become gradually aware how much her steady hand guided Count Johann Kasper and Lord Vincent Kasper.

With the duke and king monetarily distracted, she leaned forward and spoke more quietly to Galt, allowing the ambient noise of the room to create a veil of privacy for them. "I'm curious what further ambition you have for yourself," she told the newly christened count. Her gaze was calm and steady as she studied him. Even if he elected not to answer, she hoped he might react, and through body language she might glean if he wished for more or if he was truly satisfied with his title, wanting nothing more. Silke wasn't absolutely confident she'd read him perfectly nor that he'd respond in a meaningful way; however, it was worth a try.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught more people staring at them. Not all of them were as obviously hostile as Vildraven, but it brought to mind she ought to warn Galt. It was a delicate topic to navigate. She was unwilling to delve into how many romantic overtures she had rejected outright. There were enough proud men that kept her refusal to herself that she was a court oddity without any negative connotation. If she were to allude to the true number, though, there was a chance she'd evolve from an endearing enigma to a troubled spinster. Silke had to thread the figurative needle as carefully as was possible.

"There's a confession I must make before we continue. Vildraven is not the only man I've rebuffed. Happy as I am to keep you company this evening and facilitate introductions to whomever you desire, my prolonged presence may make certain lords... displeased," she stated. Galt was a shrewd man. The hint ought to give him an inkling of what he was suggesting. If nothing else, it would make him more aware of the nature of the gazes upon his person, and why his peers may be less friendly than the ladies or older gentlemen of the aristocracy.

Royal staff stopped by their table to refill drinks. Silke had drained her wine and had another generous serving poured into her empty cup. For better or worse, she had learned to hold her liquor with her father and two elder brothers growing up. Her mother would have disapproved, but the combination of Silke's silver tongue, pragmatic approach to managing the Kasper family, and ability to men her age drink for drink had helped bridge a surprising amount of social divides.

Truth be told, he didn't exactly know how to answer her question, or how to speak to the Duke properly except for a few platitudes the older man would have enjoyed regardless, considering his fondness for the newly anointed count. Galt wasn't stupid, by any means. His greatest ambition here was to eat food fit for nobility, speak with a few pretty ladies, and make it out with his reward in tact so he could retire and sleep as long as any contented man. Granted, so far so good on the first two counts. Still, he wasn't going to admit that, entirely.

"A wise man would say rising from squalor to count was a leap most couldn't accomplish. Desiring more would be toying with fire," He remarked with a wry look that brought giggles to most women. He knew it wouldn't be a miracle-worker on her. Silke seemed far too sharp and in control for that. But she did seem curious on him beyond a marriage proposal, which admittedly made him curious of her. He took a long drink from his cup as he considered, before she continued with an explanation on why a few eyes cast his way were not entirely welcoming.

"My peers in the slums were often jealous of me, too. I suppose I just have that charm," He joked, but he couldn't hide the irony in his smile. He leaned in to whisper, and while he wasn't severe, he had lost his jovial nature. "I know you've never wanted for food or survival, and I am very new here. But rich or poor, someone always wants what you have." Galt lifted his left hand, and with a deft flick of his hand, a coin appeared betwixt his finger as if he had plucked it out of the very air. "A month ago, if I showed this to the wrong people and left myself vulnerable, my body would be found in the sewers weeks later. Thank you for the advice, but the ruthlessness of others is something I can certainly understand."

The coin slid back within his hand, and it was gone from her sight as if it had never been. He pulled his face back and softened his visage. He did not want to scare her off. She truly was very cute. And on that note, he said into his cup. "As for my ambitions, if you would like to speak privately tonight, you may join me when there are no others to get angry. Just an invitation to speak, nothing more."

"What say you, lad?" Valdemar asked, obviously curious on what Galt and Silke had been speaking about. "Why do you whisper?"

"Oh, the lady was just asking me about what happened when we first met," Galt laughed, and Valdemar's eyes widened and he gave a smile, raising his cup. The King did as well, clearly interested. Galt continued. "I didn't want to make the topic of discussion, so I shared a few whispers of the exploit."

"Like a hero from the legends! Valdemar lauded, giving his grand laugh. "Oh, tell it to his majesty, I'm sure he would love to hear it. Sire, you'll get a kick out of it, I promise! He comes gallivanting out of nowhere, sword swinging! Oh, but you should say it. My apologies, lad."

The quip about a wise man elicited a singular, elegant raised brow from Silke. She wasn't quite certain if he was trying to flirt with her or not; honestly, the only consistent thing about men was how inconsistent they were with their overtures. More likely than not he was trying to sidestep the question with his considerable charm. There was no reason for him to have romantic interest in her: he had his choice of any number of excitable, curious, prettier younger ladies, and he wasn't competing with other nobleman to see who'd win a bet as to who could win her over. The fact his response hadn't been straightforward told her all she needed to know. Galt had a taste for more, although what precise ambition he held eluded her yet.

