this is a miniseries, estimated to be three parts in total. if you are interested in being tagged, please comment or send an ask, and make sure i am able to tag you.
series tag is [ @ đđđđđđđđ â đđđđđđ đđđ đđđđ ] in case any parts do not get linked properly.
still so close, yet so far . . . summary â three chrysos heirs arrive in the xianzhou empire proposing an alliance. amongst them, is lord mydeimos, a man with immortality but not immune to what begins to change in him. word count: 3.8k
tags âââââââââ mydei x reader & (minor) jing yuan x reader, royal au, attempt at slowburn, not canon compliant. this series will contain angst, violence, major character death ; xianzhou alliance is called the xianzhou empire ; jing yuan is heavily ooc for story purposes only.
You stand before a large painting of a young woman. She is dressed in an extravagant red gown. Her hair had been meticulously styled to represent her high status. The pins in her hair have charms dangling from the ends. It is the symbol of the Xianzhou Empire. Her hands are placed on her lap with her left on top to display a beautiful engagement ring.
She is stunning. The artist had captured her details so perfectly, forever in precise strokes and vibrant paint. Many who walk down this very hallway have to stop and look in awe at this creation. Unable to touch it, they can only move closer to the portrait and examine the flow of the brush.
You, on the other hand, can only stare at the painting with disdain. It is not towards the woman, for she is not the one at fault. The disdain is for the story behind how this painting came to be and how it was hung in this very spot.
The name of the woman in the painting is Xinyue. The ring on her finger was placed there by the creator of the Xianzhou Empire, Emperor Jing Yuan. This overly detailed portrait was a gift from him to her. Itâs to display the beauty and grace of the future Empress.
But that story is why you hold disdain for the painting. Because only months before, another portrait was in this very spot for the same reasoning.
Her painting replaced yours.
Here, in the Xianzhou Palace, your existence is well known. You play an important and occasionally overlooked role in the Royal Court. Politics. The peace treaties between the Empire and other kingdoms were made possible through you. Battles were avoided because of your interference. Alliances hadnât been broken by your influence.
Before Xinyue, you were the future Empress to be. Jing Yuan adored you, he praised you, he loved you. While he was the fighter, you were the tactician. A perfect pair to rule over the Empire.
And so suddenly, the ring was removed from your finger. Another woman began to roam the palace halls with a different ring given to her by Jing Yuan that held the same meaning. Forged to her exact measurements and liking, Lady Xinyue is now the bride to be for the Emperor. He adores her, he praises her, he loves her.
Now your painting is gone. It is stored in a location unknown to you, serving only to collect dust.
He gave you no reasoning behind his actions. Why had he discarded you off to the side that easily? Years of loyalty to each other and it ended abruptly.
âMy Lady,â A voice from the end of the hall directed your attention away from the painting. There is a servant who had been tasked with finding you. She witnessed you intently staring at the artwork hanging on the wall. Knowing your story, she felt a sense of pity deep down in her heart for you. âThe guests from Amphoreus are waiting. The meeting will begin soon.â
Amphoreus. A vast land which you had never been to. It was hard to explain how different things worked there compared to the Xianzhou Empire. But of course, like other country leaders, they were here for the exact same reasoning.
Your eyes flicked over to the painting again and then gave the servant a curt nod as a sign of thanks, âVery well.â
It wouldnât be proper of you to keep the guests of Amphoreus waiting. So, you followed behind the servant woman. The image of the painting lingered in the back of your mind. Unfortunately, with how many times you passed by it since it was hung, you knew it well to the most minute detail.
You arrived outside of the Royal Courts meeting room. All important discussions were held here and away from the prying ears of the servants. Two Cloud Knights stood on either side of the double doors.
Today, behind those doors, were three of the twelve Chrysos Heirs from Amphoreus. Lady Aglaea, Lord Phainon, and Lord Mydeimos.
In recent times, Jing Yuan expressed his interest in having Amphoreus become part of the Xianzhou Empire. This would give him total and absolute control over the region. What that meant is that you would get stuck doing all the diplomatic work. You were very good at what you did, but the Emperor seemed to have a hard time comprehending how impossible it was to sway the Chrysos Heirs.
They werenât bad people. They, however, were extremely intelligent. They knew how to deny whenever something felt the slightest bit wrong to them. After all, it was twelve of them and only one of you.
Regardless, the guards opened the doors for you. The attendees for todayâs meeting were already sitting down at the table. Members of the Xianzhou Royal Court had huddled themselves by the head of the table, the chair reserved for the Emperor. Though you werenât too focused on them.
As soon as you stepped into the room, the sound of two chairs being pushed back made everyoneâs heads turn in that direction. Phainon and Mydei were both standing. It was nice to see that the men of Amphoreus held the utmost respect for women. They at least still stood up whenever a lady walked into the room.
At their side was Aglaea, who continued to remain seated with the others but kindly smiled at you.
âMy Lady,â She then stood up once you drew closer to them, âItâs good to see you again.â
âLikewise, Lady Aglaea.â You said, shifted your gaze to the other two Chrysos Heirs to greet them. Phainon gently took your hand in his and bowed as a sign of respect. Mydei copied his action, more careful with his clawed armor. âGentlemen, thank you for being here.â
âIt's always an honor to be in your presence.â Phainon said, placing a hand on his chest.
The heavy doors creaked, indicating someone else had arrived. There is a shift in the atmosphere in the room. His Grace, Jing Yuan, entered.
Everyone immediately stood up and turned to bow. His boots clicked against the floor. But there were a second pair of footsteps that followed. He hadnât arrived alone, and you werenât expecting him to. He had his betrothed, Xinyue, following behind him. Your brows slowly narrowed despite trying to hide your expression.
A frown settled on Aglaeaâs face, but she covered it up by clearing her throat and placing the back of her hand over her lips. Neither Phainon nor Mydei were pleased at this turn of events. When the Emperor suddenly broke off your long term engagement, the news spread across the lands. His actions were considered an abomination in the eyes of Amphoreus, a sign of ultimate disrespect towards you.
âGreetings,â Jing Yuan stopped once he reached the head of the table. He noticed that amongst everyone in the room, you werenât looking at him. As per usual, you were being cold towards him. âMy apologies, I havenât had time to properly address the three of you since your arrival at the Empire.â
âYou donât need to apologize, Your Grace.â Aglaea said, âYouâre a busy man. We understand.â
And everyone, in unison responded the same thing, âOf course, Your Grace.â Because no one could be opposed to it. So they had to accommodate and made room for Xinyue. She took the first chair, sitting on the left side of the table. It forced the Royal Court Members to all move one chair down.
You realized you wouldnât have a place to sit. Thatâs until you felt a hand gently touching your upper arm to get your attention. The ownerâs hand was recognizable by the feel of armor.
âMy Lady.â Mydei held onto the back of his chair. He was offering his seat at the table up to you. You glanced at the open chair before walking over to it. You tucked your dress comfortably as you sat down. He then carefully pushed the chair closer to the table. This left you sitting directly across Aglaea and Phainon. A much better position since you would be doing most of the talking with the Chrysos Heirs.
âThank you,â You said, though not sparing him a second glance. You could feel Jing Yuanâs gaze focused intently on the interaction. And not only that, Mydei remained behind you as if he were your most trusted guard, tasked with protecting you. His lingering presence was⊠Soothing, in a way. âLet us begin,â
The meeting proceeded. It dragged on for hours. Although on certain occasions, Feixiao and Yao Guang left their input, you had most of the control at the table. It was a back and forth between you and the three Chrysos Heirs. They were not easily persuaded by your statements.
Where Jing Yuan wanted them to see it fit that they join the Empire, they were more towards leaning into an alliance. You werenât necessarily objecting to that idea, but you knew youâd hear a handful if you didnât try to negotiate harder with them.
âAmphoreus has prospered under the rule of the Chrysos Heirs.â Aglaea explained, âOur people are happy. Theyâre content. Weâve avoided many conflicts with other countries. That is what matters most to us.â
The Heirs took their sworn oath to protect their people seriously. You were actually against trying to convince them to give up their rightful thrones. Except, you were a servant who had to fight for the Emperorâs desires. As soon as you were going to speak again, a new person decided to chime in.
âBut why have twelve separate rulers, when you could be under the control of one benevolent ruler instead?â Xinyueâs voice rang from the front of the table.
You were baffled, immediately turning over to her. It silenced the others at the table. They looked amongst each other. No one wanted to say it, but they were all thinking the same thing. Xinyue wanted to play your role, and she would fail miserably at this game.
You wished you could say none of this was her fault. Since she knew of your history with Jing Yuan, she was attempting to prove herself. This was her way of saying to you that she was better, and once she became the Empress, you were no longer going to be needed. Her issue was that she had a closed minded attitude, always believing that the Xianzhou Empire could do no wrong.
âUnder the control of one benevolent ruler?â The deep voice from behind you said. Mydei held back a scoff at her ignorance. Aglaea had to give him a stern look to remind him who he was speaking against. Though, it was ignored when he continued, âThe people of Amphoreus donât need history to repeat itself. We have only recently been released from Nikadorâs grasp.â
Xinyue grew silent. She didnât know of Amphoreusâ extensive history like you or other members of the Royal Court. In fact, she wasnât very knowledgeable about the reign of the different lands either. It was unfortunate she struck a nerve in Lord Mydeimos with her comment.
You immediately looked over at Fu Xuan, retainer of the Emperor. When your gaze met hers, she instantly knew what you were trying to say. She was forced to intervene, âWhy donât we put this meeting on hold for today? I think thatâs enough discussing this matter. We can continue tomorrow.â
âYes, I do agree.â Aglaea said, her hands letting go to gently push her chair back.
You exhaled lowly in relief. Fu Xuan had leverage with her position in the Court. Ending the discussion for the time being was better before someone ended up making matters worse.
The meeting room emptied.
Everyone went on their separate paths and attended to their own matters. You had gone with Aglaea, escorting her to the guest wing where she was staying during her time here. You spoke with her, catching up now that you werenât forced to talk about anything politically related.
Eventually, you decided to say your goodbyes so she could rest.
You wandered through the halls, heading to that same hallway from early this morning in order to return to your chambers. You arrived, only to find out you werenât alone.
In the distance, Mydei is before that painting and examining it in silence with his arms crossed over his chest. Heâs sharp enough to know someone else is in the hallway with him. You had no intentions to stop and talk to him. Your heels echoed through the empty hallway as you walked with your head held high. Just as you passed him, you were forced to stop.
âLady (Y/N),â He called out to you. His gaze remained fixated on the painting of Xinyue. You closed your eyes for a brief moment. This meant you had to face him, otherwise, it would be improper. He asked the very question you were dreading to hear come from a guest. âWas your portrait not here before?â
How embarrassing.
âYes, it was.â Your response was short. As expected. He glanced over his shoulder at you. He watched your reaction closely. He motioned to the canvas.
âAnd⊠Where is it now?â Mydei asked. His newest question left you puzzled. Your eyes narrowed slightly and your head tilted to the side.
âWhere is what?â
âYour portrait.â He elaborated. âWhere is your portrait now?â
That made you stop and think about it for a brief moment.
Jing Yuan commissioned the painting as a gift. He wanted everyone to see the beauty of the woman he was going to marry. He was a prideful man, you were his greatest treasure. With everything that happened, you never once wondered where your painting disappeared to.
Why did Mydeimos care? Was he trying to make fun of you? You, who once held the Emperorâs affection and wore his ring on your finger, didnât even know where the painting dedicated to you had gone.
âI do not know.â You said in a defensive manner. The faintest hint of snark didnât go unnoticed for the Kremnoan. âWhy not ask a servant for its whereabouts?â
He chose to remain silent as you left. Perhaps it was a mistake to ask such a blunt question. He could have worded it differently. It wasnât his intention to upset you. But you were gone now, and he couldnât apologize.
His eyes went from the right end of the hallway to the left where you originally came from. Mydei stood there for a moment longer, before making up his mind. He turned the other way with the objective of finding the closest member of the Royal Court.
âYou wish for me to go to Amphoreus?â
âYes.â Jing Yuan nodded his head. He reclined in his chair while you stood across from his desk. He laced his hands together, âThatâs exactly what I said. I want you to go to Amphoreus so you can see why they donât want to join the Empire. Simple as that.â
It had been two months since the three Chrysos Heirs departed from the Empire. The meeting, as you assumed it would be, was unsuccessful. Not a single one of the offers made swayed them. They didnât bother dwelling on it, and continued proposing an alliance.
It only made the Emperor more insistent. You couldnât disobey. You lived in the Xianzhou Empire and held a position in the Royal Court. Obeying his direct orders were your every day command. Thatâs why he chose you to do every diplomatic duty for him, no matter what it was. This is what you had studied and trained for since a young age.
You werenât fond of the idea of traveling. You truly never liked it and viewed it to be a hassle. With the change in season, the heatwaves would make your experience worse than usual.
âPerhaps they donât see it fit to join the Empire.â You said. Jing Yuan raised his brow before a smile spread on his face and he let out a short chuckle.
âDonât be ridiculous,â He said. âIt doesnât matter. Iâve already sent a letter. Once itâs discussed with the Chrysos Heirs and theyâve given permission, youâll take your leave for Amphoreus immediately. Do you understand?â
If you had to argue with Anaxagoras, you might lose your mind. Instead, you exhaled and nodded your head.
âAs you desire, Your Grace.â You bowed.
âNow then. That is settled. Moving on,â Jing Yuan crossed his arms over his chest, âHave you reconsidered my proposal?â Your gaze darkened for the briefest moment. But he was an attentive man, and the shift in your eyes didnât go unnoticed.
âMy answer was no the first time and it will be no each time you ask.â You said with a sharp tone. The corner of his lip twitched downwards. He placed his hands on his desk, pushing himself up from his chair.
âAnd why is that? You refuse to tell me your reasoning.â He walked around his desk with slow steps. He stood in front of you and reached out, his fingertips grazing your jawline. They came underneath your chin and lifted your head to meet his gaze. âIs it really such a detestable life to become my concubine? All I desire is to keep you at my side.â
âYou used to go about that in a better manner.â You held his gaze. Your words silenced him.
His proposal was like a slap in the face. He replaced you with Xinyan. And you, with an aching heart, had to accept it. Then he turned around and asked that you become a concubine once he married. His only concubine, he said. Your feelings didn't matter to him. Gone was the man you once loved.
He dropped his hand from your chin. He couldnât find that same love and devotion in your eyes anymore. Did he miss it? The Emperor himself didnât know.
âYou are dismissed.â He flicked his hand.
His temper flared at how quickly you left his study. You had to keep your composure. You refused to show any sign of weakness in front of Jing Yuan, no matter how much you were aching inside.
Xinyueâs painting taunted you as you walked by it. It was beginning to get harder to not place the blame on her. None of this is her fault, you reminded yourself. She wasnât the one you were engaged to and she wasnât the one who suddenly broke it off. She believed he loved her, just as you believed it once.
What about you? Didn't you have a right to be angry at this young noble woman who appeared in the palace overnight?
There was no reason to fight over Jing Yuanâs affection. If he took it away so easily, it was never there to begin with.
The Cloud Knights patrolling your wing pushed your chamber doors open when you arrived.
Qingque was inside. Your lady in waiting is adjusting three boxes stacked on each other. She placed a vase of blooming flowers right beside them. She looked in your direction when the doors shut behind. A bright smile formed on her face, âMy Lady!â She exclaimed loudly, careful to not bump into the table.
âWhat is this?â You asked.
âYou received a gift all the way from Amphoreus!â She plucked an envelope from the top box. She held it out to you, âThey sent flowers from here.â
âAmphoreus?â You repeated.
The wax seal on the back had the symbol of the Romance Titan. Aglaea. You examined the boxes. Qingque practically bounced on the balls of her feet. She seemed more excited about your gifts than you were. Maybe because she knew this was one youâd accept.
Jing Yuan, probably to cover whatever little guilt he might feel if he felt any at all, had been sending gifts to your chambers regularly. A cruel thing to do, youâd simply send them out to noble women, passing them off as your own.
As you carefully ripped the wax seal apart, you gave Qingque permission to open the boxes. You read the letter written in Aglaeaâs elegant handwriting.
My dearest Lady (Y/N),
In my years of being a dressmaker, I have been commissioned by many different people. Each of the dresses that I have crafted are woven with love and dedication. The day you read this letter, it is an honor to present to you my own creations. These are creations that I believe are long overdue.
But, I must mention that the dresses you will find in these boxes were made at Lord Mydeimosâ request. When we returned to the land of Amphoreus, he paid a hefty amount for the finest silk and materials. He constantly came to look over my progress and made sure that they would be to your liking.
Though, after I finished and prepared for the gifts to be sent over, I asked if he wanted to write a letter or a note. He became rather shy, and said I could take care of that part as well.
I believe youâve long ago entranced our Mydeimos with your lovely presence.
Sincerely, Aglaea.
âLook how beautiful they are!â Qingque said, holding one of the boxes in her hands. The other two were left on the table with the lids off. Any piece created by Aglaea was absolutely stunning. The dressmaker had a true talent.
You touched the white silk, soft under your fingertips. They were the toga dresses worn in Amphoreus. Aglaeaâs signature style, no matter where she went. In another box was a red dress, and the other held a light blue.
So these were made at the request of Mydei. The brief interaction you had with him months ago in front of Xinyueâs portrait resurfaced. Now you were regretting the sharp tone you used. You folded the letter and tucked it into the envelope again.
âQingque.â You placed the envelope down on the table by the flowers, âI expect to leave for Amphoreus. When I do, I would like these dresses amongst my wardrobe. In the meantime, please keep them in the boxes.â
She nodded her head, and quickly went ahead with the task to get it out of the way. Not only would you thank Mydei in person, youâd have to apologize for the way you spoke to him.
series material list | part two, coming soon . . .
this is a miniseries, estimated to be three parts in total. if you are interested in being tagged, please comment or send an ask, and make sure i am able to tag you.
notes. everyone say thank you to michael jackson for the name đŁïžâŒïž vale had told me to not to call it this đ€š hater alert !! anyways, glad iâm finally getting this idea out of my head. and itâs been a while since i posted up here but iâm finally getting back into writing 𫥠letâs see how long it takes me to post part two of this, hopefully not long
- áŽÊáŽÉȘÉŽáŽÉŽ x ÊáŽáŽáŽ áŽÊ x áŽÊᎠáŽÉȘ
Your relationship with the two men had always been unconventional. Frowned upon even, but the opinions of others had never mattered much to you.Â
Your parents always said you had a big heart. Apparently, it was big enough to fit both Mydei and Phainon. And both men loved you to the moon and back. That should have been enough. Right? Apparently not.
Late into the night, you lay wide awake in bed. Mydei slept on your right, snoring loud enough to shake the windows. Phainon slept on your left, mumbling something incoherent about swords and training. Somehow, both men appeared perfectly at peace. You, however, were suffering from curiosity that was eating away at you.Â
âIf I turned into a worm would you guys still love me?âÂ
Mydei stopped cleaning his spear. Phainon lifted his gaze up from his book. The two men exchanged a look from across the room. Neither spoke.Â
Then finally, Mydei rolled his eyes. âIâm not answering that.âÂ
âBaby if youâre bored we could take a walk out in town together.â Phainon took your hand in his, entwining your fingers together.Â
Phainon brought you to a lovely restaurant while Mydei ordered all your favorite dishes. They succeeded in distracting you for the rest of the evening.
Unfortunately for them, your curiosity remained unsatisfied.
The next morning began like any other morning. You woke up, enjoyed breakfast together. Then you kissed them both on the cheek and wished them a good day ahead as they left to fulfill their Chrysos Heirs duties.Â
Both men heaved a sigh of relief as they stepped out of the house. The last time you had asked a rhetorical questionâ
"If I was dying and you had to kiss another girl to save me, would you do it?"
Neither answer satisfied you. The silent treatment that followed lasted for an entire week. It was a week neither man wished to relive.
Having successfully survived your latest hypothetical question, both men had assumed that the worst was behind them.
They were wrong. The house was suspiciously quiet. It was strange not having you ambush them at the door with a hug the moment they stepped inside.
ây/n?âÂ
No response.
Mydei immediately tensed, his sharp gaze sweeping across the room.
The front door was still locked. Nothing appeared disturbed. Yet something felt wrong.
ây/n?â Mydei called out again.
Silence.
The valuables remained untouched and your belongings were exactly where you had left them. Your clothes were neatly folded in the drawers. The jewelry they had gifted you sat atop your vanity. Even your bag still hung by the door.
âBaby?â Phainon stepped further into the house. A bright purple bottle with no labels sat on the coffee table. His gaze fell to the worm beside it and he froze. âMydei!â Panic rose as he lifted the bottle up to his nose. The putrid smell had him gagging.Â
âWhat is that?â Mydei pointed to the suspicious bottle. âIt smells dangerous.â
Phainon's gaze drifted from the bottle back to the worm beside it. A horrible thought crossed his mind.
ây/n?â The worm wiggled. The two men exchanged questioning looks.Â
ây/n?â The worm wiggled again.Â
â...â
â...â
âIt moved.â
âYeah, I can see that.â
âIf I turned into a worm would you still love me?â The memory hit them like a freight train.
The next hour was complete chaos, as the two listed questions that neither could answer.
How could the potion's effects be reversed?
What was the lifespan of a worm?
Could worms recognize their loved ones?
Most importantly, where was the worm going?Â
The tiny creature had somehow escaped the coffee table and was inching closer and closer towards the door.Â
âShe's making a break for it!â Phainon lunged. âCareful!â Mydei nearly tackled him to the ground. âYou almost stepped on her!â
âI did not!â Phainon huffed.Â
âYou absolutely did!â Carefully Mydei scooped the worm up into his hands. âI've got you.â
Day 1
A day later, the worm was absolutely thriving in its new habitat.
Filled with moist soil, vegetable peelings, a custom throne and a knitted blanket, it was significantly more luxurious than most homes in Okhema.
âDon't you think that's a bit much?â Phainon pointed at the bright red crystal throne sitting proudly in the center of the glass habitat.
âShe's my princess, she deserves it.âÂ
Phainon glanced at the knitted blanket that he had personally made.
âShe does deserve nothing but the best.â
Day 2
âAlright baby, what do you want for dinner?â Phainon carefully placed the worm on the dining table so the three of you could still eat together like usual. âThe decaying apple or the lettuce?â
âYou know,â Mydei said as he stirred the pot, âif you were human, you'd be having homemade dumpling soup tonight.âÂ
The worm stopped moving. Phainon immediately glared at him.
âStop it.â
âWhat?â
âYou're upsetting her.â
The worm continued to remain perfectly still.
âLook, she's devastated.â
Day 3Â
âIf she remains a worm...â
âDon't.â Phainon glanced at the mountain of books scattered across the floor. âWe'll find a solution.â
âWe need to be realistic.â
Mydei tapped gently against the glass of the habitat. The worm wiggled in response.
Silence settled between them.Â
For a moment, neither spoke.
They watched as the worm burrowed into the soil, completely unbothered by the crisis unfolding around it.
"...Should we enlarge her habitat?"
âProbably. She'll need more room to grow.â
A pause.
âWould the wedding ring go around her middle?â
Phainon stared at him. Then he glanced at the worm. A horrible realization struck him. How were they supposed to walk down the aisle without accidentally stepping on you?
â...I hadn't considered that.â
âI'll speak to a goldsmith tomorrow.â
âYou think they make rings for worms?â
âI think they're about to.â
Day 4
âMydei!!!â
Bursting out of the bathroom with soap suds still in his hair and a towel wrapped loosely around his waist, Mydei nearly slipped as he ran into the hall.Â
âI can't find y/n!â Phainon was as pale as a sheet of paper as he crawled out from under the bed.Â
âI told you to keep the lid close.â
âI took her out. She looked bored and I only turned around for a while.â
The two of them tore the entire house apart. Not a single inch was left unchecked.
âI found her!â There was the worm, taking an afternoon nap behind a flowerpot. Phainon heaved a sigh of relief. âI should have known. She loved flowers.â
Very carefully, Phainon scooped the worm into his hands. âYoung lady, if you run away again you're grounded.â The worm wiggled.Â
Mydei frowned as he watched the one sided conversation. âYou've been hogging her.â
Phainon instinctively curled his fingers a little closer around the worm.Â
âI have not.â
âWhen was the last time that I got to hold her?â
âYesterday? For a whole good three minutes.â
âYou timed it?â
âI have a schedule.â
âYou made a schedule?â
âIt helps us split our time fairly. Since y/n can't actually tell us whose palm she prefers.â
Mydei stared at him in disbelief. At that moment the worm wiggled off Phainonâs hand and inched its way closer to Mydei.Â
âMissed me, haven't you?â
Mydei smirked. Phainon pouted.
Day 5
âFresh air is important.â
âNo.â
âBut she hasn't left the house sinceâŠâ
âNo.â
âShe's probably tired of staring at the same old scenery."
âNo.â
Phainon carefully lifted the worm out from its habitat.
Mydei was already regretting this as he tagged along.Â
The two of them sat outside beneath the shade of a large tree. Birds chirped peacefully overhead.
The worm appeared content.Â
âSee?â Phainon smiled. âShe likes it.â
The worm wiggled.
âShe agreed with me.â
âShe absolutely did not.â
The worm continued inching across Phainon's palm.
A shadow passed overhead.
Neither noticed, both engrossed with the wiggling worm.
The shadow grew larger and larger.Â
Then suddenlyâ
A blur of black feathers shot down from the sky. In the blink of an eye, the worm was gone.
Phainon stared at his empty palm.
Mydei stared at his empty palm.
The crow soared off into the distance with something dangling from its beak. Something pink and small. Something very worm-shaped.
âNo no no.â
The words came out as little more than a whisper. As Phainonâs brain struggled to process what had just happened.Â
âNO!â
Phainon took off running with Mydei following close behind.Â
âMydei!â
âI see it!â
The chase that followed would later be described by witnesses to Aglaea as a deeply concerning behavior for members of the esteemed Chrysos heir.Â
A flock of birds scattered. A vegetable cart overturned. A kissing couple was knocked apart.
Several citizens were forced to leap out of the way. But none of it mattered to them. The bird had y/n. They had to get the worm back no matter the cost.Â
âGET BACK HERE!â
âSTOP THIS INSTANT!â
The crow continued flying, completely unbothered by the two men screaming after it from the streets below.Â
Three hours later.
They had lost the crow.
Silence hung heavily in the house.
Neither man spoke.
The glass habitat sat empty on the table. The tiny throne remained untouched. The knitted blanket folded neatly in the corner. Phainon stared blankly at the enclosure.
âWe failed her.â
Mydei closed his eyes.
âWe did.â
âWe were supposed to keep her safe.â
âIt wasn't your fault. I should have insisted..â
âI had one job.â
Phainonâs voice cracked as his throat tightened. Mydei stared up at the ceiling, willing his tears not to fall. If he started crying too, neither of them would recover from this.Â
Silence returned.
Then they heard the sound of the door opening. Both men froze. Slowly. Very slowly. They turned around.
There you stood at the doorway. Slurping on a cup of milk tea. Unharmed and perfectly alive.Â
âB-baby?â
âHi I'mââ You paused, frowning at their teary red eyes. âWait, are you two crying?â
Then you noticed the huge glass habitat on the coffee table. "And we've got a new pet?â
It took a whole lot of comforting and reassurance that you were alive and well before you managed to dig out the full story from both men.
âYou both thought I was a worm for four days?!â
âFive days...â Phainon muttered, his face turning redder by the second.
âThe evidence seemed compelling,â Mydei said defensively. The words sounded less convincing the second time around.
âWhat evidence?â You looked from Mydei to Phainon and back again. âGrandma fell sick so I left in a hurry and forgot to tell you about it.â
This was getting more confusing by the minute. You wondered if you'd somehow stumbled into an alternate universe where you had, in fact, become a worm.
Both men pointed at the purple bottle simultaneously.
âOh.â You blinked. âThat was a sample drink from the store downtown. They were still working on the packaging.â
âB-but the liquid smelled terrible!â
âIt probably went bad.â You shrugged. âIt was supposed to be refrigerated.â
Silence.
Mydei slowly turned to look at Phainon.
Phainon slowly turned to look at Mydei.
Neither spoke.
âIn my defense, you agreed with me without questioning it.â
Myedi pinched the bridge of his nose. âDon't.â
The tension in the room was palpable. Mydei was holding back the overwhelming urge to strangle the man beside him and then himself.
Phainon, meanwhile, was dying of embarrassment from the sheer stupidity of the entire situation.
But none of that seemed to matter to you. Your eyes widened. A grin slowly spread across your face.
âAww. So you would love me even if I turned into a worm!â
.
.
.
Later that night, two pairs of strong arms surrounded you as the three of you lay in bed.
Neither man had been willing to let you out of their sight for the entire day.
The house was peacefully quiet when your curiosity got the better of you again.Â
âBut if I had turned into a snailââ
Phainon leaned over and kissed you before you could finish your sentence.Â
On your other side, Mydei tightened his grip around your waist, pressing a trail of kisses against your neck.
No. Absolutely not. They were never revisiting another hypothetical question ever again.
in their final year of college, a gifted art student and an acclaimed violinist cross paths through a project that was never meant to be personal. but slowly you realize, inspiration and affection can look a lot like each other.
pairing: mydei x f!reader
word count: 10.2k words
tags: modern au, college setting, artist reader, violinist mydei, fluff, angst, strangers to lovers, mentions of other chrysos heirs, made up mydei family lore, nsfw in future parts, i don't know what else tbh...
a/n: i'm so so incredibly excited to share this one with you!!! it's very special for me. even though this fic has been trying to become itself for literal months in my drafts... i really want this to be something beautiful and i'm working on it!! i hope you enjoy reading and find meaning in this work of mine. as always, thank you so much for reading. every comment, repost, like means so much to me!!! and feedback is always much much appreciated!!!
header art by insaneption on deviant art!!
PART ONE | PART TWO
âThe theme is vulnerability.â
Aglaeaâs silky voice fills your ears.
You think it should be easy, youâve always been the type to choose art that prioritizes conceptuality than materialism. Ideas, meaning, or experience over objects or materials. This is your way of expressing yourself after all. Every color, every line, every stroke of your brush holds value across your canvas.
So when you hear it, itâs not a big deal at all. There is time until finals, and you have all the trust in your own abilities. Art comes as easily as breathing to you. As if itâs a limb extending from your body, a part of your very being, and a connection to your soul. Never once did your head hurt when it comes to art. Itâs your language, you way of existing. And it hasnât ever failed you.
There wasnât a beginning of your art, and you know there wonât be an ending either. Art has always been, for you; and you will always be, for art.
The bright fluorescent lights burn into your eyes as your thoughts start to wander, and youâre already sketching out your work progress in your head.
Youâll start with a couple of different sketches, pick one of them to work on, choose your material, pick your colors, maybe change a thing or two as you go, and when itâs finished in no less than a monthâwell, itâs you, it shouldnât be more than thatâyouâll submit it to Aglaea with handsome victory and sweet pride.
And she wonât be surprised. In fact, you think no one would. Youâve made quite a name for yourself over the past four years in this school. Always ending the semester with top grades, never out of time, never out of line. Getting different sponsorships from various studios every other month, and some of your works have even sold out on some small museums.
Thatâs why youâre certain there wonât be any problems with this one either.
When Aglaea finally dismisses class, you pack your stuff neatly and make your way to the cafeteria. Castorice is already sitting by the window, chewing on some noodles that look way too soaked for their own good.
âThat instant ramen looks gummier than the strawberry mochi you buy from across the road.â
She looks up at you with a disapproving look, yet her lips tug into a smile, âI was experimenting, okay? I thought you were all for trying out new things.â
âI am, only when those new things arenât looking like they could come alive any second though.â you gently threw your bag to the seat next to Castorice, where her pointe shoes are hanging off of her powder-pink duffle bag.
âAglaea is out for blood again.â you mumble as you take a seat across from her, âShe has a whole theme for the finals. If I didnât know better, Iâd say she enjoys seeing senior college students suffer.â
Your lavender haired friend snickers from behind her chopsticks, âYou say it like thatâs not the case.â
You huff a laugh. âEither way, itâs not that much of a problem,â and gesture to yourself with confidence, âIâll get it done in no time.â
Contrary to your prior statementâand the belief youâve carefully cultivated with your past achievementsâyou do not, in fact, get it done in no time.
Itâs funny, maybeâor more overwhelming when you think about it a second time.
But whatever it is, one thing is for sure: Itâs not in your favor.
Youâve tried everything; roaming museums, studying pieces from your favorite artists, revisiting old works for self inspiration, morning walks, late-night walks⊠You name it.
You even took out your sketchbook in the middle of one of Castoriceâs performances, but alas, nothing came out of itâwhich surprised you greatly because even with your limited knowledge on ballet, Cas never failed to mesmerize you.
You sometimes wonder how sheâd have done as an art majorâand feel a little relieved she didnât, fearing she might have surpassed you by far.
A week passes in futile endeavors. And itâs not like youâre running out of time, but it still frustrated you. Any kind of problem along the way could be solved with enough push and some thought put into it. But there wasnât any problem to solve, because there wasnât a work in your hands to begin with. Which was a problem in itself.
Just when you were starting to think you mightâve lost all your creative spark, your dear friend, Phainon, came to your rescue.
Itâs early in the morning when youâre pacing towards class, carrying a big canvas in your hands and struggling to keep your bag from falling off your shoulder.
Then from a distance, you see the white haired guy waving at you frantically, and in the blink of an eye, heâs next to you.
âOh, great timing.â Phainon smiles in greeting, âI was about to call you.â
You drop your bag to the floor, it didnât want to be carried anyways. âCall me? What for?â
âIâm invited to the concert on the weekend as a press photographer. I get to bring a second with me, wanna come?â
You tilt your head slightly,âConcert?â
âYou havenât heard? Itâs all over the campus bulletin boards.â Phainonâs eyes widen in disbelief, âItâs this huge performance where various musicians from across the city take stage together.â he spreads his hands to emphasize, âWe have quite a few joining from our school as well.â
At first, you want to argue. Say itâs going to be a headache and you donât have the time. Which isnât exactly wrong. Youâre all for music and art and performances, thatâs true. But with your confidence slowly slipping away from your hands, youâre not so sure you can afford to attend anything grand right now.
