Chapter 21: Blood From A Stone, part 1

By the time Marx had flown from the Northern Citadel back to Krackenstein castle the day had dawned. The first muted rays of the sun had lightened the clouds in the overcast sky, glinting off the rows of armed and armored soldiers as they'd marched from Krackenstein's courtyards into the capitol. Vindam's city guard, the militia from neighboring territories, and the royal troops had all been gathered. To an average onlooker, they might've mistaken the march for drills which were performed every season. Only this time rather than simply performing maneuvers, the squads had traveled to actual targets— not that the citizenry or even castle staff had known.

After he'd returned the borrowed wyvern to the mews, gone to the armory, donned his full suit of plate and mail, the Nohrian prince had hurried to the courtyard where he's spied his father and brother. They were still there talking together and overlooking the army, while a couple retainers stood nearby with saddled and barded mounts. He spied Froh and a familiar brown gelding with the horses. Holding the leads, Cyrus stood alongside Zero; which was peculiar as Gunther's protégé, he would serve at the knight's side during battle rather than the prince's. Marx didn't dwell on the thought long, as his father looked towards him with a grin.

"So eager that you were up even before the King?"

As the Nohrian prince had suspected they'd been awaiting him. He made to bow and said, "For the delay, I beg forgiveness-"

Garon abruptly clapped Marx on the back, smile wide. "No need, my son. For today we'll make everything right. These upstarts must pay for thinking they could strike at \us\, the Dusk Dragon's chosen! By the will of the heavens, this rot will finally be cut out of Nohr. Both of you will channel the might of the gods today."

His father turned and Marx saw what was grasped by his other hand— the dark blade, Siegfried. A glance at his brother confirmed that Brynhildr was crooked in Leo's arm. The sight shouldn't have surprised him, yet Marx hadn't touched this holy sword since his duel with Hoshido's High Prince a season ago. When he'd touched Siegfried that day Marx had almost felt compelled to fight, as if the swords themselves had desired to clash. Still that'd been an anomaly; all members of royal house Anya knew these relics were irreplaceable and would've normally been locked within the royal treasury vault behind guard. After all, they'd been maliciously hidden during Gavril's coup which had delayed Garon's legitimate ascension to the throne, for only trueborn dragon-blooded could wield them.

If the king had brought Nohr's Holy Weapons out from the royal vault, it meant he took this upcoming battle most seriously. From the darker concerns of Marx's mind came a thought that maybe it was because his father didn't believe him capable enough without it, since he'd failed against Ganz before… since he was weak. Despite all his training, his efforts to be strong, he'd been brought low in a way he couldn't forget. How could he expect others to do so? That dark thought grasped at Marx, twisting cruelly like fingers yanking his hair, and his hands clenched out of reflex.

His father caught the movement of his fists, and he chuckled. "No need to delay further, is there? Here."

Garon held the holy weapon out to him; Marx took the sheathed sword with stiff hands. Even wearing gloves and gauntlets, the moment he touched it— Siegfried called to him from its sheath, its immaterial voice keen enough to thrum against his skull. Its power always felt like a not-quite-consciousness connecting itself to him. As an adolescent he'd once asked an even younger Leo what holding Brynhildr felt like, and his brother had described it like a sprout longing to be nurtured into full bloom. Regardless, Marx understood that one couldn't allow the weapons' impulses to overtake them, a lesson that'd cost him dearly in Freezia.

"Now that we're all here and properly armed, a victory prayer will be offered." Garon barked, "Bring the sacrifice!"

The Nohrian king's words jolted through Marx, pushing the sword's voice to the back of his mind. Yet Leo was the one to voice doubts, asking, "Father, why make an offering against criminal rabble?"

Garon bared his teeth in a savage grin. "Simple, my son. Our enemy wishes death upon us, upon Nohr. He has even called upon his own allies from outside Vindam. This is war and no quarter can be given."

\You're sure you want to do this?\ The question was left unspoken as Marx bit his tongue.

