The Prince of the Fae indeed.

No self-respecting Prince would be caught dead in the attire of paupers and street-beggars, whoever this person was, his commands meant very little to a rugged guard, but inspired something a little more in the victim who was already trying to crawl towards the sea. He took it all back, the wishing to experience life beyond the brine, the desire to meet others that he would perhaps better relate to-- the world that he did not belong to was no less vicious than his own, tide-commanding mother, who was mere meters away. He didn't want whatever a 'Doctor' was, he wanted to crawl into a cavern and wither. At the very least, he required a quiet place to recuperate-- as many animals often did. Every half-effort shuffle was a few inches closer to the water-side, hand-outstretched to her gentle encouragement. What was he thinking, running away like that? He should have just returned... yes, that would have been the smart thing to do.

"I do believe the palace Doctor is a little too high-brow for the likes of a pauper and his little pet spy, eh?"

The clubbed piece of wood swung all the more, this time, at the Prince himself.

"No..." There was no way Sindre could have mustered enough strength to take or dissuade the brunt of another swing, pinkened-reds merely stared through half-opened lids, helpless, pathetic as he had always thought himself to be. Even now, he couldn't protect another. Blood filled his senses, awakened his olfactory senses and even inspired the faint lick of his lips. Blood... and he was so, so very hungry, how unfair was fate when she tempted him with a meal. He had fangs, vaguely translucent and curved, much like a serpent-- and no less so, for his predatory canine's contained potent venom, a paralysing agent, perfect for underwater meal-time.

No, no this was Prince Amanti. 

He couldn't.

He wouldn't. He'd promised himself. When had it last been that blood had dripped from those pale lips? Not blood of piscene or natural prey, the blood of a humanoid, a drowning passenger, a stranded sailor, an unfortunate swimmer-- all of them were fair play to a creature who struggled to hunt competitively. Morals be damned when creatures of the deep decided to hunger. A spurt of desperation saw the creature grasp for a guard's leg-- but it was far too fatigued. By now, more had came-- some with winces, for they new that the Prince was indeed as he had proclaimed, royalty.

Whispers carried between royal protectors, someone would have to call the Doctor-- and quickly, less their comrade's mistake dearly cost him. Two of the men-- since none of the Palace's servants seemed to be Dragons at all, given their eyes-- stepped forwards to help take hold of Prince and Mer, gentle, so as to not endanger their jobs or lives. The mer-thing was uneasy on his legs, certainly, they wobbled and struggled to remain upright, for it was a lanky, tall being when not weighed down by the muscular appendage that was his tail. Blood trickled very slowly, pieces of glass that had spiked into him during the escape-- but the wounds were superficial. The hits to his cranium, however, were still to be determined. 

"Take them to Lei, he'll know what treatment is the best course of action... hopefully we'll keep our jobs after this." Lei, a doctor, and one who excelled in his job-- and perhaps the oldest resident in the Palace. Not often seen, but revered none-the-less. He wasn't as trying as Emperor and Son-- likely because he was no longer apart of ruling the Dragons. Medicine was his truer passion, not politics, and it was back into the marbled Kingdom that the staff intended to schlep Amanti and his latest gift, apologies presented like welcoming mats to the Fae. No wonder, they didn't want to lose their employment or organs once word got out of this. Lei would be able to fix this... hopefully Emperor Yao would take it better from his elder, for what happened upon the beach was nothing if not pure embarrassment to the Kingdom staff, and by default, to Yao. That thought alone was sobering. Dragged across sand and grass, the albino mer, whom had caused this trouble to begin with, attempted to converse with what little sense the bludgeoning had left in his head. "Wassn't... running away... wass... ssomeone... wass calling me.." He had to let Prince Amanti know. He had never intended to flee, but someone upon the beach had caught his interest-- whoever they were, he hardly even saw by the time he'd reached the shore.