The Morning After and a Noble’s Prudence

“Ooh-ooh-ooh~” Within the castle courtyard, a white-feathered chicken ruffled its neck, stretching it straight to unleash a resounding crow!

Sunlight, squeezing through a crack in the living room window, offered a meager increase in the dim room’s brightness.

It drifted silently towards the sleeping girl, gently caressing her cheek.

A flicker of struggle crossed the serene face of the blonde maiden.

Having lost too many electrolytes and too much water the previous night, this usually early-rising fitness enthusiast felt an uncharacteristic languor, reluctant to leave the comfort of her bed.

“Ugh—I just want to sleep.” Noren curled into a ball, hugging her knees, her long hair cascading like a waterfall across the large bed.

Every cell in her body exuded lethargy; her limbs, though not sore, felt utterly powerless, and her mind, despite its clarity, clung stubbornly to the mattress.

“Hoo—ah—” Noren sat up on her heels, rubbed her eyes, and let out a long yawn.

She glanced at the sky outside the window.

“It’s morning,” she announced, “we should leave this castle as soon as possible.”

Having been inexplicably drugged last night, she suspected she had become entangled in a noble conspiracy, the mastermind perhaps intending to use the drugged wine to ignite conflict between her and the castle’s aristocracy.

If she were to remain here, there was no telling what further troubles might arise.

“Ryan is still recovering from his injury; it seems he won’t be able to travel.” Noren suddenly recalled Ryan’s arrow wound, and Igor would likely stay to guard his brother.

Should she depart without the brothers, she would lack their introduction, making it highly probable she wouldn’t be granted an audience with Bishop Unichov, and she didn’t even know the way to the Unichov diocese.

“Tsk, one trouble after another.” Noren clicked her tongue softly, murmuring to herself, “I should go check on Ryan’s condition; the Count’s court physician should be skilled in medicine, and I hope Ryan recovers quickly.”

Noren rose from bed, dressed, and used her sword as a makeshift mirror to loosely braid her long hair.

Admiring the beautiful reflection in the blade, Noren nodded with satisfaction: “Excellent, this vessel is quite splendid, truly worthy of being my spellcasting material for four years!”

Humming a little tune, she tightened the belt around her waist, then meticulously arranged and counted the silver coins from her purse on the table.

She retrieved her waterskin and a willow branch from her leather backpack to rinse her mouth, then cupped some water to wash her face.

Feeling refreshed and invigorated.

Noren declared: “A beautiful day has begun.”

She chose to forget about last night; after all, one must always look to the future.

Opening the door, she found Tolke leaning against the wall, sound asleep with his arms folded across his chest.

However, thick dark circles shadowed his eyes, clearly indicating a restless night.

Noren placed her hands on her hips and leaned forward, scrutinizing the sleeping boy’s face.

His golden hair was disheveled, his face peaceful in slumber, his breath coming in soft, small puffs, and his pale red lips were slightly pursed.

He was a handsome youth.

She didn’t wake Tolke, partly because she found observing people sleep intriguing, but also for another reason.

She didn’t know how to face Tolke; a wall, seemingly named ‘estrangement,’ had inexplicably risen between her and the boy before her.

She had lost the courage to speak with him.

“Hmm? Noren?” Tolke stirred awake, a strand of the girl’s hair having inadvertently tickled his face.

Upon opening his eyes, Tolke was immediately met with a creamy expanse, like vermillion dots on rice paper, a veritable painting of crimson peaks.

The two stared at each other, wide-eyed.

After a long moment, Noren finally reacted, straightening up and fastening the three rows of knotted cords at the top of her cloth armor.

She no longer cared about this unexpected ‘benefit’; she had been seen completely, and her ‘little kitten’ had been thoroughly petted again and again.

Her heart was as still as a tranquil pond.

“Tolke, let’s go,” Noren stated calmly.

“Where to?” Tolke struggled to pull himself up, using the wall for support, his back stiff from sleeping against it all night.

“To see Ryan.” Noren glanced at Tolke’s reddened nose, then guiltily averted her gaze.

“If Ryan is awake, we’ll continue our journey.”

****

Walking along the dark, damp castle corridor, their footsteps echoed around them.

“Noren, I…” Tolke began, then trailed off.

“It’s not your fault.” Noren walked ahead, her voice as placid as an ancient well, as if last night’s events held no sway over her.

Yet, the crimson tips of her ears, hidden beneath her golden hair, betrayed her true feelings.

“Ultimately, this entire matter is my fault; I regret not heeding your advice.

If I hadn’t consumed that wine, none of what happened last night would have occurred.”

“Then, we…”

“We’ll interact just as we did before, as if nothing ever happened.”

“Nothing ever happened?”

