Work Text:
Another breathtaking glimpse into their world — visual poetry, conjured again by the incomparable @playpausephoto
The string snapped — sharp, sudden — and the bolt cut through the air with a hiss.
A beat later came a quiet grunt, and the bearded man in leather fell sideways to the ground.
His chest heaved once more.
Then nothing.
He lay still, the bolt lodged clean in the centre of his chest.
Godwin spun around.
Jitka sat in her saddle.
She was still holding the small crossbow — pointed toward the ground now, the stock resting against her thigh.
Her gaze was calm.
She hadn’t moved.
Godwin slowly lowered his sword. Blood still clung to the blade, running to the tip, dripping into the dust.
He scanned the road.
“That the last of ’em?” he muttered.
Hans was just pulling his sword from a corpse’s belly.
The muscles in his forearm flexed as the steel slid out with a sickening sound.
He looked around him.
Three bodies lay on the path.
Two more beneath the trees.
Blood soaked into the pine needles.
“One got away,” he said. “Is anyone hurt?”
“They got young Janek,” came Janosh’s voice.
Hans flinched.
He turned at once and strode over.
Janosh was crouched beside the young guardsman’s body. He closed his eyes with one hand, then let it rest there — gently, for a moment — on his brow.
Hans stopped beside him.
His chest was rising fast, breath sharp and tight.
His jaw was clenched hard.
“Fucking filth,” he hissed through his teeth.
Then he turned to the soldiers.
“Bury him. Properly. Don’t take all day — we ride as soon as it’s done.”
Godwin nodded toward the five bandits left strewn in the dirt.
“And them?”
Hans’s mouth drew tight.
“We’ve no time for that, Father. I want to be well away from Trosky as fast as we can. You can see for yourself what it’s like around here.”
He looked up — toward the ridgeline.
The forest opened in the distance, the hills falling back, the light gentler beyond.
“We’re close to Rotstein lands now,” he said quietly.
“We’ll be safe there.”
The men began to dig.
The earth was hard, full of stone — but no one spoke.
Hans let his eyes sweep once more across the fallen bandits.
“Let the wolves take them,” he muttered.
Then he walked over to Jitka.
She held the reins of her horse and was finishing a quiet exchange with Zdislava.
He came to stand before her and laid a hand gently on her shoulder.
“You’re not hurt?” he asked softly.
She shook her head. Eyes steady.
After a time, the group moved on again.
Hans rode at the front, flanked by two guards. Their eyes swept every direction — the trees, already budding with spring’s first green, the grass beneath the hooves, the flickering shadows between the trunks. Hans himself kept scanning the edge of the woods, the thickets, every patch of darkness where more than leaves might be hiding.
Behind them rode Jitka and Godwin, side by side, with Zdislava close behind. A step further back rattled the wagon, heavy with supplies — Janosh held the reins, and beside him sat Pavel, his face lifted to the warm spring sunlight as he quietly took in the road and the world around him. Two more men brought up the rear — silent, watchful. One of them led a riderless horse by the reins.
Janek’s.
Still, Hans kept scanning the trees. Each rustle of undergrowth, each glint of something pale where it shouldn’t be — none of it escaped his eye. Only when the trees thinned and the woods gave way to wide meadows drenched in sunlight did the tension finally ease from his shoulders.
Open land. Clear view. Safety.
Jitka caught up and rode beside him for a while.
“How much farther?” she asked.
Hans looked ahead.
“That dip — then over the rise… and we should be crossing into Rotstein land.”
Jitka smiled.
“I can’t wait to see Henry.”
Hans turned his head, tilting it slightly, the corners of his mouth lifting.
“What should I say, then?”
Jitka gave a soft snort of laughter.
“He’ll be furious when he finds out. About the attack,” she added more quietly.
Hans gave a nod. “Most likely.”
His gaze drifted toward the horizon again.
“And to think… back in winter, Henry and I rode this road four times there, four times back. Not a scratch.”
Jitka was silent for a moment. Then nodded, slowly.
“Maybe the loaded wagon drew them out.”
Hans shrugged.
“Makes sense.”
Then he glanced back over his shoulder.
“All well back there?” he called out. “Everyone?”
Janosh raised a hand. “My arse feels like an old ox’s, but aye, we’re alive!”
Pavel burst into laughter — just as the wheel hit a rock. He lurched sideways, threw his arms out to steady himself, nearly tumbled from the bench — and laughed even harder.
Jitka shook her head with a chuckle. Hans smiled at her — then turned his gaze forward again, toward the horizon slowly drawing near.
As they crested the rise, Hans raised a hand, and the group came to a halt.
The last hoofbeats faded into stillness. One by one, they dismounted, turning toward the view spread out before them.
Below stretched a broad, open valley, flooded with spring. The woods lining the slopes were pale green now — fresh leaves trembling in the warm wind like wings newly unfurled. Here and there, among the crowns, burst flashes of white and blush-pink: cherry and plum trees in bloom, scattering pale clouds across the green.
Flocks of sheep grazed in loose clusters on the meadows below — drifting white tufts that looked as though they’d always been part of the land. From the woods came birdsong — and high above, tethered almost to the sky itself, the clear, unbroken trill of a lark, its tireless voice holding all that spring together.
Beneath their boots, the grass was dotted with flowers — violet, yellow, white. The air was thick with scent: damp earth, fresh growth, blooming branches, unfolding leaf. Bees drifted between blossoms.
No one spoke.
But every gaze — drawn as if by a single invisible thread — turned in the same direction. Toward the rocks. And the castle above them.
Rotstein.
It perched there, hewn straight from the stone — as if it had grown from it. Steep, raw, defiant — the tower rose above the forest, like a clenched fist held to the sky.
Hans looked around at the others. At Jitka’s face, Godwin’s, Janosh and Pavel leaning against the wagon bench. They all stood still. Watching.
He smiled faintly.
“The Lord of Rotstein had the very same look when he first saw it,” he said — and laughed.
Then he turned to Jitka.
“Though… the only one eager to settle there was Dry Devil.”
He gave her a glance — open, but with a spark behind it.
“You’ll soon see how cosy the manor in Klokotsch is.”
