I'm back with a new chapter! Sorry, it's been over a month since the last. I've been very tired and busy what with the end of the school year (and so on), so I haven't felt much like writing. Still, I eventually managed to finish this latest chapter. I hope you enjoy reading it.

Thanks to Raiseth (on SV) and Volossya (on AO3) for beta-reading this for me. Much obliged!

The Thrill-Seeking Prince

By the time he was ten years old, Prince Jeord Stuart had already realised that life held no savour for him. Anything he wanted could be his, if he just asked for it, but there was nothing he wanted.

He understood that he was lucky: unlike countless thousands of people across the world, he would never have to worry about hunger or poverty, he had been born with powerful fire magic, and there was a high chance that one day he would be the king of Sorcier. He was given everything he could possibly want: fine clothes, delicious food, and expensive toys designed by master craftsmen; but none of those things came close to easing his ennui. Because he seemed to succeed even when he made no effort, he had no reason to appreciate his successes. In many ways, his good luck had become a burden that he would have been glad to be rid of.

Compliments no longer held any meaning for him. He was endlessly commended for his natural talents, his ability to rapidly memorize anything he was taught, and his skill with a sword that enabled him to defeat much older boys in the practice yard; but, when people queued up to give him extravagant praise, their words washed over him like rainwater dripping off a stone statue, and he paid them no heed.

He had a vague feeling that nothing in his life was real. Everything that anyone said to him was because they wanted something from him, not because they truly believed that he was as wonderful, as handsome, or as skillful as they said he was. At court, there were plenty of ambitious nobles who were eager to introduce their sons and daughters to him, in the hope that he would befriend them and thereby increase their social standing: they only cared about what he could do for them. His tutors seemed to like him and found him an apt pupil, but the only reason why they were involved with him was that they were being well-paid for their work. Even his parents seemed to want to have as little to do with him as possible: of course, they told him that they loved him and were very proud of him, when they remembered that he existed, but the rest of the time they were too busy with their duties or lost in their own pleasures. He didn't mean anything to them, not really.

In the practice yard, he could outfight any of the boys his own age or a few years above, but he suspected that most of them were holding back, unwilling to show him their full strength and prowess for fear that, if they defeated him, they would get into trouble for it. Even when he was matched against adults – his combat tutors or members of the Kingsguard – they barely fought back, but instead focused on defending themselves, dodging and parrying and turning aside his attacks, rather than smashing him into the dirt like he knew that they could. No one was willing to give him a real fight. His twin brother, Prince Alan, tried his best, but he wasn't good enough.

Alan had been a sickly baby and hadn't been expected to survive. Their mother had coddled him, kept nursing him for years after he should have been weaned, and held him back from receiving the same education as Jeord, so that even after he grew to be as strong and healthy as any other child there was no way he could catch up. He may have been as intelligent and magically talented as his twin, but he'd had far less training: no matter how hard he tried, he wasn't a worthy opponent. Because Jeord always bested him easily, Alan hated him and strove to outdo him at every possible opportunity. Usually, he failed. Nevertheless, their rivalry was one of the few things that Jeord enjoyed. Alan's hatred was sweet to him. It was almost as if he mattered to someone – almost as if someone cared about him – for the only time in his life.

Neither of his elder brothers was like a brother to him. Prince Ian treated him as an annoyance and an obstacle to be avoided; Prince Geoffrey was attentive and affectionate in a way that made Jeord deeply uncomfortable. Even when he was whispering endearments or coiling his arms around his younger brothers, there was a blank, soulless look in his eyes. Jeord stayed away from him whenever possible and shuddered whenever he heard the noise of a rusted door hinge.

For centuries, the Targaryen tradition had been that the most powerful mage among the king's children would take the throne regardless of birth order. This had resulted in multiple civil wars, including the devastating 'Dance of Dragons' that, at the time, had reduced the number of mages in Sorcier to a mere handful. Nevertheless, they had rejected pleas to change their succession policy, no matter how much chaos and destruction it had caused, until at last the Civil War had brought an end to the Targaryen line. Many people expected the new royal family, the House of Stuart, would follow the same traditions. If they did, it was almost certain that Jeord would be the next king, after his father eventually passed away, because he was a more powerful mage than any of his brothers.

