Chapter Text
You are the Prince of Vesuvia. Your parents are the Countess and Count, and you have never wanted for anything for as long as you can remember. When you’d reached the age of eight, you were given tutors and mentors, all teaching you the arts (of the martial, visual, and musical varieties), sciences, several languages, economics, and everything you would need to know to one day become Count.
Vesuvia is a port city, with two primary docks; the East Docks and the Ash Docks in the northeast. The city is rich with fish and game alike, the latter bountiful in the forest not far from the city walls. There is also an island just off the coast with no real name; its only buildings are a lighthouse and a sturdy, though unappealing, lodge that serves as a temporary respite for fishermen who couldn’t make it to Vesuvia proper in time to avoid storms during monsoon season.
Vesuvia is made up of several districts outside of the palace. The Heart District, closest to the palace, is the most beautiful, commonly frequented by the wealthy. The Temple District is filled with different temples to the various gods that Vesuvian citizens worship. Center City contains the most shops, the highest density of them being the Center City Marketplace. Goldgrave is the most culturally-based; ranging from a museum to a theater, to a coliseum and statues of many previous rulers.
The Flooded District… Well, your tutors never talked that much about the Flooded District. And South End, as far as you’ve been able to discover from eavesdropping on council meetings, is populated to several establishments of “ill repute”; shops taverns that cater to the likes of pirates, criminals, and some of the rowdier sailors and fishermen. To you, the Flooded District and South End sounded more like places home to people who have been abandoned by the sovereignty. (When you become Count, you frequently tell yourself, you’ll do your people justly.)
You are the Prince of Vesuvia, and you know almost everything there is to know about it…despite never having seen it in your entire life.
“Good morning, milord!” Portia greets you as she pulls the curtains open. You were already awake, but your eyes burn from the sudden light. You groan and yank the covers over your eyes.
Portia doesn’t pay you much mind, and continues, shuffling over to your hamper to collect the previous day’s clothes, “Luckily, your schedule today isn’t very busy! First, you have a magic lesson with the Court Magician—well, your aunt is apparently pretty busy today, so she’ll probably just ask Asra to take over. Again,” she adds with a chuckle. “After that, you have some martial training with Muriel. And then you’re free for the rest of the day!”
You sigh, and finally sit up, filtering some of the sunlight with a hand so you you can adjust. Honestly, considering yesterday’s schedule, it’s quite light. You wonder if your parents are being nice, or if your other tutors just have other things to do. Probably the latter, you think with a grimace.
As you get out of bed and head towards your changing screen to get dressed and ready for the day, you wonder what kind of magic Asra will teach you this time. It’s quite possibly the only subject you actually enjoy; of course, who wouldn’t be excited to learn magic? You’ve only recently been starting to learn serious spells, and you always end up feeling your energy drained by the end of the lesson. The last time, he taught you how to raise a multi-directional shield and you almost felt like you’d never be able to cast another spell again.
“All right, I’m off!” Portia says, holding her wicker basket of clothes against her hip. “I’ll see you around lunch time, okay?”
“Sure,” you say, clipping your last button. “Thanks for everything, Portia.”
“Of course,” she says, grinning.
Once she leaves, you run a hand through your hair to put into some semblance of order. Then you make your way to the Observatory. It takes some time to reach it, as it’s in one of the tallest towers of the palace, but it’s certainly worth the climb. It has a giant glass window spanning most of the ceiling, and it’s beautiful come nighttime. There are also huge star charts and plenty of magical tomes, ordered perfectly in bookshelves as well as piled helter-skelter on the center table. It also smells amazing; both from the incense that is frequently burned, as well as from the entire wall full of drawers and shelves of glasses all containing various magical herbs and oils.
It’s probably one of the most relaxing rooms in the palace. Sometimes you wish you could just live as a magician, only doing tarot readings and selling magic items… Unfortunately, you have bigger responsibilities.
“You’re a little late today, Your Grace,” you hear as you enter the Observatory. Asra smiles at from the center of the room, leaning against the large center table. You wish he’d stop calling you that, but you’ve given up trying to get him to stop. Sometimes you wonder if he just does it to tease you, because you know he doesn’t normally stick to such formalities.
