Stolen Path

6|| Out And About

To my dear friend, Loti Peryn Zephyr of Avonton,

I hope both you and your father are in good health and of high spirits.

Last night, I broached Miss Marwa's idea to father and luckily for us he gave his assent. According to him, seeing Grachester properly would be 'good for me'. I'm not entirely sure what he meant by this but I'm beside myself with excitement to find out.

Although it came to nothing, I hope you don't me asking after my brothers if they wished to join us on our brief expedition of the city. Although Callum wasn't remotely interested, Cadfael seemed keen. Sadly, mother put her foot down – something about him being a bigger target for assassinations. He seemed a mite downtrodden about it all but I'm sure he and Adney will find a way to cope.

Do share this letter with Miss Marwa (if she isn't already looking over your shoulder). I hope to see you both this Efadas! It's a pity she doesn't have more weekends off!

Yours faithfully, The Third Prince of Ferrotia, Casper Arthur Fenwick of Grachester.

-Casper-

Falhelm was a gruff looking man of about his mid-thirties. Although he clearly wasn't a half-elf due his longer ears and tall build, his smattering of dark stubble indicated at least a bit of human heritage or potentially even low-elf ancestry. Casper doubted the latter option – it simply wouldn't do for a Voltaran man to be guarding a Ferrotian prince (especially given the current political climate).

He gave Casper a quick glance and exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose, as if there was somewhere else he'd rather be, "First things first: ground rules." His voice was tired and grumpy but certainly not in a way that felt brusque or too offensive.

"Yes, sir!" Casper raised his head excitedly but didn't salute. In what world would a prince salute to the deputy of the Royal guard?

Falhelm ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek and glared longingly into the middle distance. Around them, the barracks was coming alive as the nightshifts trudged to their beds and the brighter eyed morning guards called to one another cheerfully on the way to their stations, "Please, just don't," He shook his head and ran a hand through his black curls, "rule one: we are keeping a low profile, you are simply 'Milord' and I am just 'Falhelm' and of course no introducing yourself, no spur of the moment acts of philanthropy, and absolutely no attempts at heroics, do you understand?"

Casper nodded diligently and said, "Hence the cloak and boring clothes?" he looked down at his outfit for the day. A black cotton dress shirt and a dusty green doublet shielded by a dark navy wool cloak (not even embroidered!) had been imposed on the young prince against his will and his usual silk shoes had been swapped for simple ankle boots that he guessed were goatskin due to the light colour and cheap design. To make matters worse, he hadn't been allowed any jewellery apart from some simple silver studs and a necklace that slipped through the protocol due to 'religious value'.

"Yes. Hence the cloak and boring clothes." The guard knocked back his own civilian-style cloak – a well-made yet terribly utilitarian piece of attire made from a dark green fabric – to reveal the steel pommel of an arming sword at his hip, "Twins forbid, if anything does happen, I'll be doing the fighting."

"What if I'm backed into a corner!" A surge of inspiration rushed through the prince. Casper felt the excitement bubble inside of him as his heels bobbed on the cobbles, "Or! Or! I'm held with a blade at my throat, and I need an escape!"

The prince's enthusiasm at being held as captive made Falhelm's brow crease in concern. He sighed again and pulled out a small dagger from a hidden pocket, "This is for emergencies and emergencies only. Okay?"