"It's no wonder that Riv turned out the way he did." One elbow firmly planted on the edge of the table, fingers cradling his cheek, Wolfram languidly stirred his bowl of thick, white broth with a spoon.

"If I grew up eating food this bland, I'd be passively suicidal too."

Aithan eyed the spread of dishes Wolfram had barely touched and silently returned to the task of deboning a fried fish.

"The most flavorful seasoning in this dish is flour" He pushed the bowl away, bored with swirling patterns on it. His nose wrinkled in disgust at Aithan's sad heap of boiled beans. "And they consider water a sauce."

Aithan's head drooped, long lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. "My apologies, Your Highness."

Wolfram snapped open his fan, discreetly covering his creeping blush with it. "Firstly, it's Wolfram to you."

Aithan bobbed his head once, a barely -there smile dancing on his lips. "Understood."

Wolfram draped a lithe limb over the knee of the other, his anklets jingling merrily with the gesture. "Treat me to something that isn't salted paper pulp on a later date," he nonchalantly glanced around, delicately fanning himself in the face. "And you are forgiven."

Aithan nodded dutifully, his golden orbs glittering ethereally under the soft ambience of the restaurant they were dining at. "I'll arrange that."

Northerners and their conduct were as mild as their taste in food so only hushed conversations and clinking of glass could be heard, despite every table being occupied. The spacious hall was permeated with the scent of fried fish and steamed rice, the tantalizing aroma of spices simmering on hot oil conspicuously absent. The finest porcelain tableware, silver utensils, and intricately woven red drapery of the richest silk, all exuded an air of extravagancy. Despite the food being a war crime, he found the place quite to his liking. Wolfram had no doubt that this was the fanciest place one could find in the vicinity.

Even in this place of affluency, where no commoner could dream of affording even a slice of bread at, the pair stood out. Patrons kept glancing at them over their shoulders, whispering curiously among themselves. They were trying to be subtle about it, but the probing glances didn't go unnoticed by Wolfram.

"Why are they eying me like I made the food?" He leaned over and whispered to Aithan's ear, fan over his mouth.

Aithan stared over Wolfram's shoulder, brows knitting together. He looked quite displeased with the unwanted attention too.

Wolfram shifted in his seat, smoothing the folds of his dress. Usually, he wouldn't give a rat's ass about who looked or what they thought but today was different.

When Clementine docked in Frostgate this afternoon, Aithan showed up at his cabin, stopping him from following his distressed friend ashore. He handed him another set of robes; in the prettiest shade of Periwinkle Wolfram had ever laid sights on with the courteous invitation to join him for dinner.

Wolfram had no clue where he produced all these lovely finery from, but it was way too beautiful to just slap on and call it a day. Plus, there was no telling when he could catch the man alone again, so Wolfram was determined to make a lasting impression.

He made a quick run to the first boutique he could find and bought an array of accessories to match the robes. It was unlike of him to stress as much as he did over what to wear, but he wanted to do the robes justice.

Feeling bold, he even lined his eyes black. Despite never being the one for jewelry, he made an exception tonight and styled every piece of sparkly ornament he felt would go well with the robe.

When they departed from the harbor, he was quite confident that he looked fine. When Aithan made no comment and stared at him with wide eyes for a while, his unshakable self-esteem started wavering a little.

With every pair of eyes that stared at him as they went, his initial spirit crumbled. By the time the food arrived, he was certain that he resembled a dressed-up raccoon that escaped from a circus, mid performance.

He could not relax at all. His jewels jingled at his tiniest move and made an obnoxious racket that made heads turn. He would have started crying if not for the fear of that stupid liner running down his face.

Wolfram nervously traced his newly painted nails along the fabric of his robes, gaze downcast.

"Maybe I should have dressed down a bit" he muttered to himself, pouting.

Aithan's crease between his brows deepened. He settled the small dish of fish he spent a whole hour deboning Infront of Wolfram. "It's not bland. Try it."