âIâd love to come, Phai,â you start, already shaking your head in rejection, âBut Iâm working on Aglaeaâs final.â
âWow.â he raises his eyebrows, âUsing art as an excuse? Just how badly do you want to stay at home?â
You laugh at his joke, internally wishing it was indeed just an excuse, âUnfortunately, itâs true this time. Iâm kind of struggling with this one.â
He raises his eyebrows even higher at that. Almost to say, âYou? Struggling?â
âDamn, must be a real kicker then.â
âIt didnât seem that bad at first,â you sigh, âBut now I canât even find the proper inspiration to start. Itâs likeâIt just doesnât click.â You shake your head in frustration.
Your dear friend mustâve felt sorry at your deflated state, so he comes up with an offer.
âTell you what,â he tips his chin, âCome to this performance with me, and maybe itâll help with your process.â
You squint your eyes at him in confusion, he takes it upon himself to continue.
âYouâre struggling to find inspiration, right? What if what you need is... Some sort of muse. Something to get you going.â a confident smile forms on his lips, âA stage where many musicians are showing off might be a great place to look for that.â
And thatâs how you end up in a plain white dress, with hair tied up neatly in a bun, and heels that look way too pretty for how badly they hurt, at 8 p.m. on a Saturday night.
The place is grand, both on the outside and the inside. The building rose at the end of the street like an art piece itself, tall columns guarding its entrance, wide marble steps leading to heavy doors polished by decades. Warm golden light spilled from its arched windows, and the faint murmur of tuning instruments leaked into the evening air.
It took a good twenty minutes just to get in and find your seat. There were people with cameras who looked like they were doing some important work, and others in rich suits and elegant dresses who looked even more important than them.
And then there was you.
The inside was just as captivating as the outside. Bright, creamy walls and columns that extended from the floor to the high ceiling. You felt terribly small compared to how major everything seemed to be. There was a massive chandelier at the top that granted the lobby enough light and the marble floors glowed with itâs reflection.
Your seat was towards the back and to the end of the row. It wasnât a perfect view but it was enough to catch a glimpse of the stage. You guess thatâs the best a plus ticket your photographer friend gave you can do.
Speaking of Phainon, he wasnât there with you. Even though you entered together, you knew he would be at the higher floors taking photos. It probably would be more entertaining with company next to you, but youâll have to settle for enjoying the concert by yourself. You were here for the music anyways.
The concert started after a short while. The music was pleasant and the view was actually better than you thought it would be. Various musicians came to stage one by one and played their hearts out. It was nice, it was refreshing. You even managed to get a couple sketches in.
A womanâs flute solo, another oneâs piano⊠It was all so beautiful.
Still, it wasnât enough.
You didnât have high expectations in the first place. Phainon offered you an idea but he didnât promise anything. And you knew that when you agreed to it. The theme was something you havenât tried before and even if you didnât get to find what you were looking for, the music is nice. So you guess you can just enjoy it while it lasts.
But then, a single note plays out from a violin in the silence.
Your pencil stops.
Your eyes slowly move back to the stage, and hesitate, like theyâre scared to see whatâs up there.
Then you see him. A tall, blond man with his hair neatly tied low at the back, wearing a simple black suit with a crimson tie that matches the ends of his hair.
You donât get to observe him much, because seconds later the piano joins him, catching your attention. Then the cellos start humming a quiet, low tune. A chill runs through you, and the hairs on your arms stand on end.
He plays with ease, as if music is something that just happens for him. And he play with heart, with soul. Nothing like what youâve seen before. Not tonight, not ever.
Itâs enchanting, itâs foreignâand you feel yourself drawn to it.
The music flows in the air. It runs through the red velvet seats, dances around the people, and finds its way to your heart. You find yourself unable to move, hands stuck in their place and ice cold, a tingle at the back of your neck, a soft burn in your eyesâŠ
Just what is this?
Then, as if hearing you, he picks up the pace, the violinist. He speaks clearly, itâs impossible to miss it.
Hear me, heâs whispering one second, then shouting the next, witness me. You watch carefully. To see, to understand. What are you doing? How are you doing it?
Long, slim fingers move up and down on the neck of his instrumentâdelicate, yet present. He seems⊠scared? But also just as bold, just as vigorous.
Heâs either casting spells with his bow, cursing you in some way, or you have gone mad, completely lost it.
His gaze stays low, he doesnât look up, doesnât let anything else catch his attention. Itâs obvious. On that stage, itâs just him, his violin, and music.
When the whole orchestra joins him, you feel a skip in your heart. They harmonize and dance together. As if theyâre all in agreement, all know whatâs happening. Like theyâre conversing, like theyâre playing out a script written carefully.
The trumpets murmur in the back like a choir, the flute sings peacefully, the pianoâs notes fall like feathers.
And at the center of it all, him.
His violin cries.
You donât know how he does it, or what that even means. But youâre certain. That violin is crying, weeping as if itâs at the end of itâs days. Coming alive at the very hands of the man in front of you.
Just like what you were searching forâvulnerable.
After what feels like an eternity, the music gently dies away. The orchestra quiets down, and his motions come to a stop with a flick of his wrist. He takes a step towards the audience, brings his hand to his chest and bows down softly.
People stand up in their seats, loud clapping fills the building and bright smiles paint your vision. It lasts for a long while, a lot longer than average. And you close your eyes, a single tear slides down and drops to your hands, now clapping with the rest of the room. Thatâs when you knowâ
Youâve found it.
You donât even think about it. The moment the performance ends, you spring up from your seat and hurry out of the room, your steps rushed, nearly tripping over your heels as you go. You make your way toward the back doors of the grand building.
You have to find him, learn his name, approach him, introduce yourself, and somehow persuade him into this. The urge feels almost instinctive, as if youâre being pulled after him.
But when you finally reach the place, he isnât there.
Your eyes search every corner, trying to catch a glimpse of that tall figure, his golden hair, or his overwhelming presence. But youâre only met with a couple press members and some other musicians that went up to stage earlier in the night.
You feel your eyes burn again. This canât be it right? Surely you find him somehow.
Your only hope, only lead. Something to keep you in, someone to make your art come true, andâa hand on your shoulder?
âWhat are you doing here?â
Oh, itâs him.
âPhainon?â your eyes widen, you didnât even realize he was standing there.
âArenât you supposed to be at the main halls?â he asks confused, âDid I take too long? Sorry, I was almost done.â
âNo, no. Itâs not that.â you shake your head, âI justâI needed to look for someone.â
âLook for someone?â his lifts his head up, his eyes wander for a second before coming back to meet yours, âWho?â
âThe blond guy with red hair? The violinist.â you search his eyes, âItâs him. I need him.â
âOkay,â he drags out the word dramatically and pulls his hands back with a smirk, âMydei is cool and all butâwow, didnât know you were into that.â
âNot like that!â you snap, then pause, âWait, Mydei? Thatâs his name?â
âYep. Mydeimos. Mydei, for short.â he tilts his head, âHeâs one of the performers that join from our school. Quite the deal, isnât he?â
He goes to the same school as you?
âFrom us?â your eyes widen, âYou know him? Can you introduce me to him?â
Phainon grins knowingly, âFound what you were looking for?â
âYes.â you nod your head firmly, certain and final, âExactly what Iâm looking for.â
It turns out, Phainon does more than just knowing him.
He tells you the story of their meeting on your way back. They met each other in high school, same year, same class, and didnât get along at firstâlike, at all. He tells you about how they would fight and bicker all the time, and race everything like even breathing is competition. And how they decided to apply to the same school, just out of spite for each other, and somehow both got in.
âAnd now?â you ask him while fiddling with your seatbelt on his passenger seat, âHow are the two of you now?â
âMe and Mydei?â he glances at you momentarily, then pulls his eyes back to the road, âWell⊠We definitely arenât like that anymore.â
âAre you close though?â
âYeah⊠I guess you could say that.â
You bit down on your lips to stop the smile growing on your face. This is great. Phainon is a close friend of yours, and if Mydei is a close friend of hisâthen it shouldnât be too hard, right?
Wrong.
This guys is impossible to get a moment with.
Your friend does everything in his power to help you. You get Mydeiâs contact information, even though that feels a bit wrong. And Phainon letâs you know when heâs most available in his scheduleâwhich feels even more wrongâso you have a chance to catch him around the campus.
But the only thing he texts back when you reach out is:
Iâm busy right now. Will text back when Iâm available.
Great. An automated message. And whatâs with the cold tone?
You donât want to keep pestering your friend with this matter. And you definitely donât want to seem like a stalker by calling him or texting even more, that would completely blow your chance with himâif you have one, that is.
So while days pass, waiting for something, anything from Mydei, you decide youâre not just going to sit still and pray.
After doing your fair share of research, you find out, he really is quite the big deal, as Phainon said. This guy has not only already given multiple solo performances being only a twenty-two year old college student, he has also made headline after headline. Multiple interviews, many people after him, and a certain future.
No wonder he feels so out of reach.
He started playing when he was very young, but wasnât really heard of until college. He loves music, clearly, and usually doesnât say much about himself on interviews, only talking about performances or the more professional stuff like his coaches or sponsors and whatnot.
It feels desperate and, to be fair, a bit pathetic. Checking your phone every other hour to see if heâs reached out, paying extra attention to your surroundings while walking, knowing heâs much more closer to you then you thought.
You werenât allowed to record during the concerto either, so all youâre left with is some photos that got published a night after and the echo of his violin in your head. Which isnât enough to give you what you need.
Despite your attempts, you canât seem to get to Mydei.
Then one morning, when youâre making your way to schoolâkicking tiny rocks along the road and huffing as you goâyou catch a glimpse of something gold.
Spring is here, there is a faint breeze that kisses your cheeks gently and the air smells sweet. The sun is shining bright on your face, the trees are decorated with different shades of pink and greenâand you feel the tiniest bit of hope blossom somewhere in you.
Could it be?
Itâs only for a short second, and if you hadnât raised you head just at the right moment, you wouldâve missed it.
He turns a corner, and the air he leaves behind is enough to let you know.
You run after the man, the same way you did a couple nights agoâout of breath and desperate. Heâs not going the same direction as you, but that doesnât matter. This might be your only chance, and you will gladly chase it even if it means being late to your morning lecture by a few measly minutes.
When you turn the same corner as him, your eyes meet with his broad back. Heâs wearing a simple sweatshirt and some sweatpants, his hair is down and untamed. He looks relaxed, completely the opposite of how he was while performing in front of a thousand people.
Heâs walking a slow pace, unhurried, which works in your favor. You think about how to approach him; a tap on the shoulder, or maybe you should shout his name instead? Anything to get his attention. Fastening your steps, you reach your hand out. But thenâ
âOw.â
Mydei stops abruptly, and turns around to meet you.
âSorry,â he says simply, âI didnât realize you were that close.â
He probably heard your steps, you think to yourself, then look up at him while rubbing your nose, making sure there arenât any broken bones. What is this guy, a brick wall?
âItâs⊠fine. I shouldnât have gotten that close in the first place.â
He nods faintly at that, and there is an awkward silence that follows after.
You avert you eyes and fidget with your fingers, while he looks at you with a straight face, not saying anything back. Now that heâs in front of you, you realize you donât really know how to talk to him.
âSo,â he starts, âDid you want something?â
Up close, you get to see his features much clearly. Something the back row of a big orchestra hall didnât allow you to do.
And you realize, heâs handsomeâor beautiful even. The kind of face that is loved and adored. Someone carrying the weight of being cherished. You canât help but wonder who is lucky enough to love this man. Or⊠maybe on a second thought, he might be the lucky one.
His hair catches your attention nextâbright, shining, the ends tipped in a burning red, blinding like a summer sunset. It looks smooth and soft, free in its own way. A lot less styled compared to what he had going on on stage, with the exception of a small braid peeking under his ear.
Then you look at his amber eyesâgolden like his hair, but a lot more fieryâthat are staring back at you now, and sayâ
âBe my muse.â
âIâm sorry?â
Mydeiâs face takes a shape that you struggle to find the words to describe. His brows furrow in confusion first, then they lift back up, his eyes widening with the motion.
Want to know how to creep out a man? The address is right here.
âOkay, that wasnât what I meant to say,â you wince, âOrâmaybe it was. But not like that obviously!â
Mydei crosses his arms across his chest, gives a faint lick to his lips and furrows his eyebrows, letting you know you have his attention, as if urging you to go on. And so you do.
âLook, I know thisâll sound weird,â you smile weakly at him, âBut I promise Iâm not, like, a stalker or anything. I just tried reaching out to you and you wouldnât answer soââ
You take a deep breathâquit stalling, just get to the pointâyou close your eyes firmly, let out that breath, then open them, and continue.
âI was at the audience,â you look at his eyes directly, âAround a week ago, at the big concert with various musicians. You took stage towards the end.â
He nods again, âThatâs great to hear. Did you enjoy it?â
You let out another shaky breath. If only it was just that.
âVery much so,â you smile as the sound of the night rushes back to you, âI enjoyed it. In fact I loved it. So, Iâm here to make an offer.â
Mydei raises a brow,
âEven though I greatly enjoyed it, my sole reason for being there that night was to find some sort of inspiration for my final.â You tilt your head towards where the school building rests, âIâm an art major, we go to the same school.â
He turns his head at where youâre pointing, then looks back at you, âI see.â
But itâs clear heâs not fully understanding what any of this has to do with anything.
âAnd this final Iâm talking about,â you sigh, âIs really taking it out on me.â
âIâve sketched, painted, scrapped, restartedâabout a hundred times. Nothing works.â You pause, rubbing the back of your neck. âBut when you were on stage that night⊠It was the first time in days I actually felt something click.â
His brows pull together again, though not as sharply as before, âClick?â
âInspiration,â you clarify quickly. âThe way you played, the way the orchestra complimented youâeverything about it. I couldnât stop thinking about it afterwards.â
You hesitate for a second before finishing.
âSo I thought⊠maybe if I actually painted youââ
Mydei blinks.
ââas my muse,â you rush, âNot in a weird way! Just artistically. Strictly academically.â A sheepish laugh leaves you at the end of your sentence, âIâm the best at what I do. I cannot afford to get a grade below the expectation.â
âThe best, you say?â
âThatâs my reputation, yes.â
He stays silent, but you catch the way his eyes widen the slightest amount. He looks like heâs giving it a good thought, or maybe heâs just calculating how much of an idiot you are. You can only hope thatâs not the case.
Then he lets out a small breath that almost sounds like a laugh.
âYou know,â he says, âmost people just ask for an autograph, or an interview, not to paint me as their muse.â
Your shoulders slump slightly, and your gaze lowers in defeat, trying to find comfort in the patterns on the pavement. Youâre not stupid, heâs rejecting you without being rude about itâ
âIâll do it.â
You blink. Then snap your head up, searching his face for any insincerity.
âReally?â you ask loudly, âYou agree? That easily?â
Mydei seems to be amused by your outburst, a peal of laughter leaves his lips. Itâs a clear sound, coming from the chest.
âReally.â he nods, âBut I have one condition.â
Condition? Well, it doesnât matter. As long as he agrees, you think you can do with anything he says.
âSure,â you beam at him, âWhat is your condition?â
âI want you to paint me with my violin.â
âYeah, he agreed!â You kick the air with your legs, overjoyed with pride, âCan you believe? I didnât even have to do anything.â
Castorice, on the other side of the line, hums in delight.
âThatâs good to hear,â her soft tone graces your ears, âSo, you have anything in mind?â
You roll on your back in your bed, playing with a piece of hair in between your fingers.
âWe didnât get to talk about the details much, I was running late for class.â you sigh, âBut he said he wants me to paint him with his violin.â
Which is already what you were planning to do, so no arguments on that.
After his request, you simply gave a nod of your head and smiled at him sweetly. Then agreed on meeting up for a cup of coffee to talk about the painting and the processâwhich would be in about an hour from now.
He also saved your number on his phone so that you wouldnât be having one sided conversations with his automated messages. You still remember the squint on his face and the small apology he muttered as he listened to your complaints.
âI gotta go now,â you informed your best friend, slightly pulling the phone from your ear to see the screen, âI donât have much time left.â
She then gave a quick warning about updating her, you two exchanged some giggles over that, and ended the call without much ceremony.
You toss your phone beside the pillow and stare at the ceiling for a moment, letting the excitement settle somewhere inside your chest.
Just a painting. Nothing more. Itâll be alright.
Not wanting to waste more time than you already did, you get up quickly.
You get out of your pajamas, wear something decent, make sure you look presentable, grab your bag, and shove your sketchbook, pencils, and a small charcoal set inside. Just in case the conversation turns into an impromptu sketch session.
It probably wonât. But still.
Your phone buzzes just as youâre slipping on your shoes.
Mydei: Iâm already at the cafe. Take your time.
Already? That diverts your eyes to the top of the screen. Twenty-four minutes. Is he always this punctual?
A second message follows.
Mydei: Well, donât take too much time.
You can practically imagine the awkward little smile he mustâve had while typing it. A grin spreads across your face before you can acknowledge it.
You type back quickly.
Me: Omw!!
The walk to the cafe feels shorter than usual, probably because your brain refuses to sit still. You donât know why itâs doing it, but it is. This isnât some important commission or for some big contest either. Itâs just your stupid final that Aglaea decided to turn into a struggle. And youâll manage even if things donât go that well with Mydei.
Still, with each step you take, the sound of your heartbeat rings louder in your ears.
When the cafe comes into your view, he is the first thing you spot from a distance. Sitting near the window, violin case leaning carefully against the chair beside him, fingers wrapped around a cup of coffee he doesnât seem to be drinking.
Mydei looks up the moment the door chimes. You walk over to the table, wearing a polite smile on your lips.
âSorry if I kept you waiting.â
He shakes his head, âI arrived early,â then gestures to the chair in front of him.
You eyes settle on his instrument while you get comfortable on your seat, âYou brought your violin with you.â
âYeah,â Mydei hums. Itâs a sweet sound, you take note, âI come from practice.â
âI see,â you mutter under your breath, then find his eyes, âYou seem to have a really packed schedule.â
âI guess you could say that,â
Mydei looks deep in thought for a second, then a small smile appears on his lips, itâs hard to catch and leaves as quickly as it comes, but it was there.
âBut I like what I do,â he nods faintly, âSo I donât mind it.â
You want to ask, where does it come from? This love. Because itâs impossible to miss it, youâd need to be quite dense to miss it. Even when he steals quick glances at its way, you can see it. The way his eyes soften slightly, like meeting an old friend. There is history, unsaid words, and some sort of longing.
Not wanting to seem too curious for your own good, you settle for staying silent this time.
To your surprise, the conversation flows smoothly after that. He asks a couple questions about the progress, you ask back about what he is comfortable with or not, and settle on the time and days for your session.
After that discussion comes to an end, you pull your sketchbook out of your bag, flipping it open to a page of loose drawings. Theyâre messy, overlapping, quick gestures trying to catch an idea before it slips away. The date on the bottom takes you back to when all of this started, and you try to surpass the smile fighting for its place on your lips.
âI was thinking something more natural,â you say, turning the book slightly so he can see. âNot too staged. Like youâre just⊠playing.â
He gives a quick hum in acknowledgment.
âWhat are you going for exactly?â he looks into your eyes while leaning forward to catch a better glimpse of the sketches, âDo you have some sort of theme for this?â
Theme. Right. The theme.
You were so focused on actually getting the chance to speak to Mydei that the theme had slipped clean out of your mind until now.
Vulnerability.
For a second you picture saying it out loudâI want to paint you vulnerable. The thought alone makes your stomach twist. It feels intrusive somehow, like those opportunistic paparazzi that swarm at the mention of scandal.
Your eyes flick briefly to the violin case beside him.
He carries himself with a quiet sort of control. Straight posture, calm voice, movements measured and careful. Nothing about him suggests he would appreciate being reduced to something fragile on a canvas.
You felt guilt brimming in you. His love for his music. You donât know what it means, you donât know where it comes from.
Would he think you were mocking him?
Your eyes meet with Mydeiâs for a brief second and you realize you've been silent for a beat too long.
âStrength,â you clear your throat softly, âI needed something powerful.â
âPowerful?â
âYes,â you lie with ease, âYour music is exactly what Iâm looking for Mydei. Powerful.â
You were lying through your teeth. Powerful? Maybe. But it definitely wouldnât be the first thought that comes to your mind when you hear him. And it wasnât how you intended to portray him either. You were going for frail, tenderâvulnerable.
Mydeiâs eyes linger on the pages. For a moment he studies the loose lines, the unfinished shapes of hands and a violin resting against a shoulder.
Then he nods once.
âI see.â
A wave of relief crashes into you, but it doesnât completely loosen the tight knot in your chest.
After all, the lie sits heavy in the air, and you have a month of work waiting the two of you.
The studio smells of dried paint and concrete.
The weather is getting warmer and spring is slowly turning into summer, itâs not as cold as it used to be. Most of the students leave school early around this time of the year so itâs not as crowded either. Rooms and tools are left untouched for hours if not days and hallways are quieter than usual. You canât say you hate it.
The wooden door makes a loud squeak as you push it open. Mydei steps inside after you, violin case on one of his hands and backpack on the other. He takes a moment to examine the room, looking like a lost child.
You canât help but huff a laugh at the sight, âYou can sit wherever youâre comfortable,â
He nods without looking, eyes still wandering around the room, and takes a seat a few steps away from you.
While Mydei gets settled, you busy yourself with setting up your supplies. You cross to the cabinets at the end of the room, pull out a large sheet of paper, and drag an easel back with you, its legs scraping softly against the floor.
You set it up where it wonât block your view of Mydei, then secure the paper in place before taking a seat.
Next come your tools. You pull a handful of brushes from your bag and drop them into a glass, then sharpen a few graphite pencils, lining them up carefully beside it. Tubes of oil paint, a box of crayonsâanything you can find, really, even if they donât quite belong together.
The first session is only supposed to be some sketches. Therefore you know you wonât need all of this. But the room is awkward, youâre nervous, and need to pass the time as much as possible while Mydei is doing his thing.
Then you hear the quiet click of clasps, the soft slide of wood against fabric.
You peel your eyes off of the sketchbook draped open on your lap and glance at Mydeiâs way.
He handles the violin gently, but not delicately. Thereâs no hesitation in his movements, no second-guessing. Just familiarity, something practiced enough to become instinct.
Clearing your throat, you straighten your pose, âYou can start whenever,â
Then with a short nod again, Mydei starts playing.
He draws out a note at first, almost like testing the sound, then another, and another. They mesh together and fill the empty room with sound. Youâre supposed to be drawing, examining, working right now, but you feel yourself unable to even lift a hand.
This is only your second time hearing him play, and itâs no less mesmerizing than the first one. A part of you wonders if youâll be able to handle a whole month of this.
âIâll be moving quite a lot while playing,â Mydeiâs voice pulls you from your thoughts, âWill you be able to draw?â He murmurs without peering his eyes off of his bow.
Itâs not condescending, heâs genuinely curious.
âIâll be fine,â your pencil finally meets the paper, âI want to capture the moment anyway.â
He just gives a quiet hum after that, and silence settles between you again, only occupied with the pleasant sound of violin.
Moments pass like this. Mydei playing like itâs instinct, and you trying your best to do his beauty justice.
You sketch the curve of his posture first. The line of his shoulders, the way his head tilts, his fingers flexing on the neck of the instrument, his other hand relaxed, wrist slightly curved in.
In between shared glances and concentration, your curiosity gets the better of you, âWhy did you agree to this?â you meet his eyes, âNot that Iâm complaining, of course, but I didnât expect you to say yes so easily either.â
Mydei seems to give it thought for a moment, then he answers back with a shrug,
âIt was the look in your eyes, I guess,â he says, âIâve never heard someone talk about my music like that.â
You feel your cheeks burn as heat rushes to your face. Was it that obvious?
ââŠWhat kind of look?â you ask before you can stop yourself.
Mydeiâs bow doesnât pause, but the note he draws stretches just a little longer.
âJustââ he exhales heavily, like he is frustrated with himself, âIt was as if youâre hearing me for what I actually am.â
And you know, somehow, that there is a deeper meaning to that. That it matters more to him than he lets on. Maybe itâs the way his fingers grip his bow more firmly, or the way his eyes drift off to somewhere beyond the room, but you see it.
You donât have an answer back to it, which doesnât help the atmosphere, so you just keep drawing him instead. Avoiding Mydeiâs eyes and pressing harder on the page than you mean to.
The graphite darkens, and the light, you realize distantly, isnât helping.
It spills from the fluorescent lamps at the ceiling, too bright and uneven, flattening everything it touches. It catches on the varnish of the violin too harshly, blows out the contours of his face, leaves parts of him in shadow where you donât want them to be. You tilt your paper slightly, then back again, but it doesnât fix it.
You exhale quietly through your nose.
And Mydei shouldâve realized the frown on your face by now, because his sound slows and quiets down before he asks, âSomething wrong?â
âOh, donât worry about it.â You wave your hands in the air, âItâs just the light causing some trouble. I never liked the studios of the school anyways. Nothing here screams art.â
He hums like that means anything to him, âAnything I can do?â
Your eyes drift from examining the lamps on the ceiling back to his face, âI, uh, I donât think so? Not unless you know some art studio that doesnât charge a fortune per hour, I guess.â You sigh.
Both of you sit in silence for a good minute, then agree to take a small break. Mydei lowers his violin and seems deep in thought, while you huff and puff to yourself, wiping off graphite from your fingers.
Just when youâre thinking the world is against this project since everything seems to be going downhill, Mydeiâs hum brings you back.
âActually,â he exhales lightly through his nose, almost a huff at himself, like he canât believe heâs saying this, âMy place has decent lighting. I live on a high floor and the living room has some tall windows.â
Your brows lift a little.
âYou could use it. If you want. No pressure, obviously.â he says, a little softer. âIf itâs weird, itâs weird. Just figured Iâd mention it.â
A small âOh,â is all you let out at first, âYeah, umâyeah, that would be great actually. You sure youâre okay with this?â
He shrugs, âI donât have that many guests and I live nearby, it shouldnât be a problem.â
The idea of going to Mydeiâs houseâto paint him, no lessâpossibly spending hours there, alone; is a bit weird, like he said so. But curse your stupid head because you are a bit curious, and maybe a tiny bit eager.
For the drawing, obviously.
âAlright,â you take a deep breath, âWhen are you available?â
âHow about,â he pauses, âRight now?â
The walk to Mydeiâs apartment is mostly silent. He isnât much of a talker, youâve realized over the little time youâve shared so far. You are though, in contrast to him. But not right now. Not when your steps feel too light and your pulse sounds like the chorus of an upbeat rock song.
âWeâre here,â he points at a building with his head. You only hum in response.
You take the elevator to the twelfth floor. Mydei steps out with his hands in his bag, searching for something. Then he takes out his keys, they jingle between his fingers before he puts it in the lock and the door opens with a soft click. A small violin charm catches your eyes before he pulls them back out, and you smile to yourself a little before stepping in.
His place smells weirdly clean, like, too clean. Almost makes you question if he even lives here. But you also think thatâs kind of in character of him.
He has tall windows that light up the place nicely. The walls, or anywhere else for that matter, isnât really decorated. Itâs just simple furniture, some blankets on a couch, and a big plant on the corner that looks out of place. Maybe gifted from someone else?
You shift your bag higher on your shoulder, breaking the quiet, âYour place is nice.â
He gives a small thanks in response before crossing the room, pushing one of the chairs back with his foot, clearing space near the windows.
âWill this work?â
You step closer, tilting your head, already framing him in your mind. âYeah,â you shrug, âWay better than the studio.â
A lot more intimate too, your mind reminds you, but you donât mention that to him.
âWhere do you want me?â Mydei asks.
You observe his living room again after that, with more intent than just trying to familiarize yourself with his home.
âIt would be nice if we could catch the evening sun,â you hum, âMaybe it could hit you from the side?â
He gives a quick nod and gets moving. Mydei pulls a chair in front of the window, takes his violin back out of its case and sits down, posing the same way he did earlier in the studio, and starts playing. You donât have all your tools here but a sketchbook should be enough for now. So you sit down in front of him and take it out, your pencil already in your hand.
And the silence is back.
Itâs not too awkward, thankfully. But you really wouldnât mind some more energy in the room. Itâs not the stillness of the moment that bothers youâthe music is enough to move itâbut more so him.
Wouldnât be so bad if Mydei just gave a bit more than he does, you think. It wouldnât be horrible if you knew what it meant when his brow raised slightly to the left, or when he flexes his hand every now and thenâlike a sudden fire burnt his fingertips, when he doesnât really give an answer but just hums quietlyâeven if it wasnât a question, or when he does literally anything else.
You trace the outline of his jawline on your paper, sharp as a knife yet as fixed as stone. His violin rests against it, having already made a home for itself there long time ago.
âSo,â you exhale, âTell me more about yourself?â
His amber eyes rise up from his fingers, and he stares off at the wall in front of him for a few seconds. A few seconds that feel like eternity for you.
âThere isnât much to tell, really. I mean, havenât you already read the papers?â
Such a dry tone.
âI donât really care what the papers say. Surely youâd be a better source, no?â
Mydeiâs eyes flicker, and he looks like heâs about to speak for a second. He parts his lips, gives a small lick to them, while breathing in heavily, you can see his pupils move back and forth on the pattern of his rug. You wait in anticipation while he draws out another note and the quiet tick of the clock in the room counts time. It all happens so quickly and you really get your hopes up this time,
âI think they do quite a good job, actually.â
Only to be let down.
âI see.â you donât mean to sigh, but it comes out anyway.
âSo you two are finally working together?â The white haired man asks you with genuine surprise.
âYes, Phai, we really are.â you reply, âI donât really know how it happened either. One day I was practically begging for him to say yes, and the other I was drawing him play, in his apartment.â
The wide halls of your school echo with your steps, loud and only. Your friend helps you carry your new easel to one of the studios, the drag across the floor joining your footsteps. The year is about to end soon, classes are almost over and everyone has been slowly wrapping up their works. You however are still stuck with a stupid sketch in your hands and a bunch of other questions in your head.
Youâve been thinking about your work, if you have enough time, if itâll come out like you visualized, but most importantly, if youâre doing it right. Mydei has been nothing but generous towards you. Heâs been kind and he doesnât complain, you would even go as far as to say he actually enjoys it, that heâs looking forward to the end product.
Itâs obviously expected that he would be curious or maybe even excited, but you feel like the way his eyes widen every time you make a slightly sharper flick of your wrist on the paper says something more about him.
You caught him peeking at your open sketchbook on the coffee table once when you two were taking a break. Itâs a bigger one than your usual so everything is much more clear, more final on the pages.
âLike what you see?â you ask in between bites from the fruit he peeled for you.
He whips his head toward you, clearly not aware that you were watching him, âSorry, it looks nice.â
âDonât apologize,â you lick the juice off your thumb, âItâs you on the paper.â
The room is silent, actually silent this time. No violin, no pencil meeting paper, no huffing and puffing because of some wrong lines and a sore neck. Just you, him, and the cold peaches sitting on the table in front of you. Other than the occasional eye contact you two make (which almost immediately ends with one of you looking away in no longer than a second), and the soft taps of his fingers across the marble countertop, not much else is happening.
Making small talk with Mydei is difficult. Not because he isnât much of a talker, although youâre sure that plays a small part too, but because he doesnât share, you think.
Mydei keeps to himself. Itâs beenâwhat, three sessions so far? Which equals to two weeks of knowing and meeting Mydei. Yet your knowledge about him is still almost as limited as what the internet tells you.
Itâs important to understand your subject for your drawing, yes, but putting all of that aside, youâre curious about Mydei. Ever since that stage, ever since feeling like your soul was leaving your skin, ever since running after him in heels that hit all the wrong spots on your feet, youâve been curious about him.
And when youâre trying to get your sketch across a bigger paper, clipped on the wooden stand Phainon helped you drag into the studio, it happens.
A small ding from your phone interrupts your conversation.
Mydei: Do you think we could do a session today?
âItâs him?â Phainonâs blue eyes search your face with anticipation.
Heâs enjoying this way too much, you think, but your friend is lucky because you have better concerns right now.
âYeah, heâs asking to meet up.â You furrow your brows in confusion. Your next session isnât due until three days.
âLike, an actual meet up?â
Phainon takes a step next to you, then leans forward to see your phone screen clearly, âA session?â
âYes, thatâs what we call them. But our next one still has some time, I donât really understand why heâs asking for one right now.â You scratch your neck with your other hand, then mumble quietly, almost a question, âI mean it doesnât even benefit him.â
Phainon snickers, âMaybe he just misses you.â
That earns him a slap on the shoulder.
You quickly type back, not wanting to make him wait.
Me: our next one is in three days iirc?
Me: but sure!! my scheduleâs empty
Mydei: Sorry if itâs inconvenient. You can come over whenever.
Me: will be there in 20
âYouâre excited,â Phainon jokes, âYou sure this is strictly professional?â
Not really.
âStop it already, oh my god,â you give a look to him, âI just donât have anything better to do, and mind you, heâs the one asking.â
Phainon laughs, itâs a loud and unbothered sound. He definitely is enjoying this.
Youâre in front of Mydeiâs apartment in sixteen minutes since your last message.
The city is warm and the building is warmer. Your hair is sticking to your skin at the curve of your neck, your hands are sweaty from holding onto your bag too tight, and Mydei still hasnât opened the door.
Well, that might be because you havenât rang the bell yet, but weâre putting that aside.
Itâs just the thought of showing up unplanned, or letâs say three days earlier than what was planned. Coming to his house and feeling like this is more than what the two of you agreed on, more than you trying to keep your eyes on only the parts youâre supposed to draw, more than him keeping quiet, keeping to himself.
Your fingers reach up to the doorbell, only for Mydei to beat you to it. The door opens with a fast swing, almost giving you a heart attack.
âOh my gods, Mydei,â you rest your hand against your chest, âYou scared the living crap out of me.â
âSorry,â the blonde purses his lips, âI heard some noises so I thought Iâd check it out.â
âWell, the noises were me.â
Mydei steps aside to let you in with another quiet apology, but you catch the way he dips his head low in hopes of hiding the small smile playing on his lips.
His place is the same as always, clean, quiet, everything youâve gotten used to by know. But then you take another step in, and it hits you, the smell of something sweet coming from the kitchen.
