"Thank you for the meal, Your Highness. It was most pleasing."

Silas smiled, lowering the cup of barley tea he was holding. "The pleasure is all mine, Lord Riven."

He shifted slightly in his seat, his back burning from the many times Lucian had hit him. The words of the Prince were now ringing in his ears, forming a haunting melody that he kept replaying over and over.

You're slouching again.

Elbows off the table.

Do not swear - even if it is directed at me.

Remove the spoon from the dish once you are finished.

Do not stuff your mouth!

Heavens, do I truly have to hit you for you to realize you should not drink the broth directly from the plate?

But despite the numerous mistakes, during the course of the meal he had slowly adapted to the proper etiquette, and by the time two hours had passed, he had been able to hold a steady conversation with Riven without any interruptions.

Pride began to bloom once again in his chest, shadowed only by his own awareness of pretending to be someone he was not, and never would be.

He turned around, a glint of smugness in his eyes, searching for Lucian – only to find him sitting next to one of the rose bushes, hand under his chin and yawning. Of course he was bored. After all, he hadn't had a chance to swing his beloved stick at him in a long minute.

"My Prince, I believe Sir Silas has improved greatly. Perhaps we should move on to–"

"No." Lucian stood up, massaging his shoulders and staring directly at Silas, a smirk creeping onto his face. "He was able to have a decent conversation with you. It is my turn now."

"You can't possibly be serious. I just spent hours learning, you saw how well I did!"

Lucian waved, signaling him to stop his whining. He gestured for Riven to move, and then sat in his place, facing Silas.

"Then there should be no issue with sparing me a couple more minutes, don't you think?"

Silas furrowed his brows, his palms firmly resting on top of the table, trying to fight off the urge to scratch his back. He let out a scoff, looking to the side.

"Fine. Good afternoon, Your Highness."

There was a moment of silence, and then he felt it: a sharp, sudden pain right on his arm, that struck him as fast as it was gone. He looked down, confused, just in time to see a pebble roll on the ground. When his gaze returned to Lucian, another one hit him, again.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Lucian chuckled. "A Lady must never address a man of higher rank first. And you must also never divert your gaze – it is extremely rude."

Silas was about to speak, but decided against it, biting his tongue in the process. He just had to endure the Prince's antics a little more, and keep repeating what he had learned in his head.

He sat back, spine straight, and met Lucian's eyes. Then, he waited for the Prince to begin.

"Very well. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Princess Selene. If I may, that is a wonderful name."

Silas grimaced, trying his best to turn it into a smile at the last moment. "Thank you, Your Highness. You flatter me."

Lucian's finger found its way to the rim of one of the glasses and began circling it. "Was the meal to your liking?"

"It was delicious, Your Highness."

The Prince raised an eyebrow, and Silas almost did not see him as he raised his fist over the table and threw one more rock at him with incredible speed.

"Never give too many compliments. Just say the food was either pleasant, or to your liking."

He rolled his eyes. "How does that make any sense? Is it not kind to praise someone’s cooking?"

Another hit.

"Could you stop that for a second?!"

Another.

"My Prince, that is enough..."

Lucian sighed, massaging his temples in mock frustration, but doing an extremely poor job at hiding his entertainment in seeing Silas' face flushed with anger.

"You need to realize," he said, pointing his finger at the boy, "when you dine with Royals – especially my family – every single thing you say could be used either against you or to judge you. My Father is looking for perfection in a spouse. Too much praise, and you're a sycophant. Not enough manners, and you'll be rumored a commoner. You need to find the perfect balance."

Silas gritted his teeth. "Then perhaps, Your Highness, you should not have selected a commoner for this job."

The Prince groaned, throwing an umpteenth pebble at him, but this time out of pure annoyance. "Do believe in yourself, Silas. I am sure you will perform splendidly."

His voice was dripping in sarcasm, but Silas could tell by the way he was clenching the stones in his hand that he meant it. Thinking about it, why would a Royal waste hours of his own time training a peasant if he did not truly believe something of merit could be achieved?

And yet, that was of no consolation to Silas, whose upper body was beginning to resemble a constellation of tiny red marks.

"Let us try again. This time, focus. We cannot stay here much longer; people will start to wonder if I have been kidnapped." Lucian took a deep breath, readying himself. "I shall act as my Father now."

Silas nodded, a sudden sense of gravity washing over him.

Talking with Lucian, getting punished by him and barely containing his own temper had almost made him forget what, or better yet who, he would eventually have to face: the King of Paican.

