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Chapter Text

The door opened with extreme delicacy. Two bright blue eyes peeked out into the darkness, making sure no guards were patrolling. A quick glance to the left, another to the right—the moonlight revealed only an empty balcony. The young man took a deep breath and smiled to himself. He was really doing it. He picked up the travel bag resting at the doorframe and slung it over his shoulder.

He stepped out onto the outer corridor, made of old wooden planks. Despite his care, the boards creaked beneath his steps. He held his breath as if that could prevent anyone from hearing him. The young lord froze in place when he saw the faint glow of a torch coming up the stairs.

“Kurva.” He couldn’t afford to be caught—not now.

“Halt! Who goes there?” shouted the guard, torch raised, trying to spot someone in the dark.

“Damn it… now or never,” he thought.

He gripped his bag tightly. There was only one staircase up or down, and no one would stop him now. He charged forward, no longer caring about noise or stealth. He ran straight at the guard who stood at the end of the corridor, surprising him enough to force him to step aside or be knocked down the stairs.

The guard instantly recognized the intruder.

“Sir Hans! Stop! I have orders to—!” But the young lord didn’t listen. He dashed down the stairs, rousing the rest of the guards.

His experience sneaking out of Pirkstein Castle to visit the girls at the baths had served him well. He knew exactly where to go, even with the gates shut. He ran nonstop to the southern flank of the wall and stared into the endless darkness ahead. He hesitated for just a moment—but the guard was already following, ready to stop him. No one would.

“Lord Capon! Stop!” cried the guard desperately.

The golden-haired youth stepped between two crenellations and threw his bag into the void. Without hesitation, he braced himself on the stones, climbed onto the top of the wall, and leapt into the darkness.

The guard nearly had a heart attack watching his lord hurl himself off the battlements. Breathless and shaky, he rushed to the edge to see what had happened. He hesitated—afraid of a gruesome sight—but duty compelled him. Between the same battlements, he leaned over the edge… and saw only two riders vanishing into the night, laughter and cheers echoing behind them.

He sighed in relief, though his heart skipped again when he realized he'd have to explain this to Sir Hanush. The Lord of Leipa had ordered Sir Hans to remain in Pirkstein until his wedding, fearing he’d try to escape his duties. And he had. The guard even considered jumping after him rather than facing Sir Hanush’s fury.

Meanwhile, the riders galloping away from Rattay’s walls were ecstatic—overjoyed to have pulled it off.

“I can’t believe it, Hal!” Hans shouted at the top of his lungs. “Freedom at last!”

“I’m glad to see you in high spirits, my lord,” Henry replied with his usual smile.

Hans’s horse snorted, and they slowed down. They were free now, and a long road lay ahead.

“You have everything? Did Sir Radzig suspect anything?”

Henry stroked the neck of his mare, Pebbles, to calm her and catch his breath. “I’m not sure—you know him. I think he believed me when he saw my gear and I told him I was going to Kuttenberg to visit my brother.”

He cut his explanation short, and Hans noticed, though he said nothing. Henry didn’t want to trouble his lord with trivial concerns, but something about the conversation with his father had left him uneasy.

Earlier that day…

Sir Radzig had been looking for Henry all day. When he saw him loading his saddlebags onto Pebbles, he paused.

“Leaving, Henry?” he asked.

“Um… yes. Just a few days. I’m going to… visit Samuel,” Henry improvised, not entirely lying.

“I see. Well, son, have a good trip. When you return, there’s something I want to talk to you about. We’ll discuss it then.”

Henry didn’t want to leave without knowing what that “something” was. Radzig assumed they’d speak in a few days—but Henry knew it might be months.

“Can’t you tell me now?”

Radzig laughed. “Don’t be impatient, my boy! When you return, we’ll talk. Safe travels!”

Henry thanked him and left to fetch Sir Hans’s horse, which had been left at the smithy to get new horseshoes. He took it without raising suspicion and waited under the wall for nightfall. It was pitch dark when he heard a commotion from the walls and what sounded like a guard shouting. Then, a travel bag fell from the sky—and he knew the moment had come. He grabbed Atenón, Hans’s horse, and held him steady for the jump.

That part of the wall was the lowest; the drop to the ground was just a few meters. Hans knew it well. He timed the leap perfectly and landed squarely in the saddle—a smooth and calculated descent. Henry couldn’t help but smile at his young lord, and without wasting another second, they disappeared into the night.

“Henry, aren’t you excited?” Hans’s voice brought him back to the present.

“Of course, my lord. We must enjoy our last adventure before you settle down.”

Hans grinned. “Indeed, my loyal squire. The road is long and likely full of danger. Tell me, blacksmith—are you sure your backside can handle your old nag? I recall you don’t fare well on long rides…”

Henry, used to Hans’s pompous tone, grinned mischievously. He couldn’t resist.

“Oh, I can handle it, my lord… but can your backside handle it? And I don’t mean the horse…”

Hans immediately caught the joke. “Watch your mouth, blacksmith! Is that how you speak to a nobleman?”

“Oh, my apologies, my lord! I should be more careful when speaking of your noble backside—especially knowing how much you enjoy it when it’s in my hands…”

“Enough!” Hans shouted, feigning indignation. He looked around to make sure no one could hear them. Then, he relaxed and burst into laughter—genuine and heartfelt. “You rascal, Henry! But I must admit… you’re not wrong.”

They exchanged a look of deep complicity. Even in the dark, their smiles were clear. Neither could hide the excitement and joy of this new adventure. They would be together—free from duty, free from chains.

They knew it wouldn’t last. Sooner or later, they’d return, and Sir Hans would marry Jitka of Kundstad. But those were problems for Future Hans. For now, they had only one thing in mind: the journey.

“Henry… you don’t know how much it means to me that you’re coming with me.”

Henry was moved by the weight in his words. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world, Hans. Besides, who’ll protect you better than I? I’m your squire—and I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll bring you home safe and sound.”

“I know, dear Henry, I know. With you by my side, I feel safe—unstoppable. I could never have chosen a better squire than you.”

“Well…” Henry replied with a sly smile. “Technically, you didn’t choose me. It was Sir Hanush’s punishment for brawling in the tavern.”

Hans burst out laughing at the memory. “You’re right! Praise be to Jesus Christ and Sir Hanush’s judgment!”

They rode on, unable to stop chatting, too excited to sleep. At the crossroads marking the exit from Rattay, they slowed the horses and paused. Before the crucifix at the fork, they made the sign of the cross. After a moment of silence, Henry asked:

“Which way, my lord?”

Hans smiled, determined.

“To the right, squire. To Constantinople!”

Chapter Text

The excitement of the journey seemed to have faded into the background when Henry told his lord they wouldn’t be traveling alone. Hans was annoyed—he had really wanted to travel by themselves, though he understood that traveling with more people meant better safety. The real problem was who would be joining them.

“Why him? You could’ve found someone else, Henry,” he grumbled like a sulking child.

“Someone better than my brother?” Henry replied, watching Hans avert his gaze—he was acting like the spoiled boy he used to know. “What’s your problem with Samuel?”

Hans said nothing. He didn’t want to admit that he couldn’t stand Sam. He had seen right through him from the start. Sam didn’t respect him as a noble and seemed to know how Hans really felt about Henry. He seemed to enjoy getting under his skin, and deep down... Hans envied him—he was even jealous. When Sam was around, Henry always seemed more focused on his half-brother than on him. And what annoyed him most was that Sam knew it.

“He just… doesn’t seem to respect authority,” he made up, though the excuse didn’t land.

“And what about Musa? Does he bother you too?” Henry asked, tired of his childish fits.

“No, no… I admit his company is useful. He’s well-traveled and speaks several languages—we’ll definitely need that.”

“Then get used to it. We’ll meet them in Brno in two days,” Henry said. Hans still wouldn't look up, so Henry softened his tone and face, trying to lift his mood. “Come on, Hans! We still have two days for just the two of us.”

That seemed to cheer up the young lord a bit, though the shadow of Samuel’s presence still loomed. He sighed deeply and decided that nothing else would ruin that beautiful summer day.

The walls of Rattay had long disappeared behind them. They were heading southeast, crossing forests and small villages toward Litomyšl. Hans had packed away his fine clothes and now rode in an old gambeson that drew no attention. He didn’t want to be intercepted and dragged back to Pirkstein.

It was a new feeling for him. No one bowed in his presence, no one wore a fake smile out of respect for his title. No. They saw him for what he really was—a handsome young man riding alongside another, always-smiling young man, on horseback toward unknown destinations.

By day’s end, they reached Moravská Třebová, a small town with a modest castle—one they clearly wouldn’t be allowed into. Hans was no longer Sir Hans Capon of Pirkstein—just Hans, friend of Henry. Their lodging would be far humbler than what he was used to.

They stopped at the local inn, and the innkeeper didn’t look too pleased at the sight of their worn-out clothes. But his eyes lit up when the young men laid several dozen groschen on the counter.

“Of course, I’ve got beds free, good sirs! Upstairs by the hay, there’s plenty of space to rest. I’ll have the girl prepare your beds.”

“Thanks,” Henry replied, as Hans tried to hide his blushing cheeks. “How about a couple of cold beers?”

“Absolutely! Take a seat.”

Hans and Henry blended into the tavern’s atmosphere with ease. A couple of men were playing dice at one table while a third watched; a laborer shared a beer with his wife, and a group of young folks laughed loudly around the farthest table from the fire. The innkeeper brought them cold beers straight from the cellar and wished them a pleasant evening.

They toasted and drank. Their spirits lifted quickly, and Hans’s cheeks stayed flushed. They talked about the day, the roads ahead, and what tomorrow might bring. They were so at ease—so happy—it was like being in a dream they didn’t want to wake from.

Between laughter and smiles, a fleeting, spontaneous touch occurred between their hands. Maybe it was the beer, but both their faces turned red as they lowered their heads with shy smiles. Henry glanced around—no one seemed to notice. He looked at Hans, and without saying a word, just with his eyes, asked him to go upstairs. Hans agreed.

They finished the last sips of their drinks and went up to the hayloft. The inn girl had made up two beds with sheets in a hidden corner, near a couple of candles and some apples. With no other beds nearby, they assumed they'd be alone. Hans was still testing how soft his makeshift bed was, but Henry couldn’t wait any longer.

He lunged forward, stealing a kiss and wrapping his arms around him. Hans smiled and let himself be pulled into the soft hay by his squire. Neither of them slept that night.

At first light, they resumed their journey. Another clear, sunny day stretched before them, and only about fifty kilometers separated them from Brno. Despite the spectacular night they'd shared—and Henry quietly wishing all nights could be like that—he was also eager to see his brother again. They might lose some privacy, but they’d gain security. And his lord’s safety meant everything to him.

They took a southern road through the Vysočina region. The terrain was hilly but easy enough for their horses. They crossed rivers and forests until, by dusk, the palisades of the city came into view. Hans seemed downcast for a moment but quickly put on his confident mask. He didn’t want Henry to see how much it really bothered him to face Samuel again.

They bought fresh fruit on the way to the inn and let the horses rest in the shade. When they arrived at the meeting point, they didn’t even have to ask—the moment Henry stepped inside, Hans heard a familiar voice call out.

“Sam!” Henry said with open arms to a young man seated by the fire.

“Henry!” Sam stood up and hugged him. “How are you, brother? Was the journey smooth?”

Henry blushed as the memory of the previous night flashed through his mind. He quickly looked away. “Yes, very smooth. Not much can happen in just two days. And you?”

Musa sat quietly in the corner, half-hidden in the shadows, trying not to draw attention. He greeted Henry with his soft, velvety voice, then turned to Hans, who was unusually silent.

“It was… interesting,” Musa said without getting up. “People around here aren’t used to seeing someone like me. We got a few stares.”

“Nothing to worry about,” Sam dismissed it casually. “I’ve heard from traders that the closer we get to Ottoman territory, the more common his appearance will be. Soon we’ll blend in completely.” It was then he noticed Hans behind Henry.

They hadn’t greeted each other. In fact, Hans was avoiding eye contact. Sam wasn’t thrilled either—but there was a part of him that enjoyed getting under Hans’s skin. It gave him a sense of superiority. Still, out of respect for his brother, he kept it civil.

“Good evening, Sir Hans.”

The young lord nodded. Henry lowered his voice. “No titles—for now. It’s best that no one knows who we really are.”

“Oh! My apologies…”

Henry patted his back and changed the subject. Nearly a hundred kilometers in two days had left them all tired. Tonight, he truly planned to sleep. They arranged the rooms and had a quick dinner before heading to bed.

“Tomorrow we need to go to the Town Hall,” said Sam, uncertainty in his voice. “I was hoping that having a noble with us would make it easier to get travel permits for the Duchy of Austria, but given the situation…”

“Don’t worry,” Hans replied firmly. “I have my noble garments safely stored. If I need to use my name to guarantee our safety, I will.”

Sam went quiet, slightly shaken by Sir Hans’s assertiveness. He wasn’t used to the young lord commanding respect like that. Henry looked surprised too—but also a little enchanted. An awkward silence followed until Henry dismissed them all.

“Well then. We’re exhausted… Tomorrow we’ll get those permits and continue our journey. Off to bed, everyone. Good night!”

Musa and Sam said their goodbyes and went to their room. Before standing up, Samuel could’ve sworn he saw Hans gently touch Henry’s leg—but he assumed he’d had too much to drink. Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

Chapter Text

It was still early, but the sun had already begun to warm the stones of the houses and the cobbled streets. The city was waking slowly, filling the square with noise as they waited with their horses, which grew more restless with the need to move. Musa remained hidden in an alleyway, uneasy under the stares of passersby, while Henry and Sam rested against a column, faces tilted skyward and eyes closed, letting the sun’s rays gently caress their skin.

—How long do you think your lord will take? —Sam asked with a hint of mockery.

—Sir Hans does everything he can. He won’t be much longer —he replied quickly, defending his friend.

The fruit and vegetable stalls were already set up, merchants shouting to draw people in, and the coolness of the morning had vanished entirely. Henry was beginning to grow impatient when he finally saw Hans emerging from the town hall, several scrolls in hand and a triumphant smile on his face. He had never doubted him.

—Well, gentlemen. Here are your safe-conducts —he handed each of them a scroll—. The reeve’s scribe was driving me mad. He writes slower than he thinks. And the reeve! What a bore… wouldn’t stop asking about Jobst, about Sigismund leaving Bohemia for the Hungarian front…

—And here I thought you missed your conversations with civilized nobles —Henry suggested.

—Bollocks! I want to get out of here as soon as possible. Are you all ready?

The group nodded, but Henry kept his eyes on Hans.

—Aren’t you going to change? You’ll stand out dressed like that.

Hans seemed to forget he was still wearing his noble attire, the kind suited for requesting such important papers. It was what he was used to, and the thought of going back to the worn clothes of the road didn’t appeal to him much.

—It’s not necessary. I want to leave as soon as we can. Besides… we’re close to the border now. Once we cross, they can’t drag us back to Rattay. —Henry didn’t look convinced— Come on, trust me.

—As you wish, your lordship —Sam interrupted, eager to be on the road—. Let’s go, brother. Musa!

Henry gave Hans a sheepish look, apologizing for his brother’s manners, and Hans pretended not to mind. They mounted their horses and left the city of Brno.

The four riders passed through the gates and headed south, unaware of all the eyes they had drawn.

A group of men of questionable reputation had been on the trail of a Jew and a Black man for days, an unusual pair that hadn’t gone unnoticed. They had arrived in the city the night before and, after resting, were patrolling the streets at dawn. It wasn’t long before they noticed people returning from the square wide-eyed, as if they’d seen a ghost. It had to be them.

When they reached the food stalls, they saw nothing out of the ordinary. But then, from the town hall emerged a nobleman in fine, gleaming clothes—like a beacon of light inevitably drawing moths. He walked over to his companions, and that’s when they saw him: a Black man stepped out from the shadows and quickly mounted his horse, riding off with the others.

—Look, Trunk —one of the younger ones said—. That’s them. Should we follow?

Trunk watched the horses disappearing down the road and didn’t hesitate.

—Yes, we’ll follow them—but keep your distance. Move out!

He gave the order, and the group continued south.

They were still nearly thirty kilometers from Mikulov when the sweltering heat began to grow unbearable. The horses trudged forward clumsily, their sweat evaporating almost instantly, little clouds of steam rising from their flanks. The drops collecting in Henry’s curls couldn’t hold on any longer and began to drip down his forehead, forcing him to wipe his face over and over again.

The others weren’t faring much better. Hans rode behind him, panting and waving the front of his gambeson to stir the air. Sam’s mustache was soaked, and Musa seemed to hold up fine—though his horse was clearly begging for water and shade. Henry looked up at the sky and saw the sun directly overhead. It must be noon. They walked a little farther along the winding path through the meadows until, in the distance, they spotted a small cluster of trees—barely two or three, but enough to offer some shade.

—Gentlemen, shall we rest for a bit? —Henry asked the group.

—Henry, if you don’t take me to those trees right now, I’ll have you nailed to the pillory.

Hans never meant it seriously, but he loved joking about having the power to do so. Henry smiled at the remark; he might have replied with something clever if not for Sam, who was watching him with a disapproving look. Clearing his throat, Henry led the group toward the trees. Both men and beasts were deeply grateful for the shade—the ground even felt cool beneath their feet. They drank from their supplies and passed the time until the sun sank a little lower in the sky.

-I hope this doesn’t delay us too much… —Sam remarked.

—Well, I don’t know. I’d rather take an extra day getting to Mikulov than faint halfway there —Henry replied.

“Always complaining,”Hans thought. He was sitting a little apart from the others, watching Henry and his brother talk and laugh about past adventures. “He’s his brother,” he kept reminding himself, again and again, but he couldn’t help the pang of jealousy he felt toward their bond.

They could show themselves to the world as they truly were: a bastard orphan reunited with the legitimate son of his stepfather. Almost brothers. They could share that family bond and be more than friends. But Hans and Henry… they had to restrain themselves at all times. No strange touches, no sweet words, and above all, never show the affection they felt for one another. Hans looked at Samuel with a trace of bitterness and closed his eyes, trying to nap without the sound of his own thoughts echoing in his mind.

One of the scouts returned, his horse panting. It was sweltering, and they had stopped at an apple orchard before continuing along the road.

—Trunk, they’ve stopped to rest. No more than two or three kilometers from here.

The leader mapped out the area in his mind and knew exactly where they were. He had an exceptional sense of direction and spatial memory—one of the reasons he was so good at tracking people.

—If we continue toward Sobotovice, we can ambush them —he announced to his men.

—But Trunk, we’ll have to take quite a detour to get around them. Besides, it’s so damn hot. Maybe we could rest a little longer and...—

—Silence! This is a golden opportunity… We’ll head southeast, always near the road, but they won’t see us. Stay hydrated, we need to move fast. Move out!

The group of men groaned. It was going to be a tough day, but after all, this was their job.

The sun had dropped enough that it no longer suffocated them, though that also meant fewer hours of daylight and the need to find a place to camp soon. It was impossible to reach Mikulov before nightfall. They resumed their journey, Henry always at the front, crossing endless meadows and small woods.

In the distance, they spotted a village with several houses. It was still a bit early to camp, but it would be a good chance to resupply, especially water. A small river circled the village, and a narrow bridge was enough for the horses to cross comfortably.

Henry headed toward the bridge, followed by Hans, Sam, and Musa. The latter picked up a sound behind them and looked back with a barely noticeable motion. Musa was used to watching his back.

He spotted movement—three or four men, it seemed, trailing them through the underbrush. It gave him a bad feeling. Without alerting the others, he nudged his horse forward until he reached Henry, whispering in his ear. The whole group came to a halt.

—If what you’re saying is true… —Henry questioned.

—As true as my name is Musa of Mali. This smells bad.

—Alright, alright —he kept whispering, but made sure everyone could hear him—. They’re probably waiting for us at the bridge.

—How do you know? —Sam asked.

—It’s what I’d do…

They all fell silent. Turning back wasn’t an option—they seemed surrounded, and they didn’t know how many attackers there were. That’s when Hans decided to try diplomacy.

—We don’t have to fight. We just need to… scare them a little.

—Oh really? And how do you propose we do that, your lordship? —Sam couldn’t hide the condescension.

—Musa, take off your cloak and draw your saber. Keep it at your side, let it gleam. Put on your angriest face and act like you could take down two men at once.

—Wha…! But… I’m a scholar, not a soldier!

—They don’t know that. Henry, take off your gambeson, just wear your sweat-soaked shirt. Show off those muscles. You’re the strongest of us, you need to look intimidating. Make it clear that anyone who attacks us will regret it. Sam, you’re strong too. Do what Henry does.

Henry couldn’t help but grin. “He just wants me to take off my shirt for the bandits…sure” He wished he could say that out loud, but his brother was right there. He knew Sam didn’t enjoy taking orders from Hans, but this time, the plan made sense.

Hans wasn’t as muscular, but his strength lay in his youth. He slicked his hair back, rolled up the sleeves of his gambeson, and made sure his sword was clearly visible. Once they were ready, they continued toward the trap they knew was waiting for them.

And indeed, it was.

Two men jumped out from the bushes on the far side of the bridge just as the group tried to cross. They halted the horses, and five more men surrounded them from behind, cutting off any chance of retreat. Another man stepped between the two in front and chose to speak, despite having the numerical advantage.

—Stop right there! If you don’t want any trouble… hand over everything you’ve got, and we’ll let you go.

—Sir, do you not know who you’re attempting to rob? —the man stood silently, holding back a laugh. —I am Sir Hans Capon of Pirkstein! Step aside unless you wish to end up with a noose around your neck!

His threat seemed to land, at first. Trunk examined the riders carefully. They were all young and strong, more than he had expected. He had thought it would be easy to get the money, but he also knew that this young lord wouldn’t give up anything without a fight. The black man was terrifying just to look at, his muscles tensed around his saber, and the mere thought of it made Trunk uneasy. He couldn’t tell which of the other two young men was the Jew, but neither one looked like an easy opponent.

—You’re far from Pirkstein, Lord Capon —Trunk replied. His men laughed along with him.

Hans looked at his companions. They were clearly worried.

—That’s true, sir. But Mikulov is very near, and the House of Liechtenstein rules over it. They’re good friends of mine. I assure you, they’ll hang you for this.

For a moment, it seemed Trunk might change his mind and vanish. Hans could sense it. He was already savoring victory, but Henry understood men like him better. The threat hadn’t been enough. He felt the tension growing as the bandit leader hesitated. Henry gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, ready to fight.

Trunk and Henry locked eyes for a fraction of a second. The moment had come.

—Attack! —Trunk and Henry shouted at the same time.

The horses grew restless with nowhere to run. They all dismounted and fought on foot—it was their only real chance of defense. Hans didn’t hesitate to charge the two men blocking the bridge while Trunk stayed at the rear, observing without putting himself in danger.

One bandit lunged at Henry with a knife, but he was quicker—he dodged and drove his sword into the man’s belly. Another rushed him from behind. Henry struck him in the jaw with his elbow, then cracked him across the brow with the pommel of his sword. The man staggered, and Henry didn’t hesitate to drive his blade through him. He looked around. He was alone.

Musa swung his saber back and forth, trying to defend himself, lucky that the bandits weren’t very skilled with their weapons. Hans had already taken one down and was confidently crossing the bridge, ready to finish off the other. But where was Sam?

Henry dashed between the horses, scanning both sides of the road, but no sign of him. He should go after him, but Musa needed help, and Hans seemed to have things under control. Priorities first. Musa had once saved his life. Henry was going to return the favor.

Hans pressed forward over the bridge, unstoppable. Killing the first bandit had filled him with blind, angry confidence. Trunk had fled after watching his man fall, and the other was on the verge of doing the same. He pointed his sword at Hans, hands trembling with fear, frozen in place.

Hans grabbed his weapon and, with barely any effort, knocked the enemy’s sword to the ground. Tears welled up in the bandit’s eyes. Without thinking, he turned and bolted. It wasn’t over yet. Hans ran after him, ready to finish the job, but then he saw Samuel by the riverbank, surrounded by two bandits. He was unarmed, hands raised. “Damn it.” Hans abandoned the chase and rushed toward the river.

From a distance, Hans saw one of the bandits holding a dagger to Sam’s neck, though they didn’t harm him. One struck him in the stomach, and then they both fled. They hadn’t even seen Hans. “Strange,” he thought, feeding the seed of distrust he already felt toward Sam.

—Are you alright? —he asked, out of simple courtesy, as he helped him up.

—Yeah. Those bastards just ran off…

Hans examined him carefully. He barely had a scratch, but his eyes betrayed how shaken he really was.

—Come on. Let’s help the others.

No need to say it twice. They ran from the river back to the ambush site. The bandits had already vanished, leaving three bodies behind. Henry was inspecting some cuts on Musa’s forearm, and the horses were still nervously stamping.

—Henry! Are you alright? —Hans asked, far too concerned.

—Hans! —he ran to him—Forget about me. Are you alright? —he scanned every inch of Hans with his eyes. Barely a scratch.

Sam cleared his throat, interrupting the evident familiarity with which the Lord addressed his squire.

—The rest have fled. Bastards!

Hans sighed, relieved that the person who mattered most to him was safe and sound.

—Do you think they’ll come back?

—I doubt it —Sam replied quickly. —We killed three of theirs. They won’t risk it again. Now… we should calm the horses and get moving.

Henry nodded and got to work. They moved the bodies off the road, searched them for valuables, and gathered the horses. They washed in the river, restocked in the village, and continued on until dusk. Exhausted from the scuffle and the overwhelming heat, that night they would sleep soundly, provided they stayed well hidden and didn’t receive any unwelcome guests.

They set up a simple camp among the bushes. The ground still radiated heat and the night remained stifling, so there was no need to light a fire. Sam volunteered to take first watch, keeping an eye out in case anyone approached. Musa and Henry thanked him, and soon fell asleep. Hans did not.

He didn’t trust what he had seen by the river. He didn’t trust Sam. He wouldn’t close his eyes under the starlit sky while he was the one watching their backs.

Chapter Text

It seemed like a quiet morning until Sir Radzig rode into the courtyard of Rattay’s Upper Castle and heard the furious shouts of Sir Hanush. He was returning from an expedition to Skalice to check the state of the mines, a completely fruitless mission. He dismounted, and a groom with trembling hands took the reins to lead the horse to the stables.

—What’s going on?

—Lord Capon… has disappeared. —He bowed to the noble and quickly vanished.

“He’s still irresponsible, despite everything,” Radzig scolded the young man in his thoughts. He climbed the stairs from the courtyard and entered the main hall. A guard stood frozen, eyes glazed over, while Hanush raged through the room like a rabid dog. He slammed his palms on the table and kept yelling at the guard. He only seemed to calm slightly when he saw Radzig standing in the doorway.

—Ah! Sir Radzig… —He took a deep breath and adjusted his robes, directing his last words to the guard. —Are you still here? Get out this instant!

The poor man didn’t hesitate. He bowed quickly and rushed off. Radzig stepped into the hall and stopped in front of Hanush, waiting for an explanation.

—So you’ve heard already? —he asked with a bitter tone in his voice.

—That Lord Capon has run off? I heard something in the courtyard.

—That damned boy! If he doesn’t return and makes me go back on my word with Kundstad… I’ll make him regret it, Radzig, I swear! —He was yelling again.

—You should calm down, Hanush. You know Capon… he’s probably just gone off to have some fun. He’s not going to throw away his inheritance just like that.

Hanush seemed to give in. He stopped pacing and collapsed into a wooden chair that creaked under his weight. Radzig did the same, sitting across from him.

—Maybe you’re right… but he drives me mad. Where did he go? Am I to wait all this time with no word, not knowing if he’s dead and buried in some Bohemian forest? And do you know another rider went with him!? —His voice was rising again.

That’s when Radzig realized. Of course Sir Hans wouldn’t have gone alone—he was smart enough for that. And who was always at his side, like a shadow? His eyes widened as he understood just how thoroughly he’d been deceived.

—Henry! —he said at last. —He told me he was going to Kuttenberg to visit his brother…

A loud laugh burst from Hanush’s mouth.

—Seems I’m not the only one being lied to! Those two fools have gone off adventuring! —His rage had turned into laughter, a way to cope with the uncertainty about his heir’s fate.

They ordered wine, both of them needed it. The only thing that reassured Radzig was knowing they were together, always pulling each other out of the fire. Henry was still Sir Hans’ squire, and Radzig knew the boy well enough to trust he’d protect him. But one question kept circling his mind: where in the world had they gone?

—So… you haven’t told your boy yet? —Hanush asked, pouring his second cup.

—Not yet. I was going to tell him once he returned from Kuttenberg… but that’s no longer possible. He lied to my face, Hanush! That’s why he wanted to know beforehand—Henry knew he wouldn’t be back in a few days.

Hanush topped off Radzig’s cup, keeping his anger in check. Both men were upset with the young ones, but there wasn’t much more they could do. They had no idea where they’d gone, and by now they were likely far from Rattay, sending out patrols would be pointless.

Cup after cup, their anger turned to worry.

—What if something happens to them? —Radzig posed the question aloud.

—Bah! —Hanush didn’t want to go down that road. —I’ll keep their lands and beg forgiveness from his father in heaven. —Radzig chuckled. —Seriously, though… I don’t want that to happen. I care about the young Lord. Since the siege of Suchdol, he’s become more important than he realizes. It would be a real shame to lose him.

—Is that the wine talking, Hanush?

—You think so, old man? And what about Henry? If something happened to him, it wouldn’t exactly shake the world. He’s just a bastard.

—Hanush… —Radzig warned him.

—Well, isn’t it true?

—It’s true he’s a bastard, but he’s my son. I care for him… more than I’d ever admit out loud. —His voice carried a touch of sorrow.

—It worries me that you have no heirs, Radzig. When Sigismund burned Skalice, he nearly wiped out your bloodline, and at that time, you hadn’t even publicly acknowledged Henry. If you die, he inherits nothing.

—I know, I know… that’s why I didn’t want to delay the wedding announcement any longer. But now Henry’s vanished, and I don’t know when—or if—he’ll return… I just don’t know. What should I do, Hanush?

Hanush stroked his beard, thoughtful. He didn’t want to give his friend bad advice and took his time to answer.

—I think… you should marry as soon as possible. Anna of Úlibice won’t wait forever, and you need to start producing heirs.

Radzig didn’t lift his eyes from his cup, swirling the wine in slow, hypnotic circles. He was trapped in his own thoughts.

Hanush’s suggestion was entirely reasonable—Radzig even agreed with it. But his heart ached to think his son wouldn’t be at the wedding. He had to set feelings aside and secure the future of his house. He knew Henry could never be his heir, no matter how much he wanted him to be. The boy hadn’t even been knighted, despite all his achievements. Perhaps… as a father and a noble, this was the only thing he could still do for him.

—You’re right, Hanush. —he said at last. —I’ll send the letter to announce the upcoming engagement to Anna of Úlibice.

—Now you’re talking! —Hanush cried out. He stood up so fast the chair toppled over. He raised his cup and toasted with Radzig. —To the bride and groom!

Radzig smiled but said nothing. He toasted with his friend, and the wine kept flowing. They spoke of the bride, her good ties with the king, and the great benefits the marriage would bring both families. It was just business—love had no place in these arrangements. Hans Capon had to see his marriage for what it truly was: a deal.

Radzig had loved only one woman in his life—one he couldn’t share it with. A woman he’d watched raise his son in the arms of another man.

After hours of drinking and conversation, Hanush began snoring in his chair. Radzig was red-faced and quite drunk, but his mind was still clear enough to reach the window and open it for some fresh evening air. He looked out at the horizon with melancholy, wondering where his son was—and more than anything, whether he’d return in time for the wedding. It was one of those moments in life he wished he could share with him.

Chapter Text

The night was quiet, not a single gust of wind stirred the trees. The sounds of the forest were interrupted only by Henry’s heavy breathing. He had fallen into a deep sleep. Musa, on the other hand, was quite the opposite. One had to look closely at the movement of his body to be sure he wasn’t dead, for he made no sound at all.

Hans hadn’t closed his eyes, and the weariness of the day was starting to catch up with him. He lay beside Henry, watching his chest rise and fall rhythmically, hypnotized by the motion. Hans smiled. He liked knowing that, after everything they’d been through, at least Henry could rest. He himself admitted that taking care of him was a hard and demanding task.

A faint rustle of leaves behind him made him go on alert. He listened silently and soon saw Sam slipping past Henry, sneaking as if everyone were asleep. Hans squinted, pretending to be asleep, but didn’t take his eyes off Sam.

Once again, he checked that the group was still asleep, and then Sam disappeared into the bushes. A wave of fury rose in Hans upon realizing that Samuel was up to something behind their backs. What scared him the most was the idea of betrayal, that at any moment, bandits could jump out at them. No, that can’t be. He loves Henry too much, he tried to reassure himself.

He rose gently so as not to wake anyone. He would handle this himself.

He grabbed his bow and quiver full of arrows and slipped into the underbrush. He quickly spotted Sam’s shadow in the distance. He seemed to be moving away in a hurry, without torch or lantern. Hans followed him like a hunter stalking prey, always from afar, never losing sight, bow ready to fire at the right moment.

They were getting too far, and Hans started to worry. Henry and Musa were deeply asleep, with no one watching their backs. What if they’re attacked now? Hans would never have forgiven himself. He pushed those thoughts away, he knew they were well hidden, and nothing would happen. He had to resolve this matter once and for all.

Samuel continued walking through the darkness until, at last, the ruins of a small chapel came into view. Only then did he light a torch and wait among the collapsed walls. He sat on a rock that looked like it once belonged to a column. His legs bounced nervously, unconsciously.

Two hooded figures approached after a while. They stood before Sam’s torch so he could see their faces, hands on the hilts of their swords, just to make the threat clear.

—Well? Do you have it? —asked one of the hooded men.

—Here you go. —Sam tossed a small leather pouch that jingled as the man caught it in midair.

They counted the coins between the two of them, but they didn’t seem pleased. The taller, broader figure scowled.

—This isn’t even a tenth of what we agreed on. Are you janking our pizzles?

Sam tried to appear harmless, willing to talk.

—It’s all I have. You know why I’m traveling. I just need more time to—

—We’ve already given you enough time! —the man growled. —Maybe… your kind doesn’t understand when we speak. Don’t you Jews speak our language? Was I not clear when I told you the deadline was up? —He moved toward Sam menacingly, and Sam stepped back, hands raised.

—That won’t be necessary. Be reasonable, I’ll pay you little by little if that’s what you want. Otherwise… I just need more time.

—Trunk doesn’t grant extensions! —shouted the other one.

They both lunged at Sam, knocking him down instantly. The smaller one began kicking him in the stomach, and Sam could barely defend himself. The larger one grabbed him by the shirt and lifted him slightly, landing a punch that made his nose bleed.

Sam curled his legs to try to protect himself, but the brutes kept hitting him. He didn’t know what they wanted, whether to kill him or just beat him to a pulp. He would never find out.

A whistle cut through the silence, and an arrow from the darkness struck the smaller hooded man straight in the clavicle. He brought his hands to his neck, choking on his own blood, and could do nothing but wait for death, terror in his eyes.

The bigger one had barely processed what happened when another arrow pierced his shoulder. It wasn’t powerful enough to be fatal. He bolted from the ruins of the chapel, and another arrow struck his back, close to the nape of his neck. The brute staggered but kept running.

A third arrow, shot with all the strength the bow could muster, pierced his throat and stopped him for good.

Sam opened his eyes at the sound of the screams and gasped when he saw the pool of blood around the younger man. His eyes were still open, but life had already left him.

He slowly pulled himself upright and saw Hans Capon walking toward him, bow in hand.

—Is there anyone else? —he asked firmly, ready to kill any thug threatening his band.

—No… just those two. —Sam coughed up a few drops of blood. His lip and nose had been split.

Hans sighed and chuckled softly at Sam’s condition.

—Two men leave you like this? I expected more from Henry’s brother. —He added the jab with a hand extended to help Sam to his feet.

After a brief hesitation, Sam smiled as well and accepted his hand. There was no more room to mock the Lord, he had just shown a courage and boldness Sam had never seen before.

—Sir Hans… you saved me —he said, a hint of guilt and surprise in his voice.

—Of course, you fool. What, did you think I’d let those two brutes beat you up? I think Henry would kill me.

They both laughed. They wanted to put their differences behind them and let that act of bravery be what finally reconciled them. However, the lighthearted tone changed when Hans demanded the truth.

—Who were they, Samuel? Don’t lie to me.

His blue eyes shone intensely in the torchlight. He meant it. There was no longer any place for doubt, or for lies.

—Do you remember… the small fortune I gave you to capture Von Bergow?

Hans tilted his head slightly. He remembered perfectly that Sam had said the money came from the townsfolk of Kolin, something Henry had objected to.

—I remember —he said, crossing his arms.

—Well… times were hard and I couldn’t let the community starve. I took out a loan from Adam Lhotský, the owner of the Municipal Bathhouse. He had a lot of money, or used to, until his business lost its municipal charter and started to collapse. Then he became aggressive with the interest rates and shortened the deadlines.

—Adam? The owner of that flea-infested bathhouse? No wonder they stripped him of the title —Capon interrupted.

—That’s none of my concern. What is, though, is the money I owe him. The pressure was too much… and then a letter arrived from my brother, inviting me on a journey to Constantinople. My plan was to strike some big deals in the city and return to Kuttenberg with exotic goods. Only then would I be able to pay the debt. But… —his voice broke as his eyes wandered to the corpse of the hooded man— it seems he sent mercenaries to collect.

Hans paced slowly, deep in thought. He leaned against a crumbling wall and stared at Samuel. He believed him.

—Does Henry know?

—No, of course not… I didn’t even know they were coming for me. During the ambush, they told me to meet them here, and I agreed. Then they left. Henry doesn’t know anything about the debt either. I… well… I’m ashamed —he added, his voice almost a whisper, unable to meet Capon’s eyes.

Hans had two choices: be compassionate, or take advantage of the situation. In any other case, he wouldn’t have hesitated. He didn’t like Sam, nor the attention he stole from Henry, but his own feelings were deeper than he realized. He imagined how painful it would be for Henry to find out that his brother had lied, had put them all in danger, and had acted so irresponsibly. He could feel that pain as if it were his own.

—All right, Sam. I believe you, and you can stay with us. But no more lies. Understood?

He stepped forward and offered his hand once more, a gesture of peace.

Samuel stared at him, speechless. That wise and empathetic Lord wasn’t the same spoiled, narcissistic man he remembered from before. Maybe he’d judged him too harshly.

After all, his brother was Hans’ bodyguard, his squire, his friend… He’d never quite understood why. But now, he was beginning to.

Hans had saved his life that night, despite not liking him.

He accepted his hand, and they returned to camp in silence.

Musa and Henry were still sleeping peacefully. They barely stirred when Hans lay back down beside Henry, their hands brushing slightly in a way that went unnoticed. Sam had promised Hans he’d keep watch through the night, and this time, he believed him. Hans was able to close his eyes and let go of his worries, if only for that night.

—Jesus Christ! What happened to you?!

It was Henry’s shout that woke Hans, not the morning sun. Henry had shot up from his blanket and was now inspecting the injuries on Samuel’s face.

—I got up to take a piss, and it was so dark… I fell into a ravine up ahead. I’m fine, Henry.

But Henry didn’t believe him. He knew exactly what bruises from a beating looked like. He kept examining him without permission and found more bruises on his legs. Sam remained silent, ashamed. He didn’t want to admit the truth.

—It’s true —Hans interrupted, calmly putting on his boots—. I heard some noises in the night, and when I got closer, I saw Sam at the bottom of the ravine. I helped him back myself, but he promised he was all right. Isn’t that right, Samuel?

Henry stared hard at his brother, demanding the truth. But Sam never confessed and silently went along with Hans’ lie. It was clear they were conspiring together.

Henry returned to Hans’ side, and without saying a word, only with his piercing blue gaze, let him know that he knew he was lying. Hans smiled, and that disarmed him.

It was obvious now. This was a secret between the two of them, and Henry wouldn’t be a part of it. At first, he felt confused and hurt, but then he understood that the act carried something deeper. It meant they had finally connected, and perhaps now, they would stop hating each other.

Thinking it through, it was the best outcome. So he let it go.

Sam had fallen into a ravine, and that was the only truth.

—You were lucky, then —said Musa, pulling small jars from his bag—. Let me see those cuts.

The scholar tended to Sam, applying a sticky ointment to his split lip and easing the pressure of his bruises with mint infusions that could be smelled from the far end of the camp. Henry went off to fetch the horses, still hidden in the nearby woods, and Hans finished packing the camp.

He surprised himself doing those chores. Not long ago, it would’ve been his servants who handled such things. But he’d grown used to Henry’s way of life. And he liked it.

They returned to the road and continued toward Mikulov, the village they were supposed to have reached the day before, if not for the suffocating heat and the mercenary ambush. The day was slightly overcast, which helped them arrive before noon.

A peasant woman sold fruits and vegetables at a small stall along the street. They bought supplies and moved on to the castle gates, where the road split. They headed south again, unable to ignore the beauty of the construction. A small fortress, but with tall, imposing walls.

The day was perfect. The clouds blocked the sun, and the temperature was pleasant. They decided to pick up the pace to reach Laa an der Thaya before nightfall and finally cross the Austrian border.

The horses began to trot, and they disappeared from the village in a cloud of dust.

At the castle gate, a man watched the dust cloud they’d left behind. There were no signs, so he turned to the guards.

—Where does that road lead?

—Austria —one answered—. A day’s ride from here.

He grabbed his horse’s reins and hesitated. Should he return, or follow them?

Trunk had lost all his men. If he returned without the Jewish man’s money, Adam wouldn’t pay the reward. But alone, he couldn’t recover it either.

Austria? Maybe there he’d have a better chance to rob or trick them. One way or another, he’d try again. But he wouldn’t follow them beyond the Danube.

He spurred his horse and disappeared into the trail of dust.

Chapter Text

When they arrived in Laa an der Thaya, they had to show the safe-conducts Capon had arranged for them. They were entirely valid, and they had no trouble crossing the Austrian border, despite the darkness.

The locals of a border town like that spoke both languages, and they had no trouble finding lodging. Hans and Musa spoke German fairly well, which helped them avoid being overcharged when negotiating the price.

Laa an der Thaya was famous for its thermal baths, and they wouldn’t miss them for the world. It was already night, and the facilities were closing, but Sir Hans offered a few extra coins to the attendant so they could stay. Samuel and Musa were too tired and declined the offer, but Henry couldn’t pass up the opportunity. A thermal bath session for him and Hans? At night? He was the first to volunteer.

The attendant woke a maid to assist them properly. The girl helped them undress, showed them the way to the thermal pool, and left linen cloths for them to dry off with. The poor girl couldn’t stop yawning, and her eyes kept closing, but she had to do her job. She started rubbing Henry’s back automatically once he stepped into the water.

Her hands slowly moved down the young man’s shoulders, no longer with a merely professional touch, but with a warmth that bordered on the intimate. Both were uncomfortable. Henry didn’t want to seem rude, and the girl seemed to be doing it out of mere obligation.

—Fair lady, I see your services are as devoted as they are plentiful… you must have tended to so many guests that fatigue now weighs heavily on you —said Hans from the other side of the thermal bath. His voice sounded kind, almost conspiratorial. His legs, beneath the water, brushed against Henry’s.

—Huh? —the girl blinked, confused. Sleep clouded her awareness.

—It’s not hard to see. You’re exhausted. My squire and I have all we need. Why don’t you return to your room and get some rest? —The sweetness in his tone turned the suggestion into a command disguised as tenderness.

The proposal caught her off guard.

—I… I shouldn’t, my lord… —she lowered her gaze, uncertain—. If I abandon my duties… I could be punished.

Even so, her movements became livelier, as if shame had awakened her.

—What is your name? —Hans inquired in a gentler tone, as if trying to calm her.

—My name is Gertrud, my lord…

—Gertrud… —he repeated, with an almost brotherly tone—. As a client, I order you to go rest. I promise you, nothing will happen to you.

She hesitated. Her eyes, overcome by sleep, begged for permission to close. Maybe this time, she could trust. She bowed sincerely and, murmuring a thank-you, discreetly left the bath.

The door closed behind her. Only the sound of crickets, the steam suspended in the air… and the two of them remained.

—Finally, alone —murmured Hans, tilting his head with a faint smile.

Henry smiled at his comment and caressed his leg with his foot. A mischievous, intimate touch.

—What will you do alone with your squire, my lord?

—Something I can’t say aloud.

And with that, Hans leaned in and kissed him. A fierce kiss, born of pent-up tension. Henry welcomed it eagerly, wrapping his arms around him, pulling him to his chest. Their bodies intertwined in the warm water, as if they were melting into a single soul. In that instant, the world disappeared: duties, fears, everything.

When their lips parted, they were still smiling, still breathing each other in. Hans caressed Henry’s cheek, damp and flushed, savoring the light touch of his budding beard.

They looked at each other for a long while, wordless. Hans’s eyes trembled with an unfamiliar emotion.

—Is it possible to love a man, Henry? —he whispered. His voice, for the first time, sounded disarmed, almost childlike.

Henry looked at him with absolute tenderness.

—If loving means desiring you as I desire you… if it means fearing for you, even when nothing threatens you… if it means hurting when you’re gone and smiling just by seeing you… if it’s this fire inside, that burns and fills me at once… then yes. It is possible to love a man. Because I love you, Hans.

Hans’s blue eyes sparkled in the darkness. He felt his own confusion dissolve in Henry’s words. He loved him. He knew it with a certainty that pierced his chest. He embraced him tenderly and then kissed him again. Each kiss told the other how much he was desired, how much he needed more than simple caresses.

Hans slipped his hand underwater and found Henry’s arousal. He touched him, stroked him… and both moaned with pleasure. The night was serene, far too quiet. Henry, between gasps, looked at him with a hint of concern. Hans understood without words. He covered Henry’s mouth with his hand, and both laughed silently. They didn’t want to give up this intimacy. They couldn’t.

The rest of the sounds, however, they could not hide.

Trunk had followed the group to the thermal town and had seen with his own eyes how they split up. The Jew and his Black companion had entered the tavern alone, while the nobleman and the one who seemed to be his page had gone to the thermal baths. It was a good opportunity to steal all the money they were carrying, now that they were separated. However, he thought that perhaps the smartest move wasn’t to follow the Jew.

They had already tried to negotiate with him and recover the debt, but all they got were two men lost and not a single coin. The Jew didn’t have enough money—at least for now—but what about the noble? He had seen him in fine clothing, shiny and clearly expensive. If he managed to sneak into the baths and check his purse, he could get much more than expected.

Night had fallen, and the streets were silent. The thermal pools were outdoors but surrounded by a wooden fence that blocked both entry and view, with the only access being the cabin where the attendant and the maids slept. The door was locked, and the lock was of high quality. Trunk couldn’t open it.

Frustrated, he decided to go around the fence to see if there was a broken board he could squeeze through. He slipped into some bushes and followed the wooden boards with his hand, trying to make as little noise as possible. He started hearing strange sounds, and stopped dead, holding his breath. Were those two seriously screwing the maids in the pools?

There was no doubt, they were moans of pleasure. A few steps ahead, there was a board slightly more separated from the rest, barely a centimeter, just enough to peek inside the enclosure, and Trunk chuckled to himself. He was curious to see what the maids looked like and how they were being taken… Curiosity got the better of him. He moved forward until he reached the gap and looked.

The mischievous grin quickly vanished from his face. There were no maids inside, and what he saw turned his stomach. The noble was sitting on top of his squire, moving up and down. His gestures and sounds made it clear that something else was going on under the water. Something forbidden and sinful. Something unnatural.

Trunk quickly looked away and had to suppress a gag with his hand. He couldn’t believe it. Those two men were… The disgust soon turned into fury, into hatred, into a desire to interrupt that sin that insulted God. Little by little, thoughts of hatred and justice became tangled with money and the unpaid debt. This wasn’t going to end like this.

The young men were getting dressed in a room when they heard the snores of the caretaker and laughed.

—I hope we didn’t wake anyone up —said Hans with a tone that was both amused and concerned.

—I don’t think so. I covered your mouth well. —He gave Hans a slap on the butt, almost losing his balance.

Hans gave him an angry look, but couldn’t help laughing.

—For God's sake, Henry… Come on, finish getting dressed and let’s get out of here.

They left a few coins as a tip and left quietly. The streets were empty and dark, but they would soon reach the tavern, it was just around the next block. They decided not to light a torch; the moonlight was enough to guide them there.

Henry hugged Hans from the side and rested his nose on his neck. He smelled of lavender and the other herbs they had added to the pool. His skin was soft, and his golden hair shimmered under the starlight.

—Are you sure you want to go back? —asked Henry, still kissing his neck.

—Henry… please. —Hans wanted to push him away, but he couldn’t. He liked having Henry on his neck too much. —It’s late, people could see us —he scolded him, still smiling.

—Bah! Fine… —He stepped away but stole a kiss that nearly made them step off the path.

They arrived at the tavern and withdrew their hands. It was the only place where, despite the late hour, people were still awake. They went up the stairs to their room, where two beds awaited them. Samuel and Musa had gone up to the attic. It was cheaper, and Sir Hans wasn’t obliged to pay for them. They found it normal that he looked after himself and his squire first; after all, they were only accompanying him.

Henry locked the door and curled up next to Hans in the same bed. They were exhausted and just wanted to sleep. Besides, trying anything else would make the wooden frame creak too loudly for the other guests. He kissed the back of his neck and breathed in his scent once more.

Hans grabbed his arm and pulled it around his waist, letting Henry hold him. They intertwined their legs and fell asleep quickly, always with a smile on their faces and a warmth in their bodies that they had never experienced so intensely before.

