Syrenrei

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

There was something torturous about being so well-versed in social situations. Even if Galt didn't quite know what answer he wanted from her, or had convinced himself that he'd be content with any response she gave, she was confident that wasn't true. There was a passive expectation that she would say something kind, or witty, or deeply insightful. What was neither anticipated or welcome were sincere thoughts that were darker, morose, jaded, or disturbing in any way. That wasn't to say that the former thief had made a negative first impression on him- quite the contrary; it was just that she couldn't be as forthcoming bout everything she thought when they met, as it would include her cynical sense of self.

"I thought you looked a little uncomfortable," she said slowly. "You masked it well with a smile," Silke continued with a slight smile of her own. "After the tale of what happened to Duke Valdemar spread, and your daring rescue, there were more than a few skeptical nobles that thought you had saved him for the glory and possible reward, and that you were a shrewd, ambitious man that seized a very rare opportunity. If you were that sort of man, you would have embellished and exaggerated your accomplishments, and added to them to boost your image. Instead you seemed... I'm not sure how to describe it, but it was clear to me that you didn't crave the spotlight quite the same way someone more coldly calculating might have."

Letting her eyes flutter closed for a moment, she let her mind slide backwards to the feast, to the smells of all the freshly cooked food decadently strewn across the tables, the overflowing cups of wine, the brightly colored dresses, and the soft murmurs of conversation. "Knowing you were an actual hero made me hopeful and it also made you dangerous. It had always been my plan to avoid romantic entanglement and marriage," she sighed, not cognizant of what she had just admitted. Drowsiness and a mild fever had lowered her guard enough she wasn't cognizant of what she was saying aloud, much less the consequences thereof.

Silence fell over them temporarily as Silke's breathing slowed and she dozed briefly, for no more than a few minutes, before jolting awake of her own accord. "I can't fall asleep here," she murmured, more to remind herself than to inform Galt. While her family, and the courts, gave her much more independence and latitude than another unwed woman of her age, there would be a price to be paid if the two of them were found to have shared a cabin alone together for too long (despite the rain). His reputation would suffer little, if at all, since men having trysts was accepted with little fuss, especially if they were discreet. A lady, however, was permanently stained by the mere implication she had physical relations with anyone before marriage.

Galt was a man of honor, she knew. If they tarried at the cabin for too long, and it was discovered by her father, brother, or anyone else that might hold him accountable, they'd demand an immediate union. He would likely agree. Silke didn't fear being 'damaged' and abandoned as she might with someone else, but she hardly dreamed of rushed nuptials to try to salvage herself from a scandal, when it was still a possibility to her that her fiance would change his mind about their compatibility.

Reluctantly she started to stand, struggling to her feet. Both her clothes and hair were still damp. The fire had removed some of the moisture, so she was no longer dripping wet, yet it was a far cry from dry. There was only so much a hearth could do in a short period of time." Are you confident you can stay in your saddle on the ride back to the estate?" she queried with concern. As it was, she already planned to lash herself to her horse with rope, in case she didn't manage it in her current state. There wasn't much help she could offer except doing the same for him, unpleasant as it was.

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

The comment about how it 'wouldn't look right' if he was 'watching from the sidelines' made her laugh softly. Ideally both the bride and groom, as well as their families, would contribute to the wedding ceremony arrangements. Like so many other things in life, in practice reality differed from societal expectations. "I've been to a few where the husband-to-be was late, and at one his father had to go fetch him," she told Galt with amusement in her tone. "Certain members of the nobility take any opportunity to celebrate to the extreme," she told him, "and not all men can hold their liquor. They show up before the priest bleary-eyed and half conscious, then they down a dozen more mugs of ale at the reception." Distracted by her memories, which she found humorous rather than frustrated, she leaned her head on his shoulder. Although he had thoughtfully arranged cushions behind her back, he was more comfortable at the moment than they were.

