…

The boat ride back to Rhodes had been quiet, a silence more comforting than stifling. When the gates of the palace came into view, you didn’t even realize that your fingers were still intertwined with Mydei’s. 

He hadn’t let go and you hadn’t asked him to.

The court noticed first. Whispers rippled through the assembly like a sudden breeze, the princess and the prince, hand in hand, a gesture they haven't seen even before you left for Castrum Kremnos.

Your father stood at the front of the welcome party, robes lined in blue, eyes sharp as ever. For a moment he said nothing, only looked—at Mydei, at you, at your joined hands. His mouth curved ever so slightly.

“So,” he said at last, voice warm but steady, “it seems my daughter has finally come around. To honor and duty before her heart.”

You swallowed. 

Once, those words had bound you like iron chains. 

Once, they had carved themselves so deep into your bones that you believed you’d never escape them. 

But not now. 

Not anymore.

You lifted your chin, “No, Father,” you said softly, but firmly enough that the wind itself seemed to pause to listen. 

“This is not honor and duty before my heart,” you turned your hand, lacing your fingers tighter with Mydei’s, grounding yourself in his presence. 

“This is my heart… before my honor and duty.”

Gasps and murmurs broke through the crowd. Mydei’s grip on you tightened—protective, steady, unflinching—as if daring anyone to challenge you.

Your father’s brows rose. 

For a beat, he seemed taken aback, the words striking him like an arrow from nowhere. But then, slowly, a smile broke across his face—not the polished mask of a ruler, but the raw, unguarded smile of a father.

“Oh,” he said, almost to himself, before his smile widened. His eyes softened with a pride so fierce it nearly undid you. “Oh, my daughter.”

He stepped forward and placed a hand over yours, over both of yours, squeezing gently, “Then I could not be more glad. For this is all I have ever wished for you—to grow into a ruler who can see the whole picture, but never forget to place herself inside it.”

Tears threatened to sting your eyes, but you held his gaze. For the first time, you realized you weren’t just his daughter anymore. 

You were his equal.

And from the way Mydei stood beside you, steady as the tide, you knew you weren’t alone in that.

…

The council chamber had never been this silent.

Not even when oracles spoke. Not even when war was declared.

Every head turned as the doors opened and you entered with Mydei at your side. His stride was as unhurried as ever, but you could feel the weight of his presence in the way your palm fit into his. 

He didn’t let go, not even when you stepped into the sea of elders who watched like owls perched on high beams.

The sound of your sandals brushed against marble. Mydei’s fingers pressed lightly at the small of your back. Not demanding, not steering, just there.

And the council noticed.

“Are they—?”

“By the gods above, are they holding hands?”

“Is he smiling at her?”

“It’s a miracle.”

“No, it’s a trick. A curse.”

“Poliko, shut your mouth before the Titans hear and strike you down next.”

You nearly bit your lip to keep from laughing. Mydei, curse him, didn’t bother to hide his amusement. His thumb drew the smallest circles against your knuckles, a private gesture that felt louder than the mutters filling the chamber.

The session began. Predictably, it turned to the one subject that had plagued the elders for weeks even before you left for Castrum Kremnos—

Where the wedding would be held.

“My lords,” one began, “tradition dictates Rhodes must—”

“No, no, Kremnos is the elder kingdom, we should—”

“This cannot become a war of pettiness!”

Usually, these debates dragged into the night, but Mydei’s voice cut through with quiet finality, wanting to get it over with and rest after meeting after meeting had occurred.

“The ceremony will be on neutral ground. An island between the two kingdoms.”

You did not miss a beat, “We will spend ten days in Rhodes, then ten in Kremnos, where we will stay after the celebrations. Both kingdoms will be honored and neither will be left out.”

The council froze.

Then—

“Oh merciful Titan’s backside—they agree!”

“Do you hear that? They actually— they agree!”

“By the titans, it’s over. We’re saved!”

One elder slammed the table so hard his quill flew, “DO YOU SEE?! THE TITANS HAVE RELENTED. THE UNION IS BLESSED!!”

Another leaned across the bench, “Still doesn’t excuse Poliko’s whining about divine spite last week—”

“OH, CURSE YOU, POLIKO!” someone bellowed, “YOU HOPELESS HKS!”

Poliko nearly toppled from his seat, sputtering. The chamber dissolved into scandalized laughter, relieved mutters, and more than one elder wiping their eyes.

And you, who sat at Mydei’s side, felt his gaze settle on you like a tether. He didn’t laugh with the others. He only leaned closer, thumb brushing your palm, and murmured low enough for only you.

“See? They’ve stopped fearing the curse.”

Your lips parted—whether to answer or breathe, you weren’t sure—but you felt the words unspoken between you.

We did it. :)

…

Meals, which were once strained affairs, something he had to search high and low for you to join, were now shared. The crown prince sat beside you again, too close for propriety but too natural to question. When you pushed food around your plate, he nudged slices of fruit onto it.

“Eat,” he said simply.

“I was going to.”

He raised a brow, “Before or after you faint in the middle of another council session?”

You shot him a look. He only smirked, victorious, and continued placing morsels on your dish until you gave in with a sigh.

You could feel the burning gazes of your family as they watched the whole spectacle, your face flushing and giving your feelings away.

Mydei is unbothered, as always. 

(Yes! We love our unbothered king! Don't mind the fact how stupid he looked when he thought you were into Phainon… yeah, like… don't mention that to him actually. Ever.)

…

Later, as you gathered scrolls Aglaea didn't send because they were too risky to do so, you tried to retreat into your study, thinking you'd get it done while your fiancé slept, so you'd have more free time tomorrow. But no.

Mydei followed. He sat across from you at first, silent, folding his long frame into the chair like a man staking a claim. When you bent to your parchment, he watched the ink trail, his gaze unreadable.

It was… unsettling at first, weird for you to have someone in the room with you so late at night. But you'd learned to just tune him out and pretend he wasn't there.

After an hour of silence, he rose and came to stand behind you. The air shifted. His hand brushed your shoulder—light, grounding.

“You’re tense,” he said softly.

“I’m working.”

“You’re overworking.”

“Do you plan to hover like a cat until I stop?”

“Yes.”

You turned just enough to catch the corner of his mouth tug upward. He meant it. He truly would stand there all night if you didn’t relent.

And perhaps… you didn’t mind.

The study had grown quiet but for the scratch of your quill. Candles burned low, the wax dripping like melted gold down their holders. Mydei had insisted on keeping you company, though you offered to let him sleep first.

He refused instantly.

At first, he sat across from you, long legs folded with an elegance that should not have fit into such an ordinary chair. But after some time, he rose to pour you tea without a word. He set it by your hand, his fingers brushing yours briefly, as if to remind you to drink. You thanked him softly, eyes still on your parchment, though the heat blooming in your chest had little to do with the cup.

When you looked up again, he had drifted back to his seat—only to doze off not long after. His head leaned against his fist, lashes casting faint shadows over his cheeks. You stilled, quill hovering, just watching. The crown prince of Kremnos, undone by sleep in your study, as if he belonged nowhere else but here.

Your heart tightened.

With a sigh, you rose, stepping lightly across the room. His hair had fallen across his face. You hesitated, then brushed it back with a careful hand. He stirred but didn’t wake, only leaned unconsciously into the touch, like a child seeking warmth.

“Honestly,” you whispered, smiling despite yourself.

You shook his shoulder gently, “‘Dei, go to bed.”

He blinked groggily, eyes hazy with sleep, “M’fine here.”

“You’re really not.”

He grumbled, the sound low and reluctant, but didn’t move. You softened, bending closer to land a kiss on his temple, “Go on. I promise I’ll join you soon.”

His gaze flicked to yours, still heavy-lidded, but sharp enough to pin you. “…You’d better,” he muttered, voice thick with drowsiness, like an unguarded vow.

Then he stood, slower than usual, and left the room with the quiet dignity of a man who’d been dismissed by no one but you.

You watched him go, warmth curling in your chest, quill forgotten.

…

You stepped into your chambers expecting Mydei to be asleep— actually scratch that, with how well you knew your prince, you know he's still awake waiting for you.

Probably with a scowl since you said you'll join him soon, but took half a candle’s wick to return.

You wince when you opened the door and Mydei was already there, hair loose around his shoulders, mantle and crown set aside. He looked like the man behind the prince, stripped down to something unbearably human.

“You’re late,” he said without looking up from his book.

“Sorry, I was working, there were a lot of scrolls to catch up on.”

He glanced up, eyes catching yours, “Then stop.”

The bluntness stole your breath, “Pardon me?”

He patted the bed beside him, “Come, rest.”

It wasn’t a command. It was care wrapped in steel. Slowly, as if caught in a tide, you obeyed.

When you dressed down into your nightgown and laid beside him, he didn’t crowd you. He simply shifted close enough for your shoulders to touch, warmth radiating steady as a hearth. His hand brushed yours beneath the covers until your fingers threaded together without thought.

“Sleep,” he murmured.

And you did.

…

News had travelled even into the deepest corners of Amphoreus that the Princess of Rhodes, their excellent war strategist, and their prized commerce senator, was to be married to the Crown Prince of Castrum Kremnos—who would be King soon.

And hear this, it's a marriage of love.

Nobles from all the kingdoms were intrigued, just a few years ago, they thought the Kremnoan bloodline would end after they heard that Queen Gorgo and her son were killed, one thrown into the Sea of Souls and the other killed by poison.

Truly a tragic tale that was all caused by the madness of their ruler, husband, and father, King Eurypon. No one thought that anyone would be sane enough to agree to marriage of love with that man.

In the marble halls of Dolos, nobles scoffed into their wine goblets. “Rhodes is throwing away their sharpest blade,” one said. “To send their strategist into the arms of a kingdom already drenched in blood? What a waste. Kremnos doesn't need more war minds.”

In the sandy fortresses of Lethe, generals sneered over dice games, “A strategist as fine as she is—Rhodes should’ve kept her close. Without her, they’ll soften. The sea is no shield without a hand to guide it.”

In Rhodes itself, whispers spread across the agora. Merchants fretted, “Will she abandon us? Who will guard the harbors, the fleets? Who will untangle tariffs and routes if she is gone?”

Letters crisscrossed the kingdoms, speculation thick as summer heat. Amphoreus loved a scandal, and what greater scandal than a love match between war and sea, between two bloodlines nearly shattered?

What none of them knew—what none of them could ever fathom—was that Rhodes had not surrendered their jewel at all.

For Kremnos did not flaunt commerce. To them, trade was a weakness, a soft leash on hard people. They paraded spears, not ships. They glorified armies, not merchants. And so the world believed the princess was leaving to strengthen their legions, that her mind for war was her only dowry.

But in the shadowed council halls of Castrum Kremnos, she was not asked of formations or ambushes. She was asked about harbors, currency, and of routes that curved like veins across the sea.

Her battlefield was commerce, her victories invisible but decisive.

And in truth, Rhodes had not lost her. Rhodes never would, never could. But Rhodes had rooted itself deeper into Kremnos than any sword or spear could manage.

So while the kingdoms of Amphoreus clinked cups and speculated, while they mourned Rhodes’ “loss” and Kremnos’ “gain,” they were blind to what was truly being forged: not just a marriage of kingdoms, but a union of strategies.

War and sea. Steel and coin. Prophecy and choice.

And at its center, not duty, not honor—but love.

…

It was perfect.

The island was a speck of land nestled between Rhodes and Kremnos, it was neither large enough for fortresses nor fertile enough for trade. But the sea lapped gentle against its stones, and the air here was touched by stillness, the kind of quiet that demanded reverence.

This was where kingdoms came to end wars in whispers rather than blood. And now—where a war-born prince and a sea-born princess would begin a life not bound by prophecy alone, but by choice.

The ceremony was small, intimate, almost startling in its simplicity. No great armies, no swelling crowds of nobles jostling for favor. Just family, friends, and those who had fought closest to the bride and groom in the battlefield of politics and fate.

Your father stood tall, his Rhoden cloak catching the sea breeze, three younger siblings at his side, your mother on the other. 

Aglaea watched from the second row, expression soft but bright, hands folded in quiet pride. 

On the other side, the KD5 were lined like shadows. Phainon wore his usual smug grin, but the edges softened in genuine joy. Krateros stood straighter than he ever had, pride nearly palpable. And Hephaestion was already blotting his face with a handkerchief before the ceremony had even begun.

The altar was simple, but breathtaking, an archway entwined with flowers chosen by both kingdoms. The flowers you had both “argued” over littering the venue, white chrysanthemums for Kremnos—loyalty, devotion, honesty and yellow spartium—resilience, prosperity, renewal. 

Beside them, Rhodes’ blooms, white and yellow plumerias for love and devotion, and oleander, beautiful but sharp, a reminder that love demanded caution as well as courage. Together, they framed the union in a cascade of petals, fierce and tender both.

Pinned over Mydei’s chest was the lion crest, the one you had once argued over in council. Now, it gleamed as if to say, “I am yours, and you are mine.”

You wore no crown, no overtly gaudy ornaments. Just a dress light as the sea foam itself, and a veil that stirred in the breeze like a tide about to turn. But still looking as ethereal in the light of the morning.

The ceremony began with the priest invoking Mnestia, the Titan of Romance. 

“Bless this union, born not only of prophecy but of love freely chosen,” he intoned, voice deep as the waves, “Let devotion be your shield, honesty as your anchor, and renewal as your flame.”

And then it was Mydei’s turn.

He stepped forward, every inch the prince turned king, but when he looked at you—his voice softened.

“I once thought marriage was only chains,” he began, and the air stilled, “A duty meant to bind, to smother, to take choice from me. I fought it, resisted it. And then came… you. You, who never asked for a throne, never begged for my affection, never demanded my obedience. You simply… were. And in that, I found not chains, but freedom.”

Your throat burned.

“You are the sea that has tested me, the storm I could not control. You are also the calm that steadies me. And so I vow to love you—not as duty, not as burden, but as my choice. Every day. In every way. Even when you drive me mad with your stubbornness. Even when you stab me in the ribs with your words.” 

His smile curved, small but boyish, “Even then, I will love you. Always.”

You tried to blink back tears, but failed. Your parents laughed as you took a moment to pause and look away, wiping your tears. Thankfully, Aglaea came to the rescue and wiped your tears away with a handkerchief so as not to ruin your makeup, Mydei tracing reassuring circles on your hand the whole time.

Then, it was your turn.

“I once thought marrying you would be my undoing,” you began, voice already thick with emotion, “that I would be just another pawn traded in council. That I would lose myself.” 

You glanced up at him—saw his lips press together, eyes glassy. He wasn’t as unreadable as he wanted to be. Not today.

“But instead, I found myself. I found the part of me that still laughs when you brood too much. The part of me that trusts someone else enough to share burdens. And so I vow this… to be the migraine in your skull, yes.”

The KD5 laughed and Aglaea rolled her eyes with fondness, “To stab anyone who dares wrong you, to never let you drown in silence, and to remind you that a king who forgets how to laugh has already lost his crown.”

The guests laughed softly, your siblings covering their mouths, even your father allowing the smallest smile.

But Hephaestion—he wailed. Loud, unashamed, snot dripping down his chin. Krateros jabbed an elbow into his ribs, but he only sobbed harder, clutching his chest. 

And for the first time in a long time, Mydei laughed freely in public. A sound deep and rich, shaking his shoulders.

When the laughter faded, his eyes lingered on you, softer now, dangerously full. If he was glassy-eyed before, now the dam had broken. His hand trembled slightly as he reached for yours.

The priest raised his voice, “By vows spoken, and hearts chosen, I bind you in the name of Mnestia. Fire and Sea, Prince and Princess, King and Queen. Two hearts made one.”

The world seemed to still as Mydei leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours. A kiss that was not fevered, not desperate, but sure.

And as the guests cheered, as Hephaestion collapsed into Phainon’s shoulder in a puddle of tears, looking at the two of you with pride and that blinding smile of his, as your father clapped with sharp, proud finality, one thought echoed in your head.

I'm happy.

…

If the wedding on the island had been intimate and reverent, the week that followed in Rhodes was anything but quiet.

The city became a festival. Lanterns strung from marble pillars glowed with warm firelight. Musicians played along the docks, flutes and drums blending with the crash of waves. Stalls overflowed with food and wine, gifts from merchants who owed their prosperity to your tireless work in trade. Nobles dined in the palace, but the true heart of the celebration thrummed in the streets—among the people.

It was tradition. A Rhoden wedding was never fully blessed until the bride danced before her people, unshackled from duty, joy spilling unrestrained.

Mydei knew this, and had heard whispers of it from Krateros and Phainon. But knowing was one thing. Witnessing it? Entirely another.

He stood at the edge of the crowd as the music rose to a fever pitch. The drums rattled, quick and playful, urging motion from every body packed in the square.

And then you stepped forward—veil gone, hair loose and shimmering in the lamplight.

The people erupted in cheers.

You smiled—radiant, unburdened—and for the first time Mydei realized he had never truly seen you like this. Not in the council chambers with your sharp words, not in the library with your quiet grief, not even in your most tender moments together.

Here, you were not princess, not strategist, not even queen. You were simply you.

Your bare feet struck the stone rhythmically, skirts swaying as you spun, arms raised to the music. Children darted into the circle, mimicking your movements, laughter spilling into the night. Merchants clapped along, soldiers stomped their boots. And you laughed—full-bodied, carefree, with no hesitation.

It hit him then, with the weight of a sword blow, I have yet to discover so many sides of her.

The thought knocked the air from his lungs. The world saw you as already fully-formed—the war strategist, the brilliant senator, the dutiful daughter, the bride. But here you were, showing another piece of yourself, one he hadn’t earned yet, hadn’t uncovered.

And oh Nikador, he wanted to.

He wanted to learn every shade of you—the laughter that rose like a tide, the grace in your step, the mischievous spark in your eye as you twirled to the beat. He wanted to know what other sides of you lay waiting, hidden in shadows, ready to bloom.

And then it struck him harder still, a realization that nearly staggered him where he stood.

She is my wife.

Not “the princess of Rhodes.” Not “the strategist of the council.” Not “the bride bound by prophecy.”

My wife.

The words sank deep into his chest, settling there with a strange, dizzying warmth. He had never thought himself capable of such a simple, devastating truth.

Across the circle, you caught his gaze. Breathless, cheeks flushed, hair damp with exertion—you smiled at him, wide and unguarded. A smile meant just for him, even in the sea of thousands.

Mydei’s breath hitched. His hand curled into a fist against his chest as though to steady the erratic beat beneath.

Phainon leaned lazily against a post nearby, catching the look on his prince’s face, and smirked. 

“Careful, Your Majesty,” he drawled, low enough for only Mydei to hear, “If you keep staring at her like that, people will start thinking you actually like your wife.”

Mydei’s jaw tightened, “Shut up, Deliverer.”

But his lips betrayed him, twitching upward, just slightly.

The music swelled, faster now, and the crowd shouted encouragement. You beckoned the circle wider, pulling women, men, even Ptolemy and Peucesta into the rhythm. 

Hephaestion went stumbling in, already crying again, attempting to mimic your graceful spins only to nearly collide with a fruit stand. The people roared with laughter.

And still, you danced.

By the time the song ended, your chest heaved, but your eyes glowed brighter than the lanterns overhead. You dipped into a bow before your people, who erupted into thunderous applause. Children scattered flower petals at your feet.

You rose, cheeks flushed, and met Mydei’s eyes once more across the sea of faces. He had never seen anything so beautiful—not the gold-plated halls of Kremnos, not the daybreak when he emerged from the Sea of Souls, not even the moment you had walked down the aisle toward him—scratch that, they're too close to compare.

This was joy.

This was you.

This was his wife.

When you returned to him, still catching your breath, you whispered, amused, “You’re staring~”

“I’m memorizing,” he said softly, voice hoarse.

Your brow arched, teasing, “What, so you can use it against me later?”

“No,” His fingers brushed the back of your hand, barely restrained, “so I never forget the first time I see you like this.”

And though your smile was playful, your heart tripped, because the weight in his voice promised he meant every word.

…

The celebration carried on long after the musicians should have collapsed from exhaustion. Rhodes pulsed with laughter, music, clinking cups. Lanterns swayed in the salty breeze, their light gilding the sea of happy faces that cheered for you both.

But you needed air.

When you leaned toward Mydei and murmured, “Come with me,” you hadn’t expected him to hesitate. 

His gaze flicked toward the nobles still vying for his attention, to the KD5 still drinking themselves into oblivion, to your father mid-toast. 

He was Crown Prince of Kremnos, soon King, newly wed, bound by duty to endure every congratulatory cheer.

Yet at the faint tug of your hand, he followed you without a word. (Whipped.)

The two of you slipped through the winding alleys away from the square, the noise of revelry fading until all that remained was the hush of waves. The path opened onto the shore, the moon hanging enormous over the water, the tide catching silver light.

For a while you said nothing. You only walked together, barefoot in the cool sand, fingers brushing but not fully entwined. The sea stretched endless and unbroken. Out here, away from the crowd, the weight of eyes and duty fell away.

Mydei finally broke the silence, “You looked… different tonight.”

You tilted your head at him, “Different?”

“On the square,” he said slowly, “dancing and laughing. As if nothing else existed but the music and your people. I’ve never seen you like that,” his lips curved faintly, but there was reverence in his voice. 

“You were radiant.”

Heat crept up your neck, but you masked it with a laugh, “Careful… Flattery will get you very far with me, husband.”

His eyes softened at the word—husband. He still wasn’t used to hearing it on your tongue. “Not flattery, dear wife,” he murmured, “just the truth.”

You paused, the sand cool beneath your toes, and turned fully toward him. He stood so close now, the tide brushing both your ankles. Moonlight carved sharp lines along his jaw, softened by the gentleness in his gaze.

Something inside you fluttered wildly.

“Just the truth?” you whispered.

He nodded once.

And you kissed him.

It began soft, a brush of lips testing, tasting. Then deeper, urgent, the kind of kiss born from a night of too much joy to contain. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you flush against him as if the ocean itself might steal you away. You melted into him, your fingers tangling in his hair, the salt-sweet air filling your lungs only when you broke for breath.

“Mydei,” you breathed against his mouth, your voice trembling between a laugh and a sigh.

He swallowed the sound with another kiss, one that stole your knees from beneath you. The world shrank to just his warmth, the sea at your backs, and the sand giving beneath your heels.

It was ridiculous—two rulers, married less than a day, kissing by the ocean like love-struck youths hiding from their chaperones. And yet you couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to.

Then a voice broke the spell.

“Well,” drawled Phainon from somewhere behind you, far too smug, “isn’t this precious.”

You froze. Mydei stiffened, pulling back with a murderous look.

Phainon leaned casually against a rock, arms folded, a grin stretching ear to ear, “Sorry to interrupt—”

“No, you’re not,” Mydei bit out.

“—but Aglaea’s looking for you,” Phainon finished, ignoring the venom entirely. “Something about your siblings wanting their sister before they throw a fit?”

His grin widened as his gaze flicked between your flushed face and Mydei’s scowl, raising both his hands up in surrender. 

“Don’t let me stop you, though. Truly. I’ll just… treasure the mental image forever. Our mighty king and queen making out like teenagers on the shore.”

You clapped a hand over your mouth to stifle a laugh, but it burst free anyway. Mydei groaned, dragging a hand over his face.

“Nikador curse you, Phainon,” he muttered.

“Too late,” Phainon replied cheerfully, “Already blessed, I think. This story’s going to keep me warm for years to come.”

You laughed harder, the sound carrying over the waves. Mydei glared at you half-heartedly, then sighed when he saw the joy in your expression. His hand slipped back into yours, squeezing lightly.

“Come,” you said between giggles, tugging him toward the path, “We should return before the kids really storm the docks.”

Mydei grumbled under his breath, but he let you lead.

And though Phainon followed a few paces behind, whistling far too innocently, Mydei’s thumb brushed over your knuckles, grounding you in the quiet promise that, even in interruptions and laughter, this night—your first night as husband and wife—was yours.

…

The dawn of the seventh day came too quickly.

Rhodes was still awake from the celebrations, though the lanterns that had burned bright through the night now guttered against the sea breeze. The square had emptied into the harbor, where the royal ships waited with sails already unfurled. The people pressed forward in clusters, their eyes rimmed red from drink or from grief—it was hard to tell which.

You stood at the docks, hand still laced with Mydei’s, though you were barely aware of it. The ache in your chest was too heavy, too consuming. The salt in the air mingled with the sting in your eyes.

“Princess,” a woman called from the crowd, her voice cracking, “Don’t forget us!”

“We’ll miss you!” another shouted.

Your throat closed, but you forced yourself to smile, lifting your free hand in a wave, “I will never forget Rhodes,” you said, loud enough to carry across the docks. 

“This is my home—always. And I promise, I will return. To my people, to my siblings, to you all. You are my heart.”

The cheers that rose in answer were wet and fractured.

Your younger brother was the first to reach you, trying so hard to look composed though he was trembling. He clasped your forearms, not daring to embrace you too tightly. “Don’t let them do anything bad to you,” he said fiercely, eyes darting toward the Kremnoan soldiers lined on the deck.

You laughed wetly, “I’ll let them do nothing but what we decide,” you leaned down to press your forehead against his, “Grow into the man Rhodes needs, little brother. And keep our sisters safe.”

Your sisters hurled themselves into your skirts before you could finish speaking, sobbing so hard you thought your own chest might split. Mydei quietly released your hand, letting you gather both girls up in both arms.

“Hush, little one,” you whispered, rocking them, “I’m not gone forever. I’ll write to you every month. I’ll tell you about every flower in Kremnos, every star I see from its mountains.”

“And when I marry,” your other sister hiccuped, “you’ll come back?”

Tears pricked sharp behind your eyes. You brushed her hair away and kissed her damp cheek. “I will come back. I swear it.”

Your father stood behind them, silent until now. His eyes held no tears, but pride, and a grief older than stone, “Daughter.”

You turned, bracing for reproach, but instead he pulled you in, an embrace strong and grounding. Your mother watching with fondness from beside you both.

“I thought you would choose duty before your heart,” he murmured against your temple, “But you chose both. You chose well. I am proud of you.”

Your breath caught. You had wanted to hear those words all your life. You clung to him until Mydei’s shadow fell close again.

The shift in your father’s gaze was almost imperceptible, but he inclined his head toward Mydei, “See that you take care of her.”

“I swear it,” Mydei said simply. His voice carried the kind of weight that needed no embellishment.

And then there was Aglaea.

She waited until the others stepped aside, her arms crossed, her jaw set. For a heartbeat, it was as if you were children again, plotting mischief under temple steps. Then her face crumpled.

“Don’t you dare forget us, Princess,” she said, her voice breaking, “I expect letters every fortnight, every detail. And if you even think of forgetting, I will sail to Kremnos myself and wring your neck in front of your husband.”

You laughed, then sobbed all in one breath, flinging yourself into her arms, “You’d do it too,” you whispered against her shoulder.

“Of course I would,” Aglaea sniffed. “I adore you too much not to.”

When at last you boarded the ship, the people’s voices rose in one wave of sound—cheers, cries, farewells shouted across the water. You stood at the stern beside Mydei, your siblings clutching each other on the dock, Aglaea raising her fist in stubborn pride, your father and mother with their chins high.

You lifted your hand again, the wind whipping your hair into your face, waving goodbye as the oars dipped and the ship slid away from the dock.

The harbor blurred, first by distance, then by your tears, and your husband held you as you did.

…

The KD5 were sprawled across the deck, still recovering from too much wine the night before. Hephaestion was asleep against a barrel, muttering in his dreams. Perdikkas and Phainon leaned against the railing, bickering over whose head hurt worse.

You sat with Mydei near the stern, the sea foaming behind you. For once, there was quiet.

He watched you for a long moment before speaking. “You love them more fiercely than I realized.”

“They are all I’ve ever known,” you murmured.

You looked at him then, truly looked, and felt the sea rush louder in your ears, “I didn’t leave them. I never can, so I carried them with me.”

Something flickered in his expression—something that broke and mended all at once. He leaned in, his voice low, “Then I vow again, here on this sea, before gods and men, I will carry you. Always.”

The words lodged deep in your chest, an anchor and a promise both.

…

The first sound you heard was the drums.

Long before the cliffs of Castrum Kremnos appeared, their rhythm carried over the waves, deep and resonant, rattling through the wood of the ship. Boom. Boom. Boom. The call of the people welcoming their king and queen.

When at last the mountains broke the horizon, you saw banners whipping in the wind—deep crimson and gold, the lion crest blazing. The harbor was overflowing with citizens, the drums thundered from the ramparts, and the air itself seemed to quake with it.

Beside you, Mydei stood taller, his hand still in yours, his gaze fixed forward.

A new beginning.