If either of his elder brothers had cared about the throne enough to want to fight for it, Jeord might have enjoyed competing against them, pitting his wits against theirs and trying to prove that he could do better than them, but neither of them did. Rulership was a burden that they were happy for him to bear: secure in their carefree and comfortable lives as royal princes, they had no desire to take on the duties and responsibilities that would come with being the next King of Sorcier. Alan was the only one who seemed to want the throne and was jealous of Jeord because of the general assumption that he would be their father's designated heir. For that reason, Alan was his favourite brother: he made life more interesting than it would otherwise have been.

Even after he was betrothed to the Lady Katarina Claes, there were still a great many noblemen at court who seemed to think that he might prefer to have one of their daughters instead, and insisted on recommending them to him with an enthusiasm that made him feel uneasy. Some of the things they said confused him and made him anxious: he wasn't sure what they meant by their meaningful glances and sly remarks. What exactly were they suggesting that he should do?

He hadn't wanted to be betrothed to Katarina, who was as spoilt, vapid, and self-obsessed as any other nobleman's daughter, but after the silly fool had fallen over and banged her head while walking with him in the palace gardens, his father, King Robert, had seen it as an opportunity to bind his family to the wealthy and influential House of Claes. Therefore, he had forced Jeord to offer her a betrothal, saying that he needed to take responsibility for scarring her and thereby ruining her marriage prospects. Jeord would have railed against the unfairness of this, as well as the fact that he was being forced to apologize and take the blame for something that wasn't his fault, but it had occurred to him that he would have to get married to someone . As far as he could tell, all young noblewomen were vain, boring, and empty-headed, given little education in anything other than dressing themselves, praying to the Seven, and how to please men – as if being fawned over was in any way pleasing – and, if he had to marry any of them, it might as well be Katarina, who was the same as all the rest.

If he had been given the choice, he would have preferred to marry Sophia Ascart, his best friend's sister. However, she was painfully shy, some people muttered that she was 'cursed' because she was an albino, and her father was a man that the majority of Sorcier's nobles perceived as being little better than an up-jumped commoner, despite the fact that his many achievements had been so tremendous that he had been made Hand of the King because of them. Jeord knew that he would not have been doing her a kindness by thrusting her into prominence as his fiancée.

The idea of marrying Lady Katarina didn't appeal to him, but there were few things in life that held any appeal for him. The only times when he felt truly alive were when he was involved in his father's hunting trips, using a crossbow to shoot small game or helping to chase down a creature that was desperately struggling to survive. Meat never tasted as good as when it had come from an animal that he had personally killed. He wasn't permitted to use his fire magic to hunt with – it was considered to be unsporting and it tended to make anything that he killed taste like charcoal – but he didn't want to. Because he was only ten years old, he was kept far back and guarded by armed men, but he dearly wished that he could ride with his father and pit himself against dangerous animals such as stags or wild boars. He wanted to come within charging distance of a creature that could easily kill him – he wanted to triumph over it, to take the shot that pierced its heart or lungs, or to feel its struggles getting weaker as he grimly held on to a boar spear and kept it at bay – he wanted the thrill that came with risking his life, which he had only been allowed to experience a few times before.

On this particular hunting trip, he had killed a running hare – a difficult shot, over a great distance – and would have been crowing over his success if not for the fact that he had just learned that his elder brother, Prince Ian, would be leaving them for a rendezvous with his betrothed, Lady Selena Burke. As servants loaded his prize onto a hunting cart, Jeord declared, "I want to visit my betrothed. The Claes family lands are much closer than those of the Burkes; I could reach them in only a few hours."

His father laughed boisterously, clapped him on the back, and cried, "A ladies' man, just like his father!"

