The Prince? He had only seen the Prince in tapestries and paintings that merchants overcharged for. He hadn’t really paid attention to them, he’d never be able to afford them, the royal family didn’t affect him and they weren’t food. But why was the Prince in his house?

Said Prince raised the same eyebrow he had raised at the chair at Sam and he tried not to shrink away. He felt as though he had just failed a test.

“What can a humble alchemist do for his majesty?” Coursi asked. Sam wondered if he had meant it to sound as sarcastic as it was.

“I have chosen my quest. I want to come to a peace treaty with the faes,” the Prince said, tilting his chin upwards as he said it.

Sam glanced towards Coursi and struggled to suppress a snigger. Coursi’s lips curled upwards, and he avoided Sam’s eye.

“Is something amusing about that?” the Prince’s voice clipped across the room.

“It is a lofty aspiration.” Coursi said, tactfully. “One that will make you unpopular with the people.”

“Why should I care what they think? It is my quest and it benefits the nation.”

“You’d care if they revolted,” Sam said. He had only meant to think it.

The Prince glared at him.

“I know what happens in villages like this,” he said. “You’d benefit.”

Sam glared back. There was a fire in his chest and his face was burning as he opened his mouth to demand ‘what a pompous, perfect Prince would possibly know-‘

“Perhaps we would,” Coursi said before he could voice his flames, “but why do you need an alchemist for to help you?”

The Prince leant back in his chair, coolly appraising the two of them. Sam felt his nails digging into the palms of his hands.

“It is generally agreed that alchemists are just like faes. You fiddle with nature and people. Twist it into what you want for your own benefit. I want to understand that power before I go running headlong into their den. I'm not a fool.”

"You sound like one," Sam’s mouth acted on its own accord again, but the glare he got from the Prince was enough to spur him onto continue. “Alchemy is nothing like fae's magic. It has strict laws - predictable laws - laws that can be studied-“

“So, what are the Celestials, then?”

Sam glanced towards Coursi, hoping his mentor would provide the answer. He received only a stoic silence in return.

“Not faes.” Sam said.

“You are set on this, your highness?” Coursi asked in a low voice.

“Absolutely.”

He was silent for a long moment, running his hand over the stubble of hair at his chin. Sam was desperate to catch his eye, to give him some signal not to do this. The Prince didn't know anything about defending himself from the faes. He didn't know the scramble to get iron from the market to build traps around the house. He couldn't possibly understand that there were just some places Sam wasn't allowed to go near as a child. You didn't play near the woods, you turned your coat inside out whenever you thought you were going to be late home. You kept a head count of everyone with you and you never opened the door unless you were expecting someone. There were rules you had to follow. Rules that Sam's mother had enforced. The Prince couldn't know them. He wouldn't understand the panic of twilight. He probably watched the sunset from his window and swanned around the castle, eating as much as he liked whenever he liked. There was no way that a Prince like him would ever understand the rhythm of the life Sam had. The rules were there and they were used to them. People didn't die. They rarely went missing. They were coping on their own, without him. They didn't need HIM to swoop in on horseback and safe them. They were saving themselves.

But he couldn't say any of this. He was excluded from the conversation. It was the Prince and Coursi, staring each other out.

"I'm afraid I am too busy to leave Pondscombe," Coursi said, at length. He spoke so casually, as if he had merely been invited for tea. "With the winter approaching, I have to make charms for the people."

"That's understandable."

"I would recommend my apprentice, however. He has proved himself more than capable."

The Prince looked at Sam disdainfully.

"That's alright," Sam said quickly, feeling the same feeling rise up in his stomach. "I'll make the charms. I used to make them for my mother."

Coursi was giving him a look. It was a look that said 'don't contradict me.' A look that said 'this is for your own good.'

"That's perfect," the Prince said. "It would be an ease on my mind if I knew I had a capable alchemist on my side."

Sam opened his mouth, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks, but Coursi cut across him.

“Sam, why don’t you tend to the Prince’s horses?” Coursi’s tone was casual and he didn’t even glance at Sam. Coursi had a white hot fury bubbling under that calm façade which Sam would no doubt receive the brunt of later. He snapped his jaw shut and tried not to storm out of the room or slam the door on his way out.

