they call it drakon- the land of the dragons. bring in a street thief, a scholar, a few dragons and a crown prince who doesn't know what's good for him, you've got a recipe for disaster. oh, don't forget the web of lies simply waiting to be unrave...
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ALISTAIR HATED LENGTHY CONVERSATIONS WITH HIS FATHER.
He knew that they never ended well, and that night's- or was it morning?- conversation had ended on a particularly bitter note. Even though his father was furious with him, he didn't regret bringing Kia to the castle. Sometimes, it felt good to defy the rules, break traditions. No royal had ever convinced an infamous thief to come willingly to the palace and spend some time with them, and Alistair was pretty sure no thief had ever made fun of said royal and gotten away with it either. He was sure what he'd done was a first.
After dragging himself to his room, he'd fallen asleep instantly, oblivion claiming him as he face-planted onto the bed. Ah, how he missed his soft mattress and pillow. He snuggled in, looking forward to a good night of sleep. However, it seemed like luck was working against him. He had the oddest dream, featuring the strangest conversation he'd ever heard or seen.
A hooded figure walked into Alistair's line of view. The prince could tell that the figure was a man by his loping gait. A shadow fell across his face, preventing the young man from trying to identify the other figure. He scowled, completely clueless to where they were, or who the strange figure was. He felt a little bad for cornering Kia on the roof of the building- he knew how he felt now that he was in an equally unfamiliar situation. Unfamiliar situations were never good, that he knew from the story of Pandora and her box.
"Psst!" The hooded figure his, annoyance in his voice. "Wake up, you dumbass!" The person's accent sounded vaguely familiar, but Alistair couldn't quite place his finger on who it belonged to. Was it Cecil? He shook his head. Impossible.
There was a grunt, and Alistair jumped a little as another figure rose from the shadows, ambling closer to the prince and the hooded figure. If he kept getting shocked at every little thing, he was going to have a heart attack soon. He assumed the figure was the so-called 'dumbass'. It was quite impolite and unprincely of him, but he didn't know what else to call the figure, so for now, his- or her- name was 'dumbass'.
Who are you? Alistair wanted to scream. Where am I? Why am I here?
"Sod off, you turd." The figure grumbled in a low, sleep-filled baritone. He sounded more annoyed than angry, uncomfortably reminding Alistair of his conversations with Cecil. Their conversations were more like playful banter than threatening speech, even when one side was angry at the other.
The first figure, who Alistair could only call 'Turd', snickered, seemingly unaffected by the other man's words. "You can get your precious sleep another time, Gavin. I, on the other hand, cannot. I'm very busy man, you know."
The person who'd just woken up, Gavin, just grunted, sounding tired and annoyed by life in general. Alistair could relate. "Whatever, man."
The first figure, Turd, huffed dramatically. "How rude, you ungrateful little piece of shite. I come in peace, and bearing good news, and this is how you treat me?"