Jitka raised a brow, shook her head just slightly — a hint of a smile playing at her lips.
Behind them, Godwin’s voice rose.
“Henry described it to me. The rocks. The castle.
But still… seeing it with your own eyes — it knocks the wind out of you a little.”
Hans drew in a deep breath. Sunlight touched his face.
He slipped one foot into the stirrup. Looked at them all.
“Well then… let’s ride home.”
The group rode on through the valley. Their pace was calm, but wariness lingered in their eyes. When, in the distance near Klokotsch, a trio of riders appeared heading their way, no one spoke — only their gazes sharpened, hands drifting a little closer to hilts.
Still, they rode. Hans at the front, eyes fixed ahead.
As the riders drew nearer, he caught sight of their garb. All three wore white surcoats marked by a single diagonal stripe of gold across the chest.
Hans raised his hand, and the column came to a halt. The horses beneath them shifted and snorted.
He turned slightly in the saddle.
“Those are Henry’s colours.”
The riders came closer. The one in front was a tall young man, not long out of boyhood — broad-shouldered, straight-backed, solid in the saddle.
He brought his horse to a stop.
“My lord of Pirkstein, and your lady — unless I’m mistaken?” he called in a friendly tone.
Hans gave a nod. “You’re not mistaken. And who might you be?”
The young man dismounted and gave a quick bow.
“Lukas Vatzek, my lord. I’m to escort you to Klokotsch.”
Hans swung down from his horse as well. A thoughtful look flickered across his face.
“Vatzek, did you say?”
Lukas nodded again. “Son of the bailiff. Lord Henry’s taken me into his service.”
“Mm.” Hans let out a short hum, eyeing him briefly.
A striking young man. Fair hair, trimmed short but not crudely. Eyes a piercing blue — so vivid they seemed to hold the whole sky above them.
Hans was quiet for a moment. Then gave a slow shake of the head.
“But why send an escort at all? I know this road well enough.”
Lukas bowed again.
“The stream — the Stebenka — has risen, my lord. Snowmelt from the mountains. I’ll lead you to a safe ford.”
“That’s kind of you,” Jitka said gently, her hand resting lightly on Hans’s forearm.
Hans turned to her.
“Ay… of course.”
Then looked back at Lukas and the two riders behind him.
“I see you’re all wearing the Rotstein colours now.”
Lukas nodded. “Every man has a new livery, my lord. Courtesy of the lord himself.”
Hans paused.
“Every man? And that means how many, exactly?”
The lad hesitated. Counted silently.
“It must be… nearly four dozen.”
Hans raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“Four dozen?”
He glanced at Godwin with a crooked grin.
“Seems Henry and Dry Devil haven’t been idle these past weeks.”
Lukas drew a breath.
“Dry Devil — I mean, Sir Hynek — he’s building a proper force at the castle.”
Hans gave a calm nod, slipping one foot back into the stirrup already.
Behind him, the others were mounting as well.
“Tell me, boy,” he said, “Lukas, was it? Why didn’t Lord Henry come to meet us himself?”
Lukas straightened in the saddle.
“Lord Henry rode to Vesetz this morning, my lord. He had a matter to attend to.”
Hans stared ahead for a moment.
Then nodded once.
“Very well then. Lead the way, son of Vatzek.”
They rode on in silence for a while.
The valley stretched quietly around them — trees on the slopes, wide meadows, and the gentle curve of the path winding between forested ridges.
From time to time Hans cast a glance at Lukas. The young man held the reins with practiced ease, sitting tall and steady in the saddle — but not stiff. There was an easy lightness to his movements, as if he’d been born riding.
Hans let his gaze linger a little longer.
At that exact moment, Lukas turned to look at him.
Hans glanced away just in time.
“If I may, my lord…” the young man said quietly, yet with confidence. “I couldn’t help but notice — your company looks as though you’ve had trouble on the road.”
He nodded slightly toward Hans’s side — where the sword hung, its crossguard stained with blood.
Hans looked at him. His face stayed calm, but something in his eyes — half surprise, half restraint — flickered. Then he gave a small nod.
“As a matter of fact, yes. Not far from Trosky, we were ambushed by a larger band of outlaws.”
He paused.
“We drove them off,” he added after a moment. “But we lost one man.”
Lukas lowered his gaze. He looked at his horse’s mane for a moment, then back at Hans.
“I’m sorry to hear that, my lord.”
Hans took a long breath, then exhaled. His eyes swept the land ahead.
“They’re clearly still roaming around Trosky. Something to be mindful of.”
Lukas frowned slightly, thoughtful. Then spoke again — carefully.
“That does surprise me a little, my lord. I’d heard there hadn’t been any bandits there lately… Folk say the new steward at Trosky cleaned them out. Rather harshly, too.”
Hans raised an eyebrow.
“Well. Not all of them, it seems,” he said curtly, eyes fixed on the path ahead.
The road bent between two alders — and suddenly, the stream came into view.
In winter, it had been shallow, quiet, even frozen in places. But now it looked different. Swollen, murky, rushing over rocks, dragging leaves and twigs and blades of grass in its wake. Its voice was loud enough to drown the hoofbeats.
Lukas drew to a stop and turned in the saddle.
“Please ride close behind me. The current’s stronger than it looks.”
Hans gave a faint roll of his eyes, but nudged his horse forward and followed.
The others came after them, one by one.
The current was strong. It surged around their horses’ legs, frothing white against stone. The riverbed was slick, but Lukas led them with precision — calm and sure. Hans and the rest followed him across without trouble.
On the far bank, the stream fanned out into a low, marshy field — and just beyond it, the slope began to rise.
And on that slope, the first houses of Klokotsch.
They rode through the village at a slow pace.
Klokotsch unfolded before them like a painted scene — low cottages with thatched roofs, farmyards bright with blossoms, empty carts leaning against timbered walls. Children stood by the roadside. Elderly women with kerchiefs over their hair. Men with tools in hand, frozen mid-motion.
Hans kept his gaze fixed ahead — toward the manor standing below the rocky heights of Rotstein. He barely registered the details. Only the rhythm of hoofbeats, the ring of iron on the road, and the soft rush of the Stebenka murmuring behind them.
But the others looked.
