Dyder Dornytter kisses Ilsenyla goodbye and steps outside, locking the door behind him. It is snowing, lightly, but enough to form a thin layer on the shoulders of his blue overcoat before he got fifty meters from the door. It always feels weird, walking around in casual clothes; he has spent so much time in armor, he feels naked without the clinking of chain mail and the weight of the steel chest plate. But he still has his sword: so he is never fully naked; he can feel the sheath hitting against his thigh as he walks. Cutting across the grass, he makes his way to the south bridge, which connects the grounds of Herst Castle to the entertainment district. Tonight, he is going to have dinner with his brothers and Arn. Gyores had originally suggested having a larger stag party, but Dyder had to decline for Ilsenyla's sake. They were simply going to go to one of the finer pubs, The Oaken Standard [1], to eat and drink.

  The streetlamps cast a warm glow across the snow, small spots of warm respite among the reflective sheet of cold blue moonlight.

  He sees Osmund waiting by the large portcullis and makes his way over at a jog.

  "You took longer than you said you would," Osmund says.

  "I had to promise I would drink no more than five steins and not eat too much," Dyder shrugs.

  "Not even married and already henpecked," Osmund pauses, "Do you think Father is going to set me up in an arranged marriage?"

  "Maybe, but I think he would have done that by now," Dyder responds, "Why, Franheska?"

  "Yes."

  "I told you this years ago—now, I know she's a nice, smart girl—but you are pining after a fae-child. It just will not work. Why not, Konst?nze? all she ever does is complain about dowries and men. I am sure she will jump at the chance." Dyder says as they enter the treshold of the gatehouse.

  The two greet Karstynn Syrlwyr as they pass through the small access doorway and step onto the bridge.

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  Osmund shakes his head. "If I have a son, and he is short, I will never forgive myself."

  "When was the last time you even had a conversation with Franheska?" Dyder asks.

  Osmund goes quiet; squinting, he looks up. He struggles to remember the last time he had a conversation with Franheska, only recalling her smile—he saw it once, a year back, and has never forgotten it. "I cannot even remember. I tried to speak with her early today."

  "How did that go?"

  "Awful. She did not even respond. I could feel her glaring at me from under the veil."

  "Have you tried asking Gekaryna? She might be able to help; she is the only person who talks to Franheska."

  "Yes, she laughed, told me my true calling was in writing fiction," Osmund says.

  "Hmmm, sounds about right." Dyder rubs his chin. "Why not try talking to some of the women at my wedding? None of the Finykk daughters are married or being courted, and I think Franzyn Weks-Drinykk is the same, and she got her height from her father—similar name too."

  "With Gyrs—High Priestess Seliani nearby? No, thank you."

  "Just do it. She won't do anything to you; you're not Gyores. Honestly, she would be pleased to see you being respectful and asking someone to dance, as long as you don't ask more than one."

  Osmund grumbles. "Maybe, I don't know."

  "You're testing fate; just do it. If you don't, Father will probably put you in an arranged marriage with the short daughter of a horse breeder."

  Osmund sighs. "All right."

  The two walk in silence for the last few blocks before they get to the Oaken Standard.

  Osmund points to a figure in a beige military coat. "Gyores looks to already be here."

  "You are surprised?" Dyder whistles, getting the attention of his brother, who is talking to one of the armed guards outside The Oaken Standard.

  Gyores waves to his brothers. When they get within speaking range, he pulls the door open as they exchange greetings.

  Footnotes

  [1]The Oaken Standard was opened in 1002 EotG by Gepeth Wourynwyr (b. 22/12/0980 EotG). It is notoriously difficult for pubs (and foodservice establishments as a whole) to thrive in the Entertainment District of the Crown Isles because of the amount of competition. The Oaken Standard, however, has seen a significant amount of success because of its ability to fill the niche between modest family-owned pubs and large professional establishments.

  It is exceptionally popular among younger—usually unwed—men because of the uniforms worn by the barmaids, which are a more revealing reinterpretation of the garb worn by Levyna Wysenwyr owe'Wylae (b. 19/09/4659 EotTS, d. 12/05/4681 EotTS), who is more commonly known as the Banner Maiden of Brachb?sk (this choice of uniform has become a topic of political contention between the Kingdom of the Great Moon of Our Lady and the Kingdom of Brachb?sk).