Blood Immortal

Fatal Engagement

On the following day after the demonic storm, Prince Aarian awoke in his royal bedchamber. He stretched his arms while yawning and opened his eyes, staring at his balcony. Aarian gazed at the blue sky in awe, surprised that the outrageous storm had passed. When glimpsing at the sunlight and hearing harmonious birds chirp, however, he frowned.

Not even great news of the unnatural tempest passing could make him forget about what was going to happen on this sunlit, miserable day. Today his life would change forever; it would be a day filled with good and bad. He kept telling himself that world peace outweighed personal happiness, yet a part of him struggled with such a belief since he felt forced to abandon his childhood love to marry the elven princess of Lar’a’dos. Nobility rarely get to marry for love, he told himself with sadness in his eyes.

“Am I capable of putting peace ahead of my own desires?” he said with confliction.

Aarian sighed and closed his eyes. He was beyond tempted to just sink back into his bed and hide from the world regardless of the consequences. Yet just as Aarian was about to release himself of his duties as the prince of Vlydyn, several wild swooshes of wind came from his wide balcony with the accompaniment of a squawk. Not one second later, a white- and brown-furred gryphon glided toward the terrace. It wasn’t just any gryphon; it was a narll, a magical creature enchanted with the ability to speak. Upon arriving, it flapped its feathery wings and perched itself on the balcony’s balustrade.

“Rise and shine, Prince Moody,” said the gryphon.

“Uh, not today, Scar,” said Aarian in a groggy tone.

“Yes, today,” replied Scar, squawking. “The elves and humyns are at each other’s throats. If you don’t marry Princess Parla’vasa, I fear there will never be tranquility. This is the only way Vlydyn may have peace.”

“Then to hell with peace,” said Aarian, pulling the blankets over him.

Scar glowered at him. “Since the High War started three decades ago, your father forced the high elves to flee from Vlydyn. Hundreds of lives were lost, and for what? Petty bigotry? Only the dark elves remain by the southern coast—mind you, they despise humyns even more than the high elves. You can make things right again.”

Aarian ignored the gryphon. Not more than five seconds passing, Scar raised his head and squawked louder and louder while flapping his wings. Gusts of wind made all the blankets flutter from the bed. Aarian reached out to grab them, but they flew away. His blonde hair blew back due to the playful gales Scar created.

Feeling haggard, Aarian finally said, “All right, all right. I’ll get out of bed.” As he spoke, Scar stopped flapping his wings, eyeing him suspiciously. “But don’t expect me to give up my happiness and freedom,” he continued, putting on a burgundy robe with a weaved design of a wyvern. “It’s not my fault the elves hate my people for turning their dreary forests into majestic cities.”

Scar began, “It’s not—”

“And it’s not my fault that my people hate the elves for fanatically worshipping nature,” interjected Aarian.

“Ah, but it is your responsibility as the prince of Vlydyn to represent your people and be a mediator,” said Scar in his usual squawky voice. “And incidentally, not all elves are fanatical; otherwise Princess Parla’vasa would have never considered the idea of marrying a mortal, let alone a humyn—especially you.”

Aarian laughed. “What is that supposed to mean? Let me remind you that I’m quite open minded compared to everyone else. And we mortals have more ambition than any other race. We’ve turned what the divine immortal Spirits gave us into a paradise. Nature and civilization can prosper in harmony.”

“Precisely,” said Scar, “which is why you’ll be the perfect husband for Parla’vasa.”

“Ugh,” groaned Aarian, approaching a bowl full of water. He splashed some water on his face, brushed his hair back with his fingers, and said, “Generations of mindless killing instead of seeing reason, yet me sacrificing everything will make it all go away?”

“No,” said Scar. “But it’s a start. And by the way, you’re not the only one making a noble sacrifice.”

“So you remind me every day,” said Aarian.

He stared at himself in a mirror surrounded by royal red curtains. His blue eyes appeared lifeless when he looked at his reflection. He noticed that his hair reached all the way down to his forehead, beginning to cover his eyebrows, so he teased it with his hands until it was lifted a bit higher.

