THE CROWN PRINCE & THE WATCHDOG
"Good evening, Your Royal Highness, Prince Wulfric. It is truly an honor to accompany you for tonight’s dance.”
“Good evening, Wystan.”
Now having come to this point, Wystan cared little for the King’s eyes that bore two holes in the back of his head. After many tirade-enduring years, it was nothing he wasn’t already used to. Even still, the watchdog’s loyalty to that buffoon’s heirs was unmatched. It was evident in the way he strictly adjusted himself to carry on this task as smoothly as possible, as if it was completely normal, for both the crown prince's dignity and in Danrose's name. Inwardly, he felt at home treating the dance like an important mission. This was no different from running an errand for Prince Auguste– he would simply execute it as best as he could.
When he reached for Wulfric’s arm, he made sure to issue an appropriate grip on the crown prince; not too firm, and not too gentle. Primarily concerned about maintaining the prince’s image, his tempered obedience allowed him to be led to the dance floor with complete ease. If one looked closely, they would even notice that his hips swayed ever so slightly, a rhythmic movement subtly complimented by the extended length of his guard robes. His steps were well-paced, and he shifted his weight evenly, almost as if he was practicing stances before a battle. Perhaps he was. After all, he was a fighter at heart, and most difficult situations were dealt with an attitude like this. Utter diligence and focus. Perhaps true grit may have won him most fights, but it was unwavering self-reliance and adaptability that made his victories most numerous. According to him, this mindset could be applied to any given situation. And in this case, if the dance was to be completed at least halfway decently on his part, that meant only one thing: he needed to immerse himself in it.
In the middle, he turned to face Wulfric, swiftly alternating the hands they held each other with in the process. He angled his head just enough to meet the prince’s eyes without having to completely look down at him. Unassuming and hidden from the general public's earshot, he spoke in a hushed tone: “My apologies for this arrangement, Prince Wulfric. As it turns out, that number was not mine to take. I will take all the responsibility for this occurrence and make sure it does not happen again.”
As they walked among the other pairs, Wulfric kept his gaze straight ahead. He could not allow a gaze backwards to see how poorly his father was taking this; he could imagine it anyhow. A bit more distracting was Wystan’s unexpected decision to accentuate his allure. Even peripherally, he noticed the gentle motions of his body. Really, now… Though he did not require it, the respectable grip the guard had on his arm was a reminder of what he should and should not do or think about. Most likely, it was the unusual context of their closeness that had momentarily thrown him off. Certainly, he had no issues keeping his mind on task when it came to sparring with him – or with any other. This is not all that different.
The reframing worked as intended, and they arrived at their destination without issue. Wystan proceeded to get into the appropriate position all on his own. Wulfric’s eyebrows twitched into a barely-there frown, but he followed through. His left palm rose to lift their arms in line with his shoulder. His right came to rest upon the watchdog’s upper back. The latter would serve as support for the follow, who was to arch their spine ever-so-slightly. Wulfric pressed upon Wystan’s left shoulder blade to get him to do so.
Then, they were close enough for Wystan to whisper to him. “Do not,” he responded just as quietly, though firmly. Frustration – at the servant offering not only a pointless apology, but also an empty assurance (as if he needed to be placated!) – had led him to be curt. Aware his meaning would not be clear enough, Wulfric added, “This is a matter above your station.” This time, his tone was level; compared to his earlier rebuke, he was merely stating a fact.
Since this was Wystan, whom he found agreeable, he decided to elaborate. “I am usually offered a prearranged slip of paper by one of the servants. This was not the case today – clearly, there has been an interference,” he explained. (Wulfric did not mention that he did not mind the result.) “Not by Anastasia,” he pointed out. His sister may have caused the guard to be here, and had clearly enjoyed the surprising outcome, but was not the original culprit.