That he was not deterred by her jilted suitors was briefly fascinating- until he made a comparison to his life on the streets. Silke couldn't and wouldn't pretend she understood what it must be like to struggle to eat or be safe. That wasn't to say that she wasn't without her struggles. As a woman, she was a second class citizen in many ways, underestimated and passed over in favor of a man, and she had deep scars from the death of her mother and brother. While she didn't doubt he was cunning, he was ignorant of the cutthroat nature of the courts, and the stark contrast it had compared to other social circles. He was too cavalier about the threats all around him.

Silke gave no indication she heard Galt's words spoken into his cup. Valdemar interrupted before she could make any sort of reply and she somewhat relished the notion of leaving him hanging, wondering if he had scared her off with his glimpse of severity. Her countenance had been impassive, her eyes as clear and controlled as the rest of her, when he had lost his grin. Only an individual that valued themselves could be scared and, as someone who was apathetic to her future, she was difficult to frighten.

"Lady Silke, it is good to see you!" greeted a man in a slightly pompous tone as he approached their seats at the table. He was a handsome man just shy of his forties dressed in navy blue and burgundy, colors that were understated in the current environment. All of his perfectly coiffed hair was a pleasant hazelnut brown streaked with gray at the temples that only served to make him seem more refined. Galt may have taken care to remember Count Gregor Schaude in particular as he was the wealthiest of all the counts by a substantial margin. His family lineage had a reputation of creating shrewd, cunning men, who were ruthless when crossed. Rumors circulated that his grandfather and father had a habit of torturing any thieves caught on their lands.

It had been lamented by Count Schaude, in the presence of others, how cruel fate was that Lady Silke had not been born earlier or he later. He had wed years before she reached maturity and his sons had not begun puberty. The count had bemoaned his inability to bring Silke into his family. No one mistook his exclamations to mean he was in love with the younger woman; rather, he admired her silver tongue and business acumen and was deeply disappointed her genetics wouldn't contribute to future generations of Schaude.

"Count Schadue, may I introduce you to Count Harrowmark?" she said with a graceful gesture.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Count Schaude said to Galt with a small bow of the head. His flat, perfunctory tone and the small bow of his head were the bare minimum required by protocol. There was no malice from Count Schaude, he just did not care about any new nobleman unless there was something they could do for him, which Galt could not.

Turning back to Silke, Count Schaude smiled warmly, with as much professional affection as he showed anyone in the court. "May I borrow your company for a spell, Lady Silke? There is a business matter I intend to broach with Duke Deduan and your father, and it occurs to me I'd much benefit from your presence during those discussions." It was not the sort of conversation most women would be privy to and, if they were, they'd stand quietly and listen with idle minds. She was, however, quite astute in political and socioeconomic matters, and so she had been increasingly invited by more liberal aristocrats to partake, especially when her advice and help had proved advantageous.

For half a second Silke considered declining. If she were to depart Galt's company now, he'd be alone with Duke Valdemar and the king, without her knowledge or experience to smooth over any stumbles. Her mind flickered back to the confidence he had displayed when she had warned him about her previous would-be suitors. Since he was so certain of himself, she would let him sink, swim, or at least discover if he had any deficiencies. As the guest of honor, any mistakes he made would be overlooked for the most part, so it was his best opportunity to learn.

"Of course, Count Schaude. I'm sure Galt will manage spectacularly without me," she said. She hoped the other women of the court swarmed him with all their coy games, because he'd quickly find ladies would demand commitment for anything more than a kiss, if that. Silke had overheard her brother griping about how insufferable he found the teasing and flirting when nothing could be done without taking a wife. "Is this about that newly discovered gem mine?" she asked Count Schaude with a smile of her own.

"Ah, quick as always Lady Silke!" he grinned. "Your majesty, Duke Valdemar, Count Harrowmark," he added, bowing deeply before circling to Silke and taking her arm, leading her away with formal elegance.

"She's always been such an odd woman," an older lady a few seats down grumbled under her breath. Not everyone appreciated how Silke challenged the status quo.

Later that evening...

---

The feast had lasted a good few hours, the great fire that roared in the hearth in need of new kindling by the time the nobles had grown weary of their merrymaking. Galt had certainly engorged himself on food, still in stark disbelief that he needn't worry on food anymore, or money for that matter. He wasn't entirely certain why he had decided to offer to escort Silke home. Perhaps because she was the only one who was not the Duke and perhaps the King who enjoyed his presence without trying to gain anything from him. Galt also had to admit she caused almost as much of a stir at the dinner as he had, and it was not out of a lack of knowledge for her station. He found it confused and intrigued him all at once.

Still, carnally his desires were either a nap or a good woman, and he didn't foresee either from his volunteering. Not that Silke was not a good woman, even if he had only known her a short time. But he felt he respected her a bit too much to be that forward, and he doubted she was interested either. On second thought, the nap seemed the most likely, and increasingly the more attractive prospect. Galt's stomach had not been this full since he was a small lad.

