Gris expected the girl's response to be as such. But deep down in his gut, he knew she was the one. The chosen one from the gods to be the Fairest. He had observed her reactions, especially when she read the names on the scroll. Something stood out to her, and he had to make sure to figure it out. Everything he suspected over the last year or two aligned perfectly. Despite it all, he felt suddenly sick disclosing such information to her as if it was the wrong thing to do. He shook his head to rid the doubt and the feeling and slid into a pair of fancy breeches.

"You wore that yesterday, Gris."

"Limp, I don't think anyone w-will notice."

"One day you will enter your chambers and find it spotless."

"Touch my stuff Limp and I w-will be dis-disappointed."

"I don't care. You are reckless," he said holding up a white button-down shirt with gold designs falling from the shoulders to the end hem. Gris sighed and plunged his arms into the shirt and began the button up. "Like bringing that thief in your chambers. Bad move, especially if Eron finds out what you've done."

"If he does, what m-more can he do to me w-which has not already been done?"

"Not exactly what he'd do to you," Limp said, "but what he'd do to the girl."

Gris shivered, dashing over the king-size bed to the wardrobe where Limp or someone had hung his vests. He hated wearing vests and fancy clothing. It made him feel silly especially when most of the people within the palace knew who and what he was. A royal joke close to annihilation.

"They can condemn you of course," Limp said bringing his own thoughts aloud.

He shook his head. "My father wouldn't allow it," he muttered, and a tremble of doubt shook through him.

"Best not taunt the bird or else it'll turn and attack one day."

"You sound ridiculous," he said sliding into a black vest of silk that did not match the breeches. He didn't care.

He ran to the wall mirror to freshen up his appearance, brushed his hair back in a slick motion, patted his bare cheeks until some color flushed in, then squirted on his favorite warm spiced vanilla cologne. He turned to face Limp who had approached with a fancier vest to match his breeches. Moaning, he changed into it and re-tucked the shirt. He faced the servant holding up a fancy pendant. Dangling from a gold chain was a tiny emerald with black specks edged into the smooth shard.

"What is this?"

"A gift from me to you," he said with a proud smile.

"Where'd you get such a jewel?" he said taking it to observe it closer.

"I've had it for a long time now and I wanted to give it away to someone special."

Gris gave a warm smile. "Thank you, Limp."

"I want you to wear it," he said, and Gris let him snap it around his neck.

Limp grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him to face the mirror again. They both stared at his appearance. Gris scrunched his nose, but not at the gift. No matter how much he tried to look royal, he always could see his flaw despite it being something heard.

"I don't want to go."

"See this as a chance of redemption."

"I need no r-redemption if this is how the gods created me."

"Well, keep that in mind and face your family with true integrity."

Gris sharply inhaled and exhaled, but it did not settle the uneasiness in his gut. "Thank you, Limp."

His closest friend in the world gave a proud smile as if he was sending a son off to greatness. He wiped his vest and pants of wrinkles or perhaps dust, he didn't know. When he was finished, he stood to his full height and at some point, snatched up a pair of shiny black dress shoes.

"No. You found them," he moaned hoping to wear his flimsy boots.

"I did," he grinned. "Put them on and get moving. Remember to take deep breaths before you speak. Pronounce every word, keep your back straight, chin high with confidence, and whatever you do, do not bring up the thief."

"But this may be my only chance to seek an appeal for her or-or even better replace Eron in his assignment."

"No Gris," he shouted, and he clamped his lips closed. "Do not bring her up or you will be dismissed or worse," he shook his head with a tremble, "Oh gods bless this boy to leave with his head still intact."

"I'll be fine, Limp. Thanks Limp. Got to go or I will be late."

Gris swooshed the curtain back and yelped in start. "Mageia," he said. Her striking eyes let alone her unquestionable beauty sent waves of embarrassment through his body.

She was eavesdropping, good gods, he thought, feeling color flush into his cheeks on its own this time.

"Sorry," she muttered biting her bottom lip.

"Um. It's okay," he said.

"Are you really going to help me get an appeal?"

