Better to Face These Kinds of Things With a Sense of Poise and Rationality

September 480 I.C, Odin

When Yang had been working at the TA/PI unit for almost a year, he had developed a strict personal routine. It was not strict in the sense that it meant he lead a disciplined life, but it was strict in the sense that he rarely deviated from it. With all of his friends far afield, Mittermeyer having graduated from the IOA earlier in the summer, Yang was, for the most part, alone, and his habits kept him from falling completely into meaninglessness. On weekdays, he would wake up (usually a little too late), eat breakfast while he walked to work, spend his whole day working on whatever Bronner assigned him-- Yang suspected that he was getting some of the more challenging assignments that the unit had-- then leave promptly at the end of his shift. For a military posting, his job was quite regular, and well-suited enough to him that Yang found it easy, though he suspected that many of his coworkers were not so lucky.

After work, he had personal projects to work on. Being right in the center of Odin, and working under Bronner, gave him access to archival material that he could have only dreamed of when he was first thinking about studying history. He spent most of his evenings in the Odin Imperial Library, or laying on the grass at a park near his house reading, or staying late at work to trawl the archives. He suspected that Bronner closely monitored what Yang was looking at in the archives, and Yang was certain that Bronner would eventually demand to read what he was writing, but since he wasn’t researching anything too “dangerous”, Yang felt safe enough.

Yang had originally thought to focus his research on the very first years of the Empire, the rise to power of Rudolph the Great, but he had realized fairly early on that he couldn’t bear to write about Rudolph in the hagiographic tone that was expected of everyone who approached the subject. Yang found Rudolph von Goldenbaum disturbing, and didn’t trust himself to conceal that in what would, by necessity, a carefully crafted propaganda piece should he decide to write about him. So, instead, Yang turned his attention to targets who were far less immune to criticism. In the years directly following Rudolph’s death, there had been a great struggle for power within the Empire. The most powerful men in that time had fought among themselves to hold the Empire together, under their own banners and with their own plans for the future. Yang found himself fascinated by this menagerie of personalities and tactics, and he could be as brutal as he liked when he dismissed them with his pen. There was no great love within the Empire for most of the Kaisers of history-- once they died, there was a certain lifting of the curtain of silence allowed.

When he had worn himself out enough that he felt like going home, he would, and then he would avail himself of the dinner available at his boarding house. It was usually pretty good. And then he would read or write some more, usually letters to his friends, and then sleep.

Weekends were a little different, as he often went to visit the Mariendorfs, which was the high point of his week. Sometimes, Magdalena would call him up and ask him to accompany her somewhere, a task that continued to confuse him, but he usually said yes as he had little better to do with his time.

Yang was walking out of work one Tuesday, intending to go to the library, when his schedule was forcibly interrupted.

“Lieutenant von Leigh,” a familiar voice called to him as he walked through the ministry’s lobby. Yang turned and saw Commander Oberstein. He smiled at him and strode over, passing through pools of orange afternoon sunlight that dotted the marble floor of the lobby, swinging his bag at his side.

“Commander Oberstein, I’m glad to see you,” Yang said.

Oberstein inclined his head. “Do you have some time, Lieutenant?”

“Of course, I was just heading out for the day. Want to get a drink?”

“If you like,” Oberstein said. “You asked me to meet up with you on Odin and I am here for the next few days on business, so I am making good on your request.”

Yang smiled. “I’m sure we have a lot to talk about.” He gestured to the door, and Oberstein followed him out into the warm September air outside. They walked a little ways to a bar that Yang preferred, which wasn’t really very full at the moment. They found a place in the corner and ordered drinks.

“How has life been on Iserlohn?” Yang asked, taking a sip of his beer.

“Much the same as it always is. I saw Rear Admiral Merkatz as I was leaving.”

“Did you?” Yang asked. “How is he?”

“I mentioned our mutual acquaintance, and he told me to say hello.”

Yang smiled a little. “Oh, I’m glad. Perhaps he’s gotten over his anger at me.”

“You could write to him and request to return to his fleet,” Oberstein suggested.

“No, I think I’m better off here for the moment,” Yang said. “You were right that this position would be one that I enjoyed. And I haven’t been here for even a year.”

Oberstein nodded. “When will you ask to be reassigned?”

“I don’t know,” Yang said. “I don’t think I do much good for anyone on the front.”

“But you do here?”

“I hope that I can.” Yang looked at Oberstein’s face for a second, considering. “Has there been any talk about changing the command structure on Iserlohn?” Yang asked.

“No. Why do you ask?”

Yang sighed a little. He reached into his bag and pulled out his computer, setting it on the table between them. “Can I show you something and get your opinion on it?”

“Of course,” Oberstein said.

Yang searched through his files for the proposal he had put together for Fleet Admiral Muckenburger months ago, and he turned it around to show Oberstein. “Here are several different scenarios in which I believe the rebel fleet could plausibly take Iserlohn. I believe the first scenario is not only plausible but likely.”

Oberstein silently read through the whole package as Yang drank his beer. When he had finished he looked up. “And your proposal to Fleet Admiral Muckenburger was to change the command structure of the fortress?”

“Unify command, at least,” Yang said. “Are you attached to the fortress, or to the fleet?”

“The fleet,” Oberstein said.

Yang frowned a little. “Dangerous.”

“I see that you think so.”

“These proposals weren’t distributed to command of the fortress, were they?”

“I have not seen this before, no.”

“Do you feel like these are reasonable scenarios?”

“They depend on the rebel fleet deciding to do something other than throw bodies at the corridor,” Oberstein said. “They have not yet learned that that is not a winning strategy.”

