The winter ball was regarded as the height of Demacian revelry, with men and women from all across the empire desperate to attend just for a chance to rub shoulders with the greats. For Jarvan however, it was the same as every other public event. Smile at the decadent men and women, shake a few hands, give a rousing speech about the latest victory on the battlefield, then go home. Try as he might, sneaking away to drink or attempting to court one of the many beautiful women at such events always seemed a near-impossibility under his father's watchful eye. A couple of years back he'd managed to dodge his duties long enough to get a few hurried pints of ale inside of him, and had been chastised thoroughly by his father after being a little too jovial with the attending aristocracy.

Jarvan rolled his eyes as he was directed to yet another overly wealthy couple, the husband looking decades older than the wife. He forced a smile, gave them his greetings, joked about their corner of the empire being his favourite, then moved onto the next. Over and over and over. What was worse is that he was forced to wear this ridiculous suit, being a proud member of the Demacian army, he sought nothing more to wear than his standard issue slacks under his custom made armour. Nevertheless, apparently royalty must be presentable. But what if the Noxians ambush the event? After all, every person on Runeterra knows about the winter ball! He had reasoned, trying to argue his case for even just his helmet, but was met with flat disregard for such a ridiculous notion.

Excusing himself from the royal tent, he ventured out into the city square where countless tents, stalls, and decorations had been set up. The whole affair had the air of a carnival and despite the chilly winter air, enchanted lamp posts gave the square the warmth one might expect on a pleasant summer evening. He scanned the courtyard, counting over a dozen food stalls selling freshly baked goods and carveries selling slices of sizzling meat. Temporary wooden bars dotted the grounds too, with men and women of all backgrounds getting a little too merry on mead and ale. He watched as several men broke into raucous applause and cheers as a particularly curvy woman made her way onto the bar top and downed a tankard of mead in one go. He chuckled and shook his head, pleased to see his people having fun.

He turned his attention to the dimly lit perimeter of the festivities. The streets were lined with on-duty soldiers, mostly grunts admittedly, but a few higher ranks were dotted amongst them too. "What shit luck" He thought, knowing most men and women among his ranks relished the chance to get drunk and try and score some company for the night at this event. To be stuck guarding it while revelry occurred just behind you must be particularly morale sapping. If he weren't being watched so bloody closely by the royal guard, perhaps he would have tried to sneak a barrel or two of mead their way. He sighed, knowing that defence at such an occasion was a necessary evil to allow for the men and women currently not on duty to enjoy themselves worry free.

Amongst the crowd he spotted Shyvana though admittedly it wasn't too hard considering how tall she was, especially when wearing that ridiculous horned helmet of hers. He lifted his hand high above his head and waved at her. She was on duty, patrolling the grounds, and as such he didn't expect much of a reaction from her. Sure enough, she smiled slightly and gave him a quick playful wave, before continuing her patrol. He rolled his eyes, expecting nothing less from his ever loyal guard captain. At least she didn't baby him like the others, noting that he in fact was not some fragile royal bed-wetter that needed protecting, and was actually a formidable warrior in his own right. Of course she hadn't started out that way, but he noticed that she treated him much more like an equal after witnessing him fend off a direwolf with just his fists. Of course, he wouldn't have had to at all if he'd had remembered to hang his food pouch up in a tree before making camp to avoid such encounters, but that was besides the point.

He watched as she disappeared into the crowd. Looking over his shoulder, he was surprised to see no royal guards having yet noticed his absence. Leaning inside the tent, he noticed that one of the more eccentric barons was regaling the occupants with a fantastical story of a giant frost-wyrm he'd allegedly slain, complete with elaborate hand gestures and stabbing motions with the orante piece of cutlery he was currently wielding. Grinning, he saw his opportunity to escape his bothersome commitments and go enjoy the festivities first hand. Hastily walking away from the royal tent, he made the decision to head in the opposite direction he had last seen Shyvana. As much as he enjoyed the fierce woman's company, he anticipated having a tough time convincing her to not inform the other royal guards of his absence.

Moving through the crowd, he noticed to his relief that a lot of the attendees were dressed similar to he was, in their smartest shirt or dress. He felt a little more at ease than he had previously, thankful that he wasn't wearing his armour so that he could actually blend into the crowd. Should help keep the royal guards from spotting him for a while, at the very least.

He headed through the jostling crowd over to a rather unfriendly looking barkeep, a large burly balding man who looked just as likely to crack you over the head as he was to hand you a tankard. The prince sidled up to the bar, leaning against it confidently as he eyed a few women that were chatting amongst themselves. He shot one a smile, as charming as he could manage, but she rolled her eyes and turned away with complete disinterest. Jarvan felt a slight stab to his pride, so instead turned to face the barkeep.

"Excuse me good sir, how about a round of ale for me and my friends here?" Jarvan asked, checking out the corner of his eye if the women had noticed his generous request, which they disappointingly hadn't. He grumbled slightly, about to change his request to just a tankard for himself, when the barkeep pointed a stubby sausage-like finger at him.

"Who the hell do you think you are tryna' flaunt your wealth like that, I don't serve posh twats who think they're better than us working folk." The man snapped, apparently offended by Jarvan's attempted generosity. The prince couldn't help but smirk, having been mistaken for one of the snobby upper class he found himself constantly surrounded by. He undoubtedly assumed Jarvan to be the son of a successful trader or some such ilk, living off of his father's funds. Jarvan opened his mouth to correct the red faced man, but upon the realisation that yes, as a prince, he was in fact cut from the same cloth as such people; he decided his best course of action was to just leave.

