He'd seen the procession and its banners and men and the whole train of people who followed foreign kings around when they went "visiting" and then... wholly failed to show up to greet them. In fact, he'd slipped out of a servant's door at almost the exact moment his older sister had barged into his chambers to make sure he was getting ready.<br/><br/>He already knew the justifications they would give to cover up his absence. Something banal that would nonetheless excuse what would have been an insult and a snub.<br/><br/>He was ill, or had some accident, or was the only one who could handle some sudden catastrophe (which was laughable, to anyone who knew him) and would be around later to introduce himself as soon as he was able, of course. Tight smile, exasperated fondness, a scolding being composed in their heads as they said it.<br/><br/>Or they just told him the truth: Ryland was empty-headed and irresponsible and lacked good sense.<br/><br/>Well, if some barbarian conquerer with an army looming in the future was coming to their teacup kingdom to "visit" then Ryland was going to take the most advantage of what would probably be his brief, remaining freedom before they were all slaughtered. That<i>was</i>good sense.<br/><br/>"And your father just--" His friend Illya said, waving her hand at the castle's walls, visible from the third story window she was currently ensconced in. "--<i>lets </i>him in."<br/><br/>The villa was situated in the sprawling, busy town that wrapped around the castle. Illya's father was a duke, and in any other country, he might have been set up with a suite in the castle. But their castle was, simply, not big enough. And besides, Illya and her family were rich. They had built themselves a very nice, comfortable villa. White washed, newly crafted furniture, all the fashionable carpets and curtains.<br/><br/>Ryland lifted his heels up, glancing around the room impatiently. "So is your brother actually here, or...?"<br/><br/>"But<i>why</i>?" Illya said, glumly. Her hand flopped back into her lap, making the volume of her skirts give a puffy sigh.<br/><br/>Ryland smiled. "Well. So I can snog him, of course."<br/><br/>"Oh, not you. I know what you're about." She made hand gestures at him that said:<i>You're a flirt </i>as she turned to the window.<br/><br/>"<i>Madam.</i>I'm--"<br/><br/>"You don't have the temperament to be offended."<br/><br/>He bit his lip against a smile. "I could be offended at that."<br/><br/>"But you won't. You won't even be offended by a bloodthirsty king walking into your castle, taking stock of all your troops and horses and supplies, getting a good, long look at the repair of your walls."<br/><br/>Ryland shrugged. "I'm not sure what he hopes to learn. Banque being called a 'teacup kingdom' isn't exactly ambiguous. We are very small, very fine, and very delicate."<br/><br/>"Then maybe he is just looking for an investor." She turned an exasperated look on him. "Can't you be responsible for once and just go and see?"<br/><br/>"Responsible," he said, and it sounded like the word was choking him, "is a waste of my figure<i>and</i>income."<br/><br/>"You know," Illya said, "my brother went to the castle an hour ago to rescue you from your boredom."<br/><br/>"What! Illya, you could have<i>said</i>." He took his cloak from his arm and started to fasten it on. "Where did he say he was going to try to meet me?"<br/><br/>"Probably outside wherever you were going to meet the king."<br/><br/>He turned on his heel and started laughing. "But that's the last place he should have thought to meet me!"<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>He almost thought it was a ploy to get him into the actually meeting, but Illya turned out to be right. He'd surprised Asher right outside their small meeting hall where he was peeking in through a crack in the door from the serving room. Asher's foot had banged into a cart laden with refreshments when Ryland slapped his hands around his waist, and then it had been a fit of quiet cackling and admonishments.<br/><br/>It was a little too dark to see the flurry of hand movements that made their court-double-speak, so they had to whisper and hope they weren't heard.<br/><br/>It<i>was</i>the last place Asher had looked, it turned out.<br/><br/>And Ryland did hear part of the meeting, but only by accident. After being pushed behind the curtains, he'd lunged at Asher only to have the young lordling wrestle him about, trip over another cart, and then thump him into the door.<br/><br/>Even with a mouth under his ear, he heard the sudden draw of a sword and the footsteps heading toward them. The handle rattled.<br/><br/>Asher abandoned him.<br/><br/>Ryland thumped backwards onto the floor as his brace against the door was swung out from under him. He only missed cracking his head on the floor because the guard caught him. And he only missed being skewered because it was one of their own guards.<br/><br/>"Oh," Ryland said. "Hello, Ehbes."<br/><br/>Ehbes righted him, nearly reached forward to pat the dust from his clothes, then stopped. "Your Highness." He sheathed his sword and disguised a small movement from his hands:<i>Sorry.</i><br/><br/>Ryland patted himself down. A velvet sash and jacket, in dark green and dark red, set off golden skin and golden hair, now mussed. He hadn't even bothered with the circlet--it would have been hopelessly tangled in a tryst, he well knew. He was rumpled anyway, though, and in a casual movement, did up the front of his cream undershirt up to his neck, covering the sensitive, just-laid red mark that Asher had put there. His pants, at least, were still fastened. A quick, lazy twist showed him that he had indeed been deserted to face whatever trouble this got them in.<br/><br/>His family--all five of his siblings, his father, and a few cousins--were arranged at the table and staring at him, in various states of disappointment, embarrassment, and resignation. The ones not in direct or peripheral view of the forgeign conqueror and his party were throwing vicious hand language at him.<br/><br/>"May I present," his oldest brother, Crown Prince Gharreld said, "my youngest sibling, Prince Ryland."<br/><br/>Not that young. Nearly twenty-three, with a tall and lithe figure, a square jaw, and green eyes. He knew he was dashing.<br/><br/>"I hope I'm not late," Ryland said, throwing them all a rackish smile.<br/><br/>"We were just going to have someone escort King Kethaias to his apartments." Since his servants were no doubt finished unpacking and this initial meeting was over.<br/><br/>"Lucky me," Ryland said, catching on entirely. He dusted off his arm on the way around the table, and then bent to offer it. "I hope you don't mind your company being inflicted as a punishment."<br/><br/>"Ryland!"<br/><br/>His smile widened. "Or perhaps it's<i>my </i>company."<br/><br/>Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Syssiny motioning at him discreetly.<i>You're going to get beheaded.</i><br/><br/>His hand moved at his other side, out of view of the king.<i>Saves me the grief later. </i>And besides, what could he possibly do that wasn't going to make this man conquer them anyway?<br/><br/>"Please don't mind Prince Ryland's... particular display of... hospitality," she said. "He is only trying to make you feel at home."<br/><br/>Ryland made believe a bit of shock, but didn't withdraw the offer of his arm. "Of course! Have I offended you, Your Majesty? I apologize. Perhaps you'd prefer someone else as your escort?"