Chapter Six
It turned out that Lucien was more than some prissy pampered prince. He also knew how to drink. That was something Leander could get behind. Within days of his presentation at court, Lucien had sent a slave to the Talius manor bearing an invitation to show him around the city.
Leander had gladly accepted, citing to Verin that it was a sort of noble lesson as an excuse for attending, and the pair found themselves traipsing through the Bazaar in the direction of Lucien’s favourite watering hole.
They were soon joined by another noble, a man by the name of Lord Thiete Praemis, who Leander quickly recognised as Princess Vivienne’s betrothed. The two men, it transpired, were thick as thieves and familiar drinking buddies, when the rare occasion struck.
Glad to be invited, Leander listened to the light ribbing of the other two men as the prince pushed open the door of the Wandering Dragon, Saeren’s finest tavern.
The Wandering Dragon was a large, yet intimate tavern. It was lit by candlelight and floating lanterns. Groups, pairs and singletons nursed their drinks as a troupe of players strummed their instruments, casting their magical melody over the quiet murmurs of the generally well-dressed clientele.
Thiete went to the bar to order the first round of drinks while Lucien and Leander found a table close to where the minstrels were playing.
“I wasn’t expecting this,” Leander said.
“What were you expecting?” Lucien asked with a smile as he took his drink from the quickly returned Thiete.
“I’m not sure,” Leander said between sips of mead. “I suppose something darker, more dingy.”
Lucien laughed. “You don’t think much of mortals, do you, Leander? You’ve seen the palace, we don’t live in hovels. Even the poorest among us live within sturdy houses and flats.”
Leander was warring inside his mind with the opportunity to be honest. Saeren was a flagship city, there was no doubt about that. But it was like the people charged with its care were so proud of their city that they were blind to the strife throughout the rest of the kingdom, left to be cared for by lesser nobles.
“It’s not that, not that at all. I’ve been to enough taverns in Vyrica, outside the city to have experienced... hovels.”
“Ah, well, now you’re in Saeren, you must experience the best we have to offer, Myracle.” Thiete said.
“Leander, please,” he invited, hating that horrible nomenclature with a passion.
Theite nodded with a smile. “How are you finding Saeren, Leander?”
“That’s a loaded question to ask when I must reply in the company of Vyrica’s future king. The heir to the throne might not like what I have to say,” Leander quipped with a grin.
“Oh, I pass no judgement on you or your words, Leander. Vyrica is beautiful but by no means perfect. Same applies to this city, despite being the crowning jewel of Vyrica. No place ever is,” Lucien said.
“Very true.” Leander took a sip of the sweet mead, enjoying it but also wishing for something stronger. “For the record, I think Saeren is magnificent. It is vibrant, colourful, full of life and wonder. If I have to live out my mortal years anywhere, I am glad it is here.”
A half truth, but Leander was good at lying.
“And the people?” Thiete pressed.
“I have not yet met many,” Leander said slowly, measuring his words carefully. “But those I have met are respectful and polite... much like anyone you meet for a short period of time.”
“I imagine meeting a demigod, especially Leía’s son, is quite exciting for most.”
“Most, but not all,” Leander agreed. He glanced at Lucien. “Your other displaced guest didn’t seem too impressed with me when I met him.”
“Prince Jarryn?” Lucien’s brow furrowed in confusion. “You both seemed to get on well enough when you were introduced at court.”
“That wasn’t the first time we met.” Leander quietly recounted the tale of his visit to Jasmine’s brothel, wherehe had first encountered the exiled prince. “The only thing I don’t understand is why he was there in the first place.”
“Probably for the same reason as you,” Lucien smirked as he leaned back in his chair once Leander was finished with his story. “Prince Jarryn favours boys, though, or so I have heard. But it is worth mentioning that Jasmine’s establishment is the only brothel in Saeren that exclusively pays its whores. They are not slaves, which aligns with the prince’s… ideologies. If he were to seek the, ah, embrace of another anywhere, it would be there.”
Leander nodded, considering.
“Speak of the devil…” The demigod followed Thiete’s gaze as the other noble spoke, turning in time to see the tavern door closing behind Prince Jarryn, who stood there in the entry way, hair ruffled from the harsh winds outside.
“No, don’t—” Leander tried to stop Lucien from hailing the prince over to their table, but Jarryn saw and approached.