Jeord gave him a hopeful look. "Please can I go?"

"Very well, we will all visit the Claes family," King Robert decided. "It will be good to see my old friend Luigi again."

"This hare will be a gift for my betrothed," said Jeord, indicating the hare he'd killed. "I'll need a box for it."

"Can't you just give it to her as it is?" asked his father with an impatient sigh.

"No, I want to give it to her in a box, so she can't see what it is until she opens it."

His father sighed again but seemed willing to humour him. "I'll get you a box from somewhere," he promised.

And so, while Prince Ian and a few trusted retainers went to visit the Burkes, Prince Jeord, his father, and the rest of the hunting party set off towards the lands belonging to the Claes family. It would take them until late afternoon to reach their destination.

The real reason why Jeord had insisted on being allowed to visit his betrothed – other than his feelings of jealousy when he thought that his brother, Prince Ian, was being given special treatment – was because he had an idea for a spiteful trick that he could play on her. He artfully arranged the packaging inside the presentation box so that, if it was tilted slightly and offered to Lady Katarina, the dead hare would tumble out of it as soon as she removed the lid. He hoped that it would fall on top of her, but even if it didn't it would give her a fright. She would scream, her dress would be smeared with congealed blood and other sickly juices, and he would feign concern while taking great pleasure in her distress. At least, that was what he intended.

When the King's party arrived at the Claes manor, Jeord smirked to see Duke Luigi and his servants doing their best to look pleased that they'd had a royal visit sprung on them with so little advance warning: a messenger had been sent to tell them what King Robert planned to do, which could only have given them a couple of hours' notice at most. At least they wouldn't have to dig deep into their stores of meat since a more than ample supply of that had been provided by today's hunt.

His betrothed was trotted out to greet him. Lady Katarina Claes was wearing a pretty and expensive-looking blue dress, her long hair was adorned with ribbons and had been combed until it shone, and she put on a bright, fake smile when she looked at him. All that was as he had expected. What he had not expected was that she was holding hands with another young girl, about the same age as her, as if clinging to her for comfort and support. When he had met her before, she had been a selfish and oblivious little girl, constantly chattering away about what she wanted, without a care for anyone else, but she had at least been lively and spirited. She hadn't needed anyone else to reassure her, until now.

"Good afternoon, Your Royal Highness," said Katarina, curtsying to him without letting go of her friend.

A moment later, her friend copied her, parroting the words "Good afternoon, Your Royal Highness," and then curtsying just as his betrothed had.

"So formal, Lady Katarina?" he said, a note of mockery in his voice. "Really, I thought we had moved beyond such inanities. You were ever so bold, the first time we met, before your unfortunate accident…"

He saw her quivering slightly. Was she afraid of him? That was new. He was intrigued.

"Won't you introduce me to your little friend?" he asked, putting on a charming smile that was just as false as hers.

"This… is Miss Sienna Nelson, daughter of Lord Nelson, one of my father's bannerman," said Katarina, in a voice that was barely louder than a whisper. "She is my lady-in-waiting."

"And I am sure that she is delighted to serve such a benevolent mistress as you," said Jeord.

Katarina did not reply, but Sienna nodded vigorously.

Cruel amusement caused Jeord's smile to widen. "Aren't you pleased to see me, my dearest?" he asked. "I have brought a gift for you."

As if rousing herself from an unpleasant dream, Katarina blinked, looked directly at him as if searching for something in his expression, and said, "I am grateful to you for such a generous gift, my prince."

Jeord laughed at that. "And it's not as if you've even seen it yet!"

He signalled to one of his attendants to fetch the box containing the dead hare. The royal hunting party had brought a sizable baggage train with them, which only seemed to have grown since the King had decided that he would be spending the night at the home of his dear friend, Duke Claes, so it took longer than Jeord would have liked for his attendant to return with his prize. In the meantime, he watched as Katarina and Sienna exchanged tender glances and seemed to draw strength from each other's presence; he felt unaccountably resentful of the bond they shared. Shouldn't his betrothed be looking at him, paying careful attention to everything he said and did, and not at her lady-in-waiting who, after all, was little more than a glorified servant?

