Part One
The Invitation
It was an unusually harsh winter. A thick layer of snow covered the grounds of Kenoveigh, and the huntsmen's dormitories were so cold that Adrian had to sleep in his coat. Even Prince Edgar's quarters were quite drafty, despite his enchanted fireplaces.
But nobody seemed to care. Everyone at Kenoveigh, from the lowliest scullery maid to the king himself, had but a single concern: 19 Alturiak 1488. Edgar's eighteenth birthday.
On that date, a banquet was to be thrown in the prince's honour. It would be the event of the century, with hundreds of esteemed guests from all over Estria. Preparations had begun nearly three months in advance. A platoon of shivering maids went from building to building, decorating every room in the estate, including the huntsmen's mess hall. The kitchens were working overtime. Every time Adrian visited the main palace, he was greeted by the delicious smell of some new delicacy wafting through the corridors.
Even the Royal Corps of Huntsmen had to pitch in. Mercifully, Edgar had vetoed a plan to serve wild venison as the main course, sparing them weeks of hunting in the bitter cold. But the party planners needed all the help they could get moving tables and carrying crates of supplies.
None of this put Edgar in a good mood.
"I don't want any of this," he complained to Adrian one day. "Do you think I like watching you all toil away in the cold? For a party I won't even enjoy?"
"I don't mind it," Adrian said. "My coat's warm enough, and it's nice to be busy during the off-season for a change."
"Yes, but you're a freak."
"Touché."
With a sigh, Edgar turned his gaze to his bedroom window.
"I wish we could spend my birthday alone, just the two of us. Imagine it. There'd be a snowstorm outside, but we'd be safe in here, drinking hot cocoa, playing chess, or even..."
A wicked grin played across his face.
"...taking a hot bath together."
"That would be simply marvellous," Adrian whispered, before pulling Edgar in for a long, tender kiss.
They had been lovers for about four months. Actually, it was hard to say when their relationship had turned romantic. In some ways, they'd been "more than friends" from the very beginning. But their first physical encounter had been last Marpenoth, and Adrian supposed that was as good a date as any from which to count.
Unfortunately, physical encounters were few and far between these days. The party planners couldn't spend more than twenty pounds at a time without getting the prince's signature, so they'd developed an irritating habit of popping up unexpectedly to ask for it. Worst in this regard was the Festivities Director, a bossy, impatient woman who viewed locked doors as a challenge to her authority. The boys found this out the hard way about a month before the party, when she had needed approval for silk streamers.
"You'd think," Edgar had said, dressing hurriedly as she pounded on his bedroom door, "that as a god incarnate upon the Earth, or whatever the hell I'm supposed to be, I might get a bit more privacy!"
They hadn't taken the risk of fooling around since then.
Apart from themselves, only a few of Edgar's household servants knew the true nature of their relationship. They probably disapproved, but as Edgar was their boss, they kept their silence. On the other hand, the Festivities Director reported directly to the king, the absolute last person the boys wanted to discover their affair. They weren't sure how he'd react, but given his conservative attitudes and his legendary temper, they didn't want to find out. So these days, they didn't dare do more than kiss, and only in the privacy of Edgar's bedroom.
Which was a real shame, Adrian thought, if only because a bit of fooling around would have taken the prince's mind off things. With each day the party drew closer, he became more and more irritable. He had kept his cool for weeks, but at this rate, it wouldn't be long before he snapped. Not that Adrian would blame him. As heir to the throne, he had to make a good impression on all the lords and ladies of the kingdom. So there were a million things he had to prepare. He had a speech to write, a guest list to memorize, and a dance that he and Isolde Silverhand, his arranged fiancée, had to learn. There was even a "correct" way to open his presents ("eagerly," said his coach, "but not to the point of seeming desperate").
But there was one thing in particular that vexed the prince beyond all else. He complained to Adrian about it every chance he got, and today was no exception.
"The worst part," he said, leaping to his feet and striding to the window, "is that I still don't know whether I can invite you!"
"They still haven't gotten back to you on that?"
