Chapter Text
Aglaea summons Phainon to her office late in the day, and from the moment he sees her face, he understands this is more important than their usual meetings. Something in the set of her shoulders and the subtle fidgeting of her hands makes Phainon’s stomach lurch. If Aglaea is apprehensive about this meeting, he should certainly be as well.
“Aglaea, you sent for me?” Phainon asks as he sits down, forcing his voice to stay steady. He can’t let a simple meeting get to him if he’s to lead the Flame Chase one day. No matter how exposed he feels under Aglaea’s eyes, he has to stay calm. It’s not like he hasn’t faced worse before. Still, something itches behind Phainon’s sternum; his overactive intuition telling to be on edge.
“Yes, Phainon, thank you for coming so quickly. I have some important news to share with you,” she replies, handing Phainon a stack of paper before continuing on. “As you know, we have been trying to formalize an alliance with Castrum Kremnos for some time now, and I’m happy to say that the negotiators have finally agreed on a set of terms which is beneficial to both sides.”
Phainon perks up at this. “That’s incredible news,” he says, relieved. So often, important means bad; but this is good news, incredible even. Maybe if this all works out, Phainon will be able to talk Aglaea into letting him learn to fight with the Kremnoans. It’s one of the few childhood dreams he remembers, and it would certainly make him a more capable fighter, more useful in the battle against the Black Tide. See, there’s nothing to be worried about, he tells his intuition, trying to force himself to settle.
“It is good news,” Aglaea agrees, a rare genuine smile gracing her features. “It took a long time to get here, but it was simply inevitable. Our two nations can no longer afford to waste resources on border squabbles in the face of the Black Tide.”
“What got the Kremnoans to finally agree?” Phainon asks. He’s sat through enough negotiation meetings to understand that the Kremnoans are exceedingly stubborn, even in the worst of times.
“A guarantee of sorts,” Aglaea replies, cryptic, but not unusually so for her. “This, Phainon, is where you come in.”
Phainon’s palms go sweaty, the itch in his chest spreads down to his finger tips. Phainon understands his role in Aglaea’s plans, but he always understood that role was about his strength. About saving refugees and killing Titankin. About helping usher in Era Nova when the time came. Never before has he been expected to play a crucial role in democracy, especially not something like this, which is surely months and months in the making despite Phainon just now learning about it.
“If you turn to the second to last page of the treaty,” Aglaea says. She gestures to the stack of paper in Phainon’s hold, now forgotten and creased, “the terms of the arrangement are detailed.”
Phainon flips to the page and starts to read. Distantly, he knows Aglaea is still speaking, but Phainon can no longer hear her; his entire world has narrowed to the words in front of him and the hammer of his pulse in his ears.
In order to secure long-term investment from both parties, a marriage is arranged between the heir of Castrum Kremnos, Crown Prince Mydeimos, and the most suitable equivalent from Okhema, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae.
For a second, Phainon can’t make sense of what he is reading. His brain seems to skip over the word like it doesn’t exist. Marriage. His heart stutters, his stomach twists. There is bile in his throat and a stinging behind his eyes. So much for there being nothing to worry about. An arranged marriage is the last thing he ever expected. The idea of being forced to sit still and be pretty and protect the peace from afar chafes at him. It is antithetical to everything he has worked towards so far. How can he fight one the front lines when he–
“Phainon,” Aglaea calls, pulling Phainon out of his head. Her expression is stern, but not unkind, as she continues. “Of course, the marriage will not go through if you do not agree to it.” And Phainon’s stomach sinks. He understands, once again, that this is important. As quickly as it came, his confusion and restless energy fades away. His anger doesn’t dissipate, but it does hide itself away, pushed back into the shadowy place it belongs.
Phainon forces a deep breath and holds his tongue. This is no place for his own emotions, he has always known that. He could say no. In theory, Aglaea has given him an out. In reality, they both know there is no circumstance in which Phainon says no. He understands the importance of this alliance, he understands his place as the “Deliverer.” Since arriving in Okhema, he has been shaped into a tool for diplomacy and war. Aglaea says she’s never met anyone with such stubborn strength and charming wit. It is meant as a compliment, but it has always sounded more like condemnation. Now Phainon has been presented with the result of his training–a culmination of years and years of diplomacy and war, so Phainon supposes, this must be the role he was shaped to fill.