The question of who gained the most due to this meddling would have to be left to later, however. The numbers had all been called, and the event was due to begin any moment. “A piece of advice: Rather than anticipating my movements so as to advance ahead of me,” as Wystan had done when he initiated the positioning, “try to feel them so as to keep in step with me.” Then, the first notes of the music resounded, and Wulfric started to lead, easing them in with the basics to begin with.
“Very well, Your Highness.” At the crown prince’s guidance, Wystan issued a solitary nod. He began to follow. It was clear that this was where the line was drawn between dancing and sparring. The watchdog was quick to correct his preconceived notion, now seeking to observe the prince’s movements to meet his steps in tandem. The three beats of the song that played helped him adjust, but with his own right hand in Wulfric’s and the left rested on his shoulder, he found he did not have to rely much on it. They danced in a closed position, just about face to face. Wystan’s footfalls were smoothly dictated by Wulfric’s excellent lead. He could not deny his mild appreciation for the fact, and dutifully accepted this opportunity to learn from the well-versed prince’s moveset. Wystan made sure to keep a peripheral eye on Wulfric’s body and its movements, careful not to lean too much into the support of his firm hand behind his back.
“I have not danced like this in a very long time.” The watchdog needed to admit. “Though, I’m sure Your Highness could already tell.”
Because Wystan was not only diligent but also successful at following his suggestion, Wulfric’s worries in regards to the guard’s performance were diminished. Consequently, he was able to relax into what was for him a habitual activity. He flowed all the more gracefully across the dance floor, and despite the numerous people around them, Wulfric always steered them in another direction at the appropriate moments. When he sensed that Wystan was comfortable with the existing routine, he occasionally varied the pattern by adding a new figure.
“For a beginner, you are adequately skilled,” the prince stated. Given that Wystan’s dedication had managed to allay Wulfric’s previous underlying concerns – and with it, the excess tension that’d been lingering in his form – the remark was evidently true. “It’s almost surprising that you take to this so well.” Even though both of them had unknowingly compared dancing to combat, the two had differences enough that Wulfric had expected the guard to struggle with overcoming his instincts. Certainly, there had been worse case scenarios playing upon his mind beforehand.
“It's with your lead that I am able to do so." Wystan promptly responded. Wulfric nodded in acknowledgement, accepting the credit to his skill.
Since things were going well, and Wulfric was enjoying himself on more than one level, he momentarily brought them closer. They were now so near each other, their torsos were pressed together. The murmur of, “Let’s step it up,” was the only warning Wystan received as Wulfric guided them back to the centre in two turns. There, he pivoted them both on the spot three times. The rotation was tight and neat, if quickly over. After traveling to the other side of the area available to them in two more turns, they separated to their prior distance. The prince also eased them back into some simpler movements.
Wystan was thankful for this moment of respite. A deep, slow breath was only warranted as he brought his heart rate down to a steady pace. His expression was neutral – calm, even. However he could not dismiss the amount of effort it took for him to keep up with the crown prince just now. Even so, he was at least content in knowing that a good amount of faith was placed on him to carry out such dizzying footwork. For his hard work, the prince's feet remained unstamped on, which was more than enough for his own standard. A standard he was glad to have risen, even just slightly, with this mode of practice.
In fact, that moment was something akin to their spars. Memorable, because Wulfric was the only other person, next to Auguste, who he never had to moderate his own skills for. Their spars were honest and expressive, fought to the brim of their potential, opting to push their limitations further and further until either of them could no longer. The mere thought of those fight sessions was enough to lead a smile onto his face. In a comfortable, more confident headspace, the watchdog was better able to maintain his center of gravity well enough to follow into the prince's rises, falls, and dips with more expression from this point on.
Needless to say, the mood turned out better than he thought. And whether it was out of gratitude or simply wanting to conduct business, Wystan found it was a time suitable to share about his day. “Your Highness. Earlier this morning, I was sent on a patrol." He paused to support his own weight for a swing sequence. "...Prince Auguste requested that I monitor the kingdom and observe the districts before I arrived here. Perhaps I could share with you what I've gathered." He respectfully looked upon the prince to ascertain his response before he continued.
