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“Have you heard? Lord Phainon and Prince Mydei are lovers!”
“Of all the people in Amphoreus, he chose a brute from Castrum Kremnos.”
“Brute? You ought to heed your words! Our Crown Prince is the most honorable man there is!”
It’s been a week. Seven agonizing days since the teleslates were taken by storm: two Chrysos Heirs are dating and the people of Okhema are having a wonderful time talking about it.
Wonderful is a subjective way to put it. Mydei sees it as rather irritating. He ought to find a way to redirect Nikador's Lance of Fury upon himself to spare him from having to listen to any more of these nonsensical lies.
Then again, he is not Mydeimos the Undying for no reason. Placing himself in such a circumstance would be futile. Painless, no. But it would be a complete waste of time.
And effort, for the Holy Maidens of Janusopolis have yet to locate the ever elusive Castrum Kremnos hidden amongst the overbearing fog and darkness brought on by the Black Tide. Not to mention, there’s also Nikador’s worsening madness to deal with.
Really, not a single dull moment in Amphoreus.
Mydei’s musings are interrupted by a commotion caused by one of his people and what seemed to be a noble from Okhema.
“Hmph! Their positions on the bed aside, I’d say Lord Phainon would be better off entangling with a drunken bard with an abysmal reputation than a Kremnoan!”
“A significant Okheman you might be, but you lack honor! How dare you disrespect our Crown Prince like this!”
Perhaps this is a suitable motivation for Mydei to try his hand in casting Century Doors. Who knows, Janus might just take pity on him and send him… elsewhere. The land of the dead sounds like a dream destination at the moment.
Keeping in mind the name of the soldier defending his honor, Mydei decides to take his leave from where he leaned against the wall just barely out of sight. He’s heard enough of the nonsense circulating around Marmoreal Market, his plans for grabbing a quick bite before the Parting Hour utterly ruined. Ignoring his grumbling stomach, Mydei surmises that a cold bath might improve his mood.
“If it isn’t Prince Mydei.”
Mydei stops in his tracks. There’s no one in the hall. No one except a worthless ornament.
“Verax Leo,” Mydei addresses. “To what do I owe the displeasure?”
The eyes of the lion embedded on the wall glows gold. “Just wanted to check up on my favorite Chrysos Heir,” it says with a giddy lilt. “My kin might favor Lady Aglaea and Lord Phainon more. But you, my prince, are above any of them.”
Mydei scoffs, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the blatant attempt at flattery. “I have no time to indulge in your petty rankings. Speak directly what you need lest you find yourself a pitiful pile of rubble beneath my feet.”
The golden light emanating from the statue’s eyes blinks erratically as if to convey its panic. “Please have mercy! No need for such violence, this humble one merely wished to congratulate Prince Mydei on your blooming relationship blessed by Mnestia Themselves.”
“You speak of the rumors,” Mydei states firmly, a scowl on his face. “They are nothing but lies.”
“Rumors are not trees without roots, Your Highness.”
Mydei counts to ten in his mind—a calming technique Aglaea made him do whenever he comes across the urge to… destroy public property. Specifically, a Verax Leo.
By the eighth second, the Hand of Shadow must have robbed the Verax Leo of its survival instincts as it continues to speak with an utter disregard to its safety. “I must say, you and Lord Phainon make quite an interesting match together.”
The countdown fails, like all the other countdowns before. Aglaea should have given him a better method.
Mydei feels his power surge within him. “Now that you’ve spoken your mind, you’d fare better to grace the floor with your dastardly presence.”
Before the Verax Leo could reply, a flash of red is all it takes before the statue all but crumbles into a pile of dust and rubble.
Light footsteps come from behind Mydei.
“Oh dear.”
Mydei turns around and is greeted by… Trinnon? No, there’s no blindfold. Is this Trianne? But there’s no hint of mischief behind those big eyes. Then—
“Lady Tribbie.”
Tribbie grins. “You’re getting better at telling us apart, De.”
“Hardly.”
Tribbie steps forward to inspect the remains of the Verax Leo. “Agy did say that something of the sort might happen.”
“If Aglaea is displeased, I’ll take responsibility.”
“It’s alright. Agy would understand.” Tribbie’s gaze darts around, almost like a nervous habit. “Actually, we’ve been trying to find the source of the, um, people’s subject of interest as of late and—”
Mydei cuts her off bitterly. “They think that Phainon and I are... hugging.”
Regardless of how old Lady Tribios is, the forms she’s taken are that of children. Mydei ought to choose his words carefully. The word ‘fucking’ is far from being child-friendly as far as he is concerned.
Tribbie gasps, still quite scandalized by this turn of events despite the last minute censoring. “Already? We swear you and Snowy were still in the courting stage yesterday!”
Mydei pinches the bridge of his nose, commencing another countdown. This time, he is on the verge of ending himself.