“I think their Admiral Sithole is a smarter man than that,” Yang said. “He used to be a teacher. I have great respect for teachers.”

“Indeed.” Oberstein took a drink from his beer before saying anything else. “I do think that you are correct to say that Iserlohn is capable of falling into the enemy’s hands, or at least of being destroyed. I do not know if I agree that these are the specific strategies that will be used.”

“Are you implying that I’m bad at my job, Commander?” Yang asked with a slight smile, clearly joking.

Oberstein wasn’t in the mood to joke. “No,” he said in his same flat voice. “I simply think that it is impossible to predict the future so cleanly as you are trying to do.”

Yang nodded. “That’s true.” He rubbed the back of his head. “I just-- an analysis of the past is the best predictor we have. And the past tells me that there’s no unsinkable ship, no unbreachable fortress, no eternal regime.”

Oberstein studied him for a second. “There is a first time for everything,” he said.

“You think the Goldenbaum dynasty will last to the end of humanity?” Yang asked.

“Dangerous talk, Lieutenant.”

“True.” He looked down at his computer, then shut it. “I’ll send you these proposals,” Yang said. “Maybe you can do some good with them. If Muckenburger doesn’t want to distribute them, maybe at least you, since you’re on Iserlohn…”

“You seem very invested.”

“I would prefer not to see you killed,” Yang said. “By the Thor Hammer or the rebel fleet’s guns.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, ‘why’?” Yang asked. “You’re my friend.”

“Then I will take those plans under consideration, as your friend,” Oberstein said.

Yang relaxed a little, relieved. “Thank you. I suppose you don’t have to believe that any of this will come true, but it will make me feel a little bit better to know that--” He cut himself off.

“Know what?”

“If you know what might happen, you can make plans,” Yang said. “Maybe ask to be reassigned within the fortress, rather than in the fleet.”

“Why should I do that?”

“If Iserlohn falls, the fleet will be in a worse state than the fortress itself is. The rebel fleet will probably take the base staff prisoner. You’d be far more likely to survive.”

Oberstein considered this. “You used your life as a tool, once,” he said. “There may be need for me to do the same thing.”

Yang began tearing up his napkin. “I know. But don’t get killed over something stupid, okay?”

“It surprises me that you have such care for my well being.”

Yang shook his head. “You’re someone I can talk to. I think we understand each other. Even if that’s the only reason why I should care, it’s enough of one. Besides, you’re not the only person on Iserlohn, or in the Iserlohn stationed fleet. If you having this information could do some good, I want you to have it.”

Oberstein nodded. “I will do my best with it.”

“Thank you, and I’m sorry for giving you this burden.”

“Don’t waste thoughts on that.”

“All right,” Yang said with a smile.

March 481 I.C., Odin

Magdalena wanted to have lunch with him on Saturday. Yang had been planning on spending the day with the Mariendorfs, but Magdalena was insistent, so Yang postponed his visit and made his way to the Westpfale estate, wearing civilian clothing. One of the footmen led him into Magdalena’s drawing room, though she wasn’t there. Yang wandered over to the window while he waited for her, staring out at the carefully manicured lawn that had not yet come back to full green from the harshness of the winter, though all the snow was long gone. There were birds swooping and chasing each other in the sky just above a little copse of trees, and Yang watched them, trying to predict how they would move, as though they were ships on the battlefield. While he was watching this, Magdalena came up behind him.

“Enjoying the view, Hank?”

He jumped, startled. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I’m quiet like that,” she said, gesturing to the couches. “Did you want to take a seat, or were you planning to continue looking like you’re ready to jump out the window at any opportunity?”

Yang sat. Magdalena took the seat across from him, then picked up the little bell on the table and rang it. One of her servants came in, carrying a tray-- coffee for her, tea for Yang, and an assortment of little biscuits. “Thank you, Barton. And could you close the door on your way out?”

“Certainly, my lady,” the servant said, giving a slight bow and then exiting. Yang watched this without comment, feeling uncomfortable.

When the door was shut, Magdalena leaned back on her couch, spreading her arms out across the top of it, and stared at Yang. He picked up his teacup and sipped it, not going to be the one to break the weird silence that lay between them.

“You’re coming with me to an event,” she said.

“What kind of event?” Yang asked, truly resigned. “You can’t just demand that I do things, you know.”

“I can’t?” she asked with a smile. Yang frowned. Magdalena reached behind the couch to a small table, from which she picked up an elaborate invitation. She held it out towards Yang, who reluctantly put down his teacup to take it.

“You’re going to that wedding?” Yang asked.

“Of course,” Magdalena said. “For one thing, Ingrid is my bosom friend. For another, turning down an invite to the crown prince’s wedding is a ticket to social hell.”

Yang put the card down on the table. “I can understand that second reason,” he said. “But not the first.”

“You don’t understand being friends with someone?”

He narrowed his eyes at her.

“There’s no one here,” she said. “You can speak freely.”

“Whenever someone says that, I get the distinct impression that I should start checking the room for hidden microphones, or making sure they’re not wearing a wire.”

Magdalena laughed. She playfully tugged on the neckline of her dress. “Shall I prove to you that I’m not?”

“I would prefer to just take you at your word, I suppose.”

She grinned at him. “Well, what was it you don’t understand?”

“It seemed to me, and perhaps I was making a mistaken assumption, that you and Fraulein Roscher were more than just friends.”

“Well,” Magdalena said, waving her hand, “it’s not as though those two things are mutually exclusive.”

“You’re not unhappy that she’s getting married?”

“Why should I be unhappy?” Magdalena asked.

