Syrenrei

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

To his credit, Vincent wasn't expecting Galt to immediately agree to break the engagement. He wasn't so obtuse nor so oblivious that he didn't understand why Silke had been persuaded to accept it in the first place. The threat of her being suddenly shipped off their northern neighbor, or another country with which a marriage could strengthen relations, was not something beyond his comprehension. After the loss of his brother, he had spent many restless nights with a glass of liquor in hand contemplating all the worst-case scenarios that would pull his only surviving sibling out of reach.

Although he respected the count standing opposite, and actually liked him, and although he understood the circumstances that had led Silke to accepting, he still did not approve of the union. "For the sake of argument, let's say that I believe you are in love with her. That isn't enough. All of her suitors have either adored her or seen her as a conquest, a trophy that no one else has been able to claim. Father and I detest the latter, of course, but the former isn't that much better. You want her to be happy, to return your affections, to not stand in her way, to be liked, don't you?" he asked. He assumed Galt did. Vincent hadn't fallen in love with anyone himself, although he had fleeting infatuations. Each time a lovely lady caught his eye, he found himself trying (usually unsuccessfully) to project an impressive image and put his best foot forward. Unfortunately for him, he had a difficult time communicating with the fairer sex, and more often than not became so tongue-tied he looked like an absolute buffoon.

Leaning against the wall, he crossed his arms. "I remember what Silke was like before... before our mother passed, when she was truly happy, and when she wasn't working herself to death, or wearing fake smiles. You'd do anything for her? How could I believe that? What if what's best for her is stopping her? What if it makes her angry or upset? Are you willing to fight with her if that's what is needed?" It was a tall order. He himself struggled to challenge her, and he had the benefit of being tied to her through familial bonds, one they both treasured. Despite knowing that she would love him no matter how hard he pushed, he couldn't quite be the monster that she needed to stop her from proceeding on her destructive path.

And that was at the end, he knew. The Silke that managed the Kasper estate, that was the darling of the court, and that was marrying Galt hadn't faced opposition from anyone that was willing to be ugly in order to stop her. She was careening out of control towards an early death. As she laid in her bed now, he knew she was run ragged and worn from her duties, ones that he felt incapable of undertaking himself, and which he had never been able to wrangle from her grasp.

"I don't see any flaws in you Count Harrowmark. You are smart, athletic, kind, and now a member of the nobility. My father undoubtedly thinks you're a perfect match for my perfect sister." Leveling his gaze on Galt, he narrowed his eyes. "Investigate what plans she's made, actually made, not for me or my father, but her own future. Ask her about it. When she gives you a straight answer, an honest answer, instead of evading, then I will consider approving of you... but you'll have to be confrontational and maybe ugly to get to the truth. Being sweet and pleasant won't work. Showing only all your strengths and best sides won't work. Until you can break through and see that Silke, I'll do everything in my power to break this engagement for both of you."

Vincent meant every word. He couldn't work people like Silke; he never possessed that skill. Regardless of the limited skill set and influence at his disposal when compared to his sister, he wasn't without recourse. He'd test Galt's resolve, and if he found him lacking, he'd find a way to pull them apart. Hell, if he had to he'd send her away, somewhere out of his own reach if absolutely necessary. He'd had enough of watching the disaster that was unfolding in front of him. After all these years, it was finally time for him to take action.

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

Silke wasn't quite ready to turn in; even as exhausted as she was, she was a workaholic at heart. There was always something to be done and she prioritized finishing the seemingly endless tasks that were required to keep the estate in good working order, their social calendars full, their images maintained, and their tenants happy over her own health. A rebellious glint appeared in her eye as she attempted to protest the implication that she needed to head to bed once dinner was concluded. "There's a budget for repairs the stone wall on the north edge of the..." she began to protest.

"Does it need to be done tonight?" Lord Byrne asked sweetly, arching one elegant brow. "I'm not quite as accomplished as your ladyship," he teased gently, knowing she disliked the term, especially in casual company, "but I suspect that could wait until tomorrow with no consequences except you more well rested." He flashed her one of her winning smiles. As charismatic of a man as he was, he could tell she was nonplussed. She wasn't the sort to be won over with social manipulations as she too was deft in the art. Immediately she looked for a flaw in his argument, and parted her lips to speak in preparation.

"When you're tired you're more likely to make mistakes," Count Kasper said, cutting her off before she could launch into a debate. "If you want to give the budgetary review the respect and attention it deserves, it would be better if you had a nap at least," her father gently insisted. He knew that alluding the possibility of it being a nap, which was shorter than a full night's sleep, she would be slightly more persuaded. Attacking from the vantage point of her giving her best effort when refreshed, and it being what the estate and their citizens needed, appealed to her on an emotional angle.

