“Stop it!" I flail my arms between them. "Both of you. Lucien, this is Yorl. Yorl, this is Prince Lucien."

Yorl freezes as Lucien narrows his eyes further at him. "Your Highness? In that gaudy getup?" He pauses, looking down. "With pants that tight?"

"It's better than no pants at all," Lucien snarls. Yorl shifts in his robe, his barely formed hackles raising straight off his neck in a golden ridge.

"I'm not a naked ape," Yorl fires back, "who needs them to begin with!"

The competitive pride is so thick I can practically smell it. People are staring. I clap my hands as loud as I can, like I'm trying to break up a feral-dog fight.”