“Because then she’ll have a husband,” Yang said, not sure why he seemed to be having to explain the concept of marriage to Magdalena.

“It’s not like that will change anything.” She took a sip of her coffee. “It would be silly of me not to be glad that Ingrid will become the kaiserin one day.”

“And you think that nothing will change?”

“You seem awfully invested in the idea that I’d be upset,” Magdalena said. “Care to explain?”

Yang frowned, took a sip of his tea, and said nothing.

“Is mister tall, dark, and handsome whom you’re so attached to getting married?” Magdalena asked, raising an eyebrow.

“What? Reuenthal? No.”

“You say that like it’s beyond the realm of possibility.”

“He has a particular distrust for women,” Yang said. “And there’s no one around to tell him that he must get married, so I somehow doubt that he ever will.”

“I see. That didn’t answer my previous question, though. You really can speak freely with me.”

“It’s not really my business to say,” Yang said.

“Oh, the cute blond one, then. He’s getting married?”

“No,” Yang said, but there was so much less emphasis in that denial that Magdalena nodded.

“And are you upset on your own behalf?”

“I’m not upset,” Yang said. He put down his teacup and stared out the window for a second. The birds were still darting around and chasing each other. “It’s not my business.”

“You keep saying that, but you don’t yourself believe it.”

“Look, just tell me why you’re not upset, and then I can decide how much of a problem it is going to be… in the future.”

She tilted her head to look at him. “Like I said, nothing has to change.” She shrugged a little. “It’s not as though we could be open about things before anyway. After… school… we could only see each other occasionally. That won’t be any different now.” There was a particular hesitation in the way that Magdalena spoke about school, and Yang had to wonder what the story was there.

“You’re not worried about it?”

“You’re going to have to be more clear about what aspects you think I should be worried about.”

“That…” There were several things he wanted to say. He tried to think about what Mittermeyer would be concerned about. “That it’s wrong to see her while she has a husband.”

“No,” Magdalena said flatly. “Not at all.”

“And you aren’t worried that she’ll stop loving you?”

“Who said anything about her loving me in the first place?” Magdalena asked. Although the answer was delivered in a rather accusatory tone, she did shift uncomfortably on the couch. Perhaps Yang had struck a nerve with that one.

“It seemed like you love--”

“Let’s not talk of love,” Magdalena said. “I find it tiresome.”

“Fine,” Yang said. He took another sip of his tea, finishing the cup and wishing he had more. “And you’re unconcerned about getting caught?”

“I’m capable of discretion as much as anyone else,” Magdalena said.

“Discretion isn’t the only thing in play here,” Yang said.

“Hank, I do not care,” she said.

“If they catch you, they’ll kill you.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Magdalena said. “It would be a scandal the likes of which hasn’t been seen for hundreds of years. I think there would be some value in covering it up.”

“And someday when I wake up and read the papers to discover that you’ve quietly committed suicide, I’ll be forced to wonder if that was the actual case, or--”

“You’re getting all worked up. It’s as though you actually care about me, or something,” Magdalena said. “How sweet of you.”

“I don’t know how you can be so nonchalant,” Yang said.

Magdalena smoothed out her dress on her lap. “What’s life without a little risk, Hank?” she asked.

“A good life, probably,” Yang said. “I personally would like to live one.”

She laughed a little. “You seem to be very bad at that.”

“Not my fault,” Yang said. “Things just happen to me.”

Magdalena twirled a piece of her hair. “If you say so.” There was a note in her voice that indicated she might want to return to that particular topic later. “Do you understand, at least, why I might not be so upset by Ingrid getting married?”

“Not really, no,” Yang said. “But I’ll just have to accept it, I suppose. Is Fraulein Roscher happy to be married?”

“There have been untold numbers of women who get married without feeling anything about it one way or another. Maybe that’s the difference between you and I,” Magdalena said. “You are upset because you feel like you have the luxury of choice. I am aware that Ingrid does not.”

Yang shrugged a little, then looked down at his empty teacup. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be,” Magdalena said. “It’s not a situation you caused, and it’s certainly not a situation you can solve.” She paused to eat a cookie from the tray, then. “You may be right that I’m not pleased that Ingrid is getting married. I’m not thrilled . It doesn’t warm the cockles of my heart. But I’m not going to waste time moping about it, and I’m going to go to her wedding, because I am her friend, and I care about her. And because it would be a social disaster not to.”

“And why do you want me to come with you?”

“Because it’s fun to bring you places,” Magdalena said. “You make my life so much easier.”

“I truly do not understand how.”

“Hank, what is there not to understand? If I walk around with you on my arm, everyone will be so busy gossiping about how I couldn’t possibly marry you that they won’t start insisting that I do marry you.”

“You want to marry me?” Yang asked. When he heard her mention getting married, his mind sort of blacked out and couldn’t focus on the actual content of her statements.

“No, you stupid, stupid man,” Magdalena said. “At least not unless it for some reason becomes very politically convenient, which I do not expect that it will.”

“Oh.”

“Look, Hank, you’re very cute, and you’re very sweet, and you’re very much a foreign looking nobody. It’s a perfect combination. It helps that you’re even pleasant to be around.”

“Thanks,” Yang muttered. His feelings towards Magdalena were completely unclear, even in his own head. “I was worried you actually liked me, or something.”

“Oh, I certainly like you,” she said. “But there’s a world of difference between liking someone and being with someone, and a world of difference again between that and getting married to someone.” She looked out the window, then. “I suppose I’m lucky,” she said. “I said that Ingrid didn’t have the luxury of choice. I almost do, I think.”

“How?”

