"Stay still please, sire."
"How many bloody times do I have to tell you, I hate that title." A guffaw and an eyeroll as Jefea unfurled a measuring tape once more, tightening it around "sire's" chest and squeezing, motioning for one of the servant girls to jot down the number that had been ascertained before nodding, releasing the tape.
"Your gala wear will be available to you tomorrow morning, sire. We will deliver it to you-" He sighed, partly in disgust, partly in annoyance.
"You know, Jefea, I have legs. I'd be happy to use them and pick up my own clothing from the tailors." The girl quietly giggled before being silenced by a glare from the measurer.
"Sire, while you might still be readjusting to your life of nobility, I humbly implore you to take cues from your younger siblings, both of whom are very grateful for the opportunity to have such luxury bestowed upon them."
"Yes, yes, the good ones, I understand. I'll be awaiting your delivery with baited breath then." He shot a wink at the girl, a rush of pink coming to her cheeks as she turned around and walked out of the room along with Jefea, who closed the solid, wooden door behind him with a massive thud. Jefea, like many of the royal servants who his parents employed (employment implies compensation, however...so, enslaved), had known nothing else other than paying homage to members of the socially elite, but especially to the dynasty of Gladinis, a ten king deep lineage that had ruled the Continent for a thousand years. To be fair, the kings that had come before his father were made out to be saviors, warriors, tacticians, lovers (odd section of the history books, that) and most of all, benevolent rulers who preserved peace within and ensured it abroad; in other words, they were revered demigods that the people looked to with the utmost worship. While that was well and good on the outside, the inner works of the Gladinis dynasty was...well, complex would be an understatement. Backstabbings within the extended family, assassination attempts, negotiations with foreign rulers that would have caused the general public to fall over and affairs, oh the affairs! It was a wonder that his father and mother had managed to stay civil with each other. A chuckle came to his lips as his broad-shouldered, barrel chested figure strolled from the interior of his gilded cage/room to a stone-carved balcony, surveying the parallelogram shaped walls of the capital city, Majorka, with an admiring eye. His disdain for his lineage was only matched by the admiration he had for what his father had accomplished in making Majorka, a barren wilderness just twenty years ago, into the stronghold that it was today. Even the castle that they occupied now had been in ruins, yet King Petre Gladinis had risen it up to it's former glory and Majorka came right along with it.

Breathing in the crisp fall air, he smiled, a warm smile that still felt foreign. His jet black hair, which was cut much shorter than he would have liked, still was able to ruffle in a slight breeze that wafted through. Renso chuckled again, trying to process the sheer amount of...happenings that have...well, happened over the last several months. To think that he would have gone from Renso Mansfield back to Renso Gladinis, heir to the Gladinis throne so relatively quickly was jarring an-

"Brother? Brother are you...oh, there you are." Rafeo, thirteen years younger than the 29 year old eldest, came alongside his brother garbed in flowing ebony and viridian colored robes, the official colors of the Gladinis dynasty (because every royal family MUST have official colors).
"Raf." He nodded to his brother, who smiled widely.
"Nice having you around, you know."
"Tell that to our sister." Rafeo frowned.
"She'll come around eventually, I know it. She's not all bad."
"No, no, but Elia holds grudges. I know she still despises me for leaving you both behind...and I don't blame her for it." He looked back to Majorka.
"I don't think ill of you for it...to be honest, I was sort of jealous you got to go." Renso laughed heartily.
"Well, let's set something straight: no one gave me permission to go. I just sort of...went." He paused.
"But there was much going on during that time, things that I'd like to leave behind." Rafeo opened his mouth slightly, closed it for a few moments, then changed the subject by asking:
"I assume you'll be at the ball tomorrow night?"
"Indeed I must." A twinkle sparkled in Renso's eye as he looked back at his brother.
"Any of the young, courtly maidens catch your eye? You're getting to the age where Father is going to consider arranging a marriage for you." A slight blush from the younger sibling.
"There's someone from the Tillcroft family. Quite beautiful, but...she's much too old for me. Might be a good match for you though." Renso held his hand over his chest in mock hurt.
"Are you saying, my dear brother, that I am indeed, old?" Rafeo smirked.
"Not directly."
"Bah! Old I may be, but that qualifies me to try and play matchmaker for you tomorrow."
"Oh please by the gods, no...Father and Mother do that enough already."
"Why don't I try to set you up with the old girl, the one you find 'quite beautiful'?" Rafeo's jaw dropped.
"No, no, no, oh please to the heavens no! I don't need to be embarrassed like that in front of h-" Renso smirked.
"So there IS someone else..."