Sighing, Silke could at least recognize that she wouldn't win against everyone else united in herding her back to her bedchambers. Even Galt was convinced it was a good idea, despite her belief it was a waste of the evening hours. She had burned the oil down in her lamps for so many months on end that foregoing it once seemed ridiculous. "Very well," she agreed. Her brother looked relieved that she wouldn't continue to fight the issue.

Vincent's relief was short-lived. When Galt asked if he would accompany him to his room after they sent Silke's to hers, his face once more became brooding. He didn't dislike the fellow or have any fundamental problem with his personality- he just disliked him on principal of being his sister's fiance. Grumbling under his breath, he wanted to refuse, but Count Kasper immediately said, "A wonderful idea, Count Harrowmark! Vincent would be happy to deliver you to your chambers."

In short order Count Kasper and Lord Byrne excused themselves (the latter with a horribly amused expression) and walked out of the room to retire for the night. Vincent and Silke followed a second later, heading towards the same corridor. It became increasingly apparent that the only lady of the house was in worse shape than she admitted. Encroaching fatigue considerably slowed her pace, her face was still more pale than it out to be, and she stumbled a couple of times. Her brother, Galt, or both helped (regardless of her resistance) until she was finally passed off to a made that took over.

Vincent waited until Silke's door was closed and they had walked a few dozen feet, safely out of earshot, and turned towards the rogue-turned-nobleman. "You should break off your engagement. It's not a good match," he insisted without elaborating. Only if he was asked what made them unsuitable for one another would he expound on his reasoning.

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

Silke remained silent when Galt tried to reassure her father that he was getting through to her. While she had to begrudgingly agree that sometimes she over-committed herself, she loathed when it became a topic of discussion. So much of what she did was necessary, or at least it had been when she took on so many of the burdens she bore, and no one was exactly clamoring to take on the responsibilities. Their smiles and gestures stirred resentment in her heart, not because she regretted the sacrifices she made, but the manner in which it was always reduced and almost trivialized in conversations. It always had been. For some members of the nobility, they would minimize her accomplishments because of her gender. With the people who genuinely cared for her, such as her family, they would thank her for her efforts, tell her to rest more, yet passively expect her contributions to remain the same.

Quite frankly, it was impossible.

Her hand tensed briefly under his touch and she put on her best smile so as to not alarm anyone. It wasn't a debate she wanted to have. If they hashed out everything here and now, she'd have to expose how she had to push aside her grief for her mother and brother's losses, while her surviving brother and father were allowed to do nothing more than focus on their feelings. She would be forced to explain how every little nuance of their lives for over a year were tended to and managed by the estate staff or Silke herself. They'd have to be candid about how neither Lord Kasper nor Vincent showed an inkling of incentive to do the vast majority of her duties and, instead, she'd groomed a couple of servants to assume them in the event she perished unexpectedly.

Reminding herself that she had put plans and contingencies into place, she managed to calm herself, and not a moment too soon. The servants came bearing platters with the entree, which was a wild turkey that had been rubbed with herbs, spices, butter, and oil, then roasted over coals in the kitchen until the skin was fragrant and crispy. There were fresh rolls, soft and fluffy with a slightly glazed crust, squashes baked, split open, then seasoned with the same mixture that had been spread on the turkey, a medley of vegetables lightly sauteed, and leeks that had been wrapped in cabbage leaves, cooked, and covered with a savory glaze that glistened in the low light.

Lord Byrne continued to make more light conversation with Lord Kasper, Silke, and Galt, as it was clear that Vincent preferred to disengage from his preferred subjects. For a bit he discussed local fashion, and more specifically how the changing preferences for certain fabrics, dyes, and embellishments was affecting trade. Although she was quite knowledgeable about imports, exports, and how their neighbors influenced them (and them in return), it became clear in short order that her father did not, and so he listened, but did not contribute except nods of his head. From there they discussed paintings, including one artist that both Byrne and Silke believed was overrated, how the royal family's jewelry affected mining operations for particular gems, and a crop disease that plagued the kingdom a couple of years ago, and the insolvency of a duchy teetering on the edge of catastrophe.

As well as Lord Byrne navigated each subject, it was abundantly clear he was seeking out Silke's advice from a business perspective, which she was happy to give. Rather than confess her favorite colors or dress style, she analyzed the past few years, and gave her predictions for future trends, and thus where to invest. She recommended a man whose paintings she objectively thought would increase in value over time, how the cyclical nature of the monarchy's gems indicated emeralds would likely become popular in the near future, and related how she had a farmer tenant that she was allowing to experiment on different agricultural techniques he wanted to test. Hardly an expert herself on any given aspect of academia, she had become an astute observer of society, and used her keen insight to adapt the Kasper's financial pursuits.

