...

Konrad sat at his desk, the only light from a single tallow candle.

The surface before him was covered in the dense figures required to swell the yield of the blast furnace.

The Bavarian demand was vast, and the secret forging of Götz von Berlichingen’s iron shells required care to prevent a fatal blast in the forge.

"Enter." Konrad commanded, resting his quill.

The door opened, revealing a sight that instantly raised Konrad’s guard.

It was Lady Isolde of Württemberg.

She was dressed in a deeply cut, finely woven silk nightgown, a garment entirely unsuited for the cold stone of the keep.

She bore a small silver tray with two ornate cups of dark red wine.

Konrad remained seated. He saw the slight flush on her cheeks and the hunter’s gleam in her eyes.

The truth was plain. She had failed to seize his lands by threat or sworn pact during the day. She now sought to conquer him in the dark.

"Lord Konrad~" Isolde purred, "I realized my anger in the yard was unbefitting our blood. The weariness of the road... it made me unreasonable."

"Your anger was the common pride of a great house," Konrad corrected flatly, ignoring her silk.

"Yet, the truth of the world remains as it was this afternoon. Württemberg still lacks the power to seize these forges."

Isolde walked slowly to his desk, setting the silver tray near his drawings. She leaned against the wood, moving to draw his eyes to the silk.

"Perhaps we can find a... softer peace~" Isolde suggested, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"We are sworn to wed, Konrad. A joining of our houses could bring great strength. Württemberg’s swords, your... little forge."

Konrad judged the cups. The wine was dark, hiding any foul color or dregs.

The chance of it holding a deadly poison was slight; her aim was conquest, not murder.

"I am plotting the stones for the new blast furnace," Konrad stated, lifting a drawing to place it between himself and Isolde.

"The numbers do not favor a pact with Württemberg. The gap in our ways and wealth is too wide."

Isolde gave a soft, mocking laugh. "Always the little scholar, aren’t you, Konrad? Come, drink with me. Let us forget the great lords for one night."

She reached for the cup nearest her.

As Isolde’s fingers brushed the silver, Konrad knocked his ledger off the desk.

Isolde flinched, her eyes darting down.

In that fleeting breath, Konrad used an old trick of swift hands he had learned in his former life, trading the places of the two cups on the tray.

"My pardons." Konrad said smoothly, making no move to pick up the book. "The binding is loose."

Isolde recovered swiftly, rolling her eyes at his clumsiness. She took the cup now closest to her and held the other out to him.

"To our future~" Isolde toasted, a wicked glint in her eye.

Konrad took the cup. He raised it slightly, matching her, but he did not drink.

He merely held the rim to his lips, making the motion while holding his breath.

Isolde took a deep swallow from her cup.

Konrad set his untouched wine back onto the tray. "Now, Lady Isolde, if you are finished with this ploy to break the Bavarian pact, I must ask you to leave. I have quotas to meet."

Isolde set her cup down, "You truly are a fool, Konrad. Do you think I came here to parley?"

She took a step toward him, meaning to drop the mask entirely. Yet, as she moved, she suddenly stumbled. Her hand shot out, gripping the edge of the desk.

Her pupils widened. A sudden flush spread across her neck and chest. Her breathing grew shallow and erratic.

"What..." Isolde gasped, her eyes wide with shock as a wave of intense heat washed over her.

"What did you... the wine..."

"I traded the cups~" Konrad explained, remaining seated. "You have now swallowed it yourself."

Isolde tried to push away from the desk, to strike him, to scream for her knights. But the potion was swift.

It was no poison, nor a simple sleeping draught. It was a potent, concentrated philtre of lust, likely bought from the dark markets of Venice.

She fell against the desk, her breathing turning to ragged gasps. The fierce fire in her blood was drowning her reason.

The silk nightgown, meant to be a snare of seduction, suddenly felt like a cage of fire against her burning skin.

"Konrad..." she whimpered.

"Speak the aim of the potion, Lady Isolde." Konrad demanded, "What was the goal?"

Isolde writhed against the wood, her hands clutching the edge. The fire in her veins was torment.

She needed release, and the only man in the room was the one she had meant to break.

"To... to make you weak..." she gasped, "To make you sign... sign the lands away... while you were... lost in lust..."

"A foolish plan." Konrad noted coldly. "Parchments signed under the sway of potions are easily broken in the Emperor’s courts. And the Bavarian shield would instantly strike down the claim."

"Please..." Isolde whimpered. She reached out, her fingers brushing the coarse wool of his tunic.

"Konrad... I am burning... help me..."

Konrad looked down at the beautiful, powerful, and cruel woman writhing on his floor.

In another world, or perhaps to another man, the moment might have offered a base, vengeful pleasure.

But Konrad hated waste, and he despised madness. To lay hands upon a hostile noblewoman currently drowning in a witch’s brew was an unneeded and highly dangerous act.

"Your torment is of your own making." Konrad stated, pulling his leg away from her grasping hand.

He stood, walking past her writhing form, and moved to the door. He opened it and stepped into the dark hall.

"Guards!" Konrad shouted.

Within moments, two of the estate’s watch, armed with their wheel-locks, appeared.

"Lord Konrad!" one called out, running forward.

Konrad pointed back into the study. "Lady Isolde of Württemberg has suffered a foul humor from a potion she brought to my chambers. She is currently stricken and without reason. You will carry her at once to her guest rooms and bar the door from without. Tell her knights she is taken ill and will see no one."

The guards looked past Konrad into the study, their eyes widening slightly as they saw the mighty Duchess writhing on the floor.

They swiftly regained their wits. "Yes, my Lord," they said as one, rushing into the room.

Konrad closed the door to his study, sat back at his desk, and picked up his quill.

He still had three hours until dawn, and the Bavarian iron would not forge itself.