"Princess Selene," Lucian's gaze was now intense, observant and calculated. "I understand you are from a far Kingdom. How were you able to meet Lucian?"

The boy swallowed, trying to think of the best thing to say. Maybe, the truth would be his best option.

"It was Lucian who found me, Your Highness. I myself was very surprised to see him standing in front of our Palace."

The Prince smiled an almost imperceptible smile. "How wonderful to hear that my son has put this much effort into finding a worthy wife. Do tell me, what made you accept his proposal?"

Silas bit his lip, and then immediately stopped, remembering what he had learned. "How could I not, Your Highness? Paican is a remarkable land, and..." He weighed his words, wondering what a noble would say in circumstances like this one. Slivers of conversations he had heard from the wealthy living just outside of the Slums resurfaced in his mind, and he searched them for something, anything that could help.

Then the realization came, one that he already knew far too well: these people were always looking for personal gain. Nothing else mattered.

"...I believe our shared resources could prove very useful to both of our Kingdoms. I do hope you agree, my King."

Lucian hummed, tapping his nails on the tablecloth. He nodded a little, and Silas took it as a sign that his reply was decent enough. But after a moment, he looked back at him.

"So, is this only an alliance to you?" His eyes were razor sharp now, almost as if cutting Silas' skin.

"No." He began, his gut telling him that was the only acceptable reply. "Of course not, Your Highness. I–"

He briefly turned to Riven, a desperate attempt at a lifeline, but found none. Lucian was still staring at him, growing more and more impatient by the second. He could even begin to see his fist resurfacing from under the table.

"I... believe the Prince could make a marvelous King. In the brief time he has been courting me, I've grown quite fond of him, and already find myself amazed by his sense of duty. It would be my honour if he was to marry me."

The longer Silas spoke, the deeper the shade of red coloring his cheeks began to turn. Especially given how painfully aware he was of Lucian's presence.

The sentence floated in the air for a moment, hanging over them like a thick cloud of smoke; until it was blown away by the Prince's satisfied exhale.

He clapped, overdramatic and intentional, but with no mocking undertone, and Silas relaxed in his chair.

"Perfect! I must say, you did quite well. I almost believed you." He raised his eyebrows, raising a glass in Silas' direction. "Or perhaps you were saying the truth about being fond of me."

The boy, finally free from the threat of physical punishment, folded his arms in front of his chest, averting his gaze.

"I suppose I am simply a good liar."

"If that's what you'd like to tell yourself." Lucian winked at him, and before Silas could reply, he stood up, signaling for Riven to begin cleaning up the table. "Well then, I believe that is enough for your first lesson. We will revisit your etiquette before the dinner, but I am not displeased so far."

Silas stood as well, straightening his clothes, before following Lucian toward the path leading back to the section of the Palace where his chambers were located.

The repeating melody of the rules he had just been taught was still echoing in the back of his mind, except he could almost swear there was something else, something deeper and forgotten rising with it. 

As they walked, he could hear Lucian talk, but he could not help the words from growing muffled with each step.

"You may go wash up now, but be fast. Tomorrow we will have a different lesson, this time–"

Slowly, a quiet buzzing in his ear became all that was left of the noise surrounding him.

When trying to find an adequate answer to Lucian's question, he had to admit that remembering the nobles from his hometown had undeniably helped.

But as with many things, it came at a price. One that he had neglected to consider in the heat of the moment.

Voices began swirling in his head, each louder than the previous. He squinted, trying to get them out, to regain some sense. But to no avail – now, they were getting clearer, and so were the memories. The path in front of him suddenly became blurry, much like the frame of the Prince.

Do not fret. She's just one of those kids from the Slums.

She did not come? What did the Royal Guards say?

You are all the same. Thieves and liars. How pathetic.

He raised a hand, only to slam it against his ear. Again, and again, and again.

But there was no stopping them.

"Silas?"

His breath was unsteady now, the air refusing to enter his lungs. He knew he could not stay in this state for much longer, not when he was standing in the Royal Palace, not when there was no one safe around him. He needed his sanity back, and fast.

"Silas, what are you–"

Perhaps it was how the sun's warmth had relentlessly been resting on his shoulders for the past few hours, or perhaps it was the injuries from the day prior, combined with Lucian's hits.

Perhaps it was the unfamiliar tea he drank – fragrant and comforting, but so incredibly different from the cloudy water he had been used to.

Or perhaps he simply was not ready yet to handle his past.

No matter the reason, the last thing Silas could remember was a pair of dark blue eyes, staring at him with worry as two strong hands held him tight, shaking him.

Then, only a wall of fog.