Jitka rode tall, silent and dignified. Her eyes passed over every house and yard without lingering, like a lady taking quiet measure.
Pavel gawked like a lad at a fair — head turning, mouth half-open, wide-eyed with wonder.
The villagers greeted them with nods, small bows, the occasional smile — quick, but genuine. Children peeked out from behind their mothers’ skirts, watching wide-eyed.
Godwin, brow furrowed by habit, caught the gaze of a young boy laughing unabashedly — and couldn’t help but smile back.
Janosh suddenly sniffed in deeply. He nudged Pavel with an elbow and jerked his chin toward the inn as they passed. Smoke drifted lazily from the open window; bunches of herbs hung beneath the eaves.
“You smell that, lad?” he beamed. “Sausages!”
Pavel closed his eyes and sniffed.
“I’m starving…”
They passed the last houses, and the manor rose before them. White and gold banners flew from the tower and walls — several hung from the windows, rippling in the breeze.
They rode through the gate into the courtyard.
At its center stood Bailiff Vatzek.
“Welcome, Lord Capon!” he called with a smile. “Welcome, Lady Jitka! Welcome, all of you, to Klokotsch!”
Hans was the first to dismount. The others followed.
Janosh guided the wagon toward the right side of the yard, stopping beside the storeroom. The wheels creaked briefly over the gravel.
Lukas swung down from his horse and made his way to his father.
“See to the horses, boy,” the bailiff said with a nod. Lukas gave a quick bow and jogged off toward the stables.
The elder Vatzek turned back to Hans.
“I trust my son received you properly… and brought you here safe?”
Hans drew a breath. Slowly. He looked around the courtyard — the roofs, the stone, the people who had ridden with him. Only then did he meet the bailiff’s eyes.
“Is Lord Henry back yet?”
Vatzek shook his head.
“Not yet, my lord. But everything is ready, just as he instructed.”
Hans studied him for a moment without a word. Then turned to the others.
Their eyes were on him.
He drew a quiet breath, then spoke — clearly, though not loudly.
“My lady… friends…”
He paused.
“Welcome to Rotstein. Welcome to Klokotsch.”
His gaze drifted to the castle rock.
“Welcome home.”
From the gate came a voice — dry and rasping, like gravel sliding down a cliff face.
“Well, well — look what the cat dragged home!”
A moment later, laughter rattled through the air, sharp and amused.
“Uncle!” Jitka called out, eyes bright as she turned and waved.
Kubyenka trailed behind Dry Devil, his cheeks and nose red, lips curled in a grin.
“How’d you know we were here already?” Janosh blurted.
Devil barked a laugh and clapped him on the shoulder — hard enough to echo.
“Caught sight of you from the castle the moment you crossed into our lands.”
Hans stepped up and clasped his forearm in greeting.
“I can hardly believe the force you’re building here,” he said with a smile.
Devil grinned, teeth flashing.
“Old Hynek’s doing what he can. But this—” he gestured vaguely toward the castle “—this is just the beginning.”
Then he swept a glance toward Jitka and the others, nodding in their direction.
“And Pirkstein? Still standing?”
Hans gave a firm nod.
“I believe so. Bernard and Zizka have it well in hand — as always.”
Devil clicked his tongue and shook his head with a chuckle.
“Pity that old bastard didn’t ride with you. Though from what I gather, he made more than a few enemies in this region back in the day — so he’s not exactly keen to show his face.”
Hans gave a faint smile — with something bitter at the edge of it.
“I’m beginning to see that’s Zizka’s way. Piss off the authorities. Wherever he goes.”
“Ay,” Devil nodded with a grin.
“Old Jan of Trocnov’s even better at it than I am.”
He paused, then gave a shrug.
“Still don’t get what that Katherine sees in him,” he muttered — and burst out laughing again.
Hans shook his head, smiling wryly.
“Can you make sure the men who rode with us are looked after?”
Then he turned to the bailiff.
“And Master Vatzek, if you please — see to our company. Let them settle in. And I wouldn’t say no to a bit of supper.”
The bailiff dipped his head — without ceremony.
“Follow me, if you would.”
He turned and led them toward the manor’s residential wing.
“For Lady Jitka and Father Godwin, chambers are prepared on the upper floor,” he explained as they crossed the courtyard, “right across the hallway from the rooms of Lords Henry and Capon.”
Godwin let out a low grunt.
“I’d be fine with a bench by the hearth.”
Vatzek glanced back at him and offered a small shrug.
“Lord Henry’s instructions, sir.”
He gestured toward a nearby door.
“Lady Jitka’s maid will have her own little room downstairs, on the ground floor. And just next to it — a chamber already prepared with two beds for—”
He stopped, looking slightly uncertain, as his eyes landed on Janosh and Pavel.
“Name’s Janosh, good sir,” Janosh said with a grin. “And this fine lad is Pavel.”
“Then for Janosh and Pavel,” Vatzek finished, offering a small bow.
Hans lingered in the courtyard for a while, watching the others disappear into the manor. Then, without a word, he turned and made his way toward the gate, climbing the steps that led up to the wall walk.
He stopped at the battlement and rested both hands on the stone. His gaze drifted toward Vesetz.
The valley below lay bathed in the light of early evening. Fields and meadows rippled gently in the warm breeze. In gardens and hedgerows, the fruit trees were in bloom — and Hans could’ve sworn he caught the faint sweetness of their scent on the air.
His gaze followed the road that led toward Klokotsch. Then wandered to the hills and woods across the valley on the far side.
After a while, he straightened, exhaled, and descended again to the courtyard.
He took a few steps, then paused — turned — and walked to the guard by the gate.
“When Lord Henry returns,” he said, “tell him the Pirkstein company has arrived.”
“Yes, my lord,” the guard nodded.
Hans gave a small nod in return, then headed toward the manor with a decisive stride. He climbed the stairs.
Muted sounds filtered through the doors — the creak of floorboards, the soft thud of chests, the low murmur of voices. The others were already settling in. Hans opened the door to the antechamber and stepped inside his own room.
He glanced around.
He set his sword down on the bench near the wall, unfastened his doublet, and laid it across the bed. Then he crossed to the window and looked down at the courtyard below. The sun was dipping toward the hills, and the last rays of the day caught the walls in a warm golden hue.