The next day, they saddled the horses and left early. They would try to reach Klosterneuburg in a single day, even though it was usually done in two. The animals were fresh, the sky was cloudy, and the route was easy. Nearly 80 kilometers separated them from their destination, and they didn’t want to delay, setting off before sunrise.

The day went by calmly and uneventfully. They stopped to eat beside a river, and Henry noticed Hans looked uncomfortable when mounting and dismounting the horse. He seemed… sore. Henry asked him several times in a low voice if he was alright, and the noble's answer was always affirmative. Whether it was true or not, it didn’t seem too serious, so Henry tried to shake off the guilt.

They arrived just before nightfall in Klosterneuburg and reached an agreement with the monks at the monastery to sleep in the chapel. As good Christians, they gave a generous donation, and the monks agreed, so long as they stayed near the walls and away from the images. The four men fell asleep to the soft chants that echoed throughout the monastery, like a lullaby soothing a small child.

The next morning, they freshened up and washed on the banks of the Danube. Hans blushed when Henry took off his shirt and revealed his strong muscles, but tried to hide it. He splashed water on his face again and again until the redness blended into his cheeks.

Samuel had noticed, but said nothing. He now saw Hans differently. He no longer had any intention of mocking or criticizing him. Hans had saved his life, and his debt to him was great. Perhaps he could never repay him properly.

Musa remained on the riverbank, collecting plants that grew in the damp soil, always calm and silent. Less than thirty kilometers remained to reach Vienna, and he wanted to hide his excitement. He had visited that beautiful city before, and this would be the first time in a long while that he would reunite with his community. There was a small group of Muslims who offered counsel to the city’s government, and he wouldn’t miss the chance to visit his old friends.

Once clean and with full stomachs, they resumed their journey. The capital of the Duchy of Austria was close, and they all longed to see it with their own eyes. They rode all morning and finally reached the city after midday. From atop the hill, Vienna was at last revealed, unfolding like a fan of stone, smoke, and promises.

In the distance, the towers of St. Stephen’s Cathedral rose like spears tearing the sky, shrouded in thick mist that smelled of damp firewood, roasted meat, and humanity. The city walls, broad and grey, wrapped around the heart of Austria like the arms of an old giant. Beyond them, the pale reflection of the Danube canal could be seen, winding beneath wooden and stone bridges.

Hans leaned forward on his saddle, visibly amazed.

—By the cross of Christ… now this is a city —he murmured.

Henry smiled wearily. His shirt was covered in dust, and Pebbles’ back was steaming under the weight of the journey.

—Yes, my lord. This is no Rattay.

As they descended toward the city gates, the commotion grew louder. Peasants with carts full of turnips and pumpkins. Hooded monks muttering psalms. Women with baskets of eggs arguing prices. Street vendors, blind men singing verses for coins, ragged children chasing noble horses. All of it mixed into a symphony of human chaos.

The Schottentor gate was guarded by soldiers in red woolen cloaks. They inspected goods and demanded taxes. One of them stopped them with a raised hand.

—Where do you come from, travelers?

Hans lowered his hood with a diplomatic smile.

—From Bohemia. We are pilgrims… on our way to the Holy Land. We seek lodging for the night.

The guard narrowed his eyes. Hans’s noble accent was unmistakable.

—Go on, then. But don’t cause trouble. The duke has no patience for haughty foreigners.

Once inside, the city enveloped them. Cobbled streets, but uneven, where the puddles stank and dogs sniffed through scraps. Houses were stacked upon one another, with crooked balconies and laundry hanging between windows. On corners, men recited prayers, and in alleyways, sin wore painted faces.

They passed a procession of Dominican monks, chanting as they carried relics in a golden urn. People crossed themselves as they went by. A bit farther on, in a square full of meat stalls, a Jewish woman in a dark veil was being insulted by a bloodstained butcher. No one intervened, but Samuel watched with great indignation at the indifference of the passersby.

—So this is Vienna? —Henry asked in a low voice as he observed the scene.

—This is the world —Samuel answered with seriousness and anger in his face.

They turned onto a broader avenue where carts loaded with fabric and spices headed toward the ducal palace. In the distance, through the smoke clouds, stood the Hofburg, residence of the Habsburgs. Its white stone seemed to resist the grime of the rest of the city. Nobles with feathered hats and embroidered robes came and went on horseback, oblivious to the dust of the poor.

They stopped in front of a modest but clean inn, where the sign hung from a rusted wrought-iron frame: Zum goldenen Hirsch. The warm light inside promised hot soup and a flea-free bed.

Hans dismounted with elegance.

—Tonight, we sleep like princes, gentlemen. What do you say… shall we stay a few days in the city? The atmosphere is promising.

—I was thinking the same, Sir Hans —Samuel replied, without mocking his title. —I’d like to visit the Jewish quarter and maybe… do some business.

—I want to stay a few days too, but not at the inn —said Musa. —I must visit some old friends near the Ducal Palace.

Henry looked at the young Lord, hunger in his eyes. They would be together again—not just at night. They had two whole days to do whatever they pleased, to enjoy the bustle of the city.

—Very well, then. Let’s meet on the third day, at dawn, at the South Gate to continue the journey. Enjoy Vienna, gentlemen!

From afar, Trunk watched as the group split up once more. Now it would be easier than ever to ambush them, but a thought kept circling in his mind… or rather, a memory. The sound of two men insulting God.

Angry and unsettled, he made his way to another tavern for a drink. He still had to decide what to do, but in any case, he would have to wait for nightfall to act.

Beer after beer, he began to befriend the locals who spoke his language. There were many merchants returning to Bohemia, resting in the tavern before continuing their journey. One of them, Thomas, hit it off with Trunk, and they drank together all afternoon until the sun began to sink behind the rooftops. The alcohol made Trunk more talkative than usual, and he told his new companion why he had come and about the sins he had witnessed.

—Mmm. I might have the solution to all your problems, friend.

—Eh? —he was drunk, but not so drunk as to forget their conversation— What solution?

Thomas took another swig of beer and lowered his voice.

—There’s a tailor in the St. Stephen’s district, has plenty of money… but that didn’t stop the Inquisition from taking his daughter. Hic!

—What’s that got to do with me? —Trunk was confused.

—Well, ever since then he’s had problems with the Church. It wasn’t enough to condemn the daughter… hic! They’ve been making his life hell. I’m sure that if he turned in other heretics and… hic! and…

He seemed to fall asleep mid-sentence, still clutching his mug.

—What? Speak! —Trunk shook Thomas, frustrated. The man was too drunk to finish a thought.

—He… he’ll pay you well. Yes! Money. If that’s what it takes to be free of the Inquisition… he just needs redemption. Hic!

Thomas suddenly turned pale, and Trunk instantly knew what was coming. He stepped aside just in time for his companion to vomit all the beer onto the floor. The innkeeper came over, furious, and began to shake the drunk awake, forcing him to clean up the mess he had made.

Trunk left a few coins on the table and slipped away. He was heading toward the tailor’s shop in the district of St. Stephen.

The horses had been stabled at the inn, and the young men wandered the city in awe. It was larger than Kuttenberg, and at every corner they were surprised by a new smell, a new song, or fabrics in colors they had never seen before.

They roamed the cobbled streets until their feet ached and stopped to rest at a fountain. Hans wet his hair and combed it back, making it shine even more under the sun. Henry stared, mesmerized by every inch of his face, knowing that it belonged to him and no one else.

—I… want to apologize for the other night —he said, eyes lowered, voice barely audible—. I think I hurt you.

Hans looked at him, surprised. Henry had never hurt him, and it pained him to see him feel guilty over something that hadn’t happened.

—I already told you I was fine. Why do you keep tormenting yourself?

Henry didn’t answer, ashamed.

—Henry, look at me.

He cupped his cheek in his hand and made him meet his gaze. His eyes radiated sincerity.

—Truly, you didn’t hurt me. It's true the horse’s motion was a bit uncomfortable… but that’s all. I’m perfectly fine.

A family burst into the small square where the fountain stood, and Hans immediately withdrew his hand from Henry’s face, as if he had touched burning coals. The young squire still wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t want to ruin his lord’s day. He would follow him anywhere, and next time, he would be more careful.

They enjoyed the rest of the afternoon near the cathedral. They bought sweets to quiet their hunger, and as dusk fell, they returned to the tavern for dinner and drinks. They hadn’t had a good wine since leaving Rattay, and they were quite thirsty.

The wine served at the tavern wasn’t bad at all. It was decent even by a noble’s standards and Hans didn’t complain. He paid for several rounds, and both he and his squire quickly flushed red. Laughter echoed through the tavern, the serving girls came and went, and the din was deafening.

When Henry started to feel his words tangling on his tongue, he knew it was time to head to bed. He wasn’t drunk enough to collapse or ruin the night, but just enough to loosen up and let go.

—Time for bed, my lord… —he murmured with a mischievous smile that said more than his words.

—You’re right… I should listen to the wise advice of my squire more often —Hans replied, as a playful hand slid under the table to caress Henry’s knee.

They both smiled. Hans left some coins on the table, and together they climbed the stairs. They had been given the largest room in the tavern: a private tub, a wide, soft bed, and ornate decorations on the walls. A corner of heaven in the usual filth.

—Wow! —Henry exclaimed as he stepped inside, impressed.

—The innkeeper said it was the only room available. I understand why… with what it costs, few can afford it.

—But… there’s only one bed. Didn’t she find that odd?

Hans shrugged with feigned innocence.

—She apologized, but understood that my squire needed to sleep close by to protect me. —Henry raised an eyebrow.— Or maybe… we just didn’t quite understand each other… in German.

He didn’t dwell on it. He undressed with the ease of someone who no longer needed to hide. Wearing only his hose, his strong and defined body was outlined in the dim light. He threw himself at Henry, kissing him with urgency, caressing him with pent-up desire. Henry barely managed to undress; Hans was already doing it for him.

His fingers tangled in golden hair, then slid down his neck as their lips kept finding each other. Hans smelled of home, of firewood, of longing. He tasted like freedom.

They stripped off the rest of their clothes, and the moonlight filtering through the window bathed their naked bodies. They laughed softly, trying not to make the bed creak too loudly as they gave in to passion.

They gasped, kissed, sought each other with hands and with soul. Henry, exhausted but content, embraced him from behind as they caught their breath.

—I love you, Hans —he whispered against his back.

Hans remained silent for a moment, caressing Henry’s hand on his chest.

—I… love you too, Henry —he finally said. Now he understood that feeling that had once so deeply confused him.

They fell asleep despite the tavern’s noise that slipped through the cracks in the door. The moonlight had vanished behind clouds, and the silence in the street became unnerving.

A procession of torches stormed into the tavern. Armed men surrounded hooded figures, golden crosses hanging from their necks shining like daggers in the dark. It was late, and the patrons were too drunk to react to the intrusion.

The innkeeper screamed in fright when one of the armed men grabbed her by the arm and dragged her before a hooded figure. He didn’t ask many questions.

Outside, the torches and shouting had drawn the neighbors' attention. Without lighting their lamps, they watched silently through their windows.

Upstairs, the door to the room crashed down with two sharp blows. Henry and Hans awoke with a jolt, barely conscious. An instant later, armed men burst in violently.

—What’s happening!? What are you doing!? —Hans shouted, half-sitting up, just as two soldiers grabbed Henry by the hair and yanked him upright.

—HENRY!

—Get your hands off me! —Henry protested.

Two more men approached Hans and didn’t hesitate to strike him in the face to silence him. They tied his hands behind his back and held him until a hooded man entered, carrying a torch.

—I’m a noble! What are you doing!? They’ll hang you for this. Do you hear me?

The man lowered his hood. His face was stern, his gaze calculating. He raised the torch and surveyed the room: the disheveled bed, scattered clothes, the heat still lingering in the air.

Hans fell silent instantly. He recognized the robes, the cross, the symbol of a power that bowed to neither titles nor wealth. He swallowed hard, and his legs began to tremble. His threats would have no effect here. The man stepped closer and, with a grim expression, pronounced judgment.

—You are under arrest by the Holy Inquisition on suspicion of sodomy. Take them away!

The procession of inquisitors left the tavern with the two prisoners. They struggled, shouted, but it was no use. The sound of their bodies dragged across the wooden floor echoed through the inn. Silence flooded the streets, and no one dared to speak that night.

Chapter Text

Samuel woke up by the fireplace, on a bed of hay that had been prepared for him the night before. The smell of burnt wood had seeped into his skin, his clothes, and even the stones covering the floor. He sat up carefully, trying not to make any noise, and washed himself in the water basin in front of the pantry. Outside, a rooster crowed, announcing the start of a new day.

The family came down the stairs and greeted him warmly. It hadn’t been hard to find some distant relatives, especially being the grandson of the renowned Rabbi Jehuda. Soon, a cousin of his uncle appeared and offered him lodging without hesitation.

Samuel helped his hostess prepare breakfast for the children. Not long after, her husband appeared, already dressed in his merchant clothes.

—Good morning, Jacob. Thank you again for taking me in —Samuel said with a bow.

—Nonsense! —Jacob replied with a wave of his hand—. I know what happened in Kuttenberg… terrible. If we don’t support each other, we won’t survive.

A heavy silence, full of painful memories, settled over the room. The burning of the Jewish quarter in Kuttenberg was still an open wound in Samuel’s heart, one that would not heal anytime soon.

—Well… shall we go? I have to open the shop —Jacob said at last, breaking the silence—. I don’t want us to be late.

Samuel looked at him and nodded.

—I don’t want to waste your time. Thank you for letting me come along.

The children were starting to make a racket, bursting with energy after breakfast, and the two men found no reason to linger. They headed to Jacob’s shop, a small store that bought and sold jewelry and all sorts of trinkets. A more than profitable business in a large city like this. Jacob had agreed to let Samuel help him that morning; he wanted him to meet the clientele and perhaps draw in new business to his new settlement in Kolín. It was the least he could do for him.

The morning passed quietly. All kinds of customers passed through the store, from modest burghers to elegantly dressed nobles looking for a piece to impress their wives or lovers. Samuel managed to build good rapport with several Jewish merchants and with a few burghers who were intrigued by his story. He felt hopeful; he had the sense that, little by little, things might start to improve in Kolín.

Around midday, he began to notice something strange. Customers entered murmuring among themselves, more insistently each time. They seemed to share a secret that was spreading through the city like fire through dry straw, and Samuel couldn’t help but feel intrigued. He approached a burgher woman and her maid, and asked them what was going on.

—Shh! Lower your voice! —the woman said, alarmed, as if speaking the words aloud were dangerous—. The rumor keeps spreading… they say the Inquisition arrested two men last night at Zum Goldenen Hirsch. God protect us! Gelobt sei Christus —she added, crossing herself with a quick gesture.

At first, Samuel didn’t think much of it. But the name began to echo in his mind, and little by little, the reality hit him hard. ”The tavern”. That was where his brother and Sir Hans had stayed. Two men… arrested by the Inquisition. No, it couldn’t be…

Though the shiver running down his spine told him that yes, it could be.

Musa was enjoying a delicious lunch of dates stuffed with slices of pear. His friend Hakim al-Nasir had brought them from Damascus, and they were considered a true delicacy, reserved only for a lucky few. The sun blazed high in the sky, and Musa leaned out the window to gaze over the rooftops of the city. Vienna was just as he remembered… though not its people.

—I can’t believe you have to leave —Musa said with a solemn tone.

Hakim stood up and stretched his legs, pacing slowly around the room.

—You know how it is… The Church has gained so much power they no longer want us here. Doesn’t matter that we’ve shared our knowledge at the University, or advised the Duke himself —the sadness in his voice became more pronounced—. The Ottomans are getting closer, and they see us as one and the same… Such ignorance! Jāhiliyyah! —he spat the word with contempt.

Musa stepped away from the window and looked at his teacher with sorrow. Hakim had been his mentor for many years, the man who had taught him everything he knew about medicine and healing plants. It was Hakim’s brothers who had introduced him to philosophy, and when they died, already old, Musa inherited valuable manuscripts that would eventually lead him to the court of Sigismund.

—I’m heading to Constantinople with a group of Bohemians. Would you come with us? —He said it with such certainty that it made Hakim hesitate, though he gently shook his head with a kind smile.

—I couldn’t… not yet. I’ve been granted a few more months to train the city’s physicians. They want us gone, yes, but they want our knowledge to remain —he lifted the corner of his lip in a bitter smirk.

—You should leave now —Musa said, unable to hide his resentment.

Hakim relaxed again and sat down.

—No, we won’t. Our duty is to help people, and here we are still valued. Our name will remain carved into the foundations of this city… before the Ottomans reduce it to ashes.

Silence fell over the room. Both men imagined, with heavy hearts, the beautiful city consumed by fire and destruction. But they couldn’t allow themselves to be dragged down by hatred; they wished no harm upon Vienna or its people.

—But those are problems you shouldn’t worry about now, Musa —Hakim finally said, his tone lighter—. Tell me, have you visited the market at St. Stephen’s Square? I know a merchant who carries all kinds of spices from the Silk Road.

—Not yet, Master Hakim.

—Perfect! My pantry is practically empty… we’ll go to the market and restock. Nādir will come with us.

As if summoned by his name, a boy of barely fifteen appeared at the door and bowed to his master. Musa and Hakim looked at him in surprise, waiting for an explanation for the interruption.

—Master… there is a Jew at the door asking for your guest.

Hakim frowned and cast an inquisitive look at Musa. He hadn’t mentioned that one of those Bohemians was Jewish. Still, the respect he held for his former student was enough to set his prejudice aside, though he couldn’t help but glance warily at the young man who entered.

Samuel was out of breath, his face marked by deep concern. Musa immediately felt the weight of that anxiety.

—Samuel? What’s wrong? —he asked in a tense voice.

—Musa! We’ve got a serious problem!

The dampness crept under his skin like a slow poison. The stone floor was coated in a slimy mud, and the walls wept icy water at a steady, hypnotic rhythm. They had thrown Henry into the cell like an abused dog, and without further explanation, left him alone in the darkness.

The rusted chains bit into his wrists with a dull, merciless pain. Every time he moved, the iron tore his flesh a little more. He groped the links with numb fingers, already knowing what he would find: they were intact, closed with precision and strength. There was no escape.

He collapsed beside the wall, curling up like a frightened child. He wore only his linen underclothes, and in that damp cellar, the cold was a constant, ruthless punishment. He hugged himself, shivering. It wasn’t just the cold. It was fear, confusion... and guilt.

“Hans…”

The name slipped from his lips like a broken sigh.

How had they been discovered? They had been so careful, so discreet. Henry couldn’t shake the feeling that it was his fault, that somehow he had failed. Was Hans down here too, chained and alone, awaiting his turn under torture? He imagined him screaming, begging. The image tore something deep within. He covered his face with his hands, as if that could erase the thoughts, angry with his own imagination. A single tear, warm and humiliating, traced down his dirty cheek.

—I promised I’d protect you… —he muttered through broken breath—. I failed you, Hans.

This was no court intrigue, no noble family feud. Here, sharp words and lofty names meant nothing. This was the Inquisition, and they saw no people, only sins. Against that, there was no defense.

Hours passed, though it was hard to tell, as time had lost all meaning in the darkness. Then, a different sound shook him: the slow creak of a door opening. It startled Henry, who remained huddled against the wall, every muscle twitching. His body knew this was different. It still remembered the pain he had endured in the dungeons of Trostky, but somehow, this felt even worse.

The light of a torch sliced through the blackness like a blade. A cleric entered the cell, dressed in the dark robes of his order. His assistant, a burly man with a sword at his belt, hung the torch on the damp wall and placed a wooden stool. The cleric sat down unhurriedly, while the guard shut the door and posted himself beside it like an iron shadow.

—I am Frater Elias der Strenge —he said in a voice so calm it was crueller than any scream—. You and your lord stand accused of sodomy, heresy, and blasphemy. I am here to help you confess, and thus return to the Lord’s embrace. What have you to say?

The clink of rusted chains echoed in the chamber as Henry shifted, trying to ease his discomfort. Hans’s voice rang in his mind like a desperate echo: “Don’t say anything!”

Henry said nothing. His chest heaved with fear, but love weighed heavier still. He stayed silent, eyes fixed on the ground.

Frater Elias didn’t even flinch at the silence. They always confessed eventually. He reached under his robe and drew out some scrolls, reading them calmly before Henry. They were his safe-conducts… so he already knew who they were and where they came from.

—I’m afraid your Lord Capon won’t take long to confess, Henry of Skalitz.

—Don’t you dare hurt him or...

—Silence! —the cleric’s voice cracked like a whip—. Sodomy is an affront to God and to creation itself. And though both of you are guilty, there’s a difference between the one who takes and the one who receives. I am a just man, Henry, and I offer you a way out. Accuse your lover. Say he corrupted you, that he yielded to your passions. Save your soul and your life… before he does it first.

Henry’s muscles trembled, a mix of cold and dread. The man’s threats weren’t to be taken lightly, but that solution wasn’t even an option.

—If I confessed that sin —he whispered, voice trembling yet firm—… Lord Capon’s fate would be worse than death… I’ll never do it. We are innocent!

—Innocent? We found you sleeping together, barely clothed, and several witnesses claim to have seen you sinning. —His voice rose, near shouting—. You disgust me so deeply it pains me to offer you redemption!

—Witnesses?! —Henry snapped with a touch of indignation—. Impossible! They lie! Besides, they’d have to be nobles to accuse another noble of…

—Silence! —the cleric roared. With a small nod, his guard crossed the cell and struck Henry with the back of his gloved hand. The blow sent him sprawling. The metallic taste of blood mixed with fear.

What Henry said was true. For a noble to be accused, others of noble birth were required. But these trials were secret, and no inquisitor cared for social protocol. This was too grave a matter to leave in the hands of civil courts.

He took a deep breath to calm himself and tucked the scrolls back under his robe. He didn’t need them now. What he wanted was a confession.

—Very well, Henry of Skalitz. Divine Justice is painful. But not as painful as the eternal fire that awaits if you persist in lies. —He gestured to the guard, who pulled from a leather pouch several instruments of wood and metal. Henry recognized some. He had seen them in Trostky.

—I can destroy your body —Elias continued in a calm voice— if it means saving your soul. Will you confess your sins willingly?

The warning of coming pain was usually enough for prisoners to confess, but Henry wasn’t willing. His punishment might be far worse than torture, and he would never betray Hans to save himself. In truth, if he could, he would take all the blame just to spare Hans any suffering. But even that offered no guarantee. Confessing his relationship with his lord might not grant him mercy, he would still be guilty.

—I am innocent. We are innocent. Your witnesses lie. —The fire in Henry’s eyes would not be extinguished by mere threats.

Frater Elias smiled. A thin, almost imperceptible line, before his brow furrowed, turning stern and intimidating. Because in the end, they always confessed.

—Very well, then. Let us begin.

—It’s them, without a doubt. —said Samuel as he stepped out of the Zum Goldenen Hirsch tavern, the last place Hans and Henry had been seen. His face was tense with sorrow, and a pressure had begun to grow in his chest that he didn’t know how to ease.—What are we going to do?

Musa remained calm, thoughtful, going over the situation in his mind. Samuel paced back and forth in the street, agitated, kicking at the stones in his path. He clutched at his head, muttering something in Hebrew, then let his hands fall again.

—Samuel, calm yourself. —Musa ordered. The hysteria was starting to wear on his nerves.

—How can I calm down, Musa? The Inquisition has taken them! Do you have any idea what they’ll… what they’ll do to them? —he asked, voice cracking.

Musa was no stranger to the brutality of the institution. Many of the accused didn’t end up at the stake, but most confessed to crimes under torture and were publicly humiliated to achieve redemption. However, the accusation against their friends was far more serious than usual.

—Let’s go back to the square. Maybe your friend Jacob has already found out who turned them in. —he suggested, trying to maintain composure.

Samuel swallowed hard and nodded. They set off toward the square at a near run until they reached Jacob’s shop. As soon as he saw them, Jacob motioned for them to follow him to the back. It sparked a flicker of hope in Samuel.

—I can’t say for sure, but I believe it was the tailor, Matthias. The Church has been tormenting him for a while now, ever since… well… ever since they burned his daughter for witchcraft. —Sam and Musa remained silent.—Yesterday, a decree was published stating that he is now considered a good Christian, reconciled with the Church, and will no longer be questioned.

—But why would he accuse two strangers of such a serious crime? How could they believe him? —Musa interrupted.

Sam remained silent. His eyes had never wanted to see it, but his heart had always known. Henry’s relationship with his lord was very close. Too close. Perhaps the love he held for him went far beyond duty and honor. Perhaps he truly loved his lord. Was that even possible? And what if they were being accused of something that wasn’t a lie?

That thought only deepened Samuel’s worry. He didn’t care what his brother did in the privacy of his bed or with whom, but if it was true, then the situation was far more dangerous than it seemed. Neither he nor Hans would make it out alive.

—Musa. —he called his attention, and continued, a threat blooming across his face.—Let’s go talk to the tailor.

The grunts of effort echoed against the damp stones of the basement, blending with the creak of the taut rope and the faint groan of the pulley turning. The cold clung to his bones like a hungry animal, but Henry barely felt it: all his attention was on not giving in. He kept his gaze fixed on the floor tiles, focused on not trembling, not showing fear, not breaking.

Frater Elias watched him with an unreadable expression, repeating once more the same accusations. His voice, deep and dry, struck the silence like hammer blows of blind faith.

—Confess, Henry of Skalitz. Your soul can still be saved. Don’t make this harder.

But Henry remained silent, clinging to the only power he had left: his silence.

The inquisitor sighed, tired of the resistance. He made a slight gesture with his hand.

—Higher.

The guard nodded and pulled the rope again.

Henry raised his eyes, this time not with courage, but with a sudden flash of panic. It was a silent plea, so human that for a moment even the torch seemed to flicker with pity. But the cleric did not flinch.

He felt the air leave his lungs as the rope pulled his arms tied behind his back upwards, forcing his shoulders to twist at an unnatural angle. He tried to support his own weight with his legs, his arm muscles tense like bowstrings, but it wasn’t enough. His breathing broke into irregular gasps. Sweat ran down his back, cold, almost icy.

The muscles began to fail. An uncontrollable tremor shook his arms as his body writhed like a trapped animal. The pain came first as a stabbing, then as a burning fire. Henry closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. Don’t scream. Don’t scream. No...

The dry crack of the joint giving way was like a shot in the dark. The scream that followed was uncontrollable: gut-wrenching, full of helpless rage. His right shoulder had given out, dislocated by the brutal tension. The left barely survived.

The inquisitor raised a hand.

—Lower him.

The guard slackened the rope, and Henry fell like a soulless sack, hitting the floor with a muffled groan. His right arm hung uselessly to one side, and the left barely supported it. His whole body trembled, not only from the pain but from the rage of knowing himself so vulnerable.

Frater Elias stepped forward, leaning with feigned compassion.

—Do you wish to confess now? Did you blaspheme? Did you give yourself to the sin of the flesh with your lord?

Silence. Only the sound of Henry’s labored breathing, the wet brush of a tear running down his cheek, and the distant murmur of the wind beyond the stone walls.

He said nothing. Not because he couldn’t. But because he wouldn’t.

The cleric began to feel annoyed by the prisoner’s stubbornness. Normally, he didn’t have to go this far to extract a confession. This boy was complicating his quiet day of work. It was time to try another method.

Henry’s muffled moans mixed with the intermittent sound of water dripping from some crack in the ceiling. Frater Elias approached holding a cup of water between his hands. He held it before him as if it were a sacred chalice.

—Are you thirsty, Henry? —he asked with a serene, almost compassionate smile.

Henry lifted his head with effort. His lips were cracked and his throat dry. He nodded weakly.

Elias offered it to him… and when the cup touched his lips, he pulled it away.

—Confess first. Just one word. One sin.

Henry looked at him silently, his eyes swollen from fatigue, his arms hanging behind his back, still numb from the brutal pull of the pulley. The cleric sighed and took a sip of the water himself. Then he handed it to the guard, who went to a corner of the basement where a bucket of water rested.

The guard brought it close to Henry and placed it beside him. He turned the young man onto his back without much effort. Grabbing his dislocated arm was enough to make the prisoner obey. He covered his face with a coarse cloth and began to pour water slowly over him from the bucket.

At first, it was just a cold tickle. But soon, the water seeped into his nose, his throat, and his lungs. Henry began to shake, drowning in a liquid void. The cloth absorbed the water and took his breath away, as if ripping it out with every drop. He tried to scream, but only coughed desperately, spitting foam, kicking.

—Enough! —ordered Elias. The guard stopped the torture.

The cleric knelt beside Henry, gently removed the cloth, and let him breathe. Henry gasped, trembling. His face was pale.

—Henry of Skalitz… I do not want to destroy your body, but I will. Do you want to confess now?

Henry shook his head, barely conscious, still coughing. Frater Elias sighed with resignation. This was going to take longer than he thought.

The sun had dipped so low it was already hiding behind the rooftops of the buildings. Musa and Samuel entered the tailor Matthias’s shop, even though it was closing time. It was an advantage, as they didn’t want to run into more people than necessary.

They crossed the threshold and found the tailor with his back turned, gathering the fabrics from the counter.

—We’re closing, you can come back tomorrow if you want… —his breath caught as he turned and saw Musa. He was sure they weren’t customers. —Who are you? What do you want? —he asked, frightened.

Samuel and Musa exchanged a loaded look of understanding. It was clear Matthias wouldn’t talk willingly. Musa slid the door bolt shut and stood by his side, arms crossed, watching to make sure no one entered or left. Samuel approached Matthias threateningly and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, angry at what the man had caused.

—The men who were arrested last night! It was you, wasn’t it? How could they believe such a lie? —he paused, seeing the genuine fear on his face. —Why did you do it!?

Matthias raised his hands, begging for mercy. He started to whimper in fear and Samuel released his grip, pushing him against the wall. —Talk!

—I… I… a man came. He offered me a good deal for… the Church. I gave him money. I… —his stammering made Samuel lose patience.

He stepped closer to the tailor, this time with a knife in hand, pressing it to his neck. Matthias let out a terrified scream and begged for his life.

—Stop saying nonsense. I want to know the truth.

The man closed his eyes, terrified. If he wanted to leave alive, he had to calm down; these two men only wanted information. He sighed deeply, several times, before trying to speak again.

—The Church… they… burned my daughter. They said she was a witch. —Samuel moved the knife aside, a trace of compassion in his eyes. —They’ve tormented me since. If I… helped them, maybe they’d leave me alone. Then this man came, told me what he could offer the Inquisition, and I paid for his testimony. I… reported the men, and the Church forgave me.

—Who came? Who is this man? —Samuel demanded to know.

—I don’t know… a traveler. He called himself Trunk. —the name startled Sam. —I paid him well for what he saw, we went together to the monastery to report it.

Samuel, angry, kicked the first thing he saw: a basket full of fabric scraps. He shouted in rage and began pacing from corner to corner, like a trapped dog.

—Where is Trunk now?

—He… left the city, sir. I saw him off myself at the door. —the tailor spoke in a whisper.

Sam wanted to punch the wall but held back. Maybe the fact that Trunk had left wasn’t as bad as it seemed. He already had the money he wanted so badly, and now he would finally leave them alone. In reality, it was one less problem… but it didn’t make up for the ones he’d caused.

—What are we going to do now? —Musa whispered into Sam’s ear, careful that Matthias couldn’t hear.

Seeing that black man whisper to his companion filled Matthias with a terror he had never felt before. He couldn’t help but stammer again.

—Are you… are you going to… kill me? —tears ran down his face, seized by panic.

Musa looked at him with his penetrating, bulging black eyes. He couldn’t help but smile. He found it amusing that he was afraid of him just because of his appearance. —Do you know where they’re holding the prisoners?

Samuel looked at Matthias, impatient for an answer. —Well, I… had to see them to swear it was them.

The spark of hope blossomed again in the eyes of Samuel and Musa.

—Show us.

The air didn’t smell of rot, but of confinement. Hans’s cell was larger, with a coarse mattress, a worn blanket, and a bucket of murky water no one had bothered to change. He wasn’t chained, at least, not yet.

He nervously moved his leg, his face buried in his hands from despair. He couldn’t stop thinking about Henry. Since they were separated, his mind hadn’t rested. Were they already torturing him? Had they gotten a confession out of him? Had he screamed his name? Not for betrayal, he would never think that of Henry, but from pain, from desperation. They knew each other well enough to know their limits. And Henry… had a strong soul but a body full of scars.

Hans closed his eyes tightly. Every time he did, he saw him chained, trembling, covered in blood. He saw him calling out through tears. “Say nothing”, Hans had whispered to him before being dragged down the stairs. That look, so full of love and terror, haunted him.

A metallic click interrupted his torment. The door opened quietly. No screams, no raised torches. Just a tall, elegant figure, with a serpent’s smile.

—Lord Capon, I am Pater Nicolaus of Wien, —greeted the inquisitor with a calculated bow—. I hope the comforts haven’t made you forget you are under accusation.

—Comforts? —Hans asked indignantly, raising an eyebrow. He straightened slowly. His back cracked. Not sleeping and not knowing were slower tortures than the whip. —Where is my squire?

The inquisitor smiled as if he had expected that very question.

—Receiving proper attention. He is a strong boy. But no one stays that way forever.

Hans swallowed hard. The suggestion of mistreatment towards Henry fell like a slab on his chest, almost suffocating him.

—I am not here to break anyone, Sir Hans. I am here to save souls —he carefully sat in a chair brought by one of his assistants—. Yours, in particular. And that of that young man so… loyal. But loyalty, when misguided, is another form of pride. Don’t you agree?

Hans didn’t answer. He knew the game they were playing.

—I suggest you confess voluntarily, as soon as possible, —the inquisitor continued, with a calm that hurt—. Confess that Henry seduced you. Say it was he who trapped you in his arms and confused you with his carnal games. You will undergo penance and be forgiven. He, well… his condition doesn’t leave much room, but perhaps if you cooperate, we can offer him a swift death.

Hans clenched his fists. The floor beneath his feet seemed to tilt.

—And if I don’t?

—Then he will be the one to blame you. Maybe he already has. Maybe right now he’s begging for his life, handing you over on a silver platter.

—He won’t —Hans replied, with dangerous certainty—. Never.

—Do you have such faith in him? —the inquisitor narrowed his eyes—. Even knowing what we will do to him if he doesn’t speak?

Hans swallowed slowly.

—Yes.

The word floated in the cell like a sentence. Nicolaus smoothed his robe with deliberate slowness. He brought in a guard carrying a wooden box. He opened it slowly and took out a leather pouch, dropping it on the table. Its contents clinked with a metallic sound: blades, pincers, small hooks, and something that looked like a long needle with an iron handle. Hans swallowed hard.

—See this? These are holy instruments, designed not to punish but to purify. Every wound, every tear, is an opportunity to cleanse your soul… before the eternal fire consumes you.

He leaned in until they were face to face.

—Do you think that because you are noble you can save yourself from punishment? Have you never heard of Giovanni de Giovanni? —Hans shook his head.— A young noble from Florence, accused of passive sodomy and found guilty. He was paraded on a donkey, castrated, and his anus was burned with a red-hot iron.

Hans shuddered. That punishment reflected the severity with which sodomy accusations were dealt. He felt trapped.

—If you do not accuse your squire, Lord Capon, you will be examined. Sodomy leaves certain… marks.

The terror on his face betrayed him. Henry’s words apologizing for hurting him that other night echoed in his head like condemning sentences. If they examined him… they would know. There would be no redemption possible.

Nicolaus smiled at Hans’s broken expression. Now he knew which keys to keep pressing. He stood and placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder, offering understanding. He would crumble any moment now.

—Well… What will you do? Will you accuse your squire? Do you confess willingly to having been deceived and beg mercy for your sin?

The weight of his words crushed Hans’s heart. A tear ran down his cheek and he stopped breathing without realizing it. The answer to Nicolaus came from his mouth with more effort than he imagined.

Chapter Text

Sam was leaning against the wall of the room, tossing his knife into the air and catching it with pinpoint precision. He was restless, and that activity forced him to concentrate, to not lose control while Musa spoke with his master.

He knew he wasn’t welcome, so he stayed silent, trying to go unnoticed. His mind wandered again and again toward the window, where the full moon lit up the night sky. His thoughts returned to his brother, and the knife’s tip lightly pricked his fingers.

—Ouch —he muttered.

He focused again and tossed the weapon into the air.

—Undoubtedly, the best option is Maria am Gestade —said Master Hakim—. It’s more secluded, smaller, and you’ll be able to sneak in more easily.

Sam frowned. He couldn’t stay quiet any longer.

—What about the Cathedral? —The Cathedral —Hakim sighed, annoyed— will have to wait.

—But Master, they told us our friends were taken separately. We can’t rescue one and leave the other behind. That would be their end —Musa cut in, voicing both his own worries and Sam’s, hoping to avoid another interruption.

—For now, it’s your only option. You must act before it’s too late —he sighed, seeing the concern on his pupil’s face. He had never seen him like this—. Don’t lose hope. I’ll stay in the Library looking for a way into St. Stephen’s. Nadir will help me. Rest now, you’ll need it.

—Thank you for your help, Master Hakim —Musa bowed and took Sam by the arm to lead him to another room.

They walked down the corridor in silence, feeling the weight of the situation and bracing for what was to come. They reached the bedroom beside the Library and entered calmly.

—I don’t think I can sleep, Musa —said Sam, sitting on the bed, staring at the wall.

—I know what you’re thinking, Samuel. It’s pointless to try anything now. The church doors are closed. We’ll try in the morning.

Sam didn’t answer.

—Do you want something to help you sleep? I can prepare you a potion.

Sam shook his head.

—Maybe I should go back to the tailor and take out his other eye

He clenched his fists unconsciously, remembering the helplessness he felt facing the man responsible for his brother’s suffering.

—If you do that, the guards will arrest you, and no one will be able to rescue Henry or his young lord. Now, sleep.

Sam sighed. Why did Musa always have to be so… logical? He always acted with calm, analyzing the situation with cold precision. Sam, on the other hand, felt fire in his veins. Every muscle in his body screamed for action. He wanted to storm that church and fight his way through with a sword until he saw his brother safe and sound. But, as much as he hated to admit it, Musa was right. He closed his eyes and didn’t sleep all night.

The first rays of sunlight began to light the towers of Maria am Gestade’s facade, two tall spires rising among the buildings. At their base, a staircase of ten steps led to a hexagonal portico covered by a half-dome. The stained glass windows on the north wall were still under construction, as were the walls surrounding the old wooden chapel.

Two merchants approached the church doors under the dim morning light, ready to negotiate prices for exotic crystals brought from Granada and Bohemia. The knocks echoed inside, and the parish priest approached the entrance, still yawning. He opened the small slit in the door and had to rub his eyes, thinking his vision had deceived him. No, it was real. A man with very dark skin was standing at the church’s threshold.

—Who are you? What do you want? —he asked with mild irritation.

—My name is Zbyněk, and this is Hasan ibn Sahl, from the majestic Kingdom of Granada. We come on behalf of the Glaser Guild to negotiate new imported glass, more vibrant than any seen before —Sam tried a cordial smile—. They are manufactured in Bohemia. I serve as my lord Hasan’s translator. May we speak with the Custodian?

The priest stopped listening after the first sentence. He was tired of endless construction and expensive materials that only delayed the temple’s completion. He sighed and, without much enthusiasm, opened the door to let them in. He allowed the dark-skinned man to enter only because he wore a cross around his neck. He must be a Christian convert, the priest had seen some before.

—Good morning, Mister Zbyněk and… company. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to the Custodian’s office.

The priest dragged his feet, leaving behind an odd rhythm. Sam and Musa discreetly scanned every corner, looking for a door, any clue that would lead them to the captive. Nothing. The scaffolding hid any trace.

Sam walked right behind the priest and looked at Musa in desperation. Musa shook his head, begging him to wait, but Sam had lost his patience long before entering that church. He slipped his hand under his robe, unsheathed a hidden dagger, and grabbed the priest from behind, covering his mouth with one hand and pressing the blade to his throat.

—Listen closely, monk —he whispered threateningly—. We know the Inquisition is holding a prisoner here. You’re going to take us to him.

Musa rushed forward, held his arms, and glared at him. The priest, trembling, didn’t resist. Sam slightly lowered his hand to let him speak.

—I… I don’t know anything about that… please! —he begged too loudly. The echo bounced off the walls. Everyone held their breath.

—I won’t ask again —Sam pressed the dagger harder, cutting the skin and staining the blade red—. Where is the Inquisitor’s prisoner? Where!?

Musa pleaded for him to lower his voice. He could see the bloodlust in Sam’s eyes, the burning desire to save his brother, the rage at not being able to protect those he loved. He knew he’d slit the priest’s throat if he didn’t get answers.

But it wouldn’t be necessary. That man just wanted to return to his parish routine. He didn’t like the Inquisition claiming the cellars as their own either. He had to watch what he said, any slip could cost him dearly. He had no reason to protect those fanatics. Not in Mary’s house.

He nodded, asking for permission to speak. Sam lowered his hand, but kept the knife in place.

—They’re in the cellar… the Inquisitor and his man-at-arms. Yes… they brought in a young man two nights ago. His screams woke the entire church. Please, sir…

—How do we get to the cellar? —Musa asked, unable to hide the hope in his voice.

The priest pointed to a scaffold near the altar. —Behind it, there’s a door. Then go all the way down, turn right, and descend through another arch.

Sam didn’t release the priest. He saw the doorframe between the scaffolding sheets. He knew he was telling the truth.

—And what do we do with you? —he asked, as if the threat were already a promise.

—Please! —the priest begged—. That won’t be necessary… I… I’ll help you. If the Inquisitor and his man disappeared, this church would know peace again.

Sam raised an eyebrow, surprised.

—Take these keys. They open all the doors down to the cellar. Once there… I can’t help you anymore.

He pulled a ring of iron keys from his robe and handed it to Musa, who took it without hesitation. The priest prayed silently for the Virgin to spare his life.

Sam remained still, holding him. Hatred clouded his mind. He wanted to kill him, but everything around him begged him not to. He wasn’t an executioner. Besides, that man had helped them. Killing him would be an act of pointless cruelty.

A click echoed behind the altar. Musa had managed to open the door. Sam sighed in relief. The priest had told the truth. He pulled the knife away and ran to join Musa, leaving the priest bewildered in the middle of the chapel. With tearful eyes, the priest knelt and thanked the Virgin for having interceded for him.

The anguished groans of Henry faded between the stone walls of his cell, reverberating through the air like echoes of unbearable suffering. They had left him alone for what he guessed was the night, and in that time, with reckless determination, he had tried to relocate his right arm on his own.

He couldn’t recall ever feeling such pain. It had been so sharp, so excruciating, that he lost consciousness for a moment. When he came to, he knew he had done it. The blood was flowing again through his arm, and though the shoulder was red, swollen, and completely immobile, at least it no longer hung lifeless at his side.

It had been an atrocity, but a necessary one. Had he not set it back in place, he might well have lost it forever.

The sound of the door slamming echoed through the dungeon, and Henry's body trembled. Inquisitor Elias was back from his deep and peaceful rest, ready to resume the interrogation.

He sat on his usual stool, as if picking up a daily routine, and repeated the same deceitful questions with which he had tormented Henry again and again. Over and over, he demanded a confession, never getting one in return.

He threatened more pain, but Henry was already living in it. He tried to deceive him with false words, empty promises of freeing Hans, but Henry no longer believed anything. His lord had ordered him to “say nothing”, and he would obey. Even if it cost him his life.

—Hermann, I’m beginning to lose my patience —said Elias to the guard—. What do you make of the boy?

—Calm —replied the guard firmly.

—Yes, isn’t he? A strong boy. He even reset his own arm! Perhaps we should put it back the way it was.

Henry instinctively brought his left hand to his right shoulder in a protective gesture. He didn’t want to beg, he knew it was useless, but neither was he willing to give in.

—Come now, boy… don’t be stupid. The only way out of this room is through a confession. You decide how much it has to hurt.

And he knew that. But it wasn’t just his life at stake, it was Hans’ as well. If he confessed, his lord would be guilty too. He couldn’t bear the thought of watching him be executed in the square because of him. That was a burden he would not accept.

—I’ve already told you. We are innocent —he answered, defiance in his eyes—. How can you be so sure your witnesses aren’t lying?

—Because they’re decent Christians who swore before God! But… why am I even responding to you? —Elias gave a malicious smile—. You sodomites disgust me even more than heretics. You offend God every time you…

—I am innocent! My lord and I both.

—Silence! —The inquisitor scowled, irritated by the sinner’s insolence—. Hermann, heat the tongs.

The guard left the room and returned with a cauldron full of glowing embers. Resting on top were iron tongs. Henry followed every movement with wary, defiant eyes, but he couldn’t hide the tremor running through his body, seized by fear.

Hermann stepped forward and lifted his wrists, chaining them above his head to an iron ring in the wall. Henry cried out in pain as his dislocated arm was forced upward. He couldn’t help it. Elias watched him with a cruel smile, as if he were savoring every second of the suffering.

—Sodomy is among the gravest offenses against God and, as such, deserves the harshest punishments.

With a nod, without a word, Elias signaled the guard. He knew exactly what to do. He took the red-hot tongs and approached Henry. Henry tried to move, to twist away, but he was completely restrained.

—Just one for now, Hermann. —Elias commanded.

The guard nodded. With a steady hand, he gripped the pinky finger of Henry’s left hand. With the other, he brought the tongs close and pressed them just beneath the nail. The stench of burnt flesh filled the air as Henry’s screams echoed through the room.

Hermann gripped the nail tightly and began to pull. The flesh tore slowly, barely any blood flowing. The heat of the tongs cauterized the wound as it opened. One final yank, and the blackened nail came loose in the tongs’ grasp. The guard gave Henry a couple of slaps on his sweat-drenched, reddened cheek. Henry had clenched his jaw so hard that his teeth now ached.

He could feel the throb in the tip of his finger and gagged when he saw the charred nail fall to the ground right in front of him. Brother Elias remained unmoved, his face calm, full of resolve.

—Do you confess your crime, Henry?

He didn’t answer. He didn’t even try. Sweat poured down his forehead and, for a moment, he blacked out. The pain coursing through his body had become unbearable, and for the first time, thoughts of surrender and confession began to creep in.

—Continue, Hermann —Elias ordered without even looking at him.

The guard grabbed another finger and Henry held his breath. This time, he would try not to clench his teeth so hard, he feared they might break. He already felt the searing heat of the tongs near his hand when a sudden crash interrupted them.

A door slammed violently, shattering the oppressive silence. Footsteps echoed down the stairs. Hermann paused. Elias turned his head toward the hallway. Henry let out a trembling sigh. Someone was coming.

After a few tense seconds, Brother Elias rose from his stool.

—Pater Nicolaus? What are you doing here?

Henry could barely focus, but he saw another figure dressed in the same robes as his torturer. The newcomer whispered something into Elias’ ear. His expression hardened, and he shot Henry a furious look, as if he longed to beat him himself.

Nicolaus had a black eye and a shallow cut on his neck. It was clear he had been attacked, but Henry’s exhausted mind couldn’t connect the dots. He didn’t recognize the man who had taken Hans.

—Hermann, you can put down the tongs for now —Elias said with a tense voice—. The sinner wishes to confess. It’s only natural he can’t sleep.

Henry didn’t understand. The guard unchained him from the wall, and he collapsed to the floor like a lifeless sack. His head spun, and he had no strength to get up. Then, Elias dictated his new punishment.

—No food, no water. Make sure he doesn’t sleep for two… no, three days. Keep him on his feet if you must. I’ll return Monday… and I’ll have a confession. By then, he may not even remember what he’s supposed to tell us.

Both inquisitors left the dark, damp dungeon. Henry was left alone with Hermann, who would not take his eyes off him. Three days without sleep? They didn’t want to break his body, they wanted to destroy his mind.

Sam and Musa were rushing down the stairs to the basement. Every minute counted, and they were ready to tear everything down. They reached a small arch, beyond which the light of a torch could be seen. Musa went in first.

They found themselves in a narrow, not very long corridor, lit only by a solitary torch. Beneath it, a man in monk’s robes. Musa lunged at him, cornered him against the wall, and put a knife to his neck.

Sam ran past them and threw himself at the only guard watching over a door. They had been so quick that he had no time to react. Sam stabbed his dagger into his neck and held his arms while he bled out and died. He did not look away for a second. He wanted to see how life left that filthy torturer.

He slowly laid the body on the ground and looked into the cell the man had been guarding. A young man with golden hair was lying face down on what resembled a bed, his torso bare. He knew he was alive only by the movement of his breathing. He was covered in black and blue bruises, and his back… marked by dozens of lacerations. A whip, perhaps, or a rod.

Sam clenched his fist, gathering all the rage boiling inside him. He turned his gaze away from the cell and went to the inquisitor Musa had cornered. Without warning, he punched him in the face, slightly cutting himself with Musa’s knife. He grabbed him by the collar of his robe and lifted him off the ground with his strength.

—Give me the keys! Now!

Nicolaus didn’t hesitate for a second. He had seen too much suffering in his life to want to experience it himself. He put a hand inside his robe and soon handed the key to the men.

Sam took it and hurried to open the cell. When the lock finally gave way and urgency pressed, Nicolaus took the opportunity to elbow Musa in the stomach, leaving him immobile for a few seconds. Just enough to escape.

—Sakhkha! Sam, he got away!

—Let him go —Sam replied—. I need your help, now

It took Musa a few seconds to catch his breath, and then he entered the cell with Sam. The smell inside was unpleasant, stale, and he couldn’t help a grimace of disgust. But he quickly forgot it upon seeing Hans lying on the bed, delirious from pain.

—Capon! Can you hear me? Sir Hans! —Samuel was shaking the young man’s shoulders, trying to wake him.

Hans slowly opened his eyes, confused. He looked around without quite understanding that he was being rescued. He tried to sit up, but the pain stopped him. He lay back down, breathing in short gasps.

