Tristan Carminati

30 || Crown Prince of Monaco

[tristanofmonaco]

crownprince-alistair‌:

“That- was something else.” Alistair spoke as he coughed a little, in hopes to get the heat down. He really wasn’t expecting such varied food- yet it was a welcome surprise after months of eating nonsense. “What do you call it, again?” He added, picking up another piece. If he had to regain some of the mass back- why not start with this?

Tristan grinned at the man next to him, finishing a bite of the same meal which he quickly chased with a swig of water. So far, the plethora of cuisines the royals were exposed to at the palace was one of the more obvious positives of being cooped up in such a place. Their meals were never dull, and adventurous as he was with food, Tristan was thankful for it.

“Kimchi, I think...” he mused, wiping away a few subtle beads of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “I wouldn’t have expected Korean food to be so spicy, but wow.” he chuckled. Aside from the heat, though, the flavours had him daring to take another bite. “Think you’ll be able to finish yours?” Tristan queried, a spark of competition behind his gaze.

[tristanofmonaco]

princesteffansayer‌:

Taking a moment to himself, Steffan lights the cigarette and brings it to his lips taking a drag before exhaling. “Didn’t mean to blow that in your direction.” He apologizes with a shrug to the person who was approaching.

Tristan held back the urge to cough as the cigarette smoke seeped into his lungs, returning the shrug of the stranger with an amiable smile. Moving far enough past him to be down wind, the prince took a seat on the other end of the bench and let his cane lean against the open space between them. It was an oddly warm day and there seemed to be quite a few castle residents outside soaking up whatever rays of sun they could. 

“Not to worry.” Tristan began, breathing in a lungful of fresh garden air with a contented look on his face. “There doesn’t seem to be alot we can control in this place, the wind included.”

[tristanofmonaco]

Part One || Tristan’s Playlist

1. || Nocturne No.19 in E Minor - Chopin

2. || Mandolin Concerto in C Major: Largo - Vivaldi

3. || Tempest Sonata: Allegretto - Beethoven

4. || Symphony No. 3 in C Minor: Allegro - Saint-Saëns (This one starts loud.)

Part Two || Tristan Inspo

1. || Nine - Sleeping At Last

It looks like empathy to understand all sides // But I'm just trying to find myself through someone else's eyes...

2. || O - Coldplay

So fly on // Ride through // Maybe one day I'll fly next to you...

3. || I'll Keep You Safe - Sleeping At Last

You are an artist, and your heart is your masterpiece // And I'll keep it safe

4. || Death of a Bachelor - Panic! At the Disco (In no universe am I sorry.)

Put my heart on my chest so that you can see it, too // I'm walking the long road, watching the sky fall // The lace in your dress tingles my neck, how do I live?

[tristanofmonaco]

princess--seraphine·:

She’d been practicing both her French and Spanish in an attempt at keeping herself occupied. There was nothing more she hated than feeling left out as a result of a language barrier. And though she was impeccably fluent in her native tongues- and English. It seemed that majority of the other countries dabbled in the two she had still been wobbly on. Russian being next on her list.

She nodded, with an understanding smile that happened to hurt from the excessive smiling she’d had to do during the course of the night. Any more smiling and she might need a shot of botox to relax her muscles that seemed to ache from overuse. “It’s a party- I promise not to hold it against you.”

His introduction warranted a small but genuine laugh to slip past her lips. “Well ‘guy named Tristan who almost knocked me over at the ball’ I’m Seraphine.” Though she had introduced herself all night with her title she decided to retire it for the night. Maybe without the title she wouldn’t necessarily feel the need to perform. “Just Seraphine,” she added. “Oh, um- let me,” she offered, opening the door and holding it in place for him. “Had your fill of the party as well?”

He tossed the woman another sheepish smile, finally getting his bearings as they stepped beyond the doors, the night air welcoming them with a reprieve from the activity now behind them. “Thank you, Seraphine.” Tristan said, the gratitude in his voice genuine as he spoke the woman’s name for the first time. It didn’t matter to him in that moment whether she was staff or royalty, only that she evidently shared his weariness of the evening. It was nice to feel that he wasn’t alone.

“More than my fill, apparently.” the prince replied with a chuckle, trying to make light of his mild overindulgence. “I thought it wise to take my leave while I can still choose to.” he paused, appreciating the quiet that now surrounded him and his newest acquaintance. “I hope you at least enjoyed some of the evening. I know everyone in there comes from very different places and circumstances, but...I dont know. It feels like everyone’s gone far too long without celebrating anything. In a way, it was nice to see.”