“Please tell me you at least found the culprit behind these blasted rumors or else Titans forbid Nikador wouldn’t be the only one losing Their damn mind.”
Tribbie fiddles with her fingers. “We did. It’s, uh… this Verax Leo you just destroyed here. All the other Verax Leos were in it, too.”
Mydei should have known. There’s no way something so baseless would spread like wildfire overnight and continue to persist for a week. No rumor have lasted that long in Okhema.
“I see.” Mydei nods curtly, a ringing in his ears. “Excuse me, I have matters to attend to.”
Tribbie gives him a look of concern. “Please don’t go destroying public property. Agy might turn a blind eye on this one, but she would be very angry if all the other Verax Leos were destroyed.”
Mydei frowns. “I thought she hated them.”
“She does.” Tribbie hesitates. “But still—”
“Then my actions would allow her perhaps a mere moment of satisfaction.”
•
Aglaea is not one to raise her voice, but she knows how to make her displeasure known enough. Mydei’s punishment comes in the form of clearing out the Abyss of some Titankin.
Sure, that’s hardly a punishment for someone like Mydei who yearns for the thrill of battle. No, the punishment is actually—
“Alright there, Mydei?”
Aglaea’s punishment is actually subjecting Mydei to the company of none other than his alleged lover. Mydei ought to rejoice. Aglaea is not the demigod bearing the coreflame of the Romance Titan for nothing.
Mydei wipes a golden splatter off of his cheek. It had come from one of the Titankin he just felled. He turns to his companion.
“Instead of being a mother hen, why don’t you worry about yourself first, Deliverer? If my memory serves me well, you almost got impaled by one of the Titankin’s spear.”
Phainon tilts his head, eyebrows raised, challenging. Mydei finds it infuriating. “So you do care about me. Were you watching me the whole time?”
Mydei scoffs, pointedly turning his gaze away. “If you want to die then be my guest. Okhema would surely mourn the loss of their beloved hero.”
“You know, it wouldn’t hurt to admit that you care about me, Mydei,” Phainon says lightly. “Honesty is a virtue.”
In the hopes of preserving some of his patience, Mydei chooses to say nothing in reply. Instead, he looks around to survey if there’s any Titankin left twitching on the ground. There’s none.
“I think we’re done here,” he tells Phainon.
Phainon hums in agreement. “Your count?”
“Twenty-eight.”
Upon hearing this, Phainon beams brightly, dazzling amidst the darkness. “How fortunate. Twenty-nine.”
Mydei curses every Titan in existence. And then curses Phainon for his sheer dumb luck.
“Savor your victory,” Mydei says, begrudgingly accepting his defeat. “It’ll be short-lived. I’ll make sure of that.”
Phainon laughs, airy and clear. “Thanks for the congratulations. However, I was planning on not counting my win this time.”
“And why not?”
“You were pretty distracted. It’s hardly fair.”
“You’re mistaken,” Mydei snaps. “I can take a loss. You mock me with your pity.”
Phainon only sighs, a sign that he’s jumping straight to conclusions. “Something’s bothering you, Mydei. We can have a rematch once your mind is free of troubles.”
Indeed, something has been bothering Mydei and it involves a certain infuriating man who happens to be way too perceptive for his liking.
Regardless of that, Mydei counts his blessings that Phainon is someone who rarely pries. Just watches Mydei stew in his conflicts with bright blue eyes and a charming smile—
Wait. Charming?
Mydei coughs, a sudden itch in his throat. “You’re right. I’m actually not feeling very well.”
Phainon grins at this, positively glowing, more triumphant-looking than when his victory was decided. It’s unnerving.
“See? It’s not so hard to agree with me on something, isn’t it?”
“It takes quite a lot of effort, actually.”
“I should escort you to your chambers once we return to Okhema,” Phainon offers. “No need to worry about the mission report to Lady Aglaea. I’ll deal with it.”
“You’re doing too much, Deliverer. Don’t treat me like some hapless maiden.”
Phainon laughs lightly, a glint in his eyes that Mydei couldn’t quite comprehend. “Of course you’re not. Although, your beauty does far precede that of any hapless maiden I’ve encountered.”
It takes Mydei an embarrassingly awful amount of time to register Phainon’s words. And then he thinks through it a second time. A third would be pathetic at this point.
Zagreus must have toyed with his hearing because there is no way Phainon just called him, Mydeimos, beautiful. It had been implied as such.
Mydei is not a fool—a crown prince such as him was provided with the most talented and sought-after tutors in all the land during his youth. He couldn’t have been able to miscomprehend such simple words.
“Mydei?”
He turns to his side. The Deliverer is way too close for his liking. And his hand— Just when did it snake around Mydei’s waist? Utterly lecherous!
Mydei pushes Phainon away, the lack of strength to do so does not escape him. “Keep your distance.”