__________

Afternoon, Castle Drackhaven
As the guests began to arrive and settle in before the ball, Renso had been charged by his father to act as an "emissary" for those who were arriving. In other words, Petre wanted to make sure that EVERYONE in the greater royal circles of the Continent knew that Renso, the prodigal sellsword, had returned to his rightful place by his family's side. He complied with the demand phrased as a request out of respect to his father, but that didn't make the robe, tunic and undergarments he had been given earlier this morning any more comfortable. Shifting uncomfortably underneath the heavy robes, he looked to the attendants next to him before asking the one directly to his right:
"Who's arriving next?" They were standing at the entrance to the castle, directly opposite a massive granite arch that all who came had to go under and then across an expansive stone bridge with thick railings that jutted up at least four feet to give archers a defensive position in case of a breach from the river below. The question was prompted by another sighting of carriages flying flags that Renso couldn't readily identify.
"I believe it's the Tillcrofts, my lord."
"Ah, the TIllcrofts, of course." Rafeo's crush. Let's see if he could pick out the "quite beautiful" lady from the arriving party.

Lillian had made it a point to absolutely despise balls. She supposed it was more of a cliché now to hate balls rather than love them – the thought of being one of those pathetic girls complaining about life as a royal being actually difficult made her shudder – but she made the point to detest them all the same. She detested them because Deidre had loved them – as such was the reasoning behind her hating most things. She remembered the hours spent listening to her older sister chatter on and on about who would be there, the lords and the ladies and the scandals that followed. The worst thing about it had been that she had had a knack for making these things actually sound interesting. Lillian remembered hanging onto Deidre’s every word as she helped her with her hair, or pick out a dress, or as she helped her with any of the things older sisters were supposed to help with.

Lillian hated balls, or any other festivities for that matter, because even thinking about how excited they had made Deidre physically hurt her. Remembering the way her eyes would sparkle as they entered whichever ballroom it was felt like someone was stabbing her, and anything that reminded Lillian of the hushed conversations full of giggles and whispers that she had with her sister as they hid from some desperate lord knocked the air right out of her lungs.

So she sat, presently, refusing to smile as her family’s carriage rumbled along outside the Castle Drackhavan. There was no way on earth she would enjoy this – she would not let herself. Her left side, where Deidre had always sat, felt particularly cold tonight. Diedre would have been almost bursting with excitement by now, her leg bouncing and her lips moving at what seemed to be the speed of light. She would have brightened up the sombre mood of the carriage, and warmed the icy tension that felt like it was threatening to freeze them there forever.

And their mother would be gazing at Deidre fondly, offering her own opinions on a few of the many lords and ladies her daughter would fire at them. Their father would share a look with Lillian with that amused glint in his eye and they would both laugh silently at Deidre’s utter, ridiculous, insatiable vibrance.

But now it was silent - bar the odd comment from the queen regarding the weather, or how many poor people she saw outside. Lillian’s father, the king of Naerin, was already embarrassingly drunk and half asleep in the seat across from her. She held back a sigh. This was going to be a long night.

“The Gladinis boy is back, did you hear?” The king’s deep, slurred voice finally broke the silence, just as the carriage rumbled to a stop. Not asleep then, apparently.

“What, the first-born?” The queen scoffed. “A lost cause, that one. You know he left to be a sellsword? Could you imagine if Lillian had done that? Heaven forbid. You know, we were considering mentioning an alliance with Majorka. Thank goodness we didn’t. Far too many…strays. Personally, I never would have allowed such an agreement. Our Deidre deserved better, she - “

”Mother. That is enough.”

Lillian would never normally speak to her mother in such a way, but she could not bear the concept of Deidre being married. Married and alive. The queen let out a small huff, but nonetheless sat back in her cushioned seat just as the carriage doors were opened.

As always, the king stepped – no, stumbled – out first, followed by the queen and, finally, Lillian herself. She didn’t bother to smile – everyone who was anyone had figured out she was not smiling type by now and, hence, the nickname of the ‘ice princess’ had befallen her. Lillian merely surveyed her new surroundings, trying to ignore the fact that it had been many, many years since she had visited this kingdom last with her sister and they had –

No. She ran a finger over the black ribbon of mourning wrapped around her wrist, half-hidden by the long sleeves of her dress. She would not allow herself to think of Diedre any longer. This night was going to be unbearable enough without images of her dead sister haunting her every move.