Turning from the bar, a little down-trodden at the way working folk had reacted to his presence (even if they didn't know he was the prince, he was easily able to recognise his accent only found amongst the well-off of Demacian society). He scanned the crowd for any patrolling guardsmen, and was delighted to find he was not yet being hunted by the royal guards, no doubt still captivated by the baron's tall tales. He did, however, spot a familiar face sitting at a bar opposite him. Hair like ravens, skin like snow, and a torn crimson cape. Only one woman in all of Demacia fit that description. He made his way through the crowd, leaning against the bar beside the huntress.

"Fancy seeing you here" He teased, a playful grin upon his face. Vayne scarcely looked up from her drink as she replied.

"Smooth going with that barkeep back there, those women looked really impressed, surprised they didn't just leap into your arms" She retorted sarcastically, evidently having spotted Jarvan long before he had spotted her. Jarvan laughed the observation off, lest he think about it too much and allow it to dampen his mood. He noticed that Vayne was as armoured as ever, plate covered thigh-high boots and menacing armoured gauntlets sat intimidatingly atop her bodysuit. He was about to compliment her style, when he noticed the crossbow affixed firmly to her wrist.

"Whoah, hey, Shauna!" Jarvan exclaimed, tapping her wrist guard with a disapproving look upon his face. "The winter ball is a no weapon zone, remember?" He teased, surprised she had been able to find someone willing to serve her drinks when she was so obviously armed. Vayne shrugged with a smug smirk upon her face, they both knew she refused to follow such rules.

"I'd like to see you try and take it off me" She teased playfully, lifting it up and admiring it's expert craftsmanship. Jarvan sighed, knowing full well that continuing such a discussion was pointless. Always have to be ready, she had insisted on the numerous previous occasions they had had such a discussion.

"That's not the only thing I'd like to take off of you" The prince teased back, eyeing her skin tight bodysuit which was more than a little flattering atop her athletic body. She laughed, taking a long drink from her tankard, shaking her head in disbelief. Despite her cool and controlled demeanour, Jarvan noticed just a hint of rosy red in her pale cheeks.

"As if we haven't had this discussion enough" She remarked, placing her elbow on the bar and holding her head in her hand as she looked the man up and down. They'd known each other for years, and for as long as she could remember Jarvan had been desperate for her. It's not like he wasn't objectively attractive, he was tall and strong and had a jaw line that looked as if it were capable of sundering mountains. That much was true, but Shauna had never been one to settle down. Nevertheless, despite her brushing him off, he had persisted in trying to gain her affection. Jarvan groaned, holding his hands up in despair.

"Come on Shauna, not even a chance? We both know it could work between us, just because I'm a prince it doesn't mean you have to tiptoe around me as if I were a trap waiting to be sprung" He insisted, assuming her hesitancy to give a relationship a chance was due to his position in society. Vayne scoffed at him, laughing to herself as she took another sip of her beverage, causing Jarvan to doubt that his assumption was correct.

"You still think it's because you're the heir? As if I've ever been one to give a shit about that you royal doofus" Vane exclaimed rather loudly, the barkeep polishing a glass just beside them raising a curious eyebrow at the exchange.

"Well, yeah? What else could it be?" He pressed, confused by this sudden revelation.

"Urgh." Vayne despaired, turning on her stool to face the prince completely. She pointed an accusatory finger towards the royal, prodding him roughly square in the chest.

"It's because you just see me as some hot piece of ass to add to your conquest. You're like every man I've met, you see the curves and the beauty without ever wondering about the woman as a whole. If you really wanted to be with me, I reckon you'd take the time to actually get to know me." Vayne accused, narrowing her eyes as she prodded the prince once more. Jarvan began to protest, but a guilty look appeared on his face when he realised just how right she was. She was a friend, sure, but only by way of meetings and battle. Not once had he ever sought her out in his own time, or even taken the time to get to know her properly, unless he happened upon her in social events such as this. He frowned slightly, catching Vayne off guard.

"You're right, I'm sorry." He admitted, ready to turn and leave her be, not wishing to further frustrate the woman. The huntress felt her heart sink slightly. She had expected him to deny it, argue and leave angrily, as men often did when she called them out. He had surprised her, however, offering a genuine apology and acknowledgement of his mistake. She gripped his arm roughly, stopping him from walking away. He turned to face her, expecting another scolding.

"Tell you what, if you seek me out and actually get to know me: the real me. Then maybe I'll think about it." She relented, realising that she had perhaps not known Jarvan quite as well as she supposed, willing to grant him a chance to impress. His eyes lit up, and just as he opened his mouth to thank her gratefully, he felt another hand grip his other arm. He turned to face whoever had gripped him, cursing under his breath as his eyes met Shyvana's.

"Come on Sir, your attendance is requested in the royal tent." She informed, shooting a friendly smile towards the huntress who shot one back, always having respect for other strong women such as herself. Before he was dragged back to his duties, he promised the arbalist that he'd put aside some time to spend with her, though he didn't know where to find her. She waved goodbye smugly as Shyvana dragged him off, knowing full well that it would be her who would find him.