“My apologies,” Phainon says. To his credit, he does sound remorseful. “It’s just that, you were staggering—”
“I do not stagger—”
“Arguing again?”
Both Phainon and Mydei turn around to address the source of the voice. There’s no one there. They both look down to see… one of the Holy Maidens grinning up at them.
Mydei sighs. There needs to be some sort of guide to be able to tell the Tribios apart.
“Lady Trianne,” Phainon greets easily.
Mydei’s loathing only multiplies tenfold. The bastard cannot win against Mydei three times in a row now and be able to distinguish Trianne from Tribbie and Trinnon as easy as picking out the apple from the fig and pomegranate. That’s just unfair at this point.
Kephale forbid, the great hero of Okhema does struggle at something.
“We’ve arrived with a dromas,” Trianne announces. “No Doors for now. Agy said we needed to conserve our energy in locating Castrum Kremnos.”
Neither Phainon nor Mydei minded this. Using Janus’ Doors made Mydei sick to his stomach anyway. He brushes past his fellow Heirs, eager to put some distance between him and the Deliverer.
“I’m rather tired,” he tells the group. “I shall take a nap on the way back. Do not disturb me.”
Mydei could feel Phainon and Trianne’s gazes following his every movement as he hoists himself up the dromas’ saddle, claiming a spot for his own before resolutely closing his eyes.
He could feel Phainon follow suit, and deludes himself into thinking that he does not relish in the heat the Deliverer radiates. If Mydei leans against it, he’d do well to blame the bump of the road instead of entertaining the idea that he liked the comfort Phainon’s shoulder provides.
With his eyes closed, Mydei misses the small smile that never left Phainon’s lips, nor did he feel a warm hand cradling his head as he’d drifted off to a deep slumber.
•
To avoid Phainon is a harder feat than Mydei realized. He never had a reason to avoid the Deliverer before, nor is he a coward for Phainon is hardly someone to be afraid of.
But now, the ashes of Mydei’s ancestors must be stirring in their urns lost in a fallen nation when they see their beloved crown prince cowering behind a gigantic potted plant in the baths exclusive for the use of the Chrysos Heirs.
A Kremnoan, proud or not, never cowers. Perhaps it's a good time to switch nationalities.
Phainon had just arrived while Mydei was in the middle of his daily meditation. There’s a towel slung low upon Phainon’s hips and nothing more. Before he could spot Mydei radiating murderous energy in one of the smaller pools, Mydei had already bolted out of sight.
With a scowl, Mydei peers through verdant leaves, golden eyes akin to a lion stalking its prey who’s currently kneeled down by the edge of the pool that Mydei was just in, dipping a finger in the golden waters to test the temperature.
Phainon looks nothing like prey, to Mydei’s chagrin, with his glistening skin littered with scars, the sun marking on his jugular, and muscles that rippled with every slight movement.
As a warrior, Mydei finds a fit body to be admirable. There is no shame in admitting that Phainon has a nice body, nicer than most. More so if he’s not covered in those suffocating layers of pretentious grandeur.
If Mydei is the (self-proclaimed) best-dressed man in Okhema, Phainon would definitely come a close second if he adhered to Mydei’s fashion advice. He never does, turning down prized Kremnoan embroidered fabrics with an easy smile and glinting blue eyes, voice silky smooth when he says, “These would look better on you than me, Mydei.”
The audacity, really. The Deliverer never learns to appreciate his efforts. Confound it.
Mydei’s staring was unfortunately halted when a servant carrying a tray of towels and vials approached.
“Lord Phainon, here are the oils and fragrances you’ve requested,” she says.
Phainon turns around and smiles. There is no need for Mydei to squint to see the blush gracing the servant’s fair face.
“Thank you, Ophelia.”
The servant—Ophelia's—face turns a darker shade of red. “For Lord Phainon to remember the name of this humble one is truly such an honor.”
“It’s not that difficult,” Phainon says. Knowing the Deliverer, he’s not lying about it and Mydei finds this strangely irritating. “I quite like your name, and it’s only good manners to keep it in mind when I address you.”
Shameless, Mydei thinks vindictively.
Only Phainon would be able to conceal subtle flirting beneath the veil of pointless pleasantries. What’s more annoying is the fact that Phainon more often than not lacked the awareness of what his words could entail.
“Allow me to still express my thanks,” Ophelia says shyly. “But, ah, I wouldn’t want to offend Mnestia by coming in between two people unequivocally in love.”
Upon overhearing this statement, Mydei’s blood runs cold. One does not need to be a novice philosopher to understand what the servant was pertaining to.
‘Unequivocally in love’ sure is a good way to describe how his and Phainon’s relationship fare in the rumors these days. This is going to be his first encounter witnessing how Phainon would react to the problem that he's been dealing with.
Would Phainon yell at her? No, that’s out of character. Would he brush it off and find a different topic to discuss altogether? Sounds more likely.
