Chapter Text
Henry had never seen so many banners trailing in the wind.
The road to Rattay had been long, thick with the scent of sweat and unwashed bodies. A couple dozen riders trailed behind Sir Radzig Kobyla, their cloaks heavy with dust, their faces set in grim lines. They were what remained of Skalitz’s strength—knights, men-at-arms, battered but alive. Their horses moved at a slow, exhausted pace, hooves clopping dully against the dirt road.
Henry rode among them, though he hardly felt he belonged.
His body ached from it all, his hands still raw from clutching reins too tight, as if the motion alone could keep his thoughts from returning to the fire. He had watched his mother die. He had seen his father cut down before his eyes. The last sword they'd ever forged together—stolen.
Henry had no one. He had nothing left but what he could carry.
The walls of Rattay rose in the distance, stone and security, a nobleman’s fortress untouched by war.
It looked clean. Too clean.
“We’ll be safe here,” Radzig said beside him. His voice was steady, but there was something else in it. Caution, maybe. A note of wariness Henry didn’t quite understand.
Safe.
Henry wanted to believe that.
The gates were already open when they arrived. As the riders passed into the courtyard, Henry felt the eyes of the town upon them. Stable hands, traders, castle servants—all watching as Skalitz’s lost warriors arrived. They were out of place here, a procession of ghosts.
At the top of the stone steps stood Sir Hanush of Leipa, acting lord of Rattay. He was flanked by several of his men, all standing stiff-backed, armour polished.
Henry dismounted, boots hitting the stone with a dull thud. The weight of the journey pulled at his limbs, but he stood straight, meeting Hanush’s gaze.
He had nothing left. But he still had his pride.
Hanush gave a sharp nod. “Radzig.”
“Hanush.” Radzig clasped his arm. “You’ve done us a great kindness.”
“You’d do the same for me.”
A pause. Hanush’s gaze flicked to the men behind him, scanning what was left of Skalitz’s fighting force. Henry saw it—the calculation, the silent tallying of what strength Radzig had left.
Then, Hanush’s eyes landed on him.
Radzig’s voice was steady. “This is Henry. He fought to survive the attack on Skalitz. He’s a brave young man. I plan to take him into my service.”
Henry felt something tighten in his chest. He had not expected those words.
Hanush studied him a moment longer, eyes sharp. His gaze flicked to Radzig briefly before he gave a nod. “Welcome to Rattay, lad.”
Henry inclined his head respectfully. “Thank you, my lord.”
A scoff echoed from the steps.
“God’s wounds, Uncle. Another stray from Skalitz?”
Henry stiffened.
The voice was young, amused, and rich with arrogance.
He turned, eyes locking onto the figure lounging against the stone wall by the steps.
Another lord, no doubt, Henry thought acidly.
He looked as if he had just woken up from a night of drinking—his doublet slightly unbuttoned, his boots far too fine for a man who had ever done a day’s hard labour. He was young, probably close to Henry’s age, but everything about him was easy where Henry was sharp.
Henry already hated him.
Hanush exhaled sharply. “Mind your tongue, Hans.”
Hans sighed dramatically and pushed off the wall. “I only mean that our halls are getting awfully crowded with peasants these days.”
Henry clenched his teeth.
Hans’s gaze flicked to him, eyes raking over the dirt-streaked tunic, the bruises Henry had barely let himself acknowledge. His lip curled in something that might have been amusement.
“What’s your trade, then?” Hans asked lazily. “A farmer? A rat-catcher?”
Henry lifted his chin. “A blacksmith.”
Hans snorted. “So you’re good with your hands, then? Maybe you can polish my boots while you’re here.”
Henry’s muscles coiled tight. But instead of reacting, he smiled.
Just a little. Just enough.
“Aye,” he said coolly. “And maybe I’ll use that boot to kick some sense into you, my lord.”
Silence.
Absolute silence.
One of the knights sucked in a sudden sharp breath, as if he had just witnessed a crime.
Hans just stared at him, expression flickering between disbelief and something almost…amused? No. No, he was furious. Henry could see it in the way his jaw tensed, his hands twitching at his sides.
“You’ve got quite the mouth on you,” Hans said, voice lower now.
Henry met his gaze evenly. “You’ve got quite the ego.”
Radzig sighed heavily, but Henry could swear he saw the ghost of a smirk at the edge of his lips.
Hanush, for his part, just looked tired.
“Perfect,” Hanush muttered, rubbing his temple. “I can see that you two are going to get along wonderfully.”
Hans scowled.
Henry smiled enigmatically.
