15 - The Mark of Royalty

 

Dietrich sat in one of the Guest Pavilion’s many luxurious chairs, laying his feet on the table before it in deliberate spite of the family it once belonged to. What a joke it was that such a building could exist in the walls of his own castle, with furnishings more opulent than those of his own quarters, with chairs the size of his own throne. For ages, he had lived in humiliating submission beneath the ever so powerful Avarian royalty. Now, things were finally about to change. Just another week and a letter would surely return from the capital permitting a marriage ceremony for himself and the princess. It would be a spectacle for all noblemen to see, one that told them a new age was upon them, where Avaria would no longer be the passive and indulgent pig it had become under the old King’s complacency. Upon them would be an age of conquest, an age where Avaria would conquer the known world with its army of ravenous beasts. Finally, he could fulfil the dreams of his ancestors before him, the dreams they carried down through generations until his father so foolishly abandoned his sovereignty to serve as a mere Count under Willem.

The princess remained secluded in her bedroom upstairs, with three guards standing side by side guarding the stairway. Dietrich had no interest in Agnes, not in personality nor in beauty, and he would make no attempt to seduce a woman of the bloodline he hated so much, choosing to remain apart from her both before and after their marriage would be officialized. An additional three guards stood outside of the pavilion’s main door, making the place especially protected compared to how it appeared in his absence. He couldn’t afford any errors in this plan, especially not when he was so close to his reward. No one would come near the pavilion without his permission, especially not Rudolf.

Less than an half an hour ago it had begun raining, and yet already the storm had ended. It was because of this newfound tranquility that Dietrich was so surprised to hear such a loud commotion from outside. Instead of thunder, now, it was the sound of bickering voices that he heard muffled through the cedar of the pavilion’s doors. Before long, one of the double doors was cracked open, and the face of a guard peeked through.

“Lord Dietrich, there is a man outside claiming to be your alchemist,” the guard said, “He says he has urgent news. Shall we let him in?”

“Quintus?” Dietrich called from within.

“Yes! It’s me, my Lord!” Quintus shouted back frantically from the other side.

“Let him in,” Dietrich said to the guard.

The door opened further as the alchemist entered the room. He appeared bruised, with his right cheek turning a shade of purple and his lips scarred and sprinkled with dried blood.

“You must hear this, my Lord!” he said between heavy breaths, “I have terrible news!”

“Please, do tell,” Dietrich said to him, forsaking the cordial smile he often presented with for a more honest inexpressive face.

“Bernhart and Luitold broke into the laboratory, my Lord,” Quintus explained, “They have learned much of your plans.”

“And just how did they acquire that information?” Dietrich asked.

“I—they held me at swordpoint, my Lord!” the alchemist stammered, “I had no choice but to answer to their demands!”

“I am not going to punish you, Quintus. They are insolent pests and must be conceded to when they pose such a threat,” Dietrich said calmly, “Just tell me what they know and we will act accordingly.”

“I’m afraid they know it all, my Lord,” Quintus said, “Your beast form, your capture of the princess, your attempt for the throne, your deal with Alemannia—they even made me tell them the truth about Novum Verum.”

“I see,” Dietrich said, “And where have they gone since this incident occurred?"

“I heard them say they’d be contacting Rudolf, my Lord,” Quintus said, “That was the last they said before they left to the keep.”

“Well then, I doubt it will be long before they make an attempt on my head,” Dietrich said, “This calls for a change of plans. We no longer have the time to wait on an official wedding. Agnes and I will marry tonight, and we will make leave for the capital immediately after.”

“How do you intend to marry without a priest?” Quintus asked.

“I’ll write a document declaring our marriage under the law, then have both of our seals imprinted on it,” Dietrich told him as he quickly rose from his chair, “The men at the palace will have to accept it if I tell them her life would be at risk if we waited.”

The Count walked to the stairway with determination in each stride, the guards silently stepping aside for him to pass through. His steps hit the marble stairs aggressively, and when he reached the top, the princess backed away in fear into the sheets of her bed.

“Stay away!” she screamed.

“I’m not here for you, bitch!” Dietrich barked, “Tell me now, where is your parchment?”

