Hallowed

1

Celestino Adesso, General of the Ilysian armies, Champion of Tyton, advisor to the Horned King of the South, felt like none of that in the intimate banquet hall that really shouldn’t have been considered a banquet hall. Nor should what his king promoted as a welcome for the young northern prince be called a feast. But in the king’s defense, the child that Simo sent for negotiations shouldn’t have been called a proper ambassador, either. Especially one that was more than fashionably late to his own welcome dinner.  

Celestino was well aware that it was trying King Vincente’s patience, though to put full blame on his tardiness wasn’t entirely an accurate appraisal of the situation. When the letter was received, not even a week ago, it was sent in a simple yet elegant whitewood box, accompanied by the ivory feather of a Simonese snowbird, bred by the royal northern line for centuries. It was supposed to be a symbol of peaceful diplomacy, an ideal muddled by the directness of the letter’s contents. With no couth nor cordiality, it was proclaimed that soon their agents would arrive, carrying the implication that said agent would be Prince Alfred, second born and battle-tested General of the Frozen Army. 

So rightfully, King Vincente was perturbed when not he, but the third, virtually powerless prince stepped forth from the vert and argent envoy. 

“He is handsome.” 

Princess Alessandra’s idle chatter drew Cele’s attention back to her and her lady-in-waiting, who, while born to a simple soldier, rose in the ranks like it was what she was born to do. And it didn’t hurt her that she shared the same taste in gossip as the princess. 

“Maybe in a few years.” Adele shrugged. “Why is his waist so slim, though? Don’t they eat bear fat up north?”

“Well, he’s only a baby, like you said,” Her lady replied, as if the princess herself wasn’t only a few years older than the foreign prince. She shifted her weight, her heavily ornamented hair jangling as she did. “And he obviously has no sense of time.”

And a knack for wearing King Vincente’s leniency thin. 

Cele placed his goblet on the table and stood, feeling impetuous. 

“Don’t scare him too much, general!” The princess called after him puckishly. 

The general didn’t intend to scare him at all, though he hoped a stern and prudent discussion would have the prince acting a bit more properly for one in his position. 

Entering into the corridor, Cele thought back, attempting to find an image of the boy’s father in his memory. The late king Gotthard was an imposing man with high cheekbones and a gaze that seemed to know no distance. 

The general remembered meeting that gaze for the first time two years ago, nearly 300 meters away, and still clear as a bell, all the way down to the brass iris that might as well have belonged to a ravenous hawk.  

And the late king saw him - not just his face, nor his men, nor the kingdom he defended - but Celestino himself. And when he did, that late king raised his wooden cup. 

From that vast distance, he taught the Ilysian general the difference between adversary and enemy. 

Cele’s belly tensed when he heard the soft but dynamic inflections of the northern tongue. Perhaps he would consider it melodious had he not known from which mouth it sprung. Instead, he primed himself for their inevitable meeting when the young prince would round the corner of the corridor. 

It was almost unsettling how he could barely hear the footfalls, especially since he knew the foreigner had been given the leather sandals that were renowned for slapping against the stone floor. 

Still, it was the prince, not he, who was taken aback when face to face with each other. And to say it wasn’t satisfying to see the Simonese face alight with surprise, fine features constrict - if only for a moment - upon seeing the general, would've been a lie.  

Another would’ve been to say that the stoic expression that was gathered after was just as satisfying. But it wasn’t, because with that stoney face, he no longer seemed like a baby princeling blundering about.

“General Celestino Adesso,” 

The name dripped from his tongue with a nearly illusory northern accent, as if it was not him, only moments before, speaking in Simonese. But to any onlooker, from nobleman to commoner and every other in between, that would’ve been a demonstrably false statement. While this prince looked nothing like his father, Gotthard, there was no repudiating his northern lineage. From his flaxen hair to his viridescent irises, nothing about his image was comparable to any southern creature - not even to the gods. And, admittedly, his face belonged etched in marble, but in the game of crowns and kingdoms, that was more of a disadvantage, Cele figured. 

“Are you done appraising me?” 

Only because a soldier surveying an enemy may also look like a man raking over a w***e, Cele lifted his gaze to the prince’s.

“Your presence was missed, Prince Heiko. I came to gather you before the food turned to ice.”