—Where… is… Henry? —he managed to say in a thread of voice—. Is he all right?

Hans’s concern for his brother softened Samuel’s heart. He wished he could tell him Henry was fine, but he didn’t know, and he doubted it. He clenched his fist again.

—Sir Hans, we need to get you out of here. Try… not to scream too much.

Musa came closer, and together they lifted him. Surprisingly, Hans didn’t scream or complain too much, although it was clear he was suffering. His sweaty, flushed face betrayed the effort he made not to collapse.

—Can he walk? —Musa asked, visibly worried.

Hans placed his feet on the floor and tried to take several steps. On the third, his legs gave out, but Sam caught him before he could fall to his knees and hurt himself.

—He can move. That’s good. We’ll carry him between us. Help me, Musa.

They placed themselves on either side of Hans, held him under the arms, and brought him up the stairs. The church remained silent, and the priest continued praying to the Virgin on the floor. Hans limped, but he could follow them, leaning all his weight on them. They left Maria am Gestade and did not look back.

Hours later, Hans was lying on a bed next to Master Hakim’s library. Musa had prepared an anti-inflammatory ointment for the lacerations on his back, and Sam was applying it carefully. His rough fingers tried to barely touch Hans’s wounded skin, and still, Hans shuddered every time he felt the ointment’s coolness.

—I’m sorry… I’m doing the best I can —Sam apologized.

Musa watched from the doorway and knew it wouldn’t be enough.

—I’ll make more. I’ll also prepare some decoctions… it’ll take a while —he said, and left down the corridor, leaving them alone.

Sam continued applying the ointment with extreme delicacy, more than he ever thought he had. Hans was face down, his head buried in the pillow, and still, Sam knew he was crying. He said nothing. He kept applying the ointment in silence.

Just by bringing his fingers close, Sam could feel the heat emanating from the reddened back. The inflammation raised the temperature, but Hans was fighting to keep the fever at bay.

—Why did you come for me, Sam? You should have rescued Henry! —he reproached, his voice trembling, ignoring his own suffering.

Sam sighed. Sooner or later he’d have to tell him the truth, and even though he didn’t want to do it in such a vulnerable moment, it was for the best.

—It’s impossible to rescue Henry —he said firmly—. They’re keeping him in St. Stephen’s Cathedral.

Hans remained silent, motionless. There was no need to look at his face to see the fear in his eyes. He knew what that meant, the cathedral was impregnable.

—Besides, I owe you my life, Sir Hans —Sam continued—. If I couldn’t save my brother, at least… I wasn’t going to let you rot in the dungeons of bloodthirsty inquisitors.

Hans still didn’t speak. He cried in silence, whether from the pain in his back or his heart. The weight of reality was too crushing to ignore.

Sam frowned upon seeing Capon’s state. He would never have imagined they could erase that joy and arrogance that defined him. It felt strange… healing his wounds and not receiving condescension in return, but sincere gratitude. They had brutalized Hans despite him being a noble… he couldn’t even imagine what they were doing to his brother.

The ointment ran out. It hadn’t covered even half of his back, but it was enough to start bringing some relief. He covered the rest with cool, damp cloths.

—T-thank you, Sam.

They both remained silent. Sam saw the cruelty of mankind reflected in Capon’s back. What was all that suffering for? That question, or maybe a deeper curiosity, had haunted him since he had learned his friends’ fate. He wanted to know, but he couldn’t find the resolve to ask.

Not seeing his face made it easier. He needed to understand the nature of those men. To know if they were suffering for a lie… or for a truth.

—Capon… —the silence that followed his name seemed to contain all the doubts that had plagued Sam until then—. Is it… true?

Hans turned slightly. He knew exactly what he meant. He was no longer crying, but the tears had left a clean streak through the dirt on his face. They looked into each other’s eyes, and he couldn’t lie to him.

—If it were true… would you see us differently? Would you consider us… less of men? Freaks, maybe?

It wasn’t a confession, but neither a denial. Sam searched deep inside his soul not to lie to Hans, nor to himself. He wanted to know what he truly thought. He didn’t remember the rabbi preaching hate toward men who loved other men. He didn’t quite understand where his rejection came from, maybe from society. He forced himself to feel that hate, but he couldn’t, because it wasn’t real. Maybe he had always known.

The words came out of his mouth as if they had always been there.

—I don’t care who takes my brother to bed. As long as they don’t hurt anyone and… well, that they’re discreet.

Hans smiled, relieved. A burden shared was less heavy.

—It’s more complex than that, Sam. It’s not about fun or depravity. The affection and respect between a squire and his lord have always been very deep, but me and Henry…

He couldn’t continue. He was unable to express his feelings in words.

—You love each other? —Sam asked, without a trace of shame.

Hans nodded shyly and hid his face in the pillow again, his cheeks burning. He felt vulnerable showing his true self to someone who wasn’t Henry, afraid of being judged, of being… rejected.

—I can understand it, Sir Hans. I truly do —Sam said. He paused, as if he wanted to add something else, but said nothing more.

Hans couldn’t stop more tears from escaping his eyes. Sam’s understanding meant more to him than he had imagined. That boy he had hated, envied, and scorned… now was his greatest confidant. His friend.

—Now… will you tell me what happened? Did you confess anything?

—If I had confessed, my back wouldn’t be like this —Sam swallowed hard, uncomfortable with the obvious—. Damn it… they… they examined me —he buried his face even deeper in the pillow, overwhelmed with shame—. They saw all my intimacies and noticed signs of… well. Don’t make me say it.

—I won’t, sir.

Hans took a deep breath.

—They threatened me with horrible things I won’t repeat here. But I didn’t want to confess. I couldn’t. They would kill me and Henry in the cruelest way… and I couldn’t let that happen. I’d give my life for him if that could save him, but that’s not what the Inquisition wants.

Sam remained silent. The conviction with which Hans spoke… made the love he felt for Henry clear. A true love, a suffering they had taken advantage of.

—Truly, Sam. We must rescue Henry! Now that I’ve escaped… No, no! I can’t even think about it! —he cried, burying his face in the pillow, no longer from shame, but to muffle his screams of pain.

—Sir Hans —Sam tried to calm him, resting his hand on his shoulder—. I don’t know how… but we will do it.

Chapter Text

The bright blue eyes stared out the window, getting lost among the thousands of stars beginning to appear in the sky. Another night was beginning, another day Henry remained far from him, imprisoned and mistreated.

He wanted to cry, but there were no tears left to shed. His anguish mixed with bottled-up rage, with the desire for revenge and justice. They had humiliated and tortured him, but none of that compared to the pain of having Henry taken from him by force. The uncertainty of what they might be doing to him was the hardest to bear.

Hans still felt heat on his back, but whatever Musa had prepared, it was nearly miraculous. He could move with relative ease, as long as he avoided sudden movements, and his muscles responded. “Good.” He was already thinking about wielding his sword against those who had hurt him.

Sam entered the room with a warm cup in hand. He was surprised to see Hans standing by the window, as if the day before he hadn't been delirious with pain.

—Sir Hans? Are you all right? —he asked, concerned, placing the cup on a small side table.

Hans turned and smiled at him. He was glad to see him. Any past grievances he may have had with Sam seemed to have completely vanished. He now clearly saw the good man Samuel was, the love and respect he felt for Henry, and his deep sense of loyalty. After all, he had rescued him from the claws of the Inquisition.

—Sam… you don’t have to call me “Sir.” Seriously, I… I’d prefer if you didn’t.

Once again, Hans's mask of pride had slipped away. Sam couldn’t help but feel closer to him when he was this vulnerable, this human.

—As you wish, Hans —he felt strange saying his name without condescension—. Are you sure you’re all right? Wouldn’t you rather lie down? I brought you an infusion.

As soon as he mentioned it, Hans caught the scent of chamomile sweetened with honey. He took the cup Sam offered and brought it to his lips, but guilt flooded his body and he couldn’t drink it. It felt like an undeserved luxury, a privilege Henry couldn’t enjoy. His stomach turned.

—You haven’t found anything yet?

—No, si… Hans. Musa and his master are still searching tirelessly in the library. I’m sure they’ll find something soon.

—I should… go help them —he mumbled, casting a furtive glance at the door.

—Absolutely not —Sam took the cup from his hands and made him sit on the bed, like a mother scolding a small child—. You need to rest. What good are you to Henry if you can’t even move?

Hans accepted the scolding and lay on his stomach, making sure nothing touched the sensitive skin on his back. Sam glanced at the swelling and saw incredible improvement. In the morning, he would apply more of Musa’s ointment, and surely things would be even better.

There, sitting on the bed beside Capon, Sam sighed in exhaustion. They were doing everything they could to reach Henry, and still… it felt like he was slipping through their fingers. Hans wasn’t the only one suffering for him.

He wished him goodnight in a kind tone and then left. Despite the pain he still felt in his back, Hans quickly fell asleep. He was far too exhausted, and although he didn’t want to admit it, Sam was right. He needed to rest.

Hooded shadows surrounded him and laughed at him. Hans had his hands tied; he couldn’t do anything.

One of them approached and pulled down his hose, exposing his muscular backside. They kept laughing, but that wasn’t enough… One of the shadows grabbed his buttocks and spread them apart roughly, exposing his most intimate self.

—Hans! Wake up, Hans!

He slowly opened his eyes, still heavy with sleep, and tried to focus on the room. Sam was shaking him, and finally managed to pull him out of the deep dream. His head felt foggy, as if he hadn’t fully woken up.

—Capon! —Sam shouted—. They’ve found something!

Those words seemed enough to make Hans open his eyes and return to reality.

—What did you say? What did you find?

—Come with me, I’ll show you.

Hans stood up and felt his whole body stiff. He had slept, but not rested. He splashed his face with water from a bucket in the room and followed Sam toward the library.

Master Hakim and Musa were speaking in a language neither Sam nor Hans could understand, but they were clearly focused. In front of them, several scrolls were spread out on a table, open books, and spent candles.

—Oh! Sir Hans, Samuel. Please, come closer —Musa said when he noticed their presence.

The young men approached, and before they could say a word, Hans immediately recognized a top-down plan of St. Stephen’s Cathedral painted on one of the scrolls. Unmistakable. In another manuscript, a narrow, elongated rectangular figure seemed to fit into one of the building’s gaps. “Is that…?”

—Master Hakim —Hans bowed as deeply as his back allowed, out of respect—. Thank you for your hospitality.

Hakim waved a hand, brushing it off.

—Nonsense! It is an honor to have you as a guest in my house, Sir Hans Capon of Pirkstein. Musa has told me much about you.

Hans smiled, impatient for answers. Hakim laughed when he noticed. They didn’t want more formalities, they wanted a solution. Musa took the floor to explain what they had discovered.

—We’ve found what appears to be plans of a tunnel between St. Stephen’s and the Hofburg. However —he added, seeing the hope light up in Hans’s eyes— there are more recent documents that don’t mention it. We don’t know if it was destroyed, if it still exists, or if it was ever built at all. Besides, how would we get into the Hofburg? It could be even riskier than infiltrating the cathedral.

Sam stepped closer to the table and went over the scrolls with Musa. He explained why the dates didn’t match, where possible entrances might be, and generally how the building was structured.

Hans, however, seemed lost in thought, paying no attention to Musa’s explanations or Sam’s questions. While they talked, Henry was rotting in the misery of a dark cell. They couldn’t afford to waste more time. This was their only chance, and something inside him told him, begged him, that the tunnel was real.

—I’ll go to the Hofburg —he suddenly interrupted, startling the others—. I am Sir Hans Capon of Pirkstein. They will receive me properly, and if that tunnel exists, I swear by the Virgin Mary I will find it.

Sam smiled at his determination. He wasn’t about to be left behind.

—I’ll go with you, Capon —he set the scrolls aside and offered his hand.

Musa sighed. He would have liked to go with them, but he knew he wouldn’t go unnoticed in a cathedral. He was used to being treated differently, and though he understood it, it never stopped being frustrating. They couldn’t afford unwanted attention on a mission where stealth was crucial.

—I won’t go, Lord Capon. I’ll stay here in the library, looking for other possible entrances in case the tunnel fails. We’ll get Henry out, no matter what.

Hans placed a hand on Musa’s shoulder and smiled, eyes glassy with emotion. It comforted him to know everyone was willing to do whatever it took to help Henry. They wouldn’t give up on him. They wouldn’t abandon him, and that filled Hans with pride.

They wasted no more time. They returned to the room, and Hans dressed in the only noble clothes he had brought on the journey. Nadir, the servant, had cleaned them, and they gleamed like the day they’d left Rattay.

—Good thing you recovered our things —Hans said, while Samuel was grooming himself.

—Yes, it was a miracle they were still at the tavern after all that chaos.

They hurried out of Master Hakim’s house and headed for the Hofburg. Hans felt strange walking freely through the street, as if every gaze were on him, as if he were naked. It troubled him to think they might be looking for him even now, though in truth no one was paying him any attention.

They crossed the merchants’ square, where the rising murmur of the crowd filled the air like a relentless wave. They turned southwest, and at last the imposing silhouette of the Hofburg rose before them. The palace’s white façade, decorated with tall marble columns and crowned with imperial sculptures, gleamed under the first light of day.

Hans swallowed hard, impressed.

—Sam, once we’re inside, let me do the talking.

The suggestion sounded more like an order disguised as courtesy. At another time, Sam might have responded with sarcasm, might have mocked his arrogance, but now he simply nodded. This wasn’t the moment for disputes. If nobles wanted to speak to nobles, so be it. He’d be there, silent and steady like a statue.

When they reached the great gate, Hans introduced himself. His refined accent, upright posture, and noble bearing made even Sam look at him in surprise. Had he really pulled this man out of a cell the day before? Hans requested an audience with the regent, and the guard relayed the message without objection. Minutes later, they were allowed in.

A uniformed servant guided them through an endless series of corridors and halls. With each step, the polished marble, golden tapestries, and vaulted ceilings covered in frescoes made everything else in Vienna look like a cheap stage set. Sam’s boots echoed clumsily on the stone floor. Hans, meanwhile, kept his composure, though deep inside he felt like he was walking into a lion’s den.

At last, they reached the main hall. The space was enormous, with crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling like constellations frozen in time. A group of nobles, dressed in silks and velvets, chatted calmly around a central figure. The regent.

Leopold IV of Habsburg, Duke of Austria, stood beside a throne that was simple but elevated. He wore a dark blue tunic embroidered with gold thread and a velvet cloak that flowed behind him like a waterfall. His bearing was serene, but his sharp, calculating eyes observed as if he already knew those before him. He didn’t speak much, but his presence alone filled the room.

The servant stepped forward and announced “Sir Hans and his page,” words that made Sam grimace bitterly. He wasn’t anyone’s servant.

Hans bowed with an elegant, almost perfect reverence. Sam did the same, less convincingly.

—Sir Hans Capon of Pirkstein —said the regent, with an ironic smile—. To what do I owe the honor? What do you seek?

All eyes turned to Hans, who for a moment felt like a child dressed as a man. The weight of the regent’s gaze, the echo of words in that solemn place… everything made him feel small. But he took a deep breath. He was the son of a noble, raised at court. He had learned to hide fear.

He straightened a little more and answered with poise:

—Your Excellency, I come on behalf of the house of Pirkstein, seeking counsel and offering the support of the Lords of Leipa.

His voice was steady, though beneath his words was the effort of maintaining his composure. The regent observed him for a moment longer than usual, like someone examining a new sword, testing whether it was well-forged or would snap at the first blow.

Then he nodded, and his lips curved into something resembling a smile.

—Then speak, young Pirkstein. I am listening.

Hans swallowed hard. He couldn't simply announce, in front of all Viennese nobility, that he was searching for a secret tunnel to rescue his squire from the clutches of the Inquisition. That, in the best of cases, would get them immediately expelled from the palace; in the worst, thrown into a dungeon.

He was just about to beg for a private audience when a familiar voice rose among the entourage, imposing silence.

—Sir Hans Capon and his page?

A young man of distinguished bearing emerged from among the velvet cloaks and sidelong glances. He wore navy blue garments with fine embroidery and had a chaperon tilted over his head. His smile was one of genuine astonishment.

—Sir Jan of Liechtenstein! —exclaimed Hans, unable to hide his surprise—. What are you doing...? I mean... —he cleared his throat—. It is an honor, sir. —he bowed with the same elegance as before, though less stiffly.

Jan's eyes met Samuel's directly and for a moment his breath caught. Something was off. Sam could not be Sir Hans’s page. He noticed the subtle desperation in the act and then understood something was wrong.

—I shall attend to the guests, Your Excellency —he said calmly, bowing to the Duke.

Without another word, he approached Hans and whispered:

—Follow me.

The murmuring resumed in the hall as if nothing had happened. Jan led them with steady steps through corridors and doors to a small room furnished with sober elegance. He closed the door gently and turned to them, all traces of courtly courtesy gone.

—What are you doing here, Sir Hans? —he asked bluntly. But his eyes, inevitably, kept returning to Samuel.

—Sir Jan, you don’t know how glad I am to see you! We need your help —Hans began, visibly uncomfortable—. We've had... a small altercation with the Inquisition.

He ran a hand over the back of his neck. He summarized what had happened clearly, without embellishment and omitting unnecessary details. Jan listened in silence, not interrupting, until a nervous smile appeared on his face. Now he understood everything. He understood why Sam was there.

—So... you’ve come to the Hofburg to beg the Duke to reveal the location of a secret tunnel? —he shook his head—. You’ve definitely gone mad.

—It’s our only hope. If we don’t act soon...

—I know —Jan interrupted with a heavy sigh—. Believe me, I know.

He too cared for Henry. What they were suffering was a terrible injustice and he wanted to help them, but his presence in the Hofburg could prove far more useful than he had imagined.

—The truth is... I’m here negotiating the release of King Wenceslas. Though, so far, things haven’t gone as I expected.

Hans said nothing. He was smart enough to know that Jan would ask something in return for his help. He didn’t mind, he would do whatever it took.

—If the heir of Rattay were to swear his support to Emperor Albert V and the Duke of Austria... the negotiations might tilt in our favor —Jan suggested, testing the waters.

—I’ll do whatever it takes —Hans interrupted firmly.

Jan remained silent for a few seconds. That raw conviction, that mixture of fear and determination, felt deeply familiar. Without realizing, he turned the ring he wore on his left hand, as if seeking an answer in its touch. It was the same look he himself would have if Samuel were in danger.

—Then let’s return to the hall. Offer your support and, once it’s sealed, I’ll tell you where the tunnel is. Let’s not waste any more time.

—Wait a moment —said Hans, frowning—. How do you even know the tunnel exists?

Jan smiled, with that endearing air of arrogance that defined him.

—Please, Sir Hans... Where do you think my passion for espionage comes from? As a child I used to wander every corner of this palace. I know all its secrets. No one better than me to get King Wenceslas out of here in case... well. In case we didn’t reach an agreement.

Hans laughed, incredulous and relieved.

Once the pact was fulfilled, they returned to the hall. Hans gave his declaration of loyalty before the Duke, who received it with a pleased smile. A scribe was summoned to register the new alliance, and while the details were finalized, Jan and Samuel waited outside, alone.

They both wanted to fill the silence with words, and for the first time, they seemed to have run out of them. Sam noticed Jan’s restless hand, how he absentmindedly caressed the ring he had worn for so long. Perhaps from nerves, perhaps because it meant something.

—I’m glad to see you still wear it. —said Samuel in a low, deep voice. He crossed his arms, as if trying to shield himself from his own vulnerability.

Jan turned slowly, with a soft smile, barely curved on his lips.

—This? —he chuckled, a bit uneasy—. It’s a good gift from a good friend. I think... it brings me luck.

Samuel didn’t reply, but the look he gave him said enough. It was a mixture of affection, reproach, and something older, deeper. Silence. Then:

—So... Constantinople? —Jan murmured, just to say something, to break the knot in his throat—. That’s a very long journey.

—I know. —he said quickly—. But I had no more reason to stay in Kuttenberg. The last one I had... left.

The words hung in the air like a broken promise. Jan looked down, as if the blow had been physical. He had felt it too. His departure had not only been a political decision. It was an escape.

—I still have matters to attend to in Austria. I... I couldn’t stay, Sam. —he said, barely above a whisper. His voice didn’t sound confident, as if he were apologizing for more than just his absence.

They were dangerously close to each other. The way they spoke, directly, reflected the deep trust they shared. Sam had never fully understood his own feelings. He liked being near Jan, he needed to protect him, and when he left, he felt a hole in his heart he couldn’t comprehend.

But Hans had, for the first time, given him a true reason to think of Jan differently. He had seen with his own eyes how he and Henry cared for each other, how... they loved one another. It didn’t make them any less men. They were brave and great warriors.

He had suffered enough from Jan’s absence in his life. He had nothing to lose by trying something new, something very risky.

He took Jan’s hand, the one with the ring, and held it between his own. Slowly, he caressed it with his fingers and, eyes closed, kissed the ring. Not in a courteous way, but in a way that expressed far more.

When he opened his eyes, fearing he had crossed a line, he met Jan’s, wide open. His breathing was uneven. He lowered his head, bringing it closer to Samuel’s until their foreheads touched, so close they could feel each other’s heartbeat.

Jan caressed his fingers as if afraid to let go. Their lips brushed. They didn’t quite meet, but they wanted to. All it would take was a tiny decision. All it would take was courage.

—Sam... —he said his name like a plea without expecting an answer—. I... have duties to attend to. When our king is freed, I promise I’ll go with you to Kolin.

Samuel could barely contain the joy that promise stirred in him. Like in the old days. As if the future could still be written together.

—So... is that a promise? —he asked with an uncertain, almost childlike smile.

—Yes —Jan confirmed. And added with a soft laugh, almost nostalgic—. I promise you, I’ll come back.

They were about to embrace. They hadn’t planned it, but their bodies leaned toward each other inevitably. And then, the sound of the door breaking the moment struck them like lightning. They pulled apart just in time, and Hans entered with a firm step, full of urgency.

—It’s done. Show us the tunnel, Sir Jan.

Jan looked confused for a moment upon seeing Hans clench the hilt of his sword. He looked ready to burn down the Cathedral that very instant.

—Wait a moment... you’re not planning to go in now, are you?

—Of course! We can’t wait any longer. —Hans bellowed, desperate.

His experience as a spy told him this was a bad idea. Rushed and poorly planned missions rarely went well. Everything in him screamed it wasn’t the right time.

—You can’t go now, not like this. You don’t know how many men are there, or where Henry is. It’s madness. —Seeing Hans about to protest, he continued without letting him—. Tomorrow is Sunday. Everyone will be at mass. Even the inquisitors. It’s your best chance.

—We can’t wait until tomorrow! —Hans was no longer angry, but desperate.

—Think carefully, Capon. How do you even know about the tunnel’s existence? I’m sure you’ve found blueprints... Study them! Use the day and night to learn the layout of the Cathedral and avoid getting lost. Wait until Sunday, when everyone’s at mass. I’ll go myself and request Confession, so more priests are occupied.

Hans was speechless. He hated to admit that Jan was right, that it was a good plan only because he needed to go get Henry now. One more day could be the difference between life and death. If that happened, he’d never forgive Jan, or himself. He had to think with a clear mind, not the impulsiveness of his heart.

—All right... —he said through clenched teeth, holding back his frustration—. We’ll do it your way.

—The right way. —Jan corrected him, with a faint smile.

That night, no one slept. Musa was helping Sam understand the blueprints, while the latter remained intensely focused on the task. Hans also paid attention despite the pain in his back. When the effects of Musa’s ointment wore off, the heat radiating from his vertebrae returned, spreading to his ribs and up to his cheeks. He tried not to grimace too much, but eventually, the discomfort became obvious.

He shifted in his seat, searching for a more comfortable position. He didn’t want to go back to bed and spend the rest of the night with his back exposed. He needed to be there, to study the plans and take part fully in Henry’s rescue. Nothing could go wrong. He had waited an entire day to make sure this plan went well.

Little by little, the first rays of sunlight peeked through the window.

Hans's heart began to race: the moment had finally arrived. He stood up abruptly, which caused a sharp pull in his aching back muscles, but after a few stretches, he recovered. A thin layer of Musa’s ointment and he was good as new.

—Here, you might need this —said Musa, handing him a leather pouch containing small vials of painkillers, linen bandages, and alcohol.

Hans blinked several times. Seeing those remedies made the weight of reality settle in. The pain of knowing that sooner or later he would have to tend to Henry… if they made it in time.

—Thank you, my friend —he gave him a pat on the back, and Musa smiled.

Without further delay, Hans and Sam returned to the Hofburg. Jan was waiting for them at the entrance, dressed in a velvet coat and ready for Sunday mass. Impeccable. He greeted them with a smile, incredulous at the sight of Sir Hans in peasant clothes. It was something he had never witnessed before.

—I see… you're prepared —he said, unable to hide his amusement.

—We are —replied Hans, his face stern—. I hope the wait was worth it.

Jan avoided looking at Sam too long to keep from blushing. He guided them through the palace as he had the day before. The tunnel entrance was hidden beneath a heavy slab in a side chapel, sealed for generations. Jan removed a thin sheet of marble, disguised among the tiles, and pulled on a rusted iron ring. With an ancient creak, the trapdoor gave way, revealing a dark, damp hole, as if the earth were holding its breath.

—This way. —Jan whispered, lighting an oil lantern and handing it to Hans—. Mass begins in an hour. Good luck, gentlemen.

Hans’s body seemed to resist entering that dark, narrow tunnel. He claimed to have overcome his fear of confined spaces, but the truth was, a sliver of anxiety always remained. He chose to ignore it. If he had to go in there to rescue Henry, nothing would stop him. He took the first step, determination in his eyes. He went in first, lighting the way with the lamp.

Sam followed him, but before Jan closed the trapdoor, they exchanged a parting glance. Jan fidgeted with his ring and hesitated for a moment before leaving them in the darkness.

—Be careful —he whispered, worried.

—Always —Sam replied with a smile.

They descended one by one down a steep stone staircase. The air was thick, saturated with the scent of earth, dampness, and centuries of silence. The tunnel was narrow, just enough for them to walk in single file, forcing them to stay close, shoulder to shoulder, breathing the same heavy, stale air.

The walls were covered in lichens and cobwebs. Every step echoed, every drop from the ceiling sounded like a drumbeat in the stillness. Hans led the way, holding the lantern in one hand and gripping his sword’s hilt with the other.

—How far is it? —murmured Sam, trying to hide the tremor in his voice.

—Not far. According to the 1302 map, there’s a fork up ahead. Right leads to an old crypt. Left, to the Cathedral’s sacristy. —Hans explained, whispering near his ear.

—If they have him, he’ll be in the detention area beneath the sacristy.

The silence that followed was thick as mud. Hans clenched his jaw and quickened his pace. The fork appeared before them after several meters, and they breathed a sigh of relief. It looked like everything they had seen in the old parchment still existed.

They turned left without hesitation. They moved faster now, driven by anxiety. Every few steps, Sam would ask them to stop and listen. Sometimes it was just a rat. Other times… they weren’t so sure.

The wall narrowed even further. Finally, they reached a section where the ceiling lowered, forcing them to crouch. The tunnel ended at an iron trapdoor. Hans knelt and tried to open it with as little noise as possible. At last, it yielded with a faint metallic creak.

—I’ll go first. —said Hans.

He descended silently. The room was dark, but empty. An old cupboard lay in one corner, along with some barrels and crates. Sam followed him quickly. Hans's heart was pounding in his chest.

From the trapdoor, they could barely hear distant sounds—muffled footsteps, prayers… Everything was covered in a tense layer of uncertainty. They heard the unmistakable sound of the Cathedral bells and a far-off, constant murmur. Mass had begun.

Hans was about to exit the room when he suddenly pressed himself against the wall and dragged Sam with him. They remained flush against the stone as Sam realized what was happening. Someone was approaching.

A tired-looking man crossed the doorway, dragging his feet and carrying a torch. He yawned several times before he began rummaging through the crates. He stretched his arms and dropped his shoulders. He swayed slightly. Hans caught the sweet scent of wine. Was he drunk?

—Damn it… —the guard muttered, frustrated that he couldn’t find whatever it was he was looking for—. Why couldn’t they schedule the shift later? I need… —another enormous yawn interrupted his grumbling—. Damn it.

Sam gripped his dagger tightly and crept up behind the man. He covered his mouth with one hand and plunged the knife into his neck with the other. No hesitation, no delay. A clean and filthy kill at the same time. Hans watched the scene in horror but reminded himself that this guard would have been torturing Henry. He deserved it.

—Quick! Put on his clothes. —said Sam, lowering the body to the floor.

They undressed him together, and Hans put on his armor. He couldn’t help but feel disgusted by the smell of hangover inside those metal plates. He preferred not to think about it. He gripped his sword’s hilt tightly, as if it could give him the strength he needed to walk out into the corridor. They were very close now.

He took a deep breath and exited the room. Sam followed cautiously in the dark, watching his back. Hans passed through a door and wasn’t sure whether to sigh in relief or dread. He could finally see the cells. A small torch dimly lit the area. Where were the guards?

He checked the first cell, empty. The second, also empty. As he approached the third, he began to hear a desperate moan, deep and hoarse. He recognized that voice.

The guard he was meant to relieve was inside the third cell, watching over the only prisoner in the detention area. Hans peeked through the door and the guard smiled with relief.

—Finally! I’ve been waiting for you for hours, Hermann. Where’ve you been? —he asked while opening the door from the inside.

The darkness partially hid Hans’s face, and the guard didn’t recognize him until they were face to face. Too late. Hans had already drawn the dagger from his belt and plunged it straight into his heart. The guard blinked, confused. Seconds later, he collapsed to the ground.

The cold-blooded kill meant nothing compared to the rage Hans felt. He took a deep breath, summoned his courage, and opened the cell door. The entire world around him seemed to vanish when a pair of blue eyes met his in the darkness.

Chapter Text

—No! Come on, up!

The guard grabbed him forcefully under the armpits and dragged him back up until he was standing, leaning against the damp wall. The chains attached to his wrists were just long enough to let him collapse to the ground, but not long enough to defend himself. Always halfway between falling and surrender.

Henry couldn’t think. His brain was a thick mass, soaked in exhaustion. They had kept him awake for two days, or three?, with blows, shoves, and buckets of ice water. His consciousness drifted like a candle in fog. Sometimes he blacked out for a few seconds, but the guard always brought him back with kicks, screams, or a slap. Over and over again.

At first, he had managed to get back up by himself. But for hours now, his body no longer responded. He collapsed like a puppet with no strings, and the guard lifted him again. Forced him to stay standing against the wall, like some ancient punishment.

Each blink was a battle. A risk. He’d close his eyes and feel like he might not be able to open them again. But he did. Because pain yanked him back from the abyss with force. He hated to admit it, but it worked.

His breathing grew irregular. It was hard to fill his lungs, as if someone had placed weight on his chest. He didn’t know how much longer he could last. His heart raced, as if his body wanted to escape on its own. Darkness took him again.

When he woke up, the guard was kicking his ribs. He only became aware of the pain a few seconds later, when his brain started to respond. He curled up and moaned in pain.

—St–stop... please... —the words came out crawling, thick, as if he no longer remembered how to use them.

The guard lifted him again, lazily. Henry’s breathing was increasingly erratic. If he made it to the next day with his sanity intact, it would be a miracle.

He thought he heard a creak, something like a door closing, but he could no longer trust his senses. He heard things that weren’t there, saw shadows everywhere. His eyes darted from side to side, trying to focus on something, trying not to lose consciousness.

Sounds reached him distorted, distant, as if from the bottom of a well.

—Finally, Hermann! —a voice, urgent, that seemed to come from far away.

Then more noises. Something metallic. A lock. Or maybe his mind playing a cruel trick.

—Henry!

Someone was calling him. That voice. He recognized that voice. His brain shut down again and he blacked out once more. This time, he didn’t wake to blows, but to a gentle shake. He felt a hand on his cheek… a caress. Henry managed to focus and found a pair of blue eyes staring at him intently. They looked worried.

—My God... Henry... Can you hear me? —his name was spoken with a tremor in the voice that couldn’t be hidden.

The face pulled back slightly, and Henry recognized him. Sharp nose, a few days of beard, a hard but vulnerable expression.

—Hans? —his throat was so dry the name came out as barely a whisper.

—Yes, it’s me —Hans said urgently, slipping an arm behind his neck—. I’m here, Henry. We came to get you out.

Henry blinked slowly, as if the world were taking time to reassemble around him. His gaze stopped at Hans’s chest, moved down the dented iron armor, stained with still-fresh blood, the helmet tossed to the side.

—What the hell... are you wearing? —he murmured, more baffled than mocking.

Hans smiled sadly, relieved that at least he could recognize the absurdity. Samuel appeared behind him, lighting the room with the lamp.

—How is he? —he asked in a low voice, casting a quick glance at Henry’s curled-up body.

Hans didn’t answer immediately. He had just noticed Henry’s left shoulder, a swollen lump under the torn fabric of his shirt. Then his gaze dropped and his face went pale.

—Shit... —he whispered, seeing Henry’s finger wrapped in a dirty cloth, missing the nail—. What did they do to you?

Henry looked at him without fully understanding the question. His mind floated. Sometimes it wandered away, then came back. Time no longer followed a line.

—They... don’t let me sleep. Every time I close my eyes... they hit me —his words dragged along, as if just thinking them required more will than he had left.

Hans held him more firmly.

—We’re getting you out of here. Sam, take off the chains. Quickly.

Samuel stepped forward with a lockpick. The sound of metal turning grated in the rusty lock. The padlock gave with a snap, and Hans grabbed Henry’s arms before he collapsed fully to the ground.

Henry moaned as the weight of his own body landed on his swollen shoulder.

—Easy —Hans whispered in his ear—. It’s okay, it’s okay. I’ve got you.

—No... this is a dream —Henry whispered, eyes wide open, darting around without direction—. I dreamed this. I dreamed you came... so many times...

Hans clenched his jaw. His fingers trembled.

—This time you’re not dreaming. I’m here. Look at me. —He took his face in both hands, forcing him to look him in the eyes—. I’m here, Henry.

Samuel watched the scene in silence, frowning, the lamp shaking slightly in his hand. Finally, he broke the moment.

—We have to go. Now.

Hans nodded. He pulled Henry’s arm over his shoulders, bearing most of his weight, and that was when he remembered he had been tortured too. The brush of Henry’s body against his ribs made him groan in pain, and he arched his back. Samuel stepped forward in time to catch them both and keep them from falling.

—I’ll carry him. Can you walk, brother?

—I don’t know... —Henry whispered. He took a shaky step. Then another. His body obeyed grudgingly, like a rusty machine.

Hans made no objection to his wounded pride. Reality demanded he let Sam carry Henry, for everyone’s sake. He picked up the lamp from the floor and led them toward the trapdoor they had come through.

Hans never took his eyes off him. He spoke to him, supported him. Kept repeating softly:

—Stay with me. Stay with me, Henry.

They passed through the open trapdoor into the underground tunnel. Hans went first with the lantern, checking the path. Samuel followed, helping Henry crouch and pass through the opening. His limp body nearly collapsed, but Hans caught him in time.

Inside, the tunnel was still dark and damp, narrow, unyielding. But with every step, they moved farther from the Inquisition. From the beatings. From the fear.

Henry trembled. Not just from the cold. His mind failed him, confusing time, place, memories. But he unmistakably recognized the warmth of Hans at his side.

—Where are we? —he asked, as if just waking up.

—Getting out —Hans replied, not stopping—. Hold on a little longer.

Samuel glanced back, whispering tensely:

—Let’s hope they’re still busy with their mass.

Henry became aware that he was awake, but opening his eyes proved difficult. His eyelids felt heavy, as if they still needed to stay shut, even though his mind didn’t want to fall asleep again. Slowly, his body began to awaken, and he started to feel the softness beneath his hands, the comfort beneath his back. And then came the pain.

He felt exhausted, his body sore and aching. The tip of his fingernail-less finger began to throb and itch. His right arm seemed to be immobilized, and his shoulder hurt far worse than before.

Then he opened his eyes.

At first, it was hard to focus. He was completely disoriented and took several seconds to remember he was no longer in the cell with Elias. The rescue had been real.

His hand was partially bandaged and his right arm immobilized with linen strips. The position seemed correct, and he grimaced in pain when he tried to move. He raised his head slightly to look around, and when he saw him, his heart stopped for a moment.

Hans was sitting in an armchair across from his bed, asleep with his head resting on one hand. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating the tiny motes of dust floating in the air. His golden hair shimmered in the light that bathed him. The light caressed his face, softening his features and warming his cheek like a tender touch. He looked exhausted, evident in the swollen bags under his eyes. He hadn’t left Henry’s side since the previous night.

At one point, his arm gave out and his head dropped, almost hitting the armrest. He opened his eyes, startled, and Henry stifled a laugh.

—You should really sleep somewhere else —he suggested, his spirits already lifting.

—Henry! —Hans sprang to his feet and rushed to him, kneeling beside the bed—. I was so worried. You slept for two whole days. How are you feeling?

His eyes reflected deep concern. Despite the beating Henry had taken, he didn’t feel that bad now that he had rested. His body would recover, but what hurt most was the memory of the threats, the forced separation, the uncertainty of not knowing what was being done to Hans.

—How are you? —he asked, dodging the question—. I was the one who was worried. They told me they’d do… horrible things to you.

Henry’s blue gaze seemed to blur at the memory of those terrible words, those images he couldn’t stop forming in his mind.

—Same as me, Henry. They threatened me constantly… what they’d do to you, what they’d do to me. But I didn’t give in. I never told them what they wanted to hear. I’m just… a bit bruised —he tried to downplay it.

—What did they do to you? —Henry pressed.

Hans saw the tension in his muscles. What Henry really wanted to know was whether the cathedral needed to be burned to the ground. He wanted revenge.

—I’m fine, Henry, really. They didn’t have much time… —he paused, realizing Sam and Musa’s rescue had come just in time—. Some intimidation, a bit of humiliation. They… well —he couldn’t help but laugh—, they examined my ass with a magnifying glass!

Henry didn’t find it funny, but couldn’t help but catch Hans’s laughter. Humor helped to recover some dignity from it all.

—Then they kept on with their threats, but I still wouldn’t talk. They thought a noble couldn’t take a whipping, and look at me. Here I am!

—They whipped you! —Henry sat up, enraged.

—Easy, Henry —his voice turned soft and soothing again. With his hands, he gently laid him back down—. It wasn’t as bad as it sounds. They didn’t break the skin, just… I’ve got violet bruises all over my back. I look like a stained-glass window from Sassau.

Henry insisted on seeing it. Hans sighed, but he couldn’t deny anything to a bedridden man. He lifted his shirt and turned several times so Henry could see the full palette of colors painting his body. Blue, violet, and even black bruises were scattered all over. Still, Hans didn’t complain. They didn’t hurt much anymore, as long as no one touched them.

The rage Henry felt inside was indescribable. He wanted to find each and every one of the inquisitors who had done this to them. He wanted to see them suffer. He wanted to fill his heart with vengeance again, but part of him was tired of that feeling. Sometimes, he just wanted to curl up beside Hans and spend the rest of his life like that, in each other's arms.

—Where… where are we?

—Ah! I haven’t told you yet. We’re in the house of Musa’s master, Hakim. He’s taken us in and treated us, you especially.

—What do you mean? —he asked, confused.

—When we brought you, you were practically unconscious, Henry —his face hardened, recalling the worry he had felt—. Musa and his master agreed that your shoulder had been dislocated and then set back incorrectly, that’s why it was so swollen. They had to dislocate it again and reset it properly. God, I still remember that sound…

Henry didn’t remember, and he was glad. The pain he felt that first day, when they had tied his arms behind his back, he preferred to bury deep in his mind.

—But Hans, I still don’t get it. How did you get to me? The cathedral is impenetrable.

—Well… not entirely. We studied old blueprints and found a secret tunnel connecting to the Hofburg. You won’t believe who helped us… Jan of Liechtenstein! He’s in Vienna trying to negotiate our king’s release.

—Sir Jan? And I suppose he asked for something in return —Henry knew the young noble all too well.

With a smile, Hans nodded. —Had to swear an alliance between my house and the Duke of Austria. Jan promised it would tip the scales in our favor and thinks Wenceslas could be freed by late summer.

Henry raised his eyebrows, surprised. —Hans, you… swore diplomatic alliances just to save me? —he still couldn’t believe what Hans was willing to do for him.

—Just to save you? For God’s sake, Henry… —his eyes shone slightly, moistened by emotion—. I’d move heaven and earth to get back to you, idiot.

They looked into each other’s eyes in silence. Hans gently brushed his hand against Henry’s, careful not to touch the injured area. That look said everything: it screamed how much he loved him. That Hans was willing to do the impossible didn’t lessen the fact that they shouldn’t have reached that point. Henry still felt guilty for failing in his duty. Hans’s bruised back kept reminding him.

—I’m sorry I didn’t protect you, Hans —Henry pulled his hand away, feeling unworthy of such affection.

Hans knew what tormented him. Sometimes, his squire was like an open book.

—Well, at least now we can say that, for once, I saved you, right? —Hans murmured, raising his voice a little to sound cheerful.

He managed to make Henry smile, who recalled Hans’s words back in Suchdol. The confession that had melted his heart forever. They started with a smile, then both laughed, and before they knew it, the laughter turned into tears.

Hans embraced Henry on the bed, and he returned the gesture with his only free hand. Hans buried his face in his neck, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. Only the two of them remained, breathing in the relief of reunion. The tension of the past few days felt lighter when eased by tears. They needed it. They needed to let it out and leave the terror behind.

Hans’s arms were unwilling to let go. Henry shifted slightly, and Hans nestled beside him, careful not to touch his back. They didn’t need anything else. Just to feel each other, to know nothing could hurt them now. Then they kissed.

A long and deep kiss that expressed all the yearning they had felt. Hans couldn’t stop caressing the budding beard on Henry’s face, feeling how every inch of his body filled with peace. With more certainty than ever, he spoke.

—I love you, Henry.

He lowered his gaze and smiled, that tender and sincere smile of his. He pressed his forehead against Hans’s and sighed deeply.

—I love you too.

They spent a long while in silence, simply holding each other, breathing each other’s air. They needed that moment of peace after so much bitterness. To have Hans back in his arms, safe and sound, felt like a distant dream.

But the memory took hold of Henry once again, and his whole body tensed. His breathing began to quicken. The desire for revenge returned, relentless. Hans noticed it immediately. He knew him too well, and he knew exactly what was going through his mind. He didn’t move a muscle. He kept his head buried in Henry’s neck and, with a half-smile, spoke:

—Don’t you even think about going after them, Henry. I promised Jan we wouldn’t do anything. He can’t afford unrest in Vienna, not while he’s negotiating Wenceslas’s release.

Henry growled in disapproval.

—We’re leaving tomorrow, so get a bit more rest.

His words had an effect. Henry’s body began to relax, his breathing returned to normal, and with his free hand, he gently stroked Hans’s hair. That simple gesture calmed him even more.

—I understand. It’s all right to go back to Rattay after everything that’s happened.

Hans lifted his head.

—Go back? No, Henry. We’re continuing our journey.

—After everything that’s happened!? —He didn’t know if he was angry or just surprised. He didn’t want to put Hans in danger again.

—All the more reason. I’m not going to let one incident end our adventure. I made a promise to myself to reach Constantinople. It’s… a personal challenge. I can’t give up on it now.

Henry frowned. He hadn’t realized how important that journey was to Hans, and now he felt disarmed by his confession. All he could do was fill the silence with a quip.

—That sounds like maturity. Is Sir Hans growing up?

He said it with a mocking, sharp tone.

Hans couldn’t help but smile.

—As old as you are, idiot.

They laughed and hugged tighter, as if trying to melt into one another. Henry buried his nose in Hans’s hair and breathed in his scent. How could he feel happy after all they had lived through?

—All right. We’ll continue the journey. Though… —he glanced at his bandaged shoulder and immobilized arm— maybe you’ll be the one who has to protect me.

—How shameless! My squire doesn’t want to work!

A knock at the door interrupted their moment of intimacy. Hans pulled away from Henry and got out of bed, adjusting his clothes as if they’d never been cuddled up together.

—Come in —he called out.

The door opened and Samuel entered. His eyes lit up when he saw Henry awake. He approached quickly, barely noticing Hans’s presence, and placed a hand on Henry’s good shoulder.

—How are you, brother?

—Like I’ve been trampled by a horse. Though… I think I’ve been worse.

Samuel observed Henry’s pitiful state and could barely contain a smile.

—Good thing I haven’t seen you worse, because you’d surely be in your grave.

They both laughed and embraced. Samuel was the true hero of the rescue, with Musa’s help, of course. Without them, Hans and Henry wouldn’t be alive.

Sam knelt beside the bed, lowering his head, visibly ashamed. He knew it had all started with Trunk. If he hadn’t followed them…

—Brother, I beg you to forgive me. Because of me, you…

—Sam, we’ve already talked about this. It wasn’t your fault, all right? —Hans interrupted him.

The plea turned into a sort of argument between Hans and Samuel, debating causes and responsibility. To Henry, it felt like coming home. Did he enjoy hearing them bicker? He couldn’t help it: he burst out laughing.

Both men fell silent, surprised, until Hans couldn’t hold back. Henry’s laughter was contagious, and he set aside the argument to join in. Sam gave in too, shaking his head before joining the laughter.

—All right, all right… I’ll go brush the horses and take care of a few things in the city. I have someone to say goodbye to before we leave tomorrow.

—Very well, Sam. Going to say goodbye to Jacob and his wife? —Hans asked.

—Uh… yes, of course —he replied, his voice wavering slightly.

He felt guilty for almost having forgotten the couple. But it was another man occupying his thoughts. He needed to say goodbye to him properly, not like when Jan fled Kolin in the dark, without a word.

He patted Henry’s shoulder and bid farewell to Hans with a slight bow. When he left, calm returned. Henry felt warm inside. He was definitely happy. He would bury his thirst for revenge deep in his heart. He didn’t want to ruin this.

Henry looked up at the ceiling and sighed with a wide smile.

—So… to Constantinople?

He turned his head and met Hans’s gaze. Piercing, resolute, and with a mischievous glint.

—To Constantinople —he replied.

The laughter of the young men drifted down the hallway to the library, where Musa was exchanging a few final words with his teacher. Dusk was falling gently over Vienna, and though they were still organizing their belongings, it was decided: they would depart the next morning without further delay.

—Keep an eye on that young friend’s shoulder, Musa. He mustn’t use it for at least two or three weeks.

Musa smiled warmly.

—I’ll try, but he’s a restless boy —he paused—. You have no idea how grateful we are for your hospitality, Master Hakim.

The old man returned the smile before taking another sip of his tea. The books and scrolls were back on their shelves, and peace seemed to have taken over the library… until a burst of laughter and thuds echoed from the nearby rooms. Hakim sighed, melancholic. He envied that youth.

—Musa, I believe I should give you one last piece of advice about the road you’re about to take.

—Of course, master.

Musa set his cup aside and straightened slightly, respectfully.

—Hungary won’t give you much trouble. There are no serious conflicts, but you must stick to the road. Also, beware of the sun. The vast plains of farmland may seem harmless, but the heat can turn against you. Avoid the middle hours of the day.

He paused briefly before continuing in a more serious tone.

—The real danger will come when you reach Serbia.

—Serbia, you say?

—Yes. There are rumors that Ottoman troops have reached Nándorfehérvár, the capital. You must be careful, especially your Christian friends. You can buy safe-conducts and pay for secure passages, but… the Ottomans are unpredictable.

Musa stroked his beard, thoughtful. Concern was etched on his face. Hakim, pleased with his attention, went on:

—You might run into raiders or akindji, advance troops. If you’re captured, the Christian youths could end up enslaved… or executed, if they’re seen as combatants.

—I’ll certainly keep that in mind. Though, if it were to happen, God forbid, I doubt either Lord Capon or his squire would surrender their weapons. They’d die fighting rather than be chained, I’m sure of it.

Hakim nodded solemnly.

—I cannot foresee the future, Musa. I can only wish you a safe journey… May Allah guide and protect you. Go with God.

Musa’s thoughts wandered as he imagined the possible dangers of the road. He would have to protect his friends, rely on his diplomacy, his command of languages, and his prudence to avoid greater harm. Much still lay ahead of him.

He stood, bid his teacher farewell with a hug and a bow, and left the library. As he passed by the door to Hans and Henry’s room, he heard another muffled laugh. Musa smiled to himself. After everything they had been through, they deserved that moment of happiness.

He descended the stairs to the hearth, looking for something to eat before resting. A few minutes later, the front door opened with a faint creak, and Sam stepped in, his face still flushed, though not from the heat. He seemed to have run… or perhaps he simply couldn’t catch his breath.

He froze upon coming face to face with Musa, who was about to bite into an apple.

—Oh! I didn’t expect to see you here…

—In the kitchen of the house we’re staying in? How unusual —Musa replied, one eyebrow raised and a barely concealed smile.

Sam let out a dry, nervous laugh. He ran a hand behind his neck, awkward, like a child caught in a mischief not yet confessed.

—Have you already said goodbye to your… relatives?

The question was delivered with the naturalness of someone who doesn’t expect a great revelation, but with the precision of a scalpel. Sam fell silent for a second, as if searching for the right words. Then he nodded with a bit too much enthusiasm.

—Yes. Yes, of course. Jacob and his family are well. Very happy everything turned out fine… they’ve promised to visit me in Kolin someday.

—How thoughtful —murmured Musa, watching him like someone studying a curious animal. He took another bite of the apple, not taking his eyes off him.

Sam tried to keep his composure, but his gestures betrayed him: lips still moist, eyes shining, voice softer than usual. Musa said nothing more. He just chewed, with that peculiar expression of his, half amusement, half complicity.

The silence turned uncomfortable, heavy. Sam didn’t know whether to sit, to speak, or to run away. In the end, he gave up.