Agnes whimpered into her bed’s soft fabric, holding the top sheet up to her eyes like a child afraid of the dark.

“Tell me, God damnit!” he yelled.

“It’s in the leftmost drawer of the desk at the end of the room,” the princess said hesitantly.

Dietrich walked swiftly to the side of the bedchamber furthest from the stairs, where a well-crafted cedarwood desk sat against the wall. On top of it was a bottle of ink and a quill just beside it. He reached for the drawer on the desk’s left side as the princess described and found a stack of parchment sheets within. Quickly, he slid one from the stack into his hand and placed it atop the desk, dipping the quill into the ink bottle just after. With no time to waste, he hastily inscribed a short message that would bind Agnes to his side in marriage.

Once finished, the paper said I, Dietrich of Isenburg, take Agnes of Avaria as my lawful wife. With the mutual consent of our seals, we are made one in land and lineage. 

“And where is your seal?” Dietrich asked the princess.

“What are you doing with my seal?” Agnes replied defensively, mustering the courage to rise from her bed and stand.

Dietrich, knowing every second spent was another second for Bernhart to shorten their distance, turned around from his chair and opened the right side of his wolfskin mantle, revealing a jar of Novum Verum held to its interior by a leather strap.

“I will kill you!” he screamed, “Give me the seal or I will become a monster and rip you to shreds!”

Agnes shrieked and stumbled backward in fear, holding her hand over her mouth as her eyes began to well up once more. Dietrich stood up from the chair and placed his hand on the jar, preparing to break it against the floor at a moment’s notice.

“It’s in the drawer right beside the one with the parchment,” she whimpered.

Dietrich returned to his seat and violently drew open the drawer second from the left. Within was a weighty iron matrix, about two inches in width. Engraved on its flat side was the mark of the princess, an illustration of her likeness in an oval-shaped frame surrounded by latin text saying SIGILLVM AGNETIS FILIAE REGIS AVARIAE. Though he now possessed the two seals needed to legitimize the document, Dietrich did not possess the time to melt the wax needed to leave the marks themselves. With no other option, he grabbed the burning candle that sat at the desk’s edge and tipped it sideways just above the parchment’s lower corner, shaking it until a suitably sized blob of red wax had dripped onto it. Before it could spill out into a total mess, he slammed Agnes’s matrix on top of it, leaving a seal on the document that appeared as if it had been placed by the princess herself. Immediately after, he retrieved his own matrix from the pouch hung from his belt and tipped the candle once more. Placing the matrix onto the wax made a second seal, one that was smaller and circular in shape, reflecting the lower status he still held as a noble.

“It’s done,” the Count said aloud as he raised the document into the air.

“What is?” Agnes asked with fear in her voice.

“The document declaring us as wed,” Dietrich replied, “I am now the man in succession to your father.”

“How is that possible?” Agnes asked as the Count headed for the stairs, “I have not married you!”

“Your seal says otherwise, princess,” Dietrich said, “Now, we must leave for the capital at this instant.”

Agnes remained still at the side of her bed, refusing to follow behind the restless Count.

“I know you have ill intentions, Dietrich!” she said defiantly.

Dietrich paid her no mind and made his way to the bottom floor, passing by the three guards that stood in front of the stairway.

“Men, ensure the princess comes along,” he ordered, “We are heading to Old Corvel immediately. Don’t be afraid to use force, she’s been afflicted by some kind of maddening spell.” 

The men immediately ran upstairs, the clatter of their boots on the marble steps being followed by Agnes’s screams as she struggled in their firm grasps over her arms and shoulders. Before long, they returned downstairs with Agnes completely apprehended between them.

“I hope this will be the last time I call this wretched prison of a castle my home,” Dietrich said to them, “Now, let us make way for the stables.”

Dietrich walked past Quintus, who looked up at him with his pitiful bloodied face.

“My lord, what do you want for me to do?” the alchemist asked.

“Run and tell everyone in the castle about the conspirators,” Dietrich said, “Make sure they know who it is they need to fear. I anticipate the knights will be eager to kill their traitorous brother.”