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The scraping of forks and knives against porcelain screeches in Mydei’s ears.

Across the long banquet table that seems like it stretches on endlessly is King Eurypon, a piece of tough meat wedged between his teeth. He gnaws on it in futility, his face growing red with anger with each leathery bite. The porcelain clatters as he slams his fist onto the table.

Mydei flinches.

“Send this back,” He spits out the half-chewed meat, “And I want the knave who dared to serve this to me disposed of.” The servants rush forward to take his dish before he stops them, “Better yet, why don't you clean my plate?” He says, his bloodshot eyes focused on Mydei from across the room, “That's all you're good for, isn't that right, Mydeimos?”

Mydei doesn't grit his teeth, doesn't complain like he used to. He nods as a servant pulls out his chair, their face grim but only to Mydei's trained eye, they wouldn't dare look upset at the king's orders—not in his presence at least. The walk feels like it takes hours, the room stretches at the corners of his vision, but it's only a grueling minute before he's in front of the king, his head bowed. King Eurypon places the plate on the ground and kicks it over for Mydei to eat.

The last time he used his hands to eat Eurypon’s discarded food, the king stomped on them so hard he couldn't hold his sword for a week, and so he closes his eyes and chews at the spittle covered meat with his mouth.

Bile rises in his throat. The meat is thick and all tough muscle; the soggy threads get stuck between his teeth. Mydei tries to stave off the nausea that threatens to overcome him—he wants to gag, but he knows it’ll be worse if he does.

“Pathetic,” He spits, “My only heir is no better than a mutt. It is befitting of him, since he wants to threaten our lineage by engaging in sodomy.” The room remains silent neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Stories of Mydei’s trysts with men—if they were even worthy of being called that—were well known within Castrum Kremnos, much to Eurypon’s dismay. The king was never a kind man, but the news transformed him into something even more vile; eating his spit covered scraps was a mercy compared to the other things he had done to Mydei.

Unoiled wheels squeak across the floor as the servants bring in a new tray of food on a serving trolley. The silver cloche is lifted unveiling a thinly sliced brisket which is then placed in front of the king.

Eurypon slides the dish across the table, “Mutt, taste for poison.”

Mydei rises to his feet, the meat still unpleasantly settling in his stomach—

The satin of his canopy bed comes into focus as he’s jostled awake from his nightmarish memory by a servant that should not be anywhere near his quarters at this hour.

“Your Majesty.” He says as he bows with a candelabrum in his sweaty hand. The flames dance from the motion, the flickering shadow it casts is almost nauseating.

“Majesty?” Mydei replies groggily, he figures he must still be asleep if he’s mishearing things, like Majesty instead of Highness. He settles back under the covers with a tired huff. The linens are slightly damp—he realizes belatedly—he’s a little thankful for being woken up if his nightmare had given him such heavy night sweats.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” The servant repeats, wetting his lips with mounting fear, “The king, your father, has passed.”

Sleep’s embrace unfurls from his body as he throws back the covers and presses his feet into his slippers. The servant steps back with his eyes squeezed shut, bracing for a punishment that will never come. He cautiously opens his eyes after a moment; relief evident on his face illuminated by the candlelight.

Mydei slides on his robe that was strewn across the settee at the side of his bed, “Quickly, take me to him.”

The servant leads Mydei down to the king’s chambers, but he does not enter; even in death the tyrant’s suffocating presence can be felt. The heavy, mahogany doors part and standing beside his father's corpse is the family doctor, Hyacinthia, her face haggard and dismayed, and a man he’s never seen before—a candleholder pinched between his gloved fingers.

Silver hair kissed by moonlight, sapphire eyes sharp like jewels, his frame broad and bulky. A light blue suit hugs his body with a white jabot peaking from the cleft of his vest and his thick hands covered by pale silk gloves. He’s prettier than the fairest maiden in Kremnos, Mydei thinks, yet his presence makes him awfully uneasy.

The man bows, “I am Phainon of House Khaslana. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Majesty,” He lifts his head, his jeweled eyes glinting in the candlelight, “I was the late king's accountant. I will do my best to serve you as well.”

“Accountant? I have never laid my eyes on this man in my life,” Mydei bristles as he turns to the doctor, “Is he not just an usurper with a silver tongue?”

“He speaks true,” Hyacinthia says as she steps away from the king’s bedside, “I know of Sir Phainon and have administered care to him personally throughout the years.”

“My apologies, Your Majesty. I can understand why you might be weary of my sudden presence, but I can assure you I would never wish harm upon the late king.”

“I would assume not,” Mydei laughs dryly, “Why have I not seen you once—surely I would have met someone as important to His Majesty as you claim to be by now?”

The man bows his head again, a gloved hand braced upon his broad chest, “Unfortunately, there is no answer I can give you that would be satisfactory, Your Majesty.”

Mydei folds his arms, “So you are aware at the very least.”

“If there is anything I can do to assuage your fears, please inform me, Your Majesty.” He lifts his head and Mydei can't look away from his piercing gaze. He would've remembered someone as breathtaking as Phainon, he thinks. How he managed to go under his radar all this time is beyond him.

He sighs, “Hyacinthia has vouched for you. I trust her word.”

The man’s shoulders visibly relax, his emotions plain on his face, “Thank you for your kindness and understanding, Your Majesty.”

Somehow Mydei already tires of the title despite it only being bestowed upon him mere minutes ago. “Enough with the flattery,” He turns to Hyacinthia, “What conclusion have you come to? How did the—my father,” He corrects despite his mind protesting, “how did he pass?”

“I suspect it is poison,” She thinks aloud, “You ate from the same dish as he, yet you are unharmed, which makes me doubt my conclusion.”

The sores in Mydei’s mouth ache, “Is such a thing possible? Only one of us succumbing to the poison?”

“Mayhaps, if your tolerance to poison is higher than the average man's. Some men are able to resist the adverse effects of them, but it's not well-documented. We will be holding off on your coronation until we are sure that the poison will not claim you too.” Hyacinthia says.

“And if I perish as well? What will happen to Kremnos? There are no other heirs.” Eurypon was so distraught by his birth that he declared he would sire no more children even if it meant Kremnos would crumble with his death. And Mydei—he had no such desire to lie with someone that could bear his children, a fact that should have brought his father happiness—no threats to his title—but it only further incurred his wrath and shame.

“We will cross that bridge if we get to it,” Hyacinthia answers, “For the time being, I will be staying near your quarters to assess your condition.”

“And what of you?” Mydei asks, eyeing Phainon.

“I am yours to command, Your Majesty.” He replies earnestly.

A shiver runs down Mydei’s spine.

He ignores it in favor of more pressing matters, “What work did you do prior?”

Phainon places the candleholder on the nightstand as he thinks, “I overtook affairs regarding finances, of course, which nations to trade with, doling out sanctions on our acquired lands, as well as, keeping up with trends and which materials to hoard or invest in during certain times of the year. Accountant in title, but I was also His Majesty’s advisor.”

“So one could say that you know the most about my father’s affairs and would be able to assist me after my coronation?”

“If that is what you desire, Your Majesty.”

“We shall speak more of this later.” Mydei turns towards the door, “For now, I will be retiring to my chambers for the night.”

Phainon bows once more, “I bid you a good evening, Your Majesty.”

“I will join you shortly, sire. I must make arrangements with the coroner.” Hyacinthia says.

***

The coroner determined that Eurypon’s death was in fact due to poison, just as Hyacinthia hypothesized.

The staff were all put under questioning, but no beheadings were held at Mydei’s behest. Eurypon had already spilled enough blood in all his years of tyranny, there was no need for anymore. Mydei wasn't particularly fond of underhanded methods like poison, but he could understand how someone could be driven to such desperation. Eurypon had been like a festering wound upon his country, if Mydei were to be a casualty alongside his no-good father, he would have accepted his fate for the greater good. But fate had no such plans, he survived the lethal dose, while Eurypon croaked, maybe the gods weren't so cruel after all.

The only mildly worrisome thing was that the culprit still lurked within the castle walls, would Eurypon’s death be enough to sate them or would they not stop until all of his spawn were disposed of too?

Rumors spread like a wildfire around the royal court.

Some believed Mydei had committed patricide. The stories as to how varied greatly depending on who you asked. Some servants whispered that Mydei had stowed the bite of poisoned food he had taken under his tongue and spat it out afterwards, giving the king false hope that his meal was safe, some say he poisoned the king’s meal while tasting it, leaving him none the wiser.

And some spouted nonsense about how Mydei was immortal—that he was a god-king sent to deliver Kremnos from evil.

Despite the plethora of conflicting rumors, the general consensus was the same.

The people were glad for the fall of King Eurypon.

He would spend no such time quelling such absurd rumors. If his ascension gave his people even a sliver of hope that their nation was heading towards a better future, he would let them have it.

Mydei's coronation is to be held a week from the late king’s funeral. He is king in title not ceremony yet. The death of Eurypon hasn't fully set in for him, he doesn't think it ever will. He thought he would feel much happier about it, but he doesn't really feel much of anything. His day-to-day life doesn't change much outside of not being an honorary food taster and the servants still look at him with pity, but a different kind now and he can't tell if it's worse.

He meets several other vassals of his father, most of whom he had already known. The Royal General, Krateros, who was more like a father than Eurypon though that wasn't saying much. Krateros readily accepts his ascension, almost a little more eager than what is appropriate during a time of mourning.

The Equerry, Verax Leo, who had a penchant for gossip and would be better suited as a jester than a stable master.

The Chaplain, Aelius, the priest in charge of worship and rites. The future overseer of his coronation.

The Grand Craftsman, Chartonus. Mydei is particularly fond of him. He always lent an ear to him whenever he got into trouble in his youth. His father kept them apart whenever he could, envious of their bond or more likely, irrationally angry that Mydei spent more time hiding in the forge watching Chartonus chip away at molten metal than spending it on his studies.

And lastly Phainon, the accountant, the most mysterious of them all.

“Your Majesty,” Phainon bows, “I meant to entrust this to you earlier.” He holds out a red box, his hands flat as if he were feeding a horse.

Mydei takes the box from his hand, inspecting it with a gentle shake before opening it. A key is inside, resting atop a soft sliver of velvet.

“What is this for?”

“The late king's study.” Phainon says as he draws his hands to his back.

Mydei looks at him, skeptical, “He entrusted the key to you?”

“This is my spare one that I used to go inside when I needed to do work while he was away. Where the original key is, I know not.”

“Will one copy suffice?”

“That depends on you, sire.” Phainon says.

And somehow his words feel heavier than how they seem on the surface.

***

Mydei enters the late king’s study the next morning, a place he had never been allowed to even step foot near was now where he would be spending most of his days.

The room was in dire disarray: the rug at his feet, soot-covered and tattered, a teacup fit for a noble lady, set on a saucer with tea long grown cold, now a home for a colony of ants, the mahogany desk in front of the large arched window, covered in parchment hastily scribbled upon. The smell of the room was even worse than the state it was in, damp, thick and suffocating.

Old, dull tomes litter the oak bookshelves, clearly untouched, he runs the pad of his finger down the spine of a book and his finger returns to his sight coated in a thick, fuzzy layer of dust. Had the servants not even been allowed near his study either? The level of cleanliness in this room was not up to their usual standards.