Tristan walked slowly, idly as he spoke; perhaps leading Seraphine along the stone pathway he knew would loop around to the residental part of the castle, perhaps being led along by her. Either way, the further they got from the muffled sound of festivity, the more ridiculous he felt in his costume. He reached up to peel off the domino mask his sister Eden had stuck onto his face, tucking it into the pocket of his green blazer. “With any luck, it’ll mean that the mood around here is a bit brighter tomorrow. Or am I the only one sensing gloom down every corridor?” he queried the woman beside him, feeling a welcome calm in her presence. Of course, that could still be the champagne misting over his mind.

[rpaskmemesx]

send me a ☾ and i’ll give you a song that matches my character’s aesthetic!

[tristanofmonaco]

princess--seraphine·:

She came, she saw- heck she even danced for a bit. But now she was leaving. She’d done her part. Dressed up elaborately- a costume with a message. Her father would be proud. But she could feel her enthusiasm slipping. The sparkle in her eye was flickering out and her smiles were becoming painfully forced. She needed out and as proxy for her own father she was granting it to herself.

Events like this reminded her just exactly why she tended more to be of the loner type. The small talk was exhausting. Trying to remember names and place them to faces. Though she did it flawlessly it didn’t come naturally. She’d had what? Two sips of an alcoholic beverage before trading it in for something easier on the throat. Even with the softer beverage she found herself longing for some tea, a good book and her bed.

Bidding her most recent company farewell she ran made her way to the first set of doors she spotted- it had been weeks and she still couldn’t tell one double door from the other. Before she could even step foot out of it another body hurdled into hers causing her to draw back slightly- “I’m sorry,” an automatic response that clashed with his, whether it had been her fault or not- she was just eager to make her exit. Taking in the male- cane in hand and clearly inebriated-she felt the pang of guilt for clearly not watching where she was going, multiply, “as-tu besoin d'aide?”

“No, no...I’m alright.” Tristan braced a hand on the doorframe and straightened up, still a little unsteady as he did so. “I should be apologizing.” he lifted his gaze apologetically to the unfortunate partygoer he’d collided with. Then, Tristan’s chivalrous nature stung him with a pang of added guilt that it was a woman in a very nice dress. He’d hate to have caused either it or her any damage. Sighing, he leaned against the stone behind him, rubbing the back of his neck. “I promise I’m not always...like this.” 

The prince allowed himself a more careful glance at the woman before him, the accent which had coloured her first words to him—which, it should be noted, had impressivley melded into a practiced French one—and the symbol at her chest giving him a few distinct clues. Still, he knew better than to assume.

“You...seemed to be on your way out. I’d hate to slow you down more than I already have.” Tristan began, eyes dipping momentarily to the floor. “But, since I’d hate to be remembered as ‘the guy who almost knocked me over at the ball’, I’m Tristan.” he paused a moment, a grin spreading across his features. “So now you can remember me as ‘that guy named Tristan...who almost knocked me over at the ball.’” 

[tristanofmonaco]

julienreuss·:

“C’est bon,” Julien replied, almost as quickly as the other had apologized, having reached out one hand to hold on to the literal crasher. He smiled, as if to reassure him that there had been no harm involved, but mostly due to the other’s evident beauty. He was an easy man to appease, in most scenarios. “Ça va? Because I wouldn’t want to let go until you’re sure.” Another smile, every inch of him the perfectly charming person he could be when he tried.

It was hard not to be charming, of course, when such a lovely adorable creature had suddenly appeared in front of him. And, even though French wasn’t his default (though an official language of his country), it was one he would gladly speak to the other in if they preferred it.

“You look like you were sneaking away. Were you hoping to catch one of the… ghosts?” he inquired, eyebrows raising as he looked expectantly at the Prince’s face, relishing in the knowledge of who the person was.

Gratitude and chagrin are a strange blend of feelings, but as he was steadied by the quick-thinking stranger, it’s exactly what Tristan felt. As he set his gaze properly upon his momentary saviour, the prince felt a hush of colour rise into his features, colour he hoped was at least partially concealed by the domino mask he wore. His smile was as charming as his words, and it was evident, even behind the stranger’s own mask, that he by no means lacked the looks to accompany them.

Tristan felt himself caught rather off-guard by the combination, and he fought for composure as best he could as he straightened himself up against the doorframe—though not necessarily moving to put any distance between himself and the stranger—and attempted to express his thanks after clearing his throat.