"Duke Valdemar is one of the more noble and pleasant members of the aristocracy," she admitted with a sigh. "Others of them are downright lazy. It wouldn't raise as many brows as you might think to leave all the planning to myself or household staff. As a hero of the kingdom you have quite a lot of latitude. You're not obligated," Silke continued, trying to impress upon him that this wasn't a burden he was required to bear. It was hypocritical for her to urge him out of a feeling of duty when she took so many upon herself that 'belonged' to others- so much so that it was making her physically ill. "If you really want to help, however, I'm sure we can think of something," she relented after a moment, stressing it was up to his personal desires.

The most difficult logistical task would be the feast. For any type of event there was a bit of inherent risk; to order too much food would be throwing away good coin, but cooking too little would reflect poorly on the hosts... and possibly make guests belligerent. When it came to drinks, too little alcohol would look cheap and miserly, and an excess would encourage drunken antics. Despite whatever illustrious perceptions Galt had of the nobility, there was a not insignificant amount of them that would seize on any excuse to drown themselves in wine.

His question about being a good husband took her by surprise. Fighting her impulse to reassure him immediately, she gave it serious thought, allowing the silence stretch on between them for almost half a minute. "It's a subjective question," she replied slowly, staring into the fire. "I've had friends who wanted nothing more than a husband who was wealthy and left them to their devices otherwise, and that genuinely made them happy. I've had friends who wanted devotion, to spend every meal of the day with their husband, and felt neglected otherwise. If you asked a hundred women what makes a good husband, they'd give a hundred different answers. I'm sure it'd be the same for men." Political marriages could become insufferably miserable or blissfully romantic, and love-matches could blossom into a paragon of joyous fulfillment or wilt into bitter resentment. How or why it started seemed to matter less than both parties knowing what they wanted or needed from their partner.

"I'm not sure what sort of husband you'll be yet because I think you are still figuring out what you want to be. Your world was turned upside down when you became a count. There will be decisions to made that shape and change you. You'll need to decide how daring and ambitious you want to be with business prospects, if you'll be relaxed and maintain your lifestyle, or gamble to have a chance at improvement. You'll need to decide how involved you'll be with your tenants and how much charity to extend. You'll need to decide if you want to spend all your time at your estate, or travel locally, or even travel globally, and whether that will be to make powerful friends and allies, or just to experience other cultures. Until now it sounds as if you've only had one path ahead of you. I'm interested to see where you'll turn now that so many doors are open," she said with a stifled yawn. The temptation to doze was growing.

Realizing that her philosophical response wasn't quite what he was looking for, she added, "I wouldn't have accepted your proposal if I thought you'd be a terrible husband... and trust me, I've turned down many suitors over the years, so I am quite capable of rejecting suitors." The men whose egos she had bruised by refusing them were nearly all wed by now themselves. Regardless, rumors would circulate far and wide about what made Galt so different, so worthy of her hand, when men of distinguished pedigree had been denied. By being so selective she had inadvertently made herself a source of gossip. Very, very few of her peers waited as long as she did to be engaged. Frequently if they didn't meet the man of their dreams in a year or two, they settled for the best option available.

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

Silke doubted that Galt would go through with the wedding, but she kept that to herself. Until such time he called off the engagement, which she believed was ultimately inevitable, they would make all the necessary preparations. The ring was the first step, of course, followed by discussions with her family, about which she was not terribly concerned. Her father had always made it abundantly clear he would support her decisions and, so long as her fiance appeared respectable enough, he would not object. Vincent would be more challenging, as he took his role as overprotective brother far too seriously. Though he'd be hyper-critical of any man asking for his sister's hand in marriage, and would make threats about breaking her heart, he capitulated to her sensibility on matters of importance. Where she predicted a future rejection was when the former thief fully realized her flaws.

A sideways glance told her that he was still basking in the glow of their relatively new acquaintance. Regardless of how neatly he had set her upon a pedestal in his mind, she wasn't capable of maintaining that position. She carried emotional baggage. What she lacked in scandalous history, she made up for with haunting memories, a morbid sense of humor, a martyr complex that would literally be the death of her some day, and an irrepressible drive to push herself to the brink of disaster, to handle everything by herself every waking hour, without relief. Galt probably saw her as in infallibly strong, charming young lady, when the truth was infinitely more complex.

