the usual - thread for night and i, but feel free to read along :)

(will probably update as i become more certain of his character - for now, this is all i've got)

Name: Lucian Xander Allesian II (or, in other words, Luc)

Age: 22

Gender: Male

Affinity: Water. Can control small amounts of water within a small radius. As with most land-dwellers, his power is weakened by generations of dilution. The practice of affinities is still highly restricted.

Appearance: Luc stands just above average height - no less would be tolerated of the king's son - and is well-muscled from years at sea. His tawny brown hair glints golden in the sunlight, hanging loosely around his neck. He expects this, along with his rugged stubble, to be clean-cut upon arrival, but for now he still looks the part of a sailor. He's collected his fair share of scars along the years, but his hands remain, for the most part, uncalloused. Everything about him suggests assertion and charm, from his tan complexion to his gold-flecked brown eyes. He moves with the certainty of one who is rarely declined, a lazy tilt to his chin. The only immediate sign of weakness is a limp he does is best to hide, though this mostly comes out only in cold weather; the product of a shattered knee at sea that never healed quite right.

His seafaring style is in stark contrast to what he'll soon be expected to wear around the palace and city. Loose white shirts, jewelry and a few piercings, and an assortmenf of bandanas and fabrics to fill the gaps.

Personality: Luc is equal parts foolhardy and brave. He rarely thinks before he acts, but equally, has a strong instinct on all things sea-related that allows him to do so. This tendency in the boardroom might not go down as well, though. He's as brash as they come but (mostly) has the charm to save it. He gives off the impression of wearing his heart on his sleeve: an easy smile, jovial strength, and quick to chime in on a conversation. (Among deckhands/etc, he's a master at networking. Among nobility? Not so much.) At 22, though, this has settled into a quieter, steelier charm than what most might remember. He says what he means, and evades answering a question over lying. He values honesty above all else - even honesty in how one is lying to him. Of the three brothers, he views himself to be the most grounded in reality, but can be unaware of his own blindspots/shortcomings. At best, he comes across as earnest and confident - at worst, like an arrogant, presumptive asshole who doesn't even consider that he may be wrong. Through his own struggles with his role as prince, he fails to recognise the privilege he holds.

Reputation: The palace, and kingdom at large, remembers the slight boy who left years before. Little is known of his time at sea, and his return is awaited with dubious excitement and scepticism.

Backstory: As the third-born son, Luc was never seriously in line to the throne, and was allowed more freedom than his elder brothers. At 17, he left to prove himself on a trade crew, as is traditional of the king's elder sons depending on what seat on the council they would later fill. Rhydoc, as military advisor, served time on the Northern Border; Cal was sent as a delegate to their neighbours to be educated, befitting of a future king; and Luc was sent to sea. Unlike the others, though, he delayed his return as long as possible, finding more freedom within the waves and the deck than he ever did within the palace walls.

His time at sea both matured and stifled his growth. He's rock-solid in a crisis, physically fit, and well able to work in and control a team. That is, a team of sailors, as equal and crude as they get. His conflict resolution, thus, is very simplistic - most on-ship crises were resolved physically. A courtroom of foreign delegates will certainly be another matter. Even with the distance and perceived freedom, though, he still benefitted from his royal blood, whether aware or not. Coming home presents a completely different challenge to what he's already experienced

Now, however, he has been recalled to fulfil his formal duties as prince. The time for childish acts is gone, in his father's words.

Affiliations: Callahan (eldest brother, in line to the throne) - strong, positive, if sometimes naive in his belief that Cal will always do the right thing

Rhydoc (elder brother, second-in-line, in charge of military. responsibility will overlap with luc's naval interests, much to luc's dismay) - strained at best. years apart may have cooled their tension, but has certainly not solved it

The King - the less said, the better

Role: Luc is expected to step into a naval + trade position once he has proven himself, in a similar way to Cal's political/negotiation responsibilities and Rhyd's military charge. He evaded most princely duties up until now; unfortunately, this ends now.

