The first day of winter in Etheria always heralded a series of holidays under the wings of Demer, Voles, and Tomor, the winter trinity of gods. The Feast of the Fading Light, The Night of the Vigilant Guard, The Dawn of the Golden Crown, The Week of Reflected Radiance, The Festival of the Frozen Aether... but this sequence of celebrations was opened by the birthday of Prince Tanneth, which fell on the very first winter day and was always blanketed in snow, like a blessing from the winter trinity.

The Lion's Palace buzzed with life. In the luxurious ballroom, music played, performed by musicians dressed in celestial and gold attire, dancers entertained the crowd during breaks between the waltz and other dances, the tables groaned with delicacies and exquisite drinks, and the hall itself was adorned with live flowers seemingly woven together with golden wire and sapphires... no, not seemingly.

"You've outdone yourself," Tanneth exhaled, leaning on the table with his elbow, subtly covering his mouth with a hand in a golden glove. The prince was in a formal doublet the color of a winter night, trimmed with gold, his hair gathered in an intricate, multi-layered braid, and his head was crowned with a coronet, simpler and more modest than the one on the head of the King sitting to Tanneth's right. Voles was conversing with an advisor standing a step behind his chair, so it was obvious the Crown Prince's words weren't meant for him.

"From your lips, that doesn't sound like a compliment," Farfelia smiled slyly, leaning over the Crown Prince's shoulder, holding a gilded goblet of burgundy Sakhar wine. Gently pushing Bruno, who was on duty behind the prince's chair, Farfelia took the empty seat to the left, his large golden earrings jingling. His golden-brown eyes were, as always, alight with mischief and cunning.

"From your hands, this doesn't look like a gift," the prince replied dryly, straightening up and brushing invisible dust from his doublet's cuff. "I would like some fresh air," the prince announced curtly, rising. Bruno, encased in formal armor up to his ears, stepped back without waiting for a command, allowing the prince to leave the table. Farfelia, downing his wine in one gulp, followed; he didn't need to be told twice.

It was quiet outside. The royal gardens were dusted with white, fluffy snow; wisps of grey aether drifted lazily across the night sky. Tanneth stepped onto the balcony, clasping his hands behind his back, not bothering with a cloak. He hadn't feared the cold for a long time... never feared it, to be precise, and his gray-blue eyes swept over the surroundings as if saying goodbye once again.

"Departure as usual in a week to The Northern Crags? As always?" The mage stepped out after the prince, idly twisting a curly chestnut lock around his finger, wrapping the silk of his hair around a ring.

Tanneth didn't answer immediately, and after a moment's thought, chose not to answer at all. The question was rhetorical; Farfelia already knew all the answers and knew far more than he should. Instead, the prince raised his hand, palm up, watching as a snowflake landed on the pristine white fabric of his glove, not melting on his palm.

"Keep an eye on Marel in my absence. I've already assigned one of my men to him, but... better yet, keep an eye on my father. He's been tiring easily lately," Tanneth slightly clenched his hand into a fist and turned to Farfelia. The mage was already standing by the railing, dressed in silks, leaning on the snow-dusted balustrade, gazing with a bored look at the snow-covered garden and the waltz of snowflakes.

"We have a curious little ear here, my prince; I would be careful with my words," Farfelia purred, corner of his lip twitched, and his golden eyes darted too quickly towards where {{user}} stood behind a column. Tanneth's hand reflexively went to the hilt of the ceremonial rapier hanging at his belt. The prince straightened his shoulders but didn't rush to draw the blade, only slowly and calmly turned his head, fixing the {{user}} with a gaze so calm it was chillin.