Phainon’s voice comes out clear. “You misunderstand.”
The words are unmistakable and serious beyond doubt. Perhaps Mydei had terribly misjudged Phainon’s character. From this day forth, he shall be accepting every single invitation of the Deliverer to dine together.
What a friend. Phainon is about to deny these rumors point blank and Mydei couldn’t have been more grateful. The people of Okhema would take his words better than those of Mydei’s, after all. Gone would be the days of Mydei slinking around Okhema like Zagreus’ kin just so no unwitting citizen would spot him and ask him questions about his and Phainon’s love story.
(“Prince Mydei, how did you and Lord Phainon meet?”
“I pinned him to the wall and choked him with my bare hands.”
The unnamed citizen blushes. “Oh my!”)
Mydei vows to be less harsh towards his dealings with the Deliverer come the morrow and many days after that. Everyone would wallow in their shame and all the Verax Leos in Okhema shall have their reputation tarnished beyond repair for spreading such malicious falsehoods.
Phainon clears his throat and Mydei impatiently awaits the next words that’s bound to escape from those soft, full lips with bated breath.
“I… actually have a strict inclination towards men,” Phainon says. “I deeply apologize if I managed to mislead you in some way.”
The rim of the clay pot cracks beneath Mydei’s fingers from how hard he’s gripping. If nature permitted it, the plant would be cursing him for defiling its home like this.
That aside, Phainon’s words were hardly a dismissal of the rumors, nor is he confirming them. But it does make it worse all the same.
Phainon, you imbecile.
The servant mutters a plethora of apologies, stuttering through her words. “I-I see! I should’ve known since you and— E-Excuse me, Lord Phainon.” She flees.
The urge to throttle the white-haired bastard is too strong. But Mydei is not so dishonorable to launch an attack towards an ill-prepared opponent who’s currently enjoying his bath free of worries like he just didn’t break a poor lady’s heart and ignite Mydei’s ire in a single breath.
Mydei will remember this.
He stomps away with heavy and begrudging steps, unaware of the blue gaze curiously eyeing the plant with a crumbling pot.
•
“You know Agy would punish you again for this, right?”
Mydei kicks a piece of rubble—the remains of the last Verax Leo he just reduced to unidentifiable pieces of stone. This has been a part of his routine for the past three days. It’s quite an effective method in letting off some steam.
“Save the admonishments, Lady Trinnon—”
“We’re Tribbie.”
“Right. Lady Tribbie. I am merely trying to salvage what is left of my honor. Aglaea can do as she wishes.”
Tribbie sighs. “De, did it somehow escape your mind that it’s us who fixes these Verax Leos?”
“Well, have you considered not doing that?” Mydei asks in turn, raising an eyebrow because it really is that simple.
“The Verax Leos are an essential part of Okhema’s culture and history,” Tribbie explains lightly. “Please don’t keep on desecrating them like this.”
Mydei scoffs, thoroughly aggrieved. “Essential in what way? All they do is stain my name and that Deliverer seems way too preoccupied fanning the flames rather than helping me contain these rumors that’s been going on only Oronyx knows for how long.” The cool metal of his gauntlet is a welcome sensation against his heated skin as he drags his hand across his face. “Have you heard? Word on the street is that Phainon and I are to be married next week.”
Tribbie gives him a wry smile. “You have our congratulations. But please, instead of punching stone, why don’t you confront Snowy about this? We're sure he didn’t mean to make the rumors worse.” And then she adds, “He’s really nice! He’ll help you if you asked.”
Mydei resists the urge to roll his eyes in front of a demigod. Phainon is sure to take this issue in jest and Mydei would end up looking foolish for letting such stupid lies get the best of him.
It clearly doesn’t bother the Deliverer that his name is being dragged in the mud by some of the Okhemans just for fraternizing with Castrum Kremnos’ patricidal heir.
However, in return for even considering the complexities the situation has brought forth, the thanks Mydei gets from the Deliverer is an enigmatic statement about his preferences.
Who cares if Phainon likes men? Mydei is, if his memory does not fail him, a man. The public is bound to eat that up if anything. It had been all over the teleslates courtesy of one Miss Ophelia: Lord Phainon confirms his strict loyalty to his lover, Prince Mydei. Women are out of the question.
When Mydei arrived at Aglaea’s office with a broken teleslate, no asking is required as she fixed the device without a word, glowing golden threads dancing in the air.
“Try talking to Snowy, De,” Tribbie says, startling Mydei from reliving the events of the past three days. “If he doesn’t agree to help, then we'll write up a permission to Agy to let you destroy all the Verax Leos to your heart’s content.”
Mydei merely grunts in response.
He does not seek out Snowy, nor does he have the urge to confront him about this after his run in with Tribbie. The Deliverer is someone with an initiative. Clearly, the circumstance is not worthy of his time and effort to even address.