Albert was shying away from the two horses who were standing in the brambles, glancing around disdainfully. Sam had heard of dogs looking like their owners, but not horses. The white one, a stallion, was clearly the Prince’s and the smaller, brown one with the chestnut sheen belonged to the knight.

Sam took a step towards the brown horse. Its dark eyes watched him wearily, snorting from its large, round nostrils. He edged closer. He had never realised how large horses really were. It’s head was huge. His hand shook as he held it out the horse’s muzzle.

It snorted.

His fingers curled away, like a snail retreating into its shell. Then its large snout butted against his knuckles. It was instantly relaxing, blowing out the fire that the Prince had sparked. The horse’s nose felt like velvet and it was toasty warm. Sam found himself grinning from ear to ear in seconds.

“Her brush is in her saddlebag.”

Sam jumped and the horse snorted again at the sudden voice. The knight was striding towards him, armour clinking like a windchime. Sam could only blink at him.

“If you’re going to tend her, you’ll need to brush her down,” he explained. Without any hesitation, he opened up the leather satchel hanging from the horse’s saddle.

“Her name’s Demeter, by the way,” the knight said. “And I’m Elexander.”

“Oh,” Sam nodded. His throat had dried up again. “Right. I’m Sam.”

“I know,” Elexander took a brush from the hose’s saddlebag. Walnut turned, fixing a soppy look on her owner as he combed through her mane.

“We don’t get a lot of horses here,” Sam said, just for something to say.

“I can tell,” Elexander said, but his smile soft. He took Sam’s wrist and placed his hand on the comb. “Here, like this. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Sam wanted to say he was absolutely not afraid, but Elexander’s dark hand was already guiding him through the silky hair of the horse. It built up to a rhythmic beat of ‘skshh, skshh.’ Walnut ocassionally tossed her head, making a small whinny. In the warmth of the afternoon and the warmth of Walnut’s breath and the warmth of Elexander’s hand resting over his.

"You don't like Prince Lefrich," Elexander said, his voice low in Sam's ear.

"Not much," Sam admitted. He felt safe talking to the knight, no matter how close he seemed to the Prince.

"He's putting on a brave front. This quest means a lot to him."

"It's a fool's errand."

"He has his reasons for choosing it."

Sam was desperate to ask what they were, but that would mean showing an interest in the Prince and he definitely wasn't interested. He focused on combing the horse's long mane through instead. Animals were easier to deal with.

He became aware of a golden shine to the afternoon. The grass almost looked like hay, and the houses sat smartly as though they were sandstone instead of wood. A fine queue of people started down the street, heading home. They gave Coursi's distrustful and disdainful glances as they passed, though once they saw the knight, they quickly glanced away. It was getting late.

Sam stepped away from the horse. He was so abrupt that he bumped into Elexander's chest and the knight gave him a bewildered look. He managed to mumble something about dinner before he retreated into the house.

Coursi was sat at his desk, scowling down at his alchemy board, whilst the Prince was sat by the empty fireplace. He raised an eyebrow at Sam when he asked if they were staying for dinner, which was all the answer he needed. He nodded, picking up a spare flint from Coursi's desk as he walked by and bending down to set the fire. Thankfully, it lit quickly, saving him the embarrassment of being unable to light a fire in front of royalty.

Then he fetched a rabbit from the pantry and strung it up over the fire. He weaved in between the people, because now Elexander had decided to stand in the middle of the room and watch him with a bemused expression. He had to go back to the well, start the water boiling, chop the vegetables and wonder if the wine at the back of the cupboard was matured enough to drink yet.

“Maybe it would be helpful to bring this one along,” Elexander said. He nudged Sam as he stirred the pot. “He could cook for us on the journey.”

Prince Lefrich didn’t say anything. Neither did Sam. They didn’t say anything to each other for the duration of the meal. Coursi was still brooding over his failed alchemy attempt, which left Elexander as the only one desperate to liven the mood.

The knight and the Prince finally left when it was dark outside, taking wards with them and with their hands on the pommels of their swords. They were staying at a nearby inn, Elexander told Sam as he was bundled out of the door.

It was as if a weight was lifted from his shoulders. As if Sam had just been unchained from the stocks. They were gone, at long last.

“You weren’t serious – about me going with them, were you?” he asked Coursi.

He received an innocent look and a slight smile in return.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”