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Being king meant hearing all manner of unusual requests. The worst of them—at least so far—also happened to be the most innocuous. An invitation to the new winery in Daphnel was an exclusive opportunity. For most people, a wine tasting would be exciting. Dimitri was rather unlike most people.
It would be nothing short of absurd for a man who only recently regained some semblance of taste to attend. So he sent back a polite refusal. It was Dimitri's luck that these vintners were the most obstinate of their profession. Their written correspondence was frequent and their in-person (unannounced) visits many. Towards the end, the entire castle staff had begged him to go. To shut them up, as Ingrid put it.
That was how Dimitri ended up miles from home in front of a winery. The attendants threw themselves over each other to fawn over him. They led Dimitri and his knights through a gold-accented door then down a grand hall with the plushest carpet anyone will ever stand upon and oh so many other lavish things.
Even as he fought off a deep sigh, Dimitri noted that his knights seemed happy. To his right, he could hear Ashe's excited voice as he spoke to their hostess.
Dimitri was sure it was his duty to also engage in pleasantries. Instead, he was busy trying and failing to come up with a reason to skip the tasting part of this visit. He was too old to hide and too honest to lie. What Dimitri needed was nothing less than a miracle.
There was a sudden commotion behind them. Setting aside his unsolved quandary, Dimitri turned to look at the new arrivals. It seemed the other host had arrived with more guests in tow. The one that stood out was a tall man with fire-bright hair. Was Sylvain always on the guest list? Dimitri’s heart pounded hard in his chest as he shot off down the hall, ignoring the confused cries behind him.
“Sylvain!” Upon hearing his bellow, everyone at the entrance swiveled their heads to gawk at him. Sometimes, he forgot his very presence commanded all attention. Dimitri stopped short of his goal, staring at Sylvain with an imploring look.
The crowd began to move, but Sylvain got to him first. Dimitri relaxed as Sylvain slung a familiar arm over his shoulder. The weight of it was a welcome comfort.
“A personal royal welcome?” Sylvain winked at Dimitri as if there was a secret between them. The moment was short-lived, but Dimitri smiled even as Sylvain turned away from him. “You weren't kidding about the hospitality here, Bernard.”
“I’m pleased to hear it, Margrave,” said a stout man who came to stand before them. “As I’ve said, my name is—”
“So! Your Highness, how was the ride from Fhirdiad?” Sylvain turned them away from their host.
“It was fine.” Dimitri brought his hand up to lay over Sylvain’s. Their fingers twitched together and Dimitri jerked his hand away as if burned. His stomach felt odd. Like he swallowed some wiggling thing that was now trying to get out.
“Sylvain, could I ask you a favor?” He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “With a personal matter?”
Sylvain eyed him—features neutral other than the small quirk of a brow.
“No trouble,” he finally smiled, “lead on.” He took his arm back and gestured down a side hall. Dimitri nodded his head, grateful for his friend’s discretion.
It was a relatively short walk down the other hall; Dimitri chose the first door he saw, hoping it would lead them to a little privacy. He wrenched open the door and ushered Sylvain inside, following immediately after him.
“Thank you, my friend,” he began, “I wouldn’t burden you were it not urgent.”
Without warning, the door slammed shut and they were thrown into complete darkness. It seemed this was a storage closet. With no light sources.
“If you wanted me alone,” said Sylvain’s amused-but-disembodied voice, “surely there were better options.”
He heard rustling as Sylvain started moving around then flinched as the all too familiar sulfur smell of fire magic assaulted his nostrils. Dimitri squinted his eye against the dim light that followed. As his sight adjusted, he saw that Sylvain had lit a candle on the wall. The magic flame cast Sylvain's usual sharp angles into soft, glowing curves.
“What’s the favor then?”
“The wine tasting,” Dimitri blurted, “I don’t know how to—to taste.”
“Is that all?” asked Sylvain. Dimitri could see the way his shoulders were trembling. Was Sylvain laughing?
“Don’t make a face, it’s not a big deal.” Sylvain waved off Dimitri’s concern. “It's easy. You smell, taste, and spit.”
“Why would I spit?”
“If you prefer to swallow.”
“Pardon?”
“Never mind.” Sylvain’s shoulders sagged. “All you have to do is taste the wine and talk about the flavor.”
“I told you, I can’t,” said Dimitri with a shake of his head.
“Can’t what?”
“Taste.”
“You can’t taste?” Sylvain accused.
“I’ll explain in more detail later if you would like, but it’s difficult for me.” Dimitri averted his gaze, not wanting to see whatever pitiable look he would receive. He was better now. Somewhat. His inability to taste had eased since his coronation. Dimitri even dared to enjoy a meal a few weeks back.
The problem here was his undiscerning palate. Dimitri can hardly tell the difference between types of meats. He couldn’t detect subtle notes of—well, he wasn’t sure what they put in wine, but it didn’t matter.
“If you would be so kind as to guide me through it?” Dimitri offered his hand, hoping Sylvain would take it.
Before Sylvain could answer, the door flew open.
“There you are!” exclaimed Ashe, his small, frazzled frame somehow filling the entire doorway. His gaze darted between the two of them as confusion settled over his brows. Dimitri shifted from foot to foot, failing to come up with a reason he would be standing with Sylvain in such a tiny space.
