Donning the disguise
Dan's POV
"Why did you invite her to a ball, that hasn't even been announced yet?" Donavin asked Diana as they rode back to the castle.
"Well, girls need time to get ready for such things and I figured with your track record you'd never ask. So, I stepped in to help Your Highness."
"What?" he asked perplexed, not expecting sass from her of all people.
"You have chickened out every time you go to tell her who you are, and you've never told her about your feelings for her either," Bret explained.
"She'll have traveled the continent, married, and have five kids before you grow the balls to come clean to her," Mark added, not one to put things delicately.
"Thanks, you are always so encouraging." he sighed, "I know, I plan to tell her when we meet in a few days." Even he didn't fully believe his words. He was a coward. When he was with Vera he didn't feel like the awkward and weird prince that was an embarrassment to the royal family. Even when she bested him in a fight or commented on his extreme nerdiness, she'd never looked down on him. His confession would change all that.
"I'll believe it when I see her ripping you a new -"
"Mark! There is a lady present," Bret warned."
Mark snorted. "Well, I think I've made my point."
"You have," Donavin assured him.
They quieted as they neared the side entrance to the palace grounds that were conveniently located by the stables that he had escaped from all those years ago. The guards at the gate stomped their spears in solute as they arrived in front of them, the sound of steal on stone ringing through the air. "I thought I told you not to do that if I'm not in my royal attire" Dan complained.
"Sorry your Highness, but we have orders from higher up we can't ignore," Peter said.
"They've been looking for you again and your father is quite angry… And Adamant that we always announce you extra loud, so they know when you've arrived… or left." Cole added in warning as an attendant came rushing over having likely been waiting for the signal of his arrival.
"Uhg," he gave a very unprincely groan. Then he sat up straighter and thanked Cole for the warning. He held his head high and gazed forward as he'd been taught and did his best to ignore all the whispers and eyes that came with being royalty. Not that there were that many which is why he used this gate, besides his party and the guards there likely wasn't anyone around but the stable workers he'd long since befriended… but you could never be sure. The head steward who sought him out now, couldn't be considered a friend but he considered himself far too professional to spread roomers.
"You are to meet your father and brother in the meeting hall, and to change into this before you get there." The steward, Eddier, said holding up a fancy red coat and shiny shoes.
"To meet with the warlords? I doubt very much they care about all that finery." Dan stated.
"Regardless, those are the orders, your highness."
"Fine, Bret please make sure someone takes good care of Thunder, Mark please come with me, and please be professional, I need someone I trust to translate anything I can't catch, I'm not that fluent in Harnezian."
"Your Highness, you know how your father feels about that- guard- in public settings." The attendant said disapprovingly as they walked into the palace's main building threw a side door.
"I know, and I'll deal with any backlash there may be, but I want a translator I can trust, and his presence may help endear them to us, he is half Harnezian after all."
"They will not be endeared to you by my presence, they likely won't trust you until they have seen how well you care for your horses." Mark retorted.
"See, helpful already." Both Mark and the steward gave him doubtful looks, but he just ignored it and removed his coat as Eddier led the way down a semi-secret hallway designed for a quick evacuation of the Royals to the stables. He handed his brown coat to the steward who took it with a look of disgust and visibly cringed when he pulled the fancy red coat over his simple brown tunic.
"May I suggest… dusting off your pants?" the steward asked, and he knew next time he'd be waiting with a full change of clothes. He dusted them off, and when he stood back up the Steward was holding out a comb and black grease. He sighed and shot Mark a 'get ahold of yourself' look when he started laughing.
He'd had to oil his hair back for all public events since he was a child since his father's advisors seemed to think that his reddish wild hair made him look too Calidic like his mother and not Centrizian enough for royalty. The oil darkened his hair to a dark brown and kept every disobedient hair firmly locked into place. He hated it, it made him feel greasy and gross; besides he actually liked his unruly burnt copper hair. The steward then tied a black ribbon around the end of his hair at the base of his skull to make it look even longer than it was even though it appeared longer anyway once combed straight.
Handing the comb back as he reached the door.
After wiping his hands on the offered cloth and donning the new shoes handing his boots to the openly disapproving steward and gave his pants a final dusting. The Stewart assessed him again then took his own neck scarf, tied it around Dan's neck and tucked it under the lapels of the coat, effectively hiding the commoner's tunic underneath. With a nod of approval at his handiwork the steward dismissed himself... likely to dispose of his clothes and wash his hands.
It felt like he was wearing a disguise, hiding his truer self, though in both his personas he lied about his true self to those he cared about. He took a fortifying breath and then opened the meeting room door as Prince Donavin.
"Took you long enough, do you know what time it is?" his father nagged.
"Time for negotiations to begin I hope."
"What are you wearing?" his brother said mockingly at his dark brown riding pants that were far more practical than princely and didn't exactly go with a dress coat.
"The same coat as you it appears," he replied rather than draw more attention to his fashion failure. Thankfully there were no nobles to take notice and he doubted the Harnizians would care that much if they noticed at all as they likely weren't that fluent in the current fashions of this kingdom, nor did they hold as much stock in appearances.
"That is not- what is he doing here?" his brother sneered looking at Mark who'd just stepped in behind him.
Ignoring his brother he turned to the guests and bowed in the Wildland's fashion
"I deeply apologize for being late, had I known we were supposed to meet earlier, I'd have cut my ride shorter," he said with sincerity.
One of the warlords with long gray hair gave him a half nod, "It hasn't been that long and we hadn't set up a time until late this morning; after all our people had been settled." The old man spoke in heavily accented Centrizian. He wore heavily beaded bleached leather completely different from the leathers the northerners wore, this leather looked thin, and light. And was worn loosely without any furs.
Glancing at the table, he inwardly cringed, didn't his father have advisors for foreign relations with other nations? The parlor would have been a better environment, more relaxed and open, these men were not used to discussions at a formal table and there was water and wine and that's it. were their customs purposely ignored for intimidation or posturing purposes? but this was supposed to be a good-faith negotiation and they'd never been on particularly hostile terms with them unlike with the kingdom of Ceril.
"Mark, could you please send the steward to get me some tea? Oh, and have him bring an assortment in case anyone else wants some," he added as if it had been an afterthought; not wanting to explicitly call out his father for not thinking of it. These men did not touch alcohol during important discussions, though celebrations were a different matter entirely according to Mark who had lived among them for years and tea was a common custom among both their nations. Mark nodded and stepped away.