Lucian stood tall as the ship docked. The ship shifted beneath his feet, boards aching and creaking with every movement, but his hands stayed loose by his side, no need to clutch onto the mast beside him. He’d been at sea long enough for the calm ebb and flow of the incoming tide not to bother him, not when compared to the storms they’d weathered on their way home. She was a little worse for the wear, if one were to look at her haphazard repairs and stitched-up sails, but the Havana had been his home for the better part of three years, and he was already missing her deck still beneath his feet.

Even now, with the salt air still thick in his lungs and shouts from below deck making this docking seem as commonplace as ever, Luc couldn’t shake the unmistakable feeling that this was, in some senses, the final goodbye. He wanted to soak it all in one last time – the barrels tossed from one deckhand to the other, the younger ones biting down a grunt at the unexpected weight, the creaking of the Havana’s ropes and sails and planks, the unmistakable sense of being alive, truly alive, for the last time in a long time. The wind wouldn’t ruffle his hair like this for a while, he expected, if he even managed to keep the tawny locks hanging scruffily by his jawline.

He’d be needed in a moment – he was still captain, after all, if only for a few more minutes – but for now, he wanted to engrave this moment into his mind. The Havana, in all her majesty – and just beyond, the city he was seeing for the first time in the better part of a decade.

The people moving in the marketplace, the ships already docked beside the Havana’s open berth, and the palace rising hazily in the distance – everything was just as he’d left it as a young boy, and yet here he was looking at it through fresh eyes. The rich aroma of street food – thick and overpowering, mingled with the duller scent of manure and smoke – hit his senses. Already, he could feel the salt fading. His gaze flicked from place to place, wanting to absorb it all at once. They’d docked at seaside towns before, but nothing held a candle to his hometown. Nothing ever could. An almost-boyish eagerness took hold of him, but along with it came a small tremour of trepidation of what, exactly, would greet him when he disembarked.

Five years at sea, and here he was once more, the same place he’d once left.

“Ropes secured!” came the call from Viktor, who’d already hopped off the deck to fix the ties to the berth. Luc shook his head minutely – now was not the time to dwell on the past, not when the future greeted him so boldly – and then called back an affirmative.

With a short word to his deckhands, he, too, dropped down to shore. He knew the Havana like the back of his hand; now was the chance to learn to understand, not just to know, the city before him. The land felt solid beneath his feet in a way that felt foreign to him, and he almost lost his balance for a moment. He looked around wonderously, wanting to drink it all in as swiftly as possible. The bombardment of his senses was welcome, even if he knew that nightfall would bring that incessant twitch and overwhelming, unsettling stillness that he hated so much.

In his quiet marvel, he almost didn’t notice the man standing domineeringly in front of him, not until he turned, almost chest to chest with him.

“The prodigal son returns,” the man said lowly, dark gaze piercing as it ran along the length of his body once, then twice. His face was blank, shrouded by dark hair and an impeccably-trimmed, if still intimidating, beard. His tone stayed measured. “Five years gone, and yet you’re still as scrawny as ever.” He held Luc’s gaze now, completely serious. Luc held it right back. He had an extra few inches compared to the last time he stared down Callahan Allesian in this manner, but it felt just the same.

Immediately, Cal’s face cracked into an open smile, and they both collapsed into a tight, brotherly hug. Cal had the same ferocity to his hugs that Luc remembered, forceful and constricting, and Luc could feel the shard in his chest ease. He had to swallow, strongly and forcefully, so the wanting wouldn’t show. “Too long, brother,” he said into Cal’s shoulder, forcing a low chuckle.

Cal pulled away, grabbing his head as he did so to ruffle Luc’s hair. Luc might have had a few inches on the teenager who left this very same dock, but he still let himself be manhandled by his elder brother. For a few seconds, at least – then he broke away from Cal’s grip with mock-defensiveness, not able to hide the grin that breaks across his own face. He had to keep at least some dignity.