Wulfric had not expected this line of conversation, though his expression had not shifted from his well-practiced mask of neutrality. Staring off into the distance as he’d been, an observer would have discerned nothing of interest in his manner, as it conveyed but a slight focus, perhaps even boredom. In truth, he’d been luxuriating in the feeling of their closeness - it had been years since he’d last had the opportunity to enjoy a man’s presence in a setting that was socially considered an intimate one. And no, sharpening his skills with a blade against the watchdog, or any other soldier, was not that. There, all that was aroused was his bloodlust, as he put his all into winning, often as he imagined the act of killing. Of course, he was not in any kind of lust at this very moment, but the dance was a pleasant prelude to what could be (but never would be).
Thus, he sighed inaudibly as Wystan’s words dissipated the mindless haze of content, and he returned to a more logical mindset. Nonetheless, he properly reorganized his thoughts, met Wystan’s gaze calmly, and answered matter-of-factly, “Do share.”
“As you wish, Prince Wulfric. I will begin from the least urgent report to the most relevant.” Wystan began to recount his collected data. The professional in him subconsciously leaked out a pleasant expression – one that looked almost like a dog bringing its owner a bone. ”Morning report. Location: southwest of downtown, merchants’ district. Recent concerns of unaccounted murders discussed within the counsel have seen some progress. They all link back to signs of the existence of a drug-smuggling ring within the area. According to my sources, there is reason to believe that they are connected to uncertified doctors engaging in medical malpractice. In due time, I shall return to examine thieves’ cant left behind by my informants underground.”
“Drug-dealers and quacks…Seek specifics on the money-trail, if you’re able. If there are motives beyond pure profit, that’d be useful to know as well,” the prince was partially thinking out-loud, but the order was clear nonetheless.
“As you command, Your Royal Highness.” Wystan nodded before moving on. ”Afternoon report. My next finding is located near the kingdom’s harbor, just after the residential area uptown. My goal was to seek out any signs of illegal imports or exports and report it back– but I came across something else instead.” The watchdog narrowed his eyes in thought. "Strange news of a lone warehouse not used for storage, during peak season of trade.”
“Mm, a would-be gathering area for someone,” Wulfric guessed. Wystan’s next words confirmed it.
A nod from the guard in turn. ”Upon speaking with my informants residing in that area, I was told that the repository was used for scandalous practices and more… title-damaging activities. My concerns about this place remain high as I have yet to find it, and a good number of my tipsters have chosen to remain quiet. A sign that someone has paid them handsomely for their silence.”
“For the usual nightly revelries of the most depraved? You may need to follow Anastasia tonight, if that is the case,” Wulfric’s tone was very dry. At this, Wystan merely nodded, seemingly having expected this response, for better or for worse.
“What else?” Wulfric prompted.
“...” Wystan waited for a moment. Specifically, for a moment when the prince would bring their bodies closer once more. When that opportune time came, he leaned in next to the royal’s ear, seemingly having found it important to avoid the risk of leakage.
”The Shehzadi you were with earlier…” The watchdog said carefully, in a deepened tone. Wystan couldn’t see it from his vantage point, but Wulfric’s eyes narrowed in warning. ”I observed a servant approach her nearly right after you left to accompany me. The server whispered something to her, and immediately departed as if to disappear.”
The prince’s eyebrows rose, and he hummed in interest. “Noted,” he replied quietly. With that, the two returned to their original distance.
”Forgive me if I am being impudent. However, that was my evening report.” There was no evidence or foundation to have the watchdog needlessly be concerned over such a matter. Still, anyone would be surprised at just how little venom can slip through a crack when one wasn’t paying attention.
“Not at all. That was well done,” he complimented.
