Princep Vincent is thuggish, at least in mannerism. It’s a looseness to his movement coupled with how he looks the room over as if seeking prey. However, the effect is slight, controlled. Presumably his instructors noticed it too and tried to correct it with limited success.

  “See, what did I tell you?” he says, turning to his sibling, obviously meaning it for their ears only, but not caring to talk softly in the presence of so many with augmented hearing. “Plenty of… interesting people here.” His eyes lingers on our group briefly before continuing to the rest of the room. I wonder which of us he has selected.

  “If you say so, brother,” Princep Avery says with matching disregard for heightened hearing. In every other way, they are a stark contrast. For one, Vincent is rather short, yet well proportioned and physically fit. Avery in contrast is very tall, taller than Erik, but gangly with too long limbs. While Vincent adorns himself in what Alan calls ‘exaggerated masculine signifiers’, Avery’s attire is perfectly neutral. Seemingly related, while Vincent is a constant loose, powerful, motion, Avery is stillness – complete control of their unwieldly limbs. Even when they move, they give the impression of remaining still, the opposite of their brother. Even Alan would have difficulty matching such… order in being.

  “I do,” he says, smiling without his eyes, then turning to our host who has been smiling nervously at his side – eager to please. “My compliments. It seems a fair party. Just what I was looking for.”

  The host’s face brightens at the compliment, his nervousness sliding off his face. “Please, your highness,” he gestures to the room, “as if it were your own home.” He means it far more than when he expressed similar sentiments to us.

  “Oh,” the princep grins wolfishly, “I don’t think anyone wants me to be that familiar, but I appreciate the sentiment.” Our host laughs, nerves returned. Vincent turns to the party and walks directly to our group. “Adrian, my friend! It’s been too long!” The princep’s smile is exuberant now as he walks up to the illusionist and gives them a tight hug as they attempt to perform the correct formal greeting.

  “You honour me, your highness,” Adrian says as if unsure if it’s true, “may I introduce you to my acquaintances?”

  “Of course,” Vincent says too loudly, “an acquaintance of Adrian Blakerhal is certainly an acquaintance of mine.”

  “Yes, your highness,” Adrian says, uncertain what to make at the jest, so starts the introductions. “This is Ser Terrance Pressley. He was on my team during the group fights. He hails from outside our borders, but seems to have some family connection here.”

  “Ah, yes, I’ve heard of you. You’re the youngest knight we’ve had in over two years.” He says the last part as a jest, but there is a strange emotion to it. Resentment isn’t quite right. It’s hard to place.

  “I’m honoured to have reached your ears, your highness.” Ser Terry says, unflustered, or unnoticing of, the strange tone.

  “Doubtless,” Vincent says with rolled eyes.

  Adrian introduces the rest of us in the proper order: Erik first, taking precedence over the rest of us for having a title of his own right, even if it is just squire. Vincent responds as is required by ritual, but no more. However, he immediately perks up on Emily’s introduction.

  “Ah, yes, the frozen cream maker! A servant saw fit to bring me some when I was in one of my moods. I was... charmed.”

  “I’m certain.” Emily says politely, unaffected by the weight he placed on the last word.”

  “Tell me, how did you come up with such a tasty creation?”

  She shrugs. “Simple alchemical principles coupled with my own ice magic.”

  “My servant said you only sell it sporadically. You simply must give my chef the recipe so I can have it whenever I want.”

  “Forgive me,” she says, not at all seeming reconciliatory, “but I must not. The method is registered as proprietary, by law only your mother may demand I cede it.”

  He scowls at the refusal, but smooths his face. “My father, you mean? Unlike my oh so beloved sister, she sired me rather than bore me herself. Thus, ‘father’ describes our relationship, unless you mean to say I’m fatherless.”

  Yet more wordplay. I haven’t encountered aggression by pun before, but it seems effective provided one has the social highground. Twisting words around to suggest she may be suggesting he’s a bastard.

  She inclines her head very slightly. “As you say.” A stillness as everyone decides what she’s assenting to – the facts or the suggested suggestion. The facts, obviously, but said in such a way as to invite being interpreted as the latter, should one be so inclined.

  Vincent, apparently being disinclined to pursue such blatant indifference, smiles. “Well, if you won’t give me the method, then perhaps you’ll agree to make me your cream under my permanent employment, so I can have it whenever I want?”

  She shakes her head. “Unfortunately I’m not seeking employment at the moment, to better focus on my studies.” He scowls again, so she conceded, minutely, “However if you send your servant to the east one dormitory, then I would be willing to sell whatever I have on hand, provided I’m there.”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “I suppose that will have to do,” he says with a mouth that smiles but eyes that burn greedily. Understandable. If I had a higher place on the social hierarchy, I would use it to try to get more of her cream too. As if sensing my thoughts he turns to me, the last noble of the group to be introduced.

  “Ah, yes,” Adrian hastens to say, “this is Malichi Monhal, a baron’s son from the far west near Caethlon. He was on my team during the group fights, and received the highest score on the breakthrough test.”

  “Ah yes!” he gives me one of the wolfish grins which he has been making throughout the conversation, but much more unnerving by virtue of being directed towards me. “I heard about that. It sounded amusing. I thought you’d be taller than you are.”

  I take on an expression of mock confusion. “No, I’m not taller than I am.”

  Rather than soft laughter as hoped, the group blinks at my response. I guess he wasn’t trying for that joke after all. Disappointing, I guess.

