Chapter 119: Negotiations Under a Vatican Threat
"Are you actually going to tell her the truth, Konrad?"
Konrad stared at her. "I have nothing else to think of right now, Isolde," Konrad answered. "My army is exhausted. My gunpowder reserves are significantly depleted. And I have an arrogant Bavarian Duke sitting in my guest wing, ready to trade my head for a shiny new chair in the Emperor’s court."
Isolde’s ale brow furrowed slightly.
"So, you are going to beg this woman for help?" Isolde pressed.
"I don’t beg," Konrad corrected her sharply, adjusting the collar of his doublet. "I negotiate. But I can’t just blindly throw Swabia at her mercy. I should try to take advice from her, yes. She represents the highest echelons of the Habsburg court. She understands how the Vatican moves its pieces. If she wants me to build her some unknown machine, she has a vested interest in keeping my forges from burning down."
He walked over to his desk and picked up a piece of charcoal. His mind was already spinning a secondary plan.
"And if she refuses to offer protection..." Konrad muttered. "I can just take her silver. One hundred thousand florins, Isolde. Do you have any idea how many mercenaries that buys?"
"..I could hire five thousand Swiss Pikemen and march them straight into Munich before Duke Wilhelm even gets out of his feather bed."
"But I am not going to show a royal operative my bleeding neck before the contract is even signed. I am going to sit down, find out what she wants me to invent, demand a favor, and take her money. Once the silver is locked inside my vaults, then we can talk about the Bavarian threat."
Thus, the ledger was set... he would play the confident warlord, hiding the fact that a Vatican execution order was currently hovering over his head.
"Go to the Great Hall," Konrad commanded. "Keep your shadow-walkers focused on the Duke and the Bishop. Do not let them send any ravens to Rome or Munich. If a bird leaves this keep, shoot it out of the sky."
"It will be done," Isolde bowed, satisfied with his direction, before slipping out of the door.
Konrad took a deep breath, steeling his nerves. He walked out of his bedchamber and down the corridor toward his private study.
However, when he pushed the door open, he realized he was not going to be facing the imperial bastard alone.
Lady Katarina was already sitting in one of the chairs opposite his desk.
She had not changed out of her gown, though the hem was stained with the mud of the courtyard.
"Katarina," Konrad said smoothly, closing the door behind him. "You should be resting. The courtyard was a chaotic mess."
"Do not patronize me, Konrad," Katarina snapped. "I saw the way the papal envoy looked at my father. I saw my father shaking with greedy anticipation before I silenced him. Something is wrong. My father is planning to break the alliance, isn’t he?"
Konrad paused, his hand resting on the back of his chair.
He had promised himself he wouldn’t share the Vatican’s plot just yet, but looking at Katarina’s fierce expression, he knew lying to her would be a strategic error. She was too smart.
"Yes," Konrad admitted bluntly. "The Pope promised your father a highly elevated seat near the Emperor’s family in exchange for destroying Swabia."
Katarina’s breath hitched.
"That miserable, cowardly bastard..." Katarina whispered, her hands gripping the armrests of her chair so tightly her knuckles turned white.
"I am going to handle it," Konrad assured her, stepping around the desk and taking his seat beside her. "But right now, I have to deal with the masked woman. She is bringing a hundred thousand florins to the table. I need to focus on her."
Though he expected Katarina to excuse herself to the safety of the guest wing, the Bavarian princess simply adjusted her crimson skirts and sat up straighter, crossing her legs.
"Then we will deal with her together," Katarina stated. "I am your wife, Konrad. And I want to look this arrogant Margarita in the eyes when she tries to buy you."
Konrad let out a short laugh. "Fine. But let me do the talking. We cannot let her know we are bleeding."
"Enter," Konrad commanded, leaning back in his chair.
The door swung open... Captain Ragnar stood in the corridor, his hand resting on his broadsword.
"The lady Margarita de Austria, Lord Konrad," Ragnar announced gruffly, stepping aside to let the guests enter.
Margarita walked into the study with the cunbothered grace of a woman who owned the very stones beneath her feet.
She had removed her black and silver armor, now wearing a striking, deeply tailored riding habit of midnight blue velvet adorned with delicate silver embroidery.
The featureless metal mask was gone, revealing her aristocratic face and those piercing blue eyes.
But it wasn’t the royal bastard that immediately caught Konrad’s attention. It was her escort.
Ragnar was supposed to force her to leave her armored guards down in the mud. And she had, for the most part. But she hadn’t come alone.
Three men stepped into the study behind her.
Two of them were the elite, plate-armored guards from the courtyard, their visors raised, their eyes scanning the dark corners of the study for any hidden threats.
But the third man... Konrad had never seen him before. He definitely hadn’t been standing in the courtyard.
The third guard was unarmored. He wore a simple, deeply worn leather duster that hung past his knees.
He was tall, incredibly lean, and moved with a silent grace that instantly reminded Konrad of a hunting wolf.
His hair was shockingly white, tied back in a messy queue, contrasting with a distinctive scar that ran straight down the left side of his face.
But what truly made Konrad’s blood run cold was the weapon the white-haired man was holding.
It was a rifle... but it wasn’t one of the standard Swabian wheellocks Konrad had sold to the exiled vanguard.
It was long, the barrel wrapped in dark leather, with a strange metallic cylinder attached near the firing mechanism.
The white-haired man locked his eyes onto Konrad, resting the rifle against his shoulder.
Konrad’s hand instinctively drifted an inch closer to the pistol in his belt.
Who hell was this man, and how had he evaded Isolde’s shadow-walkers until this very moment?
"I apologize for the extra company, Viscount," Margarita smiled, noticing Konrad’s sudden focus on the marksman. "But considering the chaos of your heavily armed courtyard, I felt it was only prudent to bring my personal shadow. I do hope you don’t mind."
"As long as his finger stays away from that trigger, he can stand wherever he likes," Konrad replied.
Margarita stepped further into the room. She noticed Katarina sitting right beside Konrad.
For a fraction of a second, a look of highly amused surprise flashed across her features, but she quickly masked it with a polite smile.
"Lady Katarina," Margarita greeted her lightly. "How delightful to see that you are taking such an active role in your husband’s ledgers."
"I like to keep my eyes on the iron, Lady Margarita," Katarina replied. "Please, take a seat. My Lord husband is a very busy man, and we have a wedding to plan."
Margarita chuckled softly, gracefully sinking into the empty chair opposite the desk.
The three guards took up defensive positions behind her, the white-haired man leaning against the wall.
Konrad leaned forward, resting his elbows on the wood of his desk.
"Alright, Margarita," Konrad stated. "Now that my wife is here, and my courtyard is secured... why don’t you tell me what you want me to invent for you?"
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