—Well… I… I think I’ll go to sleep. Good night, Musa.

He turned immediately, climbing the stairs quickly, as if fleeing a battle he didn’t know how to fight.

Musa watched him until he disappeared from view. Then he let out a soft chuckle, not mocking, just entertained by the transparency of the moment. He took another bite of the apple and shook his head, speaking to himself.

—These young ones… they’ll be the end of me.

Chapter Text

The birdsong was deafening at that hour. A vibrant, almost aggressive symphony that wrapped the forest in an overwhelming vitality. The morning light filtered through the treetops, painting golden patches across the damp undergrowth. Everything seemed to breathe, grow, live.

A crack broke the calm. The deer, young and strong, raised its head in alert. Its ears turned in unison as it sniffed the air suspiciously. The projectile grazed its front leg before embedding itself in the ground with a dull thud. That slight touch was enough to send it bolting, disappearing in a second into the thicket.

—Damn it! —roared Hanush—. That’s why I prefer boar hunts!

Radzig let out a soft laugh as he patted his old friend on the shoulder. He was more than used to Hanush’s explosive temperament.

—Perhaps if you shouted a bit louder, you’d attract every animal in the forest. Even the ones we’re not hunting.

Hanush snorted and handed him the bow with a resigned gesture.

—You do it. I’m too old for these bored nobleman farces.

—At least you left the castle —Radzig replied, glancing mischievously at the generous curve of Hanush’s belly—. Fresh air may not cure all your ailments, but it might convince your belt not to give up.

Hanush muttered a curse, but ended up laughing.

—Cheeky bastard. Worst of all, you’re right. Lately I only move between the courtyard and the dining hall.

They moved through the trees, following the faint trail of blood. The shot hadn’t wounded the deer seriously; it was likely far away by now. Radzig didn’t mind. He hadn’t really come to hunt. He liked the forest for the peace it offered.

A comfortable silence settled between them until, almost without transition, Radzig broke it with a sigh.

—The confirmation came this week. Anna of Úlibice has agreed to move the wedding forward.

Hanush stopped for a moment, surprised.

—That quickly? That’s excellent! It will be held here, in Rattay —Hanush said firmly—. I’ve already spoken with the parish priest. If all goes well, he’ll agree to officiate as soon as the date is set.

Radzig exhaled slowly and carefully stowed the bow. Then, he shook his head.

—Hanush, no… you’ve already done enough. You took me in, offered my people land and shelter. I can’t let you organize my wedding too.

—Nonsense —Hanush cut in, raising an irritated eyebrow—. Everyone knows I’m a stingy old man, but I know how to take care of my friends. You deserve something worthy. The whole region will want to witness that wedding. We need good news.

Radzig lowered his gaze. The crunch of leaves under his boots suddenly seemed louder.

—The whole region… except my son.

The words fell like a stone in a pond.

Hanush glanced sideways at him. Radzig rarely spoke of Henry without that cold, almost military distance. But he had known him too many years. He knew how to read the truth in his pauses, in his silences more than in his words. Although he had publicly acknowledged Henry as his bastard, he was his blood, and he cared. More than he dared admit, even to himself.

—I’m sure he’s fine —Hanush said after a few seconds, trying to lighten the mood—. He’s with Hans, and they won’t get into trouble… no more than necessary, at least.

—Knowing Sir Hans —murmured Radzig with a half-smile—, that’s not especially reassuring.

—Bah. The most dangerous thing they’ve done so far is probably visit some third-rate brothel in the border villages. With luck, they’ll come back with stories we can laugh about for months… and maybe with a bit of itching down there.

Radzig laughed genuinely for the first time all morning. Not because he believed the image, but because he needed to laugh.

—Henry’s not like that. He’s always been… different.

—Yes —Hanush nodded, without irony—. He’s a good lad. Nobler than many with a title.

They walked in silence for a while longer, until Radzig broke the calm with a more formal question.

—Did you put in writing what I asked?

Hanush took a couple of seconds to understand.

—Ah, yes. The scribe recorded it. Since the day I ordered it at the tavern, Henry is officially Hans’s page.

Radzig nodded, satisfied. He was doing mental calculations: length of service, battle merits, testimony from nobles… If everything went well, he could secure him an official title. Perhaps even a minor fief in a few years.

—I can hear you thinking —Hanush said with a crooked smile.

Radzig narrowed his eyes, feigning annoyance. He tried to divert attention from his real thoughts.

—Then you know I want that venison for dinner.

—You’d have better luck catching a wife —Hanush laughed—. That deer’s already in South Bohemia.

And they continued walking, while the forest, oblivious to their worries, resumed its chorus of birdsong.

Several days later, Radzig was in the dining hall of the eastern wing, seated by the fireplace, with an untouched glass of wine in his hands. The wood crackled lazily, as if it too were tired. Hanush entered unannounced, carrying a jug and two clay cups. He dropped into the opposite chair with a grunt.

—Still no news, but you should cheer up. You’re getting married!

He filled both cups and offered one to Radzig, seeing that the one in his hand was already empty. He smiled and stepped away from the fireplace, leaving the melancholy behind.

—You know, Hanush… I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank you properly for your hospitality. This past year...

—It’s been hard on all of us —he interrupted—. What happened in Skalitz will always be a tragedy, but at least your boy survived. And now you’ll have new lands and a new castle!

—That’s true —he took a large sip of wine, trying to shake off the gloom—. To… new beginnings —he raised his cup toward Hanush for a toast.

The wine jug emptied quickly. Their cheeks began to flush, and Hanush’s laughter echoed through the dining hall. The servants took the opportunity to clean the castle quietly, safely out of reach of his explosive temper.

After a long conversation in which Radzig told Hanush everything Henry had done, his feats, how he had risked himself to save Suchdol, Hanush began to piece things together. At last, he realized what his friend had been planning.

—So that’s what you want? To knight him? That’s why you asked me to formalize his appointment as a page! You old scoundrel… —he muttered.

Radzig burst out laughing. Hanush had taken longer than expected to figure out his plan. But he turned serious and sincere again when he spoke of his son.

—I want him to have something of his own, Hanush. Not just a borrowed sword or someone else’s cause, I want him to be worthy of what he is. He won’t inherit my name, but I want to give him something more important than that. Honor. Dignity. A life he built himself.

Hanush let out a dry chuckle.

—And isn’t that what being a father is, in the end?

Radzig looked at him for the first time with a certain hardness… but didn’t argue. He couldn’t.

—I don’t know if I can be one. But I can try to be fair with him. With what he deserves.

—I can’t deny it, Radzig. The boy, without a doubt, deserves it.

They toasted again, this time to Henry. The wine in their cups finally ran out, and the jug had been empty for a while. Hanush felt slightly dizzy, but that wouldn’t stop him from going for another. The afternoon was still young.

Before he could get up, they were suddenly interrupted by a servant who entered the dining hall with an awkward bow.

—My lords… a messenger from the Duchy of Austria has arrived. He brings a missive sealed by the Archduke.

Radzig stood up immediately, the fatigue gone from his face.

—My lord… —he looked at the sealed parchment nervously—. It’s a letter of thanks and… it bears news.

Hanush raised an eyebrow.

—What news?

The servant swallowed hard.

—That Wenceslas… will be released. In a matter of weeks.

Radzig took the parchment from the servant’s hands with tense fingers and dismissed him from the room. He held it under the flickering light of the hearth and, with a faint crack, broke the Archduke’s seal.

The paper unfolded slowly. For a moment, he read in silence, while Hanush waited with arms crossed and a furrowed brow. Little by little, Radzig’s expression hardened with disbelief, mixed with growing perplexity.

—Well? —Hanush inquired impatiently—. What does it say?

Radzig answered without taking his eyes off the text, as if he still couldn’t quite believe it.

—It’s… a letter of thanks. From Duke Leopold. He thanks us for the commitment and the “valuable collaboration of the House of Rattay in support of the imperial cause”…

—Collaboration? What collaboration? Did I sign something and forget about it? —Hanush growled.

Radzig shook his head slightly, pulling out a second sheet that had been folded within the main letter.

—There’s more. It looks like he enclosed documents… endorsements of support, treaties, and sealed proclamations.

He spread the papers carefully across the table. In the firelight, the seals looked authentic. Signed with a firm hand, in clear, courtly Latin.

One name at the bottom stood out above the rest.

“Hans Capon, hereditarius baron of Leipa.”

Both nobles fell silent.

—Dear God… —Hanush murmured, leaning closer—. That idiot went to Austria to sign treaties? In our name?

Radzig didn’t reply immediately. He scanned the lines with his eyes, noting the tone of the Latin, the noble formulas, the titles. Every line was perfectly legitimate, as if dictated by an imperial chancellor.

—He didn’t just go. He did it well. This signature is legal, and it’s been accepted as valid by the imperial court —he looked up, unable to hide his astonishment—. Hans isn’t a fool, we already knew that. But this… This is proper diplomacy.

Hanush dropped heavily into his chair, as if the surprise weighed more than armor.

—He’s alive —Hanush finally said, breaking the silence—. The bastard is alive.

Radzig couldn’t help a dry laugh, a mix of relief and disbelief.

—Hans… in Austria. And I’m sure Henry’s with him. I don’t know whether to embrace them or beat the hell out of them.

—Do both. In that order, you have my blessing —Hanush snorted, still stunned.

Radzig looked at the letter again, his thoughts drifting northward, beyond the mountain passes, to the imperial courts where his son and the heir of Rattay had undertaken a mission he hadn’t even imagined.

—Why? —he said quietly—. Have they gone all the way there in secret to negotiate the King’s release?

Hanush looked at him sideways.

—You think…? That he’s trying to get Wenceslas to intervene? —for the first time, Hanush’s voice trembled.

Radzig noticed his concern. It wasn’t far-fetched to think Hans had done all of it in secret for his own benefit.

—Do you really believe the King will force you to cede Rattay to Capon? That he’ll cancel the wedding? Come on, Hanush… he’s still a boy. His engagement to Jitka must happen if he’s to inherit, and let’s not forget the fortune his uncle gave for the cause…

Hanush clenched his fists and stared into the fire.

—If that boy thinks he can play politics without consequences… he’d better have learned how to win.

Chapter Text

The flames devoured everything. The screams of his neighbors filled the air as he ran for his life, too terrified to look back. His parents’ bodies were still warm when voices from the ramparts shouted at him to flee, to raise the alarm, to save himself.

Hundreds of Cumans were chasing him. They shot arrows, tried to strike his horse’s legs to bring him down and finish him off with their sabers. They shouted in a language he didn’t understand, but which was terrifying enough just to hear. He had only one option, keep running.

When he finally reached Talmberg, he could breathe with relief, though anguish and despair didn’t leave him; on the contrary, they grew stronger as he had to explain what had happened, reliving the flames, the deaths… the stench of war. The screams.

—Henry, are you alright?

A distant voice called out to him. The gentle touch of a hand was enough to wake him. He was drenched in sweat. In front of him, a pair of blue eyes looked at him with concern, lit by the flickering glow of a candle. The air smelled of hay and dry wood. There were no screams. No fire.

—Hans...? Pfff… —He ran a hand across his forehead and wiped off the sweat—. Did I wake you? I’m sorry, it was just a nightmare.

—Just a nightmare? Good Lord, Henry… Skalitz again? —his voice was soft, understanding.

Henry didn’t want to talk about it. It had been a long time since he’d dreamed of his village.

—Bah, don’t worry. Go back to sleep.

He closed his eyes and turned his back to him. Hans watched him for a few seconds, troubled, unsure whether to be more worried about the fever or his detachment. He let out a deep sigh, making it clear the matter wouldn’t be forgotten, and blew out the candle.

The crowing of a rooster woke them the next morning. The first rays of sunlight began to slip through the slats of the barn where they had spent the night. The animals were waking too, mooing and neighing, eager to be let out to graze. Hans shifted uncomfortably on his improvised bed of hay.

A peasant had allowed them to sleep in the upper part of the barn in exchange for a few groschen. At least the warmth of the animals softened the chill of the night, but his back found no rest. The wooden floor was hard, the dry grass poked at his skin, and even the slightest movement caused him pain. He looked at Henry, and all his complaints faded; he couldn’t help but smile.

Despite the swollen shoulder, the bruises, the raw finger, and the nightmare… he snored like he was in the coziest bed in Pirkstein Castle. Hans thought about how different their lives had been, their personalities… and yet, here they were, together, sheltered in a barn. He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Careful not to wake him, he brushed a lock of hair from his face. Then another. He picked out small bits of hay tangled in his hair and, when he found no more excuses, caressed his cheek. Henry smiled in his sleep and, relaxed, unconsciously reached for Hans’s hand. Moments later, he woke up.

—Good morning, my loyal squire. Did you sleep well?

Henry blinked to shake off the sleep and caressed Hans’s hand.

—Good morning, Sir Hans —he replied with a smile so genuine it lit up his face—. It felt like sleeping in a palace.

They cuddled, and no matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t contain their laughter, which ended up waking Sam and Musa. They had slept in an empty stall and were soon up and out of the barn. Even though they were used to the smell of animals by now, they needed fresh air. The farmer offered them porridge for breakfast and a basin of water to wash up. They didn’t linger long and resumed their journey to Bratislava. That very morning, they crossed the Danube.

The walls of Vienna were far behind; the spire of the cathedral was barely visible. That alone was enough to make Hans breathe easier, feeling far away from it all. Henry, on the other hand, still felt a void inside. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d left unfinished business behind. He wouldn’t easily forget Elias or the man who had tortured him.

The only thing pulling him away from the city was Hans. He looked happy, even after all they’d been through. He just wanted to move on, without looking back. Maybe Henry needed to learn to do the same.

He cast one last glance at the cathedral spire and followed his lord.

They continued along trade routes until they reached the border town. The road bustled with activity: caravans of merchants, groups of laborers, even mercenaries filled the paths, allowing them to blend in and avoid possible ambushes.

They spent the night at a tavern near Markthof, at Hans’s insistence, who wanted a decent bed to ease his back pain. The next morning, they resumed their journey and arrived early at the walled city of Bratislava.

The watchtowers rose above the rooftops of dark tiles, and the imposing Danube reflected the frantic activity of the port. In the distance, the bells of an Orthodox church rang with a rhythm foreign to Bohemia.

The market overflowed with foreign accents, embroidered silks, incomprehensible tongues, and the scents of eastern spices. But what caught Henry’s attention most were the Hungarian soldiers. Red uniforms, embroidered standards on their shields, and rugged faces under curved helmets.

He tensed. Though he knew the Cumans weren’t the same as the Hungarians, those dark faces and strange armor stirred an old fear within him. His mind dragged him back to Skalitz. The flames, the screams, the bodies… the flight.

Hans noticed the change in his expression.

—Are you alright?

Henry nodded vaguely, without answering. His eyes remained fixed on the sentries guarding the city gates, as if expecting one of them to shoot an arrow at any moment.

They headed to the Town Hall, where they needed new travel permits to move through Hungary. Musa accompanied Hans to serve as interpreter, while Sam and Henry waited outside with the horses. The sky signaled rain, and the humidity worsened the pain in Henry’s shoulder.

He massaged it with his free hand and laughed to himself. Samuel, who had been silently watching him, became alarmed.

—Henry? What’s wrong?

He looked up and kept smiling, despite the sharp pain.

—I think it’s going to warn me when it’s about to rain.

It was such an innocent, unexpected reply that Samuel was left speechless. Henry’s laugh was contagious and soon drew a chuckle from Sam.

—Oy elohim! Henry… You never stop surprising me.

A comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the distant clatter of a cart. Henry seized the moment. He couldn’t let the opportunity slip by.

—Sam… —he began, lowering his voice—. I wanted to thank you for saving Hans. I thought you hated him.

Samuel let out a small ironic laugh, but there was no bitterness in his gaze.

—Well, you weren’t wrong, brother —he admitted calmly. Then he paused, as if searching for the right word—. But when someone saves your life… it changes your perspective.

Henry looked at him more seriously. He wanted to say more, needed to, but the words were heavy.

—I… About why we were arrested. I suppose you’ve wondered. I suppose…

—You don’t need to say anything —Sam interrupted him, in a gentler tone than Henry expected—. I know.

Henry frowned, puzzled.

—You know?

Samuel nodded slowly.

—Hans told me. Well, part of it. Enough. I wasn’t as surprised as you think.

Henry lowered his gaze. The silence between them grew heavier, but not uncomfortable. It carried the weight of hasty judgments and unspoken feelings.

—And… what do you think? —he asked, almost in a whisper. It wasn’t fear, but it was vulnerability.

Sam didn’t answer right away. He took his time.

—I think you’re my brother. That you’ve been through hell. And that if you’ve found someone who can make you laugh even with a broken shoulder… then that’s alright.

Henry looked at him again. In his brother’s eyes, there was no judgment, no irony. Only pure, unconditional acceptance. He smiled, his eyes damp without realizing it.

—Thank you.

—Don’t thank me, idiot —Sam replied, giving him a light tap on the injured arm—. Though if you’re going to share a bed with Capon, make sure you don’t come back with the shoulder worse, alright?

Henry burst out laughing, joined by his brother. He felt the knot in his chest finally loosen. He wouldn’t have to hide anymore.

—And Musa?

—I’m not sure… —said Sam—. I think he suspects. But he’s still here, isn’t he? That means he doesn’t care.

Henry nodded, silently grateful. He looked up at the sky, where the first drops were beginning to fall. Laughter escaped him again.

—Definitely, I’m going to feel every storm before it arrives.

They took shelter under the eaves and waited until Hans and Musa came out of the Town Hall.

They’d taken longer than expected and, when they finally emerged, Musa had a furrowed brow. He wasn’t upset, but his expression and initial silence said more than a shout. Hans, beside him, walked with a clenched jaw and tense steps.

—What happened? —asked Henry, seeing their faces—. Do you have the travel permits?

—Yes… —Hans replied with a sigh.

—We got them, yes. But it was a complete scam. —He paused, shaking his head slightly—. They claim the border situation is “unstable,” that they need to review everything “more carefully”… and of course, that comes at a price. A very high one. Nonsense.

Musa’s tone wasn’t angry, but his gaze showed the weariness of someone tired of hitting the same wall over and over. Henry noticed he spoke with a mix of frustration and resignation, as if this unfair treatment was nothing new to him.

—How much was it? —asked Samuel.

—Too much —Hans answered before Musa could—. Way more than we expected. At this rate, we’ll run out of money before we reach Belgrade.

Hans’s voice sounded higher, softer. A clear sign that he was worried, though trying not to show it. Henry noticed it immediately. He knew him well.

—It’s fine —he said at last, trying to sound nonchalant—. We’ll figure something out. Maybe we can work for a few days. They’re always looking for people to haul sacks of flour…

He said it as seriously as he could, but the look he gave Hans was almost mischievous. It was a clear reference, an inside joke none of the others immediately understood. Hans caught it, of course. At first, he just frowned, still wrapped in frustration, but then, like a cracking wall, a smile curved his lips.

—You’d better pray your shoulder heals, because a nobleman can’t haul sacks! —he finally replied, bursting into laughter that swept away the bad mood.

The echo of that laughter eased something in Henry’s chest. His joke wasn’t just meant to make him smile, it was his way of saying “I’m with you,” of reminding him that, no matter what, they were still in this together.

Samuel and Musa watched the exchange, unaware of its background and unsure what to think. They didn’t fully understand what had just been said, but just by looking at their faces, they could tell the bad mood had passed.

They mounted their horses and left Bratislava before the roads turned to mud. The rain kept falling gently, soaking rooftops, stones, and worries. Despite everything, the journey continued. And they were still together.

The stage had been longer and harder than they had planned. The storm clouds seemed to chase them, and a bothersome fine drizzle soaked them along the way. It was chilly, despite being summer, and the humidity was starting to take its toll.

Henry freed his arm on the third day; he could no longer stand riding with his left immobilized. Samuel began to sneeze on the fourth day, had a fever by the fifth, and on the sixth, they had to stop and find shelter under a roof. Those extra days in the tavern drained their already thin leather purses even more, but at least they allowed Henry and Hans to fully recover from their experience in Vienna.

It was a tavern in the middle of a roadside village, and every day new travelers brought news of the world. A German merchant told them that a tournament was going to be held in Buda. He had been waiting for it for a long time. For the first time in his life, he was going to see a jousting match.

That planted an idea in Hans’s mind. Could they take part? After all, he was a noble, and had the right to enter such tournaments. They needed money, and although Henry had joked about carrying sacks, they knew that possibility was very real. He might be willing to do it, but Hans was not thrilled at all.

A week later, with Sam already recovered, they resumed the journey. The storm had passed, and the sun returned with force, evaporating the puddles in the fields and leaving behind a suffocating heat.

When they finally reached the great city of Buda around midday, they sighed with exhaustion. It had been a grueling journey. After crossing the city walls, they spotted the city center on the lower part of the hill. From above, the towers and reddish rooftops stood out against the clear sky, while the urban murmur rose up to them like a constant hum. Another big city. Another place to seek opportunity… or trouble.

They moved toward the heart of the city, the horses’ hooves clacking against the cobblestones like soft bells at dusk.

—Look at that —said Hans, pointing at a banner waving over one of the lower bastion towers.

It was blue silk, with golden letters announcing the upcoming tournament of Saint Ladislaus. Similar signs were everywhere: boards listing names, hand-painted heraldic crests, rules written in Latin and Hungarian. The market square was turning into an improvised jousting camp, with blacksmiths riveting armor and young squires sharpening lances.

Henry felt intoxicated by the festive atmosphere. He read the posters in Latin, and when he saw the sword duel competition, he couldn’t help but smile.

—Don’t even think about it —said Sam, not taking his eyes off his brother, reading his intentions—. You can barely lift your arm without wincing. You’re not fighting like that.

—It would just be a light bout... —replied Henry, although he lowered his voice when he noticed Musa’s serious gaze.

—And you could damage the ligaments. The shoulder is still sensitive —the scholar stated, not budging an inch.

Hans, on the other hand, looked delighted. He had already dismounted and was striding toward the registration booth with the determined gait of someone who had made an irrevocable decision.

—Well, I’m going to try my luck with the bow —he announced casually—. A bit of fun… and some extra coins won’t hurt.

He left his companions behind and tried to speak Latin with the registration official. He wanted to surprise Henry, so he attempted to register him without telling him. He knew Henry was eager to test his steel. And although the shoulder wasn’t fully healed, he trusted him completely.

—But his squire is not noble. I can’t register him —replied the Hungarian, expressionless.

—Henry of Skalitz is the son of Sir Radzig Kobyla of Dvorce. I’m sure this little… inconvenience can be resolved.

Hans discreetly dropped a few extra coins under the table, directly onto the registrar’s lap. The gesture was elegant, almost natural, as if it were part of the process. He knew money was scarce, that every coin counted… but he didn’t hold back. Not when it came to Henry. He knew him. He knew what he was capable of with a sword, even wounded.

The Hungarian smiled with subtle complicity.

Back with the others, Hans patted Henry on the shoulder. He barely flinched, seemed to handle it well. Hans let out a restrained sigh. He had placed his bet. He just hoped he hadn’t been wrong.

—Onward, gentlemen! —he exclaimed—. We still have to find the cheapest tavern in town...

The day dawned with the thunder of drums and the ringing of bells. Buda was dressed for celebration. Banners fluttered from every tower and balcony, vendors shouted about sweets and bowls of hot wine, and the fields by the Danube swarmed with spectators. The tournament was beginning.

An elevated platform, flanked by nobles and local magistrates, overlooked the tilting grounds. Below it, the field was divided: one side for archery, the other for melee combat. The crowd packed the stands and clustered around the palisades, murmuring knights’ names, betting coins, applauding every bullseye or precise strike.

Hans appeared with the confident elegance that defined him. He wore a light cape over his doublet, his house colors discreet yet visible, and a yew bow slung casually over his shoulder. He walked with that proud bearing that seemed to defy the whole world, and yet, in his eyes shone a restrained, almost childlike excitement. For him, competing there wasn’t just a way to earn money, it was a way to prove, perhaps, that he was more than just a spoiled young nobleman.

—Try not to blink —he murmured with a smile before stepping toward the shooting line.

Sam snorted, Musa crossed his arms, and Henry watched silently from the shadow of a canopy, a knot of tension in his gut.

Hans did not disappoint. He shot with increasing precision, until even the Hungarians began to applaud. In the final round, with an arrow planted squarely in the heart of the painted target, the crowd erupted in cheers. He had won clearly. He raised a hand in greeting, enjoying the moment without false modesty.

But the celebration barely lasted.

A powerful voice rang out from the central platform.

—Skalitzi Henrik, lépj a párbajmezőre!

Silence fell over the crowd. Henry felt his entire body tense. All eyes turned to him. Sam frowned and turned toward him.

—Did he say something about Henry?

—They just called Henry of Skalitz to the dueling grounds —Musa translated flatly.

—What the hell? You didn’t sign up. —protested Sam.

—I didn’t —Henry replied, his voice taut.

Then Hans burst under the canopy with a wide grin, drunk on the high of his overwhelming victory. Thanks to that competition alone, he had earned enough coin to reach all the way to Sofia.

—Come on, Henry! Didn’t you hear them call you? —Hans tugged him up from the bench.

—You…?

Hans didn’t answer. His smile said it all. It had been him. He had registered Henry in secret. A surprise. An opportunity. He had done it because he knew Henry wanted it, and because, despite everything, he believed in him. Truly believed in him. Enough to bet the money they so badly needed.

Henry stared at him. For a moment, he was so full of love he had to restrain the impulse to embrace him right there, in front of everyone. Instead, he looked at him with absolute tenderness, as if his eyes alone could say everything he felt.

Then he turned and walked toward the dueling field.

The midday sun blazed over the packed-dirt clearing where the tournament duels were held. The makeshift stands boiled with anticipation; nobles, merchants, and soldiers crowded to see warriors test their steel and resolve. Among them, Henry waited in silence, adjusting the strap of his gauntlet, eyes fixed on the master-at-arms.

He reached for his injured shoulder, testing it. He could move it freely, but it still resisted, like a rusty hinge. He sighed and shook his head. He couldn’t afford to fail now.

His first opponent was a young Hungarian knight, strong, impulsive, wielding a long sword with great reach. Henry won through reflexes, dodging wide attacks and punishing with quick thrusts. His shoulder protested at every turn, but he held firm.

The next challenger was more skilled: a Bohemian passing through the Hungarian court, with elegant movements and impeccable guard. The fight dragged on, and Henry had to resort to risky feints and circular motions to disarm him. By the end, he was gasping, face beaded with sweat, barely masking the pain in his arm.

The third duel was brutal. His adversary, a veteran mercenary scarred by war and wielding a curved axe, forced him to retreat for what felt like endless minutes. The crowd roared at every clash of metal. Henry finally won with a desperate maneuver: he slipped his sword under the mercenary’s arm and twisted the weapon free. He fell to his knees after the victory, teeth clenched, his shoulder burning like fire.

He returned to the shade of the canopy, where his companions offered cool cloths and spiced wine. Hans wiped the sweat from his brow with clumsy but careful hands, while Musa checked his shoulder and shook his head.

—It’s badly inflamed. If you keep this up, it could pop out again.

A shiver ran down his spine. The adrenaline dulled the pain but didn’t erase it. He’d had enough fun already, but… he hadn’t come this far to give up.

—Henrik Skalitzból, a párbajmezőre! Csaba vár rád! —the marshal called out loudly.

—What? What did he say? —asked Henry, weariness on his face.

—You have to return. Your next opponent is Csaba —Musa translated.

Henry leapt to his feet and nearly knocked Capon over.

—Csaba!? The strongest man in Hungary?

He walked back toward the field, and there he saw him. Over forty, but his body was still a block of muscle hardened by war. Henry still remembered his face from the Italian Court, holding alone the path to the Bohemian nobles under siege. He had shown a courage Henry had never seen before. With Janosh’s help, they’d convinced him to leave Kuttenberg and return to Hungary with his family. And indeed, he had.

Henry stepped into the arena with slow, steady steps.

Csaba recognized him.

—Henry of Skalitz… I didn’t expect to see you here —Csaba growled, raising his hand-and-a-half sword—. Don’t let the pain stop you. Today, we fight for real.

And they fought.

The first clash was devastating. Csaba struck without mercy, blows so powerful Henry could barely block them. Each parry sent a lash of fire through his wounded arm. He stepped back, twisted, dodged. He grabbed his shoulder reflexively, but everything was still in place. He couldn’t keep facing him like this.

Hans watched from the stands. Each step Henry took back tightened the knot in his throat. He gripped his bow with white knuckles, as if he could somehow lend Henry his strength.

Henry began to shift the tempo. He attacked in bursts, then vanished with short, agile footwork. He targeted Csaba’s flank, forced mistakes. Once, he nearly disarmed him. Another time, he cut a strap from Csaba’s gauntlet. But it wasn’t enough. Csaba cornered him, knocked him down, and only Henry’s speed saved him from the final blow.

The crowd held its breath.

Henry knew he had just one chance. With a last effort, he spun, feigning a fall. Csaba took the bait, lowered his guard for a second to finish him… and then Henry twisted his torso, ignoring the pain, and launched an upward slash that tore the helm from the Hungarian’s head.

Silence.

Then, an uproar.

The tip of Henry’s sword hovered at Csaba’s throat. Csaba raised his hand, acknowledging defeat. His smile was wide, sincere.

—At last, boy… At last we’ve fought.

Henry fell to his knees, not out of reverence, but because his legs could no longer hold him. Hans ran toward him through the cheers, laughing like a madman, followed by Sam and Musa.

He had defeated the strongest man in Hungary not with strength, but with skill.

—Young Henry… —said Csaba, approaching with firm steps—. It was a true spectacle to watch you fight.

He offered his hand, large as a racket and hardened by years. Henry took it, feeling the strength in the grip.

—May I buy you and your men a beer?

—It would be an honor, Csaba of Buda —Henry replied, without bragging, with genuine respect.

As evening fell, the group made their way toward a tavern in the old quarter, following the veteran Hungarian’s directions. The streets buzzed with celebration. Children with ribbons in their hair played on the cobblestones, street musicians competed with the noise, and bettors from the tournament spent their winnings in taverns.

Csaba was already waiting at a corner table, with a couple of empty mugs beside him. He had saved a spot by the hearth, where the fire crackled as if it too had something to say. He greeted Henry with a slow, solemn clap, followed by the nearest patrons. It wasn’t every day the strongest man in Hungary was defeated… and even less so with elegance.

—To you, champion! —Csaba bellowed, raising his mug—. And to your friends. May God keep you!

Henry blushed and sat down shyly, trying not to draw more attention. Capon, more relaxed now that his purse was heavier, began recounting the group’s adventures with his usual grandiloquence, though he deliberately avoided mentioning the Inquisition in any form.

—So… Constantinople? Mff… —he ran his fingers through his moustache and took a large gulp of his beer.

—We know it’s a long journey —Henry replied—, but we won’t stop.

—Yes, yes… long… and dangerous. Don’t you know the Ottomans are pressing in from the southeast?

They had heard that before, but they planned to reach the border bey in Serbia and purchase the permits to cross his lands. They hoped Musa’s company would generate some goodwill.

—Do you think merchants don’t know that? —Hans snapped, brow furrowed, pride stung—. And yet they cross those routes every day.

—Easy, young Lord… I understand that following trade routes is safest, but you should be careful. I’ve heard they’re recruiting men in the south, and pushing further north. Something big is coming…

He took another sip of beer, foam clinging to his moustache. His eyes were starting to droop, and his breath reeked of alcohol. Perhaps he had drunk too fast.

—What do you mean? —asked Sam, concern on his face.

—War, Jewish master. Sigismund is trapped. The Empire is crumbling in his hands, and when a king grows desperate, the roads fill with steel.

Henry shuddered at the mention of that name. The one who had delivered Bohemia to fire and plunder. The one who had sent the Cumans. The name weighed like a stone sinking in his mug of beer. He drained it in one gulp, as if he could swallow the past along with it.

Everyone finished their drinks and thanked Csaba for the invitation. They said goodbye between laughter and more stories, then returned to the inn where they had reserved their beds. Night had fully fallen. The day had been long and intense, and Henry fell asleep within a minute.

Hans was still mulling over all the warnings they had heard. What if he was putting Henry in danger just for a whim? He watched him sleep, watched his chest rise and fall in a hypnotic rhythm, and felt the urge to touch him. But he didn’t. He didn’t want to wake him.

He thought about what awaited him in Rattay. An arranged marriage. Was he a maiden, sold to the highest bidder to secure an alliance? Why couldn’t he choose his own fate? That was what bothered him most: the sense that he was still not an adult capable of managing his own inheritance.

Why, despite everything, was he happier than ever? The bruises on his back were gone now, and with them, the bad memories of Vienna. He had never felt so… alive, so free. He looked again at Henry. He was deeply asleep, a faint wrinkle of pain between his brows.

A bitter smile escaped him. Was he really willing to put him in danger for the sake of his own longing for freedom?

Chapter Text

They left Buda the next morning, exactly thirty days after departing from Rattay. When Hans had jumped from the wall of his castle, he already suspected the journey wouldn’t be easy, but he had no idea how wrong he was.

They set off early, before the scorching sun could catch them in the middle of the Hungarian steppe. The plain stretched out before them with fields so vast the eye couldn’t see their end. Bushes grew wild on both sides of the path, and the solitary trees barely cast any shadow. From time to time they came across denser groups, though never thick enough to be called a forest, but they still took advantage of those green havens to rest.

There weren’t many villages among the farmland. On the first night they found the house of a landowner who let them sleep in the stable, but in the days that followed, they had to camp near the road. They always looked for secluded spots, not easily visible from the path. Hans wasn’t about to take any more chances after what had happened in Trostky.

Sometimes they were completely alone on the road, alert to every sound waiting for them beyond each curve, praying to God that no more ambushes lay ahead. At other times, they passed caravans of merchants or full-on processions of peasants on their way to the city. It was an oddly peaceful few days.

Little by little, the landscape began to change. The vast stretches of farmland diminished, replaced by ponds and muddy patches where, more than once, they had to help pull a cart free. Swamps became more frequent, and the humidity, combined with the stifling heat, made the air nearly unbreathable.

The four of them moved forward in silence, sweaty, their gazes lost in the ripples of the horizon. Pebbles and Athenon snorted wearily at the head of the group. The foam building under the mare’s saddle soaked Henry’s trousers, and the animal’s heat was becoming worrisome.

—Sir Hans! We should ask where we are…

Hans wiped the sweat from his brow with his arm. He pushed his hair back, and it stuck to him as if he’d dunked it in a tub of water.

—Good idea… Over there, in the distance, there seems to be a shed. Maybe it belongs to a house.

He pointed toward the horizon and Henry saw it too. Four wooden walls so small it could barely be called a cabin, sitting in the middle of a golden field. They moved quickly, fleeing the heat, and when they reached the shed, they spotted farther off a simple house with smoke rising from the chimney.

They approached, and the smell of grilled meat made their stomachs growl. A woman came out to meet them with a worried expression; the presence of four male riders was neither a common nor welcome visit. However, Musa stepped forward and introduced himself politely. The woman relaxed as soon as she heard him.

They exchanged a few words in a language the others didn’t understand, but the conversation seemed to go well: the woman smiled. After a few minutes, she went inside and returned with several rolls and a good piece of meat, offering them with the firmness of someone who doesn’t take “no” for an answer.

—Köszönöm. —Musa thanked her with a bow. Then they returned to the road.

—So? Which way do we go now? —Hans asked.

—She said we’re near Kiskunfélegyháza. We need to go back a bit and take a dirt path heading southeast.

“Kiskunfélegyháza…” Henry repeated in his head, over and over. It sounded familiar. He didn’t know from where, but the name sparked something in his memory. He could feel the memory about to break the surface, like a word on the tip of his tongue. The heat didn’t help—his head was burning.

They followed the new path just as Musa had instructed, and that’s when the word emerged, clear and absurd, like a splash of cold water.

—Kisscuntfellonhisarse! —Henry shouted, as if he’d had a divine revelation.

The group stopped, looking at him like he’d lost his mind.

—He’s definitely lost it. —Sam suggested.

Hans turned with concern, but Henry didn’t seem delirious. His eyes were lit up.

—No, no! I know that place. Vasko told me about it. He said if I was ever nearby, I had to go visit. Come on!

He spurred Pebbles on without waiting for a reply. The others followed, bewildered. They were eager to arrive too, even if they didn’t understand a thing. Especially Hans, who couldn’t help but wonder “who the hell was that Vasko?”

The sun was slowly setting over the vast Puszta plain, gilding the tall grass fields as the group of riders made their way along the dusty road. Shadows stretched longer as they approached the village. The houses, low and thatched, emerged among the willows flanking the river.

—Is this the place? —murmured Hans, gently pulling the reins.

—Kiskunfélegyháza —Musa nodded—. In the heart of old Kunság. The land of the Cumans.

In the distance, from behind an old wooden church blackened by age, a hoarse, rough voice rang out, full of authority.

—Ne hagyd ott, az Istenért, hozd be gyorsan!

Hungarian sounded guttural and fast, like a language more spat than spoken. But amid those strange sounds, Henry smiled. It was impossible to mistake Vasko’s voice. Perhaps the only Cuman he had ever truly connected with. Not just as an ally, but as a person. As a friend.

They tied the horses near the road and headed to the back of the church. A wooden fence enclosed a field where several boys were practicing fencing with training swords. By the wall, a young man clumsily carried some sacks while Vasko gave him instructions between grunts and curses.

When he saw the four men approaching from the side of the building, his first reaction was instinctive. His hand went to the saber hanging at his waist. The boys froze, tense, and watched. But then, Vasko squinted, examined them closely… and lowered his arms.

—Mi a fene?! Henry? Is that you, boy?

—Vasko!

They both seemed equally surprised to see Henry there, in the middle of Hungary. He looked closely, making sure his old, tired eyes weren’t deceiving him. They shook hands, and Henry introduced his companions.

Still stunned, barely speaking, he looked curiously at the new visitors.

—But… what are you doing here?

—We’re headed to Constantinople. Your village was on the way, so… I thought I’d pay you a visit. —Henry replied as if it were the most natural thing.

—That far? —Vasko rubbed his beard, thoughtful—. You must be exhausted… And here I am standing like an idiot? Come, tonight you’ll sleep at my house.

The group followed Vasko to a house on the other side of the village. Hans still couldn’t believe Henry had made friends with a Cuman—especially one who had been in Skalitz. That must’ve been some drunken night…

They entered the house. The interior was cool compared to the outside, though there was a different kind of chill in the air. Not of temperature, but of solitude. The house was austere: few furnishings, no fire in the hearth. A life lived in quiet, devoted to training young men with no reward beyond routine. No wife. No children. No war, but no peace either.

Vasko brought several jugs of beer from a pantry hidden under a trapdoor, and handed them out generously. Musa, out of courtesy, accepted one, but didn’t take a sip.

Vasko settled in, fixed his eyes on Henry, and raised his jug with a solemn gesture.

—Well, young Henry. You’ve got a lot to tell me.

When the house fell into shadow, they lit the fire. The beers went down easily for Hans, Henry, and Sam, who recounted with flair everything they had experienced on the road that past month. The alcohol even encouraged them to share their Vienna adventure.

Vasko laughed with them, slapping the table with his hand whenever something made him burst into laughter. When they finished, he told them about his return home after that fight in Trostky. It hadn’t taken him long to decide he would never go back to the army.

—I’ve seen too much blood. Too much death —he said, more to himself than to the others—. I don’t want to rot on a battlefield. If death comes for me, let it find me in my bed… old, with twisted legs and no teeth, but at peace.

As he had once suggested to Henry, he had devoted himself to teaching fencing. His little field by the church had become a place of learning for any young man who could spare a few coins. It was what he did best, and though at first it was just a way to survive, over time it gave him something more: purpose. Something war had taken from him.

—At least —he added—, if these kids ever have to fight, they’ll know how to hold a sword. And if not, well… they’ll have learned discipline. That’s worth something too.

Vasko interrupted his own reflections when he noticed the saber Musa wore at his side. His eyes lit up with curiosity, almost as if he had found an unexpected gem in the shadows.

—Nice weapon —he said, nodding toward it.

—This? —Musa unsheathed the saber slowly and respectfully—. It was a gift from the council of Kuttenberg.

He offered it to Vasko with both hands. The old warrior took it carefully, as if handling something sacred. He examined it with an expert eye, turning it between his fingers, feeling its balance.

—I suppose it’s a good sword —Musa added, shrugging—. Though I… don’t know how to use it.

Vasko looked up, visibly surprised.

—You don’t know how to fight? Then why carry it?

—Well… it’s a long road. Better to have this than nothing.

Vasko looked at him for another second, then burst into laughter. His laugh, hoarse and dragged down by years and beer, echoed throughout the house.

—Mi a fene! If you don’t know how to use it, it might be worse than carrying nothing!

He handed the saber back, still smiling. Musa took it clumsily, unsure whether to feel embarrassed or amused.

—I know… Tomorrow… —a belch cut him off, loud and foul— hic!… Tomorrow, come see me behind the church. I’ll teach you how to use a saber properly.

—But I don’t…

—I want to learn too! —shouted Sam, barely able to keep his eyes open. He was drunk and cheerful in equal measure, his cheeks puffed out like he might explode from happiness.

—All right! —Vasko replied, laughing. He pointed at them both with a trembling finger—. I’ll be waiting for you two tomorrow. And bring some guts!

—And you two? —he added, turning to Henry and Hans—. You and your lord?

—No, thank you —Hans answered with a diplomatic smile. His cheeks were flushed, but he still held his composure—. Tomorrow we’ll go hunt something for dinner. It’s the least we can do to thank you for your hospitality.

—Redben! —Vasko exclaimed, raising his mug.

They clinked their mugs one last time. The foam spilled over, and night closed in around them. Sam fell asleep on the floor, clutching his empty mug, and Musa sat staring at his saber with an indecisive expression, as if wondering whether accepting that gift had really been a good idea.

Henry, in silence, looked at Vasko for a moment longer. Something in his tired face, in the faded light of his eyes, reminded him that not everyone who survives war lives in peace.

They set out at first light, when the faint glow of the sun began to peek over the horizon. They didn’t take the horses; they wanted them to rest in the shade, with plenty of water and food. They deserved a break too.

Hans and Henry walked across the meadow, heading toward a denser patch of trees visible in the distance. Birds sang with excitement in the cool morning air, and little by little their symphony blended with the slow, steady croaking of frogs.

They approached a pond well hidden among the trees, where animals had already carved out their own paths. They hid in some bushes with a good view of the water, and Henry suggested they wait for some prey to come near.

—Not a bad idea —Hans replied, surveying the surroundings—. But we should move to the other side, to those bushes over there.

Henry looked up toward where Hans was pointing. At first glance, it looked exactly the same as where they were.

—Why?

—Because the wind’s coming from the west. If a hare comes from that side, it’ll smell you from miles away.

He made a mocking gesture, bringing two fingers to his nose to indicate that Henry stank. Henry couldn’t help but laugh and lifted an armpit, only to drop it immediately.

—God, you’re right. Once we catch something, I should bathe in that pond.

The joke brought back bitter memories for them both, which passed through their minds like a dark cloud, but they chose to leave them behind. They moved spots and settled where Hans had indicated, under some thick shrubs that concealed them completely. Henry took out his bow and kept it ready, alert for any movement.

Hans, in no hurry to leave, lay back on the damp earth and put a blade of grass in his mouth. He toyed with it while picking food from between his teeth. Henry glanced at him sideways and shook his head.

—His lordship doesn’t plan on doing anything more useful? —he asked, without taking his eyes off the pond.

—Oh, but of course, blacksmith! I’ll supervise from here while I enjoy the excellent view.

—What vie…? Oh…

He stopped short when he saw Hans staring right at him. He smiled, slightly blushing.

The sun climbed slowly into the sky, and still no animals came near the water. Even so, the young men kept talking in a low, steady tone. They spoke of the fear they’d felt in Vienna, of the immense joy of reuniting… and how exciting the journey had been, despite everything.

They remembered the first time they met, back in the Great Hall of Rattay Castle, and how much Henry had hated Hans for his pride and narcissism. It wasn’t that Hans made him feel inferior… it’s that he truly believed he was. But everything changed when they went hunting together for the first time and Henry saved Hans’s life. That had sparked a sincere and beautiful friendship that eventually evolved into the love they now felt for one another.

Henry watched him lying there, his tousled golden hair, his skin smooth as marble, and that expression so uniquely his—somewhere between arrogant and serene. He felt an admiration hard to put into words… and also a fear that squeezed at his chest. Fear of losing him again.

The tone of their conversation shifted when Hans furrowed his brow, breaking the moment.

—That damn wedding… What if we don’t come back? What if… we stay in Constantinople?

His eyes were closed, picturing that impossible fate.

—You don’t mean that, Hans.

—I was just thinking out loud.

Henry sighed. He wanted to comfort him, to ease that anxiety, but he also knew he had to be honest.

—I don’t get why it affects you so much. It’s just business. I don’t care that… well. That you sleep with your wife.

He blushed slightly. Of course he cared—he wanted Hans all to himself—but he knew Hans had to fulfill the duty of marriage. He didn’t doubt that his heart would always belong to him. Hans leaned back slightly and looked Henry in the eyes.

—Do you really think it’s… about that? About sex?

—Well… I don’t know. —he scratched the back of his neck, uncomfortable. —You’re old enough to know how the world works, Hans. That marriage is a strong alliance. And you know it.

—Aff… —he sighed and lay back again. —Of course I know, Henry. But… it bothers me that Hanush sold me off like I’m… I don’t know. A steed? A maiden? I’m not some damn piece of property.

Henry tried to understand. He hadn’t lived a noble’s life, and there were still things that were hard for him to grasp. Marriage for love was for the poor and the common folk—at least, that’s what he’d always seen and heard. Nobles didn’t marry for love.

—Mmm. It’s true that maybe… they could’ve asked you. But I understand it was a delicate negotiation, right? They needed Kundstad’s money.

—Exactly! They could’ve…

—And would you have said yes?

—Of course not! —he said quickly, without thinking.

The answer hung between them. Hans exhaled and, with his head lowered, realized he’d answered his own question.

—Well, I would’ve at least considered it. —he muttered, unconvincingly.

—Not even you believe that! —Henry said, laughing.

Hans didn’t reply. He just smiled, a mix of resignation and tenderness. He didn’t want to ruin the day with more complaints. He turned on his side and, still on the ground, hugged Henry’s legs like a child seeking comfort.

—I don’t want us to be separated, Henry. —he whispered, with a sincerity that disarmed him.

Henry gently stroked his hair, as if his tenderness could protect them from everything.

—They won’t, Hans. Fulfill your duty in bed with your wife, as you must. Nothing stops you from going out to hunt with your squire afterward. We’ll be together. Married or not.

Hans hugged him tighter. A strong, needy embrace. Henry leaned down slightly and saw a faint smile on his lips. He smiled too. Seeing Hans happy filled him completely, like the world had aligned just for a moment.

A slight movement in the grass ahead caught his attention and he stopped looking at Hans. He drew the bow and got ready to shoot as soon as he saw the small animal. A lean, agile hare approached the edge of the water and began to drink.

He aimed, shot—and missed. The hare bolted as soon as the arrow thudded into the ground, not very close to it.

—Kurva! I hate hunting hares.

Hans didn’t even flinch at his comment. He stayed wrapped around him, eyes closed, trying to take a nap.

After a while, another hare appeared at the water’s edge. Henry took a deep breath, drew the bow, and aimed calmly. He held it for a few seconds, released the arrow with his breath… and missed again.

—Ag! Damn it, Hans… Could the current champion of Saint Ladislaus get up and hunt dinner? Or would that be too much for his lordship?

Hans opened one eye, amused. He got up calmly, took the bow from Henry’s hands and grabbed an arrow. He peered through the bushes and watched as the hare moved through the grass, forming a small path. With cold precision, he followed its movement… and fired.

A faint squeal was heard, and the grass stopped rustling. Henry was literally speechless.

Hans smiled. How he loved showing off his skill in front of others! Because yes, he was good—and he knew it. He handed the bow back to Henry and lay down again with his arms behind his head.

—There’s your dinner. Now be a good commoner and go fetch the animal so you can skin it.

Henry found himself completely disarmed by his lord. He’d asked him to hunt—and he had. Now it was his job to get his hands dirty. He stood up with resignation… and a big smile.

They hunted a couple more hares throughout the afternoon, though most of the hours were spent in each other's arms, lying on the warm, damp earth. The murmur of the water and the occasional hum of insects made up a soft music that seemed made just for them. Beneath the shade of the bushes, the whole world shrank to caresses, whispers, and the occasional laugh that slipped out uninvited. Henry slowly massaged Hans’s back, and in return, Hans helped ease the tension in his shoulder until the sunset painted the sky in copper and purple hues.

—I think it’s time we took that bath… —Hans suggested, tracing circles on Henry’s buttock.

—Pff… I’ve spoiled you far too much, my lord. —he replied playfully.

—As it should be! To the water, squire!

They left the skinned hares hidden in the shadows of the bushes and began to undress. The scene brought back memories of Trostky, but now the game was different. Hans’s jokes about their bodies were no longer superficial provocations. Now they saw each other differently, they had tested one another, and their naked bodies truly excited them.

They stepped into the pond. The water, warmed by the day’s heat, barely reached their waists, but it was enough to submerge themselves, and to lose themselves in each other.

—Come here… —murmured Henry, drawing Hans closer with his arm.

He pulled him in and kissed him with passion. Hans wrapped his arms around him and returned the kiss with more intensity, smiling at the end. Henry let his hands slide down Hans’s thighs and brought his face to Hans’s neck.

He gave him soft kisses as he touched him, as he tasted him… And there, in the middle of a hidden pond lost in the middle of nowhere, they consummated their love.

