Samuel was roughly shaken from his fire-trance by a big hand. Whipping his head around he found another soldier above him, one he didn’t know. Markus, not at all asleep, reached over and placed a commanding hand on the wrist of the man grasping Samuel’s shoulder. The two soldiers paused and stared at each other, some sort of silent communication going on between them. With a final glance at the man’s insignia, Markus nodded his head and withdrew his hand from the other’s wrist. Samuel took that as a sign that he was meant to go with this unknown figure and so he awkwardly rolled himself up, trying not to get caught in the folds of the cloak and the unusual guard's uniform he’d been wearing all day. It felt strange, like he was wearing a costume in a pantomime and he longed for his own clothing. Something that would make him feel like he was really himself and in control of his own body again.

He sullenly followed the guard away from the warmth of the fire, threading through other groups of soldiers and then attendants, heading towards the centre of the Hall. As he approached he saw a far bigger hearth, and a far larger fire ahead of him. The people around him  now were in finer clothes than the soldiers he’d been with all day. And they had something like thin mattresses and bedding. Still somewhat camp-like, but there was a difference in quality here. As he got close to the central hearth he saw in front of him a high-backed chair. Someone was sitting in it, their heavy fur-lined robes spilling over the armrests and pooling on the soft grass.

He could hear voices, the person in the chair, and someone else in front of them, hidden by the darkness. Disagreement and bitten off sentences that he couldn’t make out. As they got close the conversation came to an abrupt halt. The mystery figure moved in the darkness and strode past the chair, leaving its occupant behind. They were single-minded, barreling past, coming straight in Samuel’s direction. Without warning they thumped by, colliding sharply with Samuel and spinning him round for a moment. 

It was Nikolaus! His eyes flicked over Samuel, identifying him in a second. There was a hard edge there that Samuel hadn’t seen before and the firelight around them danced in the young prince’s eyes and made them seem ablaze. With a firm set to his mouth Nikolaus turned away, his robes collecting around him as he stormed off into the night.

Samuel wasn’t given a moment. The firm grip of the guard dragged him on, around the edge of the chair and into the light of the main fire. He knew what he’d find of course. There sat the Sovereign Prince. With a flick of the prince’s hand the guard seemed to dissolve into the air. Samuel said nothing, uncertain of what he was meant to say at this particular juncture. The prince stared at him, as if taking his measure. Samuel didn’t know what he was looking for, and whatever it was, it didn’t seem as though the prince could find it either. Finally he just pointed his fingers at a small bench set near to him.

“Have a seat.”

Samuel found his way onto the bench. The prince had called him for a reason, perhaps now he would have an answer to some of the questions that had been going around in his head all day.

“Your father has entrusted you to me, and whatever else, I am a person of honour. I have agreed to protect you, and my word binds not just me, but every member of my Household and State to your wellbeing.” The prince paused for a moment at that, waiting to read Samuel’s reaction.

Samuel thought about replying, saying something, but what would he say. Would he refuse the prince's offer, break away and go back to the city, he did want to, but would the prince even let him; and would he be safe? Could he live in the refugee camp perhaps? Why had he been called to the prince tonight?

“You can’t go back,” the prince said in a softer tone, as if reading his thoughts. “You don’t know what a dangerous can of worms has been unleashed. Your city, my principality, perhaps this whole Edge now stand on a precipice; and I am sorry for you.”

Samuel gulped.

“The only choice, for now, is for you to stay with us, but even that isn’t straightforward. You have become a diplomatic nightmare, a pawn in the political minefield we’re currently walking through. To keep you here with us will require something extraordinary. I expect that by now your disappearance will have been noted by city officials. They’re hardly idiots, they won’t take too long to realise where you might be. You have become a possible cause of war, a flame that could burn my lands and destroy my people. We have to douse you now! Protect you from extradition back to the city, and protect us from reprisal. We are Aerska en Cantaer, we are the Gateway to the Southern Empire, and we are intelligent enough to know that we wouldn’t stand a chance against a concerted military incursion from City forces.”

“What will you do?” Samuel longed to know the answer, hanging on every word that came from the intelligent mind of the sovereign before him.

“We will do, what we always do. We will settle this diplomatically. You are a Christian, you don’t actually know what that means, I know, but it gives us a pretext to claim you; and while it’s not enough to keep you, it’s a pretext we can build on.”

