shadow prince.

No matter - Darios heaves a heavy sigh as he carefully hands the chicken over to Lyon. "Thank you. Make sure you keep a look out, I doubt the one who's causing these troubles will just let us resolve them so easily."

Considering what one of the initial acts was, he has a sneaking suspicion of who their culprits may be.

"I'll come to get you once I've calmed that horse then." He offers as soft as smile as he can muster. The frustration is hard to cut through but there isn't much more they can do but follow along the messy trail they've been given.

The horse is probably the most egregious of these acts. How they managed to get the bag on its head to begin with is quite sad to think about and now the poor thing is thrashing about in the town's center.

"—poor chickens!!" A voice rings out from the left. It's rather impressive how loudly someone can scream over a crowd. He follows it to the coops.

"My poor chickens!"

Next to one of them, a man with graying hair waves his hands wildly in abject despair. A wide-open door and feathers scattered about the ground mark the scene of the 'prank.'

"Excuse me—"

"What am I going to do? My poor little chickens are going to starve out there! Or get eaten by a fox! Or—" The man doesn't seem to notice him in his panic. Lyon opens his mouth to try again, only for the chicken to squawk.

"Is that my lil' Nelly I hear?" The man turns around, eyes wide. "Not just Nelly, but Cherry as well! And you found 'em?" His gaze flickers to Lyon's face before breaking into a teary smile. "Thank you, thank you so much for catching 'em, young man!"

"Oh, uh, it's no trouble." He didn't really do much of the catching, but he is glad to hand the two rogue chickens over to him. "How many chickens are you still missing?"

"About five more, plus a rooster."

"If we were in Renais, this would be a very different, very dull event for me. I would be on ceremony for most the night and then expected to dance with eligible women." As king, marrying is inevitably in his future. It's a thought he's comfortable with but not quite ready to commit to.

"Oh? Let's see it then." All the while hiding his true feelings underneath raised eyebrows and a playful challenge, he places his hand in Ephraim's. Again and again, his logical mind knows how it ends: one day, Ephraim marries a faceless noblewoman—or even a beautiful princess—since it's the king's duty to have an heir.

(Why can't his frail heart realize the same?)

After a hesitant beat, his free hand settles on Ephraim's shoulder.

And then, just like that, the two of them are within the tower's walls. He can still hear the music of the ball but it's faint from here.

"Oh, you only saw the one?" He teases with a crooked grin as he releases Lyon's hand. "All the better for me I suppose. I would hate to draw your ire, Lyon."

He notices Lyon carries a rose on his outfit, tucked into his brooch. "Is this from Eirika?" He remembered her being given roses. Ephraim picks out one of his own tulips and tucks it next to Eirika's. "There, now you have one from both of us. And this is encouragement for being reckless."

For being reckless.

"Don't make me regret giving you one after all," Lyon sighs, shaking his head in fond exasperation once more. There is no true bite to it. "But let's."

On their way up the stone stairs, he resists the urge to fiddle with the two blooms.

The top floor is surprisingly barren, without a door to separate the chamber from the balcony. Lyon eyes their surroundings with some interest as he hasn't entered the Goddess Tower in the past.

Are those roots or merely vines on the wall?

More interestingly, his ears pick up on a muffled melody.

They knew. They knew that Lyon was back for quite some time and they did not tell her. Despite just how absurdly improbable his return is. Despite the potential danger to Magvel as a whole. Despite the fact that they are friends. Did she not have a right to know as well? Do they care for her less than she thought? Less than she cares for them?

She takes a breath, trying to calm herself. There shall be ample time later. For now…

Well, truth be told, a part of her is heavily considering agreeing with Lyon; that she has better things to do. Conversing with friends and strangers alike, exchanging blooms, last minute practice for the White Heron Cup.

But yet… “I cannot just frivolously walk away from this, Lyon, how could I?” She shakes her head. “I am certain no-one shall mind if we borrow one of the ‘locked’ rooms.” She starts making her way over to some of the doors; the first two she tries seem to be locked, but the third one is thankfully open. Sure, there seems to be two people conversing inside, but a bit of money given out to both of them quickly solves that.

“Alright. Let us continue forward with the assumption that you truly are Prince Lyon of Grado.” She sighs, before quickly shaking her head and clarifying. She needs to be nicer. For her own sake just as much as Lyon’s. “Not to imply that I wish otherwise, or that I do not want to trust you. There has been far too much senseless death, for one, and I know how much you mean to E- to the King and Queen of Renais.” Hmph.