Stricken with pangs of jealousy, he wished that someone would look at him with as much fondness and concern as Katarina gave to Sienna. Or that someone would gaze adoringly at him, hanging on to his every word as though trying to commit it to memory, as Sienna did with Katarina. He was a prince, one of the most important people in all of Sorcier, so why did no one care about him as much as these two silly girls did for each other?

By the time his attendant carried the presentation box into view, his enthusiasm for the prank he had planned was already beginning to pall, but he felt as if he had no other choice but to carry on with it.

"This is my gift to you, Lady Katarina," he said, taking the box from the man who was holding it. Because it was a large box and the dead animal inside it was surprisingly heavy, he thought for one heart-stopping moment that it was going to slip out of his hands and crash to the ground. One of the bottom edges pressed into his stomach rather painfully, causing him to wince, but he managed to brace it by bending his knees and adjusting his grip.

"I think you should put it down," said his betrothed, eyeing the box suspiciously. "Be careful."

"Don't… don't you want to see what it is?" he asked, gasping for breath. "Open it, go on!"

There was a pause. Katarina glanced at her lady-in-waiting as if looking for reassurance. Then, after a moment, she let go of her hand and began to shuffle forward, hesitantly at first, very gradually picking up speed. There was something wild and frantic about her movements. When she was close enough, she reached for the box and threw off the lid as if it was red hot.

As Jeord had expected, the dead hare spilled out of the box as soon as the lid came off. Katarina darted backward, as if she had been expecting it too, and the fresh carcass fell on her foot. She gasped in surprise and kicked it away from her; it rolled over a few times and landed on its side, scattering some gravel that had previously been neatly raked.

"Katarina!" cried Sienna, running over to her. "Are you all right?!"

There was a greasy stain on the hem of Lady Katarina's dress and one of her shoes was bespattered with a similar substance; otherwise, she appeared to be unscathed. Jeord thought it was ridiculous that Sienna was fussing over her so much: it should have been obvious that she wasn't badly hurt.

Katarina heaved a sigh, but she seemed relieved rather than exasperated. She gave her lady-in-waiting a dreamy smile and said, "I'm fine. How are you? You're not hurt, are you, my dear?"

"No, of course not. It didn't come near me," said Sienna.

"That's good," said Katarina, giving her an affectionate hug. "I was worried. Usually, it would have… well, you know."

Sienna flushed red with embarrassment. When she was released from her mistress's embrace, she dropped to a crouch, bending to examine the stains that the dead hare had left behind. "Oh no! Your dress is ruined!" she bleated, even though there was only a tiny splatter on the hem: it was hardly worth worrying about, Jeord thought.

"Perhaps the laundry maid can do something with it. If not… well, it doesn't matter. I have other dresses," said Katarina. "I'm just glad that you're safe, my dear."

Getting up slowly, Sienna gazed into her mistress's eyes and said, in a breathy voice, "My lady…"

They were so engrossed in each other that Jeord was infuriated: why weren't they paying any attention to him? Putting down the box, he made more noise than was necessary, slamming its exterior against the gravel. Then, when they turned their heads to see what he had done, he blurted out, "It was an accident! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!"

Katarina glanced coldly at him, annoyed at his interruption. "Yes, I suppose it must have been," she said, without enthusiasm. "Very well, you are forgiven."

He didn't know what to say next. 'I don't need to be forgiven!' he wanted to shout. 'I haven't done anything wrong!' But then he remembered the cruel prank he had planned, which had proved to be far more amusing in his imagination than in reality, and felt deeply ashamed of himself.

"I suppose that I have made a fool of myself, Lady Katarina," he said ruefully.

She nodded. "I suppose you have. But never mind: it could have been much worse."

Jeord frowned at her. "What do you mean by that?"