“How?”

“You will marry!”

“What?”, Samuel couldn’t believe his ears, he jumped to his feet, uncertain. As the adrenaline wore off he realised how foolish he must look. The prince looked at him without moving, unprepared to continue while Samuel cast about. Finally he sank back down onto the bench.

“You will marry,” the prince reiterated. “Specifically you will marry my son Nikolaus.”

Samuel breathed in sharply, his eyes going wide and wild.

“The city could ignore your union with anyone else; but, reluctantly, they are forced to acknowledge certain rights and privileges accorded to members of the ruling families of the Edge-states. As my son’s acknowledged spouse, you would hold a place within the ruling family at Aersk, and a legally recognised connection to the Imperial Court and the Lord Emperor’s protection. It would offer you a level of immunity that is otherwise impossible.”

Samuel took in what the Prince was saying. He could almost hear the implied: ‘this is your only choice’, although the prince was too polite to say it. Having grown up with his father, and around city politics his whole life, and oh-so-close to the menacing edge and the criss-cross of local kingdoms found there, Samuel knew enough to find the truth in what the prince was saying. In some ways that made it even harder. The prince had genuinely devised a course of action that should achieve all of the objectives that they needed to achieve. It would only cost Samuel his autonomy, and his choice of marriage partner. He thought of the prickly prince he’d met only the day beforehand. What did he think of marrying Samuel, this city boy? He remembered the fierceness and flame that he’d just seen in the prince’s eye.

“But surely the Prince doesn’t want to marry me,” Samuel stammered.

The older prince quirked his eye, “My son will do what he has to do for the family. You do not need to be concerned.”

The prince’s response seemed to brook no further followup. Samuel didn’t know what else to say. He wanted to say no, but couldn’t think of how to phrase it, or the argument he would use to make his case. The prince, even in only a few words, had conveyed by his tone, by what wasn’t said, and by the extremity of the proffered solution, just what a dangerous situation Samuel had fallen into.

“My father?” Samuel finally caught on to the edge of another question, a looming thought.

“We haven’t heard anything else yet,” the prince supplied matter-of-factly, “but we will. We will do all we can.”

“You will?” Samuel quietly queried, afraid of the answer.

The older prince’s eyes bored into Samuel’s, trying to tell him something, to convey some truth. “We will do all we can, for the prince-consort’s father.”

Ah! Realisation settled over Samuel like a lead blanket. The reality of the prince’s solution becoming firm in his mind. This was no dream, nor was it one-of-many possible options. This was the path that he’d been given to walk down, and the only one he'd be offered.

They sat for a few moments longer. The prince continuing to look at Samuel in some sort of warm, hard way. There was a sadness in his eyes, disappointment maybe, tinged with resolve. This wasn’t an option he wanted either, but it was the best they could do at short notice.

After an age the prince flicked his fingers and the unnamed guard appeared out of the darkness again. With a firm hand the guard guided Samuel to his feet.

“Get some rest, you will marry in the morning.” The final words uttered, the prince’s gaze turned away. Samuel was too shocked to give any reply, and was given no time for one either. The guard manhandled him away from the fire and the prince, back through the darkness, his trained feet ably picking out the right path for them both. 

In just a few short steps they were back where Samuel had begun. He fell down beside Markus. The older guard didn’t ask any questions or make any demands. As though realising that Samuel was no longer quite in control of himself Markus set about putting Samuel to bed. Laying him down on his own cloak, and tucking him in, there on the green grass. Samuel stared through glassy eyes, sure that he would never be able to sleep that night. As it was, his body, wrung out from the excesses and shocks of the last two days, took pity on him. Samuel fell quickly into a deep and dreamless sleep, as the embers on the hearth in front of him crackled and cooled. Only Markus stayed awake, keeping a watchful eye on his charge, marking the hours by the distantly heard changing of sentries behind the trees in the deep darkness. 

Several metres away another figure sat up through the night unseen. Huddled in his cloak, Nikolaus was also watching Samuel’s prone form. He stared at the sleeping man until the first tendrils of grey light made the ground around him just-visible. Before anyone else so much as stirred Nikolaus was up. He rode off with only a handful of his own personal retainers, before he had to see his father, or deal with his fiancé-apparent.