“In this heat?” He countered without a breath, stepping past Cele like he owned the corridor and the general was simply a pillar in his way. 

The servant boy who followed in the prince’s wake stepped lively and elegantly, footfalls as silent as his master’s. Curly red hair encased the soft features, with eyes so deeply green they made the prince’s look watered down and almost blue in comparison. The thin layer of fat in his cheeks was evidence that he had not yet finished growing. He couldn't have been any older than thirteen, the general figured. 

The bruises littered the boy’s skin didn’t go unnoticed. There was a cut on his lip, and the skin around his right eye was the rancid yellow of a healing welt. The sight put Cele in a sour mood, but not enough to make him lose his focus as he followed the honored guests back down the corridor. 

Prince Heiko paused at the threshold of the banquet hall, the battered servant at his heels, before he flashed his gaze back to the general. 

Perhaps he was waiting to be introduced, and while generally, Cele wasn't made to do those lowly duties, he also knew an irate king was stewing on the other side. Squeezing past the servant, Cele stepped back into the hall, deliberately not making eye contact with the prince. 

“Your Majesty,” 

Regardless of the presage, the few attendants of the feast had turned to witness the entrance of the prince. For most, Cele figured, because they were able to finally eat.

King Vincente, on the other hand, stood, turning his body entirely to face the young Simonese.

“Prince Heiko, welcome,”

While his king was a  natural at mimicking genuine smiles, the cold gaze of the prince made Cele wonder if he saw past the facade. If he did, though, he said nothing of it, before flashing a marvelous smile. 

“Thank you, King Vincente,” His words were far warmer to the king than to the general. “You’re so very kind, even going so far as to send your highly sought after general to gather me.”

He took a seat without being offered it, and before the king himself, though it seemed so artless and innocent that Cele couldn’t quite make out whether or not he had a motive. 

But even if he did, Cele figured as he sat down beside the king once again, minor discourtesies like that might as well have been wind to Vincente’s back. 

“I hope you’ve found your quarters to your liking.” He spoke, waving for the servants to begin plating their food. 

“Quite satisfactory,” The prince replied with an easy smile. He was able to keep a gaze with Vincente easily, which Cele admitted was no easy feat. “Though, while your beds are quite large, you gave us only one.”

He gestured to the servant boy, who had taken a seat beside the prince without the command, which meant he wasn’t simply a whipping boy. Especially if the prince allowed him to share the royal bed. 

“It’s actually quite humorous,” His eyes were alight suddenly, leaning forward to Vincente, as if about to spill a scandal. “At first I thought perhaps you changed my rooms last minute, out of spite, because I wasn’t Alfie. Surely, you would have given him more than one bed - one room even - since he was likely to come with an advisor or two, and surely you aren’t daft enough as the great  ‘Horned King of the South’ to think they would send their youngest brother without an advisor, or at least the head of his guard.”

Those jade eyes scoured over Vincente for a moment, glinting with what seemed to be provocation. 

“But,” He exhaled, sitting back in his seat with an easy smile. “Then I thought, no, the honorable King Vincente of Ilyos would never stoop so low. And anyway, it just so happens that I have come with no guard, and dear Baptiste has no quandaries over sleeping beside his master.”

“I see,” King Vincente replied, turning to the red haired servant with a soft expression. “Then to you I must give my gratitude. And apologies.”

He brought up no inquiries regarding why a prince would allow such a young, beautiful boy into his bed at night, most likely because the answer was clear, though, Cele did sympathize for the poor child, since it was conspicuous to everyone in the vicinity that Vincente was not truly speaking to Baptiste.

“I am surprised, however,” He continued, raising his gaze back to the prince. “That you are without guard.”

Prince Heiko watched a servant as he reached between him and Baptiste for the silver goblet, and then again when a plate of marinated meats and steamed vegetables was placed in front of him. 

“Have I a need for them?” He asked, picking up his fork and pushing the small pile of brussel sprouts to the edge of the plate, before looking up. “Surely there are no enemies here.”

Cele wasn’t positive which amused him more: the prince reverting back to a vegetable-reproving child before their very eyes, or the tactless comment that didn’t land the blow it was supposed to. 

“You’re quite right, you have no enemies here, Prince Heiko.”

