Lucian stepped lightly across the soft earth, boots brushing fallen leaves, until he reached where Alaric lay half-reclined against the tree. Moonlight kissed his sharp features, but even in shadow, the crown prince looked… ridiculous.
"What are you doing here?" Lucian asked casually, arms folded, voice smooth as silk. "Practicing your skills at napping in the forest, or is this some new royal meditation technique?"
Alaric looked up at him, eyes steady, silent. Not a word. Not a sigh. Nothing.
Lucian blinked, tilted his head. Rude. Classic Alaric.
He stepped closer. That's when it hit him — the unmistakable, cloying stench of alcohol. Strong, cheap, and offensive to anyone with half a nose. Lucian sniffed delicately, grimacing in mock horror.
"Well, well," he said, voice dripping with mock severity. "The almighty Crown Prince, master of kingdoms, armies, and every throne in his line… brought down by a bottle of liquor. Who would have thought?"
