A Dog Among Princes

Chapter 22

Guts felt something curl up next to him and put its head on his chest. He tried to get up to look at it but found he couldn’t move. A dream then. He hated these ones. Any second now he’d be a kid again and the monster would be after him. He kept his eyes squeezed closed but he didn’t feel the claws on his skin or the hot breath on his neck, just the weight of whatever it was that was on top of him. Guts found that he could move his arm. He touched the thing on his chest and felt short, coarse, fur and cropped, pointed, ears. A dog? He gently scratched its ears.

“That’s kinda nice.” It rumbled in his own low voice. Guts struggled, trying to run but he still couldn’t move. It stood up and stalked over to his face. Its red eyes cut across its head like two jagged scars and its mouth was full of so many teeth they overlapped and jutted out of its exposed gums. “Come on now, I’m not gonna hurt you. We’re partners, remember? You need me to protect you.” It locked its jaws around his throat. Guts started to panic but he still couldn’t get up. “Just let me in already.” He felt its jagged teeth sink in and he woke up with a shout.

He brought a hand to his neck as he tried to calm his breathing. It came away red. He rushed to the nearest mirror and remembered, oh yeah he was injured. His thrashing around in his sleep had reopened his wounds and he was bleeding through the bandages. The nightmares had gotten worse. He rooted around in his bedside table. He was sure he had some bandages around here somewhere. Guts wiped the blood from his neck in the bathroom sink before re-dressing his wounds. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw a pair of glowing eyes, like wounds cut into the darkness. But when he spun to look, all he saw was his own reflection in the mirror. He’d ruptured a blood vessel in his right eye, leaving the white bright red. That wasn’t good. Guts knew from experience it would go away in a couple of days, but he must’ve been pretty on edge for that to happen. It would probably be a good idea to wear an eye patch for the next couple of days to prevent further strain. It didn’t hurt at least, just felt a little itchy. He cracked his stiff jaw. Felt like he’d been grinding his teeth again too. His hair was getting a little shaggy. He had to fight the voice in his head telling him to cut it short. Guts wasn’t a soldier anymore, leaving it longer was supposed to be a privilege. That didn’t stop him from hearing Gambino’s voice in his ear, “Boy, if you let that hair get any longer, I’ll pick you up and swing you around by it”. Ah fuck it. It usually made him feel better. He went hunting for a razor.

“For your distinction in combat, and your unflinching bravery in the face of immeasurable danger, I award you the title of duchess and all the rights and privileges associated with it.” Cadogan removed his sword from her shoulder. “Arise Sir Casca, knight of the realm.” She stood a little awkwardly. Casca had decided to wear a dress, it was a formal event after all, but hadn’t realized how much the extra fabric would weigh. She also felt a little self conscious. With her short hair and muscular arms she must’ve looked ridiculous. She had abandoned femininity when she became a soldier, it was stupid to think she could so easily take up its trappings again. Everyone was probably laughing at her. Casca slowly turned around. The first person she saw was Judeau. He gave her a standing ovation, a massive smile on his face. The rest of the band was there too. Even Rickert had managed to come down for the weekend. She felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She’d let her own wants and needs go ignored for years but now in her moment of personal triumph her friends were still here to support her. Allowing herself to want things wouldn’t drive them away. She knew this was true but still felt the need to remind herself. She was allowed to have a future of her own.

Thank god this was going well. Cadogan needed a win right now. Guts and Griffith had certainly proved themselves each other's equals, however there were now whispers debating Guts’s qualifications as a future leader. During that final duel he had been more like a wild beast than a man. Cadogan recognized that monster, it was what a man turned into when he was trapped in a hole so deep he couldn’t see the top or bottom. In circumstances like that, he would run as far and fast as he could not caring who or what he left behind or, if he was like Guts, he would fight until his body collapsed under him. Cadogan had only felt like that once, when he’d put on the accursed black armor. However, if he’d been properly informed, it seemed that the armor hadn’t been Guts’s first brush with a fear so powerful. There were often times in combat where he fell into a dissociative state and his body fought while his mind remained elsewhere. Even one or two times in the past when he fell into a completely blind rage as he had then. He supposed that would go a ways to explain how Guts had become so broken down at his age. When another person’s body would tell them to stop, his panic allowed him to keep going past his limits. However, even understanding the horror that compelled that violent state, he knew how it was perceived. His grandson was seen as a brutally violent beast. And then there was Griffith. He was already a difficult sell as it was but now, York was a country largely unaccustomed to blood and war. The members of the nobility, if they thought of war at all, thought of it as some grand romantic ordeal their distant ancestors went through. Griffith was a knight through and through, he embodied both the glamor and the sheer horror of that position. His citizens were too used to only seeing soldiers as protectors, they’d forgotten that they were also takers of life as well.