"I could agree with you, but then both of us would be incorrect" he quipped, stabbing his fork into the flaky meat and taking a reluctant bite. "Thank you, anyway."

"It is normal that people stare" Aithan stated, wiping his fingers on a napkin.

Wolfram felt as if the food turned to ash in his mouth. His heart dropped and he swallowed a thick, bitter lump of bile. It took all his willpower not to slap himself across the face for thinking he could pull such a bold look without appearing like he strayed here from a costume parade.

He laughed, settling his fork down. He chewed the inside of his cheek, grappling to come up with a witty remark to use as damage control.

"There's no crime more heinous than unadmired beauty." Aithan remarked, handing him a glass of water. "I read it somewhere."

Wolfram snapped his head up to look at him, jaw hanging slightly open. "What?"

"Don't people stare at things they find beautiful?" Aithan queried earnestly, adjusting his glasses up his nose bridge.

Wolfram's face reddened as if the food suddenly turned spicy by divine forces. His brain very inconveniently forgot how to speak like a normal human being, so his words of thanks came out as a jumbled mess.

"I was worried over nothing then" he giggled, finally recovering the sharpness of his tongue. "If that's the case, they were probably staring at you."

Feeling quite satisfied with how Aithan violently choked on his rice, Wolfram chuckled, the sound more pleasing to ears than the soft ringing of his rose quartz bangles.

"Please pass on my gratitude to the dressmaker" Wolfram added, handing him a fresh napkin "Their talent is truly divine. I would personally bow down and kiss the hands that can create something this exquisite."

Aithan broke into a beam that would send him to guillotine if killer smiles could actually kill. "Consider my hands at your service anytime."

It was now Wolfram's turn to choke on air "By the sweet whiskers of West God! You sew this?"

"It's just a little hobby I picked up when I was young" Aithan shrugged dismissively.

"A hobby?" Wolfram's pale gray eyes widened in disbelief "Making dresses fit for gods is just a casual pastime to you?"

He snapped his fan shut and tossed it to the side dramatically "What do you do on weekends? Sculpting masterpieces out of butter?"

"You flatter me." Aithan courteously waved at the waitress to grab her attention. The girl was a plain looking young lass with small brown eyes and freckled nose. She hurried over to their table, her white bonnet bobbing in the air. Aithan gestured to her to clear the table with a slight nod and a smile. She gaped at the untouched dishes, and her bushy brows furrowed.

"Is the food not to your liking, gentlemen?" she chirped, stacking plates and utensils together.

Aithan Alistair grabbed cups that were out of her reach and handed them over to her "Fabulous. Best fish I've had."

Her face brightened up instantly. She hugged the teetering tower of plates and bounced away happily, miraculously not spilling a drop of leftover.

"Must be a top-secret recipe" Wolfram chimed in. "They should have kept it a secret."

"It's not that bad."

"You are way too nice" shaking his head, Wolfram smiled at him. "One day it's going to come around and bite you in the bottom."

"They work hard" Aithan stared after the maid's retreating back, hunched over from trying to balance the pile of plates. "Least we can do is be civil."

"You do that" Wolfram grinned toothily. "But if dessert comes out tasting like my brother's marriage, civil is the last thing I will be."

Aithan seemed distracted; his amber eyes focused on a distant point behind Wolfram. With each passing second his jaw tightened, and he straightened his posture defensively, making himself taller. He resembled a feline beast ready to pounce, veins bulging on his temple. Curious, Wolfram turned around in his chair to see what got his usually calm composure rattled.

A man was approaching their table. His military uniform and the gleaming sword hanging at his waist was partially obscured by a dark cloak he had draped over them. It was doing a feeble job in helping him blend with the crowd for it could not conceal his confident stride and sharp gaze. Wolfram's hawk eyes caught the golden embroidery of a Mountain Stag peeking through on his blindingly white garb.

The man turned quite a few heads as he walked over and bowed to Aithan Alistair. He was man in days well past his youth with grays dusting the sides of his slicked back hair. His foxlike black eyes carried an ever present lower, like he considered everyone else to be mud under his boot.