“And what of Rhydoc?” he asked lightly, smile growing fixed. Cal’s face tightened indescribably, breaking Luc’s gaze for the first time since he arrived. “He was…otherwise occupied,” he responded, unhurried and deliberately avoiding the real answer – even after years away, Luc could read Cal’s microexpressions like a book. “I’m certain you’ll reunite at tonight’s banquet, though-” he lightened wryly at this, looking back at Luc. “- as of course we must celebrate the return of our father’s favourite son.”

Now, Luc laughed, a proper, healthy snort. “One knows well that if that were the case, I never would have strayed so long,” he commented dryly, but there was an unspoken gravity between the two of them that he couldn’t quite shake.

They began moving away from the berth, falling into an easier conversation now that the pleasantries – and unpleasantries – were out of the way. Lucian asked him endless questions as they walked, quizzing him on everything from their family, the palace servants, the city’s goings-on, and the current palace gossip. If seafaring had taught him anything, it was the art of a fluent conversation, and so he managed to deflect most of his own answers as they walked back. He paid heed mostly to what Cal faltered on, not his confident responses, but above all, sidestepped the topic of the king for as long as possible. He would have to greet him that evening – no need to speed up the inevitable.

Wordlessly, Luc noticed the bodyguards that flanked them as soon as they began moving, keeping a distance just large enough that made them not seem intrusive. Still, Luc felt hemmed in, even as the marketgoers moved to form an unspoken pathway for the two princes. The bustling liveliness and comfortable conversation he’d noticed earlier had faded into restlessness and taut whispers, leaving only stilted formalities and bowed heads. No one met his gaze, even though he doubted they necessarily recognised him for who he was – the fact that he stood beside the crown prince was reason enough to falter. Just before they left the pier itself, he turned to bid farewell to Viktor, but his second-in-command had already disappeared. (There was a job to do, after all, he thought, the very one that he was shirking.) The sense that he was abandoning something vital and tangible weighed heavily on his chest, and his words to Cal took a false ring, not unlike the conversations in the crowds around them.

The city had looked exactly as he left it, but now he couldn’t help but wonder if the home he was returning to was still the same one that he had left. (He couldn’t quite decide, either, if he wanted it that way or not.)

Searching the crowd as they moved, Luc’s ears rather than his eyes noticed the change first. The sound of an instrument, carving through the tension in the air and making way for looser conversation, unmasked laughter, and unabated wonder in the crowds around them. He was grateful, then, when they had to pause to let the bodyguards forge a path ahead, so fixated were the people on the performance.

And once Luc had found the source, he understood the trance immediately. The man couldn’t have been more than a year his senior, but the way he carried himself held a quiet, unspoken authority, one that demanded the attention that Luc was so unashamedly giving him. He was slim but well-built, the thin fabric and chains doing little to hide the skin beneath. Luc found himself tracing the tattoo on his arm with his gaze, following it to his neck and then immediately being transfixed by the piercings along his distinctly-pointed ear. His gaze flicked to the man’s eyes, a deep golden, and then almost jerked as the man looked right back. Skies above. Luc tilted his chin, not faltering.

“Luc?” Cal asked, pulling him from his reverie. Almost without thinking, Luc was reaching for the leather drawstring on his belt, fishing for the spare coins that had been chiming with every step. They would be useless once he stepped inside the palace – what was a night’s fun with the Havana would be worthless compared to his royal riches – but Cal grabbed his hand to still it. “No need,” he said darkly, almost rebuking, with his grip tight around Luc’s wrist. “His pay comes from the royal coffers already. Do not waste your time on such people.”

Luc tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “And what people, exactly, do you speak of, brother?” He was cautious of how to speak, tone forcefully steady, but he couldn’t help the questioning distaste that leaked out of his voice on that final affectionate term.

Cal released his hand and gestured to the front. The bodyguards had found a way though the crowd, standing unreadably as they waited for the two to catch up. “You’ll find out soon enough. Come on, Lucian. You have much to catch up on.”

