The inside of Laurence's bedchamber resembled the aftermath of a particularly scholarly hurricane. Books, sealing stones, and meticulously crafted notes were scattered upon every available surface as he packed up his most important study materials into his travel bags. 

He wrapped the majority of his sealing stones in soft cloths, laying them gently beside thick tomes bound in dark leather. His fingers brushed over the pages, ensuring no leaf was bent or torn. For the smaller pieces of parchment adorned with arrays that swirled like miniature galaxies, he triple checked each symbol for precision before carefully arranging them into a binder.

He grasped one of the sealing stones he’d left off to the side to house his arrays and turned it over in his palm. The smooth, polished surface gleamed in the midday light from his large windows, its deep purple hue reminiscent of a twilight sky. 

Laurence closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and focused his mind.

Energy thrummed through his veins, pooling in his fingertips. He traced an intricate pattern across the stone's surface, leaving behind faint, glowing lines that pulsed with power. The air around him crackled with unseen force.

Laurence's eyes snapped open, blazing with concentration. He held the stone aloft in one hand while reaching for his arrays with the other. The binder trembled, responding to the pull of the sealing stone. Slowly, his works began to dissolve into motes of light, siphoned into the stone for safekeeping.

The prince made sure to store the stone in one of the pockets on his person. He then released a tired sigh, trying to shake off the small bout of fatigue that came from even such a light use of his power.

When he finished packing, he left the bags on his bed for one of the professional sealers employed by the palace to take care of so he could conserve his energy. 

Laurence pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose as his eyes scanned the room for any overlooked necessity. Satisfied he hadn’t missed anything, he left his room.

As he stepped into the empty corridor he tried to tread lightly, not wanting to alert a certain prowler assigned by his father that he was wandering around. Since his coming-of-age celebration over a day ago, avoiding Avril had become an art Laurence practiced with an almost religious fervor. 

Eventually, he successfully made it outside to the sunlit courtyard. The sound of steel clashing and men shouting in training filled the vicinity. Laurence didn’t usually pay much mind to the knights practicing, preferring to just walk around or read while enjoying the fresh air. 

However, for reasons not at all related to Avril’s derogatory statements about the combat ability of a certain knight of Loros, he decided to wander closer to the sounds of sparring. 

"Prince Laurence!" The voice of Barton could suddenly be heard calling out, his broad shoulders cutting through the crowd of knights. "I have wonderful news to share!”

Barton did not look at all disheveled like those actively engaged in mock battles. Had he decided not to train today? 

What news?" Laurence asked, his curiosity piqued.

Barton’s face split into a wide grin, his eyes twinkling with excitement. “The King granted my request to join your guard for your grand adventure!"

Laurence's heart leapt with unrestrained joy. "Truly?" he asked. 

Though the two of them often spoke as if Barton’s presence had been all but guaranteed, there was always the slim possibility Laurence’s father would decide to separate them in order to foster his son’s independence.

"By royal decree," Barton affirmed, clasping Laurence's shoulder with a firm grip.

"I cannot wait!" Laurence exclaimed, a laugh escaping his lips for the first time since the morning he spent in town. "You’ve been outside of Dondor before, yes? You must show me all the places you’ve visited!"

"I’ll be sure to do so," Barton chuckled heartily. "After all, who else will keep you from burying yourself in those books of yours?"

*****

There was still much to be done before he set off tomorrow, so Laurence’s next stop was the Grand Hall. The heavy doors swung open at his approach, revealing advisors—many of whom he’d met during his birthday banquet—gathered around a long oak table. Several maps and scrolls were unfurled before them.

"Your Highness," greeted Tellos, a wiry man in his early fifties, with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor. "We’ve been reviewing our planned stops at the small towns along our route." 

Laurence took his place at the head of the table, his posture straightening as he assumed command, eager to learn about these new places. "Insights on these towns would be appreciated," he said as he scanned the detailed maps laid out before him.

"Our first stop will be Moridgale," began Reya, one of the youngest advisors; though she was nearly two decades Laurence’s senior. Her voice was rich with an eagerness to impart knowledge as she continued, "It’s a quaint town known for its skilled artisans. We plan to introduce you to their traditional crafts. Many famous merchants in Dondor originated from Moridgale!"

