Redlin was the third son.

Unlike his older brothers, he did not diligently study, nor did he practice with his swords unless forced to.

In short, he grew up to be a lazy, useless prince. He did not even go to the war; he stayed in his district of Gresatt and managed logistics.

He had returned to the palace for River Day, the one day a year that all princes were expected to be in one place.

He was not especially looking forward to it.

Diurn was a conservative prude, Pollis was an unapologetic blowhard, Ifrit was Ifrit, and both the brothers that were yet to come of age called him a loser.

" Can't you at least act respectful to our mother?" Vivan sniped at him after the formal greetings.

" Yeah, yeah, sure," he said, half paying attention. He mussed the kid's hair before wandering off to look for something to drink. Big, formal receptions sucked. Especially religious ones.

" Lyewa, have you seen Vivan?" a young woman asked as he picked at a table of first course dishes.

He looked over at her. She was definitely a servant, definitely wearing the uniform of Irdat's maids.

" What happened to Kalidhe?" he asked, almost without thinking.

The woman looked a little offended.

" What, you haven't been to the capital so long you don't know Mother has retired?" she asked. Ah, so this was another person with a low opinion of him. Great. " So have you seen Vivan or not?"

" Yeah, I saw him over there, a minute ago," Redlin answered, gesturing vaguely towards where he had been insulted earlier. It was impossible to see through the crowd of people.

The girl huffed at him, flicked her ear, and strode away. Well, at least he'd probably gotten the kid in trouble.

Someone even worse arrived.

" Don't you look well," a familiar voice commented. " Haven't you considered becoming Lyena yet?"

He turned to half-heartedly greet him, but nearly jumped out of his skin, unable to hold back a curse.

" Fuck! Brother- Lyena, I mean- you scared me, you look like a ghost," he exclaimed.

Ifrit smiled a little bit, which probably meant something bad.

" Oh? Have you really been gone so long? Everyone else in the capital is already used to it," he said.

He was clad in a long white mourning robe, and his hair was bleached white as well, down to the fur on his ears and tail.

" Managing the logistics of our territory's fleet is never-ending work," Redlin excused himself. " I come back here less than you do."

" Yet I command my own fleet and face battle," Ifrit remarked. " Is sitting in your mansion all day really so much harder?"

Redlin looked away from him, uncomfortable and ashamed of how direct his condemnation had been. He couldn't really talk back to him; even if Ifrit wasn't Lyena, he'd be afraid to.

"I've got to go," he said, inching away. " I haven't seen Diurn yet."

He didn't really want to talk to Diurn, either.

" Is that so," Ifrit said, looking pleased with himself. " That's fine. I have business to attend to as well."

He walked off into the crowd. It was almost a full minute before Redlin remembered he had said he would go greet Diurn.

He mentally cursed his terrible family. Couldn't at least one of them turn out right? The Storam dynasty was doomed, at this point. Let the DASS take it over, who gave a fuck. That might actually be better than Ifrit becoming Lorn.

The head priestess of the Central Cascurdarn appeared at the church's high balcony, and all the chatter in the room gradually quieted down.

He didn't really pay attention; he wasn't sure if he believed in any of the gods anymore. He certainly didn't want to believe anything the Central Cascurdarn had to say.

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