Sage's days started early. He was always up with the sun, as it took a while to get ready in the mornings, especially if he'd had a rough night with one of the noble men or woman or another palace guest who had been lucky enough to get him. Of course, 'lucky' was a debatable term - Sage figured in his case, 'lucky' meant a night at least partially to himself, where he could actually sleep for more than a couple hours. That hadn't happened in a while though, since he was always moving around. Always performing. He didn't get breaks from this. No days off. No sick days, no healing injuries. Just performing.

The day had started off like any other, except for the tangible excitement in the air about the return of one of the castle's princes. He wasn't sure how he felt about that - on one hand, it was just another royal to use him. On the other, maybe after years at sea he would have other things in mind than watching a dance or having company in bed. Or maybe he'd want it more after that. He wasn't entirelly sure.

He could, however, admit that he was curious about this man. He himself was from an island - his blood ran with the blood of the nymphs who inhabited the sea. He was born to sail, to swim, to do exactly what this man had been doing for years. And yet, despite being so close to the ocean, he'd never been there. Never seen it, outside of a brief glimpse of the docks or the tantalizingly satly smell of the water his sensitive nose could sometimes pick up on if the breeze was blowing just right and the weather was warm enough. He wanted to know what it was like out there. Of course, he couldn't just walk up to the prince and start talking - that wasn't exactly allowed.

Even so, he had to block the sea out of his mind as he hurried to get ready for the day's performance. He was starting out in the town square, he knew, and then tonight they'd have some big banquet for the return of the prince. He let out a soft sigh as he washed off quickly, drying and clasping on the small outfit and the accessories that came with it before carefully applying makeup to old scars and new bruises alike. He was to appear flawless - perfect - to the audience. Even his eyeliner was sharp and to the point (though he could admit he did like the look of the eyeliner, if nothing else).

His hair took the longest, since there was so much of it. It took a while to dry, and then styling it also took some time. Elaborate braids and designs, chains and more jewls within it - all things that cost more than what the royal couple had paid for him. It was odd that a hairpin cost more than his life, his body...but he supposed he'd grown upsed to that idea.

The pounding on the door caued him to jump, though there was no time to calm his racing heart, so he quickly scrambled to the door to begin the day, despite the fatigue already wearing down on him. He couldn't afford to lag. To mess up. Everything had to be perfect.

His own performance at the town square passed in a sort of blur - he was just focused on the dancing. He didn't want to think too hard about the crowds, or the yelling, or anything like that. He just wanted to be done.

When the excitement in the air thickened, it drew him out of his daze enough to peer around and find the source of it. A new ship was at the dock, the man beside the crown prince unknown to Sage. Of course, it was evident this was the man who was supposed to arrive - the similarities between him and the older man beside him were there, and there was no mistaking their bond as they walked throught the square.

Sage hadn't meant to make eye contact, of course, but he was curious, and it sort of just...happened. He looked away quickly, focusing back on his dancing after the spit second of contact, but there was something about the man that he couldn't place. He recognized the look on his face - something quite similar to lust, though it wasn't just that. He wasn't sure what it was.

He tried to ignore it through the rest of his performance, however it kept nagging at his mind. Even after the performance was over and he had an hour to freshen up and change outfits for the banquet, it lingered in his mind. He wasn't sure if it made him uneasy or not. Maybe it did, in a way, but it also intrigued him a little bit.

The banquet arrived soon enough, and he found himself quite literally dancing the night away. After all, that's what he did throught the entire time - dance. There was no stopping for anything. Not a drink, and he didn't partake in the meal. He'd get the leftovers off the table later, most likely. Even after the clock hit midnight, a few people lingered in the room, so he continued his performance a while longer, only stopping when the king declared the banquet over.

He had barely stopped moving, breathing rapid and heavy, limbs shaking from the effort of dancing for so long, when the remaining nobles approached him, their intent clear as they reached for him. He'd ignored their crude comments throughout the night, the way they had reached out to touch him as he moved past them, that sort of thing. He couldn't do that any longer, though, so he just planted the smile on his face, barely visible beneath the veil, and let them jostle about him, arguing as to who would aquire him for the night.