Aside from the elegant robe he wore, he felt his appearance was as much a mess as his life. Nothing had ever gone his way before, he thought. So he was wealthy; so he was a prince; so he had a life almost every other humyn wished they had; what did it matter to him? Feeling like a pitiful slave, nothing mattered to him. He had no genuine freedom. His life was simply an incarnation of his parents’ lives. He could never make any decisions on his own, such as whom to marry, because he could never be a free man and leave Jerelaith—the capital city—as long as he was the prince of Vlydyn.

“Are you done looking at yourself?” asked Scar.

“Almost,” he said, trying not to grin.

“At last, your kingly sense of humor has returned,” said Scar. “I wonder if you’ll be able to maintain it at the wedding ceremony.”

“Don’t count on it.”

“Everybody else is counting on it,” said Scar.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” said Aarian.

He turned away from the mirror and approached the mahogany door of his bedchamber, at which point Scar flew off the balustrade and perched onto the prince’s shoulder. Aarian then opened the door and entered the hall where a guard clad in chainmail armor stood.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” said the guard.

Aarian began, “Not much good in the morning if—” Scar pecked Aarian’s neck with his beak. “I mean, uh, good morning to you too, Zarlando.”

The guard bowed and said, “Your Highness, I almost forgot. Master Dargain was looking for you earlier. He wanted me to inform you that he’s expecting to see you before the wedding in the training room whenever you are ready.”

“Thank you,” said Aarian. “I’ll see him now.” He walked away while murmuring, “Great, another lecture.”

“Ah, come on,” said Scar. “Master Dargain has always been your friend. He has trained you well with the sword and has never stopped being a good mentor. He looks out for you—not simply for the well-being of others, but for your own happiness too.”

“That’s true,” said Aarian with a depressing sigh. “I guess I’m just a bit overwhelmed right now.”

“I understand,” said Scar.

Aarian leisurely walked through the royal corridor. The castle of Jerelaith was filled with rich, colorful decorations—drapes embroidered with emeralds, hand woven wall tapestries of grandiose dragons, and crimson carpets stretching from hall to hall. Best of all, the entire castle had been constructed with marble. No matter where Aarian went, it shined in magical splendor. He eventually reached a spiral staircase, making his way to the top. A few knights were standing guard, all of whom bowed at his presence.

“I have much to do,” said Aarian to Scar, nodding at the respectful guards. “Hopefully whatever Master Dargain has in store for me won’t take too long.”

“If you can trust anyone, it’s Master Dargain,” said Scar.

“I know,” said Aarian, approaching the central chamber.

The doors were already open. Prince Aarian entered the spacious room filled with racks of weapons and wooden mannequins fitted with iron armor. At the heart of the chamber stood a knight clad in steel armor with the tabard of an indigo-furred hippogriff. His complexion was as light as the prince’s, yet his eyes and shoulder-length hair were brown. He also wore a weathered headband. Sweat formed on his brow as he remained still in a meditative backbend.

“Master Dargain,” called out Aarian.

Dargain opened his eyes, straightening his legs. Gleaming, he turned toward the prince and bowed.

“The eternal Spirits honor me with your presence, Prince Aarian,” said Master Dargain.

“No, the Spirits honor me with yours,” said Aarian, bowing.

“Hey! What about me?” asked Scar, flying off the prince’s shoulder and gliding across the chamber.

Dargain laughed softly. “Scar, it is a blessing to see you too,” he said.

Scar smiled, perching on one of the many armored mannequins. Upon landing, Dargain petted him and smoothened his feathers.

“Zarlando told me that you wanted to see me,” said Aarian.

“Ah, yes,” replied Dargain. “Please, come closer.” When the prince approached him, he playfully continued, “Don’t be so timid. I’m not going to torture you. No meditation or sword practice today.”

“Truly?” said Aarian in disbelief.

“Truly,” repeated Dargain. “I prayed to the Spirits of the Nine throughout the night. They guided me with the wisdom to comfort you today. Besides, the king and queen are torturing you enough with this ‘arranged marriage’ of theirs.”

“Reminding me of it isn’t the same as comforting me,” said Aarian.

Dargain teasingly frowned and said, “Come now, you may not like such drastic decisions, but moping about the inevitable won’t bring you any peace of mind.” He approached the prince, held his lean arms firmly, and continued, “Listen to me. It is not my intention to magnify your troubles; however, we both know that even if Princess Parla’vasa hadn’t agreed to this sacred marriage you’d still need to marry a princess. Belisa may be a wonderful woman, but the fact is she is only a knight’s daughter.”