After a moment, he turned and walked to the side door.
It creaked faintly as he opened it and stepped into Henry’s chamber.
It was nearly set up. A longbow hung from a hook on the wall. A helmet rested beside the chest. Clothes — folded, if hastily — lay on the bench. On the table, scrolls and loose parchment, a quill, ink. And in the air — that familiar scent.
Wood. Leather. Iron. And Henry.
Hans smiled. Quietly. Just to himself.
He crossed to the chest, where one of Henry’s doublets had been left draped. He brushed the fabric with the back of his hand, fingers pausing over the embroidery.
Then he knelt by the hearth. Placed a few logs inside, and within moments the fire crackled to life. The flame flickered in his eyes as he stood and turned toward the door.
He meant to leave —
but something caught his eye.
He looked at the bed.
Stepped closer. Pulled the quilt back slightly — and there, peeking from beneath the pillow, was the edge of a shirt.
He drew it out, just a little.
It was his shirt.
He stared at it for a long moment.
Then smiled — not like before.
Something shifted in his eyes.
A flicker, light as breath.
A sound from the hallway pulled him from his thoughts — the muted step, the soft creak of a door. Hans gave the bed one last glance, then turned and stepped back into the antechamber.
In the corridor, he crossed paths with Godwin.
“All well?” he asked.
Godwin nodded.
“Quite.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Hans offered a brief smile. “I’m heading down for a bite. Will you join me?”
“Jitka’s already gone down. And the others,” Godwin said with a tilt of the head.
Hans gave a quiet nod. Together, they descended the stairs.
Around the table in the hall, the others were already enjoying a simple but hearty supper. Warm bread, lard, cheese, onions. A pot of thick stew. Jugs of beer.
Hans sat down without a word, tore off a piece of bread, and stared ahead for a moment.
Jitka smiled at him.
“It’s… rather cosy here, actually.”
Hans nodded.
“I like it.”
They sat in silence a moment.
“And Henry?” she asked softly. “Still not back?”
He lowered his eyes. Shook his head.
“No.”
Jitka shrugged gently.
“I was hoping to see him tonight. But I think I’ll turn in… I feel like I’ve been put through a wine press. And I’m tired.”
Hans reached out and placed a hand on her forearm.
“Rest, then. You’ve earned it. And you need it.”
A small smile tugged at his lips.
“You’ll see him tomorrow. We all will.”
She nodded, her smile drowsy but content.
Hans glanced around the hall.
“Where’s Devil? And Kubyenka? They gone already?”
Janosh nodded — mid-swallow — and promptly choked on a mouthful. He sputtered, coughing, until Pavel gave him a firm thump on the back that nearly knocked the tears from his eyes.
“They went up already,” he managed at last. “To the castle.”
“He said,” Pavel added with a grin, “that this may be a fine noble manor…
but that castle up there — now that’s a proper beast’s den!”
He burst out laughing. Janosh followed, wheezing.
Hans simply smiled and shook his head, amused.
Soon, one by one, they began to rise — slow and tired, heavy from the road and the meal. Hans, too, bid them good night and made his way back to his chamber.
He moved quietly for a while, unpacking, shifting things from satchel to chest. Then he paused.
From outside came the faint bark of a dog.
And something more.
So soft it could’ve gone unnoticed — but not by him. Hooves.
The chime of iron on stone.
He stilled. Listened.
Then — footsteps on the stairs.
Steady. Quick.
Familiar.
Hans rose to his feet — just as the door swung open.
And there—
his hair windswept, cheeks flushed, eyes alight.
Henry.
He froze only for a heartbeat.
Then he crossed the room in two swift steps — and Hans met him halfway. So fast, so fierce, that when Henry pulled him into his arms, Hans nearly leapt into the embrace.
“Love…” Henry breathed against his ear.
He held him tight — fiercely — and before Hans could even catch a breath, his face was showered with kisses. Temples. Cheeks. Lips. His chest rose quickly, breath catching with each one.
“Three weeks,” Henry murmured between them. “Three fucking weeks.”
Hans kissed him back. Again. And again. Kisses tangled with laughter, smiles pressed to lips, mouths chasing air between them. Hands touched, held, moved across fabric and skin like they needed to know again — to make sure the other was truly there.
And then —
their mouths found each other, fully.
A moment that became the whole world.
Warmth.
Time suspended.
Henry buried his fingers in Hans’s hair. Hans held him around the waist, palms slipping under the doublet — hot, sure. Neither moved. Only breath. Only heartbeats.
When they finally pulled back, just enough to see, their eyes met in silence — shining.
Hans looked at him.
This face — he hadn’t seen it like this before. The beard. Short, thick, neatly kept.
He tilted his head slightly.
Ran a hand along Henry’s temple, then combed his fingers gently through the beard.
“What’s this?” he asked with a small smile.
Henry flushed a little, then shrugged.
“Well…” A shy grin. “Do you like it?”
Hans cupped his face in both hands.
Ran his thumbs slowly along the line of his beard, thoughtful. He studied him for a beat — then pulled him back in and kissed him again.
Deeper.
Slower.
When he drew away, his eyes gleamed, and that smile — the one meant for Henry alone — played at his mouth.
“Lord of Rotstein,” he said quietly.
“You’re the most handsome man that’s ever walked this kingdom.”
Henry laughed softly and crushed him in a tight embrace.
“I love you so damn much…” he whispered into his ear.
They stayed like that a while longer — close, unmoving.
Just breath and touch.
Nothing more.
When they finally pulled back enough to meet each other’s eyes, Henry’s expression sobered.
“Was the journey peaceful? Did everyone make it here safely?”
Hans exhaled — something dimming in his gaze.
He shook his head.
Henry’s brow creased at once.
“What happened?”
“Past Trosky,” Hans said quietly. “We were ambushed. Bandits.”
Henry’s eyes flew wide — but Hans laid a hand on his chest.
“We cut them down. One got away. But… we lost someone. Young Janek.”
Henry fell silent. His expression clouded.
“I thought that road was safe.”
“So did I,” Hans murmured.
Henry’s gaze hardened.