“But you do have to understand my concerns, I hope. Last time I had seen you, one of Renais’ sacred twin weapons had just impaled you. To suddenly see you here, alive and seemingly without the Demon King, despite all the statements that say it should be impossible…” Is the lore kept in Rausten wrong, then? She would call the idea absolutely laughable if the proof was not seemingly standing in front of her.

Mayhaps it is fitting, if it is wrong. Misinformed tomes owned by a misinformed royal.

Again, though, she tries to keep her focus back on track. She has to keep it together. She has to. Who else will, if not her? 

However, unlike a certain someone, she doesn't sharpen her words into daggers here, in this dark room, where no one else sees or hears them. Despite everything, she is still willing to hear him out.

"...I don't know."

But Lyon has no answers to give.

Before she can respond, he holds up a hand. "Make no mistake," Lyon continues, clarifying, "I wish I had an answer for myself. I know I died that day." His hand drifts down, stopping where Siegmund pierced through his chest. If he closes his eyes, he may picture the scene where the hero slays the monster. Not because the hero wanted that outcome, but because the monster—his old friend—forced his hand.

He clenches his hand, clutching the fabric of his robes. Purple, a royal and noble color, and everything he is not. "But here I am, still alive, even though I have no right to be..."

Lyon's hand drops back to his side.

"It's okay if you don't believe me, Princess L'Arachel." His voice softens as he lands on the right name, and behind that softness lies the undercurrent of melancholy and resignation. They have never spoken face-to-face like this before, but Lyon was familiarized with the names of his fellow royals in Magvel in his childhood. "But if it is of any solace to you, I can assure you that the Demon King won't threaten the world through me. By my own choice, I haven't sought to harm anyone else ever again..."

“Your friends sound like they really look out for you,” she posits despite believing she's never met them. “I'm sure they're glad you're looking on the ball a bit better now! This is the first ball I've felt mostly good about too.”

It might be a bit premature to declare that, but in hearing someone continue to echo sentiments she's harbored each year, she feels compelled to bask in that sense of solidarity. Indeed, solidarity is her anchor often.

She wonders if it could be his too.

(Though she imagines she is no replacement to whatever it is that he finds his resolve to protect, herself oblivious to what lurks behind that smile of his...)

In response to his offered tulip, she similarly plucks one of her orchids and exchanges it with his bloom. “Oh boy, if you're sure! I'd love some advice. Anything to make myself look a little less silly when the time comes.

“Whenever you're ready, I'll all ears, Teacher!”

His gaze sweeps over the immediate area even as he leans toward Lyon. "Of course I don't want to get us in trouble with the guards." He turns his head, much closer to the other now, until azure meet amethyst.

"That's why we won't get caught." And a very mischievous grin unfurls along Ephraim's lips.

He lifts his hand and points toward the walkway that stretches toward the Goddess Tower. "I was walking around here earlier. The guard here was much more strict then, but if we stick to the shadows here, and we're careful, we can make it to the tower. So long as you follow me, we won't get caught. What do you say? Do you trust me?"

He shouldn't be entertaining this. There will be consequences if they get caught. With tensions running high as of late, he doubts a punishment won't be as light as what Father MacGregor would have given.

With a sigh, he goes against his better judgement. "...All right. I'll follow your lead, Ephraim, but this is your idea." Eirika isn't here, so someone has to express disapproval. "We run if anyone spots us."

Following the other man's lead, they stick close to walls and stone foundations. It is rather exhilarating to sneak around with Ephraim like this—not that Lyon would admit it aloud. However, he refuses to relax until there's a door between them and any guards on watch duty.

(He regrets worrying about something as inconsequential as his appearance.)

The more she talks, the more time Lyon has to piece together some clues about her identity. She knows him—no, she knows about him. Lyon's friend circle was always laughably tiny, even back in Magvel. In Fódlan, he went out of his way to avoid forming close bonds because he believed himself completely undeserving of companionship.

She brings up Grado, the Demon King, and the twins. That means she must have fought by their side once. In fact, she knows a little more than an average person would about Fomortiis. She even looks a little familiar.

Could she be...?

"...Yes." It sounds almost like a sigh. Lyon squares his shoulders before meeting her gaze. "It's truly me—Lyon... of Grado. Hard to believe, I know." It is up to her whether she chooses to believe him. He has no way to prove it, either, other than being soft-spoken and acting the opposite of hostile.

"Ephraim and Eirika have known for a while." Ephraim had found out by chance, and in turn, Eirika had naturally received the news from her brother. "I assume they haven't said anything about me out of respect for my wishes." He wrings his hands. "I'm only attending the ball tonight because they invited me..."