“Of course I agree,” Phainon says, like they both knew he would. “I’m honored to be part of such an important peace treaty.” He is, he truly is. His hands are clenched into fists and his eyes burn, but countless lives will be saved on account of this treaty. Working together, the two nations might even make meaningful progress against the Black Tide. Phainon gets to train with the legendary Kremnoan army. It’s everything he’s ever wanted.
***
“Tell me again why the Kremnoan Crown Prince can’t come to Okhema instead?” Castorice asks.
The two of them are in Phainon’s room later that night, Castorice curled up on the one chair in the room, and Phainon splayed across his bed, head hanging off the edge.
Phainon and Castorice have been close friends since they were young. Since they were both lost and lonely orphans, both ostracized for their backgrounds. Phainon for wandering into Okhema as a lifeless and bloodied child from the destroyed city of Aedes Elyseia, and Castorice for the rumors that the Styxian cult she was born into left her with the curse of death. And now Phainon has to give his oldest friend more details on the arrangement that will rip them apart.
Phainon pulls himself up and flips through the pages of the treaty until he finds the relevant page. He clears his throat, overdramatic, and reads: “Castrum Kremnos has traditionally protected and expanded its borders with force. To ensure the safety of Kremnoan borders under the non-aggression treaty, after the two heirs are wed, Phainon of Okhema will move to Castrum Kremnos.” Phainon sighs and lies back down, deflated. “They want me as collateral.”
He spent most of the day pacing around the city, trying to keep his anger in check, reminding himself how important this is, and how he can’t know what marriage or Castrum Kremnos will be like. By now, he’s mostly worn himself out, and it’s left him feeling exhausted and empty.
“So your presence is supposed to keep Okhema from taking advantage of the treaty and invading Catrum Kremnos, but what’s to keep Kremnos from just invading Okheman again anyway?” Castorice asks.
“I don’t know,” Phainon mumbles. “Honor, I guess.”
“I don’t know if that’s a particularly strong guarantee, Phainon,” Castorice says. “With all the rumors about how violent the Kremnoan army is,” she trails off. “Maybe you should have said no.”
“Oh, no way, Cas,” Phainon dismisses her quickly, with reflexive conviction. “You know how it is with Aglaea. I just owe her so much, I can’t let her down. And the alliance, the treaty, it’s too important to jeopardize."
“I guess, but… What if they hurt you anyway. Or what if they make you join a gladiator match and fight to the death to prove your worth.”
“No, I’m not really worried about that,” Phainon says, flipping around to look at her head on. “I think those are just Okheman rumors. You know, when growing up in Aedes Elysiae, Castrum Kremnos had a really positive reputation, they were known mostly for being incredible warriors. I actually wanted to go learn swordfighting there.” Truly, his safety is the last thing he is worried about. He’s much more concerned with learning how to be a good husband and adjusting to his new life.
“Oh, wow,” Castorice says, her previous fear forgotten in an instant, “that’s almost romantic, don’t you think?”
“Romantic?” Phainon scoffs. Not one single part of him is going into this arrangement expecting romance. The idea of a political marriage like this one seems almost offensive to what little idea of romance he has.
“I know it may seem silly, Phainon,” Castorice says, “but think about it. You’re moving to the place of your childhood dreams to get married. Maybe it’s a sign.”
“I don’t think it’s a sign, but it probably won’t be too bad.” Phainon falls silent for a moment, lets his gaze wander, following the random swirls in his carpet. “Also, I don’t really think of it as a marriage, it just doesn’t feel right.”
“You don’t think you’ll fall for the Crown Prince?” Castorice asks.
“I’m sure he’ll be nice, and I’ll do my best to be a good husband,” Phainon says, his face scrunching up, “but I’m doing this because it’s my duty, for the greater good, not for love.”
“Don’t you want to fall in love one day?”
“To be honest, I’ve never really thought about it. I’ve always been too busy training or fighting to think about love,” Phainon says softly.
“Maybe the Crown Prince will surprise you!”
Phainon forces out a laugh for Castorice’s sake. She’s a romantic at heart, and Phainon does appreciate her optimism.
“Sure, Cas, maybe he will.”
***
The next month passes quickly, and it feels like Phainon hardly has time to breathe before it’s time for the wedding. After which, Okhema and Castrum Kremnos will finally be at peace, and Phainon will be Mydeimos’ husband.
They set out at dawn the day of the ceremony. The two nations both refused to enter into “enemy” territory before the finalization of the treaty–before the wedding–so they agreed to hold the ceremony at the border between the two countries. The venue is a little over a half day’s journey from Okhema. Not impossible, but long enough that they have to start early.
