Trevor scrunched his brow before seeming to acquiesce and exhaling dramatically. He turned to Frederich. 

“Y’know, I was thrilled when you invited me for drinks. After all, I'm the one always extending the offer for these jovial little outings. But no, you just wanted a marionette to bounce your mutterings off of.”

“To which, you've been useless thus far,” Frederich groaned, slumping in his chair and bumping his forehead against the tabletop.

Gripping a large tankard and swinging it up to his lips, Trevor took several large swigs before slamming the wooden mug on the table. It made an equally large thump as Frederich's forehead did. “Good. Because you're the one who brought me here.” He made a high pitched voice, and mimicked a whiny Frederich. “Please, Trev, I have no friends and no one to hang out with now that I’ve been excommunicated from my family.”

Frederich rolled his eyes, returning his attention to his findings in the book of Celestialism. “Excommunicated is not the word to use there. We're just…on tense terms at the moment.”

“Tense non-talking terms while living in the house you pay for,” Trevor snorted. “I would've long since evicted them.”

“And this is why you have no friends aside from me.”

“Me?  My various lovers would all agree that my stalwart personality is one of my many charms.”

Sighing and slamming the book shut, Frederich gave a displeased look. “All I needed was your help, was that too much to ask for? You're one of the only Scholars I know who serves as a royal tutor.”

“Why can't we ever hang out just because?” Trevor muttered before taking another dredge of swill. Placing the tankard back on the table he wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve—the black coat already stained with other various streaks. “Besides, who would you want to tutor? There’s only Crown Princess Grimhildis and her children, and I don't see you particularly enthused about teaching youths. Unless you're considering…” 

Trailing off, Trevor paused and stared incredulously at Frederich. He took a look around at the pub they were in. His lips downturned and he glanced with extreme judgement at the various lowlifes. Bounty hunters, mercenaries, the easily spottable slime-ball merchant. 

“You would never come to an institution like this,” Trevor said with an unnerving calm.

“I came here with a friend once,” Frederich snapped, not liking the pinched grimace on Trevor’s face.

“You don't have other friends, Freddie. I'd know.”

“What are you—my lover? You wouldn't know that.”

“Yes, I would. Because for nearly the past five years, you were more than content to bury yourself into the books and tasks assigned to you and then march straight home without saying a word to anyone.” Trevor’s fingers drummed along the tabletop. “You're talking about the Highness Radhildur. What are you thinking, Frederich? Are you not already suffering from their careless foolishness?” Trevor demanded.

“Nothing that happened was Radhildur's fault.” Frederich gritted out.

“Are you insane?” Trevor snapped. “You act like they're just some other person. They’re a royal, Frederich! As it is, your family life is a direct result of their curse, how can you not see that? And you think they're your friend? Wake up!”

“I didn’t ask you here to scold me like one of your students,” Frederich angrily cut in. “You know nothing about Radhildur. And in just the few days I was able to make their acquaintance, I was sorely reminded about how some just love to jump to conclusions first before examining the facts.”

Trevor's gazed narrowed before he tossed his hands up. Defiantly, he downed the last of the alcohol in his tankard. He held it out to Frederich. “If their curse rubs off from you to me, I'll murder you.”

“Fine.” Frederich nodded.

“Fine.” Trevor agreed.

After that, Trevor waved down the barmaid. She was a familiar face to the younger Scholar given the way she tossed Frederich a bemused look as she made her way over. 

“I thought I told you to stop coming here weeks ago, golden pup.”

“He's actually going to buy me another tankard,” Trevor held out his empty mug to her.

She took the tankard and left with a wave. “Your patronage is always appreciated, pup.”

“Thank you, Molly,” Frederich exhaled with exasperation.

The air between them was no longer heavy, and it was a series of calculated looks exchanged between the two Scholars. Eventually Trevor shook his head.

“Radhildur is known to be a pain to any tutors assigned to them. Granted most are already in distaste towards their Highness, and don't respect their…certain choices. There's also the consensus to not disobey the King in regards to his disdain towards Radhildur's lifestyle. You can offer your services during the next public hearing—I'm sure his Majesty would be more than thrilled to have someone offer him something during the common folk's complaint time. But you will have to earn his favor in order to be appointed as a tutor.”