He calls upon the aid of a few attendants who then usher him away from the study while they tend to the mess the late king left behind. While waiting in the hallway, a soft tune fills his ears, a song he's never heard in a language he doesn't know. He follows the sound of the voice until his feet carry him to one of the small parlour rooms made for entertaining guests.

The singing comes to an abrupt end as Phainon turns to him, a book nestled between his gloved fingers. He starts to stand up to bow, but Mydei stops him with a raised hand.

“Sire, what brings you here?”

“I heard singing.”

“Oh, sorry to bother you.” He apologizes hastily.

“I didn't say it was bothersome. I have never heard such a melody before.”

Phainon sets his book down with a thoughtful smile, “It's an old song from my childhood. My mother used to lull me to sleep with it—though, my singing prowess isn't quite up to par with hers I am afraid.”

“You are far too modest,” Mydei dissents, “It was not unpleasant in the slightest.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. Would you like to have a seat?” He gestures to the chair across from him.

“No, I won't be here long. Just biding my time until I am allowed access to the study again.”

“You finally saw the state of the study, I presume?”

He nods, “Has it always been in such decline?”

Phainon hesitates before answering, “Only since the passing of the late queen.”

“So, a few years at least.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. I tried to no avail to convince him to have it tended to, but he insisted that it stay in the state you saw it in.”

“That teacup…” Mydei starts.

“Was the late queen’s,” Phainon finishes, “He drank from it every day. That room was filled with memories of her that he feared would be scrubbed away.”

Eurypon was never kind, not truly, but he had gotten significantly worse with Gorgo’s death. Mydei had never met his mother, never knew her—only knew of her from stories exchanged through the servants’ mouths. She was too kind for Eurypon, they said, beloved by all of Kremnos’ subjects, and a fierce warrior to boot, though she was forbidden from wielding a sword after their marriage. Mydei thinks Eurypon clipped her wings, kept her caged in this suffocating palace, and for that reason alone, Mydei doesn’t feel like he can fully blame her for being absent in his life. He wishes his father’s grief for her could humanize him, could justify all of his abhorrent treatment, but it doesn’t and so he feels no remorse for having the study cleaned.

“Sire?” Phainon asks.

Mydei’s thoughts disperse at Phainon's interruption, “Phainon.”

He gives him a quizzical look before schooling his expression, “Yes, Your Majesty?”

“You said prior that you aided the late king with advice on trade and finances, correct?”

“Yes, sire.”

“If that is the case, then why has there been a lack of quality goods from other regions? I mean not to undermine your skill, but I have not seen much to prove that what you have told me before is true.”

Phainon laughs but there’s no humor in it, “If I may speak out of turn, Your Majesty, it seems you are quite ignorant to the late king’s affairs outside of Kremnos.”

Mydei’s face blooms a deep red, embarrassment seeping into every pore of his skin. The audacity of this commoner—no matter how favored by Aphrodite he is—to make a mockery of him like this is unconscionable. He’s not nearly as prideful as the late king was, but to call him ignorant is akin to treason.

“Forgive me,” He continues, “It was not meant as a slight, Your Majesty. He had done well keeping you as uninformed as a lamb, it is not your fault that his purposeful sheltering of you was successful.”

Somehow that only serves to make his blood boil.

Mydei scoffs, “You would do well to watch your tongue. I am quite aware of my shortcomings, he made sure of that too.”

“Sire, I didn't mean—”

Mydei releases the tension coiled in his shoulders, “I know.” He sighs, “I can tell your words are not ill-intentioned. I am merely remorseful about my lack of knowledge in regards to what the late king did and how it affects Kremnos’ affairs and her people.”

Phainon regards him thoughtfully, “If I may be bold, Your Majesty, the fact that you worry is already indicative of your good character. You have a willingness to learn and to not live in your ignorance,” He adjusts one of his gloves, an unreadable look in his eyes, “The late king had none of those qualities, he feared you, and being something he feared is a good thing, is it not? I have faith that you will do what is in Kremnos’ best interests.”

Mydei’s skin grows hot, “If anyone else heard you, that would be grounds for execution.”

“Good thing only you can hear me, Your Majesty.” Phainon says with a soft smile.

“Insolent fool.” He says, but it lacks any malice.

Phainon's smile only grows wider, “I can arrange a trip to Styxia. If we are to start mending Kremnos’ relations with other regions, it would be the best place to start.”

“He ended our treaty with Styxia?”

“So you knew that there was one prior, you should give yourself a bit more credit, Your Majesty.”

Mydei grimaces, “Only because they tried to wed me to Lady Castorice, an acquaintance from my youth. We were both opposed to the idea. I have not seen her since the marriage proposal was rescinded.”

“The treaty was broken four years ago, when Kremnos attempted to invade Styxia. Considering it is a port city, the former king wanted access to the trade routes and goods conquering it would provide. However, Styxia did not fall, much to his dismay, and since then it has placed sanctions on trade with us. Not a full trade ban,” He pauses, “because of you, sire.”

Confusion sets in as he asks, “Me?”

“Lady Castorice spoke of you in her letters to the late king. I have kept them despite being asked to dispose of them. I thought you would want to read what she sent you after your ascension, so unbeknownst to him, I hoarded them all.”

“But you knew nothing of me.”

“Correct, but if someone spoke so highly of you in their letters that it made the late king grow mad with envy, I assumed that you would be someone that would want to read her words and reconnect with her in the future. She wrote to you constantly and worried for your wellbeing, Your Majesty.”

“I…” He hesitates, “I would like to read them and I must thank you for your foresight. I owe her a visit at the very least."

“There is no need to thank me, Your Majesty. I shall make that arrangement posthaste.”

A knock on the door startles them both as one of the maids says, “Your Majesty, the study has been cleaned. Please inform us if it is up to your standards.”

“Come along.” Mydei orders.

“Sire?”

“You are my accountant are you not? We have much to discuss.”

Phainon gives him a small smile, “Of course, Your Majesty.”

***

The coronation garb is gaudy and stuffy. Mydei finds himself wanting to shed all the layers that the maids and butlers had draped him in. He sighs, it's just a formality. His coronation is not for him but rather to give hope to his people again. The castle is loud and the courtyard is filled to the brim with Kremnoan citizens. Mydei finds that there are no visitors from neighboring nations to wish him well on his ascension; Eurypon burned every bridge and then some.

Mydei is paraded into the grand hall inside an embellished sedan chair and his disdain for all the formalities grows even larger. The porters are strong, but Mydei knows he is not an easy burden to carry, especially with all the needless furs he's wearing. The sedan chair is set upon a velvet rug and an attendant opens the door and takes his gloved hand.

Mydei walks up to the throne—its splat a deep red like rubies—settled on the dais in the center of the room and when he sits upon it, Mydei sees the crowns of everyone's heads bowed in reverence. Three attendants walk up before him with pleated white cushions. The royal crown sits in the middle, rubies and diamonds embedded into its band. The royal scepter on the left, a short golden rod with a sanded red crystal at its head. And on the right, a signet ring engraved with Strife’s symbol in the center.

The attendants kneel with the cushions in hand after Mydei looks at the items and disperse off to his sides out of view.

The ceremony is rather short compared to what Mydei was prepared for. Everything was put together hastily since Eurypon’s death was a surprise to all. Mydei swears under oath to always do what is in Kremnos’ best interests and to serve his people first and foremost. When the speeches are done, a golden chalice is brought to Mydei's lips filled with the familiar scent of pomegranate wine. He takes one sip and his lips are wiped by an attendant draped in ornate finery. The liquid burns, the sores from many failed poisonings in his mouth flare up with a dull ache. The boldness to do such a thing at his coronation is astounding to say the least, but still cowardly and loathsome. He smirks at the crowd, not giving his attempted murderer even a sliver of satisfaction from his reaction.

The chaplain, Aelius, now holds out a red chalice which contains a shimmering golden liquid; he runs his pale fingers through it, coating them in it.

“The son of Gorgo shall be crowned in blood.” Aelius says as he paints Mydei’s forehead with the fluid, the cold strokes against his skin are reminiscent of the symbol of strife. After Mydei is anointed with the substance and Aelius rinses his hands in a basin provided by another devotee, the royal crown is placed atop his head, and the crowd chants Aelius’ words until they are deafening.

The son of Gorgo shall be crowned in blood.

The son of Gorgo shall be crowned in blood.

The son of Gorgo shall be crowned in blood.

***

The carriage ride to Styxia is more than a day-long affair.

Mydei had been ushered inside the carriage the second the sun breached the horizon after being fussed over by his attendants. He cares little for the finery he is draped in, but he is a king now and he has to make a good impression. Styxia hasn't allowed any Kremnoans into its gates in four years. How Phainon was able to arrange this, he knows not, but it seems he was not all talk. How his father managed to ruin Kremnos’ relations with other regions whilst having an advisor this competent was beyond him.

Mydei parts one of the velvet curtains to look outside. The knights entrusted to him are all crammed into a dingy coach in front of the royal carriage, making sure to scout the area for any danger before they pass through. The trees blur by in a flurry of deep greens and brown bark as the horses pull the carriage forward.

He hasn't been outside the castle walls much, at least not since his mother passed and Eurypon decided the life of a caged bird suited him too. He stopped seeing his friends around that time as well, their parents no longer allowing them to take the long journey to visit him. He turns away from the window, his thoughts getting a little too dreary for his liking.

Phainon sits on the other side of the royal stagecoach, his legs crossed and his head deep in a book. One thing Mydei has noticed in the short time he's known the other man, is that he's always reading and if he’s not, he’s jotting down notes in his worn-out leather-bound journal.

Phainon doesn't look up from his book as he asks, “May I help you, Your Majesty?”

Mydei ignores Phainon's poor manners and fixates on the fact that Phainon knows he's staring. He quickly tries to come up with an excuse, “What are you reading?”

“Nothing that would interest you, I am afraid, sire.”

He nearly scowls, “That is mighty presumptuous of you.”

Phainon closes the book with an amused grin, “Curious about the customs and practices of Styxia are we, Your Majesty?”

Mydei loathes that Phainon is correct, he's not too particularly interested, but admitting so would be defeat, and so he says, “Hand it over, I wish to read it.”

Phainon obliges, their fingers brush against each other as Mydei takes it in hand. Yet again, Phainon wears those white silk gloves without a sliver of skin shown between the cuff of his suit and the cuffs of the soft fabric. It's not uncommon for gloves to be worn with one’s attire, but an unsettling feeling creeps in as he observes him and he's not quite sure why.

“It seems you are more interested in my hands than the tome, Your Majesty.” Phainon says.

Mydei opens the book with a huff, “Do you ever tire of your quips?”

“Not particularly. Especially when your reactions are quite interesting to behold, sire.”

His cheeks grow hot, “Insolent—”

Phainon laughs, “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I have been stepping out of line when addressing you. If you’ll pardon my excuse, I find it is far easier to forget I am speaking to a royal when I talk to you.”

Mydei isn't quite sure how to respond to that. In polite society, that would be considered rude to say, but he finds he’s not as annoyed as he should be when Phainon admits it.

He continues, “I guess years of serving His Majesty has warped my perception of how royalty should act.”

“You aren't afraid to speak of the late king in an unsavory manner. You may wrap it up in pretty words, but I can tell you weren't quite fond of him. Does my presence make you bold?” Mydei is glad the coachman can't hear them. Phainon keeps toeing a dangerous line.

“What I mean to say is Your Majesty is like a breath of fresh air I have been rarely afforded. I have slipped back into my old habits without my meaning to.”

