Xaviers!

"My country has no aristocracy, as much as some of the powerful mutant families act like they are. It's something I want to learn more about though."

"Learn more about...in what manner?"

"How court politics work. If I'm ever going to write a fantasy novel, I need to at least make stuff like that believable."

"...the court as fantasy, says the dragon to the nobleman. A...quaint notion," Prince Alex said, carefully.

"No no, that's not what I mean. Just that a lot of fantasy includes that kind of intrigue."

"Well, I suppose I know little about what plebeians read," Alex shrugged.

Basil felt a bit sick to his stomach at the use of the word plebians is a clearly serious fashion. It sounded like something his mother would say.

Luckily the food arrived to cause a distraction between the two gentlemen, the waitress laying the appropriate baskets in front of the trio.

"Ah! Splendid! Thank you so much Love. Could we trouble you for another round of drinks as well?" As she nodded and left to collect the gentlemen more drinks, Basil exclaimed:" Tuck in boys!" And picked up a piece of fish.

Alex himself observed the fried fish a little warily. "And you eat these with your hands, do you?"

"Indeed you do. Unless you're old or have some phobia about sliminess on your hands.

I don't. but I won't judge too harshly if you do Your Majesty."

"Your Highness," he immediately corrected. "Not Your Majesty."

"The West is so....barbaric," he said, carefully looking at his fish again, and picking it up by the very tips of his fingers.

"Of course. How silly of me to jump the gun. I forget you've barely spoken to her, let alone caught her eye long enough to warrant such a title change. I'll watch my tongue better."

Basil replied, showing he knew a little something about the double talk of aristocracy. Taking his second drink from the waitress he thanked her again for her assistance.

"Oh, we have spoken many times. And you have seen the way she looks at me. She always has. But then, how could she not?"

"Easy good gentleman, we are here to eat, drink, and be merry are we not," Drake said merrily before he bit off a too much fish for his human mouth.

In truth, Basil really wanted to hate Prince Alex, but he couldn't. He was such a walking caricature of everything his grandparents had warned him about becoming, he actually kind of pitied the other boy.

At Drake's mention of merriment, Basil laughed a bit. "Of course." Basil replied, lifting his glass.

"To Katarina Karkov, long may she reign. When she gets there, of course."

"To the princess!" Alex said, raising his own glass.

"To the princess!" Drake repeated as his glass joined the toast. "As funny as that is coming from a dragon."

"You said you weren't interested in princesses," Alex pointed out.

"Not in any threatening sense," he smirked.

"Not to worry. Neither of us are interested in poaching your game, Prince Alex.

I can't speak for Mr.Martin but my affections are otherwise occupied. "

"Well, no shame for settling for second place, then," he smirked.

"I, on the other hand, have affection to spare," Drake said, winking at a waitress. If she noticed, she didn't react.

"Alright, maybe I just speak for myself." Basil joked, followed by a few chips disappearing into thin air.

"Well, I'm sure I have nothing to worry about from the likes of the people here. Everything will be fine."

Drake barely resisted the urge to point out Katarina was rumored to have kissed a girl and liked it. But he didn't feel like tormenting the poor, lovesick fool.

"I'm sure she will only give her heart to one deserving of it."

"I believe that is what I said, yes," he said, taking another big swig of his drink.

"Okay, enough about girls. What do well-to-do Symkarian gents like you do for kicks? I bet it's fancy and exclusive," Drake asked, biting off a large chunk of jalapeño. He frowned, not really even feeling the heat.

"Oh, the usual, I suppose. Art. Poetry. A lot of gardening, actually, in my family. Horseback writing. Fencing. Fairly run-of-the-mill stuff. That is, when I do not have responsibilities to attend to."

"Responsibilities? Like what?" he asked as if he actually understood what that was like.

"Oh, you know. Various meetings of the council, administration, duties at court. Plus society engagements -- ribbons won't cut themselves, you know," he joked.

"I bet we could get our science nerds to make you something to cut ribbons via telework. Or a self cutting ribbon even." Basil replied, partially in jest.

"We don't want to put him out of work Basil," Drake said teasingly.

"Besides, the people need to see their leaders. No, no, that wouldn't work at all."

"Ohhh wait. What if we cloned you? Then you could leave all the really crap work to your second."

"There is no science around which can better me, my good man."

"Well, you could be a cyborg," Drake said, "A very classy cyborg."

"I prefer the natural order of things, thank you."

"Some would say cyborgs are the next, natural step. At least, if you're a human.

Plus, ace robot legs. What's not to love? You could play polo but instead of the horse it's just you."

"I mean, artificially grafting computers into your brain is not, by any definition of the word I am aware of, 'natural'."

"I suppose an accidental lobotomy might not be on the list of things to do for anyone, let alone a would be monarch."

"Fine. We'll just get them to make you grow wings. Everybody would be better with wings."