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The Masks of Nobility- Chapter 1
Jikta had no desire to marry. She had, until now, been successful in avoiding such an arrangement. She was fortunate that both her family and potential suitors quickly recognized the simple fact—she was ill-suited for it.
To put it plainly, when the topic of romance arose, she had little to no understanding of it. She could recognize it in others—the way her dear cousin George looked at Bartosh (the latter would have told her if it was mutual, given their close bond), the way her father gazed at her mother, or even the subtle flirtations among the household staff. But she herself had never felt even the faintest flutter. She loved her family, of course, but familial love was not the same as romantic love. Or so George told her.
She preferred her art—studying the form of the living world, sketching it with a precision that sometimes unnerved people. Her paintings had become so lifelike that George often jested she must be a witch. Her lack of romantic inclinations, coupled with her pursuit of biological and anatomical studies (which her family wisely kept discreet), were reasons enough to deter suitors. But the greatest deterrent was her own ‘odd’ nature. Many found her logical assertions strange, though she struggled to understand why; to her, they seemed perfectly sensible. Yet this perceived defect was so offensive that it outweighed even the vast dowry her father and uncle could provide.
George often reassured her that she needn’t worry—he would always protect her. He had promised this since childhood when it first became apparent that she did not fit into the world as neatly as other noblewomen. He came to her for counsel on political and managerial matters, where her mind was a boon. And in turn, he explained her social missteps and how to navigate them. His presence at gatherings, ever the lively and charming one, made her participation tolerable.
Not that she attended such events often. And if she did, she did everything in her power to avoid engagement, retreating into her comfortable routine.
War made men desperate. And desperate men made desperate deals. Her uncle was not desperate, but Lord Hanush was. And so, the marriage was arranged.
Jikta had to admit—Lord Capon had been just as averse to the betrothal as she. Several months had passed since they were informed, and she was quite impressed (and grateful) for the litany of excuses that delayed the inevitable. George had been outraged, demanding that their uncle break the engagement. A foolish endeavor—one she would have advised against—for it only spurred Lord Hanush to secure the match more aggressively.
---
Jikta stared longingly at her sketches—portraits of home, of her friends, the household staff, her mother. Her father, uncle, and George rode alongside the retinue ensuring their safe passage to Rattay.
“Cousin, look—it’s Rattay,” George said.
Jikta peered over the top of her book. The city loomed in the distance, still some ways off, but the outskirts caught her interest. The flora suggested a strong presence of boars. She wondered if she could explore the forests to better understand them.In her musings, she had ignored George. “Sakra, Jikta! Look ahead!”
She blinked back to attention. George rarely grew frustrated with her, even when he had every right. But his tone now required notice.
An entourage of horses approached them."Sir Hanush!" her uncle called out. "What a generous welcome."Ever the diplomat, he gestured to the cart. "Allow me to introduce my dear niece."Her father extended a hand to help her down, whispering, "As we practiced, dear."She would miss his gentle, kind support.
Jikta stepped out of the cart, not as the woman she truly was, but as the noble lady she was expected to be. She placed the mask upon herself—an approachable smile, the tranquility of a blushing bride. Her gaze swept over the men before her, assessing, calculating.
She hoped for a kind husband—one who would leave her be, who would not take his rights often, if at all. Perhaps he would even allow her to pursue her studies.Perhaps that was too much to wish for.
Two young men stood out in the entourage. The shorter, broad-shouldered one with dark hair had striking eyes—not simply for their blue shade, but for the depth within them. They were the eyes of someone who had endured trials and perhaps still was. A rare quality for a noble of Capon’s standing.
The taller man, dressed in fine attire, was another matter. His gaze was one of disinterest—bordering on disdain. Accusatory, as if she had committed some unspoken crime.Unfortunately, this must be her husband.
She bowed politely to Hanush, who let out a thunderous laugh.“She will do you well! Now, introduce yourself!”
There was something commanding about the way Hanush spoke to his ward. His booming voice unsettled her.
Hans Capon’s expression was unreadable as he took her hand, pressing a formal kiss upon it. A forced courtesy. A mask, just like hers.
“I am most fortunate for such a fair wife,” he said, though his tone was devoid of warmth. “I am Hans Capon.”
She withdrew her hand quickly, resisting the urge to wipe it against her skirts. She hated being touched.
Jikta bowed, responding as custom dictated. “I thank you, my lord. I am most pleased to see you have recovered from the plague, sweating sickness, and—if I recall correctly—turning into a horse?”
Her father squeezed her arm. George let out a poorly concealed snort. The silence that followed made it quite clear—she had made a mistake.
Hans raised his eyebrows, momentarily stunned, before regaining his composure. “Yes, it was most distressing to be kept from this… wondrous day,” he said smoothly.She smiled at the falsehood. Two liars, wearing the masks of nobility.
“I do hope you no longer have a taste for hay,” she quipped. Her father and Hanush both cleared their throats. Hanush spoke "Welcome to Rattay. I have arranged for Henry of Skalitz, ward of Sir Radzig," he gestured to the shorter man, "and Hans to escort Lady Jikta and her cousin to their rooms. You good sirs," he said to her uncle and father, "will join myself and Radzig to celebrate this wonderful day."
----
Later, in the Gardens
The gardens were beautiful, brimming with a vast array of herbs. Jikta, momentarily forgetting her circumstances, exclaimed with excitement."May I look amongst your herb garden, my lord?"Hans seemed taken aback by her sudden enthusiasm but nodded.