Beneath his touch, her hand was warm- too warm. Silke had been under the weather for longer than she'd admit. Tempting as it was to blame her mild fever on the rain, her immune system was battered and worn from sleeping less than half as much as she should and hardly touching her meals. The fact that she was coherent and upright was a testament to her stubborn willfulness and determination. Now that she was cold, waterlogged by the rain, and drying slowly and unevenly, making her even more weaker, the wretched illness had tightened its grip upon her mercilessly. She bit back a cough as she tried to remain focused on the conversation.

"It's fine, I'm used to handling everything," she remarked a little more wryly then she meant. When she was with her father or Vincent they were oblivious to the vaguest hint of bitterness in her tone, the fatigue that she was the anchor to their little ship during every storm, that they lived in the luxury she forged relentlessly. They weren't unappreciative. Given the opportunity they sang her praises- loudly- to anyone and everyone. The issue was that they never became any more capable at shouldering the burdens. No matter how thoughtful and sweet they were, they still heavily relied upon her.

Running a hand through some loose lockets of hair and smoothing them back behind her ears, she sighed. "I apologize, I didn't mean to be curt. I'm not worried about you... I'm not sure if I know how to share duties anymore. It feels as if I've been doing everything alone for ages now," Silke said with an apologetic smile. "Asking you to handle potential vendors would be throwing you to the wolves- they'll see a new nobleman as an easy mark, and they bluff and bluster better than I can dance, which I assure you is quite the feat. The social engagements are even more tricky to navigate, although there's one baron who pretends to be a simple-minded fop, putting on airs of stupidity so he doesn't have to deal with their rules of etiquette. It's a ruse, but one rarely seen through, and his acting is so superb, and the aristocrats too proud to admit they've been fooled, now everyone lets him commit a faux pas without blinking an eye."

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

Despite the heat radiating from the fire and the warm blanket wrapped around her shoulders, Silke was still cold. There was only so much that could be done about the fact her clothes were dripping wet. Suppressing a shiver, she furtively wished there was something appropriate for her to change into. At this rate it would take some time- during which she would be miserable- before her undergarments and dress were dry. Shifting her weight, she tried to negotiate herself into a position that was a bit more comfortable, where her skin wasn't touching as much damp fabric, and frowned in disappointment when that proved impossible.

She listened quietly as Galt explained his past, or at least why he didn't have much contact with his family. Evictions weren't anything new to her. The Kaspers had tenants for their lands, most of which were farmers, and every once in a while they had to conduct an eviction themselves. It wasn't quite the same process as the landlords of the cities, she was certain, but there were more similarities than differences. Since neither her father nor her brother were efficient at managing the estate, the onus fell on her to deal with such unpleasant situations. To his credit, Vincent would join her to be physical protection since a surly drunkard almost took a lunge at her the year before last when she delivered the news he needed to leave his home. She had been full of sympathy for the fellow, who had a rough year, and she hadn't anticipated his hostility. His life had been falling apart, he hadn't worked any trade for months nor did he have any plans to, and was relying on charity to get by. There was only so much Silke could do. A very nice couple, the wife pregnant, ended up moving into that particular cottage.

As awful as eviction was, she was aghast that a boy of twelve would be taken hostage to scare his parents. "It wasn't stupid," she told him softly. "Who wouldn't have tried to escape back home?" She patted his arm reassuringly though he didn't seem to be expecting her understanding on his self-judged foolish actions. "You don't know for certain what they would have done besides." The world was a cruel place, something he knew more intimately than she ever could. It seemed dubious to her that he had been kidnapped merely to threaten his mother and father. Even as an aristocrat she had heard of children sold into slavery to pay debts. It was outlawed, of course, but that didn't stop thugs.

"If anyone brought down the mood, it's me talking about Alistair," she said with a shrug and a smile. There was melancholy buried deep within her eyes that persisted through her attempt to lighten the mood. "You should find your brother and sister," she encouraged him, "and Stendan. Wouldn't you want to know if you have nieces and nephews? To be able to help your siblings now that you can? Life is short, and if you hesitate for too long, you might regret it," she added. Like anyone who had suffered a loss, Silke had regrets. She regretted the times she argued with her mother, or flouted the rules, or was petulant, or missed an opportunity to learn how to be an adult woman. She regretted the times she avoided her brother because of a spat, or made fun of his struggles, or sassed him just to get on his nerves, or turned away an offer to do something together. Most of all, she regretted she hadn't told them how much she loved them, and what made them such extraordinary people that the sky was a little dimmer with them gone.