“It doesn’t matter to me!” snapped Aarian, kicking one of the mannequins. Scar twitched and squawked from the sudden noise while Aarian added, “I am the prince of this kingdom, not a slave. Shouldn’t it be my decision?”

“We’ve had this discussion many times before,” said Dargain. “And we can keep having it. Yet what would change? We both know that your parents won’t back down, not after the high elves agreed to this.”

“But surely something can be done,” said Aarian.

Dargain stared at the prince sympathetically. “You could run away,” he said. “It’s quite simple: disguise yourself, find Belisa, and leave Vlydyn—never to return.”

“That’s perfect,” said Aarian sardonically. “Except that I would be remembered as the selfish prince who could never be responsible.”

He sighed with tears in his eyes, on the verge of screaming. Aarian wanted to curse at the Spirits of the Nine for making him a prince in this life. A voice within him kept telling him to be selfish and run away with Belisa, his secret love whom not even his family knew of. But another voice within him felt curious about why an elf princess would marry a humyn. Did she feel the same as he? The seemingly endless war between the humyns and elves was pointless to him. Perhaps she wanted it to end as much as he did, or maybe they were equally as miserable about the arrangement.

“Are you all right?” asked Dargain, placing his arm on the prince’s shoulder.

“Master Dargain,” began Aarian in a troublesome tone, “I need your courage and strength now more than ever.”

“It is not my strength you need, but the wisdom of the Nine,” said Dargain. “There is no need to meditate—simply reach out to them. The eternal Spirits were once mortal like us. They weren’t born into greatness; they changed their destinies and molded their own fate. Thus the Nine transcended and became immortal, watching over us. They don’t want you to be miserable; they simply want you to see your potential so you can be successful. Though, no man can ever become a man of greatness alone. Seek out their wisdom—pray to them—and they will in turn reach out to you, guiding you on the path to greatness.”

“What wisdom could I possibly gain in these few hours?”

“One may meditate for centuries and experience nothing,” said Dargain. “Yet one may pray for seconds and become enlightened.”

“Seconds?”

“Yes, Aarian, especially at the Temple of Thay’tal,” said Dargain, giving the prince a sly wink.

The prince let Dargain’s words settle into his mind. Although nodding, he nevertheless felt disheartened. He hated meditating, much less praying. Aarian just wanted to live a carefree life. But if a simple prayer could help him change his life, for better or worse, he’d be willing to try.

“All right, I’ll visit the temple,” he said, unable to hide his resigned frustration.

“A good choice,” said Dargain. “He guards our hearts evermore with determination and perseverance. With his blessing, you will never be lost again. Trust in his insight—for the Spirits of the Nine are one and the same.”

“Just like us,” said Scar, dancing on top of the mannequin’s helmet and getting ready to fly onto the prince’s shoulder.

“Not so fast, Scar,” said Dargain, blocking him. “Your prince needs some time alone. If he is to make such a decision, he can’t have you or me staring down at him. Besides, pets aren’t exactly allowed inside the temple.”

Scar squawked and raised his head high as though insulted. “Fine,” he said.

“Excellent,” said Dargain with relief. “In the meantime, I suggest you start doing some training here.”

“Me?” said Scar, surprised.

“Yes, sir,” said Dargain. “You may be a narll, but you should always be fast enough to attack me no matter how swift I am.”

“Oh, I’ll show you,” said Scar. “After today you’ll be the one calling me Master.”

Prince Aarian walked away with a grin while continuing to hear them tease each other. Master Dargain and Scar had been his best friends for years. When he left the chamber and made his way downstairs, he recalled how Scar and Master Dargain had become his two most trusted friends.

Scar had been given to him by Dargain’s brother—Jorian Frostwarm—an extraordinary wizard in Vlydyn. Three years ago, from what he’d been told, Frostwarm had found a wounded baby gryphon in the southern forest of Grisfall. The humble wizard nursed the scarred creature and used his powers to grant it the gift of speech; thus, it became a narll. Frostwarm then offered the magical animal to Aarian as a birthday present. As for Master Dargain: he was the king and queen’s advisor before the prince had even been born, so Dargain eventually became Aarian’s mentor and trainer. If it weren’t for him, thought Aarian, he would’ve never learned the art of the sword.