“Maybe we need to ride through Trosky with more caution. Or with a stronger escort.”
He paused — something shifting behind his eyes.
“But we’ve built a decent garrison already. Devil’s got a good pool of men to draw from.”
Hans allowed a faint smile.
“The bailiff’s son… he mentioned as much.”
Henry’s attention focused.
“Lukas? Young Vatzek? He’s sharp, that one. What do you think of him?”
Hans glanced away, drew in a breath.
“Sharp lad. As you said.”
He let the words hang. Then lifted his eyes again.
“Where were you today, anyway?”
Henry scratched at the back of his head.
“Vesetz. Took a look at a spot by the river with the locals… we’re thinking of building a new mill there.”
Then he smiled — reached out and brushed a hand down Hans’s cheek.
“I’ve tried not to be idle these three weeks. Because I knew that once you came back…”
He shook his head, smile still tugging at his lips.
“…I’d want to give you all of me.”
Hans’s gaze melted. He leaned in and kissed him.
Something lit up in Henry’s eyes.
“I’ve explored a little already. And tomorrow I want to take you riding. Just us.”
Hans nodded. Drew him close again — into the stillness that only belonged to the two of them.
Henry was quiet for a moment, then looked at him again.
“You must be worn out after that journey.”
Hans, held in his arms, gave a soft nod.
“We’re going to bed,” Henry said with quiet certainty. “I’ll catch up with the others in the morning. Before we ride out.”
He simply looked into his eyes, for a beat.
Then shook his head — slowly, with a tender smile.
“God,” he whispered. “How I’ve missed you.”
Sunlight spilled through the window frame.
Long golden bands stretched across the floor, sliding over the fur rug, the wooden chest — climbing higher, into corners that, until moments ago, still belonged to the shadows. In the quiet air, motes of dust danced like pollen. Outside, a chorus of birds sang — muffled by walls, but unrelenting.
On the bed, two sweat-slicked bodies gleamed.
Naked.
Entwined.
Still echoing with movement, worn with pleasure — and yet, somehow, full of life.
Hans lay on his back, eyes closed, breath still slightly fast. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, strands of damp hair stuck to his temples. A slow hand drifted across his chest.
Henry watched his own fingers gliding over Hans’s warm skin, then let his gaze lift — to Hans’s face. To the lips, slightly parted. The eyelids that still fluttered faintly, like the last tremble of a string after song.
Then they opened.
Hans turned his head toward him. Looked at him — at the face he knew better than his own. Only now framed in beard, softened by morning light, touched with a gold that made it seem almost unfamiliar.
Henry was smiling. His eyes still lit with something that hadn’t yet burned out — a fire that had been all theirs.
Hans reached up and stroked his cheek. Fingers moved through the beard — gently, as if it were still a secret. Then he leaned in and kissed him. Softly.
His hand slid down, over Henry’s neck, shoulder, resting at his waist. Just a touch — but sure. Present.
“I’m looking forward to that ride,” Hans whispered.
Henry glanced toward the window.
The panes glowed with a day already in bloom outside.
“Looks like it’s going to be beautiful,” he smiled.
Hans’s hand still rested at his waist. He gave Henry’s bare arse a light smack.
“Then let’s not waste the bloody thing,” he said with a smirk.
Henry laughed and leaned over him, their faces barely apart.
He studied him for a moment — then lowered his lips and pressed a light kiss to his cheek.
“Let’s get up,” he said, smiling.
As they descended into the hall, they were met by the soft light of morning.
Only two remained at the table — Godwin and Jitka, seated side by side, each with a steaming cup cradled in hand. The scent of mint and honey hung warmly in the air.
Jitka looked up at them and gave a wry smile.
“Someone had trouble leaving bed this morning…”
Henry faltered for a second.
“Is it that late already?”
Godwin shrugged and took a sip from his cup.
“Everyone’s already eaten. Janosh and Pavel went off to explore the village — thoroughly.”
He grinned.
“I suspect their exploration will focus chiefly on the local tavern.”
Hans and Henry both chuckled.
Henry stepped in to give Godwin a quick side-hug, then leaned over to wrap one arm around Jitka’s shoulders. Just for a moment — his temple touched hers.
She smiled up at him.
Then they settled at the table.
Jitka reached for the pitcher and poured them each a fragrant herbal brew.
“And what about you, Godwin?” Henry asked. “No plans to join them?”
The priest nodded toward the door.
“I’m heading up the hill. Thought it was time I had a proper look at that famous castle of yours. And I’ve still got a few things to discuss with Devil.”
Jitka nodded.
“I’ll go with Godwin. I barely saw Hynek last night — barely said a word to him.”
Henry smiled, faintly.
“Hope you catch him. Lately he’s always off somewhere — even riding with the patrols.”
Hans glanced at him, mildly surprised.
Henry straightened, a flicker lighting in his eyes.
“We’ve got seven patrols out every day now. Covering all main roads and the borders.”
Hans raised an eyebrow, lips pressing together in an impressed little nod.
“Well then… fine work, Lord of Rotstein.”
Henry’s smile faded. He lowered his eyes.
“Still it couldn’t protect you from that ambush near Trosky,” he said quietly.
He looked at Jitka. “Hans told me.”
She sighed and shook her head. “You can’t blame yourself for that.”
Then her gaze softened. “I’m so sorry about young Janek.”
She paused.
“But Hans and the others held them off. Protected us.”
Godwin leaned back in his chair. “So did Jitka. Took down one of those bastards herself.”
Henry frowned. “Still. It troubles me.”
Jitka reached across the table and placed a hand on his forearm. Her touch, gentle.
“I know,” she said softly. “You carry more than your share — but not everything is yours to bear.”
She gave his arm a light squeeze.
“But tell me — do you two have anything nice planned for today?”
Hans looked at her.
Henry gave a small smile.
“After breakfast, we’ll ride out. I want to show Hans the land — what I’ve already found… and…”
He paused. His eyes drifted for a moment to the table.
Jitka tilted her head just slightly, and a quiet, knowing smile played at the corners of her mouth — amused, but gentle.
“I know,” she said. “Three weeks.”
Henry looked up at her — and under his brows, gave a sheepish little smile.
Jitka turned back to Godwin.