He tugged on the vest that felt like it was smothering him and smiled.

"Yes. I want to replace Eron and help you find your power."

"My power..." she said low and uneasy.

"D-don't worry, I've done this b-before."

"Not in person! Only in letters," Limp said.

"Limp," he growled casting him his dark glare. The man was making it hard for him to gain the girl's trust.

The Master of the House cleared his throat, threw up his hands in surrender and limped away murmuring, "Fine. Commit suicide and leave behind the only one who cares about you."

Gris sighed rubbing the bridge of his nose with irritation. "Please my lady, return upstairs or find somewhere to relax. Think on what I've told you until Dargany returns." He began for the front doors. "Everyone thinks you are with Gideon who's in lower Hiilaan for another engagement. If you're gone by the time I return, I hope you wouldn't mind if I summon you again."

"You are mad," she said but he could hear a hint of hope, amusement, and doubt in her voice.

"That's what I said," he heard Limp utter as he unlocked the door.

The Prince gave her a closed smile. "Best not give Limp a heart attack while I'm gone."

And he slipped out and went his way.

He tugged on the vest and scratched his neck irritated by the shirt collar as he arrived at the palace's north wing. Already he could hear the band playing a soothing song at the end of the corridor. His mind and body wanted to turn and run away, but his feet continued moving until he entered one of the entrances into the Dining Hall.

Designed in deep shining colors of purple, silver, white, and gold, the Dining Hall was a remarkable sight. The room was half the size of the Throne Room, with a long wooden table at its center prepared for a meal. The glass windows about the room allowed the sun to shimmer off the marble floor and the crystals hanging from the three chandeliers.

Gris took a deep breath and fully entered.

Instantly, the chatter did a deep dive close as eyes flashed in his direction. The chatter resurfaced as Fair nobles murmured and chuckled amongst themselves, amazed to see the disowned prince had crawled out of his den.

The hairs along his neck stood erect by the sudden flush of attention.

Run, his terrified conscious screamed.

No. If you run, you will show them weakness, said his reasoning conscious.

He planted his feet to the floor and gestured to one of his floor slaves holding a tray of wine. Like the others dressed in his finest serving outfit, Orlan approached.

"Your Highness," he whispered. "Care for a drink?"

"Please, Orlan," he said mouth drying from his nerves. He took a glass of wine. "I feel ridiculous."

"You look handsome. Don't let these- people-," he scuffed with a crooked smile, "-intimidate you."

He nodded and took a sip hoping it would settle the nerves. He caught eyes with a few of his floor servants who nodded their silent support for his uncomfortable situation. Unlike most of the slaves working on the palace estate, these slaves possessed either invisible defects or couldn't pay their debts which allowed them the privilege of being floor servants for events such as this one.

Yet still, Gris noticed some of the guest snickering at them or scrutinizing their presence.

"I will be fine," he said, annoyance flaring.

"Yes, you will. You have our full support," he murmured. Gris knew that the last job Orlan wanted was to be a floor servant, but his name was picked from the basket.

The young man strolled away leaving him alone yet again.

I can do this. You can do this Grisonce. No matter how much everyone dislikes you, remember you are still a Royal.

He caught eyes with Commander Eron dressed in his finest political attire, standing with Judge Criily. Instead of cutting the contact, he gave a decent nod, which the Commander responded with a scolding roll of his crimson red eyes. Gris frowned remembering growing up with the Fiisen. He was such a pestering bully. Always boasting about the attention he got from the King and his officials. But Gris always reminded him.

If it weren't for his sooth, he'd be an ordinary citizen and mean nothing to the Crown.

Gris gulped down the rest of his wine and wondered where the rest of his dysfunctional family was. He did not receive any information that they wanted him to enter with them into the Dining Hall, which was standard tradition. He mentally shrugged it away so not to feed his annoyance igniting in his chest.

A horn was sounded at the entrance by one of the royal soldiers. Indeed, as he expected, his family appeared from around the corner.

"All hail, His Highness King Dimitri Arlon, Her Majesty Saia Arlon, and Princess Relana Arlon," the announcer shouted.