"As for the rest of your questions, I don't think this is the right place for that kind of conversation." There are still people around them, even though some have gone to watch the theater troupe's production. "I have seen people slip in the rooms that are supposedly locked..." He inclines his head. "But it's fine if you have better things to do than talk to me."

"Oh, we must have at least one dance, Lyon." He was among her first dance partners as a young girl. To be able to dance with him again brings her a rare kind of joy.

Thankfully, he does not resist when she pulls him out onto the floor, though it takes them both a moment to mimic the steps of those around them. When she draws close to him, she opens her arms as if opening a gate, and in turn Lyon takes her hands and closes them together. Eventually, they segue into a closer dance, her following his lead as they spin and twirl in time.

Now that their steps are slower, she finds she can take the time to enjoy his presence more.

"I am so glad you attended with us." Perhaps now is a good chance for her to say something she's been thinking of... "I cannot imagine what this must be like for you, but it means the world to my brother and I to have you here. I hope you know that." She smiles up at him fondly and tries to forget the years following his death. The heartaches and late nights and tears.

But she does not wish to linger on anything so somber tonight. So she brightens her smile for him. "I did not get the opportunity to tell you before, though maybe you've realized. This outfit is from Grado." She pats his arm affectionately. "Ephraim picked it up on his return from Renais these past months. Do you like it?"

Earlier, his mouth didn't twist into an ugly scowl when the married couple took to the dance floor. If there was a flicker of longing in his eyes when he followed Eirika's movements for a couple of seconds, it slowly faded when he turned his head away. He resisted the urge to flee the premises. It, too, was progress.

It is now later, and he gets to dance with Eirika.

To her and her brother, she says, his presence here means the world. It subtly reinforces that some things never change, and Lyon has—and always has—a place by their side. Maybe that alone makes coming out tonight worth it.

Before he gets to respond, she starts talking about his attire and how it suits him. The small smile that has climbed onto his face falters. Lyon's shoulders stiffen before he forces himself to relax again, swaying alongside Eirika to the song.

"...I figured as much." His voice is soft, a little too soft, and distracted. He doesn't comment on the implications behind Eirika's words or respond to the compliment. "You look beautiful, too, Eirika..."

But for as burly as the toughest people can be, even someone as dainty looking as Lapis could keep up. If Lyon really wanted to...

Her thoughts are cut off there as Lyon's deliberate shift to a question of his own.

“No, I get how weird it sounds. If I were you, I'd be thinking the same thing,” she admits. “To be honest, I am embarrassed at the idea. I don't like being the center of attention either, and I don't think I'll measure up.”

The words are merely repeated from Lyon's, but from the moment he uttered them, she felt them as keenly as if they were her own thoughts first. “But... I was asked to by someone I love. When I see how happy this idea makes him, I want to protect his happiness. And when I think of it as protection, I'm willing to do anything.”

Lapis may not know Lyon fully well, so her next statement might seem like it's founded on baseless confidence, but...

(Wouldn't his father—no, everyone—be happier if Lyon weren't the prince?)

Her answer? Love. Protection. Happiness. It's just as simple as that.

I'm sure you have something you want to protect.

Lyon sucks in his breath. "..." Lips part, releasing it. He resists the urge to close his eyes when her words strike a chord. They cut him far deeper than she will ever know. If she knew he tried to protect what he loved—Grado, his people—by bringing the world to the brink of ruin, would she ever look at him the same way?

"Yes... I think I understand what you mean, Lapis. I have something like that too."

His smile softens, now less forced and more wistful and a little haunted.

"You know, I thought about skipping the ball this year too, but my friends convinced me to come." He doesn't know if Lapis was at the first ball he ever attended, but being there at all had been a coincidence. Tonight, it is intentional. "I dreaded it before I came in. However, I can't say I regret it."

The evening draws on but while gossip about the white heron cup and more rise, Ephraim is more concerned with making himself scarce. Lyon seems to be of like mind.

"Hey, Lyon." Ephraim bumps the back of his hand against his arm to gain his attention. "Come with me."

Yet he doesn't give him much of a choice in the matter. Ephraim slips his hand into his and pulls him through the darkened hallway and into the fresh night air.

"You want to get away from this as much as I do, right?" Ephraim only has so much energy for these formal events and it's been almost spent. He tugs Lyon along with him, keeping to the shadowed parts of the walkway as they go.

Lyon will vehemently deny ever making it out of sheer embarrassment.

The only reason he doesn't protest at their impromptu departure is that Ephraim is correct. "...Right," he confirms as much. He was already thinking about calling it a night. He could be reading the book on Fódlan's magic from Eirika—and only because he finished the poetry book weeks ago.