A prayer to the Dusk Dragon for victory always required one thing: a blood sacrifice. Teachings stated the closer the sacrifice was to one's heart, the better chance became that one's prayer would be favorably received. After all, their patron deity had first appeared when in despair over her massacred warband Anya had tried to drown herself in the waters of Krackenburg's spring and after surviving cut open her own throat. The Dusk Dragon manifested, miraculously healed her through sharing divine blood, then forbid Anya to die by anyone else's hand. The legend of Nohr's First Queen, their royal house, and why it was cursed to harm a dragon-blooded— their deaths belonged to the gods alone.

Making a prayer for victory meant their father would be offering something precious to himself, and had Marx feeling past failures in dealing with these would-be assassins all the more keenly.

Already his father's advisor had appeared leading a couple of servants that brought forth an unsaddle horse, albeit all walking slowly. Its coat was duller, back had more sway, and step contained less bounce than Marx had seen in warhorses housed within the castle stables. Most destriers didn't survive to old age, and only a truly indulgent, wealthy owner could pay for the care for such an elderly animal.

Yet as it drew closer Marx spied a resemblance to Froh, in the shape of the head and sturdy build— this was likely the stallion that had sired his own dear mount. His gorge rose at the certainty that once crowned king, he'd be the one choosing and making sacrifices before battle. Letting his gaze fall away from the sight of Iago handing over the sacrificial knife, Marx instead focused on securing Siegfried's sheath to his sword-belt and baldric.

Only a firm shove against his shoulder had the Nohrian prince's head whipping back up. His father's stare and tone were grim as he said, "The eyes of the gods are upon us, do not look away."

"…yes, my king." Swallowing down his ill feelings, Marx did as he was bid.

He watched as the servants threw more lassoed ropes under the horse's head to keep him still for the ritual. The old stallion snorted and his milky eyes rolled, obviously distraught. Garon stepped forward and took the lead rope attached to the bridle, then pet his free hand down the animal's nose. Despite the many ropes, the horse leaned towards the king and soon quieted, clearly trusting the man.

In a moment of weakness, Marx glanced away and looked to his brother. Leo's cool gaze was locked onto the event before them, expression seemingly neutral. Only the way he stood with his arms holding Brynhildr tight against his chest like a shield gave away his discomfort.

Marx barely heard Garon murmur, "Apologies for taking you from the pastures and fine mares, my friend. I am in need of your strength one last time..."

He looked back and watched his father scratch at the horse's forelock fondly, before the older man stepped to face the troops standing at attention. With a loud voice the king bade the Dusk Dragon move with the shadows of their army, use their mettle to smite all who'd stand against them and drink deeply— a rallying cry swept through the troops. The Nohrian prince forced himself to watch as the knife was raised to the sacrifice's bared neck and blood spilled over the stones below.

.x.X.x.

The contemplative quiet of that early morning was gone. Instead, the harsh clash of steel carried between the buildings in echoing bursts, shouts welled up from out of sight and carried through the air— transforming the city into a battlefield. Froh stamped his hooves, horseshoes loud against the cobblestone, likely unsettled by the noise and his current idleness. Marx patted his mount's neck through the barding, doing his best to not give away his own restlessness by shifting in the saddle.

Split between commanders, their assembled forces had moved on the outer ring with the aim to assault all Red Horn hideouts at once. The Nohrian crown prince and his troops had met up with a contingent of the Green Scales; together they'd successfully besieged and captured several northern locations and it was currently just past midday. The speed of their success could in part be attributed to Ashura's gang who'd staked out the targets weeks beforehand, alongside the aid of King Sumeragi's retainer.

Lady Orochi stood not far from the Nohrian prince and his horse, as the both of them were overseeing their forces performing one last sweep of a hideout to ensure that no criminals had been missed. The Hoshidonese noblewoman could've easily been mistaken for a regular Vindam citizen in that black dress, boots, with hair gathered tight and covered by a handkerchief. Her disguise for blending in while keeping an eye on the Kohgans. However, the wooden spell tags currently held by her hand gave away the truth— she was a spellcaster from the East, of no small power. Many criminals had been taken out by the spirits she'd conjured: fiery bulls and freezing vermin. The foreign magic had sewn both panic and destruction; it made him thankful his father had brokered peace with the other kingdom well-before he could take to the battlefields.

Almost as if she'd sensed his thoughts, Lady Orochi glanced up and caught Marx's eye. "Prince Marx, your soldiers seem to have things in hand here."