âSorry for asking so suddenly,â Mydei says as he locks the door behind you. âI know we said Friday.â
âItâs fine,â you answer too quickly. âI wasnât doing anything important but, um, youâdid you bake something?â
Mydei doesnât give an answer immediately, just busies himself with taking your bag off your hands and places it somewhere in the living room. You donât really push, you stopped doing that some time ago.
He walks toward the kitchen, you try not to stare at him while unpacking your stuff, yet you still catch your eyes following him from across the apartment as he fills a kettle with water. Heâs dressed casually today, loose dark pants, sleeves rolled to his elbows, pale hair still slightly messy like heâd been running his hands through it all afternoon.
Mydei turns back toward the counter, but not before you catch the way his jaw tightens slightly. âYou want tea?â he asks after a moment.
âSure.â You answer without making eye contact with him.
He doesnât say anything else, so you begin setting up your pencils while he moves around the kitchen. Your eyes start wandering again. You notice how he hasnât set up his chair like he usually does before you come, or how his violin is sitting on the couch already.
âYou were practicing before I got here?â you ask.
He hums without turning, âJust some old ones I wanted to remember.â
Before you can say anything back, Mydei starts moving. He opens the fridge first, taking out a bowl with stretch film wrapped over it, then he takes out some pre-cut fruits, shuts the fridge, moves to a different part of his kitchen.
You watch all of it in silence.
And when youâre about to ask whatâs the matter, a ding sound interrupts his movements. Then he puts on the oven glove resting on the counter, opens the oven andâtakes out a cake?
âHuh, you really were baking.â you tilt your head, âAre you celebrating something?â
The kettle clicks softly in the kitchen. Which gives him his escape from answering your question, or so you thought. Because this time, Mydei opens.
âItâs my mothers birthday,â heâs quiet while filling the cups with hot water.
âOh, is she arriving soon?â You ask with a smile, âWhy didnât you tell me? I wouldâve gotten something on my way here.â
You regret asking that as soon as the words leave your mouth, because itâs impossible to miss the way the air tenses around the two of you. The room is silent, again. Mydei gives a look your way, then he puts the kettle down slowly. Heâs calm in a very unusual way, he moves slower, he even talks slower, you think. But you catch the way he grips the edge of the counter with his hands until his skins turns white.
âNo,â he breathes, âNo, she isnât arriving. I celebrate it by myself.â
Then he looks at you. Thatâs when it hits you. Oh, stupid you.
You want to slap yourself across the face, lay on the ground and kick yourself in the stomach, but all you could do is raise your eyebrows slightly at the man in front of you.
The words catch you off guard for some reason. Not because of what he said, but because he offered it at all. Usually conversations with Mydei are like trying to catch water in your hands. He gives answers that are polite but thin, always enough to end the discussion before it becomes personal.
So this feels⊠different.
âIâm sorry,â you say before anything else comes out of your mouth that would make you regret coming here at all.
His brows pinch slightly, âWhy are you apologizing?â
âI donât know.â You give a helpless little laugh,
For a second he simply watches you. Then, surprisinglyâ
âShe used to make that cake every year,â he points at the counter, âIâve been continuing the tradition, I guess.â
The fondness in his voice is tiny, but unmistakable. And funny enough, this might be the most heâs ever spoken to you at once.
Youâre terrified of ruining it.
âSoâŠâ you say carefully, âWhy invite me over today?â
The question hangs in the air for a minute. You can almost see the gears turning in Mydeiâs head, almost to say, Why did I invite her? And you think, or maybe you hope, he just needed company. Mydei, who has been celebrating his mothers birthday all these years, all by himself, needed you here today.
You donât know what to feel about that possibility.
âIâm not sure, to be honest,â he laughs to himself, as if he canât believe youâre here either, âI guess I thought youâd enjoy the cake.â
You stare at his face for a good minute, itâs probably only a few seconds in reality, but feels like a minute. With the way his golden strands frame his face, or the way the afternoon light hits his nose, the way his fingers wrap around the piping bag, the way he looks so vulnerable right now; it feels like an eternity actually.
Mydeimos, from the second youâve witnessed him, felt so, so vulnerable. And you canât help but see it every time your eyes catch his sights. But despite it all, despite all of the things you see beyond his eyes, all the burdens you know he carries, you still canât help but smile a little when he looks into your eyes. The man just has that kind of effect on you.
âYeah, I probably would,â you try to keep your laugh inside while walking up to him, âIf only you werenât absolutely murdering that cake right now.â
âIââ Mydei tilts his head to the side, like a lost puppy. It looks foreign on him, in all honesty. Not unwelcome though.
âLet me help. Iâm actually part decent at this kind of stuff, you know, art and all.â
âRight,â he nods his head once, then hands the piping bag to you.
As you take the bag from his hands, you try to ignore the way your fingers brush against his, or the way he takes a second longer than necessary while giving it to you. Almost hesitant.
And you understand it. Itâs not surprising that he would halter. Itâs not surprising that his fingers, which have been strongly pressing to strings like hammers, yet also move like an irresistible force, would tremble slightly while giving the frosting filled bag to you.
Because itâs just frosting. But then itâs not.
Itâs not just sugar, milk and cream. Itâs today of every year. Itâs Mydei sitting alone in his apartment and blowing candles for god knows how many times now.
The lemony scent hits your nose as soon as you wrap your hands around the plastic. Itâs then accompanied with something sweet, like vanilla. And it takes everything in you to not look at Mydei as you squeeze the bag until the top of the cake is smeared in frosting.
âIt smells nice,â you mumble, âMade it yourself too?â
âLemon and vanilla,â Mydei hums. Knew it. âShe used to love it. I probably never get the recipe right. It doesnât taste the same. But the smell still brings some memories back, yâknow.â
âWhat was her name?â
âGorgo.â The word comes out as a whisper. Like it knows how heavy it is.
âThatâs a beautiful name,â you smile, âIâm sure she would appreciate your efforts.â
Mydei letâs out a laugh. A breathy, small and quick one. But still, undeniably, a laugh.
âShe would,â he shakes his head, âThen sheâd slap me in the head for not making the cake correctly.â
The image makes you laugh too. And as Mydei takes out pomegranate seeds out of another bag, you imagine him, seven maybe eight years old, tiny footsteps into the kitchen, peering from the back of the door and watching his mom, Gorgo, prepare her birthday cake.
Maybe he would try to keep quiet. Maybe heâd go up to her and pester his mom about the cake. If weâre being honest, you donât really know how small Mydei would be like. The same way you donât know how he is now.
Or maybe that is slowly changing. Slowly, but it is.
âShe didnât use pomegranates, but I like the taste.â
âYouâre telling me a lot about yourself today,â and as soon as the words leave your mouth, you regret them. Youâre sure youâve ruined it now. âNot that I mind or anything of course butââ
âI just think she wouldâve liked you.â
The piping bag nearly slips from your hands.
For a moment, the only sound in the apartment is the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant traffic outside the window. You stare at the half-decorated cake. Then at Mydei. Then back at the cake.
Because surely he didn't just say that.
âIâI see,â you purse your lips, âWhat makes you say that?â
Mydei doesnât answer immediately, just keeps decorating the cake with the red seeds.
Heâs mostly quiet, mostly focused, competitive even though he doesn't show it, one hell of a musician, talented beyond his years, and he for sure knows how to make your chest tighten. Maybe itâs on purpose, maybe he just likes seeing you in this state. Or maybe youâre just delusional.
Either way, it doesnât change the fact that youâre holding your breath.
âI have a feeling she would,â he shrugs like itâs no big deal.
Thatâs when you raise your head to protest about how thatâs so vague, but you silence yourself as soon as you catch him staring at you.
Amber eyes, golden hair dipped in sunset. A pronounced nose, a sharp jawline, and a face that seems almost sculpted rather than born. As if that weren't unfair enough, the afternoon sun wraps around him in gold, turning every feature softer and brighter.
He looks less like a person and more like an angel fallen from heaven. No wonder your heart is pounding hard enough to shake your ribs.
âYeah,â he murmurs. So quiet, you wonder if youâd imagined it. âYeah, she definitely would.â
Then as if nothing happened. As if nothing changed, nothing has been said. Mydei turns back to the cake. He keeps putting the seeds on the cake, some to the side. He even tilts his head to the side at one point, like heâs really focused. On the cake.
While youâre stuck in your place, hands tight, chest tighter. The moment has passed. Nothing happened. Nothing at all.
But you still smile to yourself as the lemony scent of the frosting fills the room.
end notes: thank you so much for reading this far!! this is of course not the end yet. i have 3 maybe 4 parts planned for this fic but we'll see where the road takes us. and the next part probably won't be up for some time as finals are around the corner :,) but i hope you'll wait for me patiently until then!!!
chat. i am going insane tryna find this one fic so i will once again turn to y'all cause i have been thinking abt this for days now and it's getting to me
the fic that i'm looking for was a phainon x reader fic where phainon is a hero and reader is an ordinary citizen, but after many cancelled dates and even one occasion where phainon almost leaves a citizen alone to cater to reader, they decide to break up with him and he's like begging crying not to
I'VE BEEN LOOKING ALL OVER FOR IT PLEASE DO UR WORK AGAIN PHAINON TAG đ
âleonnn, I c-canât-,âyou sobbed, tears streaking your face.Â
your head rolled back into the pillows as leon thrusted deeper. he had you on your back, his arms holding your legs apart. his cock was buried to the hilt inside your puffy pussy.Â
he hasnât stopped thrusting. not after your pussy clenched around him like a vice the first, or third time. not after your nails clawed into his back, guaranteed to leave marks. not even after you started crying.
âno no no no, baby, please,â he whimpered, burying his face in your neck. âI wanna cum- baby, please, Iâm so so so close!â
poor thing. your pussy was spasming violently around him, desperate to milk his cock. it wasnât until a gush of squirt splattered against his lower abdomen that he slowed down.
leon whined, high and needy, watching as you made a mess on his cock. he leaned up, his eyes hooded as he looked down to where your pussy was stretched around his cock. your clit was twitching. âyou made a mess,â his voice cracked.Â
as if his cock wasnât enough, his thumb reached down to rub your clit. small circles pressed against the swollen pearl. âmessy girlâŠâ he murmured. âIâm doing good, huh?â
his hips moved slower, but god, he was going deeper. his cheeks were flushed a soft pink as he fucked into you. âyou like it, baby? you gonna cum again?â he moaned.
ânghhâŠ! yes, I like it!â you cried out. his large hand rested against your lower stomach, right over the bulge of his cock.
âfuck, you can see it right here,â he said, his thumb tracing the imprint of his cock in your womb. âlook, baby, you can see me inside you.â
your cunt betrayed you, clenching and gushing all over again. a creamy ring of cum formed at the base of his cock. leon winced, your pussy feeling tighter this time. he bit his lip, his thrusts faltering.
âf-fuckâŠ!â he whined. one final thrust before he held you against him. hot, white ropes of cum filled you up. heavy breathing filled your ear.
leon pulled away, pulling his cock out to watch his cum drip out of you. you whimpered, feeling it glide down your inner thighs.Â
âthink you can take one more?â he smirked at you.
sum; being inexperienced meant you didn't know your true limits. being with Leon meant you wanted to push those limits.
content; size kink, unprotected sex, overconfident!reader, sort of bratty!reader, inexperienced!reader, there's a hint of Leon being pushy/mean, but in a consensual way (idk how to tag that LMAO), squirting, a little degrading, no specific leon era for this one, this is really just pure filth because I drove myself insane last week LMFAO
wc; 3.5k
a/n; GOD, this choice was hard, guys... im so sorry to those who chose chris for my poll, but I hope this & my last chris post made up for it!!
Leon knew you were a bit of a special case from the moment he met you. Where people would usually be shy, nervous, not confident enough to approach someone, you were... quite the opposite. You approached with a fire in your eyes and a buzz rushing through you and into him, and you weren't even drinking. The moment you approached him at that club, he knew you'd be a problem. And a problem you were. A good one. A problem he was lucky to have.
Until it came to things like intimacy. You'd managed to score a few dates, and eventually, you two ended up dating. The only problem? Once it was official, you became a little insistent on intimacy. Not forcing, but definitely making moves more often. Leon wanted to, he really did, but given the talks you'd had in the past about your lack of experience and how you didn't know what you could and couldn't take because you had never even felt the need for a sex toy on your own, Leon worried that it'd stunt your intimate moments as a couple.
Eventually, of course, Leon gave in, but only to an extent. He'd eaten you out, finger fucked you like his life depended on it, fucked your thighs, and yet, he refused to let you even suck him off, let alone take him into your impossibly achey and needy pussy. He always told you he was too big. He worried it'd hurt you, whether it was your mouth or your pussy. You knew he was big, and you still insisted.
You crawled into bed with him, just like normal, snuggling into his side as he read the book you'd recently recommended to him. He tugged you closer, leaning down to kiss your temple as he closed the book, seemingly ready for bed. It was approaching 9 o'clock, and he had an early meeting, you knew. The early meeting didn't stop you from snuggling up closer until you shuffled into his lap, straddling his hips and looking down at him with a grin. His hands rested at your hips.
"Really? We're doing this again?" He mused, low and laced with exhaustion.
"For real this time, because I'm tired of you giving me excuses." You huffed, hips already beginning to move in slow, easy motions back and forth.
"They're not excuses, they're honesty and protection. You think I haven't wanted so badly to bend you over and take you? Of course I have." He scoffed, hands soothing up your sides as he exhaled slowly.
"So why haven't you?"
"Because I'm too big for you. We'd need to take a lot of time to get you ready. You can barely take three of my fingers before you tell me it's too much." He explained simply, like it was a choice between what deal to go for in a grocery store.
"So what? The shapes are entirely different! How do we even know if I could take it if we don't try?" You frowned, hips wriggling incessantly.
"No, honey. I'm not gonna let your confidence get the better of you." He moved to lift you off his lap, but you grabbed his hands and pinned them beside his head. He raised a brow at you.
"Just the tip. That's all I wanna try." You insisted.
"You know, you holding me down has no change on my answer. It's sexy, but no." He laid his head back and hummed idly.
"Leeooon!" You pouted, hips grinding harder. You could feel his cock stiffening in his sweats. "Please, Lee, just the tip, and if it doesn't fit first try, we can stop."
"Usually, the guy begs for 'just the tip'," he chuckled. "Poor thing, I've really ruined you, haven't I?" He clicked his tongue, feigning guilt.
"Not yet 'cause you won't fuck me right." You grumbled.
"Oh, is that so? I don't fuck you right? Then how come I've got you cumming on my fingers and my mouth and my fucking thighs every other night? Huh? Care to explain that, if I don't fuck you right?" He took his hands from your grasp, one hand grabbing your chin and making you whine, brows furrowing.
"You won't fuck me the right way 'cause you think I can't take it."
"I really don't think you can." He agreed.
"Please, baby!" You shifted, only for him to stop you. "Please, I promise, if it doesn't work, I won't ask again, not until you can prep me right."
"You," he exhaled, grabbing you by the waist, sitting up. "Are such a fucking brat." He cursed, rolling over so that you were flat on your back with his body pinning you down.
You looked up at him, biting at your lower lip. He watched you for a moment, squinting. "Please?" You barely whispered.
"Fine. But don't think you're not gonna get something in return for your behavior. I'm only stalling because I don't have time to fuck around."
"But you have time to fuck me? Good, I wasn't sure I'd be able to wait much longer." You grinned, giggling like a kid who'd just been told they won a million dollars.
"Fuckin' brat." He chuckled, leaning in for a kiss. You met eagerly, lips pressing into his while your arms came to wrap around his neck. Despite his rough words, his hand came to tenderly cup your cheek, deepening the kiss. His other hand worked its way downward to the hem of your night gown, pushing it upward to expose what he expected would be a lace pair of pantiesâtonight it was bare in two different ways. How did he not feel that through his sweats? Jesus, you knew he'd give in.
He didn't bother trailing his hands up and down, teasing, instead going straight in to press his hand against your mound. You shivered slightly, mouth falling agape at the feeling of his cold fingers pressing between your folds. Of course, he didn't take any time to prep you with his fingers, just simply using two fingers to spread your arousal and massage your clit to accumulate more to act as lube. He knew it probably wouldn't work too well at first, but it'd have to do.
Your hands reached down, pushing lazily at the waistband of his sweats. "It's unfair." You pouted.
"Unfair? Honey, you came to me like this. You came to me all shaven, no panties, not even shorts." He took your complaint, shifting to push down his pants and boxers, letting his cock spring free. He shimmied out of the clothes and kicked them aside before settling his cock against your lower belly, letting you see the size properly. You swallowed, biting your lip as you looked up at him. He had a cocky look, like he expected you to change your mind.
"What? I didn't say stop. Keep going." You huffed, but Leon could hear the faint waiver of your voice as you spread your legs wider.
"God, you really are a needy little brat." He pulled his hips back, sliding his cock between your folds to gather some of your wetness along his length, focusing on coating his tip thoroughly. "You can still back out." He looked back up at you as he lined up with your entrance, using two fingers to carefully hold your folds open for him.
"No. Now hurry up and put your dick in me before I fall asleep." You huffed up at him, hips wriggling eagerly.
"Don't say I didn't warn you."
With that, he made the first move, careful as he pushed in, his tip nudging into you. His tip didn't even get inside before you gave a whimper, thighs shaking unexpectedly as your pussy twitched against his tip. He looked down at you, brow raised.
"Shut up. Try again." You demanded, teeth gritted slightly.
Despite that not being the original arrangement, he tried again, hissing as he nearly notched the tip inside, only for your hips to twitch away, overwhelmed at the way his tip tried to intrude so suddenly.
"What did I tell you?" He deadpanned down at you. "Come on, honey, let's just do it the normal way."
"Noo! No, this is the normal way!" You insisted. "'S not my fucking fault you've got a fucking monster cock."
"Mmh, you flatter me, sweetheart." He chuckled, leaning in to shut you up with a kiss. You expected him to pull away and call it a night, but his hand crept down again, thumb pressing to your clit and getting your walls to ease up ever so slightly, a soft mewl leaving you. With you melting into the pleasure, he took a selfish opportunity to push again. You gasped, a choked sound leaving you as his tip notched inside of you finally. You gave a stifled cry, hands flying to claw at his shoulders as your eyes squeezed shut.
"Fuckâokay, I-i don't know if I can do it anymore." You admitted, huffing with uneven breaths as you looked down where you two met. It really was just the tip, and you were already backing out.
"Oh, no," he pulled back, faux pity on his face. "Poor thing, you bit off too much, and now you can't chew? What a shocker." He watched you shiver and twitch, breath shaky as his tip stayed barely notched inside your impossibly tight, unadjusted cunt. "You told me I didn't fuck you right, so now I'm gonna show you just how well I can fuck."
"'M sorry, I thought Iâ"
"You thought you could take it? Yeah. And you didn't listen to my warning? Of course not. You never listen." You felt him push forward again, and another squeak left your lips, followed by a gasp. He didn't even push in another inch and you were pushing at his hips to get him to pull out.
"Fuck! I'mâhaahâI'm sorry!" You looked up at him, brows furrowing.
"Admit it." He demanded, cock pushing its way in ever so slightly, but the burn was far from slight. You choked on something akin to a cry, and he swatted your thigh. "Admit that you've been nothing but a bratty little bitch and now you're whiney because you can't fucking take it."
Tears brimmed your lash line, lower lip falling and letting a small whine fall from your throat. "I-i can't take it, and I.." you paused with a gasp, walls squeezing around the first inch and a half of his length. Your head fell back, nails dragging down his front as your thighs trembled. "Fuck!"
"It's too late. If I stop now, all your progress will be lost. You don't want that, do you, honey?" He teased. You shook your head desperately. The stretch burned, his cock insistent as he felt you twitching and trying desperately to make room for him inside of you.
"Please," you whispered, eyes fluttering closed.
"Please, what?" He prodded for more from you. "I can't do what you want if you don't tell me. You were so eager earlier, now you can't talk? Typical." He scoffed.
"Please, just fuck me already!" You cried, breath hitching as his hips nudged back and pushed forward, allowing another inch to fit. He went through that cycle for a whileâpulling back, pushing deeper, every push forcing a gasp or a stifled moan from youâuntil he was fully sheathed inside of you, your pussy impossibly stretched past every limit you didn't know about. His cockhead was snug against your cervix, barely fitting him all the way in. It was a good thing Leon knew how to properly get you going, or he'd be struggling to fit more than he already was.
By the time he was snug, fully pushed inside of you, your head had fallen limp, eyes closed, lips open with heavy breaths falling. He found it amusing, given he hadn't even tried to fuck you yet, and you were already beyond spent and shaky. He chuckled, watching you finally lift your head to look down where your bodies met.
"Holy fuck." You breathed. You could see a small bulge in your lower belly where he had somehow miraculously managed to fit inside of you, now bulging with his massive he was. Not only that, but you had never felt this full. Even when he was using his fingers to fuck you and you complained that his fingers were too thick and you felt 'sooo full'.
"You happy now? Now that you've got a proper cock inside of you?" He taunted quietly, bringing a hand to grasp your chin and tilt your head back and forth, he fingers lightly squishing your cheeks together.
"Uh-huh." You tried to nod in his grasp, dazed and, although embarrassingly, cock-drunk without even being properly fucked. He wasn't even grinding his hips, making no attempt to move, and he relished in the way your body responded to him. He thought it was the best thing ever when you'd cry and squirm, and this made things a whole lot better. He leaned back slightly, taking in the sight of you stretched out around his cock.
He dropped one hand, thumb finding your clit. You twitched, whining slightly as your walls clamped down around him. "What, you're already that fucking close? You're getting all twitchy and whiney so soon." He purred, hips pulling backward slowly, cock dragging out of you until his tip was all that was left. You looked down and watched, brows furrowed with need.
It burned with both pain and pleasure as he pushed back in faster than before. You moaned louder this time, back arching as your hands flew to grab his shoulders for support. Your eyes squeezed shut, mouth agape as he fucked his cock into you at a pace that overwhelmed your senses. Pain burned away and morphed into a new kind of pleasure that you didn't know you could achieve.
He angled his hips lower, his leaky cockhead pushing up against your g-spot as he thrusted into you, his thumb still focused on your clit. He meant it as a tease originally, but with how twitchy and shaky you'd become in just a minute or two of slow, rough, deep thrusts, he could feel that you were already close. His tease ended up being right. He growled slightly at the thought, brows knitted and nose scrunched in a focused manner as he looked down where your bodies met. You became oversensitive quick, your orgasm building. You tried to reach down to get his hand to slow down its abuse against your puffy clit, but he simply pushed your hand away and swatted at the throbbing bundle of nerves.
You cried out, hips bucking. "Leeâoh, fuck, please!" Your body locked for a moment, eyes rolling back as you bit your lip and fell into stifled whimpers and sobs, your orgasm quiet but intense, rippling through your body so fast you didn't even warn him. He fucked you through it, hips speeding up as your cunt clenched around him. Once your vision cleared, you looked up at him, dazed and mushy.
"And you think I cum too fast?" He chuckled. "Look at youâdamn near squirting on my cock just because it's so, so big, and your poor little pussy can't take it." He purred deeply and reached with his other hand to your face, holding your head still by your chin so you couldn't look away as he pumped his cock back and forth, fucking you into overstimulation without even offering a breather. "I wonderâ" He paused with a grunt, examining your face with a devilish look you didn't recognize. "You think I could make you squirt just from using my cock?"
Your cheeks flushed, eyes widening with tears that had spilled already. "Wait, n-no, no, 's too much, Lee!" You gasped, hands pushing at his lower torso, another sob ripping from your throat. "Noâooh!"
"C'mon, pretty girl, didn't you say I couldn't fuck you right? Isn't that what you wanted? To be fucked dumb on a fat cock?" He let go of your chin and brought a hand down just a little to wrap around your throat. You squeaked, pussy fluttering around him at the threat of him constricting your airway. He didn't, though. You got more than enough excitement from just the threat alone.
You couldn't be bothered with answering him. You simply laid there and took itârelishing in the sensitivity and the way he was absolutely ruining your pussy. Leon knew he was ruining you for anyone else, and that alone drove him crazy. He could feel his own orgasm building, cock twitching and balls drawing tight to his body. He denied himself the release, persisting in order to make sure he proved just how good he could make you feel.
He had a point to prove. His thumb resumed the previous ministrations on your clit, two fingers rapidly strumming with a firm pressure. You twitched, gasping as your eyes rolled back and fluttered. Your hands grabbed tightly at his forearm of the hand that was around your neck, looking up at him with an abrupt sob leaving your lips.
"Lee, please," you choked out, brows furrowing as you quivered beneath him, abdomen clenching as your body built up to the peak of the coil in your belly.
"Go on, take it. Take what you asked for and I'll make sure you're satisfied for fucking weeks." He slammed his hips harder, the skin slapping lewdly with the added sounds of your arousal coating his balls as they smacked against your ass. You tried to stifle it, but a scream of pleasure ripped from you as he subconsciously tightened his hand around your throat. Still not constricting, but it was enough to make you dizzy.
"Leon! Fuuuuck, fuckfuckfuckâ'm cumming!" You sobbed, legs jolting outward as your hips tried to pull away, your orgasm rushing through you like never before. What you didn't process yet was the stream of clear liquid spurting from your sopping cunt, making an absolute mess out of his lower abdomen, your own abdomen, and the sheets below. He fucked you through it, both hands finally coming to grab your hips and properly use you like some kind of cock sleeve as he chased his high. Tears stained your cheeks, your moans becoming higher and longer as you squirmed and tried to run away from the pleasure.
"Stop fucking moving." He dug his nails into your hips. His demand was quickly followed by a growl, hips slamming and his thrusts becoming uneven as his balls twitched and his cock pulsed, his heavy load finally spilling into you. He had you so full that his cum seeped out around him as he bottomed out and let your pussy twitch and pulse, milking him of every last drop. Both of you were shaking. He stayed buried inside of you as he leaned down and mouthed as your neck. He lazily ground his hips, and you cried quietly, thighs squeezing around his hips.
"Lee," you sniffled, shaky hands searching desperately for his.
"Shh," he soothed, slowly pulling out of you as he grabbed your hands. You felt so empty, but so unbelievably satisfied. "Breathe, honey. I've got you." He mused softly, kissing along your collarbone until he found his way up to look at your face and assess the final product.
You were a mess. Tears down your cheeks, drool spilling down the right side of your face, hair messy and sticking to the sides of your face, lips kiss swollen and still wet. If he didn't know better, he'd try to start up round three, but given your sniffles and the way you shook your head, he didn't even try. He got more than what he thought.
He took his hands away only for a moment so he could brush your hair out of your face and gently wipe the tears and drool from your cheeks. When he sat back and guided you to follow into his lap, you curled into his hold, his arms wrapping around you delicately.
"You took me so well." He whispered, kissing the side of your head. "I know I got a little mean," he sighed, prepared to apologize for not listening to your cries.
"Can we do that more?" You asked, looking up at him as you shifted shakily in his lap. "The.. the whole.."
"Baby, we just did a lot." He chuckled. "But we'll talk more tomorrow." He scooted away from the mess and hoisted you into his hold, standing from the bed. "How about a shower?"
You nodded, falling into his hold as you closed your eyes. He really fucked the energy out of you. "Told you I could handle it. Might not be very experienced, but I can take what's given to me." You mumbled quietly.
Clearly, he didn't fuck the attitude out of your system yet.
"Brat." He lazily swatted your butt, only to lean in and kiss your nose with the utmost care.
"You like it."
"Only when it results in you shutting your mouth."
"Jerk."
He chuckled, setting you on the bathroom sink counter to start the shower.
a hybrid samoyed phainon x female reader modern au
overview: he may be a new dog, but heâs more than ready to show off his wild side. make sure not to be fooled by his eyes, because this pup knows how to get what he wants.
or maybe youâre into that? come, book him now. let that fantasy turn into reality!Â
wc: 4.4kÂ
notes: guys. guys. please. iâm a decent person i promise but it is what it is ok phainon makes me feel things and and plâ
kidding aside, if this concept isnât your fancy, feel to free to look at the other side. stayed up until 4 am to finish this. idk what went inside my brain tbh. also cw suggestive!
This is a sign to walk dogs every Sunday in Okhema City!Â
Volunteer and make their day even better. â€ïžâ€ïž
If youâre interested, feel free to contact us through our page and on our site: @WalkYourDog on Astralgram | www.walkyourdog.com on the World Wound Web.
Click. Click. Click.
Inside your bedroom, specifically situated in your own sheets, you release a breath that youâve been holding. You stare in intrigue at the publication material currently displayed on your PC screen: on a bright, bold shade of yellow, it says, Volunteer Dog Walkers needed! accompanied with a vector of an adorable golden retriever biting a leash. Or, well, supposedly holding the leash.
You tap thrice on your mousepad.
Warmth spreads in your chest as you browse through endearing photos of happy dogs. Happy dogs of different kinds who were, presumably, walked by previous volunteers. Numerous supporters flooded the postâtheir traction wasnât bad. They had lots of heart reactions. Comments. Some were calling how lovely the dogs were, and how great their company was, to the point that theyâd âvolunteerâ again.
This, of course, is excellent for someone like you.Â
Itâs considered a green light in your eyes if the internet has given Walk Your Dog, a rating of 4 to 5 stars for their service, because this means this is the real deal, and that thereâs nothing to worry about.Â
So, how did you get into this position again?
Well, simply put! There were things still yet to be explored. You donât know a lot about said world yet ( the world seems so big now and full of possibilities ), and since youâre stepping into adulthood, it wouldnât hurt to get to know more about it.
And besides, this is most definitely not motivated by your friends who have their own side quests. This is definitely not because you feel like you have to prove to anyone that thereâs something going on with your life, and that youâre not just stuck on doing your academic duties and responsibilities.Â
Castorice joined a book club. Mydei and his bros enrolled in a cake baking class. Cipher gets often invited to trivia nights.Â
And you? Whatâs going on with your life?
You tap on your mousepad again.
Iâm going to volunteer. And Iâm gonna walk a dog, youâll say. And itâs going to be great!
You are most definitely not peer pressured. You repeat again. You are definitely not proving something. This is what people at your age do. Do activities. Discover more hobbies. Learn about what the world has to offer.
The site loads, and you read what the webpage reveals to you.
Walk Your Dog
We are Okhemaâs #1 Dog Walking Service.
We are open 24/7.
Drama and Scam Free environment!
Browse and enjoy our dog walking experiences!
In Okhema Activity Park, you find yourself sitting on a bench under a tree.Â
Itâs hot as hell, but youâre grateful for the wind every now and then. And besides, the weather is not going to ruin your mood todayâbecause youâre hella excited to walk a damn cute dog, and not just because youâll also get to post it on social media, for your friends to see that you are not just occupied by a thesis, or your internship, because thatâs just boring.
You are practicing balancing your life well before graduation, and thatâs good.
Because it means youâre not behind. And because thereâs more to life than cramming academic work.
As you wait, you momentarily recall the past few nightsâ events:
In walkyourdog.com, you surely took your time in choosing your options after signing up. There were plenty of super cute dogs to walk, and in all honesty, you really wanted to walk all of them. Â
But you didnât have that much money ( student budget is waving ), and it really wasnât recommended by the agency. They have strict rules, which is understandable, and according to them, only special volunteers can get to have that choice. Youâre not entirely sure of what they mean by that, but you figured that it was probably reserved for regular volunteers, or volunteers who have done them a great favor. So first timers were not part of the equation.
What you see is what you get. Always!Â
Feel free to contact our email, [email protected] or our number, 000-0355-0336 for additional inquiries and bookings.
OUR DOGS
100% REAL and RECENT PICTURE GUARANTEED!Â
Seriously, there were a lot of super cute dogs, but most of them were already booked. It amazed you that their service was so top tier that the dogs were not available. This could only mean that despite how cruel the world can be, there was still hope for humanityâbecause they were willing to make an effort. They wanted the dogs to be happy through volunteerism.
And this really inspires you.Â
The community is awesome.
So even though most of the dogs were already booked, you got luckyâbecause you landed on one.Â
Phainon was the dogâs name when your mouse hovered on his panel. You swooned when you saw the pupâs picturesâPhainon was an adorable fluffy samoyed, and you could already envision walking the cloud. Youâd seriously take lots of photos when you get your hands on him, and youâd definitely bury your face on the dogâs snowy fur.Â
You also plan to record the dogâs woofs, because aeons, samoyeds were seriously just so CUTE. Well. At least thatâs what Astraltok shows you. Some of them may be a bit too exaggerated or perfect looking, but nothing could go wrong when it comes to dogs.
So, yeah. Phainon. The fluffy samoyed. Walk Your Dog claimed that Phainon was a great companion, and that heâd make sure to make your time with him worthwhile. They also emphasized that being with him would surely be unforgettable, and this excited you even more.Â
You felt so proud of yourself that time. You were going to have so much fun with the dog, and you were definitely not going to brag about it on social media.
Phainon may be a new dog, but heâs more than ready to show off his wild side. Make sure not to be fooled by his eyes, because this pup knows how to get what he wants.
Or maybe youâre into that? Come, book him now. Let that fantasy turn into reality!Â
Phainon the Samoyed had a weird description, sure, but you still progressed in volunteering. You also made note of the additional information that was also in the dogâs profile, like his age being 21, and his measurements, but you ascertained it to the service being creative. Perhaps he was 21 in dog years, and he was 5â11. . . well, if the pup probably stood in two feet. Kind of terrifying to think about, but samoyeds were big dogs, werenât they?
Anywho, you werenât too particular with the details. All that matters is that youâre going to walk and bond with a super cute fluffy dog today, and youâll be broadcasting in Astralgram, because you have a life. All that matters is youâre doing something good for the pet community, and that youâre doing pretty well as a member of the society.Â
Ping! Your phone flashes you a notification, and you suppress your squeals. Phainon is about to arrive soon! đ
Actually, no, you canât hide your squealing. Youâre very much thrilled by what youâre about to do in the next few minutes, because youâre finally going to meet the fluffiest ball ever. Youâre gonna kneel to its level, squish its super duper cute face, bask in its presence, before skipping away to walk it for two damn hours.Â
Itâs gonna be one hell of a time for you, and youâve mentally patted your back for such a good job.Â
âHi, good morning! Are youââ A breathy, yet deep voice calls for your name, and you pause. âThe one who booked for Walk Your Dog?â
You turn around, already beaming and expecting the white samoyed. âYesâ!â Only to not see said white samoyed anywhere, but a gorgeous, gorgeous tall man with white, fluffy hair and the bluest eyes youâve ever seen. A gorgeous, gorgeous man who apparently hides a lot of beef under that tight, compression shirt, and you gulp. Then, you shake your head, focusing in on the present. What the? Who is this? Is this a staff from the service? âUm. Sorry. Whereâs the dog?â
The man blinks, puzzled. You donât know why heâs also confused, and for some reason, alerts inside your head start to go off.Â
Wait a second.