And you? You clutched his hand tighter, your heart split between what you had left behind and what waited ahead.

…

The celebrations in Castrum Kremnos could not have been more different from those in Rhodes. 

Where Rhodes had been warmth, laughter, and the easy closeness of family, Kremnos was grandeur—designed to impress both the people and the gods. For ten days, the kingdom thrummed with life.

Each morning began with processions, lines of soldiers in crimson and gold marching through the streets, shields flashing in the sun as horns blared and drums beat like thunder. 

Citizens threw laurel and wildflowers from their balconies, chanting the names of their new king and queen until the mountain air rang with it.

Feasts followed at dusk, the great halls of the palace overflowing with roasted lamb, olives, figs, and amphorae of wine. Long tables spilled with nobles and warriors alike, while dancers and singers performed songs of old Kremnos—tales of lion-hearted kings and battles won. 

Mydei, seated at your side, often leaned close to translate the words, his voice curling warm in your ear, while elders nodded approvingly at the sight of their king and queen so joined.

And on the third night, the sacred games were held in your honor. Athletes wrestled, raced, and threw javelins before crowds who roared as though the gods themselves were watching. 

Phainon, of course, competed and earned no small amount of teasing from Mydei when he was defeated in the semifinals.

…

The hall of Kremnos blazed with celebration—lyres strummed, goblets clinked, and courtiers toasted the long-awaited union between war and sea. Flowers garlanded the stone pillars, golden wine poured like rivers, and laughter roared from every corner.

You sat beside Mydei at the head table, your hand resting lightly in his, both of you wearing the practiced ease of two people who had stopped pretending and simply… were. He hadn’t left your side once, his presence at your elbow steady as breath.

But in the tide of merriment, venom always found a way to seep in.

At the far end of the table, a Kremnoan noble leaned too close to his companions, voice lowered but not enough to escape Mydei’s ear.

“Rhodes is weak in arms. No wonder they bound their daughter to us, they had no choice but to crawl into Kremnos’ shadow.”

Mydei’s grip on your hand tightened fractionally. He glanced at you, searching, but you only raised your brows in cool amusement and sipped your wine as though you hadn’t heard a thing. Not a flicker of hurt touched your face.

The insult didn’t wound you, didn't even nick you—but it seared him.

Mydei rose without hurry, the scrape of his chair cutting through the noise like a blade. The noble froze as the crown prince—no, the king now—fixed him with a stare cold enough to peel skin from bone (get it? cuz he's a lion? no? okay bye).

“Careful,” Mydei said, his voice low but carrying over the hall, silencing the nearest tables, “insulting her is insulting me, and I would choose my words wisely on a night the gods themselves witness.”

The noble swallowed hard, but Mydei stepped closer, gaze burning.

“And let me remind you, while you sat fat on your estates, it was Rhodes that saved our economy. She,” his gaze flicked to you with a spark of pride, “is the reason Kremnos prospers.”

“Kremnos stands strong because of Rhodes. Because of her. It was her hand that pulled our coffers back from ruin, her mind that safeguarded your children’s future. The bread you eat tonight, the wine you drown yourself in—you have her to thank for it.”

The court went still, the music faltering mid-note.

You tilted your head with a dangerous smile, eyes narrowing faintly, “Your name, my lord?”

The noble stammered it out, trembling as you only regarded him like a puzzle piece you had already decided didn’t fit. You nodded once, the gesture quiet, decisive.

The feast moved on, laughter and music returning in cautious waves. But in the days that followed, it was whispered that the noble had been stripped of title and land, his silks replaced with roughspun linen, his days spent toiling under the Kremnoan sun.

The message was clear.

Rhodes was no shadow. Rhodes was his queen.

And in Kremnos, none would ever dare forget it.

…

The sacred bath house of Castrum Kremnos had always felt unbearably heavy to you. The air seemed to cling to the skin, steam rising from the great stone basins carved with the sun and lions, walls echoing with faint hymns sung ages ago. 

You remembered the last time you stood here—how you’d nearly collapsed from heat and shame, unable to reconcile the intimacy of Mydei’s presence in such a holy place.

But now… now you walked in as his wife.

The wedding celebrations had been packed with endless feasts, dances, and rituals. Every hour, someone wanted to look upon the newly wedded King and Queen, to toast to your union, to marvel at a prophecy fulfilled. 

And though your smile never faltered, you had longed for quiet. 

For a moment where you weren’t a bride or queen, only yourself.

This time, the sacred baths were meant for purification after the wedding rites, a cleansing of the body and soul together before stepping into the life of marriage. At least, that’s what the priests had said with solemn faces.

But as you let the sheer robe slip from your shoulders—leaving you in a translucent bathing gown, and as you step into the warm pool with a hiss of breath, you felt anything but pure, memories of the last time you were haunting you.

The hot water lapped gently at your waist. You let your head fall back against the edge, closing your eyes, trying to breathe in the steam and let it ease the ache in your bones.

That peace shattered with the sound of a low chuckle.

“You prayed like that last time too.” Mydei’s voice cut through the mist, smooth and warm, almost mocking. “Did it help then?”

Your eyes snapped open, and there he was—already in getting into the water, steam rising off his bare shoulders, golden hair damp, droplets trailing down the sharp line of his throat. He looked less like a king and more like some untouchable god carved into marble, stepping down from the sky to ruin you.

“Mydei!” You hissed and splashed water at him instinctively, flustered beyond belief and sank deeper into the water, submerging your shoulders.

“This is a sacred place. Will you never behave?”

His grin widened as he waded closer, the water swirling around him, “Sacred? Perhaps… but nothing is more sacred to me than you.”

Your breath caught. He said it so simply, as if it were truth carved into stone, not some wicked line meant to undo you.

“You—” You stammered, floundering back a step into the water, “You can’t say things like that here.”

“And why not?” His tone dipped lower, huskier, carrying that dangerous warmth that always made your stomach twist. He was close now, too close, the steam blurring everything but him. 

“The gods bore witness to our vows. Why should they be shocked to see me keeping them?”

Your pulse stuttered, “This… isn’t— this isn’t what they meant!”

“No?” His hand slid through the water, fingers brushing against your wrist before catching it, tugging you toward him. You stumbled, colliding against the solid heat of his chest.

“Mydei—” You whispered, voice breaking, “We shouldn’t—”

“But you want to.” He bent, his lips grazing your ear, every word sinking into your skin like fire. “Don’t you?”

You squeezed your eyes shut. The worst part was that he was right. Every nerve screamed for him, every inch of you ached with the need to stop running. And still—you whispered, trembling, “This is madness. Someone will probably come in—”

“Let them.” He tilted your chin up with infuriating gentleness, golden eyes molten with something that burned far deeper than lust. 

You hated him. You hated the way he made the air feel heavier than the steam itself, how your body betrayed you every time his voice softened into reverence. You hated that no matter how tightly you gripped your composure, it slipped through your fingers the moment he touched you.

And gods help you, you hated that you wanted it.

“Mydei,” you whispered again, the word breaking on your lips like a prayer you weren’t sure you should speak.

He grinned as if he’d won a war, “Say it again.”

“No.”

“Yes.” He leaned closer, his nose brushing yours, his hand cupping your jaw with infuriating tenderness. “Say my name the way you just did. Like it’s not your king you’re speaking to, but your husband. Your heart.”

You swallowed hard, pulse thrumming in your ears, pushing his face away with your palm, both to get him away and to shield your burning face, “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re trembling,” He caught your hand and his thumb traced along your palm, “And I know it's not from the heat.”

Your retort died in your throat when he bent and pressed his lips to your cheek, a whisper of a kiss, reverent and fleeting. Then another, lower, at the corner of your mouth. Another, ghosting across your jaw. His restraint made it unbearable—like he was savoring the wait, drawing you out until you broke first.

“You’re so cruel,” you gasped, clutching the edge of his shoulders like a lifeline as your eyes shut close.

He laughed, low and rich, vibrating against your skin. “Cruel? Sweetheart, I am merciful. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this. Do you think I don’t remember the way you looked at me that night here? How you burned, and tried to hide it behind duty and honor?” His words dripped against your skin like molten honey, searing and sweet. 

“Tell me you haven't thought of me since then. Tell me you didn’t want this as well.”

Your breath hitched. The truth hovered at the edge of your tongue—dangerous, damning. But his gaze held you captive, and suddenly you couldn’t lie. 

Not to him, never to him.

“I did,” you whispered, trembling. “I wanted it.”

He exhaled sharply, as if your admission had undone him. Then, with a grin that was half-relief, half-victory, he murmured, “Then shame be damned.”

And then he kissed you.

The world dissolved into steam and heat and water lapping around your waist. His mouth was hot and unyielding against yours, yet softened by the way his hands cradled you, one at your back, one at the nape of your neck. 

He kissed like a man who had waited too long, like someone both terrified and grateful that this moment was real.

You broke first, gasping against his lips, “Mydei—this is the sacred bath—”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark, lips swollen. “Why should a king feel shame in wanting his wife?” His smirk turned razor-sharp, cocky, but his thumb brushed your cheek with devastating gentleness. “In wanting you?”

Your knees weakened beneath the weight of his words.

He didn’t give you time to answer. Instead, he backed you up gently, pressing you toward the carved stone edge of the pool, your palms braced against the cool surface behind you. His chest pressed to yours, solid, burning, his breath hot against your ear.

“Mydei,” you said again, though this time it came out softer, needier, betraying you.

“Mm.” He hummed, lips tracing the line of your neck. “That’s better. That’s the way I like hearing it.”

Your heart stuttered violently as his hand slid around your waist, holding you against him. The steam curled around you like a curtain, like the gods themselves were shielding their eyes.

Still, some last thread of composure made you whisper, trembling, “Have you no shame?”

He chuckled, low and dark, the sound rumbling into your spine as he kissed just beneath your ear. “Not when it comes to you. Never.”

His words sank into your skin hotter than the water ever could, lodging deep, clawing at the last of your composure.

You wanted to tell him to stop. You wanted to tell him to go on.

The worst part? You didn’t know which one you meant more.

“Mydei…” Your whisper broke like glass as his lips brushed lower down your neck, as if every syllable of his name was a tether you had no strength to pull taut.

“Do you hear yourself?” His voice was velvet, low and coaxing, a whisper meant for you alone. “You say my name like it belongs to you. And it does.” His mouth pressed against the fluttering pulse at your throat, sealing the claim with heat and a mark. “It always has.”

Your grip on the stone edge trembled. “Stop saying things like that—”

“Why?” His teeth grazed lightly at your neck, not biting, just teasing. “Because it makes your heart race? Because it makes you want me more?”

A strangled sound escaped your lips before you could stop it, equal parts protest and need.

He smirked against your skin, victorious, “That’s it. That’s what I wanted to hear.”

The water lapped as he shifted closer, molding to your back. His hand traced a slow path from your waist up your ribs, featherlight but devastating, until his palm rested just below your racing heart. The pressure was steady, grounding, as if to remind you he could feel everything you were trying to hide.

“Do you think I don’t know?” His words burned against the shell of your ear. “Do you think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching? The way you bite your lip when I’m too close?”

You bit your tongue, hard, to keep yourself from crying out, from confirming what you swore you’d never confess. But silence only seemed to feed him.

“Your silence is an answer too, sweetheart,” his laugh was soft, smug, maddeningly assured.

And then his hand left your chest only to press down against your hips, gently pushing you back against the stone ledge, flush and unyielding. The steam thickened, your knees buckling under the combined weight of heat and desire.

“Mydei—”

“I’ll stop,” he murmured, breath hot and ragged as if the restraint cost him everything, “if you want me to stop, I will.”

The worst part? You believed him. You knew he would stop. You knew he would let go, step back, and let you breathe again.

But you didn’t want him to.

Your lips trembled, your body taut between surrender and defiance. And though your voice was quiet, it came out cracked with truth.

“…Don’t.”

That was all it took.

The man in front of you stilled for half a breath, as if anchoring himself to your word, memorizing it, branding it into his chest. Then he exhaled, slow and dangerous, like a predator who had finally been freed from his cage.

“Say it again.”

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded, this time stronger, shakier, yet certain.

He groaned—half relief, half hunger—and kissed the side of your neck, firm and claiming, “Titans, you’ll ruin me.”

Slowly, Mydei peppered kisses from your jaw, trailing down to your shoulders until it reached your chest, reaching the hem of your bathing dress.

He tugged the knot loose at your back, unspooling the ties of your dress. The fabric slipped against your skin, heavy and wet, baring your shoulders inch by inch until you were completely bared before him. 

You shuddered, not from the coolness but from the sheer intimacy of it—every inch revealed beneath his gaze felt less like exposure and more like worship.

He kissed along the path of your collarbone, deliberately slow, lips searing and wet against the coolness of water, “Do you know how long I’ve thought of this?”

You swallowed hard, “Stop talking.”

“Can’t.” His teeth nipped at your shoulder, “Not when it’s you.”

Your eyes fluttered shut. His words, his touch, his certainty—everything was undoing you all at once.

“You twist everything I say,” you managed through clenched teeth, though your body betrayed you, arching toward him.

“You make it too easy,” he whispered, before catching your bottom lip between his teeth in a kiss that drowned you.

The water sloshed gently against your bodies, the sound mingling with your stuttered breaths. His mouth was hot, demanding but careful, his tongue coaxing yours into surrender. You moaned before you could stop yourself, the sound echoing off the marble.

Mydei pulled back, smirk faint, eyes dark, “Beautiful.”

You shook your head quickly, cheeks burning, “You’re insufferable.”

“You’ve said that already,” His hand slid lower under the water, parting your thighs with an ease that left your pulse stuttering, “say something new.”

“I’m—”

“I heard ‘don’t’ earlier,” he murmured, lips brushing down, down, scattering kisses and marks across your sternum, “But never ‘stop.’”

You bit your lip so hard it almost hurt, clutching the stone behind you until your knuckles whitened. The steam wrapped you both in a cocoon, muffling the outside world. The feeling was heady, dizzying even.

It was only him. Only the heat of his mouth against your neck, the insistent press of his hands, and the wild hammering of your heart. 

And somehow that made your head spin worse, the feeling of being consumed through kisses, the feeling of his touch on your skin, the feeling of him.

Your now-king sank lower in the water, lips trailing beneath the surface, licking down your chest, nosing your abdomen until you gasped, arching.

“Mydei!”

“Hmm?” His voice was muffled, amused, vibrating against your skin.

“This is—this is sacred—”

He paused to flit his eyes up at you, then, “So am I,” he whispers as his shoulders disappear beneath the water.

And then—

Titans above.

You choked on a gasp, your body jolting as his mouth pressed between your thighs. His tongue teased, slow at first, reverent, as though he was memorizing the taste of you. His hands gripped your hips, keeping you steady, keeping you from floating away from the sheer shock of it.

“‘Dei—”

“Shhh…” his lips moved against you, tongue sliding with devastating precision, “Let me.”

You couldn’t breathe properly again. The steam. His mouth. The coil tightening in your stomach. The water felt cool in contrast to his tongue swiping against your slit.

Your nails scraped against the marble as if you could anchor yourself to the earth while he dismantled you piece by piece.

Each flick of his tongue, each slow drag, each hum sent sparks through your body. You whimpered, the sound echoing embarrassingly loud, and you covered your mouth with a shaking hand.

He looked up at you then, eyes blazing through the water, the sight of his golden hair slicking back and his mouth pressed to you making you clench harder around nothing. His smirk was wicked even here. He pulled away just enough to murmur, “Breathe. Don’t hide from me.”

And then he slid a finger inside you.

The intrusion made you cry out, your hand slamming against the stone edge as your body arched violently. The stretch burned, sweet and sharp, with him adding another finger, curling expertly until you saw stars behind your closed lids.

“Titans—Mydei—mmh…”

“That’s it,” His lips returned to you, tongue circling, sucking that bundle of nerves, matching the rhythm of his fingers curling deep inside you, “Say my name.”

You tried to stifle it, you really did, but the sounds tore out of you helplessly—his name, your moans, pleas you couldn’t shape into words.

“Mydei, please—mmh… I can't…”

“Too much?” he whispered against you, there was concern in his tone as he slowed for a moment, though his smirk betrayed the answer he already knew.

“Don’t—ah! Don’t stop,” you gasped, your voice breaking into a sob.

“Good girl,” he praised softly, mouth still on you, the hum of his words adding to the sensation of his fingers working faster now, his mouth equally as merciless, “that’s it. Let go.”

The knot in your stomach snapped, pleasure crashing over you in blinding waves. You cried out his name, body trembling, thighs clenching around his head as the orgasm ripped through you.

He didn’t stop until you were gasping again, shoving weakly at his shoulders. Only then did he pull back, kissing your inner thigh reverently before rising to meet you.

You collapsed against him, trembling violently. He caught you with ease, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you against his chest.

“Bastard,” you whispered, voice broken and hoarse, forehead pressed to his damp skin.

He chuckled low, kissing the crown of your head. “I think that’s sacred enough, like you said. And I meant it. You are.”

You whimpered again, burying your face into his neck. He stroked your hair with uncharacteristic gentleness, rocking you slightly in the water as if to soothe you through the aftershocks.

“I’ll worship you again and again,” he murmured. “Here, in this sacred place, and anywhere else you’ll let me.”

You let out a shaky laugh, though your cheeks burned. “You’re insatiable.”

“And you’re mine,” he said softly, with a certainty that left no room for argument.

You didn’t try to argue. Not this time.

Wrapped in his arms, trembling but safe, you closed your eyes and let yourself believe him.

You didn’t realize when your grip slipped from the edge of the tub, only that Mydei caught your wrists before you fell forward. He lifted you then, and braced you against the slick stone wall of the sacred bath, his chest pressed flush against yours.

Steam clung to your lashes. You could hardly breathe again.

“Mydei—” you gasped, twisting as if you could escape—though your trembling legs betrayed you, holding you in place, “Wait— Dei… we really shouldn't do any more, we're—”

His laugh was dark and low, the sound rumbling against your back, “Again with the sacred labels,” his hands slid down your arms, caging you against the stone, pinning you without force. 

“Haven’t I already told you that I have no care if they hear us or not? That you're much more sacred than this old bath?”

His hands trail from your breast down to your hips, flexing his palms as he squeezes the skin that spills between his fingers.

“Won't you let your husband worship his wife?”

“I—ngh…” The word fractured, caught on a sob of pleasure when his hips slotted in between yours, spreading you open and guiding you into the water’s current with the slowest, laziest grind.

“You tremble every time I touch you,” he whispered against your ear, lips brushing damp strands of hair, “You beg me with your silence and yet you keep pretending you don’t crave this.”

Your nails scraped against the stone wall, then shifted to his arms. The words clawed out of your throat, broken, desperate, “Please…”

“Please what, sweetheart?” his voice was velvet and iron, coaxing and commanding all at once, “Say it.”

“Tell me what you want from me.”

Every nerve in your body screamed with denial and yearning. But when he trailed soft kisses down your shoulder, when his hands settled on your hips to steady you as though you were the most fragile thing in existence, when you could feel the evidence of his want against your thighs, you shattered.

“…Please, don’t stop.”

And that was all he needed.

With a groan muffled into your skin, he aligned himself against you, slipping in inch by inch with ease, his chest hot and broad against yours, with the both of you sighing out in relief as finally he bottomed out, as if this was something you both waited your whole lives for.

His mouth left open and wet kisses against the side of your neck, giving you time to adjust to his size. When he saw the slight nudge of your hips against his, he began to move.

His movements were measured at first, rocking your hips forward into the stone edge, the water sloshing softly around you both.

You bit your lip to keep from crying out. He noticed. Of course he noticed.

“Don’t hold back,” he murmured, voice ragged now, unraveling with each shallow thrust, “Not from me. Never from me. Never again.”

Your nails scraped at the slick stone beneath you, seeking something solid as if you might be swept away by him, by the water, by the sheer intensity of his presence. His words clung to you like heat, each thrust punctuated with his voice echoing in the chamber, ragged and near breaking.

It didn't take long for the pressure to coil so tight you could hardly breathe, and then— it snapped.

“Ah—! Mydei—!” The cry burst from you, raw and high, your body shuddering violently as waves of release rolled through you. Your legs trembled, every muscle tightening, your lips parting in moans you could no longer bite back.

He groaned, the sound torn from deep in his chest. His face scrunched up in pleasure as he feels you pulse against him through your orgasm. His name left your lips again and again, broken, reverent, as though it was all you knew.

“You feel so good,” he rasped, forehead falling against yours, breath hot and uneven. His mouth caught yours in a kiss that was more teeth than grace, desperate, unrestrained, swallowing every whimper, every gasp that escaped you.

You pulled back only when air forced you to, lips swollen, breaths mingling between you. He looked undone—hair damp and plastered to his temples, his eyes burning so fiercely that you couldn’t hold his gaze without feeling like you were being consumed whole.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, still trembling, still riding the aftershocks. Your voice cracked on the plea.

He gave a breathless, humorless laugh, “Wasn’t planning to.”

And then he shifted.

The loss of him inside you made you whine softly in protest, only to be startled when he lifted you with careful strength, turning your body forward until your chest pressed against the slick, cool stone lip of the pool. The shift made water splash lightly around you, steam curling higher in the sacred air.

“Mydei—?” you gasped, arms bracing against the stone. Your heart raced, anticipation twisting low in your stomach.

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear as he pressed himself against your back, his hips guiding forward until you felt him poised at your entrance again, “Trust me,” he murmured, voice deep, hungry.

And then he pushed in, slow at first, filling you so completely that your cry echoed against the bath’s marble walls.

“Mmh—ahh—!”

Your arms buckled, forehead falling against the stone. The angle was sharper, deeper, every movement rocking you against the pool’s edge. Water lapped wildly around you both, the rhythm of his hips sending waves against your trembling thighs.

One hand gripped your hip, firm and unyielding. The other slid low across your belly, circling possessively, pulling you back to meet every thrust. 

You felt… claimed, grounded, as if without his grip you’d float away, lost in the tide of pleasure he was dragging you under. His teeth grazing your shoulder, biting down just enough to make you gasp. His groans were strained but steady, each sound driven deep. 

You shivered, lips parting helplessly, “Ah—ahh! Mydei… please—!”

“Please what?” His thrusts grew harder, his control fraying, “Tell me.”

“I—ngh—I can’t—!” Your nails dug into the stone, your body unraveling again under him, tears stinging the corners of your eyes from the intensity, “It’s too much—mmh—!”

His laugh was low, breathless, vibrating against your skin as his lips dragged down your spine, “Then let it be too much.”

You cried out again, higher this time, unable to hold it back. Your voice rang out in the mist-filled chamber, moans breaking into gasps as he drove you closer to that edge again.

The water rocked with you, the rhythm relentless, unstoppable, the sacred bath itself echoing the sounds of your union—splashes, ragged breaths, your whimpers, his groans, blending into a symphony only the two of you could create.

His hand trailed up from your belly to your chest, pulling you back against him, arching you into his thrusts. His mouth found the damp curve of your throat, kissing, biting, claiming.

“Say my name,” he demanded, his voice frayed and desperate.

“Dei—ahh—Mydei!” You whimpered it without shame, surrendering, every sound ripped from your chest echoing through the holy space that had once felt untouchable. Now it belongs to you both.

“Good,” he breathed, almost broken in his praise, “Every sound… every shiver… it’s mine.”

One hand left your hip to circle low across your belly, pulling you back into him, holding you steady as if you might drown in the water without his grip. 

“You feel that?” he rasped, teeth grazing your shoulder. “The way you melt for me? That’s not duty. That’s not honor. That’s us. That's me.”

“‘Dei—close! Hnn…” His name came out of your mouth, strangled, broken, but laced with a sweetness that made him groan into your skin. The steam of the bath clouded your head, bringing you closer and closer to the edge as Mydei pounded into you.

His lips peppered frantic kisses against your damp shoulder, the back of your neck, anywhere he could reach, “I’ve got you. Titans, I’ve got you. Let go, dove, let me hear you.”

You shattered then, your body seizing in his arms, your cry tearing through the steam-thick air. Your walls clenched around him, dragging a groan from his lips so raw it almost broke you all over again.

Burying his face against your neck as he gasped your name like a prayer, clinging to you as if you were the only anchor in his storm.

“Titans—ngh—” His hips stuttered, his rhythm faltering as he thrusted deeper into you, every muscle trembling with the effort to hold on just a little longer.

He didn’t let go. Not yet. His arms circled you tighter, anchoring you as your trembling form collapsed back against his chest, water lapping around your spent body.

“You’re mine,” he whispered against your ear, lips trembling, “in this bath, in this life, in every one after. Mine.”

Your chest heaved, tears slipping down your cheeks—not from sadness, not from fear, but from the unbearable weight of being loved like this, of being claimed like this. You turn your head, lips brushing his cheek, your voice breaking as you whispered back—

“Yours.”

He came with a sound you think will forever brand itself into your brain, a needy groan that pitches higher as he buries himself in you for the last time, his breaths hot against your neck as you give him a moan of your own.

The world steadied only when he smiled and whispered praises against your ear, soft and unguarded.

“You did so well for me. I love you, going to take good care of you now. Don't worry about a thing, dearest.”

His voice fades towards the end as you let sleep claim you, too exhausted to even give him a response.

Only Nikador knows how he explained getting out of the bath with you passed out in his arms to the priests outside the building.

…

The palace of Kremnos had not felt this alive in years. The wedding celebrations had stretched on in a haze of music and feasts, but it wasn’t the festivals that caught people’s attention. 

It was the two of you.

In the study, where Mydei had once worked alone, your presence had now become a fixture. While he sat at his desk with scrolls and correspondence, you curled up on the chaise with a book, silk skirts spilling around you. 

When something catches your interest, you read it aloud. His quill would still, his head tilting, and before long he’d cross the room to take the book from your hands, finishing the passage in his deep voice.

Krateros, delivering reports, stopped in the doorway more than once, heart tugging as if he were intruding on something sacred. 

The way they exist in the same space, he thinks, like two flames feeding the same fire.

At meals, the gestures were so fluid you both barely seemed aware of them. Mydei slid a cut of roasted meat onto your plate without breaking conversation, while you absentmindedly set peeled fruit by the side of his plate. 

Phainon nearly spat his drink the first time he caught it and the KD5 muttered amongst themselves like gamblers at a race, betting and exchanging money.

“They’ve been married a week and it looks like decades,” Hephaestion whispered, earning muffled laughter.

The court whispered too, watching you walk the halls. Somehow your strides matched, always, shoulders brushing, and when your hands brushed as well, neither of you flinched.

Guards noticed, servants noticed, everyone noticed.

And when an elder at council droned about whether Rhodes’s supply was strong enough to “properly complement” Kremnos, Mydei only arched a brow. 

You smirked, and that was enough. 

No words passed between you, but the silence cut sharper than a sword as the council shifted uncomfortably, aware they had just been roasted in complete silence by their king and queen. Again.

But perhaps most telling were the unconscious protections, the small touches. 

If a courtier moved too quickly toward you, Mydei stepped half a pace ahead, his presence shadowing yours without thought. 

Or when, before a banquet, you reached to smooth his cloak across his shoulder, fingers brushing the line of his hair. The sight made the KD5 howl with glee. 

That’s not just a queen, Phainon thought, That’s his anchor.

By the time the first week of festivities waned, the palace had reached its conclusion: Rhodes and Kremnos were no longer two kingdoms bound by necessity. They were bound by something far sturdier, far more terrifying.

…

The private training grounds were alive with the ring of steel and the bark of orders with dust rising under boots. 

It was always a spectacle when the KD5 trained with each other, but today there was a hum in the air—a sharper focus, a tighter edge—because their king had stripped down to spar with Prince Phainon of Okhema.

You walked in at Krateros’s side, the sun catching the rich red folds of your dress. The moment the soldiers saw you, spines snapped straighter. A ripple of bows followed, but your attention was on the sparring circle where Mydei and Phainon clashed, wooden blades striking so hard that sparks might as well have flown.

Krateros was already muttering numbers beside you, pressing a scroll into your hand, “Three garrisons are overfed, one is under-supplied, and the outpost at Thalassia—”

“Drains more than it feeds,” you finished for him, eyes narrowing in thought, still watching the two spar, “pull from its trade routes. Rhodes merchants can reroute the grain north, and that alone funds two more legions.”

Krateros blinked, scratching his beard, “In a single adjustment?”

You tilted your head to look at him as you smirked faintly, “Why else do you keep me around, Lord Krateros?”

A roar snapped your attention back to the field. Mydei had twisted Phainon’s blade out of his hand, spun behind him, and sent him sprawling hard onto the packed dirt. Dust billowed around them as the king planted his wooden sword firmly at Phainon’s neck.

The soldiers cheered, but you only tilted your head, sharp eyes following the movements, “He left his left side open, Phainon,” you called out.