He nodded. "Nohr's martial training is rigorous, they are more than prepared."

"I'm sure they'd be proud of such praise from their commander and liege." While her words bore no insult, her tone skirted teasing and her smile was more of a smirk. "I confess, before journeying here I'd been curious if all talk of Nohrians being born conquerors was true. Your people do have quite a bloodthirst."

This time Marx didn't respond. He'd read the missives from their agents within the Green Scales concerning the movements of this Hoshidan and Ashura— there'd been many unsavory things she'd encountered, uglier sides of the city that he hoped to shield his wife and younger sister from. While nothing excused those who broke the law and caused suffering, he did understand many were desperate to keep their families and themselves fed, willing to take the worst sorts of work. He'd only ever heard of Shirazaki's plentiful bounty, impenetrable walls, and peaceful streets, so it was doubtful Lady Orochi had seen the like there.

Before either of them could comment further, a commotion drew both their attentions. A horse was running full tilt towards them, its rider covered in full armor— tabard bearing a sigil of a Nohrian high house. The palfrey scrambled to a halt a pace away, its flanks heaving and foam dribbling from its mouth. Its rider looked not much better as he drew up the visor of his helm, face flushed and sweating.

Cyrus' green eyes were wide as he shouted, "Your Highness, Sir Gunther calls for aid!"

Marx didn't hide his frown. "I heard no horn blown."

"Sir Gunther ordered us not to, my lord. He believes it would marshal not only our forces, but the Red Horns." Cyrus' words burst out in a rush, his breathing just as quick as he continued, "Messengers were also sent to Prince Leo. Ashura told us- he told us they needed the best reinforcements we could provide. Told us he has Ganz cornered."

At the mention of the name Marx sat taller in the saddle and gathered the reigns tighter. Siegfried hung heavy at his side, the red gem in its hilt gleaming at the promise of violence. The younger knight kept talking, rattling off directions to reach Gunther's current position.

"That old man really thinks a rat is so easily cornered? Something seems off…" The Hoshidonese diviner abruptly reached down the front of her bodice and pulled out additional wooden spell tags, spreading them out in her hand like a fan. "Let me consult the spirits with a quick reading."

"I cannot wait. Sir Cyrus, remain here with Lady Orochi and oversee these troops." Marx gave the order, then spurred Froh into movement before either could reply.

Despite the fact that the masonry was newer the farther one traveled from Vindam's inner ring, disrepair in the construction also became more evident as one went further towards the city's outermost wall. The roads were also narrower here, because of ramshackle shelters and mounds of detritus. Cavalry units could only ride two horses abreast, thus the majority of their deployed forces had been infantry. However, with only one mount and rider the streets were simple to traverse, and Marx quickly reached the destination.

The squadron led by Gunther had taken defensive formations, spreading out and assuming positions along the length of the open road. Fast approaching, Marx was able to see that they'd been unable to advance because of various debris and rubble having been piled high enough to block the path. Behind that, a group of armed assailants were using it as a fortification and took shots at any soldier that exposed themselves or came within range.

With another glance he found his retainer. The old knight was crouched low on foot while his destrier stood behind the highest pile, arrows stuck in both his shield and its barding. Gunther's helmet turned, towards the noise of Marx's approach, and immediately his gauntleted rose in a signal for his men to hold their positions.

Assured that Froh wouldn't be trampling any of his own men, Marx sank his weight against the stirrups and leaned further forward. He freed a hand from the reigns, and unsheathed Siegfried. Power radiated off the dark metal like echoing voices. It pulled at his mind, compelling him to bring all who stood against them low. The sword's dark magic filled his belly with its own desperate hunger.

A volley of arrows came at them. The prince merely held the holy sword aloft and a pulse of its power echoed outwards, knocking the projectiles from the air and causing the stones below to grind. Froh broke into gallop without prodding, joining the frenzied energy of the battlefield like only a true warhorse could. Marx braced himself as the stallion jumped over the impromptu barricade and landed hard. Most of the criminals had scrambled out of the way but Froh kicked, stomped, and bit at any close and more than one met their end under his mount's hooves.

