It is a loud night in Icevale, the largest and only drinking hall in Bredost which can house more or less three hundred drinkers in one night. Icevale was once an infirmary for the elite soldiers of House Ays, referred to by the folk as Ice of the North due to their coldness and ruthlessness towards their enemies. However, after Illain's rebellion, the infirmary has been repurposed as a drinking hall for all the folk to enjoy...during certain occasions, that is. Icevale only opens under Lord Felkin's word, be it celebration of a victory in war or during celebration of his or his family's birth.

The drinking hall is filled with songs from the maidens, tales from bards and laughter among the soldiers of House Ays and House Poynt, the establishment lit with torches that stuck on the wooden pillars.

As the feast continued, Orewell enjoyed his own company on the porch of the drinking hall, enjoying the amazing sight of Bredost at night, the light of houses peering through the windows. His plate is filled with smoked sausage and sugarbread, his bowl filled with savory soup created with chicken broth and seasonings that only the cooks know because the flavors had blended in too well and Orewell can't pick apart the ingredients with his tongue.

Orewell ate slowly, savoring the flavor, more flavors were released the more he chewed. Despite the meal being good, the best part is yet to come. He picked up his mug that sat on the ledge of the fence in the porch, that is filled with honeybeer as Orewell calls it. It's simply just a blend that he thought of, by mixing honey and beer thus the name, it resulted in a sweet drink with a good kick, a drink that someone can't get enough of. He's about to take a sip from it when he saw the young woman that he met at the castle gates this morning. She hasn't spoken a word yet, but it was enough to send Orewell into a deep sigh. His eyes looked irritated, as if she ruined his drink.

His eyes were furrowed as he looked at her. "What the hell do you want?", he asked grumpily.

The young woman was taken aback by Orewell's rudeness, made more obvious by her gasp.

"I'll have you know that I, Larene Poynt, is the eldest daughter of the King! I deserve equal respect as he does!", she proclaimed proudly.

Orewell just scoffed at her proclamation.

"Having to remind someone you're a princess makes you look less like it", he argued. "You're only a girl with a title and privilege. But get faced by the sharpness of a sword or arrow and you die like commonfolk do", he added with a slightly bitter tone.

Larene had a cold glare in her eyes that completely contrasted the warm, amber yellow color of it.

"Did I strike a nerve...", she paused.

Her eyes became colder, on par with the cold of the North itself.

"Grey?"

Her words pierced through Orewell's usually uncaring attitude, evident by him glaring angrily at her and the way he gripped his sword eminates bloodlust as if a single provocation from her will make him snap. The alcohol isn't helping his case either. He only had a single mug of his honeybeer, but he's already getting tipsy.

However, he was flabbergasted at the name she called him. "Grey" isn't an actual last name. It's more like a title for bastards in Divios, in his case, he's a bastard in the North. Bastards in the country are labelled by colors from the region they reside in; Grey, just like the mountains of the North; Green, just like green fields of the South; Blue, just like the blue oceans of the East; Gold, just like the gold coins of the West; and White of the Center. Whites are special cases in Bredost because the bastards birthed in the center of the country have been recognized by King Illain, in contrast to the bastards of the four cardinal directions of the country; which is recognized only by the lords of the Houses.

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Orewell just managed to release a small scoff of disbelief.

" Who are you?", he asked.

Larene smirked.

"A girl with privilege", she replied smugly.

With tankard in hand, he offered it to her. "Here", he reached out to her, holding his mug of honeybeer.

"I don't drink commoner beverages", she replied arrogantly.

"You're in a drinking hall filled with men that probably fuck goats, you're nothing special. Now have a drink or leave", he replied with mocking tone, still holding out the mug.

Larene scoffed in disbelief at her cousin's crude tongue. "Unbelievable", she muttered and took the mug from him.

She took a sip of honeybeer, and the sweetness of it filled her taste buds. It has a certain sweetness to it, different from the sweetness of wine.

"This is good, cousin", she complimented.

It struck Orewell weirdly. This girl...called him cousin? She probably is his cousin, but Orewell doesn't recognize Larene as one. He also does not know much about her, well, he never bothered to care anyway. In his eyes, she's simply just a girl, nothing more, nothing less.

His father and half-siblings are the only family he recognizes, anyone beyond them are just strangers to him.

As Orewell continued eating his sausage and bread, he suddenly felt a hand grip his shoulders tightly and he reacted by trying to flick it away but the grip was too strong.

He looked up from his food and saw Larene all red in the face, her eyes barely awake. "Fuck", he cursed softly. "I guess she can't handle honeybeer...", he thought.

"Larene", he called out to no avail. She's just incoherently mumbling things and flailing her arms around in a way to maintain her balance. She tumbled around and tripped, but Orewell caught her every time. And suddenly, her incoherent mumblings became louder to the point that it's almost a yell. Orewell's holding her by her arms with one arm and her waist with the other as he tries to guide her but it's all in vain. Her drunkness made her pretty strong and sturdy, allowing her to drag Orewell by her weight.

As he continued holding on to her, he found himself being dragged into the front door of the drinking hall. And all the drinkers, those who are still awake and sober anyway, looked at the both of them. Larene's bright red face due to drunkness is visible for all of them to see, but what caught Orewell's attention is the people at the stage of the hall. The families of Felkin and Illain are staring at the both of them intently, Queen Clira and Lady Catherine look disappointed at how drunk Larene looks and in the other hand, Felkin and Illain are softly laughing at her drunken antics.

"Tshuiishhh biiirrrrr shhhooo guuuudddd....!!!", Larene incoherently mumbled while holding the empty mug of honeybeer.

Orewell sighed heavily in annoyance. Just holding her feels really humiliating for him. Suddenly, he felt two hands cup his cheeks, and the next thing he knew is Larene's lips were pressed on his. He felt some of the foam from the honeybeer that she drank and the sweetness of it filled his tongue. It took him a while to snap back to his senses and he pushed her away.

He just looked at her blankly, unfazed by her sudden kiss. However, what made him slightly angry is the goofy satisfied look on Larene's face as if she just did something good.

Queen Clira and Lady Catherine gasped at the fact that Larene kissed Orewell meanwhile Lord Felkin and King Illain were silent at first but then thet just burst out laughing, and the other drinkers soon followed; some of them are even whooping, cheering and clapping, much to Orewell's confusion.

The two women sitting beside their husbands decided to pull away Larene before she humiliates herself even further, and for a quick moment, Orewell saw Lady Catherine glare at him coldly before she and Queen Clira took Larene to her quarters in the castle.

After that debacled was solved, Orewell was pat by one of the drinkers.

"Boy! How does it feel to be kissed by the princess?", he asked and followed with a hearty laugh, and the man's friends also laughed.

Orewell shook his head, trying to wrap his head around to a conclusion.

"It was nice...I guess.", he answered softly as he touched his lips with his fingers, trying to remember the sensation of the kiss.

"It's...soft.", he added. And the men of the drinking hall erupted into a wilder cheer as they all chanted "boy" or "bastard".