Phainon rides with Aglaea and Castorice, followed by an outrageously large caravan. It’s nice to chat with Castorice as they make their way across the countryside, she bolsters his efforts to be genuinely excited. Her quiet, yet barely reserved excitement is contagious. The way she talks about the flower arrangements she helped design, and the new wedding outfit Aglaea made for him helps him feel better about the huge celebration. Not to mention they’re both excited to see Hyacine and Anaxa again. They have no idea how Aglaea talked Anaxa into it, but it’s nice that a contingent from the Grove will be in attendance.
The camp comes into view sooner than expected. Aglaea did tell him that both countries worked hard to design a venue befitting such a ceremony, but he hadn’t expected it to be so tall. Grand spires tower into view in the distance, all draped with fabric that sways in the wind like oversized battle standards.
Tents come into view next, then the distant sound of music drifts across the field. The true scope of the camp is only clear once they are in the thick of it, surrounded on all sides by bustling crowds and craftspeople still hard at work.
Phainon only gets to take it in for a moment. As soon as he’s found his tent and unpacked his bags, an attendant shows him to the temporary baths and informs him Aglaea expects him clean and in the staging area in half an hour.
He cleans himself quickly, but it takes awhile to wash off all the grime from the journey, and he gets a little lost trying to find the new tent, so he’s only just finished drying his hair when Aglaea arrives. Not a second later than promised, she comes into the tent, Anaxa close on her heels, carrying on some argument Phainon’s sure they’ve had time and time before.
“Don’t ignore me, Aglaea, you know I’m right. We have to be reasonable with our resources if this is to work!”
“I’m not ignoring you, I just have more important things to focus on at the moment,” Aglaea snips.
“Professor!” Phainon greets, holding back a laugh. Some things never change.
“Phainon,” Anaxa replies. “Glad to see you’re doing well. Or as well as one can in your position.” He turns his glare back at Aglaea. “We’ll continue this discussion later.”
“Oh, I’m sure we will,” Aglaea sighs. “Now, Phainon, the ceremony is at sunset, so we should have plenty of time to get ready.” She holds out her hands to Anaxa, who rolls his eyes, but takes a bundle of fabric out of his bag and hands it to her without complaint. “Nothing’s changed since your last fitting, so go ahead and put on the under-layer yourself, then we’ll help you with the rest.”
“Oh, but I can dress myself,” Phainon says. He’s not sure why they would both be here to offer something he can clearly do himself. Is Aglaea that worried about his fashion sense? Maybe it’s something specific about this wedding, a royal custom that would be impolite to disregard.
“Nonsense. It’s traditional,” Anaxa says, as haughty as ever. “This wedding is still part Okheman after all.”
“Exactly,” Aglaea says, “And we found no good reason to deny you this. Now go, you shouldn’t dawdle.” She drops a plain chiton into his hands and pushes him gently towards a privacy screen at the back of the room. Easy as anything, like it’s just another day in her workshop. But Phainon doesn’t know much about weddings. He never really got a chance to learn. He’s been too busy ever since he arrived in Okhema, and, well, it’s not like children pay attention to weddings.
“Oh. Alright,” Phainon says, at a loss.
He steps aside and changes quickly; he doesn’t want to dwell on this. The base layer is a simple enough chiton, pale cream and hitting down by his ankles, but the fabric is unusually soft against his skin, and the embroidery at the neck and hem shines like gold.
With the base layer on, Phainon returns to Aglaea and Anaxa, and despite all his protests, they insist on dressing him. Well, in truth, Aglaea dresses him while Anaxa holds the accessories and makes snide suggestions that Aglaea ignores. The majority of his outfit is a grand cloak, dyed the same royal blue as his usual cape, and embroidered with golden suns and stalks of wheat. Once Aglaea is satisfied with the drape of it, she pins a smaller, light-blue sash in place over his shoulders. That’s almost all of it, all that’s left is a few choice pieces of golden jewelry: a necklace, an armband and two wrist cuffs. Neither of the two mention his choker; they let him keep it on without a fuss.
The mirror in the tent is cloudy, but it’s enough for Phainon to watch his transformation. As Aglaea and Anaxa flit around him, adorning Phainon in more and more luxury, the scene in the mirror becomes more and more unrecognizable. This isn’t him. The man in the mirror isn’t an orphaned soldier from a farming village that no longer exists. The man in the mirror lives a gentle life, full of softness and love. One could even be forgiven for thinking he had two living parents. Who knew wedding preparations would be so familial. Maybe that would be obvious to someone else, but not to Phainon. Because Phainon has to imagine he’s seeing someone else in the mirror, or else it will be too obvious who isn’t there.