The king was a better man than he, the general thought, for replying so earnestly. And before he could think of it a moment more, it was none other than Adele that went in for the opening. She was a sharp woman, always using her low status as a form of offense. 

“Don’t you enjoy vegetables, Prince Heiko? Even your cute boy is eating them as every good child should.”

The Simonese prince looked up in genuine surprise, and even Cele could tell she should’ve stopped there, but Adele enjoyed the rush of pushing her luck. 

“It’s no wonder you’re so slight. Shame on your elder brothers for not instilling the importance of a proper diet.”

When Prince Heiko’s hand was raised, Cele was not ashamed to say he had tensed for an altercation. But the elegant, pale hand descended, just as swiftly, to the fiery mane beside him. 

“My Baptiste is a good boy.”

The words that seemed inconsequential to his master brought color to the young servant’s cheeks, which were filled with food. His emerald eyes shifted from his plate to Adele. They were calm and steady, and if Cele didn’t know any better, he would say full of pity.

“You, on the other hand, are plain in appearance and overly ornamented, almost garishly so.” The prince’s words were precise and cutting, the flow too swift for anyone to barr. “You look nothing like Princess Alessandra, nor her brother, His Majesty, and I know nothing of a third child anyway, which means you are not noble. You seem confident in that dull tongue of yours - a shortfall that likely wouldn’t have outlived childhood if you were in any way related to General Celestino. So that leaves only-”

“She is my lady-in-waiting,” The Princess intervened with venom, rescuing her companion from any further lashing, and while Cele thought much of it to be inaccurate, it still hushed Adele in a way none other had before. Likely because none else had the audacity to cross Alessandra. “And she will not be the target of your words any further.”

Prince Heiko arched his brow, displaying clear and disingenuous perplexity. 

“Target?” He asked, his tone pitched with surprise. “Apologies if you thought that was my intent. I was under the impression that we were discussing proclivities, such as Baptiste’s obedience, and your servant’s lack thereof.”

Alessandra’s nostrils flared.

“You overstep-”

“Certainly,” King Vincente rose his voice above his sister’s, straightening in his seat to draw attention back to him. “You understand one’s fondness of their companions, Prince Heiko. My sister is like a bear when it comes to Adele. Do not mind her outburst.”

If the princess was still a child, she would have reared angrily at the lack of aegis from her brother, but she was not. She had long outgrown her impetuous nature and into a force to be reckoned with.

“And as for Adele,” The king turned to the court woman. “She overstepped. I apologize on her behalf.”

The blush on her cheeks was not lost to Cele, nor to Prince Heiko, who was smiling wickedly.

“Think little of it.”

His hand fell from Baptiste’s head and to his fork, which he used to transfer the uneaten brussel sprouts to the boy’s plate. The servant reacted like a child being given a sweet, and eagerly went for them. An interaction that deflated Celestino’s amusement. Adele had struck too soon and ended up chastised over vegetables. He would’ve found humor in it if she wasn’t the princess’ attendant. 

Moreover, if the serpentine eyes didn’t flick in his direction. He would tell no one that it elicited a skip of his pulse. 

“General Celestino. Show me your hands.”

His body responded like a well-trained hound, but by the time he realized how compliant he was being, he couldn’t withdraw - his mistake would’ve been too obvious. 

Prince Heiko’s hand shot across the table and took Celestino’s before the general could pull away. His fingers were soft and cold, his nails clean and well manicured. He lifted his gaze to see Heiko studying his own in a similar fashion. 

“Is there something in particular you are searching for?” His voice sounded miles away, but the prince responded to them promptly, pulling back from him.

“Did you have an childhood injury?”

The prince had lively eyes on Cele, before tapping his right ear.

“Perhaps right here?”

Cele rested his head on a propped arm, feigning boredom. It was all he could do to fight the alarm. He was not so dense as to believe that the courts of Simo did not have plentiful intelligence on both himself and the king, but there was no way he could foretell the prince asking about an occurrence older than him. 

When Cele didn’t respond, the prince continued, his lips pulled at the corners slightly, pleased.

“I’ve heard much about you from my elder brothers, general.”

“Cele is a well-awarded soldier and a well-educated advisor.” Vincente conciliated, clapping Cele’s back jovially. “He was instructed at the temple academy, Crescentius.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of Ilysian temple academies.” Heiko reached for his goblet of wine. “In this country, priests are the most educated, no?”

