His cousin. The fair-haired Ofka of Baruth.

“I introduce to you my comrade and brother in arms, Parsifal of Rachenau, the son of Tristram of Bukowa,” panted Starling, winking pointedly. “Indeed, Ofka, it would be hard to imagine a braver man than him. I, not to boast, also fought against the Czechs—why, even against sorcerers and sorceresses. But he—you won’t believe it! He fought against the hordes of the heretic Ambrož at the Battle of Náchod; the two of us against a hundred. And on the walls of Kłodzko, why, you wouldn’t believe it, girl! Though wounded and bleeding, he fearlessly resisted the heretics who were storming Kłodzko. Sir Půta of Častolovice himself squeezed his shoulder afterwards!”

Crimson spots appeared on Parsifal’s cheeks. And it wasn’t even because Starling was lying through his teeth. Parsifal simply couldn’t refrain from blushing at the sight of the maiden, her large hazel eyes and freckled, retroussé nose. They were the most gorgeous freckles Parsifal had ever seen.

“I’ll leave you,” said Starling quickly. “Pass the time of day together. I have important things on my mind.”

He left them alone. And Parsifal, who even a minute earlier had been ready to repay his comrade with a horse and trapping, now felt he would gladly punch him in the nose. For no matter how much he wanted, he couldn’t gather himself to utter a single word. Certain that maidens only lend their ears to the refined speech of troubadours and knights errant, he felt like an utter fool.

A warm wind was blowing and frogs were croaking with abandon in the moat.

“You were wounded, were you?” asked Ofka, interrupting the awful silence and wrinkling her freckly nose. “Show me where.”

“No!” said Parsifal, starting. “It doesn’t behove to brag,” he added quickly. “A braggart is not worthy of a knight’s sash.”

“But you did fight?”

“Aye.”

“So you are brave? Valiant?”

“It doesn’t behove to—”

“Let’s see how valiant you are,” said Ofka, leaning over the moat. “Oh! Catch that frog for me.”

“That frog there?”

“You heard me. That big one. Thank you. And now eat it.”

“What?”

“Eat it. Let’s see how brave you are.”

Parsifal squeezed the frog in his fist. Closed his eyes. And opened his mouth.

Ofka of Baruth caught him by the hand, snatched the frog from his grasp and tossed it into the water. And blushed like a cherry.

“Please forgive me,” she said lowering her head. “I didn’t mean that… Not at all. They actually say I’m flighty—”

“You aren’t,” said Parsifal, swallowing. “You aren’t flighty, m’lady. You are…”

Ofka raised her head. Her hazel eyes grew even bigger than before.

“You are beautiful.”

Ofka looked long at him. And then fled.