Radzig dropped a firm hand on Henry’s shoulder—a warning grip. Henry stiffened, his smirk faltering as his eyes darted up to him.
“Try not to get us thrown out so soon,” Radzig said dryly.
Henry cleared his throat, bowing his head slightly. “Of course, sir.”
Hanush exhaled and turned to one of his squires. “Show Sir Radzig’s men to the barracks and see that they’re properly accommodated.”
The young squire nodded and gestured for Radzig’s knights to follow. The men exchanged glances before moving toward the lower quarters of the castle, armour clanking as they went. Henry hesitated. He should have gone with them. He was no nobleman, and yet here he stood, still under Radzig’s hand, still standing among lords.
He glanced at Radzig, but before he could speak, Hanush gestured toward the castle’s entrance.
“Come,” Hanush said. “We have much to discuss.”
Radzig nodded, following him toward the keep, glancing only once over his shoulder. “Come, Henry.”
Hans yawned loudly. “Oh good, a council meeting,” he said, voice rich with sarcasm. “How thrilling.”
Hanush threw him a sharp look over his shoulder. “Either come quietly or go make yourself useful, Hans.”
Hans smirked but didn’t argue. Instead, his eyes slid back to Henry.
Henry ignored him. Or rather, he tried to.
Hold your tongue, Henry thought.
He’d already made a mistake, already let his temper slip. Radzig had given him a place at his side—had spoken for him, trusted him—and Henry wouldn’t make a fool of himself by bickering with some arrogant lordling.
Hanush and Radzig strode ahead, speaking in hushed tones, their voices fading into the background as Henry moved to follow at a respectable distance.
A shadow fell into step beside him.
Hans.
Henry kept walking.
Hans matched his pace. “So, Henry, was it?”
Henry clenched his jaw. “Yes, my lord.”
Hans hummed as if considering. “Tell me, Henry, do all blacksmiths talk back to their betters? Or is that just a Skalitz thing?”
Henry took a slow breath through his nose.
Don’t take the bait.
Hans watched him, waiting. When Henry said nothing, his smirk grew. “Ah. Silence. A rare display of intelligence.”
Henry’s fingers twitched at his sides.
Hans leaned in slightly, voice dropping. “You know, it’s funny—I would have thought Sir Radzig had better taste in company. Yet here you are. A blacksmith walking among lords.”
Henry didn’t look at him. “Sir Radzig values skill over birth.”
Hans barked out a laugh. “Does he? Or is he just collecting strays?”
Henry’s jaw tightened so hard his teeth ached.
“Ah,” Hans drawled. “Struck a nerve, did I?”
Henry exhaled sharply through his nose.
Hans was testing him, waiting for him to snap again, waiting to push him past whatever restraint Radzig’s warning had placed on him.
Henry had never been particularly good at restraint.
They stepped into the keep’s main hall, the light from the torches casting long shadows against the stone. Ahead, Radzig and Hanush moved toward the stairwell leading God only knew where. Henry knew better than to follow—whatever it was, it was noble business, and he was no noble. And yet—
“Come along, Henry.”
Henry glanced up at Radzig, hesitant. But he didn't wait to be told twice.
It was quieter now, only a few castle servants passing by. The nobles had already retired, and the sounds of the courtyard had faded.
Hans folded his arms, studying him like a cat watching a cornered mouse.
“You’re holding your tongue now,” Hans said, tilting his head. “Smart. But tell me, Henry—how long do you think that’ll last?”
Henry exhaled slowly, gathering himself. “What would you have me say, my lord?”
Hans grinned. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe another witty little remark? Something to make my uncle regret letting you through the gates?”
Henry met his gaze evenly. “You want me to insult you again?”
Hans feigned a thoughtful look. “Mmm. No. I want you to try not to.” He stepped closer, just enough to make Henry tense. “You see, it’s become my personal goal to see how long you can keep that little temper of yours in check.”
Henry forced his shoulders to relax. “That seems a rather pointless goal, my lord.”
Hans smiled. “Perhaps. But pointless things are the most fun, wouldn’t you say?”
Henry stared at him, stone-faced.
Hans’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”
The council chamber itself was modest, built for function rather than grandeur, with a heavy oak table at its center. Maps were sprawled across it—some old, some new, all marked with signs of war.
Henry followed Radzig into the room, keeping his head high but his hands clasped behind his back.
At the head of the table, Hanush took his seat, looking every bit the weary lord. A tall, broad shouldered man stood nearby, arms crossed. Other men—advisors, knights, remnants of Skalitz’s command—were scattered throughout the chamber.