“Next time, if you strike low, you’ll force him to turn his shoulder and lose momentum. His stance is all power, not speed.”

Phainon wheezed from the ground, laughter caught in his chest, “Kephale save me, you’re even worse than him.”

But Mydei was already moving, crossing the field toward you with long strides. His face was flushed from the fight, strands of hair sticking to his temple, but his grin was wolfish.

“You,” he said, stopping close enough that the dust still clung to his skin between you, “are not supposed to be giving away my weaknesses.”

You blinked up at him, feigning innocence with a smirk, “What, afraid your men might actually beat you one day?”

He put a finger under your chin and titled it up before leaning in, stealing a kiss that silenced you before you could retort. It wasn’t long, just a press of lips that sent a ripple of shock through the training grounds, but it was enough to make every soldier in the vicinity tease their king like elementary students.

He pulled back, still smiling like the cat who caught the bird, “Don’t tell him how to beat me,” he murmured in a low voice just for you, “He’ll only get cockier.”

“Or what?” you teased, eyes dancing as you tilted your chin up, “You’ll call me a HKS?”

Mydei froze, brows knitted together, “…Who taught you that?”

In all the time he's been with you, Mydei had been careful not to curse, never saying anything that could teach you any profanities from Kremnos. 

It seems as though someone had taught you, he thinks as he squints at the KD5.

Before you could answer, Hephaestion let out the loudest laugh you’d ever heard, practically doubling over as he slapped his knee, “By the gods—look at his face! She got you, Mydei!”

Phainon laughed too, from where he was sitting on the dirt, “Oh, he's gonna hate that.” 

The KD5 roared with laughter around him, the entire spar devolving into chaos.

And through it all, Mydei’s gaze didn’t leave you—bright, fond, like you’d just declared yourself his equal in front of the entire army.

Then, he hooks a hand under your knees and hauls you into his arms, making you squeal in surprise.

“Mydei! You're dusty and sweaty! Put me down!”

“Nope, you're coming with me,” he says as he starts to walk away from the training arena.

Hastily, you use his shoulder and prop yourself to wave goodbye at your friends, with them waving back with amused faces.

“Lord Krateros, send me the approved scroll after!” You yell and he simply nods, shaking his head.

When you finish your farewells (you'll literally see them at dinner later), you sink back into your husband's arms with a satisfied sigh.

You look up at him, strands of hair still sticking to his neck, which you pick away at, “Soo, Dear King, where are we going?” 

“A bath, Dear Queen.”

“Uh-huh, you need it, stinky.”

He raises an eyebrow at this, “Oh yeah? Well, you're coming, as well, stinky #2.”

You scrunch your nose at that, “You're the one who made me stinky! I'm sticky from your sweat as well, ew…”

Mydei forms a knowing smirk on his face. 

“I can make you a different type of sticky, if you'd like?”

Your face burns in hot embarrassment and shame as you hit his chest, the mere mortification of someone being able to hear what he was saying fizzing you up.

“Shameless, insufferable, stupid,” you mutter as you keep hitting his chest.

The king's laughter echoes throughout the halls.

“So?” he asks after your fists stop assaulting his body, “What about it?

You, still red in the face, look away when his eyes meet yours expectantly, staying silent for a few moments as you wait for your voice to be trusted once again.

“You better clean me up after…” you murmur and he noses your cheek with a kiss.

“Always.”

masterlist.

usagi's note: and so this ends. at first i was really nervous to publish this, cuz one, it was long as hell, and two, i was just shy abt my writing and my yearning for this Kremnoan man. i hope u guys notice my efforts to spin this into a more detailed fic, cuz i was surprised it got to more than 10k words as well hehe. i experimented a lot with this fic and found out more abt my writing voice, and i just wanna point out a detail, specifically that when u describe things, its always something of the ocean, and when mydei or krateros describes smth, its related to the fire or mountains, just a little detail i learned that shows their upbringing :D ngl i had a lot of fun writing this, solely because i took a different writing approach with it and of course because its mydei !! i loved it and i hope you guys did, too! until next time!! (literally tomorrow cuz i have a new idea for a mydei fic)

@usagiarchive 2025. do not repost, translate, or use for AI. reblogs, likes, and comments are very appreciated!!

…

You tried to slowly pull away, really you did. But every single time you saw his face, even heard his voice, your heart would stutter and sink to your stomach.

You felt sick. Guilt eating you up every time you even so much as thought of being flustered.

And unfortunately for you, Mydei was perceptive.

It started small, subtle, but for a man who was raised to notice the smallest of weaknesses in his opponent in order to win a battle, noticing his ally’s shift in behaviour was no challenge.

He noticed you'd stare off into space the week after the festival— no, it had started that afternoon at the training arena. After you'd look like you'd seen a ghost, you've been skittish, quiet, even excusing yourself early to bed that day.

Mydei had originally chalked it up to the day’s exhaustion catching up to you, but when he woke up without you in bed the next day? He felt as if something had gone wrong.

You would space out more than usual, sometimes staring at something for at least a third of an hour. He knows this of course, because he's noticed (read: worried).

At breakfast, you wouldn't look in his direction, choosing to chat with Phainon, talking about something he couldn't care less about, or with Peucesta and Ptolemy, making plans on when to create another tune.

Then when you received a letter from your father stating that returning to Rhodes wasn't favorable at the time and that you should stay at Kremnos until he sent word, you started to write letters to Aglaea. He doesn't know what for, but when crates of scrolls start coming and going every three days, he knows it must be for work.

He sees less and less of you with each passing day. His usual routine of waking up with you still deep asleep in bed and eating every meal together went to barely even seeing you awake throughout the day, barely attending meals, and only being alone with you in a room when you were fast asleep.

‘At least she's in my library,’ he thinks.

Still, it unsettles him. This is exactly how the events after that fight in front of the council played out. You're avoiding him, but it feels different, but somehow exactly the same. It makes him think he's done something again.

…

It's been a week since Mydei's properly talked to you outside of ‘Have you eaten?’, ‘Good morning,’ and ‘Goodnight.’ A week of short, polite answers from you instead of the teasing and banter. A week since you've been in the same room with him alone and awake for more than five minutes.

Mydei feels it. He feels you pulling away. Somehow so close yet so far. You sleep in the same bed, you eat (at most) dinner next to him, and yet he feels as if you're a thousand miles apart (California King Bed?).

But somehow you're always in his line of sight. 

He sees you in the library during the mornings, sometimes Ptolemy would be with you, gathering books as the two of you worked on your own tasks together. Sometimes, you'd be alone, hunched over on one of the desks, scribbling away on the scrolls sent by the Rhodenian courier he's come to be familiar with.

(The Kremnoan Prince tells Krateros he just happened to see you in the library and orders him to assign someone to bring you meals and snacks throughout the day. An attendant who will find books you need, get you more parchment, and refill your ink bottles. 

If you want to be busy, he'll let you, just not to the point of overworking yourself once again.

And if Krateros mentions that the Royal Library is a far ways away from the Prince's private training arena? Mydei will dismiss it by turning away and saying he was late for training.

Give Krateros a raise, we beg!!)

At noon, it was a hit or miss between whether you'd join him and the rest for lunch. It had made him queasy at first, worried you weren't eating properly again. 

Krateros informed him later that you'd asked the attendant he assigned to take your lunches in the library.

The prince regrets his decision to let you eat there at that moment. But he relents, sighs, and nods, prodding at his food, seemingly uninterested now. 

He ignores the glances from the Kremnoan Detachment, he knows he's being obvious, pouting like a petulant child at the loss of you.

Krateros only shakes his head and digs in.

…

On the days you did have lunch with them, your mind was preoccupied with something else.

Hephaestion would try to hold in his laughter, watching as you would be focused on the scrolls you've brought to the table, skimming and reading them as you ate, while Mydei would try and catch your attention by asking you questions, to which you would reply non-verbally or with small hums.

Perdikkas would have to shove his elbow into the ribs of the laughing buffoon in order not to embarrass the Prince.

Mydei wouldn't pout in front of you, no, but with the slight downturn of his lips, anyone would know he was displeased.

It doesn't take him long to have enough.

“Wha- Hey! I was reading that! Be careful with it!” you yell at him when he snatches it away from you one afternoon.

His eyes lock on you as he rolls up the scrolls, sending shivers up your spine as you quickly look away and push your food around.

That was the longest sentence you've uttered in his presence since the banquet.

“No more work at breakfast, starting today,” he orders and you huff.

“Fine.”

Heph really had to bite his tongue just so he wouldn't laugh when you started chatting up Phainon and Ptolemy instead.

…

The final nail in the coffin was at dinner at the end of the second week. 

Ever since you came to Castrum Kremnos, Mydei had been cooking dinner once a week, sometimes twice if his schedule allowed it. It wasn't out of behaviour for him to do so.

You knew weekends were the time your home dishes were cooked. You'd even voiced it out that you were looking forward to it the week before the festival. 

But when dinner was served, you were nowhere to be found.

“Where is she?” Mydei asks Krateros as he looks at the empty seat to his right.

“Her highness is at the library, she has requested to skip dinner for tonight.”

A cloud of unease floats into the room as they watch the crown prince’s mood visibly sour. He deflates and eats his food glumly.

No one speaks a word during it. Not even Hephaestion had tried to make a joke to lighten up the mood. Phainon didn't even say a thing and instead focused on eating quicker.

Then a clatter of utensils disturbed the silence and all eyes looked up to Mydeimos looking pained.

He didn't get it. What exactly did he do that you're treating him just like the fight at Rhodes? He doesn't understand. 

What happened?

Why were you pulling away?

Did something happen?

Why were you avoiding him again?

Did someone do something?

Was it the council?

Were you being coerced?

Did you just not like it here?

Was he making you feel trapped?

Why does he feel like you're punishing him for something he doesn’t know about? 

Why?

…

He catches you in the hall after dinner. 

He'd just finished expressing his frustration out on the training dummies and you'd look like you'd just finished bathing, strands of hair still sticking to your neck. He stops right in front of you, glancing at the scrolls you have under your arms.

You stop and look at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something, head tilting as you shift your weight from one foot to another.

He swallows.

“You've been avoiding me. Have I done something wrong?” he asks, and for a moment he almost begs you to just tell him whatever it is.

Your heart beats faster at him catching on, but you just chew on the inside of your cheek then shake your head, “No, just been busy.”

There's so many things he wants to say. All the questions rattled around inside his head. He wants to ask if you're truly fine, if someone had said something, if the council had tried one of their tricks.

But Mydei says nothing and he's left standing in front of you, opening and closing his mouth like a stupid fish as he tries to start a sentence.

You watch.

You wait.

You shift.

“I should go.” 

Then you pass him, headed towards the library.

And exactly like a stupid fish, he lets you go.

Not because he wants to— no, gods no. If he had it his way, you'd already be sound asleep in bed, not off to the library with scrolls of parchment for trade routes and tax reports.

No, he lets you go because he wants what you want.

Because maybe, you don't want work to pile up on you as it did him when you went home. Because maybe you miss your kingdom and this is how you cope with that. Because maybe this—whatever this is, this limbo between the both of you—is not something you want.

The Kremnon Prince—who has been known to conquer what he wants, eradicate an entire country for wronging his family, defeat kingdoms upon kingdoms who thrive on tyranny, and commit patricide for his people—is helpless under the gaze of a princess from Rhodes.

So yes, he lets you go.

Stupid. Damn. Prince.

…

For all your stress on finding a way to break this union, you'd learned not to overwork yourself. Aglaea wasn't here. Your father wasn't here. You had no allies here— except for Mydei— but the point still stands, you weren't in Rhodes.

In a moment of weakness, someone could kill you.

A princess should never let her guard down. This was made especially clear by Mydeimos when he stepped on that boat to Castrum Kremnos with you. When he gave you that pin harbouring the crest of the royal family.

And while, yes, you'd grown closer to the Kremnoan Detachment Five, you don't know where their loyalty lies when it comes to you. Because you know their history now, read about it in Mydeimos’ library with Ptolemy.

You know they'd follow him wherever in a heartbeat. They'd serve him. Protect him from any harm. 

And you're sure that includes you, if it came to that. They'd protect Mydeimos. Even if they have to kill you.

So you stay in the library, trying to put walls around your heart, trying not to incur the wrath of Kremnoans, and trying to be productive all the while.

It does, however, not help the erratic beating of your heart that the crown prince had been assigning attendants to bring you meals, help you with work, bring you materials, and escort you to and from Mydeimos' chambers.

You know it's how he cares.

It's hard, because you know he really does.

Mydei cooks dinner from Rhodes every weekend or so. Perdikkas says he learned it on his own, and in his own words, “I want to make her feel at home here.” He takes the star anise out of every meal you eat and makes sure the food you ate had only been handled by a few people he trusts.

Mydei opens a window when he gets home to your shared room in the evenings because he knows he makes the room temperature rise, and he knows you prefer draftier rooms. But he also makes sure to tuck you in when it gets too cold and you shift away from the blankets in your sleep.

Mydei sends you food during work—not personally, but you know he's the one sending them. He doesn't let you work without proper nutrition and you know he knows the way you like your fruits cut.

Mydei takes care of you even if he's not there.

He asks you how you've been, if you've eaten. And you swear to Phagousa the threads of your resolve to stay away almost snapped when he caught you in the hall.

And gods, what you'd give to know if it's not out of duty and honor. If the way he treats you is out of the warmth of his heart. If he returns the affection that blooms in your chest for him.

But you know, deep down that he could never return how you feel. He can't, he doesn't want to. No matter how confusing his actions may be.

Mydei stated it the first time you met. 

He doesn't wish for marriage.

You'll have to face this heartbreak alone.

…

You find a book stacked neatly on the piles of books you've accumulated for the past week and a half you've been here.

On The Rites of Kremnos.

“Huh, weird,” you mutter, you don't remember pulling this out of the shelves, “Must've been one of the attendants.” 

Your fingers hovered over the cracked spine of the tome before you gave in to curiosity. The book smelled of dust and old parchment, its title pressed into the leather in faded gold.

You should have set it aside. Truly, you should have. But something in you—something reckless—compelled you to turn the pages.

Your eyes caught a section illustrated with the sketch of a blade, its hilt etched in patterns of flame. Beneath it, the heading read:

On the Giving of Daggers.

You leaned closer, brow furrowed.

It is among the most sacred and tender rites of Kremnos that a warrior may give a dagger not to a comrade, but to a chosen beloved. This act, though often mistaken by outsiders as a gesture of alliance or duty, is in truth a courtship offering—an unspoken vow of devotion.

Your heart gave a startled kick.

You read on.

The dagger given to a betrothed is no mere weapon. Its edge is honed not for battle, but for intimacy: the defense of the hearth, the shared keeping of a household. It is said that the dagger binds not by oath, but by affection, for no true Kremnoan warrior would forge such a gift for one they did not hold in their heart.

Your lips part in shock.

And the next line makes your breathing stop altogether.

Embedded within many of these betrothal daggers are stones of deep red. These are not jewels acquired by wealth or trade, but rather gems wrought from the crystallized blood of the giver. To bear such a weapon is to carry, quite literally, the lifeblood of the one who chose you. It is a sign not only of intended union, but of intimacy most profound: the body rendered into permanence, entrusted into the beloved’s hand.

Your fingers trembled on the page.

The dagger. His dagger. The one Mydei had given you as though it were nothing, as though it were only another tradition, another symbol of duty.

Yet the book insisted otherwise.

Your throat ached as you closed the tome too quickly, the sound of the parchment snapping like a guilty confession. 

The weight of the dagger at your hip suddenly felt unbearable—burning hot, as though you had been carrying something alive all along without knowing.

You shake your head.

“No, Mydei must've been unaware of this,” you convince yourself, “He cannot possibly have read or known this,” you mutter in horror.

You have to get Aglaea here with you.

…

You dipped the quill into the inkwell, holding it poised above the parchment for far too long. The candle sputtered from beside you, its flame bending in the draft. At last, the words began to scratch out beneath your hold.

“Dearest Aglaea,” you start.

“I am writing to request your presence here with me in Castrum Kremnos at your earliest convenience. Please do not worry, I am in no danger—at least not regarding my physical health. My mind, however… is another matter entirely.”

You pause, exhaling a breath. The ink gathered at the end of the quill, bleeding into the page in a dark blot. You shook it away and pressed on.

“I feel conflicted. More than that—I feel as though I am adrift. When I came here, I knew this marriage was nothing but duty. That was what he made clear as day from the beginning—he does not want to marry. I have clung to those words as though they were an anchor, to stop myself from hoping… and yet…”

The quill stilled. A faint crease appeared between your brows as you tapped the feather against your lips.

“…yet his actions betray him. He ensures I am never unattended, never neglected. He notices what I do not say, he anticipates what I need before I do. He makes certain I am sheltered, listened to, protected, even in his absence.”

“How am I to reconcile this with his words? Which am I meant to believe, Aglaea—the duty he claims or the tenderness he exudes?”

Your chest ached as you leaned back, staring at the words until they blurred. You pressed your palm over the page as though to steady yourself, but your hands only trembled more.

“You, who carry Mnestia’s blood, must understand better than I how contradictions such as these can undo a person. Tell me—how do I steal my heart and mind when it softens in spite of me? How do I cling to reason when his kindness and care unravels me at every turn?”

Your breath catches, and for a moment your thoughts drifted away from ink and parchment—to the memory of his voice when it softened unexpectedly, to the feeling of the weight of his gaze lingering on you when he thought you weren't looking.

The nib scratched again, hurried now, the lines beginning to slope with weariness.

“Perhaps it is nothing. Perhaps I am a fool who mistakes decency for affection. If so, I beg of you, tell me how it is when you arrive. 

“Be honest with me, Aglaea—remind me what is true and what is illusion. Spare me from my own foolish heart.”

The final word bled into a smudge beneath your hand as you signed your name. 

With a sigh you wipe away the ink with a cloth and wait for the ink to dry on the parchment. Folding it up into three and sealing it after.

Your head dropped to your arms, encasing you from the flicker of the flame, the letter crumpling faintly under your cheek. 

You exhale, tired, and within moments the quill slipped from your fingers, rolling across the desk.

Slumber had taken you into her arms.

…

Mydei sees you through the library window during another of his “on-the-way walks.”

Patrols, he tells himself. Checks to ensure order. But his feet always seem to take him past here, past you.

You hadn't been there when he woke, again, and he guesses you've been here even before the sun had graced the world with warmth for the day.

You’re slumped over the desk, arm tucked beneath your head, It doesn't take him long to know you're asleep with the way shoulders are rising and falling with rhythm. A strand of hair clings to your cheek.

Mydei stops.

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. The proper thing would be to turn away, to let you rest undisturbed. And yet, almost before he decides it, his hand is on the door, pushing it open.

The hush of the library swallows him whole.

He approaches, each step softer than the last, until he’s standing beside you. For a moment, he only stares and takes you in—not the creepy kind, no, but not with hunger either, neither with intrusion, but with a strange stillness in his chest. 

It’s the first time he’s properly seen you in days, not a glimpse through lamplight or a fleeting shadow in the hall. 

Here, in the gentleness of daylight, you look… relaxed. Not a bride, not a princess, just yourself.

Your shoulders hitch as you shiver, curling further into your arms. The motion is small, but it cuts through him.

Before he can think, before reason can stop him, his hands are already unfastening his coat. He drapes it over you in one smooth motion, as though the gesture had lived in his body long before the thought reached his mind.

The fabric settles across your back. You sigh, turning your face into the crook of your arm as though it’s always been yours.

Mydei lingers. Too long. He knows it. His throat tightens, but he can’t bring himself to move. There’s something about the sight of you in his coat that makes his heart ache in ways he does not—cannot—name.

He tells himself you’ll return it when you wish. But the thought rings hollow, because part of him—small and traitorous—hopes you’ll keep it.

For now, at least, the coat is yours, and though he will not say it, his heart is too.

…

When you awake to the rays of the sun hitting your face, you feel a weight on your shoulders, and something smells vaguely of citrus and iron.

It’s warm.

It doesn’t take a genius to know whose coat was draped over you—well, maybe not a genius, but someone who’s slept beside him enough for the past three months to know what he smells like.

You blink blearily, searching for the familiar red-streaked blond head of hair. Nothing.

Of course not.

He never lingers. Never let you catch him in the act.

Your hands clutch the edge of the coat as though it might vanish, and your chest aches with the contradiction of it all. 

Why go so far as to notice your shivers, to cover you with his own warmth, and then disappear before you can thank him? 

Why tell you, so firmly, that this marriage means nothing to him, and then turn around and do everything in his power to make sure you are cared for?

It’s enough to drive you mad.

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes until the stars spark bright behind your lids. A breath, heavy and uneven, slips through your chest.

“Mydei, the things you do to me,” you whisper, only the books as witness to your confession.

And that’s the breaking point. The line where the confusion ceases to be bearable.

Because you can’t keep this storm locked in your chest. Not when it threatens to consume you. You need someone who understands. Someone who can help you untangle the knots his contradictions have tied around your heart.

Aglaea.

Before your hands can tremble their way into hesitation, you snatch the folded letter from the desk, and leave the library in search of Leonnius.

You press it into his hands when you find him and he promises you that he'll deliver it himself.

It isn’t just longing anymore. It’s survival from your own chest threatening to combust.

…

On the other side of the castle, Mydei thinks he's gone mad—so does Krateros—when he starts looking for an oracle in Castrum Kremnos.

“There isn't an oracle in the kingdom, you know this,” the older man tries to reason, “Not one Kremnoan believes in that divination nonsense!”

The prince snaps, “Well, I do!”

His mentor looks taken aback at his outburst, and yet he continues, “I have to get answers and I will scout the entire kingdom myself if you don't get involved. I will be looking for an oracle with or without your help, so help me, Nikador.”

Krateros only sighs in defeat as he calls someone to find what the crown prince wants.

Though he must admit, seeing Mydeimos actively ask—no, demand—what he wants is a very welcome change. No matter how unreasonable his request is, his highness seldom does so. And that's enough for Krateros to do as he says.

He will be done, I suppose.

…

It takes five hours to find an oracle in Caseum Kremnos. In the span of that time, the Crown Prince almost tore his hair out and went to Rhodes to receive answers.

Thankfully, Krateros had stopped him before he could pack his bags and take the first boat.

What Mydei doesn't expect, is that the oracle he's been looking for is one he's already familiar with.

“It's… you?”

The Oracle from Rhodes raises an eyebrow, mixing something in another glowing cauldron identical to that in Rhodes, as he watches the prince step into the dingy basement in one of the west buildings in the kingdom.

“Well, of course? You didn't think an oracle paid much did you? A man's gotta do something to survive, your highness.”

The blond furrows his eyebrows, “Why are you here? In Castrum, Kremnos of all places?”

“Well, despite what you Kremnoans try to say, your heart betrays you. No matter how much you deny your belief in the divine stars, you also cannot deny the pull it has on you. You will gravitate towards it, no matter what.”

The Oracle stops stirring and looks him directly in the eyes, “So the better question is, what answers does your highness wish to fathom? What fate do you wish to try and fight this time?”

The Oracle leaned back, his cauldron still glowing faintly, eyes gleaming like he knew more than he should.

“You come seeking stars when the truth sleeps beside you.”

Mydei blinked. “…What?”

“The constellations will not grant you what you already possess. You search the heavens for answers, yet the thread you fear to pull is tied to your own hand.”

Mydei frowned deeper. “…This is nonsense. Just tell me plainly.”

The Oracle smirked, returning to his stirring. “Then plainly it is. No fate will bend for you until you speak to the princess. You can chart a thousand skies, crown prince, but until you dare to voice the silence between you, your path will remain clouded.”

Mydei stared. “So… you’re saying I should just… talk to her?”

The Oracle raised a brow. “At last, he understands.”

…

Mydei pushed out of the basement, boots scuffing stone, still scowling like the Oracle had spat riddles into his ears instead of answers. 

Which, in truth, he had.

Krateros straightened from the wall he’d been leaning on, “Well? Did you get what you came for?”

“No—” Mydei pinched the bridge of his nose, “Yes—maybe, I don't know, he spoke in circles, ‘the truth sleeps beside you,’ ‘threads tied to my hand,’ all nonsense.”

“…Right,” Krateros drawled, “So, nothing useful.”

Mydei bristled, “No—he said I had to talk to her.”

Krateros blinked, “That… sounds useful.”

“No, you don’t understand. How? When? What am I even supposed to say?” Mydei raked a hand through his hair, the picture of princely despair.

Krateros sighed. “Perhaps—calmly, respectfully, as one does with a fiancé?”

But Mydei was already mid-spiral. Slowly, his eyes lit up in dawning inspiration.

“…Or,” he murmured, lips curving in dangerous triumph, “I could follow her.”

Krateros’ expression flatlined, “...Follow her?”

“Yes.” Mydei said, nodding like a man who had discovered fire, “Observe her. Learn where she goes, what she does. Find the right moment.”

There was a beat of silence.

“…You mean to stalk her.”

“It’s strategy,” Mydei insisted, already turning down the corridor with renewed determination, “A tactical maneuver. My father and other kings have done far worse.”

And before Krateros could stop him, the Crown Prince was striding away with purpose, cloak flaring behind him.

Krateros closed his eyes, exhaled through his nose, and pressed his palm hard against his face. 

“Wonderful,” he muttered to no one, “My future king, reduced to skulking in hallways like a lovesick thief.”

…

Mydei had decided—no, sworn—that this was reconnaissance, not desperation.

“Observe from afar,” he told himself, peering around the column with all the subtlety of a thief. 

“Gather information. Stay calm.”

It had been working for the past three days, until he saw that you've been hanging out with the Prince of Okhema… a little too much.

Under the cypress trees, sunlight mottling across your dress, you were sitting on the bench beside Phainon. Your head tipped back, laughter spilling out like bells.

Laughter that wasn’t for him.

The Crown Prince froze. His heartbeat lurched, uneven. Then you reached out and nudged Phainon’s arm, mock-offended, and Phainon laughed too, leaning into your shoulder in a way that should have been punishable by law.

Traitor. Judas. Et tu, Phainon?

From his vantage point, Mydei strained his ears, catching the words between you and the traitor.

“You really think I wouldn't be any good at archery?” you teased, eyes narrowed but mouth curved.

“You’d be dreadful,” Phainon said cheerfully. “But you’d look the part. Everyone would assume you were dangerous, and that’s half the battle.”

You swatted his shoulder, “That’s cruel.”

“Hey! I'm just being honest!” He grinned, and you rolled your eyes—but you were smiling.

Mydei’s stomach dropped. That used to be me. She used to look at me like that.

He ducked back behind the column, pacing in a tight circle like a caged animal. What in the gods’ names happened to the sacred bonds of brotherhood? 

Phainon—my own companion in arms, the one that had taught me what a ‘bro code’ meant. The one man I trusted with everything, laughing like… like that with you???

Another laugh rang out—yours this time—and he peeked again, unable to stop himself.

“…and then,” you were saying between giggles, “the guy tripped on his own cape, can you believe it?”

Phainon chuckled, “The mighty man, defeated by cloth. Don’t tell anyone else. I’ll deny it.”

“You’re terrible!” You covered your mouth, still laughing.

“And you’re worse!”

Inside jokes. They had inside jokes now? Already? Mydei’s chest felt constricted. His mind leapt ahead, unspooling visions of dinners shared, confidences whispered, smiles exchanged that should have been his.

No. No, no, no. Bro code. BRO CODE.

He ducked back again, dragging a hand down his face. He could feel his dignity slipping away like sand through his fingers. Nikador above, I am stalking my own betrothed. What am I doing?

Another peal of your laughter drifted over. He peeked again.

You were leaning forward now, speaking low, conspiratorial, “Don’t you dare tell him I said that.”

Phainon crossed his heart with mock solemnity, “Your secret’s safe with me, Princess.”

SECRET?

Mydei’s eyes widened. He nearly tripped over his own boots in his haste to retreat behind the pillar. Do they have secrets now? He keeps her secrets? This is mutiny. This is treason. This is—

A shadow loomed behind him.

“Mydei,” came Krateros’ voice, flat as stone.

The prince whipped around, nearly colliding with his general, who stood there with crossed arms and a face that screamed “what in the seven hells are you doing?”

“I’m not—” Mydei started, then winced. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

Krateros raised an unimpressed brow, “It looks like the Crown Prince of Castrum Kremnos is crouching behind a column, spying on the princess.”

“I am observing,” Mydei hissed back.

“Observing what? Phainon sitting politely? The princess breathing? By the stars, you look like a jealous boy at his first festival.”

“She’s laughing with him,” Mydei snapped in a whisper, gesturing wildly toward the pair under the cypresses. 

“Laughing. The same way she used to with me. Do you not see it? He’s—he’s breaking the code!”