By the time desert was served, however, she was overtly showing the signs of fatigue. Her posture had a subtle droop, her face was shades paler than when dinner had started, and there were faint circles under her eyes despite her make-up. A cake similar to gingerbread was placed on the table, neatly sliced for the aristocrats' ease of eating, along with honeyed pears and small berries. Silke had picked her way through dinner, eating less than half of what her guests and family ate. Quite simply, she was so exhausted it had affected her appetite, no matter how much Byrne tried to distract her from the fact. Her eyes lit up at the sight of dessert- which they rarely had unless they were hosting- and Vincent picked up a large piece of the confection, placing it on a small plate for her.

"You should get some rest after this," he said, his suggestion more of a statement in delivery, then looked to Byrne and Galt for assistant in pursuing his endlessly stubborn sister.

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

Count Kasper had turned to Silke, wanting to take in her expression and body language before replying. While she wasn't the sort of person who would be coerced or manipulated into anything she didn't want, as everyone knew, he still searched her features for confirmation. As a father who adored his daughter, he took her future happiness very seriously, and thus he was compelled to give the moment the gravity it deserved.

The brief silence was disrupted, however, by Vincent. "Why did you accept?" His question was directed at his sister rather than Galt. It wasn't that he didn't trust the newly appointed nobleman; he liked him well enough. What he found suspicious was that his only surviving sibling, who had been passively opposed to all marriage proposals until this point, was suddenly planning to wed. The issue with the north was compelling he could admit. He also realized (begrudgingly) that the former peasant was heroic and charming when compared to most of the aristocracy. Despite all of this, this was a stark departure from the Silke he thought he knew.

Sensing the tension, and Silke's slight hesitance, Lord Byrne cut in. "Well, sometimes when a lady really likes a man..."

"Don't patronize me, Byrne," Vincent snapped back, in no mood for jesting.

By now Silke had composed herself. She took a deep breath. Much as she'd like to wax poetic about love and romance, she couldn't. It wasn't that she didn't care about Galt. Deep in her heart she knew that she did, just not to the depths perhaps everyone would hope preceding a wedding. Because of the traumatic way she had lost her mother and brother, she reigned in her emotions, forbidding herself from feeling too much or becoming overly attached to anyone. She knew that she could die just as unexpectedly as they did at any moment. While she couldn't prevent her eventual death, she could control the damage she left behind. In her mind, being kind but distant would mean those left behind wouldn't be as devastated than if she showered them with unending affection.

"What man would you have said yes to if you were me?" she asked patiently. Vincent opened his mouth a couple times to answer, then became visibly frustrated when he couldn't find a suitable name. Most highborn men cared only for the connections that their future brothers-in-law or sons-in-law would help forge. They approved candidates that were influential, wealthy, and powerful, especially if they were malleable. Some were pickier, wanting happiness in the future of their female family members, but they generally assumed that if a courtship progressed to a proposal and it was accepted, that was good enough. For Vincent, however, he was protective to a degree that was exceedingly rare among his counterparts. No one was good enough for his sister.

"I thought you wanted to stay here with us," he grumbled, deflating. His voice belied he was scared. For years now he and his father had come to rely on the patient, consistent presence of Silke, who handled everything on their behalf that they couldn't or wouldn't do themselves. Since the Kasper matriarch passed, she managed the staff, the finances, the estate, the tenants, the taxes, their social calendars, and everything in-between. She knew what was in the kitchen at any given moment, how the crops in their lands were doing well and which were failing, what merchants overcharged for their wares, and what lord was in dire straights due to having no named heir and numerous illegitimate children.

Clearing her throat, Silke looked down at her food, and then at her father. "I don't know how much longer I can keep doing everything," she told him quietly. The statement hung in the air. Both Kaspers were uncomfortable. As much as they adored and cherished her, neither one of them wanted to confront the reality of the toll it was taking. As she got older, it would get harder and harder for her to balance the duties and responsibilities they otherwise ignored. The body could only endure so much. She slept the absolute minimum (or less), skipped meals when she deemed it necessary, and was always in action, be it writing letters, attending balls, or inspecting buildings on the edge of their property with laborers.

"Well, you have my blessing," Lord Byrne quipped to lighten the atmosphere. Silke smiled at him across the table. "I shouldn't speak for my wife, but I'd be willing to wager you'd have her blessing too, Count Harrowmark." He lifted his eyebrows meaningfully at the elder Kasper to him encourage him out of his stupor.

