Prince Kendrick Burson groaned in a groggy stupor, subconsciously bringing on hand to scratch his stomach as the other stretched luxuriously out, fingertips extended enough to just [b]barely[/b] brush against the smooth, solid darkwood bedpost as he begrudged the sun for rising so early in the day. His attendants all waited patiently at the borders of the room, hands at their sides and eyes down at the floor, or rather, the thick fur rugs that lay scattered over the floor to insulate the prince from any morning chill that might try to wander in. The young man used to wonder how long the servants had been standing there, for they were different from the ones who waited on him before his slumber, and they were always there upon his waking, but he'd long since stopped caring.

His eyes opened lazily, brow furrowed in disgust at the light peeking in through the heavy curtains that hung from golden rods encrusted with jewels. Someone would have to be whipped for allowing such a thing to disturb the prince's slumber, and someone assuredly would be. Rolling off the side of the bed and landing somewhat steadily on his feet, he rose to his full height and stretched from his fingertips to his toes, leaving nothing to the imagination of his servants (had they been looking, which they shouldn't have been else they'd be whipped) before lazily lurching towards his waiting bath.

The maidens, always maidens, sat by the nearly steaming hot pool with flower petals lazily swirling atop its surface, each one awaiting the prince to allow them to scrub him clean. This too, used to make him curious, how did they keep the water warm? The question flitted from his thoughts as soon as he slipped into the depression cut into the marble, as it had so many times before. The maidens used to excite him, when he was a youth, but now... They were little more than props, tools for his bath. He ignored them and they went about their duties, probably the best for everyone present that things went smoothly and silently in any case. When he was through, he was dried and dressed. Pants and shirt and coat, all cut to his exact measurements, lined with gold and exotic fur that the peasants could have traded for their homes. The materials, mundane and arcane, shimmered in the light as ghostly, wavering symbols and sigils of his house faded in and out of view.

A servant opened the door back to his bedroom, another the one to the hall, letting the rich, sweet scent sugared meat and salted eggs waft through the air. The prince made hurriedly for the dining hall, where indeed, an opulent breakfast awaited him. Eggs, scrambled, boiled, poached, and fried; rashers of bacon, all still sizzling as if fresh from the fryer; berries plucked and picked from across the kingdom, rich and ripe and in every color under the sun all sat upon the massive hardwood table. He sat down in the cushioned chair, ignoring the fresh round of servants that flocked around him as he picked his favorites from the hoard and ate his fill. He sighed as he pushed his plate away, almost into a servant's waiting hands to remove the soiled dish from the prince's presence, and rose to his feet, straightening out his coat before making his way towards the council chambers...