Both of them sounded so hostile.

Frederich frowned deeply. Radhildur, Rognvaldur—what did it matter? They had done so much for the knights and the Commons. This was the treatment they deserved?

Before he was involved, before he’d come to understand the little he did about the royal…had things always been like this? He thought to that first moment they’d met, in the foyer of the library, no one willing to aid them simply because they were the cursed heir. And the companions to those blessed by Ku always met violent ends. That was the rumor, so scorn and loneliness always tended to follow them.

Radhildur shrugged and crossed their arms. 

Right, they’re supposed to be mute. Are they going to try and keep up the ruse? he wondered.

Dullahan growled, swung his claymore, and pointed it directly at the heir. The tip of the blade was a hair too close, nearly touching the tip of their nose. “Remove your mask.”

Radhildur did not move.

“Remove your mask!” Frederich’s father demanded as the other knights drew their weapons, standing in offensive positioning now.

Frederich bolted from the wall, immediately drawn to Radhildur’s side. He drew his sword. Nullify the situation, get the tension down, help with the ruse. “What’s going on here? Here I thought I came to have a nice morning exercise with Rognvaldur, only to find a square off.”

Both his father and Sir Dullahan seemed thrown by his presence. Good.

“Frederich, what are you doing here?” His father asked harshly.

“I believe I stated that already,” he said coolly. Glancing over to Radhildur, he saw them staring at him, their glance was cold and calculating. Ah. He remembered that from the very first meeting in Ku’s realm. Their guard is up completely. 

Dullahan cut in sternly. “Boy, step away slowly and come over here. Who you’re standing by is extremely dangerous—”

“I know who he is, Sir Dullahan,” Frederich interrupted. “And has Rognvaldur not helped the Commons time after time by apprehending all sorts of nefarious figures? I don’t believe anything he’s done has warranted this sort of welcome. Unless I’m interrupting some bizarre training of sorts.”

“Rognvaldur has lied,” his father snarled. “You're standing behind the blasted cursed princess herself.”

Frederich took a deep breath and made a show of looking the person beside him up and down. Radhildur’s gaze never left him. This was a gamble, they had no way of knowing how he’d proceed. Their posture was rigid and their hands fisted, every bit of the heir’s body language told him that they were prepared for the worst. He smiled gently hoping to assuage any sort of fear. There was a brief flash, perhaps recognition, in Radhildur’s eyes.

“Looks like a handsome, young man to me.” Fredrich said, turning back to the others. “Hands that know endless sword training, a body that has always defended the people. That’s who I am standing by. The honorary knight of the Commons. And this is coming from someone who has met the Highness Radhildur and works daily at the palace. Beside Sir Dullahan and you, father, who among these knights have ever seen the royal family?”

There was a shift in the tide, something that wavered uncertainly. Weapons were lowered and confusion began to spread among the knights behind his father and Dullahan. 

“Many of these knights patrol Reyk, keep the crime under control, and live normal lives outside of the royal influence,” Frederich continued. “Unless anyone is aspiring to become a palace guard, why would you bring them needlessly into the speculation and drama that surrounds the royal family? Using the Highness Radhildur is a cheap way of stirring up animosity.”

Radhildur breathed softly, and it felt like the softest whisper against Frederich’s ear.

Learning debate amongst the other academics was now his greatest attribute, he decided. He would be eternally grateful to every intellectual blockhead he had to argue with in the past year.

“I saw and heard it last night, Frederich.” Dullahan’s face darkened and the storm in his eyes seemed near implosive. “You know, don’t you?”

His father too seemed displeased. Well that was a first.

We need to get out of here, Frederich decided. If Dullahan does anything to try and unmask Radhildur further, I won’t be able to talk our way out of it.

Bending down, Frederich picked up the discarded hat and sword. “We should leave, Rognvaldur. It seems there’s an unpleasant storm today. We’ll have to spar together some other time.”

He grabbed Radhildur's hand and found their palms were sweating. So they had been nervous. Even confrontations like these could scare someone blessed by Ku. He didn’t blame them—the whole situation was atrocious. And if word was sent to the king, well, it would probably be further evidence to collar and leash Radhildur. 

“Let’s go,” he murmured, leading the way. 

Radhildur fell easily in step behind him…until there was a shout.

He was shoved out of the way quickly and he fell over his own feet. His sword, Radhildur’s hat and rapier, and he himself all tumbled to the cobblestone. Alarm trilled through every nerve in his body as he watched Radhildur hold the blade of Dullahan’s claymore in their hands, the old knight trying furiously to bring the weapon up through a complete arc. 

Sinking to one knee, Radhildur growled, their hands pressing against the flat of the blade to keep from injuring themself. 

“Who else could do such a thing?” Dullahan demanded.

And like that his sword slipped from Radhildur’s grasp with the sound of sweat and skin, and swung upward, cutting through the cowl covering their face.

Frederich didn’t wait for the accusations, didn’t wait for the armed knights and startled yells. He lunged forward, grabbed onto Radhildur’s arm and pulled. They followed him owlishly as they ran away. As the distance gained behind them, he could hear his father’s bellowing roar. It was his name. 

Ducking into a familiar alleyway, he found the pub that had brought about this whole issue. He slipped inside with Radhildur in tow, and made it to the parlor. In the first morning light, there was hardly anyone there save for a bounty hunter or two who were too drunk to stumble away from their tables.

The same barmaid from the other night was at the counter. 

“Excuse me!” He pulled Radhildur behind him and forced their head down. They let him. 

The barmaid’s face lit up. “Oh it’s the golden pup! And it’s—” her expression fell and she stared between him and Radhildur.

“Are there any rooms attached to the pub?” Frederich did his best to make it sound urgent without begging. “Please.”

There was a fierce look in her eyes before she sighed and gestured for him to come behind the counter. She pulled back a few of the kegs that lined the walls and gestured to a crawl space. “These tunnels will take you to the inn on the west side of the city. Tell them Molly sent you.”

“Molly, thank you, I’ll repay you—”

She held her hand up and instead passed him her own cloak. “Hide their face. Anyone would know who they are without their stupid mask.”

“The knights may come by—”

“I won’t say anything…” She paused and looked solemnly at Radhildur. “Rognvaldur saved our pub from thieves and arsonists a year ago. If I had known who saved us, maybe it would’ve been better for this place to be burned to the ground. It’s probably cursed now. But a debt is owed where a debt is owed. Now get going.”

She hurried them into the literal hole in the wall, and sealed it behind them.