“Those habits being not respecting authority?” Mydei asks, slightly amused.

“Mayhaps.”

“I find that hard to believe. You seem so straitlaced.”

Phainon smiles, “Merely a farce, Your Majesty.”

“A well-crafted one.”

“I am flattered that you believe so, sire.” Phainon grabs another book settled at his side and opens it.

Phainon’s not wearing reading glasses today, his eyes squint a bit as he tries to read the letters that jump off the page with every rocky shake of the carriage. The face he makes as he’s concentrated on the book is beautiful, almost breathtakingly so and his snow white hair is a marvel to behold—it's almost like moonlight is cradled within each strand.

If Phainon catches him staring, he doesn't say anything. He continues reading his book with a small smile. Mydei isn't sure a book on the agriculture of Styxia warrants such a look, but he realizes he should be following Phainon’s example and tries to read the tome in his hand.

After a few hours of trying and failing to pay attention to the book in his hands, the carriage comes to a stop at an inn for the night. They’ll make it to Styxia by noon tomorrow if they depart at sunrise. Unfortunately, the inn is mostly booked, leaving only one room for Mydei and Phainon to share. He could kick up a fuss and demand a second room since he is royalty, but he’s not fond of abusing his power nor does he mind sharing a room with a commoner or Phainon, rather.

The coachman departs to let the horses rest and Mydei’s knights set up base outside of his room. Inside the room, Phainon hesitantly hovers over his small luggage, rummaging inside for a spare set of night clothes whilst Mydei sits upon one of the beds in his day clothes.

“I am not going to bite, you know?” Mydei jests.

“I am not quite sure, Your Majesty,” He says without looking away from his garments, “You have been eyeing me like prey the whole day.”

“I have not.” At least, not as much as Phainon insinuates he has. “Would there have been an issue if I had?”

“Not at all. I am just not sure it is proper for someone like me to be sharing a room with you sire.”

“Now you care for formalities after being insolent all day?”

His voice is a little quieter as he speaks again, “Exchanging words and sleeping together are two wholly different things, Your Majesty.”

“There are two beds.” He says matter-of-factly.

Phainon ceases his rummaging, “This proximity truly does not bother you?”

“Why would it?” Mydei folds his arms defensively, “Unless you’ve heard the rumors of my proclivities.”

“Pardon?”

“My proclivity towards men.”

Phainon visibly swallows as he draws his luggage shut, “I would never be so assumptive as to think that Your Majesty would desire me.”

Mydei frowns at that, it’s true he's not particularly interested in him in that way despite his striking looks, but the self-deprecation is unjustified, “I much preferred when you weren’t putting me on a pedestal.”

“The conversation earlier in the carriage was my folly.” Phainon sets his night garments on his bed with a sigh, “I should not have spoken to Your Majesty in such a manner nor should Your Majesty expect that of me from now on.”

His words come out harsher than he intends, “I am not expecting anything of you.”

“Perhaps that is for the best.”

“You know that is not what I meant, Phainon.”

Phainon's eyes meet his for a moment. “Old habits are truly hard to unlearn, it seems, sire.”

“I can offer you no comfort, but I will say I do not hope to make you feel small like he did.”

“You say that you cannot offer comfort yet your kind words beg to differ.”

“Hmph…Nonsense,” Mydei gets off of his bed to turn around, “Hurry and get changed so I can blow out the candles.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Phainon says softly.

***

The gates of Styxia part to reveal the bustling coastal city-state. Water flows through the city like lifeblood, through the many stone fountains and sturdy aqueducts. They pass through crowds of people in the marketplace as they make their way to the palace; some of them cease their bartering and conversations to stare as the horses gallop by. Mydei doesn't shy away when he's eyed with hostility—the Kremnoan royal carriage is rightfully gazed upon with disdain. He accepts their rage unflinchingly and hopes he can do something to right his father’s wrongs.

The carriage nears the palace which sits on the ocean, imposing and grand. They come to a stop in front of the large resplendent gates as the coachman speaks to the guards stationed there.

Mydei steels himself, he is the one that wanted to mend the relationship between the two regions, surely his fear of large bodies of water has waned over the years.

Concern furrows Phainon’s brow, “Are you okay, sire?”

Mydei looks away from the window, “Yes.” Is all he says.

Phainon clearly doesn't believe him, but he doesn't pry further and instead opts to ask him about the book from yesterday, “Did you study up properly?”

Mydei sighs, “I am afraid not.”

“No need to fret, Your Majesty. Leave it all to me.”

Mydei gives him a skeptical look.

He continues, “I have prepared one of Kremnos’ finest bottles of wine for the occasion. It would not do to come empty handed.”

“I am surprised they let you into the cellar.”

Phainon looks affronted, “The cellar hands enjoy my company.”

“I don’t think they could say otherwise.” Mydei lets out a small chuckle.

“A fair point, Your Majesty,” He concedes, “Regardless, I will have to fetch the wine after the carriage is parked. So make sure not to run off before I procure it.”

Mydei scoffs, “What am I, a child?”

“Not at all, Your Majesty.”

“You have no issue treating me like one.”

Phainon leans in slightly with an amused look, “Is that a pout, Your Majesty?”

Mydei leans back with a grimace, “The long ride has made you delirious, I am sure of it.”

The carriage starts moving again and they make their way through the gates. Mydei closes his eyes as the horses start making their way onto the bridge. He feels a presence looming over him for a moment and he opens one eye to see Phainon closing the curtain.

Phainon settles back in his seat with a hesitant look on his face, “Sorry for the proximity, Your Majesty. You have looked a bit pale ever since we approached the ocean so I thought hiding it from view would be best.”

His chest pangs with a sudden ache he can't name, “Thank you.”

Phainon gives him a gentle smile back, “There is no need to thank me, Your Majesty.”

But there is, he thinks. He decides not to vocalize it though because he's sure Phainon will fight him tooth and nail to find an eloquent way to deny his gratitude. He doesn't know much about him still, but he can tell Phainon doesn't value himself nearly as much as he should.

The carriage comes to another stop and a Styxian footman opens the door to the carriage. Mydei awkwardly shuffles out of the vehicle, his furs and royal garb making it hard to maneuver. The scent of the ocean fills his nostrils and he has to tamp down the bout of nausea that hits him. Phainon slides out of the carriage next and turns to him with a look of worry.

“Your Majesty, I know I said earlier…” Mydei focuses on his voice and tries to block out all else, “that you should wait until I procure the gift, but I think you should head inside first.”

Mydei nods, words failing him. Phainon gives him a small reassuring smile before he is ushered into the castle alongside a few Styxian attendants and when the double doors close, Mydei lets out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.

The Styxian palace is far more grand than Castrum Kremnos, which is more akin to a military fortress than a castle. The entrance has a velvet carpet at his feet, dyed a deep sea green, a large chandelier looms overhead, encrusted in millions of pearls, he can’t imagine how much it costs. Sculptures that look like mythical sirens are made of gold and line the pillars leading up to the grand staircase, a staircase lined with even more expensive velvet. Everything within the palace is a display of great wealth—-wealth that Kremnos so sorely lacked. After taking in the sight, Phainon is there at his side with the bottle of pomegranate wine in his hands. A group of attendants dressed in shimmering fabrics greet them with a gift in hand. One of Mydei’s knights that had shuffled in along with Phainon accepts it on Mydei’s behalf.

“King Mydeimos and Sir Phainon,” One of the attendants bows, “Please, this way to the parlour.”

They are led down a long hallway to a reception room which is decorated with chairs upholstered in sea green fabric and a marble fireplace, the wood within it unkindled. Two well-dressed noblewomen greet them as they walk inside.

“Lady Castorice,” Mydei stops in his tracks as he sees another familiar face next to her, “Lady Cifera?”

“I’m a countess now, Your Majesty.” She corrects with a smirk.

“When did you wed?” He asks, flabbergasted. The Cifera he knew was a bit of a tomboy, one who hated dresses with a passion and used to scare him with beetles and the like with her face caked in mud until his housekeeper scolded her. That selfsame Cifera now wears a black corset that hugs her pale blue puffy dress, a dress that hangs low on her shoulders exposing a bit of her bust and flares out from her thick petticoats underneath.

“I inherited the title. Enough about that, who is the gentleman behind you?” She doesn't point but she might as well be with how hard she stares at Phainon.

He bows, “Lady Castorice, Countess Cifera, a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Phainon Khaslana, the king’s accountant.” He hands over the bottle of wine to Castorice who accepts it gratefully.

“Thank you, Sir Phainon. It seems you know of our gift giving customs.” She hands the bottle off to one of her ladies-in-waiting. Mydei assumes she’ll inspect it for poison before serving it.

“You brought an accountant with you?” Cifera interrupts with a puzzled look on her face.

“He is my advisor as well. He proposed this trip to begin with.”

“And I am glad that he did,” Castorice says with a clumsy smile, “It has been a while since we last exchanged words, Your Majesty. I appreciate you making the journey here. Please, let our attendants prepare your baths. Brunch will be served soon after.”

The water is the perfect temperature when Mydei settles in. He insisted that he could bathe himself much to the dismay of the Styxian staff. He didn't realize how much grime and sweat he could accumulate from a long carriage ride and an inn stay without bathing. He sniffs himself once over before pouring a vial of scented oil into the water. Phainon oddly didn't smell, at least he couldn't tell if he did from their rather close proximity earlier. Did he dab himself off with a damp cloth during their rest stops? Or does he naturally not produce a strong odor? Mydei’s body stills in the water, why was he thinking about Phainon’s scent?

He grabs one of the cloths set by the tub and a bar of tallow soap to lather his body. He wonders if Phainon is bathing with such nice amenities or if he's washing in the servants quarters. Mydei sighs, he's only thinking about Phainon because he hasn't had many positive interactions with people outside of his attendants in years, that has to be why. He grabs one of the small copper pails seated at the side of the tub and scoops some of his bath water to pour on his hair. He then takes some of the tallow soap and works it in between the strands before rinsing himself off.

When Mydei finishes his bath and drying himself off, the attendants are in the dressing room with Styxian attire for him to wear. Their clothes are even more garish than his traditional Kremnoan attire, but he lets the servants fuss over him and drape him in the garments, as he is afraid of putting them on improperly and getting off on the wrong foot. He really should have read the book on customs and practices instead of entertaining Phainon’s nonsense.

When he arrives at the banquet hall, Phainon is already there. The clothing he wears is a bit plainer, but Mydei thinks he could make anything look decent. Phainon rises when he notices Mydei staring and bows. He waits until Mydei is seated to sit again and Mydei almost tells him not to bother with the formalities when he remembers they are in public.

Cifera is absent, he realizes, and before he comments on it Castorice speaks, “Countess Cifera was only here for a brief visit. She says she is sorry that she was not able to have a proper talk with you after all these years, Your Majesty.”

“Did she truly say she was sorry?” Mydei asks, amused.

She laughs into her glove softly, “I may have coated her words slightly, Your Majesty,” Castorice continues, “Princess Polyxia will not be able to attend the brunch either, she is in a meeting.”

“How does she fare?”

“Better these days.” Castorice says stiffly.

Mydei doesn’t pry.