"If my daughter accepted your proposal, which she has, then you have my blessing," Count Kasper finally said. Tears brimmed in his eyes, which he dabbed at with his napkin. "The house won't be the same without her," he confessed. "I will put my trust in you to take of her no matter how much she insists she can do everything herself."

"You'll need a feminine touch here," Lord Byrne remarked with a sigh, then turned to Vincent with a mischievous grin. "Do you need help arranging a marriage, Lord Kasper?" Vincent, who had begun to brood and sulk over 'losing' his sister, nearly spat out his drink, his face turning a lovely shade of red to match his wine.

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

"Also, Lord Byrne does have a point," Silke said, keeping a straight face though her eyes were full of mirth and good humor. "You are much more fun to bother than Count Harrowmark. Your grumbling is so endearing that it is hard to resist," she teased her brother. And, subjectively, it was true. Vincent had a much more difficult time formulating witty replies to the verbal prodding, and it was amusing to many that someone who was so physically strong and imposing could become completely undone by a well-placed jest or comment.

As wine was poured into individual glasses, Silke waved her hand to indicate she would not be partaking in alcohol, instead requesting some warm tea. She enjoyed a strong red especially, such as the one being served tonight, but she knew from experience what her limits were. If she were to imbibe any sort of liquor with her present frailty, due to lack of sleep, overworking, failing to eat meals on a regular schedule, and spending a length of time in damp clothing, she would almost certainly pay a steep price. It was better to err on the side of caution. One of the servants disappeared, reappearing a few minutes later with a cup that smelled of mint and lemon.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Vincent asked bluntly as the appetizers were passed around. Once again Silke had little, choosing just one of each, while her brother, father, and guests chose to have several, the former of which had a rather robust number.

"Mind your manners, Vincent," Lord Kasper sighed in a bored monotone that suggested this was an exceedingly common chastisement- and repeated more often than anyone may wish to admit.

"There's no reason to avoid it," Silke declared. She was sipping lightly at her tea and nibbling at her appetizers. Although she was hungry, she was in a strange place where she was almost too tired to eat, and too famished to rest. Putting down the wedge that had been the current subject of her attention, she turned her gaze towards the family patriarch. "He came to warn me that the north is all but demanding my hand in marriage as a part of their peace negotiations," she informed her father calmly. Her voice was gentle and pleasant, as if she were discussing the weather rather than political manipulation that could greatly impact her life (and theirs by extension).

"Surely the king wouldn't consider such a thing," Lord Kasper said, frowning to himself. Both he and Vincent were fiercely protective of Silke. The loss of her mother, Violet, and the subsequent death of her brother, Alistair, had left a deep wound on their souls. The either detached themselves entirely or became borderline hysterical when she showed any sign of serious illness, injury, or the possibility of leaving them in any way. A long trip to another city would almost induce a panic. Distance or harm to her, no matter how temporary, was a reminder that one day she could be gone from their lives as well. If anything would make them rise against their monarch, it would be if they were ordered to 'sacrifice' Silke by sending her away.

"I'm afraid he would have," she replied, casting a glance at Lord Byrne. Despite the tense subject of discussion, he was carefully (with perfect etiquette) wolfing down the artichoke wrapped in bacon as if he hadn't seen food in days. She rolled her eyes at him, which either went unnoticed or ignored, before turning back to her father. "Imagine if you ruled a kingdom and one of your subjects was all that was needed to secure a treaty for even a single year."

"Would have?" Vincent said, giving her side-eye. Growing suspicious, he glanced between his sister and Galt.

"We're not so formal here. You can have as much as you like, Vincent certainly does," Silke replied sweetly to Galt's question before silently taking a few more tiny bites of her sun-dried tomato. She was giving her fiance a chance to volunteer that he had proposed before she did so herself. Casual as her family might be- and they were compared to other members of the nobility- generally it was the groom who'd announce an engagement. Although she didn't care a bit about the tradition, she could recognize he might, or that he might care in the context of how he'd appear to his future in-laws if he sat quietly while she did all the talking. So, rather than control the entire conversation herself, which she would be happy to do if needed, she tried to give him the space to make the decision how he'd prefer to proceed.

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

The siblings argued the entire way to Silke's room: she was absolutely certain she could manage well enough on her own, and needed none of his assistance (which she stated several times) and he was convinced that the moment he let her go, she'd ignore her own health to do something taxing and less important, such as accounting paperwork for the estate (which was absolutely true). There had been no resolution by the time he deposited her at her door and into the hands of the maids, who were under strict orders to ignore her protests, bathe her, and help her dress in a fresh, clean, and dry set of clothing.