Now, the two of them found themselves on two mares, cantering down the road on the misty evening. The heavy hooves clopped along the stone of the road, Silke slightly ahead of her 'escort' by virtue of the fact that Galt was not that good of a rider. True, it was how he had saved the Duke, but survival was a great motivator, he found. As it were, he was merely trying to keep his horse from bumping into Silke's steed. Galt cleared his throat to gather her attention.

"We had a conversation earlier that I believe we were going to speak about," Galt asked, glad to be out of earshot from anyone else. He hoped she did not wish to stand on ceremony, but he was tired of it and he didn't think she would care. "About my ambitio-" His horse whinnied and galloped forward a bit, and he realized he had yanked on the reigns a bit too hard. So much for being smooth. He cleared his throat and hid what embarrassment he felt, luckily now just beside the lady on the road.

"Er, my ambitions... But first I want to ask you what your interest in me is," He told her, eyeing her curiously. "If it was marriage, you'd bat your lashes and try any number of things. Not that I mind such things, but you wanted to speak to me of another matter. You can speak honestly. I might have been less than honest in my life, but I don't have a lot of friends in this life, and you're impressive in a few ways." Galt hoped he wasn't laying it on too thick. He had spent the afternoon regaling the Duke and King with stories, some lies, others not, and one was the story of the rescue. The King bought it well enough, Galt thought. The Duke did not care for the why or how, just that it had happened.

As a survivor himself, Galt could appreciate that.

The evening had proved to be quite productive and left Silke in good spirits by the time she was astride her mare. Admittedly she had drank more wine than she had eaten, which meant she would have quite the headache tomorrow if she didn't have an after-feast snack, but the business proposition from Count Schaude had bolstered her spirits after the spat with Vildraven. It was a shame neither her father nor her brother had any talent for diplomacy or negotiation. Her father was a brilliant, generous man, who was quite aware that he could be taken advantage of financially by manipulative persons, and so he had become relatively paranoid about engaging in new endeavors. By contrast, her brother was a shrewd man who understood the figures but did not possess the social graces to navigate more beneficial agreements. If it appeared too good to be true he dismissed it, and if if the numbers didn't rise to his high standards he dismissed it, without even attempting to broker a better trade.

Thoughts of precious stones, investments, and laborers were chased out of her mind as Galt cleared his throat, presumably to gain her attention. Silke had been leading the way and politely ignoring the poor horsemanship of her companion. It would have been more shocking if he was a skilled equestrian given his commoner background. Riding in her gown was a touch awkward, though it was a small price to pay for the freedom she enjoyed when it was her, a steed, and an empty road. She did did a cursory glance of her surroundings to ensure she knew where they were relative to her home.

The noblewoman reigned in her mare to slow its speed to a more comfortable trot when Galt started to speak and abruptly bolted ahead. Her horse seemed to be as confused as she was. They came to a brief stop before catching up to the newly christened count. Silke couldn't help but smile at his struggles. There was something decidedly refreshing about being in the presence of someone who was not a perfect veneer of composure. Much as she adored the courts in her own way, they could be taxing after a while, both emotionally and mentally. Here where the cool breeze stirred leaves in the trees, and where owls could be hooting a short distance away, it was easier to be human.

"I wouldn't be interested in any man who was won over by batting eyelashes and coy games," she said with amusement in her voice. "For your own sake, I do hope you're careful around the ladies. If you do anything more than have a nice conversation, their fathers will either hastily rush you to exchange vows, threaten your life, or both. One of my brothers, Alistair, came very close several times to being forced into a wedding," Silke added with a fond laugh at the memory.

Noticeably she didn't divulge anything regarding her romantic intentions. As much as she tried to be woman who was indifferent and distant to would-be suitors, she had feelings and wants when it came to affection; rather than act on them, however, she kept them suppressed. She noticed handsome men, such as Galt, as it would have been impossible to ignore them. Whenever an eligible bachelor (and some who were not) approached her that suited her ideals, her breath would catch in her throat and she would fight to bury the attraction. It wasn't always successful.

"As you know, titles are passed from father to son or, should he lack a son, to another male relative. To give credit where credit is due, there are many members of the nobility where there is some benefit to this system, or it at least doesn't create a sizeable issue. Heirs are groomed for the role and their peers, as well as the royalty, help hold fellow aristocrats accountable. That being said," she sighed, "there is definite room for improvement. I'm of the opinion that a new face or two could help effectuate certain changes. I also have personal reasons for wishing to forge strong allies where I see potential." Silke cast an appraising look at him, wondering not for the first time if he could be bolstered into a higher station than a count. More importantly, she considered whether he would reward her help and trust in the way she envisioned.

"I am intrigued to know how you find me impressive. Is it because I have the respect of Count Schaude or because of the extraordinary gossip the older duchesses enjoy spreading about me? A few years ago one dowager claimed my knowledge of commerce could only be explained through supernatural possession," she laughed.

