CW: mentions of facial scars and a missing eye (no graphic depictions though)

Life at the Court is a balancing act between polite insults and sarcastic compliments, with tricks and dishonesty being important skills one needs to master to survive. Thus Wystan appreciates the candor of the Lost, no matter how crude and annoying they get at times, though sometimes it does grate on his ears. Clear conversations, spat curses, and lively teasing is enough to forget the life he was born into. The life that's now forfeited due to, he suspects, his siblings' political posturing.

Well, Wystan did step on several toes lately and the nobles are always loud when he baits them. Regardless, he is a prince and as such, riling Lord what's his name or Lady whoever shouldn't have led to him being, in all but name, exiled. Until it has. Until it became a sufficiently decent excuse for Kyneburga and Camdyn to get rid of the threat to the throne.

Like they did to Faye.

It's almost hysterically funny. Neither Wystan nor Faye had the ambition to rule.

When Paxton died in the war, Faye became the Heir. Unlike Wystan, who never really got along with his older siblings—the chasm was too big; the twins being fifteen years older and Paxton ten—Faye had a good relationship with them. Maybe Faye was the only one who thought so. He had grieved along with Camdyn after Paxton's early demise and helped Kyneburga nip the rumors that arose among the finicky elite at the time. All for naught. The twins vested him to the highest bidder anyway, severing the ties and displacing the Crown Prince. One cannot place the claim to the throne of the Empire if bound to another royal line, says the Imperial Law. And with Wystan in the low ranks of the Army, it was easy for Camdyn to bestow the title upon the oldest of his three children.

"Boss, do you mind if I go ahead and scout?"

Wystan gives his attention to Kelcie. She has already changed her clothes into something inconspicuous: an olive shirt resembling what seems to be part of the workday clothes they've recently seen people wearing, dark pants, and a long, gray coat. None of the pieces look too shabby but there are signs of usage—perfect to fit in. Her short black hair is wrapped in a green see-through shawl, going all the way to cover her eyepatch, and a coating of makeup softens the curving scar underneath.

"You know what to do," he replies.

She grins. "Of course, Your Eminence." And with those parting words, she disappears into the woods.

Wystan keeps looking after her for several minutes, trying to figure out why Kelcie's expression was so tight, her words not holding the usual amount of levity, and her body language off. He snorts, deciding she must've played another prank on the rest of the Lost, which he's probably going to hear about soon enough. If she wanted him to know about it, she would've told him. It's likely nothing that will affect their next course of action. He pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind and turns to address the rest of his party.

"Gauge with me. The rest of you divide into two groups. One should check the rations list and restock everything that's missing. Don't make a mess and don't agitate the locals. The rest is coming with us. We're going to investigate that," Wystan finishes off the orders by pointing at the potential tower of the rumors. Something tells him they need to go. He doesn't like to go against the instinct.

Now closer than before, he can see he'd completely miscalculated the size of it. Not just one tower, yet an almost castle-like monstrosity sits on a softly rising hill, with the tallest part looming over the house-dotted green fields. The rest of it circles the pinnacle with walls of moderate height but tall enough to offer an advantage during a siege. The stone is dark gray, ashy, and probably hasn't been polished in ages. Not like the main castle in Summer Brooch which turns it pristine every two years, making it blindingly white in the sun and eerie opaque under the moonlight. Perhaps abandoned? Maybe for the best. They've found the beast and need a place to stay. Wystan would like to forgo the whole princess in the tower hearsay. 

The road is, not exactly well-maintained, but accessible enough with only a few bumps and holes. Mud, of course, graces the tightly-packed earth and stone like slobber, but the wagon is maneuvered with an ease they hadn't experienced since entering Leeches Stretch, which was just a few days south of the Empire's capital. Two and a half weeks of unexpected rain and screeching thunder marred the traveling experience.

"My, my!"

Wystan feels Gauge moving closer as he snaps his eyes toward the treeline and shifts into a light stance, prepared to take off at the slightest warning bells ringing in his head.