He felt somewhat guilty about scheduling Casca’s knighthood for the day of Guts’s official introduction, but it was necessary. She was significantly safer politically than either of those two right now, so having her enter the ranks of the peerage at the same time would hopefully smooth things over. Especially since she was their friend. She was skilled, diligent, and, most importantly, stable. Her closeness with Guts and Griffith would, hopefully, reflect well upon the other two. Especially since Casca had so little patience for fools or scoundrels. If she vouched for them, maybe the nobility could be made to see that they were capable of leadership.

At least there was no such issue with the common folk. They’d decided Guts was their prince off of narrative alone. He was raised as an ordinary man and had none of the pretensions or arrogance of a privileged noble scion. He was a little bit fucked up, but they were glad to have someone who understood their issues in a seat of inherited power. Griffith was basically a folk saint across the continent. He could dance naked in the town square and people would give him an award for it. Griffith was the orphan boy who’d ended a centuries long war and retired peacefully in the court of a foreign king. He was a walking miracle. Now having cheated death (and fate, but nobody needed to know that) it was in more ways than one. But still the nobility could present an obstacle. Assassinations were fairly uncommon, but not unheard of in his court. If one of those two was assassinated while they held so much of the people’s support… he was spiraling. Deep breaths, everything was still hypothetical. Oh dear god, was Guts wearing an eye patch? He could think about that later, he just had to keep smiling. All he needed to do was get through the day. He could catastrophize when there was an actual catastrophe to deal with.

After the ceremony Griffith quietly took Guts aside. “What happened there?” Griffith pointed to his own right eye.

“Oh this?” He lifted the eye patch to reveal the white of his eye had turned blood red.

“Ouch. That wasn’t me was it?”

“No, it happened at some point last night while I was asleep.”

“Nightmares again?”

“Yeah, different than usual though. I’ll tell you about it later if you want, but I’m alright.” Guts didn’t look alright but it would be best not to press him. He didn’t need to show up to the banquet tonight with two eye patches.

“As long as you’re alright.” Guts looked just beyond Griffith and waved.

“You look great!”

“Really? I wasn’t sure a dress would suit me.” The red and white dress complimented her warm toned skin. Its wide neckline exposed her muscular shoulders, normally hidden under armor. Of course that may be the very thing she was self conscious about. She was worried she looked out of place. Griffith was far better versed in the science of personal presentation. He understood that beauty lay within delicate layers of contrast. His own delicate looks were as well beloved as they were because of the painstaking lengths he’d taken to style himself as masculinely as possible. Although in private he allowed himself more androgyny, too much in public would invite ridicule rather than admiration. At the same time, the more masculine his dress and affectations the more apparent and alluring it made his more feminine qualities. Long lashes like his own were always more exceptional on a soldier than a lady of the court. In Casca’s case, more feminine dress brought out her strength and bearing. Ladies of the court may be trained in etiquette and grace from birth, but nothing could compare to the grace that comes from strength and martial training. Casca did not hold herself like a lady, but with the poise of a soldier.

“You look wonderful! Although,” Griffith lowered his voice. “If it is a matter of confidence, I could accompany you to the celebrations later. You look perfectly natural in comparison to myself.”

“That won’t be necessary. Judeau already asked me.” Ah so he’d finally worked up the courage. Good for him!

“Besides, aren’t you forgetting someone?” Guts jokingly feigned a pout “You’re my date remember?”

“I doubt we will be allowed to enter together. You forget, you out rank me by far.”

“I’ll sneak you in under my cloak if I have to.”

