The marriage between Fabian, the current Duke of Reinhard, and the second princess was more than a mere union of hearts; it was a strategic bond that could bolster the realm's security while infusing vitality into its economy.
Yet, despite the regal atmosphere and the implications that hung in the air, Fabian responded, "I appreciate your consideration, Your Majesty. However, it would be careless of me to address the most esteemed figure in our realm with an unwarranted familiarity."
"I understand that it would take time for you to be comfortable with me. That's fine," King Georg said.
"I appreciate your understanding, Your Majesty," Fabian replied, a subtle nod of gratitude accompanying his words.
As the conversation unfurled, Fabian meticulously reported on the current state of the Reinhard Duchy. His words painted a portrait of progress—of an economy on the mend and the promise of potential business expansion.
And then, with a note of anticipation, Fabian revealed the crux of his report. "Your Majesty, there is a development of significance I must share. Among the mining sites under my ownership, we have unearthed a deposit of saltpeter. Its discovery holds potential implications, both for our duchy's industry and the kingdom's greater needs."
The gravity of his words reverberated in the air, each syllable carrying weight. Potassium nitrate, commonly known as saltpeter, a substance crucial in the production of gunpowder, was a highly regulated resource. Its control was usually vested in the crown due to its strategic value and associated risks.
A pause hung in the space between them. The truth was, he had withheld this information out of concern that the king might exploit his request for a license to produce gunpowder as a tool to manipulate him into a marriage with Princess Elke.
But time had its own rhythm, its own cadence. The news of the potassium nitrate's discovery had slowly rippled through the workforce. In this delicate balance of power and loyalty, to withhold such a discovery might inadvertently be misconstrued as an attempt to conceal a governmental asset.
As if unveiling a long-sought treasure, King Georg displayed a distinct satisfaction in response to the news. "Ah, Fabian, you need not worry about that. I can even grant you an exclusive license to produce gunpowder and retrieve all other licenses for you."
The king's words hung in the air, a potential boon for Fabian's duchy delicately balanced on the precipice of decision. Fabian forced himself to smile.
"Your Majesty's generosity knows no bounds," Fabian replied. "Yet, I must exercise caution in our actions, for it's my belief that maintaining the existing licenses could prevent any unwanted disruptions to the economy. The current owners' stability plays a pivotal role."
Hidden behind the veneer of these words lay a stark reality. Should the government take over the mining site, wresting control of the saltpeter, the outcome could be disastrous—a potential ordeal Fabian was keen to evade at all costs.
King Georg studied Fabian, his gaze a steady exchange of unspoken understanding.
"I've always seen you as more than just a subject, son," he intoned deliberately, the term 'son' hanging weightily in the air.
And then came the proposition that had been presented time and time again.
"Marry my daughter. If you do, not only will the doors to a fruitful union open, but the wealth of this kingdom will also be yours," King Georg voiced it plainly, his intent unvarnished as it pierced through the space between them.
Each word was calculated, a strategic move on the kingdom's intricate chessboard. The stakes were higher now, the proposal interwoven with the very mining site Fabian was striving to protect. Yet, it was not a simple choice—marriage held the promise of power, but at what personal cost?
Without accepting or refusing outright, Fabian gracefully excused himself from the king's presence, leaving the lingering echoes of a complex dilemma to resonate within the chamber's walls.
As he ambled thoughtfully along the palace's serene canal, that unresolved negotiation cast a weighty shadow on Fabian's mind. Lost in his contemplation, he realized, with a tinge of exasperation, that his gloves were nowhere to be found.
He chided himself for his recent absentmindedness, a trait that seemed to have taken root within him. He had the gloves on when he was in the carriage, and only took them off upon arriving at the palace because the weather had gotten warmer.
A series of encounters—brushing against passing maids and a momentary encounter with the princess—had transpired before his audience with the king.
Fabian dismissed the thought with a nonchalant shrug. Surely, if someone had chanced upon them—perhaps a maid or even the princess herself—they would eventually find their way back to him.
"Ah, Your Grace!" A voice, as familiar as the gentle breeze, called out his name. There was a soothing quality in that voice, a balm to his contemplative mind.
He turned, his eyes meeting a sight that eased his concerns almost instantly. Before him stood his sister. Her appearance might have shifted, veiled beneath a different visage, but her gestures, the cadence of her speech—these were telltale signs that betrayed her true identity.
In his heart, Fabian was certain he would recognize her anywhere, even without her confirming it.
It was the giggle that cinched his certainty—a sound that resonated from her like a cherished memory. A small smile tugged at his lips, framed with the recollection of a past where Yohana, the only girl in the Reinhard clan, had been indulged and adored.
Where other noblewomen were chastised for deviating from societal expectations, Yohana had flourished, enveloped in a love that exempted her from those confines.
Strolling side by side, their footsteps aligning with the rhythm of their conversation, Fabian and Yohana gravitated toward the park. The gentle embrace of the summer breeze swirled around them, creating comfort in their shared company.
Eight years had brought a lot of changes to Fabian, and Fabian couldn't help but acknowledge that the same stretch of time held its secrets for Yohana as well.
During that timeframe, a lot of things had happened in the Reinhard Duchy. He was sure that a lot also happened with Yohana.
Fabian swallowed every question he had. He recognized the delicate contours of Yohana's demeanor, how certain subjects seemed to cast a shadow over her features. There was a hesitance—a discomfort, even—in broaching the past, particularly the chasm of time that had separated them.
In his heart, Fabian carried vivid memories of the emotions that had tumbled through him upon learning of Yohana's disappearance. He had been but nineteen then, a young man at the precipice of adulthood, yet his heart had echoed with determination to protect his sister.
The incident had been a tempest that shredded his veneer of youthful invincibility. Despite his status as the youngest individual to be christened the kingdom's finest sword wielder, Fabian had felt a profound vulnerability on that day.
It was as if the very core of his identity had been challenged, and the threads of self-assurance he had meticulously woven were suddenly unraveling. He had held himself accountable, each breath weighed with regret that he hadn't been there to shield Yohana from harm.
Caught in the swirl of his own emotions and the weight of the past, Fabian's steps faltered. Amidst the rustling leaves and the gentle whisper of the breeze, he came to a halt.
With a voice that held a depth of feeling, he uttered those two words that carried a universe of sentiments within them, "I'm sorry."