Tate plastered a pleasant smile on his face and tried to appear nonchalant as the young prince babbled endlessly on about the grandeur that was his life. He was clearly vein and spoiled and expected people to listen when he spoke. As the bastard son of a minor country Baron Tate could hardly explain to the younger man that he was a blithering and drunk idiot whose blatant lack of modesty was far from appealing. Instead, he smiled.
Unfortunately for him the princeling had not left Tate's side since the beginning of the night, except when he had to venture forth in search of more wine. He always came back though, rudely inserting him in the middle of any and all conversations. Aware that the attention he was receiving had nothing to do with his impressive listening skills Tate tried to divert the priceling's attention to some of the more accommodating members of his family. The younger man was not interested though and continued to force his company on Tate.
As the night wore on the princeling tried to herd Tate towards a deserted corner in the gardens. Whenever Tate took an unexpected turn the princeling managed to move smoothly into his path without ever once making it look threatening or intentional to anyone who might have been watching. Unable to excuse him self or accuse the prince of having improper intentions Tate was slowly being pressed back. He searched frantically for one of his brothers, a friend, anyone who could come to his aid. Unfortunately for him people were more interested in watching the fireworks and festivities to take much notice of what was happening behind them. In fact, as Tate took a closer look at his surroundings he noticed that apart from the odd servant the majority of people around him were part of the king's entourage.
He cleared his throat nervously as he tried to move, quite deliberately this time, back towards the main gardens. The lordling moved easily with him, once again blocking his path. Angry now Tate tried to force his way past him but this time the lordling grabbed his arm and quite literally propelled him into the shadowy outskirts of the garden. Tate slipped and fell painfully on his arm. He staggered back up quickly and tried not to panic as his eyes struggled to adjust to the surrounding darkness. The feast was still in full effect. People were loud and raucous; if he managed to insert him self among them he would be safe.
He heard a slight rustling noise behind him but was too slow to avoid the vice like grip that took a painful hold on his throat. He had to step on his tiptoes to avoid being choked as a malignant voice whispered quietly into his ear. "Scream or cry out and I'll squeeze every last breath out of you, understand?" Gone was the drunken stuttering and youthful boastfulness of earlier. He choked Tate until the smaller man managed to gasp out a painful agreement and then pushed him down hard.