He rubs the back of his head. âOh! Well. You see, Iâm the dog.â White, noâsnowy, pointed ears perk up from his tuffs, and your lips part at the sight. Wait. You catch an even fluffier tail behind him wag, and this time, your jaw drops. To the floor. âIâm Phainon. Iâll be the samoyed youâll be walking today!â
Your knees give in.
And just as planned, you did kneel in front of the samoyed.
Again, you donât know a lot about the world. No one does. No one is that perfect.
So can anyone really blame you for being stupid?
Well, Cipher would surely laugh. Aunt Tribios and Aglaea did give you both a life lesson once, that not everything you see is what they seem, and theyâve never been more right. How did you miss it? How can you be so dense?
Now everythingâs making sense.Â
âYou see, thereâs this thing called hiding in plain sight,â Aglaea said before, when she was stitching a torn up shirt of Cipherâs. âThere may be one person, or a group of people who would utilize this strategy. You both ought to be careful. Make sure to stay vigilant at all times. If your gut tells you that thereâs something off, then thereâs something off.â
Well, how were you supposed to know that Walk Your Dog was a secret escort service in Okhema!?
âNo, youâre not just using your brain,â is what Mydei will say if he learns about this. Then Castorice will admonish him and console you. But you have no plans of telling them that your plan of proving to the universe that you have something going on backfired, because you scored a date. Or a hookup. Holy shit.
âW-Wait, Miss, what happened?! Why are you on the ground?â Youâre spiraling so much that you havenât registered it yet that the samoyed hybrid also knelt down with you. That the samoyed is trying his best how to handle you. Everythingâs making sense. Oh my god. The fucking site. The fucking site!
The fucking site that had so much weird ass descriptions.Â
100% REAL and RECENT PICTURE GUARANTEED. Â
A great companion, and that heâd make sure to make your time with him worthwhile.
Phainon may be a new rescue dog, but heâs more than ready to show off his wild side. Make sure not to be fooled by his eyes, because this pup knows how to get what he wants.
Unforgettable.
Or maybe youâre into that? Come, book him now. Let that fantasy turn into reality!Â
21.Â
Oh my god, his age. Itâs not in dog years. Itâs actually his fucking age, andâyou gape at him. Horrified, by this epiphany.Â
5â11. Heâs fucking 5â11.
Yeah, humanity was a mistake.Â
Humanity had a bunch of weirdos.Â
âMiss?â
You feel your heart cry out. No fucking way he looks this adorable too because fuck, dog hybrids are seriously one of a kind because youâre endeared even though youâre severely weirded out by this whole situation. He has his ears flopped, and tail drooped down.
What a wonderful hybrid. He seems earnest in his worrying for you, with his hands fumbling around your form, not knowing where to touch.Â
You swallow, before gripping his wrists. Wow, heâs warm, and heâs solid. Heâs real. And heâs gorgeous. Fuck, you think youâre about to fall into some sort of rabbit hole.
He freezes, before blinking again. His eyes are on you, and you swallow again, panicking.
âIâm sorry, there mustâve been a HUGE misunderstanding. Huge,â you tell him, with lips quivering. You donât know why you said huge again, but you blame it on him for having larger hands. ( If he held yours, youâre sure itâll be concealed by how large they are. ) People who are passing by in Okhema Activity Park witness your pathetic attempts of repenting, and you wish for the soil to devour you whole. But you must face the consequences of your actions, âcause thatâs just how life works. âPlease, forget that this happened. And I know what itâs like for you guys, andâwell, I havenât experienced it, but Iâve heard stories, so just. Take my money. Phainon.â
You even said his name, and you watch how his eyes go a little wide at that, as if stunned. As if heâs fascinated by what had just transpired. You donât know why heâs making that face, but you assume that this case you have with him is a first for him.
His ears perk up, and his tail wags briefly, before he returns to the expression he had before.Â
What the hell.
His ears lower back down, and he purses his lips.
â. . .So, weâre not going for a walk?â
You feel as if a heavy boulder was thrown against your back. Heâs CONCERNED about the fucking WALK!?
Youâve really never felt more stupid in your life.
As of the moment, to at least prove to the world that youâre doing well as a member of society, youâre not crossing the pedestrian lane even though there were no cars passing around.Â
The stoplight is red.
And on your side, is a panting, giddy pure bred samoyed beside you, while holding his leash.
Walk Your Dog said, the pup knows how to get what he wants.Â
Youâve explained to him briefly that you genuinely thought that this was a literal dog walking service, hence the immediate cancellation of this session. You thought that Phainon the Samoyed would laugh at you, judge you for being such a goddamn idiot, before taking his money away.Â
But no such thing happened. Instead, he merely laughed. It was so dreamy you werenât going to lie, you had to stop yourself from clutching your chest. Then, the understanding hybrid remarked, âIf thatâs the case, allow yourself to walk me still. I just couldnât take your money without doing anything.â
To which you retorted, âIâm giving you an opportunity, pup. To earn free money.â
He just grinned with his eyes closed. âAnd Iâm also giving you an opportunity to get to know each other. Or to get to know about the service. Wouldnât that be fun? Well, that is, if youâre interested. So, what do you say?â
A normal person wouldâve just rejected the offer. And insist for the hybrid to take the money because you unintentionally wasted his time. And yet you relented, because again, Walk Your Dog explicitly said that Phainon knows how to get what he wants.
You couldnât believe you were so weak.
Plus, you did say that it wouldnât hurt to learn more about the world.
âPlease? I promise, Iâm gonna make it worth your while.â
How familiar, you almost lurched.
It didnât help that he used the scrunched eyebrows and almost shimmering blue eyes combo, too.
Fucking dogs, you swear.
So when you said fine, you ignored the fact how your heart performed somersaults when he beamed. His perky white ears made an appearance, and his fluffy white tail wagged again behind him.Â
You raised your hand before he can even speak, âBut I have one request!! Um, can you turn into a samoyed? Please?âÂ
It was already so weird, but thank the aeons Phainon did.
He laughed again. Why was his laugh hot? Damn it. âSure! If thatâs what the client wants.â
More like what he wants, âno? You suppose Phainon is in his most comfortable form because heâs clearly enjoying the walk with his tongue out. Itâs a cute sight, reallyâand you are resisting the urge to take a damn photo for your dignity, but you fear you'll collapse soon.
Also, youâve walked Phainon. Dogs like walks. And dogs like exploring and meeting new people.Â
But for some reason, even though people coo at Phainon to get his attention, and he gives them in return, Phainon more so keeps on looking at you, or fully fixates on you.
Must be part of the dog package or something, you ponder quietly when you dip your head down, and meet his adorable fluffy face while you saunter the streets together. His tail wags cheerfully, and your hand twitches. Oh god, control yourself, girl. Thatâs a hybrid. What youâre going to do is weird. Odd. Strange. And whatever synonym you can think of.
After 30 mins of walking, youâve decided to take a breather in another bench in Okhema Activity Park. You recall how embarrassed you got when you were strapping the leash on Phainonâs collar in his dog form, because again, thatâs a hybridâhe turns into a human, donât ever forget, and itâs already so weird that youâre putting a collar on a species that also turns into human, but this is how this service worked, apparently.Â
( Also, itâs amazing how the sun mark on his neck can also be seen in his full dog form, but through his fur. )
Speaking of the samoyed, he was just gazing at you again, and you donât know what heâs thinking about. Not until he bonks your knee with his head, and you lift a brow questioningly.
You nervously ask, âWâWhat?âÂ
Another bonk.Â
âWhat, Phainon? Do you want toâto pee, or something?â
If he did, he already did. And you have an inkling that Phainon is not that gross. He has decorum still. Most likely heâll be hiding somewhere else just to flush it all out.Â
Then, Phainon whines. Be still, your heart. Oh my god. Why is he so cute? And why are you so mean? Thereâs a real, pure samoyed looking at you with the saddest eyes ever. Youâre evil for not doing anything.
âIâI donât know what you want,â you admit to him. âIf you want something, say it. You canât talk in that form?â
He huffs. Mustâve been a yes. And since he canât talk, Phainonâs fluffy head searches for your hand. His heated breath brushes over your skin, and before you know it, he gives you a lick.
âWoah, hey! Why are youââ
Phainon whines again, and it hits you. You gawk at him for a moment, still contemplating if youâre going to proceed with what you have to do. Then Phainon rests his chin on your knee, begging, and thereâs an arrow that strikes you from behind.
Aeons.
âA-ah,â you stammer, before a shaky hand elevates, shadowing a bit of the dogâs face. âMy bad. I just thought itâll be odd for me to pet you, considering the situationââ
Another whine. How many more whines will it get? You donât know if youâre seriously going to crash out because youâre anxious by the fast course of events, but also charmed at the same time because Phainonâs so cute and you donât want to mess things up. This is the full truth.
âOkay, okay. Fine. Sure. IâmâIâm gonna pet you. Just hold still, okay?â
And itâs not a groundbreaking climax. He complies, and you slowly rest your palm on top of his head, testing the water. Seconds pass, and wowâwow. Itâs fluffier than you can ever imagine. It is like a cloud. He is like a fluffball.
Phainon leans onto your touch, and you watch how his tail wags side by side again. In those Walk Your Dog marketing materials, youâve gotten a rough idea of what dogs look like when theyâre happy.
And Phainon seems thoroughly overjoyed by the petting.
You shatter. You just canât handle it anymore. Another hand raises, and you, in full force, start to squish the samoyedâs face, irrevocably captivated. You have been won over by the samoyed.
Luckily for you, Phainon didnât mind.
30 minutes of walking flew byâand again, youâre sitting on a bench, but this time, you have the samoyed beside you. Residents of Okhema have stolen pictures, and even asked for your permission prior to this. You let them because you donât own Phainon.Â
A few minutes ago, the samoyed quietly. . . yet freely cuddled itself close to you. He pressed his snout on your arm, and then on your neck. It was a weird sensation but you yelped when his wet nose touched your cheek.
Two eyes blinked when you took a look at him. As if he was examining your reactions. As if he was finding out what you were about to do next.
Again, it was weird ( you have no idea how much youâve used the word weird ), but you sighed, and carefully leaned back against him anyway. Soon enough, your head was resting on the pupâs side, and your eyes were slightly blocked by snow fur.
Then, Phainon gives a deep woof, and you close your eyes.
You hear the thumpthumpthump, but pay it no mind.
It will be over soon. You did not waste those two hours. The dog insisted the walks. You have photos and videos to share now, too.
âDid you have fun today?â
You instantly detach yourself away from him after that. Heâs back to his hybrid human self. Feeling your cheeks heating up, you nod bashfully. âUmây-yeah!â Then, you narrow your eyes at him. âCan you also give me a headâs up at least when youâre transforming back?â
Phainon snickers, âIâm sorry. You seemed so content that I didnât want to disturb you.â Then, he smiles lightly. âWhich means you did, since you did not even notice me transforming back?â
Now your face gets even hotter. âWhat. No!â Phainonâs ears are up again, and his tail is wagging, again. Fuck. âIâm not a weirdo.â
Phainon just laughs again, âSure.â
âI am not!â
âMm,â He hums, and your heart skips when that smile remains on his lips.Â
You avert your gaze away, not knowing how to feel about that.
Thereâs a few minutes of silence. To avoid feeling awkward, you listen to the sounds inside Okhema Activity Park. The leaves rustling from above. The kidsâ voices as they run around the grass. The bells ringing from passing bikes.Â
And Phainonâs gentle breathing beside you.
âYou smell really good, you know,â he says, and of course, youâre taken aback.
âB-bwuh? What?â
You stare at him as if he grew two heads. Youâre waiting for the Iâm just kidding, but his expression hasnât changed a bit. In fact, heâs genuine.
âI said you smell good. You smell nice.â
Now whoâs calling me weird? Or maybe because this is just how hybrids are. You donât know their biology. âI donât know what to feel about that.â
The amused Phainon smiles wider. âTrust me, itâs a compliment.â
âTo be honest Iâm a bit freaked out.â
âUnderstandable.â
You look away again. You want to tell him to turn into a samoyed so this wonât be awkward, because youâre intimidated by his size, because does he know that his pecs are about to pop out from his compression shirt, or or that heâs shining so brightly you canât look away, or or â
âItâs still so comical how you thought that this was a literal dog walking service,â Phainon suddenly brings up, and you glance at him. âWalk Your Dog is clever with their strategy to attract their potential clients or target audience. At first glance, it may seem innocent at the surface, not until you dig deeper. Did you really not realize that weâre not all what we seem?â
âI get it. Thereâs no need to rub it in, Phainon,â you pout at him, and you miss his ears twitch. âThereâs still a lot of things that I donât know about the world, okay?â
Phainon releases another chuckle. âOkay. I wonât hold it against you.â
âŠ
There are numerous thumps as the samoyedâs tail continuously wags behind him. âBut seriously, how come youâve never realized?â
You groan, âPhainon!â
@ intergalacticbaseballer
Walkyourdog services is actually 10/10 btw
@ evernight
What?? You actually tried it?Â
@ intergalacticbaseballer
Yeah
It was fun
@ permansorterrae
I actually donât want to ask the details.
Feel free not to share with us.
@ intergalacticbaseballer
Did you know that booking a 2 hour session is a quickie?
@ permansorterrae
No. And I really donât want to know.
@ evernight
But I want to!
Tell us more LOL
@ intergalacticbaseballer
WELL THEN
@ permansorterrae
Come on.Â
@ intergalacticbaseballer
If a hybrid dog thinks that you smell good, itâs an indication that youâre a potential mate
So if you keep on booking them for example, thereâs a very high chance that the hybrid may terminate their employment to pursue said potential mate
Which is, to be perfectly honest, absolute cinema
Iâd love to watch that drama
@ evernight
Thatâs actually really professional of themÂ
At least there are no work violations
@ intergalacticbaseballer
Right right!
Though imagine the mess if the hybrid continued to work under work your dog??? Super messy
Anyway
I have another info to share abt them
@ permansorterrae
Why do you know so much about the hybrids and their service?
@ intergalacticbaseballer
Got to know during a 12 hour session, baby!Â
đ€Ș
@ permansorterrae
We really didnât need to know about that.
@ intergalacticbaseballer
But now you do.
My friend, if you ever try out Walk Your Dog,
@ permansorterrae
I promise you, I wonât.
@ intergalacticbaseballer
If the hybrid keeps on biting and biting you, that also means they want you as their mate
Theyâre claiming you, marking you as theirs
Hybrids donât normally do that with their clients
But they will if they see a potential mate, or if the client is into that
@ permansorterrae
Again, why do we need to know this?
@ evernight
Because Iâm curious!
âSo.â Tonight, you are facing Cipherâs shit-eating grin in the coffee shop where you guys regularly meet after each semester. Sipping her iced drink, she says, âSomeoneâs been active. You having fun walking a dog these days, huh?â
Your heart pounds. Itâs no secret that youâve been posting about the samoyed recently. Youâve shared in Astralgram how youâve been spending time with the pup every two weeks, or sometimes even every week, when youâre missing him. You go on walks, or even eat out togetherâunfortunately your pup is a big eater, itâs concerning sometimes.
You wonât forget that one day when he asked if he could take a bite of your burger, and he literally devoured the whole thing. His tail was wagging so happily despite you admonishing him for the biggest crime he ever committed.Â
But still, your friends do not know.
They do not know the truth.
âYeah. Walking the dog is actually helping me get into shape. I walk him every two hours whenever I have him.â You tell them, and you swirl your preferred order with your teaspoon.
Castorice sends you a wonderful smile. âThat sounds wonderful. If you wouldnât mind, maybe we could join you one day when you walk the samoyed?â
Oh, no. Thatâs not possible. Over your dead body. They cannot know. Even though you and Phainon plan to act all normal, these three friends of yours will eventually realize whatâs all underneath it.
But still, remain calm. Remain composed. Like Mydei, who has just his eyes shut tight, and arms crossed, though heâs evidently listening.
âSâsure, one day, one day,â You laugh a little. âBut Iâll have to warn youâheâs a bit of a biter. Nowadays, he canât stop biting me for some reason. It doesnât hurt. And it doesnât bleed. I feel like itâs more of a playful bite, if anything.â
âHe could probably still be thinking that heâs a puppy,â Cipher explains with a shrug. âAll dogs have that phase. They still think that theyâre like young babies.â
An image of Phainon, in his full samoyed form, or even in his hybrid human form, making himself comfortable in your lap, or laying on top of you, appears in your mind. That couldnât be further than the truth.
âPhainon, youâre so heavy! Stop it!â
He just laughs, and ignores you anyway. Itâs already too late for you to push him away because he found the perfect spot to melt against you. He sighs in delight.
âGood night.â
âWhat?! No, Phainonâget off!â
âHaha, call my name again?â
You were suffocating so overwhelmed that day because of a gorgeous slash beefy hybrid samoyed man on top of you, and yet you wouldnât have it any other way.
And when the topic shifts to a new one, you give the floor to Cipher and Castorice as they share updates from their new adventures. It is not long before Mydei elbows you lightly on the arm, and you look up at him, curious.
âWhat?â
âYouâre glowing.â
Your face steams. âWha-?â
âGlowing.â He narrows his eyes at you. âIs walking the dog the only thing happening in your life right now?â
Your task of letting the world know that you have something going on is successful, but you also have to bear the outcomes that will be gradually thrown your way.
After all. . . walking the dog, in this new context youâve found yourself in, meant two different things.
you think the man you are meant to marry is a brute with no care for you or your kind. yet when the vows are signed and the crown rests upon your brow, you discover there is more to the king than meets the eyeâand far more he has so carefully chosen to keep from you.
â pairing: phainon x fem!reader
â tags: romance, angst, smut (fingering, unprotected sex, virginity loss), slow burn, bridgerton!au, arranged marriage!au, older brother!mydei, historical inaccuracies, mentions of death & illness, nightmares, period-typical misogyny, discussions of pregnancy, etc. divider by @/thecutestgrotto.
â word count: 21.5k
â a/n: this fic is, first and foremost, a love letter and gift to my best friend, @jeonwiixard. happy birthday, jazz! i love you to the moon and back ⥠this fic is inspired by and based off of queen charlotte: a bridgerton story. thank you to @chokifandom for beta reading, and thank you for reading!
THE DAY BEFORE YOUR WEDDING, your brother held you tight to his chest, and whispered apology after apology. You do not want this, sister, I know, I know you do not want this, but father did not leave me with a choice. It was a betrothal made when you were born, and if our estate is to survive the locust plague, we need their help, sister. Please, forgive me.
Perhaps, if you werenât in such a foul mood, you might have forgiven your older brother, Mydeimos, the Earl of Kremnos. Earlier that morning, however, your maid had fetched you the latest edition of Lady Whistledownâs society papers, and seeing how unfavourably she had written about you and your impending wedding, you were not so inclined.
You let him hold you, and patted his hair as you would your favourite mare, and said, âItâs quite all right, brother. After all, not everyone is blessed with the good fortune of marrying a prince.â
He looked stricken. âBut you do not love him. You do not even know him.â
âI suppose such is my fate. Do fetch the carriage, will you? It is a long ride to London, and it would suit us all to be there before sundown.â
Poor Mydeimos could do nothing else but oblige, though he did so reluctantly and made his displeasure known to all. He snapped at the footman and the driver, curtly told your maidâpoor Erinyes, you would miss her so!âthat the ruby necklace she had picked out for you was too gaudy and she ought to replace it with the diamonds instead, and ordered the cook to make your favourite dish for breakfast, though you did not think you could stomach even a morsel of it. You appreciated his efforts, however, and tried, at least, to feign taking a bite so that he would not feel guilty.
In the carriage, where you sat still as a statue, you unfolded Lady Whistledownâs papers once more. It read thus:
Dearest Gentle Reader,
Though this news has been nothing more than a rumour for the better part of a month, it has now been officially announced that the Kingâs wedding has been arranged.
The lucky young lady in question, however, remains something of a curiosity to this authorâbeing neither a reigning beauty of the marriage mart nor a frequent fixture of our glittering assemblies. Indeed, one might wonder whether His Highness has chosen discretion over delight, or whether this match is yet another reminder that crowns, much like fortunes, are so often secured by strategy rather than sentiment.
Those inclined to sigh for romance would do well to temper their expectations. The King has long been known for his reserve, his temper, and his marked disinterest in the softer pursuits of courtship. If affection is to bloom between bride and groom, it will do so under circumstances far less indulgent than poetry and stolen glances.
Still, this author cannot help but observe that unions forged under necessity have a habit of producing the most interesting consequences. Whether this marriage shall prove a triumph or a tragedy remains to be seenâbut rest assured, gentle reader, I shall be watching.
Yours truly,
Lady Whistledown.
âImpetuous woman,â you said, tossing the pamphlet aside. âWhat does she know about me?â
âShe is not entirely wrong, is she?â Mydeimos, who sat opposite you, said. âYou did not want this marriage, and it is my fate to deliver you to it.â
This time, you truly did feel a pang of sympathy for your older brother. âYou did say this was a match made the day I was born, Mydeimos. What could you have done to stop it?â
âAnnulled the agreement,â he said. âFather and mother are no more, so how would they know?â
âPerhaps,â you said patiently, âbut that betrothal is not the only reason, is it not? I know how our funds have been dwindling, brother. Our crops are failing, and you need the money in order to help our farmers and tenants.â
Mydeimos shifted awkwardly in his seat. He looked anywhere in the carriage but directly at you: his gaze darted from the window to the spot above your head, and back down to his boots. Heâd worn his finest clothesâas had you, of course; it would not do to meet the King in anything lessâbut he looked smaller than youâd ever seen him.
âYes,â he said finally. âIt is for the money.â
âThen it is settled. I am quite fond of our estate and its tenants. Its upkeep shall keep me very happy.â
âI will do my best to ensure it,â Mydeimos said. âYou will have to know a few things about the castle and the Kingâthey sent me a whole book full of customs and information you ought to know as the next in line to be the Queen. Would you like to read it now?â
âPerhaps later,â you said, though in truth you did not want to read it at all. In fact, you found yourself wanting to grab the book from Mydeimosâ hands and throw it out of the carriage. Instead, you settled for imagining the pages being set on fire.
He nodded and reached over to pat your hand where it rested on the seat. âTry to rest. Tomorrow will be a long day.â
You sighed and closed your eyes.
The palace was grandâgrander than anything youâd ever laid eyes upon before, and much bigger than your manor back in Kremnos.
The footman opened the carriage door, and the evening air rushed in, cool and sharp, carrying with it the scent of roses from the palace gardens. You took Mydeimosâ offered hand and stepped down onto the cobblestones, your skirts rustling as you steadied yourself. The palace loomed before you, its white stone façade gilded by the light of the sun, making its windows gleam.
âWhat do you think?â Mydeimos murmured beside you.
You said nothing. Your gaze swept across the groundsâthe manicured hedges, the marble fountains. Cold beauty, you thought. Beauty without warmth.
A line of servants stood waiting, their livery immaculate and their faces blank. At the head of this assembly stood a woman, tall and severe, with silver hair swept back from a face that might have been handsome if it were not quite so forbidding.
âMy lady,â she said. âI am Lady Caenis, the palace stewardess. His Highness sends his regrets that he cannot greet you personally, but urgent matters of state require his attention.â
Of course. You forced your expression into one of gracious understanding, though privately you thought it rather convenient that the King could not spare even an hour to meet his bride-to-be. What urgent matters, you wondered, could possibly be more pressing than this?
âHow very conscientious of His Highness,â you said. âI should hate to distract him from his duties.â
âIndeed. Come, your rooms have been prepared. Lord Mydeimos, arrangements have been made for your accommodation in the east wing. You will, of course, be free to visit your sister as propriety allows.â
The implied restriction was not lost on you; it meant, you suspected, that your time with Mydeimos would be carefully monitored and limited. The thought of losing even his company made something uncomfortably sad twist in your chest.
You walked through corridors lined with portraits of stern-faced royals, their painted eyes seeming to follow your progress. Chandeliers dripped with crystals overhead, and your footsteps echoed on marble floors so highly polished, you could see your reflection in them.
âThese will be your apartments,â Lady Caenis said at last, pushing open a set of doors carved with intricate patterns of roses and thorns. âThe Dowager Princessâ chambers. They have been empty for some time, so we have had them thoroughly aired and refreshed for your arrival.â
The rooms were vast: a receiving parlour that opened into a bedroom, which in turn led to a dressing room and private bathing chamber. The walls were papered in silk the colour of early morning skies, and the furniture was lined with brocade. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, as though trying to warm a space far too large for such modest flames. French doors opened onto a balcony that overlooked gardens so extensive you could not see where they ended.
âYour maid will arrive shortly,â Lady Caenis continued. âShe comes with excellent references, and has served in the palace for many years. I trust you will find her more than adequate.â
âI had rather hoped my own maid might attend me,â you said. âErinyes has been with my family since I was a child.â
âIâm afraid that wonât be possible. The Queenâs household staff are all palace employeesâit is tradition, you understand. Your brotherâs attendants will, naturally, remain with him during his stay.â
âI understand,â you said, though you understood very well that you were being given no choice in the matter.
âThe wedding is tomorrow at noon in the palace chapel,â the stewardess said. âYou will have time this evening to review the ceremony with the archbishop, and there will be a private dinner tonight where you and His Highness will dine together. It is⊠expected that you use this time to become acquainted.â
How romantic, you thought.
âWhat time is dinner?â you asked.
âEight oâclock. Someone will come to escort you.â Lady Caenis moved towards the door, then paused. âA word of advice, my lady. His Highness is not what you might expect. He is⊠complicated. I would suggest keeping an open mind.â
Before you could ask what she meant by that, she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her. You walked to the balcony and stepped out into the cool air. The gardens spread below you in geometric circles, hedges trimmed to sharp angles, flower beds arranged in unnatural patterns.
âWell,â you said aloud, âhere we are.â
The gardens remained silent. Even the birds seemed to have deserted this place.
You turned back to the room and discovered that your trunks had already been brought up and placed in the dressing room. At least you would have your own clothes, even if everything else was being stripped away. Small mercies. You were examining the wardrobeâmahogany, you thought, and probably worth more than your familyâs entire stableâwhen there came a soft knock at the door.
âEnter,â you called, expecting Lady Caenis again, or perhaps the maid you were to be saddled with.
Instead, Mydeimos slipped inside, looking furtive and uncomfortably in a way that reminded you of when you were children and he was sneaking sweets from the kitchen.
âI only have a moment,â he said quickly. âLady Caenis made it quite clear that Iâm not to disturb you while youâre settling in, but I had toâI needed to see that you were all right.â
You felt a rush of affection for your brother, this man who had always tried so hard to protect you even when circumstances made it impossible. âI am perfectly fine, Mydeimos. The rooms are lovely. Cold, but lovely.â
âCold?â
âIn spirit, I mean. Theyâre physically quite warm.â You gestured vaguely at the fire. âItâs all very grand and very proper and very⊠not home.â
Mydeimos crossed the room to take your hands in his. His fingers were warm, familiar, the same fingers which had cleaned your knees of mud when you slipped and fell in the gardens as a child, the same ones which had held you at night when you could not sleep in the weeks after your parents passed.
âI am so sorry, sister,â he said. âIf there were any other wayââ
âWeâve had this conversation before already,â you said gently. âThere is no other way, and we both know it. I shall simply have to make the best of things. After all, how bad can it be? I shall be a queen, and I shall have all the gowns and jewels and power a woman could want.â
âBut will you be happy?â
Would you be happy? You didnât know. You couldnât imagine it, but perhaps that was simply because you hadnât tried hard enough. Perhaps happiness was something that could be learned, like French or needlework or the proper way to address a duke.
âI shall endeavour to be content,â you answered at last. âThat will have to suffice.â
Mydeimos looked as though he wanted to argue, but another knock at the door forestalled him. This time, it was a young woman in a maidâs uniform.
âBegging your pardon, my lady, but I am Arielle, your new maid,â she said, curtseying. âLady Caenis sent me to help you dress for dinner.â
âItâs onlyââ you glanced at the clock on the mantelpieceââfour oâclock. Dinner isnât until eight.â
âYes, my lady, but thereâs your hair to be done, and weâll need to select the proper gown, and youâll want to be bathed first, I imagine, after such a long journey. Best to start early and not be rushed.â
You supposed she had a point, though the idea of spending four hours preparing for a single meal seemed excessive even by your standards.
âI should go,â Mydeimos said, squeezing your hands before releasing them. âBut Iâll see you tomorrow before the wedding. I promise.â
A flutter of panic caused you to ask, âWill you not be joining us for dinner?â
Mydeimos looked pained, his eyes darting away from you. âIt wouldâit is not appropriate, my lady.â
You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, and watched him leave.Â
Arielle was already bustling about the room, laying out several different options for evening gowns. âNow then, my lady, what do you think? The green silk might be niceâit brings out your eyesâbut the ivory satin is more traditional for a first formal dinner with His Highness. Then again, thereâs the rose-coloured taffeta, which is very fashionable just nowâŠâ
You let her chatter wash over you as you walked to the window again. The sun was beginning its descent, painting the sky in shades of amber and gold. By this time the next day, you would be married. You would be a queen. You would belong to this place, this palace, and to a man you had never met.
Lady Whistledownâs words came back to you: If affection is to bloom between bride and groom, it will do so in circumstances far less indulgent than poetry and stolen glances. Well, you thought, at least your expectations were appropriately low. That was something, was it not? Better to expect nothing and be pleasantly surprised than to hope for romance and be bitterly disappointed.
âThe ivory satin, I think,â you said, turning back to Arielle. âTraditional suits me just fine.â
If the maid thought there was anything odd about your tone, she didnât show it. She simply smiled and began preparing your bath, humming a cheerful tune that did little to ease your mood.
You caught your reflection in the mirrorâa young woman in a travelling dress, her hair slightly dishevelled from the journey. Tomorrow, that woman would put on a wedding gown and walk down an aisle and promise herself to a stranger. Tonight, she would sit across from that stranger at dinner and make polite conversation about⊠what? The weather? The state of the kingdom? How to divvy up your conjugal duties?
The thought made you want to laugh, but you suspected that if you started, you might not be able to stop, and that would never do. After all, you had very little choice in the matter.
âI am afraid the prince will not be joining you for dinner, my lady. He is⊠indisposed.â
âWhat?â you said, and indeed, when you looked around, the long table laden with the finest foods and the most delicious sweets was set for only one. âIsâcan my brother join me, at least?â
âI am afraid that is inappropriate, my lady,â Lady Caenis said firmly. âYou may enjoy your dinner in peace.â
âHe is my brother,â you hissed. âAfter tomorrow, I may never see him again.â
âLord Mydeimos will attend the wedding tomorrow, and you will have ample opportunity to say your farewells then. For tonight, His Highness felt it best that you have time to⊠acclimate to your new surroundings.â
âHow thoughtful,â you said, and this time you made no effort to disguise the bitterness in your voice. âHis Highness is proving to be remarkably considerateâfirst too preoccupied with matters of state to greet me, and now too indisposed to dine with me. One might almost think he wishes to avoid me entirely.â
âMy ladyââ
âTell me, Lady Caenis,â you interrupted, âis the King always this⊠elusive? Or is it only his future bride he finds so distasteful that he cannot bear to spend even one evening in her company?â
The stewardess drew herself up, and for a moment you thought she might reprimand you for your impertinence. Instead, however, she sighed and something in her severe features softened just slightly.
âHis Highness has his reasons for everything he does, my lady. I cannot speak to them, nor would it be appropriate for me to do so. But I will say this: he is not a cruel man, merely a⊠cautious one. Give him time.â
âHow much time, precisely?â you said. âWe are to be married in less than a day.â
Lady Caenis said nothing to that. What could she say? You were right, and you both knew it.
âVery well,â you said at last, turning away from her to face the absurdly long dining table with its single place setting at the head. It looked ridiculous: one plate, one glass, one set of silverware in all that vast, empty space. âI shall dine alone, then. As it appears I shall be doing many things alone from now on.â
âMy ladyââ
âThat will be all, Lady Caenis. Thank you.â
You heard her hesitate behind you, the rustle of her skirts as she prepared to leave, but then, surprisingly, she spoke once more. âFor what it is worth, my lady, I am sorry. This is not⊠this is not how I would have wished your arrival to be.â
You did not turn around. You could not bear to see whatever expression might be on her face; sympathy would be unbearable, and pity even worse.
âYes,â you said quietly. âWell. Perhaps you might convey my gratitude to His Highness for his⊠hospitality.â
The door closed softly behind her, and you were alone.
You stood there for a long moment, staring at that single place setting, and the elaborate dishes that had been prepared for a meal that was meant to be shared: roasted pheasant, by the looks of it, and some sort of fish in a cream sauce, and vegetables arranged in artful little pyramids. Desserts gleamed on a separate side tableâtarts and cakes and what looked like a towering confection of spun sugar. All of it was wasted on a woman like you, who found she had no appetite whatsoever.
You walked to the table slowly, your ivory satin gown whispering against the floor. Arielle had done an excellent job with your hair, pinning it up in an elaborate style that had taken the better part of an hour and left your scalp aching. Your jewelleryâthe diamonds Mydeimos had insisted uponâcaught the candlelight and threw it back in cold, brilliant sparks. You looked every inch a princess, though you had never felt less like one.
Sitting down in the chair that had been pulled out for you, you stared at the feast spread before you. A servant appeared from somewhereâyou had not even noticed him standing in the shadowsâand began to serve you, spooning portions onto your plate.
âThatâs enough,â you said when your plate was only half full. âThank you.â
The servant bowed and retreated back into the shadows. You picked up your fork, examined a piece of pheasant, and set the fork back down again.
