It was ly because she thought such events useless that she so rarely attehem these days. Rather, with the end of her betrothal, there had simply been less invitations, and it so cided with her taking up rulership that she simply had more responsibilities to prioritise.

  Marriage and rulership were a queer pair. As a wife, these occasions were important. A kind of diplomacy. Different to the pretend young dies pyed, these events became a way for a wife tthen her husband’s image aionships.

  It was important that others could perceive a ruler’s power. How a wife hosted, then, necessarily reflected on her husband. A man with a well-anised, prestigious home naturally made a good ally in any and all endeavours. This feeling, while intangible, became tangible through the weight given to it.

  However, it meant little to her—or rather, as a woman who ruled in her ht, this naturally followed a differe of rules entirely. She could not truly be an ally when, at any moment, she would marry and thus defer to her husband in such affairs. Of course, that was not to say that the other even respected her as a ruler in the first pce. Regardless of her abilities, real or perceived, there would always be those who thought her as lesser. Not just the men, but even fellow women.

  After all, it was not the men who, upon every meeting, inquired when she would marry, worried that she may not have enough time to have enough children if she did not start soon.

  Nor was it a man who now said to her: “I hear that Lady Augstadt retly opened a brothel.”

  The speaker was Luzei von Babenberg, a cousin of t Styria. A curious House which held a title for nds it had long lost to the Austrians back when the borders weren’t so settled. Regardless, they did still own mud, albeit now in Bavaria, and which the t left to his vassals to oversee as it was mostly simple farmnd. In turn, most of those vassals were close retives.

  “I am afraid that matters of hiring are left to the manager,” Julia said, her smile polite, punctuating the senteh a sip of tea.

  For a moment, silehen Luzei’s own polite expression crumpled. Her grip tightened oeacup, a wriween her brows as her eyes narrowed. “How very dare you!” She practically spat out the words, not shouting, yet spoken under her breath with enough force to fill the room.

  “I sidered why you would wish to discuss the matter, that is all.” Again, Julia followed her calm words with a sip of tea; a disgust touched her eyes. “It is cold.”

  A maid hurried over in short, quick steps, careful not to appear to be rushing. So a fresh cup was filled and she took the old cup away. Julia lifted this new cup, only to pce it back down after a moment’s iion.

  Luzei, while silent through that, did not stay so. “Will you not apologise?”

  Julia let out a breath, then, ever so unhurried, turo look at Luzei directly. “I shan’t. Protest as much as you so desire, all present know who spoke with ill-will between us. That aside, it is no surprise that you are so offended,” she said, ending on a knowing smile that lingered before being obscured by her cup.

  Although the others looked on, none dared speak up—if only because sutertai rarely showed itself at these gatherings. Perhaps, in other situations, the host would have stepped in, but t Styria himself had been known to talk himself into trouble, so it only seemed fair for him to experience dealing with this trouble at least once.

  As for Luzei, she certainly couldn’t accept whatever it was that Julia implied. “Pray tell why it is no surprise,” she said, her voice quiet and expression stiff.

  “Truly? Then I shall,” Julia said, pausing there for another sip of tea. “You think rather poorly of those who would work at a brothel.”

  Seds passed as Luzei waited for Julia to tinue, only for no more to e. “Is that all? Of course I do—who does not?” she said, her restrained anger now mingling with a mild absurdity.

  “Of course no good Christian should think poorly of her sisters. Moreover, I find it curious how you would think poorly of the workers and not those they… work for,” Julia said, tilting her head as she did. “After all, how may one sell apples if there is no oo purchase them?”

  Despite a nervoushat came up as the anger faded, Luzei held Julia’s gaze, her tone more measured in her reply. “Should I not think poorly of those who ehers to sin?”

  “Even Saint Augustihinks Adam as culpable as Eve,” Julia replied lightly, the humour fading back to ral when she tinued. “Nor did Jesus turn away the sinner when she washed His feet. If not His example is to be followed, I ot think how we may sider ourselves Christians.”

  With Julia’s calm, unhurried answer, Luzei found time to settle herself more. However, that also left her keenly aware that this was a versation with an audiehere is allowing sio repent, and there is doning their sins,” she said, fortable with this criticism.

  “Really? Do tell the King, then, for he must have fotten all these years, as did his forefathers, to outw this work. Oher hand, if the Church has issue with it, someone should tell the Bishop of Augsburg as I have worked closely with him on this.”

  A cp drew the attention away from those two, the host cutting in. “Truly? I am curious how My Lady would have the good bishop’s approval,” she said.

  With Luzei in no great rush to speak up, Julia took a leisurely sip of tea, then answered. “It is nothing of much importance. Both King and Church agree it is a kind of necessary sin, that those men who use such services, if kept from them, would stir up much trouble and such troublemakers would fall upon i women.”