•
The next day is more fortuitous than the last. The Holy Maidens are sent away on a mission and Mydei has heard from passing servants that Aglaea is very preoccupied. Now is as good a chance as any to do what he failed to do the day before.
With purposeful and hurried steps, Mydei stalks the halls of Okhema—rather deserted during the Parting Hour—and makes a sharp turn to a corner of where he knows a Verax Leo is situated.
He stops.
The statue is awake, easily discerned by the soft golden glow emitted by its slanted stone eyes.
“Crown Prince Mydeimos,” the Verax Leo addresses.
Mydei crosses his arms. “It would serve you better to relinquish your consciousness. I’m not known to show mercy.”
The light in the statue’s eyes flicker ever so slightly. “I did hear quite a lot from my kin. Your Highness, how about a quick riddle before I am reduced to mere dust beneath the esteemed soles of your shoes?”
“I have no time for such trivialities,” Mydei grumbles. Nevertheless, he still finds himself inserting a hand into the Verax Leo’s parted mouth. It is honorable to grant one’s dying wish after all. “Make it quick.”
The statue vibrates beneath his palm, its eyes glowing brighter.
“What binds a lone glimmering star at midnight to the warm, golden light of dawn?”
Mydei frowns, wracking his head for an answer. In his youth, he’d read a couple scrolls on the Eye of Twilight’s domain. Aquila’s Sky before the arrival of the Black Tide was once a topic he found a slight interest in. Before, the skies were littered with stars amidst the darkness when the sun slumbers. And when the sun is awake, it is the stars who take their rest.
Though Okhema is free of nights, Mydei is at the very least knowledgeable enough to know that a star at midnight would cease to exist upon the arrival of dawn. By the fact itself, nothing should realistically bind the two.
And yet, this cunning Verax Leo managed to come up with an exception.
“That’s interesting.”
Mydei jolts at the sudden sound of the voice behind him, the weathered tip of the Verax Leo’s fangs brushing against the gold of his gauntlet. He turns around and is met with Phainon’s dazzling smile.
Dazzling.
This is the sign of the times that Mydei is indubitably following in the footsteps of the mad titan.
“What are you doing here, Deliverer?”
“I was looking for you,” Phainon replies before turning his gaze to the statue. “I didn’t think you’re one to entertain yourself with a Verax Leo’s riddles.”
“You take me to be nescient?”
“Absolutely not,” Phainon answers quickly. “Just found it pleasantly surprising.”
Mydei shoots him a withering glare but pursues the matter no longer. “Whatever it is you need from me, it can wait. As you can see, I have important matters to attend to at the moment.”
The corners of Phainon’s lips twitch ever so slightly. “Like answering riddles?”
“It’s just a preliminary to the task.”
“I can help,” Phainon offers, stepping closer.
Mydei feels his skin tingle at the proximity. “Go away.”
“What binds a lone glimmering star at midnight to the warm, golden light of dawn?” Phainon says, repeating the Verax Leo’s riddle, a finger on his chin and everything as he pointedly ignores Mydei’s darkening scowl. “I’d say it’s rather impossible for the two to co-exist naturally.”
Mydei rolls his eyes at the musings regardless if he shares the same deductions. His curiosity as to what answer Phainon might come up with makes him fight back the urge to continue his initial plan of dismissing the other away.
The regret for choosing such an option bites Mydei in the ass far quicker than he would have liked.
Phainon continues, “For the two subjects in the riddle to transcend such limitations and go beyond the realm of rhyme or reason just to be together, is love not the answer?”
Mydei chokes on air alone. He turns to Phainon and hisses, “Would it hurt to run your response through me first?”
There is no way Phainon’s answer is the correct one. Riddles from Verax Leos rarely had a decent and reasonable answer to them. Gritting his teeth, Mydei readies himself for the sting that comes when the Verax Leo deems the answer to be wrong and clamps its stone jaw shut upon Mydei’s hand.
Only, it does not come.
The statue’s eyes glow brighter than ever. Mydei might be imagining things, but he can’t help but think that the Verax Leo is smiling. He withdraws his hand quickly.
“Excellent!” the statue exclaims. “There’s no doubt about it. You, Lord Phainon, must be blessed by Cerces Themselves! Such insight… My kin’s jealousy would be insurmountable, I’m sure, for not one, but two! Two distinguished Chrysos Heirs had just partaken in my humble riddle!”
Mydei huffs at the show of excitement. “Ridiculous. Pray tell, why is love the answer? I fail to see the connection.”
“Perhaps you’re taking it too literally, Mydei,” Phainon says as if his opinion is needed. It’s very much not.
The Verax Leo hums in agreement. “Indeed. The riddle is, after all, simply an obscure representation of something else. A lone glimmering star at midnight would shine the brightest—much like Lord Phainon’s heroism amidst the darkest times.”
