The floating market was bustling with the common people and merchants from all over the world. It was near evening, with the sun setting over the horizon, and it seemed that the crowd was only just growing busier.
He adjusted the cowl over his silver hair and settled into one of the empty boats. Thankfully, the rower didn't seem to recognize him, greeting him with a jovial smile and instructing him to hold on tight. Despite the warning, the boat only jostled once during the journey down the teeming river.
He purchased a few mangoes and papayas for Chelia, knowing that the young maidservant would enjoy them. As the evening crawled by and the sky grew darker, the river became quieter as the crowd thinned. The shops became shadier the further he was rowed down the river.
The boat came to a stop with a sudden jerk. He rose gracefully, tipping the rower with an extra silver coin in gratitude. Lowering his cowl, he got out of the boat, heading down a dark alleyway.
The little store he was searching for was tucked away in an alcove, touched with a mild hint of a forget-me-not spell to ward away soldiers from the kingdom. He ducked under the ratty curtains at the doorway. The only light was a hanging lantern with a small, flickering orange flame in the center, throwing shadows over the elderly woman behind the counter.
"Milady," he greeted, keeping his vocabulary deliberately informal and his accent heavy. "Is my order ready?"
The Witch of the Brew squinted her milky eyes, looking up from her heavy tome. He tilted back his head slightly so the flickering light could shine over his features.
"Ah, Luca, you're early." She croaked. With a heavy groan, she slipped off the stool and disappeared to the backroom.
She soon came back, hobbling with a noticeable limp in her gait. She pulled out several empty glass vials from under the counter, unwrapping the sachets she has retrieved from the backroom. He watched in keen interest as she poured the powder into the glass vials, murmuring hoarsely under her breath as she spelled the potions. She filled the vials with a clear, sparkly liquid, and the combination turned the brew into a lovely pale ivory hue.
She swathed all six vials with a thin paper wrapping, looping the bag closed with a crimson string spelled only to release at his touch.
"I'll send the rest of the money by tomorrow morning." He slipped the bag into his cloak, inclining his head respectfully.
The Witch of the Brew snorted and waved him away, retreating back to her tome. He fled from her store swiftly, not wanting to spend any moment longer in her presence. Those milky eyes were always watching, as if knowing of his real identity.
By the time he made his way back to the palace, the sky was already turning orange, a few hours away from daybreak. He could feel the exhaustion deep in his bones, resolving to have a long hot bath before returning to his duties later. Maybe even beg Chelia for a revitalizing concoction to survive the rest of the day.
It served him right for spending his nights wandering the city instead of resting his body in his comfortable silk bed, but it's the only time he could get away from the stifling walls of the castle and the heavy expectations upon his shoulders.
Chelia would not be happy with him, especially after he had tricked her again, but he preferred his nightly trips alone. Especially when he's venturing into the shadier areas of his city.
Hopefully, the fruits would appease her. He would need her on his side if his grandmother ever finds out about his night-time escapades.
When Chelia entered his quarters in the morning, he was already up. He had barely slept in the last hour, his body still humming with energy from his night trip.
"Good morning, Your Highness!" She greeted, flinging open the curtains.
He stifled a tired groan as the sunlight poured in, dousing his quarters with light and heat. She glanced at his face, emotions filtering through her eyes before it settled on disapproval.
"Did you enjoy your trip to the city last night?" She said sarcastically, settling her hands on her hips.
He bowed his head in embarrassment, wondering if the exhaustion was plain on his face. Pretending not to know what she's talking about would only annoyed her more. While a maidservant of low station, Chelia has grown to become a trusted friend.
"I just needed to pick up some potions I ordered last week." He replied, sliding out of bed.
She let out an aggravated sigh as she collected his clothes from the wardrobe. He turned his back on her, feeling her nimble fingers slipping under his arms to take his night robe off.
"I told you to take me along when you're heading out, since you insisted on escaping your Guards every time, Your Highness." She muttered angrily. "What if someone saw your face and recognize you? You're a Prince of the Royal Family! Even in the Capital, you must be cautious!"
She tugged the back of his coat lightly to get him to turn. He obliged quietly, turning around to meet her scorching stare.
"There's talk of rebellion in the city because of the upcoming peace conference with Sabertooth." She said urgently. "Some of the common people are not happy with this alliance after years of war. If those dissenters see you, they may attack you in an act of protest."
The mention of Sabertooth soured his mood instantly. The Queen Dowager had called for a ceasefire recently, after a decade of fighting. Because of the war with Sabertooth, their economy was worsening. Their resources were pooled towards the army, and their treasury was slowly depleting. Many good men were lost, good men who he had called brothers. It was only after the ceasefire that trade merchants started to trickle into the Capital once more.
He couldn't deny that a ceasefire was what Lamia Scale needed desperately right now. Despite his reluctance, he could see the sense in building up an alliance with Sabertooth. There were very few magically capable soldiers in Lamia Scale adept enough to combat Sabertooth warriors. Frankly, they were barely hanging by a thread in the war.
Unfortunately, there were many grieving families in Lamia Scale that does not share the same sentiment.
"It won't come to that." He said firmly.
There was a loud knock on the door that interrupted whatever that Chelia was planning to say. With a frustrated sigh, she finished his buckles and patted his shoulders.
The steward was waiting outside his quarters to escort him to breakfast. Impeccably dressed as usual, with not even a hair out of place, the steward looked more like a prince than he does. He was faintly aware of his messy hair, his dark eyebags, the tiredness weighing his limbs down.
"Good morning, Your Highness." Yuka greeted. "Are you ready for breakfast?"
Breakfast, yes. Breakfast with his grandmother and half-brother? Not really.
"I have some fruits on the table for you, Chelia." He said.
Chelia frowned, pausing mid-action in gathering his bedsheets. She glanced at the table, and he watched her face lit up at the basket of mangoes and papayas. Smirking, he closed the door behind him.
"You spoiled her too much." Yuka sighed. "Were you at the market last night?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." He answered. "I had those fruits sent to the palace."
He spied Yuka's disbelieving stare in his peripheral vision and fought not to give himself away. Unlike Chelia, Yuka was less likely to push.
"Have all the paperwork for this month's revenues prepared and delivered to my study room." He reminded. "I'll take a look at them after breakfast."
With that, he took a deep breath and entered the dining hall.