Pip and William's expression darkened even more. The Lady exchanged a glance with the knight; how on earth would they inform him of all that had happened since he had gone under? How could they tell him that one assassin slipped through the castle walls and nearly assassinated everyone, some of whom were still being treated by the apothecary? How could they begin to tell him that the culprits were two untouchable Lords on whom they had dwindling evidence, and witnesses whose testimonies diminished the instant Vincent and Richard had left? Not only were they dead in the water, but they had no concrete evidence to place the two culprits facing the gallows, anyway.
Then there was informing him —as delicately as they could— that Richard was off with Vincent in Wallachia, effectively placing her on the battlefront.
How could they core-dump all that into words?
"S-William?" Ladislaus sensed some great weight was bearing on her shoulders, "What has happened?"
William couldn't remember the last time she had seen her father cry. It had been so long since she saw a sparkle of hope in his eyes, but as he rocked Ladislaus's head back and forth like the first moments when he was a baby, that sparkle came back. It was the most beautiful sight to see as father and son embraced, for both had thought they never would again. The entire castle and villages beyond celebrated his awakening. Like a phoenix reborn, Ladislaus rose from what all surely thought would be his deathbed, and was improving each day by leaps and bounds. He need a cane, just as one was given to Vincent. Ladislaus would say it was a 'beautifully hand-crafted crutch', as often as he would refuse to use it. He wanted to gain his power back without the help of a pretty ornament; on his own merit.
Unfortunately, though Ladislaus could walk and sit and stand on his own by the end of a few days, he still could not feel the texture of things as clearly as before. He lost some form of sensation in nearly every fingertip and toe, which, according to Zargo's fascinated expression as he went about his tests, was to be expected. In fact, the castle apothecary was stunned that his extremities were not damaged in greater detail.
Though Zargo was readily available to continue his follow up tests on Ladislaus, whenever Pip tried to summon the man, or Costel for that matter, both would make up some fictitious lie about being too busy or concerning themselves with some pressing matter that had to be solved that day and not a day later. Convincing them to step forward about what they had seen was no easier. That was when Pip went to Ladislaus.
Upon dumping a world of information onto the newly awakened noble, he demanded to know every minute detail, however irrelevant it seemed. After each walking lesson, Ladislaus was granted a few moments alone with William and Pip, in which time they would continue discussing what had happened. It was often that they would have to repeat things multiple times in order for it to sink in to Ladislaus's conscience as the true reality. He would sit on his bed in silence and let Pip walk him through the steps of what had happened nearly each afternoon for three days. In the short, brief moments where Ladislaus would say a sentence or two, William was able to gauge how far he could be tipping over the precipice of sanity. There were times where she and Pip both wondered if he was going to fall off the ledge and plunge into the depths of insanity. His mind certainly had more than enough material to do so.
William tried to imagine her entire world flipped upside-down throughout the few days that Ladislaus hardly spoke a word. Whether it was truly taxing for him to say long sentences or not, William knew he was refraining from blowing his lid. She tried to grasp the idea of hearing for the first time that her entire family was almost killed, that the culprits were in the dungeon and not hanging by their ankles, that Richard was with the man he both loathed and respected the most, and that somehow two respected Lords were the true criminals of this entirely orchestrated scheme.
Pip had assured William that Ladislaus would help them gain back Costel and Zargo as witnesses. The regent remained a liability until the group could prove to him that Lord Ulrich of Eczing and Lord Ulrich of Celje were guilty, and, until there was a point in time when they could present convincing evidence to their leader, they may as well cater to suspicion.
William awoke from her reverie and adjusted her hem as she continued to sit uneasily through Ladislaus's silence.
"So, you see, my Lord, that was why Sir Vincent, myself, Costel and Zargo stayed our hand. We did not want to stop the two Lords from rescuing the Prince. He needs to be rescued from the jaws of Lord Frederick," Pip explained for the fourth time. There was no evident exasperation in his voice, just patience.