Krateros pinched the bridge of his nose, “What code?”

“The bro code!”

Krateros blinked at him. “…What?”

“The unspoken vow between men!” Mydei threw his hands out, “You don’t… you don’t do that with your brother’s wife! You don’t steal her smiles, her laughter—you don’t take what was—what is—” He faltered, teeth gritting, “Mine.”

From their bench, another burst of laughter. Mydei stiffened, snapping his head around like a hawk sighting prey.

Krateros groaned into his hands, “Stars preserve me. You’re hopeless.”

But Mydei barely heard him. His pulse thundered in his ears as he watched you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, smiling softly at something Phainon said. The sight carved him open, left him raw and restless.

He turned back to Krateros, whisper-shouting, “I have to stop this.”

“No,” Krateros said firmly.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes! I can’t stand here while he—while she—” His throat tightened, “While I lose her.”

“She's not your wife, Mydei, she's not yours.” Krateros cut him.

“You cannot lose what you currently do not have, and I swear to your Mother if you don't talk to the Princess soon I will be locking the both of you in your chambers under the pretense of a lockdown.”

“You cannot do that!”

“Oh, but I would,” Krateros challenged him.

The crown prince looked between his mentor and behind the columns and sighed, pouted, and then walked back into the castle, footsteps quick, determination blazing in his chest.

The general exhaled long and hard, muttering, “By all the gods… we are doomed.”

…

And all the while, Phainon has known that his friend had been there behind the bushes all this time. 

You didn't see him, no, but he kept you entertained enough so you wouldn't notice… whatever Mydei was doing back there.

He'll play the part of best man and keep you company until Mydei mans it up and gets out of his weird shell! 

Best man Phainon is on the job! (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

…

It doesn't take Mydei long to have enough.

“Deliverer, meet me in the arena in an hour.”

The tone Mydei uses isn't a suggestion, nor is it a request. It was an order. Phainon only laughs at this.

“Hell no, I am not going to be your emotional punching bag, Mydei.”

The Kremnoan Prince cocks an eyebrow at him, “What the hell do you mean?”

“Listen,” he sighs and puts a hand on the other’s shoulder, “ever since I came here, you two have been nothing but obvious.”

“Heph told me about the first dinner you had when you came back,” vaguely he hears him curse ‘Heph and his loose-lips’, “Yeah, he told me you took out the star anise for the Princess. Mydei you told me to choke when I said I didn't like lemongrass.”

“I've seen a crest on her, Mydei. I don't think we both need to talk about what the crest means.”

“I only gave her that for protection,” he tries to refute but Phainons give him an unimpressed look, as if to say ‘do I really have to tell you what you already know?’ and sighs.

“Mydei, I gave Cyrene a pin. My pin. The reason why I gave her mine, cannot possibly differ from yours,” he emphasizes, “You gave the Princess your personal Kremnoan crest. Your mother gave you that! Don't give me that look, that's obviously not just for protection. Kephale knows if you're possessive of her or something…” Phainon trails off but when he sees Mydei blush as he looks elsewhere, his jaw drops.

“Oh, Titans, you totally are!” He laughs and dodges his friend's swipe by a hair.

He stops and puts a hand on his chin as he ponders, “Come to think of it, you have been strangely around wherever we were, stalking us now, aren't you, Mydei?”

Mydei flushes even more and tries to grab the snow-haired prince but he dodges and steps back gracefully, successfully being just out of reach for the other prince.

“You can't deny it~” he teases in a sing-song voice, “Mydei has already fallen for the Princess~! Especially with how you didn't want her little gift to get damaged? Oh, Mydei, you've fallen, and you've fallen bad.”

“Oh, and don't even get me started on that dagger, she showed me that you know? I was so fucking confused why you didn't even tell her what it means! She even asked me! Like hell if I know whatever oath you'd engraved into that,” he stresses, watching as Mydei finally stops swiping at him and instead looks elsewhere.

“Don't worry, I may have dropped a book about it into her scrolls,” Phainon winks and he winces when he sees Mydei snap back so fast he might get vertigo.

“Deliverer, you did what?!”

“Relax— woah! Easy!” he says as the Kremnoan Prince grabs a hold of him.

“Enough.” 

One thing about Mydei that Phainon's learned over the years? He does not like to be teased, and it seems like the Deliverer pushed his limit too far today.

The Okheman Prince stays calm through it all, “Look, Mydei, I get it. I've been spending so much time with her lately, and she's obviously been avoiding you. I'm not that stupid to know what that looks like, but I can assure you, you have nothing to worry about.”

His hold on him tightens and Phainon rambles quickly, “H-Hey, watch it! She talks to me, you know?? She tells me stuff—not that I’d tell you everything—but I will tell you that you aren't alone in how you feel.”

The hold loosens and the prince breathes a sigh of relief and continues talking.

“Talk to her, Mydei. Before she slips completely through your fingers.”

And with that, the Deliverer pats him on the shoulder and leaves him alone in the hall.

Krateros steps out from behind one of the pillars, “I can't help but agree with Prince Phainon, your highness.”

If he startles Mydei, the prince doesn't show it.

“There will be an excursion to Thalassia in a day's time,” his mentor says, “It might be a good idea to bring your princess.”

The meaning behind his words is not lost to Mydei. Using your instead of the. This just confirms that he's been painfully obvious from the start.

The crown prince sighs and nods absentmindedly, then turns, likely in search of you.

…

You’re halfway through pretending to understand the scroll in front of you, trying to understand whatever gripe a noble had with the tax increase he and everyone else in Rhodes got, when his shadow cuts across your desk.

Mydei says your name in that careful way of his, “I’ll be going to Thalassia tomorrow. It’s just a day trip. Do you wish to join me?”

Your head jerks up. He says it like he’s asking whether you’d like more bread with supper. So casual. So unbothered.

Meanwhile, your pulse explodes into a chaotic drumbeat.

You open your mouth to refuse—because you should refuse, titans, you’ve been trying to keep distance for weeks now, to untangle the grip he’s got on your ribs—but what tumbles out instead is…

“Yes, of course.”

And immediately, immediately, regret drops onto you like a mountain.

“Yes?” he echoes, one brow lifting, almost surprised.

You clear your throat, too late to backpedal, “Yes,” you repeat, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, even if you're screaming inside.

Why did you say that? Why. Did. You. Say. That ?????

You force your eyes back to the scroll, though the words blur into nonsense. 

Idiot. 

Fool. 

You’re supposed to be avoiding him, not volunteering for an entire day alone together in some idyllic seaside city. What part of ‘protect your heart’ translates into ‘go play tourist with your fiancé who doesn't want to marry you’?!

But he’s still watching you. You can feel it in the weight of his silence, steady and warm.

You risk a glance, and—curse him—he’s smiling. Just faintly, but it’s there. And suddenly it hits you.

There’s no universe in which you could’ve said no to him when he’s standing this close, voice softened just for you, waiting.

Your stomach knots. You look back down, grip the parchment hard enough to crease it.

Titans, help you.

…

Thalassia is a quiet city.

It was nothing like the stony mountains of Castrum Kremnos or the gilded halls of Rhodes.

From the carriage window, it unfolded like a dream—endless stretches of white sand curving into a horizon that melted into blue. 

The sea glittered under the sunlight, each wave crowned with silver foam. Palm trees swayed lazily, their shadows dappling the ground, while bright-painted boats drifted in the shallows like scattered jewels. 

The air carried salt, sweet and sharp, with the faintest echo of laughter drifting from the coastal town.

It was the sort of place people whispered about, the perfect haven for lovers fleeing courtly obligations, a place of honeymoons and stolen afternoons, a place to relax away from all the duties you were expected of. And now, here you were—but not for the same reasons.

The ride there had been quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that pressed down heavily, filling every inch of the carriage.

Krateros sat across from you near the doors, Mydei beside him, arms folded, his jaw tightening more with every passing mile. You could feel his gaze flicking between you and Mydei like a pendulum, as if sheer willpower might force you to speak to one another.

But you kept your eyes trained on the window, letting the rolling blues and shimmering sands distract you from the man sitting across.

“…It’s beautiful,” you murmured absentmindedly. 

From Mydei's point of view, the sunlight that streamed through the window kissed your features and your lips curved into the smallest of smiles.

“Yes,” came his voice, quiet, firm, “Yes, it is.”

And though you were looking at Thalassia, Mydei was looking at you. 

His gaze lingered—not on the waves, nor the sky, but on the curve of your profile, the reflection of the sea in your eyes.

Krateros dragged a hand down his face. With the long-suffering groan of a man carrying the weight of two very stubborn royals, he muttered, “By the gods, spare me.”

…

The meetings didn’t last long. In fact, they only stretched to two hours—long enough for you to grow restless, and short enough for Mydei to come searching sooner than you expected.

In the meantime, an attendant from Thalassia had been assigned to accompany you, a young woman with sun-browned skin and laughter that rang like seashell chimes. She led you away from the palace gates, down streets that curved with the shoreline.

The air smelled of salt and roasted fish. Linen awnings flapped in the breeze, painted with bright streaks of coral, teal, and gold. Vendors called out in their lilting accents, selling trinkets carved from driftwood, jewelry strung with pearls, and fabrics dyed the colors of the setting sun.

You slowed down to take a look at a stall where bracelets were woven from dyed twine and tiny beads of glass. 

“These would suit them,” you murmured, fingers brushing over the colors before selecting a handful. 

One for each of the KD5, who’d never forgive you if you returned empty-handed.

At another stall, you found a dolphin carved from pale stone. Its smooth curves reminded you of the desk in Phainon’s room, cluttered with paperweights and odds and ends. You smiled faintly, imagining it perched there, out of place yet entirely at home, before paying for it.

“You're not buying anything for yourself, your highness?” The attendant asks.

You shake your head, “No, this is enough for me, besides, my friends will all be far too dramatic if I don't bring anything home,” you chuckle.

“You think of everyone else before yourself,” she said warmly, watching as you tucked the figurine into a pouch. 

“Princesses usually buy jewelry, perfume, or garments, you buy trinkets for soldiers.”

You only shrugged, though her words lingered.

The sea glittered just beyond the market, a stretch of turquoise where children darted between waves. A group of young couples walked past hand-in-hand, their arms slung around each other’s shoulders, their laughter carrying. 

It struck you then why Thalassia was so famous for honeymoons, the city itself seemed to breathe love and peace.

And perhaps that was why your chest tightened when a familiar voice broke through the air.

“There you are.”

You turned, and there he was—Mydei, cloak pulled by the sea wind, hair catching the light. 

His expression softened the moment his eyes found you, and it was so unguarded that you nearly forgot to breathe.

He didn’t even greet the attendant properly before he was beside you, words tumbling like waves, “The meeting was brief. Just the renewal of our agreement—nothing worth worrying that pretty little head of yours about.” 

His smile tugged wry, as if he’d meant to say something else but caught himself.

The attendant’s gaze darted between you, amused, and you could only bow your head, heat blooming in your cheeks.

And then he was ushering you toward another row of stalls, pointing out his favorite fruit vendor here, tugging you along before you could object. 

His voice filled every silence, smooth and sure, yet with an eagerness that made the attendant hide a grin behind her hand. Something you admit to yourself that you've missed.

You only blink at him when he asks you something, but he was already steering you gently down another street.

Before long, you had a basket of your favorite fruit, and he was peeling and cutting them with the kind of precision that left you staring.

He set them into your hand like an offering.

You couldn’t answer. Not properly. Not with the warmth in his voice, not with the sight of him fussing over you like—like someone who loved you. So you only smiled and nodded, tucking the moment away where it couldn’t hurt you too much.

Then you stumbled.

One moment you were walking, the next the world tilted, and a hand shot out to catch you before you could fall.

Mydei steadied you, but his brow furrowed. 

His gaze dropped to your feet, sharp as a blade, and before you could stop him, he’s already pulling up the hem of your dress and seeing the raw patches blooming against your heels.

“Blisters,” his voice dropped low, dangerous in the way it only got when he was angry for you, “I told you before—comfort first. You know better than this.”

You could only nod, cheeks burning, because if you spoke, you would be ruined.

He sighs, almost exasperated, and before you knew it, he had lifted you up with an ease that made your heart stumble worse than your feet.

“Mydei, wha—Mydeimos! Put me down, people are staring!” you whisper-yell, scandalized, as your fists pound against his shoulders.

The blond rolls his eyes, “Let them.”

He carries you to a shaded bench, sets you down gently, and disappears only to return with a pair of soft leather shoes. 

He knelt to slip them onto your feet himself, muttering all the while about your stubbornness, and you could only stare quietly as you will your heart to shut up (!!!) and stop pounding so loud, you fear he might hear.

The day stretched after that, an early dinner in a seaside inn, laughter of sailors in the background, the air rich with roasted fish and wine. 

You could barely taste the food, too aware of the way Mydei kept leaning in to ask if you wanted more, if you were comfortable, if you were enjoying yourself.

And when the sun dipped lower and you murmured that you were tired, he only nodded, eyes warm.

“Anything else you want to do?” he asked, and for a heartbeat you thought you heard something deeper in the question.

“I wanna go home,” you yawn.

His breath caught, “...To Rhodes?”

You tilted your head slightly in confusion, “No…? To Kremnos.”

Silence.

Then he's turning away from you, calling for Krateros to prepare the carriage and tugging you with him.

And when the carriage comes, the quiet rocking of wheels against stone, and Mydei chooses to sit beside you this time. 

And this time, you don't shift away.

You drifted off with your head leaned against his shoulder, too exhausted to fight it, and for once—he was the one willing his heart to stop beating erratically.

…

You awake to someone shaking you gently.

“Hm?” you blink yourself awake as you stifle a yawn.

“We're home, dear princess,” Mydei says gently, “I unfortunately cannot escort you to our chambers since the council has something urgent for me, I'll have to leave you for now, okay?”

You nod blankly, what else was there to say?

He gives you a small smile and kisses the crown of your head, making your heart stutter again, before setting off, “I'll see you later, okay?”

You hum a small sound of agreement and watch his back as it enters the castle stairs, and when he was out of sight, your shoulders sag and you sigh.

“Why do you keep doing this to me?” you whisper.

It hikes back up though when you notice who was beside you. Krateros gives you a knowing look and you sigh, kicking the grass from below our feet.

“Please don't say a word to him,” you pleaded, still not looking at the man.

Krateros doesn't say a thing, but does guide you back into the palace to rest for the night.

…

For a while, he thought things had shifted. Thalassia had been… good. Better than good, actually, he'd made progress even with your silence.

You had walked beside him, eaten what he cut for you, even dozed against his shoulder in the carriage ride home. He had let himself think, foolishly, that the air between you had cleared.

And yet—

Now you were gone again.

Not literally gone, of course. You attended meals when he asks. You sat through ceremonies when duty bound you. But gone, in the ways that mattered. 

You no longer returned to his chambers at night, even when he’d told you, half stern and half hopeful, to come back. 

He caught only glimpses of you, barely even seen you with Phainon or the KD5, anymore, who, when asked, thought that you were with him. 

It was as if you had folded yourself carefully away, piece by piece, until he was left with only your shadow.

And Mydei… Mydei did not understand.

He buried himself in reports, because the Elders insisted on his attention for some tiresome matter of grain shipments and border tariffs. 

But each word blurred, each parchment turned heavy, until all he could think was, ‘What did I do? What did I say? Why is she slipping from me again?’

The worst part was that he wanted—needed—to ask you. But you were never there when he reached for you. The few times your paths crossed, your gaze skated away from his like he was fire, too dangerous to touch.

It maddened him.

“Just tell me,” he muttered under his breath late one night, pinching the bridge of his nose as the lamp guttered low, "Please just tell me what I did, and I’ll fix it. I’ll do anything.”

But the room remained silent, empty save for the echo of your absence.

…

You know what you're doing is wrong. You know it's confusing him, but you just… you can't. Every word, every glance, it undoes you. Makes you hope for something you have no right to hope for.

And without Aglaea here, every step you take, every move you make, feels dangerous.

And you thought you could be satisfied with this, bide your time until your father sends that letter that you can go home and then beg him to break the marriage between the two kingdoms and strike up a deal instead, just like what Mydei had offered at the start.

Surely he'd agree when he sees what it's doing to you, right?

But your answers never come. Aglaea gets held back another day from coming to you, and you feel as if flowers had grown in your lungs every time you see a glimpse of the blond prince or his friends.

So you avoid them. Give them short, polite answers. And try to shield your heart from whatever impending hurt it will inevitably face.

You push it down, keep your face straight and composed. Just like you were taught to. Just like how you were forced to.

Then, your confrontation with your own feelings comes at night in the form of a dream.

It begins with a lullaby.

A woman’s voice, warm and low, hums through the dark like a candle flame. You are small again, curled beneath a blanket much too big for your little body. The rhythm of her hand strokes through your hair, over and over, steady as a heartbeat.

You realize it's your nanny.

“Hush now, little star, hush now and close your eyes…”

Her voice is everything safe in the world. You can almost smell the lavender she tucks into your pillows, the honey-sweet cakes she sometimes sneaks to you when no one is looking. She is the one who teaches you to braid ribbons into your dolls’ hair, the one who laughs when you run through the gardens with grass stains on your knees.

As a child, your mother had been busy, tending to your other siblings, doing her job as empress. It wasn't out of the ordinary to have someone else care for you. But as a child, you clung to your nanny.

Every waking moment, she'd be with you. She helped you read, played with you in the halls, and sang you to sleep.

She is home.

And then, one night, her song falters. The note wavers, breaks. She presses a kiss to your temple, but there is sorrow in it.

“Little star,” she whispers, her hand lingering on your cheek, “I must leave you soon.”

Your child-voice whimpers, startled, “No—you can’t.”

Her smile is sad, “It is the way of things. Nannies do not stay forever.”

You clutch at her gown, refusing to let go, “But I want you to stay. I’ll be good. I’ll be so good—please—”

“Shh…” Her arms close around you, rocking you gently, “Wanting cannot change what must be. That is the way of princesses. You will see.”

But you don’t see. You don’t understand.

For a year, you prayed. Every night, palms pressed together, whispering into the dark— Please let her stay. Please, just this once, let someone stay. Hope rooted itself stubbornly in your small chest, wild and desperate, even when you knew the day would come.

And then it did.

The courtyard blazed with sunlight. The gates stood open, a carriage waiting. Guards lined the path, silent and immovable.

And there she was.

Your nanny stood at the threshold, her hands folded neatly in front of her, her posture rigid. She would not look at you. Not once. Her eyes fixed forward, away from the palace, as if you were already gone from her life.

Seven-year-old you tore across the courtyard, your shoes slapping the stone, your throat raw with cries, “No! Don’t leave me! Please, stay! Please!”

But she did not move. Her face was carved from marble, her chin lifted as though you were nothing more than a stranger. By law, she could not touch you, not speak, not even meet your eyes. To love a princess too long was a risk—and so she severed herself with cruel precision.

A stronger hand caught you mid-stride, yanking you back before you could reach her skirts.

Your father’s voice thundered at your ear, “My child, Enough.”

You fought against him, screaming, your small hands clawing at the air, “No! Don’t make her go! She said she loved me—she—”

“She is nothing to you now.”

His tone was sharp, absolute. He pulled you back, and back, while the carriage door shut with a final, echoing thud.

You thrash, crying so hard your chest aches, “Don’t make her go! Please, Father, please—”

“This is no way to behave,” he says, voice unyielding. He kneels to face you, his grip firm, his eyes grave, “You must learn to let her go.”

“No! I don’t want—”

His words cut sharp and final, “Enough.”

You sobbed, collapsing in his grip, but still your arms reached for her. For her warmth, for her smile, for the one person who ever gave you more than duty.

Your father crouched, his hands firm on your shoulders, his eyes iron and unyielding, “Listen to me,” he said, “this is no way to behave. You must learn to let her go. You must remember your place.”

Your tear-streaked face turned up to him, desperate, “But I want—”

“Wanting,” he cut in, each word a hammer, “is weakness.”

The words struck harder than any blow. He gathered you against his chest, but his voice carried no softness. Only command. And perhaps that's what you needed at the time. Even if you did not want it.

“Duty and honor before your heart. Always.”

And as younger-you sobbed into his cloak, the truth seared into your bones.

Hope is dangerous. To hope is to be shattered.

Older-you stands frozen, watching, the wound split open fresh in your chest. In hindsight, your father had only taught you not to focus on one thing, to not lose sight of the whole picture in favor of attaching yourself to one detail.

But it didn't matter. Younger-you had wanted her to stay. Younger-you had prayed, and it had not mattered. Wanting had never mattered.

The dream twists. It's now you in your father's arms. 

Then the courtyard fades. Your father’s arms loosen, and when you look up, it is not him who holds you anymore. It's Mydei. His cloak, his scent, his eyes.

For a breathless heartbeat, hope dares to flicker again.

Then he speaks. His voice is your father’s and his, overlapping, indistinguishable.

“Have you forgotten?”

You swallow, “What?”

“This is why you shouldn’t hope.”

You shake your head and push him away, standing up, knees still shaky, “No—you wouldn’t— you're not— you're not real…”

He laughs, cold and unfeeling.

“Oh, dear princess,” sarcasm dripped from his words, standing up as well, “have you been so truly blind and ignorant that you believed my empty words?

“You— you wouldn't say this, Mydei wouldn't say this!” you yell, desperate for the dream to end.

“Wouldn’t I?” His gaze is cold, unreadable. 

“How do you know I was not here out of duty, out of honor? How do you know it was ever in my heart to care for someone like you?”

The dream shatters.

You wake with a sob lodged in your throat, chest burning, tears hot against your face.

Beside you, Mydei sleeps, serene, unaware. His presence is a cruel joke to the words that still echo inside your head.

You press a hand to your mouth, swallowing the sound, then you slip away from the bed. Quietly, carefully, you gather your books and a roll of parchment, clutching them like armor. 

And before the tears can claw their way free again, you leave the room, heart heavy with the old lesson you have never managed to unlearn.

…

Mydei woke to the faintest shift beside him. A tug of the mattress, a whisper of fabric. At first he thought nothing of it—you were restless in your sleep sometimes, though never for long.

But then he heard it.

The sound was small, almost delicate. A breath broken in half, shuddering through clenched teeth. A muffled sniffle, then another, before you sat up with a gasp.

He stilled.

You didn’t cry. Not where anyone could hear. Not even in sleep. You’ve always held yourself together, sometimes you were so composed it terrified him.

You never let yourself rest from the façade you've built, even when you thought he wasn’t looking. Yet now, in the dark, something had cracked open.

His eyes adjusted slowly, shapes forming out of shadow, your back turned to him, your shoulders trembling faintly.

A quiet frown pulled at his mouth. 

Why now? You've slept so peacefully beside him before, even when distance stretched between the two of you in daylight. But this—this raw, unguarded sound—he had never heard from you.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. What could he say? Would you push him away if he asked?

A minute passed. Then another. The silence between your breaths began to scrape against his chest.

And then you moved.

You slipped away from the bed carefully, as though afraid to wake him, gathering the books from the low table and tucking parchment under your arms.

He should have let you go. Pretended to sleep, giving you the space you clearly wanted.

But something in him refused.

As the door shut softly behind you, Mydei sat up, pressing a hand to his face. He could still hear the echo of your stifled sobs ringing in his ears. His chest was tight, restless.

With a quiet exhale, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood.

If you thought he would simply lie back and ignore this—ignore you—you thought wrong.

…

The library was nearly silent, save for the scratch of a quill on parchment. You wanted to write a letter to him, saying… saying what? 

You didn't know and you sighed in frustration, but you continued, you wanted to write something at least!

“Dear—”

You froze, stared at the word, then dragged the nib across the page, blotting it out until the paper tore.

You started again.

Dear Mydei—

The name looked foreign now, heavy and wrong. Another dark stroke slashed through it. Ink bled, smudging under your trembling fingers.

Third attempt.

Mydeimos—

Your hand dropped. The quill clattered to the desk. You pressed your palms against your eyes, but it was useless, hot tears seeped through anyway, stinging as much as the ache in your chest.

What were you even trying to say? Goodbye? Thank you? Forgive me?

Your gaze flickered toward the open volume resting beside the letter. The book you’d found in the pile, pages worn from years of reverence, about old Kremnoan traditions, of betrothal, of binding promises. 

He had given you that dagger, fussed over you like a lover, made you hope, and you had convinced yourself it meant something. That maybe, between the glances, the gentleness, the way he said your name softer than anyone else—maybe you weren’t imagining it.

But here you were. Alone. Preparing to leave without a word.

The sob tore out of you before you could stop it. Shoulders shaking, you bowed over the desk, tears staining the empty letter. The hollow quiet of the library seemed to mock you, the way silence always did when you longed for his voice.

And then—footsteps.

Slow. Steady. Too familiar.

You stiffened, breath catching, but you didn’t turn around.

“...So this is where you’ve been.”

His voice was low, boiling with an emotion you couldn't quite name, and it shattered you all over again.

You swiped at your eyes furiously, trying to gather the scraps of composure, but your hands wouldn’t stop trembling. The letter was ruined. The book sat open like a confession. And Mydei stood behind you, closer now, as though he could already see straight through you.

“Why are you crying?” His voice was sharper than he meant it to be, ragged with something he couldn’t name.

You turned away, fumbling to close the book, to blot the ruined letter, but he was already there. His hand slammed down on the desk, inches from yours. The sound cracked through the quiet.

“I asked you a question.” His eyes searched your face, wild with disbelief. 

“Why are you crying? Why are you here, writing—” his gaze flicked to the mangled parchment “—this instead of talking to me?”

Your throat closed. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

He raked a hand through his hair, frustrated, as though clawing for sense. 

“I don’t understand. One moment we’re—fine. Better than fine, and then suddenly, you vanish. You don’t come back to our room, you don’t sit with me, I barely even see you with the council anymore. Just—why?” His voice cracked on the last word, and he hated how small it sounded.

“I…” Your chest heaved, “I thought… distance would help.”

“Distance?” His laugh was bitter, hollow. “Distance from me?”

The way he spat it burned, and guilt strangled you, tears welled up again, hot and heavy, “Mydei—”

“No,” he cut in, stepping closer, his shadow swallowing yours. “Don’t say my name like that. Don’t—” 

His hands balled into fists, trembling. 

“Tell me what I did. Just say it. If I hurt you, if I failed you, if I—if I’m not enough, then—” His voice cracked, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

You stared at him, horrified, because this wasn’t the composed prince, the careful man you’d grown used to. This was him unraveling, his walls crumbling piece by piece.

“Mydei…” your voice was hoarse, “You didn’t do anything.”

“Then why?!” His shout echoed off the shelves, raw and desperate, “Why are you tearing yourself away from me like I’m poison? I thought we—” He bit down on the words, jaw tight, but his eyes betrayed him, glistening, begging.

And suddenly the silence stretched, heavy with all the things you’d both refused to say.

Your chair scraped harshly against the marble as you pushed away from the desk. The ruined parchment—blotted, crossed out, barely legible—slid from the table, landing limp on the floor. You didn’t stop for it. 

Your pulse thundered too loud, too frantic. You needed to move, to breathe.

The library stretched in long, quiet rows, but each step echoed too loudly in your ears, chasing you with every unfinished word you couldn’t bear to write. 

“Dear—” scratched out, “Mydei—” torn in half. 

Your chest ached with it, steps heavy with the weight of the confession you couldn’t voice, the truth that would ruin you if it ever slipped past your lips.

You didn’t hear him until he was there.

Fingers caught your wrist—firm, warm, unyielding.

You froze mid-breath.

It wasn’t cruel, it wasn't painful. His grip was steady, as though even the gods themselves would need to pry you from him. And yet something about the sheer finality of it sent your thoughts scattering like startled birds.

So this is how prey feels, you thought, dizzy, your heart thrashing. Trapped. Helpless. 

Every instinct screamed to pull away, to fight for air, but your body refused to move. Because it was him. 

Because even now—especially now—you knew Mydei would never hurt you. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

And yet… he was terrifying all the same.

“Mydei—” Your voice came out thin, a thread unraveling.

“Don’t run from me,” he said. His tone was low, a rasp that scraped against the silence. Not loud. Not sharp. Just… final. “Not again. Not tonight.”

Your throat closed. You tried to tug back, weak, half-hearted, but he didn’t budge. His presence pressed closer, shadow swallowing light, and you felt yourself shrinking, smaller and smaller against the tide of him.

You sidestepped, desperate for space. He followed. You turned, tried again—he was there, always there, like water filling every gap you tried to make.

And then the shelf met your back. A soft thud rattled up your spine, trapping you in the cage of wood behind and him in front.

Your breath shuddered. Too close. Too much.

Don’t cry, you begged yourself. Not in front of him. Not when he’s looking at you like that.