“Hey! Quit hogging Casca!” Guts and Griffith jumped away from each other. Right, they were in public. Couplings like their own were more accepted here, but the old fears instilled in them in Midland took over from time to time.

“I’m coming, just give me a second.” She hiked her shirt before she departed. “It’s so hard not to trip over this thing.” She shook head.

Hours later Griffith stared at the clothes he’d commissioned months ago to wear tonight. He’d needed to have them altered significantly upon his return, but he’d liked the pieces well enough that it was worth it. He’d chosen to wear a blue doublet in his customary light shade. When he was knighted in Midland he had been able to afford darker shades, but he’d grown rather attached to cornflower blue. Birch leaves were embroidered on the sleeves in light saffron. A subtle inclusion of the warmer colors preferred by the people of his new homeland, without abandoning his own preferred cools. He’d initially planned on hose and knee-length, white breeches, but hose was quite out of the question now. Just breeches no hose it was. It seemed that people tended not to notice when he was naked. His silver skin tended to mentaly register as armor, so even for those who knew it was his body, it took some time for them to remember he was supposed to be wearing anything over it. He hoped that would allow him to get away with the impropriety of not wearing shoes.

The situation was far from ideal. The old Griffith probably would’ve been having a panic attack right about now. He’d lost complete control of his image, he hadn’t had time to do adequate research on the people he was meeting, he was still recovering from the injuries he’d received at the tournament, and at the center of it all was his beloved wild card. He could try his best to manage the situation but ultimately, everything was in Guts’s hands. A year ago he would’ve been shaking and crying and screaming at the very thought. He was willing to trust him with matters of combat, but matters of state? He’d have rather cut off his head and hand delivered it to the king. It would save him valuable time. As a commoner in the court of Midland, insulting the wrong person meant he could be easily disposed of, completely un-mourned and forgotten by history. The incident with Julius had taught him that even with the protection of the band, he was far from immortal. He slid on a pair of soft leather gloves, covering his claws. Griffith still wasn’t immortal, but he was significantly more difficult to kill. He had the fortitude to trust now. Was this how it was for Guts? He was always so confident in his own abilities. Was that what it took to trust, confidence in one’s self? Griffith recovered a small brush and palette hidden in the back of his wardrobe. He considered it. Did he dare? He quieted his old fears. If anyone took issue with his appearance tonight it wouldn’t be because he’d chosen to wear a little kohl. He did quite enjoy the intensity it gave his eyes.

Guts heard a knock at his door. He hastily tossed on a shirt. He’d been staring down the clothes that he was supposed to be wearing. It felt oddly wrong to be wearing something that cost more money than he’d ever earned. He opened the door.

“Grandfather. What brings you here so early?”

“I saw you in the crowd and was wondering if you were well.”

“Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, your eye…”

“Oh this?” He lifted his eye patch again, revealing the blood soaked white. Cadogan jumped in alarm. “Don’t worry it’s not serious. I just ruptured something. Happens all the time. Just figured I oughta cover it so nobody gets spooked.”

“You say this happens frequently?”

“Yeah, usually goes away after a couple days though.”

“That isn’t exactly what I’m concerned about, Guts.”

“I didn’t hit it on anything, it just happened when I was asleep.”

“That is the truth?”

“Of course it is. Why the hell would I lie about something so minor?”
“Guts, you understand a chronic injury like that could be indicative of a larger problem.”

“Trust me, if I freaked out about it every time I had a nightmare-” Shit he’d said too much.

“This was due to a nightmare? Guts, how often are they that bad?”

“Look, I might’ve exaggerated a bit when I said it was all the time, just sometimes alright.”

“Guts…” He could see the pity in Cadogan’s eyes.

“I’m fine, just leave it alone!” The king stepped back at the outburst. Guts suddenly felt a little guilty. He knew he didn’t mean anything by it but, “Don’t go looking for answers you don’t wanna hear.”

“I’m your grandfather, of course I want you to tell me your troubles.”

“That’s exactly why you don’t wanna hear it. Trust me, whatever you expect me to say, I can guarantee that isn’t what you’re gonna hear.”

“Don’t you think I ought to be the judge of that?”