“Alright,” Aglaea says, pleased. “It’s perfect.”
“It is impressive to see how you’ve grown up,” Anaxa says, in rare agreement with Aglaea.
They leave Phainon absolutely at a loss for how to respond, but he musters a small smile and thanks them both. He’s good at that, and he’ll only need to get better from here on out.
“Now, you’re ready, and it’s time for the two of us to start other preparations. Now all you have to do is wait here until it’s time for me to fetch you,” Aglaea says. “The ceremony starts soon, so it shouldn’t be long.”
“Alright,” Phainon says with a smile. “I can do that.” If nothing else, he can follow directions.
Uncharacteristically, Aglaea pauses before leaving.
“Phainon. Thank you for this,” she says without turning to face him. “I do hope you can be happy in your new life.”
She leaves without giving Phainon a chance to respond.
***
It doesn’t take long for the ceremony to start. Music starts to swell outside of the tent, a loud and boisterous song that Phainon doesn’t recognize. Just a moment, Aglaea ducks back into the tent, ready to start the ceremony.
“It’s time to go, Phainon,” Aglaea says. “There shouldn’t be any surprises, and everyone here wants this to go well. It should be easy, all things considered.”
“I’m not worried,” Phainon says.
“I didn’t think you would be,” Aglaea replies with a tone that makes it clear she’s called his bluff. “Just follow me to the top of the altar and then it’ll all begin. Let’s go.”
Phainon follows her out of the tent, walking out into the golden light of sunset as the music continues to play.
***
The ceremony was lovely, a touching mix of the two cultures. At least that’s what Castorice tells him afterwards, but Phainon himself hardly remembers any of that. It truly is remarkable how much one can do on muscle memory and reflex. He went through the motions of the ceremony; exchanging laurels, reciting hymns and offering fine goods to the Titans– gold for Kephale, wine for Nikador, and silk for Mnestia – but none of that is what Phainon remembers.
He remembers seeing Mydeimos – his husband – in person for the first time, resplendent in ceremonial armor and war paint. He remembers thinking that Mydeimos is gorgeous, and that single thought repeating in his mind for the duration of the ceremony. He remembers feeling Mydeimos’ warm hand in his and thinking this might not be so bad.
Now the ceremony is over and the feast has begun; and Phainon sits, somewhat dumbfounded, at the opposite end of the grand table from Mydeimos, his husband.
“It feels counterintuitive, right?” Phainon asks Castorice, leaning over so she can hear him over the music. He’d ask Aglaea, but she has, very unsubtly, excused herself to speak with Queen Gorgo at the edge of the crowd.
“To have you sit so far away from Prince Mydeimos?” she replies. “Yes, I’m not sure why they would separate you two.”
“I’d just like to get to know him eventually, since I’m supposed to be spending the rest of my life with him.”
Castorice laughs, hiding her smile behind a hand. “I’m sure you would like to get to know him,” she teases.
“Hey! What do you mean by that?” Phainon protests.
“I know you fairly well, Phainon,” Castorice says, still smiling, “I saw the way you looked at him during the ceremony. Even I can see how handsome the Crown Prince is.”
Phainon splutters for a moment before hanging his head and acquiescing. “He is, isn’t he,” he says. He doesn’t think he could lie about it if he wanted to.
“Oh, there’s no reason to sound so glum, Phainon,” Castorice says. “I mean, you are married now, and having a handsome husband probably makes that easier.”
Phainon blushes, unsure why Castorice’s simple words leave him feeling flustered, but just as he opens his mouth, about to defend himself, two young men pop up behind them.
“You must be our good man, Phainon,” the shorter one says, clapping Phainon on the shoulder.
“I– Yes, I am,” says Phainon, pushing down his surprise. “And who are you?”
“I’m Hephaestion,” the other one says. He’s taller than his friend and has longer hair. “And this is Perdikkas, we’re Mydei’s close friends.”
“We’ve come to prepare you for the last part of the wedding ceremony,” Perdikkas says. Phainon doesn’t know about any additional ceremonies, his smile tightens as he fights to stay calm. It’s unlikely these two have any authority over Phainon, but Phainon can’t afford to make a bad first impression with his husband’s closest friends.
“There’s another part of the ceremony?” Phainon asks.