It apparently galvanized the mob to try an attack, the gang members struck out with a variety of weaponry— all shoddily crafted, and unable to penetrate the barding or his own plate and mail. Without mercy Marx swung Siegfried, it's power shadowing the movement of each arc. The edge of its divinely honed blade parted flesh, bone, and metal with little resistance. Even those who kept their distance were hewn when Marx released his ironclad control and allowed the sword's dark energy to leap off the metal to reach its prey.

Despite its unwieldy size, in his hand the holy weapon felt no heavier than a mortal-forged broadsword and he was able to wield it with almost unreal speed. The first time he'd seriously fought an enemy with Siegfried it'd been shocking, they'd fallen almost too quickly. Now he was glad for it, that opponents fell around him like late summer wheat under the reaper's scythe. In what felt like mere moments silence fell, only he and his mount were left standing alive.

Marx swung his arm, flicked the lingering blood off the holy sword, and moved it back to his side. The voices clamored for more, hunger cramping his own belly, unsated by the brief battle. With a thick swallow he stifled the sensations and successfully resheathed the blade. Immediately the voices ceased— the silence and awareness that followed sheathing Siegfried always left Marx feeling raw and jangled. His blood raced and breaths were shallow, the hard ride and engaging the enemy hadn't left him unaffected. During the battle the struggle and thrill of victory would carry him, but once it was over there was no ignoring the life he'd taken.

A cheer rose up behind him, burying the moment of disquiet. The Nohrian prince drew in a weary breath, held it for a moment, then released it in a steady exhale. He then looked back and found the troops reforming ranks; Gunther was once again on horseback and in lead.

He called to his retainer, "Where is Ashura?"

"Just northwest of here, the major guardpost fell and is currently occupied by Red Horn. Reportedly, the Kohgan's gang have it surrounded but little more than that." Gunther and his horse had trotted over to the barrier as he called back. Soon enough the older man was close enough to lift his visor as he said, "Prince Marx, wait but a moment and we can march together."

Denial of the request was on the tip of his tongue, wanting to ride ahead unencumbered. Yet Marx knew even with Siegfried at his side he was but a mortal man. So instead he nodded, "I welcome your strength."

.x.X.x.

When they arrived at the roads leading to guardpost, the corpses in Vindam's uniformed hanged from the rooftop made it plain that it'd indeed been overtaken. Gang-members jeered loudly from atop its battlements, more impromptu barricades of debris blocked the pathways. Arrows lay scattered over the surrounding area and dark puddles that must've been hot oil thrown down on any who tried to besiege the entryway. All this had them keeping the troops back out of range, the Nohrian Prince broke off to ride the perimeter and seek out the leader of the green scales.

However, it was Ashura who found him with a shouted, "\Oi\, Prince!" The Kohgan demonstrated impressive dexterity, running along unevenly sloped rooftops and scaling walls. until he landed on the street. He scowled, "Took you long enough. Was the report of a bald muscle-head cornered here not enough to rush over?"

Marx overlooked the blatant disrespect and asked, "We're here now. Has Ganz shown himself?"

"No, and it's just like him, a coward to the core. We'll have to drag him out kicking and screaming." Ashura shook his head. "But unless you've got a siege weapon hidden in your saddlebags, I don't know how we're supposed to get in. This building's fortified and the Reds have all the goodies your guards stored in there."

There was a twisted sort of logic for Ganz to try and secure himself within an actual fortification, these posts were well stocked in case of riots or sieges from outside the city. He might've been hoping to wait out their attack and sneak away at a later time, perhaps under the cover of night or during a lull in the battle. If Ashura was right and they needed to bring siege equipment, it'd take a long while to bring any down from the high walls. Such a delay was enough to make Marx consider making a direct assault himself with Siegfried and hope he could weather retaliation long enough to break open the gate.

Despite his doubts on why his father had given him the holy sword for this battle, Marx would gladly unleash its wrath against the Red Horns, the crime lord would fall with full knowledge that he could never match this gods-given power. His blood sparked with a thrill— not his own but Seigfried's —and immediately Marx's conscious was pricked by guilt. This army had not been amassed to assuage his own ego, it was to rid the city of a scourge. He was the Crown Prince of Nohr, meant to defend his people, his wife. They were all counting on him for protection and to uphold the laws of the land. Those were the goals Marx trained his mind upon as he replied, "It'd be best if we could take out those atop, before anything else."

