sweet teas & tales

No one in the temple dared to say it to your face—except the High Priest, with his sugar-coated words. After all, they must be thinking: how could one of the so-called wives of Lord Khaslana, the world-bearing god who carried so much for the people of Okhema—whether their physical or internal battles—be anything less than devoted? (even though the title was a backhanded compliment, but you're insane for thinking that way)

You wouldn’t think of yourself as his wife, more like a trophy that lives in his temple rent-free. The man never shows up or even tries to talk to you, yet somehow, you still have to pray to him every day.

Not that you are well acquainted with the verses that even children know. You only remember them when they are sung, unable to repeat them if asked. Sometimes, during prayer, you go off on random rants—mostly to yourself—or your thoughts wander to unrelated things that pull you off task.

It’s not like you ever really listened. There was a reason you were given the title of “outrageous”—for having an attitude and opinions on most things in the temple. You never exactly followed the rules. Yes, you were “punished” only by the High Priest—nothing from your husband, no real reprimand to change your behaviour. But who could blame you for being lonely? You were rowdy, loud, and impulsive, and now you feel like a leashed animal trapped in a temple full of people with whom you cannot hold an interesting conversation.

Even with your personal maid.

Every day spent in your room was boring—nothing to do except needlework, read prayers, and whatever else there was. You genuinely just rot in your bed all day.

The faces in the temple begin to blur together. You start to forget who’s who.

Especially the two other wives he has—Daphne and Phoebe.

They are very beautiful, too. Everyone seems to think so. Even though the three of you live in separate wings (but still meet for meal times), you hear the maids and guards rave about the other two.

You don’t really talk to either of them—they’re devoted followers in your stead. It’s like a duo in a trio situation.

“I feel Lord Khaslana has given me a sign today. When the sun was burning bright in the sky, I prayed for something to calm this heat—and it started raining,”

the short, blonde-haired Daphne said with a bright smile, her blue eyes wide as if they might pop from their sockets.

“Congratulations!” Phoebe replied, tossing her long brunette hair behind her shoulder to avoid getting food on it—the same copy-and-paste smile fixed on her face.

To have the three of you together like this, with the High Priest at the other end of the table, was like going to a family friend’s house without knowing who they were.

You felt a heat rise in your stomach, one that made your blood boil.

Taking bites of your food while the other two laughed and smiled across from each other, you sat at the end of the table, simply hoping to finish dinner quickly and be done with it.

“What about you, (name)? How was your day?”

The two wives, Daphne and Phoebe, stopped talking and glanced awkwardly at you from the corners of their eyes.

You slowly lifted your head from your plate and looked at him with the most intense, narrowed eyes you could muster—filled with utter annoyance to the brim. Just a simple question.

“Fine. It was fine. Thank you.”

Your anger felt like it might burst at any second, like a ticking bomb ready to explode.

His smile did not falter.

The High Priest sat at the end of the long polished table, hands delicately folded over his plate, chin resting slightly forward as if genuinely interested—not poking a beast in a cage for the entertainment of favored pets.

You knew this game.

“Wonderful,” he said smoothly. “May Lord Khaslana continue to grace your days with peace and purpose.”

Your (rightful) wenchful attitude began to show more and more in the days that followed. You didn’t even bother trying to hide it anymore—especially the way you looked at people. That gaze didn’t change, not even when you were assigned a new, watchful keeper to be by your side at all times. You cursed yourself for falling into this predicament because of your venom-filled words.

Still, your gaze didn’t waver—not even when that caretaker, Phainon, a man with beautiful white hair and even finer eyes, knelt down and held your hand with such grace and softness. “I will do my best to serve you, My Lady.”

Even you had to admit—you could see why the maids gushed upon first laying eyes on him. He was utterly beautiful, like a blessing from Lord Khaslana himself. A face handcrafted by the god, dressed in white silks like a present.

You thought him just another obedient servant, another pair of watchful eyes sent to tame your unruly behavior at your ‘husband’s’ request. But the way his fingers lingered when he handed you your tea, the way his voice dipped low when he murmured, “Careful, My Lady, the High Priest is watching,”—it was all too deliberate.

“You have quite the pretty face,” you said dreamily as the two of you sat in a field of flowers. It had been a long time since you’d been out like this, relaxed. You were even allowed to go without guards now, thanks to Phainon’s presence. He perked up at your words, still seamlessly cutting the apple in his hand.

