"If you touch me, one of us will die." Kasimir warned the closest guard, and he gave the man a look so hard, the armsman faltered. The men behind him egged him on, but Kasimir simply raised his hands to show he was not armed. Men and women, some in night gowns or in varying states of undress popped out of doors and hallways, all watching with fascination or confusion. 

"You will need to come with us." One of the men said. Kasimir instead pointed at another guardsman, one he recognized. 

"You there, you saw me leave my sword in my room as your captain bade me. Is that not the truth?" He said, and barked: "Speak!" 

"It is," the guardsman said. He had a wide face and dark hair, looking somewhat unsure of himself, yet he seemed without ambition at the moment. "Herr Reinhardt left his sword in his room. It...It would have been hard for him to come back and then go after Sir Oderick. And the Graf's bastard stayed late at the party as well. It seems less than likely." 

"Unlikely, but not impossible." A gruffer, more surly guard remarked. He seemed on the edge of just apprehending Kasimir, and the bastard would like to not have to make good on his promise. He looked around to see if any of his old acquaintences were near, but unmercifully there was no one he recognized. He felt bile gurgling from his throat at the thought, but he pulled himself together and stepped back, indicating the lady Eleanor. 

"Ask her what she saw." He said simply, remaining as placid as possible. "If the lady Eleanor claims I did this, or that she believes I was close enough at hand, then I will go with you quietly." 

No matter the answer, Kasimir would fight this. He knew the truth, even if everyone else seemed too stupid to see he was being framed. But he would at least allow himself to be manhandled and taken away in chains for the time being if the only witness condemned him. He would not necessarily blame the guards, after that. However, he probably would curse the Brettonian unto death. Ulric worked in strange ways, leaving his fate to this woman. 

The men turned to the golden haired woman, a few looking just on the edge of violence, but they awaited their word, though out of a sense of chivalry or simple logic, it was hard to say.