And then there was Hans.
Lord Capon slouched into a chair beside his uncle, looking thoroughly unimpressed.
Henry took the last available seat—opposite him. He ignored the way Hans immediately leaned forward, elbows on the table, as if preparing for a game only he knew the rules to.
Hanush exhaled. “Let’s make this quick.” He gestured at the older man. “First order—Captain Bernard, I want you to oversee the guardhouse from now on. I trust you’ll see to our defences.”
Bernard nodded curtly. “Aye, my lord.”
Hanush glanced at Radzig. “You and your men will stay here, in the upper castle. What’s left of Skalitz’s guard has been given posts at the lower castle.”
Radzig inclined his head. “A generous offer.”
Hanush continued, turning to Henry. “As for you, lad—seeing as you’re Radzig’s envoy, I’m placing you in the lower castle. Consider yourself fortunate.”
Hans made a sharp noise of protest.
Henry didn’t even have time to process his own thoughts before Hans straightened in his chair, eyes darting between Hanush and Radzig.
“The lower castle?” Hans repeated, his voice much louder than necessary. “For him?”
Hanush gave his nephew a look of immediate exhaustion. “Yes, Hans.”
Hans gestured broadly in Henry’s direction. “But—that’s my castle.”
Hanush pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, Hans, and I assume you’ll survive the unimaginable hardship of sharing space with another person.”
Henry said nothing, but he didn’t bother hiding his smirk this time.
Hans caught it. His eyes narrowed.
Radzig, ignoring the brewing tension between the young men, folded his arms and turned back to Hanush. “And what of the common folk?”
Hanush sighed. “We have no room for them. We’ve allowed them to set up camp in the dried moat.”
Henry tensed slightly. Skalitz’s people—his people—living in the ruins beneath the castle.
Radzig frowned. “And supplies?”
Hanush nodded. “As much as we can spare. But we can’t feed them all forever. If war continues…”
Radzig didn’t press the issue. They both knew what he meant.
Henry clenched his jaw. A dead village couldn’t feed itself. Skalitz’s people would need more than scraps—they would need purpose, protection.
Hans, on the other hand, was not listening to a word of this.
He was watching Henry.
More specifically, he was watching Henry try to pretend he wasn’t furious.
And Hans found that very entertaining.
He leaned back in his chair, stretching, before fixing Henry with the most insufferable smirk. “Tell me, Henry. Do you snore?”
Henry blinked, caught entirely off guard. “What?”
Hans tilted his head. “You’ll be staying in the lower castle now, so naturally, I’m concerned for my well-being. What if you snore? Or worse—what if you talk in your sleep?”
Henry blinked again. “I—”
Hans waved a hand. “No, wait, don’t tell me. You probably mutter prayers all night, don’t you?”
Henry exhaled slowly. “My lord, I—”
“Oh God, you do.” Hans clutched his chest, mock horror on his face. “I’ll have to sleep with a dagger under my pillow. Just in case you start chanting.”
Henry took a slow, measured breath.
Hanush and Radzig continued their discussion, fully unaware that Hans had taken it upon himself to launch psychological warfare.
Hans wasn’t done.
“You’re from Skalitz,” he mused, tapping his fingers against the table. “What did you do for fun there? Polish horseshoes? Chase chickens?”
Henry clenched his hands into fists beneath the table.
Do not punch a nobleman. Do not punch a nobleman.
Hans grinned. “Ahh, let me guess—you were a church boy.”
Henry exhaled through his nose. Hold. Your. Tongue.
“Oh, you were,” Hans said gleefully. “I can see it. So pious. So righteous. Do you pray before every meal? Did you ever break a commandment?”
Henry finally looked at him, levelling him with a cool, tired stare. “Not until today.”
Hans’s smirk faltered. “What?”
Henry smiled. “Thou shalt not suffer a fool, my lord.”
Deafening silence.
Then—a sharp bark of laughter.
Radzig.
Henry blinked. He hadn’t meant for anyone to hear him, but—oh no. The room had gone silent.
Radzig was now suppressing his amusement.
Hanush looked like he was very close to throwing him out.
Hans, on the other hand, looked utterly scandalised.
Henry turned back to the table, mortified while Hans sat there, mouth opening and closing like a fish, before he scowled and crossed his arms.
“You’re insufferable,” he muttered.
Henry, without looking up, murmured, “So are you, my lord.”
Hans glared at him.
Hanush, now thoroughly exhausted, slammed his hands on the table. “Enough, both of you. This is a council meeting, not a child’s squabble.”