“Are you perhaps married?” you asked shamelessly—he was still a man, after all—but social awareness had flown out the window a long time ago.

Phainon’s knife paused mid-slice, just briefly, the silver edge catching the sunlight. He looked a bit stunned—not offended, not flustered, just… surprised. He looked like a dog!

Then he gave the smallest smile, the corners of his mouth curling like the first bloom of spring. “No, My Lady. I’m not married.”

You perked up immediately, leaning in a little with a cheeky grin. “Not even promised?”

“Not even promised,” he chuckled.

“Ugh, you're lucky you're not stuck like me,” you sighed, feeling a little jealous of his situation. He simply put an apple slice to your lips, then motioned to your ear, which you leaned in toward.

“You don’t like your marriage, My Lady?” he asked—such a silly question, considering everyone already knew the answer.

“Of course not,” you replied almost immediately. “Lord Khaslana has two other wives. I doubt he even thinks I’m beautiful. Or that I exist.”

You said it matter-of-factly, with the same tone you’d use to comment on the weather, like it didn’t bother you. You took another apple slice from Phainon’s hand and popped it into your mouth.

When you looked back at him, he had a sad expression on his face—like you’d just kicked him. It almost felt like you’d kicked a puppy and now it was whining at your feet…

He must have been one of those people. The kind who cared quite a lot about Lord Khaslana.

“But I’m grateful to him for taking me in,” you sighed softly.

And yet, even as the two of you walked back, that strange undertone of sadness—or was it guilt?—never quite left his expression.

it all started when this buff guy with some really cool tattoos came into your flower shop. blond hair, gold eyes, absolute bad boy vibes. you truly wondered what he was doing here on a random tuesday afternoon. you honestly don’t know what you were expecting, but you didn’t expect him to have quite a gruff voice either. 

“Welcome in, how can i help you?” you asked politely. 

“I’m looking for flowers for my mother. What would you recommend?” he answers, a bit quietly despite his gruff tone.

Was he trying to not overwhelm you? How nice? you think? 

“Sure, i can do that! Are you looking for some really big bouquet or something smaller?” 

“Whatever you’d recommend but preferably on the smaller side and won’t get too crushed in my backpack.” 

“Backpack?”

“I’m on a motorbike.”

And that suddenly explained so much. 

“Sure, follow me!” your cheery attitude didn’t irritate him, which was weird. His normally cheery best friend always pissed him the fuck off, but your presence is different from his. It’s a nice change of pace, he thought.

so you took him around the small and humble shop of yours, explaining various flowers and what they mean. And Mydei? Completely absorbed in what you had to say, even cracking jokes. 

Dear god, Mydei is falling for this person he’s met once. Fuck.

as you go back to the counter, you hold up 4 different kinds of flowers and start explaining what they mean to him. 

“This one here closest to my chest is a carnation- specifically pink ones symbolize maternal love and admiration. The one that’s pointed towards you is a peony- representing maternal love, prosperity, and compassion. These two are my favorites, but i can explain the other two as well if you’d like,” you offer. 

“I think those two together as a smaller bouquet would be just fine… thanks.” 

“Great, i’ll get this smaller bouquet made and have you on your way! Give me just a few minutes, please! You can sit on the bench by the door or stop by the coffee shop next door- they have the best treats!” you reply. Mydei shakes his head and sits down at the bench near the door. he hears you hum a song as you make the bouquet. 

he pays, says another thanks, and carefully places the bouquet in his backpack, careful not to squish it. then he’s on his way to his mom. 

when Mydei stops by the coffee shop his mom owns just a couple blocks down (not the one you mentioned, by the way), his mother is pleasantly surprised to see him and runs out from behind the counter to greet him. she tightly embraces her son and gasps at the flowers he has in his arms. his mother smiles at him smugly as she takes the bouquet and places it on the counter. 

“I see you’ve met (name),” she says with a grin. Mydei blushes. 

“And what of it?” 

“oh nothing. I hear they’re looking for a lover. You know, you’re just their type. And they’re so sweet, you’d do yourself and them a favor by asking them out,” his mother sighs wistfully. 

Mydei sighs and starts to walks out of the shop playfully before turning around and kissing his mother on the head. 

“I’ll think on it,” he says to his mother as he goes to leave the store. 

But they both knew where he was going: back to you to ask you out. maybe with another bouquet, maybe not. who knows, certainly not him. but he did know he was falling for you and you maybe felt the same. 