“Radhildur doesn't have a say?”

“Why would they?” Trevor crossed his arms over his chest. “Of the heirs, Radhildur is the one who has defied the king at almost every point in time since well…the incident.”

“The incident?” Frederich echoed.

“Ah, you wouldn't have known about that,” Trevor hummed. “It would've been while you were still at the Commons. At the time their Highness still went by Princess Radhildur—they were engaged to the third prince of the Dundin, Seanharras. No one knows what happened, the two had seemed like they were very much in love. But one day, Seanharras returned bloodied and bruised from an outing with Radhildur. He begged the King to break off the engagement, yapping on how he could not marry a madperson like their Highness. When asked what happened, he could only brokenly repeat that Radhildur was crazy. When Radhildur was brought to the King and his cabinet for  questioning. That was the first time the star-shaped scar had appeared across their mouth. They never spoke about the incident after that. And they became a much more difficult person to convene with afterwards.”

“Is that where the rumor they'd tried to kill suitors originated?” Frederich asked slowly. 

Trevor nodded.

Frederich stared at the closed book about the Celestials. He had never once questioned how Radhildur became who they were today. But the story Trevor just relayed to him soured his stomach like something rotten. The circumstances differed entirely from the Crown Princess Grimhildis’, who’d been born with their blessing of Av. 

“You’ll need to be clever in presenting yourself to the King,” Trevor murmured. “Because no one wants to be acquainted with Radhildur. Not until you.”

By that point, Molly returned with a filled tankard of watered down-liquor for Trevor. She placed it on the table and paused. Her dainty fingers toyed with the hem of her apron. 

“I couldn't help but overhear you boys.” She looked at Frederich, something knowing in her glance. “For what it’s worth…I was angry before, golden pup, about being lied to when I last saw you. But I am grateful to Rognvaldur for keeping this establishment safe. I don't…” she grimaced, “you can just tell them I owe them an apology, and a discount the next time they show up.”

She hurried off after that.

Frederich's frown deepened. “I think we've been led to believe we shouldn't be acquainted with them.”

The throne room was as lavish as Frederich remembered it from when he was a squire. Back then there had been novelty with all the opulent regality. 

Lush velvet curtains draped from the ceiling, with the kingdom’s crest of a stag crowned with twelve stars embroidered meticulously on each one. Checkered tiles of black and gold lined the entire room, while the center of the room was a grey and blue marble. 

At the forefront of the grand throne room was the king's seat. A magnificent sculpture of oak, stone, and antlers—the seat and armrests draped with the downiest of deer and bear pelts. The king himself sat reclined on the throne, one arm propping up on the armrest and supporting his chin, while his other hand drummed idly along his thigh. The king, Frederich realized, bore a striking similarity to Radhildur and the Grimhildis. Like the first and seventh heir, the king had a stern and heavy set brow, along with a softly-curved beak nose. His eyes, however, were dark brown like Grimhildis'. Like Radhildur, the king had wild, blue-black hair and toppled it over the side of his shoulder where it rested just above his collarbone. Unlike either of his children, the king was dressed far more splendidly and had been garbed in the finest of satins and furs. 

Frederich grimaced, feeling guilty for conflating the king's sense of opulence for either heir’s. Both Radhildur and Grimhildis carried themselves plainly in comparison. 

As he scanned the room and noticed the line of other commonfolk, Frederich took note of the king's guard lined like statues along any wall, and the surprising absence of both the queen and the crown princess. He had figured either royal would aid the king in the monthly talks with the people of Reyk. But as the queue moved closer and closer to the throne, Frederich wondered if the king merely dismissed each case instead of offering aid. The thought gnawed at his stomach and he was reminded rather painfully how much he'd disapproved of the Royal Family prior to meeting Radhildur. 

In all honesty, Radhildur probably solved most of the issues ignored when disguised as Rognvaldur. 