“Maybe someday, but not right now and not in the middle of this hallway.” Cadogan knew that this was probably the most he’d be able to get out of him. He still knew so infuriatingly little about Guts, but he wasn’t getting more out of him today.

“Is there anything I can do to help you right now?”

“Is this formal enough?” Guts pulled a cloak Cadogan had never seen before from his bed. “I don’t really have a gauge for this sort of thing yet.” The king raised an eyebrow.

“I’d say it’s acceptable given the nature of your personal achievements, though do you not think you are being a bit too obvious?”

“Well I wouldn’t exactly call myself subtle in general.”

“Very well, as long as you are self aware about it I suppose it’s fine.”

Farnese took a deep breath before allowing the scourge to land upon her back again. The heady smell of incense made her head spin but the sharp pain of the lash kept her grounded in her prayer. She needed to be sharp tonight. It was Farnese Vandimion who was needed tonight, not Farnese the commander. Azan had reason to believe the Prince and… that creature knew something about the prophecy of the eclipse. Although they hadn’t found the prophesied lake of blood on their expedition, Farnese was convinced that the Dark Falcon walked among them. Though he may clad himself in silver there was no mistaking it. Her eyes were unclouded, she would burn away heresy at its roots. She dressed her wounds and put on the layers of her dress with practiced efficiency. This was a war, she wouldn’t be caught without armor.

Serpico combed a hand through his hair. That ought to be enough. He was just Farnese’s escort after all. He didn’t really need to look nice, in fact he was supposed to look just okay. He couldn’t outshine his lady after all. No, his job would be to mingle and gather information via idle conversation. His new boots were a little tight. He’d probably have blisters by the end of the night. Oh well, that wasn’t the worst thing Farnese had ever subjected him to.

“Come on, quit shaking.” Yikes, it must’ve been bad if Corkus was admonishing him about it. “You’re a level headed guy, Judeau, this ain’t like you.”

“I’m just worried about fucking this up.”

“You’re not gonna fuck it up. You’re plenty smooth.”

“When I first asked her out the first thing that came out of my mouth was ‘you sure do cry a lot.’”

“And she still went out with you?”

“What are you two talking about?” The breath shot out of Judeau’s lungs. Oh god oh god oh god. She looked just as beautiful as she had that afternoon. She wore a band in her hair adorned with red and white fabric roses. He tried to focus on that. Just look at the ribbons, stay calm.

“Not much.” There was an unflattering squeak in the beginning there. She rolled her eyes.

“Come dance with me.” She offered her hand and Judeau accepted.

Corkus leaned against the wall. Damn, some people had all the luck. Casca and Judeau were out there trying not to step on each other’s feet, Rickert and Pippin were talking shop with each other over in a different corner and that left old Corkus as the wallflower as usual. At least he could watch the crowd, see how everyone’s various energies flowed around and into each other. With large gatherings like this, it was like watching a flock of starlings shifting and pulsing in the wind. The energy tonight felt nervous, roiling. There were a lot of young women around, probably brought here by their parents to shoot their shot with the crown prince. Corkus would be nervous too if somebody told him he had to marry Guts. He was one scary fucker

“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” Corkus jumped. It was the little green haired girl. She was wearing a version of her normal purple robes and pointed hat, but without the wide brim and an added lace trim on the edge of her garments.

“Whoa, kid, you scared the hell out of me.” With her big innocent eyes it was kind of hard to believe she was a witch. Then again, Corkus had never known any other witches, maybe they all looked like that.

“You can see it can’t you?”

“See what?” He said that too quickly. Everybody in the Hawks had a reason for becoming a mercenary instead of just being a farmer somewhere. This was Corkus’s. He was a little less tight-lipped when he was younger, and being the kid who claimed to see auras wasn’t exactly the safest position to be in when the inquisition came knocking. He’d become a bandit partially for his own safety. It kept him on the move and largely anonymous, easier to get out from under his old name and old reputation. Being Corkus the bandit was certainly safer than Corkus the rumored witch.

“All the people in the crowd. You can see their Od right?” What was that again? The thing she used to track Guts? Something something entangled destinies?

“I’ve got no clue what you’re talking about.”

“Your friend Casca, she feels like a warm flame, drawing those around her and protecting them, but still able to rage against the encroaching dark.” She looked at him for confirmation.