“Priestesses, I would argue.” Alessandra’s tone mirrored Vincente’s: diplomatic and assertive. It was asking a lot of her to remain out of the conversation, and Cele doubted her brother truly expected her to. Still, something in the general’s gut stiffened. Even moreso when Prince Heiko cast his gaze to her. 

“Yes indeed. Priestesses. Dangerous, no, for the most beautiful to be the most educated?” He asked. 

Vincente shifted and his advisor understood why. 

Just as the Simonese kept tabs on them, they too kept ears open for the northern nobility. It wasn’t difficult to find gossip on this princeling in copious amounts - educated in proper Simonese fashion, bored of his role as third and least important prince, spoiled beyond repair, and blindly cruel. Not to mention, seventeen and unmarried - a lurid testament to his affability. Cele wondered what kind of woman would find him appealing. Or if he received any offers at all. Adele was right, after all. He was slim and fair, and unlikely to please a woman, considering how self-involved he seemed. Perhaps if he had an exorbitant inheritance, a woman would suffer through a union with him. But he had nothing.

“Why would that be dangerous?” Alessandra parlayed, inclining herself to Prince Heiko in a display of assertion. “Women are not cruel by nature. Men make them that way. Educated women are not innately dangerous.”

“When did we begin discussing women?”

The princesses could’ve given a rebuttal without a second thought, but she was apt, she waited, learning from her dear Adele’s misstep.  

“Whether man or woman, the intelligent are wise enough to know what they want, and the beautiful are gifted what they wish.” The prince sounded like he was speaking from experience. It didn’t surprise the general that he was so bold about it. 

“And what of your servant?” She asked, pointing a crimson painted nail to the redheaded boy. “He is beautiful, no? Is he intelligent, too?”

It seemed like a loaded question to Cele, but Heiko considered it anyway. The boy was fiddling with a thin silver ring on his finger, looking anywhere but at his master. 

“Perhaps.” He decided finally, turning back to the princess. There was a slight hesitation in his response, and Cele could only wonder what caused it. 

“And is he dangerous?” Alessandra pressed, a wily smile on her lips. “Is he where he wants to be? Station-wise, perhaps,” She supplemented. 

The prince didn’t respond for a moment, and while his eyes were on the princess, they weren’t looking at her. Eventually, he turned to his servant. 

“Baptiste, what is your greatest wish?” 

Not a single breath was taken before the boy replied with, “To serve my master.”

Heiko turned to Alessandra, awaiting her next question, but it was Vincente who delivered it. 

“And how does that make him dangerous?”

The prince shrugged.

“To what purpose does he want to serve his master?” 

It was clear by Vincente’s grin that he was intrigued by the idea, perhaps more so over the tangled workings of the prince’s brain than by the actual notion at face value. 

Cele, however, was not. In fact it made him worry for the battered boy even more. If Prince Heiko thought Baptiste had dangerous intentions, his touch would not be gentle, and by the looks of the boy, that wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. It bothered him even more knowing that they would be sharing a bed only hours later. 

“What could he possibly gain from serving you with treacherous intent?”

It was a pure enough question, though it was clear that there was subtext: you’re not important enough as a noble to gain such clever enemies. Of course, both he and Cele knew that wasn’t true. 

“Perhaps he is a spy, under my brother’s employ.”

Baptiste stole a quick look at his master, scouring the plains of his face for not but a moment, before turning back to his fork and plucking a stray brussel sprout from Heiko’s plate. If the prince noticed, he said nothing. 

“But my dear Prince Heiko,” Vincente began amusedly. “Why would your brother want to spy on you?” 

The prince’s laugh was a phenomenon that put cessation to the entire banquet hall. Conversations paused, servants stilled. But in the blink of an eye, the spell was released. 

Heiko leaned forward at Vincente, face alight and seemingly ignorant to his own enchantment. “Why not?”

There was more. Quite obviously, there was more. But he didn’t speak of it. 

“I’ve heard many stories about your wrestling spectacles.” Heiko began again eventually, changing the conversation so abruptly that, surely, the subject of his eldest brother was tender for him. Cele tucked that information away for potential future use. It would undoubtedly come in handy somehow. 

