Chapter 72: Scoping the Competition (Patreon)

Almost immediately upon arriving at the event, Willem’s vicinity became a storm of activity. First, he was approached by one of the Six Drakes: the man by the name of Levente. He was paler than most, and had the dark hair and dark eyes common in the people of Avaria.

“Willem,” the man greeted evenly. “I believe we’ve not been properly introduced. I’m Levente.” He offered his hand, and Willem shook it without reservation. “And you’re the key to victory in this part of the contest.”

That bold, deferential greeting did much to endear Willem to this fellow. “Well, I suppose that it’s only natural that the victor is the key,” Willem said with a confident smirk. “I’m glad that you can recognize greatness.”

“All that I know is that you’ve previously been in contact with the Red Raven before,” Levente said with a serious look in his dead, dark eyes. “And if she’s here again, I have little doubt that can you contact this person. Indeed, she may already have reached out to you.”

“Right. As a matter of fact, she might be in this room. We might already be conspiring together. That’s just how good I am,” Willem confessed immediately.

“No,” Levente said. “No one could be stupid enough to risk that much that soon. But knowing who you are and what you’ve done, I think that you’re going to be my only true threat here.”

Willem drank a little bit of free champagne. “Do you often introduce yourself to your enemies?”

“Only the ones that I have a modicum of respect for,” Levente said. “If you’re smart, you’ll acknowledge me as your rival.”

At that, the man walked away like a Disney villain. Willem wasn’t quite sure why everyone was hellbent on naming him their rival. First Raphael, now this guy.

After that, Willem went out of his way to find the man by the name of Rolof. He was one of the two of the turbo nerds that Rafael had pointed out to him. He looked a great deal like his relative, Karel van der Heiden. Thin, of average height, but with a certain wiry strength to his limbs. Willem had done good work with Karel, and he did wonder if the relationship with this relative might be as productive.

Willem waited for the man to be alone, then…

“Hey,” Willem said, his voice a tight bark.

Rolof looked over jumpily. “You,” the man said in way of greeting. “What do you want?”

“To be the richest man in the world,” Willem said, and held out his hand. “They tell me that you’re fun at parties.”

Rolof squinted suspiciously, refusing the handshake. “Who is ‘they?’”

“Everybody!” Willem said happily. “They start talking to you and they think to themselves, ‘This guy must be fun at parties.’”

“Very funny,” Rolof said without a speck of amusement on his face. “I’ll ask again: what do you want?”

“I think that you and I should have a conversation later,” Willem said seriously. “I’ve got a lot of respect for your type. I think that there’s a lot of things that we can get done together. There’s a lot of money to be made, but only a few people can make it. I’d like that to be us.”

Rolof blinked for a few moments, a little bit lost. “You’re… talking about business?”

“With me, that’s all there really is. I don’t know a lot about magic artifacts, but you do. Instead, I know businesses and how to make them boom. We complete each other. Of everyone here tonight, you’re most suited to share a dance with me.” Willem offered his hand again.

“You’re mental,” Rolof said, backing away.

“Don’t deny your feelings,” Willem said as he walked away. “I can shower you in gold. I could be the Westinghouse to your Tesla.”

“Don’t want your golden shower,” Rolof said.

Willem laughed as the man walked back into the crowd. He stood there for a moment, basking in the revelry. As he did, Arend filtered through the crowd and grabbed his elbow.

“I thought you should know…” the man said, directing Willem’s gaze toward a distant corner of the room. “Suzanne is butting heads with Harmon.”

Willem watched them for a moment, and could tell from their body language that it wasn’t a pleasant conversation between people getting along. He looked to Arend. “Take me to her.”

Together, the two of them quickly walked across the event venue and made their way to where the two spell casters argued.

“Do you earnestly think that you’re deserving the title of Galahad’s heir?” Harmon asked, waving his hands around like an Italian. “Were your grasp of metaphysical constructs any more ephemeral, it would evaporate upon mere contemplation. I’ve witnessed sentient fungi with a more nuanced comprehension of esoteric principle and leyline modulation.”

