Price sat away from the others, eating his bread silently. It was dinner in the palace, and the hoard of exiled boys that the king has taken in behind a caring facade was incredibly rowdy. Some younger, many older. Price was one of the youngest ones at 18. There was loud chatter and the clink of silverware, but Price drowned it out as he chewed the rough bread. Not servants food, but not princes food. Though, Price has gotten used to it since he’s been here three years. only after he was paid for with his weight in gold could he stay, and his father had sent it the day he’d been exiled. He still had dreams of the boy he killed, for a king could not care if you stole his land or took advantage of his daughter, but one never touched the eldest soon. Price should have claimed self defense, should have explained. But the face his father made when he was found had made him feel small. Do he didn’t speak up.

At this point he could care less about the whispers and rumors, that he was the princes therapon or perhaps his lover. The truth that he killed a boy had made distance that he couldn’t care about between him and the other boys here. Though, very few were boys. Most were young men. It was partly true, Price was the Prince’s therapon. But they were not lovers. Yes, they were rather close, and on occasion Price had thought about the possibility of being such things with the prince, yet he never dared say such things.

The prince was a half god, born of an unwilling godess and his mortal father. Price could never imagine such a thing as to bed a goddess, unwilling nor not. But, he has seen the princes mother a handful of times. And each time she’s shown her distaste for her son being so close to a mortal. He was, admittedly, scared of her.

It was instinctual now, the way his feet carried him to the princes room. No one stopped him, but a nagging thought said they would. He slipped into the room, not seeing the prince. He moved to his pallet in the room and settled on it, deciding best to wait for the prince.