“Well then, Father,” she said brightly, “would you be so kind as to escort a noble lady with child to the castle?”
Godwin chuckled, seized the pitcher, and stood.
“With pleasure, my lady.”
After breakfast, Henry stopped by the kitchen. A few apples, a hunk of bread, some dried meat — and a moment later, he stepped out into the courtyard.
The sun wasn’t high yet, but its warmth was already reaching them. The air smelled of spring — fresh, green, still heavy with dew.
Hans stood a little ways off, playing with Mutt. He was throwing a stick, and the dog dashed after it each time, bounding back with his tail wagging furiously. When Henry reached them, Mutt trotted up to greet him without hesitation.
“Well now, handsome,” Henry chuckled, crouching to scratch him behind the ears. “Coming with us? Want to see the woods?”
Mutt stared up at him with solemn focus. Tilted his head one way…
then the other.
Hans let out a low laugh.
“Looks like that’s a yes.”
Together, they made their way to the stables.
“And where exactly are we going?” Hans asked.
Henry already had one hand on the saddle and a foot in the stirrup. He turned to him with a grin full of mischief.
“You’ll see, Lord Capon. Just trust me.”
Hans rolled his eyes, but smiled. He swung into the saddle and nudged his horse toward the gate.
As they rode through, Henry glanced back at the guard.
“We’ll be back sometime this afternoon.”
The guard nodded.
Then the two riders, with their dog trotting behind, set off at an easy pace — toward the village, toward the rocks, toward the forest’s edge.
They passed between the rocky outcrops above Klokotsch, climbing a narrow, stony path where the last of the shadows clung between roots.
But then the road bent left — and the woods opened wide before them.
A narrow valley, cradled on both sides by slopes thick with beech and oak, opened before them like a green breath.
A slender brook wound through the trees — bright and restless — its banks crowded with ferns so dense that the water all but vanished beneath them in places.
They rode in silence, slow, as if the hush itself were sacred.
Their horses’ hooves fell softly onto the fresh spring earth — grass so vivid and green it looked as though it had sprouted just for this day.
Among its blades, white wood anemones and violet wild sweet peas peeked through — like the forest had spilled its jewels across the ground. Every inch of earth was in bloom.
Sunlight filtered down through the canopy, gilding the young leaves and trickling through them into the shadows. The forest shimmered with it — like thousands of golden flecks drifting between the trunks.
The wind whispered in the high branches, soft but constant, carrying the scent of damp soil, budding leaves, and something sharper — bark, perhaps, or the bloom of wild juniper.
All around them rose the unending symphony of birdsong.
From high above came the hollow, rhythmic tapping of a woodpecker. It hammered at a trunk somewhere overhead — strike after strike, precise and unyielding, as if trying to coax the world itself from within the wood.
Bees and bumblebees hummed low in the grass, dragonflies skimmed the surface of the brook. A robin darted from the branches and vanished into green.
The air pulsed with life. Soft. Drenched in dew and morning sun.
And the horses moved on — calmly, instinctively, like the forest had known their names all along.
Eventually, the path narrowed again and dipped between the trees.
And then — suddenly — the rocks appeared.
They rose from the ground like silent towers, moss-covered and tangled in bilberries. Some smooth, others cracked and jagged — all still, tall, and ancient.
Henry pulled the reins and came to a stop.
He glanced over his shoulder.
“Let’s stretch our legs.”
He dismounted and looped the reins over a low branch. Hans followed suit.
“Why here?” Hans asked.
Henry stepped in close, slipped an arm around his shoulders, and brushed his cheek lightly against Hans’s.
Then he turned him gently toward the rocks and pointed.
“See? Up there…”
Hans narrowed his eyes.
And yes — nestled among the branches near the top of one of the rocky spires was a small wooden structure.
Like a bird’s nest pressed into stone.
He’d almost missed it.
“What is that?” he asked, frowning slightly.
“Drzewolis,” Henry replied, smiling.
“Drzewo– what?”
“That’s what it’s called. A little rock keep.
It’s been abandoned for quite a few years now.”
Henry led him on — through a narrow crevice between the rocks, so tight they had to turn sideways to pass. Then up a step, along a stone ledge that curved around the rock like a ribbon, climbing higher with each careful footfall.
At the very top stood the cabin — low-built but sturdy, its shingled roof weathered to grey, beams darkened by years of sun and rain. On the neighboring crag stood the broken remnants of what had once been a wooden watchtower — now only jagged stumps of timber jutting from stone.
Henry opened the door.
Inside was a single room — plain, but inviting. Two old beds, a simple hearth, shelves along the wall.
A place that held more silence than words.
Henry turned to him.
“I know it’s no Foxburrow… but if we ever wanted to go hunting. Or just… into the woods. Away from people.”
Hans looked at him for a long moment.
Then pulled him close by the waist and kissed him.
He glanced toward the wall — and let out a short laugh.
“The only thing is… I’m not convinced that bed would hold the two of us. Let alone if we…”
Henry pressed in to him, hands resting on his hips.
“Oh, the things you think of, Lord of Pirkstein…” he murmured into his ear.
Hans chuckled, shook his head, and raised a brow.
“Don’t tell me, my dear Henry, that it didn’t cross your mind.”
Henry gave a little shrug — but his eyes were glinting with laughter.
“Honestly, it’s all I’ve been thinking of.”
Hans moved slowly toward the door, pausing on the threshold. The treetops seemed close enough to touch.
He drew a deep breath.
“I believe, Henry… we’re overdue for a hunting trip.”
A moment later, he felt Henry’s arms slide around his waist from behind.
And the brush of lips against his neck.
“As you command, my lord,” Henry whispered into his ear.
When they returned to the horses — where Mutt waited impatiently — Hans looked out over the forest.
“Where to now?”
Henry swung into the saddle and pointed through the trees.
“Bukowina.”
Hans furrowed his brow in thought.
“That’s the village Vatzek mentioned, isn’t it? Back in winter, when he showed us the land?”
Henry nodded.
“Indeed.”
They rode through light woods, where shrubs grew between the trunks and sun played across the shaded ground. Then, slowly, the trees began to thin — and without warning, the forest fell away.
They emerged into open country.