  Suddenly Avery laughs, causing us to flinch as we apparently had all forgotten they had walked over with their brother. The laugh, like their limbs, is gangly and unwieldy and much too precise. “Yes, I see, you pretended to believe that he thought your height was greater than your height, which would be a contradiction. How amusing.”

  “Um, yes,” I say, scratching my head at having my joke having to be explained. “I read it once in a book on magic theory. I guess I thought the joke was more common than it is.”

  “Haha!” Avery laughs jarringly again. “Most clever.”

  “What?” I say, confused before realizing I had repeated the joke’s form. “Oh, no, that wasn’t… intentional.” I let my words deflate as they all stare at me weirdly.

  “Well, if Avery thinks your joke is funny, it must be bad.” Prencep Vincent says, laughing too hard, but in a way that suggests the laugh is itself a joke, this one at my expense. “Well Adrian, it’s been great meeting all of your new ‘acquaintances’, but there are others I must speak to. I may see fit to speak to you later tonight. If not, make certain to say hello the next time you visit the palace. I’ll be upset if I hear you haven’t.”

  “I shall do as you say, your highness, your highness.” The second ‘your highness’ is directed to Avery, who tacitly nods and follows their brother away. We all wait, breath abated as they both walk away until Adrian deems them distant enough to speak about and turns to Emily. “You do realize there’s a good chance he’ll become the next emperor, right?”

  Emily shrugs. “If he does, then I’ll give him my method then, and not until.”

  “Why would he be emperor?” Ser Terry asks. “I thought he had older siblings.”

  “Primogeniture isn’t a hard rule in the empire, much less for the imperial family.” Adrian says brusquely, then softens their tone to explain. “The empress is nigh immortal. We hope to remove the ‘nigh’ from that sentence, but her loyal subjects prepare for failure. The royal offsprings do have some touch of divinity by association, and therefore a portion of her longevity, but only the youngest can reasonably hope to outlive their parent. Likewise, as she nears true divinity, her sudden ‘bouts of excesses of the flesh’ have become less frequent. She hasn’t born nor sired any heirs since the group who are attending with us. But even if she does ‘get in the mood’ again, there has been a growing movement at court to designate one of the four as the official heir. The empress has been reluctant to give in to such movements in the past, but it is believed she will relent this time.”

  “I see,” I say, “I suppose that makes them competitors, no? Each using their time at the academy to distinguish themselves from their siblings?”

  Adrian nods. “Most see it that way, and are falling in line under their favourite heir to do aid them. Though the Empress has made it clear she hopes they’ll use this time to learn rather than seek glory.”

  “And which Princep do you support?” I ask.

  “Me?” they ask coyly. “I support the Empress’s desire for them to learn, of course.”

  “Of course,” I say, a bit mocking, “is that why you didn’t mention that you knew them personally when you were debating with Lucas at the entrance ceremony?”

  “Oh, that? Well, I hardly know any of them enough to be able to claim friendship, though they’re kind enough to pretend otherwise. I just met them a few times due to my father’s work is all.”

  “Your father?” I ask.

  “Oh, you didn’t know? He’s an adviser to the empress.”

  “I see,” I say again, surprised at the revelation of how much better a contact they are than I assumed. It certainly explains the position they took with Lucan if their father is close to the sovereign. Perhaps I should start buttering them up to become a friend rather than acquaintance.

  “Do you know the empress then?” The frightful youth asks in awe, having been silent during the conversation with royalty.

  “Eh,” Adrian hesitates, “I’ve met her a few times, yes. Though she has seldom addressed me directly.”

  “What was she like?” the youth asks.

  “… Overwhelming.” They say after more hesitation, then refuses to elucidate.

  “That’s well and good,” Emily says, seemingly not interested in their personal account of her ruler, “but back to Vincent being the next emperor. You said that as if I should be concerned, but given his divinity won’t I be long dead by the time that happens?”

  Adrian laughs with a sudden smile. “Well, we can certainly hope.”

  Emily laughs in return. “Oh, now that was clever phrasing.” She turns to me to indicate the intended contrast.

  I blush at the reminder of how flat my joke fell and remember that I had intended to leave her and Ser Terry with Erik before Adrian et al spotted us. I glance to Ser Terry and decide the tension is still there and that escape is still preferable.

  “Well, I think I’ll go explore the party.” I say. “Pleasure to see you all again.” They respond likewise, and I leave.

  I try to find conversations that interest me and introduce myself to the groups having them, but leave shortly after each time feeling dissatisfied, bored and awkward. Eventually, I decide to compare the garden to Alan’s and go outside. The groups here are smaller than those inside, typically comprising of only two. Thinking it’d be a bad idea to introduce myself in the middle of a rendezvous, but feeling conspicuous alone, I enter a hedge maze at the centre of the garden.

  It's not a complicated arrangement, and I quickly find a resting place at the centre. I sit on the stone bench and listen to party sounds – music and dull laughter. It’s nice. Emily was right that observing these things from the side can be more pleasant than partaking, especially in my current state of mind. I mean, how am I supposed to enjoy light conversations while wondering if Ser Terry … hates me for nearly killing him. I don’t think he does, but shouldn’t he?

  I’m right, of course, that he shot himself, and shouldn’t have snuck through my window. I mean, even if I hadn’t set up the trap I might have heard him and attacked. Anyone would. But I set that trap up for peace of mind, yet it seems I just exchanged one disquiet for another.

  “Ah someone’s here already, and it’s the runt too. I mean, you’re even smaller than me!”

  I turn to see Princep Vincent walking into the clearing, and I suddenly feel very alone.

  here.