Ashura gave a deep sigh. "That's what we've been trying! But that guardpost is the tallest building in the area other than the outer wall itself. Reds aren't exactly idiots either, they're using the battlements to the fullest and having mages pick off any of my archers who dare fire. Do you have anything better?"

Almost seemingly in answer, a makeshift barricade broke apart— the middle lifted up by the branches of trees that erupted from the ground. After they'd grown tall, two horses passed by the trunks carrying the second Nohrian prince and his retainers. Leo's lips were moving in incantation, Brynhildr's magic curled out from the ink script on its open pages and buried itself in the earth like plant tendrils. Once he and Zero passed through, he closed the holy tome and ceased chanting, the magical trees vanished and sent debris crashing back onto the street.

Leo tipped his head respectfully to Marx, then looked to Ashura. "I overheard the problem. There's no one within the guard post we need to take alive, correct?"

"Yeah, they killed all the legitimate guards," the Kohgan answered with a quizzically cocked brow.

The Nohrian prince recognized the canny gleam in his brother's eye, and steered Froh aside so that his brother had a clear view of the battlements beyond. The upper-bodies of the criminals were visible even from their low vantage point, as the criminals looked out to sling insults and jeers. Without another word Leo cracked open the holy tome, he began chanting as he raised a hand skyward. Froh pawed the earth uneasily as Marx felt the first tug of magic pulling at his hair and swaying loose cloth, almost like a stray breeze.

The holy tome of Byrnhildr in its entirety glowed, its power a mirror to Seigfried's own. Above the battlements an orb of magic manifested, dark and thunderous— Marx had to brace himself and rein his mount against the sudden pressure drawing all things towards it. Leo lowered his arm, directing the orb downwards. On the roof below the spell the criminals had fallen flat; the few visible were clinging to the crenels and scrambling to stand, yet they remained prone as it descended. The orb grew in size while seemingly eating up sound, as Marx could hear no screams despite seeing the open mouths.

When the spell made contact the building itself buckled, brick and mortar sent flying through the air. The human bodies and armor proved far more fragile, thoroughly crushed beneath the magical weight. Leo ceased his chanting and dissipated the orb with a wave of his hand— leaving a gruesome aftermath of broken stone, twisted metal, blood, and viscera.

"There, problem solved," his brother said with a sigh. Leo's face was paler compare to when he'd arrived and dotted with sweat. Marx reflexively reached out when his brother began to sway in the saddle, but Zero was there in an instant curling a supportive arm about the second prince. The former outlaw kept his gaze on his lord, even as Leo sent an irritated glare at all of them. "Well, what're you all waiting for?"

Without further delay Ashura gave a whistle, low and long. Green Scales darted from the alleyways and shadows of the rooftops, moving on the remains of the building heedless of the arrows and spells from the embrasures. A horn sounded, and Nohr soldiers charged in the same manner. The street surrounding the guardpost was quickly filled by jostling bodies, all struggling against the closed gate.

It'd do no good for him to add to the crush, so the Nohrian prince remained where he was and watched. The inaction had tension coiling through his body, and he gritted his teeth as the barest of whispers scraped against his skull. A glance confirmed that Siegfried's gem gleamed bright, hungering for battle, but he made no move to reach for its hilt.

Leo abruptly leaned forward and away from the man at his back. Fixing his glare onto the gang leader, he said, "The messenger said Ganz was here. Ashura, what makes you think this?"

"Several of mine reported a large, bald man among the group that captured this guardpost."

"What about the rest of the man's appearance?"

Ashura reluctantly glanced away from the siege, "What about it?"

"Was he dark skinned, like a Kas?"

His persistent questions added to Marx's tension. "Brother, why do you ask?"

"Because there's been rumors than a criminal from Markas, Gazak, recently was sighted in Vindam. He's also a large and bald man." Leo huffed out a breath and, shifting back, leaned into Zero.

Marx's chest felt tight. The doubt had him wanting to leave, to turn Froh towards the inner circle and spur him on— to personally ensure Hinoka's safety. However, the king had ordered him to fix his mistake and find Ganz personally. She wouldn't be safe so long as the crimelord survived, and he'd already failed once but this time would remove this threat. Until he'd succeeded Marx had to stay, and see it through. He trusted Joker to protect his wife.