A broad slope stretched out below them, covered in spring grass, and nestled at the bottom of the valley was a small village.
Low roofs. Smoke from chimneys. Small fields scattered along the edge.
They both reined in and came to a stop.
Dismounting, they let the horses graze nearby.
Mutt flopped down into the grass with a grunt, panting, tongue lolling.
Henry stretched, rolled his shoulders, and with a quiet sigh, drew Hans into his arms.
A contented murmur rumbled from his chest.
Hans gave him a puzzled smile.
“And why exactly did you want to bring me here?”
Henry shrugged off his doublet and hung it from a low branch.
Then tugged his shirt off and laid it in the grass.
He gestured toward it.
“Sit.”
Hans hesitated — only for a heartbeat — then took off his own doublet and sat down.
Henry lowered himself beside him, leaning on one hand, the other slipping around Hans’s back.
He smiled.
Hans turned his head toward him, a quiet question in his eyes.
Henry only gave a little shrug.
“I brought you here… because I like the view,” he said.
“And I missed you the last time I sat here.”
Hans shook his head lightly.
Then leaned in and kissed his cheek.
He looked out across the valley.
“That’s Bukowina, isn’t it?”
Henry nodded silently.
Hans tilted his chin toward the horizon.
“And way out there?”
“Turnow,” Henry said softly. “That’s where our dear neighbour resides.”
Hans rolled his eyes.
“Von Bergow,” he muttered.
Henry nodded again, then stared off into the distance and gave an exaggerated wave.
“Good day to you, Lord Otto!”
They both laughed.
Hans let himself be drawn in close, and when Henry lay back in the grass, he rested his head on Henry’s chest.
Together, they watched the sky — wide and blue above them.
White clouds drifted by, slow and idle.
Henry’s fingers wandered absently across Hans’s chest — just over the fabric of his shirt, but with quiet precision, as if the cloth weren’t even there.
He traced the ridge of his collarbone, thoughtful.
After a while, Hans shifted — then reached up without a word and pulled his shirt over his head.
He tossed it into the grass and settled against Henry’s bare chest. His skin was warm and carried his scent.
Henry wrapped an arm around him without hesitation —
and Hans placed his hand over it.
Gently. As if to anchor them both.
They lay there in silence for a long time.
All around them, the world held still —
only the wind played now and then with the grass, and from the village below came the distant sound of chickens.
Then Hans spoke — quietly.
“It troubles me, Henry… that I broke my word.”
His fingers moved slowly along the arm resting across his body.
Henry lifted his head to look at him.
“What word?”
Hans turned toward him. Smiled — but there was something apologetic in it.
“That I’d never let you ride out alone again.”
Henry gave a slight shake of the head.
“But nothing happened.”
“It didn’t,” Hans agreed.
But he drew in a breath — and his voice deepened.
“But…”
He paused.
Then sat up.
Henry rose with him, slowly. He looked at him — but said nothing.
Hans held his gaze for a moment.
“I know you can take care of yourself,” he said at last.
He reached out, ran a hand down the firm line of Henry’s arm.
“Of course you can,” he added softly.
But his eyes dropped.
Henry leaned closer, brushed a hand against his cheek. Then gently cupped his chin, lifted it.
Hans looked up at him again.
“It’s just…” he murmured. Then fell silent, his eyes drifting to something distant, invisible.
“…after everything we’ve been through. That helplessness. Not being able to do anything — if something happened. Anything…”
The words were quiet. Nearly breathless.
Henry watched him a moment.
Then drew him close, wrapped both arms around him.
Hans curled into him — wordless, still.
Henry pressed his lips to Hans’s hair, one hand slowly stroking over his shoulder.
Again and again.
Then a faint smile touched his lips — just for a moment.
“Now that I’ve finally got you here,” he murmured,
“you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
And he kissed him again — gently — in his hair.
After a while, Hans straightened and cleared his throat softly. His eyes wandered to the horizon, where the rooftops and spires of Turnow shimmered faintly in the haze. The sun leaned into the fields below, and the wind played gently with the young grass.
“You know…” he said thoughtfully, “it’s true that thanks to you being here ahead of us, there’s so much of you already showing in this place.”
He turned back slowly. There was a quiet smile in his eyes.
“When I saw those riders yesterday… in your colours. Then the banners… I’ll be honest — it caught me by surprise. But damn, I was proud.”
Henry gave a small, almost shy smile. His hand brushed across his thigh without thinking.
“It felt right — that our men should wear our colours. That people would know who they belonged to.”
“And that Rotstein had a lord again,” he added after a moment.
Hans nodded — then looked back into the distance.
“And the borders? No trouble lately?”
He glanced back over his shoulder.
Henry scratched the side of his head with a wry little smile.
“It’s been quiet these past weeks. Might have something to do with the patrols riding through every day.”
He snorted.
“More than once with Dry Devil himself at the lead. So maybe they all just flee before he even comes into sight.”
Hans chuckled and laid a hand on his knee.
“It really is impressive — how hard you’ve thrown yourself into all this.”
Something lit in Henry’s eyes.
That spark — the one that always flared when something truly drove him forward.
“And I want to build a new mill — I told you already,” he said. “That’s why I was in Vesetz yesterday.
Or maybe… maybe Loktush. The slope’s better there.”
Hans leaned in with a look of quiet disbelief.
“You’re unstoppable,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
They sat in silence for a while, looking out over the land. Henry raised an eyebrow.
“And what about Pirkstein? How are things there?”
Hans’s gaze grew calmer. He stared off into the distance.
Shrugged.
“They’ll manage. But… Bernard and Zizka have got their hands full.
We still haven’t found anyone to replace Mikush.”
Henry’s face darkened.
“Ah… Mikush.”
He said nothing else. Just sat there, staring into the distance.
“I still can’t make sense of it,” he said quietly at last. He shook his head, slow and faint. “That he was the one feeding information to Hanush.”
Hans drew in a long breath — and let it out again in one heavy exhale, like he was trying to push the whole thing out of his chest in one go.
“I didn’t want to believe it either,” he admitted. “When Bernard brought it to me — when he exposed him — I thought it had to be a mistake. But then… when Mikush confessed…”
He trailed off.
