The great hall of Castle Hesselbrock groaned under the weight of too much decadence and too little fresh air. Rows of nobles, each bearing the unmistakable traces of the von Hesselbrock lineage—jutting chins, elongated foreheads, eyes that never quite agreed on where to look—watched in various degrees of amusement, horror, and pity.
At the head of the feast, Her Serene Highness, Princess Eugenia Wilhelmina von Hesselbrock, quivered with delight. Not physically, of course, but something about her seemed always to be trembling—as though she were on the verge of either ecstatic bliss or an uncontrollable seizure. Swathed in gold silk, her gown too ornate for comfort, she beamed at her betrothed, her lips far too wet, far too stretched, revealing teeth that might once have fit inside her mouth properly, but no longer seemed convinced of the arrangement.
"Ohhh, my thweetetht love!" Eugenia breathed, one gloved hand clutching her chest in exaggerated theatric ecstasy, the other gripping the table with concerning force. "To thee you in the fleth, to have you befoaw me—oh, my heart! It ith too much!"
A long string of saliva connected her upper lip to her lower, catching the candlelight in a way that made the onlookers shift uncomfortably. Her lazy, milky blue eye drifted momentarily before snapping back, locking onto her beloved with unsettling focus and intensity.
The nobles knew this pattern well. The Von Hesselbrock court had played host to many a hero, many a noble, many a man of unfortunate station who had found himself at the receiving end of Eugenia’s affection.
Some had fled. Some had been stopped.
A servant, his left shoulder curiously higher than his right, refilled her goblet with the practiced despair of a man who had seen too much.
Eugenia lifted it in a grand, sweeping motion, sending a great splash of wine over the edge, dribbling onto the already overburdened feast table.
"Oh, my deaw one!" she gasped, leaning too close, her breath thick with fermented pears and desperation. "I—I am undwone by youw pwethenthe! Ouw union—it thall be lege-endawwy! But how, oh how, my moat bewuv-ed—thall we commemowate ouw pwassion?"
A long pause. The nobles held their breath.
"A thtatue?" she suggested, eyes wide, hungry. "A mighty fwe-sco? Oh! Oh! A duel! A gwand twibute to ouw wove!"
The silence in the hall was absolute. Her hand had somehow found its way onto her betrothed’s arm, fingers both clammy and cold, her grip far stronger than it had any right to be.
There was no escape.
Only Eugenia.