But his eyes… oh, his eyes. They weren’t cold, weren’t cruel. They burned with something worse. Fury, yes, but tangled with hurt, with fear, with that unbearable tenderness he tried so hard to hide.

“Why?” His voice cracked, rough, desperate, “Why are you doing this?”

You bit your lip hard enough to taste iron.

“I—”

“Tell me the truth.” His hand trembled where it held you, though his grip didn’t falter. “You owe me that much. After everything— after everything I’ve done, everything I’ve given—” His chest heaved, jaw clenched, and the words wavered like a blade in a shaking hand.

You pressed back into the shelf, nails digging into the wood. Your lungs burned, your throat tight. Thoughts screamed, colliding, unraveling—Don’t say it. Don’t let him see. Don’t give him the power to break you.

But you were already breaking.

Because it was easier to face his fury than the hollowness in his voice. Easier to fear his intensity than to acknowledge the hope beneath it. Easier to pretend you didn’t know the answer than to speak it aloud.

And still… he waited. Cornering you with silence, with patience, with unbearable devotion.

And you thought wildly—I can’t win this. I can’t fight him. Not when he looks at me like that.

Your lungs burned as though you had sprinted the whole length of the palace, though you hadn’t moved more than a step. The shelf at your back kept you pinned, his shadow looming over you, his arms caging you to the shelves, and still you wanted to shrink further, disappear into the cracks of the marble.

“Mydei, please,” you whispered, throat raw.

“Please what?” His grip on your wrist tightened, not cruel, but unrelenting. His eyes bore into yours, sharp as a blade, desperate as a storm. “Please let you run from me again? Please let you disappear without a word?”

Your mouth opened. Nothing came out.

“Talk to me,” he said, quieter this time. A plea. “Tell me why you’ve been avoiding me. Tell me why you won’t even look at me anymore.”

Your chest heaved, shallow and frantic. You couldn’t—by the titans, you couldn’t. Because if you said it, if the words left your mouth, there would be no undoing them.

And yet his gaze would not release you. His presence pressed closer, suffocating in its devotion, in the raw hurt simmering beneath his fury.

You swallowed. Your lips trembled.

“I’m tired,” you whispered, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “Let’s… let’s break off the marriage.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

For the first time, his grip loosened. His breath caught, shoulders stiffening, as if you had struck him harder than any blade could.

“…What?” The word was thin, fragile, as though it barely survived leaving his lips.

Your throat ached. You took a shaky step back, arm trembling as you raised it between you, a barrier of flesh against a man who had never harmed you. “Don’t—don’t come closer.”

His brows furrowed. “Why?” His voice cracked. “Why would you even—”

“Because I can’t,” you snapped, though it was barely louder than a gasp.

“You can’t what?”

“I can’t!” The cry tore itself from your chest, raw, broken. Your raised arm shook violently, your body caught between wanting to run and needing to stay.

“Why?” His voice rose this time, sharp with anguish, his hand flexing at his side like he was fighting not to reach for you. “Why, Princess? Tell me!”

“Because—” Your voice broke on the word. You bit down hard, tears stinging your eyes. “Because you don’t love me!”

The air split with it.

He froze. Absolutely still, as though time itself had stopped. His lips parted, but no sound came out. The fury bled from his features all at once, leaving only something wide-eyed and unsteady.

“…What?”

Your arm dropped. The last of your strength crumbled beneath you, knees buckling until you hit the floor.

Sobs tore free, jagged and uncontrollable, your hands covering your face as though you could hide from him, from yourself, from the truth now bleeding out into the open.

“I’m sorry,” you choked between gasps. “I’m so sorry. I know I broke the rule — my rule—I swore I wouldn’t, and I did, and I’m sorry—”

Mydei remained rooted, his shadow stretched over you, silent.

“I never wanted to—” you hiccupped, fingers clawing at your own skin as though to keep yourself together. “I never wanted to force my feelings onto you, I know you don’t—” Your chest hitched violently, the words spilling faster than you could breathe. 

“I know you don’t want to marry me, I know you never did, and I—titans, I tried, I tried not to—”

Your voice drowned in another wave of sobs, harsh and ragged. The air wouldn’t come, your lungs wouldn’t expand, every breath a desperate gasp swallowed by the storm of your weeping.

“I avoided you because I can’t—because I can’t make you love me,” you sobbed, the truth clawing free no matter how much it burned. 

“And it hurts, it hurts too much—every time you’re kind, every time you look at me like I’m—like I’m someone who matters—” Your words tangled, broken by sobs that made your whole body quake. 

“And I can’t—I can’t do it anymore. I can’t keep—”

You curled forward, pressing your forehead to your knees, shoulders shaking violently as you broke apart in front of him. The sound of your crying filled the library, wild and unrestrained, until there was nothing left but you gasping desperately for air, choking on your own grief.

Above you, Mydei still hadn’t moved.

The floor was cold beneath your feet, but you hardly felt it over the ache in your chest, over the choking sobs that refused to stop no matter how you willed them to. Your tears blurred the world into streaks of silver and shadow. Somewhere above you, he was still, silent—so silent you feared he had turned to stone.

Then, slowly—achingly slowly—you felt the air shift. The sound of fabric whispering against marble.

You flinched as the space in front of you darkened.

When you forced your swollen eyes open, you found him there. Mydei—kneeling. His height diminished until he was level with you, until there was no more towering shadow, only him—so close you could see the trembling in his jaw, the faint sheen of tears glistening in his eyes though he fought to blink them away.

And then his hands were on your face.

Warm, steady palms cupping your damp cheeks, his thumbs brushing along your skin with a care so tender it broke you anew.

“No,” you whimpered, shrinking back even as your body leaned helplessly toward the warmth. Your hands shot up weakly, pressing against his wrists, trembling so hard they barely made purchase. “Don’t—please don’t do this to me.”

His brows furrowed, but his touch never wavered.

“Please,” you begged, your voice raw. 

“I can’t—I can’t, Mydei. I’m tired. Gods, I’m so tired.” Your throat clenched, words spilling out in hiccupped gasps. “I just… I just want to go home. Please.”

His thumbs wiped at the tears flooding faster than he could catch them. He didn’t speak, not yet. He didn’t try to argue. He only stayed there, grounded, unwavering, tending to you with a gentleness that felt unbearable.

You tried to turn your face away, but he followed, his hands steadying you, not trapping—never trapping—but refusing to let you disappear. 

His touch soaked up every broken sob, every ragged gasp, even as your words came apart into pleading fragments.

“Please… don’t…”

Still, he held you.

Still, he brushed your tears away as though they were precious.

And when at last your body weakened under the endless storm, when your sobs slowed into broken shivers and your breaths rasped through your raw throat, his hands slipped down to yours.

He gathered them gently, fingers weaving through yours as though they had always belonged there. His thumbs traced circles over your knuckles—small, steady, anchoring strokes that coaxed your frantic breathing toward something gentler, something bearable.

Finally, he spoke. His voice was soft, steady, unshaken despite the tears pooling in his own lashes.

“If you want something,” he murmured, gaze fixed on you like nothing else existed, “tell me.”

Your breath hitched.

“If you want to be woken with kisses,” he continued, each word deliberate, tender, “tell me. If you want to walk the gardens at dawn, or dance barefoot in the rain, or have me by your side when sleep won’t come—” his thumbs pressed firmer against your knuckles, grounding you, “—tell me, my dear. I can’t read your mind.”

The endearment unraveled you. You choked on another sob, shaking your head violently.

“Don’t,” you rasped, gripping his hands weakly though your nails bit into your own palms. “Don’t put my wants over yours. You have your own dreams, your own path. Don’t disregard them because of my—my hopes—” Your voice cracked, words strangled by tears.

“Don’t—don’t make me selfish for loving you— Don't make me hope—”

A silence stretched between you, trembling, taut.

Then he smiled. Not with joy. Not with victory. But with a softness so sorrowful it hollowed your chest.

“How,” he whispered, his voice breaking for the first time, “could I ever disregard your hopes…” His eyes shone, tears finally slipping free to trace down his cheeks as he held you close. “…when I want that too?”

The world stilled.

You stared at him, tears dripping freely, your mouth falling open on a trembling gasp. The air fled your lungs. Your body froze, unable to comprehend, unable to breathe.

“What?” The word tumbled out of you, half-sob, half-breath.

Your heart thundered in your ears, louder than the storm outside, louder than the ache inside your chest.

His smile lingered, bittersweet and aching, even as his hands tightened around yours, pulling them up to his face to press a kiss onto them.

All at once, the words tumble from him, messy and desperate, like they’ve been locked in his chest for too long and the key has finally snapped.

“I didn’t want to be married,” he admits, voice rising, wavering. “Not because of you. Never because of you. But because I didn’t want to take away your choice—to be married for love, not duty. I thought—if I kept my distance, if I kept this marriage just a formality—you would still have that freedom, somehow, that I wouldn’t ruin your chance at happiness.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, as tears blur and fall down your cheeks. His hands tremble where they cradle yours.

“But when you pulled away,” he continued, voice cracking, “when you stopped talking to me, when you smiled at Phainon and my friends but not at me—it hurt. Nikador above, it killed me. Do you know what it’s like to come back to our room and find the bed cold? To see your pillow empty? To know you couldn’t even stand to fall asleep where I could see you?” 

His breath shudders, “I thought I was protecting you, but I was only losing you.”

You gasp, lips parting, but no sound comes.

“I searched everywhere,” he confesses, desperate, frantic, “The temples, the caves, the streets—I scoured the entirety of Kremnos for an oracle, for anyone who could tell me what to do, how to fix this. Did you know—” his laugh breaks, wet and hoarse “—did you know the oracle from Rhodes is here? Right here in Kremnos?”

A wet, broken laugh bursts out of you despite yourself, stifled by a sniffle. Mydei smiles at the sound, though his own tears are spilling freely now.

“I love you.” 

The words fall like stones in a river, heavy, unstoppable. 

“Slowly, quietly, against every instinct I had—I’ve learned to love you. Not just as my fiancé. As you.” 

He leans closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. His voice lowers, choked with pleading, “So please… don’t run away from me again. Please, stay with me.”

You can barely breathe, every sob rattling your chest as tears spill without end.

“I’m sorry,” he continues, his voice breaking, “for making you feel like you had to silence yourself, like you had to push away your feelings for me. I’m sorry that I hurt you—again, and again, and again. But if you’ll let me—if you’ll allow me—I will spend this life and the next making up for every tear you’ve shed.” 

His hands squeeze yours, desperate. 

“Please… let me try.”

You can’t speak. Can’t move. The ache in your chest is too much, the swell of emotion too unbearable. All you can do is sob, gasping for air, clutching at him like you’re drowning.

And Mydei pulls you into his arms.

His embrace is tight, unyielding, but careful as if you’re fragile glass. He buries his face in your hair, his lips trembling against the crown of your head as his arms cage you in. You sob harder, muffled in the crook of his neck, your tears soaking into his chest.

He presses a kiss there—featherlight, lingering, as though it hurts him to let go.

“My crybaby,” he whispers with a laugh that’s just as broken as you are, his shoulders shaking with his own tears.

And you collapse further into him, both of you a mess on the floor of the library—clinging, sobbing, holding on as though the world outside doesn’t exist.

For the first time in weeks, maybe in months… there are no walls. No masks. Just the two of you, unraveling and rebuilding in each other’s arms.

The silence stretched after the storm. The floor felt steady again beneath you, though your chest still heaved with the remnants of sobs, the hiccups that broke through your lips every few moments betraying how spent you truly were. 

Mydei hadn’t let go, not even once. His arms remained looped around you, strong yet fragile, as though if he released you for even a breath, you would vanish.

You didn’t fight it. You didn’t want to.

For what could’ve been minutes or hours, you simply stayed there, pressed against the warmth of his neck, the thrum of his pulse beneath your lips grounding you in ways words never could. The ache in your chest began to ease, little by little, as if his presence alone smoothed out the ragged edges of your heart.

Eventually, though, the storm quieted. You became aware again of the stillness of the library, the faint glow of lanterns left burning, the faint scent of parchment and cedar clinging to the air. You became aware of his breathing, steadier than yours, the rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek.

And then, you realized, you couldn’t stay curled up on the library floor forever.

Reluctantly, your hands loosened from their grip on his clothes, the fabric wrinkled and damp from your tears. You shifted back, just enough to lift your gaze to him. 

His face was close—far too close—and yet the distance you created felt like a chasm you didn’t know how to cross again. His hands, once steady against your back, trailed slowly down to hover at your elbows, as though he wasn’t quite ready to release you.

You blinked at him, lashes sticky with tears, and whispered, voice raw.

“…What now?”

The question hung there like a fragile bird in the air, trembling on wings not yet sure how to fly.

Mydei studied you, his gaze unbearably soft. He looked tired—not in the way of a man worn down by sleepless nights, but in the way of someone who had fought so long for control, only to finally lay his armor down. His thumb brushed along your cheek once more, tender and aching.

“…I don’t know,” he admitted honestly. His voice was quiet, stripped bare of its usual steadiness. “I don’t have all the answers right now.”

Your lips trembled. Of course he didn’t. Neither of you did. And yet the way he said it—the honesty in it—brought a strange comfort. For so long, you had thought you had to fight alone, make choices alone, shoulder the weight alone. But here he was, admitting uncertainty, and somehow that made it less frightening.

He rose then, slowly, carefully, as though he were coaxing you along a fragile bridge. When he stood, he tugged gently at your hands, urging you to follow. 

You stumbled to your feet, legs unsteady after so long on the floor. His hand never left yours, steadying you, guiding you.

Wordlessly, he led you through the scattered chairs of the library, past towering shelves heavy with scrolls and tomes. He stopped before one of the cushioned seats near the fire—a chair meant for long reading, wide enough to hold more than one if one dared to press close. Mydei lowered himself into it with quiet grace, then glanced up at you.

“Come,” he said softly, the single word both an invitation and a plea.

Your hesitation lasted only a moment before you moved, drawn as though by an invisible thread. He guided you into his lap, pulling you gently until your body fit snugly against his, your cheek pressed to the steady thrum of his heart. His arms wrapped around you, cocooning you in his warmth, his breath ruffling your hair as he tucked his chin over your crown.

The world shrank to the quiet cradle of that chair, to the sound of his heartbeat in your ear.

Your lips parted, uncertain, “Mydei…”

“Shh…” His voice was hushed, not commanding but gentle. He smoothed his hand over your hair, down your back, “It’s a conversation for tomorrow.”

The words settled deep inside you, both a promise and a reprieve. Tomorrow. A day when the heaviness in your heart might not feel so sharp, when your thoughts wouldn’t be tangled in knots. Tomorrow, when the two of you could speak not from the wreckage of pain but from the quiet after.

For now, you let yourself sink into him.

Your fingers curled in the fabric of his tunic, holding on, not because you feared he would leave but because you couldn’t bear the thought of letting go. His heartbeat drummed steady and sure beneath your palm, grounding you in a rhythm older than fear, older than doubt.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you breathed without it catching in your throat. The storm had passed. The library, silent and dim, seemed to wrap itself around you both in approval.

Mydei’s breathing slowed, deepened. You felt the faintest tremor of his chest against your cheek—laughter, perhaps, or relief. He pressed the gentlest kiss into your hair.

And though nothing had been resolved fully, though uncertainty still stretched ahead of you both, you realized you weren’t afraid anymore.

Because you weren’t alone in it.

And as your eyes fluttered shut, his warmth seeping into you, you knew, this—the steady embrace, the soft thrum of his chest beneath your cheek, the weight of his arms around you. 

Sleep came slowly, but it came sweetly, as though the world itself had finally given you permission to rest.

Together.

…

Aglaea had not expected her first day at Castrum Kremnos to be like this.

When she had gotten there, you were nowhere to be found, and so was the Crown Prince. Begrudgingly, she joined in on the search.

The council was restless, Krateros frowning deeply as he stalked the halls, the KD5 splitting up in twos to scour every wing of the palace, Phainon slouched along with that infuriating calm of his. 

And yet, it was she who had thought to check Mydei’s library. Remembering that you'd written letters to her there, countless times.

Her heels echoed in the halls and when she reached the doors, the sight made her pause at the threshold.

There, beneath the sunlight trickling in through the windows, both of you had collapsed together in sleep, your cheek pillowed against Mydei’s chest, his arm curled securely around you. Books lay abandoned at your side, parchment sliding half-off the table, but the two of you were utterly still, utterly at peace.

Her heart softened despite herself. At last. Whatever storm had kept you apart… it seemed to have broken.

Aglaea stepped closer, brushing her fingers over the edge of the table. “Prince,” she whispered gently.

Mydei stirred, blinking awake, his gaze dropping immediately to you. 

Carefully—always carefully—he brushed a strand of hair from your face and whispered your name. You mumbled faintly, flushed, and the moment your eyes cracked open you realized what state you were in.

With a muffled sound of mortification, you buried your burning face in the crook of his shoulder. Mydei froze, then exhaled a quiet laugh through his nose, his hand a calm weight at the small of your back.

“Lady Aglaea!” a booming voice shattered the stillness, one of the Elders stomped into the hall, voice echoing. “Have you found them yet? The council awaits an—”

He stopped.

Because there you were.

Pressed to Mydei’s side. Both of you disheveled from sleep, hair tousled, eyes heavy, clothes wrinkled.

The Elder’s jaw fell. Then, with all the drama of a man too delicate for such scandal, he swayed and collapsed flat onto the floor.

Aglaea sighed and pressed a hand to her forehead, “Oh, dear.”

The noise had already drawn in the others. KD5 barreled in first, skidding to a halt at the doorway before bursting into grins. 

Perdikkas slapped a hand to his belt pouch, “Pay up, Heph. I told you they’d fix it soon.”

The man in question groaned before giving him a good amount of drachmas.

Krateros arrived next, taking in the scene with a long, measured look before his lips curved into a rare, proud smile.

Phainon, of course, leaned against the doorframe, his smirk sharp as ever, “Finally,” he drawled, “I was beginning to think you’d both die of stubbornness before we got here.”

And for the first time in a long while, it wasn’t just you hiding your face—Mydei turned his head away too, crimson blooming across his cheeks as the hall filled with knowing laughter.

…

The ship rocked gently against the Kremnoan dock as the last of the supplies were loaded.

Your father’s letter rested inside your satchel, its message still echoing in your mind, It is time, things are calmer here in Rhodes. You may return home now and the wedding will continue as planned.

On the pier, Mydei had given his final instructions. The KD5 bowed their heads as he passed them their new orders, Phainon clapped him on the shoulder with a grin that said more than words, and even Krateros offered a rare smile before stepping back. 

When all was done, Mydei boarded, his gaze sweeping once over the city of his birth before settling on you.

You were already at the railing, watching the spray hit the wood. He joined you without a word, and for a moment it was like the first time you sailed here—except you weren’t clutching your own arms for comfort, and he wasn’t pretending not to notice.

This time, when his hand brushed yours, you let it stay. 

He laced your fingers together deliberately, no hesitation, and you felt the tension in your chest ease as his thumb traced a slow, grounding circle against your knuckles.

“You’re going home,” he murmured.

Your lips curved faintly, “We’re going home.”

Behind you, boots shuffled, and the KD5’s voices carried just enough to reach your ears, someone was whining about the two of you leaving so soon, someone was scolding another, and someone was just laughing really hard.

Mydei only squeezed your hand tighter, his jaw turning slightly as if to hide the flush rising to his ears. You bit back a laugh, hiding your smile in the sea breeze.

And the ship set out, sails filling, carrying you both back to Rhodes.

Looks like you were going to get married after all.

masterlist.

usagi's note: how do u guys feel abt smut in the next chapter idk i haven't written smut in a long time but i feel like this ones needs it cuz i dont want u guys to go thru all that angst for nothing TT tell me ur thoughts and chat w me !! bye see u guys next week for the last chapter!!

@usagiarchive do not repost, translate, or use for AI. reblogs, likes, and comments are very appreciated!!

…

The two of you find Hephaestion on his way back from the barracks, training was over for the day it seems.

“Hey, your highnesses! I'm off to have lunch with ‘Ikkas, want to come join us?”

You shake your head, “That would be amazing, Heph, but we're in search of something to give Mydei for the festival and we were wondering if you knew of any appropriate gifts?”

The man puts a finger on his chin as he thinks, “A gift for Mydei, ey? Hmm… well there's nothing he wouldn't like if it's from you…”

It takes him a while to think of something, before he snaps his fingers, “I know! You could embroider him a handkerchief!”

You and Phainon tilt your heads in sync, “An embroidered handkerchief?”

Heph nods eagerly, “It's a traditional practice for warriors! Not even just for this festival, but when the men go off to war or even just fight, someone gives them one to wish them well. Especially coming from you who's betrothed to him? Oh, little lady, I didn't know you had it in you!”

You flush, “W-Wait- no! It's not like that!” But the guy just keeps on laughing and teasing you. Eventually, Perdikkas comes to find the three of you in the hall with you looking like the color of a pomegranate, covering the lower half of your face and with Heph having a knowing smirk on his lips.

Phainon eventually explains the situation to him and the healer sighs before pinching Heph by the ears.

“You really shouldn't make fun of her highness like that, HKS,” he scolds, but ultimately takes out a piece of paper and writes down an address.

“Here's where you can find the fabric for the handkerchief, Prince Phainon should know where it is. When you get there, you can ask the person in charge what fabric Mydei prefers, he shops there often, just show them the crest Mydeimos gave you, they should know what that means.”

You uncover your face to thank him and tug Phainon along to the castle gates.

“Do you think they're going to be fine alone?” Heph asks as the two of them watch you disappear further into the hall.

“Who knows? Mydei shouldn't find out though, I know he thinks none of us notice it, but it's obvious he's enamored with her already. Letting her go off with Prince Phainon without any guards? Without him? Oh, he's going to be livid.”

Heph chuckles, “Don't let him find out you said that.”

“Don't let who find out what?”

Nikador, help—

…

“Phai, you better not get us both lost,” you warn as you hold onto his coat. The influx of people at the market was too much today, you didn't even get to see if Peucesta was here…

“Don't worry, princess,” he tells you, “We're almost there!”

And true to his words, you arrived in less than three minutes. It was a quaint shop, smelling faintly of books and an herb you can't quite name. Fenu’s, it read.

“Hello, kids, how may I help you?” An elderly woman greets from behind the counter.

Phainon grabs you and pushes you forward, “Hi there! My friend would like to get some fabric for embroidering.”

You nod, “Yes, Ma'am, I've been told that his highness has his preferences when it comes to fabrics?” You place the crest on the counter, keeping it out of view from anyone else but the lady.

“Ah, I understand, please wait a moment.”

You shift your weight onto a different leg and look at Phainon, who's already looking outside.

“Something wrong, Phai?”

He shakes his head then smiles, “None of the sort, just thought of something, what were you saying?”

You shake your head, too, “Nothing, I was gonna tell you that this was quite easy,” you admit and he ruffles your hair.

The lady then returns with a select few of Mydei’s fabrics and you choose your pick of the lot. You were grateful that you had Phainon with you when he reminded you to pick up some thread and needles as well.

On the way back, he became his usual, chatty self, once more, but you can't help but notice the way he keeps looking around.

“Phai, are you perhaps looking for something for Cyrene?”

“Huh? Well, no, but now that you mention it…”

The two of you end up looking for something mystical and magical for his childhood friend. Phainon telling you about her as you browse the market.

“She's really sweet, I think the two of you would get along, she likes to tease, too!” And you could only listen in amusement as you held your package to your chest.

“What about jewelry? Those could be mystical and magical if they look nice enough,” you suggest and he rapidly nods.

“Come to think of it, she did lose her bangle a few weeks back. Oh, Princess, you're a genius!”

You laugh and let him drag you to one of the stalls.

“Princess, hold your arm out, you and Cyrene have similar wrist sizes, you'll be my mannequin for today,” he winks as he tries on different bangles on you.

Eventually, he settles on one embedded with pink and purple gems. But as he was paying for it, you got knocked over by the shoulder by a passerby.

You could feel that your footing was wrong and right then and there, you knew you'd fall to the ground— but the impact never comes.

Someone catches you and steadies you. You were about to thank him when—

“Mydei? What are you doing here?” Phainon asks.

Mydei?

He rights you up, but keeps his hands on your shoulders, “Better question is, what are you doing here with her, Deliverer?”

Phainon was supposed to answer, but the shopkeeper answers for him.

“Oh, these two lovebirds were just buying a bangle for her, Prince Mydeimos!”

“No, we weren't?!” / “That's not what we were doing!” the two of you said at the same time.

You couldn't see Mydei’s face from his position behind you, but guessing from Phainon’s face, it must've been a terrifying expression. A bead of sweat rolls down from your temple.

“You've got it all wrong! Mydei- we weren't, I swear!” The puppy prince stutters as he tries to explain in a panic but the man behind you only raises his hand.

Phainons shuts up quickly.

“I believe you've got it all wrong, Nefram,” he gestures to you, “This is my wife, not his.”

“Wife?” All three of you (Phainon, the shopkeeper, and you) mumble at the same time. But Mydei pays no mind to it, ‘he must've just said it to dispel any rumours.’

“We’ll be taking our leave now, thank you, Nefram,” he says and holds you by your shoulder.

“A-ah! Thank you for your patronage!” He calls out as the three of you walk away. Both you and Phainon were silent.

“Mydei…” he tries to start.

“Don't.”

You both gulped in fear and continued to walk with him, you chewed on your cheek, and before you could stop yourself, you blurted out a question.

“How did you even know where to find us?” you murmur.

“Perdikkas and Hephaestion,” he answers without a beat, tone much softer, “I overheard them talking about me not finding out about something.”

“They told you?!” you stop walking and stare up at him, wide-eyed and in shock. His hold, still on your shoulder, makes him halt as well.

“Only where to find you,” he replies, “they wouldn't tell me why you were there.”

You and Phainon sigh in relief and Mydei raises an eyebrow, “What were the two of you up to?”

“Nothing!” you both answer.

He squints, seemingly unconvinced and flits his eyes to the package you were holding, you quickly hide it behind your back.

“You'll find out soon! It's nothing bad, I promise!” you swear and he sighs.

“Fine. Let's have dinner.”

You and Phainon were safe to live another day! Yay!

…

“Do you even know how to embroider?” he snickers as you poke your fingers for the nth time the next day.

“Shut up! It's been a while, okay?” you hissed when the needle poked you again, “Besides, who do you take me for? I passed all my classes a few years ago.”

Phainon chooses to shut up and instead lounges on the bigger couch, “What are you even embroidering on the fabric anyway?”

You hummed as you stitched the yellow thread through, “Chamomiles and sunflowers.”

“Do they mean anything?”

You hide a smile behind your work, “That’s a secret.”

Phainon huffs, “Fine, I'll look them up myself.”

You snicker as he throws his legs over, you hoped you could finish this before the festival.

…

The Hyakinthia was a three-day Kremnoan festival held in honor of Nikador and the youth he adored (and accidentally killed). The festival honors both the tragic death and divine transformation of life, symbolizing the cycle of mourning and renewal.

The first day was to be solemn and sorrowful, marked by a ritual mourning the unnamed youth, who was accidentally slain by Nikador’s Lance of Fury. The citizens would dress in dark garments, everyone refrained from singing, and they offered simple sacrifices at the youth’s tomb, which was built into the base of Nikador’s great temple. This day commemorated the fragile beauty of life and the inevitability of death.

Mydei guided you as he helped you make preparations. As the royal family, they would cook a meal and prepare a signet ring along with a letter.

On the second and third days, the tone shifted dramatically. Grief gave way to joy as Nikador’s role not just as the god of strife, but also as the god of protection, sacrifice, and competition was celebrated.

During these days, people dressed in bright colors, mostly red, white, and gold, they adorned themselves with flower garlands, and gathered for processions, feasting, dancing, and choral performances.

Unmarried men under thirty and boys over twelve, symbols of the unnamed youth, competed in athletic games, while the women performed traditional dances in woven robes. Songs praising Nikador's might and the youth’s beauty would echo across the kingdom, blending reverence with revelry.

Most importantly, what everyone looks forward to, the annual war dance. Back then, this was a competition performed nude, as a symbol of warriors having nothing to fear, of having no shame, but only pride as they fought in the gaze of Nikador's glory. It had led to more injuries and sometimes even death, though.

But when Queen Gorgo had been crowned, she taught Kremnoans that there was no need to constantly prove themselves, not like that anyway. She was condemned and scorned for this, but over time, she had nurtured a softer side to Castrum Kremnos.

When the people noticed that with her decree, the injuries sustained by the contestants grew significantly less, the passion for the festival didn't diminish. Instead it grew stronger, burned brighter, and so did the people's respect for her.

