Conor was anxious.

He wasn't exactly sure why. He was never really nervous before setting out on an adventure, it was only excitement that ran through his veins, urging him onward. Perhaps it was because he knew what was at the end of it. Maybe it was because of the dreams, or visions, as Conor had started to call them within his own mind.

He knew Devin felt the same. Although he didn't show it, the energy around him was different.

Conor shoved a bag of miscellaneous meats into his bag. Hopefully the King wouldn't mind having his kitchen raided by a very quiet adventurer. He continued to place some more items into his bag, wondering if he really needed it all. The dragon could be closer than they thought.. especially since Trunswick was seemingly its target.

He then went to go find Devin. He wasn't really that difficult to find, he stood out more than everyone else in the castle. He also always wore a recognizable tired expression that only a worn out prince could wear after a day of wandering the city for a festival.

He found him in quiet, comfy room sitting on the maroon couch. The fireplace was going, the flames jumping about, the logs snapping.

"What do you want?" Devin called over his shoulder. It was in no way hostile. He was being playful.

Talking to each other was different since that morning. They'd noticed it throughout the day when Conor would sneak up on Devin while he was out with his family. Their conversations were more carefree, almost like how they used to be. Almost.

"Bothering you."

"You're always bothering me."

Conor grinned, walking forward to lean over the sofa. He realized suddenly that Devin was hugging a pillow to his chest, staring off at the fire. "Nervous?" Conor asked, tapping his shoulder.

"No," Devin responded immediately. The Devin from three years ago would have said yes without hesitation, but they weren't quite there yet.

Conor frowned, but didn't say any more. "We should leave soon," he suggested after a moment.

Devin nodded briefly. He was silent for a moment before clearing his throat, replying with, "If we start walking to the stables now, we should be able to ride out as soon as it gets dark enough." The stables were not very far away, but they were losing daylight rapidly. It would take some time to tack up their horses as well.

Conor agreed quietly and stood up straight again. Devin eventually joined him, and without a word, they began to walk in a comfortable silence. "You know," Conor said slowly, "you can tell me how you feel."

Devin's expression grew troubled, but as soon as it had appeared, it left, replaced by neutrality. He simply nodded, then added a soft, "Yeah."

Conor decided that was good enough for him.

They kept walking, gravel crunching beneath boots. Gravel turned to grass, which was flattened beneath them. The stable came into view, the distant sounds of neighs finding their ears. It was a glamorous stable, very obviously owned by the royal family. When they stepped inside, Conor was met by pristine grey stallions and bay mares whose muscles rippled beneath their coats. These were not at all like the horses Conor had seen on farms. He'd never had the chance to own one, he just had dogs.

"I like it here," he heard Devin say from ahead of him. It seemed true enough, he seemed much more relaxed. Conor felt at ease too. This was more familiar to him, even if it was probably one of the most fancy stables he'd ever set foot in.

Soon, Devin pointed him towards a curious looking bay gelding whose eyes were following them. They probably weren't used to visitors at such a late hour, Conor thought.

Quietly, they began to tack up.

Night had officially fallen by the time they rode out. Conor felt like he was doing something illegal. Was stealing one of the royal family's horses still against the law if the eldest prince was with you? Probably.

They passed dim lanterns, going down a fairly empty road and emerging out of the eastern gate, which was the only one which wasn't heavily guarded. Conor felt both uncertain and excited about leaving the city. It proposed safety, but it was quite clear that the adventure ahead of them did not. At the same time, he felt glad they were finally on the move, not stuck in a chair reading stories about dragons that lived millenniums ago. While that wasn't entirely uninteresting, he'd rather see one before his very eyes.

Neither of them spoke a word for a while. At one point, they slowed from a canter to a walk, listening to the horses puff out snorts. Conor watched with a discreet smile as Devin lightly patted the neck of his black gelding.

"You're not a bad rider, you know," Conor hummed.

"I kind of have to be good," Devin grumbled. Conor was discovering that his silence was probably caused by grumpiness. He'd normally be sleeping in a warm bed right now, not upright in a saddle.

"You're right," Conor responded, shrugging a shoulder halfheartedly. "Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever seen a prince without a horse."

"Maybe in the stories," Devin said. He slowed his horse for a moment to ride side by side with Conor. "But I can tell you, riding around on a horse all the time does a number on the muscles. And the bones."

"The butt," Conor mumbled, shifting in his saddle. Devin laughed. Conor realized that he missed Devin's true laugh, and here it was. It was in no way graceful, but he preferred it that way.

They fell into a comfortable silence once more, the clinking of gear and the creaking of their saddles the only sound between them. Finally, Devin asked, "Do you even know where we're going?"

Conor nodded. "We're heading east. You have your notes, right?"

Devin patted his bag.

"Good," Conor said, considering there was nothing else to say. "You don't trust me?" he grinned.

Devin shook his head. "No, I trust you... for the most part."

Conor quirked an eyebrow. "How often do you travel, Your Highness?"

Devin scowled at the title. "Less than you," he admitted glumly.

"My point!"

"Did you have an education?" Devin shot back, a sly smile tugging at his lips. His horse nickered, as if it shared a mind with him.

"Ouch. Hitting pretty low, Devin," Conor responded, throwing on a mock wounded expression.

"My point," Devin practically purred.

"I dislike you."

"That's cute."