“I’m the baroness by birth,” she said. “This house, my family’s inheritance, it’s mine. I don’t have to rely on the charity of a husband. And if I do ever decide to get married, it will be even more dangerous for me, because that’s what he could be after.”

“So you have the luxury of marrying for love?”

“I said that we shouldn’t speak of love. It’s so tiresome.”

“Sorry.”

She smiled at him. “I can be a petulant creature. I apologize.”

“It’s fine,” Yang said. “I’ve gotten used to you.”

“Oh, we can’t be having that. I’ll have to do something to surprise you again.”

“Please, don’t,” Yang said. She laughed at his sudden alarm.

“So,” she said, “will you come?”

“I wasn’t aware that you were giving me a choice.”

“Don’t be silly. You could walk out on me at any time.”

“And then what would you do?”

“To you? Nothing. Probably laugh. I would just have to go through the trouble of finding someone else to go with instead.”

“If you really want me to come, I’ll come, but I really-- the reasons I’m convenient for you are the same reasons that I prefer not to see or be seen by the rest of the nobility.” He frowned slightly. “Fleet Admiral Muckenburger will be there, won’t he?”

“Probably,” Magdalena said. “Why does that matter?”

“He told me very explicitly to stay out of his sight.”

She laughed. “There will be a thousand people there, maybe more. I doubt you’ll make much of an impression.”

“I certainly hope not,” Yang said.

April 481 I.C., Odin

The wedding was taking place on the grounds of Neue Sanssouci, which already put a bad feeling in Yang’s stomach, but by the time that Magdalena came by his house to pick him up, he was trapped into going. When he got into the back of the car, Magdalena looked at him with a disgusted expression.

“What, exactly, did you do to your hair?” she asked, reaching towards his head. Yang ducked out of the way.

“I was trying to comb it back,” Yang said. “To look respectable.”

“You look like… I don’t even know. Come here, let me fix it.” Yang reluctantly scooted next to Magdalena as the car started moving, and she fished through her little handbag to find a brush, which she savagely attacked Yang’s hair with. “How men are allowed to dress themselves… I don’t even understand how the species survives,” she muttered. When she had finished, she showed Yang his reflection in the little pocket mirror she carried-- he had to admit that it was an improvement.

“Does the rest of my outfit meet your satisfaction, at least?”

“I think I would look better in that uniform than you do,” she said. “But since you’re required to wear it, it at least avoids whatever fashion disaster you might have come up with otherwise.”

“That’s the whole reason I joined the fleet,” Yang said unhappily. “To avoid dressing myself.”

“I see that we’re both in terrible moods,” she said, a false cheerfulness in her tone. She leaned on his shoulder. “You have to make sure that I’m well behaved.”

“I’m your chaperone now?”

“Don’t let me make a fool of myself.”

“I don’t know if I can stop you.”

“Hmm, probably not.” She took his hand and placed it on her lap, smoothing out his fingers like they were crumpled pieces of paper, then tracing over his palm with her own fingertips. It was a curiously intimate and tender thing or her to do, and it made Yang shiver. “You will try, though.”

“Yes, I’ll try,” he said. He looked down at her, and saw that she was staring out the car window, her expression more melancholy than he had ever seen it. Perhaps she was just looking for some reassurance. He closed his hand around her tracing fingers, and just held it for a while. She didn’t quite relax, but she nodded slightly, and kept her hand in his.

The day was a beautiful one for a wedding. Spring had come in full force, and the sky was an electrifying blue, with only the barest wisps of clouds to drift across it. The wedding was to be held outdoors, and the whole area was bedecked with flowers. Whenever a light gust of wind blew, it sent fragrant petals skittering through the air, though there were so many flowers that, no matter how many petals were lost, the whole setup looked completely undamaged. There was an absurd number of guests, and all were decked out in their own finery, trying to outdo the flowers. As much as it was a celebration of the couple in question, it was also an opportunity to see and be seen by everyone who mattered in the Empire.

In the time before the ceremony began, Magdalena flitted around and talked to all of the other guests that she knew, always pointedly bringing Yang along and introducing him to everyone. Yang put up with the many, many unpleasant looks that he received with his usual absent smile, though he was keeping a mental tally in his head of exactly how much Magdalena owed him for this favor. At least she wasn’t making any major social errors, Yang thought, and neither was he, since he mostly stayed silent by her side. Still, it was a relief when the signal came that the ceremony was about to begin, and everyone took their seats.

Yang and Magdalena were fairly close to the front, among the bride’s invited guests, a far smaller number than those invited by the groom (or perhaps the groom’s father, or whoever in the imperial employ who was responsible for figuring out the guest list for such an event). When the music swelled to signal the beginning of the event, Yang craned his neck to watch the bride and groom enter together.

Ingrid was radiant in her white dress, voluminous to such an extent that the groom, Ludwig, had to stand a fair distance away from her. Her veil covered her red hair and floated behind her head when she moved, made of fabric so thin that gravity barely seemed to have a hold on it. She had the kind of vacant, calm expression on her face that Yang had noticed other women wearing sometimes-- it could have been a mask for anything. Her eyes stayed fixed ahead.

Ludwig was taller than she was by almost half a foot, and he walked stiffly up the aisle, with a self-assured stride and jut of his chin. He was fine looking, Yang decided, but aside from being the heir to the imperial throne, Yang thought there was something wholly unpleasant about him. Perhaps it was the tone in which he spoke the vows: possessive, and not possessive in the way that Yang was used to people being when they were in love. Did Ludwig love Ingrid? It was hard to tell. That might not have even been a consideration for the couple, though, since the crown prince could reasonably be assumed to be able to marry whomever he wanted, it was strange to think that he might want to marry someone he did not love.