The food is brought on silver trays, a sumptuous feast of lobster, oysters, raw fish, and pastries. Mydei hasn’t had shellfish in years and it tastes so delicious that he thinks it’s a shame that his people have lost access to it due to his father’s choices. The banquet only serves to strengthen Mydei’s resolve. He wants the delicate bond that he’s trying to form between their two regions to flourish again.

***

The next morning, Phainon and Mydei are accompanied by Lady Castorice and a few of her guards around Styxia. The royal princess, Polyxia, tasked her with showing Mydei and Phainon the region of Styxia in her stead, and it was only right, considering that Castorice and Mydei had spent much of their youth together.

“The Revelry Marketplace is where most of our trade takes place. Styxia’s main exports are seafood and pearls. That reminds me, we used to trade a lot with Kremnos since there was an abundance of furs to be made from the overpopulation of animals there. Is that still the case, Your Majesty?” Castorice asks.

“Yes, some of the knights go on hunting trips every few weeks as well to bring back animals to be skinned for their hides.”

“It would be splendid to have access to them again, Styxian winters are not as harsh as Kremnos, but I believe they would sell well.”

“That makes two of us. The food here is unlike anything in Kremnos. I think my people would enjoy what Styxia has to offer.”

Castorice smiles, clumsy and warm, “I am excited for further negotiations, Your Majesty. I will make sure each and every one of your thoughts reaches Princess Polyxia’s ears.”

As Castorice guides them further through the marketplace, she gets recognized by a few citizens when she passes by their stalls. An elderly woman with deep set eyes presses a kiss to her cheek and gives her a small plate of fresh plum slices. She reaches into her pouch and places a few coins in the woman’s hand which the woman refuses. Castorice, stubborn as always, places the coins on the counter and shares a plum slice with a passing boy who thanks her gleefully. The woman smiles and kisses Castorice’s other cheek before waving goodbye.

She holds out the plate, “Please try it, Lady Amunet’s plums are the best in Styxia.”

Castorice is right, the fruit is perfectly sweet and succulent. Castorice offers Mydei another one with a gentle smile and he asks her to make sure Princess Polyxia adds plums to the growing list of items he would like to trade.

By the time they leave the market, Mydei’s stomach is full. Castorice is beloved by all of the citizens but she is also someone that cannot say no, so all of the food and items they shared with her were shared with Mydei and Phainon and her guards. She apologizes and offers them a spot in the shade in front of the royal fountain in the center of the city. The plaza is lively, music is played by buskers who tip their hats in the hot sun when coins are dropped into their purses. Children laugh and play tag whilst their parents chase after them with half-amused, half-annoyed huffs. Scents from the marketplace waft over and while Mydei is stuffed beyond measure, the food still smells ridiculously enticing, and he wonders if he can take some that will survive the long journey back to Kremnos.

After they can move without feeling like they’ll explode with each minute movement, Castorice excitedly talks about the pier and Mydei feels himself getting lightheaded again. He knows that fishing and sea trade are huge facets of Styxia’s economy, but he can’t bring himself to go near where the ships are docked. It has been many years, but the memories feel fresh as he gazes upon the endless sea.

Phainon sensing his hesitation, turns towards him and says, “Your Majesty, I can go with Lady Castorice. Feel free to get some well deserved rest.”

“Thank you.” Mydei says. It is times like this when he realizes that wounds won’t magically heal even with Eurypon gone. He wonders in a few years if trade is still going well with Styxia, will he be able to go up to the pier? Take a carriage to the castle with the window open? Or even take a boat ride? He’s not sure, but he takes the breather that Phainon provided him and rests in the shade until they both come back.

After their journey around Styxia, Mydei, Phainon, and Castorice are transported back to the palace. Castorice calls for an attendant and whispers in the attendant’s ear before they bow and scurry off to another room. The sound of multiple footsteps are heard before he sees the source of it.

Princess Polyxia is brought into the room in a small sedan chair by a few attendants. They walk towards the group until they are settled next to Castorice, holding Polyxia up for the group to address her.

Phainon bows, “Thank you for having us, Your Highness and Lady Castorice, and for showing His Majesty and I such hospitality. Please feel free to accept our invitation to Castrum Kremnos as a token of our good will.”

“I am afraid I cannot leave Styxia, but I am sure Lady Castorice would be up to the task.” Polyxia smiles.

“Yes, of course, it would be an honor to,” She turns to Mydei, “Would it be alright if Countess Cifera attended as well, Your Majesty?”

“I don't see why not.” Mydei says.

“Your Majesty.” Phainon admonishes quietly.

Princess Polyxia brings a gloved hand to her cheek as her smile widens, “You truly have not changed, Your Majesty.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” Mydei asks.

“Not at all. I am glad that Kremnos is in your hands, Your Majesty.” A few attendants go rigid from her discourteous words, but even Mydei can see the plain agreement on their faces. Mydei would never expect a kind word about his father, but every small interaction with people outside of Kremnos truly shows how deep his poisoned roots have spread.

“I hope that Kremnos and Styxia can foster a positive relationship going forward.” He says.

“I hope so as well, Your Majesty.” Polyxia gives him a small bow.

Castorice gives him a curtsy, “We will, and I will continue to write to you, now that I am certain my letters will end up in your hands, Your Majesty.”

Phainon bows to the ladies, “We will send a carriage to Styxia in a fortnight. I will make sure that Castrum Kremnos takes good care of Lady Castorice and Countess Cifera.”

“Thank you, Sir Phainon.” Princess Polyxia says, “May you both have a safe trip back.”

***

Mydei is training with Krateros in the courtyard one early morning, when he hears shouts of dissent on his left. Krateros sheaths his sword with a sigh as he wipes the sweat from his brow. Mydei turns to see Phainon taking a sword off of one of the racks, the knights swarming him and yelling disgruntled curses.

Mydei slots his sword into his sheath as he walks over, “Is there an issue?”

“Not at all, Your Majesty,” One of the knights says with a bow, “We were just telling this uninformed commoner that the swords are for the royal knights’ use only.”

Mydei laughs dryly, “This ‘commoner’ is my right hand man and he has the right to use whichever sword he pleases, granted he can wield it properly. Can you?” He challenges.

Phainon smirks as he takes the sword in hand, “Of course, Your Majesty.”

“We are truly sorry, Your Majesty.” The knight says as all of his other knights bow in perfectly practiced unison.

“There is no need to bow. Let us all see if he is worthy enough to wield it.”

He can tell Phainon is itching to prove himself. Truth be told, as built and bulky as Phainon was, he hadn't seen him exercise at all. Mydei thought he was one to fight with pens over swords, after all, he always had his head buried deep within a book. So when Phainon beckons him over with his hand firmly wrapped around the sword's grip like he was made for it, Mydei finds himself overwhelmed with an emotion he can't quite name.

“Your Majesty, let one of us handle him.” Another knight says.

Mydei scoffs a little haughtily, “Do you not think I can hold my own?”

“It is not that, Your Majesty. We just would not want you to expend your energy fighting an amateur.”

“As much as I appreciate you all fretting over me, I believe I have informed you all of not underestimating your opponents.”

Krateros stands to the side without a word, his arms crossed and his eyebrows furrowed. He's clearly just as interested as Mydei is in seeing Phainon’s swordplay.

“Krateros, I want you to call it.” Mydei says.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Mydei holds his sword in an offensive stance signaling to Krateros that he's ready. Krateros swipes his hand in a downward motion and Phainon is immediately on him. His sword clashes into Mydei’s, sending a strong reverberation through his arms. He's slightly caught off guard by the show of strength but he keeps his sword steady. He presses forward distributing his weight through the blade keeping where their swords are joined even.

Phainon withdraws and fakes to his left before slamming his sword in from the right. Mydei braces against the impact, the clash of metal ringing in his ears. Phainon's swings are quick and heavy. His mind is having trouble piecing together that this is the selfsame accountant that spends all day reading. He's keeping Mydei on the defensive, something even Krateros struggles with.

Phainon’s sword bashes into Mydei’s so hard he loses his footing and tumbles onto his back, his sword clattering against the cobblestone right out of reach. Phainon is atop him before he can even make a move—the tip of Phainon’s sword pointed dangerously at his neck. The knights surround them with their swords aimed at Phainon, ready to strike him down if necessary. Phainon pays them no mind and keeps his eyes trained on Mydei.

He shivers.

“Do you yield, Your Majesty?” Phainon asks with a smug grin.

Mydei grits his teeth, “No.”

Phainon brings the blade even closer, if Mydei breathes his blood would bead at its tip.

“Your Majesty!” One of the knights yells.

Mydei should be more angry about this development or worried about his image amongst his knights, but all he can think about is how beautiful Phainon is with his hair slicked to his skin, his broad chest heaving with exertion, and his boyish smile bright with triumph. His chest aches and he’s not sure if it's from swordfighting.

Phainon draws back first, allowing Mydei to catch the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. The knights sheath their swords and step back—only slightly—now that the danger has seemingly passed.

“You are quite stubborn, Your Majesty.” Phainon says as he reaches his hand out to help him up.

Mydei ignores his offered hand and stands up. He feels unbearably hot all of a sudden.

“Your Majesty, are you upset?” He asks.

“No,” He tries to collect his thoughts, “Where did you learn that swordplay?”

“I come from a lineage of swordsmen.” Phainon says simply.

“Then why have you been relegated as an accountant? With your level of sword mastery, you could be the head of the royal army.” Krateros scoffs in annoyance at his remark.

Phainon smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes, “I believe my current job suits me best.”

Mydei doesn't believe that one bit. Phainon looked more alive fighting him than he had lecturing him on trade routes and Kremnos’ finances, but he can tell this isn't something he should pry further about.

“Unfortunate.” Is what Mydei lands on.

“Serving you is no such thing.” Phainon says and it sounds far more earnest than his first reply.

Mydei feels his heart stumble in his chest, “You and your empty flattery.”

He laughs this time, warm and bright, “I only speak true, Your Majesty.”

Mydei turns from him, his face burning, “Krateros can you take my sword?”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

Mydei hands off his sword to Krateros and nearly sprints out of the courtyard. He hears footsteps follow after him and he doesn’t want to turn around because he knows exactly who he’ll see.

“Your Majesty,” Phainon huffs, “You run quite fast.”

“Yet you are still able to keep up. I am surprised.” He says without looking back.

“I do a bit of training in the mornings.”

Mydei stops running, “But I wake up when the sun rises.”

“Before then, sire.”

“And here I was wondering how you were so bulky even though I haven’t seen you lift a finger.”

Phainon comes to a halt a few centimetres away from him, “I am offended, Your Majesty.”

“It was a compliment, I swear.” Mydei says dryly.

“You have an odd way of giving them, sire.”

Mydei turns around and he wishes he hadn’t. Phainon’s shirt is wet with sweat making it almost translucent. He smiles almost amused with his hand on his hip. Mydei’s mouth feels oddly dry as he takes in the sight.

“Sire, your mouth could be a home for flies.” Phainon says.

Mydei didn’t realize his mouth had been open and the embarrassment hits him like a cold bath after an intense spar. He turns his head away, “You are so insolent.”

“Do you not like being teased back, Your Majesty?” Phainon’s footsteps draw nearer.

“I was not teasing you.”

Phainon appears in front of him, his gloved hands behind his back, “I did not get to say this earlier, but your swordsmanship was a sight to behold, Your Majesty.”

Mydei feels his face going warm, “Empty words again, I am sure.”

“Never with you.” He says gently.

And Mydei wants to believe him.

