The prince sits on the steps of the great palace, which overlook the sea. He gazes on the water as it reflects the setting sun, probably dreaming of his father's ship sailing home after twenty long years.

His deep brown curls are blowing in the soft breeze. He wears drapings of blue and green, and a crooked, golden crown which he has not bothered to straighten all day. With his right hand, he strokes the fur of an old, retired hunting dog curled at his side, Argos.

He hears footsteps behind him, and whips his head around, bracing to snap. His face changes when he sees it's not one of the suitors.

"Oh," He mutters. "Hello."