Stepping into the tent, the muffled laughter and voices fianlly be came claer. Around a fire, men and women around his age sat in circles, nestled on pillows, drinking, talking and smoking. The one with the most people near him, wishing to talk to him was Elias, numerous men and women each vying to get his attention, offering drinks, food and themselves to get his attention. Tristan looked at him for a moment. Even if he looked happy at engaging with them, smiling and laughing, he could see the same disgust that he looked at him with; the prince saw through the scheming of the people around him and found it displeasing.
With a thought not to go near him, Mabel dragged him over to the space she was previously in and sat him down next to her, before talking to her friends again. Many shot Tristan strange looks, recognising him as the one who danced with Mabel, with a few of the men's glares being colder.
'So long as they think we have some form of relationship, they won't do anything stupid. Especially with Elias here, unless he starts it.' Shaking his head, he continued to watch. Unsurprisingly, Cillian and his sisters hadn't been invited, but what he was surprised about was that Matthew sat on a small throne of pillows, perfectly sculpted to maximise his comfort, in his hand a long pipe with smoke wafting out of it. Leaning backwards, he blankly stared into the ceiling and mumbled to himself, everyone making sure to keep a clear distance from him.
"Annabell followed his gaze and stared at Matthew for a while, moving around Tristan's head in a restless manner. "Annabell?" Tristan questioned her but didn't get a reply straight away; instead, the bird continued to move, as if unsure what it was.
"There's soemthing familiar about him. He smells like that cunning fellow."
"Who?" Annabell narrowed her gaze.
"The Crow," Annabell said distastefully, but still couldn't be certain.
"I thought you saw everything?"
"He's cunning for a reason. I could never truly see him. If we merge, maybe I could, but right now, I can't be sure." Tristan nodded and continued to watch Matthew blankly stare at the ceiling, smoking, the cunning Annabell spoke of about his summons lost.
'Why does The Crow sound familiar? Not Annabell, but from somewhere else.'
Mabel turned to him, noticing Tristan being quiet all of a sudden and followed his gaze. Seeing Matthew, she sighed, "Pretend you didn't see anything. Elias and I will make sure to tell Father." Tristan nodded and turned away.
As he did, a man spoke to him. He was a plain-looking man with brown hair and eyes, the only sign of his wealth being the golden earring he wore. "So." Tristan turned and looked him up and down. 'A flatland's noble.' "What is your relationship with the princess?" His words made a few ears perk up as numerous people inched closer to hear Tristan answer.
Tristan smiled and leaned back, "We're friends. One day, we sparred, and although she beat me, we formed a friendship from it. After all, we both are quite fond of swordsmanship." A few nodded, finding the answer acceptable. After all, although in the Valley the Fools Dance was romantic, everywhere else it was a simple dance and game mixed into one. And for a friendship born out of sword fighting, it was the perfect dance for them to take part in.
"Then." Another person spoke up, this time a woman, with streaks of blue running through her hair, the seashells stuck to her face finally loosening after hours. "Are you betrothed to anyone?" The question was a shot out of nowhere, making Tristan drop his thin smile for a moment and blankly stare. Laughing after a second, he shook his head.
"Unfortunately, not. After all, I have rarely left the palace." Tristan smiled and leaned back, grabbing a glass and the vase of wine on a nearby table and pouring himself a glass.
"You rarely leave the palace." The same girl replied, "Did you not visit your parents' territory?" Tristan looked at the woman and smiled.
"Unfortunately, I never got the chance." Everyone around understood the meaning of his words, and the man proceeded to move on, getting the opening to continue to press Tristan.
"But you must understand what it means to ask the princess to dance. No one dared to throughout the whole day for that reason." Tristan smiled and looked the man up and down, seeing his family sigil, a brown sikle next to hay on a blue background, on his shoulder.
"Lord Adams." Tristan's half smile rose ever so slightly, "Must there be any deeper meaning behind two friends dancing. We simply wished to enjoy ourselves, and other than her brother, I am the only one she knows who can keep up with her during the Fools Dance." His lies flowed smoothly. Lord Adams narrowed his gaze and shook his head.
"But she even went to collect you, and..." Lord Adam peeked at Mabel. Seeing she wasn't paying attention to them smiled, "You spent a rather long time outside, alone. I, of course, am not suggesting anything, but words spread.... Forgive me, I do not know your name."
Tristan narrowed his eyes, "You know my name." It was one thing to be disrespectful, but the threat of spreading a fake story about the two was dangerous. 'Is he an idiot. If he wishes for the Princess's hand, threatening to spread rumours is the worst way.'
"Unfortunately, I don't." Lord Adams said again, his lip twitching, struggling to keep his smile on.