“I had a long day yesterday,” you say, stretching to get the kinks out of your back. You’d spent so long hunched over your desk that you feel like it’ll never recover…
Asra laughs and says, “That’s unfortunate.” Then he straightens up and walks to the wall of magical components, opening several drawers to find something. “But today, your aunt said I could teach something really fun.” When he finds what he’s looking for with a little, ‘aha!’, he turns towards you, and you’re both nervous and excited when you see the mischievous gleam in his eye.
“What is it?” you ask, unable to keep the curiosity from your voice. He sets the small glass jar on the table. It’s mostly full of something that looks like…well, it honestly just looks like a jar of dirt.
“It’s a glamouring spell,” he starts. While he talks, he walks to the other side of the room where a stack of rich purple cushions sit, “You can use it to disguise someone, make them look like someone or something their not. Of course…” as he drops two pillows on the floor between the two of you, he looks at you meaningfully, “the spell can also be cast on yourself.”
You gasp, eyes going wide. You know exactly what Asra’s getting at. He’s always known about your desire to see Vesuvia for yourself; he and Portia are the only ones you feel comfortable talking to about it. Your parents, while well-meaning, are also slightly paranoid. They’ve never let you outside the palace since the day you were born, and haven’t even publicly given your name. When you were young, and hardly knew the first thing about the city you live in, you didn’t have a care in the world. But the more you were taught, the more you learned about it, there soon became nothing you wanted more than to see Vesuvia for yourself. Who knew what kind of amazing things are out there? What does the energy of the Center City Marketplace feel like? How good are the plays at the theater? How beautiful do the canals look glittering in the sunlight?
And now Asra is giving you a chance to find those answers. A way to adventure into the great unknown, a chance to experience Vesuvia firsthand. For a moment, the possibilities almost overwhelm you, but then you can’t stop a huge grin spreading on your face.
“Asra, I… Thank you,” is all you can manage to say, but it doesn’t feel like enough. So instead of trying to express yourself with words, you take the few steps required to hug him. He stiffens for just a moment before hugging you back with a small laugh.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, voice completely insincere, “I’m only doing my duty.”
You snicker, “Of course.” You finally step away from him and take a seat on one of the cushions as he sits on the one opposite you. “So, how do you cast a glamour?”
“For as much energy as this spell takes to maintain, it’s relatively easy to cast it.” He reaches up to the table to grab the jar, twists the cork off, and places it on the floor between you. Whatever it is doesn’t have much of a smell.
“The first step is call up your magic. Then, focus on what you want the target to look like, and…” He reaches into the jar, takes a pinch of the contents, and blows it on you. The dust glitters unnaturally, and tingles everywhere it touches your skin.
You don’t particularly…feel any different, but then Asra pulls a small mirror from his pocket. When you look into it, it’s not your face you see, but the familiar face of your bodyguard’s, Muriel. Your look of almost comic surprise looks very foreign on the man’s usually stoic face, and you try to emulate it, but then you can’t help but laugh when you fail miserably.
Asra also laughs, “I’ll be honest, I don’t think you’d make a very good Muriel.” You see yourself return to your normal, and you look at him with surprise.
“Does it normally only last for that long? Also, what is this?” you ask, pointing at the jar.
He shakes his head, “It lasts for as long as you want it to, as long as you can maintain it. I let it fall on purpose. Also,” he smiles, “it’s just dirt.” You knew it. “Now,” he places the mirror on the floor beside him and lets his hands rest in his lap, “go ahead and try it on me.”
You take a deep breath and concentrate. As normal, your magic rises up inside you like steam. You wonder who you should make him look like… You snort as a certain individual comes to mind, and reach into the jar, taking a little bit of the dirt in your hand. You solidify the image in your mind, and blow, imbuing the breath with your magic. The dust glitters as it did when he did it, and coats Asra’s person. It takes a moment, but a different person shimmers into view. It worked; Asra looks at you placidly with the shock of blond hair, the furred cloak, and bright red clothing of Quaestor Lucio. Such a calm, relaxed expression doesn’t look right on the usually overdramatic man.