Just then, Wulfric noticed some unexpected movement from the corner of his eye. Midstep, he turned them away sharply, but a young woman still managed to bump into him as she fell to the floor. The prince grimaced as he stumbled into Wystan, their rhythm interrupted. “My apologies,” he bit out, obviously displeased. Still, having grasped his dance partner more firmly due to the unexpected event, he was already working on a recovery. Wulfric corrected his frame, restoring proper posture. Then, he ensured they were once again in time with the 1-2-3 tempo of the waltz with some simple movements. Lastly, he loosened his fingers from where they’d been biting into the guard’s back and palm since he’d been startled.
The priority of a graceful resolution having been achieved - as graceful as it possibly could have been after that - Wulfric glared over Wystan’s shoulder at the culprits. He did not recognize the distressed woman now fleeing the scene, but…“That man,” he hissed, tone venomous as he noted the braggart of a storyteller. However, the offender departed as well. Wulfric took a deep breath, working out some of the angry tension present in his body. He wasn’t quite calm when the final note resounded, and the end part of their dance was a perfunctory performance.
”Would you like me to take care of him after the ball?” Wystan instinctively responded, raising an eyebrow as he glanced backwards following the prince’s gaze. Indirectly harming the crown prince was strike number one. Strike number two was causing such a scene at the Danroses’ ball and disturbing other guests. After all, the guard was sufficiently equipped, for times like these.
Wulfric’s lips thinned as he considered the prospect. He’d like to agree, however there was a reason it would not be advisable to do so. “Unfortunately, the sultan did take a minor interest in that one. To disappear him now…” he trailed off, sighing. “No, it should not be done,” he concluded. “However - and considering all other issues, this one is of lesser import - investigate and keep an eye on him.”
”Very well, Your Highness. As you wish.” Wystan mentally stashed his collection of weapons, and filed away the blonde nobleman’s face for later use. After that, he placed his focus back on the prince and his lead for the rest of the dance. Not forgetting the King's dirty glares, he opted to simply try and take in whatever was left of this arrangement, with no difficulty transitioning from a business-oriented mindset to a casual one. It had been rather enjoyable after all, for what it was worth.
”...Ahem.” Wystan lightly cleared his throat to make way for an honest phrase. "Thank you for gracing me with a pleasant time, and a superb learning experience, Prince Wulfric. I–" A quick pause.
What should have been: "--hope we can do this again," was immediately reigned in to be replaced by:
"--hope you have an excellent rest of the evening, Your Royal Highness."
“I’m afraid that interruption did spoil the finale, but it has been pleasant otherwise,” Wulfric agreed. There was some lingering irritation left due to the earlier incident, but the prince was more placid now that he knew the menace would be watched in the future. He nodded at the well wish. “You as well. Perhaps you could test your skills as the lead with someone else,” he suggested. He didn’t have much of a stake in whether Wystan did so or not, so the offer was a casual one.
Not long after their conversation, the music - and with it, their dance - came to an end. The two men left the centre, walking side by side as the pairs dispersed. Each had a reason for seeking Anastasia - who was all too easy to find, spinning as she was despite the musicians not playing. Worse yet, she’d somehow found herself in the company of the man who’d narrowly escaped becoming a target of assassination - for now. However, that did not mean Kazumin was entirely out of danger. Wulfric and Wystan shared a glance of understanding, and though neither interrupted the lively dance, they approached the unlikely duo as soon as they were over.
"It seems everyone he talks to ends up on the ground." Wystan thought rather outwardly, clearly unamused.
“Indeed,” Wulfric was just as unhappy. He looked cooly upon the two people who were collapsed in the middle of the ballroom. “Anastasia,” he greeted his sister curtly. While to a stranger like Kazumin, his tone would appear one of frosty anger, Anastasia could likely detect the accompanying concern, exasperation, and light admonishment. Though he was frowning, he offered her a hand up, “Come on, then.”
On the other hand, Wystan furrowed his brows at the sprawled-out man before he lent his own arm out of professional courtesy. "...Please, sir, before you get stepped on by the crowd."
princess
Izurich
Patroxclus