“I’m...alright. I appreciate the help.” And it’s source. Tristan chuckled at the mention of ghosts, having heard whispers of the myths about the palace and the surrounding wilderness. “I suppose I was ‘sneaking away’...but I was hoping to catch some fresh air rather than ghosts.” he said with a smirk which only spread as he watched the stranger’s expression shift. “Not that running into unexpected figures has gone poorly for me this evening.” he hinted, allowing himself to indulge in reciprocating the stranger’s subtle flirtation. “Awful first impressions aside...I’m Tristan. And who might I credit for saving me further embarrassment this evening?”

[tristanofmonaco]

|| ♔ || Potent || ♔ || OPEN || ♔ ||

Tristan had made a mistake. 

Perhaps ‘lapse in judgement’ was a better way to describe it, but in any case, it wasn’t something he made a habit of. Yet, being so far from home—with all its responsibilities and expectations—provided a temptation the prince didn’t usually find himself faced with. So, Tristan had let himself have that second glass of punch, because why not? Then came the third...and half of the fourth. He could handle being tipsy, even very tipsy, but now that he was very tipsy enough that he could use some water and fresh air, the prospect of navigating his cane-reliant self out to the gardens without ending up on the floor and making a complete ass of himself might be a bit of a problem. He might’ve tracked down one or both of his siblings, but at the thought of how disappointed Elios and Eden might be if they saw him like this, he’d shelved the idea.

The prince had managed to locate a glass of water, at least, and having chugged it down he charted a course towards the tall double doors leading out into the gardens. But just as he neared the threshold, things started to spin a bit, and a slight loss of balance had him bracing against the doorframe, bumping into another party-goer as he did so. 

“P-pardon...au temps pour moi...” he managed, his native tongue coming more naturally to him in the moment than English. Tristan straightened up, casting the other an apologetic look as he ran a hand through his hair—a habit when embarrassed—only to find that the green bowler which completed his costume was absent from his head. Awesome.

[tristanofmonaco]

Crown Prince Tristan Carminati of Monaco as The Riddler.

[tristanofmonaco]

callistergalatas·:

There were moments, few and far between as they were, when Callister was content to be left to himself. In the situation, what there was of it to his mind, it was far more advantageous to watch more than to interact, though he did both. There was a problem, though, in the current season: pumpkins. He was allergic and even the scent made his nose twitch. It made a sight, he was sure, when he gave a wide berth to a few and eyed them warily. “Pity; I’m sure you’re fun.”

The velvet-upholstered bench Tristan sat on had proved a nice, quiet respite from the flare-up of soreness in his injured leg, giving him a place to set down after his morning routine of strolling the corridors. Keeping the leg moving would promote healing, after all...or so the doctor kept telling him.

The prince watched stranger after stranger drift through the corridor, which was lined with all manner of fall decorations; garlands of leaves, sprigs of berries, gourds of all sizes. Every bit of it real, of course. This place spared no expense, it seemed. Then, he spotted a familiar face. The older brother of his younger sister’s best friend, no less. Tristan smirked with amusement as the eldest Galatas strode past the pumpkins at more than an arm’s length, seemingly unaware that he wasn’t alone in the hallway. Until Tristan spoke up, of course.

“Does Cassandra know of this...aversion of yours, Cal?”

[tristanofmonaco]

Plummet

— - -|| Tristan often dreamed of the sky. Since arriving in Russia, he dreamed of it nearly every night...every night which allowed him a scrap of decent rest, that is. 

— - -|| Half of him loved the dreams; the feeling of flying that he so desperately missed, of floating high above the clouds where not a soul on Earth could disturb the peace he felt. But the other half, the half that rose to the surface every time his leg throbbed painfully in the dead of night and made him toss and turn under the ache...that half of him hated the dreams. 

— - -|| That half of him couldn’t ignore the voice that echoed from the depths of his mind; the dark, foreboding voice that reminded him that perhaps it was only in his dreams that would he ever get to fly again. And the minute that voice pierced through the clouds and sunshine and wind that his mind painted for itself, that feeling of flying would turn to falling. Clouds would turn to smoke, sunlight to flames, and wind to sharp licks of heat cutting at his face as dreaming gave way to remembering. 