They came out of the water feeling fresh, clean, and relieved. They dressed in the clothes they had washed in the pond, which had dried quickly under the heat. The hares were still fresh, lying close to the ground and sheltered by the shade of the bush. The sun had already set, and the darkness was growing thicker—there was barely half an hour of light left.

—We should head back. —Hans said, his tone betraying a hint of unease.

—Yes, it’s time. Do you have everything?

Hans checked that all his belongings were in place—nothing had been left on the ground. He nodded, and they left the pond. They still had to cross a patch of woods before reaching the vast field that separated them from the village of Vasko. They entered the undergrowth in silence and began to hear noises, what sounded like men's laughter.

Further ahead, Henry caught a flicker of light and soon detected the smell of burning wood. The campfire gave away those who were camping nearby and unfortunately, they had to pass close to them to reach the meadow. It was the only clear path.

Henry crouched down, and Hans did the same. They moved forward stealthily until the fire was nearly in front of them. One of the men stepped away to relieve himself at a tree, and the young men hid behind a nearby bush, holding their breath.

Henry watched closely—the clothing, the way they muttered, the war tattoos.

Cuman mercenaries.

Two of them started a clumsy, drunken fight, their laughter mingling with shouts in a harsh tongue. But it was what surrounded the fire that truly made Henry’s stomach turn.

Sacks of grain split open, crates with expensive carpets, silver goblets blackened by blood, glass flasks filled with stolen liquor. Tanned hides, fine boots stained, a half-burnt cavalry helmet. And beyond that, the worst, a man cleaning a coat still damp with blood. A Christian coat. A noble’s, perhaps.

—Looters… —Henry whispered as Hans approached. —Two are sleeping, we could…

—Don’t even think about it! —Hans cut him off in a tense, hushed voice. —They haven’t seen us, they haven’t done anything. We’re not soldiers, we don’t have to take this risk. Please, Henry… let’s go.

The plea in his voice carried weight. It wasn’t fear, it was concern. For him. Henry swallowed hard. He knew Hans was right, but every part of his body begged to act otherwise. He looked at that scene like an open wound. It was Skalitz all over again. His father. His mother. His village burning.

His eyes locked on the one who seemed to be the leader. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his skin weathered like old leather. He wore a dark coat with red trim and had a black mustache that hung like claws. His eyes were such a dark brown they looked hollow. On his right hand, he wore a massive ring with a green stone, gleaming like a reptile’s eye. His deep voice echoed even from a distance, as if the whole forest recognized it and shrank away.

There was something about him that provoked a deep, almost instinctive revulsion. As if violence followed him like a shadow. Henry froze. His hand instinctively reached for the hilt of his sword. He knew he could take them. His blade had struck down fiercer foes. But when he looked up, he saw Hans. Crouched on the other side of the clearing, hidden in the shadows, reaching out to him. Waiting.

A patch of light in the middle of the dark.

His hand relaxed instantly, forgetting the bandit camp in a heartbeat. The only thing he thought of in that moment was returning to the one person who truly gave his life meaning.

Chapter Text

The night had fallen like a thick, dark cloak, with hardly any stars. They had made their way back quickly and in silence, careful not to disturb the uneasy stillness brought by the darkness.

Two torches in the distance dimly lit the entrance to the village, wrapped in gloom. They both sighed in relief upon seeing that, at last, they had arrived safe and sound. The encounter with the bandits had left their nerves frayed.

They made their way between the houses, looking for Vasko’s. When they arrived, a figure leaning against the wall awaited them in silence, broken only by the metallic sound of a knife being sharpened. Henry’s heart skipped a beat before he caught his breath.

—For God’s sake... Sam! What are you doing here? —murmured Henry, still panting.

Sam sheathed the knife and stepped away from the wall.

—I didn’t know if I’d have to go out looking for you. Where have you been?

Hans glanced sideways at Henry; it was a quick, almost imperceptible look, but Henry felt it like a weight on the back of his neck. He reached for his belt and showed Sam the reason for their delay, three beautiful hares, already skinned.

—For tomorrow’s meal.

—How many times did you have to kill them? —asked Sam with irony, letting his annoyance at the hour show.

—Only once, as far as I recall. But that’s not what delayed us. We ran into a camp.

Sam’s eyes widened, alarmed. Henry explained what they had seen and how, luckily, they managed to pass by unnoticed. The news of a bandit camp so close was unsettling, so they wasted no time in entering the house and waking Vasko to tell him.

Hans was the first to go in. Henry held Sam back a moment, taking him by the arm.

—Thank you... for waiting. I appreciate your concern.

Sam shook his head. Henry had risked his life for him more than once. It wasn’t just a matter of loyalty, he felt a genuine urge to protect what little family he had left. Sam shared that same feeling.

—Always, brother —he replied with a smile.

They woke Vasko with grumbles and complaints. They explained what had happened. Though he tried to downplay it to get back to sleep, worry eventually won out. Henry began describing what he had seen: the men’s appearance, their movements, and most of all, the look of their leader.

Vasko brought a hand to his chin, stroked his mustache several times, and tried to remember where he had seen such a peculiar ring before.

—I think... they might be Szegedi’s men. You say they wore green?

—Yes, green. And another color, with two crosses, but the firelight didn’t let me see them well.

—Red —Capon interrupted, drawing all eyes to him—. I’m used to hunting at night. I know well how blood looks under firelight. Their colors were green and red —he stated with certainty.

Vasko narrowed his eyes and nodded slowly.

—Then, without a doubt, it’s the house of Szegedi. Mmm... —his guttural grunt echoed through the small room—. I don’t think they’ll stay around here for long. The eldest son was accused of murder, and the younger brothers are wanted for robbing merchants. They’re surely heading south to cross the border.

—But... —Henry objected, the memory of the smell of dried blood still lingering in his nose.

—Tomorrow I and some of the village men will look into it, young Henry. Now, sleep.

The order weighed heavier than Henry had expected. He wasn’t used to letting others take on such tasks. Under other circumstances he would have insisted on joining, but this time, he felt oddly relieved to remain under the same roof as Capon.

The next day, Henry was awakened by soft, steady noises. He opened his eyes and found himself alone. It was strange that everyone else had already gone downstairs without waking him. He stretched, pulled some dry herbs from his hair, and jumped down from the loft with agility.

The scent of burning wood filled the house. Henry inhaled deeply; that smell made him feel at home. The atmosphere was calm, interrupted only by birdsong and the soft melody Hans was humming as he stirred a clay pot.

—Ah! My squire finally deigns to appear! Come closer —Hans ordered, pulling out a chair for him.

Henry obeyed, and as he approached, he immediately understood Hans's intentions upon seeing a small clay jar. Musa used to spread a sticky mixture over his shoulder every morning, and today she wasn’t there. That task now fell to Hans.

He warmed the mixture near the fire, took a small amount between his fingers, and stepped closer.

—Come on, take off your shirt —he said, unable to suppress a smile.

Henry returned the smile and took off the garment, revealing his well-defined muscles. Hans swallowed hard and began applying the mixture with slow, gentle movements. Henry closed his eyes, relaxed. The kitchen soon filled with the scent of mint and chamomile.

Henry glanced at the pot. He saw pieces of hare cooking in a broth that smelled delicious.

—Has my lord become self-sufficient? —he joked, surprised by Hans’s skill.

—Why? Are you afraid I’ll no longer need your services? —Hans replied, still caressing his shoulder, even though the cream was already gone.

Henry caught his hand and gently kissed the back of it, interlacing their fingers.

—That, never.

That afternoon, Vasko returned home, much later than Sam and Musa. They had inspected the camp, but found only the remains of a cold fire and makeshift shelters made of branches and rope. Nothing and no one was left.

The village felt relieved. Vasko invited them to stay a few more days. Hans wanted to resume the journey, but Sam and Musa preferred to use the time to continue training with the sabre. Apparently, Vasko was an excellent teacher, and Musa especially wanted to learn more.

Hans reluctantly agreed. He couldn’t forget that he wasn’t traveling with Henry alone; he also had to look after their companions.

Over the following days, they went hunting again, returning each night with a couple of hares. The rest of the time, they spent as they pleased... or as they desired.

Finally, the day to depart arrived. The sky was covered with light clouds that eased the summer heat. The horses were well-rested and loaded with supplies. Their weapons were sharpened, armor oiled, and their strength renewed.

At the edge of the village, Vasko said goodbye to his fleeting apprentices. He received words of thanks from all, a polite nod from Hans, and a strong hug from Henry.

—Be careful on the road, all right? I’m glad you came. I’m sure your friends are taking away a good lesson.

—Thank you for having us, Vasko —said Henry, sincerely—. We’ve regained our strength, and the road ahead will be long. I don’t know how to thank you for the lessons, the provisions...

—You’ve nothing to thank me for! You’re always welcome whenever you pass through here —Vasko replied, smiling beneath his mustache, and gave him a few pats on the shoulder as a farewell.

—Take care, Vasko. Again, thank you for your hospitality.

—Until next time, young lad.

Henry mounted Pebbles and gave Hans a signal. Without further words, they said goodbye to Vasko’s village. From the road, they waved one last time. That stop had done them a world of good, everyone felt strangely restored and ready for a long journey.

The ground vibrated with each step of the horses, muffled by the tall, damp grass of the vast Hungarian plains. It was midday, but the leaden gray sky turned the light into a uniform haze, without shadows. The air smelled of wet grass, mud, of lingering moisture. In the distance, a flock of cranes took flight with the dry rustle of wet wings.

Szeged was still far off, to the south, beyond the marshes and the slow meander of the Tisza. They followed a barely marked path, among reeds and scattered poplars, with the sound of cicadas muffled by the dampness.

—I didn’t do that badly, did I? —Musa asked suddenly, not looking at Sam, eyes fixed on the sweaty neck of his horse.

Sam turned his head with a half-smile, still chewing on the dust of the road.

—You mean yesterday’s lesson?

—Yeah… —Musa hesitated, then shrugged—. I guess I surprised myself.

—You surprised me too —Sam replied, honestly—. I thought you’d drop the sabre the moment Vasko raised his voice. But you held on. You moved well.

Musa let out a short laugh, half-embarrassed.

—I’ve always told myself I’m a coward. And it wasn’t a lie. I still am, I think. But… when I know what to do with the weapon… when I feel its weight in my hand, and that I’m not completely useless… —he paused, searching for words—. It’s like something inside me stops shaking.

Sam’s horse snorted as it stepped into a puddle. The young man gave it a pat on the neck before replying.

—Maybe courage isn’t about not being afraid, but knowing what to do with it.

—Maybe… —Musa murmured. A breeze stirred his turban and carried away the rest of his sentence.

Henry, who had been listening to the conversation, quickly jumped in to defend him.

—Let’s not forget you struck Erik with a sword to save my life. I’ve always believed you’re braver than you give yourself credit for.

—And you treated the wounded under enemy fire in Suchdol! —added Hans—. And… you saved my life in Vienna. I’ll never forget that —his voice cracked slightly.

Musa blushed, though no one noticed. He had always claimed to still be alive thanks to being a coward, he had never considered that word a shame. But now, it seemed to carry a different meaning.

They rode in silence a while longer. The horizon opened wide and green, cut through with canals and scattered trees, with a lone cabin here and there in the vastness. Sam thought that a landscape with no mountains, no walls, no corners to hide behind… forced anyone to face themselves.

The day was well-suited for travel, so they urged the horses on to reach Szeged by sunset. They arrived at the walled city, with its packed dirt streets and houses of wood and adobe, their roofs thatched or tiled in red. The Tisza River flowed nearby, broad and slow, crossed by an old wooden bridge. At the center, the church tower rose above the other rooftops.

They looked for an inn and had something warm to eat. There, they heard rumors about bandits and attacks on local merchants. Nothing unusual, except this group was particularly violent. They showed no mercy, and only one or two peasants had managed to survive their ambushes.

They were clearly concerned and decided to stay extremely alert the following day, weapons ready before every turn. They slept without saying much more, with Henry pressed closer to his lord than usual. A dagger beneath his pillow.

The next morning, before the sun had fully risen, they were already back on the road. They headed toward Mórahalom through grasslands and plains. The weather was fair, and they reached the village in under a day. They decided to continue on and arrived in Bačka Topola by nightfall. They managed to strike a deal at the tavern to spend the night, though locals were increasingly reluctant to host travelers after dark.

They continued their journey toward Vrbas, and the landscape slowly began to change. The grasslands gave way to low forests, brooks cooled the air, and the earth smelled of dampness. Around midday, a breeze brought a new scent and a haze that stung their eyes. Something dry-burned wood, perhaps.

The closer they got, the thicker the haze became, and then they realized, it was smoke. The smell was now unmistakable, the breeze had worsened, and the wind also carried what sounded like screams and chaos.

Henry pulled Pebbles to a stop, and the rest of the group followed. He studied the strength and direction of the wind, and worry became clear on his face. Hans stopped beside him, Henry didn’t need to say a word for Hans to know what he was thinking.

—Henry? —he called, voice soft, uneasy.

Henry looked at him. The screams, the smoke, the scent of fire… it all brought back images he didn’t want to see again. Skalitz was burning once more in his memory. He had promised never to run again, never to look away. But then he turned and saw Hans. Safe. Alive. He wanted to keep him that way, even if it meant breaking that promise. He couldn’t bear to lose him. Not again. Not because of him.

—The wind’s coming from the southeast… —he said, his voice shakier than he’d intended—. If we turn west, we might be able to go around whatever’s happening. Shall we?

Hans immediately saw the pain in Henry’s eyes. He knew why he was doing this, for the same reason Hans would. To keep him safe, to avoid an unnecessary conflict they didn’t have to get involved in. But how long could they stand hearing those screams and doing nothing? Were they really capable of ignoring it, clinging only to their selfish desire to protect each other?

—No. —he said firmly, placing a hand on Henry’s arm—. We should see what’s going on.

Henry leaned down close to him and whispered:

—It’s dangerous… If something happened to you, Hans, I…

—We can’t just ride past, and you know it. —he interrupted, calm—. I can take care of myself, Henry.

From behind, the screams came again. Fainter. Muffled. Henry turned and looked at Sam and Musa. They said nothing. They simply nodded.

He swallowed hard and clenched his jaw.

—All right… —he said at last—. We’ll get closer. But carefully.

They followed the path, heading against the wind. Just a few kilometers later, they spotted a cloud of black smoke rising behind a small forest. The screams seemed to have ceased, but the heat of the fire still reached them from a distance. They tied the horses and approached on foot.

The light armor didn’t hinder their movements, and their swords were already unsheathed. Hans walked at the rear, bow drawn, eyes scanning every shadow like those of a hungry hawk.

As they crossed the forest's edge, the village appeared before them like a nightmare. Some houses were already smoldering skeletons; others still burned, flames spitting sparks into the sky. In the center, a group of men laughed and shouted as they looted mercilessly. Their clothes were soaked in blood, sacks slung over their shoulders, eyes red with adrenaline and rage.

Henry stopped dead in his tracks. He recognized that language. The Hungarian spilling from their mouths was no different from what he’d heard in his Skalitz nightmare. And suddenly, he wasn’t there anymore. He was home, smelling the burnt flesh of the stables, hearing the cries that ended in knives. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the hilt of his sword.

Hans, crouched beside a tree, raised his bow, ready to shoot.

—Wait! —Henry touched his arm, a whisper sharpened by urgency. Hans lowered the bow. —I heard something. There may be survivors. We have to move quietly.

—I heard it too —Sam chimed in—. Musa and I will cover the house on the right. You and Capon, the one on the left. That way we corner the bastards.

Musa said nothing, just swallowed hard and gripped his saber tightly.

—Alright. —Henry agreed. —But Sir Hans will stay and cover us with the bow.

—I didn’t... —Hans started to protest.

—You’re the best marksman in Bohemia. You’ll have a better angle from here. —He stepped closer and added quietly, just for him—. Please.

Hans pressed his lips together, swallowing his indignation. He nodded, unconvincingly, and aimed the bow again, though he made no promise to stay put if things got out of hand.

Henry advanced through the remains of an orchard, with Capon watching his back. He pressed against the wall of a half-burned house and took a deep breath, feeling the heat of the flames still licking the roof. Then he heard something inside. It wasn’t a scream, nor a sob, it was something else… broken. He began to hear deep, guttural growls, savage.

He peeked through a shattered window, and the sight boiled his blood. A Hungarian, large and naked from the waist down, was on top of a woman. He held her down with brutal force, thrusting like an animal. She no longer screamed, nor struggled. Her gaze was absent, empty, floating somewhere pain couldn’t reach. Until her blue eyes met Henry’s.

Henry leapt inside without a second thought, grabbed his sword, and drove it into the man’s back. He cried out in surprise and pain before Henry could cover his mouth and finish him. Blood splattered Henry’s face and sprayed the girl, who didn’t even blink.

He was pulling the corpse away when another bandit burst through the door. He had heard his companion’s scream and, upon seeing Henry with the body, lunged at him without hesitation. They fell to the ground, grunting and trading blows.

They rolled across the floor amid creaking old wood, wrestling for control. The Hungarian, burly and reeking of sweat and dried blood, landed on top of Henry with all his weight. Henry tried to twist him off, but his arms sank in as if pushing against a wall of flesh and fury. The bandit landed a punch square to Henry’s face, making stars explode in his vision and splitting his right brow.

His sword had flown under the table, out of reach.

Henry growled and tried elbowing, kicking, biting. The other man grabbed his throat, squeezing hard, crushing his windpipe with his thumbs. Henry clawed and struggled, but he felt the blood pulsing in his ears—fainter, further away.

And then, the cutting sound of steel slicing the air.

The sword appeared through the Hungarian’s neck, skewering him side to side. The body arched, rigid, blood poured from his mouth and soaked Henry’s chest. After a few seconds of choking, ugly sounds, he dropped dead to the floor.

Henry gasped, sucking air as if surfacing from water. It took him a moment to realize the woman was standing, trembling, holding the sword’s hilt with both hands. Her face was blood-streaked, eyes wide, legs barely supporting her.

She said nothing.

She just stood there, staring at the corpse as if still waiting for it to move. Henry managed to push the body aside and crawled to her. He gently took the sword from her hands and let it drop.

—Thank you… —Henry whispered, taking the blade from her. He let it fall to the floor. She only clung to him. Held on as if he were the only real thing left in the smoke and death.

A door slammed open, startling them. Hans burst in, panting, his sword bloodied.

—Didn’t have a good angle. Saw one heading this way, killed another... Dear God! —His eyes landed on the blood covering Henry—. Are you hurt?

—It’s not mine. —he pointed to the corpses—. She… saved me.

The woman looked up and, upon seeing Hans, screamed: —Az öcsém! —she pointed urgently toward a burning house in the distance.

—Do you know what she’s saying? —asked Hans.

—No, but I think she wants us to go there.

The girl kept shouting the same thing, growing more agitated and pointing in the same direction. Henry had to cover her mouth so the remaining bandits wouldn’t hear, and Hans exhaled worriedly. He peeked outside, saw a couple Hungarians fleeing from Sam and Musa, who had just cleared the houses on the right, and headed toward where she was pointing.

Only a few unstable beams of the roof remained, the walls still hot from the fire that had consumed them, but even so, he entered. He moved carefully, dodging debris and heaps of ash. He was about to leave when he heard something. Soft, rhythmic knocks echoed from somewhere in the house.

—Hello? —the knocking stopped. —Is someone there?

The sound came again, this time more energetically. Someone was trying to get Hans’s attention. He crossed the hallway, narrowly avoiding a falling beam, and reached a nearly incinerated room, the floor covered in ash, yet the knocking rang out, clear and strong. Hans took a few steps and felt something softer than the floor, something hollow.

He brushed the ash away with his hands and found the hatch. A beam had fallen on top, making it impossible to open from below. He pushed the heavy log with his body weight, smearing himself with soot, tearing his gambeson and scratching his face.

He pulled with all his strength, the metal hinges creaking until they finally gave way. Big, dark eyes stared back at him.

—It’s alright! Come here. —he extended his arm and offered his hand to the child.

At first the boy didn’t seem to understand, but after a few seconds he grabbed Hans’s hand and let himself be lifted. He was very small, maybe five years old, and it took no effort to carry him in his arms. The boy clung to his clothes and buried his face in Hans’s shoulder.

—Are you alright? —the child didn’t respond, just clung tighter.

Hans studied him, concerned, but he seemed unharmed. They exited the house and met Henry and the girl in the middle of the road. Sam and Musa had taken care of the others, most of whom had fled, leaving the loot behind in the wagon. When the woman saw Hans carrying the boy, she broke from Henry and ran to them.

—Te jól vagy, öcsém? —the young woman couldn’t stop hugging him.

Henry approached and shook Hans’s hand with a smile. They had done it, at least, they had managed to save something… and someone. Musa and Sam joined them, their swords stained with blood, faces exhausted.

—Did everything go well? —Hans asked as the two survivors sat on the ground speaking.

—Yes, we caught them by surprise. —Sam replied, surveying the village’s wreckage— We should go before they come back with reinforcements.

Musa approached the girl and boy and gently began asking questions in Hungarian. At first it was hard for them to speak, but slowly a conversation took shape. Henry cleaned his sword and searched the area.

He confirmed several of the fallen bandits were truly dead, and when he rolled one over to see his face, he froze. The blood hadn’t stained the colors of his clothes. Red and green… two crosses. These men were...

He crouched to look more closely. His eyes didn’t lie. The clothes were indeed red and green, with two crosses embroidered over the heart. He looked around, all that destruction, all that suffering… had been his fault. For running instead of standing his ground.

Hans approached and stood beside him. He saw the same thing Henry did and understood what tormented his heart and mind. He placed a hand on his shoulder, and for the first time, Henry pushed it away roughly. Hans was taken aback, unsure what to do.

—We should’ve killed them that night. We should’ve...

—Henry. No...

—I swore I’d never run again! —he shouted, standing up abruptly, his anger turning on Hans. —Look what I caused!

Hans took a few steps back, truly alarmed.

—You didn’t cause any of this, Henry. —he said softly, trying to calm him. —We couldn’t have known that...

—You don’t understand, Hans! You’ve never seen a village burn around you. You haven’t watched your parents die in front of you. You... haven’t! You’ve never felt...

Hans’s heart ached, not because the words were true, but because they carried all the hate and fear Henry kept bottled up. He understood the guilt Henry felt after what they had just witnessed, but Henry had to realize he couldn’t save everyone. Graveyards are full of heroes.

He stepped closer to Henry, no longer afraid, sure of himself. He placed a hand on his nape and pulled him close, forehead to forehead. Slowly, Henry’s rage began to fade.

—It’s okay… —he whispered, gently stroking his neck.

Henry realized what he’d done, what he’d said. Anger had clouded his mind and made him shout at Hans, his Hans, things he hadn’t meant. He’d pushed him away, and still, Hans stayed, without judgment. Just supporting him.

—I’m… sorry. —he said with a deep sigh.

—There’s nothing to forgive.

Slowly, his breathing calmed. Hans’s touch soothed his entire body, bringing him back to a steady rhythm. The fury vanished completely, as did the world around them. There was only the two of them in the midst of chaos.

Hans glanced around. Musa was still speaking with the girl, and Sam was inspecting the sacks left in the wagon. No one was watching.

He pulled Henry’s face toward his and kissed him. Henry couldn’t stop the sword from falling from his hands, literally disarmed by Hans’s tenderness. He wrapped his arms around him and pulled him closer, but Hans pulled away with a smile.

—I could kiss you until this whole forest burns down, but for that… we’ll need a bit more time.

Henry burst out laughing, finally cheered.

—Alright, my lord. Let’s rejoin the others.

He picked up his sword from the ground under Hans’s gaze, his eyes still burning with the urge to kiss and hold him. They pressed their foreheads together again, lips just apart, and returned to their companions.

—Have you found out anything, Musa? —asked Henry, stopping beside him.

The scholar stood up calmly, leaving the young woman clutching the child, defeated and in pain.

—He’s her little brother. She hid him as soon as the men arrived and… well, you can imagine the rest. —Henry nodded, fury still burning in his eyes.

—They killed everyone else. They left her… for their amusement. They started setting fire to the village shortly before we arrived.

—And is she… alright? —asked Henry, his voice heavy with helplessness as he looked at the bruises on her swollen face, the drops of blood running down her thighs.

—It could’ve been worse —Musa replied gravely—. I’ll prepare something to ease her pain. But what she needs most right now is rest. And time.

—Do they have anywhere to go? —asked Sam, watching the two siblings with the weight of his own past in his eyes.

Musa translated the question, and the young woman answered quickly.

—She says they have some distant relatives in Niš. —Musa stroked his beard, hesitant. —It’s still a long way off...

—It doesn’t matter. —Henry replied with an authoritative tone. —We’ll take them wherever they need to go.

Without saying another word, without even waiting for a response, he walked off toward the cart he had left in the middle of the scorched village. The wheels looked intact and the wood, though old, was sturdy. He took command and asked Sam to load it with supplies while he went to fetch the horses. Musa stayed to care for the boy and Hans helped Sam.

They hitched Samuel’s stallion to the cart, a strong-legged brown steed, along with Athénon, Hans’s horse. They helped the girl climb in, and after some painful, awkward movements, she managed to find a comfortable position to travel. Musa sat with her, already separating the herbs he would need to treat her, and gave his mare to Hans so he could ride. Samuel sat up front to guide the cart—he had done it many times before.

Henry bent down to lift the boy up beside his sister, but the child twisted like a wild animal, kicking hard until he fell to the ground. Then, with a mischievous grin, he ran off toward Hans’s horse.

He tugged at his tunic, using those gestures that need no language.

—Don’t you want to go with your sister? —he asked in a soft, childlike tone.

The boy shook his head; he didn’t understand the words, but he got the meaning. He raised his arms, opening and closing his hands, the universal gesture to be picked up.

Hans got off the horse, held the boy, and sat him at the front of the saddle, then climbed up himself. He held the child firmly by the waist so he wouldn’t fall, and the boy smiled as if none of the surrounding horror had ever happened.

—Are you good like that?

The boy looked at him and, even if he didn’t understand, nodded. His large dark eyes brimmed with innocence and joy. He never would’ve imagined he’d get to ride with a knight. Hans felt his heart soften unconditionally. Every part of him screamed to protect that boy—a primitive, natural feeling, almost intrinsic to all humankind. The urge to protect.

—Let’s move out! —Henry shouted from the front of the convoy.

They followed the same path they had come down, leaving the ashes of the village behind. The smoke, now thinner and lighter, faded into the breeze that carried them far away from that place.

Chapter Text

The journey turned out to be tougher than they had expected. Moving the cart was slow and tedious; the wheels often got stuck when the path was too soft, and more than once they had to push to get it out of the mud.

Everyone was tired, dirty from head to toe, and hungry. They reached Vrbas at dusk, with the last hours of light, and the first thing they did was look for the tavern to rest. It was a small village, but it lay on the way to the capital and received many travelers, so the place was reasonably spacious.

The noise surprised them; there were so many people that there were barely any seats left for them. Musa and Hans tried to negotiate with the manager, but there was only one room available. The rest of the group would have to sleep in the stable.

—You can rest with the young lady and her brother. Take good care of her and heal her. We’ll take the stable. —Hans said to Musa.

Surprised by the offer, he couldn’t accept immediately.

—But… Sir Hans… as a nobleman, I can’t allow that…

—There’s nothing more to discuss. —he interrupted politely.

Hans took out the pouch where he kept the money and noticed it was starting to feel dangerously light. What they had won at the San Ladislao tournament should be enough, but the group had grown unexpectedly.

He paid for the room and for the use of the stable, although the latter was considerably cheaper. They returned to the cart and explained the situation.

—Alright. —Henry said — I’ll take the young lady to the room. Um… what’s her name? —he asked Musa directly, knowing he had been talking to her all afternoon and feeling uncomfortable for not having asked earlier.

—She is Margit. The boy’s name is Géza.

He went to the back and saw her curled up in a corner, silent. As if going unnoticed would make her disappear from this world.

—Can you ask her if I can carry her to the tavern? I don’t think she’s able to walk…

Musa nodded and exchanged a few words in her language with the girl. She refocused her gaze and, when the scholar finished the question, looked at Henry with a faint smile. She nodded and slowly crawled toward him.

Henry slipped his left arm under her knees and cradled her against his chest with his right arm. He could lift her easily with hardly any effort, and once he had her secure, he headed to the tavern under Hans’s watchful eye.

Hans felt strange and a bit foolish. In his mind, he wondered how many times Henry must have carried a girl like that. It looked so natural to carry her in his arms… how would they look if he were the one being carried like that? A tug on his tunic interrupted his thoughts.

Géza was smiling while raising his arms again and opening his hands. His eyes shone with expectation, hoping Hans would accept his request.

Hans had never been around children. He had no little siblings, no close cousins, no mischievous neighbors. He had never carried one, nor even considered the possibility of having any someday. He saw them as a foreign complication, little chaotic beings belonging to a world very different from his own. He didn’t know how to talk to them, how to calm them, how to make them laugh.

And yet, there was something about Géza that dismantled all his reservations.

The hopeful sparkle in his eyes, that smile seemingly immune to the horrors he had lived through, the way he opened and closed his hands with such innocence... It was impossible not to feel something. Hans noticed a new warmth rising in his chest, an unexpected tenderness, almost uncomfortable but impossible to ignore.

He looked at the boy with a mix of bewilderment and affection, and a smile slipped from his lips, so genuine even he didn’t expect it.

—Do you want me to carry you too? —he asked softly.

Géza didn’t answer with words; he just kept smiling as if he knew he had won. Hans sighed, defeated. That boy had charmed him without even trying.

He lifted him onto his lap and started laughing as Hans walked. The motion amused him, and he was delighted to be carried in arms. His laughter was contagious and without thinking, Hans tickled him on the ribs. Géza burst into giggles and wriggled like a little animal, trying to stop Hans’s arms and hands without much success.

They both entered the tavern laughing; the boy was brimming with happiness and clung to Hans when he tried to put him down in the room with his sister. He shook his head, but Hans set him down anyway. His smile vanished immediately and he began to pout.

—Ne menj el! —he clung to his leg and kept begging. —Ne menj el!

Hans caught Musa’s eye, who was laughing from a makeshift bed on the floor.

—He says don’t go.

—But I… —he tried to separate the boy unsuccessfully. He sighed to gather patience. —You’ll sleep well here. Tomorrow… I’ll let you steer Atenón. How does that sound?

Musa translated the proposal with a soft, childlike tone. The boy looked amazed and, when he understood what was said, he smiled from ear to ear again. He nodded several times, gave one last hug to Hans’s leg, and went to lie down next to Margit.

Again, that warmth in his heart… He wished them good night and closed the door to the room, only to find Henry in the hallway.

—Looks like the kid took a liking to you.

Hans realized he was smiling and cleared his throat a little.

—Seems so… it’s strange, isn’t it?

—Well, you were the one who found and saved him. I think it’s normal he’s attached to you. —he said without hesitation.

—I don’t know… I’m not used to kids. Why didn’t he choose you, for example?

Henry saw what he was doing. He wanted to deny the reality in front of him just because he doubted himself.

—Because I’m not a handsome knight. Unlike you… —Henry whispered the last part with a half-smile, in a low, suggestive voice. He stepped closer to Hans and discreetly caressed his backside.

Hans blushed but couldn’t help smiling.

—Cheeky! —he sighed and gave him a kiss so quick it barely touched his lips—. Come on, let’s go before someone sees us…

The next day dawned cloudy, although without any forecast of rain. They had the chance to wash thoroughly and remove the dried blood that still stuck to their skin after the skirmish. Margit woke up looking better and walked on her own to the cart. She still felt some discomfort when walking, but Musa’s medicines had taken effect.

She called her brother to climb up with her, but Géza had not forgotten Capon’s promise. He shook his head and ran toward Hans’s sturdy horse, which grazed calmly while its owner spoke energetically with his squire.

He placed his small hand on the animal’s head, which did not seem bothered. It kept eating grass while the boy played with its ears and laughed every time it brayed. A shadow cast behind him made the horse lift its head from the ground, and Géza turned around.

There, in front of him, with his hands on his hips, stood the great knight who had saved him from the ashes.

—Time to go. I’ll take you to your sister —Hans said, extending a hand to guide him to the cart.

Géza resisted and pointed at Atenón. He tugged on Hans’s shirt and pointed again at the horse.

—Oh… That’s right —Hans said, searching for Henry with his eyes to ask for help, but he deliberately avoided him with an amused smile.

—Alright… let’s go.

He grabbed the little one by the torso and sat him on the front of the saddle. Then he mounted himself. He handed him the reins, and the boy shouted with excitement, although Hans did not let go. He just wanted him to feel like he was guiding the horse, not actually do it.

Margit smiled from a corner of the cart when she saw her brother so happy. In a way, she felt envy. She would also have liked to go with the knight who had saved her. That handsome young man who watched over her safety and did not hesitate to kill her attacker.

—All set, brother? —Sam asked, holding the horses’ reins.

Henry took one last look. Everyone seemed ready, even Sir Hans, who firmly held the boy on the saddle.

—Yes, let’s get out of here.

The group left the village and resumed their journey as planned. They followed the Tisza’s riverbank, accompanied by a riverside landscape that refreshed the air. Their intention was to reach Titel, although the pace was slower than expected, due to the cart loaded with provisions and belongings from Margit’s village.

Hans had thought that maybe, if they sold something, they could get more money for the trip. But he couldn’t even bring himself to suggest it. How could he ask after having lost everything? Instead, he decided they would camp along the way for the next few days. The clouds were already clearing, and it seemed they were in for good nights.

Of course, Géza wanted to sleep beside him. They camped just before reaching Titel, hidden among the vegetation by the river. The night was clear, but the day had been cool, so they covered themselves with blankets instead of lighting a fire. It was always dangerous to light a fire on the road.

The boy didn’t even ask. He lifted the blanket and snuggled up next to Hans. Hans couldn’t help but hug him to keep him warm and make sure the blanket covered them both. He looked for Henry and found him amused by the scene… until another figure interrupted his gaze.

Margit approached Henry with her arms crossed, trying to shield herself from the night’s chill. She knelt beside him and whispered:

—Ca… can?… can I? —the question seemed more to herself than to him. She was trying to speak in his language, and it wasn’t easy for her.

But her intentions were clear. Henry nodded and lifted the blanket so the girl could curl up next to him. Margit timidly approached and hugged him like a small child, wrapping her arms around him and resting her head on his chest. She whimpered as she felt his warmth and sighed one last time before falling asleep.

Henry, eyes wide open in surprise, looked again at Hans. Now it was his turn to be amused by the scene. It was strange how each sibling had clung to one of them. They discreetly intertwined their fingers and, with one last look full of affection, fell asleep.

It took several more days to reach Nándorfehérvár. Camping outside the villages had proven useful to save the few coins they still had, although they knew they would soon need to do something in the city to get more money. Hans kept thinking about the matter, worried, while Géza pointed at some butterflies fluttering near Atenón’s mane.

The road descended in gentle curves toward the valley, and beyond, in the distance, the towers of Nándorfehérvár rose defiantly against the sky. The city, perched at the confluence of the Danube and the Sava, stood like a living stone mass, watchful and stern. The evening sun barely caught glints from its walls, but even from afar it commanded respect.

The travelers moved without haste, exhausted from the journey and with their clothes covered in dust. Upon reaching the first checkpoint, two armed men stepped out to meet them. They were no ordinary soldiers: they wore mail beneath red cloaks, and their watchful eyes missed no detail. One of them raised a hand.

—Ko ste vi?

Musa tried to communicate clumsily. Serbian was harder for him than Hungarian, but they eventually understood each other. They agreed to hand over their passes to prove who they were.

Hans extended his silently, and Musa did the same. The soldiers quickly took them and began reading them right there, not hiding their surprise at finding certain names among the papers. They exchanged a glance, said something quietly, and soon one of them whistled to call reinforcements.

—Come... with... mi —ordered the senior of the two, struggling to speak in Czech, without giving further explanations.

Sam stepped forward, hand on the hilt of his sword, but Hans motioned for him not to act. They stood no chance. In the distance, the city still seemed unreachable, its gates open both to trade and to war.

The reinforcements arrived to guard the entrance, while the first soldiers escorted them inside. They stopped the cart and demanded that Margit and the boy stay behind: they had no passes or safe conduct.

When one soldier grabbed the boy to get him down from the horse, Hans reacted instantly. The nobility in his blood emerged, and his voice rang with undeniable authority.

—They are with us, fool! Let him go if you don’t want to suffer the consequences.

Though they barely spoke his language, the message was clear. The guard hesitated for a moment, but his captain ordered him to obey. He released him, and Géza ran crying into Hans’s arms, trembling. He hugged him gently, whispering to calm him. Gradually, the boy stopped sobbing.

Margit, for her part, shrank into a corner of the cart. The mere presence of any man other than her savior unsettled her, but she remained silent, trying once again to become invisible.

They crossed the main gate in single file, surrounded by a small escort. On the other side, the streets buzzed with activity: merchants hurriedly packed up their stalls, neighbors avoided crossing paths with the soldiers, and the few barefoot children running stopped when they saw the group pass, eyes wide open.

The city had life, yes, but it was a nervous kind of life. Windows opened only slightly. Conversations stopped at the soldiers’ approach.

They passed streets flanked by Orthodox churches with dark domes, workshops where blacksmiths hammered iron without rest, and reinforced military warehouses. The presence of troops was evident: armed men guarded every corner, many newly arrived judging by their travel cloaks still covered in dust.

The convoy took a detour up a hill, where the inner fortress rose, the oldest part of the city. There, among solid and austere walls, stood the residence of the despot Stefan Lazarević. A building of light stone, sober yet imposing, with inner courtyards, sheltered chambers, and a private chapel. It was not a palace of luxury, but a seat of power built to endure, like its owner.

The travelers looked at each other, but no one dared ask where they were being taken. The escort remained silent. The gates opened on their own as they passed. Each step they took carried them further from the city’s bustle… and closer to the heart of something they still did not fully understand.

They entered the inner courtyard of the fortress and dismounted. Samuel got down from the cart with wide eyes, his hand on the hilt of his sword, alert like a cat on a strange roof. Henry approached from behind and placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

—Relax —he murmured firmly, without looking at him. —This is not a battlefield. Yet.

The prince’s interpreter appeared, escorted by two guards. A broad-shouldered man of middle age, with skin weathered by many winters. His small eyes seemed to know more than they said.

—Sir Hans Capon —he introduced himself with a slight bow. —Bogdan is my name. Would you be so kind as to accompany me?

Hans quickly studied the surroundings. He sensed no immediate hostility, but no hospitality either. It was like entering a house where a shouting match had just taken place, right before the guests arrived.

—May I bring my escort with me?

Bogdan looked the young man up and down, clearly exhausted but with the body of someone who knew how to defend himself. He nodded after a measured pause.

—Of course. Follow me.

Hans nodded with a barely disguised sigh. Having Henry nearby always gave him security, and not only because of the sword he carried. If things went wrong, he would be his first and last line of defense, the only person he trusted his life with blindly.

They crossed a stone arch that led them inside the fortress. The corridor greeted them with a damp atmosphere, old tapestries, and the ominous echo of their own footsteps. The smell of wax and wet stone soaked into their clothes, and the shadows of old armors seemed to watch them like sleeping sentinels.

—Do you think we’re guests… or prisoners? —Hans whispered without moving his lips much.

—They haven’t taken our weapons yet —Henry replied. —But don’t give them ideas.

Bogdan led them to a large rectangular hall. Unlike the rest of the building, this room had an air of nobility: oriental rugs, carved columns, and tall windows filtering the evening light. The fire crackled in a deep fireplace, but the stone still felt cold.

Sitting on a simple dais, with no adornment other than a tapestry embroidered with the double emblem of the cross and the wolf, waited Stefan Lazarević.

The prince wore no crown nor embroidered cloak. His outfit was sober: a dark blue wool tunic, cinched with a leather belt decorated with Cyrillic inscriptions. His face was sharp, shaped more by years of war than by age. He was no older than forty, but his eyes, gray and hard as Serbian steel, spoke of a man who had seen more than any ruler should.

His eyes dissected them even before speaking.

—What brings the house of Leipa to my city? —the question was cold, calculated.

Hans stood still for a moment, puzzled by the lack of courtesy. He stepped forward, frowning slightly.

—None, my lord. We travel under safe conduct, passing through your lands toward...

Stefan interrupted him with a fixed, piercing look, like a hawk stalking its prey. A half-smile appeared on his face. Boys like those would not fool an old dog like him.

—None? Did the house of Leipa not sign support agreements in Vienna? Do you dare tell me you do not come to demand my support for your King, now that I am vassal to Sigismund? —his tone became authoritative, almost angry, and he took a few threatening steps toward them.

Hans’s expression showed genuine confusion. How was it possible he already knew about the Vienna agreements, there, at the edge of the world?

—You are mistaken, my lord. I repeat that we are only travelers, on our way to...

—Do not lie to me, Lord Capon! —Stefan roared, cutting him off mercilessly, not giving him time to breathe—. This fortress could be the last thing your men see if you do not confess the true reason for your visit. It is known that Wenceslas has been freed and claimed the Bohemian throne. Why would a lord of Leipa be here if not to demand my loyalty?

—Wenceslas has been freed!? —Henry exclaimed suddenly, unable to hide his surprise.

The spontaneity and sincerity of his escort were enough to make Stefan lower his guard slightly. A loud laugh burst from the hall as the despot returned to his seat, finally allowing Hans to breathe.

—You really didn’t know! Are you really just passing through, Lord Capon?

—That is so… I swear on my honor —Hans answered, trying to regain composure after the tremble in his first words.

Stefan stroked his beard while thinking. If they were telling the truth, he had nothing to fear from them. Perhaps they could even be useful.

—Where are my manners? —he said, clapping his hands. At once, several servants began to move—. Please, accompany me, you and your… eh, retinue.

He led them to the dining hall, where soon Sam, Musa, Margit, and little Géza joined them. Stefan offered seat and food to all. The travelers, coming from austere days, did not hold back: they enjoyed the feast as if it were the first in weeks.

Hans calmly recounted the details of their journey to Stefan, striving to make their true intentions clear. The Serbian seemed to listen attentively and at times showed signs of credulity.

—Forgive my reception —Stefan finally said, with a more relaxed tone—, but when my guards saw the name of a noble allied with Wenceslas, all alarms went off. No one expected the Drunken King to be freed so soon! That serpent from Liechtenstein has pulled all possible strings. I hope he never becomes my enemy...

—What did you say? —Sam interrupted from the other end of the table, still chewing a generous piece of roasted meat.

—Liechtenstein, jewish master! Do you know him? From what I’ve heard, he left Vienna along with Wenceslas. Although there are rumors the young lord is heading to Kolín.

Sam choked. He had to take a big swallow of wine before speaking.

—But… how do you know that? That Liechtenstein is in Kolín?

Stefan smiled proudly, enjoying his role as keeper of secrets.

—News flies fast… and pigeons fly even faster. —Sam seemed satisfied with the answer, though not entirely calm—. Now that I am vassal to Sigismund, I feared the Drunken King would claim my principality.

—I beg your pardon, Lord Lazarević —Hans interjected, shooting a warning glance at Sam. This was no time for impertinence—. I would like to thank you for the reception, but my men and I will leave at dawn.

The despot nodded silently, allowing his guests to enjoy the meal. He observed the young men at his table carefully. They were strong and apparently brave. Except for the two refugees, whose presence he still did not fully understand.

—Lord Capon… you know relations with the Ottomans are… delicate. The vassalage to the Kingdom of Hungary has not been well received.

—Understandable, given the circumstances —Hans replied honestly—. One must not forget you fought at Nicopolis, against the Christians.

Henry choked slightly, surprised by his lord’s great knowledge. He did not often show it.

—You are clever, Capon —Stefan said with a half-smile—. The Ottomans remain in the south, but not all my subjects accept my decisions. Some have left to join the enemy; others have stayed… to make my life miserable. Bandits run rampant in my lands, demanding the return of Ottoman rule. I would rather die than serve them again!

His shout echoed through the hall, chilling the atmosphere. The guests ate in silence, much slower and more cautious.

—I am sorry to hear that, my lord —Hans murmured.

Silence grew thick, broken only by the sound of plates being emptied. But there was a proposition hanging in the air, still unspoken.

—Perhaps… you and your men could help me —Stefan said at last, anticipating any questions—. I will pay you, of course. What I need now is not silver coins, but men capable of facing those damned bastards of Szegedi.

Everyone stopped eating. That name raised chills and old ghosts. Even Margit, the young woman, lowered her gaze.

—Szegedi, you say?

—Yes… that bastard fled Hungary to join the Ottomans and weaken my power. I have gathered a force large enough to face him, but having more men, good Christians, is always welcome.

Hans looked at his people. Doubt showed on every face: part of them wanted to administer justice, the other wondered if it was worth fighting a war that was not theirs.

—I must… consult with them first.

Stefan nodded gravely.

—Of course.

They didn’t take long to finish eating. The servants hurried to clear the table while Stefan, in good spirits after dinner, ordered rooms to be prepared for Sir Hans and his escort. For the rest of the group, he asked that cots be set up in the common room where the servants slept. Hans sincerely appreciated the hospitality; they had been sleeping outdoors for days and their supplies were running low.

A butler approached with a bow to guide them to their rooms, but Géza, without warning, ran to cling to Hans’s leg, refusing to let go with desperate strength.

—Musa… —Hans begged, trying to stay calm while looking at the boy with a barely concealed tenderness—. Please take him with you.

Musa spoke in his mother tongue, bending down to patiently try to convince him. At first, the boy struggled, but a single stern look from Hans was enough for him to reluctantly give in. They left in silence, with Géza still turning his head every few steps. From the other side of the hall, Margit watched them with crossed arms and a furrowed brow. Her stiff posture revealed the fear of sleeping among strangers in a place she could not control.

Before leaving, Henry stopped, looked at her, then called softly:

—Sam… will you take care of them? Especially her.

Sam answered without words. He lifted his shirt slightly to show the hidden hilt of a dagger, perfectly concealed in the fold of his belt.

—Don’t worry, brother. I don’t intend to close my eyes.

His words carried a calm confidence. Henry nodded gratefully and gave him a pat on the shoulder. For a moment, they looked at each other without needing to say more. Sam lowered his gaze to Margit, as if already accepting the responsibility. Henry smiled briefly, then turned to follow Hans and the butler through the castle corridors.

The walk was long, partly due to the size of the place, partly because of the silence that slipped between the torches. They climbed a narrow stone staircase, their footsteps echoing off the walls. As they ascended, the air grew cooler. Upstairs, they noticed the warmth of a freshly lit fireplace that tinkled softly in the dimness of their rooms. It was an austere room, but clean, quiet… and safe.

The butler wished them good night with a bow and closed the door behind him.

Hans collapsed backward onto the bed with a long sigh, covering his eyes with his arm. Henry, on the other hand, approached the fire and sat cross-legged in front of it, watching the flames dance slowly.

—Why didn’t you accept? —he asked suddenly, without looking at him—. You know I want to finish off those bastards…

Hans didn’t answer immediately. He removed his arm from his face and turned toward him, contemplating his silhouette lit by the fire.

—And do you know what accepting means? —he replied softly—. Joining Stefan means joining Sigismund. Do you think I forget what that means for you?

Henry clenched his fists. He knew Hans was right. He had known since the moment he heard the name Szegedi. But he also knew he couldn’t look Margit in the eyes without feeling he owed her something. That he owed her everything.

—I… don’t care. —he stammered, but without conviction.

—What do you mean you don’t care? —Hans replied, now sitting up slightly—. You’ve dreamed of Skalitz since we set foot in Hungary, how could I let you fight for a man who took everything from you? No, I would never forgive myself.

Henry said nothing. Silence settled between them again, thick and tense, interrupted only by the crackling of the fire. Finally, he stood and sat on the bed, right next to Hans. Leg to leg. He glanced at him sideways, lips pressed tight, as if fighting something bigger than himself.

—It’s not for me. —he whispered, barely audible—. It’s for Margit. For Géza. For all those who have suffered because of men like Szegedi. If I can prevent someone else from going through the same… even if it’s just one village, even if it’s just one family, Hans… I have to do it. I have to redeem myself. Silence the screams of Skalitz, even if only a little.

Hans stayed still for a few seconds. Then, without a word, he took his hand. He stroked it with his thumb as if he had known it forever. Henry held it tightly, as if it were the only real thing in an uncertain world.

—Then… it’s okay —Hans murmured, moving closer—. We’ll support Lazarević. I’ll catch those bastards with you, if that gives you the peace you need…

Henry blinked. A tear slipped down his cheek. Hans wiped it away with his fingers, slowly, with infinite tenderness. Then he brushed Henry’s cheek with his lips, barely a touch, as if asking for permission.

—Are you serious? —Henry whispered, looking at him as if afraid the moment would vanish.

—Of course, idiot. I’m not goi…

A kiss on the lips silenced him; a hug disarmed him, and what came next… he would remember with a smile every time it returned to his mind.

Chapter Text

The sound of his footsteps broke the strange stillness of the street. It wasn’t early, there should have been much more bustle: people strolling, shopping, children running… But reality was quite different. The weight of the imminent departure of a new company could be felt in every stone of the city.

They weren’t just soldiers, they were fathers, sons, brothers… lovers. Each one was leaving someone behind, a loved one who would suffer more from the loss than from death itself.

And Sam was going to join them.

He began to give small kicks to a pebble on the road. With his hands behind his back, he lost himself in thought as he walked toward the smithy. This wasn’t his war. He had joined his brother to reach Constantinople, but this… this wasn’t part of the plan.

In other circumstances, he would have followed Henry blindly; he had done it before. But since their arrival in the city, something in him had changed. One name kept circling in his mind. The seed of doubt was already planted, nourished with every minute he spent thinking about him.

