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“You must be a kind master, General Adesso.”

The warmth in his tone chilled the boy, made him think of King Ingo. As if he had uttered it outloud, Baptist’s heart hammered. He had never met a person who compared the two brothers, but he assumed the repercussions of vocalizing such an insult would result in a lashing - perhaps worse. 

Before allowing the handsome general a chance to respond, the prince turned to King Vincente. 

“The queen is absent. Does she dislike the sport?”

There was a lift in the question that Baptist recognized - suspicion, skepticism. 

“She is visiting her childhood home,” informed the king. “She regrets missing you.”

“I’m sure.”

Baptist wasn’t sure what possessed him. Maybe it was seeing how affectionate Carmen was, rubbing herself against the general like a cat in heat. Maybe it was the smile he was able to tease from his master’s lips. Maybe it was stupidity and his urgent desire to comfort his master whether or not he knew the cause of his displeasure. But regardless of the driving force, he found his body pulling closer to the fair prince, shifting his body in such a way that there could’ve been no other purpose for the action. 

And the prince’s reaction to others proximity was a nick quicker than the slave’s self-preserving correction.

“What is it?” He asked Baptist, studying the whole of his face before settling on his eyes.

The appraisal incited vicious color in his cheeks.

“I just…do you want food?” He stumbled, the words the only thing he could manage to try and fend off the tide of his stupidity. He would’ve pulled back if it wouldn’t have looked dubious to the prince, who was scrutinizing his relentlessly.

“Yes.” 

The word released Baptist like a sorcerer dispelling a hex, but it was clear his master was not convinced of his inane recovery. In fact, it was so clear that the boy was baffled that he was let off that easily.

Regardless, he stood before he could fumble like an oaf any further and crossed for a refreshment table. It was all finger food, spread out on fine metal platters, arranged in an aesthetically pleasing fashion. Apricots, figs, olives, cheeses, bread - he scanned his eyes over all of the options, knowing his prince disliked eating in the  morning, and tended to prefer a small snack midmorning instead, before lunch, which meant the seasoned oils for dipping the bread was certainly not an option.

Out of curiosity, Baptist grabbed a thin slice of brown bread and dipped it into the porringer, holding there as he watched the oil absorb further and further up the bread. 

Popping the entire slice into his mouth at once to minimize the mess, he cringed initially, the texture of oil overpowering, but the savory taste of the herbs soon followed, making him hum his delight. Still, he was right - it would’ve been much too heavy for his prince. 

Instead, he stole the smallest platter he could - the one holding olives - and began to pick the sweetest of the options. He tossed one white grape and then one red grape into his mouth to determine which one had the better taste, and chose the red, piling a handful onto the plate, alongside four slices of apricot, a whole fig, quartered, and a decent accompaniment of soft cheeses. 

When he returned to his master’s side, it surprised him little that the grape was chosen first. It wasn’t a product of Simo, as the vined fruit perished at the slightest provocation of frost, but when they ventured south, closer to the border - for hunting parties or border surveying - sour versions of the succulent plant were readily available in summer. 

In the arena below, two wrestlers were preparing on either side of the ring. 

“Such is a habit of your gladiators too, no?” 

Vincente looked over to Heiko, prompting him to elaborate, and he did, with a tone of inquisitive repellency. 

“Shaving and oiling themselves.”

“Mm.” The Ilysian king flourished his hand, settling a finger in the direction of one of the two wrestlers. “For them, it adds challenge to grappling. For gladiators who participate in tournaments that last for a week, it’s for hygiene. Sweat and blood clings to hair.”

He turned to the prince. 

“Is that another spectacle you’d wish to attend? Gladiatorial fights take place year round, but the cream of the crop are biannual. Once for the new year and once in midsummer.”

Prince Heiko hummed as if considering, before asking, “Are they religious?”

Baptist caught General Adesso turning his head at the question. 

“The games? Naturally. The midsummer games are dedicated to Aurelos.”

“God of Mount Helen,” said the prince.

The general’s brow cocked. “Mm. King of the gods.”

“And the new year games?” Heiko pressed on, curious, contemplative eyes on the general. “To the crop goddess?”

“Horatia.”

Between them, Baptist could feel the sort of tension that would inevitably break before any sort of action occurred. He only wondered what Prince Heiko was trying to discern of the general. The general who felled his father. 

“Are you a pious man,” spoke the prince suddenly, turning to the king as if he had found what he was looking for. The barest crease in his brow told Baptist otherwise. “King Vincente?”

Baptist wasn’t born pious, wasn’t raised pious. Things like lighting candles or murmuring quiet prayers seemed insignificant, or inconsequential, or both. But when one had the opportunity to watch the prince pervade them with poise and ascendancy, bestowing upon them virtue where there was none before, dissent was futile. Some people were simply in tune with the gods. Prince Heiko of Simo was such. 

“Pious?” King Vincente arched his brows, as though truly pensive. “Well, perhaps not as much as I should be.”

The prince studied him for a moment.

“If nothing more, at least you are honest.”

After that, the time passed quickly. There were six wrestlers who participated in the show, the losers chiseled away until a tall, dark man, by a name Baptist wasn’t paying attention enough to recall, won, and received a laurel wreath on his head as his prize. He wondered what about this sport was amusing, since it seemed anticlimactic and almost forgettable the moment one looked away from the ring. 

But he supposed that it was the refreshments that followed, along with casual conversations around food and drink, that Prince Heiko was truly after.