Magdalena sat stiffly beside Yang for the whole thing, though when the vows were done and it was time for the couple to kiss, she abruptly reached over and grabbed Yang’s hand, her fingernails digging deeply into his skin. He tried not to wince too visibly.

Overall, it was a beautiful, if conservative, ceremony. There weren’t many tears shed, except by a woman who Yang presumed was Ingrid’s mother sitting two rows ahead of him, who spent a lot of the ceremony dabbing her face with a handkerchief.

The reception dinner was not very far away, in one of the many large halls of Neue Sanssouci. Yang and Magdalena ended up seated at a table with guests that neither of them knew-- some of Ingrid’s cousins-- but Magdalena was able to get herself under control and charm them with her conversational skills enough to keep the dinner pleasant.

By the time the dinner was over, the sun had set, so the transition into the dancing part of the evening was signalled by the lighting of many twinkling lamps. Magdalena pulled Yang onto the dance floor.

“Are you going to behave?” Yang asked, only half joking.

“Of course,” she said. “But what’s the point of going to a wedding if you aren’t even going to dance?”

True to her word, Magdalena did not try to pull any strange stunts, and Yang had perhaps the first few incident-free dances of his life. He excused himself after a while to go get them both drinks.

While standing at the bar waiting for the bartender, Yang was startled when someone came up beside him who looked, aside from being about forty years older, exactly like Reuenthal. The man ignored Yang until Yang’s stare became too much to ignore.

“Can I help you, Lieutenant?” the man asked.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Yang said. “I just noticed that you look very much like a good friend of mine-- are you Count Marbach, by any chance?”

The man looked down his nose at Yang, and Yang tried not to shrink under the withering stare. “I am.”

“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” Yang said and extended his hand.

The count considered him for a moment before deciding to shake Yang’s hand. “And now that you know who I am,” the count said, “may I know who I am speaking to?”

“Leigh,” Yang said. “Hank von Leigh. Your grandson, Oskar von Reuenthal--”

“Herr Reuenthal has made it clear that I was not to be involved in his son’s life,” the count said. “So to say that you are an acquaintance of my grandson means very little to me.”

“Oh.” Yang rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly embarrassed. He should really know better than to get involved in Reuenthal’s messy family life. “I’m sorry for interrupting you, then, sir.”

“No matter.” The count gathered his drink from the bartender, then nodded to Yang. “Goodnight, Lieutenant.”

Yang gathered up his own drinks and returned to Magdalena. As they stood on the edge of the dance floor, Yang looked around for the count, feeling quite discomfited by the whole interaction he had just had. The count was actually quite visible, because he stood near the Kaiser, despite everyone else at the party giving the Kaiser a wide berth.

“Who are you staring at?” Magdalena asked, taking a sip from her drink. “Also, don’t let me drink any more after this. I cry too easily when I get drunk.”

“Okay,” Yang said absentmindedly. “That’s Count Marbach.” He nodded to where the count was.

“Yes, I’m aware,” Magdalena said. “I’ve met him.”

“What’s he doing with the Kaiser?”

“You didn’t know they were friends?” Magdalena asked. “My mother says they had quite the scandal in their youths.”

Yang raised an eyebrow.

“Not like that,” Magdalena clarified, waving her hand. “They just spent money far too widely.”

“I see,” Yang said. “The folly of youth, was it?”

“I suppose. Why did you care, anyway?”

“He’s Reuenthal’s grandfather.”

“Oh. I see the resemblance, I guess.”

They watched the count lean down to speak to the Kaiser. The Kaiser looked up and around the room, and Marbach pointed directly at Yang. Yang hurriedly made the decision to pretend not to be looking, but he didn’t think he was fast enough, and his eyes met the Kasier’s across the room for a fraction of a second. Yang looked down at the floor, took a sip of his drink, and wondered when Magdalena would let them both leave.

Despite not actually enjoying the party, Magdalena couldn’t bring herself to leave a party early, so they stayed for quite a while. At one point, Magdalena dragged Yang over to Princess Amarie and her husband, Duke Braunschweig, to say hello. Braunschweig looked at Yang with the same intense distaste that so many of the other guests also did. Yang smiled politely as Amarie and Magdalena greeted each other and made the required introduction of Yang to the duke.

“Is it a relief for you to know that your brother’s finally made a respectable man of himself?” Magdalena asked the princess, who laughed.

“I would be a poor older sister if I said yes. Ludwig has always been very respectable,” Amarie said. Yang couldn’t help but notice that Braunschweig seemed amused by that statement. Perhaps there was some Goldenbaum family gossip that Yang was not privy to.

“Oh, of course,” Magdalena said. “But it must take some of the pressure off of you and Princess Christine.”

Amarie waved her hand. “I hope my father has a long reign yet. He’s in good health, of course. And I hope that Ludwig has some time to settle into married life and enjoy himself without the full pressure of being kaiser.”

Magdalena nodded. “It’s a beautiful wedding.”

“Did you come to mine? I can’t remember.”

“No, only my parents went to yours. I believe they had both decided I was too young to actually enjoy it.”

“Oh, but did you go to Christine’s?”

“No-- you know my mother is only friends with you,” Magdalena said with a smile.

“That is because your mother has good taste.”

“I will have to tell her you said so.”

“Oh, she knows that’s my opinion,” Amarie said. “Are you planning to stay here long?”

“I would like to give the new Frau Goldenbaum my congratulations in person,” Magdalena said. “And then Hank and I will probably go.”