— - -|| Suddenly, it would be happening all over again. The harsh and sudden mechanical screech, louder than anything he’d ever heard, followed by a numbing silence. Then, the blurred haze of propeller slowing into distinct blades through the buffeting smoke; slower, slower...until he could see that there was one less of them than there should be. Then the realization, the one that would haunt him for the rest of his days. The realization that this was the end, and that there was nothing he could do but wait. Wait, and fall, and choke, and burn, his senses drowned in the inferno before him, such that he couldn’t even appreciate the view of the sunlit Earth in his final moments. The Earth that grew nearer, and nearer, and nearer and nearer.

— - -|| As he jolted awake, gasping for  as much breath and drenched in as much sweat as he was every other dream-filled night of late, the panicked fog of his mind would gradually settle until one thought rang out, harsher and louder and more ominous than the rest.

— - -|| He may never fly again.

— - -|| And perhaps he didn’t want to.

[tristanofmonaco]

|| ♔ || Shake Off the Rust || ♔ || @elios-carminati || ♔ ||

So far, this castle really did have everything. As Tristan stood in the center of the long, wooden-floored room he’d discovered that morning, afternoon sunlight streaming in through the tall windows lining the eastern wall, he was struck by something akin to suspicion. As though everyone in this castle had perhaps been dragged through a wormhole into some alternate dimension where whatever you happened to need magically materialized behind a door you hadn’t opened yet. 

The prince brought himself back to reality by reminding himself that this was clearly a multi-purpose space; that fencing was, in fact not the only activity it was intended to host. The back wall was panelled with mirrors and a ballet barre, there was a rack of weights in one corner, and there were what appeared to be hookups for a badminton net on either side of the room. But it was the foils hung on the furthest wall that had piqued Tristan’s interest in this space. 

The instant he’d spotted them, he’d been transported back to Monaco, to the space in the Carminati family home that was purpose-built for fencing; a space Tristan had frequently shared with his younger brother Elios as they grew up. Many an afternoon the brothers spent chatting and bantering as they harmlessly prodded each other with flexible steel. As they’d entered adulthood, and Tristan’s duties as the future king took away more of his time, they practiced less and less frequently. Then came Tristan’s accident several months ago, then Eden’s abduction by rebels. Needless to say, it had been ages since he’d fenced with his brother. But with all three siblings now sequestered to this Russian castle, with little to do but spend time with each other, it seemed the perfect time to reconnect. That morning, a very gracious member of staff had passed along a note Tristan had written to Elios, asking him to meet his brother in this very room, at pretty much this exact time. Just as Tristan raised his wrist to check the time, he heard movement behind him. A grin spread across his face as he turned to greet Elios, hands folded over the handle of his cane.

“Right on time.” he said, lifting a brow. “Not that I’m surprised...there’s not much to do here that might be cause for delay.” Tristan lifted his cane, pointing it at the foils on the opposite end of the room. “I thought we could shake off some of the rust, so to speak. It’s been forever since we practiced.”

[tristanofmonaco]

kala-paswan·:

Kala had always been a night owl, it was her one chance to have some peace. Besides she had always enjoyed nights in India, when the city had settled to go to sleep. She would sit for hours on the balcony in her room and stare up at the stars or sit and sketch new designs. It was also the perfect time for her to be rebellious and slip out of the palace to go out with her friends and have fun. 

Being in Russia had become no different for her, she was still wide awake every night. Though instead of sketching, she spent hours stalking the castle halls and trying to memorize where everything was. It wasn’t much larger than her own palace in India, but it was still easy for her to get turned around. Late nights had become her time to wander the castle without having to worry about running into many people. 

Tonight had found her wandering among the shelves of books in the large library. It was much larger than her own at home, then again there were a number of books that weren’t allowed in her own home. She spent the major part of an hour pulling random books from the shelves and flipping through them. She would have to come back at some point, there were many books here that she would like to read.

She had just stepped out of the library, quietly shutting the door behind her when she heard the piano. She was quiet for a moment, leaning against the door as she listened to the beautiful melody. She followed the sound down the corridor and quietly opened the door, hoping she wouldn’t disturb the player. She shook her head at his words and wandered closer to the piano. “No I was already awake, I couldn’t sleep myself.” She explained. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your playing, it was beautiful and I was just wanting to get a closer listen.” 

Tristan gave a soft smile as his eyes dipped to the floor, relieved that his playing hadn’t been disruptive after all. It shouldn’t have surprised him that there were other insomniacs in the palace, especially given the distance some of his fellow royals had travelled to get here.

“That’s kind of you.” he replied, brown eyes lifting to his unexpected audience. “It’s been a while...good to know I’m not as rusty as I thought.”