“Unfortunately for you, the position that I’m in is more about what you can do rather than the size of the words you can say. It’s about what you can do,” she informed him.

“Ah, it seems that I struck a nerve. Which words was it that I need to define for you?” Harmon said arrogantly.

“Could you define insufferable?” Suzanne countered. “You’ve given us all a fine example, after all. All we need is the definition.”

“I was merely saying that 70% of mages have mastered the subjects that you failed to offer adequate insight into.”

“And 99% of all statistics are made-up on the spot,” Willem said, interjecting himself in the conversation.

Harmon turned his eyes to Willem. “What’s your source on that?”

Willems smiled as the joke flew right over the man’s head. He proceeded to mockingly imitate him, saying, “Is your cognitive apparatus so woefully unacquainted with the axioms of statistics that you fail to grasp the most rudimentary of facts? If I were to distill the essence of your so-called ‘knowledge’ into a vial, it would yield a vapid fume of hubris and half-witted conjecture.”

Suzanne and a few others laughed, a lot of the tension from the conversation drained. Harmon didn’t seem quite as amused.

“I believe we’ve chatted enough,” Harmon said, fixing his coat and walking away without another word.

“By the goddess… that man is very difficult to deal with. I’ve been butting heads with him for as long as I can remember. I’ve never seen him turn tail and leave like that, though,” Suzanne noted, looking at Willem with a measure of respect.

“Humor and nerds don’t match together well. Even in positions of power, it brings back their bad memories.”

Suzanne didn’t respond to that, and instead put a hand on Willem’s shoulder. “I think that you should see to Hans,” she said. “He’s been having a rather rough go at things.”

Willem pursed his lips thoughtfully.

“Oh, I get it,” Arend said. “You made that statistic up on the spot. That was the joke, right?”

Willem patted Arend’s arm. “You’re getting faster. Keep it up.”

Arend smiled proudly.

***

When Hans first laid eyes upon the partner that his uncle Sybrand had arranged for him in this event, he thought that things might be looking up after all. Gabriele of Sturmbann, the youngest daughter of Pascal—she was quite a beautiful woman, with vivacious red hair and eyes of the same color. She had a certain bookish, stern look to her.

When they met up outside of the ballroom, the first words that she said immediately put a damper on his enthusiasm.

“I’m never getting married, so don’t try anything. I’m only doing this to make my father happy,” she said, looking at Hans as though he wasn’t even a human being. “If you want to gain my favor, the only thing that you can do is keep your mouth shut and help me sneak off to some secluded corners so I can pass the night in peace.”

Given such a firm and immediate rejection, Hans decided not to push his luck. He did what the lady asked, thinking to himself that no matter what, she would at least be a good stepping stone to springboard to other partners. Willem had given him a great deal of advice, but he thought that that most of it wasn’t usable. He intended on doing what he could to secure a fitting match for himself, however, because he saw the merit in what his brother said. A good marriage could turn his life around.

The moment that they were inside the venue, Gabriele split away from him, leaving Hans to fend for himself. He saw Willem in the room, but had a headache immediately upon seeing the man. He decided to go to his mother, Viviene, who had experience in the courts of Dubois and thus a great deal more knowledge about matchmaking and romance. At some point she had been called the Belle of the Blade, after all.

He quickly found his mother and father together. They seem to be getting on a lot better than they ever had in the past.

“The king did that to you?” his father asked immediately.

“…yes,” Hans admitted quietly, looking around to be sure that no one could hear. Tielman’s jaw clenched.

“Where’s your partner?” Viviene asked, with concern on her face.

“She expressed no interest in being at this event tonight,” Hans explained. “She went off on her own.”

His mother looked at him with pity in her eyes. “Well, that doesn’t matter.” She reached out of hand and pat his shoulder. “There are plenty of fish in the sea.”