Ladislaus swallowed again, feeling his dry throat stick to its own walls before opening the airway again. He nodded, and something from the way he nodded made William guess it had finally sunken in; all the explaining had hopefully paid off.
The Lord meekly reached for his glass of water and inhaled deeply, "I…appreciate you informing me of everything…Sir."
"You're most welcome, my Lord," Pip spoke within the silence to ensure Ladislaus had a moment to soothe his throat again.
William caught on, "Father, no doubt, has his own version of what has happened. But you mustn't tell him of the truth just yet. He is unpredictable, and we cannot corner him with such treason without expecting to back it up. That is why we must have evidence to support our claim."
"And that is where your…your two witnesses come in…" Ladislaus practiced wiggling his fingers and toes during the morning's daily exercise.
"Precisely."
William nodded as well, "But we cannot seem to cajole Costel and Zargo into approaching father with what they've seen."
"Just as well," Pip reasoned, "Once your father realizes that you, my Lord, are convinced that Costel and Zargo are telling the truth, he'll listen. Hearing it from one knight and his daughter may be less convincing."
Ladislaus nodded warily, "I would lend more credence to the truth of the situation than either you or William. The only problem is that father would know you had fed me this information, since I clearly didn't obtain and witness it on my own. He would think you both were filling my head with lies and tales."
"Would he?" William questioned as she stood up from the plush seat, "Think on it, Lazlo. We are not feeding information that the regent wants to hear; quite the opposite. We are approaching him with treason, not a light matter that a Lord-Regent ever wants to hear during his reign. The very presentation of it would be so blasphemous that father would not be able to ignore it. All we need is you to help present the information. Once father sees that you believe us, then he will have to investigate and hopefully come to the same conclusion we have." She suddenly noticed Pip staring at her with a gaze of admiration.
"You're taking to this like a duck to water, my Lady," the knight noted.
"Pardon?" she asked, and for a moment, Ladislaus was forgotten.
Pip's earnestness evaporated, "This…whatever this is. I like it. This investigatory side to you I never knew existed. You are channeling your inner constabulary. Hell, I should put you on the knights' watch around the town to help enforce Law."
William beamed back at him, "Only if you would allow me a ranged weapon."
"Oh, I'll give you a ranged weapon," he replied haughtily, "You do have one currently at your disposal, you coy minx—"
Ladislaus coughed his frustration. Growling would chafe his throat too harshly, "Oh, for God's sake, Sir. Curb your tongue before I slice it off."
Both blinked and watched the mirage of a vacant room crumble before their eyes as both remembered Ladislaus was present. William blushed as she mentally chastised herself. Her cheeks began to burn under the icy scrutiny of her older brother.
"Apologies, my Lord." Pip's voice sounded mechanical, as if having to say it daily squeezed all of the sincerity out of it.
Ladislaus surged upward from his sitting position on his bed with frightful force, anger at Pip's outburst fueling his inner ire, "I will investigate this alone. Your presence may sway them into unpredictability since the
y do not want to approach the regent. If I approach them, a neutral third party when compared to you two, then their answers may be different. If both men confide in me the same truth you have told me, then I will force—not cajole—them into presenting what they know to the regent."
"Thank you, my Lord." Pip bowed gracefully, though still too shallowly. William smiled; he still needed some practice on that.
Richard had taken an instant liking to the city. Winter's chill was slowly giving way to spring's rain. The lovely fur coats given to her at Vincentislav's order were most welcomed and needed. She was treated not with kindness and generosity, but at least with respect, which spoke volumes, even if both the Lord and the regent were not on the best of terms.
That was why Richard made it her duty to relay information from Vincentislav II to her father as soon as it came in. She ordered a page to follow her like a little shadow whose job it was to transmit information around the camps, and a messenger to carry out vital information across the actual borders of the towns and ride all the way to Castle Hunyad, if need be.