“Did I interrupt something?” asked Ashe, unsure.
“Nope! Just finished.” Sylvain found Dimitri’s hand and squeezed it. “Shall we, Your Highness?” Sylvain led them from the closet and past a still-confused Ashe. Dimitri glanced back at him and shrugged his shoulder. He was just as clueless, probably more so. As the trio reached the main hall, Sylvain released Dimitri’s hand. He curled his fingers into his palm at the sudden loss of contact.
They were ushered to the back of the winery, where a spacious banquet hall sat. It was beautifully decorated with royal blue banners and lit by myriad chandeliers. The roar of the crowd quieted to a near whisper as Dimitri neared his table. It still set his nerves on edge for his every move to be scrutinized.
There was a quick jab to his ribcage as Sylvain—who somehow had put himself between Dimitri and the crowd—elbowed him.
“Adoring public,” he muttered, “more like annoying, right?”
While he wouldn't dare dignify that with a response, he didn't bother hiding the smile it brought to his lips. Dimitri took his seat, pleased to see that Sylvain sat down next to him. He was at ease, sitting so close to Sylvain. It had been that way for most of his life though, so it’s hardly a new revelation.
The Margrave waved off their hosts' protests, not caring about their seating chart. This time Dimitri hid his smile behind his hand as he gazed at Sylvain.
“What? Something on my face?” Sylvain asked, tilting his head to the side.
"Oh no, I was only looking," answered Dimitri. He was certain he hadn't said something strange, but Sylvain eyed him with suspicion anyway.
Had the wine not been brought out at that exact moment, Dimitri would have asked what was wrong. Instead, he stared hard at the deep red liquid settling in his glass. He could hear the loud voices of their hosts explaining the whole wine-making process, but Dimitri couldn’t bring himself to pay attention. He plucked his glass from the table and eyed the shiny liquid.
"It's very red," he said, feeling rather idiotic. Next to him, Sylvain snickered.
"And what else?" he pestered. Why should it matter what it looked like? Dimitri furrowed his brow but held up the glass for a better look.
The liquid moved this way and that and it behaved like most other things one put in a glass, Dimitri thought.
"Ah, it's," he grasped for any word, "lovely?"
Bang! Their table rattled and Dimitri jumped which caused the wine to tumble from the glass. It spilled over his fingers, staining the pristine white tablecloth below. He hastily put the glass down and searched for something to wipe his hand with. Before he could try and subtly use the tablecloth, something soft kissed his skin. He looked and saw that Sylvain had procured a handkerchief from somewhere and was wiping his hand for him.
"Didn't mean to startle you, Your Highness." Sylvain’s shoulders were shaking. Ah, he was laughing at Dimitri again. "You have quite the way with words."
Sylvain pressed the handkerchief into his hand and Dimitri held it with more reverence than necessary.
"Thank you," he murmured, stashing away the gift as if it weren’t just a square of stained linen.
“No big deal.” Sylvain shrugged his shoulder. He scrunched his nose as they listened to their hosts’ drone on about their creation to the rest of the hall.
“Come on,” sighed Sylvain, “drink it and rave about how rich and earthy it is.”
With a nod, he picked up his glass once more and set the rim to his lips and—oh. It was bitter and all-around unpleasant. He held the wine on his tongue, struggling to get past the odd medicinal taste that coated his entire mouth. Dimitri sat stock-still, struggling to remember how to even breathe. Sylvain smacked his back once, then twice.
“Spit it out, you madman!”
The loud chorus of gasps and jeers that filled the hall told Dimitri he had, yet again, done something less than dignified. Well, he supposed he really shouldn’t have spit the wine out on the table.
“That,” he gasped, “was terrible.”
Sylvain, to put it mildly, lost his marbles. He was laughing so hard, Dimitri worried he might suffocate.
“Oh. Oh. Your Highness, that was incredible ,” Sylvain managed between laughs. “This wine is horrendous, honestly!”
Dimitri's ears burned, he felt so many eyes on them, but Sylvain didn't seem to care. His laugh was almost infectious.
“I think the hosts are upset with us,” Dimitri whispered, sneaking a peek to where the affronted winemakers stood. Sylvain clapped his shoulder.
“They should be upset, this swill is an insult.” He grinned with more joy than Dimitri had seen on his face since they were children. Sylvain stood up and waved to their hosts. Dimitri wondered how he made a usual friendly gesture look so rude. “Come on, Your Highness, I know a place you’ll enjoy.”
He began to walk off, not bothering to check if Dimitri were even following. Although, he didn’t have to. Dimitri found that he wanted to chase after his old friend. If for no other reason than to simply be close. For this evening, at least.
Having made up his mind, Dimitri stood and offered the people nearest him a flimsy apology.
“It is a lovely building you have here,” he said to the hosts. He turned on his heel so quickly he missed their affronted looks.
“Have a pleasant evening!” he called over his shoulder before retreating out of the hall. He would gather his knights later. Ashe could handle them for a while, surely.
Quick as he could manage without running like a schoolboy, Dimitri went after Sylvain. His chest fluttered and he felt oddly light. As he followed Sylvain’s path, a long-forgotten memory of chasing after his oldest friend bubbled up to the surface of his mind.