Liechtenstein was marching to Kolín. That thought tormented him, feeding his desire to ride home and forget everything else. One kick too strong sent the pebble crashing into a stone wall, shattering it.

He kept his promise… he thought, staring at the remains of the pebble. He promised to return to Kolín… Again. Again and again. He kept walking while fiddling with the ring that felt tighter with every step. A reminder of why he wore it, of why he felt its weight in his heart.

The characteristic hammering of the blacksmith led him to a small square, where Hans and Henry waited patiently for their new armor. Hans was cheerfully playing with little Géza, lifting him up onto the fountain and swinging him through the air as if the boy were flying. The child’s laughter filled the square with joy and innocence, where little by little people had begun to appear.

Henry saw Sam approaching and, with a smile, tapped him on the shoulder.

—Are you ready? Vojislav won’t take long to finish our armor.

Sam hesitated for a few seconds. The image of Jan flashed in his mind like lightning: fleeting, intense, straight to the soul.

—Of course. Do you know when we’ll depart?

—Tomorrow, at dawn. Are you… sure about this? — Henry had noticed the doubt in his brother.

Sam’s dark eyes tried to focus on him, but once again that name clouded his thoughts. Liechtenstein. His smile, his sharp voice echoing through the long tavern nights…

—Yes. —At last, he looked at his brother, who couldn’t hide his concern.—I’m sure, Henry. Don’t worry.

He wasn’t lying. Part of him wanted to get away as soon as possible. But another part, older and deeper, tied him to Henry with an unbreakable loyalty. They didn’t share blood, but the bond between them went far beyond any mere familial commitment.

Henry loved him. He had saved his life by risking his own, and that had awakened in Sam something he had never felt for anyone else: a pure loyalty, born of brotherly love. He wasn’t going to let him fight alone. Of course not. He would follow his brother blindly wherever he went, even if his mind wandered across rivers, across plains… toward Kolín.

—All right… Let me know if you need anything.

Henry walked away, though he knew something was troubling Sam, and that sooner or later they would talk about it. He approached Hans, much more affectionate and tender than any peasant might have noticed. The two of them began playing with the boy, who now gripped one of their hands with each of his. He jumped higher and higher from the fountain, knowing nothing would happen to him. And with every jump, his laughter grew like a melody that filled the square.

Sam’s thoughts darkened as he watched them together, happy. Maybe because he missed Jan. Maybe because he knew Jan was waiting for him in Kolín. How easy it is to keep going when your only reason is right beside you…

He didn’t know if what he felt was envy. Was that even possible? He had never seriously considered that his feelings for Jan might be… deeper than usual. But he had seen it in Hans. He had seen it in his brother. It was possible. It was real. The two of them loved each other. Truly. Like any couple Sam had ever seen in his life.

He remembered the farewell in Vienna. He hadn’t gone to see Jacob or his wife. He had gone to meet Jan, like a teenager running away from home. They made promises, they embraced… their lips brushed with an intimacy that couldn’t be called friendship, but wasn’t quite something else yet. They were both confused, caught in something they didn’t know how to name.

He has returned to Kolín.

That thought made Sam’s heart race. He looked again at Hans and Henry and saw the glances that said more than any words. They love each other. If his brother had found love in the arms of another man, why couldn’t he?

The sun had already reached its highest point and had begun to descend. Musa noticed it in the lengthening shadows of the room, in how his reading was slowly fading into the gloom. He closed the book and left Lazarević's fortress, heading toward the city center.

He walked through the narrow streets and could clearly feel the tension in the air. The townspeople looked at him with suspicion, even fear, noticing the striking resemblance between his clothing and the Ottoman style. Was he a spy? Why would a Muslim be fighting alongside them? All those questions floated in the air, unanswered, dispersed by Musa's calm indifference.

He arrived at the square they had agreed upon the day before. Everyone would depart with Lazarević's troops, and no one would be able to take care of Margit or little Géza. After all, the goal was to take them to Niš, where their relatives awaited, so the best option had been to find a merchant traveling that route.

The city was not safe, nor were the roads. That’s why they had decided to send them with a caravan escorted southward. Stefan himself had offered to pay for the trip, in an attempt to win the trust of his new allies.

The cart was loaded with goods and supplies, leaving only a small space where a woman and a child could travel with some comfort. Sir Hans and Henry were already wearing the new armor gifted to them by the despot, matching that of the other soldiers. Sam, it seemed, was still at the blacksmith’s. Hans, however, was kneeling, trying to comfort the crying child.

Musa approached and Henry greeted him. Hans was trying to reason with Géza, but the boy didn’t understand… or didn’t want to. With a deep sigh of relief, he greeted Musa.

—Musa! Thank goodness you're here! Please, explain to him that I can't go with him... —he pleaded, while the child clung tightly to his leg.

Musa couldn’t help but chuckle. Seeing Sir Hans in such a predicament was as refreshing as it was unexpected. Still, he decided to intervene for the child’s sake. He crouched down and spoke a few words in Hungarian, but they had no effect. Géza continued to cling to the young lord’s leg.

He stroked his beard, thoughtful. He wasn’t used to dealing with children, but he knew that a well-spoken promise could work wonders. In a gentler voice, he tried again:

—Géza, figyelj rám. Mi is Niszbe megyünk, de előbb neked kellene megnézned az utat. Ha odaérünk, újra lovagolhatsz Hans bácsival.

The child opened his eyes and stopped crying. He wiped his tears with his sleeve and looked intently at Musa. Then turned to Hans, who didn’t understand a word but maintained a kind smile, hoping to be released.

—...Tényleg? —he asked in a small voice.

—Igen, megígérem. —Musa said gently.

Géza seemed to forget his crying entirely. With a big smile, he let go of Hans’s leg and asked for a hug. Hans, still not fully understanding what had just happened, crouched down and hugged him tightly. Then he watched him run happily toward the cart, laughing again.

Margit, who had remained silent until then, finally smiled upon seeing her brother cheerful and willing to go. She looked at Henry, saddened that she couldn’t spend more time with him. She saw him as a handsome, brave young man, someone who had saved her life without even knowing her and had protected her ever since. She would never forget the sense of safety she had felt in the arms of a stranger, despite the distrust she had always felt toward men.

She approached him and, for a moment, was afraid to touch him. Touching would make the farewell real. It was Henry who took the first step, coming closer with a hand on her shoulder and a calm smile.

—Have a safe journey.

Margit didn’t understand the words, but she knew they meant something good. She couldn’t hold back any longer and hugged him, feeling his warmth, trying to memorize his scent, his presence.

—Thank you. —was all she could say.

A single word that said everything: thank you for everything, for saving her, for protecting them, for making her feel safe.

She held his gaze for one last moment and headed to the cart, where Géza was waiting eagerly. The escort, four spearmen and two horsemen, surrounded the caravan. With a slight tug on the reins, the horses began to move.

The growing distance from Henry weighed heavily on her chest. She turned her head to hold back tears. Géza, on the other hand, was energetically waving at Capon, happy, as the cart slowly carried them away from the city center, until they disappeared among the streets.

Hans was also waving, bidding the boy farewell. When the caravan vanished, he slowly lowered his hand and remained still, in silence.

Why did he suddenly feel so empty?

—Children bring joy to life —Henry murmured behind him—. Maybe the thought of an heir will change your mind about the wedding…

A fleeting vision crossed Hans’s mind: he and a child training with wooden swords in the courtyard of Rattay. He smiled, without realizing it. But the image continued to form. A woman was watching them from the balcony… a woman he didn’t love. And Henry… he wasn’t in that scene. There was no place for him.

The smile faded.

—Maybe… —he sighed with melancholy, drowning in confused feelings and mismatched images.

Morning arrived with the relentless precision of duty. In the fortress, for the first time in days, they were able to sleep without interruptions. They had breakfast in the great hall with Stefan, who reviewed the latest attacks with a serious expression and tried to guess Szegedi’s route. Henry listened silently, clenching his fists each time he heard his name.

Soon after, the horses arrived clean and shining under the morning sun, already saddled and ready. The group mounted without much talk and headed to the west gate, where a local company awaited them. One of them stepped forward. Musa, as many times before, acted as interpreter.

—He is Zoran, the captain —he said, nodding toward him—. They will escort us southwest, following the Danube. He says there are several villages that... —he paused, trying to decipher the mix of dialects and fragments of Hungarian—. He thinks they might be attacked. Or maybe already have been. It’s not very clear.

—It doesn’t matter —Hans intervened firmly—. We’re going with them anyway; we’ll see what we find.

Musa translated, and Zoran nodded slightly before ordering formation. He and his men at the front; the newcomers at the rear of the column. Without further ceremony, they crossed the gate and left the city behind.

The dirt road ran alongside the Danube. On their left, the river flowed silently, gray as steel under the moonlight. To the right, open fields stretched out of sight, dotted with scraggly trees resisting the suffocating summer heat.

The group rode in silence. Even Hans, who usually filled the silence with anecdotes or thoughts, seemed more interested in the horizon than in speaking. Sam watched the terrain with unusual seriousness, and Henry, slightly behind, kept his eyes fixed on the path. Sometimes, he seemed to murmur something to himself, but the sound was lost in the wind.

A flock of crows crossed the sky in the opposite direction, cawing desperately. One of the company’s soldiers crossed himself as they passed. No one said a word.

As they advanced southwest, the sun began to rise slowly, dyeing the low clouds with copper tones. The air remained warm but no longer suffocated them as in the morning. Tracks of other hooves marked the road, some fresh, others half erased by mud.

Zoran raised a hand, pointing ahead. A thin column of smoke rose in the distance, barely visible above the treeline.

Henry spurred his horse gently and approached Hans.

—Do you see it? —he asked quietly.

—I see it —he replied, squinting—. Looks like Musa was right.

The group quickened their pace. The horses snorted and protested under the pressure of their riders, and little by little, they approached the smoke column.

They reached a small village, almost entirely burned. The neighbors who had survived searched desperately among the ashes, whether for belongings or food. No one smiled at the company’s arrival; they knew they were not there to help.

They passed by the remains of burned fences, houses reduced to black skeletons. A skinny dog sniffed among the rubble; a child with a soot-smudged face watched them silently, clutching to his chest something that might have been a toy or a piece of bread.

—How long ago was the attack? —Henry asked in a low voice, as if the silence of the dead still ruled the place.

—No more than two days —murmured Musa, who had dismounted to speak with an elderly woman. Her face was like leather wrinkled by sun and pain.

—Did they say anything? Did you see where they went? —he insisted, mixing languages.

The woman shook her head, then slowly raised a trembling hand and pointed southward.

Hans frowned. He approached and dropped a small pouch with some coins into the woman’s lap. She said nothing, only slowly closed her hand around them.

They rode again, faster now. Zoran didn’t seem to need explanations. He already knew what they were looking for. Or at least, he understood they were chasing not just an enemy, but something that left a trail of senseless, relentless devastation.

The next village was not marked on the map. It was smaller than the last one, more isolated. But the smoke had already dissipated when they arrived. The houses were open, looted, but not all burned. Some doors swung gently in the wind. There were no corpses. Only emptiness.

Zoran dismounted for the first time. He walked a few steps, hand on his sword’s hilt, looking around. They didn’t kill here…

Musa found an abandoned cart by the roadside. Dried blood on the wheels, a blanket thrown to one side.

—They took someone —he murmured.

—Prisoners? —Henry asked.

Musa didn’t answer. He only nodded, with an expression that said more than words could. Master Hakim’s warnings echoed strongly in his mind, reminding him they were treading dangerous ground.

Zoran appeared from behind, pointing to another path, narrower this one, bordered by bushes and twisted-branched trees.

—They changed course —Musa said after a quick conversation—. They took a narrower way, through the forest. But they’re still heading south.

—Why change route if they had already cleared one? —Henry asked.

—Because now they don’t want to be seen. —was Musa’s only reply.

The group mounted again. The sun was slowly descending, lengthening shadows over the fields and dyeing the dry leaves red. The forest they were approaching looked darker than it should for that time of day.

—What if they are close? —Hans asked, almost in a whisper.

—Then let them see us coming —Henry replied, eyes fixed on the thicket, ready to finish what had been started.

The forest enveloped them with its damp and oppressive silence. The light barely filtered through the branches, and the horses’ hooves trod on soft ground covered with dead leaves. The group advanced cautiously, eyes alert, hands always close to their blades. But there was no sign of Szegedi or his men. Only shadows, broken branches from animals, and the distant hooting of an owl that didn’t quite fit the time of day.

When they finally emerged from the forest, the air seemed cleaner, though still heavy with a tension none dared to name. The dirt road widened and took the shape of a causeway, an ancient route winding south among gentle hills. In the distance, some scattered farms and smoke rising,this time from living chimneys, could be seen.

The group slowed as the sun dipped below the horizon. It was clear they had to find a place to spend the night, and Zoran’s men began to spread out to search for a suitable spot.

Henry kept a tense expression, unconsciously tightening the reins as if that could ease some of the rage he felt. They had to find them. They had had a chance to stop them that night, near the village of Vasko, but they didn’t. Every burned village, every life taken... Henry could not help but feel guilty.

—Out in the open again... I thought Lazarević’s reward would be enough to get us inns all the way to Constantinople —Hans complained, in his usual sharp and arrogant tone.

The words, though thrown into the air with his typical disdain, made Henry blink. There was something in that comment, in the unnecessary, almost ritual complaint, that reminded him of home. The familiar routine of having Hans nearby, protesting about the food, the weather, or the state of the roads, as if they were nobles on tour and not soldiers marching toward an uncertain fate.

He felt the tension in his fingers ease, just a little. He allowed himself a long exhale. Not a laugh, but something close to a smile.

—Still not used to the pilgrim’s life, Sir Hans? Sleeping on a soft bed of dry leaves isn’t that bad. Would you prefer I find you a stable where you can rest your noble behind? —he teased lightly.

—You just want me next to the cows to remind me I smell like you.

—Could be —Henry said, raising his eyebrows—. At least the cows don’t complain.

Hans gave Henry a threatening look but relaxed when he saw he was having fun. That was exactly what he wanted, for him to take a break.

—If I complain so much, I don’t know why you keep serving me, ple-be-ian. —he deliberately stretched the last word.

Henry shook his head, laughing quietly. Now his hands were looser on the reins.

—Because if I left you alone, in a week you’d be trying to convince the wolves to call you “sir.” —he replied, shrugging slightly.

Hans couldn’t help but burst out laughing, though Zoran did not look pleased with their cheerful conversation. They had not found Szegedi’s band, but they still had to be careful.

They finally camped a few kilometers away, hidden in the thickness of a small forest at the foot of a hill. The vegetation was so dense that the treetops blocked even the stars. That allowed them to light a fire to cook something to fill their stomachs and keep them warm through the night.

Henry didn’t need to sleep close to his lord to keep warm, but still they shared the same blanket. The Serbs did not see it as improper: the day could be hot, but nights out in the open were dangerously cold. They knew it well; it wasn’t the first time they slept close to each other.

The next morning, they resumed the search. They followed the clues they had so far, always heading south. They stopped at every tavern in every village they found, and most agreed on the same: the band had passed through but kept fleeing.

Captain Zoran told Musa he was sure Szegedi was retreating. Otherwise, there would be much more destruction in the area. A company so large of horsemen, sent by Stefan Lazarević himself, could not go unnoticed. Szegedi knew they were closing in, little by little.

A wolf will run from you... unless it has no escape.

The day had dawned hot again. It was the height of summer, and the sun mercilessly scorched them along the winding road. The birds that until then had been singing loudly near the forest were slowly replaced by the harsh caws of rooks and crows. The fresh scent of blooming trees was overshadowed by something murky, something deeply unpleasant.

Henry frowned as he sensed it. They rode a little further, and he recognized it immediately: the smell of death. It wasn’t a dead animal in the underbrush or some drowned creature in a stream. It was stronger. More persistent. It lodged itself in his nose like a warning. He looked at Hans and saw the same expression of disgust and discomfort.

—Ugh... but who died around here? —Hans commented without thinking, with an innocent confusion that sounded hollow.

Henry said nothing. Maybe Capon had asked the right question without even realizing it.

They kept moving. There wasn’t even a breeze, yet the smell grew thicker, more aggressive. Captain Zoran noticed the change in his group’s atmosphere. They had experienced this before. They knew what probably awaited them.

And they found it at the next curve.

In the distance, a flock of crows fluttered around several abandoned wagons in the middle of the road. They took flight suddenly at the sound of the horses’ neighing, revealing what they had been pecking at. They were not just vehicles.

The first things they saw were the swollen corpses of horses lying on the road. They were huge, and the crows had torn their skin like ripe fruit. Then they saw the armor, barely shining under the sun, and then the rest.

A caravan had been attacked and left to its fate.

Zoran wanted to move on, avoid the scene, keep going without looking back. But some of his men insisted on giving the poor wretches a proper burial. He looked at the horizon with concern but knew they couldn’t leave them there, at the mercy of scavengers. He sent several scouts to secure the area, and only a few dismounted.

Hans was one of them. He didn’t know yet who they were, but a sharp sensation ran through his body, as if something inside him knew the truth too soon. He had to check.

—Hans! Wait! —Henry shouted, trying to stop him.

But Hans didn’t stop. Henry dismounted from Pebbles, cursing softly. The dust kicked up by the horses blinded him for a moment, and when he cleared his eyes through the haze, he found him. He was kneeling, shoulders sunk, as if an invisible slab crushed his back. A weight unseen but felt.

In front of him, a small body.

Someone innocent. Someone who shouldn’t have been there under any circumstances. An abomination made real.

Henry approached silently. No words were needed. Although the attack seemed recent, the heat had hastened decomposition. Still, he recognized Margit’s face. Her body lay on the wagon, in an unnatural position, several arrows embedded in her torso. At least, he thought, at least it was quick.

And then he saw him.

Little Géza.

That lively boy who had unknowingly conquered Hans’s heart: someone who had never lived with children, who didn’t know how to treat them... but who had been touched by his presence. And now he was there, motionless, fragile, reduced to something incomprehensible to Hans’s mind.

Hans’s pain needed no words. He didn’t cry. He didn’t moan. It was a pain expressed in absence, in that empty, lost look, in the tightly pressed lips trembling slightly. As if something inside him had broken for good.

He didn’t fully understand what he felt. It was a dry, burning, deep void. A nameless guilt that burned his insides, that erased the ground beneath his feet. He didn’t know why it hurt so much. He just knew it did. As if the world had lost all that was good.

Henry knelt beside him. He opened his mouth to say something. Anything.

—We should...

But the words caught in his throat, turning to dust. Nothing was enough. Nothing could fill the emptiness.

Hans understood now. Of course he did. He had heard Henry blame himself for not stopping the band near the village of Vasko. He had always thought Henry was too hard on himself. But now... he didn’t believe that anymore. Now he understood. Because he felt it too.

He had let them go. Margit. Géza. He had allowed them to leave. And that permission, that seemingly small gesture, now weighed like a sentence.

He felt a faint, distant warmth when Henry’s hand rested on his shoulder. A simple gesture, almost clumsy, but deeply human. No words were needed. The look they exchanged said it all: blue to blue, mirror to mirror. Rage. Anger. Pain.

And guilt.

Musa dismounted to stretch his legs. There were no survivors to help, only bodies to bury. In the distance, he saw Sir Hans kneeling on the ground, utterly defeated. Of course, Henry was by his side, supporting him in a grief that was new to his lord.

His mare neighed and Musa stroked her neck to calm her.

—Calm down, girl… Shh —he repeatedly ran his hand through her mane, but she didn’t settle.

The other horses around them also seemed restless. Musa looked back, toward the rear of the company where Sam was trying to control his horse. One second was enough for everyone to hold their breath. The desperate shout of one of the scouts rang out.

—Zaseda! Ambush!

They never saw the rider. The horse came back alone down the path, with a bloodstain on its neck. That’s when chaos broke loose.

First, the rain of arrows. Zoran’s men screamed, and those who could took shelter behind their shields. The horses cried out in pain as the projectiles pierced them; some fell with terrible wails. One of them was Sam’s.

His mount was hit squarely and fell instantly, with Sam still on it. The impact was brutal. A dry crack was heard: his left leg had been trapped between the weight of the animal and the ground. He was immobilized, screaming in pain.

Through the dust, like an angel descending from the sky, Musa appeared.

—Samuel! —he shouted when he saw him fallen.

—Help me move him! I can’t… AH! —when Musa tried to slightly move the horse’s body. —I think it’s broken…

His voice was a mix of suffering and despair. He wanted to get out of there, but first he had to go through hell.

—It’s okay, Samuel. Don’t worry —Musa said, trying to keep him conscious as another rain of arrows fell over them. The horse’s body served as an improvised shield.

Musa tore his belt, tied a knot in the fabric, and put it in Sam’s mouth for him to bite. Then, both pushed.

Sam, despite the unbearable pain, managed to drag himself enough when the horse’s body gave way. He dropped the fabric from his mouth, soaked in sweat and saliva. He could barely breathe.

—What does it look like? —he asked in a barely audible voice.

Musa didn’t answer immediately. He was trying to set the leg. He did something, and Sam screamed with a force that tore through the air. He did it again, and this time almost lost consciousness.

—It’s bad… very bad —he finally said, with regret.

Sam let out a strangled laugh, absurd, almost hysterical. Nothing was funny, but the pain, the fear, the absurdity of everything happening… demanded some outlet. And then, Jan.

Jan’s face, with his warm gaze and half smile, filled his eyes and heart. It was the last thing he wanted to see. Not that damned forest, not blood or screams. Jan. His hand, his scent. He wanted to be in Kolín. In his bed. With him.

Why am I not there? Why am I not with him? he thought, a lump in his throat, while the whole world seemed to break around him.

The enemy cavalry was already coming. The arrows had run out, and now they were coming to finish the job.

While Musa tried to save what was left of Sam, Henry and Hans fought their own battle. The wagon had served as a refuge in the first moments, although not everyone had managed to take cover in time. When the rain of arrows stopped, Henry ran to Pebbles, his old mare, who lay far from the cart.

—No… No! Pebbles? —his voice trembled, broken by fear.

The mare tried to neigh, but she couldn’t. Several arrows pierced her neck and chest; she choked in her last gasps, kicking desperately, confused and scared, until her master’s arms surrounded her.

The contact with Henry calmed her. His voice, shaky but familiar, soothed her inside. The hand that had so often guided her through uncertain paths now rested on her muzzle.

—It’s okay now… good girl. My... my Pebbles. I love you, beautiful...

The words stuck in his throat. He couldn’t hold back the tears. It was like losing a soulmate companion, a shadow who had ridden with him for as long as he could remember. He recalled the day Sir Hanush gave her to him, his first battle, the first time they crossed a border together. She had always been there. Always.

The mare’s breath slowed. Her eyes gently faded as Henry whispered words of comfort, until, finally, she stayed still. Forever.

He held her, not caring about the mud, the blood, or the danger. He kissed her muzzle, one last time, like someone saying goodbye to a loved one, like closing a chapter that had lasted too long.

And then the shouts drew near.

—Henry! —Hans called out desperately—. For God’s sake, come back here!

Henry stood up, still shaking in his legs. His heart pounded fiercely, but he had no time to flee. The enemy charge came with unstoppable force. There was no escape.

The riders reached him. Henry stood firm, sword in hand, and with a precise cut, brought down one enemy’s horse. The animal rolled on the ground with its rider, but he couldn’t stop. He had to reach Hans.

He didn’t make it.

Another rider caught up and slashed his shoulder. Henry lost his balance, and the horse turned skillfully, allowing the rider to deliver a second blow, this time to his back. The armor held, but the impact was brutal. Henry fell to the ground.

—HENRY! —Hans shouted, seeing his squire fall.

He ran to him, driven by pure instinct. The only thing that mattered was Henry. To save him. Not to leave him alone. He needed to help him, he needed... for him not to die. God, anything but that.

The rider came back for him, saber raised. Hans threw himself to the side of the road, hidden in the dust cloud. He kept moving forward crouched until he spotted Henry’s unmistakable sword lying beside him.

Henry didn’t move and Hans felt his chest freeze. Nothing else mattered. The shouts, the steel, the horses… it was all background noise. He approached him and dropped to his knees on the ground.

—Henry!? Hal! Can you hear me?

He cradled him in his arms, gently tapped his cheek. Henry opened his eyes with difficulty and coughed. He was alive.

Hans couldn’t tell him how sorry he was. How much he wished he had made different choices. How useless excuses were now. He couldn’t say anything because a mace hit him on the back of the neck.

He fell unconscious onto Henry’s chest.

Dazed, Henry searched Hans’s face with his hands. There was no blood. His chest rose and fell. He was still alive.

He held him in his arms and sat with him on the ground, in the middle of the road. Chaos no longer reigned around them, only defeat. The colors of Szegedi waved around them and the dust began to settle again on the road.

He didn’t know where Musa or Sam were. He didn’t know if they were still alive.

He only knew that he and Hans were wounded and surrounded.

And that the only thing he could do was pray.

God, protect us.

Chapter Text

The position was bad. Every time he tried to move, the deep cut on his shoulder began to bleed again, soaking the already stiffened fabric of his shirt in red. He knew he couldn’t stay there much longer. He felt the blood sliding down his arm, hot and insistent, a sharp reminder that time was running out.

He tried to shift his posture, seeking relief, but a lash of pain tore a grunt from him. His hands were tied behind his back, making it hard to move, and Hans’s head rested on his right shoulder. He still hadn’t regained consciousness, at least, not completely.

—Hans? Can you hear me? —Henry whispered with a grimace of pain.

He got only a grunt in response. That was enough for him.

He blinked several times to clear his vision and looked for the rest of his friends. Some of Zoran’s soldiers had surrendered and were tied up like them. Most lay dead on the ground beside their beasts, while the victors looted the corpses.

There weren’t only Szegedi’s men. Many wore long cotton tunics fastened with sashes at the waist. They wore hardened leather vests and curved swords, some with bows slung across their backs. Their skin, darkened by sun and years of campaigning, made the lines on their faces stand out sharply, even among the youngest.

One man stood out from the rest. Tall, burly, with a thick black mustache… Henry had seen him before. The ring he wore, set with a green stone, confirmed it. The leader, Mihaly Szegedi, walked triumphantly toward Captain Zoran. He remained on his knees, held by two mercenaries on either side.

—“At last we meet, Captain.” —Szegedi spat the Hungarian words with venom.

Zoran didn’t reply. He knew how the world worked. He spat in his face, smiled, and threw his head back willingly, waiting for the inevitable death.

Mihaly wiped his face with a grimace of disgust but smiled triumphantly to see his hunter turned prey. Zoran had been after him for a long time, but Szegedi had secured Ottoman reinforcements near the border and now had over thirty men. The ambush had been a complete success.

He looked Zoran in the eyes, with disdain and restrained rage. His defeat left Stefan Lazarevic in a very delicate position. He didn’t hesitate further, slowly drew his sword, caressing the edge and savoring the moment.

Zoran closed his eyes and waited for the blow.

The sword tasted blood with a swift, clean cut. It sliced the captain’s neck, and his head fell to the ground, rolling a few meters toward the prisoners. Henry looked away, trying to fight the urge to vomit, and Hans woke up at that exact moment. He felt the young lord shudder on his shoulder upon seeing such a scene.

—Hans? Are you alright? —he whispered very softly, worried about his condition.

—Henry… what… what? —his confusion soon faded as he looked around. —Kurva…

Mihaly cleaned the sword with a cloth before sheathing it again. He kicked Zoran’s corpse, which fell backward, spilling a large pool of blood around it. He had finally gotten rid of him… and took a deep breath.

He walked through the battlefield, surveying all the destruction he had caused, even paying attention to the prisoners. He came closer to inspect them one by one, deliberating how they might be of use. Under other circumstances, he would have finished them all off, but he knew his Ottoman allies could make good use of a few slaves.

The two young men caught Szegedi’s attention. Blue eyes and fair hair, something rarely seen in Hungary or Serbian lands.

—Honnan valók vagytok? —he asked, in a voice higher-pitched than his appearance would suggest.

The boys didn’t respond, though their confused expressions showed they didn’t understand.

—Magyarország? Ukrajna? … Csehország?

Henry, not understanding a word, tried to say something.

—I don’t understand. We’re Czech.

The Hungarian burst out laughing and looked closely at the young man. He looked strong and healthy, despite the shoulder wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding. It would be a shame to waste a body like that. He grabbed him by the bindings and dragged him away from his friend.

—Henry! —the other young man shouted.

Mihaly grew angry. He didn’t want to hear names, didn’t want to see any humanity in them. They were now just tools to obey. He silenced the blond boy with a slap so hard it knocked him to the ground.

The blue eyes of the one he was holding burned with fury, though the boy was smart. He didn’t scream or resist, he knew it was useless… and dangerous. Mihaly dragged him to a bonfire his men had lit to burn what they wouldn’t take. There, he heated a dagger red-hot, then tore the boy’s shirt to reveal the wound.

—Wait! —Henry shouted upon realizing what was about to happen, but it was already too late.

Mihaly pressed the searing blade against the wound with force. The smell of burning flesh filled Henry’s nose and dropped him to the ground. He screamed in pain for the first few seconds, then a strange coldness swept over his body before he exhaled, exhausted.

The Hungarian observed the cauterization and nodded with satisfaction. The bleeding had stopped. Now the only worry was infection. The boy was strong, yes, but he had seen others succumb with far less.

He dragged him back to where he belonged, next to the blond peasant. There was something odd about him. His skin was too fair to have worked under the sun, his back not broad, nor his muscles strong.

—Don’t hurt him! —Henry begged, desperate—. He’s a noble! You could get a good ransom…

Mihaly didn’t reply. He approached, lifted his chin, opened his mouth without care. All his teeth were intact, shining like white pearls. He could pass for a noble, maybe a wealthy burgher, but his doubts vanished when he removed the shirt. There was a scar near the shoulder blade, perhaps an arrow wound. The back wasn’t unmarked either: yellow traces still showed where the whips had struck hardest.

—They don’t whip nobles. —Mihaly muttered, almost to himself.

Henry remained silent for a moment, grateful at least that they understood him. Perhaps he could try to reason with him.

—He is Sir Hans Capon of Pirkstein —he said, looking at Hans, pleading for his support. But Hans lowered his gaze, silent. —He… he is… kurva —Henry cursed, frustrated. The words stumbled out.

—Who? —Mihaly barely held back a laugh.

—Don’t listen to him —Hans finally intervened. —I’m no noble. I’m an apprentice. He’s my master blacksmith.

—What? —Henry exclaimed in disbelief.—No, that’s not…

—Silence! —Mihaly growled, now fed up with the chatter—. You’re nothing—filth!

Mihaly struck Henry in the face, he’d had enough. What mattered was that they were young and strong enough to work, and if the smithing was true, they might even be useful at the camp. Mihaly walked off, leaving their battered bodies behind. On the other side of the field, his men were organizing the horses and gathering loot.

—What have you done, Hans? Why…? —Henry whispered, his voice breaking.

—Because I couldn’t bear to be separated from you again. I’ll go with you to the end.

He wanted to sound tender, loyal, as if his decision were an act of love. But to Henry, it was madness. He couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him suffer.

—Are you insane? You don’t know what forced labor means. I don’t either! But I assure you, it won’t be sweeping stables. Please, be reasonable...

—Enough, Henry. —Hans cut him off, his tone dry and final—. I’ve made my decision. I won’t argue it.

Why is he always so stubborn? It was now clear he wouldn’t change his mind, he’d have to look after him once again, in a situation far beyond his control. They didn’t speak again until they were tied in pairs to the cart, now full of plundered goods. The ropes were tight, but the cauterized wound held. Henry was silently grateful. Hans was still by his side, unarmored, still dazed, but steady.

Henry looked for Sam and Musa among the prisoners, but they weren’t there. Nor did he see them among the corpses. Had they escaped? Had they been killed?

A creaking sound from the cart broke his thoughts.

Among sacks and crates, he could barely distinguish shapes. But a rhythmic, muffled moan caught his attention. A whimper, in sync with the cart’s rattling.

—Don’t say anything or they’ll kill him… Don’t mention my name, don’t talk to me —whispered a familiar voice, very close.

He turned his head—and there was Musa, walking freely beside him. He almost shouted his name, but held back. He kept his gaze forward and spoke softly, making sure no soldier saw them.

—What happened?

—That moan you hear—it’s Sam. I distracted the bandits and made them think he was my master, a minor noble. When we reach the camp, near Nis, they’ll demand ransom for him. But… he’s in bad shape, Henry. His leg’s broken—and badly. I don’t know if he’ll survive.

—What? Just from a leg?

—The bone’s out. It pierced the flesh. I bandaged it as best I could, but he needs urgent treatment. If he’s lucky, he’ll lose the leg and live. If not…

Musa looked ahead, but then noticed Hans.

—And him? Why is he with you?

An Ottoman soldier passed nearby, and both fell silent. Musa stepped a few paces away, pretending indifference. The bandits had trusted him, he wasn’t bound. His story, absurd or not, had worked.

When the soldier was gone, Musa returned.

—They didn’t believe he was noble —Henry explained, lowering his voice—. And Hans didn’t help them believe it.

Musa watched Hans walking upright, silently. He didn’t seem to grasp the gravity of his situation.

—Musa… —Henry said, his voice broken. —Take care of Sam. I’ll do what I can for Capon.

Musa nodded in understanding. He slowly approached the cart. From time to time, one of the riders let him climb up to check the bandages on the broken leg. They were cleaner each time, and the bleeding seemed to have stopped.

Finally, when they thought they were alone enough, Samuel spoke.

—How’s my brother? And Sir Hans?

—They’re both fine. They’re walking behind us. —Musa didn’t want to elaborate, nor let Sam ask. —The bleeding’s stopped, and the leg isn’t black. That’s a good sign, but… —He looked his companion in the eyes and said it plainly. —When we reach the camp, I’ll have to amputate it.

Sam’s breathing quickened. He had seen many amputees from the war in the streets of Kuttenberg, mostly begging. Outcasts, forgotten people no one cared for, people who couldn’t work. He wasn’t going to be a burden to his family, now or ever. He closed his eyes and shook his head.

—No. I’d rather die.

—Sam…

—I said no! If you’re done, go.

One of the soldiers heard Sam’s outburst, and Musa had no choice but to obey. After all, he was his master… He returned to the line and fell silent, though he never took his eyes off his friends.

The march toward Nis became an endless torment.

Tied by the hands to the loot cart, Henry, Hans, and the other prisoners moved along dry, overgrown paths while the sun beat down on their heads. The rope burned their skin, and the dust clung to their sweat like a second layer of grime. At every step, their feet sank into loose soil or stumbled over roots. Hans, unused to such hardship and lacking endurance, slipped often, but managed to stay upright, driven by pure stubbornness or by the pull of the rope that dragged him forward if he faltered.

After a few days, they saw the city of Nis in the distance, a gray and brown blotch among gentle hills. Not as large as Prague nor as majestic as Buda, yet it stood proud over the valley. The towers of its walls were visible—some restored, others crumbling.

—I haven’t heard Sam for a while now… —Henry murmured softly, hoping for a reply.

Hans didn’t answer. He could barely stay on his feet. With every step he swayed more, his lips parched, his eyes sunken from exhaustion. Henry, despite the pain in his shoulder, offered him an arm when the rope loosened, trying to keep him upright without the guards noticing.

They did not head toward the city. Instead, they took a detour that dipped into a sparse grove of short trees. The path was narrow, with roots that made the cart wheels wobble. At the end, after crossing a foul-smelling stream, the camp came into view.

Dozens of canvas tents and makeshift wooden structures filled the clearing. Most of them, they guessed, were Ottomans. Their long tunics, curved weapons, and sun-darkened skin left no room for doubt, not to mention a language they had never heard before.

Szegedi’s men weren’t the only ones who had joined. There were other groups, other dialects, other faded flags. Mercenaries, deserters, looters. Most wore hard expressions, without uniforms or homeland, waiting their turn to strike.

The sun was already sinking beyond the horizon, and campfires lit the forest. The caravan was led to the eastern edge, where Szegedi’s colors, green and red, were flying. They were released next to a shallow ditch, where the other slaves were already settling in silence.

Some hadn’t spoken in days. Others cried without tears. The sky turned a dirty red, as if foreshadowing the blood to come. From where they were, they could see Nis’s glow lighting the horizon.

Night fell over the camp. There was no silence, only a mix of muffled sounds: rough laughter around the fires, the groans of prisoners, the occasional crack of branches under heavy boots. Yet within it all, there was a pause. A faint stillness, as if the world was holding its breath before the storm.

Henry and Hans lay on the cold mud, soaked to the bone. The rope that bound them gave just enough slack to let them move a few inches. Hans was breathing heavily, his hands still trembling, his muscles stiff from the strain. Henry felt his shaky warmth through the filthy shirt, and for a moment, closed his eyes.

—Are you okay? —he whispered, not expecting an immediate answer.

—I don’t know —Hans said after a long pause—. Everything hurts. But yes, I think so.

Henry let out a small laugh, barely a breath. He didn’t know whether to laugh or curse. He didn’t know whether to punch him or hold him. What he did know was that Hans shouldn’t be there. That he didn’t belong to this filth, to this fate. And yet, there he was. Because of him.

—Why did you do it? —he asked softly, low enough that no one else would hear.

Hans took his time to answer.

—Because… I was afraid. Afraid of never seeing you again. Of you never coming back. The thought crossed my mind that if we were separated, if you… if you died, and I lived, I wouldn’t be able to bear it. So I chose to follow you. That’s all.

Henry clenched his jaw. There weren’t enough words to tell him how foolish that was. Nor how brave. Nor how beautiful.

—And didn’t you think about what would happen if that happens to you? If you die here and I don’t… Hans… I wouldn’t be able to bear it either.

Hans swallowed and said nothing. Of course he was right, but he had allowed himself to be selfish, too marked by his own fears. Henry didn’t press further either, he simply moved closer and rested his chest against his back.

—I know you’re strong, Hans, but this isn’t for you. You said it yourself once—there are the Laboratores, the Bellatores...

—And yet here I am, aren’t I? I won’t say I regret those words, but if I have to curse God to stay by your side, in whatever way one man can stay beside another, I will.

The silence between them grew heavier. Hans’s back trembled slightly, and Henry relaxed his body so he could lean on him more easily. They shared warmth, breath, exhaustion. And for a moment, in the middle of a camp full of enemies, they allowed themselves that brief truce.

—Don’t… don’t let me fall, Henry.

Henry swallowed hard.

—Never.

Sam’s night was not much better than Hans and Henry’s rest on the mud. They had taken him to a tent amid terrible pain and shivering, fever had started to set in. Musa placed a damp cloth on his head, and he felt slight relief.

—Sam… there’s only one solution to this.

—If you say again that you want to cut off my leg, I’ll cut off your hands. —his voice trembled, but his words were firm.

Musa stared at the sweaty young man for a few moments. He could cut it without his consent, of course he could. He had done it before, but never to a patient who was his friend. He had to try something else for him.

He removed the bandages, and the smell of the wound filled the room. It didn’t look good. Several bone splinters were still lodged in the skin, causing the infection, and the leg still wasn’t properly aligned. At least now he had some time to work.

He gave Sam a piece of leather to bite. The young man looked at him in terror, thinking he was about to amputate. He struggled, tried to hit him.

—Easy… I’m not going to. I’m going to try to keep you alive, all right?

Sam didn’t trust him, but he had no choice. He bit the leather and waited. Musa, with steady hands, took some forceps and began to extract the splinters one by one. Then, he pressed the fractured bone that was sticking out and pushed it back into place. Sam fainted between screams and spasms. It was the perfect moment: Musa took a thin blade and cut away the infected flesh. Then he washed the wound with water and soap, disinfected the edges with alcohol, and stitched it with needle and thread. At least it no longer smelled of death.

Sam woke up as Musa was placing wooden splints around his leg. He clenched hard and felt sharp stabs of pain again.

—How… how is it? —he asked, his gaze unfocused.

—I’ve done what I could. Now you need to rest. I’m going to prepare something to bring down the fever, and the leg… we’ll have to see. You’ll be lucky if the infection doesn’t kill you.

The sun filtered through the tent’s fabric. Musa had barely slept that night, keeping the cloths cool on Sam, cleaning and changing bandages. The sound of the camp waking up made Musa open his eyes quickly.

Sam seemed to have fallen asleep, exhausted after fighting the infection all night. Musa placed a hand on his forehead and smiled with relief, the fever was gone. The leg was still red, the wound closed and clean. It looked like the stubborn young man was going to survive.

One of Szegedi’s men entered the tent and asked about Sam’s condition. Now that he was no longer in danger, Musa made up a place to send the ransom request, though he knew they’d soon be found out.

—Come with me. We’ve got work for you. —ordered the guard.

Musa obeyed. The camp was already awake. Some soldiers were having oatmeal for breakfast, others were lucky enough to have fresh bread. They passed by an improvised blacksmith’s shop. To his relief, there were Hans and Henry, alive and working. Their eyes met, a brief moment of hope.

They arrived at the infirmary. The last medicus had died days ago, so Musa was welcomed. There were tools, herbs, a table for preparing mixtures. He examined the plants carefully, most were soothing or disinfecting. There was a large amount of valerian, still fresh, which the wounded used to calm their nerves. That gave him an idea.

He asked permission to search for more herbs among the trees. A soldier agreed and accompanied him closely. They followed the stream while Musa picked leaves and flowers, all with natural ease. Finally, under the shade of an ash tree, he found what he was looking for. A small plant with rounded leaves that never grew alone. He almost cried out with joy.

He gathered some ferns and, discreetly, plucked small berries growing among them, bluish but nearly black. He put them in his pocket and told the soldier he was ready to return.

It was still early, but the forge was already up and running. The Serbian in charge wasn’t much of an expert, and he was grateful they had found someone to replace him. Henry guided Capon, who diligently kept the fire alive with the bellows. He had given him the simplest tasks, but Capon carried them out with full dedication.

There was no constant supervision; they were only chained by the feet and to each other. Henry often eyed the tongs with great temptation, he could use them to break their chains. But he knew it would be foolish. It would draw too much attention, and they wouldn’t be able to run from there without being seen.

Soldiers came and went, mostly bringing dented armor, chainmail in need of repair, weapons that needed sharpening… The work never stopped. Someone handed Henry a bundle of swords tied with leather.

—Sharpen. —ordered one of the Hungarians.

Henry began pulling the swords out one by one. It was enough to sharpen them, but some needed reforging. One hilt stood out among the rest. The unmistakable guard and pommel of his father’s sword gleamed under the midday sun, calling out to its rightful owner. Henry stared at it, spellbound, he couldn’t allow it to be lost again.

—Hans… —he whispered behind him to get his attention.

The nobleman wiped thick sweat from his brow with his arm, though his hair was still soaked and his cheeks flushed red.

—Henry… if they don’t give us water soon, I think I’m going to faint.

Worry for Hans’s condition drowned out every other thought. The sword suddenly didn’t seem to matter in the face of Hans collapsing from the heat. He gave him the last drops left from his ration and told him to move away from the coal fire.

—I need you to dig a hole behind the forge, without being seen.

—A hole?

—Not too deep… it’s for this… —he stepped aside slightly and showed him the sword’s pommel.

Hans understood immediately. Discreetly, he dug a shallow trench just behind the forge’s coal fire. When Henry brought the sword near the flames, he took advantage of a moment when no one was looking and quickly buried it.

He thought he had been caught when he saw Mihaly Szegedi himself standing in front of his table. But he wasn’t paying attention to him, he was inspecting the sharpened swords and the repaired armor.

—You weren’t lying, slave. No doubt this is your trade. —he said without looking at him.

Henry didn’t reply. He stepped in front of Hans so Szegedi wouldn’t focus on him, but the young lord couldn’t hide his disgust. His eyes burned with rage, he was facing the man who had killed little Géza and his sister, and he could think only of lunging at him. His face, the tension in his body, everything showed that, if he weren’t chained, he would leap at his throat like a rabid dog.

Mihaly noticed. He pointed the sword he held at Capon.

—You should teach your apprentice to respect his master.

Henry felt the dangerous tension in the air. Hans wasn’t used to showing deference, and he didn’t seem willing to yield. Szegedi was growing impatient. If Henry didn’t act soon, things could go very badly.

Then, heart sinking, Henry raised his hand and slapped Hans.

—Show… respect… —he said, voice breaking.

Hans brought his chained hand to his cheek and fell silent, surrendering at last. Henry saw the mark he had left and felt as if a knife had stabbed into his chest. Hurting Hans was like hurting himself.

—Good. —Mihaly went on, seeing the defiance vanish from Capon’s eyes. —Take that one.

Two soldiers approached, and one grabbed Henry while the other freed Hans’s hand. They were no longer chained together.

The soldiers said nothing, they didn’t have to explain anything to a slave. Henry remained at the forge, watching them drag Hans away from him once again. The poor boy tried to resist, but they pulled him across the camp. Henry was paralyzed with rage. He clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white.

And in that moment, without knowing why, Istvan came back to his thoughts. The warnings he had given in the tower of Trostky Castle echoed loudly in his ears.

“And you cannot imagine what will happen if Sigismund fails to stop the Turks. To you too, to all of us. I lived through it.”

Henry slammed his fist on the table. He was done. None of this would have happened if he had stayed true to his promise. Never run again. He should have killed Szegedi and his band when he had the chance. His weakness was the cause of this suffering. Istvan had told him himself. “The strongest dog fucks the bitches.”

He looked around. He had done it before: Vranik, the escape from Suchdol… If he could free himself from the chains, moving through the camp in the dark wouldn’t be hard. But he wasn’t going to run, not this time.

I will kill them all.

Chapter Text

The liquid stopped boiling and, while waiting for it to cool down, Musa approached Sam’s cot. The flushed cheeks and the sweat on his forehead indicated the fever had spiked again. The boy was still fighting the infection, but he had not yet overcome it.

He removed the bandage to check the state of the wound and then he saw it: one of the stitches had opened and was oozing. He cleaned it carefully and then covered it with an ointment to prevent the infection from spreading. Sam was shivering with his eyes closed, and Musa shook his head.

—Don’t be stubborn, Sam… If the infection doesn’t kill you, you might end up lame and in pain for the rest of your life. The fracture is very serious… I can fix it if you let me…

—I won’t say it again, Musa —muttered Sam—. You’re not cutting off my leg. I won’t be a burden to anyone.

The scholar frowned; he was growing tired of the young man’s attitude. He wanted to save his life, he could, but Sam refused.

—I’m not stupid, Sam. Your community would welcome you, and you wouldn’t be a burden to anyone. What’s the real reason? Give me a good reason to let you destroy yourself.

Musa’s voice, for the first time, didn’t sound calm or cold. It was truly affecting him to watch his friend die, knowing he could save him, yet being unable to do so.

—It’s… it’s just that… —Sam seemed unable to find the right words.

—What? The pain? I can prepare something to ease it… Walking? You’ll be able to with support, and…

—No! —Sam swallowed hard and opened his eyes—. I can’t lose my leg. There’s… someone… waiting for me…

Musa sighed deeply, expecting a confession that might make him change his mind. Sam, meanwhile, nervously fiddled with the ring he never took off. He turned it, squeezed it… and stared at it. He smiled, defeated. Nothing else mattered anymore.

—Jan of Liechtenstein is waiting for me, Musa. —he looked at his friend, watching for his reaction. —He’s waiting for someone to walk through life with him, in Kolín. I still have so many things to do… and I need to be whole for all of them. If you don’t… if you don’t understand… —his voice trembled. —then go and leave me here. I’ll understand. But this leg stays with me, until the end.

The liquid in the pot had already cooled. Without saying a word, Musa turned his back on Sam and checked the viscosity of his creation. It was perfect. He took a vial and slowly began pouring the mixture into it, though his thoughts were elsewhere.

The silence in the tent was heavy. Sam felt vulnerable after his confession, trembling even more knowing his friend hadn’t said a word. This was undoubtedly the end. He closed his eyes and clutched his ring tighter, thinking of the reason that helped him carry on.

Then he felt a hand resting on his arm. Musa’s calm, measured voice returned to bring the discussion to an end.

—I understand your reasons, Sam. Love helps us keep going, but it also drives us to the greatest follies.

Sam’s heart started to race.

—I never said… it was love… —he murmured, nervous.

Musa smiled, almost with a trace of amusement if it weren’t for Sam’s dire condition.

—No, you didn’t say it. —he sighed and let Sam settle down. —Some truths don’t need words to be felt. Like… Sir Hans and Henry.

Sam looked at him intently but found no trace of hatred or rejection on his face. Musa knew, it seemed he knew everyone much better than they knew themselves. His calm and understanding brought Sam peace. He was able to close his eyes again without worry, focusing all his strength solely on staying alive.

—Now, you stubborn boy, I must go see the blacksmith.

He closed the vial into which he had poured his creation and left the tent with a smile on his lips.

Henry was focused on his work, but he kept his eyes on the camp, searching for Hans. He hadn’t seen him since they took him away, and he was beginning to feel true anguish, a growing sense of urgency.

The metal of the swords was slowly heating over the coals as he forged something new, something he had never made before. A link in the chain that bound him to Hans had come loose, and he didn’t intend to waste that tiny piece of metal. When he held it between his fingers, an idea sparked in his mind.

The small fragment remained red-hot, firmly held at the tip of the tongs as he hammered it steadily. That was when Musa appeared in front of his station, and the rhythm broke abruptly.

—Musa! —he whispered his name with visible emotion and moved toward him—. How is Sam? Have you… have you seen Sir Hans? —He had many questions, but little time.

—Lord Szegedi has ordered me to treat your shoulder wound. Come with me —he said aloud, knowing someone might be listening.

He grabbed Henry by the arm and led him a few steps away, seating him on the ground. He examined the burn: it wasn’t infected, but it was dirty and red. It had helped stop the bleeding, but it needed treatment. He took out the ointment he had used with Sam and began to spread it over the cauterized area. That was when he leaned closer to his friend and whispered in his ear:

—Sam is fighting for his life, but I can’t do anything more for him. I haven’t seen Sir Hans; I thought he was with you.

