The Horned Forum was far tamer than the witan, back home. Heiko was sure the spiny mettle which they were named after would soon enough rear its ugly head, but the aplomb they maintained in the face of the… shameful Second Prince was spectacular indeed. 

Of course, such behavior from the Horned King, himself, was nothing if not anticipated. As steady as a mountain, that man - or so said Heiko’s father at some point or another.

“A fucking maze, this be,” Seneschal Jurgen grumbled to himself as the entire Simonese retinue traversed through the east wing of Girigo Palace, down corridor after corridor, in what seemed to be a purposefully indirect fashion, led by a waifish Ilysian slave.

After some time of this, she came to a stop in front of a sun-bleached, wooden door. A single sun-bleached, wooden door.

The prince surveyed further down the hallway, and then stole a quick glance back. He mused momentarily, before springing away from Dries’ ever-ready reach.

“One chamber,” he hummed to the timid little pet, as he came up behind her, “will not do. I am well aware that your king was expecting a total of six, and I doubt that he would be happy to hear that you, my dear, dared to soil his gracious name by slighting us out of a second apartment.”

It was common knowledge that Ilysian slaves were used gently, so it did not surprise Heiko that his thrumming threats wound her muscles like a deer staring down a wolf.

“I do not yet know which of the legates coerced you into believing that your king was a wretched and spiteful man who would relish in the idea of insulting his northern guests in such a paltry way, but I suggest that you take this opportunity I am providing to amend your choices, lest I bring them up to the master, himself.”

If he were a more upright man, he would have felt guilty over how pathetically her breath hitched - perhaps he would’ve even attempted to assuage her panic - but the prince was in no place to dispense pity unto others. And anyway, by the speed at which she was able to right the keeled situation, the prince had assumed correctly – it was a member of the Horned Forum who had fed her misinformation. Likely a lamentable attempt at retaliation, as if Heiko had any control over being lesser than his brother Alfred.

It could have been the work of any of them, he figured, save the king and Commander Adesso, who would’ve had neither the time nor the lack of dignity to implement something so feeble.

“Come now.” Advancing with a celerity that the prince could not dodge, Dries seized the back of his neck, urging him forward towards the slave, who had hastily doubled back down the hall.

Heiko grit his teeth, hissing, “I readily await the day that your actions are judged.”

Dries’ chuckle might as well have been the guttural rumble it so closely mimicked. “If I were you, I would only be focused on your own day of judgment, aetheling.” 

He shoved the prince forward again, this time into the airy chamber that the slave had unlocked for them.

“The other room will be opened for you, Your… Your Grace,” she stumbled as Heiko was forced past her, but the hirdman offered him no chance to reply, leaving the duty, as always, to Seneschal Jurgen.

“Doesn’t it feel so pleasant,” Dries murmured close to his ear, “to assert your power over others, my lord?”

The prince’s body shivered with revulsion. “Not even curs get pleasure from such a pitiable act.” 

If it were just him and the hirdman, Heiko would have already spat at him, but the repercussions - at least while under the overly attentive gazes of the others - were simply not worth lording over the man for such a short-lived victory. 

“Do you think the inclination to it finds you so easily, Dries, because not even cheap whores with the smallest semblance of self-worth would bow to you - and not even with the reward of their weight in gold?”

Dries’ free hand found the soft skin between Heiko’s ribs and hip bone, spiking the prince’s pulse. Still, he knew better than to react.

“I do not need cheap whores to bow to me…” the hirdman whispered, adding pressure onto the delicate spot until he hit the point at which he knew bruises would follow. The prince stifled his pained grunt as Dries went on, “...when I have a prince that does so easily.”

Before Heiko even had time to react - an action that was bound to be far more violent than he wished to display in front of the rest of the retinue - Dries was torn away, his body forced to fold forward by the iron grip of Seneschal Jurgen, latched around the back of his neck.

“My prince,” the older man spoke over the hirdman’s groaning, “I will share the other apartment with you. The rest will be quartered in this one. Do you find this arrangement agreeable?”

Heiko appraised Jurgen first, and then Dries, damn-near on his knees. “Quite so.”

The seneschal grumbled and released the hirdman. 

“Sit,” he ordered him, “before I am forced to handle you like a cur again.” Turning to the other two who had found themselves awkwardly awaiting his attention, he tacked on: “You would be wise to follow him - I am tired, I am famished, and I am sweating like a thief wearing rubies in court. My patience will strike at the next one who tries it.”

The prince swallowed his smirk, resolving, instead, on contentedly watching Jurgen’s words seep beneath the skin of the ealdorman and Hirdman Kaifin, instilling an ungainliness as they searched for a place in the chambers to settle themselves.

The latter found a narrow, wooden bench pressed up against the southern wall, lowering onto it gingerly. The ealdorman took a cushioned armchair by the unlit hearth and, predictably, it was he who also tried to make the first attempt at reclaiming a scintilla of his thoroughly trampled authority. He began with a deep inhale, as if he were garnering the attention of a full courtroom.

“Seneschal Jurgen,” came his nasally voice - the result of an ill-set broken nose when he was but a young lad, “perhaps it would be wise to keep in check the whims of the prince, seeing as you have volunteered to superintend him while here.”

Heiko arched his brows. The man's boldness was both disarming and impressive. As the Ealdorman of Glasemeir, Martijn Bauke was a lord of the lower echelons within the Simonese Witan. This baroque remark of his was one he would not dare to even dream of spouting aloud, had they been on Simonese soil. It was irrefutably the work of Ingo and Dries – one granting him temporary power and the other showing him how to wield it.

But men like that – men who were so easily swayed by the actions of others – did not last long in the presence of the Viper Prince.

“His whims?” Jurgen could not have been less attentive to the man as he fought to unbuckle the top clasp of his thick jerkin.

Martijn huffed. “Taunting King Vincente’s servants is neither mandatory nor tactful.”

“I could not concur more vehemently, Ealdorman Martijn,” Heiko agreed, resting himself against the doorjamb. “What is mandatory, however, is spotting duplicity when it crops up. Surely, in your infinite diplomatic wisdom, you would not suggest that we ignore such an underhanded and childish slight from an Ilysian legate.”

Even within their own courts, the assumption always was that Heiko did things impetuously, but in Ilyos there was no Ingo to hide or stifle his ever-ready justifications. Because of it, the ealdorman - entirely unprepared for Heiko’s swift defense - fell short of words.

“When there are nuggets of advice that contain an iota of forethought and sense,” he went on as he pushed himself off from the jamb, “I will listen to them intently. Until then, I have no choice but to retire from this perversion of reason. Seneschal Jurgen, since you insisted upon accompanying me, you will do so now, lest you be infected by the same, tiresome drivel.”

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