The Jewel-eyed Lost Prince \\ WMMAP

3: The Warrior

Between recovering from mana exhaustion and dipping his toes into correspondence with the Ifantis, Aionios thought he could be forgiven for forgetting all about preparing for the Spring Hunt. A hunt being an annual event held for all nobility instead of for a group of friends (or 'friends', as the case may be) heading out and mucking about whenever was a new concept to him. Siodonna, being mostly desert, didn't have many large game that made hunting an appealing pastime.

Aionios allowed himself to slide into a pout at the tailors swarming him and taking his measurements. "Is this really necessary?" He complained. "I already have hunting clothes."

The young man picking out fabrics to the side chuckled. "But of course, Your Highness. The Hunt is your official introduction to Obelia! You must be impeccable."

Aionios glared. Orestis Ifantis, heir to the Ifantis conglomerate, had soon become a dear friend after they met during trade talks. Smart and charismatic, with a head for numbers that few could match, Orestis was in many ways the perfect person to inherit the giant merchant empire. He was also unbearably flippant. "And being a walking advertisement for Infantis isn't part of it?" Aionios snarked.

"That too," Orestis conceded, touching his chin. "Your Highness is so pretty, it would be a shame to wear anything other than the best."

The prince rolled his eyes with a deep sigh. His friend was insufferable sometimes. Switching tracks, he asked, "Will you be there too? You're already eighteen."

Orestis clutched his chest and gave a mortally offended gasp. "Me? Hunt? No no no, my arms would break like twigs! I'll be killed by a wolf, eaten by its pups, and the only thing left of me would be compost! You could bear to let me die? For shame, Your Highness!"

Aionios rolled his eyes again. Like he said, insufferable. Orestis was always like this, even when he knew full well Aionios knew he could defend himself perfectly fine. Just in the time they knew each other, he'd already foiled two kidnapping plots against himself, once as he was being kidnapped. No self-respecting noble's son wouldn't know at least the basics. "A 'no' would've sufficed."

Waving him off, Orestis turned back to the fabrics piled high on the table. "So what colours do you want for your personal style? Blue? Purple?"

"Red on white."

"Red on... hey, you're taking the sun imagery a bit far, right?"

Aionios smiled wryly. "Compete with the sun for radiance, match the sun in longevity," he recited. Twenty years of life wasn't so easily forgotten, even if he was now a whole other person.

"Whatever, it's your life. I'll get you the fabric, as long as you leave the style and everything else to me." Orestis patted his chest.

"Hey... are you the prince or am I? Don't I get any say in this?"

"Nope!" Orestis replied cheerfully. "A body like yours is wasted with your crappy fashion sense. Just let me have this."

"Does this mean you'll give me the 2% increase in taxes on the main road?" Aionios asked hopefully.

But Orestis soon shot him down. "Not a chance. This is this and that is that. Try again next time, little prince."

"I'm not that young," Aionios grumbled. He was only two years away from coming of age.

"Baby princeling."

"Hey!"

"Teeny tiny baby!"

Aionios let out a high-pitched noise of rage. "Am not!" Around them, the tailors and maids were suppressing smiles. For their sake, Aionios subsided with one last growl. "Just you wait..."