—They took him hours ago! —he exclaimed too loudly, and immediately lowered his voice—. How are we supposed to get out of here?

—For that, my friend, I may have the solution. A solution of valerian and fox grapes.

Henry reflected on his words as he felt the ointment cool his shoulder. He tried to recall the recipes from his potion book, and one quickly came to mind: Dollmaker. He looked Musa in the eye, sharing a mutual understanding.

—How...?

—I’ve been ordered to examine all the soldiers to contain potential diseases. I’ll be moving around the camp, so… I could drop a few drops into their pots, if no one sees me.

Henry raised an eyebrow, surprised. Musa had changed a lot since Suchdol. He had always claimed to be a coward, but now he was showing more bravery than Henry ever could have imagined. He had created a poison to weaken the camp, and now he planned to distribute it alone, unnoticed, armed only with his potions and his great charisma.

—When night falls, stay with Sam. I’ll make my way to you. —murmured Henry.

Henry clenched his fists, and his knuckles turned white. Musa noticed, concerned.

—Why are you saying that? You’re not thinking of…? No, Henry! When they’re asleep, free yourself with the tongs and escape with us.

Henry stood up, ending the conversation. The wound didn’t hurt so much anymore, and he still had things to do before nightfall. He had to prepare. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. He turned his back on Musa and whispered with a firm voice:

—I’m not running away again.

The afternoon was harsh. The heat gave no respite, and work piled up at the forge. He hadn’t seen Hans again, and despair threatened to take over his mind. Still, he had a far greater purpose. They would pay for what they had done, and for once, he would agree with Istvan: they had to be stopped.

The project that had emerged in the morning was now complete, and Henry looked at it with pride. A smile formed on his face as he hid it in his pocket before anyone could see it. He clenched it tightly in his hands, thinking of the only person he wanted to share it with. I’ll get you out of here, Hans.

The sun began to set on the horizon, and campfires were gradually lit. The soldiers laughed and argued at the same time. Their pots were already prepared with dinner… and something more. Little by little, night fell over them, and the commotion faded abruptly. Most had gone to sleep, thinking they were simply tired. Some froze in place; others hadn’t tasted the poison at all.

There hadn’t been enough for the entire camp, and Musa hadn’t been able to pour it into every pot. Henry had an advantage, but he would still have to fight for what he wanted. He would leave no one alive.

The moment had come. He grabbed the tongs and, with all his strength, broke the chains. He looked around: no one had noticed. He ran behind the forge and unearthed his father’s sword, still sharp and intact. He felt relief as he held it in his hands once more. He took a deep breath. Forgive me, father, he prayed as he made the sign of the cross.

Night had fallen thick over the Ottoman camp. The air smelled faintly of metal and poison. Henry emerged from the shadows of the forge, covered in soot. He knew what he had to do.

He moved like a specter among the tents, crouched and silent like a hawk on the hunt. The first soldier was sitting by the supply cart, motionless, his face twisted in a grimace of horror. Henry plunged the blade into his throat without hesitation.

One by one, he made his way through the camp, slitting the throats of the paralyzed without them making a single sound. No plea, no defense. Only the whistle of the blade and the faint gurgle of blood spilling out.

He reached a lit tent. Inside, three men were playing dice, unaware of the unnatural silence enveloping the rest of the camp. Henry pushed the cloth aside and lunged at them. The first didn’t even have time to scream before the sword split his chest. The second managed to grab his scimitar, but Henry dodged with a turn and drove the blade into his side. The third tried to flee but tripped over the first one’s corpse and fell face-first. Henry stabbed him in the back without hesitation. The frenzy almost led him to kill the fourth, who remained curled in a corner, silent. At the last moment, he noticed his ankles were chained.

—When silence reigns, leave —he told the slave, who nodded, terrified.

He moved on. His hands were already covered in blood. He passed by a group of horses, neighing nervously. One of the riders came out to see what was happening. He saw him and shouted for help. Henry ran at him and impaled him against the post by the watering trough. Now they would know something was wrong.

He heard shouts. The camp was waking up, but he was still the king of the shadows.

He ran toward the heart of the camp, trying to hide and throw off the soldiers still awake. As he passed, disoriented men came out with weapons in hand. One intercepted him, and they struggled. Henry fell to the ground and rolled over the dirt. The soldier raised his scimitar, but Henry blocked it with his sword and kneed him in the gut. He decapitated him in the same motion.

More men arrived, but they were stunned, half-asleep, or still affected by the poison. Some could barely stay on their feet. Henry took them down one by one, without remorse. He was fast, brutal, efficient.

When he reached Musa’s tent, he found the entrance guarded by two soldiers who hadn’t eaten the poisoned stew. They attacked him at once. Henry barely had time to react. He stepped back, spun around, and slashed one in the leg. The other grazed his shoulder with a sword. The pain lit a fire in him. He roared and struck him down with a blow from the pommel. Then, he drove the blade through the first one as he tried to get up.

He tore through the tent entrance. Inside, Musa was cooling Sam’s forehead with wet cloths. Henry was panting, covered in blood, his pulse pounding in his ears.

—Don’t leave this tent. —he warned them.

Sam looked up, half-dazed.

Henry turned, sword in hand, and stepped back out into the night stained red.

He continued his advance through the camp, always crouched, always in the dark. He moved from tent to tent, out of sight of his pursuers. When he found one alone, he didn’t hesitate to sneak up and run him through with the sword.

They fell, one by one, until the tents were either empty or filled with corpses. Henry retraced his steps, searching for stragglers or those still paralyzed by the poison… or by fear.

He came across one trembling in terror next to the body of his fallen companion. Seeing Henry approach was like looking Death in the face. A bloodied man, wielding a sword that hadn’t dulled after killing an entire camp, could only be the inevitable punishment that falls upon men.

Henry looked him in the eye, panting from exhaustion. His arm trembled slightly, but he held the sword firmly. He had entered a frenzy of blood and death that would not stop until his goal was fulfilled. He saw true terror in the soldier’s eyes, but showed no mercy. He wore Szegedi’s colors. He had taken part in the slaughter and the looting.

He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. His weakness could not be his downfall. He would not run again.

He raised the sword like a sentence and brought it down with the coldness of one who knows there is no turning back.

He was still trying to catch his breath when he heard a growl. The largest tent, in the corner of Szegedi’s camp, was lit, and a shadow was cast on the canvas. Henry took a deep breath, gripped his sword tightly, and moved forward with determination to finish the job.

He pulled back the flap of the entrance and saw Mihály Szegedi, leaning on his sword like a cane. He had been affected by the poison, though not completely. He struggled to control his body, but was unable to stand. The Hungarian’s face seemed capable of killing Henry with just a look.

—You… —he whispered with difficulty.

Henry, impassive, stepped into the tent and placed the tip of his sword against Szegedi’s throat. He didn’t resist, not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t. He laughed.

—How many… how many… have you killed?

—All of them —he replied firmly.

The smile vanished from Mihály’s face. The young man before him was exhausted and covered in blood from head to toe. It could be true. With the help of that poison that now paralyzed him… he might well have wiped out the entire camp.

—Where is he? —Henry’s voice became a threat.

—Who? —The sword tip dug slightly into his skin—. Your blond friend? Did you do all this for him?

Henry stepped closer, arm poised to drive the steel into flesh.

—He’s just one of the reasons. You killed and raped, razed villages… and joined the Ottomans to wipe us all out. Aren’t those reasons enough? —He pressed the tip harder, and a trickle of blood slid down Szegedi’s neck—. Where is he?

Mihály knew he was going to die. He wasn’t about to give him one last satisfaction. He smiled again, and his final words didn’t surprise Henry. He had heard them many times before.

—War is a nasty business.

Far from pulling back, Henry leaned in and whispered in his ear:

—I know.

Then the sword pierced Szegedi’s throat, and his corpse slumped onto the bed. Henry’s legs trembled slightly, and he let himself fall to the ground. It was done… he had done it. He had killed them all. Nearly seventy men who had camped there.

He looked down at his blood-covered hands. Why did it feel good? He didn’t want to cry or regret what he had done. He felt… triumphant. He gave one last glance to the scum he had just erased from the world and stepped out into the cool night air. Calm reigned over the camp, but not in his heart: Hans still hadn’t appeared.

He ran back to Musa’s tent. It was just as he had left it, tending to Sam’s fever.

—I need you to help me find Hans.

Musa nodded and, without a word, left the tent. The sight horrified and astonished him at the same time. The entire camp was filled with corpses and a few slaves running toward freedom, carrying with them a small loot to survive. He walked west, checking each tent and cabin one by one.

Henry headed toward the opposite end of the camp, desperation beginning to show on his face. He shouted Hans’s name, but no one answered. He approached a stable a bit farther from the tents. There he found another slave, sleeping in the horses’ straw.

—Have you seen a blond boy? Blue eyes? —he asked as he freed him.

The boy shook his head. As soon as he was free, he ran off without looking back.

Henry was left holding the chains. He threw them to the ground in rage, cursing. He had to find Hans. He left the stable and kept calling his name.

The night was thick, as if the air refused to move. Only the Moon, peeking through torn clouds, offered intermittent light. It was in one of those sky flickers that something glinted, a fleeting golden shine near the farthest trees.

Henry stopped in his tracks. He squinted. His heart pounded in his chest like a war drum. Had he imagined it?

He saw the glint again. A metallic reflection… a shovel? A buckle? Next to it, something else: a small figure, curled under the shelter of a tree.

He swallowed hard. Took one step. Then another, faster.

—Hans? —he whispered first, but his voice failed. Then, raising the cry that burned in his throat, —Hans!

The figure stirred. It stretched awkwardly, yawning and raising its arms. It rubbed its eyes with both hands, trying to shake off the sleep that clung to it.

Henry needed no more signs. He could recognize that gesture even in his dreams.

He ran toward him, shouting his name. By the tree, Hans fully awoke. He thought he had heard his name. He rubbed his face and looked toward the camp. A young man was running toward him, carrying a sword of exquisite and unmistakable craftsmanship.

—Henry? —he murmured to himself, still doubting his eyes.

—Hans!

He ran. He ran as if something might steal the moment away from him, as if the forest could swallow Hans’s figure before he reached him. The weight of the sword at his side didn’t slow him. When he was close enough, he dropped it and threw himself on him.

Hans barely had time to sit up before they both fell to the ground, wrapped in a clumsy and desperate embrace. Laughter burst out amid barely contained sobs. Henry wrapped his arms around him as if he needed to confirm with every fiber of his body that he was real.

—Are you okay? Are you hurt? —he murmured, panting, searching with his fingers for any sign of injury.

Hans smiled, still half-dazed from the sudden awakening. He also took Henry’s face in both hands and pulled him close, kissing him with an intensity born of absence and fear. Then he hugged him again, pressing him to his chest.

—My Henry… my favorite peasent. I’m perfectly fine.

Henry pulled back to give him some space. His feet were chained to the tree where he had been resting. The whole area stank, and they both wanted to get away quickly. With the help of his sword and a dagger he had taken from an Ottoman, Henry pried the chains until they broke.

Hans hugged him again once freed, and that’s when Henry noticed all the mounds were latrines. How could a pampered noble like Capon sleep next to such filth?

Hans noticed his thoughts right away and laughed.

—I know, I know… but after spending all day digging trenches, I was exhausted. Besides, you get used to the smell after a while.

Henry stared at him, stunned.

—You… digging latrines?

—Believe it —he replied with a laugh—. It’s becoming a bad habit that when people don’t believe I’m a noble, I end up covered in shit.

A moment of silence was needed to take in the fact that Hans, and his antics, were back. Without realizing it, Henry began to laugh with him. He couldn’t help it and, covered in shit or not, he wrapped him in his arms again and kissed him over and over.

My Hans…

They returned to Musa’s tent. They called out his name, and the scholar appeared quickly, relieved to see the young lord safe and sound. They all went in together and saw that Sam had fallen asleep.

—How’s my brother?

—For now, he’s alive. The infection is subsiding, but he’s exhausted from fighting the fever. His leg, however… —Henry turned his attention to it, swollen and splinted—. It’s not good. It’s a very complicated fracture. He’ll be left limping if I don’t...

—If you don’t what?

Musa weighed his words. He wasn’t going to insist on amputation. He knew Sam’s wishes, and as a physician, he also understood that his duty was to respect them.

—If I don’t take him to Vienna. I believe my teacher, Hakim, could repair the fracture and prevent any lasting damage.

Henry looked at his brother with sorrow. He hated seeing him suffer. He would’ve liked to stay by his side to the end, but his life was more important. Clearly, he couldn’t continue the journey, nor could he return to Vienna alone. The decision was obvious.

—Very well. Gather loot and provisions. We’ll leave in the same cart they brought him in. With luck, we’ll reach Vienna in a few weeks. Will he survive until then?

—If God wills it, yes —Musa replied, with growing relief in his voice. This madness seemed, at last, about to come to an end.

Hans wanted to say something, but Henry left the shop so quickly he didn’t get the chance. He looked at Sam, grateful for everything he had done for him. He was a good companion, a good… friend. Henry’s brother, the only family he had left. Someone very important to them both. And yet, deep in his heart, he knew he couldn’t go with him.

He gave him a farewell kiss on the forehead and left.

They loaded the cart with what they needed and looted the camp. They found a great amount of coins and even a box of jewels in Szegedi’s tent. They could travel to Constantinople and back twice with that treasure.

Hours passed, and dawn broke, revealing clearly the massacre Henry had committed during the night. The first rays of light cast twisted shadows over the corpses, staining the ground deep red and projecting halos that looked like something out of hell.

They carried Sam through the shadows and carefully placed him in the back of the cart. He slowly opened his eyes and, looking around, held his breath.

—What happened? —he asked in a faint voice.

—We’re going home, Sam —Henry replied, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Samuel didn’t fully understand what was happening, but he was too tired to ask. His brother was safe, so were his friends. His leg was still there, and they were taking him home. Everything was going to be fine.

They gathered the horses they needed from the stable. Atenon was the only one from the group to survive the attack, so the rest of the animals were unfamiliar. Henry chose a brown mare, very different from Pebbles, and decided to name her later. Something worth remembering.

They tied the strongest horses to the cart and slowly left the camp. When they reached the road that would take them back home, Hans stopped Atenon. His expression was grim, and his body tense. Henry approached, concerned.

—What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?

—No… —he cleared his throat—. I’m not going back, Henry.

—What!?

He realized he’d sounded more aggressive than he intended, but he was exhausted. Hans couldn’t do this to him, not now. They dismounted to talk more calmly.

—What is this about, Hans? You’ve seen how Sam is! We have to take him to Vienna so that...

—I know. I understand —he interrupted gently—. But I can’t go. I don’t want to return. Go with your brother, if that’s what you wish. I’ll wait for you in Constantinople.

—Are you out of your mind? —Hans seemed unfazed by his words—. You’re going alone? Hans… —he sighed, softening his tone—. Is this about the wedding? We talked about it. It’s your duty and your responsibility. Don’t you plan to have heirs for Rattay? Are you going to let your house die with you?

—Heirs? —Hans repeated, as if the word hurt—. What for? To watch your child die sick during his first winter? To see him fall in an ambush? And if something happened to me? What kind of life is that? He’d grow up alone, orphaned, with a silver spoon to give him riches… but not happiness.

The wind was the only one speaking between them for a moment. Hans’s words weren’t mere excuses. There was something deeper, more intimate, beating in every sentence.

—You’re acting like a child again. —Henry’s voice trembled with frustration—. After everything that’s happened, do you really want to keep going? It makes no sense. We need to go back. Sam needs help.

Hans shook his head. He had made his decision, and nothing would change his mind. He mounted his horse again and looked back, as if waiting for one last plea.

Henry, still on the ground, held his gaze. He approached and touched his leg, seeking an anchor, a crack that might stop him from leaving.

—Henry… come with me.

—No, Hans! —he burst out—. That’s enough! I wiped out that whole camp for you. I say it’s time to go back, so face reality and stop being so selfish.

It sounded like he was scolding a child, but Hans wasn’t one. He was a broken man, who had chosen not to return to a world that crushed him. The words from the man he loved were harsh and fell like stones, but for once, his resolve was much stronger.

Hans took Henry’s hand in his and, kissing his fingers, spoke with a trembling voice:

—Then I release you from your duties, squire. You’re no longer bound to me. You’re free to choose your own path. —His tears dampened Henry’s skin—. Farewell.

He spurred Atenon, and the horse disappeared in a cloud of dust.

—Hans, wait! —Henry shouted, with no answer.

Henry stood devastated in the middle of the road, watching the horse disappear without looking back. He took the reins of his new mare and walked toward the cart, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall uncontrollably.

There he saw Sam, lying on some blankets with a hand on his forehead, shielding himself from the rising sun. Musa had witnessed the whole scene and was speechless. He could truly see Henry breaking in two. He wanted to protect and care for his brother, but clearly couldn’t let Sir Hans continue alone.

He placed a hand on Henry’s shoulder, and Henry flinched, his eyes still on Sam and his battered leg.

—I’ll take care of him.

—What? —Henry’s blue eyes began to cloud. A tear escaped down his cheek.

—Samuel. Don’t worry about him. With all this loot I can pay for a good escort, and as a doctor, I’ll watch over his health. You couldn’t leave him in better hands.

—Leave? No… no. —Henry resisted, but finally broke down—. I can’t leave him.

Musa crouched down and smiled at the poor boy. He was young and had been through so much, but this adventure wasn’t over yet for him.

—We both know Sir Hans can’t go on alone. —He offered Henry his hand and helped him up—. Hurry, or next time you see him, he might be in the city stocks.

Henry couldn’t help but make a face, almost a smile. Musa’s proposal was bringing peace back to his mind and heart, and he realized the scholar was right. He could never let go of that arrogant nobleman, no matter how much he resisted. He was too deeply in love with him.

Sam lowered his hand and slowly sat up. He had heard the whole conversation and understood his brother’s reasons. The same reasons that were taking him away were leading Sam home. The farewell was inevitable.

—Good luck, brother. Take care of Sir Hans and don’t let him get into trouble.

Henry approached him, still struggling with the departure. He was going to miss him.

—It’s been an honor traveling with you, Sam. I hope you recover in Vienna.

—I’m stubborn, Henry. Rest assured that when we meet again, we’ll ride to the nearest tavern together.

They shook hands, which turned into an embrace. Henry patted his back several times and, with a deep sigh, left the cart. Before leaving, he also hugged Musa.

—Thank you for everything, my friend.

The scholar, calm as always and cheerful despite everything, gave him a broad smile.

—Go with God, Henry.

With a lighter heart, he mounted his new mare and galloped in the opposite direction, after a stubborn, spoiled… and utterly irreplaceable nobleman.

Chapter Text

Henry woke up in the middle of the night, restless. His heart was still pounding from the nightmare he had just left behind, one he couldn’t clearly remember, though it had surely involved screams and destruction. He didn’t usually wake up this anxious; Hans’s warmth beside him would normally calm him down.

But he couldn’t feel it. He wasn’t near him. They had paid to sleep in the attic of a tavern lost in the middle of nowhere, just before crossing the mountains, and the smell of hay filled the air. Henry looked around and saw his young lord fast asleep in a corner, curled up between the straw and a wooden beam.

His face was peaceful as he slept. Despite all the traumatic experiences he had lived through, they still didn’t show up in his nightmares, and Henry smiled in relief. He didn’t want him to suffer the same way he did, night after night, reliving the fire again and again.

They had been traveling alone for several days, and Hans was still uneasy. He no longer slept curled up next to Henry, didn’t share his thoughts, and spent most of the time in silence. Henry missed his smile and good humor.

He knew Hans was angry, that his words had hurt him. But what could he do? He was convinced he had been right, that Hans was acting like a spoiled, impulsive boy… though little by little, his convictions were starting to crumble. He frowned, still upset with Capon for having forced him to leave Sam behind, but when he looked again at Hans, curled up in the straw, the anger faded. There was no room left for resentment. He just wanted to go to him and stroke his blond hair like nothing had happened. He trusted Musa, and knew Sam would be all right.

He sighed deeply and tried to fall back asleep in his cold corner.

The next morning, they were having breakfast across from each other by the hearth. Hans remained silent, lost in thought as he slowly ate his bowl of cooked oats. He hated oats, but ate them without complaint.

Henry watched him with concern. He felt a gap had opened between them that grew with every silence they didn’t break, with every glance they avoided. He couldn’t take it anymore. He stretched his leg slightly and, in a gesture of peace, brushed Hans’s shin with the tip of his shoe.

Hans noticed. He paused with the spoon in mid-air, cleared his throat, and pulled his leg away without even looking at him. Then he went on eating as if nothing had happened.

That only made Henry feel worse. Maybe he had been too harsh, maybe he hadn’t tried to understand him, and the apologies he had offered before had been too hollow. He stared at him, wishing he would go back to being his usual self, while his own bowl of oats grew cold.

—Aren’t you eating, Henry? —was all he said without lifting his gaze.

With a heavier heart than he could have imagined, he slowly began to eat. Hans finished his portion and stood up without a word. He paid the innkeeper for the meal, then went outside to stretch his legs before setting off again.

Henry remained alone at the table. What he had forged back at the camp weighed heavier and heavier in his pocket, as if to remind him that he still hadn’t fulfilled his purpose. He gripped it tightly through the fabric. He couldn’t go on like this. He had to speak clearly.

He stepped outside in search of Hans, who at that moment was offering a carrot to Atenón before saddling him. He smiled as he stroked the horse’s muzzle, and that smile alone was enough for Henry to fall at his feet.

—Henry, what are you doing?

Kneeling, he took his hand between his fingers.

—Sir Hans, please, allow me to return to your service. I, Henry of Skalitz, swear that I wish to serve the lord of Pirkstein.

Hans, surprised, said nothing. He was about to pull his hand away and mount the horse, but he couldn’t help feeling tenderness at the sight of Henry like that. Tenderness… and pain.

—Henry… stand up. —The young man rose slowly, without letting go of his hand.— I don’t want you to follow me out of duty or obligation. You are free. Free to leave, if that is your wish.

—Hans… —he pleaded, looking into his eyes.— I truly regret what I said. I… acted rashly. There’s no place in the world I’d rather be than here with you.

Hans let go of his hand, but used it to gently caress his cheek. His expression softened, and for the first time in days, he gave a faint smile.

—My sweet Henry… Of course I accept your apology.

He kissed his forehead and began saddling Atenón. Henry stood frozen in the middle of the stable, not quite knowing what to say. Apology accepted? Hans hadn’t said anything about taking him back as his squire, and he still seemed distant. He had never seen him like this, and for the first time, he felt true fear of losing the bond they shared.

They rode all day without incident, following the Via Militaris toward the Dragoman Pass. The meadows quickly gave way to cliffs and mountains that lined the valley they traveled through. The mountain climate cooled the air so much it felt as though summer had been left behind, something they welcomed without complaint.

The afternoon passed in silence; they had exchanged barely a word or two along the way. Henry kept casting furtive glances at Hans, worried about how distant he had become, aching to grab him in his arms and shout that he was a fool, that he loved him with all his heart, and that he would never, ever let him go. But Hans rode on impassively toward the horizon.

The pines, tall and dark, rose like needles into the sky, and the wind, scented with resin and damp earth, whispered through the branches. The afternoon sun began to sink, dyeing the clouds a deep amber, and the rocks seemed to burn with flame.

When they finally reached a small plateau, they stopped. From there, the world opened up like an offering. The Balkans, with their rolling mountains and unfathomable gorges, stretched to the horizon, where the sky burned in hues of gold, copper, and violet. In the distance, an eagle silently crossed the void. Everything felt vast and ancient, as if time itself had paused to watch them.

Hans dismounted first, stretching his arms with a sigh that seemed to carry everything he couldn’t say out loud. Henry watched him from the saddle, as if caught in the moment. The light of the setting sun caressed Hans’s face. His blond hair glowed under the last rays of the day, blinding Henry with admiration. His expression, a faint smile on the verge of emotion, made Henry’s chest tighten, soft but inevitable.

He dismounted slowly. Without a word, he walked up to Hans, and together they gazed out at the vastness.

They felt small before the grandeur of nature, there, in the middle of the mountains where the troubles of the world seemed to fade away. Hans closed his eyes and sighed, breathing the crisp air and feeling freedom, true freedom.

Henry looked at him as he never had before. There could be no other way. He loved him as he had never loved anyone.

—I’ve never seen anything like this —Hans murmured, almost to himself.

Henry’s heart was pounding. His nerves almost amused him, and the only thing that calmed him was the small object in his pocket. He took a deep breath, reached inside the fabric, and held it in his palm. The time had come.

—Hans…

The young man turned, and Henry took his hand. He knelt, as he had that same morning at the tavern, but this time with far more depth and sincerity.

—Whether I’m your squire or not doesn’t matter, Hans. You’re the only person I’ve ever loved, and I can’t bear a moment without you. You are my life and the reason for my being. I truly regret having hurt you, for your pain is my pain, and I would rather die than cause you harm. Hans… I would follow you to the ends of the earth, to the horizon where the sky meets the land. I would burn in hell with you if that meant staying together.

Hans’s expression was unreadable. His breathing had quickened, and his heart pounded violently. For the first time, he couldn’t find the words to reply. He stood still, in silence, bracing himself for the moment.

—Please, accept this ring as a token of my eternal love. If you’ll have me, if you still love me, I swear by all that I have, though it’s not much, that I’ll love you every day of my life.

Henry then showed him the ring he held in his palm. A small steel band, humble and unadorned, rough and rudimentary. Hans took it in his trembling hand and held it between his fingertips.

—Wh… —he swallowed. —Where did you get this?

Henry smiled.

—I forged it at the camp, from a link of the chain that once bound us. I… wanted it to become a symbol of what should never be broken, though I’m sorry it’s so ugly… so plain. —he said with a half-smile, scratching the back of his neck.

—I… —his voice trembled, as did the rest of his body. —I have something for you too.

He opened his leather pouch and rummaged through the coins until he found it. He placed in Henry’s hand a simple wooden ring.

The carving marks were still visible, somewhat rough and unrefined, as if it were the first time anyone had tried to make such a thing. Henry examined it carefully, his heart beating even harder.

—I made it from the wood of my bow. I carved it for you… some time ago, but I never knew if it was right to give it to you.

Henry looked at him as if his heart might leap from his chest.

—Why didn’t you?

Hans smiled, small and fragile.

—Because nothing seemed good enough for you.

Henry stood and faced Hans. Without even realizing, they both let tears fall down their cheeks. He pressed his forehead to Hans’s, and they stayed there for a moment in silence, savoring it.

—A ring made from your bow… it’s the most precious thing I could ever have in this world.

Hans smiled, breathless.

—A ring forged from the chain that once bound us… it’s the most perfect thing anyone’s ever done for me.

They never mentioned the word “marriage,” but they knew they were binding themselves forever under God’s gaze. There, so close to the heavens, it was the perfect place to exchange tokens of eternal love.

Henry took the metal ring and gently placed it on Hans’s finger. Hans did the same, sliding the wooden one onto Henry’s finger. Their hands brushed, soft against each other’s rough palms. He caressed him intensely before completing the gesture.

There was no time for more words. Henry pulled him in tightly, wrapping his arms around him from behind. Their lips met in a kiss, timid at first, then wild and unrestrained. Hans’s hands wandered boldly until they found Henry’s backside, and he left them there, gripping the firm, well-earned muscles of his commoner.

Before they realized, they were already rolling on the ground, touching each other like they hadn’t in a long time. Both were desperate. Henry took off his shirt and practically tore Hans’s off with a growl.

The sunset light highlighted Hans’s bare torso, and Henry froze for a moment, admiring the man before him. Who would have imagined? His best friend, his lord, turned lover and life companion. It might have sounded strange, but when he touched him, everything made sense.

He kissed him as he moved on top of him. He pulled back slightly, and Hans, eyes closed, was smiling, savoring the moment. He opened them when Henry stroked his cheek, feeling the wood of the ring against his skin. No more words were needed, nor any other gestures. They melted into each other until the night cloaked them in a blanket of stars.

The sun was beginning to rise on the horizon. Its rays had started to warm the blanket covering the two young men beside a fire now reduced to ashes. Henry was the first to wake. His left arm was completely numb. Hans’s head rested on it, and he didn’t want to move for fear of waking him.

With his right arm he held him tighter, as if afraid he might vanish at any moment. He brought his face close and inhaled the scent of his hair, a mix of earth and dry pine. It no longer smelled of lavender or rosemary, but that didn’t matter; he liked it just as it was.

His movements gradually stirred Hans, who was beginning to feel the warmth of the sun. He shifted slightly and nestled even closer between Henry’s arm and hips. With his eyes still closed, he cleared his throat softly before speaking.

—Good… —he yawned— …morning, Henry.

—Good morning, Hans —he whispered in his ear, while planting small kisses on his neck.

Hans laughed and turned his face away with his hand.

—Stop! That tickles…

Henry didn’t stop. He kept kissing every spot where Hans shivered, just brushing him with his lips. They laughed and played together, until Hans finally opened his eyes and turned to face him.

—So… can I be your squire again?

—Henry, you never stopped being one.

They kissed again between smiles, but Henry pulled the blanket away. They had to force themselves to continue the journey, or they’d never leave those mountains.

They dressed quickly, as the morning chill seeped into their bones. They bundled up and packed up the campsite. Once the horses were saddled, they mounted and resumed their journey, descending through the range toward the Bulgarian plains.

The day was clear and calm. The sun was already high in the sky, and little by little they removed layers of clothing made unnecessary by the heat. Henry’s mare walked with a steady pace, calm and sturdy; she didn’t complain and seemed content riding alongside the other horse.

—Have you thought of a name for her yet? —asked Hans.

—Well… I’ve thought of a few…

Henry fell silent, smiling to himself, lost in thought. Hans, however, waited expectantly.

—Well…?

He burst out laughing at Hans’s persistence.

—I don’t know… they’re pretty silly. I did think of one, but I don’t know if you’ll like it. I’ll mull it over a bit more.

—No, no! I’m your lord and I demand to know.

Hans could barely hold back his laughter, though he was being sincere. He knew how much Pebbles had meant to Henry, and that no horse could easily take her place, so this moment had to matter to him. He pressed him a little more, until Henry gave in.

—Alright, alright. If your lordship insists… I like, ahem… “Birdie.”

The tenderness Hans felt upon seeing that half-smile on Henry’s face was indescribable. A warm and pleasant feeling spread through him in that moment. He looked him in the eyes and answered sincerely:

—I love it.

They continued their journey toward the Sofia plain, passing through Slivnitsa, where the Ottomans had set up a checkpoint. Hans and Henry remained calm at all times: they wore no armor and showed no hostile intent, carrying only their swords as knights.

Communication with the border soldiers proved difficult. In that moment, they wished Musa hadn’t left, but now they relied solely on themselves. In the end, the language of money turned out to be truly universal.

Hans managed to reach an agreement, he wasn’t quite sure how, in exchange for a few gold coins. They were allowed to pass and were handed documents written in a language they didn’t recognize, though they assumed they were safe-conduct passes. Hans gave a few extra coins as a tip, and the Ottoman soldier became noticeably more friendly. He wrote something else on the paper and handed it back.

They moved across the vast open plains until they reached the city of Sofia. Ottoman control was evident: Crescent Moon flags waved from the towers and road checkpoints were frequent.

When they showed their papers at the city gates, they were allowed to enter under the watchful eyes of the soldiers. The atmosphere was tense, though distinctly multicultural: Turks, Bulgarians, Sephardic Jews, and numerous Western merchants crowded the narrow cobbled streets. Mosques were plentiful, and for the first time in a long while, they saw more people who reminded them of Musa.

In the distance, the bells of the Church of Sveta Sofia rang out of sync with the muezzin’s call to prayer, blending into the air in an uneasy symphony of two worlds that did not look at each other, but knew each other. The city was neither fully Christian nor yet fully Ottoman. It had been taken by the Turks barely twenty years earlier, but echoes of the old Bulgarian kingdom still resonated in the Byzantine walls.

A group of children ran alongside them for a while, laughing, pointing at the horses. An old woman crossed herself upon seeing them pass, and a Turkish merchant offered them dates with a strained smile, more for business than hospitality.

They stopped in front of what appeared to be a tavern, with a sign that had a few words written in German. Luckily, the innkeeper’s wife was the daughter of German immigrants, and Hans managed to communicate with her, though with some difficulty.

They arranged care for the horses and paid for lodging and food. The loot from Szegedi’s camp had been so generous that Hans always left a tip. That night, they dined better than any other guest in the place.

The atmosphere thickened as night fell and the wine began to take effect on the patrons. People laughed, shouted, played dice on strange triangular boards, and kept drinking without pause. A group of young people enjoyed themselves by the fire, and one of them took out a typical Balkan bagpipe and began to play. The entire tavern came to life.

The crowd applauded and tried to follow the rhythm of the melody. A couple stood up and started dancing amid the clapping, spinning until they grew dizzy and fell to the floor in laughter. They eased the pain of the fall with more wine.

Hans was immersed in the tavern’s atmosphere. They were drinking the finest wine the innkeeper could offer: a spiced red wine with cinnamon that he kept for special occasions. His cheeks were flushed from the heat, and Henry toasted and laughed with him. He felt whole and happy in that moment.

He didn’t want to ruin it, but he also wanted Henry to understand what he had been feeling for some time.

—Henry! —he shouted over the roar of the bagpipe—. This is life! I wanted you to know that I’m not… I’m not going back.

This time, Henry didn’t get angry. He didn’t have the strength for it. He didn’t want to insist again. Hans had his reasons, and the only thing Henry knew for sure was that he would never be apart from him. He raised the wine jug in the air and refilled Hans’s clay cup, which had taken on a more serious tone.

—I’m not going back either. Wherever you go, I’ll go.

Hans remained serious for a moment, as if the weight of reality had suddenly come down on him.

—But… are you going to give everything up? What about Radzig?

—I’m just a bastard, I could never have a future with Radzig. I have a roof over my head, but no real home. My life is with you, to the ends of the earth, until there’s nothing left but the two of us. For Constantinople, Hans!

Hans hesitated for a few seconds but smiled, raised his cup in the air, and before toasting, shouted:

—For Constantinople!

Chapter Text

Climbing the hill had been exhausting, even for the horses pulling his wife's carriage with great effort. The castle rose imposingly atop the hill, watching over the vast expanse of land that stretched before it. The Bohemian landscape shimmered among the meadows and forests surrounding the castle, in a harmony that bordered on the divine.

Whenever he visited Točník Castle, he understood why the king was so fond of the place, though he didn’t agree with his decision to remain there for long stays. It was far from the capital and, consequently, he neglected his duties of state. He wasn’t the best king, but he was the one they had.

The servants opened the gates to Radzig’s retinue. They entered the castle courtyard, dismounting from their horses and opening the carriage door. Radzig approached and offered his hand to his new wife, who accepted it with a smile.

—This place takes my breath away, dear. What a beautiful castle!

Lady Anna stepped down carefully, gripping Radzig’s hand tightly. She took a deep breath. The air smelled of flowers and maple resin, sweetening the atmosphere that floated around her. In front of her, the residential palace stood as a large building of sober construction, hiding its true beauty within.

Radzig accompanied her to the door, and the servants guided them through halls adorned with frescoes and Gothic architecture until they reached the Great Hall. Their arrival was announced before the doors opened, and Anna felt a pull in her chest. She had never met a king before. The nerves threatened to break the spell of nobility, and she clung tightly to her husband’s arm.

As the door opened, the scent of the forest vanished completely. The weight of the atmosphere could almost be felt on her shoulders, mixed with the smell of smoke and alcohol. Anna tried to suppress a grimace of displeasure when Radzig pulled her into the room.

At the far end, beside the gently crackling fireplace, stood the figure of a tired and dejected man, struggling to keep his mind within his own head. A half-empty goblet in one hand, a manuscript in the other, and a gaze that challenged anyone not bringing him a jug to refill his drink.

—Your Majesty… —uttered Radzig, as he bowed alongside his wife in an elegant reverence.

King Wenceslaus raised his gaze and squinted to better recognize his guest. He set everything aside upon recognizing him and rose from his chair with a loud creak.

—Radzig! My friend… —he exclaimed, embracing him.

Radzig returned the gesture with a few gentle pats on the back, as if they were just any other friends. He was one of the few who could show such familiarity with the king.

—Your Majesty. I have come to present to you my wife, Anna of Úlibice.

The young woman bowed again, and Wenceslaus looked her up and down. A kind face, brown hair, and wide hips to bear heirs. Radzig was nearly twice her age, but that was no real obstacle; it was high time he married.

He took the young woman’s hand and kissed her fingers.

—It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Anna.

The girl’s cheeks flushed and she was left speechless. The King's breath reeked of wine, and his gaze was lost among the woman’s curves. Radzig noticed immediately.

—Perhaps my wife would like to explore the gardens while we speak —Radzig suggested with a diplomatic smile, subtly positioning himself between them.

Anna looked at her husband and noticed the discomfort on his face. She was a clever girl; she knew the best thing to do at that moment was to obey. She withdrew her hand from the king’s, bowed again, and walked toward the hall’s door, trying not to stumble. She could feel the eyes of both men on the back of her neck.

When the door closed, Wenceslaus turned again to Radzig.

—Good choice, my friend! Come, let’s drink.

A servant brought a jug of wine and set it on a small table. The men sat by the fire, facing each other. Despite it being summer, the thick and tall walls of the Palace kept the interior cool, perhaps too cool for a man who never stopped drinking.

—We heard of your release only a few weeks ago. What happened?

Wenceslaus took a sip from his goblet and frowned.

—That damned palace in Vienna… I hate the city, Radzig. If it hadn’t been for Liechtenstein, I don’t think I’d have ever gotten out of there. Here I have everything I need: a forest to hunt, sturdy village girls, and good wine to forget the rest.

Radzig took a sip of his drink without saying a word. The small war they had waged against their own neighbors seemed meaningless with the king now before him, appreciating worldly pleasures more than the stability of his realm.

—Radzig, I heard about Skalitz months ago, and I’m sorry. Though I see you haven’t wasted time; glad to see you found a woman to warm your bed. Are you going back to Dvorce?

—Indeed, my lord. The marriage granted me several villages, and I must return to oversee them.

—Very good, that’s the spirit. —after a pause in which he emptied his goblet, he continued— As a wedding gift, I want you to build a new castle on your lands. I’ll grant you the permits and part of the royal funds. Make it worthy of a king.

Radzig nearly choked on his wine.

—But my lord… you are most generous.

—Nonsense! I want it big and majestic, so I can visit you often.

A half-burnt log split in two and sent sparks flying nearby. Radzig refilled the king’s goblet, and they continued talking about the confinement in Vienna and everything that had happened during his absence.

Then they reached the siege of Suchdol. Petr of Písek was a good friend of the king and deeply regretted the damage to his fortress, though he felt proud of his vassal’s and subjects’ resistance. Jobst’s army had been crucial to ending the siege, and that was when Radzig remembered how they had secured the funds for such an investment.

—The houses of Leipa and Kunštát are going to unite. It was thanks to this alliance that Botschek agreed to finance the army.

—Leipa and Kunštát? Mmm… —the king stroked his beard, thinking about all the possibilities this entailed— They’ll become one of the most powerful families in Bohemia. —he finally declared.

—Indeed, and… —he cleared his throat—… my son is the page of the heir.

Wenceslaus looked at him confused, unsure whether the wine was clouding his mind so much that he hadn’t understood his captain correctly.

—Since when do you have a son?

—I’m afraid he’s a bastard, my lord. He doesn’t bear my name, but I’ve acknowledged him publicly.

The king burst into laughter and sprayed Radzig’s cheek with pink-tinted saliva.

—A bastard? And you never told me? How inconsiderate. And here I was, thinking you were an example of self-restraint. —he drank the last sip of wine—. What’s his name?

—Henry.

—An honorable name for a mere peasant… You say he’s the heir of Leipa’s page? Why isn’t he in your service?

—He was for a time, but I believe his wish is to remain in Pirkstein. It’s a long story, my lord… I merely wanted to ask you, with all humility and respect, to knight him.

That last word echoed strongly in the room. Radzig truly wanted his king to knight a bastard, a young man without rights, who hadn’t yet served long enough as a page or squire.

—For merit? What merit, Radzig? —his condescending laugh showed he did not believe in the humility of his friend’s words, nor that the boy could have done anything exceptional.

Radzig took another sip of wine, with a half-smile. Perhaps he should start with the Vranik camp, or maybe Pribyslavice. He could mention that he had rebuilt the latter village with his own money and had become its bailiff.

Or, perhaps… he would have to recount all the effort the boy had put into delivering the Council’s letter and how he had remained loyal to his lord, even carrying out a rescue mission alone. Or how he defended Suchdol during the siege? Perhaps how he risked his life crossing the camp of the Prague men to ask for help?

—Call the servant and ask for more wine, my lord. We’re going to be here a while…

The birds sang tirelessly. Whether in the carefully built nests tucked between the roof tiles or among the branches of the trees, their symphony erupted wildly under the heat of summer and the fine weather that came with it.

Lady Anna was sitting on a bench in the courtyard, stitching on her small embroidery frame while enjoying the breeze. She had the feeling that a long time had passed, though she wasn’t exactly sure how much. The design, however, was nearly finished. She lifted the frame and looked with pride at her still life of wildflowers.

In the distance, she heard the voice of her new husband calling her. She sighed and handed the embroidery to her maid: that moment of relaxation seemed to have come to an end. Long hours still awaited them on rural roads, and she braced herself for it.

She rose from the bench and headed to the carriage, where Radzig was waiting with his firm and elegant bearing. She had only known him for a few weeks, but when she looked at him, she was beginning to feel a true reverence for him, something that could undoubtedly grow into love.

He treated her well and with respect, and on their wedding night, he had made sure she didn’t feel uncomfortable with him or the situation. They would start anew in Dvorce, together, and Anna might find that freedom she had longed for.

—Have you finished already, Lord Kobyla? —she asked, as Radzig took her hand.

—Yes, we’re finished. Duty calls us once more.

They both climbed into the carriage, and one of Radzig’s guards took charge of the horse. He felt too tired to ride; he only wanted to lie back and rest his mind. Anna watched him with concern, eager to know the outcome of the request her husband had made to the king.

—Well then...? —she asked cautiously—. What did His Majesty say?

Radzig pressed his fingers to his forehead, trying to ease the tension in his mind. Listing Henry’s merits had taken him longer than he had expected.

The crash of the wine jug hitting the floor and shattering into a thousand pieces woke Hanush. Night was already falling, and he had been drinking all day, which caused him to fall asleep with the jug still in his hands. It didn’t take long before his head dropped to one side like dead weight, and his fingers lost their grip.

—Damn it! —he shouted, his heart racing.

He looked around and he was alone. The great hall felt much larger and more desolate without company. Radzig had left a few weeks ago, and he already felt his absence, especially now that Capon was also gone. Maybe he should ask for another jug of wine.

He called the servant, and before he could say a word, the boy extended his arms and handed him a letter.

—My lord, this arrived this afternoon from Dvorce.

Hanush blinked several times to clear his vision and took the letter. Slowly, his mind began to catch up.

—This afternoon? Why didn’t you bring it to me earlier, you fool? —being jolted awake only worsened Hanush’s foul mood.

—Because… because… you asked not to be disturbed… —the boy’s voice trembled.

Hanush simply shut the door in his face and returned to his armchair, which creaked as the heavy man let himself fall onto it. He opened the letter and stared at the strange characters. I really must be drunk, now I think I can read. He laughed at his own thought and headed to the scribe’s chambers.

As he slowly walked down the corridor, he thought again of his friend, who had insisted time and again that he should learn to read. But then again, what was the point of having a scribe? Erazim read the letter without trouble, and Sir Hanush returned to his chair in the Great Hall.

He stared at the flames, nearly gone, and watched them in a daze. He smiled to himself. Sir Radzig was a very bold man; he was sure he would achieve whatever he set out to do, and the plan for his bastard was no exception.

He recalled once more the words Erazim had read aloud.

“… has agreed to knight Henry…”

Lucky boy, he thought, before falling asleep once again.

Chapter Text

That room wasn't unfamiliar. It had been weeks since his brother, and Capon himself, had lain wounded in the same bed where he now found himself. Good or bad luck? Well, at least they both survived, he thought, trying to find some comfort in his situation.

Musa entered through the door alongside Master Hakim, and Sam tried to relax his face. He could barely move without pain erupting from his leg. They examined him in silence, murmuring words in another language, but Sam said nothing. He simply remained as still and quiet as he could, until Hakim touched several points on his leg and the pain reached his head.

—Musa did a good job with you, boy. The circulation hasn’t been cut off, we can still save the leg.

With Musa’s help, they lifted the limb to examine it from every angle. Sam tried to hold back, but he couldn’t help crying out several times. When they finally left his body alone, he was red and drenched in sweat.

—Mmm… —Hakim stroked his beard, thoughtful, his eyes never leaving the battered leg—. I know what I have to do, but I don't know if the young man can endure it.

Both scholars looked at Sam seriously; no words were needed to understand they were asking whether he wanted to go through with it.

—I… I’ll endure whatever it takes —he said, his voice still trembling, lacking conviction and strength.

Musa looked at his master and nodded. Hakim left the room to make preparations, while Sam tried to process what was about to happen.

—I’ll go prepare something to help you relax —Musa whispered gently, placing a hand on his shoulder—. Be strong, Sam.

He was left alone in the room, feeling the relentless burning in the fracture. He looked at his leg and almost lost his breath; it looked like a deformed sack full of pebbles. If Musa’s master managed to fix that mess, he would owe him for life.

He stared at the ceiling, breathing slowly and deeply, trying to control the nerves building up in his stomach. He closed his eyes and thought of the only face he wanted to see in that moment, of her soft voice encouraging him. And there, in the midst of crushing solitude, he felt a little less alone.

Hakim returned with all kinds of herbs and preparations. He began by giving him an infusion of mandrake and black henbane, a thick and foul-smelling liquid that Sam had to force himself to swallow. It was risky to use such potions to induce deep sleep, but the fracture was so severe Sam wouldn’t be able to bear the pain.

Minutes later, he began to feel drowsy, as if his mind were separating from his body. Musa tied Sam’s hands to the bed and placed a piece of leather in his mouth. Sam didn’t know whether he was asleep, but he didn’t know if he was awake either. Reality began to blur into a thin line, until Hakim’s fingers digging into his wound broke it.

The scream of pain echoed through the entire room, but then his mind detached again and the pain stopped. He felt something… were they touching his leg? He tried to look, but his eyes wouldn’t respond. Was he biting something? Everything was so confusing… and then, a face. Jan? No, he couldn’t be there… He came back to himself, Jan’s face disappeared, and the pain returned. He felt them setting the bone. Once again, his mind drifted after a blood-curdling scream.

The passage of time lost meaning. Had it been hours, days? From time to time he regained consciousness, and the burning in his skin sent him into delirium. He heard voices, a hand on his shoulder. Jan appeared clearly before his eyes. He was smiling. His fingers caressed Sam’s sweaty cheek… and when Sam tried to return the gesture, he was already gone.

Everything was a blur, until finally, Sam woke up.

He heard a faint ringing in his ears, annoying and persistent. A sharp pain ran through his head, and he felt so weak he could barely raise his arms to touch his forehead. The broken leg began to throb, and he felt pressure on it.

He opened his eyes, though his vision was still blurry. He swallowed and felt his mouth dry and sticky. He wanted to move, just to make sure he was still alive, until he felt a hand on his shoulder, gently pushing him back onto the bed.

He thought he saw Jan, though it was still hard to focus. A soft voice greeted him, but he was convinced his mind was playing tricks on him again. Still, the pain was too real for it to be just a dream.

—Am I dreaming? —he asked hoarsely.

He heard a sharp, nasal laugh, timid. The hand stroked his shoulder more gently.

—You're not dreaming, I'm here.

Sam tried to clear his vision. A young man with a tired face smiled back at him. He knew that face, that sharp nose and those thin lips.

—Ja… Jan? —he asked, frowning.

—Who else? —he laughed again, placing a hand on Sam’s forehead—. You don’t have a fever anymore. How are you feeling?

It took him a moment to process the situation. Jan was there, by his side. He had had a fever… His mind began to catch up, though the last few days still felt like a blur.

—Not great. Everything hurts… What happened? What are you doing here? —he asked, still unsure if Jan was real.

—Well, my dear friend… Musa sent a messenger to Kolín. I was terrified when I saw you delirious. Your leg was swollen and your whole body was trembling… We truly feared for your life.

The leg… he hadn’t even remembered it. Seeing Jan beside him felt so unreal that all the pain had been pushed to the back of his mind. He glanced down and saw it firmly bandaged, resting on pillows and surrounded by wooden splints. It didn’t look as swollen compared to the other one.

—But… you came all the way from Kolín? —Sam was still trying to grasp Jan’s presence.

—Of course. Vienna is my city, I wasn’t going to leave you to your fate. When you recover, we’ll go to my residence.

Jan spoke with conviction. When he learned Sam was injured and would be treated in Vienna, he didn’t hesitate for a second and came at once. When he arrived, Sam was in such a miserable state they couldn’t move him, so Jan decided to stay with him.

The herbs Master Hakim gave him caused vomiting and hallucinations, but kept the fever under control. An early infection could have been dangerous; Sam had lost a lot of blood and his body was truly weak. Even so, he was a strong boy and managed to survive the operation.

—I’ll go get more damp cloths. They’ll surely ease your head.

Jan started to stand up, but Sam grabbed his hand, though not very firmly. Feeling his touch made it all more real.

He wanted to tell him how much he had missed him, how he had thought of him during all those weeks… but he couldn’t. The words refused to be born and take shape. He simply caressed Jan’s fingers very lightly, softer than he had ever noticed them before.