“Indeed! One last tradition to send you lovebirds off to your nuptial tent,” Perdikkas says with a cheeky grin.
Hephaestion elbows Perdikkas in the side before clarifying. “Yeah, it’s based on ancient Kremnoan traditions, and it’s the reason the two of you are sitting so far apart,” he says. “You see, in ancient Kremnos, there wasn’t really any notion of marriage as there is today, and when people did decide to commit to each other outside of battle, the only ceremony involved was a sort of ritualized elopement.”
Phainon nods, at the very least he’ll learn something from this surprise, and he’s always loved hearing more about ancient traditions.
“Typically, the girl would stay in her home and wait for the guy to sneak in and bring her back to his place, and if they could make it without getting caught, they were considered married. Nowadays, everyone gets caught on purpose, and when they do, the new couple’s friends get to lift them up and carry them the last of the way to their home. It’s part of the fun.”
“People don’t really follow the specifics anymore, especially if the couple is two men or two women like you and Mydei,” Perdikkas adds. “But since you’re the one coming to live with us, you’re gonna play the wife.”
“I see,” Phainon says. He starts looking around for Aglaea or Anaxa, hoping for some guidance. Finding neither of them, he turns to Castorice who just shrugs, seeming to be enjoying this more than Phainon is. Easy for her, she’s not the one being put on the spot.
“Don’t worry about it though, it isn’t demeaning or anything, it’s just playacting,” Heaphastion says.
“And I still think Mydei would enjoy the wife’s role more,” Perdikkas says, “But Queen Gorgo said that this was ‘too important’, so if we wanted to do this, we had to stick to some sense of tradition.”
“It did take us a while to convince her, which is probably why you haven’t heard anything about this,” Hephaestion says, apologetic.
“That makes sense,” Phainon says, slowly getting the sense that this last ceremony is more for the enjoyment of Mydei’s friends, rather than any official purpose.
“Right, so, once the servers start clearing the meal, Mydei will pretend to sneak over to you, and once he does, you two will start on your way to your tent,” Hephaestion explains, “but on the way, we’ll all jump out of ‘hiding’ and catch you, and then we’ll carry you the rest of the way.”
“I still can’t believe we convinced him to do this,” Perdikkas says with a laugh.
“You guys did the convincing, I was on Mydei’s side,” Hephaestion says, haughty.
“Yeah, you’re always on his side, pushover,” Perdikkas says, shouldering Hepheastion, who makes a face and shoulders him back.
“Whatever,” Hephaestion says, holding Perdikkas away so he can’t shoulder him again. “It’ll be obvious when it’s about to happen, just roll with it. Queen Gorgo will have informed your Aglaea, so it’s all above board, no need to worry, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Phainon agrees, nodding slowly.
“Right, so that should be all, hope you have fun,” Hephaestion says before giving Phainon a mock salute and heading back to wherever he came from. Perdikkas winks and makes a crude hand gesture before Hephaestion drags him away.
Phainon watches the two of them walk away, astonished. Beside him, he hears Castorice fail to hide a laugh.
“Don’t say anything,” he says to her, fully aware his blush is not helping his case.
Castorice absolutely fails to hold back additional laughter, but she doesn’t comment, holding up her hands in surrender when Phainon pouts. Phainon knows a lost cause when he sees one, so he hangs his head, steeling himself to wait for this surprise final ceremony.
***
Just as Hephaestion and Perdikkas had said, once most of the plates had been cleared, Mydeimos gets up out of his seat and half-heartedly sneaks around to Phainon’s side of the table. When Mydeimos reaches his seat, he crouches down, presumably trying to hide behind the table. He’s scowling a little bit, and in a different scenario, it might be frightening, but like this, playing pretend for a marriage ritual, it just looks cute.
“Hi,” Phainon says, unsure how to continue the process.
“Hello,” Mydeimos says, voice flat. “Hephaestion and Perdikkas told you about this?”
“Yeah,” Phainon says. “They told me they had to talk you into it.”
Mydeimos grimaces. “They did,” he admits. “But once they convinced my mother, there was no getting out of it.”
“They sound like good friends.”
“They are,” Mydei says, frowning even as he agrees with Phainon.
“So, what now?” Phainon asks.
“Just follow me, and at least try to stay hidden.”
“Sounds easy enough,”
Mydeimos nods and holds out his hand, clearly expecting Phainon to take it. Phainon stares at the hand dumbly for a beat before Castorice coughs politely.
