Tango was the feared prince residing in the Frost Citadel. Etho was his personal guard, and also his best friend. You were just an ordinary tailor, trying to survive using the skills you had learned when you were young.

It had been a mostly ordinary day. There had been some commotion in the plaza, outside the shop. Some extra guards were taking to the streets, spreading out across the wide space. The somewhat chaotic events occurring outside weren't unusual, and didn't affect your slow business too much, so you didn't mind. All of the chaos stayed outside for a while, until a small party came into the shop, breaking the peace & quiet with the ring of the doorbell.

At the time, you had been ironing some clothes, using a board located just behind the main counter. The entrance bell had dinged at their arrival and you looked up from the blouse you had been working on, giving a small wave at the pair that had walked in.

Both hooded figures were strikingly unique, and one could definitely choose to describe them as handsome without much disagreement. From what you could tell, one was a couple inches taller than you, with a notably pale complexion and a long, dark cloak, which draped past the wearer's feet and created a short trail of fabric. The other, who was much taller (towering a head or so over his friend), had an intimidating scar running down the left side of his face and a hand firmly clasping the hilt of a sheathed blade.

You went back to your work, folding the blouse you had successfully ironed and grabbing the next item from the pile of garments. It was a small dress, one that you could only assume belonged to a little girl who was a daughter of one the many dukes or lords under the king's rule. The lace of the dress was soft under your callused fingertips, and you fumbled around with it, distracting yourself with the conversation coming from the couple.

"Your father would be more pleased if you wore blue. It is the color of the kingdom, after all." The voice was rather deep, yet smooth as honey, and had a strange accent, one you had only heard a couple of times from folk who grew up in the mountains up north.

"Yes, but all of my cousins- who are more charming than me, mind you!- are going to be wearing blue, and I need a way to stand out. I think the dark red will suit me better." This voice was higher in pitch and a bit scratchy, sounding more like a local than the last.

"Maybe we should ask the person at the front? They probably have a better sense of fashion than either of us. It is their job, after all." You didn't hear any more chatter afterwards, just footsteps.

This comment snapped you out of your trance, and you immediately started ironing again. The iron made a small hiss as you did, as if it was a startled cat, but still ran along the fabric smoothly. You could hear the footsteps approaching towards you, so you set the dress on top of the blouse you had folded earlier and turned around to the pair.

Now that they were standing closer, there were a lot more details you could observe. Looking at the loose hair draping around their faces, you can see both people had pale hair; the shorter one with a shade of blonde (with bluing ends), and the taller companion with a snowy white. The blonde had blood-red eyes, similar to what you had heard about the prince.

"Sorry to interrupt your work, but which one of these do you think would suit him better?" It was the taller of the two that spoke. He held up two silk waistcoats; one that was a navy blue- which was indeed the same color as the blue on the kingdom's flag- and another that was a maroon red, which complemented his friend's eyes.

You looked between the two options hesitantly. "It would be an easier choice if your friend didn't have a hood on," you state, looking from the waistcoats to the blonde, your gaze sharpening slightly with curiosity.

He took the hint and took off his hood, pulling it down from his forehead to the back of his neck. The removal of the hood brightened up his eyes a bit, and revealed a thin, yet long, intricate braid that was woven behind his ear. Braids like that were a common practice for the heir to the throne to have on. They were ceremonially cut off at their coronation.

It only took you a couple more moments to process the rest of the puzzle pieces- the guards outside, his friend's (or personal advisor's?) need for a weapon, why he was talking about wearing blue as if it was so important, the red eyes!- you immediately bowed down to the prince.

It was well known to all the citizens of the small town surrounding the Frost Citadel that the king did not take well to ignorance, and as the prince was mostly shielded off from the common society, many assumed that he was the same; equally demanding in the perfectionism department. However, when you finally mustered up the courage to look back up from your bow, you saw the prince looking at you with a relatively amused gaze. He then looked up to his friend and asked, "Etho, why did they just bow at me?"

You could hear his companion- Etho- almost choke, as surprised as you at his response, and then sigh. "Right, I forgot to tell you. Commoners, like them, don't meet royal folk, like you, often. They bow when they meet you because it's a sign of respect."

"Oh. That makes sense," the prince nodded at Etho. He then turned back to a gaping, very bewildered you and giggled a bit to himself. "So, do you think the red or the blue will look better?"

"Right." You look back at the waistcoats, and then compare the hues to the ones that were drilled into your head during school. All you can remember is how dark blue compliments pale skin tones. "Well, it depends on the look you're envisioning. The navy one will complement your skin more, while the maroon one will complement your eyes. What color blouse are you planning on wearing?"

The prince looked very confused, almost as if he was short-circuiting. So, after your talk, so his advisor took over the conversation. "Plain white. The pair of pants will be these ones, if it helps," he says whilst hastily showing you a pair of pleated, black pants, currently resting around his arm.

You think for a few more seconds, taking the conversation you overheard earlier in mind, and nod. "I think the red would look best."

Etho lets out an exasperated sigh, and you can see the prince grin smugly at his reaction. He takes the navy waistcoat and hangs back up, almost as if he's afraid his advisor will buy it anyways. When he comes back, Etho takes him up to the counter. "Okay, Tango, as you're gonna need to learn how to pay and such, you might as well practice now."

"Don't worry, I've read books on the matter!" The prince says to his friend, who is placing the clothes they are purchasing on the wooden counter in front of you.

"I don't think any of your books will help, we have a 'special system' for purchases." You groan, mocking your boss' words. It was truly a stupid system, in your opinion. You had to fill out two sheets (one for management and one for the purchaser) that had the item name and the cost, which always took forever.

You take the paper, carefully inking in the purchase details- how much the clothes cost (individually and total), what day they were bought- and stopped abruptly at the requirement for a signature. "I require your signature on this paper." You sigh and dip your pen into the ink before handing it, along with the paper, to the prince. He scans the sheet and writes his name, in neat cursive, handing it back to you.

After a couple more minutes, you have successfully copied down all the information onto the papers, cut the tags off the clothes, and folded them neatly in to a bag. You cheered at the completed work and slid the bag and paper onto the table, to which the prince was instructed by Etho on how to pay for. It ended up costing him 37 tin ($370), which was all fairly paid after some careful counting.

Taking the coins from the prince's out-stretched hand, you open a small drawer, gently placing them in a small box, which was where all of the day's purchase payment was collected. He watches you intently and, out of the corner of your eye, you see him whisper something to his advisor, which earns him a nod in reply.

You turn back to the pair, waving at them as they start to move for the exit, before moving back to your ironing station. As you start ironing your next item of clothing, an embroidered handkerchief, you hear the bell ring once more, this time at their leave, and the prince's voice sigh out and say, "I like that place. We should go back for the summer ball," before the door shuts, and everything goes back to regular business, as if you hadn't just met the feared prince of the Frost Citadel.