***

Mydei is awoken by a scream in the middle of the night. He had barely started drifting off before it pierced his ears. He hastily hops off of his bed and takes the dagger from under his pillow and slots it in a garter he takes off of his settee.

He makes his way down to the servants quarters when he sees Hyacinthia crouched over a limp body in the hallway—the deceased dressed in a maid’s uniform. She shakes her head confirming the other maid’s suspicion.

“She has passed. It seems it was poison, the same as was used on both of His Majesty's parents. There was an abundance of it in her room.” Hyacinthia says. She clasps her hands together in silent prayer.

The maid notices him first and bows. Hyacinthia stands and follows the maid’s gaze before she bows as well.

“Your Majesty,” She lifts her head, “I believe she was the culprit. I know that the tradition is to not treat those who have betrayed the crown kindly, but I think she deserves a proper burial.”

“I agree.” Mydei says easily.

“Then, I will arrange something with the coroner posthaste.” She turns to the maid, “Please return to your chamber and I hope you can get some proper rest.”

The maid bows before walking back to her room. Leaving Mydei and Hyacinthia with the body.

“I could not speak of this while the other maid was here, but I believe I have found the motive behind the poisonings.” Hyacinthia holds up a crumpled up letter, “She was staunchly against the royal family, I do not think she cared if you were better than the late king, she resented the system itself.”

“There are plenty of people like that and rightfully so. I would never think that winning the people's favor would be an easy task.”

Hyacinthia frowns, “It is unfortunate, Your Majesty. I wished the people would become more open-minded after your ascension.”

“It would be a lot to ask,” Though he wishes it were so too, “Years of tyranny does not wash away easily.”

She nods solemnly, “Yes, I am afraid Your Majesty is correct.”

A group of servants come with a stretcher made of wood and lift the body onto it. Hyacinthia bids him farewell as she follows them down the hall.

Mydei takes the long way back to his chambers. On the way there, he thinks of Hyacinthia’s words again. The monarchy wasn’t a system he particularly believed in either. The way the people’s faith and livelihood hinged on his decisions and not ones of their own making never quite felt right to him. He would be their hope, yes, when they needed it, but Kremnos had already placed its hope in a monarch that saw them as less than human, anything he did would be seen as a kindness and they deserved far more than that. His head hurts by the time he slips back into bed.

A Kremnos run by the people seems so far out of reach.

***

“Your Majesty, Lady Castorice of Styxia and Countess Cifera of House Zagreus are waiting for you out in the garden for tea.” One of his maids says at the door.

He had almost forgotten he made an arrangement for them to visit after his trip to Styxia. As unfortunate as the entire situation was, he feels less trepidation about the ladies visiting now since the serial poisoner had perished; he can only hope no one plans to take up her mantle. He opens the door and takes the bundle of clothes his attendants had picked out for the occasion and denies their aid with getting dressed. The outfit is too stuffy for him, so he only wears the frilled undershirt, vest, and breeches.

When he arrives in the garden, the two ladies are chatting away under the gazebo, a 3-tiered silver serving tray between them stacked with Kremnos’ finest desserts and snacks. Their guards lay low out seemingly out of their vicinity giving the idea that they have a modicum of privacy, but he knows they don’t. The ladies rise and bow and Mydei has to stop himself from bowing in return. He’s still not accustomed to playing a royal after all of the years of isolation; a month barely a dent in time to rewire his manners.

Castorice greets him with a lopsided smile, “Your Majesty, thank you for having us.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Cifera says, clearly unenthused about the formalities.

“Thank you both for accepting my invitation. Kremnos is proud to have such esteemed guests.” He turns to the attendants, “May we have a bit of privacy?” The sound of the serving trolley's wheels getting caught on the cobblestone breaks up the awkward silence as the servants move out of listening range. Cifera and Castorice’s knights move further down the hedges, still within a range where they could spring into action, but he's sure that they can't overhear them as well now.

Mydei sits down across from Lady Castorice and Countess Cifera and notices that his tea is already freshly poured in a teacup set on an elaborate saucer. He takes it in hand as Cifera begins to speak.

“Thank goodness. It was getting awfully stuffy in here. That's not to say I have an issue with your attendants, it's just people lurk about in every corner here.” She pokes at her pomegranate cake with a bored look on her face.

Castorice chimes in, “Oh, the Zagreus estate is quite small is it not?”

“I have two ladies-in-waiting, a butler, and a footman. Our funding has dried up ever since my arranged marriage fell through.” She sighs but she doesn't sound all that unhappy about it. Cifera sets down her fork and brings her teacup to her glossy lips.

“I still cannot imagine you being wed.” Mydei says.

“That makes two of us. I still get nagged at for my behavior, ‘be cordial, do not speak out of turn, act as is befitting of a lady’,” She sets her teacup down on the tablecloth instead of her saucer as if to emphasize her point, “Who cares?”

Mydei laughs, “I am glad to see you haven’t changed a bit after all these years.”

“The only thing that has changed is my acting. I think I have gotten far better at it, if I do say so myself.”

“I am not quite sure.” He jokes.

Cifera sticks out her tongue at him. The bushes rustle, but Mydei raises his hand for his guards to stand down. He finds it quite ridiculous about how rigid behavior towards royals should be.

Castorice sets down her tea on the saucer where it belongs as she asks, “Is Sir Chartonus still working here, sire?”

“Yes, are you interested in his craft?”

“Princess Polyxia wanted to have a ring crafted by him. I also wanted to pay him a visit since I believe the last time I saw him, you were about the height of a fawn, Your Majesty.”

Mydei isn’t quite keen on all of the comparisons to animals he’s gotten recently. He squashes down his annoyance, “I can arrange for you two to meet.”

“Chartonus, that’s a name I have not heard in a while. We used to play hide-and-seek in his forge all the time. The only thing that was quite unfortunate was all of the soot.” Cifera says, warm nostalgia coating her words.

“I recall you being admonished because you ruined your dress.” Mydei adds.

“I loathed that frilly piece of fabric.”

“But, it seems you have no issues now wearing dresses.”

Cifera looks at him scandalized, “Have you truly looked upon this magnificent creation? This was made by a garmentmaker named Aglaea. Her attention to detail and garments are second to none.” She looks ridiculously proud as she sings the woman’s praises, “I may have bartered with her for hours in the Marmoreal Market of Okhema for a few of her dresses.”

Mydei cannot deny how beautiful the clothes she wears are. Even to his untrained eye, he can tell that a master seamstress had sewn it. The silver dress cuts low like the blue one she had worn weeks prior, intricate white lace is sewn into the neckline and her puffy sleeves; it’s still slim fitting while giving her some modesty, the seamstress certainly made this dress with the wearer in mind.

“It befits you.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” She says with a sardonic flare, but he can tell that she’s happy to receive the compliment.

“You do look stunning, Countess Cifera.” Castorice agrees.

Cifera’s cheeks turn rosy as she lifts her cup to her lips. Cifera has always been weak to Castorice’s earnestness. Mydei is a bit too, sometimes he’s unable to formulate a response back when she regards him so kindly, but Cifera likes to pretend that it doesn’t affect her as much as it does.

Mydei looks away from his guests to glance back at the castle. One of the rooms on the second floor has the curtains parted and he can make out a familiar figure. Phainon sits on a chaise lounge with a pair of reading glasses on. He looks up from his book with a soft smile and gives Mydei a courteous wave. Mydei turns his head so abruptly he thinks almost sprained his neck.

“Your Majesty, you are so red,” Castorice says with concern, “Is the heat getting to you?”

Cifera laughs, “Did you not see Mydeimos gawping, Castorice?”

Mydei feels his face grow hotter.

“Countess Cifera, what of your manners?” She scolds.

“We are all friends here are we not?” Mydei asks.

Cifera nudges Castorice with her elbow, “See? Loosen up a bit, princess.”

She pouts, “I am not a princess.”

“It was said in jest, my lady.” Cifera sighs.

“And here I thought you two got along better now, was I mistaken?” Mydei smirks.

“Lady Castorice still adores her titles.”

“I am not particularly fond of the titles themselves, but I do think respect is a good facet of society.”

Cifera almost gags, “That I just can’t agree with. Saying ‘Sir’ and ‘my lady’ all day gets tiring, and some of the people that bear titles aren’t worthy of them.”

“I never said I was fond of the hierarchy Countess Cifera.” She corrects, “It is about respect.”

“Because of Polyxia?” Mydei asks.

“Yes, Your Majesty. I have essentially taken on her role because of her affliction. I despise that society treats her like a secret.”

“That I can agree on.” Cifera interjects, “Princess Polyxia is a good ruler too.”

Mydei thinks of the other night again as he asks, “Would you get rid of the monarchy?”

Castorice fiddles with the teacup in her hand, “It would not be so simple and even if it were to be dissolved, I am afraid Princess Polyxia’s place in society would be far worse than now without royal blood protecting her.”

He knew the answer to his question wouldn’t be so simple, but it frustrates him that he has been far more ignorant to everything outside of Kremnos all these years than he initially thought.

***

“Pardon my frank curiosity, but how are you unwed?” Mydei asks as he and Phainon are sorting through paperwork one rainy afternoon, “With looks like yours surely the whole court would be stumbling over themselves for a glance.”

Phainon laughs from the abrupt question, “You flatter me, Your Majesty. Unfortunately, the late king kept me locked away, as you know, and because of it I was not given the opportunity to pursue marriage prospects. I am far past the age to be wed now though.”

Eurypon was a jealous man indeed.

Mydei could understand him, but in the way that he would want Phainon’s beauty all to himself. He pauses, almost mortified by the possessive feeling that swells within him and squashes that selfish thought before it can take root.

“Far past the age?”

“I am 38, Your Majesty.”

Sixteen summers older than he. Mydei hasn't felt the disparity until now.

The question slips out before he has a chance to stop it, “Do you desire to get married?”

Phainon’s smile fades, “I am afraid even if I desired to, it would not be possible.”

“Why not? I would not prevent you from being wed.”

His voice is quiet as he says, “I believe we share the same inclination, Your Majesty.”

“Oh.”

“Will that be an issue?” Phainon asks, unsure.

“Not at all, why would it be? You took my secret in stride, why would I not afford you that same kindness?”

His face softens, “You are the first person I have told, sire.”

“I cannot imagine you had many chances to let it be known.”

Phainon laughs at that, “You are quite right, Your Majesty.”

Mydei’s curiosity gets the better of him, “Have you—”

“Been with another man? No, Your Majesty.” He finishes easily.

Mydei hates that he immediately felt relief from his words. Phainon looks at him, the question clear in his eyes. Mydei answers, “One kiss, nothing special.”

“I cannot conceive of it.” He says with another soft laugh.

Mydei blushes, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Your Majesty is quite prickly, I am surprised that someone piqued your fancy.”

“And I am just as shocked to hear of your lack of romantic developments.”

“Why is that, sire?”

Mydei huffs, “I am not falling for your tricks today.”

“It was not my intention to be tricky, Your Majesty.”

Mydei lifts up a piece of parchment, “We should be working.”

Phainon makes a face that clearly says ‘you are the one that derailed us in the first place’, but he schools his expression as he picks up another document. “Imports from Styxia should be arriving in a week, Your Majesty.”

“Good, we should host a small banquet for the staff.” Mydei says.

“That is a splendid idea, sire.” Phainon smiles.