"Then we will proceed to Nelbrek," added Tellos. "We’ll mostly be stopping there to rest and gather supplies on our way to the next city, but there have been rumors of bandit activity in those parts. I will be sure to remind our knightly entourage to remain vigilant during our short stay."

Laurence nodded, attentively absorbing the information about each town. As they discussed more potential stops and what they aimed to showcase to Laurence, Reya became more hesitant in her speech.

"What of… the acquired land of Pardune?" She asked tentatively.

When Tellos’ mouth clicked shut and the other advisors at the table began to shift uneasily, Laurence glanced between them with confusion. He couldn’t understand their reluctance. 

“Though it’s a somewhat recent addition to Loros, that’s all the more reason to stop there, isn’t it?” Laurence assumed. “I would like to learn about their foreign culture and see how they are assimilating.”

Tellos grimaced, folding his arms into his long, billowing sleeves. “What you say makes sense, Your Highness, however—”

The man was abruptly cut off by a knight bursting into the room in a flurry of urgency.

"Prince Laurence!” The knight gasped, looking straight toward the head of the table. 

Laurence immediately stood up, already rushing toward the door. “What’s going on?” He demanded. 

Though many of the palace knights were a tad lax in decorum when speaking to their prince as opposed to the king, it was completely unheard of for any of them to barge into the Grand Hall uninvited. It had to be an emergency. 

Barton is preparing to duel someone! I believe it’s the knight you had at your side during the banquet, though I’m unfamiliar with them!" The knight exclaimed breathlessly. 

The thought of Barton and Avril fighting left Laurence incredulous. What in the empire had happened between his departure from the courtyard and now?

Laurence bolted from the Grand Hall, his mind racing. The corridors blurred as he sprinted, his boots echoing off the marble floors.

He rounded a corner at breakneck speed and collided with a solid mass. Strong hands steadied him, preventing a fall. Laurence looked up, his breath catching in his throat.

King Alphedor loomed over him, resplendent in his fur-lined cape and gleaming crown. His father's piercing gaze pinned Laurence in place.

"What's the rush, my son?" The king's voice rumbled like distant thunder.

Laurence swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. "I... There's been a misunderstanding, Father. Nothing to concern yourself with."

Alphedor's eyes narrowed, his beard twitching as he frowned.

Laurence tried not to break out into a cold sweat. 

He had no idea how his father would react to the news of infighting amongst their knights. What if he rescinded his permission for Barton to accompany him beyond Dondor?

*****

After watching Laurence slink away toward the Grand Hall, Avril dropped down from his comfortable perch in a tree. He found it hilarious that the prince thought he was successfully avoiding him.

Uninterested in stalking Laurence through the corridors to listen in on his little meeting with advisors just yet, Avril decided to saunter around the courtyard for a bit.

A soft snort escaped him as he watched the knights in training clash and stumble around, their movements clumsy to Avril’s critical eye. They telegraphed each attack with all the subtlety of toddlers whacking each other with twigs. 

"I can’t be surprised this is the best Loros has to offer," he muttered. "I've seen rats brawling for crumbs move with more finesse."

“Is that right?” A voice hissed with offense, its owner coming up to stand beside him.

Avril turned, his lips curling into a smirk as he met Barton's steely gaze. "Oh, did I say that out loud? How careless of me."

Barton's jaw clenched, his shoulders tensing. "You speak boldly for someone who's yet to prove himself in combat here."

"Prove myself?" Avril's eyes glittered with amusement. "To whom? You?"

"To all of us," Barton growled, gesturing to the other knights. "You waltz in here, claiming the position of Prince Laurence’s protector, yet we've seen no evidence of your skill."

Avril's smirk widened. "I don't recall needing your approval. The king himself appointed me."

Barton's eyes narrowed, his patience wearing thin. "The king may have appointed you, but that doesn't mean you're fit to protect our prince.”

Avril's smirk never faltered. "My, my. Such concern. Tell me, Barton, do you doubt His Majesty's judgment?"

Barton's face flushed red, caught between his loyalty to the crown and his mistrust of Avril.

"I propose a challenge," he declared, voice ringing out across the yard. "Prove your worth in combat. Face me in a duel."

Avril tilted his head in consideration. "Careful what you beg for," he warned. "You might find I'm more than you can handle."