When you burst out laughing, Asra looks bemused and picks the mirror to see whose face you gave him. He starts snickering himself, and makes funny faces at you that look absolutely ridiculous on Lucio’s face. He only stops when you start struggling to breathe.
“Well…” he says, shaking his head humorously, and you let the glamour fall as he speaks, “You certainly learned how to cast the spell quick.”
You smile widely at him. “Thank you, Asra. I mean it. I don’t know how I could possibly thank you enough.”
Asra hums, “Just have fun and don’t get in trouble. That’s all I need.”
“Deal.”
He smiles, and there’s something mysterious about his expression… But then he perks up a little. “Wait,” he says as you get to your feet, “I just remembered.” He reaches behind himself to unclip a pouch and hands it to you. You take it, raising an eyebrow.
“What is this?” It’s not particularly heavy, but there’s definitely some weight to it.
“Money. For food. Or fun,” he says, smiling that secret smile again.
Later on, while Muriel is training you on the proper use of a sword, you’re so excited that you almost cut yourself on your own weapon. Normally, you’d be embarrassed…but your giddiness outweighs the feeling tenfold. Muriel doesn’t seem to be as bothered by your mistakes than he normally would be, and you wonder if he knows what your plan is, or if he’s just in a good mood. …Probably the former.
When you make your escape, you decide to take the form of Asra. Guards and servants tend to avoid the Court Magician’s ward for some reason, and he’s also (maybe) the only one who knows what you’re doing and will be able to improvise should someone question anything.
In preparation, you scour the giant laundry room for the shabbiest and least-assuming clothes you can find. It would be a shame to get caught just because you’re dressed as a member of the royal family. After changing (you hope no one misses these clothes) and casting the glamour, you head out to the palace gates. Your heart is beating so hard you’re worried that the guards will hear it, but as you reach it and walk out, they hardly bat an eye. You walk until you can make a turn into an empty alley, and let the glamour drop.
You…did it. You’re free. For the first time in your life, you can see Vesuvia with your own unbiased eyes. The sky’s the limit here; the only thing stopping you is the steps it takes to get there. As you reach the end of the alley, you take your first step as a free prince into a street—and promptly backpedal when you nearly get run over by a cart filled to the brim with rainbows of flowers. The person pushing it along barely spares you a glance before continuing on their way.
The brusqueness…is refreshing. No one out here knows who you are. As far as they know, you’re just some random citizen. Actually…looking at the attire of the other people on the street compared to yours, you probably look like some kind of stray in the wrong district. Maybe you should leave the Heart District before some stuffy noble raises a stink.
You walk for a long time along the canals of Vesuvia. Keeping track of the many bridges you take, you start walking in what you believe is the direction of Center City, hoping to reach the marketplace there. There’s doubtlessly delicious food (or least something unique) that you’ve never had there, and you want to see it all. And maybe try some of it. You try to suppress your grin, wouldn’t want anyone to look at you strange.
At one point, you smell something amazing. When you turn another corner, you find the source of it—the Center City Marketplace. There are stalls as far as the eye can see, and you’re nearly overwhelmed with all of your options. But then you catch the scent of freshly baked bread, and you follow your nose.
The bakery is in what looks like half of a building, while the streetside looks like all the other stands. Inside the building, you can see several different looking ovens, some orange hot and baking, some dark and empty. The baker is tending to one of the ovens, and he has a large metal sheet covered in rolls. He slides them all off into a large basket, and heads in your direction to the stand.
When he sees you, he smiles. “Hey there, sorry for the wait,” he says as he sets the basket on the counter. “What can I get you?”
You stammer nonsensically a little before managing, “Uh…bread?”
The large man starts guffawing, “You’re going to have to be a little more specific there, lad.” Your mind blanks for a moment (who knew there was so many different types of bread?), and just point to the basket of rolls he just took out.
“Rosemary rolls?” he chuckles, “You’re lucky, they’re the best straight out of the oven,” he says conversationally as he grabs a small bag and fills it with several rolls. “Normally these are worth three coins, but since you seem new around these parts and a little nervous, I’ll give ‘em to you for two.”