Upon reaching the first floor, Aarian’s smile faded away; he’d come back from being up in the clouds. He left the tower’s spiral staircase and entered the castle’s atrium, feebly greeting the passing noblemen and guards who bowed before him. Aarian couldn’t help feel disgusted by their graciousness. He wished he could trade places with any of them. But that wasn’t possible; he was a prince, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Reality hit him hard like a tree falling and crushing his chest. Feeling nauseous while walking past the marble columns, he could hardly breathe. Aarian desperately needed to leave the castle and inhale fresh air. By the time he reached the gate he was on the verge of vomiting. Upon passing the colossal portcullis, he stared at his city. In front of him stood numerous spires that reached the heavens. Most of them had symbols of protection created by guardian wizards known as the Magi.

Aarian put a hood over his head, hoping the citizens wouldn’t recognize him, and went down the castle’s nine sets of granite steps, which symbolized the glory of the divine Nine who everlastingly governed the world. The stairways were surrounded by hills of grass, all of which led to the rest of the majestic city. Upon reaching the main road, he headed toward the center of Jerelaith, where the Temple of Thay’tal was located.

Most of the enchanted skyscrapers were for the residents; though one was the magical academy for wizards called Nor’tai’quil. Some of the buildings, however, weren’t as majestic. The smaller ones were simple boutiques filled with paranormal artifacts, enchanted potions, mystical books on witchcraft, ornamented furniture, pastel paintings, and, of course, exquisite clothes. There was also a smithy near the city’s immense walls of stone; it was owned by Olwe the dwarf who was believed to be the greatest artisan blacksmith in the world.

When the prince drew closer to the heart of Jerelaith, he noticed the majestic Temple of Thay’tal. It was surrounded by statues of famous heroes from the past; the statues were centuries old, and some of them were dwarves and high elves. One even depicted the only Mor’vyi’dou who’d used his power for neither good nor evil, which was nearly unheard of considering dark elves had a reputation for wanting to kill anything that didn’t have elven blood.

Aarian was always amazed to see the statues. The sight also strengthened him, making him remember that the world had once been peaceful. Perhaps this “arranged marriage” would not be so bad after all, he thought. But he suddenly had the impulse to slap himself. Of course this wouldn’t be bad for the world; this would, however, be terrible for him because it’d mean giving up his beloved Belisa. He eventually decided that only inside the temple would he make his decision.

Upon entering the temple, Aarian noticed several clerics—ascetic wizards—meditating and communing to Thay’tal for wisdom. Others were praying on behalf of all living beings, wishing them peace and salvation, which, according to the tenets of the Nine, meant arcane transmigration. Prince Aarian knew that the blessing of arcane transmigration could make the beneficiary immortal, leading to one’s mind transcending and joining the eternal Spirits who were once mortal.

It was dim inside the temple. Though the sun shone through the stained-glass windows, magic had been used to keep some of the light out. Aarian assumed this was only done so the clerics could concentrate better. The main chamber had an exquisite arched vault with arcades along the walls. Candelabras decorated the altar, and near the corners of the temple lay rooms reserved for prayer. All of the chambers—each dedicated to the Nine—were large, but Thay’tal had the biggest one.

Aarian walked all the way to the back, past the altar, and entered the sacred prayer room of Thay’tal. Only one other person stood inside. She wore a purple cloak and, like the prince, kept a hood on to conceal her face. Aarian had hoped to be alone, but this was a public place after all. He prostrated by a corner in the hallowed room, trying to clear his mind in hopes that Thay’tal, the immortal Spirit of strength and perseverance, would hear his troubled heart.

“Aarian?” whispered the cloaked woman.

The moment he heard her voice, his heart raced with anxiety. He’d come here hoping to open his mind to the Nine, yet it remained concealed with torment. When turning to look at the woman, he realized she was none other than his childhood love.

“Belisa?”

“Mercy of U’cleria, you came,” she said with relief, lifting her hood back and unveiling auburn hair that reached down to her waist.

Aarian looked into her green eyes, seeing her tears, and suddenly felt the urge to embrace her. This sacred temple, however, wasn’t the place to be affectionate with anyone.

“By the Nine, we could get in trouble if we’re seen together,” he said.

“But I thought you came for me?”