Even if there’s no lie to the statement, Mydei already dreads the outcome of this cursed conversation that should have already ended. Phainon merely indulges himself in the compliment with a light expression.
The Verax Leo continues, “As for the golden light of dawn… Why, isn’t it a suitable description for Prince Mydei’s eyes?”
A quick flash of red and the statue is no more. Phainon blinks, rather comically, gaze darting between Mydei and the pile of debris on the floor.
“I think I might’ve just found the culprit behind the Verax Leo murders,” Phainon muses.
“I hardly count it as murders,” Mydei retorts. “An act of justice would be a more appropriate way to describe my actions.”
“You know better than to take these statues seriously, Mydei.”
Mydei scoffs, meeting azure eyes with a sharp glare. “You’re not so dull to be unaware of what that Verax Leo was alluding to, are you?”
Phainon thinks over his response for a bit. It takes five seconds. “I quite agree that the golden light from Kephale’s Dawn Device could be seen easily through your gaze.”
There are a dozen fleeting emotions that engulfs Mydei’s entire being at the moment. None of them makes him feel good.
“Deliverer,” he starts, struggling to remain composed. “Do heed my advice and lower your voice. The walls have ears and your words would only serve as fuel to the flame.”
Phainon tilts his head slightly to the side, like a confused (adorable) little chimera that lounges at the Garden of Life. “I fail to see how my honesty requires obscurity.”
“Surely, it did not escape your dim-witted mind that there are rumors circulating around Okhema concerning the two of us?”
“I am no hermit,” Phainon says, seemingly unperturbed by this as Mydei had initially dreaded, his usual easy smile not faltering at the slightest.
Mydei starts a countdown to a hundred. “Then you’d know that everyone in Okhema thinks we are romantically involved.”
Phainon takes his time to formulate an acceptable reply, still smiling like Mydei had just told him something remotely funny to him in some bizarre way. A quint must have passed. Mydei counts thirty in his head.
“I know about the rumors,” Phainon says finally. “I started it.”
The countdown starts anew. Mydei’s fingers twitch from within his golden gauntlets, the urge to hit something too strong to ignore.
“I’m giving you ten seconds to run,” he tells Phainon, voice dangerously low.
“To be chased by you would be quite the exhilarating exercise,” Phainon graciously points out, like his life is not in mortal danger or anything.
Mydei’s power surges through the scarlet cracks littered all across his exposed skin. “Eight seconds. You should use this ample amount of time to explain yourself if you’re not going to get out of my sight.”
“Did you know? This is the most you’ve spoken to me in such a short time since I was chosen by the prophecy.”
Mydei nods. “Sure. Your time’s up. I’m going to kill you now.”
Phainon steps back out of cautiousness even if they both know he can take Mydei in a fight. “Ah, but the dear citizens of Okhema have already made the due preparations for our wedding next week. You don’t mean to disregard their efforts, do you?”
“Deliverer.”
“Okay, okay! Before you so coldly end my existence, I shall let you know of my reasons.”
“Speak, then.”
Phainon sighs, now looking frazzled and quite unlike his usual self. “Titans, this is so embarrassing,” he mutters.
Mydei raises an eyebrow. “Trust me, Deliverer. Shame will be the last of your worries once I get my hands around your neck.”
A hint of pink dusts Phainon’s cheeks. “That’s quite the proposition.”
Mydei takes a step forward, Phainon takes two steps back with both of his hands up in surrender.
“It was in jest, my dear Mydeimos. Are you really sure killing me in cold blood is the right course of action? You’ll lose a sparring partner once I’m gone.”
Mydei considers it for a moment. “A worthy sacrifice. Now, your explanation.”
Phainon worries at his bottom lip, avoiding Mydei’s gaze as a light blush graces his handsome face.
Handsome.
By Thanatos is Mydei’s soul ready for reaping.
“It was two weeks ago,” Phainon starts, gaze darting anywhere else but at Mydei. “I was, uh, finding myself a conversation partner with a Verax Leo. Not this one, though.” He gestures at the pile of rubble.
Mydei rubs his temples, already feeling a headache coming. He can't believe he's about to blame his current dilemma on Phainon's apparent lack of friends.
Who in Amphoreus chooses to confide in a Verax Leo? A friendless Deliverer, that's what.
“Get to the point.”
Phainon inhales deeply. Exhales. Inhales again. Mydei wonders what warrants the sudden need for a breathing exercise.
“Deliverer, are you—”
“I may have perhaps hinted that your beauty could rival that of Mnestia’s and I seem to always have a hard time looking away whenever you grace my sights.”
Mydei stares. Phainon spoke very fast and his words had come out somewhat a bit jumbled and rushed and so very much unlike the eloquent way he tends to speak. Fortunately (or in this case, it is rather unfortunate) Mydei understands Phainon clearly by some miracle.