The prince’s gaze searched the woman’s face—a beautiful face, the kind he’d surely remember having encountered in the past. But no such recognition sparked in his mind. Instead, there was only curiosity. Who she was, where she’d come from, what brought her out into the dark hallways before the crack of dawn. There were so many strangers here, and Tristan very much wanted to shorten the list. He had no more idea than any other royal how long they’d have to stay here, and he knew that wouldn’t always be an easy question to have to live with. For all his sister Eden had suffered in rebel captivity, she had been telling him ever since that the uncertainty had been the worst part of it. Even here, in such lavish accomodations as this palace, Tristan was beginning to understand what she meant. That, and her fervent belief that it was the companionship of the other abducted royals that had gotten her through. He knew he’d have to seek companionship of his own, and who better to start with than the fellow night-owl standing before him?

“Not that I make a habit of forming assumptions, but...I’m not the only one in this room who’s far from home, am I?” he began. “I’m Tristan. From Monaco.”

[ohmyaranea]

Send in a ❣ for a random kiss.

a shy kiss. 

a forehead kiss.

a cheek kiss.

a nuzzle kiss.

a neck kiss.

a hand kiss. 

a hug + kiss combo. 

a dying kiss. 

a bleeding / bloody kiss. 

an assertive kiss. 

a nonchalant / uninterested kiss. 

a kiss to your muse’s shoes. 

a blown kiss. 

a sad / crying kiss. 

a quick kiss. 

a happy kiss.

a teasing / sensual kiss. 

a platonic kiss. 

a clumsy kiss

a kiss of your choosing! ( requested by the sender! )

[musingmeme-blog]

anastasia (1997) lyric starters .   always feel free to change pronouns  /   wording !

A RUMOR IN ST. PETERSBURG. ❛  my underwear got frozen standing here all week  !    ❜ ❛  thank goodness for the gossip that gets us through the day  !  ❜  ❛  have you heard what they’re saying on the street  ?  ❜ ❛   it’s a rumor  ,   a legend  ,  a mystery  …    ❜ ❛   it could be worth a fortune  !    ❜ ❛   you and i  ,  friend  ,  will go down in history  !    ❜ ❛   who else could pull it off but you and me  ?  ❜ ❛  we’ll be rich  !  ❜ ❛   who knows  ?  ❜ JOURNEY TO THE PAST. ❛   don’t turn back now that we’re here  .  ❜ ❛   life is full of choices  .  ❜ ❛   somewhere down this road  ,  i know someone’s waiting  .    ❜ ❛   i must’ve had them  ,  too  !    ❜ ❛   i will never be complete until i find you  !    ❜ ❛   one step at a time  .  ❜ ❛   who knows where this road may go  !  ❜ ❛   bring me home at last !  ❜ ONCE UPON A DECEMBER. ❛   dancing bears  ,  painted wings  .  ❜ ❛   someone holds me safe and warm  .  ❜ ❛   far away  , long ago  .    ❜ ❛   horses prance through a silver storm  !    ❜ IN THE DARK OF THE NIGHT. ❛   i was tossing and turning  .  ❜ ❛   the nightmare i had was as bad as can be  .  ❜ ❛   it scared me out of my wits  !    ❜ ❛   revenge will be sweet  .    ❜  ❛   i can feel that my powers are slowly returning  !  ❜ ❛   terror’s the least i can do  !    ❜ ❛   soon she will feel that her nightmares are real  !    ❜ ❛   evil will find her  .  ❜ ❛   it’s the end of the line  !    ❜ ❛   she’ll be mine  !    ❜ LEARN TO DO IT. ❛    you were born in a palace by the sea   .  ❜ ❛   could it be  ?  ❜ ❛   we’ve lots and lots to teach you  !    ❜ ❛   shoulders back and stand up tall  .    ❜  ❛   i feel a little foolish  .  .  .  ❜ ❛   what happens now  ?    ❜ ❛   if i can learn to do it  ,  you can learn to do it  .    ❜ ❛   there’s nothing to it  !  ❜ ❛   i never cared for stroganoff  !    ❜ ❛   dessert and then goodnight  ?    ❜ ❛   pull yourself together  !  ❜ ❛   suddenly  ,  i feel like someone new  !    ❜ ❛   you’re a dream come true  !    ❜ LEARN TO DO IT ( REPRISE ). ❛   i see it at a glance   .  ❜ ❛   she’s radiant and confident  .  ❜ ❛   i taught her well  .    ❜ ❛   how could you do this  ?    ❜  ❛   how will we get through this  ?  ❜ ❛   i never should have let them dance  !    ❜ PARIS HOLDS THE KEY. ❛   forget where you’re from   .  ❜ ❛   there’s love in the air  !  ❜ ❛   i’ve found you at last  .    ❜ ❛   you’ll be gone , that’s the end  .    ❜  ❛   you’ll be très jolie and so smart  !  ❜ ❛   come dance through the night  !    ❜ ❛   paris holds the key to her heart  !    ❜ ❛   ooh la la  !  ❜

