"So," Nedrick said, looking between the two princes with his arms crossed and an expression somewhere between annoyed brother and steward of a rapidly devolving kingdom, "what exactly is the plan here?"

They stood at a fork in the forest path, beneath a canopy that looked suspiciously like it was judging them. Runklebean was hanging from a nearby tree by his arms, swinging back and forth, expression unreadable beneath his veil. Alistair stood on one side of the fork, gesturing dramatically toward a trail that led into the woods.

"My camp," he announced, "is eastward. Through the Glade of Gilded Echoes, past the Silkwater Stream, and just beyond the Velvet Ridge. It is fully stocked with supplies, comes with velvet hammocks, imported citrus, and a small orchestra I've rented to play waltzes at dinner."

Lucian scoffed. "Orchestra? That's not a camp, that's a moderately sized wedding!"

Alistair beamed. "Thank you."

Lucian pointed the other way. "My camp is west. It's simple. Honest. Rustic. Homey. It has a pond and a broken chair. But it's real. It has heart."

Nedrick grimaced. "And black mold."

"Character!"

Nedrick threw his hands up. "We're not splitting up over camp décor. We're barely managing cohesive plot continuity as it is!"

Runklebean suddenly popped up between the three from out of nowhere. "If I may offer a third option: we could combine the camps?"

The others stared.

Runklebean waved his arms above his head with all the serenity of a man who has floated past disasters on a river of apathy. "A single, shared base. Neutral ground. Shared resources. No arguing over hammocks versus hay piles. Easier for us to keep track of each other."

There was a long pause.

Then Lucian squinted at Alistair. "You mean... rivals. In the same camp?"

Alistair frowned thoughtfully. "Constant exposure... mutual sabotage... proximity-induced flair escalation... Yeah right, I don't think—"

"I accept!" Lucian said instantly.

Alistair turned to him, aghast. "I-I was about to accept!"

"Well I accepted faster, so I'm more committed."

"I'm more committed to not losing!"

Suddenly, Lucian dropped to one knee.

Alistair gasped.

Nedrick cringed so violently, he nearly bruised his spleen.

Runklebean blinked one eye at a time.

"Prince Alistair," Lucian declared, pulling out a sword and offering it like a bouquet. "Will you be my one and only rival, in all competitions, quests, battles, dance-offs, and personal exercises forevermore?"

Alistair turned an impressive shade of mauve.

"I—yes. Yes! I will be your eternal rival, until fate tears us apart."

Quick as a flash, Alistair drew his own weapon, and they sword-locked like two gladiators sealing a blood pact concocted of sparkles and poor impulse control. Then they abruptly ran off in the same direction, shouting:

"FIRST ONE TO SET UP THE TENTS WINS!"

"YOU'RE GOING TO TRIP OVER YOUR EGO!"

They vanished into the foliage.

Nedrick rubbed his temples.

Runklebean gave him a sidelong glance. "Are they always like that with each other?"

"Oh," Nedrick said dryly, "that was restrained. You should see what happens when even one fair maiden appears."

"They compete for her affection?"

"Oh, they compete, all right; and continue showing off even when the girl took off hours ago. It's only a matter of time before they start... I don't know, arm-wrestling while shirtless, or something!"

"Do you want someone to arm-wrestle shirtless with, too, Nedrick?"

Nedrick gave Runklebean a sidelong sneer. "...You better not be offering."

Runklebean shrugged as though to say "your loss," before they began walking behind the others at a more reasonable pace. Runklebean glanced at Nedrick. "So. You're the sane one?"

"No, but I've been nominated. Repeatedly."

"I'm sorry."

"Thank you."

Runklebean chuckled softly, then said, "Will you tell me more about your desire, Nedrick? Perfect pension plan, was it?"

Nedrick shrugged, watching as the trees rustled with the distant sound of Alistair yelling "IS THAT A LEAN-TO OR A SAD BEDSHEET STRUNG OVER A STICK?" followed by Lucian exclaiming, "HEY, A PRINCE SHOULD REST LIKE A KING—YOUR BEDROLL SUGGESTS A PEASANT WITH BAD POSTURE!"

"I dunno yet," he said honestly. "I didn't even want to be on this quest. I was feeding pigs. Now I'm co-parenting an immortal and refereeing a royal jerk-off."

Runklebean nodded sagely. "Well. I appreciate the help. Even if your companions set up camps like drunken squirrels in a thunderstorm."

Just then, a WHOOSH of flame came from ahead, followed by Lucian shouting, "EVEN THE FIRE SEEMS EMBARRASSED TO BE IN YOUR CAMP!"

Alistair's voice rang back: "I'VE SEEN BEGGARS WITH MORE REGAL SETUPS!"

Runklebean laughed merrily. "Sounds like fun! Shall we intervene?"

Nedrick shook his head. "Nah. Let them burn out their energy. Besides, if we let them both have at it, it cancels out. Like dividing by chaos."

Runklebean grinned under his veil. "A comforting philosophy."

The two continued walking, bonding in the quiet background of disaster camping, eternal rivalries, and stars slowly beginning to shimmer above them.