"Lord Alistair," he greeted unenthusiastically. "Fancy running into you here."

Aithan refused to lift his gaze. "General Huxley, Pleasure to see you again."

"I heard His Majesty; Lord Raven Alistair finally responded favorably to our humble request and brought the fugitive back to North." General Huxley turned and snapped his fingers a couple of times. The waitress with freckles came running and bowed deep.

"The usual" he commanded and waved his hand, rudely dismissing the girl.

"What fugitive?" Wolfram demanded from Aithan; eyes narrowed in confusion.

"His Majesty has no intentions of handing him over" Aithan replied flatly, ignoring Wolfram's question. "We are only offering a diplomatic negotiation to clear obvious misunderstandings."

"Aithan, I asked you something." Wolfram hissed "Hand who over?"

"Adults are trying to discuss important matters, kid " Huxley smiled humorlessly, and side glanced at Wolfram. Something about his contempt-filled eyes prompted Wolfram to reach for a toothpick from the table. Balancing it delicately between his thumb and index finger, he glared daggers at the older man.

Shu Huxley's eyes skimmed over Wolfram, taking in his adorned attire. "I'm interrupting a tryst, I see."

"Yes" Wolfram interjected before Aithan could respond, cutting off any polite rejection. "How can we best facilitate your swift departure?"

"I came looking for my nephew, Prince Valor Verlice." He sighed deeply "Have you seen him, by any chance?"

Wolfram paused twirling the wooden needle between his slender fingers, brows creasing "Wait. You are Riv's uncle?"

Shu Huxley looked down his nose at the younger boy, face reddening at how he was repeatedly interfering. "I'm afraid I don't know who that is "

Wolfram scoffed, rolling his eyes "Of course you don't."

"Who might this boy be?" The question was aimed at Aithan. His voice was dripping with veiled mockery. "I didn't know Lord Alistair entertained the likes of him."

With an unintelligible sharp "swish," the toothpick zipped past his face too quickly for the human eye to follow. The Northern general staggered back, covering his eye with his palm while moaning painfully. Blood pooled and eventually seeped into his socket from the ripped tail of his left eye. He was crying blood, as crimson seemed to run down his cheek. His eyeball had avoided being struck by the wooden stick's sharp end by the skin of a tooth. All of his former arrogance vanished as his dark eyes became wider.

"Oops! My hand slipped." Wolfram giggled innocently, tilting his head. "Last person who talked to me that way ended up as a stain on the wall his wife and child had to scrape off for hours."

"Second prince of West" Aithan introduced, standing up from his seat and closing in on the man. "Lord Wolfram Schulz."

General's face fell dramatically, and he took a step back. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, but no words made it out. Aithan towered over him, his shadow completely engulfing the general.

"Next time you disrespect him," His voice dropped to a chilling whisper "it will be my arrow that finds you. And believe me, I never miss."

"Know your place, peasant." Wolfram commented, peering from behind Aithan.

"We have not seen his highness the crown prince" regaining his usual air of politeness, Aithan replied evenly. "See you in the Northern Court. Until then, safe travels" with a subtle nod he signaled the end of the conversation and returned to his seat.

"Was that your attempt at being intimidating?" Wolfram chuckled after the rapidly withdrawing back of Shu Huxley. "It was adorable."

Aithan remained silent, a slight frown tugging the corners of his mouth. He glared after the fleeing man, eyes gone dark.

"I've seen bunnies ruder than you" Wolfram added, putting his hand over the palm of the red-haired man. "Thank you for sticking up for me."

"You should have hit his eye" Aithan muttered.

"And stain my dress?" Wolfram laughed heartily and planted a kiss on his cheek "Now, explain the whole fugitive thing to me over dessert."

Author has something to say.

Author has gotten super busy over past few days. 

Ill get to replies ASAP.

This Author took so long because she wanted to perfect this chapter.

comment your thoughts and vote.

this author loves you all.