"Wait, Ephraim," he hisses, tugging at the hand holding his once he realizes that they are heading in the completely wrong direction. This bridge connects the rest of the monastery to the Cathedral. "The dorms aren't this way. Do you want to get us in trouble with the guards?"

Despite her humility or perhaps because of it, Lapis attempts to laugh it off, not too different from the way Lyon recovered himself just before.

“So if you're watching, go easy on me, OK?” Though she gives a bit of a huff, her expression quickly melts back into her giggles, a soft smile gracing her features once more only a moment later. “And... I wasn't teasing you. You don't have to believe me, but I really do think you have a good eye for things! I might not have gotten to work with you in a while, but that time in the arena still sticks out to me.

Lyon's eyes dart away, the opposite of cheering up. A guilty conscience admonishes him for the secretiveness. Even with a history of battles and short but positive exchanges behind them, he cannot bring himself to be completely open with her.

"I've never had the stamina to keep going for too long, though," he quickly adds before she asks about those lessons. He words it as a joke, an exaggeration, all the while forcing a smile on his lips. As though to emphasize the point, he spreads his arms—there, do you see the slender build of a mage?—before letting them drop back to his sides.

Well, it is rather awkward to stand near Eirika's husband without uttering a word. There are also other reasons why Lyon feels this way. It is hardly Seth's fault; Lyon still needs time to work through his emotions, but that is neither here nor there.

The prince of Grado clears his throat before turning towards the other man. "Would you like one, General?" He offers buns on a napkin. "They are rather good."

ETHEREAL BALL 2026 -- first half

Seth turns his head as Lyon clears his throat and announces his presence next to him. This was his first encounter with the other since he'd arrived and while he still held a small amount of skepticism lingering from the war and the choices that had been made, Seth believed Ephraim when he'd told him that Lyon was no longer under Fomortiis's control. So, in an attempt to keep things friendly, the general accepted the bun topped with icing and the cherry.

"Thank you, Prince Lyon." He nods, taking a bite and raising a hand to wipe some of the icing off the corner of his mouth. It was good, and it wasn't entirely often that Seth let himself indulge in sweets though for the occasion, he would allow himself to relax. Even if it was just a little bit. "My apologies that we are only greeting each other now. I've been busy with my classes, and I trust it has been the same for you, but I've heard from the twins that you've been well. I'm glad." Genuinely, he means that.

"Oh?" Lyon blinks. "No, no, it's fine. I understand you were busy..." He didn't expect to receive an apology for a delayed greeting. Maybe it's because he doesn't expect much, and having the title of prince makes little difference for him. It is unsurprising to have a confirmation that the twins brought him up in conversation, though.

What gives him pause is the yellow lily.

As a symbol of good faith, the general of Renais calls it. It isn't forgiveness, and Lyon wouldn't dare mistake it as one. He doesn't know how much Seth knows, but the man in front of him is offering him a chance. To not screw up any more than he already has. Is it because Ephraim and Eirika are still willing to trust him? Or is it because this man is just that good a person? (It would make sense since Eirika married him. Lyon knows she wouldn't have married a dastard. Besides, the Silver Knight isn't an unknown figure.)

Lyon doesn't know, but accepting it is a step forward.

"I can't change the past, but... I'll do what I can to make sure it doesn't repeat," Lyon inclines his head, holding the flower by its stem like it's more precious than the diadem on his head. Or these clothes he is wearing, making him feel more like a prince than he has in a long time. He places it in his bouquet before handing Seth a yellow tulip in return. "That much I can promise you. Your faith won't be in vain..."

So he hopes.

The man had a familiar enough appearance to strike some recognition in Diamant, but it was the scene—standing over a table of refreshments, questioning the food's validity—that brings the memory of a previous ball flooding back. He'd been the soft-spoken young man, with a bearing reminiscent of Alcryst's.

"Of course, Lyon. It's been quite a while... it's good to see you again."

He looks to the chocolates then, and sighs. "If the chocolate workshop didn't have enough supplies to fill each box, they should have sent less rather than more. It's plain misleading. Or..." Crimson eyes scan the room. "Perhaps someone here has been hungry, and up to no good."

"I'd sincerely hope it isn't the latter," Lyon shakes his head. "Or I might just regret accepting chocolate from an acquaintance of mine..."

A lack of supplies sounds more palatable than someone's hungry stomach sabotaging them. Surely, no one would do that when they could always grab a box full of chocolates instead? Or Lyon might be underestimating the lengths some are willing to go to satisfy their sweet tooth.

A rustle of leaves can be heard as he fiddles with his bouquet first before picking out a purple tulip. "In any case, would you accept this from me, Professor? Since exchanging flowers is the point of this event..."