You sat on Mydei’s lap, your legs curled lazily over one of the carved arms of the chair, your back resting against his broad chest. His arms wrapped around you—not for battle, not in some last desperate moment before a siege—but simply, comfortably. As though time, for once, had agreed to soften for the two of you.

Your hair cascaded down your back in silken strands, warmed by sunlight, tousled from sleep and dreams.

Mydei’s fingers found their way into it.

He didn’t speak at first, and neither did you. His touch was slow, thoughtful. You could feel the movement of his chest as he breathed steadily, the brush of his golden necklace cool against your neck where his chin gently rested.

His voice broke the silence, low and rough from disuse, but softened by the stillness of morning.

“Your hair’s always tangled in the back when you wake up,” he murmured.

You let out a sleepy hum. “That’s because someone keeps rolling me onto the pillows.”

“You’re blaming me for that?” he chuckled softly, his golden eyes alight with quiet amusement. “You’re the one who sleeps like you're battling shadows.”

You tilted your head just enough to glance at him. “Says the man who once kicked me out of bed in his sleep. With armor still on.”

“That was one time.”

“Twice.”

He huffed, clearly mock-offended, but his fingers never stopped their gentle work. He parted your hair with ceremonial precision—like he was preparing to bind a sacred ribbon—and began weaving. It was not the rigid style of a soldier’s braid. No. This was something looser, more personal, his thumbs occasionally brushing your scalp, his hands so impossibly gentle you almost forgot they were built to kill.

“I had to learn this myself,” he said after a while, voice quiet but not uncertain. “No one around to help me with mine. And if I left it loose, it would tangle during training. Or combat.”

You tilted your head, encouraging him to go on.

“My fingers fumbled for years. I’d get frustrated. Rip the strands. Curse at my reflection.” He paused. “Eventually, I started to get it. Not perfect, not elegant. But functional. Then, I suppose... it became habit. Something small I could still control when the rest of the world was chaos.”

You took his hand gently, your fingers brushing the lined calluses of his palm. “It's beautiful, what you do. Even if it came from hardship.”

His hand tightened around yours—not possessively, but protectively. As if to say, You don’t need to learn that way. Not while I’m here.

“I never thought I’d do this for anyone else,” he admitted. “Didn’t think I’d ever want to.”

You leaned back into him, letting the moment settle between your heartbeats. “So what changed?”

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he kissed your shoulder. Softly. Reverently. As if you were made of starlight and something sacred. Then, without a word, he returned to braiding.

His hands moved with an instinct now shaped by care instead of necessity. When he reached the end, he secured it with a ribbon that matched your tunic—clearly set aside with you in mind.

When he was done, he wrapped his arms around you once more, drawing you closer. The braid rested over your shoulder like a woven promise.

The Last Prince of Kremnos. The Guardian of Amphoreus. Slayer of legends.

And here, in the golden quiet, he was just Mydei.

Your Mydei.

And in that moment, the world didn’t need saving.

It only needed this.

Just you, him, and the braid that bound you.

"this is (name), a makeup artist, they will be the one to do your makeup." aglaea, his manager, told him as you bowed down slightly as a form of greeting and respect.

"it's a pleasure to be working with you."

"likewise!"

as you exchanged pleasantries, you couldn't help but notice the way each of his natural features seemed perfect and flawless—like a masterpiece brought to life, and there you wondered...

does he even need to wear makeup in the first place?

"hello? earth to (name)?" phainon's voice snapped you back to the present, pulling you from the daydream that had momentarily ensnared your thoughts.

you blinked, a hint of embarrassment forming on your face as you realized you had been staring at him, lost in your own thoughts while you were still in the process of doing his makeup. "oh—sorry about that."

phainon flashed you a smile, a flicker of concern and amusement visible in his eyes. "is everything alright?"

