Ten: First-Name Basis 

When Floryn has established that the guard is long gone, they trail the main road again. This road led all the way to Floryn’s village, past the grand mountains and into more manageable terrain. He was feeling a little flustered now. Had he cleaned well enough before he left? He never expected the prince to be a visitor at his home, and he was sure it was not fit for him. 

He also spent a lot of time away from his home. When he was ordered for jobs, sometimes he would have to leave for days if not weeks. His most recent job, the one in which he was expected to kill the prince, he had been watching him for over a week to learn his routine. Being with him then and seeing how genuine he seemed to be sent a pang of regret in his stomach. He should have never agreed to that job, but if he didn’t, would the King have hired someone who could go through with it? The thought makes him sick to his stomach. 

“So, what is your village called?” The prince asks him, and he feels his shoulders tense.  

Floryn clears his throat.  

“I am originally from Slynebel, but I live in Northpass now.” 

“Slynebel? I’ve never heard of it. Where is it located?”  

Everett spent a lot of time in the library, the grand one, not the one he had lessons with Sir Henry in. He liked to read every kind of book, especially romance. He also loved fantasy and fairytale, but he also made time for maps. He would spread them out delicately, as they were old, on the giant oak table in the middle of the library. He would trace each river with his finger, every town name. So, when Floryn tells him he’s from Slynebel, a name he had never come across, suspicions rise.  

“You wouldn’t know.” Floryn says, which only worsens Everett’s suspicions.  

Long hair, covering his ears, and a town he’s never heard of that sounds like it is from a fairytale. He must be something from one himself! 

“Are you a vampire? Is this why you wear the hood?” Everett interrogates, to which Floryn laughs indignantly.  

“Of course not, my prince.” Floryn responds, “I wear the hood because I am an assassin. I must hide my identity when it is necessary.” 

“You didn’t hide it from me.” The prince points out.  

“That’s different.” Floryn states and tugs a bit on his cape.  

“How so?”  

“Why are you so nosy? Are all royal bloods like this?” Floryn snaps defensively, frowning when he catches Everett’s immediate displeasure.  

It falls eerily silent between them as they cross a winding creek, glistening in the afternoon sun. Everett nearly slips on a mossy stone half submerged in the stream, and Floryn instinctively reaches to catch him. The prince slaps his hand away before he can do so. 

“I’m sorry, my prince.” Floryn offers when they reach the border of Northpass, a quaint village with small homes and crowded shops lining the road. The village was so small that all of it could be seen from the where Everett and Floryn stood. It was unique and colorful, with many of the houses being made of mud bricks, painted abstractly with crushed flowers and other exotic dyes. “I was rude earlier, and I did not mean it.” 

“How could you not mean it? You said it with your chest.” Everett reminds him, Floryn feels his heart lurch with guilt. He had never been good with his words, and being in front of the prince, it was even harder to put his sentences together.  

“What will it take for you to forgive me?” Floryn asks dramatically, and Everett pretends to think it over a while, and his stern face slowly melts into one that is playful. Floryn finds himself unable to hide his own festering grin. 

“I want a diamond necklace produced from the deepest ore mine. Until then, you are not forgiven.” This has Floryn laughing, amazed. 

“You must know jewelry like that is not sold in Northpass.” Floryn tells him as they reach his home.  

“Then you are not forgiven.” Everett says, clearly having fun with the situation now, which Floryn found himself glad. The assassin led the prince into his humble home. It had one small kitchen with a metal furnace for food and for warmth, a couch and a table with one wooden chair that looked homemade. There was a room that could be considered a bathroom, but all it really contained was a big hole in the ground. Everett spent little time in that room, grimacing when he found it.  

Floryn’s bedroom was bland, with a simple oak dresser and a mattress made of hay set directly on the floor. It was no match for his elegant canopy back in the castle, but Everett found it charming, nonetheless.  

“It’s not much.” Floryn says, heading for the furnace to begin a small fire. It would get chilly at night, so it was best that he started it before the sun began its descent in the sky. He had made that mistake before; he had forgotten to start up his fire and spent the whole night shivering underneath his linen blanket. 

“I like it.” Everett says honestly. “Although, it does not look lived in.”  

“Well, I’m sure you’re used to more decoration.” Floryn suggests. 

“No, that’s not what I mean.” He gently corrects Floryn but does not elaborate further, taking a seat on the wooden chair. It wobbles beneath him, and a little bug curries out from under it. Everett squeaks, lifting his feet up and wrapping his arms around his knees. 

Floryn, still at the furnace, hears the noise and turns around to see what all the commotion was. 

“There was a bug.” 

“Just one?” Floryn asks, letting out a snicker at Everett’s expression. “It’s common in Northpass, since our houses are made out of the Earth.”  

“I suppose that makes sense.” Everett hums, leaning down and inspecting the bug. Normally, he liked bugs, but he liked the ones that he deemed pretty. This bug, fortunately, was a small black spider with giant, glistening eyes. As he investigated them, he felt the faint fog of a memory in his head. Something about Floryn and bugs, what was it? Unable to come up with anything and not wanting the silence to persist, he lets this thought go. He declares, “This one is not so bad.”  

“What is it?” Floryn asks, jabbing the firewood with a stick.  

“A spider. I’ll release it through the window.”  

“How kind, my prince.” Floryn teases, and Everett scoops up with spider and brings it to the window. He sets it on the windowsill, watching as it runs away in fear. It leaps for the outside, and Everett gently closes the shutters made of straw; those looked handmade too. 

“Your prince?” The prince whispers as his cheeks blush red, but the assassin does not hear. 

“What did you say?”  

“You call me your prince, but I’d prefer if you just called me Everett.” 

Floryn appears flustered by the offer, but he nods.  

“Okay, Everett.”