Fallowing the Princes directions Roland walked slowly through the halls. The corridors were nothing like he expected for elves. In fact they could have been from his father’s own palace but for the elfin paintings and statues. The walls were a warm cream of the stone that made up the palace, there were a few plants to break up the cream but not many. Entering his room he looked over the clothes that had been placed in the wardrobe. Most of them seem to be simple forms of the prince’s outfit or like the guards but not of such fine cloth. Fingering it he wounded if latter they might give him much better outfits or was he stuck with this simple wear until he was to become king himself. And what was he to do about him being a prince when here he was treated like a disgraced noble.
He took a deep intake of breath as he carefully pulled off his shirt, his body already a large mass of bruises from where the weapons master had beaten him. He was going to have to get better or he was going to be in pain for the rest of his life here. The area around the wound was one of the few areas that was under his clothes that did not sport a darkening bruise. The healer was good, better than any the human mages had ever been able to do for his father. He only wished that he could use magic like they did so he could learn it.