  The host nodded along, eyes drawn together in . “Oh, that would be terrible,” she said, softer.

  Julia offered a gentle smile. “However, that is only a third of the discussion. We may see something as both necessary and disagreeable. In that regard, I found it prudent to bee involved that, this way, we may ehat these wome coerced into this work and that, if they should wish to repent, the Church is ready to assist them. It then follows that, rather thao roam the streets a ho men into sin”—her gaze noticeably settled on Luzei for a moment—“they should have a pce where they may provide their services in private.”

  It was calmly delivered and, once more, followed by a sip of tea. The host was not quite satisfied, though. “Are we to believe this is now only two-thirds of the discussion?” she asked, a touch of humour to her voice.

  Along with a slight roll of her other hand, Julia ined her head. “Ihe st third, then, is quite simple. These workers and those who use their services are often victims of crime as the brothels are beyond the city’s walls. Whatever their sins, they are still our sisters and brothers in faith, and they are still my subjects. Not to mention, there are sometimes those without such sin who, by poor fortune, happen to pass by at the wrong time.”

  “So My Lady would bring them ihe walls?” the host asked, her toant.

  “One barely rely o to patrol as it is,” Julia said lightly. “I jest, but it is not a simple decision, simply the best o this time. There are already pns being drawn up for a more suitable location and I have politely asked the mayor to do something about the night watch.”

  Although subtle, the host showed a certain look of relief. “Is that so?”

  Julia smiled and took another sip of tea, saying no more.

  The versation quickly moved on, a brisk paon when so many had to get a word in and each word led further away from the inal topic; it never settled on Julia again quite so heavily. She was questioned on other topid she answered and, where it suited her, she stepped in to give a word or two, but, among those present, all khat her presence was an indulgence for the host.

  Ohe afternoon tea reached its end, that became particurly clear as she alone remained behind while the others all left. After seeing them off, the host returned, a greater warmth to her smile.

  “Oh Julia, it has been too long.”

  With a breath of ughter which coloured her lips, she rose, her hands open. “It has, yet I ot think of when sooner I could have visited.”

  Her host Dorothy took her turn to ugh and, in a stride, closed the gap betwee her guest into a gentle embrace. “Poor thing, you truly have been busy.”

  It sted but a moment and then they separated, each finding a seat close by, another moment to settle in before Julia replied. “I dare not waste a day. Many people rely on my rulership, after all.”

  Dorothy’s smile wavered before settling into something almost strained. “Such as prostitutes?” she asked.

  Although Julia did not ugh, a humour touched her lips, humour which did not reach her eyes. “Have you ever spoken with one?”

  “Of course not,” Dorothy replied, her toter-of-fact.

  Julia gave a sie of ughter. “Nor have I; however, this issue came to my attention and so I sought to resolve it, whicluded having someone look into the workers.”

  Silence followed, stretg, and she made no move to break it that, eventually, Dorothy had to ask, “What did they say?”

  The answer did not e quickly, Julia lingering in silence a little loill while she stared at nothing. “My personal maid fessed to me that, after her parents had passed, she sidered this work if she could not soon find a husband. There simply aren’t many opportunities for unwed women. Some had been orphaned, some fled a tragedy. One said she had a crippled hand and so no one would sider employing her. Another was born with an unpleasant mark on her face; she had still been courted by a few men, she said, but their mothers chased her away, worried her children would bear the same mark.”

  “I uand their , yet that makes it no less awful for her,” Dorothy whispered.

  Julia’s gaze remained distant as her smile grew wider for a moment and then faded. “Of course, I am a Christian, so I wish to help these women. However, even if I did, the manager made clear that there was no she of women ready to take their pce,” she said, her voice soft.

  “My Julia is very capable, so I have no doubt she will resolve this,” Dorothy said. It was not necessarily a statement spoken with fidence, but with a geimism.

  To which Julia gave a dry ugh. “I hope so,” she whispered, then lifted her head up and tinued speaking with her usual voice. “Still….”

  Dorothy again waited until it became clear Julia was the one waiting, so she asked, “Still?”

  “I know you are curious of what the bishop and I spoke of.”

  It was not an accusatioone almost secretive, teasing, and the look in her eyes echoed that as she found Dorothy’s gaze. For her part, Dorothy gave no preteherwise. “Not that I would pry, of course,” she said, a finger held just in front of her lips.

  “I do not mind speaking of it, knowing you uand nuance.” Julia paused there a moment. “This is not a simple matter as I often correspond with the bishop on many matters, some whitertwih each other. In particur, I should say, we had a ret discussion on the… hypocrisy of how we treat Jews.”