As the sun peaks over the mountains, granting the world light, and bringing a new day to the kingdom, the people pile in and prepare for the war dance. You decide to go find Mydei after you eat breakfast.

…

You find him seated somewhere where he could watch the matches before his. Typical Mydeimos “Crown Prince of Castrum Kremnos” behaviour. You could see the crease in his brows as he stared at this year's contenders.

“Mydei.”

“Hm?” he looks up at you standing near him.

“Don't die out there, okay? We've barely ruined anything yet, and besides, that would be really embarrassing.”

He laughs at that, he doesn't think you were unaware of the rumours surrounding his undying state, “I would imagine so.”

You then take his hand and place something there, face lightly flushed as you look elsewhere, “And this is…?” he asks as he holds the handkerchief up, noticing the design embroidered on it.

“This is what Phai and I were out for the other day,” you mumbled, eyes watching the contestants started duking it out, “Heph told us it was tradition for warriors to receive embroidered handkerchiefs to be wished well, but Peucesta told me you haven't refused all your past ones, so I don't mind if you won't use this—”

“You embroidered it yourself?” he interrupts, “This is my favourite kind of fabric, too…” Mydei wouldn't admit it, but his heart warms at the thought of you asking his friends around for his likes and dislikes, although he wonders why Hephaestion didn't tell you the entirety of the tradition.

Most warriors receive handkerchiefs from their lovers. He's certain you wouldn't have done this if you knew.

He tucks this thought away for another time when he sees you nod, he asks again, “And the meaning of the flowers?”

Your eyes meet his then, “Safety,” you uttered.

He gives you a soft smile and urges you to tie the handkerchief around his arm. Mydei then notices something and takes your hands, inspecting them.

It was obvious from the small scabs on the tips of your fingers that you've pricked yourself countless times.

His eyes move to gaze into yours as he presses his lips onto them, hearing you gasp softly.

“Mydei…”

“Thank you, truly, I appreciate it very much.”

You bask in the way his lips feel against your skin for a moment, before your shoulders hike up and you pull away.

“G-Goodluck, Mydei,” you move to leave, but he gently catches your wrist.

“Will you be watching me?” he inquires and you can't help but feel that his tone was hopeful, you nod.

“Of course.”

He nods and lets you go.

When Krateros finds you to guide you to the Royal Box, he pauses and asks why your face is red. You wave him off with the reason of the sun.

There's something different with Mydei, really, you're sure of it now.

…

To no one's surprise, the Prince of Castrum Kremnos and the Prince of Okhema were paired together for the final battle of the war dance.

“Don't hold out on me, Deliverer.”

“I wouldn't dream of it.”

The fight starts off strong, with no time wasted, Phainon swings his sword to Mydei’s legs, knowing that he would guard his upper body more, but the blond prince seemed to expect this as he swiftly takes a few steps back before charging back at him.

“I'll use my powers if you use yours,” Phainon challenges and it makes the other prince smirk.

(i genuinely have no idea what Phainon’s powers are cuz i only know he has the separated Khaslana state during his ult, so let's just pretend he's like really strong and he runs fast because he's just a normal prince here and the 33,550,336 cycles never happened, okay? okay.)

“You're on.”

Mydei releases a barrage of red crystals to entrap his opponent, but the puppy prince brutes his way through it and shatters the cage.

“That all you got?” Phainon taunts and immediately almost trips as the other releases a barrage of red crystals.

The white-haired prince then gets an idea and attacks him with purpose, he uses his enhanced speed to make structured blows, to rile Mydei up about the handkerchief tied to his arm. Of course, the Kremnoan Prince notices immediately.

“Don't nick the fabric, Deliverer!” He swipes at him, but the other jumps back, running right back at him with full speed to deliver a landing blow.

“Aww! You care about her highness’ gift!”

The Kremnoan Prince raises an eyebrow, “What? Are you just jealous you didn't get one?” he asks as he strikes the other in the shoulder.

Phainon laughs at first then stops, face suddenly serious, “You do know what the flowers mean, don't you?”

“What?”

“The ones she embroidered! Gods, Mydei, if it isn't anything related to war, you really don't notice!”

The Kremnoan Prince raises an eyebrow and lunges for him, “It means safety, she told me so.”

“Right,” Phainon parries his swipe and returns an equally heavy blow, “but also, wrong.”

“Chamomiles are used to convey rest, they're used to soothe, a symbol of safety, but they also,” he huffs and throws out a strike, avoiding and shattering the red crystals the other throws at him, “mean patience and an enduring affection.”

Mydei runs towards him and carries out blow after blow, but he continues speaking, determined to get his point across.

“Sunflowers deliver warmth and protection,” he parries each of them and sends Mydei staggering back halfway across the arena with his sword, “You know? Like how they move based on where the sun is? It's symbolic!”

“It means to find light!” He continues while dodging, “To gaze at someone because of the way they shine!”

“What are you trying to say, Deliverer?” Mydei pants from a distance.

“Sunflowers also mean adoration,” he shifts his stance, “unwavering loyalty. Together they mean a safe, dependable love!” the Deliverer yells as maneuvers his body to run back and swing his sword.

“Don't you get it, Mydeimos? There's a reason those two flowers were paired together, you just don't see it.”

Mydei blocks the attack and sends him skidding backwards, “And where did you get this?”

“Your beloved library,” he huffs, swinging his sword to parry another attack and it throws the blond off balance, his body thudding from the impact as he falls on his back, “since the Princess won't tell me, I took it upon myself to find the meaning.”

“She probably doesn't know about the meaning of the flowers,” Mydei reasons to his opponent above him.

“Does she? You seem to forget who you're betrothed to, Mydei.”

They both glanced at you from above the arena, sat in the Royal Box as you watched them with knitted brows and observed their fighting styles.

“Enough.” The prince commands as he flips their positions, getting Phainon under him as he holds the gauntlet near the puppy prince’s neck, “Yield.”

Phainon doesn't back down, doesn't relent, not just yet, “How long will it take for you to see that this is no longer just the partnership you both agreed on?”

Mydei doesn't answer him, just threatens the possibility of him tearing his throat out— he won't —as he tightens his hold on him, gauntlets digging into the skin, but not drawing blood.

The prince throws his head back to the dirt and makes a face, “Fine, I yield.”

He releases his opponent then raises his gauntlet, your favor tied neatly to it, fluttering like a small banner of quiet triumph.

Trumpets sounded across the arena, echoing off the white cliffs of Kremnos, as the announcer's voice rose to declare what everyone already knew.

“And just like that! Another year of victory belongs to Prince Mydeimos!”

Applause rippled like thunder, nobles tossing olive branches and pomegranate seeds into the arena in honor of his win. The other warriors bowed, bloodied and bruised, giving him the deference he’d earned not just through title, but sheer, undeniable skill.

Phainon gives him a pat on the back and pulls him in for half a hug before smiling so earnestly.

“I'll get you next time.” It makes Mydei roll his eyes with a grin.

Of course he won. He always does.

You wait for him by the marble colonnade where the champions exit the field. He spots you first, sweat-streaked, dirt and dust on his skin, still wearing that stupid cocky smirk like a badge of honor.

“You're still alive,” you drawl, arms crossed, the corner of your mouth twitching upward as you sigh dramatically, “what a shame. If you’d have died, that would’ve automatically cancelled the marriage.”

The Kremnoan Prince scoffs at that, “If I’d known you were rooting for my death, I would've made it look more convincing.”

He then leans in, voice low and warm, “Next time, send a better gift. Maybe a poisoned one?”

You roll your eyes, but your chest softens a little as you take him in. Even bruised and dirtied from the fight, he still looks… irritatingly radiant.

He steps past you, leaving a faint trail of the scent of the earth, steel, and sun-warmed skin. Just before he disappears into the archway, he tosses a glance over his shoulder.

“I’ll see you at the banquet, Dear Princess,” he smirks, “let me go wash off the glory first.”

And he's gone, leaving your heartbeat slightly off rhythm again.

…

After the competition, there was always a banquet for lunch. The choir would sing, the girls would dance, and the men would drink, tired from the competition.

This time, there were no seats reserved especially for the Royal Family, during Hyakinthia, everyone celebrated not as rulers and subjects, but as children of Nikador.

You had wandered in, in search of either Phainon, Krateros, Mydei, or any of the Kremnoan Detachment Five. But to no avail, until you feel someone creep up behind you.

“Enjoying yourself, dear Princess?”

You rolled your eyes and smirked at the voice, “To what do I owe the pleasure, dear Prince?” you throw the endearment back.

He huffs out an amused laugh, “Perdikkas and the others suggested a meal at the training arena instead, wanna come with?”

“Aren't we supposed to be here?” you ask, worried Krateros would have your head.

“They won't notice if we're gone. Krateros would, probably, but he's likely too busy with making sure the Council and the visitors don't drink themselves to death,” he explains.

“So…”

Mydei offers his hand out to you.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asks and points with his head to the door where you see his friends wave excitedly.

Your answer comes in the form of you taking his hand. He laughs and tugs you along.

“Glad you could join us, little lady!” Heph greets as you exit the banquet hall.

The eight of you head to the training arena with a couple of bottles of wine and juice, some charcuterie board one of them had snagged off right off the table, and a dip for the bread basket Phainon carried along with other pastries, as you were tasked to carry a blanket of sorts.

The rest of the day gets spent like that, the training arena had no warriors because of the festival, and your group of companions exchange stories and tease each other.

You glance at Mydei as he laughs and roughhouses with his friends. A smile slowly grows on your face. You often teased Mydei that if his body were covered, you'd mistake him for a beautiful woman, to which he would roll his eyes at you.

But right now? As the rays of the sun hit his face and cards through the strands of his golden hair, you'd say he doesn't have to be a woman because he looks pretty angelic right no—

Oh.

Oh.

The smile you had seconds ago is immediately wiped off of your face and your heart sinks into your stomach.

This can't be happening, this isn't what you agreed on with Mydei, you made that rule, and now you're the one breaking it and—

He calls your name with a worried tone, “Is everything alright? You look like you saw a ghost”

And as you look into how his face has concern etched all over it, you swallow and nod, “I-I’m fine, just a- thought I saw… something.” you trail off.

Mydei’s brow raises, “What did you see? Don't tell me you got frightened over something like a nymph.”

And as he gets closer to you, inspecting the area around you, you swallow hard. Even Heph and the others stopped and looked for a moment.

You have to find a way to break off this marriage for him. Because this isn't what you agreed on. This isn't what he wants. He doesn't want to be wed and here you are falling for a man you surely can't ever attain.

Mydei would never love you back. He doesn't want to be married.

You have to break off this marriage when you get back to Rhodes.

masterlist.

usagi's note: check reblogs for my thoughts while i was writing HEHEHE anyway that's 13.5k words, see u next week for a maybe even longer chapter AUGH, BYE PLS SEND ASKS AND COMMENTS AND REBLOGS AND EUJDHAISHJAJA BYE !!!

@usagiarchive 2025. do not repost, translate, or use for AI. reblogs, likes, and comments are very appreciated!!

…

Neither of you could bicker as usual in Castrum Kremnos. Mydei had spoken to you about it before you'd set foot on the boat.

“Listen, my people…” he sighs, “They're known to be openly…”

“Rebellious?” you supply for him with a raised brow.

He laughs a little and nods, “Yeah, let's go with that,” then turns serious, “We can't be as open about our ‘dislike’ for the union here, you could… you could get hurt.”

Oh.

It made sense. In a kingdom that thrived in war, where bloodshed was what they were born, bred, and raised for, there was no saying what they might do to you. After all, their kingdom didn't heed whether or not royalty was killed, patricide was on the table, who's to say killing the soon-to-be-king’s fiance wasn't?

Especially with how Mydei’s people worshipped him? If he were to express his open disapproval of the union, the kingdom would riot and rebel, regardless of the Council of Elders, prophecy be damned, that was just how they were. You would get killed.

And even if Rhodes retaliates by claiming war, your kingdom would never win against theirs. Especially if you were dead. They'd have lost the kingdom’s war strategist.

It was nice to know Mydei had the foresight to think of your well-being.

You nod, “Got it.”

Your tone must've been a bit off because Mydei smirks next to you and crosses his arms, “What? Don't tell me you're going to miss arguing with me?”

“You wish!” you roll your eyes and flick in between his brows before turning and walking away.

…

Castrum Kremnos is a gorgeous city.

You'd only read about it in books, not really having the opportunity to visit because of delegations and your duties. Its tall walls and buildings of white, blue, and gold remind you a little of Rhodes, when the sun sets on the sea’s horizon, it makes you miss home a little.

You are quite surprised they aren't in the royal family's colors, but your curiosity got overshadowed by the celebrations of the people.

There's a lot of fanfare for Prince Mydeimos’ return. All the citizens are overjoyed to have their crown prince back, throwing rice grains, pomegranate seeds, and coins to welcome him home.

“Prince Mydeimos, you're back!”

“Prince Mydeimos, we've missed you!”

“Prince Mydeimos, what do you say to a homecoming spar?”

“Prince Mydeimos, have your favorite drink!”

“Prince Mydeimos, will you stay for long?”

It was obvious his people adored him.

Mydei holds his hand out for you to take as you step down from the carriage and all the way into the castle, his hand never left the small of your back.

While you walked, his subjects came and went to greet the two of you, well more so him, but they did bow in respect to you.

When the crowd settled down and all the greetings had been finished, you were introduced to his closest friends, Hephaestion, Perdikkas, Leonnius, Ptolemy, and Peucesta, or better known as the Kremnoan Detachment, the group that helped him bring an end to his Father's tyranny.

According to Mydei, Hephaestion was currently stationed with training the army, he was relentless on the battlefield. You won't be able to find him during the early mornings as he's in the barracks, but you'll always find him with Perdikkas or Mydeimos in the afternoons.

Perdikkas was always to be found in the pharmacy, receiving packages from Leonnius, or always working on new medicine, or experimenting with his concoctions, when he's not in the pharmacy, he's in the garden, nursing his herbs.

Ptolemy, on the other hand, was hard to find, sometimes he's somewhere in the library, sometimes he's sitting in as a scribe for council meetings, but if there's a constant, its that it's always a pain to find him, he's always quiet, reading or writing with a book in hand.

Leonnius was someone you'd see more frequently, Mydei says, he's always running around the castle, delivering letters, sometimes even packages, but he'll be found dragging Ptolemy out of whatever book he's reading to eat lunch at noon.

And as for Peucesta, he's always either at the town square, performing for the masses, or in the third music room, practicing and composing a new piece, sometimes even having Ptolemy to help him with the words.

They were happy to have you, Heph even telling you embarrassing stories about Mydei as soon as he could (Mydei punched him in the stomach for it and bro just laughed it off and walked away).

...

These past few days, you couldn't help but feel that there was something different with Mydei. Not in a bad way… just unfamiliar.

Ever since returning to Castrum Kremnos, he’s changed. Warmer, somehow. Softer around the edges. It’s not what you expected from the Prince you thought you’d come to know.

Back in Rhodes, he was composed, quiet, often withdrawing behind sharp words or long silences. In public, he rarely smiled unless it was for diplomacy. He kept to the shadows of the palace halls, more of a phantom than the royal he's supposed to be.

But here in Castrum Kremnos? Mydei glows.

His presence seems louder, like he's not afraid to take what's his here. He talks more without the teasing lilt, without the smirking deflection. He’s present. Attentive.

Every corridor you walk together, every overlook or garden you pass through, he has a story to share. A piece of his life he's letting you experience through his words.

Sometimes about his childhood, sometimes about an old soldier or a long-gone festival. Sometimes about his mother. The way his voice softens when he recalls them makes your chest ache.

He laughs easily. Smiles even more so, the kind that crinkles at the corners of his eyes. It should be endearing— and it is. But it unnerves you, too.

Because this isn't the version of him you prepared for. Not the Prince the world fears, not the man you were supposed to outwit and match in sharpness. Here, he just seems... content. Happy, even.

And for some reason, coming from him? That unsettles you more than you'd like to admit.

…

It started with dinner.

The day you arrived at Castrum Kremnos, the cooks had prepared dinner, the arrangement being at a long table.

As the Prince, he sat at the head on the table, Krateros was seated on his left, and you on his right. The rest of the Kremnoan Detachment ate with you, Ptolemy seated right next to you as you chatted about books.

“Oh, I've read that book before!” Ptolemy beams, “I hated how the General handled the conflict, but it was a good portrayal of man versus god.”

You nodded in agreement, “Right? My personal favourite was when he was forced to choose between his life and the life of his crew, I was on the edge of my seat the whole time! I expected he would find a different way, but his decision didn't shock me that much.”

“Your highnesses, dinner is served,” a servant announced as they started to bring the food in.

Just as your plate was set in front of you, Mydei stops him, “Give me her plate for a moment.”

The table watches in equal parts intrigue and shock as he takes out the star anise from your dish and piles it onto his before returning your plate to you.

Only then does he notice the silence and that even Krateros paused to watch him.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing, thank you,” you say as you dig in, and the table resumes its chatter. None of you notice the way Krateros observes you and Mydei, too busy indulging into the food.

‘How does he know I don't like star anise?’ you think as you bite into the dish, ‘I never told him.’

You flit your eyes to look at him and watch as he shoves a fork into his mouth, he notices your stare and raises an eyebrow at you.

You shake your head as you chew, ‘Maybe he's just happy to be home and to eat star anise,’ you think.

...

The second time was when Hephaestion had invited you for a spar on the army's day off. With Mydei not being around for his prince duties, you readily accepted.

But before you could even get into the training arena, someone picked you up by your collar like a cat.

“No.”

You could hear the groans of protests from his friends who had gathered to watch.

“Come on, Mydei! We wanna see how good her highness is!” Ptolemy hollered, ever your newest best friend.

The prince only rolls his eyes, still not putting you down as you hang from his hold, inches above the ground, “No is the answer, and as for you,” he turns his attention to you.

“You know you have no strength in physical battles, Heph can break bones like a twig, what will become of you if you become crippled from sparring with him? Your parents will have my head if I return you in such a state.”

You could hear Hephaestion’s boisterous laughter as he agreed that he could break bones like twigs and you pout, “Fine, whatever, put me down.”

His friends watch in silence as you sulk at the loss of the opportunity of learning to spar and as Mydei sighs in resignation as he releases you.

“Fine, you can shoot arrows with him instead, at least that's something you can learn from him without injuring yourself permanently.”

They don't miss the way your face lights up at the way he allows you to do at least something in the training arena.

“Oh, I'm going to make you eat dirt, Hephaestion!” you challenge.

“We'll see about that little lady!”

The challenge had been to shoot at the middle of the target, fastest to have five targets shot in record time would win the challenge and get a pomegranate.

You'd refused to be taught the ropes, claiming that you've seen it done before so it shouldn't be that hard, to which Heph laughed at, “Well, all the more win for me!” he shrugged.

The rest of them were seated behind the two of you to watch, Leonnius was instructed to time the attempts, while Perdikkas had a first-aid kit ready, “Just in case,” he says.

The rest of the Kremnoan Detachment cheered for you and booed at Heph, making you laugh.

“Go, your Highness! You can do it! Heph, you suck!”

Mydei crosses his arms and watches in amusement.

Hephaestion goes first, drawing his bow, aiming, and letting the arrow fly. He doesn't hurry, it takes him at least fifteen seconds to take each shot, probably because he thinks you need the handicap, it makes you smirk to yourself.

“A minute and twelve seconds!” Leon calls out when the last arrow hits the target perfectly.

Heph flips his hair dramatically and winks as he pulls out the last of his arrows from the targets, “Goodluck, your highness.”

You roll your eyes playfully with a smile as he hands you a quiver and a bow.

“Ready?”

You fix your hold on the bow and wait.

“Go!”

And make him eat dirt, you will. Because unbeknownst to even Mydei, archery had been something you were really good at, though with the wedding preparations, you hadn't had the chance to train, which doesn't surprise you that even he didn't know about it.

To their surprise, you didn't waste a second in shooting, your movements were fluid, taking only a few seconds to position the arrow and not even waiting for the arrow to land before pulling another to aim.

You only stopped for a moment for the last one as you sighed and let the arrow fly, a strand of your hair whips back from motion (pls think of that iconic scene by twice's tzuyu).

“37 seconds!” Leonnius announces.

Their jaws were wide open as they see you relax and sigh in relief, ‘I still got it,’ you think.

You turned around with such a self satisfied smile, “So, how'd I do?”

The silence and staring was then broken by Mydei laughing, “That's my girl!”

Perdikkas bursts out laughing as well, “Oh, Nikador, Heph, you lost so badly to her highness!”

The rest of the boys join in to tease the man, and you couldn't help but feel shy as they welcomed you in with praise.

“Man, I will never live this down, will I?” Heph groaned.

“No way!”

The laughs turn into the boys roughhousing and you watch by the pillar, the quiver still on your shoulder, the bow on your hand.

Mydei steps in beside you and you glance up to meet his eyes, his hand lands on your head and he ruffles your hair.

“You did well.”

...

The third time is when he catches you in the mausoleum of Queen Gorgo.

You really hadn't meant to stumble upon it, but since your companions, Mydei included, were all busy, you took it upon yourself to find something interesting to entertain you until dinner.

So you grabbed a book off of the shelf in Mydei’s room and wandered along the castle grounds. You tried to remember the places he showed you when you first got here, but you think you got lost.

And so, you resorted to just following the garden path.

Your journey takes you in front of a door, carved into the marble archway, the Kremnoan Family symbol engraved into the door.

Your curiosity will kill you one day, you think as you push open the door, but that day is not today.

What greets you is a statue of—

“Queen Gorgo,” you breathe in surprise.

You've seen images, from books of general knowledge about Castrum Kremnos you've studied before leaving Rhodes. You've read about her, what she's done, her strength, her pain, and the story of how she changed Kremnoans in her own way.

It really is a shame King Eurypon turned mad…

You leave the door open in fear of you locking yourself in here, alone.

You walk towards the statue, book in hand, as you crouch down to read the excerpt engraved by the feet of the statue.

‘You must give respect and honor to him, and it will be returned to you. First, you fight with your head, then you fight with your heart.’

Your fingers reached down to brush the stone. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath.

“You’re the first to come here in a long time.”

The voice makes you nearly jump out of your skin and you whirl around at the voice.

Mydei.

He doesn’t seem surprised to see you there. If anything, he looks… calm. Resigned.

“I didn’t expect you to find this place,” he says, stepping into the room. His voice is quieter than usual, “I suppose the garden trail still leads here, then.”

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” you explain, “I just picked up a book and wandered.”

“You've been gone a good while, you know? Krateros was the one who informed me you weren't in my chambers.”

He doesn’t look angry. If anything, there’s a fond sort of weariness in his eyes as he walks to stand beside her.

“She would’ve liked you,” he says, eyes on the statue, “She liked clever people, loved geniuses. Always wanted me to study at the Grove, said it was the only place my mind wouldn’t rot in a cage.”

“She sounds… amazing,” you reply, voice low, as you gazed up at the face carved in stone and frozen in time.

“She was, and stubborn, too, just like you,” he jested.

“She raised me alone for most of it… when she got sick, I refused to leave. Told her I didn’t want to be anywhere she wasn’t. She laughed and called me impossible.”

He chuckles faintly. There’s warmth, but it’s frayed at the edges.

“She died before I ever thought of setting foot in the Grove. Before I ever had to stand in front of a war council,” he pauses.

“Sometimes I wonder what she’d say now.”

You don't respond. You didn't need to. The silence sits between the two of you, heavy but not suffocating.

Then Mydei turns to face you.

“She hated the way the court treated outsiders. Hated the council. She would’ve defended you,” he says—remembering the time he made his mistake—reaching into his pocket. “But just in case…”

He takes something out. A metal pin, sharp at the tips, etched with the insignia of the Kremnoan Family. The royal crest. A sigil of protection. Of belonging.

“Here,” he gives you a pin, the design the same as the one on the door of this mausoleum, “wear this at all times.”

Mydei steps close and takes care not to prick your skin as he gently pins it to the edge of your shoulder, fingers brushing your skin. The gesture is careful, reverent.

“It’s for protection,” he says softly. “They’ll know not to mess with you, not even the council here.”

You feel it then, that strange tightness in your chest again. Like you're being seen too closely. The feeling intensifies when you realize he's still trying to make up for your fight back at Rhodes.

You voice none of those and deflect, ignoring the feeling once more.

“…That’s the only reason?” you ask, voice just above a whisper.

He doesn’t answer immediately. His fingers linger near the pin a second too long.

Then he steps back, just enough.

“It’s the only one I’m saying out loud.”

You blink.

Something is happening to your heart and you don't have a name for it yet. Maybe it’s confusion. Maybe it’s dread. You don't know what to do with it.

You look at the statue again, then at him.

Mydei, for his part, is already facing the exit.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he says, “But don’t take any more books without asking, some of them bite.”

And with that, he disappears back into the garden.

You're left in the stillness of the tomb, fingers brushing the crest now pinned to your dress.

A symbol of protection.

And something else you dare not name.

(the something else is possession btw ;>)

…

It's been nearly two weeks since you've arrived in Castrum Kremnos and Mydei has been doing nothing but catching up on what work he's missed since leaving for the wedding preparations.

He'd originally had the work handed off to Krateros, but when he followed Mydei to Rhodes, the work was given to Perdikkas, who had an influx of patients to treat, then the work was given to Ptolemy, who practically delegated everything off to the other officials.

Sad to say, Mydei had to catch up on a lot.

You'd tag along, but you didn't want to make him lose focus, so you spent a good amount of time convincing him that you'd be fine alone. It was hard seeing as he was hesitant to leave you alone, but eventually he relented.

Most of your time was spent either hanging out with Ptolemy as he read books or watching Peucesta practice a new piece, since you didn't want to intrude on Leonnius and Perdikkas’ work, and you weren't allowed in the training grounds with Hephaestion anymore. All because the last time you hung out, Mydei had caught you with a few bruises on your arm after.

You (admittedly) tried to spar with Heph but with his build and experience, you were quickly overpowered, and since then, Heph didn't want to spar either, you're guessing it had something to do with the way Mydei glowered at him when he found out the two of you sparred even after his answer during the archery challenge.

Perdikkas could only snicker as he applied balms to your arm as Mydei glowered down on Hephaestion. Heph continued to teach you other techniques in secret, though.

Sadly though, all of them were busy today and you didn't want to disturb them. If this were Rhodes, you'd surely either already be on a boat to some expedition or buried in your scrolls at the study.

You sigh and roll over in bed to stare at the ceiling and lift your hands, admiring the work ‘Ikkas had put in, your bruises were barely noticeable now, though you did get Mydei’s worry, even you didn't know you could get bruises like that.

A knock at the door breaks you out of your boredom. You shuffle quickly to the door.

“Lord Krateros,” you greet, surprised, “How many I be of service?”

The man tells you where Mydei is with no preamble, a study facing the city in the east wing of the castle, “You'll find him there, most likely reading reports. Oh, and Prince Mydei has asked me to give you his, for protection,” he says.

Krateros then hands you a short dagger with a gold handle, embedded with red crystals and engraved with words you don't recognize, small enough to be hidden in your dress, but big enough to cut someone and make them bleed out.

It was pretty, though you deduced it wasn't made as a union gift or something, it was probably a staple weapon of the Kremnoan family, seeing as it had red and gold embellishments.

You thank Lord Krateros as you close the door.

“Well, better this than boredom, I guess,” you murmur out loud then set out to find Mydei, dagger tucked underneath your clothes.

...

You knock three times on the door until you hear his voice through the door saying ‘come in’.

“Wow, when Lord Krateros had told me you were reading reports, I didn't believe it.”

Mydei looks up from the scrolls scattered on the desk, “What's that supposed to mean?” he asks as his brow twitches.

You try and fail to suppress a laugh, “Just surprised you could read, is all,” you tease and he curses under his breath. You round the table and sit on top of the desk, next to the scroll he's reading as you tilt your head to take a peek.

The report contained the steadily rising stocks of consumables, most of which came from Rhodes. You smiled, satisfied. You were about to say that he should thank you with a reward, perhaps a Kremnoan delicacy, but when you shift your head to see his face…

He was already staring at you.

Why is he looking at me like that?

The two of you just stare at each other. You could see the swell of his throat bob as he swallowed and pursed his mouth like he has something to say.

“Mydei…?”

He clears his throat and looks away, “Sit properly.”

“So strict, Prince Mydeimos,” you snicker but shift your posture anyway.

‘Oh, you'll be the constant migraine in his skull, alright.’ he thinks, referring to the vows you jokingly wrote back then.

“Don't you have your own work to do?” he deflects, rolling up the scrolls and setting them aside to put them on the shelves.

“Nope, Father forbade me from taking any work with me,” you sigh in frustration, “Agy told him what I did during his trip, and while he's not exactly mad, he's also not very happy about it either.”