By the time Frederich reached the dias that the throne was perched on, his theory had been confirmed that the king waved away each complaint from each person in line with falsely sweet words and his sympathies. Av, Ia, Ur, Va—he offered words to the celestials for each problem. But he offered no aid.

Frederich had to stifle the frustrated snarl threatening to break past his lips. As he stood before the throne, he instead sank to a knee and offered a hand over his heart. He bowed his head. 

“Your Majesty.”

The king hummed in surprise, brows cocking as his gaze searched Frederich in a scrutinizing swoop. “Oh, a Scholar. How rare to come during the Common Hearing. Are you here to ask for more research funding? As important as the widespread knowledge that the Scholar community offers, I fear that I cannot allot any more of the kingdom's funds to the arts. At least at the moment..”

“No, your Majesty, I'm not here to beseech more funds. But rather I am here to offer my services.” Frederich kept his eyes on the floor, his bangs falling over his forehead and blocking the Royal from his sight. His fingers picked anxiously at his Scholar's cloak.

A booming laugh tore from the king and flooded the throne room. “We have such a gracious benefactor here. Everyone! Please, lend your appreciation to such an esteemed Scholar!”

The few other nobles in the room tittered half heartedly. 

Frederich felt heat creep up his neck and ears, and he tamped down the embarrassment as best as he could.

“So, little Scholar—” the king leered, and Frederich felt his skin crawl.

Radhildur used such a term as an endearment, as something teasing and lighthearted. Whenever they called him, Frederich's breath bottlenecked in his lungs and his heart skipped rather pleasantly. But the king calling him such a name, Frederich felt the distaste and the arrogance in the term. The king meant to prove a point, to belittle him. 

“What could you possibly offer me?” The king egged on, the sneer in his tone tangible. “Certainly a political advantage? Or perhaps wealth to increase the betterment of Reyk?”

Frederich took a steadying breath before speaking. “I hear you have quite the issue of holding down a tutor for the highness, Radhildur fra Reyk.”

In a moment's turn, the room turned stuffy and muffled, and the air grew heavy with static. 

“What?” the king growled out.

“I come on the recommendation of Trevor Arlofsson, tutor to the Royal children of Crown Princess Grimhildis fra Reyk,” Frederich said evenly. “It's no secret that most tutors assigned to your seventh come back to the Scriptorium with horror stories, or that most quit after one session.”

“Mm, this palace does love its idle gabbing,” the king said, voice terribly calm. “So, what makes you think you could fare any better against the seventh princess?”

Frederich inhaled and exhaled. This was where Trevor would probably urge him to caution. “I'm rather adept at handling problems, your Majesty. I'm the first Scholar in over two decades to achieve the esteemed title of Master Scholar before twenty five, and I served time as a humble knight prior to my career in the Scriptorium, so I have no fear of my physical safety. I think I can provide you a rather unique opportunity in regards to the education of your seventh heir.”

The quiet in the throne room was unsettling, and even the other nobles dared not speak.

Frederich was greatly overstepping his rank by boasting of his accomplishments, but he really had to sell his capabilities in order to be considered.

“Master Scholar,” the king began slowly. “I wish to marry off Princess Radhildur by the end of the year. If you can prove that you can make Radhildur knowledgeable in etiquette and information befitting a court lady, I will compensate you greatly.”

In that moment, Frederich felt time stop. His blood froze. Marry? Radhildur?

“If you fail however, and Radhildur is still as unruly and unmanageable as she is now, then I will see you stripped of rank and exiled from Reyk. Is that a gamble you wish to take?”

Frederich realized there was no winning in this situation. It wasn't that he couldn't help Radhildur reach that goal. Frederich wouldn't. He would never force them—especially help prepare them—for an unwanted marriage. But after having already extended his aid to the king, he couldn't back out of a bargain, not having made a wager so boldly in front of the court nobility. It was as if he'd been backed into a corner and the king already knew the outcome. He'd made a terrible mistake. 

He gripped the soft suede of his Scholar's cloak. 

“Yes, your Majesty.”