You nod and reach into the pouch Asra gave you. But you feel a little guilty paying less than what the rolls warrant, and hand over three of the golden coins. “Thank you, but you worked hard on those, and I don’t really need a discount.” Somehow, you keep your voice steady, despite your nerves.
The baker grins, “Well, that’s mighty kind. Hope you have a good day.” With that, he turns around to start tending to another oven, this one containing a thin but long loaf of bread.
Rolls purchased, you start walking away. You just made your first purchase on your own. As you make your way through the bag of rolls, you observe the rest of the marketplace. There’s more for sale here than just food (all of it looks delicious—you’ll have to come here again and try them all), there are also merchants selling clothing, rugs, jewelry, and some people are even selling fortunes.
There’s one ancient-looking old woman who catches your eye, and you watch her give a reading to a starstruck looking young person. As you watch, you are quick to realize that she’s not actually using magic, she’s just pretending to. You purse your lips; should you tell her customer that she’s tricking them? Maybe you should wait until they’re finished?
As you consider your options, a very terrified looking man turns around the corner ahead of you. He’s carrying a large leather bag that looks full to the brim with items, and you wonder how it hasn’t torn open. You glance at the fake magician, and when you look at the man again, he’s suddenly in your personal space. He shoves the bag into your hands, and you take it, stunned with surprise. Why did he…?
As he dashes away, you see exactly why. Two palace guards turn into the street, and point at you, yelling something you can’t quite hear. That man must have stolen these things, and shoved the blame on you… Oh no.
In a panic, you drop the bag and run as fast as your legs can carry you. You can hear the pounding on the pavement and jangle of armor behind you as the guards chase you through and out of the marketplace. They’re persistent, and you find yourself running over countless bridges until you reach a slightly dilapidated neighborhood. You can’t focus on it for long though, because, upon sprinting into an alley to try and hide, you bump into someone's back.
As you pant, trying to catch your breath after running for so long, your eyes dart up to look up at the person you collided with, and they turn to face you. It’s a man, tall, with dark red curls and pale skin. His clothes are dark and foreboding, and you wonder if you accidentally found yourself into bigger trouble than you were already in. The man opens his mouth to say something, but then the clamor of clanging armor reaches both of your ears. He glares in the direction of the noise (and, more importantly, not at you), before he looks at you and smiles.
“Follow me,” he says, but he doesn’t give you much of a choice because he grabs your wrist, and pulls you after him. The two of you run for some time, and when you finally stop, you have to lean against a wall or you’ll fall over.
“So,” he begins, arms crossed, “what were they chasing you for? I imagine not for a game of tag.” His words sound accusatory, but his tone says he’s amused.
When you’re finally able to catch your breath just enough to speak, you answer him. “I was just walking around and…someone shoved some things they stole into my arms. The guards saw me, and…thought I was the thief. And I, um. Panicked.” You run a hand down your face, taking another deep breath. Why doesn’t it ever feel like you have enough air? “Although, I’m not sure they’d have believed me…even if I told them what really happened.”
The man barks a laugh, “Probably not.” Then he puts out a black leather gloved hand out towards you. “My name’s Julian. Julian Devorak. What’s yours?”
The building behind Julian has windows that perfectly reflect the sunlight into the alley. The way it lights him up from behind makes it seem like he has a kind of halo, and the easy smile on his lips is enchanting. He looks… beautiful, despite his bruised eyelids and intimidating stature.
You realize you’ve been staring too long, and your still pounding heart skips a beat. You look away at him as you take his hand and tell him your name. He repeats it to himself quietly, and his smile quirks a little in a way that makes you lightheaded. Or maybe it was all the running and adrenaline and lack of air catching up to you…
“It’s nice to meet you,” he says, but his smile fades and he looks surprised for some reason…
It’s the last thing you notice before you suddenly realize you’re falling, unconscious before you hit the ground.
When you wake up, you’re instantly aware that you’re not in the alley you passed out in. It’s not dark, per se, but you’re definitely inside a building. You jerk up into a sitting position and look around. There’s a couple other cots in the room, cotton white and rather cheap. There’s one bed with a couple brown spots that…you think may have been blood. What kind of place did you wake up in?
“Ah, you’re awake.” You turn your head towards the sound of Julian’s voice so fast you almost get whiplash.
