There were so many balls and politics and god damned weather to contend with, he hadn't considered his status giving him a mark on his head to those rebelling. But he found himself, horseless, and fist fighting a couple of men who demanded not only money, but threatened his life, too.
Had he been a lesser man, the punches and magic used to burn him in whip like attacks, he'd not have lasted as long as he did. But if one thing is genes allowed for it was stubbornness and pride.
"You're all mongrels! Cads who pretend to be heroes!" he barked at them, and the second the fight took them to the iced over river, Davishire eventually found himself overwhelmed, and his face on the ice. He wasn't sure how it happened- someone hit him from behind, striking him and making him bleed. For some reason, they were kicking him and cursing him as if he were the Grand Duke himself, and were his head not ringing, and the world swirling around him- he would have continued to fight back.
He heard a hiss, was that the ice? He couldn't tell, he could barely move, but a sudden blast of a rifle, and the shout of the city guards was all he heard, before he heard his attackers swearing over head.
"My powers..."
"It's a mordecai."
"Let's get the hell out of here!"
"Ditch the damn Duke, first."
As if he was a duke! It was that fiery thought that would be his last thought until he felt himself being dragged across the ice. He bared his teeth, trying to move when suddenly the sting of ice cold water hit him as the men tossed in in through where the ice had broke.
"Grab that stone. Throw it on his belly! Make the god damn Duke-kisser drown!"
And as he turned, finding just the barest amount of strength to turn and try to fight back, the massive rock was dropped onto him, winding him and sinking him deeper below the waters, below the ice.
And he felt so pathetic and weak in the moment, seeing Miss Treyburn's face flash before his eyes before his entire being tensed and he screamed-
Before cold water rushed suffocating into his mouth.
The men must have taken off, but whoever it was iwth the rifle was quick to dash over the river. The men with him were called over, pick axes produced as he pointed to where Davishire had floated beyond the broken ice to a much thicker sheet.
"Break the ice open men! We can't have the poor man drown!"
And soon Davishire was pulled from the waters, unmoving, and soon his blueing flesh was prickling over with frost.
"Sweet Ansgar's name.." one of the men breathed. "It's Lord Callister."