“Do I get a chance to catch you?” she asks.
“Sorry, Miss,” Mydei says, looking even more pained than before, “but I’m afraid my friends would throw a fit if you stole their fun.”
“Next time then,” she says. She smiles brightly at Phainon and gives him an encouraging thumbs up. It hits Phainon again that he might not see her for a very long time after this. He pulls her into a quick hug and tries to remind himself that he isn’t actually losing Castorice. She’s still alive and well, and he’ll be able to send her letters and visit once in a while.
“I’ll miss you, Cas,” he says quietly.
“Don’t be sad yet, Phainon,” she says, hugging him back. “We’ll say goodbye for real tomorrow.” She releases him and pushes him lightly towards Mydei. “Now go. Don’t make him wait any longer.”
Phainon takes a deep breath and turns back to Mydei. “Shall we?” he asks, his smile small and lopsided, unable to muster a fake smile after realizing how much he’ll miss Castorice.
Mydeimos nods once and holds his hand out again. This time, Phainon takes it without hesitation. Hands intertwined, Phainon and Mydei make their way through the camp, both of them crouched to stay ‘out of sight’ as they head towards their tent.
“This feels a little silly,” Phainon says, after they pass the third person who obviously notices them.
“This feels ridiculous,” Mydei hisses.
“Sneaking around seems like a bad way to get to know each other.”
“Sneaking around isn’t a good way to do anything,”
“However,” Phainon says, drawing the word out, “I’m at least learning that you really didn’t want to do this.” As he speaks, he pulls the two of them out of view of some mingling guests, overexaggerating the importance.
Mydeimos glares at him. “You’re enjoying this,” he accuses.
“A little,” Phainon admits, shrugging his shoulders. Any apprehension he’d felt has been replaced by Mydeimos’ endearing expressions and the feeling of Mydei’s strong hand in his. Maybe Castorice was right, and he actually will grow to like Mydeimos.
“Let’s just get this over with,” Mydeimos grumbles. “They should find us soon.”
“That should be exciting,” Phainon says, following along as Mydeimos pulls them from their hiding spot.
They’re found out as soon as they’re back in view of the crowd. They take one step into open space when Perdikkas, Hephaestion, and two other men Phainon doesn’t recognize pop up about thirty feet away from them with a cheer and point accusingly at the two of them.
“Found you!” Perdikkas yells.
“You knew where we were,” Mydeimos mumbles to himself.
“Should we run?” Phainon asks as the five boys and a dozen or so other members of the crowd start rushing towards them.
“No, we’ve been caught,” Mydei says. “Oh no! We’ve been caught!” he yells sarcastically to their excited captors.
The crowd arrives in moments, full of enthusiastic whoops and cheers. Mydei’s friends all but tackle him, playfully teasing him for getting caught as the rest of the people laugh and congratulate the both of them. Phainon learns several names he fears he will immediately forget in all the chaos.
Hephaestion reaches out and pulls Phainon in closer to Mydei and the others. “Ready?” he asks the two of them.
“I hope so,” Phainon replies with a smile. Mydei huffs, but Phainon can tell the contagious excitement is getting to him as well; he’s not very good at hiding his expressions.
Hephaestion yells something Phainon can’t understand– it must be ancient Kremnoan– and the crowd surges, cheers and laughs louder than ever. They push close to Phainon and Mydei and manage to hoist them above their heads.
The group carries them away from the ceremonial area towards the Kremnoan side, Phainon and Mydei bobbing and swaying precariously with the movement. It’s hard not to laugh. Even as he pitches from side to side, Phaionn admits to enjoying this. It feels like he’s a part of something, receiving the sort of welcome he never expected from his new home. He can only hope this gratitude extends past the wedding day.
After only a few minutes, Phainon and Mydei are deposited in front of a large tent decorated with olive branches and golden tapestries.
“This is where we leave you,” Hephaestion says, straightening Mydei’s chiton.
“Don’t forget us,” Perdikkas jokes.
“They grow up so fast,” says another one of Mydei’s friends, wiping away an imaginary tear.
“Piss off,” Mydei scolds, fondly. “Go bother someone else.”
“You wound me!” jokes the same friend, leaning into Hephaestion for comfort.
“You want us out of your hair so you can get up to newly wed activities, ey?” Perdikkas says, winking obnoxiously in Phainon’s direction. Phainon laughs nervously and rubs the back of his neck, unsure how to respond.
“Alright, Alright, let’s leave them be,” Hephaesion says, shooing the others away.