“Where am I?” you ask, tone coming out harsher than you intended. You flinch, and add, “Sorry, I just… Where is this?”
He shrugs, “Don’t worry about it. And you’re in my clinic—Goldgrave, a little north of South End.”
“Your clinic? You’re a doctor?” you ask, a little surprised. The doctors at the palace typically wore white. Julian looks as far from a doctor as you currently look from a prince.
The way Julian laughs at that is dark. “I’ve had medical training before, yes.” The way he worded that makes you a little suspicious. Is he a doctor or not? Before you can question him, he continues talking, “Anyway, you’re fine, in case you were worried about that. Just a little fainting spell, but I took you here so you could rest somewhere more comfortable than the pavement. Just how long were you running from those guards?” His question sounds rhetorical, but you answer anyway.
“I was running from the marketplace in Center City to…I don’t know, I wasn’t really paying attention to where I was going.” When you finish, he’s staring at you in shock. “What?”
“You ran all the way from Center City to South End?” Is that where you were? “No wonder you passed out…” He eyes you critically then, as if he’s reevaluating you. It makes you want to squirm a little.
“So, uh,” you struggle to think of something to make him stop looking at you like that. “How much do I owe you for taking care of me…?”
At that Julian waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it. It was more work carrying you over than anything, and even then, it wasn’t that hard. I'm pretty strong,” he says with a smug grin. You frown. Work was work, he deserves to be paid for it. You don’t know how high his fees are though. You look down at the pouch Asra gave you. There’s still a decent amount of coins in it. Hm…
“Anyway,” he continues, “where do you live? I could escort you home.” You look at him, eyes wide. That’s very kind of him. And he doesn’t even want to be paid for it. Unfortunately, you’ll have to turn him down. He can’t know you live in the palace.
“I appreciate the sentiment, but I think I can make it on my own.” You finally get up from the bed, but as soon as you try to stretch, you wince—your shoulder aches something fierce.
“Ah, that would be from the fall. You took a nasty hit there.” he says, gently touching your throbbing shoulder. “Here, let me just…” He drags his cool fingers up to a point just beneath the nape of your neck and rubs down and towards your shoulder firmly. At first it hurts more, and you grunt from the pain, but then it starts to fade, and your shoulder hurts a little less. You stare at him with wonder, and you see his cheeks turn a little pink. But he still smirks down at you.
“That’s not the only trick I know. Maybe I could show you sometime…?” It’s the most ostentatious flirting you’ve ever been subject to (by someone that’s not Lucio), and it flushes your face with heat. Even worse, it makes you stammer.
“I-I, um. You… I don’t, uh…” Then he snorts and starts laughing, removing his hand from your shoulder to smother it. Great, you may as well have told him you’ve never even had your first kiss. How embarrassing…
“Ah,” he sighs good-naturedly when he finally calms, “you’re cute. Be careful on your way back. Dangerous types come out at night.”
With a start, you look out a nearby window. It’s not quite dark yet, but it’s almost sunset. You need to get back before anyone notices you’re gone. “Thanks for the help, doctor.”
As he leads you to the clinic’s entrance, he chuckles before saying, “Again, it was no problem.” He opens the door for you, “Take care now. If the powers that be should ever entangle us again,” he gives you a grin and winks, “call me Julian.”
You feel your heart squeeze. How can one man be so charming…? You take one step towards the door, but stop halfway through the door frame. Spinning on your heel, you quickly unclasp your coin pouch and shove it towards him. He barely has a grasp on it before you turn again and start running for the palace. You hear him call out to you, but you ignore him, and eventually you find yourself in the Heart District again.
After glamouring yourself once more, and making it back to your room, you hide your disguise for another time and fall into bed, thinking through the day’s events. So much happened, and in only a few hours. You think about Julian again. What an interesting man… You remember his cavalier flirting, and, your heart beating a little faster, you wonder whether or not he was serious about it. But then you realize the chances of just bumping into him again are slim anyway, and your heart sinks.
Well, you’ll just have to find him yourself. With that in mind, you wrap yourself in your blankets and fall asleep to the thought of his slate gray eyes on you.