***

Mydei wakes up in the middle of the night with his undergarments sullied, the fabric clinging to his skin like a shameful reminder. He groans, he hasn’t had a wet dream in over six summers, the last time being when he had shared his first kiss with a nobleman’s son and he realized his inclination for the same sex.

Phainon's admission yesterday sent his hormones into overdrive, it seems.

His skin is still warm and clammy, and he can feel the ghost of a touch from the remnants of his fantasy. Phainon kissing him beneath his robes, tugging at his garter with a soft laugh filled with mischief, his silver hair nestled between his thighs. Another wave of traitorous heat claims him, before his rationality crumbles, he decides to call for a bath.

Attendants shuffle in and out of the room with hot kettles until the amount of water in the tub is sufficient. He gently shoos them away, reminding them that he can rinse himself off without any assistance. He understands why they're so insistent, years of dealing with Eurypon would condition anyone to think his treatment is the norm, but also Mydei is keenly aware of how he is an outlier and he isn’t quite fond of having servants tend to his every need.

He slips into the tub, the hot water a balm against his growing desire. It wanes ever so slightly as he grabs the tallow soap and lathers it over his skin only to resurface with a vengeance as he lathers himself lower and lower. He thinks he’ll overheat in the tub and the attendants will have to drag his naked body out of the water after it has long gone cold.

He pulls himself out of the tub and hastily towels off. His mind is filled with Phainon as he mindlessly slips into his casual attire. He decides he needs to drown himself in work or something to take his mind off of him; he won't be able to fall back asleep if his thoughts are running wild like this. Mydei almost considers swordfighting, but he thinks better of it—if he did, his mind would surely wander to Phainon on top of him again, his sword aimed at his throat. Heat claws its way inside of him, settling low in his gut, and Mydei decides that work would be the best idea after all.

He walks—sprints—to the study, frustration once again mounting within him. The doors slam shut behind him as he approaches his desk, only to stop in his tracks when he sees a familiar, worn glove.

It's Phainon’s.

He lifts it up gently between his fingers, the fabric soft and well-taken care of despite the visible wear. He has never seen Phainon’s hands without the fabric hugging his skin. Curiosity getting the better of him, he slots his hand into the glove. Warmth fills his body as he realizes this is the closest he’s ever been to touching the other man. It's larger than his hand; the fabric sags against his skin—not clinging desperately like it can’t bear to part from him like it does with Phainon.

He glances back at the door, he knows no one is allowed within twenty metres of his study at this hour but he's nothing if not overly cautious. He opens the hidden compartment on his desk and withdraws the key to lock the doors. He doesn't want to leave it to chance that some unfortunate, unknowing servant may stumble upon him. He settles back against his mahogany desk and presses a soft kiss to his gloved palm.

He shivers.

He draws his hand up to his cheek, feeling the fabric caress him softly. He imagines that it's Phainon’s hand cupping his skin, rubbing his thumb across his cheeks leaving goosebumps—he wishes desperately that it was. He runs his hand down, down, down until it settles near the heat that has been building in his trousers. He twitches against his own touch, just the idea of Phainon is enough to make him feel like this. His fingers unbutton his breeches hastily as his hand slips into his undergarments.

He rubs his shaft with his gloved hand. The ribbed seams catch on his skin, the texture intoxicating. The silkiness of the fabric against his head makes him gasp as he peels back his foreskin. The glove quickly becomes sticky and wet with his precum, dribbling out of his slit in abundance. Mydei shuts his eyes, it's Phainon touching him now, Phainon’s large hand curling around his cock, pumping him hungrily. He braces his other hand against the desk, the wood creaks, protesting against his weight.

A knock at the door halts his impending climax.

“Your Majesty?” Mydei's cock throbs pathetically at his voice.

“Phainon.” He manages.

“Yes, sorry to disturb you at this hour,” He says apologetically, “But have you perhaps happened upon my glove? I could not find it amongst my possessions.”

Mydei can feel his skin growing hot. He's done more than happen upon it. The garment in question is still wrapped around his cock—his cock which has only grown impossibly harder from hearing the object of his affections’ voice. Against his better judgment, he moves his hand up, then back down, tentatively touching himself while Phainon is on the other side of the door.

“Your Majesty?” Phainon asks again.

“No,” He gasps out, “I—I have not.” His hand pumps around his cock faster. Mydei is so lust-addled that the prospect of getting caught is making the feeling headier. Would Phainon be disgusted? Disappointed? Or would he be so aroused by the sight that he’d flip him over and fuck him senseless into his desk like he deserves?

Worry seeps into his tone as he asks, “Sire? Is something ailing you? Your voice sounds hoarse.”

Mydei bites his lip to tamp down the moan that threatens to slip free, “I’m fine.” He’s not. He’s so achingly hard that he thinks he’ll pass out against his desk.

Clearly unconvinced, Phainon's footsteps draw ever closer, “I am worried about you.” The door handle rattles and Mydei’s breath catches in his throat. “If you need privacy, I will grant it. I just—” He pauses, “I am overstepping my station.”

“No, I—Haa…” His hand starts to stutter around his cock. He can't help himself from calling out, “Phainon.”

“Your Majesty.” Phainon’s breath hitches.

Mydei shuts his eyes as his orgasm shocks his body. His back arches against the desk from the force of it as his cock twitches against the glove, his thick spend soaking through the soft fabric. He’s ruined it, ruined Phainon’s possession, but he's too lost in his desire-filled haze to mind. Phainon’s breathy voice brought him to completion, his and yet not his Phainon beyond the door. He takes the cum covered glove and slides it under his desk before tucking himself hastily in his breeches. He takes the key and unlocks the door, only to find his face mere centimetres from Phainon's. Another bout of dizziness hits him from the proximity. They could—their lips could—

“Your Majesty, your skin is so flushed.” Phainon says as his tongue darts out to wet his dry lips.

“Is it?”

Phainon reaches out as if to touch him, his hand covered with a different glove this time—dark velvet. He withdraws before he makes contact, remembering the hierarchy between them. Mydei wouldn't mind his touch—would welcome it selfishly. Phainon makes him selfish.

He sighs and drags Phainon into the study and lets the doors close behind them.

“Sire?” He asks wide eyed.

“You are good at acting unaffected. I will give you that much.”

Phainon looks away, caught, “I know not what you mean, Your Majesty.”

“You are a terrible liar.” They both know what Mydei was up to, he wasn't quite good at hiding it and the study still smells faintly of sex.

“It was never my strong suit, Your Majesty.” He whispers.

They're so close, Mydei can count each silver eyelash of his, “Phai—”

Another knock at the door halts them both this time.

“Your Majesty, I am sorry to interrupt, but Krateros wants to share a word with you.” One of his footmen says.

He steps away from Phainon, “I will be right there.”

“Your Majesty,” Phainon swallows, “Please fix your attire before you go.”

His breeches are still unbuttoned.

“Could you—”

“Of course, sire.” Phainon says as if reading his mind and turns around giving him as much privacy as he can with their proximity.

Mydei fumbles with the buttons awkwardly. He misses the slits in his pants repeatedly as he hears Phainon try to stifle a laugh.

His cheeks burn, “Can you not?”

“My apologies, Your Majesty.”

He struggles for another moment before Phainon asks, “Do you need assistance, sire?”

He has a ‘no’ quick on his tongue, but he swallows it down. This was a rare opportunity and while he should feel a bit of shame for taking advantage of it, he doesn't as he says, “Yes.”

Phainon turns around, his cheeks a little flushed in the candlelight, “Permission to touch, Your Majesty?”

Mydei doesn't trust himself to speak so he nods. Phainon’s mismatched gloves find their way to the top of his breeches and his breath stutters. Phainon's hands are so close to where he wants them to be and he has to relax, but it's so hard when his gloved knuckles brush against his abdomen. Phainon's head is slightly bowed and Mydei can smell the fragrance he ran through his hair; a gentle chamomile with a hint of basil. A calming scent that doesn't ease the thumping of his heart.

The buttons slot into place without much fanfare and Phainon’s hands withdraw. Mydei feels warm again and the spot where Phainon’s knuckles caressed his skin burns like a million suns.

“There.” He says.

“Thank you.” Mydei manages.

“No need to thank me, Your Majesty.”

“Your Majesty, are you ready?” The footman asks.

He replies, “Yes, sorry to keep you waiting.” He looks back at Phainon. His cheeks are even redder than before and something like hope flutters in his chest at the sight.

“Don't worry about me, sire. I will be heading back to my room soon.”

And so Mydei, reluctantly, leaves Phainon alone in the study.

***

The next morning, Mydei asks one of the maids for a hot kettle. He’s met with an odd look, but she obliges. He takes it to his bath, pours the hot water into the tub with some soft scented oils, and places Phainon’s glove in the water; he retrieved it late last night after his briefing with Krateros.

He’s never washed his own laundry before and so he’s a little unsure how to go about it. He dips the glove under the water and rubs it between his fingers as he tries to get the stain of his sticky shame out of the fabric. After a bit of rubbing, the stain dissolves and he takes it out of the water.

The fabric shrunk considerably.

He curses under his breath. He sets the glove to dry and thinks of how he's going to break this to Phainon. He will have to lie, there is no way he's going to admit that he touched himself with it and spilled his essence on it and miswashed it to him. Mydei is keenly aware now more than ever that his actions have consequences.

When he leaves the tub and heads to his study, Phainon is already there sitting by the desk reading a handful of documents. He wears matching gloves today, the same dark velvet as the one he wore yesterday night, and Mydei feels even more guilty now.

“Good morning, Your Majesty.”

“Phainon.” He says simply.

“What is on your mind, sire?”

“Your gloves,” He says a little too quickly, “Did you ever find the other one?”

Phainon's cheeks turn slightly rosy, “No. I am getting a new pair made. These are just for the interim.”

Mydei feels a little relieved, “I am sorry about the other one.”

“Why would you be, Your Majesty?”

His skin burns, “No reason.” Mydei walks over to his desk and sits down, “What is on the agenda today?”

“There is a letter from Lady Castorice on your desk, sire.”

He rummages through the stack of papers until he settles on an envelope with a red wax seal. He breaks the seal with little effort and withdraws the parchment from inside the envelope.

“Is something the matter, sire?”

“No,” He folds the letter delicately, “It is an invitation to the Pearly Shores Ball.”

“That takes place a fortnight from now I believe. I will make sure most of our work is done before you depart, Your Majesty.”

“Before I depart? Why are you speaking as if I am not taking you along?”

Phainon sets down the stack of documents in his lap, “I would not want to be presumptuous, sire.”

“And you would not be. Your knowledge on the customs of Styxia would be a great help if you were to accompany me.”

Phainon laughs softly, “Your Majesty, you could have already been well-versed in them without my aid if you read the book I handed you.”

“It sounds to me like you don’t want to attend, Phainon.”

“Not at all, Your Majesty. It would be an honor to attend the ball with you.”

Mydei’s heart thumps at his words even though he knows Phainon means nothing by it, not in the way he wishes.

Phainon gets up from his seat with the documents he was reading in hand and places them on his desk. His gloved finger runs over the inked words as he says something about the work they will need to do before the ball. Mydei wishes he could hear Phainon’s words, but his eyes are too trained on the arch of his wrist as his finger glides back and forth. He wishes he could see the sliver of skin between the cuff of his glove and his suit, wishes he could press a kiss there, wishes he could see more of Phainon than the parts of him he curates for others.

