you first meet him when he crosses the boundary of the ramshackled dorm on the edge of the campus, where he’d often roamed the grounds wondering what this beautiful place looked like in its prime, before it all fell apart. you do not bow deeply enough to be considered a ‘good person’, nor do you ask permission before sitting beside him, and you do not soften your voice when you speak. the first time you laugh in his presence, voice loud and unguarded, something ugly yet tempting rears its head in his chest. malleus tells himself it is nothing— that humans are like this; bright, brief, and evershining in the light unlike anything he could ever be.

the night the incident happens, it’s raining heavily, and the ground is slippery. you arrive in diasomnia soaking wet and tired, the ancient book (wrapped in plastic for extra safety) tucked securely under your coat, and when you see him waiting for you, you rush to greet him, all precautions of danger thrown to the wind before you slip, calling out his secret name whole and unbroken.

in response to the summoning, his magic explodes around the two of you despite not wanting to, a cool breeze enveloping you to settle you down. malleus, on the other hand, goes completely still, breath caught in his throat as his subconscious mind attempts to process the way you called his name. his eyes are stormy, almost unfriendly as you settle onto the ground, and you realise you’ve probably said something too offensive to forgive, so you bend low, much like the servants of the palace he calls his home, words tumbling out of your mouth in a panic as tears fill your eyes.

malleus looks at you with a face that betrays his guilt, even as he knows you can’t see it. you don’t know what you did wrong, only that you had done something he could not probably forgive given the sudden use of magic, and the fear on your face— technically, of what he could see of it— is unmistakably human. you tell him you didn’t mean to, that you will never say it again, that you did not know it was something you weren’t allowed to say in the first place. your voice shakes with the same sincerity that made you call out to him in the first place; as if he was a friend, and not a prince.

malleus doesn't reprimand you. instead, he reaches over to you to place a large hand on your shoulder, guiding you gently to an ornate couch before he dabs at your freely flowing tears. in a gentle whisper, he asks you to breathe with him, his voice a grounding rock that steadies the tremors in your hand. malleus turns away from you briefly as you finally settle, almost as if he was collecting himself or his thoughts, and when he faces you again there is something vulnerable in his expression that catches you off guard.

in a shaking voice and some measure of bravado, he explains what the name you called out was and what it meant to fae. he tells you that these names, variations of their public names hidden deep within their souls, bind the fae to the person who calls them, and could potentially cause harm to other people. naturally, he says that he trusts that this power you have over the future king of briar valley would not be misused, and yet, he fears, because this name was never supposed to be spoken out loud by anyone at all.

you listen to his ramble without interruption, a heavy guilt settling in your stomach. you’d been meaning to surprise him with such a unique shortening of his name— but somehow, almost like clockwork, you’d stumbled on something that was deeply personal to him. you sigh, murmuring another apology, your eyes meeting his. you promise him that you will never use it, that you will forget it if that is what he wants— that you don’t need or desire that level of closeness or control if it comes at the cost of his comfort and your friendship.

you mean what you say, every word of it, and he knows you do. that’s why, somehow, his answer surprises you.

taking your hands in his and raising them to his lips to press on them a gentle kiss, malleus smiles and tells you you can keep it. kept like a secret diary, instead of something to parade in front of people, dangling your authority like a juicy piece of meat on a string. you stare at him, unsure if he’s joking before he nukes you, or whether he’s actually being serious.

malleus lets a light chuckle slip from his mouth, hands still intertwined with yours. he clarifies that this decision was not made lightly— that above all, he is willing to cross the fear that has been ingrained in him to give you this power. you cannot command him freely, he insists, but in moments where you deem his power necessary, you may use him as a tool freely. he quietens for a moment after that, before stating that he’d prefer the use of this name in other moments.

confused still, you ask him what kinds of moments he thought this name appropriate for. malleus flushes a gentle, pretty pink, looking away for a moment before whispering it to you— moments where it’s just the two of you, casual and intimate— looking away again before adding a quiet “like this”.

the next time you test the nickname (for you) resting on the tip of your tongue, you and malleus are decidedly alone, grim having decided to invade savanaclaw (a rare occurrence) for the weekend. you whisper the name softly as he’s observing the pictures of the gargoyles you had taken that week, and laugh lightly as his head whips to face you at the speed of light. you ask him if it’s okay here. he says yes; that he likes the way his name sounds when it comes from you.

emboldened by his reaction, you begin calling him by that name when he’s at his lowest, or when he forgets that he’s allowed to want things outside of being briar valley’s crown prince. each time, the world listens, but it does not interfere, as if it understands that this is not a command but a request (or a plea).

malleus, in turn, lingers longer after your conversations, almost waiting for the name to drop from your lips. and when the world is kind enough to give you slow days, unhurried and isolated from the rest of the ever-blossoming chaos at night raven college, you say his name again, and he answers, over and over and over again; not as the prince, not as a fae, but as a friend, or maybe even more.