Eyes widened, Aarian realized that once again he’d been naive. He now understood why Master Dargain had specifically recommended the Temple of Thay’tal and how prayers could be answered within seconds. Was he to really take Belisa and leave? He lowered his head, trying not to cry.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “This is the moment we’ve been waiting for. Master Dargain arranged everything for us. He even said one of the Magi will bring us to the island of Tawajin safely. No one will ever know what happened.”

“Forgive me,” he said, beginning to sob. “I want us to be together more than anything, and yet I feel that if I leave I’ll betray everyone in the world.”

“The peace won’t last,” she said. “This marriage mocks love. Can’t you see? It is empty. Without love there is no purpose. Parla’vasa may be the princess of the high elves, but she’s no different than the Mor’vyi’dou if she thinks this marriage is genuine.”

“I can’t abandon my people!”

His voice echoed so loudly inside the temple that it frightened him. He couldn’t believe he’d just shouted at the woman whom he claimed to love. He felt ashamed of himself and ran away, ignoring Belisa’s cries of protest. A few alarmed clerics gazed at Aarian who sprinted out of the temple, hoping no one saw his face despite him keeping his hood on.

“How could I be so foolish?” he muttered to himself, running back to the castle.

Although he stopped crying, his eyes were bloodshot. He couldn’t afford to let anyone see him like this. In fact, no one should even know that he was walking freely around the city like a commoner or knight. All he wanted to do was return to his bedchamber, crawl into his sheets, and hide from the world until the wedding ceremony.

He was only several feet away from reentering the castle when a tall hooded man dressed in a brocade robe appeared out of nowhere, greeting him with a warm smile. Though he looked frail and walked with a cane, his hazel eyes were filled with life. He had an astounding beard that grew all the way down to his thighs, and his white waist-length hair made his floral-designed robe stand out.

“Good day, Prince Aarian,” said Jorian Frostwarm.

Aarian wanted to curse at Frostwarm for being so jolly. When he thought of Scar wanting to peck his neck, however, he simply replied, “Good day to you too, Magi Frostwarm.”

“I heard Princess Parla’vasa and the High Rulers have come ashore and shall arrive here within the next hour,” said Frostwarm. “Are you frightened or nervous about such strange turn of events?”

“What would you think if I told you I’m experiencing both?”

Frostwarm gave out a hearty laugh and responded, “This is certainly to be expected. But like all changes in life, you’ll eventually adapt. It’s for the better—for the greater good of life, I tell you.”

“For the greater good of my parents,” said Aarian derisively.

The old wizard laughed again, patting him on his back. “Ah, don’t be hard on them, my young prince,” he said serenely. “They are merely looking out for the people of Vlydyn. To rule any kingdom one must, at times, be selfless.”

“Selfless?” muttered Aarian.

He wondered to himself why it was so hard for him to be selfless. Since his childhood, freedom had been taken from him. So why, after all this time, would he be concerned about it now? He had no answers, only anguish and bitterness.

Frostwarm stared at the prince, gently waving his wrinkled, liver-spotted hand. At that moment, the prince’s bloodshot eyes faintly glowed and became clear. Aarian rubbed his eyes while they shimmered, feeling a bit ticklish, and then blushed, realizing that Frostwarm saved him from public embarrassment. People don’t normally walk inside a building with a hood on unless they were a cleric. And he certainly did not look like one. He would have been mortified if he’d entered the castle with red eyes.

“Thank you,” said Aarian.

“For what?” replied Frostwarm, winking. He walked through the castle’s gateway with the prince while continuing, “It is never easy making decisions that affect others. Trust me, no sane person enjoys being in a diplomatic position. That’s why it takes courage and a great deal of strength to make the right choice.” Upon entering the marble foyer, he patted the prince’s back. “I’m proud of you.”

Aarian had a feeling that Frostwarm may have been the same Magi who was supposed to help him escape with Belisa; after all, he was Master Dargain’s older brother. However, he didn’t dare ask, especially since he was surrounded by loyalists who, for the greater good, supported the arranged marriage.

“I’m not doing this out of sincerity, Magi Frostwarm,” said Aarian. “I am doing this only because of guilt.”

“Guilt?” said Frostwarm, raising an eyebrow. “Then I pray that the Spirits replace such guilt with elation.”

“That’ll never happen,” said Aarian.