They all yell out dramatic farewells as they wander away, until they finally lose interest and leave Phainon alone with Mydei. For the first time, it’s just the two of them. As they enter their tent, and Mydei starts removing his heavy ceremonial armor, it is not lost on Phainon that there are certain assumptions about the wedding night.
“You know, Mydeimos–”
“Just Mydei is fine,” Mydei says, interrupting him.
“Oh, okay. Mydei, then,” Phainon continues, “I just want to say that I don’t expect any, uh, newlywed activities or anything. We don’t even know each other.”
“Good, we’re on the same page, then,” Mydei says. “I have nothing against you, but we are both aware this is not a normal marriage.”
“No, it’s not,” Phainon agrees. Mydei is so formal and stern, it leaves Phainon unsure how to continue.
“Alright, then I am going to bathe and then go to bed,” Mydei says. “It’s been a long day and we leave early in the morning.”
Phainon nods and starts getting ready for bed as well. He follows Mydei’s lead and steps behind a curtain to change. There’s no reason to feel so ill at ease. He suggested this. He agrees with Mydei’s reasoning, and yet, it still feels like he’s been told off somehow.
Mydei returns from the bath after Phainon is settled in their bed. He smells of goat’s milk soap and a fruit Phainon can’t identify. They sleep on opposite sides of the bed, as far away as possible.
***
Phainon wakes to a loud bugle call and to Mydei already packing up their tent. The first thing he notices is that Mydei’s hair is loose, free of the intricate braids he wore last night. It falls to his shoulders, longer than he expected, and the gentle shift from blonde to red is so seamless that Phainon can’t imagine it’s artificially colored.
“Good, you’re awake,” Mydei says when he notices Phainon. If he caught Phainon staring, he’s polite enough not to mention it.
“Mornin’,” Phainon greets through a yawn, slowly getting up and gathering his clothes.
“We need to be heading out in an hour, will you be ready then?” Mydei asks.
“Yeah, that’s fine. I didn’t unpack my stuff,” Phainon says from behind the changing curtain.
“Mn, good,” Mydei says. He sounds closer than before– Oh, Phainon steps back into the main room and finds himself face to face with Mydei.
“Hi,” Phainon says, unsure.
“You need to braid my hair,” Mydei says.
“I do?”
“Yes. Hair is important to Kremnoans, and it’s traditional for married couples to braid each others’ hair.”
“Oh,” Phainon says dumbly. Yet another Kremnoan custom he wasn’t taught about. “But I don’t know how to braid…”
“That’s fine, I’ll teach you.” Mydei goes to sit down and motions for Phainon to follow him. Phainon stands behind Mydei, hands awkwardly hovering above his shoulders, unsure how to proceed.
“You really don’t know how to do this?” Mydei asks.
“No, sorry,” Phainon says.
“Hm, alright,” Mydei says. “To start, go ahead and take about an inch of hair behind my right ear.” Phainon follows the instruction, doing his best to portion the hair cleanly. “Split the hair into three even strands, then you’ll take the middle strand over the right, the new middle strand over the left, and then continue that until you run out of hair.”
Phainon fails miserably.
It takes three more tries for Phainon to get somewhat of a decent braid, and even when he does, the golden clasp at the end looks like it’s holding on for dear life. He’s almost positive Mydei is going to redo the braid when he isn’t looking. It’s worth it, however, Mydei’s hair was so soft, truly fitting for a prince. And according to Mydei, Phainon will get to do this every morning.
After the hair-braiding, they finish breaking down their tent quickly. Neither of them had any personal possessions in the tent, and the camp itself was designed to come and go easily. It feels strange to move his belongings from the Okheman side of camp to the Kremnoan side, but he hopes the feeling will fade. After all, at this point, he should be used to losing his home, shouldn't he? And in all honesty, Phainon isn’t sure how much Okhema ever was home to him. Even if it takes a while for Kremnos to feel like home, Phainon is sure it will eventually. All he has to do is commit himself to being the best husband he can be, to fully serving the new-found peace, and doing whatever he can to keep Mydei happy. He’s still hopeful, buoyed by the small intimacy of getting to braid Mydei’s hair.
He stays cheerful as he says his goodbyes. Aglaea and Anaxa remain calm and detached, as expected, but he gets a sense that they both will genuinely miss him. Castorice cannot hold back her tears, and Phainon finds himself tearing up in response. Castorice is one of the few friends he’s had in Okhema, and one of the few people who can understand how he feels as an outsider, how indebted he is to Aglaea because he is an outsider. She leaves him with a stack of romance novels and makes him promise to write often.