“What?” Mydei squawks.
“Mydei, I’m not saying it again,” Phainon says, somewhat out of breath and face turning as red as the fresh tomatoes sold in the market.
“That’s a good idea,” Mydei tells him. “You blaspheme the Titans with your words! Why, if only Mnestia is at the height of Their power, I’d be reduced to mere shreds! Much less, a nasty-looking pebble!”
“Even as a pebble, you would be radiant.”
“Sometimes, the right to speak should not always be exercised,” Mydei shoots back in turn, a tingling warmth spreading across his skin.
Phainon seems to find the floor interesting. “I apologize for speaking without shedding an ounce of thought for my words.”
Despite how easy it is to forgive and forget when it comes to Phainon, Mydei still continues to berate the poor Deliverer. Serves him right for all the suffering he’d put Mydei through.
“And you share your blasphemy with a Verax Leo, no less,” Mydei says. “No wonder our love has spread across all teleslates for the people of Okhema to feast over.”
Even the famed stories of Nikador’s alleged failures in acquiring romance could not defeat the tales of his and Phainon’s tumbles in bed, the shameless topic discussed by the best debaters from the beginning of the Lucid Hour to the final quint of the Action Hour, whispers continuing to linger even through the Parting Hour when everyone ought to cease all manners of disquiet.
Truly preposterous.
“I’m sorry, De,” Phainon says, sincere to a fault, looking painfully guilty that Mydei has no choice but to accept the apology.
However.
“Only the Holy Maidens have the right to call me that,” Mydei says, arms crossed. “And it’s only because I don’t hit children.”
Phainon smiles wryly. “You can hit me. I deserve it.”
Mydei, surprisingly, doesn’t find the will in him to do so.
He sighs heavily, feeling exhausted even when he’d spent his day in leisure. “What in Amphoreus made you think my beauty could rival that of Mnestia’s? Have you gone blind? Or worse, insane?”
Phainon shakes his head. “Make no mistake. I truly mean it.” He looks up, bright blue eyes meeting gold. “You’re beautiful, Mydei.”
“Beauty is the last thing that comes up when one hears of my name. Have you forgotten, Deliverer? I’m cursed.”
“As are all of us,” Phainon replies without an ounce of hesitation. “On the other hand, I see you as quite the blessing.”
Mydei stares at the other out of pure disbelief. “See a healer. This instant.”
“I feel perfectly fine. In fact, having you in my sights just eased me of my weariness.”
Mydei glares. It’s a failed attempt to appear slighted. “I have nothing more to say to you.”
“That’s a shame,” Phainon says, a teasing lilt in his tone. “I quite like your voice.”
Mydei shoves him aside, the tips of his ears as red as the marks littered across his skin. “Quit it with your heavy-handed attempts at flattery. I’m not some naive maiden easily swayed.”
Phainon smiles. “Then it’s a good thing I’m not trying to gain the affections of one such naive maiden.”
“What, exactly, are you trying to say here?” Mydei asks with scoff, prickly and confused because Phainon is not making any sense right now.
Phainon, on the other hand, is calm as a lake that not even Phagousa’s waves could make ripples on its surface. Perhaps it was an act of hypocrisy to call Phainon out on his blatant blasphemy towards the Titans when Mydei, himself, is engaging in the same act albeit only doing so in his mind.
Mydei’s musings are interrupted when Phainon takes a step forward, eyes sharp and searing as he gently takes up Mydei’s gauntlet-clad hand in his and rests it against his chest. Mydei could feel the steady rise and fall of Phainon’s breathing, accompanied by the stark contrast of an erratically beating heart from within.
“Deliver— Phainon.” Mydei swallows, feeling his throat dry out. He finds himself short of breath as he meets Phainon’s gaze. There's something in there, the last of Mydei's expectations. And yet, it seems to be the only possibility. “You know not what you’re asking for.”
Phainon looks at Mydei like he’s something precious, bare hands wrapped around the golden metal upon Mydei’s wrist. Even if Mydei does not make a move to pull his hand away, Phainon makes sure that it’s not a choice until his words are listened to.
“I’m not asking for anything,” Phainon eventually says.
Mydei bristles. “Then—”
“This has long been overdue, and with all the rumors flying around I never seemed to find the right time to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
Phainon’s licks his lips, Mydei follows the movement. Entranced. There’s an urge to lean in. He thinks the warmth of Phainon’s hand is seeping through his gauntlets. It’s a welcome sensation, Mydei wishes he could feel it with his bare skin.
“I simply wish to let you know of my feelings for you,” Phainon says, sincerity in every word, every syllable. “Accept or reject them, it wouldn’t matter. I care not for such entitlements even if your answer would undoubtedly… make or break me all the same. Just that, you ought to know where my heart lies.”