This was absurd! This whole farce was absurd. You had travelled for hours to get here, and had spent four hours being primped and perfected for a dinner with a man who could not even be bothered to attend. You had dressed in your finest gown, and allowed Arielle to arrange your hair until it was perfectly elegant, and had put on jewellery worth more than most people saw in a lifetimeâand for what? To sit alone in a cavernous dining room and pick at food you did not want?
Lady Whistledown had been right, you thought bitterly. Those inclined to sigh for romance would do well to temper their expectations indeed.
You forced yourself to eat a few bitesâthe pheasant really was excellentâand pushed your plate away. The servant materialised again, asking in hushed tones if you would care for dessert.
âNo, thank you,â you said. âI find Iâm quite finished.â
âPerhaps some wine, my lady? Or tea?â
âThat will be all, thank you. I would like to retreat to my chambers now.â
If Lady Caenis found out that you had run away on the morn of your wedding day, you feared her wrath would scare you more than living as an old, unmarried spinster in some far-off county where the King could never find you. How could he? He had not deigned to see your face the evening before, as it was, so you were certain he would not be able to recognise you regardless.
Either way, you consoled yourself, the odds of the King himself finding you attempting to climb over the trellis on the garden wall was a chance that was nigh impossible.
The morning air was cool against your flushed cheeks as you struggled with the branches, your wedding gownâan elaborate confection of white silk and lace that had taken Arielle and two other maids nearly an hour to get you intoâcatching on every available branch and rose thorn. The skirts were impossibly voluminous, designed to make you look like some sort of ethereal being floating down the aisle, but they were decidedly impractical for climbing.
âBlast,â you muttered as another section of lace tore free with an audible rip. The gardeners would have a fit when they discovered what youâd done to their roses.
Arielle had arrived promptly at six. The next three hours had felt like a blur: the bath, the hair, the undergarments, the stockings, the gown itself with its thousand tiny buttons, and the diamonds Mydeimos had insisted upon.
Through it all, one singular thought had circled your mind: I cannot do this. I cannot do this. I cannot do this.
So when Arielle had stepped out to fetch your bouquet, you had made your decision. You had gathered up your ridiculous skirts, slipped out onto the balcony, and made your way down to the gardens. The chapel was on the other side of the palaceâyou could hear the distant sounds of guests arriving, carriages rattling over cobblestones, voices calling to one another. You had perhaps an hour before the ceremony was to begin.
âI wouldnât recommend that particular route of escape, if I were you.â
You froze. The voice had come from below. You looked down and felt your stomach drop.
A man stood at the base of the trellis, arms crossed over his chest, looking up at you with an expression of blatant, unabashed curiosity. He was tallâas tall as Mydeimos, perhapsâand broad-shouldered beneath grand attire: an intricately embroidered coat, over a white shirt and dress shoes. His hair was light, ruffled gently by the breeze, and even from this distance you could see his eyes were pale, an unusual colour, like ice or the winter sky.
He was also, you noted with some irritation, devastatingly handsome. He had sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, and a mouth that was currently curved into a smile that suggested he found your predicament highly entertaining.
âWho are you?â you demanded, clinging to the trellis with increasingly aching fingers. âAnd what business is it of yours which route I take?â
âThe trellis,â he said conversationally, âis nearly fifty years old. The wood is rotten in several places. Youâre likely to fall and break your neck, and that would be terribly inconvenient for everyone involved.â
âIâll take my chances,â you said. âNow if youâll excuse meââ
âBreaking your neck on your wedding day seems rather dramatic, donât you think? Even for a runaway bride.â
You stared down at him. âHow did you knowââ
âThe dress is something of a giveaway,â he said, gesturing at the acres of white silk and lace. âAlso, I am fairly certain I was meant to be marrying someone this morning, and given that sheâs currently attempting to climb over the garden wallâŠâ
Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no.
âYouâre the King,â you stated.
He executed a small bow. âGuilty. And you must be the sister of the Earl of Kremnos. My bride-to-be. Or perhaps my bride-who-was, depending on whether that trellis holds.â
This could not be happening.
âWell,â you said, because there truly seemed to be nothing else to say, âI suppose youâve caught me, then. Congratulations, Your Highness. You can go inform Lady Caenis that the bride is making a run for it. Iâm sure sheâll have some very stern words for me before she locks me in my chambers until the ceremony.â
âI could do that,â the King agreed. He moved closer to the trellis, one hand reaching up to grip the woodâtesting it, you realised, checking its stability. âOr I could help you down from there before you fall and further ruin what appears to be a very expensive dress.â
ââŠHelp me?â
âUnless youâd prefer to hang there until the ceremony begins. Though I should warn you, the chapel bells will ring in approximately forty-five minutes, and I imagine Lady Caenis will come looking for you well before then.â
He was right, of course. And the trellis was creaking more ominously by the second, and your arms were beginning to ache from holding your weight, and your fingers were getting scraped by the rough wood and thorns.
âWhy would you help me?â you asked suspiciously. âIâm trying to escape from marrying you. Shouldnât you be trying to stop me?â
âPerhaps,â he said. âBut Iâm curious to see how far youâll get.â
Before you could respond to that utterly baffling statement, he had begun to climb. The trellis groaned in protestâit had barely been holding your weight, and now it had to support his as wellâbut somehow it held. Within moments, he had reached your position.
Up close, he was even more striking than you had thought from below. His silver-white hair fell across his forehead in a way that seemed almost careless. His eyes, the colour of ice over deep water, studied you with an intensity that made you want to look away.
But you didnât. You held his gaze and tried not to think about how improper this was, the two of you clinging to a trellis together on the morning of your wedding, close enough that you could smell him.
âNow then,â he asked, quieter now. âWhere exactly were you planning to go, dressed like that?â
âAway,â you said. âAnywhere. Somewhere you couldnât find me.â
âAh. And you thought climbing over the garden wall was the best route?â
âIt seemed like a good idea at the time.â
âMost people who attempt to flee an arranged marriage at least have the good sense to change out of their wedding attire first.â
âI did not have the time,â you said. âArielle only left for five minutes, and I had to seize the opportunity.â
âArielle is your maid?â he asked.
âYes. The poor thing is probably having hysterics right about now, wondering where Iâve gone.â
The Kingâyour husband-to-be, though you could hardly believe itâtilted his head slightly. âYou know,â he said, âwhen Lady Caenis told me you had arrived yesterday, I thought about coming to greet you. I got as far as the corridor outside your chambers.â
You stared at him. âWhat?â
âI stood there for ten minutes, trying to decide what to say. How to explainâŠâ He trailed off, looking away for the first time since heâd climbed up to meet you. âIt does not matter. I didnât come in. I left. And then at dinner, I⊠I know how it sounds, but you must believe me. I was truly indisposed. I know what you must think of me.â
âWhy?â you asked. âAm I truly so horrific to look at?â
His eyes snapped back to yours. âOn the contrary. We should get down from here before this entire structure collapses and we both end up in the rose bushes.â
 Having said this, the King began to climb down, and you followed, more carefully now, acutely aware of how close he was, how his body moved gracefully despite the precarious footing. When you reached the bottom, he held out a hand to help you down the last few feet. Your feet touched the grass, and you stood in the garden, cheeks aflame, your ridiculous wedding gown covered in dirt and torn lace and your hair coming loose from its pins.
âSo,â the King said, âwhat will it be, my lady? Will you run, or will you stay?â
âYou will not force me?â you asked.
âI may be a king, my lady, but I am no brute,â he said. âIf you do not wish to marry me, we shall cancel the wedding immediately.â
âTell me something,â you said. âAnd I want the truth.â
âAll right.â
âDo you want this marriage?â
âNo,â he said. âI donât. I do not want to bind myself to someone who will likely grow to hate me, and perform a ceremony in front of hundreds of people and pretend that this is anything other than a political arrangement.â
The chapel bells began to ringânot the full peal that would announce the start of the ceremony, but the warning bells that meant it would begin in thirty minutes.
âIf I stay,â you heard yourself say, âand walk down that aisle and marry youâwhat happens then? What kind of marriage will this be?â
The King was quiet for a moment, considering. âI cannot promise you love, or even affection. I have a temper, and Iâm not always kind, and there are things about me that will likely make you regret this decision. But I can promise to treat you with respect, and to speak with you as an equal. I can promise to give you as much freedom as I can within the constraints of this life.â
âTell me your name, Your Highness,â you said. âI should like to know this, at least, before we are to be wed.â
âPhainon,â he said, a little half-smile gracing his lips. âMy name is Phainon.â
âPhainon,â you repeated, testing the way it rolled off your tongue. It was a strange name, foreign-sounding, but you liked it. In turn, you gave him your own name, which Phainon said once, and then once more, his smile widening. The bells rang again. Twenty-five minutes.
âI need to know,â Phainon said quietly. âAre you going to run?â
âNo,â you said. âIâm not going to run.â
âYouâre certain?â
âYes.â
âThank you,â Phainon said.
âDo not, yet,â you said wryly. âIâve a temper too, you know. And a sharp tongue. And I donât take well to being ordered about.â
âI would expect nothing less from a woman who tried to escape her own wedding by climbing over a garden wall,â Phainon said. âCome. Letâs get you cleaned up.â
He led you back through the gardens, not towards the main entrance where servants and guests might see you, but along a hidden path that wound between the hedges. You followed, your torn wedding gown trailing behind you. Upon reaching the servantsâ entrance, Phainon led you through the corridorsâuntil you ran into Lady Caenis.
She took one look at you both, at your torn dress and loosened hair, Phainonâs garden-stained shirt and your joined hands, and went pale.
âYour Highness,â she said faintly. âMy lady. Whatâhow did youââ
âMy bride went for a walk in the garden,â Phainon said. âShe needed some air before the ceremony. Nerves, you understand. I happened upon her and offered to escort her back.â
âOf⊠of course, Your Highness,â Lady Caenis said. âMy lady, shall we get you back to your chambers? I shall send for Arielle to make some⊠repairs to your gown.â
âYes, I suppose that would be wise,â you said, before turning to Phainon. âI shall see you at the altar, Your Highness?â
âYou shall,â he said, smiling once more. âDonât be late, my lady. I should hate to have to come looking for you again.â
You let Lady Caenis lead you away, back to your chambers. As Arielle exclaimed over the state of your dress and began the work of making you presentable again, you found yourself thinking about Phainon.
You had come to this palace expecting a monster. A cold, cruel prince who would treat you as some rare trinket or jewel. Instead, you had found⊠what? Not love, certainly. Not even affection. But perhaps something that could become those things, given time and patience.
âMy lady,â said Arielle. âYouâre smiling! Iâve never seen you smile like that, in all the hours Iâve spent with you.â
âAm I?â you said, touching your lips and finding Arielle was right. âHow strange. I hadnât realised.â
When the ceremony was finished and Phainonâs lips had touched yours and you had bid farewell to your brother, Phainon took your hand in his. You refused to cry in front of Mydeimos, though your chest ached when he turned his back on you and loped back to his carriage.
âI have a surprise for you,â he said.
âA surprise?â you said, and found you were smiling so wide your cheeks pained. âHow nice!â
Perhaps it was relief that the ceremony was over, that you had survived the endless procession down the aisle, your hand tucked into the crook of Mydeimosâ arm, and persisted through the archbishopâs droning voice and the vows that had felt both impossibly heavy and strangely weightless on your tongue. Perhaps it was simply that you were trying very hard to be optimistic of this new life.
Whatever the reason, you found yourself genuinely pleased by the prospect of a surprise. How thoughtful of him, you thought. How kind, to think of giving you something on this day that had already been so overwhelming.
âWhere are we going?â you asked as Phainon guided you down a corridor you had not explored. The palace was a maze, with identical marble floors and soaring ceilings that made you feel very small.
âYouâll see,â he said.
You walked in silence for several minutes, your wedding gown rustling with each step. Arielle had worked miracles with the torn lace and garden stains, but you could still see the evidence of your attempted escape if you looked closely enoughâa small rip near the hem, a faint smudge of dirt on the silk. You found yourself oddly fond of these imperfections. They were proof that something real and true had happened this morning, something that belonged to you and Phainon alone.
Finally, he stopped before a pair of ornate doors, larger than the others you had passed, carved with intricate patterns of flowers and vines that seemed to twist and grow across the dark wood. Two footmen stood at attention on either side, and they bowed deeply as you and Phainon approached.
âOpen them,â Phainon said.
The doors swung open to reveal a long gallery, flooded with light from tall windows that ran the length of one wall. The other wall was lined with more portraitsâqueens, you realised, generations of them staring down at you, their faces serious and severe. At the far end of the gallery, another set of doors stood open, revealing a glimpse of rooms beyond.
Phainon led you forward, and you found yourself looking around in wonder. The gallery was beautiful in a way that felt less cold than the rest of the palace. There were fresh flowers in vases in side tables, and the furniture looked comfortable rather than merely decorative.Â
âThese,â Phainon said, gesturing at the doors at the far end, âare your apartments. The Queenâs apartments. We renovated them after my mother passedâthey had been closed up for years, and I thought⊠I thought you might appreciate them far more than I would.â
You looked up at him in surprise. âYou renovated them? For me?â
âThe work was completed last month,â he said. âI wanted you to have something that was yours, and yours alone.â
Your chest felt tight with emotion. He had thought of you, had planned for your comfort, even while he was avoiding meeting you. It was such a contradiction: the man who couldnât face you, and yet had taken the time to ensure you would have a home waiting.
âThank you,â you said softly. âThat was very thoughtful of you.â
He inclined his head, acknowledging your thanks, but his expression remained difficult to read. âWould you like to see them?â
âOf course.â
He led you through the gallery and into the apartments beyond. The rooms were magnificent. The receiving parlour was decorated in shades of cream and gold, with furniture that looked both elegant and comfortable. Beyond it, you could see a bedroom with a massive four-poster bed draped in silk, and what looked like a dressing room and private study. French doors opened onto a balcony which opened out to the garden.
âThereâs a music room as well,â Phainon said, pointing to another door, âand a small library. I wasnât certain what your interests were, but I thoughtâwell, I thought it best to provide options.â
You turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. This was to be your home. âItâs beautiful,â you said, and meant it. âTruly, Phainon, this is⊠thank you.â
He smiled, then, small and tentative, but genuine. âIâm glad you like it. I worried you might find it too formal, or not to your taste, but Lady Caenis assured meââ
âItâs perfect,â you interrupted. âTruly.â
You thought, then, that perhaps this marriage might not be so terrible after all. Perhaps you could be happy here, in these beautiful rooms with this man who had tried so hard to make you comfortable.
âThereâs something else I need to show you,â he said. âCome with me.â
You followed him back through the gallery, back into the corridor, and then down a different path entirely. This part of the palace was quieter and less ornate. The portraits here were of kings rather than queens, and they looked even more severe than their female counterpartsâmen with hard eyes and harder mouths, who looked like they had never smiled in their lives.
Phainon stopped before another set of doors. These were not as grand as the ones that led to your apartments, but they were still impressive: dark wood carved with geometric patterns, simple but elegant.
âThese are my apartments,â Phainon said. âThe Kingâs apartments.â
âOh,â you said, uncertain why he was showing you this. âTheyâre very nice.â
He didnât open the doors. Instead, he turned to face you, and you saw that his expression had changed entirely. The man who had climbed the trellis this morning, who had smiled at you and held your handâthat man was gone. In his place stood the King you had heard about in rumours and whispers. Cold, remote, untouchable.
âThere is something I must tell you,â he said. âSomething I should have told you this morning, but I⊠I lacked the courage.â
ââŠWhat is it?â
âWe will not be sharing apartments,â he said flatly. âYou will live in the Queenâs chambers. I will live in the Kingâs chambers. We will maintain separate households, separate lives. You will have your dutiesâpublic appearances, charitable work, whatever other obligations come with being Queen. I will have mine. We will see each other when necessary for official functions, and of course for the production of an heir, but otherwise⊠Otherwise we will live separately.â
You stared at him, certain you must have misheard. âSeparately?â
âYes.â
âBut we just married,â you said, and your voice sounded strange in your own ears, high and thin and confused. âWe just made vows. We justâthis morning, you said you would treat me with respect, that we would have honesty between us, thatââ
âAnd I will,â Phainon interrupted. âI am treating you with respect by being honest with you now. This is how it must be. This is how it will be.â
âBut why?â you said. âI donât understand. If you didnât want to be married to me, why go through with the ceremony at all? Why renovate my apartments and give me a library and a music room and make everything beautiful if you were just going toâto exile me on one side of the palace while you hide away on the other?â
âBecause this is what is best,â he said. âFor both of us.â
âBest? Best for whom, exactly? Because it certainly doesnât feel the best to me. I left my home, my brother, everything Iâve ever known! I tried to run this morning, and you found me, and you gave me a choice, and I chose to stay. I chose you! And now youâre telling me that was a mistake?â
âIâm not saying it was a mistakeââ
âThen what are you saying?â Your voice was rising now, but you did not care if servants heard, if the entire palace heard. âExplain it to me, Phainon. Make me understand why you would show me kindness this morning only to take it away now.â
He turned away from you, his shoulders tense. âI am the King,â he said, flatly. âAnd as your King, this is what I order. We will live separately. That is final.â
âYouâre hiding behind your crown,â you said, sharp as glass and twice as cutting. âYou are using your authority as King because you do not want to give me a real answer. What are you so afraid of?â
âI am not afraid!â he snapped, before taking in a breath shudderingly, and continuing, eyes downcast, âI am not afraid. This is the kindest thing I can do for you. You will have your freedom, your independence. You will be Queen in name and power, but you wonât have toâyou wonât be burdened withâyou will have a good life here. I will make certain of it. You will want for nothing. You will have everything a queen could desire.â
âExcept a husband,â you said.
âIââ
âI see. Youâve made your position clear, Your Majesty. As my King, you have ordered that we live separately, and as your subject, I must obey. Isnât that right?â
âDonât,â Phainon said. âDonât do this. Donât twist this intoââ
âVery well, Your Majesty.â You drew yourself up, straightened your shoulders, and looked at your husbandâyour Kingâwith all the dignity you could muster. âI shall retire to my apartments. I assume youâll send word when you require my presence for official functions?â
âPleaseââ
âThat will be all, yes, Your Highness? Unless there is something else you need to inform me of? Any other surprises youâve been saving for our wedding day?â
Phainon looked stricken, his face pale, but he shook his head.
âThen I bid you good night, Your Majesty,â you said, dipping your head in a bow before turning and walking away. Your wedding gown trailed behind you, and you held your head high even though your vision was blurring with tears you refused to shed.Â
You found your way back to your apartments and closed the doors behind you. Only then did you let yourself lean against the carved wood, only then did you let the tears fall.
You had been so foolish.
This morning, on that trellis, you had thought you understood Phainon. You had thought he was like youâtrapped, frightened, trying to be brave. You had thought perhaps you could be allies, and could face this marriage together and make something bearable out of a situation neither of you wanted.
How foolish youâd been!
He didnât want an ally or a partner. He wanted⊠what? A queen who stayed in her own apartments and didnât ask questions? A wife who existed only when he needed her for public appearances or the production of an heir?
You slid down to the floor, wounded and terribly lonely, and cried for your brother, who you had left behind, and your home, which you would never see again.
Thus did your honeymoon pass, in isolation and brittle solitude, and how desperately did you yearn for companionship for the duration of it! Arielle was chatty and talkative, but your positions could not allow for the kind of casual, mundane conversations that were allowed between friends. Lady Caenis, perhaps having taken pity on you, sent word for a lady she trusted, a friendâs daughter of the same age as you, and invited her to the Queenâs chambers for tea one evening.
Lady Castorice was slight but sturdy, her long, pale hair twisted into an elaborate braid and her hands folded neatly over the folds of her lavender gown.
âMay I speak freely?â you asked immediately, upon settling down on the chaise in your parlour.
Lady Castorice blinked, surprised by the question. She glanced at Arielle, who was fussing with the tea service on a nearby table, then back at you. âYour Majesty,â she said, âI am not certain what you mean.â
âI mean,â you said, âmay I speak to you as one person to another, rather than as Queen to subject? May we have an actual conversation, rather than a formal, stilted exchange where you tell me the weather is lovely and I agree?â
To your great relief, Castorice smiled, warm and genuine.
âI think I should like that very much, Your Majesty,â she said.
You gave her name. âPlease, when weâre alone like this, call me as such. Iâve been called Your Majesty or some other variation of it nearly seven hundred times in the past week, and if I hear it seven hundred and one times, I fear I might do something very undignified.â
Lady Castoriceâs smile widened. âThen you must call me Castorice. Or Cas, if you preferâmy nephews all call me Cas, and Iâve rather gotten used to it.â
âItâs a beautiful name,â you said. âWhere does it come from?â
âMy motherâs family,â Castorice said as Arielle brought over the tea service and began pouring. âTheyâre from the northern provinces, near the border. The names there are all rather old-fashioned. My nephews got luckyâtheyâre called Marcus and Julius, which are perfectly normal. I got stuck with Castorice.â
âI think it suits you,â you said warmly.
Arielle finished serving the tea and withdrew to the corner of the room, giving you and Castorice the illusion of privacy even though you both knew she was there, listening, as was her duty. But it was something, at least. Better than sitting alone in your beautiful apartments with no company but your own increasingly bitter thoughts.
âLady Caenis told me youâve been rather lonely since the wedding,â Castorice said.
âThe truth is Iâve been going slowly mad with nothing to do but wander around these apartments and stare at the walls,â you said. âI tried reading, but I canât seem to concentrate. I tried the pianoforte in the music room, but Iâm dreadfully out of practice and it just made me feel worse. Mostly Iâve just beenâŠâ Crying? Raging? Wondering if I made the worst mistake of my life?
âAdjusting?â Castorice supplied gently.
âSomething like that.â
Castorice set down her teacup. âMay I speak freely as well?â
âPlease do.â
âThe palace is full of gossip,â Castorice said bluntly. âEveryone is talking about the new Queen who arrived a day before her wedding, and who has not been seen in public since. Theyâre saying the King has sent you away, that heâs displeased with you.â
You felt your cheeks flush with anger and humiliation. âOf course they are. What else would they say?â
âIâm telling you this not to upset you,â Castorice said quickly, âbut because I thought you ought to know whatâs being said. I want you to know that I do not believe a word of it.â
âYou donât?â
âNo. Iâve known His Majesty since we were childrenâmy family has always been close to the royal family, and I spent a great deal of time at the palace when we were young. I know that whatever is happening between you and the King, it is not because heâs displeased with you.â
âHow can you possibly know that?â you asked. You hated how desperate you sounded, how much you wanted her to be right.
Castorice leaned forward, her voice dropping. âI saw him the day after your wedding. I was visiting Lady Caenisâsheâs a sort of aunt to me, though not by bloodâand he came to speak with her about some household matter. I have never seen Phainon look like that.â
âDid he say anything?â you asked. âAbout me?â
âNot to me. But I heard him speaking to Lady Caenis as I was leaving. He asked her to make certain you were comfortable, that you had everything you needed. He asked if you were eating properly, if you seemed unwell. When Lady Caenis told him youâd been crying⊠He looked as though she had struck him.â
You didnât know what to do with all this information. It didnât change anythingâPhainon had still banished you to separate apartments, broken the promise he made on the trellis, and chosen to hide rather than face whatever it was he was so afraid of. This did, however, serve as proof that he was not entirely indifferent, that your pain had affected him.
Though perhaps that made it worse. If he cared, if your tears troubled him, why would he do this to you in the first place?
âI donât understand him,â you said quietly. âOne moment heâs kind, the next heâs cruel. One moment heâs giving me a choice, the next heâs ordering me to live separately as though Iâmâas though Iâm some sort of inconvenience to be managed.â
âMen are often cruel when theyâre frightened,â Castorice said. âEspecially men with power.â
âWhat could he possibly be frightened of?â you said. âHe is the King. He has everything.â
Castorice took a sip of her tea, her expression thoughtful. âI do not know, but I do know that Phainon is⊠complicated. He always has been, even as a child. He feels things very deeply, but heâs learned to hide it so well that most people think heâs cold and unfeeling.â
âYou speak as though you know him well.â
âI did, once,â she said. âWe were playmates as children. He, myself, and a few other children of the noble families. We used to run wild through the palace gardens, getting into all sorts of mischief.â
âWhat changed?â
âHis mother died when he was ten. The Queen. She was⊠she was wonderful, kind and warm and everything a mother should be. When she died, it was as though something in Phainon died with her. He withdrew into himself, and stopped playing with us or smiling so freely. His fatherâthe old Kingâtried to reach him, but Phainon wouldnât let anyone close. He built walls around himself, and over the years, those walls just got higher and higher.â
You understood this. You had built quite a few walls yourself after your parents died.
âHow did the Queen die?â you asked.
âFever,â Castorice said. âIt swept through the palace one winter. Many people diedâservants, courtiers. The Queen was tending to the sick, as was her custom. She never cared much for her own safety when people needed help. She fell ill herself, and within three days, she was gone.â
âThat is terrible,â you said.
âIt was. The Kingâthe old King, I meanâwas never the same either. He loved her desperately, you see. After she died, he threw himself into his work, into ruling, and PhainonâŠâ Castorice shook her head. âPhainon was left to grieve alone.â
âI wishâŠâ you said, âI wish to understand why heâs doing this. I want him to talk to me like he did that morning, honestly and without hiding behind his crown. I wantâI want to not feel so terribly alone.â
âYou are not alone,â Lady Castorice said firmly. âI shall come visit you every day if you like. We can take tea together, or walk in the gardens, or simply sit and talk about nothing in particular. And if you need someone to rage at about your impossible husband, well, Iâm an excellent listener.â
You smiled. âThank you. Truly, Castorice, I⊠thank you.â
âWhat are friends for?â
You spent the next hour talking, the way you used to with Mydeimos when you were younger. Castorice told you about her family, her two little nephews who rode horses and fenced, her mother who was constantly trying to marry her off to unsuitable men. You told her about Kremnos, about your estate and the tenants you had grown up knowing, about Erinyes and how much you missed her.
âYou could send for her, you know,â Castorice said when you mentioned your former maid. âAs Queen, you have the authority to hire whomever you wish for your household staff. If you want Erinyes here, simply send word to your brother. Iâm certain he would release her from service.â
âTruly? I thoughtâLady Caenis said tradition required all Queenâs staff to be palace employees.â
âLady Caenis is very attached to tradition,â she said diplomatically, âbut tradition is not the law.â
âTell me something,â you said, pouring yourself more tea. âDo you know why Phainonâwhy the Kingânever married before now? He must be, what, five and twenty? Six and twenty? Thatâs quite late for a royal marriage.â
Castoriceâs expression became guarded. âHe is seven and twenty. As for why he waited⊠there are rumours, of course.â
âWhat sort of rumours?â you asked.
âNothing substantiated. Just whispers, speculation. Some say he refused every match his father proposed because he was too particular, andâand there are those who say heâs been unwell, that he apparently has episodes where heâs not quite himself. Thatâs why he is so reclusive, why he avoids social occasions when he can. The old King tried to keep it quiet, but servants talk, and rumours spread.â
Dearest Gentle Reader,
It is a jarring turn of affairs that has made the ton increasingly worried about why, exactly, the King chose to marry a woman who was never seen in public again after the day of their wedding.
Three weeks have now passed since the ceremony, and yet Her Majesty remains conspicuously absent from all public functions. The King attended the opening of Parliament alone, dined with foreign ambassadors alone, and even presided over the annual charity ballâtraditionally the Queenâs purviewâalone, looking as forbidding and unapproachable as ever.
Some say the King and Queen maintain separate households entirely. Others whisper something more troubling: that the marriage has not been consummated at all. The succession, after all, depends upon an heir. And an heir requires a certain degree of proximity between husband and wife, the last this author checked. One can only hope His Majesty comes to his senses before his queen decides that the crown is not worth the loneliness and abandonment it brings.
Yours truly,
Lady Whistledown.
You threw the pamphlet down on the dining table, a disgusted sneer twisting your lips. âIs this truly what they write about me? They think I have been abandoned?â
True as it may be, you certainly did not want for the entirety of British genteel societyâor, indeed, the whole of Englandâto think that their King and Queen were stuck in a loveless farce of a marriage. It was despicably dishonourable and jilting.
Lady Caenis stepped forward. âYour Highness, there may be a rather⊠simple solution to this.â
âAnd what is it, Lady Caenis?â
âSeduce the King,â the old lady said simply.
You stared at her, certain you had misheard. âI beg your pardon?â
âSeduce the King,â Lady Caenis repeated. âGet yourself into his bed. Make him consummate the marriage. Give him an heir, or at least make it clear to the palace staff that youâre attempting to do so. The whispers will stop once people believe the marriage is⊠functioning as it should.â
You felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment and indignation. âLady Caenis, Iâthat isâyou cannot possibly be suggestingââ
âI am suggesting exactly what you think Iâm suggesting, Your Majesty,â she said. âYou are a married woman now. You have duties, and chief among them is the production of an heir. The King may have decided to live separately from you, but that does not exempt either of you from the fundamental requirements of your positions.â
âHe doesnât want me,â you said. âHe made that abundantly clear when he exiled me to these apartments.â
âWant and need are different things,â Lady Caenis said pragmatically. âThe King may not want a wife in the traditional sense, but he needs an heir. You need to secure your position. The solution is obvious.â
You stood up from the table, too agitated to sit still. âYou are talking about it as though itâsâas though itâs some sort of transaction. As though I must simply march into his chambers andâandââ You couldnât even finish the sentence, so flustered were you by the entire conversation.
âThat is precisely what it is, Your Majesty. A transaction. This is not a love match. We all know that. But it is a royal marriage, and royal marriages have certain⊠requirements. You must get the King into bed, and you must do so in a way that ensures he returns regularly enough to get you with child.â
âI donât know how toââ You stopped, mortified. âIâve no idea how to seduce anyone.â
âIt is not so complicated as you might think, Your Majesty,â the stewardess said. âMen, even kings, are relatively simple creatures when it comes to certain matters.â
âI will not debase myself byâby throwing myself at a man who does not want me. I have some dignity left, Lady Caenis, even if Phainon seems determined to strip me of everything else.â
âDignity,â said Lady Caenis, âwill not give you an heir, nor will it stop the whispers. And it certainly will not keep you warm at night when youâre still alone in these apartments five years from now, with no children, no purpose, and a husband who has grown so accustomed to your absence that he forgets you exist entirely.â
You stared at the old woman, seeing the hard truth in her eyes. She was right, and you knew it, even if you hated admitting it. âYou speak very plainly, Lady Caenis,â you said.
âSomeone needs to. Everyone else will dance around the issue with pretty words and false sympathy, but that will not help you. You need practical advice, and Iâm giving it to you.â She moved to pour herself a cup of tea from the service on the sideboard. âThe King is a man like any other. He has physical needs, even if he pretends otherwise. Your job is to remind him of those needs and present yourself as the solution.â
âAnd how, exactly, am I supposed to do that?â you asked. âI donâtâIâve neverââ
âYouâre a virgin, yes, and I suppose you do not know the⊠logistics behind this whole debacle,â Lady Caenis said, taking a sip of her tea. âThat is fine. Many men prefer that in a wife, though the King likely doesnât care one way or another. What matters is that you learn to use what you have.â
âUse what I have?â
âYour body, Your Majesty. Your youth, your beautyâyes, you are beautiful, donât look so surprisedâand the simple fact that you are his wife and therefore the only woman he can bed without causing a scandal. Men are not complicated in this regard. They respond to proximity, to a woman who makes it clear she is available and willing.â
You felt as if you were dreaming. This could not be real. You could not be standing in your breakfast room receiving instruction on how to seduce your own husband from a woman old enough to be your grandmother.
âI do not even know where his chambers are,â you said weakly. âNot exactly, I mean. I know theyâre in the west wing, butââ
âSecond floor, end of the corridor, doors with the royal crest carved into them. You cannot miss it,â Lady Caenis explained. âYou shall need to go at night, obviously. After the servants have finished their evening duties but before he retires. Around ten oâclock would be appropriate.â
âAnd Iâm just supposed to⊠knock on his door? Walk into his bedroom?â
âYouâre his wife. You donât need an invitation.â
âOf course.â
âOne more thing,â she said. âWhen you do get him into bedâand you will, if youâre persistentâdonât expect tenderness. Donât expect romance or sweet words or any of the things girls dream about. Expect it to be quick, possibly awkward, and almost certainly uncomfortable the first time. But that doesnât matter. What matters is that you do it, and that you do it often enough to conceive.â
After Lady Caenis left, you sank back into your chair and stared at the discarded copy of Lady Whistledownâs paper. The words seemed to mock you: The marriage has not been consummated at all. Was that what everyone thought? That you were so undesirable, so inadequate, that your own husband wouldnât even bed you?
Lady Caenis was right, as much as you hated to admit it. You needed to do something. You needed to take action, seize some control over this situation that had spiralled so completely out of your hands.
You stood up and walked to the mirror that hung above the sideboard, and looked at yourself, trying to see what Phainon might see. Your face was pallid from too much time indoors, and there were shadows under your eyes from too many sleepless nights. But you were young, and Lady Caenis had said you were beautiful, and surely that counted for something.
Your wedding gown had been beautiful too, before youâd torn it climbing that trellis. Perhaps you needed something else beautiful. Something that would make Phainon look at you and remember that you were his wife, that he had chosen you.
âArielle!â you called, and your maid appeared almost instantly.
âYes, Your Majesty?â
âI need you to find me something to wear,â you said. âSomething suitable for visiting the King in his private chambers in the evening.â
Arielleâs eyes widened. âOf course, Your Majesty. I have just the thingâa nightgown that came with your trousseau, made of white silk, very fine, with lace at the bodice.â
âPerfect,â you said.
Phainon did not look at all surprised to see you.
This was, perhaps, the most disconcerting thing about the entire situation. You had spent the better part of three hours preparing yourself: bathing in water scented with rose oil, letting Arielle brush your hair until it shone, slipping into the white silk nightgown that left very little to the imagination and wrapping yourself in a dressing gown for the walk through the corridors. You had rehearsed what you might say, how you might explain your presence at his door at half past ten in the evening.
You had not, however, prepared yourself for the way he simply stepped aside and gestured for you to enter, as though he had been expecting you all along.
âCome in,â he said, his voice quiet.
You stepped past him into his chambers, acutely aware of how thin the silk of your nightgown was, how the dressing gown did very little to preserve your modesty. The Kingâs apartments were darker than yours, decorated in deep blues and greys rather than the lighter colours Lady Caenis had chosen for you. A fire burned in the hearth; there was a desk covered in papers, a sitting area with two chairs, and beyond that, through an open doorway, you could see his bedroom.