"No." Tristan smirked, "You don't know the name of the family you serve. The ones who unified the continent. The ones who are your betters." Knowing it was time, his smile vanished as he leaned on his hand and stared deep into Lord Adams' eyes.
Although trying to hide it, Lord Adam's grinding teeth sounded over the crackling fire and conversation around them. A few of the lords and ladies around the two chuckled at Lord Adams display. "Cosmaton."
"Then why did you say you didn't know my name?" Tristan paused for a moment and, faking his surprise, tapped his chest, "Forgive me." Lowering his head, he put on his fake thin smile, "You wished to know my first name. You should have just said. Tristan. Tristan Cosmaton."
"There is no need to apologise." Lord Adams glanced around the tent and, seeing a space available in another group, rose, "Forgive me, but someone is calling me." Getting up his face darkened from the snickers around as the group circled around Tristan, finding the previously unnamed princeling suddenly entertaining beyond his relationship with Mabel.
"That bird." One of the Lords siad staring at Annabell, "Ah, I remember now, you were at Lord Clover's party the other day. You sat with him, didn't you?" The group's ears perked up once more at his words, and their gazes changed. Unlike the previous entertainment, they saw the glimmer of an opportunity in Tristan that could help them.
'Even here it never changes.' Looking at the group who slowly saw him less as a person and more as a chance, he wondered if he was a hypocrite for his opinions of Elias, 'So disgusting. They don't even hide it.' Trying his best to keep the smile up, he nodded, "Yes, Lord Clover allowed me to sit. We had a good conversation, but his attention was quickly stolen when his sister arrived."
"Those two are strange." One of the Ladies of the Artlands said, "It is baffling how a lady can have so many bastard children and hold her head as high as she does."
"It is not only that. Lord Clover encourages it. Just because he does the same thing does not mean he should allow his sister to do so. She tarnished the Clover name by doing so." Everyone nodded, except those from the Flatlands who coldly stared without voicing an opinion.
"Why is that an issue?" Tristan said, unsure why they were so hostile toward Sandra. It didn't make sense if their words came from a belief in gender roles, after all, Mabel sat behind him, and she was a person known more for her controversies rather than her beauty. "If anyone believes Sandra Clover tarnished her family's name with her actions, then the same can only be applied to Lord Clover. After all, he has many more than his sister."
One of the men scoffed, "It's different."
"Why?" Tristan tilted his head. Although he wasn't fully supportive of the twins' way of life, he wasn't one to judge. He had no reason to. They weren't cruel nor evil; instead, they were simply people who enjoyed life and refused to be shackled by the opinions of others. In some ways, it was commendable how easily they tuned out the noise.
"He's a man. We can set aside the degeneracy he takes part in as that cannot be defended, but having one of two mistresses is nothing." Tristan scoffed and shook his head.
Lifting a hand, he smiled and raised a finger, "One: it isn't one of two, mistress, but an unknown amount. Secondly, if you are so against Sandra's way of life." His gaze narrowed as his smile grew, "Why don't you say anything about Lady Seaworth?"
The lords and ladies turned to face the man, waiting for the single chance he would provide to get close to Lord CLover. The man's lips twitched as he stared at Tristan, wondering why he was forcing him into an unwinnable position.
"Those are disgusting rumours that have no basis. I am sure you would not know, seeing as how you rarely leave the Palace." Tristan laughed and shook his head.
'I hate this.'
"Of course, they have no basis. So then what about the Princess? After all, she takes up the sword rather than etiquette."
"Have I done soemthing to offend you?" The man finally asked, unable to understand Tristan's sudden vendetta. Tristan didn't speak straight away, and sensing he didn't want to, Annabell spoke for him.
"You are a hypocrite with a disgusting soul. You keep saying things and judge one person without another based on nothing more than their gender when they both do the same." Annabell's childish voice harshly said.
"What did you say? I'm not having a fucking bird insult me." The man looked to Tristan, "You should put your pet on a leash and speak for you-" Tristan moved quickly, grabbing the man by the collar. Throwing a punch, he hit him in the nose, breaking it and making blood explode.
The tent fell silent the moment Tristan moved, the sound of a bone breaking and a pained groan cutting through like a knife. Two people grabbed Tristan, afraid he was going to do more.
"Tristan." Annabell softly spoke, trying to calm him down. Only when he heard her voice did he realise his mistake and unclenched his fist.
"Three mistakes. One: Annabell isn't a pet. Never say those words before me again. Two: she shall never be leashed, as you put it. Thirdly, what she says is not an insult, but the truth." Turning to Mabel, Tristan looked down at his hand and shook it. "Forgive me, My Prince, Princess. I will be taking my leave."
Stepping out, Annabell looked back at the tent and waved the wing before nuzzling into Tristan's neck, obviously overjoyed about his words.