Although on the surface it was a debate they might have had days, weeks, or months ago, there was something changed about it. For as long as she could remember, she, her mother, and her deceased brother Alistair had been the ones taking care of everyone else in the household. It wasn't that her father and Vincent were uncaring, it was just that they were somewhat awkward, uncertain what to do, and easily panicked by their loved ones in pain or ill. The eldest Kasper sibling had grown, however. Rather than watch Silke from afar and do nothing but scold or fret, he had taken action, and carried her all the way to her room. It was a small gesture, but meaningful nonetheless.

Too tired and cold to resist even if she wanted to, Silke allowed herself to be escorted to a tub that had been filled with hot water and placed near the fire to keep it warm. The servants washed her with a soap, rinsed her hair, and applied a light oil that added a luster and shine, as well as a faint flowery scent. Once she had soaked long enough that her fingers and toes were no longer pink from the cold outside, and she was thoroughly cleaned, they helped her out of the bath and into a towel. Her hair was wrung out, patted dry, combed, and braided. Normally they would have put in some ribbons or flowers, but given that she was dressing only for a dinner inside, and dinner was imminent, they elected to forego such decoration.

Silke was dressed in a thick woolen gown of emerald green in the current style of nobility; long, draping sleeves, a fitted bodice, and a flowing skirt. While it was 'modern,' this particular dress was more practical than many of its counterparts in her closet. It was just fashionable to wear around the house and receive guests, yet it lacked the expensive frills such as embroidered trim, ribbon edging, beading or anything else that might add to its cost and get in the way of light labor and work that she did around the estate. The maids knew it to be one of her warmest pieces of clothing for indoor wear, and also one of the easiest to clean if she fell asleep while wearing it later, which wasn't unheard of it when it came to the young mistress.

By the time Galt arrived, Count Kasper was seated at the head of the table with Vincent to his left, and Lord Byrne beside him. To the lord's right were two empty plate settings, the second of which Galt was escorted to by one of the servers. Waiting until he was comfortably seated, Lord Byrne leaned forward, studying him curiously. "Harrowmark? You're the hero that was appointed a title by the king, are you not?" He had perfectly coiffed brown hair and expensive, expertly tailored clothing in a deep, saturated blue that made Vincent (who cared little for such things) look almost drab next to him. His tone was light and amiable, which also drew a stark contrast to the surliness of his companion.

"I heard you went on a ride with Lady Kasper," he commented. "I do hope it was enjoyable despite the weather," he remarked coyly with an impish smile.

"Byrne," Vincent grumbled. "Are you sure you don't want to go home and have dinner there?"

"My wife is entertaining a dear friend," Lord Byrne replied casually, "and I was already invited to dine with the Kasper family. How could I possibly refuse such an offer? I'm sure Count Harrowmark here feels the same way I do. Or are you in denial of how charming the presence of your dear sister is?" he teased.

"Now now, Lord Byrne, it's my duty to bother my brother, not yours," Silke lightly chided as she entered the room. She made a motion with her hand to dismiss the servants before she was announced, preferring to do away with the formality that she suspected none of them enjoyed. The dining room glowed a warm mixture of yellow and orange from the candles strategically placed around the room, their light bouncing off the glass and silver of the glassware and tableware respectively. A large bouquet of crocus flowers rested in the center of the table, their blooms adding a much-need splash of color. The cloth that covered the table was a pale cream that had been painted and embroidered with flower blossoms at the edges.

Although she was still more pale than she rightfully ought to be, she did look better. Some color had returned to Silke's cheeks that had not been there an hour before, her hair was no longer tangled and disheveled, and her gait was less stiff than when they had returned from their ride. She glided across the floor as she took her seat next to Galt, flashing him a smile as she did so. "Lord Byrne is one of my acquaintances," she said by way of introduction. "I introduced him to his wife, so he's forever obligated to repay me in compliments," she jested.

"It's twice as rewarding because your brother has such a hard time bearing it," Lord Byrne confirmed solemnly.

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

Although she still had concerns that Galt, a relatively inexperienced rider, would be "fine" during a brief canter in the rain, there weren't any better alternatives than trusting he knew his capabilities. She took his offered hand to help her stand. They hadn't known each other long, but he clearly understood her well enough to anticipate that she'd try to avoid the issue of her health. Silke almost voiced a protest before she decided to shelve that discussion until they had returned to the safety of her home. Besides, even if she were able to convince her new fiance that she didn't need any special accommodations or treatment, her brother was another matter. He was nothing if not an overprotective zealot. At times she sincerely believed she'd have an easier time teaching pigs to actually fly than to have Vincent not worry over her excessively every time she coughed.