—All right, I’ll stay here —Jan replied to a request that hadn’t been spoken.

He didn’t let go of his hand at any moment. Sam even felt the ring he was still wearing. He hasn’t taken it off, he thought over and over. He gave one last glance at the young noble and closed his eyes again to regain his strength.

The following days passed more quickly than he would have imagined. Jan's constant presence made the wait much more bearable; the hours slipped by almost without notice. He didn’t leave his side for a moment, even sleeping next to him on a rickety bed that Hakim’s servants had improvised.

It wasn’t worthy of him, but there he was. Not his servants, him. He cared for him with his own hands, looked after him, even cleaned him without hesitation. Everything felt so natural when he was with him. Close, unashamed, as if what was meant to be… already was.

Sam slowly regained his strength and, though he still couldn’t move his leg, he managed to get out of bed for the first time. At first, he grew dizzy and lost his balance, but Jan was there to catch him and keep him from falling. On the next attempt, Sam managed to stay upright, standing on one leg only.

That same afternoon, without delay, Jan summoned the servants from his residence in Vienna, along with a carriage to take Sam back. Musa helped with the preparations and mentioned the share of loot they had brought from the Szegedi camp; Samuel couldn’t carry that much himself.

—I’ll send someone to take it to Kolín. I have a debt to settle —said Sam, with no shame in his words.

Musa nodded and walked with him to the street, where the carriage awaited. Master Hakim also came out to say goodbye, giving instructions and recommendations for his swift recovery.

Sam still couldn’t quite believe what they had done for him. All the time and care they had given, the determination not to let him die and to fulfill his wish of keeping the leg.

—Thank you both for everything —he said, voice breaking—. Especially you, Musa. I don’t know what would’ve happened to me if you hadn’t...

—That’s what friends are for —the scholar interrupted him with a broad smile—. Go with God.

A few bows later, Sam was already seated in the carriage, on the way to Jan’s residence. Despite everything that had happened, his stomach twisted. He was… nervous.

The residence wasn't very large, but it had everything a noble like Jan von Liechtenstein might need. Sam was settled into a room next to Jan’s, an unimaginable luxury for someone of his standing. But Jan made it perfectly clear: he would be treated just as well as him, if not better, with no distinctions of class or religion.

The days went by, and Sam barely noticed the presence of the servants in the house. Jan always brought him his meals in bed, helped him stand, and kept looking after him just as he had at Hakim’s home. Their hands brushed more and more often, and sweet words became abundant each morning.

One afternoon, Jan was reading a book aloud to entertain him, but Sam’s mind was too scattered. How could he feel so happy, even though his leg barely allowed him to move? He watched him, fascinated by how the candlelight outlined his soft, rounded face, highlighting his lips every time they parted. Sam gripped his ring tightly. He couldn’t keep lying to himself.

—Jan…

—Yes? Are you alright, do you need something? —he asked, a note of concern in his voice.

Sam fidgeted nervously with the ring, and Jan noticed. He set the book aside, moved closer to the edge of the bed, and interlaced his fingers with Sam’s, touching ring to ring.

—When… when I broke my leg —Sam began, his voice low and shaky—. I thought I was going to die. And I couldn’t stop seeing you. Only your face… over and over again. I missed you.

Jan said nothing. His eyes, wide and attentive, searched Sam’s face for each word, while his thumb gently caressed his hand.

—Musa wanted to amputate… but I couldn’t let him. I still have things to do, a life that… that I want to share with someone. —He swallowed hard, and the last word broke as it came out, as if he had accidentally bared his soul.

Jan lifted his hand and placed a finger on Sam’s lips, silencing him. His smile had faded, but his gaze pleaded for need and acceptance. Jan closed his eyes, leaned in slowly toward Sam’s face… and like one who has waited a thousand years for a divine touch, their lips finally met.

At first, it was just a soft brush, but both their breaths quickened. It had been just a taste, a first contact of everything they longed for. Jan slipped his hand beneath Sam’s head, lifting it gently as he ran his fingers through his hair. This time, their lips came together more firmly.

Sam raised his hand too and caressed Jan’s face. He had shaved that morning, and his cheek felt soft and silky. Inside, he felt an unstoppable force, an uncontrollable desire to keep touching him, to pull him even closer. He leaned in. Kissed him with passion, savoring every inch of him, letting his scent flood his senses.

Jan smiled shyly. He had enjoyed it, too much. He set everything aside and climbed onto the bed, straddling Sam carefully, making sure not to touch his injured leg. Their faces flushed with heat, and suddenly the whole room seemed to grow warmer.

—So… you missed me? —he asked with a half-smile, as he slowly unfastened the buttons of his doublet.

Sam had never been with a man. He didn’t know what to expect… only that his body urged him to get closer and closer.

—And you? Did you miss me? —he replied, ready to play along.

Jan finished removing the top piece, and his bare chest gleamed in the candlelight. He leaned down and began kissing Sam’s neck, arousing him even more. At last, they had broken the silence that had been screaming their love. Every barrier had fallen, there was nothing left to say. Only desire remained, the love that had been simmering for years.

—Did I miss you? Sam… —he brushed his lips again and, with a deep sigh, finished his sentence. — … I can’t live without you.

By the time they noticed, the candle had already burned out.

Chapter Text

The Bulgarian plains were now behind them, filled with fertile fields and scattered peasants harvesting the crops. They followed the course of the Maritsa River, occasionally passing small Christian villages under Turkish rule.

They had barely encountered any trouble with the Ottomans. Every time a patrol stopped them to check what they were doing there, they showed the papers they had obtained when crossing the border, and they were allowed to continue on their way.

Sometimes they traveled alongside merchant caravans; other times, they were alone on the road and took extra precautions. Whenever they could, they slept in taverns, and when shelter was scarce, they didn’t hesitate to sleep together, curled up under the sky.

The days were growing shorter: it was already late summer, and the nights were turning colder. Even so, they kept warm quite well under the same blanket. They spent their days in long conversations, getting to know each other even more, deepening a bond that had been born to last forever.

That afternoon, while Henry watched his lord’s profile with hypnotized eyes, the first walls of Edirne appeared on the horizon.

The Ottoman capital. The gateway between West and East.

The city was surrounded by pale stone walls, reinforced after every war, and crossed by rivers that crisscrossed like veins: the Tundzha, the Maritsa, and the Arda. At its feet stretched a network of dusty streets, grey stone mosques, covered markets, and ivy-filled courtyards.

On the outskirts, caravans of merchants moved slowly, loaded with carpets, spices, and cages of exotic birds. Ottoman soldiers patrolled the entrance, curved swords in plain sight and stern gazes beneath their turbans. The sound of the call to prayer floated in the air, distant but clear.

Hans stopped his horse at the top of the small hill overlooking the entrance. Henry, at his side, lowered his gaze toward the city.

—Impressive —he said with a restrained sigh.

—Let’s not stop; at this pace we’ll arrive by nightfall —Hans remarked.

They descended the hill and managed to enter the city within a few hours. A wave of humid heat, heavy with intense smells, immediately enveloped them. The scent of incense burning in a nearby mosque floated like a sweet thread amid the raw stench of stables and markets.

They found lodging in a han, an Ottoman inn meant for merchants and travelers, located near the bazaar, where the bustle was beginning to fade with the arrival of dusk. The building, made of sturdy stone with a wooden gallery on the upper floor, surrounded a cobbled inner courtyard. In the center, a clear-water fountain murmured softly, where guests could wash after the journey or cool off from the sweltering heat.

The keeper of the han, a bald man with a beard dyed with henna, spoke to them in rapid Turkish they did not understand. He offered them hot tea and pointed to a corner of the courtyard where foreigners usually gathered. His gaze was not hostile, but neither was it warm.

Everything felt so exotic, so... foreign... that, for a moment, Henry missed his home. He hadn’t thought he would come to miss it; he was determined to stay with Hans. But he felt that small pang of homesickness.

Hans, however, was delighted. Everything was new to him: that simple, mundane life, far from responsibilities and duty. He was thoroughly enjoying the freedom he believed he had earned. He didn’t consider that perhaps it was a sign of rebellion rather than maturity.

They decided to stay one more night at the han. Several German merchants were lodging there, with whom they were able to converse after such a long time, and who helped them find their way around the city. They also explained what the region was like and which way they should continue toward Constantinople. It was no longer far, barely a week on horseback, and they could almost taste the arrival in the city in that very moment.

The next morning, they took a walk through the bazaar. Henry greatly enjoyed seeing Hans living in the moment, trying every food he was offered with a smile, smelling every burning incense. Perhaps it was the city’s air, but among so many colors, tapestries, and exotic fruits, Hans seemed to shine, as if the bustle and life of Edirne had lit something within him. It was as if, for the first time in a long while, Hans was exactly where he was meant to be.

They reached a square with dozens of stalls covered by blankets and decorated sheets. Hans walked around, observing all the products on offer, while Henry lingered behind, entertained by a dog begging for attention and affection. A vendor frowned when Hans got too close to smell what looked like a date pastry.

—Uzak dur, Hristiyan. Yemeğimi kirleteceksin! —shouted the man in the turban.

Hans was startled by the sudden change in mood, but didn’t react. He didn’t understand what the man was saying and, from his own experience, he knew that sometimes what seemed like anger could be an invitation. He thought that, if he bought a piece of the pastry, the man would become friendly again.

He took out a coin and pointed at the piece of food, trying to reach an agreement.

That only offended the vendor even more, who came out from behind the stall and began yelling words that didn’t sound very kind. People nearby stopped to stare, and Hans simply raised his hands in a gesture of peace.

—Calm down, friend —he said, while slowly stepping back.

The man kept shouting; Hans’s submissiveness only emboldened him more. The young noble kept retreating, showing no hostile gestures and uttering no harsh words, but it was no use. At one point, the man got too close and shoved him with both hands.

Just an instant later, Henry appeared and stepped between them. He shielded Hans with his own body and faced the merchant.

—Back off, or you’ll regret it —Henry growled.

The Turk didn’t understand the words, but Henry’s expression and posture were more than enough. His gaze was cold and piercing, as if he could cut through the man with a single look. His body was tense, and his hand steady on the hilt of his sword, clearly ready to act. His mere presence was enough to stop any further aggression without need for more words.

The vendor finally gave in before the unbreakable wall that was Henry. He backed away like a dog with its tail between its legs and practically hid behind his stall, praying they would move on. He had nothing to gain from that.

Hans felt an uncontrollable urge to hug Henry, but the whole square was watching them. He limited himself to swallowing hard and fixing his hair as if the entire incident had been of no importance, adopting the air of grandeur that came with his nobility.

—Are you all right? —Henry asked, turning toward him with worried eyes.

—Perfectly. Shall we continue?

Hans moved forward under Henry’s watchful gaze, who made sure no one else dared confront them. They left the square and, after finishing their walk, returned to the han.

There, in their humble yet private room, the noble thanked his squire as he should.

The next day, they left the city. Hans was still a bit unsettled by the incident in the square and wanted to leave as soon as possible. They headed east, with the first rays of sunlight blinding them along the way.

It took them several days to reach Corlú, and during that time Hans couldn't stop thinking about how lucky he was to have Henry by his side. He wasn't just his squire; he protected him because he cared, and Hans knew it. He had done so many times before, perhaps more than Hans deserved. He felt the need to give something back, to surprise him, to show him that he was the most important thing in his life.

An idea came to him when they passed the modest town of Corlú and headed southeast. Hans smiled. He was going to love this.

They spent the night curled up beneath a fig tree, and didn’t miss the chance to take some fruit with them. The day dawned warm and sunny; only a light breeze stirred their horses’ manes. They were soon on their way again.

After several hours of riding, Hans saw a silvery glint in the distance. It was the perfect moment to veer off course and carry out his plan. He gently slowed Atenón, and Henry did the same with Birdie, puzzled.

—Is something wrong, Hans? —he asked, looking around for a threat that wasn’t there.

—I need you to do something for me —a half-smile appeared on his face.

—What is it?

—Here —he extended his hand and offered him a long piece of cloth—. Cover your eyes.

Henry frowned, surprised by the request.

—What? Why?

—Do you still dare question your lord? Put it on, insolent! —Hans offered the blindfold again and barely contained his smile.

Henry sighed but agreed to the proposal. He covered his eyes and felt strangely uneasy riding blind.

—Hans… are you sure about this?

—Yes! Trust me… Hold on tight, and don’t take off the blindfold.

Hans took Birdie’s reins and guided the mare alongside him. They rode for a while longer until Henry began to hear strange sounds. Drums? A rhythmic, steady noise grew closer. It wasn’t drums; it sounded more like the noise bathhouse girls made when pouring water into tubs, but all at once, and very loudly.

The horse came to a stop, and Hans helped Henry dismount. He took his hand and stroked his ring, a gentle gesture reminding him he was there for him. Henry let himself be guided without resistance. The wind tossed his hair, and a new, vibrant scent filled his lungs with a breath that nearly made him stagger.

The rhythmic crashing seemed to be right beside him. It was… soothing. The ground beneath his feet had softened and turned to sand. In the sky, strange birds seemed to be laughing at them. Hans stood in front of him and, while slowly removing the blindfold, gave him a soft, fleeting kiss.

—I present to you… the sea. Open your eyes! —Hans stepped aside and let Henry take in the view.

Henry didn’t know what to say. There were no words for it. The sea was there, stretching as far as his eyes could see. Vast. Silent. Alive. He felt something inside him come to a halt too. As if his body knew he was facing something that couldn’t be fully understood.

He had heard of the sea. In songs, in stories, in old maps he barely understood. But seeing it was something else. It was like looking at the end of the world… and also its beginning.

He swallowed hard. A lump rose in his chest. He didn’t know if it was emotion, fear, or something deeper he couldn’t name. The air was different. It smelled strange, heavier, fresher. Salty. The waves broke down below, distant but constant.

And for the first time in a long while, Henry didn’t think of wars, or wounds, or what he had lost. He thought about what he had right then. Hans, by his side, there, at the edge of the world, where the land seemed to end.

And without knowing why, his eyes welled up with tears.

Maybe because of the beauty. Not of the sea, but of the moment.

Hans held his hand tightly, reminding him they were sharing this together. The sea stared back at him, vast and unwavering. With his other hand, he wiped his eyes and spoke without taking his gaze off the horizon.

—It’s… it’s… —he was so moved he couldn’t even find the words.

—Beautiful. I know.

Hans squeezed his hand harder. He walked a few steps, and his feet sank into the sand, something he wasn’t used to. He was slightly startled, and Hans laughed.

—You can’t be afraid of sand, my brave squire!

—This… is not… like a riverbank —he said as he struggled to keep his balance.

He lost his peculiar battle against nature and fell onto the soft sand, pulling Hans down with him. Once on their knees, they laughed together, and Hans threw himself on top of Henry. They rolled a few meters and finally stopped, exhausted. Hans’s chest felt like it was going to burst from seeing Henry so happy.

—Did you like my surprise?

Henry sighed with a huge smile on his face. The sand was still warm and wrapped around him as if he were home. He placed his hand on Hans’s thigh and began caressing it to the rhythm of the sea’s waves.

—I love it. But… —he squirmed beneath Hans, slightly uncomfortable.

—What is it? —Hans asked, worried that his surprise hadn’t been entirely well received.

—I think I have sand in my ass.

A few seconds of silence later, Hans processed Henry’s comment and burst into laughter.

—Then… you should take off your clothes so the sand can come out.

—Oh, really? Because of… the sand?

—Yes, absolutely. Because of the sand —he said with a playful look.

Henry closed his eyes as he listened to the sound of the sea and caressed Hans’s thigh. He felt so good he knew he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but there. With him. Always with him.

A kiss on the lips interrupted his thoughts. Hans couldn’t hold back any longer. He began removing Henry’s shirt and caressing his bare chest. His gasps aroused Henry, and the restrained touches on his leg grew stronger, more sensual. It wasn’t long before they took off their trousers and decided to spend the night on the beach.

The next morning, Henry bathed in the sea for the first time. There was no better way to get rid of the sand, especially after the night he had spent with Hans. He stayed close to the shore, letting the waves break gently against his body. The sensation was strange, new, but comforting. The sea seemed to whisper for him never to leave.

But the journey had to go on. When their clothes were free of sand and their bodies dry from the sun, they resumed the road.

Only two days remained until they reached the city, and the tension could be felt in the air. It had been a long, exhausting journey; so many experiences crowded Henry’s mind that it was hard to believe it had all truly happened.

But above all, the most important thing was that they had always stayed together, and together they would reach their destination.

The last night they spent at a farmer’s house. For just a few coins, the man nearly gave them his whole home. The horses rested too, and the next day, their hooves touched the ground with renewed energy. Everyone, without exception, wanted to arrive.

They rode for miles beneath a clear sky, and though the time wasn’t long, the journey felt endless. At last, they reached the foot of a hill. Both men and beasts stopped to catch their breath. On the other side, they knew, the end of the road awaited them.

—Come on, Henry. A race to the top?

He had a knot in his stomach, and any idea that could occupy his mind was welcome.

—What are you waiting for? —shouted Henry, spurring Birdie forward. The mare galloped up the hill with force.

Hans followed him and wasn’t able to catch up, but he enjoyed the race. When he reached the top of the hill, Henry was staring at the horizon. Hans understood immediately why.

The Byzantine walls rose majestically under the light of the setting sun. Towers and domes stood out against the skyline, while the golden domes of Hagia Sophia shone in the distance, an unmistakable sign of past and present splendor.

They had reached Constantinople.

Chapter Text

The sun was slowly descending when Hans and Henry passed through one of Constantinople's great gates. The golden light bathed the stones of the Byzantine walls, tall, worn by time, yet still imposing. Their horses’ hooves echoed on the cobblestones as they moved forward through the crowd. They had arrived.

The first thing that struck them was the smell. An intoxicating mix of incense and coal smoke, of eastern spices and freshly unloaded fish at the docks. The blend of languages was something they encountered on every corner: Greek, Turkish, Latin, Italian, Arabic... Unfamiliar words floated among merchants’ shouts, religious chants, and the constant murmur of daily life.

The streets were alive. A long-bearded Orthodox monk argued with a Venetian merchant at one corner. Further down, a veiled woman haggled for Damask cloth while two Byzantine soldiers drank wine in the shadow of a Roman gate. Hans had never seen a place so full of contrasts.

They moved slowly, observing everything as if walking through a dream. The towers of Hagia Sophia rose into the sky, its golden dome reflecting the last rays of the day. At its base, people came and went endlessly, some crossing themselves, others simply admiring its grandeur. Further in the distance, through the rooftops, the minarets of a mosque hinted at what was to come.

The differences were many, and rumors of disputes between Orthodox Christians, Latins, and Muslims filled the air like a silent breeze. Henry stepped a little closer to Hans without a word, as if afraid the moment would dissolve if he spoke. They both knew what they had just achieved. They had crossed half a continent, whether out of pride or hope, but they had fulfilled their promise.

—Look at that —Hans murmured, pointing at a procession making its way down a side street. Clergy in golden robes carried relics while a crowd followed them in prayer. Not far from there, a Muslim scholar recited verses from the Quran to a circle of disciples seated on carpets.

—I never imagined the whole world could fit in a single city —Henry whispered.

Hans smiled. He couldn’t have found better words to describe everything surrounding them. They continued toward the harbor, where gulls feasted on the fishermen’s scraps. The smell was strong and persistent, too much for a pleasant stroll.

They turned back toward the city center, losing themselves in its streets, watching every corner and eyeing the citizens they passed. Among hundreds of taverns, tea houses, osterias... and other kinds of establishments, they found one where a bit of Latin was spoken.

On such short notice, they only managed to get a straw mat in the attic, but to them, it was more than enough. After everything they’d been through, it felt like true luxury. The staff took care of their horses, and at last, they could sit down for a drink after a long day.

There wasn’t much noise; most of the patrons were weary merchants who just wanted a drink before getting as much sleep as possible. The hearth crackled warmly, and only a few young men laughed in a corner.

When the barmaid brought a jug of honey-spiced wine, they immediately ordered another. They were truly thirsty.

—We made it, Henry! Can you believe it? —Hans shouted, brimming with joy.

—It really is hard to believe… To Constantinople! —Henry raised his jug and toasted with Hans.

They emptied their cups in a single gulp, and Henry filled them again. He felt the warmth in his cheeks, but the night had only just begun. Drink after drink, they recalled everything that had brought them here. They had enjoyed themselves, yes, but they had also suffered. More than once, they’d considered turning back, but Hans stayed true to his promise: he would reach Constantinople, and he had.

—I still can’t believe we escaped the Inquisition —Hans said, still drinking. —And your shoulder? We stopped applying Musa’s salve a while ago.

—Bah, you know how these things are... it only aches when it’s going to rain.

Hans laughed, though it was a bitter and sad laugh as he remembered those anxious moments.

—And what about the tournament of Saint Ladislaus? You amazed everyone with your aim! —Henry brought up a positive memory to lift their spirits.

—Yes! And you defeated the strongest man in Hungary!

They toasted to those victories, and the cups were emptied once more. The jug quickly diminished, and their spirits burned brighter with every sip.

—I still remember what we did in that pond... after hunting hares... —Henry said in a softer but more playful tone. He touched Hans’s shin with the tip of his foot and smiled.

Hans remembered the moment and blushed even more, hiding his face in his wine cup. He still relived that carefree afternoon, hunting together, unleashing their love in the middle of the pond, while the scorching sun burned the grass around them.

He couldn’t help but think of what came after, of the bandits they had spared who...

—Géza. —he said in a faint voice.

—What? —Henry, his mind already a bit clouded from the wine, didn’t know what he meant.

—Géza. —he repeated. —The... boy. The one who...

Henry tried to remember. He hadn’t forgotten, of course not, but the wine was already making him dizzy. He swayed slightly in his seat and tried to follow the thread of the conversation.

—At least... I made sure they paid for what they did.

—That won’t bring Géza back. —Hans sounded angry, though also drunk.

—I know. But... —Henry tried not to sway. —We know it won’t happen again. The bandits... they’re gone.

Hans emptied the freshly filled cup in one gulp and slammed it down on the table.

—I know, Henry. You did your part, but I... —his voice dropped to almost a whisper—. I shouldn’t have stopped you from finishing them.

Henry didn’t seem to hear his last comment. He just smiled and kept drinking the spiced wine. Hans’s face relaxed when he saw Henry lost in the moment, simply drunk and enjoying himself. He stretched out his leg and touched him gently under the table. Henry smiled even more.

A warmth replaced the anger in his heart as he looked at Henry. Every inch of his skin, every scar that marked it... he was perfect. His Henry. Always protecting him, always watching over him, caring for him and... loving him. Since that moment in Suchdol, everything had changed. When he looked at him, he could physically feel the love between them. He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

—Well, it’s time for bed. —he said, seeing how Henry seemed to be dozing off with his head resting on his palm. —Tomorrow will be another day. —he added to himself, as he drained his cup to the bottom.

The next day, they slept almost until noon. The mix of wine and exhaustion had knocked them to the ground, and it took them a couple of hours to clear their heads. They still had much to discover in the city.

They washed up, had breakfast, and began a walk to stretch their legs. Eventually, they reached Hagia Sophia, the imposing Orthodox church that was the jewel and heart of the city. Before them, the towers rose like needles into the sky, and from their base they looked even taller and more fascinating. They were allowed in for being Christians, though not without first leaving a generous donation.

As they crossed the enormous wooden doors, they were greeted by a network of blue columns, wide and sturdy, flanking the central aisle. The golden ceiling shimmered with the natural light coming through the dome, and further below, Byzantine icons coexisted with Latin inscriptions scribbled by Crusaders centuries ago.

Henry stopped, open-mouthed. He looked up, unable to help himself. The figure of Christ above looked down at him with solemnity, surrounded by archangels whose wings faded into the gold of the mosaic.

—I've never seen anything like it... —he whispered.

—Me neither. —Hans admitted, equally awed by the temple's beauty.

A liturgical chant echoed in the distance, ethereal, wrapped in the natural resonance of the vaults. They didn’t know if it came from a side chapel or if it was just the echo of an invisible choir, trapped in the centuries-old stones. They continued their walk through every chapel, altarpiece, and fresco painted long ago; they prayed and finally left the church.

The outside air was cool and sank into their bones. The sun was about to set, and they wondered how long they had been inside Hagia Sophia. Time seemed to have stopped the moment they crossed the threshold.

They returned to the tavern for another night and realized that Constantinople had embraced them like the warm hug of a mother.

The next morning, they looked for more comfortable lodging. They still didn’t know how many more days they would stay, but it would be several. The Szegedi loot was still enough for them to live comfortably for months.

They strolled through the city again, this time toward the northern neighborhoods, full of merchants and Muslim quarters. Hans had heard about a very special place the night before and didn’t want to miss it, but first they had to walk almost to the outskirts. The hustle and bustle slowly faded until they found a modest, solitary building. That was where they saw a hamman for the first time.

—Would you like to try it? —Hans asked, hopeful for a yes.

Henry scratched the back of his neck, a bit embarrassed, and blushed.

—I don’t know... won’t it be... awkward?

—Nonsense! It’ll be fun!

He grabbed his hand and practically dragged him inside.

The air was thick and warm, filled with the pungent scent of laurel soap, sweat, and extinguished embers. As soon as Hans crossed the hammam's threshold, he felt the outside world fade away, everything seemed to dissolve in the steam.

A young man with dark eyes and a kind expression greeted them silently. He didn’t speak Latin or German, but with a simple gesture, he handed them two linen cloths and pointed to a wooden bench where they were to undress. Hans glanced at Henry, who hesitated.

—Come on —Hans whispered with a half-smile—. It’s not that different from a river, just more... civilized.

Henry snorted, but let himself be led. He wrapped the cloth around his waist and followed Hans into the warm room, where the marble steamed beneath the hot stone at the center. The steam enveloped everything like a veil that both concealed and revealed the bodies. Naked, slippery figures moved among the columns, some in silence, others murmuring in Arabic, Greek, or Armenian.

They sat in the water beside the göbek taşı, the burning stone, and after a while, a tellak approached. He was a thin, weathered man, his skin gleaming from the heat. He greeted them with a nod and began the ritual. He brought hot water in copper jugs, then grabbed a coarse glove that scrubbed the skin raw and began rubbing Henry’s back.

Hans closed his eyes. The heat opened his chest like a prayer, and for a moment, he felt cleaner than he had ever felt. Henry, beside him, seemed uncomfortable at first, but gradually gave in to the rhythm of the stranger’s hands, the foam, the sacred silence of the place.

—I never thought bathing could feel like this —murmured Henry, eyes half-closed—. It’s like... being reborn.

—It is. —Hans replied softly, letting all his worries drown in the water around him.

Night fell over the hammam, and clients began to leave one by one. Eventually, Hans and Henry were left alone. The attendant came over and tried to reason with them; they didn’t need to understand Turkish to know they were being invited to leave.

Hans, however, was used to getting what he wanted, and this would be no exception. He reached for his leather pouch and offered the man triple what they had paid to enter. The attendant understood at once. He brought more embers and more water to extend the bath, then returned to his post at the entrance.

—Well... no one can see us now... —Hans suggested as he caressed Henry’s leg under the water.

—I’m... not so sure. —he mumbled while glancing around, alert to any crack where a judging eye might peek through. —No, we shouldn’t.

His voice of reason shouted that this wasn’t a good place. Ever since the incident in Vienna, he had tried to be more careful, but his body screamed something else. Hans was naked, leaning against the edge in front of him, steam gliding down his chest. The candlelight reflected off every drop, making Hans literally glow.

—I think you are sure. —Hans murmured as he caressed him between the legs, holding back a smile.

He lunged at his squire, splashing water across the tiles. It had been so long since he felt this good... he didn’t have the strength to hold back. Constantinople was treating them far too well.

Hours later, when their bodies were already wrinkled from the water and steam, they decided it was time to leave. Hans’s legs were trembling slightly, but the attendant didn’t notice, or chose not to. They offered another coin for the trouble and left the place.

The city was asleep. It was already very late, and the road back was dark and deserted. The turtledoves sang beneath the last sighs of summer, while the crickets gradually fell silent. Hans hugged Henry and kissed him on the neck.

—We’ll come back, right? —Hans pleaded with a nearly childlike voice.

It was impossible not to notice how happy Hans was. He had never seen him like this before—so radiant and full of life—it was as if he had truly forgotten all his troubles. How could he say no to something like that? Henry understood perfectly why he would want to stay and not return.

—Yes, of course we’ll come back. —he noticed Hans’s embrace tighten. —I liked the place, but is it luxurious enough for your lordship?

He meant to joke as usual, but a distant scream along the path made him tense up immediately. Instinctively, he placed Hans behind him and drew his sword.

—What is it? —asked Hans, alarmed, his hand also reaching for his sword’s hilt.

—Don’t you hear it? Sounds like... —both held their breath as the silence thickened. Then, the scream echoed again—. Over there! Sounds like a woman.

Henry pointed to a side path leading toward a distant monastery, barely visible on the horizon. They both ran, guided by the cries, alert for any trap or ambush.

What they found was nothing like they expected.

A blonde-haired woman was crying out in pain on the ground. She clutched her swollen belly, trying to drag herself toward the monastery. Henry rushed to help her, holding her in his arms.

—Gesegneter Gott. Danke, danke. —the young woman cried.

—She’s German! —Hans cried out in relief. At least he could talk to her. —What happened?

—I need to get to the monastery. The nuns... the baby... it’s coming...—a cry of pain cut short her broken explanation.

Henry didn’t need to know German to understand what was happening.

—Can you carry her? —Hans asked, visibly nervous—. The nuns can help her.

—I’ll try.

Henry planted his feet firmly and studied the best way to lift the woman. She wasn’t very tall and didn’t seem too heavy, so he first tried to cradle her in his arms. At first, he lifted her without issue, but after a few steps, she began writhing and screaming again in pain.

—Put me down! I can’t!

He laid the woman back on the ground, and they stood there, unsure what to do. It was strange how they had so much experience with death, but none with bringing life into the world.

—I’ll... go get help from the monastery. —Hans suggested, his voice shaking.

—And leave me here alone with her? —Henry’s eyes widened, terrified like a child. —No way!

—Well... someone has to!

—And why does your lordship have to go? It’s at least a couple kilometers, I’ll run faster.

—No, no. You...

—Shut up!

The woman had heard enough. The young men fell silent and gave up the idea of reaching the monastery. She was going to give birth any moment now. With all the calm she could muster, she explained what they had to do. Two strong-armed boys were all she needed.

She got into position and opened her legs. Henry helped her sit up and let her squeeze his hands with all the strength she had. Hans stood gaping at the scene, frozen. All he could see was blood and hear screams. He kept repeating to himself why men didn’t take part in births. But as he looked closer, he saw the baby’s head.

—I see it! —he shouted, surprised, with a nervous laugh.

The woman gave a brief smile before pushing one more time. Hans, without thinking, caught the baby before it touched the ground. He held it in awe and handed it to the mother, who cradled it as it began to cry. Hans cut the cord with his dagger and waited, alert, for her to say something.

—Danke... —she whispered with a smile on the verge of tears. —Please... the monastery...

The young woman had lost a lot of blood and was weak and tired. Her arms soon couldn’t support the newborn, so Hans took him. He cleaned him as best he could with a bit of water and wrapped him in his own cloak. Henry lifted the girl more easily this time. She no longer writhed, just let herself be carried.

They walked in silence, broken only by the soft sounds of the newborn. Hans felt his warmth in his arms, and his fragility awakened something in him, a glimpse of what could be.

After nearly an hour of slow walking, they reached the monastery gates. A nun in nightclothes received them despite the hour. She woke the other sisters, and they tended to the young woman, healing her, cleaning her, and offering her a bed to rest. They also cleaned the baby and wrapped him in a blanket.

Hans and Henry made sure the young woman was safe, though they didn’t even know her name. One of the nuns brought the child and placed him directly into Hans’s arms, assuming he was the father. She left without a word.

—Wait!

—Shh —Henry whispered. —You’ll wake him.

The baby slept peacefully. His blonde hair and delicate nose were already taking shape. He looked like Hans. He settled him in his arms and, naturally, began to sing a soft, low, raspy melody. Perfect for soothing a child.

Henry immediately sensed the wall Hans had built around himself crumble completely. He couldn’t keep running, Géza’s death was something he had to face eventually, just like responsibility.

When his arms grew tired, Henry took the baby. The young woman was still asleep, and they decided not to wake her. Henry smiled as he held the little one in his huge hands, trying to cradle him like Hans had done.

It was incredible how much he looked like him. Did Hans have German ancestors? The baby woke up. His eyes were blue, intense, like Henry’s. He seemed confused. Where was his mother? His whimpers soon turned into cries, and Henry did everything he could to soothe him. He made silly faces, which the child seemed to enjoy, sang to him... He rocked him until sleep took over again.

Then he noticed Hans was staring at him.

—What? —he asked without raising his voice, but Hans didn’t answer.

He just stood there, watching. All his future plans seemed to vanish. Constantinople suddenly felt strange and exotic, too far from his true home. This was what he could have. This was what he wanted. To see Henry holding his child, caring for him, protecting him. Always keeping him close...

Why not? Why couldn’t there be a place for Henry?

Hans would be the Lord of Rattay, not just Pirkstein. His word would be law, and if he decided there was a place for Henry, then so be it. He gently touched his ring. He remembered the promises of eternal love, and in that precise moment, everything changed. He wasn’t going to keep running, not when Henry had stopped.

He walked over slowly and looked at the little one in Henry’s arms. He couldn’t help but smile. He looked his squire in the eye, and with a soft, steady voice, he confessed with a gentle touch:

—I’m ready to go home.

Chapter Text

Most of the treetops had turned brown, except for those that had been left bare, at the mercy of the autumn chill. The last leaves were falling, announcing the arrival of the imminent winter, along with the fresh breeze that accompanied the mornings.

Sir Hanush remained near the fire, which crackled intensely, exhaling a vapor that fogged up the room's windows. It would still take a while to get warm. He looked through the window, the day was gray and the clouds threatened rain.

It would be an ideal day to stay by the fire, covered with a blanket, while organizing all the papers he had to review with his scribe. He yawned and dropped into the armchair just moments before hearing hurried footsteps in the hallway. He brought his hands to his face, bored. He knew he was about to be interrupted.

—Lord Hanush! —a servant knocked incessantly on the door.

—What is it…? —he asked, dragging his voice, annoyed that they always bothered him with trivial matters.

—It's… Lord Capon. He's returned.

He jumped from the armchair at the sound of that name. Of course, he hadn’t expected to hear that news this morning.

He leaned out from the balcony overlooking the courtyard, where he usually watched the weekly tournaments. However, there were no knights fighting for prize and honor now, but a lone rider dismounting calmly as the entire castle watched.

He didn’t recognize him at first. He had expected to see the young nephew he had confined in Pirkstein until his wedding, but the man stepping down from the horse barely resembled him.

His bearing was lordly, as if he were claiming his fief at that very moment. His gaze had hardened. His hairstyle was the same as always, but the elegantly trimmed beard gave him a different air. Hanush frowned. He had behaved like a child and couldn’t expect to return without consequences.

—Well, if it isn’t Sir Hans Capon… —he said aloud, with a sarcastic tone. —The little bird has decided to return to the nest!

No one seemed to find it amusing, if it even was. There was something in Hans’ air that radiated respect and confidence. The young man didn’t respond. He simply handed the reins of his beloved Atenon to the stable boy and silently made his way to the stairs.

—Good morning, uncle. —he greeted politely, with a slight bow. —Why don’t we talk inside?

Hanush was rarely at a loss for words, and this was one of those times. He didn’t recognize either his nephew or his attitude… he had run away like a boy and returned a man.

—Very well. Let’s go to the Hall.

They entered the Great Castle while the courtyard held its breath.

Hans walked slowly down the hallway behind his uncle. Many months had passed, but everything remained the same. That was the good thing about castles… it wasn’t easy to change anything in them. They reached the Hall, and Hanush offered him a cup of wine. He appeared calm, but inside he was dying to know what Hans had been doing all this time.

—Thank you. —Hans took the cup and sat across from his uncle. —I suppose you’re wondering a lot of things…

—You think? —his mood was growing more irritable with every second Hans sat before him. —You got what you wanted, running away from the engagement with the Kundstadts. I hope you’re ready to take responsibility for that. —His tone was calm, but at the same time, threatening. —Where the hell have you been?

—In many places, uncle. It’s been an incredible journey… —melancholy threatened to break through his apparent calm.

—Of course! Did you have fun? I heard you were in Vienna with Henry, striking diplomatic deals with the Habsburgs —he said, pausing to drink—. What were you thinking, Hans?

A faint smile appeared on the young noble’s face.

—Do you think I went to demand that the king give me what’s mine by right?

—How dare y… ? —he stopped himself before finishing the sentence, trying to remain calm. If he lost his temper, his nephew would win.

Hans knew he’d struck a nerve. His uncle’s reaction was enough to understand what truly worried him. However, he wasn’t there to start a civil war, far from it. He had tested Hanush long enough; now it was his turn to make a move.

—Someday I’ll tell you all about the journey, but first I wanted to say I spent a few days in South Moravia, just before arriving here. At Kundstadt Castle, to be exact. —Hanush leaned back in his chair, attentive and impressed. —I’ve arranged the engagement properly, signed the necessary contracts, and set a date for the wedding next spring. Jitka and her father were very pleased.

Hanush was once again at a loss for words. Was he sure no one had swapped his libertine nephew for someone else? He finished his cup and calmly refilled it, processing everything Hans was telling him. In the end, wasn’t this what he had always wanted for him? That he’d grow up, become a responsible adult…

—I’m surprised you did all that without a dagger to your throat, honestly. —Hans nodded. —So, you’ve come to good terms with the Kundstadts?

—Indeed. —he replied, extending his cup for Hanush to refill it. —When the marriage is consummated, you must keep your word and hand over the fief. —Hanush was about to reply, but Hans interrupted him. —I’ve spoken with most of the nobles my father appointed before his death. They agree.

—Is that what you’ve been doing? Scheming behind my back? —Hanush muttered, irritated.

—I’ve traveled through many places, not only Bohemia. I’ve come to understand… that my place is here. I won’t run from my responsibility or my duties any longer. I’ve grown up, uncle.

Silence settled between them. Hanush examined his nephew, trying to accept what was happening. He truly looked different. Whether he had matured remained to be seen, but he had certainly moved the pieces of the game.

Even so, he had known this would happen sooner or later. He had no intention of keeping Hans’ fief indefinitely, although he thought he still had years ahead. Of course you did, he thought sarcastically.

—All right, Hans… I expect you to tell me everything about that journey. But tell me, where’s Henry?

—Henry? Since when do you care about Henry? —Hans asked, puzzled.

Hanush burst out laughing. His nephew didn’t know everything, apparently.

—Since Radzig told me Wenceslas is thinking of knighting him.

A shiver ran down Hans’ spine. It didn’t sound crazy at all, on the contrary, it made perfect sense… but it had caught him off guard. The fact that Henry was now in Dvorce visiting his father didn’t help one bit.

If Radzig still considered Henry to be in his service, it wasn’t unreasonable to think he would want to knight him, especially since he was his bastard. Henry deserved it, but that meant… he wouldn’t come back.

Hans looked at his cup, terrified by the thought. If he couldn’t share his life with him, all their future plans were meaningless.

Hanush took note of Hans’ pale and stricken face. He thought he had matured, but he still had a lot to learn. He refilled his cup and practically shoved it in his face.

—Come now, drink, nephew. Wine is the only thing you can count on in this life. —he said with a smile.

Henry had traveled through his father's homeland and had just arrived at the small village that bore his name: Dvorce. The villagers looked at him curiously as he rode with an air of authority, heading straight to the lord’s manor without waiting for anyone to stop him.

To the west, the ground had been cleared to build something big. A tower, perhaps? he thought, seeing the stacked stones nearby. He crossed the village, and only one guard stopped him before he entered Radzig Kobyla’s house.

—But… it’s Henry! —the guard shouted, lowering his spear.

—Jaroslav? —the soldier nodded. —Glad to see you. Is the lord…?

—Yes, yes! Go on in…

A familiar face, at last. Clearly the whole household had moved with him from Pirkstein. They’d heard about the wedding while passing through Vienna. Despite the risks, Henry had insisted on visiting Sam, but it seemed no one was chasing them anymore. They’d been forgotten.

Sam was beginning to walk with the help of a cane, and Liechtenstein had filled them in on what they’d missed, including his father’s wedding. Henry felt terribly guilty. He was sure that was what Radzig had wanted to tell him before he left, and his absence had surely disappointed him.

He crossed the courtyard with his head down, ashamed of everything he had missed. How would Radzig react? Would he be happy to see him, or angry? It didn’t take long to find out.

Sir Radzig had looked out one of the windows when he heard the horse’s hooves in the yard. When he saw his son safe and sound, he couldn’t help but smile. The relief was immediate: his heart felt lighter and he clasped his hands to the sky, thankful he’d returned home unharmed. He came down to meet him.

—Father. —the young man bowed when he saw him enter the courtyard.

—Henry, my boy! —Radzig couldn’t hold back and embraced him tightly. —Where have you been hiding?

Henry laughed as his father checked that every bone in his body was still in place.

—It’s… a long story.

—That’s alright, son —he said, patting his shoulder, truly happy to have him back—. I’ve got all day to hear it. But first, I want to introduce you to someone.

He led the young man through the house and up to the second floor. In a quiet, sunny room was the new lady of Dvorce.

—Lady Anna of Úlibice, my wife. —Radzig said as she approached him. —Anna, this is my son, Henry.

Henry bowed humbly.

—This is your boy? Henry, Sir Radzig has spoken much about you. —her voice was gentle, and she meant to sound kind.

The young man’s cheeks flushed red, and he tried to hide his embarrassment with a smile. Anna laughed. Apparently, everything she’d heard about him was true.

Lady Anna looked more radiant than ever. She wore a velvet dress that flattered every curve, but what caught Henry’s attention was her belly. Slightly swollen, it didn’t match the rest of her figure… Anna noticed and placed her hands on it, caressing it.

—Three months already… —she said with a smile.

Henry’s eyes widened in surprise. He looked at his father, who nodded.

—That’s right, Lady Anna is expecting my child. You’re going to have a brother! —he let out a laugh and gave Henry a hearty slap on the back, snapping him back to reality.

Everything felt strange. He hadn’t been away that long, yet everything was different. Radzig no longer lived in Pirkstein, he had married and was now expecting a child. Henry realized that life and the world didn’t stop; they carried on, whether he was there or not.

—My… congratulations, Lady Anna. —he finally said with a sincere smile, trying not to sound foolish.

The woman smiled and returned to her seat. Lately, she tired easily. Radzig carefully closed the door and took Henry by the arm.

—Come, son. Let’s talk in my study.

Henry followed Radzig into a room where they spent the rest of the afternoon. He told him about the journey, the experiences they’d lived, how incredible it had been despite everything. He also apologized. He regretted not writing or sending word, but he hadn’t wanted anything to interfere with his journey with Capon.

—I understand, Henry. It’s a shame you missed the wedding… but that’s in the past. What matters is that you’ve come back safe and sound. —he leaned back in his chair, settling in. —I’ll have a room prepared for you. I have many plans for you.

The young man said nothing. He wasn’t ready to speak. He looked down at the empty glass in his hand. Maybe he needed more wine.

—There’s something else, Henry… —the boy looked at him intently. —I spoke with the king after I was released. He’s agreed to my request. It’s something I’ve been considering for a long time, especially now that there’s a new heir on the way. Who better to protect him than his own brother, right?

—What are you talking about? —Henry saw Radzig smile, unable to hide his excitement.

—About knighting you.

Time seemed to stop for a moment. He could’ve sworn the flames in the hearth stopped burning and the birds stopped singing. He wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.

—What? —was all he managed to say, in his usual awkward tone.

Radzig couldn’t help but laugh.

—Heavens, boy. King Wenceslas IV is going to knight you. Sir Henry of Dvorce. Aren’t you proud? —Henry remained silent. —At first, I thought you might want to remain in Capon’s service, but I can’t think of anyone better to protect my family and represent my house, Henry.

Henry drank from his glass too quickly. This was really happening. How many times had he dreamed of becoming a knight? His father was offering him the chance and yet… he hesitated.

—I… thank you. It’s very generous of you but…

—But? How can there be a “but,” Henry?

—It’s just that… —Henry fiddled with the rim of the glass, nervous. —I’m still Lord Capon’s squire. It wouldn’t be right to be knighted by Dvorce.

—Nonsense! I’ve acknowledged you as my bastard son. Everyone will accept and understand that you’re my knight.

Henry didn’t lift his head. He felt trapped. Radzig’s words were completely logical and appropriate, but he couldn’t share his real reasons, not with him, not with anyone. He touched his wooden ring. He needed to feel that at least a small part of Hans was still with him. He turned it slightly and read the small inscription Hans himself had carved with the tip of his dagger.

Audentes Fortuna Iuvat.

—Fortune favors the bold… —Henry whispered, almost to himself.

—What did you say?

Henry took a deep breath and looked his father in the eyes. He wasn’t going to be a knight of Dvorce, and he had to explain why. Audentes Fortuna Iuvat, he thought again.

Hans had moved back into his room in Pirkstein. The wind was blowing hard outside, too cold to go out for a walk. He went down the stairs and headed to the courtyard, he wanted to give Atenon a carrot.

He walked past what had once been Henry's room and felt a pang in his chest. He still hadn't received any letter, no news… he sighed, full of melancholy, and focused his attention on the horse, who seemed to be calling to him.

The horse neighed when he saw his master approach with the delicious vegetable, and practically snatched it from his hands. Hans laughed as he stroked his muzzle.

—So many months of riding… and now you have to stay in the stable. —The horse nodded, making Hans burst out laughing. —I knew you had an adventurous spirit.

Hans looked up at the sky. The clouds were slowly clearing and the wind blew more gently. He was bored, he missed Henry terribly… but the tavern or the baths no longer seemed like an option. He found no pleasure in drinking alone until closing time or burying his face between a maiden’s breasts. The only thing he wanted, he couldn’t have.

He saddled Atenon himself. Placed the bridle with steady hands. He had done it every day since Henry left. It didn’t feel right for anyone else to do it. He grabbed his wool cloak, and without thinking too much, left Pirkstein behind and entered the forest.

This already felt better. The wind cooled his face and tousled his hair. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the scent of the road.

He headed toward his favorite hunting spot. He hadn’t brought his bow, he just felt like walking through the woods. He rode east, past Neuhof, when he saw a lone figure approaching along the road.

Atenon snorted loudly, uneasy. Hans frowned. He only remembered that behavior with one particular mare… or with one particular person.

His chest tightened. A chill ran down his spine. Could it be?

The figure came closer and little by little, he could make out those broad, strong shoulders. Those blue eyes that could outshine Saint Agnes herself. And then he knew. He knew before he could even think it clearly.

—Henry!? —he shouted, his voice cracking, spurring Atenon forward.

Both riders dismounted almost at the same time. The embrace was immediate, urgent, overwhelming. Hans clung to him as if the world could collapse at that very moment.

—Henry… I… I was afraid that… —Tears involuntarily flooded Hans’s face.

Henry held him tightly, lifted his chin gently, and wiped his cheeks with a caress. He said nothing. He only looked at him, as if his eyes could beg forgiveness for his absence. Then, without another word, he kissed him.

Hans melted into his mouth, and for a moment, everything went silent. Only the crunching of dry leaves under hooves and the wind through the trees. He remembered that night in Suchdol, when he thought he had made a mistake and pushed Henry away forever. That kiss meant the whole world.

It meant everything they had suffered, but also everything they had enjoyed. It meant that despite everything, Henry would always return to his side. Even if he had to travel to the ends of the earth a thousand times.

—What’s wrong? Did you really think I wasn’t coming back? —Henry whispered with a warm smile.

—Henry! I heard they were going to knight you as Sir of Dvorce… I assumed… well… You’re his bastard, it makes sense that you’d choose to stay there.

Henry couldn’t bear so much tenderness in that voice. He embraced him again and let him bury his face in his hair, soothing him. He breathed in Hans’s scent, once again lavender and rosemary, and smiled.

—It’s true, Radzig petitioned the king to knight me, but you’re wrong about one thing.

Their faces parted and Hans asked “what?” with nothing but his teary eyes.

—I’m not going to be knight of Dvorce, but of Pirkstein. If… you’ll have me, of course.

Henry knelt down, leaving Hans completely disarmed and frozen. His legs trembled slightly, and his heart pounded so hard it felt like it would burst from his chest.

—I remain your loyal squire, my lord. My loyalty is eternal and I can only be knighted under your house. You have my sword… and my heart. —He took Hans’s hand and kissed the steel ring he himself had forged.

Hans stroked his hair tenderly, smiling all the while. He helped him to his feet and, in response, kissed Henry’s wooden ring like a sacred gesture.

—You’ve always been my favorite commoner. Now you’ll be my knight… not bad, for a blacksmith’s son.

—It’s the least I deserve, your lordship. After all, I had to follow you all the way to Constantinople.

Hans knew he was joking, but his laugh carried a hint of melancholy.

—Do you regret it? —he asked in a whisper.

At first, Henry couldn’t answer with words. He kissed him again, more intensely, in a way only they understood.

—Hans… I would follow you to the very gates of hell. I told you before, and I’ll say it again—I will always be with you.

They touched foreheads, and time stopped once more. The horses neighed in the distance, the trees creaked in the forest… and the sun peeked out shyly to bathe them in light for a few seconds, as if blessing the moment.

—Well then. Sir Henry of Pirkstein… —he paused, savoring the name, and finally whispered —Audentes Fortuna Iuvat.

Henry smiled at hearing his new title. He loved his lord in every way a person could love someone. He could only answer in the same sincere and passionate way.

—Audentes Fortuna Iuvat.