After rocking a moment in silent thought, she came to a decision. "In fact, I think I'll insist that we find them for the wedding. I've some connections that are very good at finding things and people," she remarked, flashing him another charming smile. "Being connected to you can only help them, although Stendan a bit less. Being able to say your son or brother is a count can go a long way," she continued, attempting to persuade him it would be for everyone's benefit. "At the very least, you could move your parents to a home they won't have to worry about paying rent on... so long as you take my accounting lessons seriously." Silke winked at him to make certain he realized she was teasing. "As long as you are a shrewd investor, you can afford to very charitable as well."

"Ah! And don't worry about what anyone else might say about commoners being at a ceremony. I'll take care of any snobs," she said with a wave of the hand as if it was just that simple. In truth it took quite a bit of charisma, finesse, and panache to manipulate the nobility to accepting peasants as anything more than their inferiors- but she was confident she could do it. It would not the first time, and undoubtedly not the last, she had controlled and shaped public opinion.

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

With the fire started, Silke rolled back on her heels and stared at the flickering flames. The Kaspers had several servants whose duties were exclusively tending the estate lands. For some of them they had mundane tasks that were typical of a nobleman's home: cultivating a flower garden, maintaining a vegetable patch for fresh produce, trimming overgrown hedges, and the like. Others had more uncommon responsibilities that included pruning and re-clearing the paths through the forest, tracking the predator population of the woods, gathering medicinal herbs that grew in the thickets, or cleaning and provisioning the cabin. Firewood was regularly chopped to fuel the cabin's hearth, neatly stacked both beside it and in a storage closet towards the rear of the tiny house.

Shivering as a chill passed through her, she pulled the ribbons and pins out of her hair, and shook the long lockets free. While she wasn't quite certain what (if anything) she wanted to do about her clothes, she could at least do something about her hair, which was so long and thick it seemed to have absorbed a gallon of rain from their short jaunt to the cabin. Standing and walking to the kitchen, she leaned over the sink as she squeezed and wrung the water out of her hair until it was merely damp as opposing to sopping wet. Satisfied at the difference it made, she made her way back to the hearth and sat as close was as safe, enjoying the warmth that was beginning to spread from the fire.

The more she thought about it, the more she realized how unlikely it was that she'd find any fresh, dry clothing in the cabin suitable for her to change into. She wasn't opposed to wearing men's attire. Despite how carefully she curated her image for the courts, she didn't particularly care about looking pretty. With Galt she felt more invested in looking beautiful to him, though she wouldn't admit as much to herself, but she doubted that he'd suddenly reject her if he caught her wearing breeches. The real issue was the dimensions. All the garments in the closets were tailored to be roughly similar to the size of her male relatives, and thus none of the pants would accommodate the curvature of her hips.

"I'm glad you were able to find something," she said with the tiniest hint of envy. In the future she'd have to pay one of the groundskeepers to hide a spare set of clothing for her in one of the many nooks of the cabin. "We keep a lot of extra blankets here," she admitted as he moved to join her beside the fireplace. "In the winters it can be bitterly cold, even with all the hearths lit, and our most elderly guests will complain if they don't have twice as many covers during the night." There were some younger, healthier critics as well that she was convinced simply wanted extra linens to have more than their companions, as if it was a way to passive-aggressively assert themselves.

"Thank you," she said with sincere, earnest gratitude as he draped the blanket over her. Silke wrapped it more snugly around her right shoulder, leaving space on her left if he wanted to join her beneath its soft, fluffy comfort. She didn't need the cushion he set on the floor, as she was an accomplished rider with great endurance for the saddle, but she remained silent; if she pointed out she wasn't sore at all, it might injure his pride. Closing her eyes, a contented sigh escaped her lips. Though she was a touch cold, she was suddenly tired from her long day, and the cozy spot before the heart made a nap incredibly tempting.