Her presence and domineering aura demanded an order about her that few men tried to take away. She was feared and respected by even her Lord's subjects and vassals, though she hardly conceded her matters with them, the obsequious lot. She was much more frugal than that. Richard appealed to the commanders in order, or to Lord Vincentislav II himself. There was no need to trifle with the other Sirs and knights and Ladies when she could mainline her desires straight into Vincentislav II. Why get the run-around from a group of bootlicking grovelers when she could focus all her powers of persuasion on one man: their leader?
Most days, Vincentislav II would give her what she wished, though Richard could tell he truly hated her. The young Lady's very presence undermined his authority, and being trumped by her impressive diplomatic powers only proved to be that much more humiliating when he would retract from a conversation with Richard, baffled and confused as to how he ended up bending his knee. The days when his commanders were present in the room were truly intolerable. The only reason why he allowed Richard into the room to even hear what was being said was that she had decreed it to be so.
It was humiliating to watch his officers sit, entertained and thoroughly amused that he was schooled by a woman over tactics and strategy, and his nerves were wearing thing…very thin.
Richard was taking too quickly to a life without much supervision from her parents, and with such glee. The freedom away from her home was intoxicating, and she found herself on the receiving end of much of Vincentislav's hatred for it.
"I'm telling you, my Lord, you must put all auxiliary forces to east to Calarasi. The Ottomans will strike the border there again. The forces west at Dristra are protected enough. My father has already dispatched more men to the front there." Richard paced back and forth throughout their equivalent of a 'map room', watching with smug satisfaction that the commanders would move out of her way as she weaved through them. Her power almost took over to distraction.
Vincentislav II crumpled up the piece of paper he read, "What, because of this notice that said he would? My Lady, this paper claims nothing other than the fact that he will get to it when he gets to it. I've sent hundreds of letters to him imploring his troops closer to me, and the most he can do is send a company of men—on average."
Richard rolled back on her heels, "You are wondering why I am so confident."
"Well, that for starters, yes," he replied condescendingly, sharing a glance with Vincent that communicated their shared exhaustion with her headstrong determinedness.
She smiled, "Because you are not my father's daughter. Because my father is no fool, and when I say that we need something, he gives it to me. Not only that, but his eldest daughter is on the border now, and he will endeavor to keep her as safe as possible."
"Don't think that because you are his daughter that he will willingly give up his forces to be under my command, my Lady. Pride is a sin."
"Yet you carry it in spades," she retorted dangerously. She saw his jaw twitch and Vincent's upturn into a smile.
The Lord chuckled, "Too much lip, child. Too much lip." He forced himself to feign a smile as he turned to his officers, shunning Richard in the process, "Men, you all know that our forces at Calarasi are abundant in number. From last week's incursion at Dristra, I say we replenish the ranks there."
Some officers nodded, but to his astonishment, others hesitated.
"My Lord," one such hesitant officer began, "the Lady Richard's point carries weight. Calarasi is alarmingly close to the Danube River, the arterial network through which much of our resources pulse. If the Ottomans take that strong-point…"
Richard interrupted, "They have told me of sightings of an entire regiment of Ottoman troops gathering along the border there in high concentration. It would be wise to mobilize our soldiers in that direction," she smiled with lethal charm, "my Lord."
Vincentislav II swiveled to his officers in a rage, "And I suppose one of you dullards was going to realize that I am your Lord-Regent and leader of this force! Who was going to remember this and inform me?!"
The men looked around anxiously, calculating how egregious their mistake had been in informing Richard first. Some donned the expression of disbelief. Either way, Lord Vincentislav II was advancing toward them so threateningly that backward steps were unconsciously taken to gain a semblance of space. Vincent, though on the edge of the room bordering the door, glanced concernedly at Richard. She did not catch his apprehension that she was dancing incredibly close to his dignity, or, rather, by now probably on his dignity.
"Listen to your officers, my Lord. Their news, whether or not it reached me first, is true. Any time we waste here is wasted time in getting to our destination to Calarasi," Richard tried to divert the Lord's fury from his men.
Unfortunately, it swiftly focused onto her.