Despite his stony expression, the king gathered the same conclusion, and as gracefully as he could, allowed the prince to lead away from it. 

“Indeed. They are a large part of Ilysian culture.”

Heiko took a long drink of wine before placing the goblet back on the wooden table elegantly. 

“Is the wine to your liking?” 

It was like dealing with gnat, Cele thought. This princeling had no attention span. Jumping from one thing to the next with no clear purpose. Short-fused enough to belittle Adele but even-keeled enough to converse with Alessandra. Though, if his moods swung so drastically, could it really have been considered even-keeled?

“No wine is to my liking.”

The comment almost made Cele laugh. Was he a drunk, too?

“I wish to attend a wrestling spectacle. It will delay my return to Simo, but I’m sure it’s not skin off of the back of a beloved and rich king like yourself, Vincente.” He licked his lips as he said it, searching for remnants of the wine.

“How bold,” Alessandra laughed. “I have never heard of a Simonese custom that involves inviting oneself to stay longer than one is welcomed.”

Again, the princeling displayed the facade of surprise.

“Am I not welcomed here?”

“You wish to attend a wrestling match,” King Vincente sighed, though he was clearly entertained. “I shall have one prepared for tomorrow afternoon. Would this be acceptable for the prince of Simo?”

Heiko lifted his eyes to the king. They were cold and vexed. If nothing else could be said about him, he was at least adept at sniffing out the subtleties of conversations. 

Without notice, Baptiste looked over at Heiko pedantically. 

“I have never seen a wrestling match.” 

It wasn’t exactly what Cele was expecting as his comment, though upon further examination, the general understood. The almost juvenile statement melted any intensity that was building in Heiko’s eyes.

“Of course you haven’t,” Heiko said in a dismissive manner. “You’ve never been to Ilyos.” 

“Oh yes,” Baptiste nodded, as if it were a fact he had forgotten. Cele smirked. What a clever boy, playing the prince. And kind-hearted. Why else come to the aid of a foreign king? Even if such aid wasn’t entirely necessary. 

Though, it was more likely that he had an ulterior motive. Perhaps he was a spy. Or perhaps simply self-preserving. 

“Why don’t you try the pork?” Alessandra asked the boy gently. “A growing boy such as yourself would develop well with the help of meat.”

Baptiste looked up at her before looking over to Heiko.

“He doesn’t eat meat.” Heiko informed, biting into a piece himself. 

“Is it the taste?” Cele asked, eyes on Baptiste. He didn’t seem to fear Prince Heiko, and yet he was so compliant. It was an intriguing dynamic, if not a bit suspicious. 

But it was Heiko who answered for him. 

“He has no need for it.”

No need for nutrients? Cele thought with a bit of disgust. He knew bed slaves were common in Simo – they were common enough in Ilyos too, but at a much disparate capacity. In his kingdom, those chosen to serve in that way were mostly willing and certainly of age. Not to mention treated well. 

But this boy beside the Simonese prince was still a child. His voice was not yet broken, forget being of age. 

“Bread and vegetables sate him.” Heiko continued, before casting a gaze around the table, as if trying to ascertain something. After a moment, he grabbed Baptiste’s goblet, peering into it. 

“Water,” He murmured with a sigh, as if inadequate. He dumped the contents out onto the floor behind him and reached for a clay pitcher of wine, filling the now empty vessel.

“That’s wine,” Cele said stupidly.

Heiko looked up, c*****g a brow. 

“It is,” He nodded, his voice lilted as if praising a child for a correct response.

Cele clenched his fists.

“That-”

“Wine for a child?” Vincente cut his general off. “Isn’t that a bit…”

Heiko waited for Vincente to finish the statement he was clearly trying to leave open-ended.

“Excessive.” The king decided.

Heiko exhaled.

“I suppose it would look that way.” He agreed. “But he’s in so much pain. Haven’t you taken note of the bruises? Poor thing.”

Cele’s eyes flashed angrily at Heiko, who grinned wickedly at him in return.

“Alcohol dulls pain, you know.” The princeling continued, steady gaze on Cele, poking at him, testing his patience. “I very much would prefer a restful night without the pitiful moans of my…companion.”

A single angry heartbeat, and Cele stood abruptly, storming from the room.