  It was subtle, yet Julia caught the flicker of emotion, Dorothy not uarded in this pany. “Is that so?”

  Julia raised her hand, palm out. “It is so. We uand that it is a sin to lend with i, so, for turies, rulers invited Jews to do it and collect a tax on the profits. I ask you, not to ao me, but to God whether or not this is just. My heart knows. That is a discussion I had with the bishop, which then overpped with this. Why is it that we be hypocrites freed and not for passion?”

  It was not a simple topic, especially sidering one side had e prepared and the other not. Despite that, Dorothy was not slow, her gentle nodding along ending in a thoughtful frown. “That is your side, what of the bishop’s?”

  A titter fell from Julia’s lips. “Still so sharp, how I miss our versations,” she said.

  “How I missed your answer,” Dorothy replied, her smile rueful.

  Julia gave no mind with a few rolls of her wrist. “I would not wish to misrepresent the bishop, so I hope you will five me not going into such detail. The gist is that he does agree we should not put obstacles in the way of helping people. However, he wisely cautions that we ot redeem others. We only offer a path to salvation that they may choose to walk.”

  Again, Dorothy nodded along. However, her i iopied, now assured her guest hadn’t fallen into queer thoughts, and she made as much clear. “Of course, I am sure you are curious why I insisted on your attendaoday.”

  Julia let out a breathless ugh, her lips quirked in a smile, eyes narrowed with amusement. “Of course, it is because I am delightful and you wished to be delighted.”

  Although Julia’s fidence was well-known to Dorothy, such a bold decration still toppled her posure, breaking into a momentary titter that she quickly waved away. “Of course. It is my delight, then, to hear from your mouth of your betrothal.”

  There was no ge in Julia’s expressiohe air around her did. Docile, her words softer, proud gaze settled a little below Dorothy’s eyes—the sort of thing Dorothy easily noticed.

  “You know best… how desperately I hoped for Prince Hector to… e to his senses. Now that it is clear I am ohe who o do so, I did so.”

  Dorothy’s smile weakened, a sympathetic tilt to her head, and she said, “That is what so worries me. You are in the rare position of us dies who may have some agency over her husband, yet….”

  “What agency do I have? Who would marry this thorn in the Prince’s side?” Julia whispered, careful that her voice went no further than her host. “I had prepared to live out what life I have left aloruth be told, I thought it a trial from God. That my mother died giving me life and my father passed so young. That on the cusp of joining a family, I became worse than strao those I had long thought of as my family. How I now take my meals alone, surrounded by the echoes of those long gone, left with memories that paio cherish. Even if I did marry, I fear God will take him as He took everyone else precious to me….”

  Dorothy listened, patient, but took that pause to speak up. “The abruptness of this is all the more w for that. I wish for you to be happy, to know the same joys I do; however, of Prince Friedrich, I ot say I know him well and I fear her do you.”

  The rea Julia gave was simply to softly smile, her gaze again growing distant. “That is, I told him the same thing I told you, and he ughed at me. He called me a silly girl for believing such superstitions and insisted that he was far too stubborn to prove such a superstitiht. It was… endearing. I felt young again, as if listening to my father reassure me he would return by m, and even though I now know how empty an adult’s promise is, I couldn’t help but be moved by Fritz’s words.”

  She spoke with such a wistfulness, childish—and all the more so when her face then paled and she covered her mouth.

  “That is, Prince Friedrich’s words,” she mumbled.

  The knot in Dorothy’s chest was not easily undone, yet, watg that little bit, it certainly loosened.

  After a moment, before Dorothy had prepared anything else to say, Julia frowned. “How is it that Lady Bavaria knows of my betrothal before even I do?”

  Dorothy chuckled, her head gently shaking. “Oh Julia, when a suitor would ride boldly through the front gate, there is little ce of hiding the courtship,” she said.

  With her gaze to the side, lowered, eyeshes fluttering, Julia whispered, “I told him as much.”

  For a moment longer, Dorothy simply watched, then she elegantly rose to her feet. “Albert has spoken much with Lord Styria these years, who has certainly sung Prince Friedrich’s praises. However….”

  “It is not always a pliment to have such praises sung by him,” Julia said lightly, and she stood up too.

  “Let us speak more of this after dinner. For now, let us interrupt the children,” Dorothy said, a wiess to her smile.

  Julia only chuckled in reply, her hauring for Dorothy to lead the way.

  So Dorothy did and, as they left the room, she said, “I must thank you. If not for your letters, I fear my children would be far too busy pying soldier to learn. Even little Julia will take up arms with whatever is at hand.”

  With a small smile, Julia replied, “It is a good thing to be proud of one’s father.”