The words faded into the wind.
For a while, there was only silence.
The birds calling somewhere high in the canopy. The low hum of insects in the air.
“You were right to dismiss him,” Henry said at last.
Hans looked up at him — searching his face.
“You think so?”
Henry nodded. Slowly. But with quiet certainty.
“In a situation like this… you can’t afford to rely on someone you can’t fully trust anymore.”
Hans shifted closer, resting his head on Henry’s shoulder.
Henry wrapped an arm around his back. Pulled him in, hand resting lightly on his waist.
They sat there, wordless.
Just present.
Just two men, in a land that was slowly becoming their own.
The stillness was broken by the loud growl of Henry’s stomach.
Hans burst out laughing.
“That!” he exclaimed triumphantly. “That’s what I missed most over those three weeks!”
They both laughed.
Then Hans rolled across Henry’s side and pushed him gently back into the grass, kissing him. He paused there — braced on his elbows above him. A soft smile still lingered on their lips. And a glint in their eyes that wasn’t just the sun.
“Greedy thing,” Hans whispered with a grin — and brushed the tip of his nose along Henry’s cheek.
Then, in the next instant, he leapt to his feet.
Brushed off his hands.
And strode over to the horses.
He rummaged through a saddlebag — tossing a few things aside until he found what he was looking for. Then turned, calling over his shoulder:
“Would his lordship care for some lunch?”
A few minutes later, they were sitting in the shade nearby.
Mutt sprawled beside them, watching every twitch of their hands with great interest.
The air smelled of dried meat, bread — and spring.
Henry took a bite and muttered through his mouthful, “Should’ve brought more.”
Hans chewed, raised an eyebrow.
“You said we’re riding through Loktush, didn’t you?”
Henry nodded.
Hans shrugged and smiled.
“Well, there’s a tavern there, right?”
After the meal, they rose, dressed, saddled the horses, and set off again.
The sun was high now. The sky clear. And the land below breathed in a quiet, steady rhythm.
They skirted Bukowina along the forest’s edge.
In the trees, it was cool and shadowed — but only a few steps further, the slopes were bathed in warmth again.
They descended to the Stebenka stream, winding through a shallow valley.
The water ran fast and murky still, carrying leaves and grass.
Along the banks bloomed coltsfoot and blue fumewort. Insects buzzed through the air, and the meadows rippled like the surface of a pond.
On a slope, a young shepherd dozed in the grass — slouched against the twisted trunk of a low apple tree, its gnarled branches covered in pink blossoms.
His hat was pulled low over his brow, a long blade of grass hanging from the corner of his mouth.
A small flock of sheep grazed nearby — and among them, a few lambs bleated and flitted about, quick and fluffy, like little clouds that had grown legs and ears and bounded straight from the heavens onto the springtime field.
Here and there, cottages crouched low in the hollow — some tucked between trees, others within sight of the road.
In the fields, people were at work: women bent over garden beds, men with hoes or baskets slung over their shoulders.
When they noticed the riders, a few straightened up to look.
Some simply watched in silence.
Others gave a slight bow — a nod of the head, or a fuller gesture.
Hans glanced sideways, watching Henry.
He saw how Henry met each gaze — never shying away.
There was nothing forced about it — just a quiet awareness that he was being seen.
And in return, he offered a soft smile.
Hans kept his eyes on him a moment longer.
And then, to no one but himself, he smiled.
As they rode between two wooded ridges, the view opened before them — Loktush in the distance, its rooftops warmed by the sun, a haze of forest beyond, and the land rolling gently beneath the sky.
Hans reined in sharply.
Henry pulled his horse up beside him. He opened his mouth — but Hans simply raised a hand and pointed ahead.
“Look.”
Henry narrowed his eyes. And then he saw them.
Three riders burst from the treeline at full gallop. And behind them—
“That’s our patrol!” he shouted.
“They’re chasing someone!”
He kicked his horse into motion. Hans followed without hesitation.
They veered off the road, angling downhill toward the riders in flight.
As they closed the distance, Henry got a clearer look.
No colours. No heraldry.
He glanced back at Hans, jerked his head, and shouted,
“Try cutting them off from the right!”
Hans nodded and arced his horse outward.
Henry veered slightly left — directly into their path.
The strangers spotted him.
One turned, confused. Then another.
They slowed. Tugged at the reins.
One began to wheel his horse around —
only for Hans to emerge from the trees, straight ahead of them.
They stopped.
Frozen in the saddle.
Henry charged from the front.
His horse reared, hooves slicing the air with a whinny.
Dirt flew in clumps beneath them.
At that same moment, the patrol broke from the trees behind —
four mounted men, with Dry Devil at their head.
“Hold!” he barked.
The soldiers raised their crossbows — steady, silent, aimed.
Devil grinned, turning to Hans and Henry.
“Nice of you to herd ’em right into our jaws,” he said, low and amused.
Then he nodded toward the captives.
“Off your horses!”
The men hesitated — but then, one by one, they began to dismount.
Henry didn’t move.
He looked down on them from the saddle.
“What’s going on here?” he asked, quiet but firm.
Devil swung down and walked toward him at a lazy pace.
“Caught ’em over a fresh kill, a stag,” he said. “Already gutting a doe.
Poachers, Henry.”
“That’s a lie!” one of the men blurted. “We’ve got permission to hunt!”
Henry turned his gaze on him.
Long. Measuring.
“I don’t recall giving you permission to hunt in my woods.”
He paused. His voice remained even.
“In fact… I don’t recall ever seeing you at all.”
The man faltered. Glanced at the others.
“These are Trosky woods,” he muttered.
Hans lifted an eyebrow.
“Trosky, is it?” he said slowly. “You’re from Trosky?”
The men nodded. Silent now.
Devil spat on the ground.
Then looked up at Henry.
“What do we do with ’em?” he asked with a dark little chuckle.
“I’ve got a few ideas.”
Henry was quiet.
He looked at the three men. One. Then the next. Then the third.
Then his eyes flicked briefly to Hans’s.
A short, near-invisible nod.
Henry turned back to Devil.
“Take them to Rotstein. Put them in the castle dungeon.”
He faced the poachers.
“I’ll try them myself.”