And Prince Grisonce Arlon, you know the prince who has a right to the throne if father dies, Gris announced in his head shifting awkward from some eyes glancing his way.

Everyone bowed or curtsied, which Gris found no reason to do. This forced his father to look at him and the smile on his face demised a pinch. Blinking away the guilt Gris knew was attacking him, his father led his beautiful wife and stepdaughter to the opposite end of the table.

"Everyone may take their seats for the meal," the announcer shouted.

This was done in a fair decent order as if they all knew the location of their seats. However, Gris walked straight to the empty chair on his father's right and frowned seeing the tag read Prince Gideon. He frowned seeing his was the next chair, beside Councilman Aden Tiishore who did not look too pleased by the arrangement.

He slid into the chair feeling the back of his neck clench with a sudden flush of emotions. He couldn't push himself to look at his father.

How dare he push me to the number two seat. How dare he when he knows Gideon was not attending the Luncheon.

"Thank you, people, of the Fairest for joining us for this Annual Royal Luncheon," the King said still on his feet, his bearish voice bouncing along the walls. "As the hours climb closer to midnight's Holy Sacrifice, let us take every opportunity we can muster to seek the Divine Six to bless us with the spirit of peace and empowerment. Remember they are watching us and judging us accordingly. So, behave yourselves until then. I'm speaking to you Hercones," he said giving the Ceremony's Grand Host and the Kingdom's High Priest a silly glare that brought chuckles.

"We thank them for this meal we are so privilege to enjoy. Let us all dine, shall we."

Everyone chuckled in agreement as the floor servants exited the adjoined kitchen with the first part of their meal. A vegetable broth soup mixed with thick blocks of chicken, requested by the King himself. Deep down he hoped things were going okay in the kitchens as well as the rest of the palace, but his mind was stuck on the seating arrangement.

Why did he summon me to attend if he was going to embarrass me?

He tried to keep his back straight like Limp instructed him to, despite the temptation to just stand and leave. He glanced up at Commander Eron standing out like a black wolf amongst the white, sitting across the table to his stepsister's left. His red eyes burned into his soul as he conversed with Criily.

"Shame Gideon couldn't join us," Queen Saia said glancing at Gris with discontent.

"Hmm, he had another engagement," King Dimitri muttered.

"His business with the Royal Blacksmith could've been rescheduled," she complained. "I always love seeing my son sitting there across from me in these Luncheons."

Gris knew the underline of her words was to taunt him. He ignored her, but realized that everyone was eating, except him. So, he forced himself to at least pick up the spoon and stir the soup. His glass was poured with a fruity wine that tickled his nose, but he couldn't convince his hand to reach for it. He felt like a hallow stone, dressed up in fine clothing, only to be ridiculed by those who thought themselves Fair.

No one was Fair if it was decided upon by him. If he was a god, he wouldn't allow people to be so cruel to one another.

Gris' hand trembled as he brought the spoon to his lips to pretend he was enjoying the food. But the deliciously rich soup only turned bland to his taste bugs and hardened his chest as it went down his esophagus.

He did a daring glance at his father, who hadn't looked up from his meal since it came. He looked terrifyingly handsome with the gold jeweled crown on his head, and the fancy robe that did not hide his bulging shoulder muscles of a man who enjoyed fitness. Just one look at him, Gris could see himself. Long shiny black curls, sharp chin, and thick eyebrows. Only his black eyes and full beard set them apart.

Those black eyes wavered up to meet his and they both shot their gaze to their bowls of soup. He knew this could be the only opportunity before the Ceremony where he'd have his father's ear. He knew the man had to have some compassion stashed away in his darkening heart to allow him to work with the Purple Thief waiting in his chambers. The only problem was how he was going to bring it up without everyone bashing and embarrassing him the more?

Gris then felt the need to vomit and almost did when everyone's chatter rose high. The horn was blown that sent chills up his spine. That horn only meant one thing.

He leaned back in his chair, eyes wide in pure horror. Standing in the nearest entrance was his stepbrother dressed in his finest travel attire.