Well, she seemed to be endeared to my complete lack of charm, he thought sardonically. Then again, even that was based on his own steed's unease around the former thief. He looked at the beast with suspicion, as if it were paid off to thwart his efforts at conversation.

Galt's devil-may-care attitude had a lot to do with the treatment he had received in his life, mostly due to his station. Women, for instance, had the tendency to look down on him. Granted, a few of them had called him handsome and spoke true enough, but they had been with him for that reason and then left him for better prospects. He supposed it was pragmatic, and he had not learned enough about them to grow attached regardless, but if they weren't using him, they were laughing or scoffing at him for his lack of money or stable job. Strangely enough, many of the noble ladies focused on the same, except the shoe was on the other foot now. Silke wasn't like that, at least as far as he could gather. He listened to her intently, curious on her thoughts laid out plainly. So she was wanting to effect changes? He couldn't disagree with that sentiment, at the very least.

"Oh, I'm careful." He said with surety, though he gave her a wry smile. "I'm not looking for complications, even if complications tend to be the most fun. Like you..."

Galt smiled wider, his dark eyes meeting hers. It caused his charm to bloom into magnetism. "You make things complicated. Not for me, but others around you. They don't quite know what to make of you. I look at you and I feel similar. You don't seem to want anything from the other nobles, but you move them effortlessly and speak to me as if I'm not a prospective thing to conquer. I suspect you've noticed I've treated you the same, out of respect." He laughed at the supernatural possession claim. "If you're a spirit, or even a witch, you're certainly the prettiest witch I've ever seen. Most of the ones who claim it have warts or crooked backs." He found he was still looking into her eyes, and turned away to hide his bashful look in the dim light of the evening.

"You ask me of my ambitions, and honestly? I haven't thought that far. What would ambitions get me?" Galt said into the air, thinking aloud. It sounded very much like playing a hand that could end up making him lose what he had. "In fact, I don't see why I need play in any great game. These people around me, everyone, I've had to scrape through the mud under their boot heels since I was seven. Now half of them like me and the other half simper at my feet. I don't feel pride or that I deserve it. I was lucky, like anyone who's born into something. But I won't jeopardize it either. I've got a guaranteed ticket to not starve nor want anymore. If what you're asking me is to risk that, I would need a solid reason or assurances that it would be worth it in some fashion."

He felt it was very much not the answer she wanted to hear. And though it was true, Galt was a born risk-taker, however he had only been in this life for a fortnight, and he had barely gotten used to it. He knew soon he would get bored and want to stir up some trouble, but enough to make him an enemy of people who could strip him of lands or coin? He wasn't sure.

Well, he was. But he did not want to admit it to himself.

He looked at her, more tenderly than earlier. "I'm not a monster... or the cutthroat people thought of me, but I'm no hero, either. I wish I could say I would do something for the good of the system and the people, but I never had the luxury to learn of such things..."

He cleared his throat, regaining some dignity as he patted his fist to his chest. "I suspect I'm not quite what you're looking for. Which is a pity, you seem like what many men are looking for. I feel I would only disappoint you."

One slender brow arched in amusement as he called her a 'complication.' Silke noted both the subtle and obvious flirtations interwoven in his response, though she was careful not to outwardly react. Galt was handsome and, paired with his heroic story of saving a duke from bandits, could have won over many women. Neither of those were what made him particularly dangerous to her. It was his wealth of charisma that would be her greatest challenge to gently rebuff. She liked what she had seen and heard from him thus far; he was direct, honest, witty, and humble. The newly appointed count was a man that deserved a woman that was still able to dream and hope for a future of marital bliss.

A wry smile twisted upon her lips at his assessment that she didn't seem to want anything of the nobles. He was both correct and incorrect. For the nobility, the vast majority of them assumed that she was secretly as selfish as they were, and was simply more adept at concealing her agenda than they were at uncovering it. They and Galt and were both wrong in very different ways. Silke did want something, just not for herself, and all of her manipulations were her orchestrations for the benefit of her father and brother. On a larger scale, they did impact her positively, though that was a side effect rather than the intention. One day she would be gone, her life at eternal rest, and she needed the peace of mind they would survive beyond.

"You're already playing in a great game," Silke asserted smoothly, unbothered by the fact he had refused her implied offer. "As the king's attention shifts off of you over in another fortnight or two, other men of the realm will increasingly invite you to dinners, hunts, and other such engagements. Nobility with riches and titles are almost engaged in form of politics. You could, of course, reject their social overtures and try to keep to yourself, but make no mistake, absolutely neutrality is not easily maintained. So long as you remain close to Valdemar, his unassailable duke title will protect you, though it will not be absolute." She didn't want to breed paranoia in her companion; however, she felt compelled to impart on him that being a count for the rest of his life wasn't as guaranteed as he might believe.

