Her and I

Chapter One - Katharina

Born on December sixteenth in the year of seventeen-hundred-and-ninety-three, Katharina Brigitta Battenberg, then Wahl, knew no shortage of luxury and wealth. Although, she knew no shortage of tragedy, neither.

Her parents, Lord Heinrich and Lady Caroline Wahl, possessed no greater joy than their three daughters, of whom Katharina was the youngest. Johanna and Frieda Wahl were eight and six years her senior, respectively.

A young girl of Katharina's stature was to be considered near perfect; loved, handsome, clever, and spared no luxury.

So how could tragedy have such ease in finding her?

Perhaps her upbringing was not quite all that it seemed. Her mother, Lady Wahl, found herself in a predicament in the year of seventeen-hundred-and-ninety-two, left alone with two children while her husband was away.

On her lonesome for months, the arrival of a greatly powerful and equally handsome man from 'the West' was all Lady Wahl could hope for.

Of course, she regretted her betrayal immediately, and informed Lord Wahl of what had occurred the moment he returned home.

A soft-spoken and hopelessly-in-love man, Lord Wahl had no choice but to forgive his wife, and raise the third child, Katharina, as his own.

By the year of eighteen-hundred-and-twelve, at the age of nineteen, Katharina found herself alone and without a home.

"You disgrace me, Ulrich," Katharina hissed, pouring every ounce of hate into her words.

The young woman stood with her hands balled to fists at her sides, her belongings packed into a measly five chests. It was not all she had, but it was all she could fit into the trunks.

The chests sat at the end of the long grey cobblestone lane that cut through fields of lush green grass, dotted with blooming blossom trees.

At the end of the lane sat a Baroque manor made of sand-shaded stone which glowed in the sunlight. Schönhausen Palace. Home.

It is no longer your home, a voice in Katharina's head reminded her.

With her light blonde hair pulled back into ringlets and clothed in a black pelisse of mourning, it was tough for Katharina to look intimidating, especially with the tears threatening to burst from her blue eyes.

Nonetheless, she seemed to manage an expression at least somewhat close to the word.

Lord Battenberg, Ulrich, stepped back.

At just twenty-three years of age, the man appeared closer to forty. Katharina always presumed it was from years of his acting like a crotchety old sot.

"Need I remind you, Lady Battenberg," he sneered through clenched teeth, "you have done the work of disgracing yourself on my behalf."

Katharina's eyes widened in outrage. Who was this man to come to her home and throw her to the street, then kick her on the way out?

"How dare you, sir!"

"Shall I indulge you?"

"So, you shall!"

The pair stood face to face, mere inches apart. Katharina was a good foot shorter than Ulrich, but her temper was flaring, and she felt nearly double in size as a result.

"You failed in your duty as a wife, and once-more in your duty as a mother. For that reason, I cannot in good faith trust you to fulfill your duty as guardian of this estate. This is your home no more." Ulrich seemed pleased with himself when he finished speaking.