Although it was a warm afternoon, she shivered. "Um… I feared that you might…" Her voice faltered and fell silent. She was unable to finish what she had been trying to say. Instead, she shook her head and muttered, "It doesn't matter. Forget I said anything."

"Why are you afraid of me?" asked Jeord. "The last time we met, you were so…" He wanted to say 'domineering', but he knew that would be taken as an insult. Instead, he said, lamely, "Confident. Self-assured. Talkative. Now, you don't seem to want to talk to me at all."

"You just threw a dead hare at me," she reminded him. "I'd say that was a good reason for my being cautious, wouldn't you?"

"It was an accident! I didn't mean to!" he repeated.

"Before I fell over and scarred my head, I was a different person. My recent experiences have changed me," said Katarina. She took a deep breath, reached out, and clasped Sienna's hand again, as if she was in need of someone to comfort her. "I'm sorry, I'm not the girl you knew back then. Therefore… you don't have to marry me if you don't want to."

"We are betrothed. It is expected that we will get married when we are both old enough," said Jeord, as if explaining to a small child. "I don't have a choice in the matter and neither do you."

"As you say, my prince. Nevertheless, if you fall in love with another woman – someone pure and sweet and beautiful as a flower in springtime – I won't stand in your way," she said, sounding acutely earnest. "Please, please, remember that."

"Why would you say that?" he asked, bemused. "Do you want to break our betrothal?"

She shook her head. "No, of course not. If that happened, I would be disgraced. But even that would be better than the alternative."

"What alternative? What do you think is going to happen between us?"

"I… I spoke foolishly. I am just a stupid girl who knows nothing of the ways of the world," said Katarina. "Forgive my inane prattle."

"You're not stupid!" cried Sienna, leaping to her defence. "In many ways, I think you're perfect."

"Thank you for your loyalty," said Katarina, smiling at her. "It's more than I deserve. Now…" She glanced around; her eyes alighted on the dead hare lying on its side on the gravel path. Marching over to it, she picked it up, not seeming to care that she was staining the sleeves of her dress. "There's no sense in wasting good food. I'll take this to the kitchen."

"I'll do it," Sienna offered.

"No, it would make no sense for you to dirty your dress as well," said Katarina. She gazed fixedly at her lady-in-waiting and, in that moment, seemed to have forgotten that Jeord was present. "You look lovely, by the way."

"Thank you," said Sienna, shyly averting her gaze.

"One of your servants could do it," Jeord pointed out, indicating one of the maids who was anxiously dithering over whether or not she should intervene. "You could give it to her."

"Oh no, I wouldn't want to make a mess of her uniform either," said Katarina, shaking her head. "I've already been soiled; I might as well do it."

Jeord fell silent, surprised and thoughtful. Katarina Claes was a very unconventional young lady, he realised. He just wished he had known that before.

Katarina sauntered off in the direction of the Claes manor's kitchens. After a moment, Sienna decided to accompany her. Jeord was left alone. One of his attendants picked up the discarded presentation box, which was scuffed and scratched because of how he had dropped it, as well as the lid that Katarina had thrown aside, and unobtrusively returned it to the baggage train. Otherwise, none of the servants came near him; they must have seen what a fool he'd made of himself, so either they thought it best to leave him to brood alone, or they were afraid that he would take his anger out on them.

Someone must have told his father what had happened. Before long, he saw King Robert Stuart marching towards him, a scowl on his bearded face, eyes glinting with rage. Because of their long history of interbreeding with the Targaryens, Stuarts tended to be lean and compact, but King Robert was an exception: he was a big, burly man, ruddy-faced and barrel-chested. Like two of his sons, he had silvery-blond hair, which was another sign of their Valyrian ancestry, although his was fading to white.

There was silence, for a moment. King Robert glowered at his son but didn't say anything. Jeord stared at the ground, not daring to meet his father's gaze.