Frostwarm pouted and said, “Give it time, lad.” He patted Aarian on his shoulder, not knowing what else he could say or do to comfort him. “Well, I better get myself over to Dargain before he starts worrying.”

“All right,” said Aarian. “Thanks again for fixing my eyes. I guess I’ll see you at the ceremony.”

“Indeed,” said Frostwarm, bowing with a smile.

After bidding him farewell, Aarian made his way back to his bedchamber. Zarlando was standing guard by the entrance and opened the door for him.

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome, Your Highness,” said the guard. “Her Majesty is expecting you. I believe she is by the balcony.”

Rolling his eyes, Aarian entered his room. Scar had returned and was observing the view while perched on the balcony’s balustrade. By the corner of the terrace stood Queen Darla. She turned around when her son approached and gave him a worrisome look.

“Where have you been?” demanded the queen. She noticed his robe and, not waiting for him to answer, went on, “By the Spirits, this is your wedding day, Aarian. How could you walk around like this?” She ignored her son’s sardonic expression, rushing toward his wardrobe. “I thought you would be dressed by now. Princess Parla’vasa will be here very soon, and I will not have her set eyes on you in that.”

Scar laughed in a squawking manner.

Aarian glared at the gryphon, silencing him, and replied to his mother, “I went to the Temple of Thay’tal to seek a blessing from the Nine.”

“You don’t need to travel halfway across the city to receive their blessings,” said Queen Darla, hastily searching for appropriate clothes. “You could have meditated here in your room for an hour and then spent the rest of the morning trying on some of your best robes or armor. You don’t want to disappoint Princess Parla’vasa, do you?”

“Yes, he does,” Scar muttered to himself.

“She doesn’t even know me, mother,” said Aarian with scorn. “She doesn’t care about me being humyn; she doesn’t care about how I look; she doesn’t care about what clothes I wear; and she certainly doesn’t care about my feelings.”

“Prince Aarian,” began the queen, raising her voice, “I’ll have none of your cynicism today! You want a blessing? The princess of Lar’a’dos is willing to marry you. Do you realize how special you are? Cyrael’s thunder, you’ve already been blessed. You’ll be the first humyn in history to marry an elf. Mind you, this is no ordinary elf. She’s a Quel’de’nai.”

Aarian made an exaggerated spin on his heels like a jester and said, “Oh my, lucky me, a high elf wants to throw her bloodline away and ruin my life for the sake of bringing our races together in peace, which, by the way, may not even happen.”

Queen Darla slapped him across his face.

Not caring that her son was on the verge of crying, the queen said, “I’m sick and tired of hearing you mope and complain every day. After everything your father and I have done for you, I would have expected more from you. For Spirits’ sake, you’re the prince of this kingdom. You are not a child anymore. You’re eighteen years old. When are you going to finally grow up and be the man this kingdom needs? Your father isn’t immortal, Aarian. He’s getting old and can’t continue to reign for another five centuries like the High Rulers in Lar’a’dos.”

Sobbing by his bed, he barely listened to his mother. He tried to block out her voice while he cried but couldn’t.

“You have one hour to pull yourself together,” said Queen Darla. She tossed his clothes on the bed and added, “When the time comes for Master Dargain to bring you downstairs for the ceremony, you had better become the son I raised—a humyn who is ready to compromise and be a man, not a spoiled brat.”

Aarian heard her stomp out of the chamber and slam his door shut. He felt so miserable with himself that he considered jumping off the balcony. Never in the entirety of his existence had he ever been able to stand up to anyone, not even his own mother. He felt that he’d not only failed miserably as a prince and son, but also as a humyn being. He wondered to himself if he should have left with Belisa. Would the Magi have helped him escape? Or was Dargain’s secret proposal a test? Regardless of the truth, he had run away from Belisa like a coward and betrayed her. The only thing he could do was cry on his bed.

Scar remained silent, staring at him with remorse. He knew that Queen Darla had a point but nevertheless felt she was narrow-minded. Prince Aarian was his best friend, so seeing him in such a distraught state was tearing him up inside. He felt helpless; his fantastical sense of humor was of no use here. And though a narll, he didn’t have any magical spells like Magi Frostwarm to make Aarian feel better. In the end, he decided to stay quiet and keep the prince company for the following hour.