[tristanofmonaco]

nathanielsgray·:

His latest, fruitless, attempt at getting signal good enough to get in touch with his sister or niece had only succeeded at worsening his bad mood. He’d never actually let it go for so long - there was always something he had to tell them, the reassurance in his ear that they both thought of him and missed him as much as he missed them. As such, and yet again ignoring the countless guards that had pulled the short stick of night duty, he’d taken to wandering the serpentine halls one more time – hoping that some day he’d be able to map out the place in its entirety.

It wasn’t too long before he was lured, like Hamelin’s flutist would’ve so long ago, to the much pleasant sound of a piano being played skillfully, rather than his own bitter thoughts. Of course, he hadn’t planned on the other stopping, so he was quick to find an apology to offer.

“Uh, no. Not at all. Sorry, it just – it sounded good,” Nate explained, his expression too drawn for even a small smile. “Not that I know anything about music, but it was just… something soothing. I think?” he offered up, his brows arching quizzically.

Tristan couldn’t help but get the impression that the stranger in the doorway was as unwillingly awake as he was. Something about his face just seemed...troubled. If he were his younger sister Eden, Tristan would undoubtedly be so immediately concerned—despite having never met the young man before him—that he’d currently be asking after the stranger’s wellbeing, wanting to help any way he could. But, alas, Tristan was not Eden. He possessed more emotional discretion, for better or worse, than she did. That wasn’t to say he didn’t care—quite the opposite, in fact. But he both understood and respected the invisible boundaries that existed between strangers. Boundaries that would wear down with time, if they were fated to do so.

“I appreciate that. I think.” Tristan replied, lightheartedly echoing the young man’s uncertainty with a half-smile. “This room in general is pretty soothing, actually.” he said, glancing around the space. Then he gave the top of the piano a few pats. “And there’s more Chopin where that came from, if you wanted to hang around for a while. You know, in case you’re up this early to get away from something.”

Thoughts, feelings, people. Tristan could sympathise with any of it.  

[tristanofmonaco]

sasha-bykov·:

Nearing four in the morning often was around the time in the day Sasha would find himself waking up to tend to the horses in the stables. That and there was something about being alone in a castle where everyone else was sleeping that put his mind at ease. It was a solitude he was grateful for, especially since he had always been one to keep more to himself and avoid making too many friends with the guests who inhabited the palace grounds. This morning in particular however as Sasha ventured into the castle he couldn’t help but allow his curiosity to get the better of him as he followed the sweet melodic notes until stumbling upon the source. It was a rather melancholy sight to behold, a man seated alone at a piano in the early hours of the morning with a cane propped against the body of the musical instrument and nothing but the early morning light to illuminate the scene. It could almost be construed as an eerie feeling if the man was being honest with himself, just with how vacant everything seemed to be set to the music. 

Yet, as always he lingered for too long and soon his presence was known. A quick adjustment of his bag over his shoulder and the stable worker was promptly excusing himself in heavily accented English. “I was already awake, but it’s a good alarm if someone needs it.” Certainly better than getting jolted awake by a fire alarm or something worse he’d rather not speak into existence. “You’re very good.”

Tristan recognized the young man in the doorway, and as the seconds ticked by he rifled through his weary mind in an attempt to put a name to a face, or, at the very least, a location. In spite of the hour, and said weariness, Tristan was ever the prince, cracking into a humble, eyes-to-the-floor grin at the compliment paid to his playing.

“That’s kind of you.” he replied. “I was a little worried I’d get rusty while staying here, but...” he laid a hand—affectionately, one might say—along the top of the instrument. “...I’m glad that won’t have to be the case.”

Tristan’s eyes turned back to the young man in the doorway, and as a memory quickly passed through his mind, his gaze narrowed in recognition.

“I’ve seen you...around the stables, if I recall.” Tristan said, taking notice of the bag slung over his shoulder. He’d been walking as much as he could and had begun to see the same faces in the same places. “I guess that explains where you’re headed this early. Going for a ride, are we?”