Vincentislav II felt his hand tear the paper in half, only now realizing he'd wished it was the girl's neck, "Were you any other woman, I'd have you flogged for speaking out of turn and for insisting them to tell you first. They come to me, they answer to me, they take orders from me," his voice grew louder to remind his officers, "Where, in that specific sentence, did you hear your name?" he waved his hand rudely in front of her face when she inhaled to answer, "That I let you into this room at all should be considered a blessing on your part, yet for days you undermine my authority and try to usurp the throne, going so far as to order me around to do your bidding. No self-respecting Lady would ever disrupt was isn't hers. A true Lady is of so kind, so apt, so blessed a disposition, she holds it close in her goodness not to do more than she is requested." There was hope in his face that this hint he so chivalrously pointed out would be taken to heart by the refined Lady Richard. Predictably, though, she shut him down once more.
Richard grinned maliciously, "And I suppose I'm expected to simper and curtsy as you please, cater to your every whim, emulate self-restraint, lower my eyes demurely, and weakly fall into a man's arms at the reports that come in of the survivors?"
Vincentislav II did her the courtesy of answering, though he was inching toward her, reminded that his hope was far-fetched. He was beginning to see that a more drastic measure needed to be taken in order to subjugate her. "That would be a good start, my Lady. It is not seemly for a woman to involve herself in such manly pursuits as war. Your father may have lent you his ear, but your daddy is not here, last I checked."
She let the insult and threat ride off her shoulders. "I will not allow my purpose here to be entirely decorative, my Lord. You see, I prefer function over fashion. Indeed, it may be fashionable to mimic repression and play the meek Lady, just as it may be fashionable to surround oneself with the mindless nattering of complacent 'yes' men, but I am functioning quite fine within the constricting boundaries given to me."
"Boundaries!" Vincentislav II cried out, "Madness! What boundaries?! Richard, you have broken every one of them!"
Richard, once
more goaded to the point of risking her life, answered him with withering condemnation. "Good thing, too, for I will not wilt under any man's disdainful preconception of who I should be, whether he is a Lord-Regent who plays at a warfare the way children play with tin soldiers, or—" she was not able to finish her insult back to him before he interrupted her.
"You think I am all bluster and no threat? Such as it is, this will have to do." He stepped forward with alarming surety and slapped her savagely across the face.
Her head snapped back as the report of his hand echoed throughout the room and his signet cut her cheek, leaving a thin smear of blood on the back of his hand. Swearing an obscenity, he struck her again, causing her to stagger under the blow and blindly, reflexively dodge the next. But the next strike did not come. When she whirled around, eyes wildly searching for a shield or a weapon to protect herself, they focused on the changing scenery before her. Vincent's body was suddenly and protectively in between her and the repugnant Lord. Vincent's sword was unsheathed as well, daring a challenge and a duel out of Vincentislav II at the very least. Vincent's rage was barely bridled and his arm was becoming less and less responsive to his reason. Richard knew that it would only be seconds before either Vincent plunged his sword into the Lord, or vice versa. She shouted an inarticulate cry, only realizing a second later that it was his name.
"VINCENT!"
His body tensed in recognition. She stood up hastily and rushed to his side, soothingly placing her hand on his arm, "Sir Vincent, I am alright. I am here. Please, stay your hand." Her eyes glistened with ripened but unshed tears from the pain that was still pulsating in her cheek.
Vincent's vision subdued from the intensity of a reddish haze, and he started to focus on her warm touch as her fingers traced and lingered along his forearm suggestively, distractingly. But when he noticed the bruising on her face already forming and its corresponding trail of blood beading down her alabaster-smooth skin, his grip tightened on his sword once more, emotions battling between killing the one man who had murdered his family, who now had also struck his maiden down, and sparing his life for some undefined reason Richard would not say. Worse still, the same seductive voices he heard on the outskirts of Bagamér with Ladislaus had returned. The sight of her blood had triggered them once more, and he found himself both leaning in and repelling away from her. As if sensing Vincent needed more encouragement, but oblivious to the fact that he felt a sudden compulsion to consume her, she brought her other hand to his neck and forced him to look down at her and lock eyes.
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