Still, Marx rounded on Ashura and demanded, "Could this be true? Why would you tell us Ganz was here, without knowing?"

The Kohgan actually flinched, then narrowed his eyes as he snapped, "The assumption was made on good information. How can I be certain what's inside the place we're still trying to break into!?"

Marx's hands tightened on the reigns as frustration stirred the embers of his temper to life. He sank his weight against the stirrups and leaned forward. His right hand itched as the impulse to strike out and show this man his place was accompanied by the thrum of a thrill.

However, an eerily familiar commotion drew all their attentions. A palfrey clamored to a halt, one of it's two riders dismounting before the animal was completely still. Dark purple hair was a tangle about her face, handkerchief missing, and the woman paid it no mind as she gathered her skirts and ran at them. Marx's hot anger and frustration all went cold at Orochi's yelled words, "This is a trick, Ganz isn't here. The princess is in danger!"

.o.O.o.

The chime of the bell over the shop's door jingling drew Hinoka out from her daydreams, and had her again noticing the constricting discomfort of the corset. Although she glanced back towards the sounds, even while standing on a footstool the changing screens were too high for her to see over. However, with the volume that the newcomer spoke, she easily overheard the conversation at the front of the shop.

"Madam Fontleroy, it is I! Bringing roses for the city's favorite tailor." It was a flamboyant, masculine voice, one she'd never heard before, another customer perhaps?

"My lord, welcome." The other voice was more subdued, one of the seamstress' many assistants likely. "I'm afraid we've no other appointments scheduled for today."

"There must be a mistake, you know how punctual I am!"

Seamstress Fontleroy ceased pinning swatches of fabric to Hinoka's underskirts and the chatter with her assistants went quiet, their attention undoubtedly going towards the front of the store.

"Of course, my lord, but there must've been a mix up. Please allow me to reschedule-"

"By the gods, I'm being thrown out! For whose sake must I suffer this treatment?"

"My lord, please, you're not allowed-"

The masculine voice interrupted with an angry refusal, and loud stomping made his approach obvious. Fontleroy heaved a put-upon sigh, then turned to the Hoshidonese princess with a bowed head. "A thousand pardons, Princess Hinoka, please wait here."

Hinoka was tempted to accept the offer, hide away while the older women dealt with the ill-mannered customer. Yet the idea of sitting idly by also bothered her, reminding her of the weeks she'd felt restless and bored in this kingdom— and that ultimately made up her mind. After clearing her throat to gain the seamstress' attention, Hinoka suggested, "It'd be faster if we dealt with him together, wouldn't it?"

"O-oh yes! Thank you, Your Highness," Fontleroy bowed and then with a snap of her fingers directed her assistants.

Hinoka turned away from facing the mirrors, ignoring the embarrassment of being caught underdressed— albeit by Nohrian standards, she could get away with far less. The seamstress' assistants moved the changing screen aside and revealed the noisy troublemaker half-way through the shelves of fabrics. It was a man who had pale hair gathered into a tail at the back of his head, sharp Nohrian facial features, neatly-kept extravagant clothing, and held a flower bouquet. His narrowed eyes swept over the shop's staff and immediately latched onto her with a recognition that she lacked.

"Your Royal Highness, this is such an honor." He dipped into a quick bow. The man's previous indignation had suddenly vanished under a gracious tone, and the Hoshidonese princess had to hold back a scoff.

"Viscount Funk, you rascal." Fontleroy's reprimand sounded more teasing than chiding. "You know better than to storm in on another customer's appointment."

His expression shifted into a smile, although still pinched. "I beg forgiveness, Madam, you know how I sometimes lose my temper."

"Yet it's the Princess you an apology, not I."

Hinoka didn't flinch as they both looked to her, instead she stared back and with that closer look found him vaguely familiar. It was the bouquet of white ever-blooming roses which he held that jogged her memory. She'd met this man before— in Krackenstein castle's grand hall as one of the many noble guests who'd come to celebrate her marriage to the Crown Prince. This man, a Viscount from a northern territory, had greeted her with an offering of that same flower, then almost seemed to gloat when she'd accepted the offering. Only after he'd strutted away had Marx muttered about flaunting dandies then she'd handed the flower off to Joker, and nearly forgotten the entire event had happened.

