The God's Game

Date

"It's no wonder that Riv turned out the way he did." One elbow firmly planted on the edge of the table, fingers cradling his cheek, Wolfram languidly stirred his bowl of thick, white broth with a spoon.

"If I grew up eating food this bland, I'd be passively suicidal too."

Aithan eyed the spread of dishes Wolfram had barely touched and silently returned to the task of deboning a fried fish.

"The most flavorful seasoning in this dish is flour" He pushed the bowl away, bored with swirling patterns on it. His nose wrinkled in disgust at Aithan's sad heap of boiled beans. "And they consider water a sauce."

Aithan's head drooped, long lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. "My apologies, Your Highness."

Wolfram snapped open his fan, discreetly covering his creeping blush with it. "Firstly, it's Wolfram to you."

Aithan bobbed his head once, a barely -there smile dancing on his lips. "Understood."

Wolfram draped a lithe limb over the knee of the other, his anklets jingling merrily with the gesture. "Treat me to something that isn't salted paper pulp on a later date," he nonchalantly glanced around, delicately fanning himself in the face. "And you are forgiven."

Aithan nodded dutifully, his golden orbs glittering ethereally under the soft ambience of the restaurant they were dining at. "I'll arrange that."

Northerners and their conduct were as mild as their taste in food so only hushed conversations and clinking of glass could be heard, despite every table being occupied. The spacious hall was permeated with the scent of fried fish and steamed rice, the tantalizing aroma of spices simmering on hot oil conspicuously absent. The finest porcelain tableware, silver utensils, and intricately woven red drapery of the richest silk, all exuded an air of extravagancy. Despite the food being a war crime, he found the place quite to his liking. Wolfram had no doubt that this was the fanciest place one could find in the vicinity.

Even in this place of affluency, where no commoner could dream of affording even a slice of bread at, the pair stood out. Patrons kept glancing at them over their shoulders, whispering curiously among themselves. They were trying to be subtle about it, but the probing glances didn't go unnoticed by Wolfram.

"Why are they eying me like I made the food?" He leaned over and whispered to Aithan's ear, fan over his mouth.

Aithan stared over Wolfram's shoulder, brows knitting together. He looked quite displeased with the unwanted attention too.

Wolfram shifted in his seat, smoothing the folds of his dress. Usually, he wouldn't give a rat's ass about who looked or what they thought but today was different.

When Clementine docked in Frostgate this afternoon, Aithan showed up at his cabin, stopping him from following his distressed friend ashore. He handed him another set of robes; in the prettiest shade of Periwinkle Wolfram had ever laid sights on with the courteous invitation to join him for dinner.

Wolfram had no clue where he produced all these lovely finery from, but it was way too beautiful to just slap on and call it a day. Plus, there was no telling when he could catch the man alone again, so Wolfram was determined to make a lasting impression.

He made a quick run to the first boutique he could find and bought an array of accessories to match the robes. It was unlike of him to stress as much as he did over what to wear, but he wanted to do the robes justice.

Feeling bold, he even lined his eyes black. Despite never being the one for jewelry, he made an exception tonight and styled every piece of sparkly ornament he felt would go well with the robe.