With her clothes still damp, she saw no point to changing or covering herself with a cloak or jacket. If her garments had been dry it would have been a fantastic way to keep insulated and warm, but with them still wet, she wouldn't achieve much. Instead, she helped Galt put on another layer, put away the blankets, and prepared herself mentally for their (hopefully) short journey.

Once outside, she fetched a length of rope from the small stable's storage, mounted her horse, wrapped it around her waist, and fastened it to the saddle twice over so that it would keep her from falling. Experienced as she was as a rider, she didn't trust her leg strength, and if she slackened her grip on her steed's flanks mid-step, then it wasn't outside of the realm of possibility she'd take a nasty tumble. The rain was just another aggravating factor. The difference in friction would make it that much more challenging to keep a hold. Some novices, when unseated and panicking, would try to pull back on the reins or grab a fistful of mane. Neither of these made the situation better she knew; both were painful and confusing for the horse, and the resultant chaos could make a bad situation worse. When falling was inevitable, the best course of action was to jump clear and roll to avoid being trampled. Unfortunately, Silke doubted she could accomplish this same feat that she had done dozens of times over in her current condition.

Letting Galt (or, more specifically, his steed) take the lead, she hunched over and tried to keep herself steady. Loathe as she was to admit it, she did slip in the saddle a couple of times as they cantered to the safety of the estate's main residence. She sighed with relief as stablehands ran up to greet them, taking hold of the their respective horse's bridles, and leading them into the shelter of the stable proper. It was here that she started to undo her rope bindings, albeit with the help of one of the grooms, who had darted over to her the moment he realized she needed assistance. When she was freed, one of them run off with the rope to store it, while another, stockier and more muscular, gave her his hand to dismount.

Silke had entertained the idea of retaining her independence and trying to dismount from the saddle herself, but she was anxious about the small chance she stumbled and made herself look more pathetically weak. "Thank you, Mikael," she murmured, straightening herself once she hit the ground. With a nod and a subdued smile, one of the grooms took the horse to its stall where it could be untacked, brushed, watered, and fed. The stablehand that had helped her moved towards Galt to lend him aid should he need it as well. All of them were polite and professional without the slightest hint of judgment regardless of whether or not he took the unspoken offer of assistance.

No more than two minutes had passed when Vincent (who had clearly been waiting) stormed into the stable. "Look at the state you're in! You look awful!" he announced after a quick, assessing glance at his sister. Before she could reprimand him for the insult, the older sibling picked her up, holding her as easily and comfortably as he would a small child. "I saw you from the windows," he said, which explained his quick arrival. "The maids are already heating water for your bath. Harrowmark," he continued, turning, "you may as well stay the night. Dinner's ready and it's wretched weather for traveling. If it isn't storming or an hour or two, the roads will be a muddy mess. We've ample room to put you up and any servants you brought with you."

In fact, there were many guest rooms that had sat empty and unused for years- since the death of their mother.

"I hardly need to be carried," Silke huffed, trying to wriggle out of his grasp in vain. He cradled her more tightly to his chest, unbothered. Strong as she was for a woman of her build, she was comparatively nothing next to the brawn of her brother, who spent more time with physical exercises, training, and other such endeavors than most of his peers. "And you don't run the household, I do. If anyone should be inviting Galt to stay, it should be me."

Vincent rolled his eyes. "Come on inside, Harrowmark. I'll have the maids make you a hot bath after we eat, unless you want one now," he said, effectively ignoring Silke's attempted assertion he ought not to make decisions for the Kaspers by himself. For all her complaints that he was unsuited to lead their family, he was more capable than she gave him credit for, as evidenced by his current behavior.

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

There was something torturous about being so well-versed in social situations. Even if Galt didn't quite know what answer he wanted from her, or had convinced himself that he'd be content with any response she gave, she was confident that wasn't true. There was a passive expectation that she would say something kind, or witty, or deeply insightful. What was neither anticipated or welcome were sincere thoughts that were darker, morose, jaded, or disturbing in any way. That wasn't to say that the former thief had made a negative first impression on him- quite the contrary; it was just that she couldn't be as forthcoming bout everything she thought when they met, as it would include her cynical sense of self.