"Many times, your tutors have told me what an intelligent young man you are," he rumbled, in a voice trembling with suppressed fury. "Bearing in mind how often they sing your praises, I expected you to be somewhat competent. I can't believe that you could be so stupid!"

"It was an accident!" Jeord protested, for the third time. "I didn't mean to!"

"Are you sure about that?" his father asked. "I know you didn't want this betrothal, or to take responsibility for the ugly scar on Lady Katarina's forehead, so it seems to me that this was your way of rebelling against the demands your mother and I have placed upon you. Is that what you had in mind?"

"No! I wasn't thinking anything like that!" Jeord lied. "I'm sorry, I was a fool! But I didn't mean for this to happen!"

His father cuffed him, knocking him to the ground with one meaty paw. "Idiot boy!" he snarled. "When word of this gets around, no one will be surprised if the Claes family decides to betroth her to someone else. You've given them the perfect excuse to back out of our agreement, should they wish to."

"But… ugh, Katarina seemed to think she would be disgraced if that happened," said Jeord, slowly getting up and dusting himself off.

"Is that what she said? Hah!" His father gave a scornful laugh and shook his head. "Young as she is, I doubt that there'd be much of a scandal or that it'd harm her chances of making a good marriage match."

"You told me that I needed to take responsibility, that no one would want to marry Lady Katarina because she had such an ugly scar on her forehead," Jeord reminded him.

"And you believed me? Hah! No matter what your tutors say, you've got a lot to learn, my boy," said King Robert. "No one marries highborn ladies because of what they look like. If they happen to be pretty, that's a stroke of luck, but looks are hardly the most important aspect of any marriage between nobles. Most men would marry a woman who looked like a horse, or a pig, or a beached whale, if it meant a generous dowry and an alliance with a powerful family. For instance, I married your mother to get myself an army and the allegiance of the river lords."

"I… I thought you loved my mother."

The king's grin widened. "Love? What's love got to do with anything? Save all your words of love for when you want to entice your mistresses into bed! No, what matters is that the Claes family is very rich and their dukedom is one of the largest in all of Sorcier. If she wasn't betrothed to you, their daughter would have no shortage of suitors. Even if her facial disfigurement was much worse than it actually is, they'd be queueing up to ask for her hand in marriage. She doesn't need you."

"Then what am I supposed to do?" Jeord wailed.

His father prodded him with a fat forefinger. "From now on, if you want this betrothal to work, you're going to have to work for it. You've made mistakes, so you'll have to make up for them. In spite of what you've done, you'll have to convince Lady Katarina and her parents that you are the man she should marry. It'll be a challenge, but don't let that deter you – the prize will be worth it, in the end! What do you say to that?"

"I'll do it," said Jeord, filled with fresh determination. "I'll convince Lady Katarina that I am the man she wants."

"That's the spirit!" His father slapped him on the back, nearly sending him sprawling again. "You can make a start tonight: you'll be sitting next to Lady Katarina at dinner."

In the privacy of his own mind, Jeord vowed that someday he would get Lady Katarina Claes to look at him with as much love and affection as she gave to Miss Sienna Nelson. Much more than that, in fact: if that was how she looked at a mere lady-in-waiting, he wondered how she would look at her husband-to-be, when at last he made her fall in love with him. He found himself eagerly anticipating that day, more avidly than he had ever looked forward to anything in his life before.

However, later that evening, he found it difficult to engage Katarina in conversation while they were sitting together at dinner. She was perfectly polite to him, but she was too distracted to pay much attention to anything he said: she was much too busy attending to Sienna's every need, even to the point of cutting up her food for her. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought that Katarina was the lady-in-waiting and Sienna was her noble mistress.

Whenever he saw Katarina with Sienna, he saw how kind, caring, and solicitous she could be. It made him feel envious. He wanted her for himself.

Author's Notes:
I had planned to write a more detailed commentary for this chapter, but I'm going on holiday tomorrow and I don't have time right now. Maybe I'll add to this when I get back. In the meantime, please let me know if there's anything you'd like me to explain in more detail.