“Your Majesty,” Phainon says a little breathless, “Have you heard a single word I have said?”

No. He hasn’t. He’s too focused now on Phainon’s lips with no desire to hide his hunger. They’re pink, he notes, slightly wet from Phainon lapping at them to keep them from drying out, and now they’re parted in quiet shock, possibly because of his unabashed staring. Phainon turns away first, his hands scooping up the documents he placed on the desk. He walks over back to his chair but doesn’t sit in it, his coattails turned towards Mydei as he speaks.

“We must do something about that habit of yours, Your Majesty.”

“What habit?” He asks though he knows what he means.

“Your staring habit, sire. It is not polite at all.” Neither is Phainon not looking him in the eye when he speaks, but Mydei doesn’t vocalize it.

“Being polite isn’t my intention with it.”

Phainon whispers, barely audible, “I am going to get the wrong idea, Your Majesty.”

“What did you say, Phainon?”

“Nothing, sire,” He turns to sit and his expression is collected once more, “Since you weren’t paying attention prior, I will have to go over the documents again.”

“How can I see the documents from here?” Mydei asks.

“Your Majesty will have to make do, since you cannot pay attention when I am near.”

“I don’t think distance has anything to do with it.”

Phainon covers his face with his hand, “What has gotten into you today?”

“Phainon.” He says.

Phainon’s fingers hold the documents tighter, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Come here.”

Phainon walks over as commanded, Mydei’s words law to him. Mydei takes the documents that are held tightly in his hands and places them back on the desk, then grabs Phainon’s wrist and presses his hand to the parchment.

“Read it to me,” He says, “I will pay attention this time as you so desire.”

Phainon shivers under his touch but does as he's told and Mydei is too focused on how Phainon’s wrist felt in his hand to pay attention.

They accomplish nothing for the rest of the morning.

***

The palace of Styxia looks even grander than his visit four months ago. The halls are decorated with velvet banners, the chandelier is alight, the pearls encrusted in it casting a radiant hue upon the attendees. The floors are freshly waxed, and a long banquet table sits near the grand staircase topped with refreshments and a siren sculpture made of chiseled ice. A band of entertainers play a traditional Styxian sea shanty as noblewomen lift their gowns to dance along.

As beautiful as everything is, Mydei can’t take his eyes off of Phainon. His accountant’s hair is slicked back with pomade, a black tailcoat suit that cinches at his waist, a three-tiered jabot at his neck, and of course, his signature white silk gloves, a new pair sewn by one of Mydei’s maids. Those gloved hands are firmly grasped around a random nobleman’s hands as Phainon greets and talks to the people that come up to them. A few noble ladies look on, exchanging words behind their ornate fans. Mydei feels jealousy grip him, a slimy and unsettling feeling that he wishes he could cast away, but at the same time, something akin to pride wells up within him as people talk to his competent accountant; Phainon’s commoner status disregarded as they listen to him speak with rapt attention.

“I would love to discuss more about opening trade with Kremnos with you Sir Phainon. It seems I have had some misconceptions about it.” The nobleman says.

Phainon turns to Mydei with a smile, “Our Majesty is kind and wise beyond his years. I am proud to serve him.”

Suddenly his garments feel too heavy, too hot. Phainon’s smile is too radiant, his words too sweet. He nearly stammers as he speaks, “No, Kremnos’ growth in reputation is only thanks to your hardwork, Phainon.”

The nobles chatter amongst themselves with surprised expressions. No one had seen a Kremnoan king that spoke kindly of their subjects—much less one that gave their subjects credit.

The nobleman that had been speaking to Phainon turns to him, “Your Majesty,” He bows, “I am Sir Kilik from Okhema, a lancemaker. It would be an honor to do business with you.”

“No need to bow,” Mydei offers him his hand, “Kremnos has a need for lances and I have heard a great deal of Okheman craftsmanship.”

The nobleman, Kilik, regards him with slight shock before taking his hand in a firm handshake, “Word of Okhema has reached your ears, Your Majesty?”

“Countess Cifera spoke of a garmentmaker, Lady Aglaea.”

“Countess Cifera? She hails from Dolos and is a frequent traveler to our region. Your Majesty is acquainted with her?” He says in awe.

“Quite, a friend from my youth.”

Kilik smiles, “I truly am sorry for my preconceived notions, Your Majesty. A friend of Countess Cifera is a friend of ours indeed. Please, let us talk more over refreshments.”

Phainon gives him a warm smile as he trails behind him and Mydei feels himself mirroring a smaller one back. Sir Kilik and Phainon delve into how they would go about doing business as Mydei pretends to sip on wine. He’s not huge on liquor and prefers non-alcoholic beverages instead, but he would not turn down an offered drink, it wouldn’t be polite, especially when Sir Kilik is so enthused about their future partnership.

Mydei’s attention is drawn away when Lady Castorice walks over and gives him a small curtsy. Her pale violet hair slips from her shoulders as she does, her hair that is styled in a curled up-do; he can only imagine how long it took to get it like that. She wears a white dress with asphodels perched on her bosom, the dress low-cut at her shoulders, frills jutting from every crease. The train of her dress is so long—she should really have an attendant hold it so she doesn’t stumble, but he can’t imagine her employing someone to do such a menial task.

“Your Majesty, I am pleased that you accepted my invitation.” She says, a gloved hand across her chest.

Mydei stands up from the settee, “Of course. You have dressed well for the occasion.”

She smiles, “Thank you, you as well, Your Majesty. Countess Cifera picked out this dress for me.”

That explains the busty cut of it, far removed from what Castorice would normally wear. “Is she here as well?”

Castorice’s smile turns into a slight grimace, “She drank a bit too much, so I had my ladies-in-waiting put her in my room until she is sober enough to socialize.”

Mydei looks at her slightly puzzled, “Didn’t the festivities just start?”

“Yes.” Castorice sighs.

He laughs a little louder than he intends to and out of the corner of his eye he sees Phainon smiling around the rim of his wine glass. Their eyes meet and for a second Mydei contemplates downing the drink in his hand to rid himself of his inhibitions. He doesn't but it is a near thing.

Castorice walks a bit closer, “Is there something going on between you two?”

Mydei's neck whips back as he whispers, “Lady Castorice, have you gone mad?”

“I see no problem with it, Your Majesty.” She says awfully earnestly.

“I wish your opinion were a common one,” He grips the stem of his glass a little harder, “And no, there is nothing between us. What of you and Countess Cifera?”

Castorice’s face turns bright red in the candlelight, “I—We—there is nothing between Countess Cifera and I either.”

“I find that hard to believe.” He chuckles.

She fixes him with a glare but it holds no heat, “Countess Cifera is not serious about anything, least of all romance.”

“That is true, but I would not put her having feelings for you outside of the realm of possibility.” He thinks of Cifera’s reaction to Castorice’s compliment at the tea party again, how Castorice managed to miss her flushed face was beyond him.

Castorice looks at him with a look of unadulterated hope, “Really?”

“If you look at me like that, I will feel terrible if I am mistaken.”

“I do not think you will have to worry about your feelings being reciprocated either, Your Majesty.” She says with a small smile.

“Pardon?” Mydei asks.

“May I take him from you, Lady Castorice?” Mydei shivers as Phainon is back at his side.

Castorice gives a small curtsy and leaves the two of them alone.

“Your Majesty.” He smiles.

“Phainon.” Mydei says.

He takes the glass from Mydei’s hand and takes a sip. Mydei watches Phainon’s throat slowly bob as he drinks the liquid and he feels heat curl in his abdomen.

Phainon hands him the other glass in his hand when he finishes sipping Mydei’s, “This is a non-alcoholic beverage made from crushed plums, Your Majesty. I tasted it to make sure that the attendant gave me the right one.”

Mydei takes the offered glass to his lips and it is as he says, fresh plum juice, refreshing and sweet. Mydei feels an overwhelming urge to kiss him. But he can't—they can't even dance at this ball together and the thought makes the drink on his tongue turn bitter.

“It tastes good,” Mydei says, “Thank you, Phainon.”

“I am glad, Your Majesty.” He smiles.

Mydei's heart throbs in his chest.

I adore you, he thinks.

You make me selfish, he thinks.

I want to be yours and for you to be mine alone, he wishes.

***

Mydei is jolted awake in the middle of the night once more, a few days after the ball; his breathing ragged like he had just run a marathon, his throat tight and itchy—insomnia like an unwelcome lover, crawling back and sinking its claws in. His sheets and undergarments are drenched with sweat again. Mydei wishes his dreams were filled with a tender touch and lingering kisses, but his nightmares were not as kind.

His father—no—Eurypon still a suffocating presence even in his absence. He stays upright until it no longer feels like he’s breathing through a narrow straw then he peels off his duvet and walks to his wardrobe to change out of his wet night clothes. He has an important meeting tomorrow and needs to be well-rested for it, so he heads to Hyacinthia’s office—hoping that she has something that can help him stay asleep and hopefully stave off the night terrors.

The doctor is hunched over her desk with her eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she grinds down a thick paste with a mortar and pestle.

Curiosity seizes him, his own issue mildly forgotten as he asks, “What is that for?”

“Phainon, Your Majesty.”

Mydei pales, “Is Phainon sick?”

“I am afraid I cannot disclose that, sire.”

Mydei is not proud of abusing his authority, but he does so anyway, his worry about Phainon overshadowing his reason, “Does he have more hold over you than I, Hyacinthia?”

“Not at all, Your Majesty, but he specifically did not want you to know the reason why. I have treated him all this time and know of his kindness and his frailty. He would not want you to know this of him and so I ask that you not pry any further, sire.”

Mydei’s blood runs cold. There would be no need for Phainon to hide anything from him unless it was something dire and chronic. He darts out of the room ignoring Hyacinthia calling out behind him. Mydei hasn't even had the chance to tell him how he feels.

The selfish bastard.

Attendants sidestep out of the way, narrowly making it in time as their king flies past them in a flurry of fabric.

Mydei bursts into Phainon’s chambers, fury building within him. Phainon looks up from his book, startled, clearly not expecting any guests at this hour. He takes off his reading glasses and sets them atop his table alongside his book before addressing him, “Sire, what brings you here?”

“What has Hyacinthia been making you take?”

Phainon shuts his eyes and presses a gloved hand to his face, “You saw.” Mydei notes he’s wearing gloves this late even though no one would—or rather, should—be around to see his bare hands.

“Why have you been hiding it from me?” He asks, pained.

“Your Majesty, are you upset?”

Mydei looks at him, incredulous, “Why would I not be? My accountant has been hiding a vital detail from me this entire time,” He knows he’s being selfish and petulant but he says, “Am I not trustworthy enough to guard your secrets?”

“Your Majesty, it is not that I lack trust in you. My shortcomings are not for you to bear.”

Mydei’s chest hurts pathetically at his words. There is no malice behind his words nor lies, because he’s right, they are not close like lovers, cannot exchange secrets like they’re not king and loyal subject, but it hurts him all the same.

Still, he says, “Your illness is not a shortcoming and it would not be a burden for me.”

Confusion seeps into Phainon’s expression, “I believe there is a misunderstanding here, sire. I am not ill.”

Mydei’s confusion mirrors his, “Pardon?”

