"Take good care of her," Cyril sent the tavern's stable boy a smile that stole his breath. "She's my friend." The boy was taken aback by the tender affection she showed the horse. She patted the horse's side before she turned to him and held out a single gold coin. The glint of gold broke his trance, and he tried to decline it out of fear. "Take it and take care of my friend here. I don't need you to hand feed her and treat her like a queen, but just make sure she isn't mistreated."
"Of course, me' lady!" The boy took the coin after several more assurances that Cyril didn't want over the top treatment of the shire. "I'll give her fresh apples as well!"
"That's more like it." Cyril let out a melodious laugh. The boy, no older than Priscilla, blushed. She bid him a good day and left the large stables. Beyond the stable's doors, was a courtyard. It was larger than courtyard a city tavern had the right to have, but the Ivory Pavilion was Gully's Port's best tavern by word of mouth. Cyril weighted the remaining ten gold coins in her hand. She considered depositing it into her storage.
"Don't do it," Priscilla warned her as she appeared at her side.
"I was only thinking about it." Cyril rolled her eyes and dumped the coins into the new leather pouch. It hung beneath the hilt of her sword. "Where did you come from anyways?"
"I waited for you." Priscilla smiled innocently.
"You were supposed to go with Desmond to get our rooms," Cyril said as she found an empty table to sit at.
"Desmond wanted me to make sure you didn't rip reality open in front of everyone." Priscilla laughed. "I have half a mind to believe you'd do it."
"I do not rip reality open in --" Cyril was cut short by Priscilla.
"Your storage space." She reminded her.
Cyril's lips were parted, caught mid-sentence. Her pride wanted her to fight against the notion. The problem was that spatial magic technically was ripping apart reality. At least, in the way she designed it to be used. It was a cool notion she had stolen from a movie with Jax, and thus, she added it into her game as the lore behind it.
"So is any other magic." Cyril huffed in defeat and Priscilla covered her mouth as a grin began to spread.
"Anyways," She began. "I never knew you were a natural flirt."
"How?" Cyril's right eyebrow raised.
"The stable boy." She said. "I saw what you did in there." And she was also a tad jealous that damnable peasant got to hear Cyril's lovely laugh.
"People are more willing to do nice things for you if you're nice to them," Cyril said as she waved over a barmaid. She only ordered a mug of water while Priscilla chose tea. The barmaid disappeared into the tavern, and out came the rest of the boys. Mai was absent. "Where's Mai?" Cyril asked.
"She'll stay in her room," Randol said bluntly, still annoyed with Cyril.
"I wasn't asking you." Cyril bit back.
"A prince does not--" Randol was cut off my Priscilla.
"And she's the creator." Priscilla buffed out her chest with pride like a minion would do when their boss was a big shot.
"You're getting braver," Randol observed, annoyed that for once, someone other than his father could speak to him without respect.
Added into the pot of grievance that Randol had compiled since Quinn's Wood; he had to add Assem's saber in. Cyril had stopped at a large weaponsmith on the way. She had sold Assem's saber for nearly half its worth. Fifteen gold coins. Randol had wanted to hand it over to his uncle as an apology, though, Cyril was a vindictive goddess from what they found out. The shop owner offered to pay twenty-five gold coins for the saber, as he had known someone who'd pay for it.
Randol, still annoyed with her, had begun to argue with her in the shop. Honor demanded that the sword be handed to Assem's father. Cyril had the shop owner lowered his buying price by a gold coin. When Randol had begun to argue again, She lowered it again. Then again, until it had stopped at fifteen gold coins where Randol had finally kept quiet. To top it off, she kept ten for herself and handed Mai the rest. She did so while she kept eye contact with the angered prince.
Randol took that as an insult to his pride.
As they sat at the table, the maid came by and took their requests for food. Desmond rubbed his head in distress. Cyril had been quite the agreeable person, if not allot somewhat, but she turned out to be just as stubborn as his brother. She had wiped away the blight of the northern lands, yet Randol couldn't be happy about it. The woman had slain a dragon in a matter of minutes. That fact may have been the only reason his brother hadn't challenged her to a duel. There was nothing he could honestly do to her, even if he tried.
"You were doing so well a moment ago," Desmond sighed again. "Can you both just at least act amicable?"
"Only if he apologizes," Cyril said resolutely.
"Only if she promises to tell Assem's father what she had done." Randol said.
"Fine." Cyril shrugged. Randol hadn't expected her to agree, his retort hung on the tip of his tongue. "I'll do it." She said.
"Okay then..." Randol's eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"Dearest brother," Desmond sighed again. "Bury this hatchet, please."
"I apologize for arguing with you," Randol chewed the words awkwardly.
A smile bloomed on Cyril's pink lips that made Randol smile back on impulse.
"Done!" She said as the barmaids delivered their food. "Friends?" She held out her delicate white hand out.
"... Friend." Randol said as his tanned and calloused hand took hers.