"You may also be required to turn a blind eye to those more like your seven-year-old self as well, and those in worse plights, to maintain that neutrality," she mused aloud casually. It was true she didn't understand the hardship he endured as a young child. Silke had been born into a loving family where all her needs and wants had been met. When her mother and second-eldest brother had died she learned how trauma could make one incredibly aware of similar suffering in others. She attended every funeral she went to and found herself hyper-aware of girls without maternal figures. She strongly suspected that Galt was the same way when he saw boys that reminded him of himself.

"You are still alive, are you not?" she then asked, without waiting for an answer. "Only the dead and buried are incapable of being taught. I suppose one could argue that an invalid also could not learn, but it's too late to be feigning stupidity, don't you think?" Silke teased.

Reaching over, she took hold of his reins with one hand, clicking her tongue to stop his mare as her own stood in place. She had an important point to make and she wanted to make absolutely certain he listened without the distraction of his horse. "We both know you didn't tell the whole story of the duke's rescue. Can you honestly tell me, and yourself, that escaping him with easier than saving just yourself? That in the moment you calculated for how Duke Valdemar would thank you, how the king would thank you, and that was your only motivation? I will concede I could be wrong, but I believe you acted on instinct," she said as her steady gaze locked onto his unflinchingly. "You took a risk. How many of your former friends would have done the same? How many of the men you met tonight?"

Silke released the reins and pushed a wisp of hair out of her face that had fallen across a cheek. She laughed lightly to herself with a hint of bitterness that bled through. "I assure you I am not what many men are looking for, though I thank you for thinking I am worthy of such attention. They want the idea of me, a wife because they have need, or a prize to be won in a challenge where all their friends have thus failed. If you think I am too severe, at the next social event ask any of them my favorite color, or flower, or constellation, or instrument, or hobby."

She was jaded before she was eligible for courtship and marriage. It became worse as time wore on. Men of lords, barons, counts, and dukes expected women to be enamored with the prestige of their upbringing, to be awed by the sheer consideration of someone of their status. Silke had been smitten with a few here and there that were handsome and charming like Galt, but her feelings usually faded as it became apparent any relationship would be her bending and yielding to their desires, and letting them make every decision without input.

He had to admit, she was good. Even as he closed his eyes, he knew he was going to see it her way, even if he did not see how at the current moment. Silke wasn't wholly wrong. Galt did have a soft spot for those less fortunate, as he had been. But it wasn't the bleeding heart she might hope for, and ironically that was also a factor borne of his upbringing. He had been too busy trying to survive himself for him to care if other people did or not. But then she mentioned the Duke, and perhaps he was just kidding himself. He had saved the old codger when he did not have to.

He found he had a difficult time around her as she spoke and handled the horses. It was true, Galt didn't have a formal education, but there was a difference between memorizing passages from an old tome and true intelligence. Silke was persuasive and skilled, and he found that wildly attractive. True, she did not have some child's fairy-tail gossamer beauty like a few of the women at court played at, but only a fool would think her anything but comely, and she seemed both brilliant and witty.

"I don't think you're too severe. Though I would argue that's their failing rather than yours." The scoundrel retorted as he did his best to mirror her movements on her mount, trying to get his horse to be on the handsome trot hers had taken. Galt was a quick learner and could 'fake' it well enough, and so he attempted it. "And thank you, sometimes I put on an act so stupid I begin to think that I am by night's end." He finished that with a flash of a grin.

The wind picked up just a for a brief moment, but it only alleviated the fog slightly. Insects had begun to chirp, but not in great droves. The weather was not warm as of yet, and the country still needed some time to shake the trappings of winter before spring. He supposed his noticing of their surroundings told him the trail was finite and brought him back to reality. He had already made his decision, anyway. "I think only a madman or a fool would think they can dissuade you now, and since we both fancy myself as neither, I suppose I will accept your offer on the proviso that I even know what you are asking of me."

His horse stamped and shook its head, but did not stop. He couldn't tell if he was doing something very right or very wrong. Placing a hand on the beast's powerful neck, he soothed it. He had nothing against steeds or animals. Hell, a horse had made it possible for Galt to find himself in this strange forest escorting a noblewoman to her home. "You should tell me what exactly you are proposing, my lady, before I decide to leap straight into something. Are you asking us to become allies? Are we to have secret rendezvous' and discuss matters of politics and who our enemies are? I don't mean to sound theatrical, but I honestly don't know what the specific details you wish of me. If you're asking whether or not we could have more rides like this and a few dinners with less interruptions, sure. But how would you counsel me, and what would you get in return?"

Galt hoped he wasn't being too straight forward. He rather liked their banter and teasing, but he could do that sort of sparring after they made the rules so she nor he would overstep bounds and would have a clear goal. "Also, if we'll see each other more, I'll respect your boundaries and wishes. I'm not really the marriage type, but I'll flirt occasionally. But I do that anyway, so I hope that's ok. If it's not, I'll do my best to rein it in. I value our admittedly recent friendship if nothing else."

