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Winter always settled over Norta like a cold, white blanket — covering every inch of land in at least a foot of snow, muting the usually vibrant greens and colours of nature and making it impossible to do much of anything besides stay inside and cuddle up under a blanket and sleep away the cold. So when Maven received the letter that all of his training for the rest of the day had been cancelled in spite of the snow, he was ecstatic to be doing just that: sleeping.
Usually his teachers just deal with the situation accordingly — getting him and Cal to melt the snow and getting some nymphs to dry out the leftover water, leaving their outside arenas high and dry and ready for training. But they'd been doing that all week, and the teachers were probably getting sick of starting training a good half an hour late.
Just because classes aren't happening today, doesn't mean you get to slack off, understood? I expect you all to be fully up to date on module six, to the point where every answer is leaking from your ears.
He'd worry about revising his work later. Right now, there was a big book; warm, freshly washed blankets, and a cup of hot cocoa waiting for him in bed.
But of course, when has Maven ever known even a slick of peace?
The moment he settles into bed, tingling with the excitement that comes from starting a new book, his door opens with a quiet creak. He startles, looking up at whoever decided to enter his domain while he was busy.
Cal stood at the door — with his hands on his hips, wrapped up in layers upon layers of warm woolen jackets. He didn't even need to say anything for Maven to know exactly what he's here for. The grin on his face only further proved Maven's suspicions.
"No," he says quickly, pulling his blanket over his head. "I'm busy right now, go outside on your own."
But Cal wasn't about to let him go that easy, and of course, he never does — stepping into the room and grabbing the covers, ripping them up and off of his little brother, exposing him to the room. Maven groans as he pushes himself sit upright, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Come on, Mavey!" Cal insists, opening his closets and digging for something warm for Maven to wear. "We barely get any time to spend together. I want to do something fun with you today, while everyone's too busy with their stuff to be bothered with us."
Maven purses his lips. He recalls his mother informing him that she'd be busy for the entire week — something about sudden diplomatic issues having arisen, demanding her attention away from her son. Maven couldn't have been happier in that moment: his mother, busy with work and not breathing down his neck, as well as a good book and an entire day off from school? It felt too good to be true.
"We can do something when it's not snowing." he mutters, flinching briefly as a thick coat gets chucked his way. "Whenver you drag me outside when it's snowing, it only ever ends with me being cold, wet and hungry."
"Don't be like that."
His sudden somber tone seems to snap Maven out of his frustration, his eyes slowly looking up to meet Cal's gaze. Cal stares back at him, now standing by the open closet and studying Maven closely. Cal was only two years older than Maven, though in these quiet moments, he can look much younger. Damn him and his ability to look like a kicked puppy.
Maven sighs, relenting to his brother's pitiful stature, grabbing the jacket Cal had thrown his way and tugging it on with exaggerated movements. The life returns back to his brother's eyes the moment he does, grabbing Maven's boots from the ground and handing them to him too. Maven pulls his boots on, before properly stowing his book away and leaving the room — trailing behind his brother.
As of late, he'd found himself starting to dislike Cal. Not really due to anything he'd done — Cal was just as much of a big (annoying) softie as he had always been, always making it difficult to stay angry with him for more than a few minutes after every argument — but every action that he dedicated himself to, every word that he said… it did nothing beside irritating the hell out of Maven. Somedays his voice felt like nails on a chalkboard, making him want to rip his ears out. It was horrid.
God forbid Cal give him some pointers on how to stand when sparring.
While Elara claimed that she'd had nothing to do with it, Maven knew she did. She always did.
Finally, they step into the cold outside breeze — and immediately, Maven pulls his coat tighter around himself, regretting ever agreeing to this in the first place. His face was stinging as the cold seeped into his warm skin. Every snowflake that landed on him melted immediately, a side effect of the never-ending heat that exudes from him, even when he doesn't realise it is.
He takes a few steps into the snow — watching it slowly melt with each step, leaving soggy dirt and grass in its wake. It was satisfying. Enough to make him forget the reason he was here now, at least. Enough to drag his attention away and make him lower his guard.
A cold flush suddenly slams against his back, making him stumble — nearly falling over and into the snow before he catches himself on a tree. He reaches over and feels across the back of his jacket. It was cold and wet. He whirls around to glare at his brother where he stood a few feet away.
A snowball.
"Hey!"
Cal grins, leaning down to scoop some more snow into his hand, molding it into the shape of a ball. Quickly, Maven leans down to grab one too — managing to dodge the other ball that Cal had created. Grabbing a handful of snow hastily, he realises that the snowball was starting to melt in his hands. Quickly, he chucks it: but of course, he misses by a sore distance. He's never had very good aim, especially when it comes to going against his brother.
They take turns molding and chucking snowballs at each other — and despite Maven's earlier protests about coming out there in the first place, he found himself actually having fun. He hadn't had fun with his brother like this in what felt like years. For a moment, he forgot everything that bothered him, or kept him up at night. For a moment, he could let himself have fun again. For a moment, he could be a boy again.
When one of his snowballs finally struck his brother in the shoulder, causing him to stumble. He cheered — sticking his tongue out at his brother. Cal glares at him for the gesture, yet he doesn't seem to hold any real animosity in the gesture. He found it just as funny as Maven did that his little brother somehow managed to land a hit on him.
The two of them lost track of time — not even realising the daylight hours slowly seeping away with each snowball they threw. Peace was difficult to come by these recent days, and they'd be silly to throw away any chance they had at forgetting that they were Princes: that they had duties and responsibilities.
"My Prince?"
The both of them stop in their tracks, looking up at the source of the voice. One of their father's soldiers stand regally on the steps leading out to the garden, his stern face looking rather unamused with how the two boys were acting. Maven slowly looks over at his brother, knowing for a fact that whatever this soldier was here for, it was most likely not for him.
Cal quickly straightened up — fixing his jacket, trying to look a little more sensible — but there was no point in that. His hair was dishevelled and wet, and so were his clothes. His face was stained a deep Silver, the embarrassment of being caught like this evident on his face.
"His Majesty requires your presence."
"Of course." Cal says quickly, turning on his heel and not even looking at his brother as the climbs the steps and hurries after the soldier, leaving Maven alone in the cold, white garden.
Maven just stared after them, unmoving as he collected himself. Now that the excitement of the snowball fight was wearing off, the exhaustion and freezing atmosphere settled into his bones. Pursing his lips, he runs his own hands through his hair, getting rid of the excess snow and water. The bitterness he held close to his heart returned in the silent void that came when his brother left without even saying goodbye.
A part of him knew that Cal probably wasn't thinking — only wanting to appear as a well put-together Crown Prince. A well put-together Crown Prince wouldn't linger to say goodbye to a brother he knew he'd see later anyway. A well put-together Crown Prince wouldn't even be outside, engaging in silly, childish snow fights like a commoner.
But the other part of him, the bigger part of him, still held resentment for his older brother. It felt like this was a silent gesture to show how much more superior Cal was to him — a silent way to say that he'd only ever be his shadow. Useful only in certain situations, only when Cal needs him, and not in any other way.
Only ever leaving him cold, wet and hunngry.
Maven climbs the steps slowly, shivering when the warmth of the palace halls surround him like a blanket. He'll take a shower, get into bed and do what he actually wanted to do with his day: read his new book.
A book is far more reliable than his brother anyway.