~THE SON OF A WHORE~

ALL EYES ON THE TABLE fixed on the newcomer; Ferra, Esabel, and Marsil accessing him in their own way. The yellow light of incensed candles glowed warmly in their little booth, highlighting the four seated figures.

This new guest at their table looked to be about twenty years of age, younger even. He had full auburn hair with spare bangs hanging into his hazel eyes.

Esabel contemplated his hair could be dyed; it was the Carnival afterall.

He had a forever cocky flair on his features, the playboy type. Obviously, the red-haired stranger was handsome but even he could not equate to the Prince. Where he was all smirk and smile, Marsil was fantasy and mystery.

However, what caught the group's stare was the artful lines of black and green ink snaking down the base of his throat. It was a tattoo of some sort of smoke and skulls.

They looked to be dancing around each other.

Esabel's eyes followed them until they vanished under his shirt, but from the bold display of the ink, the Princess knew this particular art wasn't for the Costume Carnival.

The man's tattoos were real.

Ferra looked him over. She could tell he was tall from his long legs, taller than her and Esabel at least. But she knew Marsil would undoubtedly still bear down on him. The Vampire Prince was built in a form carved by the Seventh Flame.

Marsil just regarded the young man as a fellow. His own scrutiny had been done in seconds. For he had sighted the man even before he took his seat at the table. His vampire senses were acute in that way.

...and being something more made them sharper.

The stranger's heart beat a normal rhythm; from this Marsil was sure he didn't have any ulterior motive of coming to their table.

His eyes were glinting, with a flirty glance at Esabel's lovely form. It wasn't a depraved expression, it was more playful.

The Dark Prince could tell the newcomer was just seeking the company of some group. Inwardly, he was glad at the man's arrival for he did not want to spend another second locked with two of the most beautiful women he had ever seen; if only because he feared what he would do.

Still he had to keep his identity a secret...

The Vampire Prince lowered his eyes from the stranger's gaze and quickly reached for his silver mask to hide out his face. His fingers had just gripped the forgery when the redhead's voice stopped him.

"You don't need to do that, Lord Silverheel, or should I say... MARSIL."

His words were playful but hung dangerously in the air like stalactites hanging down from a cave. Marsil had frozen in his seat.

How did the flame-haired stranger know him?

Since none of them were speaking, the man went on.

With every uttered word, the tattoos on his neck shifted, making the art even more realistic; so much that it resembled some depiction of the Netherworld.

"I'm Hemlock," the redhead said, stretching his hand across the table.

None of the three friends moved to collect it. After a while, he closed his hand, withdrawing his arm. Marsil was the first to speak up. His voice was shocking to Hemlock who had never heard such rich baritone.

The Prince's voice made him think of deep, soulful music.

"Who are you, Hemlock? And how do you know me?"

The man in question smiled before giving a reply.

"I would tell you all, my beautiful friends..."

Esabel scrunched her nose at his use of the endearment. They barely knew each other. Hemlock didn't seem to mind her frown.

"...but first I would need to water my parched throat. May I?" he gestured to the goblet of exotic summerland wine.

The table remained silent and Hemlock quickly grabbed the jug. Esabel frowned as he poured himself a full cup, then lifted it to his lips, downing the red wine in one go.

His throat bobbed, the tattoos becoming realistic once more and Ferra regarded him with suspicion. Marsil however just wanted some fucking answers.

Hemlock lowered the cup with a heavy sound that rattled the table, and his tongue darted out to swipe at the lingering drop. His eyes held Esabel's as he did so, and her lips twitched.

The Ginger thought he could play her.

The Princess rose to the challenge, giving him her most stunning smile. Her full lips, colored a raging scarlet to match with her Enchantress costume stretched and she spied Hemlock freeze, his brown eyes glued to her lips.

It was obvious she had won their little flirty power play.

Ferra Savaeros and the Prince were not oblivious to this interaction and Marsil growled a single word.

"Hemlock?"

It was a warning. It seemed to focus the young man on the 'elephant in the room.'

Who the fuck was he?

"Yes, I'm sorry Lord Silverheel—"

"Marsil," the Prince interrupted. "The name's Marsil."

"Lord Marsil then," Hemlock said.

Silver eyes narrowed on him and he knew he was skirting around danger. He quickly cleared his throat and began a long-awaited explanation.