“Alright, I guess I can see it then. What about it?”

“You could receive training to further your abilities, you know.”

“What, you mean become a witch? I’m fine, thanks.”

“Why not? If you can see Od so easily, you might have a great deal of magical potential.”

“Kid, I’ve seen enough magical bul- nonsense for a lifetime. I just want to go back to running my tavern.”

“Well if you ever decide you want to learn, if you commit the feeling of my Od to memory, you should be able to find myself and my mistress.” That would be easy enough. The girl had the strangest energy he’d ever come across. It was almost like it reached out to probe its environment instead of remaining around her like everybody else’s. Come to think of it it was kind of like that one Holy Chain knight’s, the blond girl. If it meant what he thought it did, that was a funny bit of irony. Bad luck for the girl though. He felt a familiar vacuum at the edges of his perception.

“I think Guts is here.”

Guts walked out as confidently as he had the first day he’d arrived. As if the room was empty and there wasn’t a crowd of people here specifically to meet him. Why did he need to worry after all? What could anyone in this room do to him, even without his sword? Sure he wasn’t great at talking but how much did that really matter. He wasn’t the one that was here to impress. Besides, he had a partner for that.

Griffith was shocked he was allowed to appear with Guts so early in the night. Especially with what Guts was wearing over his red and gold tunic: a bear skin cloak, worn over one shoulder to better expose its light blue silk lining. Griffith’s light blue. Even without knowing that the fur had been a gift from him, the symbolism of that light blue lining was so obviously apparent. Griffith supposed it could’ve been misconstrued as a nod to his service under him, but not when they entered together like this. Guts was giving up the game awfully early. He let his gloved fingers brush against Guts’s and a wave of possessiveness washed over him. Let them know. Guts was his and his alone. He would tear anyone who dared touch him limb from limb.

“Introducing for the first time, His Royal Highness Prince Guts, first of his name.”

“So he keeps the creature as a bodyguard then,” Farnese scoffed. Oh right, Serpico remembered She was in the medical tent for their fight. The lining of the Prince’s cloak caught his attention. Outwardly he remained as impassive as always, but internally he raised an eyebrow. Oh boy, that was way more than a prince and his bodyguard. Farnese was probably going to have a heart attack if she connected those dots. Serpico didn’t really care one way or the other. He’d known for the longest time that he was interested in both men and women. However, yet again that feeling welled up in his chest that something had been taken from him. He wasn’t prone to jealousy, but something about this whole situation was wringing it from him. The Lady Knight that had fought Farnese came to greet them and he saw his half-sister clench her jaw. He could practically smell the repression. Maybe someday she’d figure it out, but he shuddered to think of what might happen when she did. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to survive whatever “penance” she decided to assign them both. “Well I ought to go introduce myself.” She began fighting her way through the crowd. Serpico followed to make sure she didn’t get herself in trouble.

“Well first you gotta tighten the muscles in the back of your throat you should feel it, right about here.” Guts indicated right above his voice box “Then while those are tight you wanna tense up the muscle right here,” He pointed to the base of his ribs, “as you speak. Like this.” The last sentence came out as an inhuman sounding growl. “You want to make sure you’re not forcing it though or you’ll hurt yourself.” The nobleman he was talking to nodded in thought. Most of the shit that he pulled at the tournament was difficult to explain to somebody who’d never been in a blind panic before, but the voice stuff, that was a party trick.

“Like this?” He rasped.

“No, you wanna push the air from your stomach to get a deeper sound.”

“Interesting. This is somewhat similar to how I used to deepen my voice.” Griffith was already a natural. The growl flowed out easily.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t do that,” Casca shuddered. “It gives me the creeps.” Guts saw Serpico making his way through the crowd.

“‘Scuse me one second.” He made his way over to say hello. The young fencer was interesting. Clearly a natural talent if Farnese was his commander. Oh speak of the devil, there she was as well. Fuck. Ah and it was too late to pretend he didn’t see them. God damn it. The girl reached him first and curtsied stiffly.

“Good evening your highness, my name is Farnese and I come on behalf of the Holy Chain Knights and the Vandimion family to offer congratulations for your entry into the court.”

