Valentin von Rosenfeld's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Valentin von Rosenfeld had argued for peace with witches all morning, and his mother's court had laughed at him. He was Prince of Rosenwald, heir to Queen Snow White's throne, the man they called most handsome in the kingdom. None of it mattered. When he said not all witches were wicked, the lords smiled the way men smile at a child. One murmured that love had softened the prince's head. Valentin knew they meant Ella. He left the hall before his temper won. He found his wife in their chamber. Ella did not ask how the court had gone. She read it on his face. "They won't hear you," she said. It was not a question. "They won't hear idealism." Valentin sat heavily. "I stand before them and swear peaceful witches exist. I have nothing to put in their hands. No witch who heals instead of curses. No proof. Only my word, and my word sounds like a boy in love." Ella folded her hands. She spoke plainly, the way she always did. "Then stop bringing your word. Bring someone they already trust." "There is no one." "There is Kwame." She watched him. "Go to the Order's stronghold. Ask the Grand Commander what he knows." Valentin stared at her. Kwame Mensah Jäger led the Orden der Hexenjäger, the witch hunters who served the crown. He had helped Snow White build the Order after they both survived her stepmother. His blade had ended many witches. Of all men, he seemed the last to help the prince's cause. "He hunts witches, Ella." "He is also writing a decree to spare the harmless ones. I have heard it." She did not soften the point. "A man does not do that unless he believes some witches are harmless. He has proof you do not. Go." Valentin rode to Dornröschenburg that same day. The Order's castle rose on its stepped mountain, brick and stone, towers like raised spears. Guards let him pass with wary bows. He found Kwame alone in a high chamber, bent over a document, crossing out a line with careful strokes. "The prince who scolds us at court," Kwame said, not looking up. "You chose a strange door to knock on." "I need proof that peaceful witches exist. The court mocks me without it." Valentin stepped closer. "My wife says you have it." Kwame set down his quill. He studied Valentin for a long moment. Then he opened a locked chest and drew out a decree, sealed with the crown's wax. "Healing tears," Kwame said. "Only a true witch makes them. They can mend a wound. They can even raise the dead. The crown has already named them lawful proof." He held the paper out. "This is sealed, Your Highness. Not idealism. Law. Bring your court a witch who weeps healing, and no man can call you a fool." Valentin took the decree. His hands were steady now. He had his proof. He only needed a witch to shed those tears—and he already suspected one slept under his own roof.