Your stomach twisted with nerves.
Phainon closed the door behind you. When you turned to face him, you say that he was dressed for bed himselfâdark trousers and a white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, with the sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms. His hair was slightly disheveled, as though he had been running his hands through it agitatedly.
âLady Caenis sent you here, I presume,â Phainon said, moving past you toward the sideboard where a decanter of amber liquid was placed.
You blinked. âHow did youââ
âI met with Lady Caenis this afternoon.â He poured himself a drink and held up the decanter in silent question. You shook your head. âShe also informed me that she had advised you to take⊠direct action regarding our current predicament.â
Heat flooded your face. âShe told you that?â
âNot in so many words. But Lady Caenis has been managing the palace household for thirty years. Sheâs remarkably skilled at communicating without being explicit.â
âSo you knew I was coming,â you stated, unsure whether to be mortified or angry. âYou knew what Iâwhat I intendedââ
âTo seduce me?â Phainon said. âYes, it seemed the logical next step, given Lady Caenisâ particular brand of pragmatism.â
âAnd youâre just⊠what? Amused by this?â you said. The anger was winning now, hot in your chest. âYou think itâs funny that Iâve been humiliated enough by these three weeks of separation that Iâm reduced toâto throwing myself at you in the middle of the night?â
âI donât think itâs funny at all,â he said. âI think itâs proof that Iâve handled this entire situation abominably, and that youâre paying the price for my cowardice. But I let you in because when Lady Caenis told me you might come here tonight, IâI couldnât stay away.â
Your heart was hammering so hard you could hear it in your ears. You took a step forward, then another, until you were close enough to reach out and touch him.
âDo you want me?â you asked, the words coming out braver than you felt. âNot because we need an heir, or because Lady Caenis says we should. Do you want me? As a man wants a woman?â
Phainon inhaled, his eyes fluttering shut. âMy God. You must think I am a fool, for Iâve wanted you every single day since the wedding, and itâs been torture staying away.â
Something loosened in your chest. You reached up and let the dressing gown slip from your shoulders. It pooled at your feet in a whisper of silk, leaving you in only the thin white nightgown that Arielle had picked specifically because it left very little to the imagination. Phainonâs eyes darkened, tracking the movement of the fabric as it fell, and you saw his hands fist at his sides.
âThen stop talking,â you said, âand show me.â
Phainon closed the distance between you and captured your mouth with his, nothing like the chaste, brief brush of lips at your wedding ceremony. His hands came up to tangle in your hair, tilting your head back so he could deepen the kiss, and you gasped against his mouth. You found yourself pressing closer, your hands sliding from his face to his shoulders to his chest.
âWe shouldnât do this,â he said, pulling back, but even as he spoke, his lips were brushing against your jaw, your throat, the sensitive spot just below your ear that made you shiver. âYou should go back to your chambers. This isâwe shouldnâtââ
âStop talking,â you said again, and pulled him down for another kiss.
His hands moved from your hair to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you felt the evidence of his desire pressing against your hip through the thin fabric of your nightgown. The sensation made heat pool in your belly, made you arch into him with a small sound. He broke the kiss to look at you, searching your face, and whatever he saw there seemed to satisfy him, because he bent and lifted you into his arms.
You gasped, your arms coming up to loop around his neck. âWhat are youââ
âBed,â he said simply, and carried you through the doorway into his bedroom.
The room was lit only by the fire from the main chamber, casting everything in shades of gold and shadow. He laid you on the bed; the sheets were cool against your heated skin. You looked up at him as he stood beside the bed, and thought he might change his mind and send you away after all.
Instead, he shrugged out his shirt, his hands moving to the buttons. Broad shoulders, defined muscles, a scattering of scars across his chest and abdomen that spoke of a life that had not been entirely sheltered or safe. He was beautiful in a way that made you want to reach out and trace every line, every scar, every plane of muscle with your fingers.
He caught you staring and paused, one eyebrow raised. âSecond thoughts?â
âNo,â you said. âMerely⊠admiring the view.â
That earned you a surprised laugh, genuine and warm. He finished removing his shirt and let it fall to the floor, then moved to the bed, bracing one knee on the mattress.
âMay I?â he asked, his hands hovering near the straps of your nightgown.
âYes,â you breathed.
Slowly, he began to slide the silk down your shoulders, down your arms, exposing you inch by inch to his gaze. His fingers were warm against your skin, leaving trails of heat in their wake, and you shivered despite the fire burning in the hearth. When the nightgown finally pooled around your waist, you fought the urge to cover yourself, instead forcing yourself to lie still and let him look at you, even though your cheeks were burning with embarrassment and something warmer.
âBeautiful,â he murmured. His hand came up to trace the curve of your collarbone with just his fingertips, feather-light. âYouâre so beautiful.â
His hand continued its exploration, sliding down to cup your breast, and you arched into his touch with a gasp. His thumb brushed across your nipple, sending sparks of pleasure straight through you, making you squirm beneath him.Â
âSensitive,â he observed, satisfied. He leaned down, replacing his thumb with his mouth, and you gasped, your hands flying up to tangle in his hair.
Phainon took his time, alternating between gentle kisses and firmer pressure, using his tongue and teeth in ways that made you writhe beneath him. When he moved to give your other breast the same attention, you were already trembling, already desperate for something you couldnât quite name.
âPhainon,â you gasped, tugging at his hair. âPleaseââ
âPlease what?â he asked against your skin; you could feel him smiling.
âI donât know,â you admitted, frustrated and aroused in equal measure. âJustâmore. I need more.â
âPatience,â he said, but his hands were already moving lower, sliding the nightgown down past your hips, past your thighs, until you could kick it off entirely. You were bare beneath him, completely exposed, and you felt suddenly vulnerable. He leaned down to kiss you again, his tongue sliding against yours, and his hand was sliding between your thighs.
His fingers moved slowly, parting you gently and finding places that made you gasp and arch and whisper his name. He watched your face as he touched you, as though cataloguing every response, every reaction, learning what made you sigh and what made you moan.
âYouâre so warm,â he said, his voice rough. âSo soft. Tell me if this is all right.â
âItâsââ You broke off with a gasp as his finger found a particular spot, circling it with maddening gentleness. âYes. Yes, thatâsâdonât stop.â
Phainon didnât. He continued his ministrations, gradually increasing the pressure, the speed, until you were writhing beneath him, your hips moving in rhythm with his hand. He slid one finger inside you, and the feeling was so overwhelming you cried out, your back arching off the bed.
âEasy,â he soothed, holding still. âJust breathe, my love. Does it hurt?â
âNo,â you managed. âItâs justâitâs a lot.â
âI know.â He began to move his finger slowly, carefully, letting you adjust to the intrusion. âTell me if it becomes too much.â
It wasnât too much. If anything, it wasnât enough. You could feel something building inside you, something that made you restless and desperate and utterly focused on the sensation of his hand between your thighs.
He added a second finger, and you gasped at the stretch, at the fullness. It was almost uncomfortable, but he curled his fingers just so and found a spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids.
âThere,â you gasped, your hands fisting in the sheets. âRight there, pleaseââ
He obliged, stroking that spot while his thumb circled the sensitive bundle of nerves above. The dual sensations were overwhelming, maddening, and you could feel yourself climbing towards something, some precipice youâd never reached before.
âThatâs it,â he encouraged, his voice low and approving. âLet go for me. I want to see you come apart.â
You did. The tension that had been building suddenly snapped; pleasure crashed over you in waves that made you cry out his name, your body clenching around his fingers as you shook and trembled beneath him.
When you finally came back to yourself, trembling and gasping, you found him watching you with wonder.
âThat wasââ You stopped, unable to find words for what youâd just experienced.
âBeautiful,â he finished for you. âYouâre beautiful like this.â
He withdrew his hand slowly, and you whimpered at the loss, at the sudden emptiness. But Phainon stood, removing the rest of his clothing, and your attention was immediately captured by the sight of him fully naked.
He was magnificent, all lean muscle and smooth skin, andâ
Your eyes widened at the sight of his arousal, hard and flushed.
âWill itââ You stopped, embarrassed. âWill it fit?â
That surprised another laugh out of him, though this one was strained. âYes. Though it might be uncomfortable at first. But Iâll go slowly, I promise.â
He returned to the bed, settling between your thighs, before kissing you again, long and deep, and you felt him position himself at your entrance.
âMay I?â he asked again.
You nodded, not trusting your voice.
The pressure was immediate. You moaned, your hands flying to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. He was bigâbigger than his fingers had beenâand the stretch burned in a way that bordered on painful.
âBreathe,â he murmured, holding perfectly still. âJust breathe.â
You did, forcing yourself to relax, to let your body adjust to him. Gradually, the burning sensation eased, replaced by a fullness that felt strange but not unpleasant.
âMove,â you said, and he pushed forward another inch.
You could feel yourself stretching to accommodate him, could feel every ridge and vein as he slowly, carefully worked his way inside you. It seemed to take forever, this gradual joining, and by the time he was fully seated inside you, you were both breathing hard.
âGod,â Phainon gasped, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. âYou feelâyouâre so tight. So perfect.â
âYou can move,â you said, experimentally rolling your hips.
The movement made you both gaspâhim with pleasure, you with surprise at the feeling it created.
âAre you certain?â he asked.
âYes. Please, Phainon. Move.â
He did, pulling out slowly before pushing back in. You gasped, your legs coming up to wrap around his hips, and the new angle let him slide even deeper. He set a careful rhythm, slow and steady, watching your face for any sign of discomfort. But the pain had faded now, replaced by pleasure that built with each stroke, each slide of his body against yours.
âFaster,â you breathed, your fingers digging into his shoulders. âPleaseââ
He obliged, increasing his pace, and you met him thrust for thrust, your hips rising to meet his. The pleasure built and built, spiralling higher with each movement. Phainonâs breathing was ragged now, your name falling from his lips. You could feel him beginning to lose control, his thrusts becoming less controlled, more desperate.
âI canâtââ he gasped. âIâm going toââ
âYes,â you urged, feeling your own climax approaching, that same tension building in your core. âYes, Phainon, pleaseââ
He thrust deep one final time, and you felt him pulse inside you as he found his release, his whole body going rigid above you. It pushed you over the edge as well, and you cried out, your body clenching around him as waves of pleasure crashed through you for the second time that night.
Finally, Phainon shifted, pulling out of you carefully. You winced at the soreness, the unfamiliar ache between your thighs. He noticed immediately.
âDid I hurt you?â he asked.Â
âNo,â you said. âItâs justâtender. Is that normal?â
âFor your first time, yes.â He rolled to lie beside you, immediately reaching for you and pulling you against his chest. âIt will be better next time. Less uncomfortable.â
âNext time?â
âIf you want there to be a next time,â he amended quickly. âIâm notâI wonât forceââ
âI want there to be a next time,â you said, pressing your face against his shoulders. âMany next times, preferably.â
You fell asleep like that, wrapped in each otherâs arms, and you thought that if this was what marriage could be, then perhaps you could be very happy here after all.
âYou asked me to bed herâI have! You asked me to provide her a companionâI asked Lady Castorice to provide her with companionship! Lady Caenis, I truly do not understand what more you want from me!â
âHer cycle is still regular, Phainon,â you heard the old lady snap. The door to the main dining hall was ajar, and though you could not see the two figures quarrelling inside, you could certainly hear them, loud and clear. âHow often have you been bedding her? Once, twice? The Crown needs an heir!â
You stood frozen in the corridor, your hand raised to push open the door, your heart pounding. You had been on your way to meet Phainon for luncheonâhe had started inviting you to dine with him occasionally over the past two weeks, stiff and formal affairs where you made polite conversation and tried not to think about the three times he had summoned you to his chambers in the dark of the night with a brief message: The King requests your presence.
Three times you had gone to him, had let him undress you and bed you. He was always careful not to hurt you, always made certain you found some measure of pleasure in the act, but there was something perfunctory about it now. You had told yourself you were imagining it; you convinced yourself that perhaps this was simply how married couples conducted themselves, that the desperate passion of that first night had been an aberration rather than a rule.
âOnce or twice a week is not sufficient,â Lady Caenis was saying. âYou need to be visiting her chambers every night, or better yet, move her into yours properly. The longer this takes, the more people will talk, and the more they talk, the more theyâll questionââ
âI am doing the best I can,â Phainon interrupted. âI have given her what she wanted. I have dined with her, spoken with her, and fulfilled my marital obligations. What more can I possiblyââ
âYou can give her a child! That is your duty as King, Phainon. Your only duty that truly matters. Everything elseâthe dinners, the companionship, the occasional night in her bedâall of it is meaningless if you cannot produce an heir.â
âI am tryingââ
âNot hard enough, clearly. Her courses came again this morning. Arielle informed me.â
ââŠI see,â Phainon said.
âDo you understand what will happen if you do not get her with child soon?â the stewardess challenged. âThe whispers have already started again. People are saying the marriage is cursed, that youâre incapable, that sheâs barren. And if those whispers continue, if months pass with no announcement of an heirââ
âI understand the political ramifications, Lady Caenis.â
âThen act like it! Stop treating this like some burden you can attend to whenever itâs convenient. She is your wife, Phainon. Your queen. And she deserves better than to be summoned to your chambers twice a week like someâsome courtesan youâre obligated to pay.â
You felt numb. Was that what you were to him? Was that how he saw those nights in his bedâas transactions, obligations, duties to be performed and then forgotten?
âYou donât understand,â Phainon said quietly. âYou do not know what youâre asking of me.â
âIâm asking you to do what every king before you has done: to lie with your wife often enough to get her with child.â
âYou want me to go to her every night, to pretend that Iâmâthat weâreââ He stopped, seeming to struggle with the words. âYou want me to lie to her and make her believe this is something itâs not.â
âI want you to do your duty,â Lady Caenis said firmly. âWhatever pretty illusions you need to accomplish that, I donât care. But she needs to conceive, Phainon. Soon.â
You couldnât stand hearing them discuss you as though you were some broodmare whose only value lay in your ability to produce offspring. You couldnât bear to hear Phainon talk about bedding you as though it were a chore, an obligation, something he had to force himself to do.
You did the foolish thing and knocked on the door.
âEnter,â Phainon called out.
You pushed the door open and bent in a curtsey. âGood afternoon, Your Highness. Forgive me for being lateâI was admiring some portraits in the gallery and lost track of time.â
Phainonâs face shifted through several expressions in quick succession: surprise, concern, before settling into the carefully neutral mask he wore so well. Lady Caenis, standing near the window with her hands folded before her, looked at you sharply, as though trying to determine whether you had overheard anything.
âOh,â said Phainon, and his voice was gentler than usual, almost tentative. âYouâre not late at all. I was justâLady Caenis and I were discussing palace business. Nothing of consequence.â He gestured to the table, where luncheon had been laid out. âPlease, sit. You must be hungry.â
You moved to your usual chair, acutely aware of both of them watching you. Your hands were trembling slightly, so you folded them in your lap where they couldnât be seen. You felt exposed, as though the conversation you had overheard had stripped away some protective layer you hadnât known you possessed.
Lady Caenis curtseyed briefly. âI shall leave you to your meal, Your Majesties.â
Phainon took his seat across from you. A servant appeared to pour wine and serve the first courseâsome sort of soup with herbs floating on the surfaceâand then retreated to the shadows.
âThe portraits in the gallery,â Phainon said, picking up his spoon but not eating. âWhich ones were you looking at?â
âThe queens,â you said. âThere are so many of them. All those women who came before me, who sat in my chambers and wore my crown andââ You stopped yourself before you could say and warmed the Kingâs bedchambers when duty demanded it.
âThey are an impressive lineage. My mother used to tell me stories about some of them when I was a child. Queen Hecuba, who ruled as regent for ten years when my great-great-grandfather was too ill to govern. Queen Hippolyte, who established the first hospitals in the city. They were all remarkable women. As are you.â
The compliment landed wrong, felt hollow somehow, though you couldnât tell if that was because of what you had overheard or because of something in his tone. You picked up your own spoon and forced yourself to ladle the soup.
âYouâre too kind, Your Highness,â you murmured.
âPhainon,â he corrected. âWhen weâre alone, I wish you would call me Phainon. We are husband and wife, after all.â
You said nothing, only nodded and took another spoonful of soup.
Phainon watched you for a moment longer, then seemed to come to some decision. He set down his spoon and leaned forward slightly. âI wanted to askâhow are you finding palace life? I know itâs been an adjustment, being separated from your home and your brother. If there is anything you need, anything at all that would make you more comfortableââ
âIâm quite comfortable, thank you,â you said automatically.
âAre you truly?â Phainonâs pale blue eyes searched your face. âBecause you seem⊠unhappy. And I thought perhapsâI thought perhaps we might spend more time together. Not just these formal luncheons, butâI donât know. Perhaps you might show me the gardens youâve been exploring? Or we could ride together? I understand youâre an excellent horsewoman.â
You stared at him, trying to reconcile this version of Phainonâearnest, almost nervousâwith the man you had heard in this very room just minutes ago, talking about bedding you as though it were an unpleasant chore.
You want me to lie to her and make her believe this is something itâs not. Was this the lie, then? This sudden interest in spending time with you, in making you happy? Was this another obligation he was fulfilling because Lady Caenis had told him to try harder?
âThatâs very thoughtful of you,â you said carefully, âbut I wouldnât want to take you away from your duties. I know how busy you are.â
âMy duties can wait,â the King said. âIâI know I havenât been the husband you deserve. I want to do better. I want to try to make this marriage into something more than just⊠than just what itâs been.â
âAlright, Your Highness,â you said quietly, because who were you to disobey the King? âI would like to walk in the gardens with you very much.â
âThat is the Ophrys apifera,â Phainon said, trudging along the gravel path with your hand tucked neatly into the crook of his arm, âmore commonly known as the bee orchid. It is interesting to look at, is it not?â
You followed the direction of his gaze, to where a cluster of pale blossoms bowed beneath the late-afternoon sun. They were delicate things, ivory petals blushed faintly pink, their centres dark and velvety, uncannily like the bodies of bees poised mid-hover. Pretty, in an odd way. You hummed, noncommittal, and allowed him to guide you a few steps further along the gardens, where the hedges were clipped so neatly they might have been carved from stone. The afternoon sun filtered through the arches overhead, dappling his sleeve, your skirts, the path beneath your feet.
âThey deceive pollinators,â he continued, undeterred by your lukewarm response. âThe flower mimics the appearance and scent of a female bee. The males are drawn to it, believing it something it is not.â
âThat seems rather cruel.â
âI imagine nature does not particularly care.â
âI didnât know you took an interest in botany,â you said.
âI pride myself on my agricultural knowledge,â Phainon said, with a twitch to his mouth that suggested he was attempting modesty. âIf I can make the lives of our farmers, who toil endlessly, easier, then that is a job well done, donât you think?â
You considered him sidelong as you walked, the way the sun caught in his hair and turned it almost pale gold, the faint crease between his brows that never quite smoothed out, even when he smiled. He did not look like a man who spent much time thinking about crops and irrigation and soil health, and yet perhaps that was precisely why he did. A kingâs mind, you were learning, rarely stayed where appearances suggested it ought to.
âI suppose it is, though I imagine they might appreciate lower taxes just as much as improved yields. What flower is that?â you asked, pointing to a cluster of blue flowers.
âDelphinium,â Phainon answered. âTheyâre rather poisonous, actually.â
Slowing your steps, you peered more closely at the tall blue spires edging the path. Up close, the flowers were impossibly intricate, each petal folded and layered, their colour deepening towards the centre like ink dropped into water. It seemed absurd that something so ornamental, so clearly cultivated to please the eye, could harbour harm.
âThey donât look like it,â you said.
âNo,â he agreed. âThey were brought here from the western valleys. The soil there is thin and rocky. Farmers cultivate them mostly for trade nowâthereâs a demand for the extract among apothecaries.â
âWhat happens if someone touches them?â
âOh, thatâs quite harmless. Itâs ingestion that causes trouble. Numbness at first. Then confusion. In sufficient quantities⊠Well, the gardeners are well-trained.â
âI should hope so,â you said. âIâd hate to think the palace lost staff simply because someone fancied a taste of blue flowers.â
He laughed at that, bright and startled. âYouâre not wrong. Lady Caenis would have my head if I let something so avoidable occur.â
The mention of her name made you wonder, not for the first time, how much of this walkâthis easy conversation, these small smilesâhad been orchestrated at her insistence. Would he still be here, at your side, pointing out flowers and indulging your questions if she had not decided it was necessary?
It did not matter. Enjoyment, even borrowed, was enjoyment nevertheless.
âThose are foxgloves,â Phainon said, following your gaze before you could ask. âDigitalis. Another poisonous one, Iâm afraid.â
âIs everything here trying to kill us?â you asked, only half joking.
Phainon then pointed out chamomileââgood for calming the stomach,â he said, âand the nerves, if one is inclined to believe the old wivesâ talesââand rosemary hedges planted near the edges of the beds, meant to deter insects while scenting the air.
âIt thrives in poor soil,â he explained. âFarmers plant it near their fields when the land has been overworked. It stabilises the ground and gives it time to recover.â
âLady Caenis told me that Lady Whistledown has written about us again,â you said one night, curled up in Phainonâs arms, spent and deliciously exhausted. âIt appears the general public is awaiting the news of an heir.â
âYou know I donât care about what others say,â Phainon said, running a hand up the curve of your spine. His lips were near your neck, and you could feel his mouth move against your skin as he spoke. âI am their King and you are their Queen; questioning either of us seems extremely redundant.â
âThey say our palace walls are too high,â you mumbled, turning around in his arms to face him.
Though you were not certain what your feelings for Phainon truly were, you knew this: you were friends, or at least, so you thought. Walks in the gardens had become commonplace now, as had sharing his bedchambers and eating dinner together. So rarely did you have time to do anything else, apart from your official duties and spending time with your husband, that seeing Lady Castorice now had become a rare occurrence.
The bedchamber was lit only by the glow of a single lamp left burning on the side table. It painted Phainonâs bare shoulders in gold and shadow, traced the line of his collarbone, the faint sheen of sweat still clinging to his skin. The sheets were in disarray around you, twisted and rumpled evidence of what the two of you had been doing only moments ago.
âToo high,â he echoed softly, amusement threading his voice. âIs that meant to be criticism?â
âI wouldnât know,â you said. âLady Whistledown does enjoy her metaphors.â
Phainon huffed a quiet laugh. âShe should be grateful for the walls. They keep us safe.â
âThey keep everyone out,â you countered. âNo one ever sees us.â
âThey see us often enough.â
âOnly at court,â you said, shifting slightly, fitting yourself closer to him without much thought. âShe says it makes us inaccessible.â
âAnd does that trouble you?â he asked.
You felt him inhale, the rise and fall of his chest beneath you. Your fingers curled lightly into the sheet near his shoulder. âI donât know. I think I mind being talked about more than I mind being unseen.â
He hummed softly. âPeople will always talk. If not about our absence, then about our presence. If not about walls, then about heirs.â
âYes. That.â You sighed. âLady Whistledown seems convinced the whole country is holding its breath.â
âLet them suffocate.â
âThatâs not very kingly of you,â you said, though you laughed despite yourself. You studied his face, the way his expression softened when he wasnât being observed. Whatever this was between youâfriendship, affectionâfelt nice.
âTheyâll start inventing reasons,â you said quietly. âThey already have. First it was the wedding being too rushed; then it was our separate schedules. Now itâs the walls.â
Phainonâs hand slid from your back to your hip, thumb pressing just slightly into the flesh. âThen perhaps we should give them fewer reasons.â
You lifted yourself a fraction, propping yourself up on one elbow so you could see him properly. âYouâre suggestingâŠ?â
âA ball.â
âA ball,â you said.
âYes.â His other hand came up to your side.
You searched his face for irony and found none. âYou realise that will only invite more scrutiny.â
âI realise it will redirect it,â he said. âTheyâll talk about gowns and music and who danced with whom instead of royal babies.â
âAnd you think thatâs preferable?â
âI think,â Phainon said, eyes flicking briefly to your mouth before meeting your gaze again, âthat it would be good for them to see us together properly.â
âTogether how?â
âDancing. Laughing. Being⊠married, and happy.â
You swallowed. âYou donât dance.â
A corner of his mouth lifted. âI can learn.â
âFor the sake of the country?â
âFor the sake of my wife,â he said.
You shifted without thinking, knee sliding between his thighs. His breath hitched in response; his grip on you tightened just enough that you felt it everywhere.
âYouâre very convincing when you want to be,â you mumbled.
âI havenât even begun to convince you,â he replied, before leaning in, lips brushing your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. When you tilted your head to meet him, he kissed you properly, slow and unspooling. His mouth was warm, coaxing.
âWe could host it within the month,â he whispered, pulling back just slightly. âBefore the court grows restless.â
Your hands slid up his arms, fingers tracing muscle and scar alike. âAnd what would Lady Caenis say?â
âShe would say itâs overdue,â he said, grinning, âand insist on seating charts and guest lists.â
âAnd on making sure I smile often enough.â
âSheâll insist on that regardless.â
You laughed softly. âThen why does this feel like your idea?â
He paused, and for a moment you thought he might deflect, turn it into another dry remark about duty or politics. Instead, his hand slid up your back, fingers threading into your hair. âIs it so much of a crime for a husband to want to see his wife happy? You are happy, are you not? With me?â
âThe happiest,â you promised, and found it to be true.Â
You were happy. You were not certain what it was, this strange, golden thing that blossomed like a bud in full bloom whenever you were near Phainon. The other day, in the gardens, heâd pointed out a bed of merry sunflowers to you; they exhibited heliotropism, heâd explained, in the sense that they turned their heads to wherever the sunlight was the brightest. Perhaps that was how you were with Phainonâhe was the sunlight, and you were the sunflower, basking in his warmth and glow.
He answered by kissing you again, deeper this time, mouth parting over yours, tongue tracing the seam of your lips before you even realised you were opening for him. His hand slid between you, and you gasped softly into his mouth, fingers clutching at his shoulder. He broke the kiss only to murmur your name, before trailing kisses along your jaw, down your throat.
âWe should plan itâthe ball,â you breathed, even as your body betrayed you, arching into his touch.
âWe will,â he said. âTomorrow.â
âAnd the music?â
âWeâll have the orchestra.â
âThe guest list?â
âIâll let Lady Caenis handle that.â
âYouâre very brave to entrust such a task to her,â you said.
Phainonâs mouth curved into a smile against your collarbone. âI have excellent motivation.â
You tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging just enough to bring his face back to yours. âAnd what would Lady Whistledown say if she could see us now?â
His eyes darkened. âSheâd run out of ink.â
The thought made you laugh again, the sound dissolving into a soft gasp as his fingers slid into your warm heat once more, drawing you closer and winding you tighter. You pressed your lips to his once more, silencing whatever he might have said next.
Your courses came as per usual, and you sighed and told Arielle glumly to fetch you another washing-cloth. Lady Caenis would not be pleased, and neither would Phainonâthough you knew his affection for you was not because of your ability to bear him an heirâbut the day of the ball was tomorrow, so you were determined to remain in good spirits.
Arielleâs face was sympathetic as she handed you the linen. âShall I inform the stewardess, Your Majesty?â
âNo,â you said quickly, then reconsidered. âActually, yes. Better she hears it from you than discovers it herself somehow. She always seems to know anyway.â
âAs you wish, Your Majesty.â Arielle curtseyed and slipped away, leaving you to sink back against the pillows of your bedâyours and Phainonâs bed, you reminded yourself, though in this moment it felt cavernous and empty.
It had been three months of sharing his chambers, falling asleep in his arms and waking to his kisses, learning the rhythm of his breathing and the warmth of his skin against yours. Three months of trying, hoping, waiting for some sign that all of this intimacy and tentative affection would result in the heir everyone so desperately wanted.
You pressed a hand to your flat stomach, willing yourself not to feel like a failure. It was early yet, you told yourself. These things took time. Your own mother had not conceived Mydeimos until two years into her marriage.
You were still dwelling on it an hour later when there came a sharp knock at the door, and Lady Caenis swept in. Her face was set in lines of severe disapproval, her hands clasped tightly before her.
âYour Majesty,â she said. The two words felt like a reprimand all on its own.
âLady Caenis.â You straightened, trying to arrange yourself into something resembling regal composure despite the cramping in your abdomen. âI assume Arielle has informed you.â
âShe has,â the stewardess confirmed. âThis makes three months, Your Majesty. Three months with no result.â
âIâm aware of how long itâs been,â you said.
âIt appears you and His Majesty have been rather⊠distracted. With garden walks and private dinners and this ball youâve convinced him to host.â
âThe ball was his idea,â you protested.
âWas it?â Lady Caenis raised a silver eyebrow. âOr was it another way to avoid the real issue at hand? To distract the courtâand yourselvesâfrom the fact that you have yet to conceive?â
âWe are trying, Lady Caenis. Every night, weââ You stopped, your cheeks flushing hot. âIt is not as though weâre not⊠fulfilling our obligations.â
âIs that what you think this is about, Your Majesty?â
âIs that not what you told Phainon three months ago? That his only duty that truly matters is getting me with child?â
Lady Caenis went very still. âYou heard that conversation.â
âI did,â you said.Â
âI see.â She was quiet for a moment. âThen you should also have heard me tell His Majesty that you deserved better than to be treated as an obligation. You deserve a husband who wanted you, not one who was merely going through the motions.â
âHe does want me,â you said. âWeâre happy. Weââ
âTruly?â Lady Caenis challenged. âOr are you simply playing at happiness while avoiding the reality of your situation?â
âWhat situation?â Your hands fisted in the sheets. âThat I havenât conceived yet? Thatâs hardly unusual, Lady Caenis. My own mother took two yearsââ
âYour mother,â she interrupted, âwas not Queen. Your mother did not have an entire kingdom watching her, waiting for her to fail. Your mother did not have a husband whoââ She stopped abruptly, as though catching herself before saying something she shouldnât.
âWho what?â you demanded. âSay it, Lady Caenis. Donât stop now.â
The stewardess shook her head. âIt is not my place to discuss His Majestyâs⊠concerns with you. However, if you and His Majesty continue to avoid discussing those reasons, to hide behind balls and garden walks and pretending everything is fine when it is notââ
âWeâre not pretending! Weâre trying to be happy. Is that so wrong? Why canât you just let us have this?â
âBecause happiness built on avoidance is not happiness at all, Your Majesty. It is merely another form of hiding, and sooner or later, what youâre hiding from will catch up with you.â
Lady Caenis left then, her skirts swishing against the floor, and you were alone again with your disarrayed thoughts and the growing fear that perhaps she was right.
Phainon returned to the chambers later that afternoon, his face drawn and tired. He had been in meetings all dayâsomething about shipments and trade agreementsâand you could see the tension in his shoulders, the tightness around his eyes.
âHello,â he said, and moved to kiss you, but you turned your head so his lips caught your cheek instead of your mouth. He pulled back, frowning. âWhatâs wrong?â
âNothing,â you said. âHow were your meetings?â
âTedious.â He studied your face, those pale blue eyes searching. âHas something happened? You seemâŠâ
âMy courses came,â you said. âThis morning. Arielle informed Lady Caenis, and Lady Caenis came to⊠express her disappointment.â
âWhat did she say to you?â
âDoes it matter? She said what everyone is thinkingâthat three months is too long; that weâre distracted; that weâre avoiding the real issue.â
âThe real issue,â Phainon repeated.
âThe heir, Phainon. The one thing all of this is supposed to be about.â You gestured between you, at the bed, at the chambers you shared. âIsnât that what you said to her? That you were just going through the motions?â
âNo, Iââ
âNo, I want to know,â you said. âIs that what this is? All of itâthe garden walks, the dinners, the ball tomorrowâis it all just⊠just performance? Another way to fulfill your obligations while making it look like weâre actually happy?â
Phainonâs expression shuttered, closing off in that way you had come to recognise and dread.Â
âHow am I supposed to know anything about you?â you pressed on. âYou wonât talk to me about anything that actually matters. You wonât tell me what Lady Caenis means when she says you have reasons. You wonâtââ
âWhat did she tell you?â
âNothing! Thatâs the problem! Everyone seems to know something I donât. Everyone has some secret theyâre all keeping from me, and Iâm supposed toâto what? Smile and pretend everything is fine? Keep trying to get pregnant without knowing why itâs not happened?â
âIt has been three months. Thatâs nothing. These things take timeââ
âThen why did Lady Caenis make it sound like thereâs more to it than that?â you challenged. âWhy did she talk about your concerns, your reasons, aboutââ
âShe had no right to say anything to you,â Phainon said, and now he was angry too, you could see it in the set of his shoulders, the clenching of his jaw. âThis is precisely why I didnât want her interfering. She canât help herself, always pushing, alwaysââ
âAlways telling the truth? God forbid someone actually be honest with me about what is happening in my own marriage.â
âI have been honest with you,â Phainon snapped. âIâve triedââ
âYouâve tried to make me happy,â you retorted. âThatâs not the same thing as being honest. That is simply another form of managing me, of deciding what I can and cannot handle.â
âBecuase you canât handle it!â The words exploded out of him, and you could see he immediately regretted it. âI didnât meanââ
âNo, say it,â you said. âSay what you really think. That Iâm too fragile, too weak, tooââ
âThatâs not what I meantââ
âWhat is it I canât handle?â
Phainon stared at you, his face pale, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. âI think that this conversation has gotten out of hand. Weâre both upset. Perhaps we shouldââ
âAdd it to the list of things we donât talk about?â You shook your head. âI cannot keep doing this, Phainon.â
âWhat do you want from me?â he asked; there was genuine confusion in his voice, as though he truly didnât understand. âIâve given you everything I can. Iâve moved you into my chambers, Iâve spent every night with you, Iâve tried to make you happy. What moreââ
âI want you to trust me! I want you to stop protecting me from things and justâjust let me in! Is that so hard?â
âI cannot,â he said quietly.
âWhen can you tell me?â you said. âWhen will you be ready? When Iâm pregnant? When we have an heir? When youâve decided Iâve proven myself worthy of the truth?â
âItâs not about worthinessâIâm doing the best I can,â Phainon said. âI swear to you, Iâm tryingââ
âWell, maybe your best isnât good enough!â
Phainon flinched as though you had struck him. The colour drained from his face; he simply stood there, staring at you, his lips pressed together. Without a word, he turned and walked toward the door.