A smile alighted on her lips as Galt asserted only a fool or a madman would think she could be dissuaded. It wasn't exactly the enthusiastic endorsement she would have liked, but his characterization of her determination was nonetheless amusing. Silke did not intend to strong-arm her companion into accepting her offer; she was trying to be persuasive without being coercive. All too often she had experienced the latter with male members of the nobility. Once it became clear she was the woman pulling the strings of her household, and essentially the power behind her father's title, certain aristocrats had tried to brow beat her into heeding their advice and suggestions. She had not, of course, but it made her duly cautious not to catch herself exhibiting the same behavior.

Though concerns about whether she had pressured him into acceptance lingered at the edges of her mind, she couldn't help but giggle a little to herself at his fanciful imagining of how she'd help him climb to greatness. Truthfully he made it sound much more exciting than the reality. Still listening to him quietly, she reached over and helped him stop his horse as she checked her own. Without the sounds of their mares' hoof beats on the worn road, silence enveloped them, adding a gravitas to their conversation. Silke shifted in her saddle. Rationally she knew she was doing nothing the wrong. The stillness of the forest, the dark night, the fog, and their isolation made it feel almost taboo.

Galt's forthright comments about his future flirtations made her raise her brows. That, more than anything else he had said thus far, had been a surprise. Men didn't exactly volunteer that they weren't the marrying type. Commoners could remain unwed, but for a nobleman was unheard of, and any misgivings they had about entering into a holy union went unspoken. There was an obligation to take a wife and produce an heir. There were outliers, those who had only daughters, who lost their spouse, or were childless, but they hadn't simply shrugged off the responsibility itself without a pretense of trying to fulfill their duty. That he was also willing and able to discuss flirting left her momentarily speechless.

Closing her eyes to compose herself, she took a deep breath. A small puff of warm air formed as she exhaled slowly and turned to him, organizing her thoughts. "Perhaps it is best to think of me as your tutor. It is up to how you would prefer to facilitate our arrangement," she explained. "My goal is less to create an alliance so much as it to elevate you to a higher position. I'll help you learn about all the members of nobility, their biases and weaknesses, what political clout and power they wield, and how to best interact with them. I will give you advice, but it will ultimately be your choice whether you heed it. There is also the subject of your financial assets. You'll need some instruction on how to manage your estate." Silke paused a second to let everything sink in. There was more to be taught than she had outlined, yet she thought it best to start with the most important broad strokes, the ones that would be most pivotal to his success.

"As for your... romantic proclivities," she began. Silke had to stop and clear her throat as a blush colored her cheeks. Rarely someone was so attractive to her that she struggled to find a way to stave off their overtures. She knew she had to firmly lay out her boundaries, but she was conflicted, and had to fight herself on committing to stating them aloud. Galt was a more tempting prospect than he would ever realize. "Marriage is an expectation of lords, so I would not proclaim you're not the type. There are many lovely ladies of the court that would be truly blessed to have you as their husband," she told him sincerely.

Tilting her head back to the sky, she pondered her word choice for the millionth time. When she wasn't looking at him it was remarkably easier to divorce herself from the realization she was verbally resigning herself to loneliness, to not giving him a chance to be that dazzling, dashing, heroic, handsome man that the younger Silke dreamed of. "I am myself have an issue of... compatibility," she said more softly with a melancholy tone. "I am glad you value our friendship and you may speak however you like; I only wish for you to chase your own happiness."

"Ah," she exclaimed, recalling she hadn't answered what she stood to gain. "In return for my assistance, I only ask that in the future, should you be able, you use whatever power you gain to help my father and brother should they need it. They may never need it, but I worry about them incessantly," she said with a brilliant smile. It was apparent from the change in her voice that adored her family, speaking of them with warm affection.

What a peculiar woman, he thought. Skilled and intelligent and pretty, but she sought for someone else's gain and not her own. Somehow, he marveled at how easily she just thrilled him at the smallest things, the lightest touches, the most minute gestures. It was one thing to find a girl he found cute and he pursued, but already there were boundaries he had to admit he found arbitrary, whilst she wished to get closer to him but not too close. He also was of sound enough mind to realize she had not forbade his flirtations, and her own compliments back were welcoming. He wouldn't do anything to or with her that would compromise her, but she certainly gave him a sidelong glance he had seen other girls give him before.

This was going to be strange, he conceded. He did smile when she blushed, though he tried to hide it. He failed to hide his own blush, as well. It was a bit awkward there, in the stillness of the mist and the silence between them.

"Well, I would be foolish to not accept your tutelage, I think." Galt admitted, running a hand through his thick mane of hair. He never would have called it 'kingly' or any sort of 'stately,' but he supposed people would start seeing him in a fairly new light, particularly as time went on. He didn't really like it, but he supposed he needed to get used to it if he wanted to keep his position or get even more, or at the very least survive which was definitely on his to-do list.