Her mother provided a welcome distraction.

“That’s him, Lillian. Prince Renso Gladinis.” She murmured as she gripped her daughter’s arm and guided her forward to greet the man, just a step behind the king of Naerin. An almost-imperceptible squeeze from her mother sent Lillian a message loud and clear. Behave.

Challenge accepted.

Lillian’s eyes took in the prince before them as her father boomed out a greeting, his slurred speech thankfully less apparent now that the fresh air had woken him up a little. So this was the man who had left his kingdom to become a sellsword. She had to admit – he was annoyingly handsome. And there was a rugged charm about him that would not usually be seen anywhere in court. But she did not let her appreciation of his good looks show on her face as she reminded herself of his actions. To run away from his own family in favour of a life of crime? The thought almost made her shudder.

“…and of course, this is my beautiful daughter, Lillian. Hidden gem of Naerin, eh?” Lillian was gently pushed forward by her mother, a warm greeting and perhaps a ‘thank you’ for inviting them was expected from her. She briefly wondered what the prince would think of her. She had never been the most beautiful of the family, with her father's mahogany locks and high cheekbones. Her mother and sister had been stunning blondes with rosy cheeks and warm brown eyes - almost the polar opposite to the cool severity of Lillian's features. She supposed she should probably curtsey and blush daintily for the man just like her mother had always taught her.

Instead, she sniffed as she surveyed the Prince once more.

“It’s wonderful to see that you finally decided to run back home.” She paused. “Your Highness.”

She could feel her mother's grip on her arm tighten to the point of hurting, but paid no mind to it - instead, offering a small smile to this Renso. Her father laughed a little too loudly, shaking his head as if she had just said the funniest thing in the world.

"Ah, she's a funny one, our Lil. You'll have to excuse her lack of manners." Lillian continued to gaze openly at the prince.
"You might remember her sister, our beloved Deidre. A star, she was - blonde and lovely, just like her mother. Lillian's taken her passing a little hard, you understand?"

Lillian had to grit her teeth to stop herself from swiping at her father with an ugly retort. How dare he mention Deidre in another kingdom, around strangers. As if he didn't drown his sorrows every night in mourning for his lost favourite child. Pushing down her anger with a small smile, she inclined her head towards the prince.

"Of course. Forgive me and my rudeness, sir. I graciously thank you for your hospitality."

Yeah, right.

The carriage arrived and as the servants helped the retinue emerge, Renso almost immediately smelled blueberries, lavender and burnt rose petals. Coupled with the scent was the slightly slurred introduction of the King of Naerin, which nearly made Renso burst into laughter. My word, King Tillcroft was...drunk? Already? It was barely four hours past noon, yet the King must have indulged in some kind of mead on the way down to the ball. To be quite honest, Renso admired the man for liquoring himself up; after all, an occasion such as this one required alcohol to survive.
"My liege, a pleasure to host you and your family." While he might have been in certain places at certain times that were less than reputable, he still knew how to conduct himself at court. After a short bow to Lord Tillcroft and the queen, Lillian was presented, who instead of complying with royal code, sniffed haughtily and congratulated him on running back to daddy with his tail between his legs. Renso smiled broadly, suppressing an urge to snap back at the seemingly entitled trout and nodded at Lord Tillcroft's excuse.
"I heard of your sister's passing, M'lady. Truly, I am sorry for your loss. I never had the honor of meeting Deidre myself, but from what I have been told about her, she was quite the national treasure. Again, my apologies for your loss. May Nuvyen smile fondly on her spirit." Nuvyen was the patron god of the Gladinis dynasty and by extension the entire Gladinis Kingdom, which swept across center of the continent. The Order of Nuvyen ensured that Nuvyen's (supposed) control of the after-life, harvests, rebirth and all things seasonal, spread far and across the shores of the Continent.
"The ball will commence in two hours. Please follow Reginald and his attendants to your quarters, which will be in the West wing of the castle. If you require anything during your stay, please do not hesitate to reach out to one of our servants and they will be happy to attend to your needs." With a nod and a bow, he turned to the servant he had been talking with regarding arrivals and asked quietly:
"I believe that's most of it, isn't it?"
"Indeed, my lord." Renso clapped a hand on the servant's shoulder.
"Take it from here. I need to take care of a few things."
"My lord, King Gladinis said that-"
"Yes, yes, father is a mean old grump when he doesn't get his way every single second, but just tell him that I...don't know, had to attend to the specific needs of our guests. That'll get him off your back and mine, eh?" Without another word, Renso departed, his robes swishing behind him in an embarrassingly elegant fashion.