George chimed in, ever her advocate, "Perhaps we can take a turn? Jikta loves the outdoors and has a great interest in plants."Encouraged, she turned to Hans. "I noticed several meadows nearby contain a particular dispersal of flowers—indicating a large boar population. Do you get many boars, my lord?"
Hans tilted his head, silent in thought.Henry, the man introduced as Radzig’s ward, spoke up instead. "My lord loves to hunt, Lady Jikta." She turned to Henry eagerly. "Ah! Then you must know about the flora preferred by the animals you track! What subspecies have you hunted?"
Hans’s mask returned. "I know little of flowers, my lady. Only the language of flora as is due proper."She deflated slightly, sensing he already found her an irritation. George stepped in. "What Jikta means is—back home, she devised a system using flowers to locate game. It increased our hunts tenfold."
Hans’s mask cracked. "Really?"Jikta brightened and eagerly began explaining. With George smoothing over her bluntness and Henry supporting a sulking Hans, her betrothed soon dropped his cold facade. He even regaled them with an amusing story of his and Henry’s misadventure with a boar.
Jikta thought, perhaps this could work.
------
She had slipped out of her chambers for a quiet walk, seeking fresh air and solitude. But as she turned a corner, she stopped mid-stride.
Two figures stood close—foreheads touching, whispering in hushed tones. Lovers, she thought at first, though the atmosphere between them was not entirely tender. There was tension. Most likely members of the household staff. Still, she ducked into the shadows. If she were found wandering alone, it would be improper.
She began to sneak past them.
Then she froze.The voice—clear, familiar, unmistakable—belonged to her betrothed.
"Christ, Henry, she's mad! Absolutely mad!" Hans's laughter rang out, careless and sharp. "It explains why she's unwed. She’s a rich looker—when I first saw her, I couldn't understand it."
The other man—Henry—sighed. "Mad and genius are often the same thing, milord."
Hans huffed.
Henry chuckled, tilting his head back, exposing the curve of his throat. "Maybe, just maybe, your heir gets her smarts and avoids trouble. Unlike you." He smirked. "I could retire."Hans leaned in. Pressed his face into Henry’s neck. Then, slowly, deliberately, he placed a kiss there. Jikta’s breath caught in her throat.
Hans’s lips moved upward, tracing Henry’s jaw until he captured his lips in a desperate, passionate embrace. "I'll never let you go," Hans murmured between kisses, his voice raw. "You'll never retire. I'll make trouble if you do." Henry laughed, quiet and warm. "Of course you will, my lord."
Their foreheads touched, their breaths mingling. Jikta should have turned away, but she could not. Hans sighed, as if a great weight pressed upon him. "Don't speak of heirs."
The shift in his voice was almost imperceptible, but Jikta caught it. The way it wavered, unsteady.
"The thought of bedding her feels… tainted. Wrong. I—"Henry’s expression softened. A look of quiet, immeasurable tenderness.
"Hans."
There was nothing else in that single word, yet it carried everything—understanding, sorrow, devotion.Henry whispered, a teasing lightness in his tone, though his eyes held something deeper. "You've been with many—a great many, as I recall. The infamous Hans Capon, conqueror of hearts. Fear not."
Hans did not laugh. He did not smirk.Instead, he tucked his head into the crook of Henry’s neck, as if seeking shelter.
"Not since you," he confessed. His voice was barely audible. "Never since you. You are… my everything."
Henry exhaled slowly, his hand moving to Hans’s hair, fingers threading through the strands in a soothing motion.
"Aye," he whispered. "And you to me."
The weight of their grief settled over them both.
Jikta did not understand the world of love. She never had. But she understood what she saw before her.
This was not desire alone. This was devotion. This was belonging.
The priest would call it sin. But the only sin Jikta saw was forcing the destruction of something so profound in the name of nobility.She began to step back, her foot knocking into a basket.
It clattered against the stone.
She held her breath.
Silence.
Neither of them stirred.
She slipped away, unseen.
---
The Next Morning
Jikta paced her chambers.
Neither she nor her husband-to-be wanted this marriage. That much was clear but the battle against it was lost—for now.
Marriage was a document, a binding contract, a political arrangement. That much could not be undone.
There was another matter. The one that loomed over her like an axe.
Heirs.
Jikta had never given much thought to the act of producing them before. But now—now she knew. It was not merely that she, herself, did not wish to bear a child. It was that forcing Hans into such intimacy would be a cruelty beyond measure. It felt wrong. Morally, deeply, fundamentally wrong.
But avoiding it forever? That was another matter entirely.
She exhaled sharply.
No. For now, she could stall. There were ways to delay—many ways. She could not stop the marriage, but she could control this.
She pulled out her study of plants and set to work.
She could not approach Hans about it. That would mean revealing what she had seen. And if she had miscalculated—if his shame turned to fury—her family could suffer for it.
That was not a risk she was willing to take.
So she planned.
One thing was certain—she had no intention of bedding her husband on their wedding night.
She would see to that.
----
This is my first fanfic! I was inspired by how amazing the Hansry community is and decided to give writing a try. The first chapter is from Jikta’s perspective, chapter two will be Hans’s, and chapter three will be Henry’s. I’m also thinking about adding one from Radzig’s POV. Let me know what you think! Posting here until I get an AO3 account.