"And I appreciate that," referring to her comment on Galt being a desirable husband-to-be. "As I said, you'd make a great wife and queen, even. But alas," He gave a facetious, theatrical tone to his voice. "-like most men I'll have to settle for you being but my teacher." Galt gave a well acted look that spoke of a forlorn hope dashed against the rock.

"Ah and yes! Thank you for the financial help as well. Er, financial advice. I've never had more than what could get me a meal, and I don't exactly know how to manage money. Wow... I actually don't." He said, looking inwardly at his own admission of it. Some merchants children could claim to know more.

"I will grant you some advice, though." Galt said suddenly, lifting his head to regard her. He gave a smile that lit up his dark eyes. "If we're to 'fraternize' or whatever word you would like to call it, be yourself with me. I'll be far more receptive if I'm learning from someone I can claim is a friend rather than a business partner. Business partners or 'people I know from work' have always been men and women who would stab me in the back for an extra cut, or just to save their own skins. I would rather have someone who is honest with me. Deal?"

Though she had made the comparison, it felt odd to hear him refer to her as a tutor aloud. As best as she could tell, Galt wasn't that much older than her, if he was at all. Silke was torn between two trains of thought when it came to age. On one hand, more years under one's belt typically added to experience and worldliness, and it was easier for two individuals of comparable age to find a common ground than if there was a large gap. On the other hand, the time one spent on the earth did not always coincide with maturity. There were noblemen and noblewomen with all the wisdom of a spoiled toddler and teenage peasants who were as cunning and sharp as someone twice their age, if not more. Regardless, it was quickly becoming apparent that teaching one of her peers would be stranger in practice had anticipated when she crafted her plan.

Wandering thoughts about their dynamic were stopped cold as he continued to praise her on how she'd be an excellent wife, upping his compliment to include that she'd even be a great queen. Silke felt a pang of guilt for receiving such undeserved flattery. There was nothing she could say or do to politely dispel the illusion. What she felt were admissions she could only shamefully acknowledge in her mind, never state aloud, and certainly never in the company others. She couldn't speak of how she lay awake at night remembering the way her father's face twisted in grief for weeks as she picked up the shattered pieces of their life. Her parents had been madly in love and thus the loss of her mother had been devastating. When her brother died, the knife in her heart twisted, and she was convinced she was cursed. It was superstitious paranoia, but the 'expendable' people in her family had died except for her, and she could not shake the conviction she was next.

"I'm sure you'll be a quick study," she reassured him as she regained her footing in the conversation. It was far from traditional for a woman to be handling the finances of an estate. Silke wasn't aware of any other woman of her stature doing so unless they were a widow without a son or a male relative to provide assistance. She counted herself fortunate that she had been allowed the latitude to learn accounting. Being poor at a subject was one thing, so long as it was tried, but willful ignorance was rather repugnant to her.

The request for honesty took her for surprise and she faltered. Her horse, sensing her uneasiness, stamped the ground as her hesitation grew into a silence after that singular word question. She had always prided herself on her social skills. Generally she could sense what people truly wanted and appeal to them in kind. They would claim they wanted honesty, as Galt had, yet very rarely were they prepared for it. The truth, without tempering, softening, or warping, could be unkind, unforgiving, and unpleasant. Transparency exposed beauty and ugliness without bias, and Silke was not to arrogant to believe that she could be counted among the former only.

"I can understand your trepidation given your background," she began slowly. Galt's offer was tempting. If she would ever think to indulge such a proposal it would be to someone so roguishly handsome and charming. "Just as you fear you would disappoint me, so must I disappoint you. It would be too much to ask anyone to trust a stranger is genuinely acting out of friendliness," Silke continued, "but on personal matters... I can not provide absolute honestly. We all wrestle with ourselves, and what I keep to myself will not be related to you or my helping you."

It was the best Silke could offer. She didn't have friends, not the type of friends Galt was surely talking about. Of all the ladies that followed her skirts through every event, none of them had heart-to-heart conversations with her, shared her burdens, or stayed with her when she was sick. They cared about one another- just not intimately. They sent presents to one another for birthdays, gave advice, and provided company, but she'd struggle to call a single one a confidant. When Alistair died, so had her closest relationship, and perhaps she had not ever recovered enough to allow herself the vulnerability necessary to be a true friend.

Galt considered her offer for a moment, glancing at her as he stroked his chin. He didn't need to think long, he had already made up his mind to accept her proposal, but he also didn't want to seem too eager. After faux deliberation, he gave her a grin and held his hand out for her to accept. He was never much of a religious man, but for some reason the universe seemed to be watching out for him, recently. Escaping with his life, becoming a count, and now having a trustworthy, attractive friend to help him navigate this strange world. He held out his hand to shake.

"We have an accord, it seems. Happy to work with you, Silke." He said, and his horse, though not entirely under his control, stepped closer to her steed as if it sensed a connection and wished to help.

---

They had agreed to meet three days hence at the cusp of dusk, and Galt had to survive with his wit and his propensity for bullshitting his way through most things until the appointed time.