He hated it - hated all of it. But he had to go with the flow. You'd think he'd have an easier time of doing that since the water was in his blood - but then again, the sea wasn't meant to be contained. Maybe that was why he had such a strong personality. Ah, well. It couldn't be helped. He had accepted his fate - though, part of him couldn't be relived that at this rate he wasn't likely to live to be very old. He wouldn't have to deal with all of this for too long.

For now though, he had to focus on the noble attached to his side, an arm looping it's way around his waist and tugging him flush against the man's chest. He forced a smile, a flirty giggle, the normal routine. Bile rose in his throat, but he shoved it down, just forcing himself to keep smiling as the man tugged him into the hallway.

Sage was finding the evening to be in pretty poor taste. Not only because of the job he was required to do, and the things that came with it, nor was it only because of how he was being treated (he had noticed the royal family's dog be fed a large bit of meat off the table on numerous occasions, and yet he wasn't likely to have either food nor drink tonight). No, it was also because everyone was too loud - the clammor of their voices all slurred together into a grating noise that made his (very sensitive) ears hurt. He wasn't very happy about the extra senses that came with being part nymph - things were extra loud, and the food smelled extra good, and he was unfairly pretty, with a body that continued to look healthy unless one looked closely. No one ever did.

As the noble on his arm drew his ever closer, he went along with it, though he tried to fix his mind elsewhere. Anywhere but here. Thinking of anything other than this. About what his night was destined to look like. When the noble suddenly loosened their hold on him, though, he forced his mind back into the present, admittedly a little confused by all of it. When he noticed the man from earlier approaching them, he let out a barely detectable sigh. He had, by then, confirmed his suspicions about this man being the prince that had just returned. It didn't make him like the guy any more, especially now that the look on his face had turned from the curiosity of this morning to a drunken one, edged with list and something else he couldn't quite place. He didn't like it. He couldn't read him very well, and he didn't know him like he's grown to know and understand the behaviors of most of the other nobles. He was new. And that meant he was dangerous, more so than the other nobles and even other royals.

At his words, he stiffined slightly, breath catching in his throat. So this was how he'd be spending his night. The nobles holding him pulled away from his sides, and despite his hate for them he suddenly felt cold. Exposed. A shiver ran down his spine, but he numbly moved to put a foot forward, and then another, and another, following the man slowly.

They moved out through the hallway, and down it for what seemed both an eternity and a split second. He moved into the room that the prince had ushered him into, guessing it was his bedroom. He just moved a few feet into it, keeping his gaze angled downward but on the princes feet so he knew where he was at and where he was heading. He reached upwards to start fiddling with the class of his outfit, fingers numb and slightly shaky. It wasn't a super visible tremble, but it was there. No one had noticed ....at least no one had commented on it before....but even after years of this, it never seemed to go away. Never got any easier.

There was no use complaining though. Maybe this man would at least be gentle - he had another long day of performances tomorrow, with many nobles and such lingering in the castle after the banquet. Hopefully, this would be an easy night. The prince was handsome enough, he supposed....really, he should be grateful it wasn't another person old enough to be his grandparent. The prince was a few years older than him, but it was close enough.

(Little shorter, the basement flooded with a recent batch of storms so I'm cutting out carpet/drywall and replacing it through the entire basement lol)

Rhydoc faded away as soon as they left the banquet hall, but Luc could feel his shadow over his shoulder nevertheless. He bit back the urge to glance behind, biting his cheek instead, hard enough to draw blood. Now that the immediate challenge had been removed, his rage slipped away, leaving only a dull annoyance and a slightly more visceral shame. He’d let Rhyd control him just as much as if he’d accepted what he had said – that challenge over the table was only ever going to end up with Luc doing whatever he had to do to prove Rhyd wrong, but of course he’d already known that. This, right now – the silent man behind him, the rumours that would surely arise the next morning, the proof that Lucian was and would always be exactly like his royal blood – was exactly what Rhyd had wanted, and now he was getting it. His brother had always had a chokehold on him; Luc supposed half a decade was too short to have hoped to break it.