With a resigned look, Phainon’s fingers tug at the cuff of his left glove. It slides down slowly, unveiling that they were not mere decorations he never parted with, but rather to conceal what was hidden underneath. There are angry fissures along his skin, like cracked alabaster. His hand mottled in a cacophony of purple, black, and yellow marks—tiny slivers of muscle exposed through his split skin.

“It's unsightly, isn’t it?” He asks, his lips drawn with a self-deprecating smile, “Eurypon wanted to make sure I was undesirable.”

Mydei walks forward towards Phainon’s bed and kneels at his side. Phainon starts to protest, but he stops when their eyes meet.

“You are not. Not to me.” Mydei takes his ungloved hand in his and brings it up to his lips. He presses a kiss into the fractured skin; Phainon’s lips part with silent gasps as Mydei’s lips brush and catch on the raised fissures yet he lavishes his skin again and again with soft kisses, undeterred—reveling in feeling Phainon shiver beneath his gentle touch.

“Your Majesty…” Phainon breathes.

“You are not unsightly.” He says firmly between kisses, he can feel Phainon try to slip away, “Do not hide from me.”

“Your Majesty, please stand, it is not befitting of someone of your stature to lower yourself before a commoner.”

He releases Phainon’s hand with one last press of his lips and says, “Then show me how someone befitting of my stature should be treated.”

Mydei doesn't expect much, not really, not when he doesn't know if Phainon even desires him back. So when Phainon lifts him onto his bed and kneels between his legs he wonders if he’s dreaming. It would be a nice dream, another nice reprieve from all of the recurring nightmares—his memories, but reality shocks his body, pleasantly, this time, as Phainon’s soft lips find themselves pressed against his thin stockings. Mydei’s breath hitches as Phainon’s hands find his garter, a finger latches under the fabric giving it an experimental tug.

“Phainon.” He gasps.

Phainon kisses the spot above his knee before unbuckling the garter and sliding down one side of his stockings. Mydei opens his eyes that he didn’t realize he had closed, to see Phainon’s lips hovering over his exposed skin. His lips touch his leg and it feels like every kiss is a searing brand; like Phainon is trying to tell him his overflowing feelings through his touch.

The other garter is unclasped and Mydei’s stockings are gently tugged off. He belatedly remembers he’s not wearing anything underneath as Phainon spreads his legs. He's already hard from a few warm kisses—kisses from his beloved Phainon.

Phainon presses his lips to his inner thigh, closer and closer until he's near where Mydei aches most, but instead of the press of his lips, Phainon's rough hand closes around his cock and it feels so much better than his silky glove. This Phainon is real and is touching him, not a phantom he had conjured. His fingers rub against the head of his cock, coaxing more precum to slick his fingers. Mydei feels so lightheaded, touching himself never felt this good, this warm.

“Phainon.” He says again, his voice fraying at the edges.

Phainon pumps him gently as his thighs flex and twitch, “Does that feel good, Your Majesty?”

“Yes,” Mydei almost whines, “It feels good.”

He smiles as he presses another kiss into his thigh, “You deserve to feel good, Your Majesty.”

No one has ever told him that before.

Not even the Phainon in his perfect dreams.

Something so simple, yet it unravels him to his very core. He doesn’t cry—hasn’t cried since Eurypon threw him into the sea and left him to struggle, but he almost feels the urge to now as Phainon’s words settle deep into his chest. He can't bring himself to say it back, not yet, so he reaches down to caress Phainon’s cheek and says, “Let me kiss you.” And he hopes Phainon understands what he means.

Phainon rises just enough for their faces to meet, but not above him, still lowering himself before him. Mydei wraps his arms around him and lets Phainon fall onto him. Phainon is momentarily dazed by the sudden movement, but he laughs when his brain catches up, the sound a beautiful melody in Mydei’s ears. He presses his lips to Phainon’s, melting into it. Phainon’s lips are soft like he always knew they would be, his touch even softer as he runs his hand under Mydei’s nightshirt. He gasps into his mouth as Phainon rubs gentle circles into his thigh, his fingers ghosting near his wanting cock.

Phainon doesn’t make him wait long, he gives Mydei all of his caresses freely, never makes him beg. He swallows Mydei’s needy sounds with his mouth as his hand wraps around him once more, this time with more fervor and it makes Mydei go dizzy with pleasure. Phainon’s tongue slips into his mouth; it rubs against the roof of his mouth, his cheeks, and lastly his tongue with teasing flicks.

Mydei draws back to tug on Phainon’s night clothes. Wordlessly, Phainon gets off of the bed to pull off his garments. He doesn’t get to take in the view for long before Phainon is atop him again and tugging at his nightshirt. He pulls off the rest of Mydei’s clothes until they’re both completely bare.

“You are breathtaking, Your Majesty.” Phainon says.

Mydei feels hot under his intense gaze, “I thought that of you.”

“You flatter me, Your Majesty.”

“It is not flattery, just the truth.”

Phainon kisses the column of his neck, his lips leaving a searing trail, “The truth sounds good coming from your lips, sire.” Mydei squirms as Phainon’s lips travel lower, past his chest, his abdomen, and down to where he aches the most. Mydei’s vision goes fuzzy as Phainon’s lips wrap around his shaft. Phainon takes him down to the root, nuzzling into his thick curls, his throat constricting around his length like a hot vice. Mydei’s hands scramble for purchase in Phainon’s hair as his thighs tense around his head. Phainon brings his mouth back to the tip before sucking him back down to the base.

Phainon's mouth is so hot and wet around him, he tries so hard not to buck against his face, but his hips thrust forward without his meaning to. Mydei’s cock bumps the back of Phainon’s throat and he grips Phainon’s hair so hard that the other man groans around him. His cum spurts down Phainon’s throat as his cock twitches and throbs needily in his lover’s wanting mouth. He releases Phainon’s hair, allowing him to draw back and Phainon swallows before he presses one last kiss to Mydei’s sensitive cock.

Phainon allows him to catch his breath. He holds him and kisses him until the dizzy haze dissipates.

“More, Your Majesty?” Phainon asks.

“Yes.” He breathes.

Phainon walks into his bathroom and comes back with a bottle of oil. He warms it up between his fingers and spreads Mydei’s legs again. Phainon preps him slowly, his fingers gentle and searching. When Phainon’s fingers prod against a spot that makes him jolt, he presses and thrusts his fingers deeper over and over until Mydei feels his whole body tingle with pleasure. Phainon has him stretched and wanting with three thick fingers and he almost has half a mind to beg him. To have him finally take him like he's wanted all this time. Phainon withdraws his fingers and Mydei clenches around nothing, already missing the feeling of Phainon inside of him.

Phainon sets him on his lap, his firm thighs pressed against his. Phainon’s hair sticks to his forehead, damp with sweat and Mydei brushes away the moonlight kissed strands. His sapphire eyes are trained on him, drinking in every movement and touch and Mydei shivers from such deep reverence. He never liked being worshiped or put on a pedestal, but Phainon being his willing devotee makes him want to fulfill his every wish and desire—to be someone worthy of the look in his eyes.

Mydei whispers, “You deserve to feel good too, Phainon.”

Phainon presses his forehead against his, “You make me feel good, Your Majesty.”

Phainon moves back to lather his cock with oil before rubbing it against Mydei’s hole. Anticipation thrums through his body as Phainon teases him, not pressing in just yet.

“Phainon.” He doesn’t whine, but it is a near thing.

Phainon breaches him slowly, he can tell it's taking him all of his restraint to not thrust like they both want him to. Phainon is much larger than his fingers but the stretch feels so good. He waits until he’s fully seated inside Mydei, instead opting to occupy himself with pressing kisses over Mydei’s skin. It gets too ticklish after a while and Mydei swats at him. Phainon kisses the palm pressed against his face and lays Mydei down onto the mattress, keeping them firmly locked together as he does so. This position is better, he thinks, he can see Phainon’s face in all its beauty at this angle. He looks so ravenous above him, his blue eyes nearly swallowed by his pupils, his lips wet and swollen. Mydei feels so desired and wanted; it makes his heart race anew.

Phainon gives an experimental thrust and Mydei lets out a quiet moan. Encouraged by the sound, he pumps into Mydei again and again until he rocks against the mattress.

“I don’t think they teach this in books.” Mydei says between gasps.

“No,” Phainon agrees, “I have thought about how best to please you, Your Majesty.”

Mydei’s toes curl as Phainon kisses deep inside of him, “You have thought of me?”

Phainon laughs but it’s a bit strained, “More than you know.”

Mydei shivers.

“Have you thought of me like this?” He breathes.

“Yes, more times than I can count.” Phainon moans, “I have wanted this, wanted you.”

Mydei feels himself getting close to the edge again, heat yearning to burst free, “Me too, Phainon.”

His thrusts become more erratic from his words, “Your Majesty, I am not going to last,” Phainon grits out, his face splotched in a deep crimson.

“My name.”

Phainon hesitates before he whispers, “Mydeimos.”

His body shudders as he comes, his cum coating both of their abdomens from the force of it. Phainon’s eyes grow wide in awe before he kisses his face and whispers gentle praises in his ears. He thrusts into Mydei deeper and faster, his own release close.

“Mydeimos, Mydei—” His words catch on a moan.

“Call me that again.” He commands.

“Mydei.” His hips stutter and Mydei wraps his legs around him pushing him further in. Phainon leans closer to Mydei humping into him until his body shudders and Mydei feels warmth spread inside of him, Phainon's thick seed where it belongs. They hold each other, sweaty and sated, their breaths out of sync, their bodies as one.

“Let me clean you.” Phainon says.

And for all of the times he’s refused, he allows Phainon his ‘yes’. Phainon comes back to the room with a hot kettle that he pours into a copper pot. He uncaps a vial of something rosy and pleasant and pours it into the warm water. He dips a cloth in the mixture and wrings it until it's slightly damp. Mydei lies back on the sheets and allows Phainon to pat at his face with the warm cloth. He rubs softly down to his neck, then the crease of his armpits before wetting the cloth anew. Mydei has to stifle a laugh, his skin ticklish from his ministrations. The cloth rubs over his chest, his nipples hardening from Phainon's gentle touch, then over his cum covered abdomen, his soft cock, and his hole.

Phainon switches to a fresh cloth instead of putting the sullied one back in the water.

“Let me.” Mydei says.

Mydei runs the cloth over Phainon’s body, relishing in his twitches and gasps as he does so. He captures Phainon's lips with his when his moans get too loud and swallows them gently as he brings Phainon to completion again with the wet cloth. When they are both cleaned, Mydei settles into bed next to his lover, Phainon’s beating heart a calming sound in his ears.

“I plan to abolish the need for kings.” He whispers into Phainon’s chest.

“Y—Mydeimos—” Phainon starts.

“Rest assured, I have not made this decision lightly. I have thought about it far longer than you could imagine.” He draws back to see Phainon’s blue eyes searching his.

“Then what do you propose in its place?”

“The people shall govern. It will take a while to dismantle the hierarchy currently in place, but I would like it if there were no need for titles and status.”

“That does sound nice.” Phainon agrees.

“I would not ask for you to build it with me—”

“I will.” Phainon says without hesitation.

“Phainon.” He breathes.

Phainon takes his right hand and presses it to his lips, “A life without you is a boring one. I may not serve you anymore in the future, but I would still like to spend it by your side.”

“I wouldn’t mind that.” Mydei says.

Phainon laughs, “Then I will work hard to make your wish come true.”

Mydei smiles at the gentle sound, “You have worked hard enough.”