"Enjoying yourself, Renso?!" Renso snorted a laugh, looking to the heavy breathing Governor Loman with a smirk.
"I suppose you are, Governor?" Loman chuckled heartily, gesturing at the new dance that commenced on the gleaming black and white marble floor that served as the main form of entertainment for the next hour or so.
"How could one not? A stirring speech from your Father about unity amongst all Kingdoms on the Continent, food aplenty, maidens all around who are ready to be courted and no political talk until tomorrow morn!" Renso rolled his eyes internally, remembering that he was being roped into those discussions tomorrow "morn" by Petre, who had insisted that he join for a variety of reasons that specifically concerned the future of the entire Continent (melodrama was a feature of Petre's discussions in both public and private forums).
"Please don't remind me of politics, Governor! I prefer to talk of wine and women." Loman laughed again, then launched himself afresh into the tumult of the dance floor, Renso choosing to lean against the wall with a half empty glass of distilled spirits and observe-

A party of four women were headed towards him on his left, one of which was the grumpy Tillcroft girl. As they approached, he smiled and bowed politely, the trio with Tillcroft fulfilling the stereotype of the courtly, sexually frustrated girls wanting to get married off: low cut dresses, high pitched giggles and indiscernible conversation. How grumpcroft (heh) got wrapped up in that mess was beyond him, but seeing her in the party was quite comedic.
"Oh my, you ARE Renso Gladinis, aren't you?" One of them, a brunette spurted out, a drink in her hand sloshing in rhythm.
"As far as I was aware, yes." A few giggles, then a blonde followed up with:
"We were just talking with Miss Tillcroft and think that it was quite brave of you for coming back to your family even after...well, we heard you did some nasty things with mercenaries. Is that true?" Renso sighed lightly.
"My ladies, my past is a subject that I'd like to somewhat forget and a bit too illicit for such a grand night as this."
"Oh come, Renso, do tell! Were you a pirate?"

Another sigh, followed by a playful glance at Grumpcroft.
"What do you think, Miss TillCroft? Was a pirate? Or something else that decided to run home?"

The Prince had disappointed Lillian, as so many seemed to do these days. He had said exactly what he was supposed to say and that was, well, boring. Not to mention the reference to the Order of Nuvyen. She had made a conscious effort not to roll her eyes at the blessing, instead plastering a somewhat painful smile over her features. Lillian was not religious herself (it was a load of nonsense, in her ever-cynical opinion), and she had heard more than enough about the Nuvyen's god from the zealots that had been trickling into Naeran more and more in recent days. The vast majority of the citizens of Naerin were also cynics - few people had time to worry about some all-powerful God who controlled things ignorant people couldn't be bothered explaining. Hence the reason why Naerin was such a hated kingdom; Lillian had heard the whispers of the religious in neighbouring kingdoms such as Gladinis, the righteous looking down their noses at her people, murmuring amongst themselves that 'no wonder Naerin was so barbaric, it was full of heretics that looked up to the most barbaric heretic of them all'. Her father.

Even so, her father had merely beamed at the Prince and thanked him for his kind words. Barbaric though he was, Ambrose Tillcroft's charisma did him justice. The queen, on the other hand, could barely contain her approval of Prince Renso as they were led to their quarters, Lillian glancing over her shoulder just once to watch him retreat in the opposite direction to the Tillcrofts. Although he had disappointed her with his chauvinistic words, she was still intrigued to know more about the life he ran away to, although she would never admit it.

"Oh, what a lovely man! His manners were impeccable." Celeste gushed, her former feelings of disdain towards the Gladinis dynasty forgotten in a flash.

"What happened to him being a 'stray', as you so wonderfully put it, Mother?"

"Do not start with your antics, Lillian. You are a grown woman. Act like one."

Treat me like one, then. Lillian bit back her sullen retort and turned her attention to their surroundings. The West Wing certainly was more than her family, as guests, could ask for. It was far grander than the simplistic nature of Pernstow Keep, but not in a tasteless fashion. The princess found herself missing the ever-present smell of flowers that perfumed the halls of her home, however, and let out a small sigh. She supposed she was being an utter misery to be around, so she made an attempt to perk up a little as she was deposited in her appointed chambers which were, thank goodness, separated from her parents'.