“Exactly!” Noren spun around abruptly, looking at the boy with solemnity, articulating each word distinctly: “No-thing-at-all-hap-pened.”

Tolke stared into her intensely serious green eyes, then lowered his gaze.

“Alright,” he conceded.

*Nothing ever happened?*

[Tolke — Stress +25]

****

“Smack!” A person was slapped to the ground, clutching their face with a wronged expression.

“Do you understand your mistake now?” Sir Kovan roared, spittle flying.

“I understand,” Triss replied, covering her face, her eyes filled with both fear and confusion.

“Your mistake was minor, but if you are to marry into Osbrück, you must learn prudence, prudence, and more prudence.” Sir Kovan wiped his fingers with a handkerchief, reaching for his wine glass, but stopped himself, remembering he had already consumed a quart of wine that morning.

“But Father,” Triss said, removing her hand to reveal a pristine, unblemished face, devoid of any slap mark.

“What is it?” Sir Kovan stroked his beard, thinking he needed to visit the razor-maker soon.

Triss pointed a small finger: “Why did you hit him, and not me?”

Following her pointed finger, a servant lay half-reclined on the ground, clutching his face, his expression mournful and deeply aggrieved.

Sir Kovan stated matter-of-factly, “Who else should I hit but him, my dear daughter?”

“M-my Lord…” The servant remained half-reclined on the ground, his whimpering appearance utterly disgusting to Sir Kovan, the Count’s military commander.

“Alright, alright, out with you~” Sir Kovan waved him away impatiently.

He would never have allowed such a weakling to serve as his attendant if the servant’s father weren’t a loyal and skilled soldier under his command.

The spineless servant scrambled to his feet, limping out of Sir Kovan’s quarters.

Once the door closed, Triss voiced her confusion to her father: “Father, why was my offense merely a small mistake? I very well might have added aphrodisiac powder to the Provence wine you intended for the princess.”

“Because she is a noble.”

“A noble?”

“Precisely,” Sir Kovan patiently explained.

“Nobles are extremely concerned with their reputation.

If a noblewoman is drugged, regardless of the outcome, making a public fuss will only damage her honor.”

Triss tilted her head: “So the princess won’t cause trouble?”

“Most likely not.”

Sir Kovan stroked his beard, then, after a moment’s thought, added, “However, compensation must still be made.

Send her a chainmail hauberk; give her the new one your grandfather just finished.”

“A chainmail hauberk…” Triss hesitated, wanting to speak but daring not to question her father’s decision, yet she felt it was rather inappropriate to give a princess a chainmail hauberk.

Sir Kovan shot his daughter a glance, concluding that while her appearance was pleasing, her shrewdness was far inferior to that of his elder daughter.

At the thought of his cunning, pig-like elder daughter, Sir Kovan’s mood soured instantly, and he quickly redirected his attention back to his illegitimate daughter before him.

He elaborated: “That princess, even when attending banquets, is always in military attire.

Though the sword at her waist lacks gem embellishments, its pommel and guard clearly signify the work of a master craftsman.”

“Recall her stature; she is even taller than I am.

Perhaps only ‘Long-Legs’ Wien could rival her.”

Sir Kovan concluded: “This is a princess who reveres martial arts, likely from a duchy in the northern Empire, and she might even possess Danish royal blood.”

“Then why wasn’t she wearing chainmail, Father? A princess shouldn’t lack money, should she?” Triss, though reluctant to challenge her father, simply couldn’t help but ask.

Sir Kovan merely chuckled, displaying an expression that said, ‘I knew you’d ask that,’ then countered, “Do I typically bestow money upon your older sister?”

*How would I know?* Triss thought to herself.

Sir Kovan continued, “No, or at least very rarely.

The daughters of nobles might manage family assets, but they seldom possess private property of their own.

Only married noblewomen receive land, property, and rights, which is precisely why I wanted you to drug and entice Igor.”

“But shouldn’t a princess be special? Her father is a Duke, and it’s just a chainmail hauberk…” Triss, seeing her father wasn’t angry, grew bolder and continued her questioning.

“Princesses are no different.

At most, they can implore their fathers or elder brothers for wealth; few are granted land or estates before marriage.”

Sir Kovan smacked his lips, his mouth a little dry from speaking.

“If the Duke despises her sword-wielding and combat, he won’t provide her with heavy armor.

Without armor, she won’t have the courage to fight, and even with a fine sword, she’d at best be hacking at flowers or pruning grass.”

“What if she dares to fight?” Triss was adept at poking holes in his arguments.

Sir Kovan frowned, suddenly finding his illegitimate daughter less than endearing.

He used his last reserves of patience: “We are Christians, not fearless Northmen.

Would a pampered, beautiful princess truly be willing to let her delicate little face be harmed?”

Triss perceived her father’s impatience, pursed her lips, and said nothing further.