"I thought you looked a little uncomfortable," she said slowly. "You masked it well with a smile," Silke continued with a slight smile of her own. "After the tale of what happened to Duke Valdemar spread, and your daring rescue, there were more than a few skeptical nobles that thought you had saved him for the glory and possible reward, and that you were a shrewd, ambitious man that seized a very rare opportunity. If you were that sort of man, you would have embellished and exaggerated your accomplishments, and added to them to boost your image. Instead you seemed... I'm not sure how to describe it, but it was clear to me that you didn't crave the spotlight quite the same way someone more coldly calculating might have."

Letting her eyes flutter closed for a moment, she let her mind slide backwards to the feast, to the smells of all the freshly cooked food decadently strewn across the tables, the overflowing cups of wine, the brightly colored dresses, and the soft murmurs of conversation. "Knowing you were an actual hero made me hopeful and it also made you dangerous. It had always been my plan to avoid romantic entanglement and marriage," she sighed, not cognizant of what she had just admitted. Drowsiness and a mild fever had lowered her guard enough she wasn't cognizant of what she was saying aloud, much less the consequences thereof.

Silence fell over them temporarily as Silke's breathing slowed and she dozed briefly, for no more than a few minutes, before jolting awake of her own accord. "I can't fall asleep here," she murmured, more to remind herself than to inform Galt. While her family, and the courts, gave her much more independence and latitude than another unwed woman of her age, there would be a price to be paid if the two of them were found to have shared a cabin alone together for too long (despite the rain). His reputation would suffer little, if at all, since men having trysts was accepted with little fuss, especially if they were discreet. A lady, however, was permanently stained by the mere implication she had physical relations with anyone before marriage.

Galt was a man of honor, she knew. If they tarried at the cabin for too long, and it was discovered by her father, brother, or anyone else that might hold him accountable, they'd demand an immediate union. He would likely agree. Silke didn't fear being 'damaged' and abandoned as she might with someone else, but she hardly dreamed of rushed nuptials to try to salvage herself from a scandal, when it was still a possibility to her that her fiance would change his mind about their compatibility.

Reluctantly she started to stand, struggling to her feet. Both her clothes and hair were still damp. The fire had removed some of the moisture, so she was no longer dripping wet, yet it was a far cry from dry. There was only so much a hearth could do in a short period of time." Are you confident you can stay in your saddle on the ride back to the estate?" she queried with concern. As it was, she already planned to lash herself to her horse with rope, in case she didn't manage it in her current state. There wasn't much help she could offer except doing the same for him, unpleasant as it was.

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

The comment about how it 'wouldn't look right' if he was 'watching from the sidelines' made her laugh softly. Ideally both the bride and groom, as well as their families, would contribute to the wedding ceremony arrangements. Like so many other things in life, in practice reality differed from societal expectations. "I've been to a few where the husband-to-be was late, and at one his father had to go fetch him," she told Galt with amusement in her tone. "Certain members of the nobility take any opportunity to celebrate to the extreme," she told him, "and not all men can hold their liquor. They show up before the priest bleary-eyed and half conscious, then they down a dozen more mugs of ale at the reception." Distracted by her memories, which she found humorous rather than frustrated, she leaned her head on his shoulder. Although he had thoughtfully arranged cushions behind her back, he was more comfortable at the moment than they were.

"Duke Valdemar is one of the more noble and pleasant members of the aristocracy," she admitted with a sigh. "Others of them are downright lazy. It wouldn't raise as many brows as you might think to leave all the planning to myself or household staff. As a hero of the kingdom you have quite a lot of latitude. You're not obligated," Silke continued, trying to impress upon him that this wasn't a burden he was required to bear. It was hypocritical for her to urge him out of a feeling of duty when she took so many upon herself that 'belonged' to others- so much so that it was making her physically ill. "If you really want to help, however, I'm sure we can think of something," she relented after a moment, stressing it was up to his personal desires.

The most difficult logistical task would be the feast. For any type of event there was a bit of inherent risk; to order too much food would be throwing away good coin, but cooking too little would reflect poorly on the hosts... and possibly make guests belligerent. When it came to drinks, too little alcohol would look cheap and miserly, and an excess would encourage drunken antics. Despite whatever illustrious perceptions Galt had of the nobility, there was a not insignificant amount of them that would seize on any excuse to drown themselves in wine.

His question about being a good husband took her by surprise. Fighting her impulse to reassure him immediately, she gave it serious thought, allowing the silence stretch on between them for almost half a minute. "It's a subjective question," she replied slowly, staring into the fire. "I've had friends who wanted nothing more than a husband who was wealthy and left them to their devices otherwise, and that genuinely made them happy. I've had friends who wanted devotion, to spend every meal of the day with their husband, and felt neglected otherwise. If you asked a hundred women what makes a good husband, they'd give a hundred different answers. I'm sure it'd be the same for men." Political marriages could become insufferably miserable or blissfully romantic, and love-matches could blossom into a paragon of joyous fulfillment or wilt into bitter resentment. How or why it started seemed to matter less than both parties knowing what they wanted or needed from their partner.