Mydei watches as you sigh and lean back on both palms at the desk.

“Are you bored?”

“Well, at first, yes, but Lord Krateros told me you gave me this really cool dagger,” you say as you pull something out of your dress. The surprise and small flush on Mydei's cheeks goes unnoticed as you focus on admiring the engravings.

“What do they mean, Mydei? The words here?” you say as you tilt up and raise the dagger. He walks towards you and inspects the words, using your hands and supporting them to get them closer to his face.

He looks solemn for a few moments, then looks up to meet your eyes.

“I'll tell you when it's time.”

Your brows knit, “What's that supposed to mean? Why not now?”

“You'll see.”

…

Mydei gets put on an expedition two days later.

“It's nothing big, just a few issues with the western towns, they've cooperated before, I'm sure it's not a big deal. We'll also be visiting a few nobles to invite them to the festival. I'll be gone for less than a month,” he reassures you as you watch him pack stuff into a bag while you're laying on your stomach on the bed, your face resting on your arm.

“Okay, be back before the festival.”

“I’ll try, can you hand me my gauntlets?”

You rise and take them to him.

“Thanks,” he says as he puts them on, “Behave while I'm gone, understand?”

“Yeah, yeah, I'm not a kid, Mydei,” you wave him off and start to turn, but he grabs your wrist and tugs you closer to him using the hand that didn't have a gauntlet on.

“I need you to say it, you need to understand that.”

Your brows knit, “Is this some kind of kink of yours, Dear Prince? Because I don't want to feed into it-”

“Say it.” he insists and you swallow before looking down to the side and murmuring the words back to him.

He lets your hand go, starts putting on his other gauntlet, and continues like nothing happened, “Krateros will be with me in the expedition, so I'll have someone be your lady-in-waiting until I get back.”

“You know where to find Perdikkas and the others if ever you're in trouble, but I do trust that you can hold your own.”

He ties the bag up and puts it over his shoulder.

“If you get bored, ask the maid to take you to my library, don't stray too far from her, and don't cause any unnecessary trouble,” he tells you and watches as you nod, unfocused.

The next thing you know, he's pulling you close and lands a kiss on the crown of your head. You freeze and he sighs into your hair. But before you could process all of it, he's already halfway out of the room.

“Mydei- what?”

“I'm off, don't miss me too much,” he says as he closes the door.

What in the Titans?

…

Melillia is the name of your temporary lady-in-waiting, you learn later when she brings you lunch.

“Hello, my lady,” she greets, “Where would you prefer to have your meal? Here inside or on the balcony?”

“Here is fine, thank you,” you say and take a seat as she serves the food.

She takes good care of you, seemingly already knowing what your daily routine has been like here in Kremnos, you have no doubt Mydei had a hand in the matter.

When she asks you where to go, she suggests a number of locations, but you ultimately just decide to spend your time either with the Kremnoan Detachment or in his office.

It was fun for the first few days, Ptolemy let you sit in with him in Council meetings, though they didn't prove to be too useful as they discussed the mundane, like where to construct and upgrade buildings across the city.

Hanging out with Perdikkas was more interesting, you didn't meddle when there were patients, but he did teach you to make balms and simple medicines. He also taught you which herbs would help with illnesses and smacked you lightly when you tried to eat an apparently poisonous one.

Melillia looked horrified when she saw you get hit (again it literally felt like nothing), but you quickly reassured her that it was okay and ‘Ikkas was a friend. He makes you throw up the herb with an emetic later.

Peucesta asked for your help in composing songs along with Ptolemy and the three of you ended up making a hell of a good song with him on the lyre, you on the aulos (a double-reeded wind instrument that's played by plucking or picking the strings), and Ptolemy on the tympanon (a hand-held drum, basically).

The real stuff started when you started humming, it ended up with you and Peucesta harmonizing to the point that Ptolemy told you he almost started levitating (bros was boutta make the honmoon gold).

You laughed it off and continued on jamming with both of them until Mel came to get you.

On some days, you were glad to have the free time. Hephaestion would invite you to practice archery with him. You were more than delighted to say the least, but then you turned to your lady-in-waiting and begged her not to tell Mydei.

She sighs with a laugh as she agrees not to.

The first days were easy, Heph had gathered old targets, sometimes even throwing rotten fruit (we don't waste food in this economy) and making you shoot it in the air. But over time, your practices became training, and the training became more dynamic.

Leonnius would then start to get involved as Heph made you shoot at him.

“Come now, Princess, what's all that speed for if you can't even shoot, little old Leon?” he taunts and unfortunately for the both of them, you bite.

Safe to say, Perdikkas gave the three of you a scolding as Leon had scratches and an arrow cut on his thigh.

It was fun, really.

But you couldn't sleep.

Not properly, anyway. You’d drift off for an hour, maybe two, only to wake up again— eyes scanning the dim room, chest tight with a sense of absence you couldn’t name.

It had gotten to the point where Mel had asked, a little too gently, if you wanted a change of rooms because she suspected you didn't find the Prince’s chambers comfortable.

You shook your head, explaining that it wasn't anything like that, the bed was soft, the room was warm, something was just… missing.

You'd stood by the balcony more often lately, looking out at the stars like they owed you an answer. Once or twice, you’d caught yourself glancing toward the seat near the window— the one he used to toss his coat over —and felt that strange little pain again.

You didn't know what to do with it, so you just ignored it.

By the end of the week, even Heph had caught on. He saw the bags under your eyes and scowled like a disappointed uncle.

“No training for you today, little lady.”

You opened your mouth to protest but were cut off.

“No arguments. You look like a wraith.”

At dinner, it was brought up again.

“Is something keeping you up at night, little lady?” He asks as the six of you were eating together.

“You can tell us anything you know?” Peucesta chimes in worriedly.

Leonnius nods at that, tapping his spoon at the table, “Besides, Mydei left you in our care, he would be alarmed to see you in this state if he came back.”

You shake your head, “Thanks, guys, really, but… I don't know, I only sleep a few hours a night for some reason. It wasn't this way just a few days ago,” you chew on your lips.

“Maybe a sleeping tonic would help?” Ptolemy suggests, looking at Perdikkas who's already nodding and scribbling something down.

“I'll have one delivered to Mydei's chambers later,” you thank him and continue to eat, but you couldn't shake off the worried stares filled with concern.

You picked at your food, appetite thinning like fog in the heat.

You wanted to tell them that it wasn’t the room. It wasn’t the bed. It wasn’t even the late-night drafts that crept through the stone walls when the hearth grew cold.

It was just that… everything felt slightly quieter.

Like someone had stopped filling the silence with dry remarks and idle stories.

You missed something.

Or maybe you missed someone.

But you weren’t quite ready to admit that yet. Not out loud at least.

...

Mydei couldn't sleep.

For the past two months, he's gotten used to sleeping closely to someone, or at least sleeping with someone (his wi- ahem- betrothed) in the same room.

Though truth be told, he didn't sleep too well when he was forced to have the same chambers with you in Rhodes. He stayed up almost until dawn, waiting for you to pull a dagger on him and stab him in his sleep.

Not that you could kill him of course, he wasn't called Mydeimos the Undying for no reason, and he certainly wouldn't let just anyone kill him.

But the opportunity to apprehend you as you acted for his life never came. Instead, you slept soundly next to him night by night.

And so he came to learn to sleep soundly, too.

But now? Without you sleeping next to him, he finds the camp all too quiet. Like there was something missing, someone missing.

He decides to take a walk.

…

Krateros finds him not too far from the camp, the flame of the bonfire flickering low as he watches the Prince drink from his cup.

“Does she know what the dagger means?” He breaks the silence.

“No, not yet.”

His mentor sighs, ever since he was a child, Mydeimos always had a roundabout way of asking for what he truly wanted. Necessities like food and clothing were something he had no trouble voicing his need for, but for his wants? You'd be fighting tooth and nail to get him to say it.

Even his beloved gauntlets, a gift given to him by his mother, had to be coaxed out of him for a long time. The mentor remembers the prince’s nannies telling him that he had been going out of the castle gates to see Chartonus about forging weapons.

It took them a while to make the Prince tell them what weapon he wanted to wield and even longer to find out the specifics of it.

Krateros thinks this union is the same for him.

“Will you tell her?” he probes and the blond sighs.

“It's not that easy, she… she's not stupid, she's a genius, she'll know what that means immediately, and… I can't break her rules,” Mydei pauses, “This… agreement we have, I can't go against her wishes.”

“I do not want to bind her to a life she does not want.” he says, remembering the time he hurt you, the face you made as you called out that you wanted out.

“The Princess of Rhodes wishes not to be married,” Mydei says, but it comes off more as him trying to convince himself of that. To keep him from wanting, from yearning. To respect the wishes of the person he treasures.

Krateros watches as he takes a big gulp of his drink, “Does she at least know it's a courting tradition? The dagger?”

“Maybe,” he sighs, “If she went to my library as I told her to, she'd find books about traditions, no doubt her curiosity will lead from one thing to another, she's smart enough to figure it out.”

“And if she doesn't?”

The Prince stands up, “Then that's that.”

Krateros watches him walk away. He hopes you'd go to the library. He could see it. There was something. Between the two of you.

And neither of you even notice.

The smartest of both their kingdoms, indeed.

…

It was the dead of night when the expedition group returned. The seemingly unending travel, reports, and settling of disputes had taken them a fortnight to finish up the expedition in the west.

Krateros bids him goodnight in the hall. His steps echo as he finally reaches his chambers.

He pushes the door of his room open and stops.

You were already asleep. All swaddled up in the blankets, the soft rise and fall of your breathing the only movement in the dark. The hearth had gone cold, only ashes remained as the indication of a fire that had kept you warm.

Mydei walks over to you, sitting on the bed as he tucks the blankets over your shoulders. Touch lingering more than necessary.

He frowns at the feel of your skin being cold.

“‘Dei,” he hears you murmur, still half-asleep.

His breath catches.

“I'm home,” he whispers as he combs a few strands of your hair away from your face.

You lean into his touch, like instinct, like you'd been waiting for him, “Mm, I missed you.”

His heart does something strange then… something traitorous and soft. He swallows it down. Pushes it away.

You were half-asleep. You didn’t mean it like that. You couldn’t.

He stayed there a moment too long, fingers still ghosting your temple, before he stood. The quiet inside him pressed against his ribs. He needed to wash up. Clear his head.

The lack of sleep was making him imagine things. Things he had no right to want.

…

And when you stirred a little later, slowly blinking awake to find yourself tucked beside something warm and solid— something familiar —you don't question it.

You unconsciously burrow closer into the heat with a sigh, nose pressed against the hollow of his collarbone, and fall right back asleep, not knowing he was awake the whole time.

Mydei didn’t move.

Didn’t even breathe too deeply.

Only stared at the ceiling, heart aching quietly in his chest, telling himself this was enough.

Just this.

For now.

…

The festival preparations were, thankfully, not your problem.

Organized almost entirely by the citizens, the Kremnoan festival in honor of their Titan god burned with pride, passion, and garlands of color strung between the marble columns and rooftops. Every street corner echoed with song, drums, and the metallic scent of spiced wine in preparation.

Which left you to deal with other, less divine matters.

Such as clothes.

With Aglaea being unable to accompany you due to an influx of wedding-related orders at her shop, the task of festival attire had fallen to the royal seamstresses of Castrum Kremnos.

And unfortunately, the prince had decided to personally oversee your fittings.

“I’m not going to leave you alone with them,” Mydei told you, voice dry, “they’re terrifying. You’ll end up in five cloaks and a helmet.”

What he didn’t mention though, was that Castrum Kremnos still believed the wedding was happening, something you unfortunately already noticed.

Which meant coordination, matching ensembles, and another round of long, painful hours of awkwardly pretending to approve each other’s clothes like business partners instead of two idiots trying to break off the union.

The seamstress drew open the curtain.

You stepped out.

Mydei looked up from where he was seated—elbow on the armrest, chin in hand—and promptly froze.

The gown was undeniably Kremnoan, form-fitting, bare-shouldered, far from what you're used to in Rhodes, flowy skirts reaching your ankles, sleeves that get wider as they reach your wrists, comfortable fabrics that didn't restrict your breathing.

It wasn't bad per se, but it did come with a slit that scandalized every Rhoden instinct in your body.

“…Too much?” you asked, already reaching for the edge to pull the fabric down, the slit ending just centimetres above your knees.

“No-” he says quickly, sitting up straighter, “no, it’s… uh… it suits you.”

You raise an eyebrow.

Mydei clears his throat, “You look like someone who could assassinate half the court and still be applauded.”

You snort at that, “High praise.”

“Intimidation is part of the aesthetic,” one of the seamstresses said cheerfully, bustling forward to adjust a pin, “Nikador was born from war, after all.”

Then came his turn.

And you were the one caught staring when he emerged from behind the curtain, dressed in traditional festival wear, which, to your horror (and maaaybe your interest), consisted of a deep crimson wrap secured low around his waist and a leather harness around his hips that was more decorative than functional. His entire torso was exposed, sunlit and sharp-edged, war paint more exposed, barely concealed by the crimson draping that hung loosely across one shoulder.

He raised an eyebrow at your silence, “Well?”

You blinked, “You… uh. You’ll be cold.”

“In August?”

A trying-to-be-nonchalant shrug comes from you, “Still. A breeze could happen.”

He smirked, “So you’re worried.”

“No, I just—” you scowled then cleared your throat, “It’s… good. It matches. With mine,” you clarify.

The seamstress clapped her hands, “Perfect! The red in her embroidery ties in with his sash, and the gold accents will shine beautifully during the ceremony.”

“Delightful,” you muttered, looking anywhere but at him, “let’s move on.”

Unfortunately, “moving on” meant shoes.

You were presented with several pairs, most of them finely made but terribly impractical. Tall sandals with hard soles, gilded slippers with barely any cushion, something that looked like it was made out of shattered crystals and pain.

You were eyeing one pair warily when Mydei spoke from behind you.

“Not these ones.”

Everyone turned.

He pointed to one of the slippers, “These’ll hurt her feet. She’ll be walking and standing for hours, get her something softer. Low heel. Something with a cushion inside.”

The seamstress looked mildly startled, “But it doesn’t match the gold trim.”

“It matches her not collapsing halfway through the ceremony,” he replied coolly, “her comfort comes first.”

You stared at him. “That was very… uncharacteristically considerate.”

“I just don’t want to hear you complain halfway through the day,” he said, tone flat.

“Is that all?” you asked, grinning, “You just want to avoid my complaining?”

Mydei glances at you from the corner of his eye. “Well, that and your Rhoden glare. The last time you were uncomfortable in public I’m pretty sure you made a diplomat cry.”

Your grin widened, “He deserved it.”

He hums in agreement, “Still, comfortable shoes.”

You could feel your face heat, just slightly. You hated how his little gestures— the subtle ones, the thoughtful ones —always felt heavier than they had any right to.

He didn’t mean anything by it. Obviously.

You weren’t affected by it. Obviously.

It was just… nice. Being seen, being protected, in that quiet, watchful way he had.

Even if it was just a pair of shoes.

“Fine,” you relent, “low heel it is.”

You don't look at him, but you see the corner of his mouth twitch in satisfaction. Denial was often easier when you weren’t looking directly at the person.

...

You discover that afternoon that Mydei has a koala. Not just any koala, a big, white, puppy koala. And it was currently hanging off of his shoulder.

“Mydeiiiii,” it whines as you awkwardly watch the scene in front of you, “Why didn't you tell me you were back already?”

The prince sighs exasperatedly, “Princess, meet Prince Phainon of Okhema. Deliverer, meet the Princess of Rhodes, my betrothed.”

Immediately, the puppy prince perks up and walks up to offer his hand, you glance at Mydei, as if asking for permission, who then nods. You shake the Prince’s hand politely.

“It's sooo nice to finally meet you,” he says, shaking your hand in earnest with a big smile on his face as he then starts to ask questions like it's a rapid fire level on a game show.

“What's Rhodes like?”

“Does it have chimeras, too?”

“Have you been to Okhema?”

“Is Mydei being rude in any way?”

Mydei then steps in front of you and somehow it reminds you of the time he shielded you from the cauldron back with the Oracle.

“Don't overwhelm her, Deliverer.”

“Deliverer?” you poke your head from over Mydei’s shoulder and he moves to your side.

Prince Phainon perks up, “It's a card I pulled from our kingdom’s Oracle reader when I was a kid! She's my best friend, her name's Cyrene! Wait, I have it on me, hold on, I want to show you the card.”

The prince rummages around his coat in search of the card and you take the opportunity to ask.

“Is he your friend?” you whisper to Mydei.

“Unfortunately,” he deadpans, still watching Phainon whisper ‘where is it?’ as he continues searching.

You snicker as you lightly hit him by his crossed arms, “Don't say that, I'm sure he has a wonderful reason as to why he's stuck with your amazing personality all this time,” you jest and he chuckles.

“I found it!” Prince Phainon yells, raising the card up above his head. His pose is goofy as hell. The prince hands you an aged card, looking well-loved, and was probably used as an anchor judging from the way the sides were crinkled.

“You must adore this card quite well,” you note as you look over the details. It seems to be part of some tarot spread you've seen being sold in the markets as a child.

You hand the card back gently, smiling at the way Phainon holds it with such reverence, like it’s a sacred artifact rather than a creased-up slip of paper from a childhood reading.

“I’ve never seen a card like this,” you muse, glancing at the unique illustration— a figure in blue posing valiantly as he holds a sword in the middle, “Is this what made you want to be a knightly prince?” you joke.

Phainon gasps dramatically. “I knew you’d get it. Mydei never gets it!” He turns to glare at your betrothed with mock offense.

“He called it ‘obnoxious mystical nonsense’.”

“Because it is,” Mydei mutters behind you, already beginning to regret every decision that led to this moment, “It's the reason Castrum Kremnos doesn't have an Oracle.”

But Phainon ignores him completely. “You know, if you like the card, I have more! Cyrene taught me how to give a reading if you'd like that? Or… oh! Do you want to see the chimeras I raised? They're absolute sweethearts. Well, except for the one that bit our stablemaster’s boot in half, her name is Princess!”

“Absolutely,” you beam, entirely too intrigued. “That sounds like a story I need to hear.”

You and Phainon start walking ahead, already deep in conversation about tarot, oracle beasts, and something about dream fig wine that apparently makes your ears glow.

The energy between you two is chaotic in a shared wavelength that’s borderline dangerous (autism to autism communication, autism to autism conversation).

Mydei follows a step behind, watching this strange alliance form in real time. He presses a thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose with a low groan.

“Nikador, help me,” he mutters. “I’ve just introduced chaos to calamity.”

…

Later that day, after Phainon had successfully wrangled you into two games, a tasting of some fruit, and what he claimed was a “mildly cursed memory maze,” Mydei finally pulls you aside.

You're both walking through the corridor leading to your chambers, your laughter still echoing faintly from whatever ridiculous tale Phainon had just finished retelling, something about nearly marrying a dryad by accident.

“You know,” Mydei starts, voice deceptively even, “I’ve been stabbed before.”

You blink in confusion, “...Okay? That's a random thought you have there…”

“And cursed. Countless times. Once by a witch.”

“That… explains a lot, actually,” you stifle a laugh.

He stops in his tracks, turns slightly as he folds his arms, expression somewhere between resigned and horrified, “But none of those compare to the horror of watching you and Phainon become best friends in real time.”

You raise your brow, biting back a smile. “Jealous, Your Highness?”

“Concerned,” he corrects, dry as dust, “you egg him on, laugh at his jokes, and listen to his chimera monologue.”

“He had a picture book, Mydei.”

“That he drew himself. In crayon,” the prince emphasizes.

You can't help but snicker, and he groans again— that same long-suffering sound he makes when the elders are being ridiculous or when you beat him at chess.

“You don’t understand,” he mutters, “Phainon isn’t dangerous like a sword or a fire. He’s dangerous like… a landslide made of confetti and feelings. He doesn’t stop. And now you’ve encouraged him.”

“I think he’s sweet.”

“Sweet like spoiled nectar. You’ll see,” he warns, “one day you’ll wake up and find a wedding band made of paper and glue and realize you accidentally agreed to co-rule Okhema in your sleep.”

That earns a full laugh from you— too loud, too warm —and for a second he just looks at you. Like he forgot what he was going to say.

You nudge his arm, still grinning, “Don’t worry, Dear Prince, there’s only one chaos I’m betrothed to.”

He exhales, pretending to look horrified, “What a terrifying sentence.”

…

The sacred springs were quiet at this hour, just after dusk, when the sky outside the temple dome glowed a dim, amber violet.

Mydei had come earlier than scheduled for his cleansing, as was tradition— the man first, the woman after. Something about preparing royalty for the festival, the priest said earlier, but he thinks it's just because the past kings wanted to rest without seeming too carefree.

But something about the silence, the steam curling over the edges of the basin, and the warmth soaking into his bones had lulled him into stillness.

He gets his predecessors.

So he stayed.

Longer than he meant to.

Which is why when he heard the door slide open…

And when you stepped inside— hair loose and free, robes already shed… you froze like an elk caught in a torchlight.

“Oh-! I- sorry, I thought—!” you immediately turned on your heel, backing toward the door, a hand over your eyes, the other clutching your towel to your chest, “I didn’t know you were still here, I didn’t see anything, I swear—!”

He sighs, “Just get in.”

Your head whipped back around.

Mydei was half-submerged in the pool, hair damp, eyes half-lidded. His voice was calm, unreadable.

“…What?”

He tilted his head, a single brow raised, “You’re already here. The water’s heated, the priests are gone. Might as well not waste it.”

“I—this is highly inappropriate,” you blurted out, trying not to look directly at him, “this is a ritual, Mydei.”

“It’s ceremonial,” he drawls lazily, “you’re not gonna get smited if you soak in with me.”

You wavered, knuckles whitening around the towel.

But the water did look divine.

And you were already cold.

“…Fine,” you mumbled, stepping cautiously toward the edge, “but I’m staying on this side. Far from you.”

“Suit yourself,” he yawns— eyes closed, face resting on his palm, elbow resting on the marble trim of the pool.

The steam curled around your ankles as you slid in, still clutching the towel wrapped tightly around your chest like it was armor. The warmth hits you instantly, bone-deep, all-consuming, making you equal parts sigh in relief and miff a sound you'd rather he not hear at the scalding water.

You both sit in silence and yet you couldn't help but sneak glances at him every few seconds.

“This is supposed to be a cleansing ritual,” you muttered quietly, “for the body and the mind.”

“And?”

Ah, he heard it…

“And I don’t feel very… cleansed.”

You avoided looking at him. Or rather you were trying too hard not to.

Your thoughts weren’t pure. Not when he was sitting over there, hair damp, jaw sharp in the low torchlight, chest half-exposed from the way the ceremonial wrap clung to his torso— No, stop it!

Meanwhile, you were overheating.

Like literally.

And figuratively, I guess.

Across the water, Mydei opened his eyes to see you subtly shifting in discomfort, your face beginning to turn red.

He decides to tease you a little.

“You do know I’m not actually naked under the water, right? The towel’s still wrapped around me?” he said, lips twitching upward.

“I wasn’t thinking about that!”

He laughs, genuine and low.

But then he frowned as he noticed you swallow in discomfort, your breaths getting deeper as you closed your eyes, “Are you okay? You’re turning redder by the second.”

“I’m fine,” you huffed, trying to focus on breathing in through your nose, but to no avail, “It’s just hot. That’s all.”

“You’re gripping that towel like you’re about to faint,” he said, more serious now.

“I just—” You pant, “I can’t exactly loosen it when you’re here.”

Your lungs felt like it was getting suppressed, every breath you took burned your nostrils.

He didn’t respond at first.

Then you heard water slosh.

You looked up, startled, as he crossed the pool toward you. Slowly, but steadily. His expression unreadable.

“Mydei, wha—?”

He reached you, standing in the water, gaze level with yours. His voice was quiet. “Breathe through your mouth,” he says as he sits next to you.

Before you could reply, he gently tugged you down, guiding you onto his lap with maddening ease. You barely had time to protest before the warm water enveloped you to the collarbone.

He uses your hand to tug on the towel, a squawk comes from your lips and the towel loosened, not falling, just eased to let you breathe better.

He looked away, jaw tight, as he adjusted the folds, still using your hand—trying not to touch your skin too much—so they didn’t bunch uncomfortably.

Neither of you mentioned the blush on his face. Or yours. Neither of you notice anyway.

“Stay like this,” he said, his tone shifting into something stern and fond all at once, “this is what you get for submerging yourself while you’re cold, not even bothering to wait for your body to adapt to the temperature.”

You knew that tone.

It was the same one he used when scolding guards who worked through fever or lifting crates they had no business touching. A voice that sounded sharp but meant well.

You didn’t argue.

You simply leaned back, your head finding the curve of his shoulder.

The tension ebbed, slowly. The sound of your breaths filling the chamber as water steamed.

Your breathing began to even out.

“Thanks, ‘Dei,” you sigh out, whispering, “for this.”

He takes a breath, with the nickname you gave, it takes him back to the night he returned from the western border. He replies quietly. Almost too quiet.

“Yeah, don’t mention it.”

READ PART TWO HERE!! CUZ THERE'S A BLOCK LIMIT AUGH

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usagi's note: im ACTUALLY so surprised, like its my first time hitting the block limit what the helly, ANYWAY guess i gotta make a part 2 (that sounds so... influencer-y eugh, anyway i loveu guys pls comment, im gonna say all my thoughts in the ending note on the second part oh man this sucks anyway BYE 💐

@usagiarchive 2025. do not repost, translate, or use for AI. reblogs, likes, and comments are very appreciated!!

You had never met the prince, now almost king, in your whole life. You’ve heard of him for sure, but you’ve also heard of Thanatos, did you want to be wed to him? Exactly. Yet as the eldest daughter and current war and commerce strategist of Rhodes, a kingdom near the sea, who excelled in trade and was well known for routes to the West, you knew better than to turn a proposition like this down.

The last siege had run the manpower of your kingdom down, but what Rhodes lacked, Castrum Kremnos made up for it twice, maybe even thrice the power. They were a kingdom bred, born, and raised for war, everything Rhodes was not. 

With the patricide of the king, his son, Mydeimos, successor to the throne had begun to make changes to the way Kremnoans lived. 

During the reign of his father, the people starved, mainly because Kremnos did not believe in trade, they believed it would sire a weakness through their impenetrable military power, that having too much contact with outsiders would leak their practices and eventually lead to their ruin. And with most, if not all, the funds and resources being fed into the militia, their people were bound to the famine of hunger.

Thus, the kingdom of Castrum Kremnos proposed a union, as backed up by both of your kingdom’s oracles, for what the other lacked, the other made up in succession.

The only problem? Neither of you wanted to get married.

Mydeimos complained to the council that only a union, not a marriage, was needed. Krateros only sighed and let the kingdom elders do as they see fit and told the prince to just follow their advice.

You complained to your parents about the absurdity of marrying a man you’ve only heard of, why did they encourage you to marry for love, only to be forced into a marriage of convenience at the end? Your father only sighed and told you that the wishes of the gods cannot be challenged and should be heeded. 

“To incur the wrath of a Titan is dire, my dear,” he warned you.

Unfortunately for the both of you, what you complained as having never met the prince, was met with a swift solution. A banquet to announce the union of Castrum Kremnos and Rhodes. Delightful.

…

“Lady Aglaea, do I really have to wear such tight rings in my hair?” you winced as she tugged too tight on a strand of your hair as she secured the rings holding your braids together.

“Yes, stop squirming, koritsi mou.”

You purse your lips as you think how pointless this all is, all your problems could probably be solved with a treaty, but both kingdom’s councils were very old fashioned and refused to think that the other would keep their end of the deal, so they choose to lock you and the prince together in a marriage neither of you want.

“You keep sighing,” your head lady-in-waiting and seamstress notes, “Nervous?”

A grimace makes its way onto your face, “Not at all, just… a headache,” you lie and yet when you look up at the mirror, Aglaea’s eyes seem to tell you that she doesn’t buy it.

“I’ll be fine, Agy, really,” you reassure her.

If not for yourself, then for the kingdom. Duty and honor over your heart, always.

…

He’s everything you expected him to be.

Not to be, well judgemental, but he exudes the aura of a war god. Tall, fierce, a jaw that looks like it could cut, a body that’s twice the size of yours, blood red tattoos all over his body, and not to mention the fact that their cultural clothes were literally just armor? And that he was basically half naked? Yeah, he’s everything you’d expect the prince of Castrum Kremnos to be.

“We welcome his highness, Prince Mydeimos Gorgo, of Castrum Kremnos,” your father greets him and bows in the culture of Rhodes, you follow suit, meeting his eyes as you do so, he says nothing to you, only flits his eyes for a second before saluting to your father.

