Life's a Golden Platter, Baby

They were always meant to go back. When Idal and Ingmar stepped boldly beyond the boundary of their kingdom and Blossom Forest, it had been with the silent understanding that this adventure would function as a vacation for them. A short respite from the responsibilities of their throne - their grand “spring break,” if you will. Not that their lives as princes were terribly difficult . . . both of them had grown up with everything they had ever needed or wanted within reach, their every whim seen to no matter how demanding or silly. Members of their court tripped over themselves to please the two spoiled brothers; their beds were never cold for lack of a willing partner; prey ran plentifully in their kingdom and never failed to fill their bellies - because those of the royal family always ate first. Theirs was not a grievous tale rife with angst or heartache. Idal and Ingmar had not escaped extreme hardship or vicious political tension when they left their palace behind.

But questions with difficult answers . . . yes. Perhaps they could admit wanting to avoid those.

The merle-painted men had not been treated differently from the moment they’d been born. Equally adored by their pack, equally waited on maw and paw, never thrust into direct competition with one another. And yet, they’d always known that only one of them would become King. The throne had room for only a single brother; once he ascended to his crown, he’d pick some noble bitch to give him heirs, and the other sibling would amuse himself by galavanting around the territory and perhaps fighting in a war or two. Idal had always believed that Ingmar would be King - the iron-colored brute was so much colder and more mature than he was. Total Alpha material. Which left carefree and dashing Idal to keep his title of “prince,” living an eternal adolescence under Ingmar’s impressive shadow . . . unless, for some reason, Ingmar didn’t want the throne. That was one of the many uncomfortable questions the brothers had never gotten around to discussing with one another. What would happen when the time came, and one of them was forced to step up and rule? Would they fight for the crown? Or the right to abdicate?

Their glorious vacation spanned a few weeks. And then a few seasons. Inwardly, in the privacy of his own skull, Idal wondered if at this point they would ever return to their homeland, especially when they’d sunk their fangs so deeply into the bounty Blossom Forest offered them. Faes were easy to come by, and most of them had been quite amenable to the brothers’ lavished attention . . . Idal wouldn’t be surprised if there were a basketful of little merle bastards running around with their pale blue eyes. In fact, this was a possibility that made him smile as his paws carried him down the pebbled riverbank, golden banner swaying lazily behind him. Ingmar would probably be horrified if a female ever approached him with a bouncing brood crafted in his image; carefree Idal, on the other claw, found children absolutely hilarious.

He couldn’t see himself acting like a father of course . . . nonetheless, there was something delightful in the endless exuberant energy of pups. He related to their sense of freedom, their voracious curiosity. Idley, the blond kicked a stone into the night-black current of the gently flowing river, not breaking his forward stride. He should find out if any of the romances he’d enjoyed here begat heirs. Two pale-pelted females stood out in his mind fondly, she-wolves he would have been happy to woo back in the insulated safety of his kingdom. If he and Ingmar left Blossom Forest, they’d be leaving those gorgeous creatures behind, too. A forlorn sigh dragged from the prince’s lungs. What a waste that would be . . .

So lost in his thoughts, Idal did not notice the female sitting upstream of his path at first. Her perfume softly caressed his muzzle and drew him from the well of his own mind; slowly his faraway gaze lifted from the dark riverbank to her starlit silhouette, vision focusing upon her as though chasing away the blur of a dream. She was a young thing, he could see that - a slender frame not quite filled out by the curves of adulthood, her brindled pelt still fluffy at the edges. He could not discern the color of her eyes at this distance, yet the wonder with which her stare shifted from the glossy water to the expansive night sky was obvious. Her posture hung slack, relaxed . . . a faint contented smile curved her youthful features, brightening them like the diamonds bejeweling the heavens. Idal fell for her instantly, the same way he fell for all beautiful females. The iridescent green-blue feathers on his back lifted slightly with delicious anticipation. Ingmar was nowhere to be seen, probably festering in his stubbornness a mile back. Wearing his most gentlemanly mask, the diluted red merle knight padded quietly up to the girl, tail wagging and ears folded against his crown.

“Good evening, m’lady. Would you care for some company?”

Better Eat it UP

Avian Prince | Abandoned his throne | Heartless | xathira