"The ladies of Drotha will accompany you to the ball in two hours, dearest." Her mother called over her shoulder as she left with the king. "Try to look a little more sophisticated than them, at least."

Lillian smirked. That would not be hard.

---

As much as she dreaded this evening, the Princess of Naerin did rather like her ballgown. She couldn't help but swish it a few times in the ornate mirror situated in her chambers when no servant was looking. It was the palest of pinks and draped lazily off her shoulders, which were framed by her curling hair that was fastened half in an updo with the rest cascading down in auburn waves. She looked rather nice for a stone-cold bitch.

Her reverie was broken by the sound of giggling she had hoped to never hear again. The ladies of Drotha were the three daughters of one of the richest merchants on the continent, and none of them were yet married - which made them her problem. No matter what the celebration was, or where the festivities occurred, that incessant giggling was never far behind. For some reason, they had convinced themselves that Lillian, being the one of the most sought-after bachelorettes in many of the kingdoms (despite being notoriously stand-offish) was their friend. The Drotha sisters, Lillian reckoned, were the only reason she would ever want to marry - a husband to attend balls with would keep them away. In the mean time, however, she would have to make do.

Plastering a smile on her face, Lillian opened her door to the all-too-familiar made-up faces of her own, personal tormentors. They gushed with compliments, flicking her hair with their perfectly-manicured nails and cooing at her dress. A slightly-too-long silence went by as they waited for her to return the niceties.

"Mildred. Holly. Fiona. You all look wonderful." She inclined her head towards the girls, appraising each one of them, before leading the way. If she was going to be seen with these simpering messes, she might as well appear somewhat above them. They towed along dutifully, seemingly grateful for the lack of icy remarks from the Princess.

Lillian stayed quiet as the trio gossiped away behind her, tuning out without having to worry about missing anything vastly important. Her eyes flitted around the ballroom as they entered, taking in the glorious decorations and splendour Majorka had to offer. She supposed she stuck out like a sore thumb with her muted colours in comparison to the bold colours sported by the majority of ladies already dancing, or maybe it was the utterly bored expression gracing her features. Most lords, by now, knew better than to approach her asking for a dance - especially in the first hour of the ball - but there was always a few desperate bachelors with their hopeful eyes and endless flattery.

"A dance, Your Highness?"

"Not tonight, sir."

"Might I join you, Princess?"

"I'm quite fine by myself, thank you."

"Y-y-you look good enough to eat, miss."

Okay. That one made her break into a small smile.

"Oh, you are a hoot, Lillian!" The blonde Drotha girl, Holly, took her arm in a breeze of too-sweet perfume and body glitter. "We're introducing ourselves to Prince Renso, if you'll join us."

Speaking to the disappointing prince again was actually on the very bottom of Lillian's to-do list, but it seemed as if she had little choice in the matter as a delicate glass of champagne was thrust into her hand and she was towed along to the other end of the ballroom. For some reason, she was fighting the urge to squirm in embarrassment at the notion of being seen by Prince Renso with these women. She supposed it was the usual need on her part to be better than whomever she happened to be talking to at the moment. And, judging by the way in which his eyes were glinting in amusement as he greeted the group of them, he was currently one up on her. Oh, it was on.

"Whichever name you made for yourself, Prince, it all comes down to one thing: bravery or cowardice. Which one do you think 'pirate' falls under?" Making sure to provide just the right amount of emphasis on the word 'cowardice', she lifted an eyebrow and offered him a soft smile. "That's just my opinion, of course. The entire Continent has heard stories of your... expeditions at sea."

She'd heard stories, alright. Most of which involved some poor maiden he bewitched by his infuriatingly good looks. Of course, the Drotha girls had clearly heard these rumours, too, as they each seemed to lean forward and look up through their lashes at him, hanging onto his every word.

"Please, excuse my rudeness. This is Lady Fiona, Lady Mildred, and Lady Holly Drotha. My lifelong friends." She tried her hardest not to cringe at that last part.

"Your Majesty." All three chimed in unison, each curtseying dangerously low. Lillian grit her teeth. They never called her Your Majesty, or grovelled at her feet. It was Fiona's turn to speak, still slightly lowered from her curtseying position.

"I'd be honoured to dance with you, and you could tell me all about your adventures, sire. I think you were extremely courageous, from what I've heard. Braving the seas, swinging swords and...um... riding boats."

Lillian snorted. She hastily covered it up with a dainty cough, but couldn't hide the smile that lit up her face. Riding boats. She had to be joking.