His question distracted her, and she blinked her eyes back open, stealing a glance at him. It was easy to forget how much of her life he knew nothing about. Of course, she was similarly ignorant of his life experiences, as they had all but lived in entirely different worlds before he was granted the title of count for saving a duke's life so valiantly. "I came here with my brother Alistair," Silke stated in a gentle tone, cognizant of the fact he didn't know about her deceased sibling. "There were three of us. Vincent is the eldest, Alistair was the second son, and I was the youngest. Even when we were young, Vincent was always paranoid about letting me do things with them, that I'd get hurt because I'm a girl," she recalled with a fond smile. "Alistair would bring me along anyway, or we'd go on adventures on our own. We'd play here often since it didn't get much use and it took more time for the adults to find us to stop our mischief."

"Do you have any siblings? Or did you grow up with anyone close to you like a sibling?" she inquired.

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

Since Silke hadn't given anyone a time frame of when to expect their return- except she'd likely be back for dinner- it wasn't necessarily a detour that would cause them any trouble. They had some time before the last meal of the day would be served. Even if they happened to be late, her family and the estate staff all knew her to be an accomplished rider who knew the area like the back of her hand. More than once members of the Kasper lineage (including Vincent recently) had been caught in foul weather when they went for a ride, ranging from blizzards to violent thunderstorms to obscuring fog to hail. Maps of their lands could be found in nearly every room in their house detailing different types shelters that were available in such an event. The cabin was best, of course, but several caves were quite serviceable as well.

"Take the blame?" she repeated, amused. "You might want to reconsider. You'll need all the good will you can muster for my brother." Vincent wasn't an unreasonable man; however, the death of their mother and Alistair left Silke as the sole focus of his overprotective drive. Neither of them discussed the losses openly, but she was very aware that they had left a scar on her remaining sibling, and he was terrified to see another member of their family injured or worse. As a result, he would be very critical and suspicious of Galt, just as he would any man trying to stay by his sister's side.

With a flick of the reins she spurred her horse in the direction of the cabin. Their horses had only begun to hit their stride when the rain increased from a drizzle to a steady, heavy rain. As they veered into the forest they were sheltered from the rain, though plenty still made it through the canopy of the leaves and in areas where it was thinner, either because the trees did not create overhangs or they were not packed as closely together. It took somewhere between ten and fifteen minutes to make it to their destination, a home constructed in a clearing.

The word 'cabin' suggested a small dwelling, perhaps with a single room interior. The building that greeted Galt was easily larger than some villager's homes, with a stable behind it that could accommodate up to four horses. At least 1,000 square feet in size, it functioned more as a hideaway for guests, or a vacation spot when the stresses of the estate became too great. It was close enough that supplies could be ferried two and from the primary residence with little fuss, yet far away there was a sense of privacy. When they used to host large balls, banquets, and parties, bachelors would argue over who would get the opportunity to stay at the 'cabin' overnight.

Silke was soaked as she dismounted, led her horse to the stable, and untacked him. She helped Galt do the same for his. Wordlessly she led him inside and instantly wandered to the hearth to start a fire. The cabin was cozy and modestly decorated with a more rugged, 'masculine' touch, most of the furnishings constructed of wood, and the linens of dark earth tones. They had entered into a front from that was a living area with a small kitchenette, dining table to one side. Beyond the room they were in was a hall leading to two bedrooms, a storage room, and a combined indoor privy and bath, which was a must for visiting aristocracy. Nobility had a very different concept of 'roughing it' than the peasantry did and would not wash in a river nor use an outhouse.

"My father keeps spare men's clothes in the closets," she said, motioning towards the hall off of which were the two bedrooms. "You can take your pick of whatever you find in your size." There wasn't any women's clothing, so she mentally debated whether she'd try to dry off completely beside the fire, wrap herself up in blankets to warm herself (and provide some modesty, since her garments were plastered to her), or wear some of the men's clothing. The former two options were more proper, while the third was more sensible.

Frowning to herself, Silke wondered why it was always proper or sensible, rather than both.