"everything is alright, i just got distracted by my unnecessary thoughts, that's all." you hooked your fingers under his chin and tilted his head up to inspect his face and see what makeup style suits him this time. "now stay still and don't move, or else you'll ruin your makeup." you said in a stern manner.

despite the countless times you've done this, phainon still couldn't help but freeze from the contact of your skin against his and the proximity between your faces.

he lets out a chuckle, finding your strictness amusing. "are makeup artists always like this?" he jested and you playfully rolled your eyes in response. "of course, it's our job and every makeup has to be done flawlessly after all."

your grip on his chin tightened a little as you leaned closer, restricting him from moving as you concentrated on applying the makeup with precision—each stroke deliberate, while phainon's voice ranting about how exhausting his concerts these nights filled the silent room.

unbeknownst to you, phainon couldn't take his eyes off you as you started to apply the makeup on him, and he found himself captivated by the way your brows furrowed in concentration.

there was something mesmerizing about your dedication, the way the world around you would fade whenever you do your job, he always finds it intriguing ever since on the first day you did his makeup.

your lips moved slightly as you muttered to yourself, and his gaze landed on them. how could someone look so effortlessly mesmerizing and adorable even in the middle of a makeup session?

it took you a while to finally finish applying the makeup and stepped back to check and admire your work before telling him to look at the mirror. when he did, you felt like you had forgotten something—but what?

"you never fail to amaze me with your work, (name). but you've forgotten the chapsticks." he turned his seat around to face you and pointed at his lips.

ah. right. the chapsticks.

"my bad," you mumbled and mentally sighed, reaching for the said item before you applied it on his lips, the brief contact sending a shiver down his spine and before he knew it, he was starting to lose his control.

just as you were done and about to pull away, his hands cupped your cheeks—preventing you from pulling away, and a pair of lips gently pressed against yours.

a look of surprise formed on your face and before you could process what just happened, he pulled away and aglaea's voice called him from the door, telling him that the concert was about to start. "i'm heading out now, thanks for the makeup!" he stood up from his seat, casting one glance at you with a cheeky smile on his lips and left.

'they probably hate me now.' phainon thought to himself.

you watched him leave, your mind still reeling from the unexpected kiss.

what just happened?

you touched your lips, the sensation of his warm lips still lingering.

"that was my first kiss..." you whispered to yourself, still processing the unexpected moment and everything that came with it.

Dearest (name), 

I’m known as the blasphemer (and a fool- maybe even a helpless fool) to many, but i can’t help but be a fool and absolutely enamored by you. you have taken over every forethought in my mind, and i would be absolutely stupid- ridiculous, even- to not describe how i feel for you. i just cannot believe you're mine. we're also "pen pals" as you have said. it brings a smile to my face.. 

I cannot help myself around you- your smile, your laugh, your infectious energy- i want it all. I want to be the one who will take care of you when you get hurt or sick. I want to be the one you rely on. If i said this to you face to face, i think i combust on the spot and forget all of my words.  

But you… you, my dearest one, are worth it. 

because you are so incredibly special. if not to no one else, than to me. If there are people cheering for you, i’m cheering the loudest. I show support in ways people may find it to be “unconventional”, but i call it going above and beyond for the one you cherish- care about- most. 

If you asked me to do anything at all, i would do it with no hesitation. I am nothing but a pawn in your humble chess game.  if you asked me to bow at your feet, i would do so without complaints.

because you don’t deserve someone who complains. no, my love. You deserve the world and more. You deserve someone better than me, actually.

but you chose to love me, and for that, i am forever grateful i get to be called yours, and you get to be called mine.

If you ever have any doubt of my love for you, i will dispel it before you can even fathom.

Happy birthday, my love. I love you more than anyone- any life form, can express.

-your fool, Anaxagaoras. 

mydei stood there, watching a bunch of children chasing each other, their cheery laughter ringing through the air.

lost deep in thoughts, he failed to notice a presence nearing him and the soft footsteps that followed.

the crown prince felt something light dropping on top of his head, snapping him out of his thoughts. "the son of gorgo will be crowned in pretty little flowers!" your voice reached his ears, catching his attention.

the world around him felt vibrant and alive the moment his eyes met yours, ones that always brought him peace and comfort.

and oh, that smile of yours, the look of admiration in your eyes when you stare at him, your voice...

the faintest hint of love in your gaze.

they all sent fluttering butterflies in his stomach.

"it's unfair, deimos."

deimos. right, that is what you call him, and every time you do, it makes his heart race without fail.

mydei raised an eyebrow at your spoken words. "unfair? how so?"

"your beauty. it's cruel." your answer only fueled his confusion. what do you mean that his beauty is cruel? "you're so insanely pretty and effortlessly gorgeous, you could even rival women's beauty at this point. i'm envious, i must admit. no wonder lord phainon signed you up in that beauty contest!" he grumbled under his breath at the memory.