Even with the years gone by and the alcohol churning in his system, Luc managed to guide them back to his room. (Now that he never would have lived down: bringing an escort back to the wrong room.) “Here,” he said halfheartedly, dropping his head in the direction of its interior. Then, and only then, did he allow himself a glance down the passage. No sign of Rhyd’s paid eyes – for now, at least.

Satisfied, Luc shut the door, and with it fell the weight that had been brewing on his shoulders all evening. He leaned with his back against it for a second, letting his head drop back with a frustrated groan. “Well fuck me,” he hissed, eyes closed – if it wasn’t for the immediate, if restrained, reaction from the man that reminded him of the other presence in the room. His eyes flew open. “I mean, no, fucking hell–” What a way with words, Luc. Smooth indeed. (And from that alone, anyone who really knew him – a comparatively short list – could have told how tired he was, if only by the way he didn’t bite back his panic into something far more elegant and slick.) “I didn’t mean…” The silence stretched between them.

He couldn’t deal with it. He began pacing.

This never would have happened if it wasn’t for fucking Rhydoc. He felt out of sorts – skin crawling, shirt too tight, and not in full control of his words – and there was no one to blame but his brother. He reached up to his collar and ripped open the top few buttons. Any release, however limited, would do wonders. Glancing up, though, the man was still standing there like a statue, as if awaiting the next command. (He probably was, Luc thought with a slightly guilty jolt.) His anger felt almost secondhand, now, easing from his body with every passing moment. Now, he could see the man in front of him for who he actually was.

The realisation settled with surprising clarity. The man from the market. It was obvious now, from the carefully angled gaze to the vaguely familiar outfit. (Tomorrow, he might be pissed that he didn’t peg it earlier, but in his defence he was a bit distracted by the usual brotherly homicidal urges to notice much else.) He scanned the man with fresh eyes – the same objective beauty he’d noticed at the market, that a more awake and freer Luc might have acted upon, but now what caught his eyes was the way he was fiddling with the clasp on his outfit. Subtly, purposefully not drawing attention to it, almost as if people usually didn’t care to look far enough to notice the nervous tic. The rest of him was perfectly still, poised to react.

He still wouldn’t meet Luc’s eyes, and maybe that was the worst part.

The instructions died on his lips. Just for a flicker, he saw himself from the man’s view. Tall, well-muscled, bristling with barely restrained anger. Yet another noble with the taste – and smell, he guessed – of alcohol still thick on his tongue, slowing his movements but not enough to prevent him lashing out. He’d hated being next to Rhyd for most of the night, but he was good at hiding it, so that was another warning sign beside his name – being flanked by the kingdom’s most notorious prince all evening. His robes, jewelry, signet ring suddenly felt heavier than they had a moment before. From the outside, he was the perfect prince. His stomach turned. Maybe Rhyd wasn’t completely wrong. Maybe he wasn’t wrong at all.

Luc cleared his throat.

“You’ll forgive me, I hope, for the way I acted out there. Something about my brother brings out the worst in me.” His tone was guarded, clipped, offering no real apology even as it begged to be released from his lips. There was no easier shield than arrogance. (He didn’t put any weight to Rhyd’s digging comments, but equally, he didn’t want to earn a reputation as a pushover the day after he returned. He’d left to earn a clean slate. He refused to ruin it that quickly.) His voice softened marginally.

“I can’t let you go back to your rooms–” as the words left his mouth, he wondered if someone like this even had a room of his own “--but I can offer you a comfortable bed. Well, haven’t been here long enough to test it out, but. One hopes.” He shrugged. “Take the night off.”

He cut himself off, the fatigue that had been creeping into his voice now blatant. Rubbing his eyes, he pushed his hair out of his face, half-restlessness, half-exhaustion. The mask was unravelling, faster than he'd anticipated. “I’m talking a lot. Let’s do a retake. I’m Luc.” (A beat later, he registered he maybe should have put out his hand to shake, but somehow this didn’t feel like that type of interaction.)