Another horn sounds in the distance and it’s time to leave. Phainon takes a deep breath and makes his way back to Mydei and his family, preparing to leave for his new home. Once he’s in view, Queen Gorgo calls him over, a friendly smile on her face.
“Hello, Phainon, are you ready to head out?” she asks.
“Yes, ma’am,” Phainon replies.
“Oh, goodness, what a polite young man,” she teases. Phainon’s going to have to get more comfortable around her isn’t he? “Anyway, we’re about a four hour ride away from Castrum Kremnos, will you be able to ride your own horse?”
“Definitely, I grew up with horses,” Phainon says.
“That’s good to hear,” Queen Gorgo says with a nod. “Now, your horse should be waiting near Mydei and someone will be there to help make sure everything is adjusted to you. Once you’re ready, we’ll get on our way.”
The horse they’ve picked for him is older but still strong, the kind of horse you can rely on to ride well with anyone. It’s a good choice. Phainon feels sturdy in the saddle, and is relieved not to have another thing to worry about. He’s also glad to be placed near Mydei. Not only is he relatively more comfortable with him, but he’s more motivated than ever to fill his new role as best he can.
Their pace is slow enough to allow him to pull close to Mydei, flashing a winning smile as he does. Mydei nods at him but does not return the smile.
“Do you ride often?” Phainon asks. Maybe Mydei isn’t as comfortable with riding as he is.
“Often enough,” Mydei answers.
“Oh, I thought maybe the royal family typically rode in carriages.”
“Of course not,” Mydei sneers. “No Kremnoan would let themselves be so lazy, especially not the royal family.”
“I see,” Phainon says. Clearly that was the wrong thing to say. “Aglaea usually rides in carriages these days, her eyesight makes it hard to ride anymore.”
Mydei inclines his head in a quiet gesture of understanding. Not much to base a conversation off of.
“Do you spend a lot of time outside of the city?” Phainon asks. “I can’t wait to see Castrum Kremnos.”
“I do spend most of my time in the city,” Mydei answers, “but I am very familiar with all of Kremnos.” He looks sideways at Phainon, his eyebrows tight together. “Kremnos has not been welcoming of outsiders in a long time, I would understand if you were nervous.”
“Oh, no, no, don’t worry, I’m not nervous at all,” Phainon says quickly. “I actually wanted to travel to Castrum Kremnos as a child!”
“Did you?”
“Yes, of course! I wanted to train with the strongest fighters in Amphoreus.”
“That is true, Kremnoan warriors are the strongest in Amphoreus,” Mydei agrees. Internally, Phainon breathes a sigh of relief, finally a positive reaction from Mydei.
“And maybe I can actually get some of that training now that I’ll be living in Kremnos,” Phainon says. “At least, so long as it doesn’t interfere with any of my responsibilities. Or isn’t frowned upon because I’m a foreigner, or something. If it does, no worries, it doesn’t matter,” he quickly corrects, he can’t come into this with any preconceived notions.
Mydei turns to him fully for the first time since they started to ride. For a split second, Phainon is delighted, flushed with the satisfaction of doing well in his role, but then he notices Mydei’s scowl, the way mild confusion transforms into disgust.
“A Kremnoan does not wait for opportunities to be handed to them on a platter,” he says. Phainon feels a flash of irritation. Why does Mydei seem to speak exclusively in Kremnoan adages, and why are there so many of them?
It’s no matter, he can still turn this around. Phainon opens his mouth, searching blindly for a way to continue the conversation, but before he lands on a topic, Mydei cuts him off.
“Excuse me, I’m going to check on the supply carts,” he says sharply. “You can stay here with my parents and somatophylakes.”
Then he leaves. He pulls his horse around in a tight circle and rides off to the back of the caravan without another word. Phainon thinks he hears one of the somatophylakes snicker at him, but when he looks, they’re all absorbed in the ride or talking amongst themselves.
Mydei stays away for the majority of the ride, only returning to Phainon’s side to say a brief word to his friends or parents, but he does not speak to Phainon more than common courtesy demands. Phainon makes a few attempts to strike up conversation again, but Mydei’s responses grow shorter and more brusque, until finally, he stops humoring Phainon at all. All Phainon can do is hope that once the stress of travel is over, Mydeimos will soften once again.
Mydei doesn’t soften.