“This is an uncharacteristic mistake from you, Siegfried.”
“Yes, my lord, I know.”
The limed cross vaults of the great hall carry voices with ease. When one man speaks, a long moment of reverberance scatters his voice into distant corners of the cool, dim room. The forest of simple, thick columns with broad, unornamented capitals disorients the eye into thinking the hall is both massive and small simultaneously. Intimate and vast. Tall and close to the ground. A long, broad table following the course of the vaults has been cleared of its lingerers. The stone maw of the hearth is black from last night’s fire.

The man who speaks to Siegfried lounges in a broad, ornately carved chair, his head propped up on his palm. Despite his words, he is not angry. In fact, there is amusement in his eyes. A dark red mantle drapes over him, pools at his ankles. His hair is black as pitch, hangs to his shoulders in curls. A matching beard makes his mouth seem small when he says, “In light of this, what do you wish to do?”
“As I explained before, Lord Frederick, the girl is useless – to me and to you.”
“Ah, no woman is ever useless to you,” replies Frederick, grinning. “But she is your mistake, Siegfried. I see it only fit that you live with the consequences. You have a big enough house. Besides, you really should take a servant.”
“My lord –”
“Yes, yes,” he waves, “I know. ‘Neither boy nor prince nor invalid,’ as you say. But it is really not becoming anymore, this little act. I understand it helps you collect taxes. You are very clever at that. You would do an even better job if you had someone to manage your household.”

Siegfried does not reply. He looks uncomfortably at the ground.
“Come.” Frederick rises, puts his arm around Siegfried’s shoulder. They walk.