Considering Fontleroy was the city's premier seamstress a Nohrian nobleman, especially a clotheshorse, coming here wasn't solely serendipity. Yet there was something in the glint of his eyes that had the Hoshidonese princess suspect this wasn't an accidental meeting at all.

"Madam Fontleroy is correct, Your Highness. I offer my deepest apologies," Viscount Funk dipped once again into a bow.

When he took a step closer, Hinoka spoke up, "I did not give you permission to approach."

His smile faltered, likely from the sternness of her tone one that was a warning in itself. While she hadn't had many opportunities to use this tone in Vindam, she'd had a lifetime of practice forcing Hoshidan lords to acknowledge her authority. They'd often tried to make her feel small with their derisive voices alone and she'd quickly learned which replies best silenced them.

"Of course, please forgive such over eagerness, my lady," his own voice had become supplicatory as he stood straight. She'd heard such beseeching many times when her father held court in Shirazaki, and it'd always come from the most self-serving of the courtiers. He began to extend the flower bouquet, "May I-"

Hinoka cut him off with a shake of her head. "My purpose here is not to greet or entertain, so no. If you could leave once your appointment has been rescheduled, I'd be grateful."

Frustration and some darker emotion flashed over his face, only for a moment but she'd been watching closely enough to catch it. It made his words sound less petulant and more aggravated as he said, "…of course, Your Highness. But I implore, Madam Fontleroy?"

"Viscount Funk, my hands are too full for roses." A burst of laughter escaped the seamstress as she held up pins and fabric swatches.

For a moment the nobleman appeared speechless, gaze darting from the older woman to the Hoshidonese princess then back again. Then his eyes narrowed and jaw set, almost as if he had no intention to leave. Hinoka glanced and found her retainers both standing and watching the man, hands poised near their weapons set against the wall.

"Very well, it seems I was presumptuous." Viscount Funk took a step back, breaking the tension of the standoff. "Your Royal Highness, Madam, please excuse me while I reschedule." Without waiting for a reply, he tucked the bouquet against his chest, bowed, then whirled back to the entryway.

Fontleroy gave another dramatic sigh. "All's well that ends well. Shall we get back to it?"

Hinoka released the breath she'd been holding, one that felt strangely shallow, and nodded. Carefully, she turned upon the footstool mindful of how the corset kept her posture rigid, until she faced the mirrors once again.

However, the moment didn't last long as abruptly Viscount Funk squawked, "Wait! No, no, no. Don't just barge in-"

She then heard the bell give a discordant jangle, door to the shop slammed open, hard enough to rattle the shelves nearby. It made Hinoka look over her shoulder towards the commotion— a man of tall stature, huge girth, and shaved head stood in the entryway —that crime lord she'd found abusing Marx.

Face twisted in anger, his sunken eyes casting about the room until his gaze landed upon her. It snagged Hinoka's breath and trapped it in her throat, as Ganz shouted, "There you are, devil woman!"

A/N:

Nohrians' prayers to the Dusk Dragon before battle were mentioned back in Chapter 11, since the game seemed to want Nohr's power/magic to be darker I'd had a lot of thoughts on how this might impact their mythologies and rituals. Blood sacrifices with both animal and human can be found throughout history, and I didn't intend to celebrate but rather highlight the dark brutality of such practices. I do hope my warnings at the start of the Chapter help those who wanted to avoid reading it in detail.

Because in AMOS!verse Nohr is currently not in an active war with another nation, I figure Marx and Leo wouldn't be carrying around the Holy Weapons 24/7. Since I headcanon any claimant to Nohr's throne much demonstrate they can wield one before they're recognized as legitimate, Hoshido has a similar practice.

I also took some artistic license with the Holy Weapons, both in semi-sentience and the scope of their powers. While Siegfried canonically shoots some dark energy, I also thought the power demonstrated in Marx's battle cutscene would make sense to incorporate. Remember in Chapter 1 how a certain prince bragged about being the "Gravity Master"? I based Leo's spell on the recently released FEWarriors video, since Bynhildr being able to do more than trees helps set it apart as a Holy Tome.

Big thanks to Isangma and Pugsanity for BETAing and helping me finally get this update finished!