Edgar turned around and shook his head bitterly.
"It's not fair! Everyone knows you're my best friend; how hard can it be for them to find you a spot?"
Edgar was too polite for his own good, Adrian thought. If he, the Prince of Seprica, marched into the Festivities Directors' office, pounded his fist on the desk, and demanded she send out an invitation, surely she wouldn't refuse. But Edgar didn't like to push people around, so he was stuck pursuing the official channels.
Not that Adrian was particularly fussed. In truth, he wasn't sure he wanted to attend the party. Sure, it would be one of the most significant events of Edgar's life, and he supposed he ought to be there if he could. But the thought of spending a whole day in a crowd of strangers, watching Edgar engage in pointless ceremony, all while pretending they weren't in love, made him feel slightly nauseous. He wasn't about to say this to Edgar's face, though. Instead, he tried to change to a happier subject.
"Look on the bright side. We'll get to spend that night together, won't we?"
The prince smiled weakly.
"Yes, we will. I can leave the party at half-past eight, and then Bertram says he can make sure we're not disturbed until noon the next day."
"And then," said Adrian, moving closer to Edgar, "I'll have you all to myself."
Their lips were about to connect when there came a knock at the door.
"Your Highness!" cried the Festivities Director. "YOUR HIGHNESS!"
Edgar sighed.
"I'll be right back."
The matter of Adrian's invitation was settled ten days before the party.
His troop, the 84s (so called because they had graduated to full-time work in 1484), were huddled around the fire in the mess hall, shivering madly. They had just had a furious snowball fight with the class below them, the 91s (the RCH only took new apprentices every seven years). The 84s were bigger and stronger, but the 91s outnumbered them twelve to seven, so in the end, they'd played each other to a draw.
Suddenly, the door swung open. Edgar, dressed from head to toe in thick furs, strode into the room, smiling smugly.
"Your invitations," he said, handing each of them a slip of paper. "To the banquet. It was a right pain in the rear, but I managed to get seven spots! Seven!"
Adrian unfolded his invitation and read the fancy lettering.
His Royal Highness, Sir Edgar Naranosk
Prince of Seprica & High Priest of the Severed Thorn,
Humbly requests the honour of your presence
At Kenoveigh, 19 Alturiak 1488,
To celebrate the occasion of his eighteenth birthday
The others were momentarily stunned. Jay was the first to regain his composure.
"This is a tremendous honour, Your Highness. Thank you."
"Don't mention it. These were the best seats I could wrangle up. They're not great, but hey, no one else had their invitations delivered personally, did they?"
"Is there a dress code?" David asked.
Edgar's smile faltered.
"Well, to be honest...most people will be spending hundreds of pounds on their outfits. But if you wear your dress uniforms, I don't think you'll stand out too much. Or I could lend you some of my clothes...no, wait, you're all too big...damn..."
"Can we bring a plus one?" Erik asked. "Thought I might bring Hilda Krikoroff."
"Hilda Krikoroff?" said Martin. "Since when are you and Hilda an item?"
"A gentleman does not kiss and tell. Anyway, can I bring her?"
"I'm not sure," said Edgar. "Let me see your invitation."
Erik handed it to him. He read it, and his face fell.
"I'm sorry, Erik, but unless it says so on your invitation, you aren't allowed to bring a guest."
"Oh."
"Is that really important to you? I could try and get you a better seat if you wanted."
"Nah, don't bother," said Erik, seeing the genuinely apologetic look on the prince's face. "Besides, I'm not even sure if she can get the day off. She works in the kitchens, after all."
"I wish there was more I could do," said Edgar.
He turned to leave, when, suddenly, he froze, and his eyes narrowed. After weeks of near-constant irritations, this was the last straw.
"No, you know what? This is ridiculous! This is my party! If you want to bring a guest, you get to bring a guest! Because I say so! Because I'm the crown prince! And if these bloody party planners don't like it, they can KISS my ROYAL ARSE!"
And with that, he stormed out of the mess hall, slamming the door behind him.