"I'm not sure what sort of husband you'll be yet because I think you are still figuring out what you want to be. Your world was turned upside down when you became a count. There will be decisions to made that shape and change you. You'll need to decide how daring and ambitious you want to be with business prospects, if you'll be relaxed and maintain your lifestyle, or gamble to have a chance at improvement. You'll need to decide how involved you'll be with your tenants and how much charity to extend. You'll need to decide if you want to spend all your time at your estate, or travel locally, or even travel globally, and whether that will be to make powerful friends and allies, or just to experience other cultures. Until now it sounds as if you've only had one path ahead of you. I'm interested to see where you'll turn now that so many doors are open," she said with a stifled yawn. The temptation to doze was growing.

Realizing that her philosophical response wasn't quite what he was looking for, she added, "I wouldn't have accepted your proposal if I thought you'd be a terrible husband... and trust me, I've turned down many suitors over the years, so I am quite capable of rejecting suitors." The men whose egos she had bruised by refusing them were nearly all wed by now themselves. Regardless, rumors would circulate far and wide about what made Galt so different, so worthy of her hand, when men of distinguished pedigree had been denied. By being so selective she had inadvertently made herself a source of gossip. Very, very few of her peers waited as long as she did to be engaged. Frequently if they didn't meet the man of their dreams in a year or two, they settled for the best option available.

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

Silke doubted that Galt would go through with the wedding, but she kept that to herself. Until such time he called off the engagement, which she believed was ultimately inevitable, they would make all the necessary preparations. The ring was the first step, of course, followed by discussions with her family, about which she was not terribly concerned. Her father had always made it abundantly clear he would support her decisions and, so long as her fiance appeared respectable enough, he would not object. Vincent would be more challenging, as he took his role as overprotective brother far too seriously. Though he'd be hyper-critical of any man asking for his sister's hand in marriage, and would make threats about breaking her heart, he capitulated to her sensibility on matters of importance. Where she predicted a future rejection was when the former thief fully realized her flaws.

A sideways glance told her that he was still basking in the glow of their relatively new acquaintance. Regardless of how neatly he had set her upon a pedestal in his mind, she wasn't capable of maintaining that position. She carried emotional baggage. What she lacked in scandalous history, she made up for with haunting memories, a morbid sense of humor, a martyr complex that would literally be the death of her some day, and an irrepressible drive to push herself to the brink of disaster, to handle everything by herself every waking hour, without relief. Galt probably saw her as in infallibly strong, charming young lady, when the truth was infinitely more complex.

Beneath his touch, her hand was warm- too warm. Silke had been under the weather for longer than she'd admit. Tempting as it was to blame her mild fever on the rain, her immune system was battered and worn from sleeping less than half as much as she should and hardly touching her meals. The fact that she was coherent and upright was a testament to her stubborn willfulness and determination. Now that she was cold, waterlogged by the rain, and drying slowly and unevenly, making her even more weaker, the wretched illness had tightened its grip upon her mercilessly. She bit back a cough as she tried to remain focused on the conversation.

"It's fine, I'm used to handling everything," she remarked a little more wryly then she meant. When she was with her father or Vincent they were oblivious to the vaguest hint of bitterness in her tone, the fatigue that she was the anchor to their little ship during every storm, that they lived in the luxury she forged relentlessly. They weren't unappreciative. Given the opportunity they sang her praises- loudly- to anyone and everyone. The issue was that they never became any more capable at shouldering the burdens. No matter how thoughtful and sweet they were, they still heavily relied upon her.

Running a hand through some loose lockets of hair and smoothing them back behind her ears, she sighed. "I apologize, I didn't mean to be curt. I'm not worried about you... I'm not sure if I know how to share duties anymore. It feels as if I've been doing everything alone for ages now," Silke said with an apologetic smile. "Asking you to handle potential vendors would be throwing you to the wolves- they'll see a new nobleman as an easy mark, and they bluff and bluster better than I can dance, which I assure you is quite the feat. The social engagements are even more tricky to navigate, although there's one baron who pretends to be a simple-minded fop, putting on airs of stupidity so he doesn't have to deal with their rules of etiquette. It's a ruse, but one rarely seen through, and his acting is so superb, and the aristocrats too proud to admit they've been fooled, now everyone lets him commit a faux pas without blinking an eye."