The night crisply bit at his nose while he lit his pipe. As time drew by, the nightly drunkards stumbled in and out of the bounty hunter’s pub. Dullahan kept a vigilant eye over the ongoers, one eye wide open and the other half lidded. It was a requirement to keep the peace, but he found it much more palatable to enjoy a drink and a smoke while on the lookout for trouble. Not to mention with the increase in kidnappings in the town walls just outside of the castle, it felt almost necessary to never let the guard ease. 

But for a reason that came from watching his trainee grow into a fine honorary knight, Dullahan was more than relieved that Rognvaldur was nearby. The knights had recently relied on the mute man very heavily, and they hadn't been disappointed. It was almost as if danger and mayhem were attracted to the man—he’d easily sniffed out every den of fiends investigated. 

The young man certainly had a good head on his shoulders and a mind for apprehending criminals.

It had always made Dullahan wonder if Rognvaldur’s tongue had been removed for more nefarious means than he’d let on. Many of the knights believed it was due to an abusive home, but it wasn't unknown for thieves and other rabble to cut out someone’s tongue to weed out rats. 

A life like that was hard to imagine Rognvaldur living, but all that mattered was that the man had turned over a new leaf and used any past experience for doing good. 

Regardless of who he was, Dullahan thought after taking a dreg from his pipe, all that mattered was who he became. 

The door to the tavern swung open with a clatter, and the sound of shuffling feet and boisterous laughter broke into the dark. It sounded like a man and a woman, both half supporting and half stumbling over one another. Oh to be young and irresponsible…

“For the love of—could you, like, not step on my foot, Rathi?”

Dullahan gave the pair his full attention, instantly recognizing Frederich’s slurred voice. 

The young scholar was practically draped across Rognvaldur’s back, while Rognvaldur himself staggered forward under the wobbling weight of the Scholar.

Laughing to himself, the old knight pushed off from the wall and figured he would help them home. Frederich may have said that the two of them had only been acquainted for a few days, however people tended to be their truest when inebriated. It was almost cute that he had a nickname for—  

“You’re the one stepping on my back,” Rognvaldur whined with a very distinctly feminine voice. “You’re heavy. It’s all those books you eat.”

Dullahan stopped.

“Stupid, I don’t eat books,” Frederich protested. “I sleep on them.”

At that moment, one of two things happened. Firstly, Frederich rolled right off of “Rognvaldur’s” back, to which “Rognvaldur” grabbed the Scholar by the back of his collar and easily hoisted him back up to his feet as if he weighed nothing—despite Frederich being nearly a head taller when the two stood side-by-side. Second, the pieces clicked so easily into place for Dullahan that he felt like a stark mad idiot for not seeing it before. 

A young, mute man of incredible prowess appeared at the Commons five years ago. 

It was all thanks to a woman’s laugh. A woman’s voice. And the nickname Rathi. 

Dullahan’s fist clenched and he forced himself to breathe. Radhildur.

All these years, 

he’d been used 

by the cursed princess 

for her own gain.

The identity of the mute "man" so obvious and right underneath his nose for years.

And the cursed heir's nefarious reputation was a product of his tutelage. All the rumors of her violence that terrorized the other nobles and even the common people, the terrible trail of her cruelty—it was all because he'd trained her in the way of the sword. And here she stumbled, in a drunken stupor with one of the kindest individuals he knew. Frederich was a Scholar at the castle, he should know better than hanging around a spawn of Ku like that. 

Oh Celestials…

What had he done?

Perhaps he was half a decade late to repair the damage. Who knew what sort of divine curses the Celestials had rained down upon the Commons for aiding a champion of Ku. And he’d pranced to the past five years like a schmuck, believing the fanciful lie spun by the cursed heir. He felt disgusting suddenly, sickened by all the aid and all the interactions with her—repulsed by the falsehood of it all.

As he watched the pair haphazardly disappear into the hazy night, Dullahan took an exhausted inhale of his pipe. He’d amend things once he saw Rognvaldur the next time at the Commons.