“Highness,” a voice crooned into the entryway of the palace. 

An older stewardess, one of a small handful palace agents tasked with keeping the establishment prim and orderly, had eyed Griffin with the same speculation as perhaps an elder relative passing judgement upon a disorderly child caught sneaking back into the household. She smoothed her hands against the creases of her long, linen apron as she made her way towards the Prince, her stern eyes more akin to a bird of prey, and her thin lips pressed in a signature hard line. Amongst the ranks of maids and servants, her word was law, and she ensured that the castle ran as smooth as a sergeant’s whistle under the approval and satisfaction of the King. It was more often than not that she ended up delivering crucial notes and correspondences between members of the royal family, as she was able to navigate the large estate’s many avenues with ease. 

The senechal, named Mairwen, was a woman in her late fifties, tall and lithe with an austere countenance and pale skin that contrasted her ebony hair, that was slicked back into a tidy bun. Her ocean blue eyes were naturally narrowed, which complimented her sharp tone when giving her commands to the lowly servants under her keep. She had initially been one of the palace’s many maids and, over the span of her decades long career, had crawled up the domestic ranks of lead stewardess through grit and dedication to her craft. Since she was a young woman in the early days of her employment, Mairwen had seen Prince Griffin mature over the years and became well acquainted with his rebelliousness and quirks as a young heir. 

The woman offered a customary courtesy that was more a formality for his status than it was out of true humility as she may have displayed for his father, King Thorne. Nevertheless, she never spoke out of place with the Prince or against his wayward inclinations, though her tone was indicative of her disapproval. The Seneschal was a cold woman, but a practical one nevertheless, and she routinely displayed her disfavor towards Griffin’s ‘[i]galavanting[/i]’ to heaven knows where.

“His Majesty would like a word, at your earliest convenience.” She informed the Prince tersely, her slender hands folded atop themselves. She stood rim rod straight, sharp shoulders rolled back and stood before Griffin with a posture that could put any soldier to shame. Her eyes scanned the Prince from top to bottom, then back up to lock with his amber eyes, her brows raised with a thread of suspicion. She said nothing about his whereabouts that afternoon, though it was clear that the woman surmised Griffin had wandered well beyond the bounds that his father had implemented. Regardless of what she’d concluded silently to herself, Mairwen daren’t scold the young heir, for he was no longer a child under her keep or that of the handful of nannies employed to keep the heir out of trouble. 

Now, Prince Griffin was a young man with a mind and conviction of his own. He was not the same young boy with whom Mairwen had been first introduced, and she remembered a point when the Prince was simply too small to go unaccompanied past the castle gates on his own (and any request to do so was able to be promptly denied). Despite having surpassed her in height long ago and being a man of good stature and physicality, Mairwen interpreted Griffin’s adventurousness as an invitation for misfortune no differently as though he were still the same young child. 

In her eyes, it was only a matter of time until something, or someone, snatched the opportunity to harm the Prince— and, by proxy, threaten to shatter the lineage of the King. After Griffin had grown through his adolescence and past the need for a constant nanny or basic chaperone, it became abundantly clear that independence and personal freedom was at the forefront of his desires as a young adult coming into his own. Even now, at twenty four years of age, there was still turbulence and discord over what freedoms and permissions Griffin was granted under the rule of his father, who still had the utmost authority. 

It was at this point when a palace guard had caught up to where Mairwen and Griffin stood, having spent some better part of the last half hour in search of the Prince and was somewhat winded in his attempts to locate him. The guard cleared his throat as a formality before speaking, bowed to both the Prince and nodded to the head Stewardess so that each individual was addressed appropriately. 

“Good afternoon. Highness, your Father, His Majesty requests–” the patrol guard began, but was promptly cut off by Mairwen with a sigh and a flit of her hand to indicate that the spiel was unnecessary. 

“He has been informed already,” the Seneschal said flatly with an edge of exasperation. She turned her eyes back onto Griffin, one brow knitted upwards and lips pursed ever so slightly. It was a subtle yet signature look that was often reserved for Griffin whenever he was summoned by King Thorne, and while she often disapproved of the Prince’s intrepid nature and free spiritedness, she did prefer to forewarn him if and when Thorne was particularly vexed by Griffin’s antics.

“Your father did not say the nature of the meeting,” she told Griffin before there was even a question as to what the briefing was about and whether or not Thorne was potentially displeased with his son (or simply that the King merely wanted an ear in which to prattle). 

“Now that his Highness has been made aware,” snipped Mairwen to the guard, “Perhaps you may escort him to his Majesty’s study. I behoove that it is done sooner than later.” 

The guard nodded curtly, if not obediently to the Stewardess. He repeated the same dutiful gesture to the Prince, and extended his arm in the direction of their destination.