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

There was little guiding that was actually required of Galt; his horse clearly knew to follow hers as they raced across the fields and cantered through the forest. For the most part the woods had been left wild and untouched, which was a bit unusual. Paper products were becoming increasingly popular and sought after, especially books, and less wealthy nobles resorted to hiring laborers to fell their trees in order to sell the lumber. It was a testament to Silke's success that, despite the brief mismanagement of the estate's finances under her father, they flourished now to the extent all their acreage was ruggedly unblemished. The only sign of human interference in the nature around them were the paths that carefully wound around towering oaks.

Intermittently she checked behind her to make certain that he hadn't been jostled from his saddle. She knew the area well enough she slowed (and his horse slowed as well) when they were approaching a spot where they would need to ride through a small jump or quick turn. A couple times she purposefully brought them to a walk, both to rest their steeds, and to show him points of interest: a conifer that had been split by lightning and had managed to heal and a pack of deer so used to seeing her that they didn't flee unless so long as they kept a minimal distance. Silke could also name and identify half a dozen helpful plants that grew under the shade of the canopy as well. Her mother had never expected her to be academically brilliant, but she had taught all her children the importance of knowing what lived on their lands, from the most innocuous fungus to the most cunning predators.

It took a little more than half an hour, even with their quick pace, to reach the lake. It was a natural lake, rather than a man-made one, and had an irregular shape, larger on they side on which they had approached than the other. The edges of it were rocky, littered with pebbles that had become smooth over the years. A few boats that could hold two people at most, along with their oars, were neatly tucked away under a wooden protective structure to their right. On pleasantly lazy afternoons the Kaspers and their guests would row out on the calm waters and take in the sights. Of course, that was before Violet and Alistair had died, back when they entertained and hosted social events.

They were drinking in the sight when it began to drizzle. Silke glanced up at the sky. The clouds were a light gray, not a darker hue that would indicate a thunderstorm was imminent, but it was not the best weather regardless. There was absolutely no way they wouldn't get drenched; it was a matter of how long they wanted to tolerate riding in the rain. She bit her lip as she contemplated her choices aloud. "We could go to the cabin for rain cloaks, but by the time we reach there it won't really be much help. There's some natural shelters as well, though not big enough for the horses, so all our tack will be soaked, and we don't know how long this will last. I suppose we'll head back to the house?"

A little rain wouldn't do them much harm. Ladies of the court swooned, feigning illness the moment a drop touched them, swearing it made them sick with the most vicious cold. The truth of the matter was they were often milking any attention they could get as delicate flowers. It was getting cool, however, and Silke wasn't in the best of health, so that did pose a slight risk to already compromised immune system. She blinked as runnels started to trail down over her long lashes and cheeks. The greatest threat was that her clothes (and possibly his) wouldn't be quite so modest once they were plastered to them.

"What do you think? Ride back the way we came? You'll have to hold on tighter with your legs," she warned anxiously. "These saddles aren't meant for the rain, so you'll slip in it a bit more than you did on the way here. Perhaps we should take it slower," she mused, worried about his ability to endure a fast ride to their residence. In fact, she was more concerned with him on a whole than she was with herself, and would defer to his decision, so long as it was reasonably sensible.

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

Silke had gotten so accustomed to teaching or telling Galt how to navigate this new aristocratic world, his easy agreement to find something purple for an engagement ring brought the abrupt realization, or rather a reminder, that he didn't need her for everything. There were other people he could solicit for advice. Certainly Duke Valdemar (and his wife) would be more than happy to give recommendations and advice for the purchase of jewelry. Mentally she had shouldered all responsibility for his acclimation to being a count herself. In reality, he was a capable, competent man, and she was merely meant to help him with some things, rather than manage everything for him as she did with her brother and father to some degree.

While she could have easily swung up into her saddle herself, she didn't want to turn aside his kind gesture, so she took his hand. After she was seated she turned to watch him. His horseback riding experience- or lack thereof- was already known to her, so she had made sure he was given one of their more mild-tempered horses, one that was neither stubbornly lazy nor insistently high-spirited. By the same token, her own was one that would match his steed's gate. It felt a little cruel to assign herself their fastest stallion while he rode a gelding or mare with a loping, more lazy stride.