“It is my honor, King Pontos,” he drops his hand and greets the rest of the royal family and exchanges pleasantries.

…

You’re not what he expected you to be.

During the council meeting, he pictured a hopeless romantic princess who would cling to him and bat his eyelashes and try to catch his attention, just like all the other choices he was given. But, you’ve… surprised him. You gave off the impression of someone sharp, an air of elegance, with the way your hair was braided and ringed to keep out of your face, and he has to admit, the simpleness of Rhodes’ cultural garments shocked him, too. He expected someone who would dress in pompous fabrics and jewelry, someone who would flaunt the wealth they accumulate through trade, yet you fit none of that. Your dress was a mix of white and very sheer blue fabrics, almost mimicking the shores of the sea at dawn, flowing elegantly on you.

If he had to guess, you might be more than just a trophy princess for your kingdom. Maybe even a strategist with the way your eyes slowly trail over the guests in the banquet.

…

To no one’s surprise, the two of you are seated together in the middle of the banquet, with your families, in his case, Krateros, on each of your sides.

A moment later your father rises and clinks his cup, “Greetings my people, I extend my gratitude to all of you for taking the time to attend this banquet, however, I must have something to announce.”

He motions you to rise and your hand hooks on Mydeimos' elbow, encouraging him to stand beside you as well.

“Today, we celebrate the union of two kingdoms, a union that has been smiled upon by the gods and will prosper as long as the tides crash against the shore and as long as the fire of the people’s passion burns brightly in their hearts. Today, we celebrate the union of the Prince of Castrum Kremnos, his highness, Prince Mydeimos, and my daughter, the Princess of Rhodes, Strategist of War and Commerce.”

Loud cheers rang out from the banquet halls, the sun blazed brightly, and you nudged the Prince beside you. He looked at you with an eyebrow raised and you only looked at him for a moment, before turning your eyes back to the crowd.

“Smile, dear Prince,” you say through your teeth as you fake a smile, “Otherwise the people will think you were coerced into this,”

He nods and only smiles with his lips.

Looks like you weren’t the only one forced into this.

…  

As per tradition, the betrothed couple will dine dinner together, no one else can come into their meal and disturb them. You had no idea where the tradition came from, but you guessed that it probably came from rulers who were tired of people barging in on conversations.

Prince Mydeimos was already there when you entered the private dining room. He stood and bowed curtly as he pulled a chair out for you. Once the both of you were settled, the food was brought in and you dined in silence.

You could feel that he wanted to say something, it was obvious, he couldn’t look at you for more than two seconds, his eyebrows knitted every few seconds, and he looked like he was angry at the food.

“Is there a problem with the course?” You ask as you push the star anise away from the middle of the plate, “I can have the chefs prepare something else if it is not to your liking,”

The prince shakes his head, “No, there is no need, however…” he trails off and sighs.

“I cannot- rather I do not wish to marry you,” he admits.

You take a sip of your wine, “What a coincidence, neither do I,”

He looks at you as if you sprouted five heads, “What? Then why did you accept the proposal?”

You sigh and put your glass down, “Rhodes cannot handle another siege,” you tell him, “I’m sure you’ve heard of the recently won battle? One that put our trade on a different track than I had planned.”

“You lack manpower,” he notes and you nod.

“And you lack resources.”

“I see.”

The two of you sit in silence, contemplating the weight of the duties thrusted onto the both of you. Two barely adult royals made to bear the consequences of the decisions of past rulers. In the end, that’s all there is to it. Duty and honor over your heart, always.

“So, what do we do then? Do we break off the proposal?” He asks and you shake your head.

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple, your highness, the council has a good hold over our kingdoms, especially with yours, since you are but a prince at the moment. They believe that a marriage will suffice as a life-long commitment for both parties, leaving no room to back out for both our ends of the proposition.”

“... Do… Do we really have no choice?” His voice was just above a whisper.

You only stare at your food in defeat.

“It’s for the people,” you say, not quite believing the words that come out of your mouth, “For our kingdoms.”

Prince Mydeimos stares at you, guessing if you’re trying to convince him or yourself, you’re not sure what reprieve to give him if he asks, even you don’t know the answer to that question.

“Well, hell, if we’re going to do this, might as well make their heads spin while we’re at it right?”

You raise an eyebrow, “What do you mean?”

He leans back in his seat, “What I mean, your highness, is to make this marriage as much of an inconvenience to everyone who is involved in planning it, so much so that they would call it off on their own, we can make a treaty on our own once I’m crowned king,” he says.

“And that’ll be when?”

“Less than a year from now, an easy way out for the both of us.”

You chew the inside of your cheek as you contemplate the risks and rewards of this… alliance (?) with the man who you’ve just been betrothed to. It was risky, that’s for sure, but you know there has to be another way to save both your kingdoms without tying each other down to the other for life.

You sigh, “Fine, but we have to have rules set in place.”

The prince grins, “Anything you want.”

“Rule one, don’t cause a war,” you say, “Our kingdoms cannot afford it right now, not with the current riots throughout the continents.” He nods at this, urging you to continue.

“Rule two, you cannot back out of the treaty once you’re crowned king,” He nods again, “Easily done.”

“Lastly,” you sigh, “You cannot fall in love with me.”

Prince Mydeimos raises an eyebrow at this, “Only if you promise to do the same.”

“Easily done,” you mimic his words from just a moment ago, “So? Do we have a deal?”

“We have a deal, pleasure to be working with you, Princess of Rhodes.”

“I return the sentiment, Prince of Kremnos.”

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usagi's note: so um hi, i rewrote this, just cuz i wasn't satisfied with the intro, here's a better version, i'll post the next one within a week, i promise i wont go AWOL anymore!

@usagiarchive 2025. do not repost, translate, or use for AI. reblogs, likes, and comments are very appreciated!!

The vastness of Wayne Manor was often severely underestimated. Endless hallways with boundless doors hiding unimaginably big rooms, and as asinine as it sounded, the architect of this monstrosity of a home had found a sense for every single one.

The walls have been replaced with windows, looking east, and granting the perfect opportunity to enjoy the morning sun in every season. Hand-painted tiles paved the floor that would have even inspired Antoni Gaudí. A table stood before you, all kinds of rarities spread out: flower-shaped pastries, ripe fruits arranged into colorful art, and freshly cut flowers flattering noses with their aroma.

The sunroom was a beautiful start to a day of lazing around. But here in Gotham, rain whipped against the windows, rattled them with its sheer force, and dooming clouds swallowed the sun behind grey curtains. Thunder vibrated through the air. You sat at the table, leaning against the chair. You have spent many mornings in this room. Sunday breakfast – which used to be Friday nights in the time that Martha and Thomas Wayne were still  alive, the wine glasses and candleholder still tucked away in a delicate armoire, as Alfred had told you once – was a tradition that Alfred decidedly did not want to cut out of his life. It was almost noon, but when people lived more in the night than day, breakfast sometimes started at twelve.

You have spent many breakfasts here. Week upon week, sitting down at the beautiful table, picking at your food as words flew over your head without ever acknowledging you. Alfred has forced you down to every single one, no matter what you did. He would then place a tea next to you – never coffee, you were always too young for coffee – and put food on your plate. At first, you were only allowed to leave the table when you finished your food. It didn’t matter that you hated the black English Breakfast tea he always served you; that bile crawled up your throat with every sip you took. You were raised to be a person of society, not a spoiled child crying over some bitter herbs. It didn’t matter how long you would sit there; what mattered was that you learned to sit still.

The rules changed over time, adjusting to your behavior. After you begin to wolf down your food like an animal, trying to leave this damned table as fast as possible, Alfred set up a new rule. You were only allowed to stand up after everybody had already left.

You never understood why Alfred clung to this tradition – clung to your presence. These breakfasts have always been filled with talk about some case that you were never allowed to participate in.

“You are too young.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“You don’t know enough.”

“You will be no help.”

And that didn’t include the days on which the room was empty except for you. Empty chairs would line up around you, plates and cups taken away. “The gentlemen will breakfast in the Cave today.”

You have questioned the rationale behind sitting in an empty room, sitting at the table till someone far away from you, below the earth, finished their breakfast. It was always the same sentence.

“I will not let you succumb to his disastrous behavior.”

The words rang in your ears. The flat tone of his voice left no room for elaboration, for arguments. His presence would leave the room, but his watchful eyes never missed any of your moves.

You have never seen the room as full as today.

Chatter filled the air, cutlery scraping over plates, cups clinking while being put down. Duke and Cass spoke in low tones to each other, sharing smiles like good friends did. Dick and Tim talked over the table, discussing things you were not willing to take an interest in. Steph seemed to be teasing Damian, a sparkle in her eyes that could only come from mischief. The noise was dynamic, ping-ponging into a lived-in rhythm that every one of them knew.

The cut of your suit pressed against you, and you smoothed over it. Your broken nail got caught between the threads, tugging on your finger. Ants crawled up your arms, hundreds of little legs swarming over your shoulder and down your spine. You removed your hands, laying them flat on the table. The splinter from the morning prickled in your skin, too deep in for you to pick it out by yourself.

“How did you sleep last night?” Startled, you blinked at your father. This time, you sat at the other end of the table, facing him directly. You questioned if that was truly the better option as his vibrant blue eyes stared at you. “It is, mind you, your first night home in some time.” Silence settled over the table in a moment, attention redirecting the moment they heard the low bass in Bruce’s voice.

A few seats away, Stephanie mumbled into her juice. “He never asks us how we sleep.” Tim elbowed her in a move that was supposed to be casual but was nothing but. She rubbed her side and gave Tim a nasty look. “What? You think the same.” The next second she held her leg, frowning in Cass's direction, who smiled so plainly that it was bordering on threatening again.

Dick threw a panicked look between the three, a vein pulsing at his forehead. The next time you blinked, the expression was gone as he sprawled back in his chair like a god waiting to be fed grapes. He huffed, cherries dangling by their stem from his pointer finger as he aimed it accusingly at Tim. “The last time I asked you how you slept, you tried to bite me.“

“Should have given you rabies,” spoke Duke next to you, picking a masterfully cut piece of kiwi with his fork.

“Excuse me?” Duke didn’t answer Dick, idly eating his breakfast.

“Right,” said Bruce, taking a big sip of his coffee.

“I slept well,” you lied.

Cass snorted.

“Pig,” mumbled Damian.

“I would never have rabies,” cut Tim in with red ears.

“Oink, oink,” mocked Cass.

“Say that to all the Gotham rats that bid you when -,” began Duke.

Steph began to laugh. “Oh that -”

“You are disgusting, Cain,” hissed Damian.

“We don’t talk about that,” yelled Tim.

Cass opened her mouth, showing the boy the chewed-up food inside.

Dick slapped his hand on the table so hard, the whole table vibrated. Some of your tea sloshed out of the cup, past the saucer onto the tablecloth. It was English breakfast tea, you realized as the white cotton turned into a dark brown. Terribly bitter, even if you added five spoons of sugar. You ripped your attention away from the tea – terrible, terrible bitter – and looked up to Dick. “Can you all stop?” His electric blue eyes are wide open, scanning everybody with sharp, cutting intensity. The pulsing vein reappeared on his forehead, glistening with sweat. “I haven’t seen my sibling for years, and you act like you have never seen the inside of a house.”

“That’s because you guys act weird,” said Steph, crossing her arms and leaning back. “It’s not our fault that you just suddenly remembered some family existed again and need them to hold your hand.”

The corner of Dick’s mouth curled up – for an outsider it would be a smile, but you knew it was more dangerous. It was too wide with too many teeth. His next words would be carefully chosen, sharpened with every insecurity you held close to you, twisting every self-doubt into a tool he set right between two ribs, ready to stab right into your heart.

You swallowed, your dry tongue rubbing against your gums like sandpaper.

“Dick didn’t forget about me,” you tried to cut in, but your words neither reached Dick nor Steph. The only one was Duke, his gaze coming far too close to pity to dissect it further. Instead, you looked at your father, waiting for him to hold Dick back like a dog that barked too loud.

Your father redirected his attention – always so careful with who he gave it to – from you to Steph. It was minimal, the shift in his body, the turn in his lips. “Stephanie,” her name came out like judgment. She didn’t flinch, tilting her chin forward. “I think I already explained why these holidays are so important this year.”

Steph pressed her lips together, her big blonde curls falling into her face. “You are just mad that I’m right. Please. I have known this family for years – and none of you ever even mentioned them.” She threw her arms up, pointing towards Dick and Bruce. “You didn’t even tell Damian they had a sibling.”

“Brown,” hissed Damian, eyes darting between Bruce and her.

“No, Damian, we should talk about how fucked up this is, because no one else at this table here acts like they should.”

“When exactly should we have told Damian about his?” Dick raised an eyebrow, curious. “It is only now that he stopped behaving like a savage and came near to being human.”

"Hey now," interrupted Duke, eyes narrowing and hands clenching into fists.

The boy in question held his head high like they didn’t talk about him, but you caught how the grip around his fork tightened, picking food from his plate in a controlled manner.

Bruce set his cutlery down, straightening out the wrinkles in his suit. “Dick,” he didn’t raise his voice, didn’t bark out a command. Their eyes locked in, a conversation happening before you that nobody was privy to. After just seconds, Dick lost his edge. His smile fell like a card house as he leaned back. The tension bled out, but his face was not that of someone who just lost a fight – it was that of someone who won.

Your father’s voice sounded distant, professional. But you knew that felt worse than any angry remark he could have directed at you. “As far as I remember, you invited yourself. As always. So if there is any problem, you are welcome to leave. As always.”

Humiliation burned red in Steph’s face, glassy eyes looking around the table, stopping at Cass. But Cass didn’t meet her face to face, turning away from her.

„Fine.“ Steph stood up. „Fine. I will leave. And I will leave gladly. Have a fun-fucking Christmas, everybody.“ She left the table, marching straight past Alfred, who has watched the whole ordeal with placid professionalism. She stopped at the door, turning around. Tears ran down her face, reflecting the light like liquid diamonds, unafraid of being seen – unafraid of being judged. She pinned you down in your seat, showing a mocking smile just for you. “I hope you have a fantastic stay at the Manor, Wayne.”

She left, slamming the glass door. Hairline fissures followed her leave, spreading from the bronze handle like a spiderweb. You waited for the crack, but the glass stayed in the frame; broken, but not out of line.

“I'm going to have to leave.” Duke stood up, the first to break the silence. He opened his mouth, clearly ready to comment on what had just happened. He took in Dick’s victory, Bruce’s stern face, Damian’s silence, and Tim’s stubbornness. He stopped at Cass, taking in her guilt, the way she didn’t meet his eyes and closed his mouth. His face became unreadable.

“Duke,” said Bruce, softer.

The boy shook his head. “I’m visiting my parents, remember?” He looked into the round, detached. “My cousin and I are going to be celebrating Christmas together, so we will see each other for New Year's Eve again.” Duke didn’t bother with a goodbye. He left, ending breakfast with the absence of his presence. One after the other, everybody stood up.

You stayed seated, legs feeling heavy as you watched them leave. Your eyes got caught on the small shoulders hugged by a green wool sweater. The same haughty cat from yesterday followed Damian on silent paws, curling his tail around his leg till he reached down and picked the cat up. The cat pressed his head against the boy’s shoulder, loudly purring when gentle fingers pet him under his furry chin.

Damian's stony face softened at the display, his green eyes growing fond as he looked at his companion.

Divider: @uzmacchiato

A/N: tada! New chapter is out! And some drama is starting. Bruce general treatment of Steph - especially while she was Robin - directly inspired this chapter :) Also I stand for Duke hating Dick's guts. He did gave Duke to the GCPD in I think Robin War, which well... I don't think I have to explain why that is bad. Also I loooovee Damian. I have some scene planned with him and I just can't wait to write him more. My boy is a child, let him be one. if if you find any big mistakes in grammar/spelling please tell me! also if you have any particular thoughts on this chapter let me know, even if there just a swarm of emojy, it is always great to see what you guys feel!

You didn't probe the topic right away, instead waiting until dinner was starting to wrap up before poking the bear.

This time around, Jason didn't do any of that weird bullshit about serving you food, only because Alfred had taken that responsibility beforehand.

Well, kinda. Your worries about upsetting your already unhappy stomach with a heavy Sunday roast turned out to be unnecessary, since Alfred had made you an entirely separate meal.

Your food consisted of warm miso soup and a side of some kind of seasoned tofu. For a second, you couldn't believe that Alfred had taken the time to make you something separate from the others, it was out of character for the man.

For the gang of vigilantes, Alfred regularly made specialized meals, but since you weren't usually recovering from massive injuries, you just went along with whatever was on the table that day. Regardless of the dish, the food was always high-quality and delicious.

You'd never complained, and he'd never deviated, until today.

You supposed that a concussion was reason enough to get a different meal, but it was still odd to have that kind of direct attention on you, doubly so from Alfred.

Whatever, at least it saved you from Jason playing Jenga with your food again.

You still felt intensely watched by the people around the table, but kept your head buried firmly down at your plate until it was time for dessert. Only after Alfred had set out the Bread Pudding (you got a platter of cut fruit) did you clear your throat and look up at Bruce, who was already looking straight at you.

This was it. You'd had the craziest three days of your life. Your boundaries (built over years of careful movement through a house that wasn't yours) had been violated repeatedly, you'd had not a smidge of autonomy (upon reflection), the people you'd come to accept as unfortunate constants had completely flipped their personalities, and you'd been kidnapped by the fucking Riddler because he thought that Bruce would come for you.

And craziest of all was that he was right.

You'd put up with it only because you had to, it wasn't like these fuckers let you get a word in edgewise, instead dragging you along like a passenger on the rollercoaster of your life.

And now, they were essentially threatening to isolate you entirely, after 3 days of completely insane behavioral changes.

You weren't quite sure if you were the one going through psychosis or they were.

Inhale, exhale.

You cleared your throat again and started slowly, "Tim said you had my phone? That the doctors gave it to you at the hospital or something?"

Bruce answered back just as calmly, cutting into his dessert as he responded, "Yes, that's right."

This asshole really wanted you to spell it out, huh? World's greatest detective my ass.

"Could I have it back?" No please, no explaining yourself. You didn't need to, the request was perfectly reasonable. Somewhere inside you knew Bruce didn't care much about reasonable. This was the same man that dressed up as a Bat and beat the shit out of criminals every night.

"No."

Like father like son.

Inhale, exhale.

"Why not?"

The rest of the table was quiet, watching the exchange carefully.

Bruce lifted his bite toward his mouth, "No screens, remember? That's what the doctor said." He frowned, "You do remember that, correct?"

Funny how Tim had said the same thing, huh? These people either thought you were stupid or were banking on you not to question them.

"I do. I also remember her saying that I could have them back after 48 hours."

"Ah and therein lies the problem. It hasn't been 2 days yet, sweetheart, you're not cleared for screens."

Sweetheart?

Inhale, exhale.

"Yeah, funny, Tim said the same thing." You pretended not to notice the withering glare the others sent his way. "He also said that you're not planning to give me my phone back even after the time's up, so uh what's the deal there?"

Bruce continued to fix his icy blue eyes at a point through you. "For smoothest recovery, we'll be increasing your screentime slowly. It wouldn't do you any good if you immediately went back to the numbers you had before, and- hours a day? Really? It'll be good for you to find some other hobbies."

At that you had to laugh, something disbelieving and forced.

"You know, its not even really about the phone, it's..." You trailed off, waving your hands around towards the table.

Your father leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and bringing his hands into a clasp in front of his face. Terrible manners and a guarded pose, he was gearing up for something and while you couldn't put a name to it, so were you.

He raised a brow, "It's what, exactly?"

Inhale, exhale.

Maybe when you were younger, still licking your wounds from being tossed to the side, you would have lost your bravado there, clamming up and holing back up in your room.

But you'd worked hard to get away from that, becoming someone who wasn't deathly afraid of confrontation. You wouldn't start the fight, but that didn't mean you'd let someone walk all over you.

That said, when it came to Bruce, phrasing was important. You'd been a silent bystander to many of his fights with the others, slinking around the manor and listening in to them play mental gymnastics.

The second any of them heard something that could be twisted in their favor, they would take it and twist, you knew that.

So you paused a second to think about how you could say this. Again, he'd find some way somehow to misconstrue anything you could possibly say, but from your side, you had to be smart about this. You didn't have years of experience fighting Bruce like the others, but he'd never had the chance to study you the way that you had been doing to him.

You were, at the end of the day, his child.

"You tell me, Bruce. for the past three days, you've been...like a whole different person. Is that what this is? Are you dosed with something? Are all of you doused with something? Because you have to recognize none of this is normal."

"What part exactly isn't normal?"

"The part where you care."

At that, Bruce worked his jaw.

"I care more than you think."

"Really?"

Jason had given up part way through the conversation and lounged back in his seat, slowly working through his dessert with a smug set to his lips. Tim's eyes were wide, bouncing between yourself and Bruce, the gears in his head visibly at work. Damian was still perfectly poised, his stance coiled up in preparation for a fight you wouldn't be having.

Dick, ever the martyr, stepped in to diffuse the palpable tension around the table. Or maybe he was just an attention whore who lived for the fantasy of trying to stitch his broken family together every time.

Probably the second.

"Wait. Both of you, calm down. (Name), of course Bruce cares, we all care-"

Inhale, exhale.

"Really? I mean, sure, fine, I concede, maybe you think you care, but that doesn't change the fact that you nothing you've done has been normal since Friday!"

"Friday? You mentioned you thought that was a PR stunt, is that was this is all about? You believe that any intention to be a father must be because of some external influence? Or that I have to be dosed in order to want to spend time with my child?"

Bruce's volume didn't get any louder, a dangerous illusion of calm, even though by the end he was practically hissing through his teeth, eyes narrowed into something sharp.

"Yes." The words slipped out before you could stop them, quiet but they seemed to echo around the room.

You continued, "I do think there has to be something foul at play for you to talk to me because why wouldn't I? I can count on two hands the amount of times we've had a conversation over the last 8 years!"

"You don't care about me! And I was fine with that! I was finally fine with that! I made my peace with it. With you. But then you come back, demanding to—what, get breakfast, sit through family dinners, follow medication schedules? For fucks sake, Bruce! Why couldn't you just let me live in peace?"

"You threw me to the side, you gave up on me. But why'd you have to come back."

The words weren't stopping, not even as you watched, tunnel vision on your father, as Bruce's face turned shades paler (no small feat), his knuckles white around his utensils.

"Now that's not fair, (Name)." Dick again butted in, hands raised with his palms up, staring intently at you, cornflower blue eyes unblinking. "This is family, and that means understanding that-"

You were tired of this conversation already, head starting to pound a steady thrum in the back of your skull, but you'd tussle the verbal 5v1 if needed, no going back now.

Inhale, exhale.

But it wasn't you that responded. It was Jason, hands scrubbing over his face, grin gone, looking more exhausted than he was a minute ago.

"No, they're right. They're right, Dickie, you know that. We knew this was going to happen, and you can try to pull as much bullshit as you want around them, but the little bird's smart. Always has been."

"Jason-" Tim started, urgency in his tone.

But Jason never listened once he got started.

"No, Timbers, I'm not-" he exhaled harshly, clearly frustrated, "I put up with this shit because you all said it would work out. That (Name) wouldn't ask questions, and when I said that this would blow up in our faces, you told me that we'd come clean. "

You felt frozen, like the room was revolving around you, time becoming syrupy and slipping right through your fingers.

"What? Come clean? Come clean about what? Jason-"

"Jason. Stop." Bruce this time, barking sharply at Jason from the head of the table. "This is not how we agreed to tell-"

Dick looked pissed, glaring daggers into Jason from across the table, "Wow, Little Wing, well done. Now they're even more confused, you were the one harping on about a gentle appr-"

Inhale, exhale.

Jason cut them both off, "You heard them! You heard what happens when (Name) slips through our hands, you know this! Right now, concussed, sitting at a table with people that are practically strangers, is this a gentle approach? You want to lose ours too, you fuckheads!"

Lose...you? And who was 'them'? And why was the room starting to spin even faster?

Tim was looking straight at you, the only one at the table that was still focusing on you, Damian watching the exchange between the three oldest, still bickering, with clear disgust and disbelief.

"(Name), listen to me, I know you're confused, but you need to stop and breathe, you're panicking. Stop-"

Oh. He was right, you weren't breathing properly anymore.

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

While you tried to suck down some actual air, head pounding, Tim just continued to say something at you, words too quiet to be heard over the thump in your ears and Dick, Jason, and Bruce's fighting.

"(Name) is on the verge of passing out. Congratulations to all of you, we've done exactly what we most feared. Now if you could stop acting like imbeciles for ONE SECOND, you'd see that they're swaying in their seat."

Damian, making a stunning debut in the ring.

But he was right, get yourself together, you have shit to do.

Inhale, exhale.

You were going to get your answers, no taking the easy way out and passing out this time.

"From the top, no bullshit, no lies, what happened? Who are 'they'? And what do you mean lose me?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(A/n: OMG WE'RE HERE, WE FINALLY MADE IT, the (so far) climax of the series, where I get to deliver to you my rendition of "the big one", the fight that gets you some answers. Answers that are coming....next time, YAY! (sorry i wanted to answer them in this chapter, but I'm not happy with how that went, and you guys deserve a better draft than I currently have) so until we meet again!

Also, I hope I've redeemed myself with reader finally gaining a backbone! I've heard the people, I know you guys have wanted to see reader stand up for themself and so have I! This is how I see it going down, but as always all feedback is more than appreciated! <3)

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself not to look away. “Then why did you do it?”

“M’stupid, that's why.”

“I know that, but that's not an answer.”

His head dropped forward until his forehead rested against yours. “The guys got to my head,” he admitted quietly. “They said I’m wasting my ‘potential’ and could pull that hot girl Shoko hangs out with.” He took a gasping breath, face contorting into one of disgust, “but she isn't hot, she's just not a nerd like you. But that makes you hot.”

You had to bite back a laugh, forcing a serious expression as he continued. “They said you're clingy, too serious but I loved that about you. You're perfect for my stupid self.”

“It really hurt me, what you did.” Your voice felt small, as if your throat was tightening.

“I know.”

“Do you?”

Tears blurred your vision before you could stop them. “You don't know how it felt,” you choked out. “Like I was some hobby, or some prop you kept around.” Gojo’s mouth twisted into a deeper frown, “Don't say that —”

“It’s true.”

“No it's not.” His voice came out desperate this time, yet somehow firm.

He cupped your face carefully, like he thought you might break apart in his hands. “You meant everything,” he said shakily. “That was the problem, I let them convince me that being utterly whipped for you was a bad thing.”

You stared at him through your tears, and a soft sniffle filled the silence.

“A-and I tried to ignore them, o-or tell them that I didn't care about you like that, but I do.” He gave a soft laugh, words sloshing around his mouth as he slipped further into his drunk haze.

Another tear slipped down your cheek, and he caught it with his thumb, swiping it away. “I wanted to answer your texts, to see you in the library at lunch — hell I wanted to come over,” he whispered, “I knew I fucked up.”

He was silent for a moment before speaking again. “I got hammered just to tell you this, y’know? I hate drinking but you're worth it.”

His eyes searched yours desperately. “Kept thinking about your laugh and your stupid jokes you make and the way you steal my clothes—”

A choked laugh escaped you despite yourself and Satoru’s expression softened at the sound. “There she is,” he murmured.

You shook your head, crying harder now. “You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah…but I’m your asshole…?” He looked down at you hopefully, “Ew, don't make it weird.” You laughed, wiping the tears from your eyes.

A tiny smile tugged weakly at his mouth. He swayed dangerously, alcohol still humming in his veins, “Let's get you to bed, Satoru.” You caught the mischievous glint in his eyes, “Don’t be a freak, I mean to sleep.” You watched his face fall then brighten up once more, “Can we sleep together —” He straightened when he saw your stern gaze, “— not like that.”

You guided him to your bedroom, he kicked his shoes off messily near the door and practically collapsed into your bed with a dramatic groan that almost made you laugh again.

“God,” he muttered. “The room is spinning.” You rolled your eyes, tossing over some of his clothes that you had stole forgot to return. “Hey, keep your eyes to yourself.” He muttered as he not-so-gracefully shimmied out of his jeans.

You climbed into bed beside him, the second you did, Gojo opened his arms. You hesitantly curled up next to him, the feeling oddly familiar.

“M’sorry,” he whispered into your hair, his eyes fluttering shut and sleep began to take him.

“I know.”

He pressed a wet kiss to your forehead, finally succumbing to the after-effects of the alcohol.

He's going to be in for it tomorrow when you ‘ran out’ of painkillers for his hangover.

a/n: thank you @ingydingyy for the request I hope I did your idea justice <3