The man called him a lord, which was categorically incorrect on all counts, but even as Ber started saying, “Oh, sir, I’m no lord, I’m just…” he was invited to watch. His voice trailed off as he tentatively approached to get a better view, wondering who Zander Albright was and what kind of paintings he created. The stranger dipped his brush into glowing paint and spread it with practiced ease across the canvas, but if Ber thought that show of skill was impressive, the effect it had generated nothing but awe.

Eyes wide, he could only stare, speechless, as the painting before him came to life. The endless layer of clouds billowed across the top of the painting as though blown by an invisible wind, a grayscale backdrop broken by the occasional bird that rose into the sky. Down below, tiny figures wandered around on cobblestone roads as if the streets led somewhere other than to the edge of the canvas.

“That’s incredible,” He breathed, once he had found his voice again. “I didn’t know paint could do that.” Paintings were hardly a rare commodity in Skia, but never before had he seen ones that moved. And he knew of no magic that could create such wonder.“Where did you get this? And what is it enchanted with? A potion?”

The man’s explanation clarified some points of confusion while simultaneously revealing entirely new ones to Ber. He blinked, then after a long moment, finally asked, “I’m sorry. Did you say animal souls, sir?” It seemed like the most polite line inquiry to follow, considering his other two included questioning how and why the painter was here if he’d journeyed from across the continent and how he could have met some enchantress forty years ago when he looked to be about forty himself. “And these, ah, souls - they’re gems?” That had to be some Arynn Frey thing, right? Surely not all gems were animal souls; for his entire life, Ber had been told that crystals and gemstones were nothing more than pretty rocks - albeit ones that could earn him a nice sum of gold if fenced to the right individual.

“That’s good, I suppose,” Ber agreed faintly, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that they harvested souls from living beings to cast their enchantments, even if they did so humanely. “You must have a lot of gems.” The soldier couldn’t help but think of the puppy, Artos, who had wormed his way so thoroughly into his heart, and to that end, he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask what happened to the animal who lost their soul. Perhaps unsurprisingly, he was reminded of the witches who stole orphans from the streets for potion ingredients. Dark eyes fell on the painting with its little moving people. It felt wrong that something so wonderful had come at, what felt to him, such a high cost. Ber wasn’t sure he really wanted to know more.

Luckily for him, all thoughts of harvesting souls vanished completely when the painter, who was apparently Prince Akagi Llewellyn of Arynn Frey, introduced himself. For a long moment, Ber simply stared as he tried to work through the mortification and figure out how to salvage the situation. The first step would be to bow, which he did, quickly, before straightening up and offering, “I’m sorry, Your Highness, I didn’t recognize you.” Though he’d never met anyone from Arynn Frey before, he knew recognized the name of Princess Ophelia’s husband just as easily as any other Nevermerean. Princess Ophelia… who had been attacked under his watch.

Ber resolved not to mention that part.

Flustered, now, even in the face of the Prince’s apparent delight and indifference to any offense Ber’s ignorance ought to have caused, the soldier hastily answered the other man’s question. “Berengar Stormcrest, sir. It’s an honor to meet you.”

Relief crashed over Ber, overwhelming any sort of sheepish self-awareness he might have felt in response to the compliment regarding his last name, and he returned the prince’s grin with a small smile of his own. “I appreciate that, sir.” Indeed, throughout their short conversation, Prince Akagi had seemed far more like a normal human being than some distant, incomprehensible royal. Perhaps they were more laid-back about such matters in Arynn Frey; the soldier dreaded to think of the consequences should he fail to address Nevermere’s king with the proper deference.

At the prince’s question, he was quick to nod his agreement. “Of course, sir,” He offered, deciding in a heartbeat that lunch with a prince from Arynn Frey far surpassed any training he might have had later that day. After all, he had already dedicated his morning to patrolling the streets of Skia, as ordered, and besides, he was hungry. That did leave him with a slight dilemma, however. “Ah, where were you intending to go for lunch?” Ber asked, scratching the back of his neck as he lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug. “In the castle, I only know the mess hall for the soldiers, but I don’t think you would really want to eat there.” Even if he was a humble royal, Prince Akagi was still a royal and likely accustomed to fare far richer and more palatable than the meals that they offered the soldiers in the military wing. He didn’t think the prince would be interested in any of the establishments he frequented in the city either, given that they were all rather average taverns. After he figured out where they were going and they set off, he asked curiously, “Have you been to Nevermere before?”

Prince Akagi’s enthusiasm at eating in the mess hall had Ber blinking, speechless, at him for a moment, before he collected himself and hesitantly agreed, “If that’s where you want to eat, sir.” He glanced around at the man’s guards, who seemed to have opinions rather similar to his own, but they all knew who among them made the calls. “Um, follow me, then.” And utterly bewildered at how he was about to take the Prince of Arynn Frey to dine in the soldiers’ mess hall, he started to walk in that direction.

As the other man lowered his voice to a whisper, Ber leaned in slightly to hear, only lean back slightly to consider the snickering Prince with slightly raised eyebrows. Keeping his voice low, he asked curiously, “There’s an underground fight club in Lorendale?” That seemed interesting, but even more interesting was the news that the Prince of Arynn Frey had fought the King’s Huntsman. “You fought— Who won?” Before he could inquire any further, however, the prince moved on to a conversation Ber was not prepared to have. The soldier paused.

“I… I never met him, sir,” He said slowly, staring at the stone floors ahead of them as they walked. “I guess – I guess no one’s told you, then? He died last season.” Never had he delivered the news of a death to someone who cared about the deceased on a personal level. Ber glanced sideways at the prince. “I’m sorry.”

The change in Akagi’s voice had Ber hunching his shoulders a bit, wishing that he didn’t have to be the bearer of bad news. The former Captain Commander’s death hardly impacted the soldier on a personal level, but it had still been strange to watch the impact of his death ripple through the military wing. And apparently the echoes of his death hadn’t quite faded entirely.

Akagi’s pat on the soldier’s back had him glancing over at the prince, a hesitant smile on his face. He nodded along to the words of wisdom, understanding them on an intellectual level more than an emotional one, but he felt a little better all the same. Though it was hardly a surprise, Akagi seemed saddened by the loss of his good friend, but he wasn’t as distraught or overcome by the knowledge as Ber had feared he might be. “It sounds like you knew him well,” He observed quietly, barely cutting off the habitual ‘sir’ that threatened to escape. Respectful of Akagi’s request, however, he was content not to dwell any further on the matter.

Lorendale and their secret fight club was a much more enjoyable topic anyway. “My lips are sealed,” Ber promised quickly before listening attentively to the story. When Akagi was finished, he nodded his agreement. “That sounds exhilarating.” He couldn’t imagine what it would be like fighting alongside Lassiter - or against her, if the rumors were to be believed. “You and the huntsman must’ve been quite the sight to see.” They had entered the mess hall, and Ber led them over to the line of soldiers waiting for food. Aware of the promise he’d just made and the potential for eavesdroppers now that they weren’t in a quiet hallway, he lowered his voice a little when he asked, “Do you like sparring, then? If you were, you know…” In an underground fight club in Lorendale.