Amarie looked over at Yang like she was just now realizing he was there, though Magdalena had been holding onto his arm the entire time they had been speaking. “I heard my father talking about you,” the princess said.

“Er, good things, I hope,” Yang said. This was the last thing he wanted.

“Inconsequential things, I think. Just gossip about the Marbach family.”

“Hah, yes, I introduced myself to Count Marbach, which I suppose I shouldn’t have done. I’m good friends with his grandson, but I gather that he and the count are estranged.” He rubbed the back of his head.

“Perhaps my father taking an interest will ease some of that estrangement,” Amarie said. “You should speak with him.”

“Who, Count Marbach?”

“No, my father.”

“I couldn’t possibly--” Yang began, but Magdalena very obviously poked him in the side. Amarie and Braunschweig both saw this; Amarie smiled, Braunschweig’s eyebrows furrowed minutely. “Well, if you think I should.”

“I do,” Amarie said.

“May I ask why you are so interested in Lieutenant von Leigh having your father’s favor, darling?” Braunschweig asked. His voice was neutral, but it was an obviously pointed question.

Amarie laid her hand on her husband’s arm in a conciliatory gesture. “The baroness is obviously quite attached to him,” she pointed out. “It would be an easier pill for society to swallow when they get married if the lieutenant had the kaiser’s favor.” She looked at Magdalena. “And not just society, your mother, as well.”

Yang laughed a little, very uncomfortable. The whole goal of this game was to avoid discussions of marriage. “Thank you for your concern,” he said.

“Do you really think this will be a suitable match?” Braunschweig asked.

“Certainly no one could gossip that Maggie is trying to marry her way up in the world,” Amarie said gently. “I’m not opposed to it.”

“You’re right that my mother would be opposed,” Magdalena said, cutting in. “And she is not easily swayed.”

“Would you like me to speak to her?” Amarie asked.

“No,” Magdalena said, a little too sharply. Amarie blinked in restrained surprise. “I don’t need anyone to bother themselves on my behalf. Besides, I’m too young to think about marrying.”

“No such thing,” Amarie said. “Aren’t you a year older than today’s bride?”

Magdalena smiled, a tense expression. “I suppose I am. But I’m not marrying a prince. I’m in no rush.”

“Don’t become an old maid,” Braunschweig said. “I don’t think it’s healthy.”

“It’s only fair of me to ask,” Magdalena began. Yang, sensing that she was about to make a horrible social misstep from the tone in her voice, squeezed her arm a little. She looked over at him, then stopped and heaved a sigh. “Well, nevermind.”

“What?” Braunschweig asked.

“I told Hank to make sure I was on my best behavior,” Magdalena said with a laugh. “He’s trying to do his job.”

“Now you’ve made me curious as to what you were going to say.”

“Well, is it better for me to be an old maid, or to marry someone wholly unsuitable?” Magdalena asked. Yang cringed, but Amarie laughed.

“It would be rude of me to say in front of the lieutenant that I could find you a suitable man, if you would like.”

“You know I have no interest in that. If I did, I would have taken you, or anyone else, up on that offer long ago,” Magdalena said.

“Your mother is right that you’re completely incorrigible.”

“Every morning I wake up with the intent to break her heart anew, and then every night I’m lulled to sleep by the sound of her tears,” Magdalena said dryly. “I am the worst daughter on the planet.”

Amarie laughed. “You are funny.”

“It’s the only reason anybody keeps me around.”

“Of course. Well, if you want to give your congratulations to Ludwig and his wife, you should probably catch them soon. I believe they will probably leave relatively quickly.”

Magdalena put a false smile on her face. “I’m sure. It was a pleasure seeing you again, Amarie, Duke.”

“Any time, Magdalena,” Amarie said.

Yang gave a short bow to the princess and duke, then Magdalena dragged him away. “Are you going to talk to the kaiser?”

“I don’t want to,” Yang said. “Look, he’s with Fleet Admiral Muckenburger now. The man who told me explicitly to stay away from him.”

“Amarie will be insulted if you don’t take her advice.”

“Do I need to worry about Princess Amarie being insulted?”

Magdalena gave him a look like it should have been obvious. “We can find Ingrid first, and then you can talk to His Majesty, and then we can leave.”

“Please,” Yang said.

It was unfortunate that Ingrid and Ludwig were seated quite near the kaiser, but, of course they would be. Magdalena pulled Yang over to them. Yang bowed and Magdalena curtsied to the prince. Ingrid, whose expression had been of polite conversational interest, brightened up significantly when Magdalena came over.

“Ludwig, you remember Baroness Westpfale,” Ingrid said, making the introductions. “And this is her, uh--”

“Accompaniment for the evening,” Magdalena supplied.

“Right, her accompaniment, Lieutenant Hank von Leigh.”

“Good evening, Baroness, Lieutenant,” Ludwig said, clearly very bored.

“I just wanted to come over and give my congratulations and best wishes for your future,” Magdalena said.

“Thank you, Maggie,” Ingrid said. “Has the party been up to your standards?”

“Of course, darling,” Magdalena said, which Yang thought was a little forward. “You know I could never compete with this level of decoration.”

Ingrid laughed. “Will you be staying much longer?”

“Oh, probably not too long. You have work in the morning, don’t you, Hank?”

“Er, yes,” Yang said.

“I understand,” Ingrid said. “Ludwig and I are probably going to head out soon, as well. Get a head start on our honeymoon.”

“Where did you say you were going?”

“We’ll be taking a trip to Phezzan, and then making some stops down in the tropics on Odin. A whirlwind tour.”