"Well, it's my father's estate," she said, not by means of correcting him, but diverting the topic slightly from the subject of their nuptials. Her gaze slid over the distance landscape with a mixture of pride and melancholy. No matter what she did, and no matter how dearly she adored the Kasper holdings, they would be passed to heir brother as the elder sibling and the only living son. "Surprisingly, Vincent does a respectable job in managing the grounds for the most part, though he hasn't the slightest idea how to prepare for any event or holiday. A year or two ago he wanted to host his own hunt," she said, nodding towards the forest treeline that stretched in the acres beyond the pasture. "Most of the men were also bringing their wives, who'd stay behind at the house and have a small soiree, and he was shocked we'd need to arrange to bring out more tables and linens, or move some art pieces, perhaps make some flower arrangements."

There were many intricacies of aristocratic socializing that totally escaped her brother. As deft as he was with a sword, as comfortable as he was with physical endeavors, and as well-educated he was on a variety of topics, hosting a party was an insurmountable enigma. If she ever left or passed, she'd have to make sure he either had a wife or servants that could fill the massive gaps in his abilities.

"We've a lake, quite a bit of forest, a cabin farther out," she gestured, "and quite a few lovely meadows. Any preference? I make no promises not to go fast," she said, her eyes twinkling. "You'll need to know how to at least canter without falling off in case your horse bolts during the hunt." Most women rode side-saddle but, as he had witnessed, she rode astride. It was one of her many breaches of etiquette that the court had learned to tolerate as a mild eccentricity. Not only did she have excellent horsemanship, she had expertly smoothed over most of the rankled older gentleman by subtle manipulations, be it flattery, helping them find a worker they were seeking, giving a bit of financial advice, mediating disputes with their wives, or introducing them to someone within her formidable network.

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

Her father, Count Kasper, was a romantic at heart. The sincerity and ferocity of his love for his wife, even after her death, and the intense adoration she held for him before she passed, may someday be a legend. Though they had no great heroic accomplishments, no high achievements, the quiet affection they had for one another never faded over time, and radiated around them when they were in court. They had ruined their children. Vincent would settle for nothing less than that same sort of match. He was unsatisfied with the traditional political arranged marriage of nobility. Silke, on the other hand, was terrified of how love was all-consuming. Arrogantly she assumed she could avoid it altogether, despite being warned it wasn't that easy.

According to Count Johann Kasper and the late Countess Violet Kasper, soul mates did exist, and they were as undeniable as the need to draw breath.

Since meeting Galt, she had honestly believed he would meet someone else. She had seen it happen dozens of times. A man would meet her, be intrigued for one reason or another, realize she was disinterested in matrimony, and find someone more suitable for him- or at least much more willing. There was no shortage of beautiful, demure, available ladies that would have been thrilled to have someone as dashing as Galt make an overture. If they were more practical, they'd be excited at the possibility of wedding someone who had the king's eye and favor, who ascended to the aristocracy of their own merit, and had a bright future ahead of them. There were boons to joining hands with him beyond the status of 'count.' Silke was certain she wasn't the only one that saw the potential for him to climb higher and exert more influence than another man of his station.

Regardless of what she convinced herself would happen, he was undeterred, and not the least bit dissuaded that she could leave him a widower some day. Silke didn't know if he really seriously contemplated her mortality in that moment, but he managed to counter her expertly with perhaps the only argument she'd find persuasive: his unhappiness. If she were to reject him, he'd be miserable. Galt had no intentions of looking anywhere else for a bride. Had it been anyone except him making the assertion, she would have thought it a bluff, yet the former thief was candid when it came to his feeling with her.

Her convictions wavered. The goal had always been to leave this world harming as few people as possible. If Galt would be harmed by her refusing his proposal, that would harm him. If he would mourn her, and be just as despondent as a bachelor, that was not shielding him from harm either. If he would be forlorn and bitter watching her marry someone else out of obligation, and against her will, that would harm him. There was no outcome in which he wouldn't be harmed by her actions. In these unexpected circumstances, where she could not avoid harm, the path that caused the least was to accept.