“I know. We’ve met before.” Her eyes glossed over him, landing on the edge of the bandage that poked above his collar. He was covered in blood at the time. He was also reasonably sure she’d been more focused on Griffith.

“My apologies,” she curtsied again “I do hope your injuries have been healing well.”

“I’ve been alright. You got your bell rung pretty bad, you been alright?” His way of speaking was incredibly coarse. Had this man been raised by wolves?

“I experienced no negative symptoms aside from the initial loss of consciousness. Although I am lucky to have escaped as well as I did after that shameful finish.” She shook her head. Yeah that was pretty horrendous. She’d completely turned her back to her opponent in the middle of the fight, allowing Casca to use an unusually showy finish. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a crowd laugh that hard at a tournament before. “To down an unarmed opponent, with their back turned no less. Is that really behavior befitting a knight?” No way. The sheer audacity of this kid.

“She did give you the opportunity to yield when you were disarmed, commander.” Farnese bristled. Was he trying to insult her by calling her commander instead of lady? She must keep an even keel, she could not lose a battle of composure to this barbarian.

“My point still stands, a knight should never attack an unarmed or unaware opponent.” A million thoughts on what to say next entered Guts’s head. You were in a duel, how could you be unaware. The offer to surrender was as much a courtesy as anyone could hope to be offered. To do as you said is the privilege of those with either incredible skill or expensive armor. However all that came out was,

“You haven’t seen much actual combat, have you?” Oops.

Farnese turned bright red. “I’ll have you know, I was active in the war against heretics in my home country. I led my knights against the scourge of witchcraft as part of the inquisition.” The crowd was now slowly backing away from the two making it harder for Serpico to push his way through to her.

“I thought you said it wasn’t ‘befitting of a knight’ to attack unarmed opponents.”

“A witch is never unarmed!”

“How would you know? I’ve seen a lot of crazy shit throughout my life, but I’ve never once seen an actual witch tried for witchcraft. I’ve seen doctors, old women with land, and people with professions the church deemed unsavory tried, but never witches.”

“You would accuse the Holy See of murdering innocents?” You know what, Serpico decided he wasn’t going to get involved in this one. In fact, he was going to go get himself a cup of punch. “Provide evidence for your slanderous claim, if you dare.”

“My mother was hanged by inquisitors.” That gave her a moment’s pause. Oh how she burned to say what was on her mind. “I don’t believe any who’d murder a pregnant woman have any right to weigh in on what conduct befits a knight.” She was going to say it.

“And yet her son openly consorts with a demon. Surely there was some truth to her sentencing.” That did it. Decorum be damned, he was going to punch this teenage girl. A hand gripped his shoulder tightly, holding him back. He whipped around to see who had the gall to stop him and met Griffith’s eyes. Right, shit, he was supposed to be acting calm.

“My lady, I apologize for my prince’s directness, however what you’ve said could be taken as a grave insult to this court.” He smiled like he did when Julius struck him across the face. A cold and deadly challenge. “His highness would be well within his rights if he asked that you remove yourself immediately in response.” He looked at Guts for confirmation.

“She can stay, if she apologizes to Ca- Sir Casca for challenging her honor.” So that’s what had caused the argument. Guts and Casca were like siblings in a way. They could take each other to task all day and night, but god forbid somebody else insult one in the other’s presence. Farnese huffed.

“That is amenable to me.”

Griffith leaned over to speak into Guts’s ear. “Go clear your head. I’ll deal with her.”

“Casca, this young lady has something she wishes to say to you.” Farnese was bright red again at this point. The monster was treating her as if she was a child! She was sixteen years of age, eligible for marriage if a suitable match could be secured! The lady knight awkwardly excused herself from the crowd of women that had gathered around her. How shameless they were! Yet, despite her vows, Farnese felt the ugly thorns of jealousy pierce her heart. She would have to meditate upon this later. Seven lashes ought to be adequate penance.

“I wish to apologize for impugning upon your honor. My words were not intended to offend.” The red of Casca’s dress caught Farnese’s eye. Prince Guys had also been wearing red hadn’t he? Though he had been wearing a rich burgundy instead of Casca’s scarlet. Could it be that they were somehow involved? She had been informed that this country had strange customs surrounding courtship. Had this woman entered the tournament to prove herself the Prince’s equal in combat? That would certainly explain why he had become so offended.