A second passes. Another second more. The concept of time seems to fly out of the window at the moment as Mydei stands there with his mouth agape, dumbfounded beyond reason because—
Phainon has… feelings for him?
How?
Why?
Since when?
This is a dream.
Before Mydei could even form a proper response, Phainon had already let go of his hand, stepping away and once again placing enough distance between them. Mydei feels the loss of warmth and mourns it.
“Well then,” Phainon starts, scratching his nape casually like he just didn’t cause Mydei to lose his ability to think. “I shall not take up too much of your time.”
Mydei continues to stare at him. Phainon tries to hide his discomfort under the guise of an easy smile. As he always does.
“I’ll… see you tomorrow for our sparring session?” Phainon asks.
The question is filled with uncertainty. Phainon’s fear seeps through the cracks easily, the thought that Mydei might not want anything to do with him after this encounter is obvious enough for even Mydei to see through Phainon’s mind without breaking his head open.
Eventually, Mydei finds his voice to utter a reply. “Of course, Deliverer.”
Phainon’s eyes widen upon hearing the words, shoulders visibly slumping in relief at the next second as he smiles. Mydei might just be blinded by the brilliance of it.
“I— That’s—” Phainon struggles to come up with words. He settles with a succinct, “Great!”
Mydei nods. Because, sure. He ignores the flaming heat spreading all across his face in the meantime. Any second now, he’s going to turn into a ball of fire. It’s a comfort that such an event won’t scare Phainon away.
Phainon shifts his weight from one foot to another. He can’t seem to stop smiling at Mydei, all white perfect teeth and crinkled eye corners and glistening blues and radiant sparkles—
“I’ll, uh, see you around.”
Mydei nods again. “Okay.”
Phainon turns around, tripping as he does so. He turns back at Mydei, finds him still there and still looking at him, before essentially fleeing down the hall and disappearing out of sight.
Mydei remains unmoving from where he stood, dazed in all sense of the word because on Kephale’s muscular arms, what just happened.
“What a sincere declaration of love.”
“You’re still alive?” Mydei asks, his question directed at the pile of rubble who had been apparently eavesdropping during his entire conversation with the Deliverer.
The crumbled Verax Leo chuckles lowly. “My consciousness is not something Thanatos has control over, dear prince. Lord Phainon is simply too devoted that even my non-existent heart is indubitably moved!”
Mydei sighs heavily. This is not going to help the rumors at all.
•
“Have you heard? A servant saw Lord Phainon exit Prince Mydei’s quarters during the Curtain-Fall Hour!”
“That’s nothing compared to what I heard! My mate Paul said he saw Lord Phainon purchasing a sack of pomegranates with splotches of red littered across his neck! It’s Prince Mydei’s love bites for certain!”
“Well, that’s nothing compared to what I just saw two quints earlier!”
“What did you see?”
“Prince Mydei and Lord Phainon were kissing! Rather passionately, might I add, in the Heroes’ baths!”
A collective gasp of thirty-seven idle people could be heard.
“Before the wedding?” a conservative Okheman noble questions, aghast.
“Oh my…” a blushing maiden conveys.
Unbeknownst to them, two people seated high up on the roofs are listening in. One of them seemed rather interested, while the other, a bit peeved.
“I told you it was a bad idea to do things like that in public,” Mydei grumbles, a chalice filled with pomegranate juice in hand.
Phainon hums. “Are we not going to discuss how you so shamelessly left your marks on me?”
“We both know you bite more than I do, Deliverer. You just don’t sink your teeth deep enough.”
Phainon does sink his teeth deep enough. Mydei would never forget the sight of liquid gold dripping from Phainon’s lips and staining his teeth as he laves his tongue all across Mydei’s skin, whose wounds healed in mere seconds with no scar in sight.
Mydei had never agonized over his curse before. It had been a first.
Feeling Phainon tense beside him, Mydei redirects the conversation to something else. “Also, didn’t I tell you to stay with me until the Entry Hour? Look, someone saw you slinking away like a thief.”
Phainon laughs lightly, planting a kiss on the top of Mydei’s head. “I didn’t want to intrude.”
“You worry about the most insignificant things, Deliverer. The next time we... you know...” Mydei clears his throat, face set ablaze. “Just stay in my chambers and we shall fetch some breakfast together afterwards.”
Phainon smiles, blue eyes scrutinizing the red dusting Mydei’s cheeks. “The next time we what, Mydei? You should speak more clearly or I might misunderstand.”
The crowds below had quite a massive shock when Lord Phainon himself descended from the heavens in all his glory.
(He got graciously thrown off the roof by none other than Mydei, who disappeared without a word in the next second.)
Later that day during the last quint of the Parting Hour, before Phainon could even land a knock on Mydei’s door, it opens slightly and a hand marred in streaks of scarlet snatches him by the nape. Echoes of a door slamming could be heard through the hallways.
The rest is history.