"I trust you," she finally said softly. "It's fate that I don't trust." Anything could go wrong. No matter what feelings they held for each other, tragedy was merciless. She could become widow, burying another family member, another loved one, or become bedridden, a burden upon him. The unknown terrified her, paralyzed her, and kept her firmly rooted at a distance from everyone else. It wasn't a change that her mother or Alistair would have ever wanted her to undergo because of their passing. Silke sensed her extreme stance on romance was not honoring their memories. The living and the dead were all harmed, it seemed... including herself, though she would continue to deny it.

"We can start with an engagement. You might change your mind." It was far as she could go for now, and a large step from her formed absolute determination to remain eternally single. "There will need to be a ring before anything can be official," she added, clearing her throat, a light blush touching her cheeks. "I'm not particular. Anything will do. If you can't decide on colors or stones, I like purples the best as they remind me of my mother."

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

The moment he took her hands she was frozen in shock. It shouldn't have been that much of a surprise; their playful banter had edged on flirtatious and they were two young, unwed individuals spending time alone together. Silke was aware she wasn't quite an unattractive old crone (despite the mutterings of disgruntled matrons of the court), and she had received prior romantic overtures, but none of them had been like this.

All of the noblemen of the past had approached her motivated by pride or responsibility. Many of them, most in the last couple years, saw her as someone whom was a challenge to conquer, and arrogantly believed themselves so superior that she would be falling over herself, flattered by their attention. Others fancied a match because of her pedigree and social ties with various members of the aristocracy, or were obligated to wed to create heirs, or suspected she had a large dowry, or merely wanted to put her down a peg, and keep her under their thumb. While their reasons differed, and a few were admittedly infatuated, they didn't truly know here. Not a single suitor coveted her wit, her intellect, her keen insight, or business acumen. They craved the mirage of Silke that smiled prettily and without cunning.

The confession itself stunned her. Typically an impeccable model of composure, she was at a loss as the affectionate words tumbled from his lips, each one seemingly more earnest than the last. She stared at him, simultaneously flattered, flustered, and flabbergasted. Unlike other men, he didn't appeal to her by waxing poetic about her beauty nor did he list all the benefits she would have by becoming his wife. Galt spoke about granting her wishes, of how she could teach him, of enjoying one another's company, of doing things together. She knew he was sincere. The former thief saw the value in her as a person, as an equal, a partner, whose presence alone was worth sacrifice.

As he fell to a knee she let out a small gasp, even more shocked by the gesture. Servants working in proximity to the stables swung their gazes towards the pair. She was numb. Silke had promised herself she would never marry and had taken pains to keep her distance from any member of the opposite sex that might pose a threat to her plans. When that tactic failed, she became an expert at giving a firm, gentle (when deserved) rejection, each one easier than the last, partially due to the fact they made the same mistakes. Galt was an exception. Not only had she allowed him closer than any man before him, she had allowed herself to be charmed, and she couldn't quite find the strength to turn him away.

Tears formed in the edges of her eyes. He gave her hope. The heartfelt declaration made her want to believe in him- that her future could be filled with happiness, laughter, honesty, and respect, that she wouldn't have to abandon her family. Galt had seen her for who she was and accepted it without restraint. Intuitively she knew he was the sort of person that would never discourage her from writing ambitious business contracts, practicing her archery, or challenging whatever societal norms bothered her that day. Guilt swept over her because, as desperate as she was to agree, to engage herself to this handsome, dashing, witty, heroic, charismatic man, the memory of her parents dragged her back down to reality.

"I couldn't do that to you," she said quietly in a sad, stricken voice, that was raw with feeling. "My mother was... she was an amazing women and the love of my father's life. Most aristocratic marriages are arranged and political, but they adored each other every moment of every day, and he would have pulled down the moon from the sky for her if she asked. When she died, my father..." she took a deep breath, trying to choke down some of her emotion. "My father fell apart. He's never truly recovered. I couldn't do that to you." Silke kept to herself her superstitions about how she would be the next to die in her family. He wouldn't understand it, not yet, and even if he did- it was who would be left behind that tortured her, that gave her nightmares, and haunted her during the day.