“I wish to know what exactly you said first, so that I’ll know if I can forgive you.”

“I may have insinuated that your final blow against me in the tournament was unbecoming.” Well Casca could admit it was certainly a little disrespectful. She’d only ever seen the maneuver she used in combat manuals. It did make your opponent look rather ridiculous to be struck in the head like that during a duel, and it was impractical in real combat.

“I suppose throwing my pommel at you was rather humiliating for you. It was a bridge too far. I accept your apology.” Farnese didn’t offer any more supporting details as the group of women pulled Casca back into conversation.

“As for the accusation you leveled at his highness,” The creature stared daggers at her. “I offer you this clarification once and once only. He does not consort with demons. In fact, he has defeated two in battle personally.”

“Then what manner of beast are you, Sir Griffith?”

“I am merely a former mercenary, who suffered a grievous wound in service of this country, and who now only survives through the Grace of God and the aid of well crafted prosthetics. However, if I find that you have told the Holy See anything different, especially if it puts the life of his highness at risk, you will see exactly how much of a demon I can be. Are we in accord?” He asked the question with a gentle smile, as if he had just asked about her ailing mother instead of threatening her life.

“You have made yourself abundantly clear.”

“That wasn’t my question.” The smile didn’t leave his face but she felt her blood run cold as he affixed her with the full intensity of his gaze.

“Yes we are in accord.”

“Excellent. See to it that your men understand as well.” He made to return to the gathering. “Enjoy the rest of your night Lady Farnese.” Left unsaid was that if she did not abide by his wishes, she would not see very many more.

“How the hell do you put up with that shit?” The Prince growled into his punch. He’d wanted to know “what that crazy chick’s deal was” so Serpico had given a heavily edited version of their childhood together.

“Well she did take me off the street. I owe her my loyalty for that at least.”

“I mean Griffith did the same for me but I think I still would’ve left if he made me get thrown from a horse.” Oops he was getting the wrong idea. Time for a course correction.

“She may be difficult, but I had no other siblings or playmates growing up. The lady is like a younger sister to me.” That “like” was certainly doing a lot of legwork. “I could never abandon her.”

“I still think that says more about you than it does about her. I’d say you're a great brother if you weren’t so much of a push over.”

“I said she’s like a sister to me, we aren’t actually related.” They were of course but Serpico couldn’t say that.

“And? Nobody in the band is related to Casca and half of ‘em still call her their big sister. Even if you aren’t related, you’ve been more of an older brother to her than the other three have.”

“Thanks, Prince Guts.” God his name was fucking ridiculous. How had a man named fucking Guts compelled this much emotion from him.

“What for?”

“It’s just nice to be recognized.” This stranger had brought more emotion out of him than he’d felt in years with four sentences. He really was a push over. “So you two met kind of the same way? I didn’t think Sir Griffith came from a noble family.”

“He didn’t, but before I met him I was unaffiliated. I just wandered from battlefield to battlefield looking for pay where I could get it. Griffith was the first one that managed to get me to stay with one outfit. He taught me how to be a person again,” The way the prince said it, Serpico would’ve called it a sigh if it was anybody else. Wow, he had it bad.

“He clearly means a lot to you.” His eyes flicked to that cloak lining. One of those subtle codes of body language that men like them had to speak in.

“You got a problem with that, kid?” He was suddenly defensive.

“Not at all. If I could only be so lucky to have such a close friend.” He let his intonation deliver his meaning. “Though I also wouldn’t mind getting to know someone like your friend, Sir Casca, if not for my vows.”

“So it’s the same for you then.” The Prince seemed to relax again. Yet another point of similarity between them to drive Serpico mad. “That must be difficult in the Holy City.”

“It is easier than one might think, provided you are discrete and don’t mind listening to your companions beg God for His forgiveness for hours on end the second your meeting is over.”

“That can’t be easy.”

“It’s better than being burned for it.”

“You know if you ever were, say, forced into secularizing yourself for reasons beyond your control, there’s no laws regarding what close friends you may keep here.”

