"Commander Adesso," he purred, a saccharine grin spreading across his rosy lips, "do you find me that beguiling?"

Celestino felt his instinct rile. He smirked. Extraordinarily so, he thought to himself, but showing any sort of leniency towards the prince at that moment would not have worked in his favor.

But before he could percolate that notion any further, another struck him. He was now apprised of the titles and voices of the retinue - or, at least three of them. He was also now apprised of the fact that one it must have been one of the hirdmen who had made the suggestion against speaking in front of Celestino. Most importantly, he knew the suggestion was for the second prince. That raised undisputed suspicion. Simo was not a nation of puppet-lords. Positions held power, and as a prince – even as young as this one might have been – accepting that sort of insolence from a petty noble meant that there were other, more dominant powers at work.

“I am a thorough person, Second Prince Heiko.”

The simple, curt greeting elicited from the young aristocrat a wide and entertained smile. It was not vicious enough to be considered wolfish, and for whatever reason, that was a fact the commander made a point of marking.

“I know of this custom,” said the prince as he haphazardly gestured around the tent, “and how King Vincente chooses the escort based upon the ambassador for which they are receiving. Still, I must admit, Commander Adesso, I cannot find the vein of logic in sending the man who slaughtered my father to welcome me.”

The fair prince lowered his gaze, tracing his viridescent eyes along the commander’s person. Cele stirred beneath their weight.

“Is this his strategy, then – test the self-restraint of the Achterecht line? How disenchanting. Did he think he could provoke us with something so infantile?”

For the first time in months, the commander’s pulse spiked at the prospect of a true and perilous challenge. The Viper Prince of Simo was notorious for his shameless impertinence, but this… Celestino couldn’t quite place what part of him had awoken an instinctual sense of risk.

“I’m rather disappointed, Commander Adesso,” the second prince purred. “Making such a bold inaugural move tells me that you underestimate us. I advise you to restructure your tactic, lest I annihilate you entirely.”

“Tactic?” Cele quipped, overcome with a giddy sense of excitement at his choice of words – one he forcefully stifled. “You are mistaken, Second Prince Heiko – you are neither my opponent nor my enemy. There is no need for tactics. This summit is designed only to open dialogue. Nothing more.”

The prince flashed him a heartbreaking grin. “Is that so?”

The seneschal stepped forward then, keeping his hands grasped behind his back to maintain his neutral posture.

“Legate Adesso.” The interjection, as sudden as it was, did not seem to the commander as a final effort to cut short the interaction between himself and the Second Prince. It was suspicious, nonetheless. “I do not mean to speak out of turn, but we have exchanged the necessary introductions and Second Prince Heiko is notorious for his ability to keep alive a conversation that suits him. So, please have mercy and judge the rest of us swiftly, so that we may either find solace in the shaded haven of Girigo Palace or in the comfort of the heavens.”

Cele’s brow arched in unabashed amusement.

“If I had even the slightest thought of dispatching you previously,” he replied, smirking at the seneschal, “you would not have breath to fuel those audacious words.” He sighed and turned to Dado. “Prepare the horses.”

The tribune stood without a word and took his swift leave, leaving Celestino surrounded by the Simonese. It was invigorating.

“Only three from your party,” he pondered almost playfully as he waited for Dado’s return, “were formally introduced.”

“I noticed that, as well, commander.” 

He was not expecting the prince’s remark, certainly not with the whimsical lilt it had adopted. And certainly not accompanied by the shifting of his svelte body upon the wine table as if he, too, were an Ilysian appraising the foreigners. 

“Perhaps that is because the hirdmen are inconsequential. What say you?”

It was not a simple task to deny his instinct to indulge the prince’s antics, but he did. He willed his expression to remain neutral as watched the retinue accept the affront with a mixed lot of reactions until, finally, Ealdorman Martijn lifted a semi-withered hand.

“Please, Legate Adesso,” – he addressed Celestino only, refusing to allow his gaze to glide over to his own prince – “accept my apologies. The hirdmen accompanying us belong to Clan Achterecht. They are-”

“Dries and Kaifin,” the prince finished, his voice intonated tauntingly. 

Jurgen, Martijn, Dries, Kaifin – the commander struck those names into his memory. While the positions of Simonese seneschals and hirdmen could be upheld by those with families of repute, it was not a prerequisite. In fact, it was more of a rarity, which meant three of the five in this retinue were commoners. 

This had no bearing on Celestino. It would likely be of little consequence to his king, as well, but the Horned Forum was a cabinet of patricians with blood as blue as the deep sea and as thick as treacle. It was unlikely that this would be overlooked. Neither that, nor the fact that the member of the Achterecht Clan present was not the respectable Polar Wolf of the North, but instead the notoriously ill-reputed Viper Prince of Simo.

Cele’s gaze flicked to the very prince. He certainly was… different than what one would imagine if one tried, based on the rumors. Younger, fairer, more innocuous - if he did not part his lips to speak. On the other hand, it was clear that he put the others within his party ill at ease and, more still, that they did not treat him with the reverence nor the authority that being an Achterecht ought to have automatically granted him.

Cele wondered if the prince’s cheeky demeanor was the cause or the consequence of that. He supposed it didn’t really matter because, in either case, it was the attitude of a man who felt no obligation to decorum or station. A man who did not feel threatened by the presence of those around him

As if he had nothing to lose.

It was more difficult than he expected to pull his gaze from the young prince. Returning his attention to the rest of the party, he said, “On behalf of King Vincente, welcome to the Republika of Ilyos.”

“And what about me?” The prince’s question was so quiet that the commander, not three feet from him, felt obliged to question his own sense.

The doubt was dispelled the moment his eyes fell prey to Prince Heiko’s.

“What about you?” he replied, almost as quiet. Almost.

“Am I welcome, too?”

What an odd question, Celestino thought. Odder still, how categorically voracious it made him.

“I do not know, Prince Heiko.”

His response made the young royal falter for but an instant, turning him into something soft. Something real. 

Something that was quickly devoured by a grin.

“Well, I do hope your irresolution is soon dispelled, commander. It does not befit the Iron Lion of the Republika.”

⚔

AN:

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~ Higgins