"Like I said earlier, I'm Hemlock, and I'm the son of a whore. Nothing like you royalty. I was born in a bordello and lived all my life amongst BEAUTIFUL, NAKED WOMEN..." he stretched the last three words like he loved it.

"...I must add, drinking milk from so many tits is quite refreshing. Gave me the looks I have today."

Obviously, Hemlock was a narcissist and intended his words as a joke. It made Esabel grin. Ferra blushed. Marsil sat without any change in his beautiful features.

Hemlock caught his stare and hurriedly continued.

"Born amongst women who were most times beaten by men and deprived of good pay, I learned to cultivate some skills?"

"Such as?"

It was Ferra's light voice by the corner. Hemlock looked to the reserved amber-eyed beauty as he replied.

"I know stuff. While I don't possess the expert swordsmanship of Lord Silverheel, I can take a man thrice my size. Call it 'the advantages of having multiple mommies'..."

He made air quotes with his fingers before going on.

"...I think it's safe to say that the added colostrum I got at birth made me stronger than most men, faster even. I can jump great heights. I can run long miles. I can scale a wall quick as a beaver, which is necessary whenever I get into trouble with the Blue Cloaks for defending the women. Most of all, I concot potions and poisons; rare ones unavailable in this realm, some might even say magical."

"That's the reason for your name, Hemlock," Ferra said in a small voice.

"Bingo!" the handsome redhead exclaimed. "Someone is actually paying attention. Someone who is beautiful and—"

Hemlock trailed off when he heard a low growling come from the Prince. The flaming candles flickered in their positions, the orange light wavering at Marsil's stern tone.

"HOW. DO. YOU. KNOW. WHO. I. AM?"

Hemlock knew he had stirred the Vampire within and hurriedly opened his mouth to explain.

"I know stuff, Lord Silverheel. In addition to my numerous skills, I also have the brain of a Seer as I've been told. I saw you best Vandal in the arena, then the next day, I heard the King had a new son—who wore a mask. I just put two and two together and here we are..."

Marsil narrowed his eyes. Hemlock was quite brilliant. Not many people could tell who he was under the mask.

"...it's the same way I know that the smoking hot goddess before me is the very same Princess of Syveria, and that the reserved Knockout beside her bears resemblance to the Keeper of the Vale..."

Ferra paled at his words but the young man was quick to calm her.

"...it's alright, Darling. I also know how to keep my mouth shut."

"Why are you telling us all these things?" Esabel asked.

Hemlock smirked at her question.

"Are you kidding me? You guys are obviously going to be some legendary heroes some day. I can just imagine the way men and women of the future will spin tales of the Vampire Prince, the lovely Princess, and the Amber-eyed maiden..."

The redhead had a faraway look in his eyes as he spoke.

"...I want my name to be up there also. When these tales are told, I want to be remembered; not as Hemlock, Son of a Whore but as Hemlock the Handsome, warrior alongside the bravest Legends...

...There I was sitting in a corner and worrying about how the hell I was going to pay for my drinks when you three walked in. And I knew there was my salvation. MY CHANCE AT HISTORY!" he finished with a flair, like he could hear his own music in the background.

"Wow! That was quite good," Esabel said.

"Thank you, I practiced," Hemlock replied, bringing a smile to the entire table.

The young man had humor.

"Only one problem though," the Princess continued. "We are no Legends of the future or anything. We are just friends brought together by different circumstances."

"Pretty good-looking friends," Hemlock said, his cocky grin in place.

"Anyway, whatever you all are, I want in."

At this everyone at the table turned to Marsil who had been silent for a while. Obviously, he held the final cards. His pale eyes scanned the table...

...Esabel, with her ocean-blue eyes.

...Ferra, his beautiful friend with eyes of gold.

...And Hemlock, a red-haired playboy with a subdued dark personality.

With eyes on them, he opened his mouth in reply.

"Today is for drinking. Tomorrow is for decisions."

"Hear! Hear!" Hemlock echoed back.

He filled their three cups with the rich ale, and they all clunked together, downing the ale with him drinking straight from the jug.

It was at the refreshing gulp of the wine that Marsil was filled with inspiration.

Suddenly, the Vampire Prince knew where to find Gryther the Sorcerer.