âWhere are you going?â you called after him, panic suddenly replacing anger.
âI donât know,â he said without turning around. âSomewhere you donât have to look at me and be reminded of how inadequate I am.â
âPhainonââ
But he was already gone, the door closing behind him with a soft click that somehow felt worse than if he had slammed it. The evidence of your shared life now seemed to mock youâhis papers on the desk, your book on the nightstand, the tangled sheets that still smelled like both of you.
This wasnât how it was supposed to be. You were supposed to be happy.
How could you have said that he wasnât trying hard enough? How could you have looked at himâat the man who had tried so hard to overcome his own fears and wallsâand told him his efforts were worthless?
The door opened again. Wildly, you thought Phainon had come back, but it was only Arielle, her face concerned.
âYour Majesty, I heardâthat isââ She stopped. âShall I fetch you some tea?â
âWhere did he go?â you asked.
âHis Majesty? I saw him hurrying towards the west wing. The old Kingâs study, I think.â
The west wing. As far from these chambersâfrom youâas he could get while still remaining in the palace.
âLeave me, please, Arielle. I wish to be alone,â you said.
On the eve of the ball, everything was gorgeous.
You danced with Phainon, and he held your hand throughout, and you tried not to pretend there was a large lump in your throat every time you looked at him.
It was a success. Everyone had seen you and Phainon together, smiling and dancing and playing the part of the happy royal couple. Lady Whistledown would write something glowing, no doubt, about how in love you appeared, how well-matched, how perfect, and it was all a lie.
No, that wasnât quite right. It wasnât all a lie. The affection between you was real. The friendship was real. The nights you had spent in each otherâs arms, learning each otherâs bodies and rhythms and habitsâthose were real.
Thus, faced with nothing but your own thoughts and misery for companyâfor Phainon had retreated to his study the minute the ball endedâyou realised you loved him.
You loved him. You loved his careful intelligence, the way he could recite facts about flowers and farming with equal enthusiasm. You loved the rare, genuine smiles he gave you when he thought no one else was watching. You loved the way he held you after making love, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin, his breathing slowing to match yours.
You rolled over, pressing your face into his pillow, breathing in the faint scent of him that still lingered there, and finally, finally fell into an uneasy sleep.
âWhat has Lady Whistledown written about me today?â you said, once Lady Castorice had settled into the chair across from yours. Arielle hovered nearby, ready to pour tea at your beckoning, but otherwise, you and Castorice had the relative safety and privacy of your private drawing room.Â
Castorice pulled out the latest paper from her reticule, unfolding it with a slight smile. âShall I read it to you, or would you prefer to suffer through it yourself?â
âRead it,â you said, leaning back in your chair. âIâm not sure I can bear to look at it directly.â
Castorice cleared her throat and began:
Dearest Gentle Reader,
This author is delighted to report that the ball hosted by Their Majesties last evening was an undisputed success. The King and Queen appeared in perfect harmony, dancing with grace and evident affection for one another. Her Majestyâs gown was a beauty of sapphire and lace, and His Majestyâs attentiveness to his wife was noted by all in attendance. Whatever concerns this author may have previously expressed about the state of the royal marriage appear to have been unfounded.Â
The King and Queen are, clearly, quite content in each otherâs company, and the eveningâs festivities have done much to silence the more skeptical voices at court.
You listened, feeling oddly deflated. âThatâs⊠actually rather nice.â
Castorice set the paper down on the table between you, her expression thoughtful. âHow have you been sleeping?â
âIâwhat?âÂ
âSleeping. You look tired.â Castorice studied your face with concern. âAre you unwell?â
âNo, Iâm justââ You stopped, considering. âActually, Iâve been sleeping terribly. Last night especially. The bed felt too large withoutââ You caught yourself, felt your cheeks warm. âWithout Phainon there.â
âAh. Yes, I heard from the footman that he spent the night in the west wing.â Castorice poured tea for both of you. âThat must have been difficult.â
âIt was necessary,â you said, perhaps too defensively. âWe both needed space afterâafter everything.â
âOf course,â your friend said, handing you a teacup. âThough I imagine His Majesty didnât sleep well either. He rarely does, from what I understand.â
You looked up sharply. âWhat do you mean?â
âOh, nothing specific. Justâpalace gossip, you know how it is. The servants talk. Iâve heard that His Majesty is often awake at odd hours. Walking the corridors, working in his study. That sort of thing.â
âHe works too much,â you said. âIâve told him he needs to rest more, but he doesnât listen.â
âMm. Though I wonder if itâs truly work that keeps him awake,â Castorice said. âMy own nephew has nightmares sometimes; he wakes the whole house with his shouting. My uncle wanted to send him to a specialist, but Marcus refused, because he said it would make him look weak.â
ââŠNightmares?â
âOh, itâs nothing serious. Just bad dreams from childhood that he never quite grew out of. But it does affect his sleep terribly.â She paused, then added, âI imagine anyone whoâs experienced terrible things at a young age might struggle with similar issues. The mind has difficulty letting go of such things.â
You thought about Phainon, about his motherâs death when he was ten, about all those nights you had slept peacefully in his arms while heâ
Had he been awake? Fighting off nightmares? Trying not to disturb you?
âAre you all right?â Castorice asked.
âYes, Iââ You shook your head. âSorry, I was simply thinking about something.â
âAbout His Majesty?â
âAbout everything,â you said. âMay I ask you something?â
âOf course, Your Highness.â
âI think⊠I think Phainon is hiding something from me.â
âWhat do you think heâs hiding?â
âI donât know exactly,â you said, frustratedly setting your teacup down. âSomething about why heâs so afraid of getting close to people. Why he wanted separate chambers at first. Why heâwhy he sometimes looks at me like heâs waiting for me to disappear.â
âGrief does strange things to people,â Castorice said quietly. âEspecially when itâs complicated by guilt. When someone blames themselves for something that wasnât their fault, it can shape how they see the world, and how they see themselves.â
âHis mother,â you said, and suddenly the answer seemed so simple to you, so obvious.
âAmong other things,â Castorice said, âbut thatâs not really my story to tell. If you want to know what His Majesty carries with him, youâll have to ask him directly. Or simply be patient enough that he tells you himself.â
You nodded slowly, understanding what Castorice wasnât quite saying. Phainon had nightmares. Phainon blamed himself for his motherâs death, even though it wasnât his fault. Phainon was afraid of losing people he cared about. Castorice was telling you this without actually telling you, because she knew Phainon wouldnât want you to know; because she was your friend, but she was also loyal to him, and she was trying to help you both without betraying either of you.
âThank you,â you said quietly.
âAny time,â Castorice said, smiling. âThough next time, perhaps we could talk about something more cheerful? Like the fashion at the ball, or the truly scandalous amount of champagne Lord Ashford consumed?â
âHe was rather drunk, wasnât he?â
âAbsolutely sotted. Iâm amazed he made it home without falling into a fountain.â
âIâm still rather surprised by Lady Whistledownâs paper this time,â you said. âLast time she wrote about us, she was speculating about whether the marriage had been consummated at all.â
Castoriceâs expression turned odd. âWhen was that?â
âWeeks ago. Around the time Lady Caenis was pressuring Phainon toââ You stopped, frowning. âWhy?â
âLady Whistledown,â she said carefully, âhas never written anything about whether your marriage has been consummated. Or about heirs, for that matter. Sheâs mentioned the palace walls, and your reclusiveness, and the general state of the marriage, but sheâs never been so vulgar as to speculate about⊠intimate affairs.â
You stared at her. âThatâs notâI read it myself. She wrote about how the succession depends on an heir, and how an heir requires proximity between husband and wife, andââ
âIâve read every single edition of Lady Whistledownâs papers since your wedding. I promise you, sheâs never written anything like that.â
âBut I saw it,â you insisted. âIt was in the paper. It saidâ
âWho gave you the paper?â Castorice asked quietly.
âArielle. She always brings me Lady Whistledownâs papers when theyâre published.â You felt something cold settle in your stomach. âAre you sayingâyou think someone fabricated it?â
Though Castorice did not say anything further, you knew what she was thinking. Someone wanted you to believe Lady Whistledown was writing about heirs and succession, someone who had a vested interest in making you feel pressured about conceiving.
Lady Caenis.
You had to tell Phainon.
You had to tell Phainon. The thought consumed you for the rest of your afternoon, through Castoriceâs departure and the hours that followed. You paced your drawing room, trying to organise your thoughts, trying to decide exactly how to approach this.Â
Lady Caenis had fabricated a Lady Whistledown paper; had manipulated you into feeling humiliated and pressured; had orchestrated that entire conversation for you to overhear. However, you needed proof. You couldnât simply accuse the palace stewardess of such deceit based on suspicion alone.
You rang for Arielle, and she appeared immediately. âYes, Your Majesty?â
âDo you remember the Lady Whistledown paper you brought me several weeks ago? The one aboutâthe one about heirs and succession?â
Arielleâs brow furrowed. âYour Majesty, Iâm not certain I recallââ
âIt was the week before I had luncheon with His Majesty. The day you brought it to me at breakfast, and I was reading it with Lady Caenis before I left.â
âOh! Yes, I remember that morning, Your Majesty. Lady Caenis had asked me to deliver it to you specifically. She said it was important you read it before the next week.â
âAnd where did you get the paper from?â
âLady Caenis gave it to me directly, Your Majesty. She said it had just been published.â
âI see. Thank you, Arielle,â you said. âOne more thing: do we keep copies of old newspapers anywhere? An archive of some sort?â
âThe library maintains a collection of all published papers, Your Majesty,â she replied, âincluding Lady Whistledownâs publications. Would you like me to fetch something for you?â
âYes,â you said. âIâd like to see the Lady Whistledown paper from that same day.â
Arielle curtseyed and withdrew. You continued pacing, your mind racing. If you were right, and Lady Caenis had indeed fabricated that paper, then the libraryâs copy would be different from what you readâit would serve as ample proof.
Arielle returned twenty minutes later with a paper in hand. âFrom the date you specified, Your Majesty.â
You took, unfolding it, your eyes scanning the text. The article was about the palace walls, about your reclusiveness, about speculation on the state of your marriage. There was nothing about heirs or succession or conjugal proximity. The paper Arielle had brought you from the library was completely different from the one you had read that morning weeks ago.
Lady Caenis had fabricated an entire false newspaper to manipulate you.
âArielle,â you said. âPlease send word to His Majesty. Tell him I need to speak with him urgently, and ask him to have Lady Caenis present as well.â
âYour Majestyââ
âNow, please.â
Arielleâs eyes widened, but she hurried away.
âArielle said it was urgent,â Phainon said, his head tilted in that manner he had when he was confused. You had asked him and Lady Caenis to meet you in the formal receiving room rather than your private chambers. âWhatâs happened? Are you unwell?â
âIâm perfectly well,â you said. âThank you for coming, Lady Caenis.â
âOf course, Your Majesty,â she said. âHow may I be of service?â
You held up the paper in your hand. âIâve been reviewing some of Lady Whistledownâs publications. The one from several months ago, specifically; the day Iâforgive my crude manner of speakingâbut the day I first spent the night in His Majestyâs chambers.â
Phainonâs brow furrowed. âWhat about it?â
âIt was a week before I overheard your conversation with Lady Caenis before luncheon, about how I needed to conceive and how you were only bedding me out of obligation.â
Phainonâs face went pale. âIââ
âIâm not finished,â you said. âThe morning of the day we shared a bed, Arielle brought me a Lady Whistledown paper. One that discussed, in rather explicit terms, the question of whether our marriage had been consummated, whether we were capable of producing an heir. It was humiliating to read, and it made me feelâit made me feel like a failure.â
âI donât understand,â Phainon said. âWhat does this have to do withââ
âLady Whistledown never wrote that article,â you said, holding up the paper. âThis is the real edition from that date. It mentions nothing about heirs or conjugal matters. The article I read that morning was fabricated.â
Phainon turned slowly to look at Lady Caenis. âWhat is she talking about?â
âYour Majesty,â Lady Caenis said, âIâm certain thereâs been some misunderstandingââ
âThereâs no misunderstanding! Arielle confirmed that you gave her the paper directly that morning, and that you specifically asked her to deliver it to me the week before the luncheon, whereâcoincidentallyâI overheard you discussing my failure to conceive with His Majesty.â
âYour Highness,â Lady Caenis said, patiently. âYou were under a great deal of stress at that time. Itâs possible you misremembered what you readââ
âI didnât misremember.â You walked to the desk and laid out the paper. âHere. Read it yourself. Tell me where it mentions heirs or succession or any of the things I supposedly read. You fabricated a paper. You wanted me to feel pressured about conceiving. You orchestrated everything, all to manipulate me into seducing my husband!â
âThatâs a very serious accusation, Your Majesty,â Lady Caenis said.
âItâs also true, isnât it?â
Phainon was staring at Lady Caenis with an expression youâd never seen beforeâsomething between shock and betrayal and cold, terrible anger. âDid you do this?â he asked.
Lady Caenis was silent for a long moment. âYes.â
âYou fabricated a newspaper,â Phainon repeated. âYou manipulated my wifeââ
âI did what was necessary,â Lady Caenis interrupted. âYour Majesty, you were avoiding your obligations. The Queen needed to conceive, and you were treating the marriage likeâlike one of your botanical studies. Something to be examined from a distance rather than actually engaging with.â
âThat was not your decision to make,â the King said.
âSomeone had to make it! You were content to keep Her Majesty in separate chambers, to visit her once or twice a week. The kingdom needs an heir, Your Majesty, and if you were not going to take that seriously, then yes, I took steps to ensureââ
âYou lied to her,â Phainon said. âYou manufactured evidence to make her feel humiliated and inadequate. You manipulated her into believing the entire kingdom was judging her for something that wasnât even true.â
âI gave her motivation,â Lady Caenis said. âAnd it worked, did it not? You moved her into your chambers. You started spending every night with her.â
You felt sick, for she wasnât entirely wrongâher manipulation had worked. You had gone to Phainonâs chambers that night. You had seduced him. You had pushed for more intimacy, more closeness, and yes, things had gotten better between you.
âGet out,â Phainon said.
Lady Caenis blinked. âYour Majestyââ
âGet out,â he repeated, louder now. âYou are dismissed from this conversation. In fact, youâre dismissed from your position, effective immediately.â
âYou canât be seriousââ
âI am perfectly serious, I assure you.â Phainonâs voice was cold. âYou have served this family for decades, Lady Caenis, and I am grateful for that service. But what you didâmanipulating my wife, fabricating evidence, orchestrating situations for your own endsâthat is unforgivable. You are dismissed.â
Lady Caenisâ face had gone white. âYour Majesty, please. I was only trying to help. The successionââ
âThe succession is not your concern. Youâll have until the end of the week to organise your affairs and find alternative accommodations. Your pension will be provided and I shall ensure you have adequate references for future employment. But you will not remain in this palace.â
âPhainonâYour Majesty, please reconsider. Iâve dedicated my life to this familyââ
âAnd I appreciate that dedication, but it does not excuse what you did.â Phainon moved to stand beside you, and you felt his hand settle at the small of your back. âYou violated my wifeâs trust and manipulated her for your own ends, regardless of how noble you believed those ends to be. That is not acceptable.â
âI was only trying to protect the Crown,â Lady Caenis tried again, looking between the two of you beseechingly.
âI know,â said Phainon, âbut the Crown does not need protection from my wife.â
Lady Caenis clasped her hands tightly before her. âAs you wish, Your Majesty. Your Majesty.â She nodded to each of you in turn. âI hope youâll understand, someday, that I did what I thought was right.â
She left, the door closing quietly behind her, leaving you alone with Phainon. You stared at the closed door. Lady Caenis, the woman who had run the palace household for decades and seemed like an immovable fixture of your life here, was gone.
âAre you all right?â Phainon asked finally.
âI donât know,â you said. âShould I feel guilty? She was only trying to help, in her own twisted way.â
He looked away, seeming terribly tired, and sighed. âIâm afraid I donât know, either.â
Queen Audata was truly a magnificent figure in paint, and, not for the first time, you wondered what she was like as a person.Â
You had come to the portrait gallery late at night, unable to sleep. The conversation with Lady Caenis had left you feeling unsettled, restless. Phainon had returned to his study after she left, claiming he had work to finish, and you had spent the evening alone in your chambers; so, you had risen from the empty bed and wandered the corridors until you found yourself here, standing before Queen Audataâs portrait.
She had kind eyes. That was the first thing you noticed. Despite the formal nature of the painting, and the crown and the elaborate gown and the regal bearing, there was warmth in her painted eyes. She looked like someone who had laughed often, who had loved freely. You wondered if Phainon remembered that, or if his memories of her were coloured only by grief and guilt.
âShe would have liked you.â
You turned to find Phainon standing in the doorway of the gallery, still in his daytime clothes, his hair disheveled. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, his shoulders tense.
âIâm sorry,â you said. âI didnât mean to intrude. I couldnât sleep, and IâŠâ
âYouâre not intruding.â He moved into the gallery, coming to stand beside you. âI couldnât sleep either.â
You looked at him more closely. âBad dreams?â
He went very still. âWhat makes you say that?â
âJust a guess,â you said. âIâve heard that people who experience terrible situations young often struggle with nightmares. The mind, apparently, has difficulty letting go of such things.â
âWho told you?â
âNo one told me anything directly,â you said truthfully, âbut Iâm not blind, Phainon. Iâve noticed youâre often awake at odd hours, and that you sometimes look exhausted even after a full night in bed. Iâve noticed that there are moments where you seem⊠elsewhere.â
He moved away from you, then, his arms crossed over his chest. âI didnât want you to know.â
âI know.â
âIt makes me look weak.â
âI donât believe it does, truly,â you said. âPhainon, you donât have to tell me anything youâre not ready to tell me, but I want you to knowâwhatever keeps you awake at night, Iâm here.â
âYou canât promise me that,â he said roughly. âPeople leave. People die.â
âPeople get sick, and their mothers nurse them, and sometimes those mothers catch the illness too,â you said quietly. âAnd sometimes cruel men blame children for things that arenât their fault.â
Phainon turned to stare at you, his face silver in the moonlight. âHow did youââ
âI told you. I pay attention. And I understand why you wanted separate chambers at first.â
âI dream about it,â he said suddenly, the words spilling out. âAbout my mother dying, and my father telling me it was my fault. Sometimes Iâm ten years old again, burning with fever, calling for her. Other times Iâm watching her get sick, and I canâtâI canât make her stay away from me, and then I wake up, and for a moment, Iâm convinced Iâm still that ten-year-old boy who killed his mother.â
âYou didnât kill her,â you said firmly. âHow long have you been having difficulty sleeping?â
âSince she died. Seventeen years.â
âIs that why youâve been avoiding the bed? Since the fight? Not because you wanted space, but because you didnât want to see me?â
He nodded, unable to meet your eyes. âIâve gotten good at waking myself up quietly, but I cannot always manage it. I thoughtâif you saw me like that, if you knewââ
âIâd realise I made a mistake in staying?â
âYes.â
You closed the distance between you and took his hands in yours. They were cold, trembling. âDo you love me?â
The question seemed to catch him off guard. âWhat?â
âDo you love me?â you repeated, looking up at him. âItâs a simple question, Phainon. Yes or no.â
He stared at you, and you thought he might deflect, might hide behind walls again. But he didnât.
âYes,â he said. âYes. I love you. From theâfrom the moment I saw you on that trellis, covered in garden dirt, looking at me like I was the worst thing that had ever happened to you. I loved you then, and Iâve loved you every day since.
âI love you when youâre walking beside me in the gardens, asking questions about flowers you donât actually care about just because you know it makes me happy to talk about them. I love you when youâre asleep, when you make that little sound right before you wake up, when you reach for me without opening your eyes. I loveâI love you so much it feels like I cannot breathe sometimes, if you are not near.â
You kissed him, then, pressing your mouth to his with an urgency that bordered on desperation. You wanted him to consume you, to make you his wholly and completely, for just as he was yours, so too were you his, and how nice this life would be! How nice, to stay in the comfort provided by darkness and the stars, and hide from the heavens forever.
The spotlight that was once a dream to Phainon now became a reality he faced, in exchange of the home who sheltered him before everything else.
this fic contains: modern famous athelete! phainon, HURT/ NO COMFORT, engaged but didn't get married, phainon slowly starting to neglect you, blinded by fame and spotlight, oneshot, slowburn angst, no happy ending.
word count: 10.2k
notes: it's been awhile since i posted! i hope you enjoy this fic my fellow angst lovers! this fic's themes were heavily inspired by different songs which i'll actually recommend for you to listen to while reading! these are the following: circles (post malone) the apartment we won't share (niki), too little too late (laufey), francis forever (mitski), promise (laufey), oceans and engines (niki), strange (celeste), lifetime (ben&ben), and lastly, who knows (daniel caesar). happy reading!
The fame and spotlight were things Phainon had always sought.
Once a rookie basketball player, Phainon entered the pro-scene; people started noticing not only his skills, but also his determination. Millions of people around the world watched every step he made, every score, every victory, and every leap he made.
People adored himâ his determination, his passion for the sport were the simple things people find themselves seeking in Phainon over and over again. Countless media outlets desperately squeezed even a single second just to interview Phainon, all for the chase of clout and trend.
The crowds cheered for him, banners were posted, billboards were made. You'd see his face on the news, on the roads, everywhere.
One can consider Phainon a successful man, someone with pure and determined ambition. He had everything; fame, respect, moneyâŠ
But none of those were there in the very beginning.
-
You grew up with Phainon among the fields of Aedes Elysiae, your families knew each other too well. Known in the village for being a bright and happy boy whoâd always help his parents with planting rice and corn.
After chores, he'd immediately pick up his rusty basketball and scurry over to your secret hideout, all furnished with his makeshift basketball ring made from carefully knotted vines and sticks, then he would spend his afternoon learning how to dribble and practice his three-pointer shots.
You were his first fan, his very first cheerleader. With every shot he'd make, you would always clap and cheer him on even more. And after those practices he would lay down on the ground beside you and chat together while sky gazing.
âOne day, I'm gonna be the greatest basketball player!â He would beam brightly while resting his head on the patch of grass. âI'm gonna go to the city and become rich!â
His very first declaration of dreamsâ it was you who first heard his oath.Â
And you held that dream just as close to your own, being the daughter of a farmer, you've always wanted to leave Aedes Elysiae. To explore the world, travel to different cities, enjoy life.
Unfortunately, both of your parents didn't agree, life was much easier and less trouble in the countryside after all. A humble place where people didn't have to think much about what others would say; the community was driven by a close-knitted relationship.
But you wouldn't let such obstacles hinder the future you and Phainon wanted. To move out and live in the city, that wasn't just an aspiration that you held alone, but a joint dream of achieving more than what life offered you both
As years pass, you continue to grow older alongside Phainon, being an anchor of neverending support for his dreams. Until simple chats became stolen glances, awkward but lingering touches of hands. Seemingly quiet yet fulfilled silence while Phainon walks you home regularly, âto keep you safeâ being the reason for his offer even if nothing about the road home has changed since you were both little.
Just as your confusing relationship blossomed, you continuously did your best to ace every lesson the village teachers would give, giving your all for the sake of a brighter future. And everything paid off when finally, your parents let you go.
So you began your journey to Okhema City, a place filled with dreams and aspirations.
And before your departure for Okhema, Phainon hurried over, carrying the same heavy bags like you. He panicked, his face flushed while he breathed heavily.
âI'm going with you.â Phainon declared. His hand extended to reach yours, intertwining it gently while he looked at the road, his gaze too shy to meet your eyes.
âWell... I actually like you.â He scratched the back of his neck bashfully. âSo I can't let you go by yourself just like that, alright?â
A simple declaration of affection; you can't help but lend a sheepish smile. Since when did you notice that his actions weren't so friendly anymore?
Was it his playful banters? Or those times he'd playfully poke fun at you, saying that he'll be crying if you ever get a crush on one of the people in the village?
Or those late night strolls alongside the fields together, sharing moments of solidarity and expectations about Okhema city once you're both allowed to leave Aedes Elysiae.
That line was long crossed. Realizing that Phainon slowly and surely crept his way into your heart, never planning to let you go.
At last, when the bus taking you both to Okhema City arrived, you held his hand tightlyâstepping into the new chapter of your lives together.
-
The city was very⊠overwhelming, to say the least.
It's not that you didn't plan ahead, the sheer difference between the wheat fields of Aedes Elysiae and the towering landscapes of Okhema City kept you awake during your first few days.
The pressure was crushing, expectations everywhere barged in to you all at once without mercy, intending to keep you busy and fully occupied at every single opportunity.
It feels like all hope is lost. But not for Phainon.
Phainon kept you grounded, visiting you every single time after his part-time shifts. Sometimes with a bouquet of flowers; on other days, your favorite takeout order. But there would be days where he would bring nothing, only a sheepish smile and âI'm sorry I couldn't bring you anything tonight⊠I'm a bit tight on money right now..â
Deep inside, it didn't matter. On days where you forgot to eat or take care of yourself, Phainon kept you still, making sure that you would always remember how much he loved you.
Phainon made sure to let you know that he cherishes you. Still the same boy who you grew up with in Aedes Elysiae, except now he's mature; his aspirations clear, but his devotion for you runs deeper than anything else.
-
It took a whole year for you to officially adjust to your lives in the city, sending letters and having calls with your parents from time to time.
They would often tell you whatever was happening in the countryside, still sharing stories amidst the nostalgia and melancholy. It was then that you broke it to them that youâve been dating Phainon for a year already.
A rocky start, having to balance everything all at once. But when everything finally settled, it was then that you both sat down and had a genuine talk.
âLet's move in together.â
You can still remember like it was yesterday, how Phainon's face lit up in pure joy over your decisionâ not wasting a single second and immediately agreeing. His arms wrapped around you with tender care.
-
The road to finding an apartment for two people was a rough experience you wouldn't want to experience again. Being two countryside dwellers with a limited budget while balancing everything else.
Phainon didn't really pursue higher education after moving to the city, keen to fund his personal goals of becoming a basketball athlete, he would spend everyday running through different part-time jobs to save up money for small league admission fees and new shoes.
To him, it didn't matter how long it takes to save up to finally reach his dreams. Talking about each other's financial progress while eating cheap convenience store ramen after a long day.
You on the other hand would focus with much determination for internships and part-time jobs while juggling university jobs. And at the end of the day, it's all worth it. Seeing Phainon welcome you back to your shared space with wide open arms and a container of your favorite takeout.
Life isn't so bad. You thought, amidst the fast-paced lifestyle of Okhema City, you found your anchor.
-
Balloons, hats, cake.. You stammer, making sure everything is at place.
Today is Phainon's birthday, clocking out early at internship and rushing to the mall to buy his gift. You glanced from behind the dining table chair, a paper bag inside it was a box of sports shoes.
Phainon had been talking about this specific pair of sports shoes with yellow and purple accents in it. Quite the shoe color combination, but alas, it's his favorite.
With sweaty palms, you wiped on your shirt as the door clicked openâŠ
âHappy Birthday!â You opened the party poppers and the confetti. Phainon lightly jumped in surprise but started laughing. âHey you scared me there for a second!â
He dropped his bags and immediately reached out for a tender embrace, his scent sweaty but it smells like home. He's home.
âSweetheart, you didn't have to do all of this, yâknow that?â He lightly pulls away and takes your cheek on to his palm; his thumb slowly brushes on your cheek with careful caress. But the surprise wasn't over. âOkay, you better close your eyes.â You grin. âI have another surprise.â
Phainon huffed playfully and closed his eyes shut with a happy grin. âThere, happy?â He muses, loosening his grip so that you can move to wherever you are going.
âNo peeking!â you demanded, jokingly sounding stern as you take the paper bag with the shoe box inside.
âNow, open your eyes.â The soft gentle request immediately made Phainon open his eyes. He glanced at the paper bag with confusion but accepted it when you handed it over to him. âHm? What's this?â
He opened the paper bag and slowly took out its contents. And in the span of a second, he gasped and froze.
His dream sports shoes.
He shuffled his wavering gaze to you then back to the box, then back to you; trying to confirm if what he's seeing is right.
You didn't say a word, just nodded as his eyes swell up with tears, dropping the box and holding you in his arms again once more. âThank you⊠Thank you so much⊠I.. Wow..â Phainon chuckles while sniffling. âYou.. You really didn't have to..â His voice emits a shaky laugh. âYou didn't have to..â
âBut I did.â You gave him a proud smile.
He's done so much for you, sacrificed and gave you everything you needed; wanting to return the favor and show him that you cherish him just as much as he does.
And to Phainon, your smile mattered more than any sports shoes.
-
Three whole years have passed since you moved to Okhema City with Phainon.
After graduating and getting a stable job, you both managed to get a much more spacious apartment, now decorated with tiny trinkets and wall decorations.
The living room was occupied by a spacious sofaâ Phainon who insisted that you should buy a very soft sofa, totally not for his afternoon naps.
And the kitchen; with a wide counter that can be viewed from the front door. Being quite the silly guy he is, he would sometimes sneak up behind you while cooking food, snaking his hands up your waist and holding you tenderly.
It was quite the funny predicament, especially when he'd whine like a child after you swat him with a spatula. Scolding your puppy-like boyfriend who then grovels on the sofa.
âYou don't love me anymoooooore.â His sulky whines and wails would overlap with the sound of cooking, and you can't help but snort over his childish demeanor. Still the same bright but sulky boy from Aedes Elysiae.
âSure whatever.â You sarcastically replied with a tight-lipped smirk. âDinner's ready.â Phainon instantly jumped from his seat to help you arrange plates and ready for the long-awaited dinner. Even if he's sweaty and just came back from a rigorous training session, he'd always make sure to get home in time and eat dinner with you.
-
You developed a nightly routine with Phainonâ after he presented to wash the dishes from dinner (you did the cooking and all, he doesn't want to add more to the things you did for him.) you'd have your nice warm bath and pajamas on, putting on a cooling mask, unaware that Phainon, who just finished his bath, would also take a cooling mask and put it on his face tooâŠ
âDo you even know what the mask does?â You would stifle a laugh while accidentally licking a part of the mask before putting it on with quite the jarring uneven sides. âNah, but it does look fancy when you put it on soooo~â Phainon lay beside you, holding you in his arms as he cooed playfully.
The rest of the evening hours then get spent just chatting and talking about yours and his day. Until the cooling masks are free to take off, he'd then kiss your forehead slowly, and tenderly.
âGood night. I love you.â
-
âAugh, I miss youuuuâŠâ His voice rang through the jagged call, it's like you can literally see his slumped whiny face while on the basketball court. âI wanna go hoooooomeeee..â He whined once more.
âPhainon! Break time's over!â Another voice caught the phone mic as the muffled rush of stuffing his phone behind with a whisper followed by âSee you tonight!â as he drops the call.
You let the absurdity of the silence pass for a second, laughing to yourself as you finally got up from your office chair.
It's lunch time in the office, while your co-workers went out for drinks, you stayed in your cubicle while scrolling through your social media feed. Until your gaze landed on a trending article did your face went frozen.
Phainon's face is on National TelevisionâŠ
A few seconds pass once more, trying to register the sight in front of you. You followed with a rushed yelp, rushing to take a screenshot.Â
Oh my aeons, Phainon is trending.
When the article opens, there lay a recorded video of Phainon in his jersey, calling out to the viewers about his signature move.
âWorldbearing⊠HOOP!â he brazenly dribbles the ball, running to the ring and dunking it in with a charming wink and smile. So that's why he went viral.
Checking the post, hundred thousands of shares and reactions, the comment section filled with a shock ton of compliments.
[omg that guy is so cute! đ]
[ts fire man keep it up w those dunks]
[Worldbearing hoop sounds cringe but anyways nice shot đ]
And you agree, Worldbearing Hoop does sound cringe for a signature shotâ Phainon has been gushing about calling his signature move like that, it burnt into your ears more often than you can personally admit. And at the end of the day, you got used to it.
And judging from the sudden shocking fame, you'll definitely be celebrating this milestone with him tonight.
-
You reached for the keys in your bag while holding a cake box on your other hand. You tried to hold back a smile, saving it for when you get inside but you can't contain the pride and joy you felt.
And so, you immediately went in as the door clicked open but got surprised when you saw Phainon inside, dinner already prepared.
âOh you're back!â Phainon exclaimed, wiping his hands on the kitchen towel. He walked over to you with a smile but mixed with confusion when he saw the box. âHm? What's that?â
The box intrigued him, carefully taking it from your hands as he examined it. He drew his look back at you and laughed when you showed the viral news article. âOhhhh! That!â
âYeah it exploded earlier this morning, I'm not surprised you caught wind of it.â He clasps his hands with you and walks you to the kitchen. The dining table filled with hot food. And without sparing another moment; you ate beside him.
Dinner tasted different because it was Phainon cooking, quite unusual since he doesn't really come home before seven thirty pm.
The view of the cake and a cozy dinner with your beloved made every sacrifice and hard work worth it in the end.
-
As months passed by, Phainon steadily grew an audience, some people would recognize him as the âWorldbearing Hoop guyâ. Teens would take pictures with him, kids would beam with joy over his presence. The whole world is finally starting to recognize Phainon, even receiving a call from Aedes Elysiae, saying that the townsfolk have been talking about Phainon non-stop.
You both opted for an indoors dinner, Phainon reasoning out that he doesn't want people recognizing him outside and making you feel out of place.
Yet one evening, while blowing his hair dry after a shower, he looked at you with a giddy smile. âI got us a fancy dinner reservation tomorrow evening.â Phainon declared, he didn't even ask if you're fine with it. He just knows you'd be delighted.
He's right, it's been awhile since you both had dinner outdoors. A gentle change of place can help clear up your mind from time to time.
Phainon has been getting much more popular these days after all. In news outlets, social media feedsâ even automated fan accounts that spam his famous phrase âWorldbearing Hoop!â
It's no wonder anymore that people recognize Phainon from head to toe, the handsome countryside boy who rose to stardom, now riding along the waves of fame.
And so you lay in bed beside him, facing each other. His gaze still at you; slowly dying down when he saw the worried look in your face. âSweetheart, What's wrong?âÂ
Phainon immediately scooted closer, examining your slightly furrowed eyebrows, and your conscious glance that tried so hard not to meet him.