“If it comes to that, maybe. Although I’d never willingly leave Farnese there to fend for herself.” The two were silent for a moment.

“Have you heard the most recent chapter of the epic of the War Amongst the Stars?”

“Yeah, it was terrible. Sir Lucas’s successors truly had no idea which direction they wanted to take the story.”

“Not that he seemed to know much himself with the last three installments he wrote.”

“I think aspects of them are charming,” Serpico admitted, “although the execution as a whole does leave much to be desired.” He paused in thought for a moment. “You know, your friend Griffith almost reminds me of Lord Vader.” Guts burst out laughing.

“Don’t tell him that.”

Cadogan came to collect Guts as the party was winding down. Guts’s outburst earlier had actually worked in their favor. Lady Vandimion had only been begrudgingly invited on account of her family’s influence. Agents of the Holy See tended to be looked upon with suspicion in a country with such close ties to witches. His defense of Casca and Griffith’s calm response to her accusations in this light were admirable and showed restraint in the face of the enemy. Guts’s demonstration of his little party trick had also somehow helped. It was less terrifying when suddenly half the young men in attendance could do it. That and having silly party tricks humanized him considerably. Now for the final test.

“Are you ready?” He placed his hand on Guts’s shoulder.

“I think so.” He’d written out a speech in his messy hand. It was difficult to read at this distance but what Cadogan could decode seemed adequate enough.

“Alright, I wish you luck then.” Cadogan tapped his glass with a knife, attempting to get everyone’s attention. “Excuse me, my grandson wishes to say a few words.” The room quieted. “Thank you.”

“First, I just wanted to say thank you to everyone for coming out to welcome me here tonight. You’ve been incredibly patient with me, and I appreciate the time I was given to acclimate myself before joining the court.” He and Griffith had worked on the speech together. Cadogan could hear Guts’s voice within the writing, but it was far more formal than he generally was. “However I must admit, this evening I was not entirely honest with you. I came here claiming to be unattached, but I am afraid there is already someone who holds my heart.” He glanced at the tight group the band formed in the crowd. Aha! Farnese was right, he was courting Sir Casca! “We have been best friends for years, functioning as each other's other halves both on and off the battlefield and as you saw a few days ago, there is no one who is a better equal to me in combat.” He looked at Griffith directly now. He’d written this bit himself. “Without you I could never have become the man I am today. You helped me find who I was again after years trapped in darkness. There’s no other person who I’d want by my side. In light of that,” he returned his gaze to the center of the room, “I’d like to formally announce my betrothal to Sir Griffith the White Hawk.” Polite applause rang out throughout the room. The crowd parted to allow Griffith to join him. Guts took him in his arms and spun him around eliciting appreciative murmurs from those who realized how heavy Griffith probably was. The two heard a loud bang.

“Is everyone alright?” Cadogan called.

“My lady has just fainted!” That was Serpico’s voice. “She’ll be alright once I take her home!”

“What do you say we get out of here?” Griffith whispered.

“Depends where we’re going.” Guts murmured back.

“Perhaps your chambers?” Griffith’s eyes sparkled, made that much more stunning by the black liner smudged around it after the long night.

“I wouldn’t say no to that.” Guts kissed his cheek.

Guts felt still water on his skin. He opened his eyes to an endless field of unfamiliar stars above his head. He sat up. Good, one where he could move. The ground was coated in an inch or two of water and was perfectly flat in all directions around him. Its mirrored surface reflected the stars back up at him as if he were surrounded by sky in all directions. He was naked and unarmed. So this wasn’t the wolf dream then. The skin of his arm suddenly loosened hanging from him like a sheet. He tried to pull it back on but it tore like paper sloughing off and into the water. He felt more of his skin begin to slacken and slide off and he panicked trying to pull it back on but his fingers were clawed iron and they only shredded the skin faster. He saw himself reflected in the water’s surface. An iron war hound with glowing red scars for eyes. He felt his lips move unbidden. “You need me. You always have.”

He shot up in bed. His skin was still there, thank god. Griffith lay sleeping behind him. Guts felt the gentle rise and fall of his chest against his back. He turned around in Griffith’s embrace and wrapped his own arms around his betrothed. Everything was going to be fine. Everything had to be.