“How exciting,” Magdalena said. “You’ll have to tell me all about it when you get back.”

“Of course. I’ll invite you over and we can catch up.” Ingrid smiled a little.

“Hank, you’re from Phezzan. What should they do while they’re there?” Magdalena demanded.

“Er,” Yang said, rubbing the back of his head. “I didn’t ever really do any tourist things. Unless you like, uh, history museums, or libraries. Or art museums. My dad would take me to--”

“Oh, nevermind,” Magdalena said, gently swatting his arm.

“I’m sure we’ll find plenty to amuse ourselves with,” Ludwig said, still that same bored tone in his voice.

“I’m sure,” Magdalena said, an edge in her tone that caused Yang to stiffen slightly. Only Ingrid seemed to catch it, though, and she tilted her head, causing some of her red curls to fall into her face. Her elaborate hairstyle had been slowly deflating all day. She put her hand on Ludwig’s arm.

“Sweetheart, would you mind terribly if I had a little dance with Maggie? We used to do ballet together, at school.”

Ludwig waved his hand, and Ingrid smiled and got up. Magdalena offered her her hand. “Oh, how forward of you, darling,” Magdalena said. Ingrid laughed a little.

Yang wasn’t sure what to do, but he knew he didn’t want to stand next to Prince Ludwig, so he followed them towards the dance floor a little ways, then just stood watching Magdalena and Ingrid dance. The song was a fast one, and no one seemed to care that the two of them were holding hands and stepping lightly together, with Magdalena occasionally twirling Ingrid around underneath her arm. They kept their bodies carefully separate, but they were allowed the casual intimacy of schoolgirls, Yang thought. Ingrid was laughing. At one point, Magdalena leaned forward to whisper something into Ingrid’s ear, which only caused her to laugh harder, though Magdalena’s smile was a melancholy one.

Yang felt something approaching melancholy, as well. He simultaneously felt bad for and jealous of Magdalena, and he couldn’t help but think back to the night he and Reuenthal had gone to Count Mariendorf’s new year’s party, and he had stood on the sidelines and watched Reuenthal dance. Yang didn’t even like dancing, but he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to dance with Reuenthal-- or even to get to see Reuenthal dance with Mittermeyer, if he was carefully keeping his thoughts away from his own personal desires.

The music changed to something slower. Magdalena still had Ingrid’s hands in hers, and she tried to keep dancing, but Ingrid shook her head slightly and pulled away. There was a moment of tension between them, then Magdalena’s face fell, and she let go of Ingrid’s hands. Ingrid smiled a little, face wan, now, and walked off the dance floor and back towards her new husband. As she passed Yang, she nodded at him, which Yang didn’t know how to interpret. He nodded back, hoping that was what she wanted.

Magdalena stood on the dance floor by herself for a moment, looking rather lost, then pushed her way towards the edge of the room, towards the exit, away from Yang. It was perhaps time to start taking his “make sure Magdalena doesn’t do anything she would regret” duty seriously, so he followed her out, fairly far behind. They ended up in one of the hallways of Neue Sanssouci, and Magdalena didn’t seem aware that she was being followed. She speed-walked down the hallway. Yang had no idea where she was going, and after they made a couple turns he realized he had lost all sense of how to get back to the party, so he had no choice but to continue.

Magdalena turned a corner and he lost sight of her momentarily, though he heard a door open and shut. When Yang turned the corner, he discovered that there was only one door that she could have gone through. He hesitated a for about twenty seconds before opening it, reaching towards the knob and then deciding not to. Eventually, though, he steeled himself and pulled it open.

Like all the rooms in Neue Sanssouci, this one was well kept, but it was obviously some kind of room intended for use by the staff-- a break room, perhaps. It had a couch and a table and fridge and sink. Magdalena was sitting on the couch, well, laying dramatically, draped sideways with her head on her arm, sobbing. Yang shut the door behind himself when he came in. For a second, he just stood there, unsure of what to do, but then he sat down next to her. She knew it was him without even looking up.

“You should be talking to the Kaiser,” she said, somehow managing to sound admonishing even through her voice thick with tears.

“I decided to make sure you weren’t running around causing trouble,” Yang said.

“I’m not causing trouble,” she said. “You can leave.” She didn’t lift her head off of her arm. Hesitantly, Yang patted her shoulder. “I don’t need you to stay here and watch me cry. I told you I cry too much when I’m drunk.” This all was delivered through a dramatic chorus of sniffles. Yang had to admire Magdalena’s dedication to her persona, even though her tears were clearly genuine.

“You’re not drunk,” Yang pointed out, gently rubbing her shoulder. He was beginning to wish that he was.

“Let me have my excuses!”

Yang didn’t try to say anything to her after that, and eventually she calmed down, and he handed her some paper towels from the sink to dry her eyes off with. Her makeup had smeared all over her face, and she half-laughed at herself. “I left my bag in the hall, now I have to go back out there looking like some kind of beast.”

“You look fine,” Yang reassured her as she rinsed her face off in the sink and patted it dry. Her eyes were still red from crying, but she was mostly recovered.

“I suppose I should get my bag and not just abandon it,” she said. “And you should talk to the Kaiser.”

“Do I have to?”

“Amarie will be unhappy if you don’t.”

Yang sighed but relented, and they walked back to the dance hall. “How do you know your way around the palace so well, by the way?” Yang asked, attempting to make distracting conversation.

“I used to come here all the time as a kid, with my father,” Magdalena said. “The staff would play with me. Or keep me out of trouble, anyway.”

“Must have been a full time job.”

She laughed a little. “Unfortunately, it seems to be a job that you now have.”