âI'm scared.â was all you could mutter, unsure of what exactly to say. This wasn't the first time you both had worries and arguments, but you couldn't understand why this one felt more heavy than before.Â
And it seems that Phainon understood exactly what you meant, the hesitance in your eyes, your pursed lips that tried to steady itself.
âYou won't lose me. Not now, not ever.â the promise was a gentle whisper, an oath that only you and him can hear. Amidst the numbing chaos of worry that tried to fill your thoughts, his voice calmed its way through you.
That was enough for you, you trusted him from the very beginning when you both had nothing. What more now that you're both slowly achieving your destined life together?
Sleep finally found its way into you, your body finally calming down after the gentle reassurance Phainon gave. Your body scooting closer to his as both of your legs tangled with his.
âI love you, good night.â You let out a soft mumble while he kissed your forehead tenderly, sealing a promise of devotion.
-
âI'm almost done!â you called through the bathroom door, sparing one last glance at the mirror before dinner.
You've done a pretty good job dressing up, but Phainon hasn't seen your look yet, and just that thought made you anticipate.
And when you walked out, his reaction did not disappoint in the slightest. âWow.. I meanâ wow..â He choked a breath. âBreathtakingâŠâ Phainon mumbled.
Even with a twinge of bashfulness, he didn't hesitate to hold you in his arms, escorting you ever so intimately into the car he rented just for this occasion. âIn you go, my lady.â He snickers, trying to sound like a professional butler.
Professional Butler would be quite an understatement though, considering how handsome he looks in that suit and tie. Like it's the first time seeing him in a fancy outfit, years after your village prom with him in Aedes Elysiae, where you first saw him rock a suit and tie, he wasn't exactly knowledgeable with hair styling yet.
But the glow up now is a delectable sight, he just looks so good that sometimes, you almost forget that this man loves you back.
The drive to the fancy dinner date that Phainon promised wasn't that long, just two traffics past the apartment complex you guys live in. And so when he parked the car outside the restaurant, his movements were calculated and posh.Â
Opening the door for you as always and offering his arm for you to hold on to. Honestly, what a gentleman.
Entering the restaurant, you can't help but feel in awe. The tables are draped in fine silk cloth, dinnerware in perfect arrangement while table napkins formed into beautiful white swans. Overhead, a crystal chandelier glossed the ceiling in light as the soft tunes of the violin and piano graced the atmosphere.Â
âLike it?â Phainon glanced at you, seemingly more interested in you than the fancy sight in front of him. All you could do was give him a nod while being escorted to your table.
Dinner went by a blur, everything was perfect, your banters and chatter filled the small space shared between you two.
âDo you remember when I would walk you back home from our secret hideout?â He grins. âYou'd always insist but I did it anyway, I really wanted to spend time with you.â
You still remember those memories as clear as day, even remembering how âsubtleâ he was with holding your hand to âprotectâ you.
Now he's in front of you, you never expected that you'll one day be in this kind of relationship. Of all people, with the boy you grew up with. The boy you saw practice all afternoon in hopes to become a famous basketball player.
And to Phainon, these aspirations slowly start to become a reality. Everything being put into place, his hardships paying off as he finally reaches his dreams.
All that's left is for you to be a part of it, forever.
Slowly, he raised his hand above the table, a small velvet box on his palm. Phainon clears his throat but remains shaky.
âEver since we were children, back in Aedes Elysiae..â Phainon opens, his voice subtly shaking. âYou have always been my best friend⊠My number one supporter, since day oneâŠâ
Finally, he looks up to meet your watering gaze. âI wouldn't be here right now if it wasn't for youâ soâŠâ His fingers brushed on the box one more time, slowly pulling it open⊠âYou supported me from the very beginning. And now, I want you to be with me, forever.â
The box opens, revealing a glimmering diamond ring, in perfect silver cuts and shiny center.
âWill you marry me?â
-
Unlike the movies, getting engaged wasn't the most blissful and breezy feeling out there. Lots of papers to work with, planning and budgeting.
After a talk with Phainon, realizing that it's been months since his proposal, his hectic schedule and your office projects. You both decided to postpone the wedding until next year, to make way for both of your busy lives.
You looked at wedding venues on your way home, your mind drifting between flower arrangements and what to make for dinner tonight.
After a bit of hard work and contemplation on what to make, you set up the plates and looked at the time.
He's late.
Phainon has been leaving early these days after all, his schedule must be hectic. After winning in regionals two weeks ago, he must've had his head in training mode for the past few days.
And this nice warm dinner will definitely help him recharge.
So you sat, patiently waiting with a gentle smile, listening attentively to sudden door clicking sounds that might come anytime soon nowâŠ
He's awfully lateâŠ
Finally, the door clicked open at 8:13pm. His face was sweaty like he rushed over. âHey! I'm so sorry I'm late⊠The press invited us for dinner.â He chuckles, putting his bag down and moving over to kiss you on the cheek.
âHmm, dinner?â He hummed, but then bashfully looked back at you.. âI'm sorry⊠I already had dinner with the team..â
Oh⊠Well that's unusual.
They probably celebrated something big, that's why he was invited to a celebratory dinner with his team and the press.
âIt's okay, there's always next time.â You smiled, your fingers struggling to grip on the spoon and eat; it went unnoticed to Phainon due to fatigue and so he went to the bathroom to freshen up.
Once in, you sighed sadly â not really understanding the welling sadness that's stuck on your throat, but you forced yourself to ignore it and move on for the night.
-
When you head to the bedroom after a shower, Phainon is on his phone, humming while scrolling. âOh hey! Look, they made memes of me beatboxing on yesterday's talk show.â He happily flips his phone to face you.
The video shows a clip of Phainon doing an oddly funny dance while attempting a ridiculous beatbox. Everyone in the talk show started laughing and clapping.
Wait⊠Talk Show?
âYou never told me you attended a talk show.â The confusion envelops your face, since when was he invited on a talk show?
âI didn't? I'm so sorryyyyy!â Phainon playfully pouts âI was so busy, babe.â he nuzzles beside you.
âCan I make it up to you, pleaseeee? We can watch the talk show together.â A gentle smile crept up your face, his cheeky grin wiping away traces of confusion in your eyes.
You opened the video on your phone and watched beside him, his shoulders calm while his arms wrapped around your waist. âOh that part, they made me dribble one hundred times, it was insane.â He would laugh at certain parts.
Until one of the segments pried into his personal life.
âSay! Phainon, are you⊠taken?!â The sound effects emit a shocking sound as the camera slowly pans to Phainon. âUh well⊠Nope!â he nods to the host.
Excuse me?
You slowly turned your head to look at Phainon who seemed to be sweating quite a lot..Â
âWell?â
Phainon gulps nervously âWell, the media managers told me to keep it under wraps⊠So I had to lieâŠâ
Oh Phainon⊠You can't help but shake your head out of sudden disappointment.
âI'm sorry, sweetheart⊠I had to say that for your own safety yâknowâŠâ He lowers his head, pressing his lips on the knuckles of your hand. â I didn't want people barging in your office and bombarding you just because we're engaged.â He adds, the concern in his eyes gently convincing yours.
Maybe he's right, the internet is a dangerous place after allâŠ
And so, you went to sleep in his arms. Trying your best to ignore all the forming thoughts that are invading your head.
-
You didn't know how it exactly started.
He would send texts saying that he won't make it to dinner that evening. But then it became more apologies one after another.
Until he stopped informing you at all.
Another pattern that you slowly started noticing was that he gets home much later than usual but wouldn't miss telling you everything that happened in his day; he would start talking about the reporters asking his daily routine that kept him in shape, or what he would say to his opponents who tried mimicking his now famous signature move âWorldbearing Hoopâ.
He was naturally gifted, born to stand in the spotlight as headlines continued to roar out his name. It was wonderful, seeing people finally recognizing all the hard work and efforts that you watched blossom since the very beginning.
Yet why does it seem that he's much more absent? Is the cost of fame really the disappearance in one's life?
It's not like you don't see him anymore, you still do every single day.
And yet his face seemed to appear much more on TV than in your own dining table.
â
You didn't realize it at first; it barely dawned on you that the apartment started looking duller and empty.
The living room had fewer items now, Phainon once called you to put some items you have out of sight. âJust as a precautionary measure in case the press media suddenly barged into the apartment.â was the reason he laid out.
You also started to cook portions for one person nowadays.
The arrows on the clock would tick nineâyour food barely touched and almost cold, but you remain seated. It can even be considered a miracle if you finished your meal even when you barely can stomach any more than the lingering emptiness inside you.
The door creaked open as you washed the dishes, the floor would thud muffled steps from socks that would grow closer and closer. âHeyâŠâ you feel someone kiss you gently on the cheek.
What a miracle, he's actually home earlyâŠ
âI'm home.â Phainon would quietly reply, his head still close to yours, letting the silence pass for a few seconds, watching you scrub the plates; the small clacking sound of utensils doing its most to fill in the deafening silence.
âWelcome home.â was the response you'd choke out. A forced one, born from the confusion he had started giving you. âHow was your day?â and still, you ask⊠Out of curiosity, out of concern.
âSame as always, training, filming, promotion, and interviews. Lots of them.â He replied with a sigh; complaining about the lack of something new. âHow was work?â Phainon chimed back.
âIt was fine. We've been preparing for a big project.â The situation at the office earlier was quite hectic. But you seem to feel like telling him how the boss actually commended your diligent work.âAnd my manager told me that I wasââ
Phainon's phone buzzedâimmediately latching away before you could even finish your sentence. He moves away âSorry, I gotta take this call.â his small hums trying to pave way as he absent-mindedly walked out of the kitchen.
The smile that was creeping its way up to your face falteredâall you could do was watch him leave. And it would be extremely childish to protest and tell him not to take the call because what if that was important? It could be about his work, his athletic life, his fame. You wouldn't want to take that away from him now, would you?
Deep down you just wished that he'd drop that call for once and just listen to your day.
But it seems that even the simplest wish was something you do not have a grasp of. Not anymore, at least.
-
You tucked yourself under the sheets, the solemn humming of the AC creeping inside your ears, the glowing numbers gently basking a tiny warm light that blinks in the room. You descended deeper into the sheets, scramming for your trusted pillow to hug and fall asleep to.
The desperation to fall asleep instantly was immense. You're not even tired, you just want to fall asleep before Phainon comes in because you're still upset that he chose the phone call over you.
And maybe also because you barely had dinners together anymore.. Or because he comes home late nowadays⊠Or maybeâjust maybe, you miss him.
Phainon wakes up beside you everyday, eats the same food as you; just not as much now, he leaves then comes back home, he's still there.
He's so close, yet so far away.
Now he's here, getting in the same sheets as yours, and you pretended to be fast asleep, not daring to even face him. Until you felt his warm large arms pull you close, the chills you had instantly melting into a puddle.
And you can't help but hug him back.
âAha~ so you are awake.â He cheered quietly, his voice groggy from exhaustion. âThe call earlier was a brand deal, I had to take it.â Phainon's fingers absentmindedly fiddled with the strands of your hair, bringing it close to his face and sighing on it dreamily.
âI'm sorry if I had to leave you all of a sudden.â He solemnly replied, his arms crept its way back to you, partly patting you gently to sleep. âI'll be coming home late tomorrow.â Phainon said, âNo need to wait for me.â He quietly added.
It wasn't surprising anymore to say the least, since when did he inform you about that anyway? Even without telling you that he'll come home late, he already does.
As if to comply and just to get everything over and done with, you nod and sigh âAlright.â trying to lull yourself back to sleep even with the agony in your chest.
And Phainon seems to take note of this as he doesn't react back; his arms slowly loosening up as he himself goes to sleep.
Even with your eyes closed, the numbing and growing despair in your gut never died down, continuing to churn you upside down.
-
Phainon stayed true to his word.
When you woke the next morning, he was already gone, the bed is as cold as before he laid down last night.
You groggily sat on the edge of the bed, staring into nothing as you let your thoughts pass by.
When did he leave?
Finally, you rubbed your face sleepily and stood up to fix the bed, your mind racing with several thoughts.
I hope he's safe⊠Did he have breakfast already?
The questions flooded your mind so much it irritated you too.
And it's not like this was the first time he left before you even woke up, it's been happening for awhile after all.
Even with a heavy heart, you mustered the courage to make breakfast, each flip seemed heavier than usual. You'd eat at the table all by yourself, getting used to the silence that was once joy and laughter.
Getting ready for work, brushing your hair while staring blankly at the mirror, unsure of what to feel.
And then leaving for work with a heavy sigh, slipping into your work facade for the day.
-
In the office you were impeccable, flawlessly handling tasks and managing interns at your best capabilities.
Everyone adored you, looked up to you, and even fancied you. But it seems that your co-workers seemed to notice something off about you lately.
You're still on point with your tasks, yet your movements seem a bit more⊠sluggish; much slower than usual and that you'd glance at your phone much longer than usual.
And your co-workers are concerned, but that was the problem, they don't really know how to approach you because they don't know much about your life.
Aside from being a really great worker, the only fact that they know about you is that you're engaged, and that could probably be the reason.
-
You take the bus back home with a solemn sigh, opening your phone to check on whatever was happening with the internet.
It wasn't intentional but you find yourself looking at the newspageâyour eyes landing at a wrenching article title.
âModel spotted with Famous Basketball Athlete Phainon Khaslana entering a Hotel!â
âJust this morning, the famous model and influencer was spotted entering the Okhema Hotel with the Basketball Athlete Phainon Khaslana.â
The rest of the article passed by you like a blur, your eyes firmly trying to reject the words it read.
There's no way Phainon would do that, the media often twists narratives to get popular and this is probably just another one of those cases. And yet you get shivers over the possibility.
What if it was true?
No. Phainon would NEVER do that to you.
You repeatedly convince yourself that it was a twisted narrative, he's definitely there for a reason, but not something that the media would fabricate.
And so you closed your phone, tucking it back in your bag with shaky hands as you held on to the armchair of your seat, looking outside the window to distract yourself of impending thoughts.
-
You let the food run cold that evening.
Sitting by yourself at the dining table, the ticking of the clock accompanied by the often sound of cars passing by rummaged through the empty noise of the house.
It was then at eleven o'clock when the door finally clacked open, revealing an exhausted Phainon. âHey I'm home.â
Once he sets his duffle bag down the sofa, he notices the light coming from the kitchen. âOh hey, why are you still awake?â He walked in and noticed how slumped you look while sitting; the meal on the table, cold and untouched.
It took you quite awhile to finally meet his eyes and when you did, it felt heavy.
You wanted to ask him so many things, but the words struggled to leave your mouth, so you settled with a quiet reply.
âI saw the article.â You dropped, and it was then that Phainon looked at you in panic. âWait what? The hotel article?â He stammers. âBabe, that was a misunderstanding.â
âCastorice was being followed by a stalker. I was keeping her safe.â Phainon immediately staggers to you, holding both your arms, his gaze never left yours, holding firm sincerity in them. âYou believe me, right?â He worriedly searched your eyes.
âYeah I do..â your reply was slow and gentle. âWill you deny it to the public?â
Phainon scratched the back of his neck âUh wellâŠâ
Did he hesitate?
The burning ache in your chest blared, you guys are engaged, shouldn't that be something that he's informing the public?
He frustratingly sighs, raising one of his hands to sweep through his hair âYeah, I'll just tell them it was nothing personal. Although I bet they'll buy that.â
âThen why not just tell them that you're engaged?âÂ
Phainon stops, he glances at you with absurdity âWhat? Why would I do that?â He chuckled nervously âWe'll be fine without telling them!â
Your stomach dropped.
âPhainon, you cannot be saying that. People will think that you're still single!â You protested. âIt'll be messy!â
âLook, there's no need to! Besides, if the world finds out, they'll be shambles! I don't want to go viral for lying to the internet when I told them that I'm single during the talk show, remember?â He shook his head. âIf they find out, my managers will kill me, then what's going to happen to my career?â
âWhat's going to happen to us then?â
Phainon froze. Us? He never considered that. But the fame was wonderful, people are finally seeing him, recognizing the time and effort he put into making even his signature move.
Yet here you are, demanding and asking if he still cares.
âBabe, it's fine. We'll be fine.â
âI beg to fucking differ, Phainon.â You snapped, the words came out of your mouth before you could even think twice. âWhy are you pretending that everything is fine?â
âWhat? Because it isââ
âNo it's not.â the quiver in your voice finally comes crashing down the moment Phainon looked at you in disbelief. His brow furrowed as his mouth frowned.
âYou leave early then come home late. You don't eat dinner here anymore.â You angrily listed, letting each word pierce through him deeply, emphasizing every sentence that came out of your mouth.
You're tired, fed up, and upset. And you just wish he'd cooperate to understand you.
âWhen was the last time we had dinner together?â you asked âYou don't remember, do you? Because it's been WEEKS, Phainon.â
You clashed out of his arms and clenched your fists. âYou get up early and go home late.â echoed in the silent apartment as he stiffened still, taking in every single word you say.
âWhen was the last time we had a long talk like this? Never. Because you're NEVER there anymore!âÂ
Phainon looked in utter heartbreak, realizing how much everything has been paining you. âI got sick three days ago, where were you? Basking in fame and glory.â You choked a sob, hands starting to tremble from despair.Â
It's true, you did get sick three days ago, you contemplated whether to tell him or not, but you best believe he's busy. And judging from how he's seemingly minding the public before your own feelings, even if you told him, he wouldn't go home just for you.
âIâŠâ He tried to find the words, but nothing would come out. âI didn't knowâŠâ
That sentence was enough to make you erupt into angry scoffs âOf course you DON'T know. Why would you?â You pissingly sneered.
The look in his face screamed everything you've always wished that he'd have; confusion, guilt, sadness all came crashing down at him at once. But before he could even get the chance to clear some things, you slowly moved away.
Exhausted and drained from all different kinds of reasons and excuses he would say to you every single damn day, you can't tolerate another one of those, for the sake of your own peace.
âPlease listen, Iââ
âI don't want to talk right now.â
All that was heard afterwards was the deafening echo of the bedroom door being slammed shut. And Phainon was left sitting on the chair, contemplating and questioning everything that just happened.
-
When you woke up the next morning, Phainon was gone, as usual. But you didn't bother, not anymore.
After the agonizing events of what happened last night, it really would have been best not to see him right now, because you know for yourself that you won't be able to hold an eye contact with him in such a state.
The unanswered and conflicted feelings continued to pool in your stomach, but you didn't care, you'll have to get used to it eventually.Â
How did it get to this? Were you always this conflicted and unreasonable with yourself? Pathetic enough to actually shut him out and leave him hanging.
I'm such an idiot. The words rang in your head, gripping every thought like a vice. Engulfing you in neverending self-loathing.
But then again, if Phainon really cared, he would've come back for you. Probably would've cancelled his agendas for today, maybe sit down and actually clear things up.Â
Yet the bed was empty, the only trace of his existence in this room was the muffled sound of his interview coming from the television.
The channel aired morning news, featuring Phainon in the Showbiz segment.
âMister Khaslana! The whole world admires the way you achieved your dreams.â The reporter exclaims, moving the mic halfway to meet Phainon whose flashy smile remained polished and untouched. âCan you let us in on such a secret to your success?â
âWell you know, things do not happen overnight. You wake up with big dreams, to become an amazing basketball player, you work hard, play hard.â He smiled brightly, counting on his fingers as he lists out numbers. âLet's not forget our support systems! I wouldn't be here today if it weren't for my mom..â
AndâŠ.? You sat by the bed and waited for him to mention your name.
But he never did.
âExcuse me?â was the first thing that left your mouth. What kind of audacity was that?Â
What happened to the late night cheap convenience store dates you had? Sharing beer and chicken in the living room after an afternoon of workout, and having a nice dinner nightly whether the tournament was a win or lose meant nothing to him anymore?
Outrageous can't even compare to the disbelief and rage you felt being disregarded and unacknowledged.
When you and Phainon left Aedes Elysiae to move to Okhema City, you had one thing in mind. To live life, and not just to survive. Working hard to afford the apartment you both cherished dearly, and even along the lines of hardship, there was not even a sliver of time where you didn't support him.
Now you saw the interview.
Was it all worth it? Making him dinner every single night, supporting him through ups and downs, wiping his tears of defeat, whispering assurances and promises, believing that one day he will be an amazing basketball player.
-
Your co-workers invited you for a drink after work, trying to cheer you up after noticing the decline not just from your performance but also from your looks.
Yet even the beer canât seem to dissipate the pain you feel.
Three empty bottles of beer clank together on the floor, the noise resonating in your ears as everything in your vision gets blurry, obviously tips from the drink. Unknowingly, tears threaten to spill down your cheeks as you stagger your way home with a solemn gaze.
Upon reaching the door of your apartment, you scurried to grab your keys. But the door beeped open in surprise. Phainon stands there in confusion as you raise your head with surprise. âOh youâre back early.â Your admission was cold but drowsy.
âBut itâs 10pm.â Phainon protested, his eyebrows furrowed slightly as he moved away from the doorway, making way for you to get inside.Â
You canât be bothered to bark back, but the impending need to defend yourself from his skepticism ruled over the rational answer to just be quiet and suck it in. âMy point stands, youâre back early.â was all the reply you said.
Phainon scoffs, his steps trudged in front of you with defiance. âAre you still upset at me?â His eyebrows furrowed. âCanât we just talk it out like adults?â
Talk like adults?Â
âPhainon, since when did you EVER want to talk it out like adults?â Your gaze slowly eyed him down, voice shaky while you clench your fist.Â
Unfair. Unfair. Unfair.
A small sound of contempt filled the air, âYou are NEVER here anymore, Phai.âÂ
Phainon couldn't even bother to raise his head, ashamed of all the words you've been barking at him, his demeanor tense and repulsive.
âTell me, then.â Your shaky laugh cut through the agonizing silence. âIs the spotlight that good?â
And finally⊠finally, he met your gaze. His eyes were full of bewilderment and disbelief. âWhat do you mean?â
Maybe the confusion was enough of a telltale to realize that he really didn't understand, nor did he care.
âI'm saying that you have forgotten me.â
Silence filled the room, the ticking sound of the clockâwater dripping from the faucet were the only things trying to salvage the tension built between you and Phainon.
He's been gone for months. Sleeping in the same bed, going home to the same place, yet you saw him on a screen more than in reality.
You'd wake up at night and look at his sleeping face, it's still the same man you love, but why does he look so unfamiliar now?
The aftertaste from the alcohol went unnoticed, the tipsyness gone; replaced by the lingering feeling of grief and numbness.
Did it really have to get to this?
Even when the silence continued to stretch the room farther and farther, the more you lost Phainon.
âWon't you even fight for us?â
He didn't answer, not just yet. He looked around, trying to come up with an answer. But nothing came out.
âThis must be a misunderstanding, look. I didn't know you felt like that, I was busy.â Phainon moved closer, taking your shoulders into his hands as his voice turned shaky.
âOf course you are.â You yanked away. âYou always are.â
The countless nights you waited for nothing, only seeing his face on the television while the food you made turned cold. When you wake up in the morning and all you get are notes that say âI left early, love you.â did he ever mean it?
Now he's standing in front of you, anxious and unsure of what to do, and you can't help but feel a bit happy. You must be out of your mind, you shouldn't be feeling that.
But finally seeing him tormented, just like how he has been leaving you for the past months just made, maybe it wasn't so bad.
âI'm tired, Phainon.â the words he dreaded to hear finally left your trembling lips.
He knew this was coming, you knew this was coming.
Two people trying to salvage something that was long gone, the spoken words left in the air with no promise of mend.
Phainon didn't say anything, he couldn't. Conflicted and unsure of what he should do, realizing how he left you cold just to chase a sponge of spotlight.
The living room that once used to both be your haven of leisure now feels empty despite the two loudly thumping hearts that deafen each other's ears.
Their hearts beat loud, not out of love, but out of fear. Fear of what life will be, now that everything has been spoken.
So with trembling hands, Phainon mustered all his remaining energy, wanting to confirm everything at once.
âAre you leaving?â
The question hung heavy in the air for seconds. You didn't want to answer, but there was no choice. Everything is laid in front of you on a silver plate, he's letting you go, making you decide for yourself.
You wanted him to fight for you both, even just for a sliver.
But the look in his eyes was sure, no twinge of redemption, just acceptance, of what used to be, what has been, and will beâŠ
âYes..â
Phainon docked his head low, a small nod. He stayed like that for a few minutes, before sighing; gazing back at you with those sad longing eyes. âI'll help you pack.â
-
The rustic scent of boxesâthe loud stretch of packing tapes were everything you've been hearing for the past hour.
After the confirmation from last night, you spent the entire morning getting moving boxes as soon as you woke up. The hunger and fatigue didn't even matter to you, as long as you finish packing up all your belongings quickly, you'll be able to leave.
And that's when the problem arose.
You don't exactly remember every spot and item you owned. Phainon didn't either, just putting all items that he supposedly believed that belonged to you in the unoccupied boxes. Even spending a couple of minutes on how you will be taking some of the silverware that you bought with both your money.
In the end, you didn't bother to take one. Maybe there really just some things needed to be left.
You moved forward, finished with the kitchen and bathroom. Heading to the living room to find Phainon sitting on the sofa, his shoulders are slumped while examining the ceramic decors with keen certainty that it belonged to you.
âOh heyâ I was just putting all these decors in the box..â He awkwardly paused. âI figured you might need some decorations for your new apartment.â His chuckle breaks through. âSince you know⊠You love decorating and all that stuff.. Ugh what am I even blabbering about, sorry..â Phainon stifled an embarrassing groan.
âSorry about that⊠I'll keep my mouth shut.â He then goes back to determining the decorations.
He seems to be very occupied with the things in the living room, and for your own peace of mind, you need to keep your goals straight.
Pack my things, and get out of here.
That's it, that's the goal. And yet you can't help but glance at the walls that were once filled with portraits; the dreams you both shared.
Now all that's left were nail cracks that used to hang up frames of you two, the sticky spots of tapes and smudged glue was the only sight to behold.
Who knew it would be this dreadful? You kept to yourself.
Because no matter where you looked; everything is a remnant of what used to be bliss. The hallway now cold and empty, potted plants that used to glimmer now look pale and almost lifeless
You trudged back in the bathroom, the cabinets that used to have your shampoo, his soap, and the drawers that had extra stocks of floss and mouthwash left hanging all by itself. The bathroom is cold, but was it always this chilly?
Leaving the bathroom, you peered into the kitchen. You used to cook here. The spatulas are still hanging in order, the faucet clean and the plates are still intact, but it feels smaller.
It has always been a kitchen meant for two, but nowâthe stove slightly charred from months of use without cleaning, stacks of plates and utensils leave no room for sharing, at least, not anymore.
And you can't even bear to bring your favorite mug, the one Phainon gifted you on your birthday last year. Cute pastel colors with silly frog prints, the sight itself made you smile a little. It really was a cute mug.
Your gaze lands back to the empty boxes labeled âbedroomâ. The last place you needed to clean up before you leave.
Even with a heavy heart, you walked inside. The sight is just as dreadful.
The bed that was once shared, now neat and tidy. Your house slippers set aside on a corner beside your table; still packed with your belongings. Curtains untied, its sleeves blocking sunlight and glow that tries to enter.
Was the room always this suffocating?
Years of intimacy and privacy was in this room, whispering secrets and promises that only you and Phainon will ever hear. The chatter and joy it once held, as both your bodies tangled together as you lay down, like two perfect puzzle pieces.
But also a cold and sterile room that held unspoken signs of heartbreak and tension, when Phainon started to leave bed early without a word; hollow and empty without the weight of comfort.
The closet that held both your clothes, years of its creaking sound while being opened and closed ingrained in your brain and ears.
âShould I wear my trusty pair of yellow shirts and purple trousers today?â Phainon would always ask. It was a horrible choice of color, but it sure did its impact with giving the closet a pop of color.
You open the closet this time, staring at the hangered clothes. Your grip hesitantly holding on your shirts as you slowly pull them out and stack them on the bed.
Each stack felt heavier than the last one, the different fabrics did nothing to soothe the bubbling feeling of despair, each fold a silent goodbye to the home it had for years.
The clothes are stacked neatly on the edge of the bed while you open the box; putting each cloth carefully and precisely, afraid to mess up even a sliver of stack, each holds shaky.
Next was the desk table with your trinkets and items, just placed in a small box of belongings. The crocheted rose that Phainon gifted you for your anniversary lay still, untouched and slightly dusty.
You can still see the rugged edges of the thread, it was Phainon's first time making you something handmade after all, when he found out that you've been into handmade crafts, he didn't spare a single moment and gifted you one a week later.
And for whatever reasons it may be when you asked him why he made it, he simply replied âBecause I can.â
Now you refuse to acknowledge the Phainon you have in your life. Like a stranger in the body of the man you loved so dearly. He was your world, your universe.Â
Yet you can't even look him in the eye anymore without feeling discomfort and unsure of what to do.
He's still Phainon, just not the one you loved.
Time and fame changed him; still wearing the same face, the same clothes, that same stupidly irresistible grin that not even once failed to make you smile.
The same Phainon that would rush home sweaty just to tell you how his day went while having a nice dinner together. The same Phainon that would whine if you don't sleep together. The same Phainon that would lie awake at night, just rambling about his dreams of becoming a basketball sensation; that people will one day recognize his signature move âworldbearing hoop.â
Which you think was really silly by the way, but it didn't matter because you believed that the world really will know its treasure one day.
-
Boxes neatly packed on the corner of the living room, each labelled according to where they were taken from. Phainon is still there, sitting on the sofa, his face unreadable as he glanced at you.
âYou ready?â A simple question, it shouldn't have stirred turmoil inside you that heavily.
You've already said countless goodbyes to every nook and cranny of this house, so why can't you just say yes?
Everything is neatly packed, the house lost half of its life as everything you owned was kept tightly in one space.
How you wish you can just tuck away these lingering feelings tooâŠ
Phainon hurt you, left you alone, kept you in the dark, denied every single question and opportunity to show you to the world, the person who was there from the very very beginning. At best you should be punching him, slapping him, heckâeven shouting words at him.
Now that you're face to face with him, you can't even utter anything, just this depressing invisible wall between you two. So close, yet so far away.
And Phainon felt the same. He really does, wishing that he did better.
But this relationship was beyond repair, you knew that. Fixing whatever is left are just scraps trying to become something it can never be.
âI'll call you a cab.â Phainon walked past you and out the door. The shutting sound at its loudest you've ever heard.
You clutched your bag tightly, the moving truck will deliver your boxes to your new apartment in a couple of hours. The time of departure ticked agonizingly slow yet so rushedâŠ
One last glance in this living room, filled with memories and milestones. You'll be leaving, and never returning.
-
Your footsteps heavily clacked against the buildingâs cold white floor; icky and unbearable while your sweat slowly ran cold.Â
This is it.
With your bag in hand, you walked out the building. Phainon down the stairs on the sidewalk with the cab beside him, his eyes met yoursâsharing a silent melancholic moment together for one last time.
Everything happened so fast⊠Yesterday was just another day of enduring the agonizing things that have been happening.
Here you are, a few steps away from leaving the life you lived for four whole years. The man you almost vowed to love âtil the very last breath, holding the door open to your way out of his life forever.
You shouldn't be crying, not now. You need to stay strong.
So even with a heavy heart, you stepped closer, and closer. Feeling the edge of the open cab door with your own hands, looking at Phainon with slight uncertainty.
Am I really doing this?
It's as if Phainon could hear you, he gave a gentle nod; a forced smile.
You were the one who wanted this, you're going to be free and finally start anew.
So why does it feel so excruciatingly painful to let go?
A relationship that fell apart gradually as months passed by. Cannot be salvaged by anything else yet you find yourself clinging by a thread. Checking if Phainon still held on the other hand.
There was a time where he would move heaven and earth just for you, and even if he would change himself now, everything is already broken.
He knows that letting you go will be the best choice.
Without another word, you stepped inside the car. Sinking slowly into the seat as Phainon gently closed the door for you, his eyes glued to yours, not a stutter, not even a drip of hesitation.
Even with the tears slowly pouring out of his eyes, his gaze never faltered. Desperately boring at yours with the very little time he has left. Making sure your face is etched into his mind forever.
The doors are dreadfully closed shut. While your hands scurried to open the window out if desperation⊠Maybe, just maybe to look at him one last timeâŠ
And you can't help but feel your own eyes swell with tears.
You didn't cry when he wasn't there, you didn't spare a single tear when he denied any trace of your existence for the public media. Your heart was heavy every time you went to bed; you never shed a tear.
So why is it now that you cannot help but let the tears flow as the cab slowly starts to move?
Usually, people would be focused on the road now, looking at surroundings as a final goodbye.
But the only thing you find yourself looking at one last time is Phainon, as his figure slowly⊠gradually gets smallerâŠÂ
Your eyes frantically scattered its gaze all over his face that starts to grow blurryâŠ
Look.. Look at him, one last time. Just one more glance.
Just one more glance at that white hair you used to run your hands in.
One more glance at his beautiful eyes you could stare at for hours.
One more glance at those lips that whispered to you so tenderly with loving promises and kissed you goodnight.
One more glance at the face of the man you once saw forever with.
One more glance at the blurry face that finally disappears from your sight.
One more glance at the man you loved with all your life.
One more glance at the boy you grew up with and saw you through your ups and downs.
One last glance at Phainon, the boy from Aedes Elysiae that once held a part of your heart; now letting you go.
end notes: thank you so much for reading this oneshot! i cried a lot in the process of writing this fic and i hope i delivered it with the exact feelings i had while creating it. there might a lot of grammatical errors or typos there because i didn't exactly proofread much and english is not my first language.
hope you guys enjoyed this fic! (i might make a part 2 if everything goes well)
Phainon has a near magnetic pull towards your thighs. They're his personal cushion, the designated resting place for his hands whenever you two are sat beside each other, and more times than not, they're the recipient of his wandering thoughts, bored teases and nervous fondling.
However, should anyone confront the man on admitting which body part of you he likes the most? They should prepare themselves for a round of sputtering and at last, come equipped with protective gear. Because, how dare you imply that there are, or could be, parts of you that Phainon doesn't like?!
As much as I like it when Phainon is giving us shirtless fan service for free, fully clothed Phainon with those sneaky parts of exposed skin is just so much sexier