His estate was needing to be furnished and the west wing was still being built. It had originally meant to be built for the late Count Malgerton, who had died during a battle across the border 5 years ago. It was still set to be made and had been paid for before his untimely death, and it had been set to be inherited by the late Count's wife, the Countess Tildenfathen, if for no other reason than because it could go nowhere else save the King. But as Galt Harrowmark had been newly anointed, he was given 'leave' to take it, which the Duke took as it being his right to grant it to his new favorite vassal.

And so Galt spent his time at court, which consisted of a lot of sleeping in, being present at meals but otherwise trying to stay out of people's eyesight, which was thankfully something he excelled at considering his previous 'occupation,' and searching the palace for things to do. Now, it was after lunch on the third day, and Galt had just fled the grand hall with a full belly and three of the ministers seeking his attention. Luckily, he had found a small nook on the 'Silver Tower,' a keep at the end of the palace grounds mostly manned by the royal guard and the occasional high-borne visitor. Stacked with three of the latest ballista designs, overlooking the curtain wall of the capital palace.

Galt had become fast friends with a few of the lieutenants of the guard, playing cards with them and teaching them a thing or two on how to 'tell' in a game, as they were honorable men and not used to such subtle manipulations. As he laughed and played and drank, even if some of the guards eschewed since their breaks did not last long enough to warrant drunkenness, he thought of Silke's arrival later that day. His chambers had been expanded slightly, to give him an air of importance. He not only had a room but an outer lobby and a few adjoining rooms where his 'things' were to be place, though those were mainly gifts and trappings of office he needed to eventually be moved to his estate.

At least they would have a private place to speak.

There was (in her mind) an unnecessary amount of time spent consoling her father and brother. Silke was astute enough to be aware of the reasons behind their probing questions. They were both exceedingly overprotective of her despite realizing she could take care of herself. She tolerated their anxiety because she knew that, though they never spoke of it, the loss of Countess Rosamund Kasper and Alistair Kasper had made them a touch paranoid about her health and safety. Both men were passively aware of the fact she shunned all romance, however, so they believed all her reassurances that she had no romantic intentions whatsoever. The gleam in her eye when she spoke of educating him on manners of politics, finance, and management was arguably her most persuasive argument that there would be no adoring gazes exchange. Vincent especially had a hard time imagining any of his friends being dazzled by her business acumen.

Instead of riding one of her horses to the palace, she had arranged for one of their estate's carriages to take her. The driver would have accommodation from the royal staff so long as she was visiting and the horses could be unhitched and refreshed while they waited. Besides the convenience of the carriage, it was a practical necessity, as she had packed two large tomes and one smaller book, a few scrolls, and had secured a blank ledger for him, all of which would be gifts of sorts to help propel him on his studies. These documents had been packed inside a small chest for transport.

She glanced out her window as she arrived and let out a soft sigh. For a few years now she had been driven towards this singular goal of creating a steadfast ally, someone who could stand tall and firm among the nobility, who would bolster all of them and be the support her family needed when she was gone. Now that he arrived in the form of Galt (or at least she hoped), she found herself both excited and strangely depressed. Once she tutored him and boosted him to a higher position, she'd lose her purpose. She would lose her anchoring passion and be adrift and alone, more than she already was, and that was a frightening thought.

As the carriage rolled to a stop, she pulled aside the curtain to glance into the courtyard, spotting a steward running up to greet them. Her driver stepped down from his seat, rapped on the door lightly, and opened it. "We've arrived, my lady." He reached over for the parcel with the books and scrolls and handed them to the nearest guard while the steward escorted Silke out of the carriage. Previously slumped shoulders had straightened, her apathetic expression was a flawless mask of congeniality, and she forced herself out of her melancholic disposition.

"Lady Kasper, is it good to see you looking well," the steward intoned as he began leading the way towards the 'Silver Tower' where Galt was waiting for her. It was a strange place to have an audience, but he had learned long ago that his opinion meant absolutely nothing to the aristocracy, and they would act however it pleased them. He was, however, curious about the pair. Rumors had only intensified in the last few days that the elusive Silke had been charmed by the roguishly handsome new count. That was, after all, what most of her peers would dream of- falling madly in love with an eligible bachelor that would return their affections.

"Even if it's been only three days, it's been too long," she replied with a large smile. "I can't imagine how taxing it must have been for the staff to clean up after the festivities," Silke empathized sincerely. "You'll have to teach me some of your secrets for how all of you move so quickly. When Vincent returns late at night from travel or a hunt that has run long, he's an absolute bear to tidy up after."

"Surely you don't clean yourself!" the steward replied in alarm, successfully diverted from his wild speculation from Silke and Galt. Their guard companion also seemed concerned gauging from his knitted brows.

"I do try," she answered with a cheeky grin, leaning a bit closer. "It's hard for me to sleep when I know he'll be returning that evening, and our staff are all such diligent workers. The least I can do is look after my fool of an elder brother now and again," she said with a wink.