Tomorrow, there would be time to regain his regal image and regret his decisions and to prove himself to himself more than anything else. But right now, finally with the man’s gaze on his own, and a heady refusal to look away, the exhaustion rolled over him in waves.

(this post did a whole fuck all of actually furthering the plot i am SO sorry, i know i didn't give you a lot to work with! fill in dialogue, skip forward, skip backwards - whatever you want, the floor is yours. i wanted to get to the acc sleeping part but i think a whole convo of just luc talking would be a new low lol.)

(it's all good lol, I can definitely work with this xD)

Sage found himself scurrying along behind the prince, heart pounding loud enough he could feel it on his ears. Or maybe that was the dehydration speaking.....he was certainly thirsty. Hungry. Tired. But that was normal, so he supposed the combination combined with the nervous adrenaline rush coursing through his body was enough to make his heart beat hard enough to beat right out of his chest. He was good at hiding the nerves, of course - a closely masked face kept him safe. Well, as safe as he could be in this position. And he definitely felt....not safe, right now.

He stepped inside the princes room with a deep breath, the closing door behind him sounding loudly in his ear. The room suddenly felt colder. Scarier. He knew it was just a room, but it suddenly felt like a prison cell. The whole castle was, really, but this specific room was suddenly worse than the rest of it. Whichever room he was in at night usually was. He hated it, but that's how life worked. He didn't exactly have a choice.

The sound of the other man's voice shook him though, and he admittedly jumped slightly, gaze darting towards him, eyes widening slightly as he tried to distinguish what he meant. What was he saying? He didn't understand. And normally, that meant whoever was talking to him got angry. But this man was clearly already up in arms, and the furious pacing made sage instinctively take a few steps backwards, pressing himself against the wall on the side of the room opposite the prince, just trying to take breaths that looked fairly normal.

Then the prince calmed.

His next words were foreign to sage - he wasn't entirely sure what to do with them. He was apologizing, kind of...in his own, arrogant way that was very much like a prince. Apparently, his time at sea had still created an arrogant bastard who could do no wrong. Bile rose in his throat again, though he did his best to swallow it down. As he continued, his confusion didn't decrease, though when he mentioned taking the night off....well, it was surprising enough for sage to jerk his head around and look over at the man. Actually look at him...eyes wide with both a desperate hope and learned caution. The prince didn't seem to care who he was with.....but it still seemed sort of like a trap. He couldn't tell.

Then he introduced himself.

Sage knew he had to respond, but with the way his body was handling things and the thoughts whirling around in his head, all he managed was a quiet "I know." Then he wrinkled his nose slightly, realizing that was ... probably not the correct response. "I'm Sage," he noted after a moment, heasitated. The name felt foreign on his tongue - after years of just being called a thing or his title....well, he'd forgotten what it sounded like to have someone call him by his name. It was risky, sure. If this man wasn't genuine he'd be in for a world of hurt. But he could feel his body stopping. He just couldn't do any more. The hunger, the thirst, the absolute physical exhaustion....it was all adding up. Even the magic in his blood could only keep him going for so long. So if the offer was real...it was a miracle.

He wasn't too sure what happened next - his mind had gone blank after their brief introduction. Somehow, though, he went from just standing there talking to settled carefully in a bed, blankets draped neatly over his body. The extra chains and jewelry had been removed, making it much more comfortable, though his actual clothes hadn't been touched. It was the middle of the night though, when he looked at the clock, and he quickly realized where he was. He was still in the princes room. In his bed. A quick glance to the side showed the other man sleeping opposite him, though had given him as much space as possible. He felt a little bit bad about taking his bed...he definitely wasn't supposed to. But he was tired, and the man...Luc... obviously didn't care he was there. So he simply lay back down with a soft sigh and closed his eyes again.

He still had to be up for a performance early the next morning. But at least he'd have gotten some sleep.