The Book of Sea and Shore

The High Prince

Chapter 1:

Enough guests had arrived to fill the grand hall to uncomfortable proximity and it was still a day before the celebration. The nobles of kingdoms and colonies close or far had come for the twentieth birthday of the High Prince. Servants and volunteering village folk were busy shuffling through guest lists and preparing temporary housing among other duties. Meanwhile, the Prince sat in his chambers, tired after a long day of greeting people he didn't even know. His nose was buried deep in a book as he lay on a large canopy bed. Rather, the book was laying on his face whilst he slept.

It was a deep sleep, as he had spent the late hours of the night conversing with his father about his obligations for the festivities. The King was more antsy than the Prince had ever seen him, often repeating himself on political matters several times in an afternoon. The Prince took any opportunity he could to get away from the King's tirade. He had never been told so many times in his life that he should stand up straighter or speak more clearly than he had been in the past week.

A pounding sounded at the door, bringing the Prince to the waking world in an instant. The book flew from his face and he scrambled to pick it up. His feet planted on the ground just as the door began to open.

“You may enter,” he said perhaps a little late, embarrassed when his voice cracked slightly.

The King came in, looking sternly at his son. He was a hard man to fool and it most certainly bot suitable for a member of the royal family to be dozing off in broad daylight when there was work to be done.

“Theophillus,” the man sighed, shooing a servant from his side so he could speak to the Prince alone. “Why must you shirk your responsibilities when you are already this old?”

“Father,” the Prince began, putting his book o the bed,”I meant no harm. Certainly no shirk-ing. I only just slipped off to--”

The King raised a hand. “Enough.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Theophillus--”

“Cilver”, the Prince correctly in a mumble, as he hated when his father used his first name.

“-- You still have much to prepare for. Many or our guests are in the harbor waiting for the tide. Including the ship from Penpotia.”

With that the Prince flushed, knowing that was what his father had been aiming for.

“You spoke nothing of Penpotia arriving. I assume... Linnea... will be in attendance as well? I have not seen her for almost seven years.”

The King smiled. “It was to be a surprise, but if it will get you moving, yes. Princess Linnea will be among the arriving nobles. She is your fiancée after all. Why would she not be here?”

Cilver scratched his neck. “It just had not occurred to me.”

The King shook his head. “You must learn to think, Son. Nonetheless, clean yourself up and meet with Malthus at the harbor. The tide will be in within the hour.”

The Prince watched the King leave before pulling off his wrinkled shirt and checking his appearance in the mirror. His hair was a mess, but there was little more he could do than pull a comb through the array of tight, black curls. There was a small red spot on his forehead where he book had rested. His silver eyes – which he had inherited from some far-distance generation – still bore signs of sleep.

He quickly washed his face in a basin and put on a non-wrinkled shirt from his bureau. It was a simple shirt of white that pinned up at the elbows and laced up from his neck line to the center of his chest. A small pattern of leaves were embroidered in silver thread along the seams on each arm. He left the laces loose on the collar and grabbed a gray belt that held a scabbard he never used. His pants were somewhat wrinkled, his at least the were clean. He patted some wrinkles out of the dark fabric and laced up a pair of black hunting boots. With one quick brush through his hair, Cilver scurried from his room.