Henry fell silent. Hans, however, gave him one last look.
“This is not over.”
Henry, to Hans’s very expressive dismay, just smiled.
He scowled, arms crossed so tightly it was a wonder his fine doublet didn’t tear. Henry had the distinct feeling that if they weren’t in a council chamber, Hans would have thrown something at his head.
Before Hans could spit another insult, Radzig cleared his throat.
“As entertaining as this has been,” he said dryly, “we still have matters to discuss. Henry needs training.”
The amusement in the room dimmed.
Hanush’s brows lifted slightly. “Training?”
Radzig nodded. “He has promise, but he’s unpolished. If he’s to act as my envoy, he needs to know how to handle himself.”
Henry felt something flicker in his chest—relief, gratitude, the undeniable weight of being given a chance.
Hans, on the other hand, groaned.
“Oh, come on.” He flopped dramatically against the back of his chair. “Are we really wasting time training a blacksmith?”
Henry gritted his teeth. God’s blood! Ignore him.
Radzig shot Hans a sharp look. “Henry has already held his own against bandits and mercenaries. He survived a raid. He just needs refinement.”
Hanush nodded. “Fine. Captain Bernard.”
Bernard, who had remained silent through this whole mess, straightened. “My lord?”
“See that Henry gets proper training,” Hanush said. “Put him through the usual drills.”
Bernard nodded curtly. “I’ll make sure he learns, one way or another.”
Hans made a noise that was very close to an exasperated groan.
Hanush turned to his nephew. “And you—”
Hans sat straight, eyes narrowing immediately.
“—since you’ve had so much time to run your mouth tonight,” Hanush continued, voice dangerously even, “you can show Henry to the lower castle.”
Hans looked personally offended.
“What?” he sputtered. “You want me to—”
“Yes, Hans,” Hanush cut in, tone heavy with authority. “You will personally escort Henry to his new quarters. Now.”
Hans gaped at his uncle. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again like a man trying very hard to decide whether this was worth arguing about.
Hanush’s stare made it clear. It was not.
Hans exhaled loudly through his nose, then stood, shoving his chair back with a scrape against the stone. “Fine. But don’t blame me if he gets lost.”
Hanush waved him off, already done with their entire conversation.
Henry, biting back a smirk, stood as well.
Bernard, apparently taking no chances, motioned for them both to move, flanking them as they left the chamber.
Hans walked ahead with the distinct air of a man who would rather be anywhere else. His usual confident stride was stiff with annoyance, his hands tucked behind his back as if escorting a prisoner.
Henry followed in calculated silence. Bernard walked just behind them, arms crossed, probably wondering what sins he had committed in his past life to be stuck babysitting this disaster.
They passed through the stone corridors, then down the outer steps leading to the lower castle. The air was cooler here, darker. The noble splendor of the upper halls faded into something more practical—armouries, barracks, storerooms.
Hans suddenly stopped in front of a heavy wooden door, the farthest possible room from his own, no doubt.
“This is your room,” Hans announced smugly.
Henry stared at the door. “This is a storage closet.”
Hans nodded sagely. “Yes. A very comfortable storage closet.”
Henry’s patience, already hanging by a thread, snapped.
“I take back what I said in the council chamber,” Henry muttered. “You’re not a fool. You’re a brat.”
Hans gasped, offended. “How dare you.”
Bernard, who had been silently tolerating this entire mess, dragged a hand down his face.
“Enough,” Bernard sighed, stepping forward. “Come on, Henry, I’ll show you your actual room.”
Henry followed him, pointedly ignoring Hans’s triumphant smirk.
Bernard led him a few doors down to a simple, but real chamber.
“Here,” Bernard said. “You’ll be staying here.”
Henry stepped inside. The room was small but clean. A wooden bed, a modest chest, a single candle on a rough table. Not much, but more than most had.
Bernard nodded, then hesitated slightly—just for a moment.
“Get some rest,” Bernard said finally. Then, softer, “Tomorrow won’t be easy.”
Henry nodded.
The door closed behind him.
Silence.
For the first time in days, Henry was alone.
His shoulders sagged as he finally let himself breathe.
He sat on the bed, resting his elbows on his knees. His hands trembled slightly, the exhaustion creeping in now that there was no one to watch, to judge, to prod him into snapping.
His mother’s voice. His father's smile. Their sword. Skalitz, burning, burning, burning—
Henry pressed his hands over his face, swallowing back the grief rising in his throat.
He had lost everything. But he survived.
Now he just had to make sure it meant something.