“I’m tempted to quit.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Yang shook his head. “Everyone around me is doing their best to prevent me from being my true self.”

“And what is your true self?”

“A deeply, deeply lazy man,” Yang said.

They made their way back into the dance hall. There were fewer people around now, as the couple of honor had left, and so everyone was free to begin leaving at their leisure. The Kaiser was still around, though, speaking with his two daughters. Yang hovered at Magdalena’s side while she retrieved her purse, and they watched as Princesses Amarie and Christine had some kind of argument, which ended in Christine making a face and going to find her own husband.

Rather unexpectedly, a nine or ten year old girl ran up to Yang and Magdalena. Magdalena smiled at the girl and curtsied. “Hello there, Fraulein Elizabeth.”

“Hi Maggie,” the girl said. Yang did the mental math and realized that this must be the daughter of Princess Amarie and Duke Braunschweig. Elizabeth turned towards Yang. “My mother told me to find you.”

Yang rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes, I know. I’m coming.”

Elizabeth nodded solemnly. Magdalena shooed Yang forward, apparently considering herself not invited to the meeting with the Kaiser.

Yang’s heart was in his throat as he approached where the Kaiser was sitting with his daughter, but his one consolation was that Fleet Admiral Muckenburger was nowhere in sight. Yang bowed when he got close.

“Mama, I found him for you,” Elizabeth said, then yawned. Yank had to sympathize with that: this wedding party was dragging on, and it was late for a ten year old to be up.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Amarie said. She turned to Yang. “I thought you might have left the party without fulfilling your promise to me.”

“No, sorry for disappearing. The baroness just needed some fresh air, so I accompanied her out for a minute.”

“Of course,” Amarie said. She turned to her father. “I told you, Lieutenant von Leigh is quite gracious to Baroness Westpfale.”

“Is he?” the Kaiser asked. He looked Yang over. “Take a seat, if you like, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Yang said, and hastily sat down next to Amarie, who he at least somewhat trusted to guide him through this social encounter.

“I’ve been hearing your name quite a lot, recently,” the Kaiser said. “First Muckenburger tells me you have some sort of idea about Iserlohn, then Count Marbach insists you’re meddling in his family matters, and now my daughter thinks you want to marry the baroness. It seems strange to me that one lieutenant could have gotten everyone so worked up.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “I have not been intending to cause a fuss.”

“And yet, it seems that you do quite often. Do you intend to marry Baroness Westpfale?”

“I think in a situation like this, the Baroness would be the one to decide if she would like to marry me,” Yang said, rather dryly. “And I think that even if she did, she would take a good long time to think about it.”

“Hmm,” the Kaiser said. “And were you meddling in Count Marbach’s affairs?”

“I mentioned that I knew his grandson,” Yang said. “I didn’t realize that he was so estranged as to consider that meddling. I apologize, sir.”

“It’s not me to whom you should apologize.” The Kaiser took a sip of his wine, then glanced out over the party. “I once made the same mistake, you know.”

“In what way, Your Majesty?”

“Several years ago, I mentioned that I had seen his grandson when he came on that school trip. I believe it was the year you needed to avail yourself of my doctor.”

“Oh, yes, thank you again, Your Majesty.”

The Kaiser waved his hand. “I congratulated him on his grandson being successful at school, and he told me that they had never spoken. Some sort of falling out with the boy’s father. Do you know anything about that?”

“My friend Reuenthal is very private,” Yang said. He wasn’t sure if he should meddle. “He isn’t close with his father anymore, though I don’t know the history of his maternal relationships.”

“I see,” the Kaiser said. “Perhaps I should tell Willhelm to speak with him. Would your friend like that?”

“I honestly couldn’t say, sir,” Yang said. “But on his behalf, I’m honored that you would take an interest in his well being.”

“I think from being surrounded by the ladies of the court for so many years, I’ve learned to enjoy interfering in other people’s lives. It’s the only joy some women have, you know.”

“I see, Your Majesty.” He didn’t see, and he wished he could escape this conversation.

“And as for Fleet Admiral Muckenburger,” the Kaiser said, “he seems to think that your proposal is not without merit.”

“May I ask if you’re considering it, sir?”

“Oh, I leave all such matters up to people who are better equipped to deal with them than I. You would have to ask him.”

“Fleet Admiral Muckenburger told me very firmly not to bother him,” Yang said, which made the Kaiser chuckle. He seemed to be in a good mood. Perhaps he was slightly drunk-- usually Yang didn’t think he talked so much.

“He thinks you’re a foreign element,” the Kaiser said. “Is that the case Lieutenant?”

“Your Majesty, I am the loyal servant of all the citizens of the Empire,” Yang said.

“How grandiose of you,” Amarie said.

“A fair answer,” the Kaiser said. “Though it would be strange for me to expect another. I shall have to reassure Muckenburger that you are acting in loyalty and good faith.” He chuckled to himself a little bit, although nothing he had said was particularly funny. “It would be amusing if you weren’t.”

“Sir?”

“I’m just entertained to think of someone with poor motives being a guest at my son’s wedding. I’m grateful to learn that you’re not an assassin, or we would have had quite some trouble.”

Yang blanched. “No, sir.”

“Of course not.” He chuckled again. “It was a pleasure to speak to you again, Lieutenant. If I keep hearing your name, I’m certain I will see you again.”

That was a dismissal. Yang stood and bowed. “If it pleases Your Majesty, then I’m sure we will. Goodnight, Princess.”

“Goodnight, Lieutenant. Please give Baroness Westpfale my regards.”

Yang nodded and walked off, feeling like his heart was going to beat its way out of his throat.