“I was actually looking for some advice on that front,” Hans said suggestively.

His mother gave him a happy smile and pointed out a list of faces with an assortment of names. She certainly knew her court politics. Evidently she’d been preparing for this day. Hans went away happily, bringing all of his charms to bear.

For the first woman he talked to…

“Can you introduce me to your brother Godfried?” she asked. “Or at least Lennard?”

That became a prevailing theme of his interactions. Why would anyone being interested in the one-handed youngest brother when there were two other unmarried grooms to be courted? And even for those that were willing to overlook that major flaw…

“You can’t even handle a cup properly. What makes you think that you can handle me?” asked Yasmine, the heir to the Duke of Usman. “From what I hear, even with a full set of limbs, you’d still be a poor choice.”

She was one of the less brutal.

“Do you think pity is a love potion?” one said.

“If I wanted good looks and empty flattery, I’d court a bard,” another rejected.

Eventually, Hans grew so desperate that he did end up using Willem’s suggestions, using terribly cheesy self-deprecating one-liners. Depressingly enough… it did draw some laughs. As a matter of fact, it got someone to open up to him.

“It’s not you,” the woman said. “The thing is… if the king himself… the rumor is that the king himself might have cut off your…” she said, trailing off and looking at him with pity in her eyes. “I’m sure that people are being harsher than they mean to be, simply because the king has made his will known. They wish to court his favor. He disdains you, and thus they disdain you. It’s as simple as that.”

Hearing that, Hans realized that the game had been rigged from the start. When he and the kind woman eventually parted ways, Hans wandered through the venue adrift. Willem eventually approached and grabbed him by the shoulder.

“So, I finally managed to extract myself. How’s it been going?” Willem asked jovially. “Have you used any of my lines? Evidently not, otherwise I wouldn’t have the space to talk to you.”

Hans looked over to Willem, and then back at the floor.

“Come on. Talk to me,” Willem said.

“I’m a persona non grata,” Hans said quietly. “That means that no one will even touch me with a 10-foot pole. The nicest person I’ve met said that she still couldn’t afford to be seen with me.”

“I’m surprised you even know what means,” Willem said, pulling Hans a little closer. “Listen… it’s not like it’s that different from your normal state of being.”

Hans grew despondent.

“I’m playing around. I’ll admit this surprised me too. I’ve been trying my best to make some introductions, but people are acting like you’re some kind of leper. But… I haven’t exactly given up on you,” Willem assured. “The king offered a grand reward for fulfilling the current task of the contest. It seems like a lot of the marriages in this kingdom are arranged. I think that’s a more than suitable favor to ask of him.”

“Then why in the world am I even here?” Hans looked over angrily.

“Hey, like I said, I was as blindsided by this as you were.” Willem released his grip on the Hans shoulder. “But I promised you that I would make this right, and I will,” Willem finished.

“So, I should just sit here and get fumbled about like a prim little maiden?” Hans demanded of his brother.

“If you want to look at it that way, sure. It’s like you’re the average noblewoman instead of a nobleman. Now you can have some experience as to what their life is like.” Willem gave a smile. “It’s what your sister endured, isn’t it? It’s what our mother endured, isn’t it? Hell, it’s even what the princess of this nation is enduring right now, isn’t it?” he said pointedly. “If they can make it through that, I trust that you can too.”

“Just leave me,” Hans said.

At that, Willem didn’t say anymore. Eventually, he left to join back with the ball. Hans walked around the venue listlessly, and eventually walked out into the garden. He looked around for a minute, contemplating what had been said to him before he laid eyes on someone that he frankly didn’t expect to see.

Princess Clara Isabella Eugenia Maria Antonia van Ravenveld.

She seemed to be listening to a conversation with a teacup in front of her, sipping at it elegantly. Seeing her, Hans was reminded of his experience with her father. He felt a brief moment of anxiety, before it faded in the wake of a hot indignance. Almost before he could think about what he was doing, he found himself walking toward her.

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