There is a man leaning on one of the curving boughs, arms crossed over his chest, and an eyebrow arched in an inquisitive expression.

The Lost did what they do best; their weapons are out and their stances are changed at the first notion of the intruder. If he can call the man that considering there's nothing to intrude on. Wystan whistles softly in a pattern the armed mercenaries should recognize to be a signal to stand down and wait for his command. Gauge is the last to react as he slowly makes a large copperish dagger, which Wystan didn't even notice being out there before this, disappear somewhere into his wide-sleeve overcoat. 

The man hums, tilting his head. Dark chestnut hair pulled into a high tail, a few days' worth of stubble, and almond eyes that seem far too amused. Wystan frowns, opening his mouth to ask—

"So, you're the mighty hero that made the dragon run away," the stranger interrupts with what Wystan would bet his whole inheritance is fake admiration mixing with glee in his voice. "Quite the achievement."

Gnashing his teeth to abstain from scathing remarks, Wystan switches his body language to the one that always works with nobles. An agreeable smile blooms on his face as he brings a hand to rub the back of his neck, short hairs soft under his fingers. "I wouldn't say so." Ah, he never did say he couldn't put on the same act he's been seeing for his whole life.

"Well, color me impressed." The man gestures with his hand, his words sounding almost genuine. "You are the talk of the village. Everyone would love to hear about your accomplishments, Mr. Knight," he says and all Wystan hears is: I would like to know your business here. 

The annoying chitchat at the Court may sound aimless but it never is. One can learn a lot from absentminded comments or anger-born words. This man must know how to play the game. What to say, how to continue? Wystan wonders. It's not the same as with the nobles back home. He knows them like the back of his hand and understands how their minds work because he'd been taught to do the same until he put the unwanted tutoring to rest, escaping to the Empire's Army. This situation is new. One wrong move and all his careful maneuvers will topple like a house of cards.

"Pardon my curiosity, but we would like to know who we are speaking to."

Bless Gauge and his naturally inquisitive personality. Throw some skills in interrogation and manipulation into the mix and Wystan is pretty sure the mercenary could sell you hardened horseshit under the guise of an ancient artifact. And that skill has likely saved his life countless times.

"Ah, I didn't introduce myself! How forgetful of me." 

Wystan sincerely doubts so but says nothing and lets the stranger continue.

"Name's Alexei," the newly dubbed Alexei introduces himself and straightens up from where he's been leaning against the rough bark of the tree. So, they got just the name. "My turn now. Seems like you're on a voyage." He points at the wagon perched on the muddied earth. "If you need a place to stay, I'd love to offer you rooms—"

"We wouldn't want to impose," Wystan smoothly interjects before the spider's web coils tighter around their party.

"Nah, don't worry." Alexei is smiling now. Uh-oh. "It's pretty lonesome to be in the castle—" He points to the mystery tower and its outside structures. A goddamned castle! "—even if it's small compared to some. The more the merrier!"

Wystan has lost the battle of wits, it seems. He looks around and sees hopeful expressions, some mercenaries go as far as pouting at him. The promise of a roof over their heads is a strong incentive after spending weeks under the steady stars and mischievous clouds. He'd sound like a tyrant if he refused them comfort. They don't care about shady men appearing at the right time and right place to offer sanctuary, they're here to help slay a dragon. The creature that Wystan saw with his own two eyes, is and probably will be here in the near future. If not, it's a good place to start searching for clues considering the last sighting was indeed here.

"If we're not a bother," Wystan replies after a long moment of silence, "we accept your invitation."

"Splendid!" Alexei says, clasping his hands. "I'll show you the way. Please, follow me." Then he starts walking down the road, springy on his leather-clad feet and expertly avoiding the muddy puddles.

Alexei turns around, walking backward as he continues leading them further and further, that irritating smile plastered on his face. "So what are your names?"

Wystan narrows his eyes at the man when he isn't watching.

The battle was lost, but the war is still ongoing.