"and did i forget to mention that you look even more beautiful with flower crowns? it's lovely. i could stare and admire you for eternity." you playfully said, yet every spoken word felt so genuine.

before you could continue, the kremnoan prince beat you to it with his hand (or his golden gauntlet) placed over your mouth, and on a second thought, you could've sworn that there was a hint of shyness in the way his brows furrowed. "enough."

he brought his hand down and crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze averting elsewhere when he took notice in the way you kept staring at him like he's some masterpiece made to be admired.

it didn't take long for your attention to get stolen from him as the kids called and asked you to teach them how to make a flower crown.

mydei watched you laugh at the group of children circling around you, a small huff leaving his lips when you called out to him to join you to make the flower crowns with the little ones.

how infuriating, he thought to himself, and yet he couldn't help but admire the gleeful look on your face when he finally joined you and the group of children with the flower crown you made still on top of his head (and he didn't bother to take it off).

( he found himself recalling your words earlier—how and why are you envious of his beauty, when your own outshines everything? your smile, your eyes, your voice, your body, your heart, your soul, he finds all of it beautiful. you may not see it yourself, but he can.

to him, you defined beauty itself. )

mydei closed his eyes, savoring the moment before him and the laughter that left your lips, which always sounded like a perfect melody in his ears.

but the moment he opened his eyes, everything had shifted.

the laughter that once filled the air around him faded into a cold, haunting silence and now replaced by the harsh sounds of shovels digging into the ground.

the vibrant scene before him vanished, and he was faced with a cruel reality; your coffin, being piled with soil.

his breath hitched and he could feel his heart sinking, the joy and warmth disappearing in an instant, leaving him only with a chilling, empty void. the peaceful moment he wished to hold forever shattered. the warmth of your presence, your laughter—they're all gone.

you were gone.

and he never got the chance to make you a flower crown and see you wear it on top of your head with that lovely smile on your lips.

he stood there, the weight of regret settling so heavily on him. you knew him, you saw everything in him, you understood, accepted, admired him, and yet,

he barely knew you.

years spent together without leaving each other's sides most of the time, and yet all those years felt like mere seconds to him.

he knew you were fragile, your life can be taken easily anytime.

he knew. but why didn't he take the opportunity to get to know you better while you were still there?

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a life without you by his side is something mydei never wishes for.

everything felt so cold and empty since you left, bringing the warmth and radiance along with you.

why did you have to leave so soon? the question echoed in his mind.

he yearned to hear you laugh and your voice calling out to him, to see your smile, to see your eyes—ones that he often gets lost in, to feel your warm, gentle hands braiding his hair and your fingers brushing through his locks.

he yearned for you.

mydei gently placed a fresh, vibrant crown of flowers on top of your grave, replacing the old one that had wilted and lost its color.

your absence has been haunting him like a ghost. he could still hear your voice in his silent moments, calling his name.

every time he glances at the empty space beside him that you used to occupy, your face comes into his mind.

no matter how deep he buries the past—the pain, his heart still aches. it was as if his past isn't the one that gets buried, but him. it felt like he was being buried alive by his overwhelming feelings that haunted him like a ghost every night.

and it felt so suffocating, to the point he finds himself unable to escape from it and break free.

─────────────────────────

"how..."

the sound of a blade being pulled out from a flesh and liquid dripping down to the ground filled the air.

mydei collapsed on the cold, hard ground, his body now lying in a pool of golden blood.

the son of gorgo was finally meeting his end after getting rejected by death several times throughout the years he has lived in his life.

his heartbeat had gotten slower and weaker in each second that passed, his breaths shallow, the warmth leaving his bleeding body.

'become the dawn, deliverer'—was his last words, and he hoped these words would reach the hero of amphoreus.

right as the warrior was about to take his last breath, the blurry sight of golden blood pooling the floor before him shifted into a vibrant field of flowers.

and there you were, lying beside him— softly smiling and your eyes staring at him with such warmth, admiration, and pure love, the top of your head adorned with a flower crown.

the very same, and last flower crown he had left on your grave.

the sight sent a rush of warmth through his chest, and in that moment, he found himself swearing before the life in his eyes faded,

that in another life, in a different universe—where none of this chaos exists, he will find you, just like how you found him in this cruel world.

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💌: thank you for coming! i hope you enjoyed today's sweet teas and tales! let me know in the comments if you wish to be tagged in my written works, i will be making a tag list!

silly taggies! @sqgeism @strawbairicake