#oc asks!

“Lance, be honest with me: Would Marsyas prefer ink black or coal black?”

Lance sat at the edge of his older brother's bed, reading a book to study for his upcoming alchemy exam.

Frowning, Davis snapped his fingers in Lance's face. “Lance,” the prince flicked his younger brother's forehead for good measure. “Focus.”

“I am focusing.”

“Not what I meant.”

“Just ask Marsyas what they'd prefer.”

“It's not that simple, Lance!” Davis groaned, holding up two hangers with two imperial military coats hanging on them.

Rolling their eyes, Lance looked up from his book and got a good look at the coats individually.

“Good,” Davis hummed in his satisfaction. “Now, what do you think she'd prefer?”

Why Davis was being so concerned over a coat was beyond Lance's understanding. To the latter, both coats were the same with only a slight difference in color texture.

“Davis, they're both the same-” Lance stopped mid-sentence, scrunching his nose at Davis' scowl.

“You know I'm right.”

“You really aren't, little brother.”

“Look,” Lance let out an exasperated breath. “If you're so concerned, just ask Marsyas. Although, if you ask me, it's not like they'd enjoy spending time with you to begin with.”

Davis scoffed, choosing a coat himself and throwing the other one back into his closet. “You're just saying that because you don't know them like I do!”

“I know him well enough to know that they don't trust you that much. Why are you even bothering to visit him, to begin with?”

Lance has seen a lot of things in his life. His brother had the most unusual hobbies, and the most questionable methods in taking care of his brother. All that, Lance was already used to.

What Lancelot Winchester Novellion was not used to, was seeing Davis be so concerned over how Marsyas thought of him.

If it were Victoria, sure, Lance tilted his head as Davis was taking a comically long time fixing his hair. But he's only concerned over rivals.

Marsyas wasn't someone Davis could consider a rival.

That fact just… Baffled Lance so much more than it needed to.

Either way, Davis made it clear that he didn't want Lance meddling in his business. And with how his older brother usually is, Lance thought it better than to question what goes on in Davis' mind.

After his meticulous hair care routine, Davis turned back to his brother. “Well?” He presented himself to Lance.

“What do you think?”

Lance took one look, then went back to his book. “You look the same.”

“I do not!”

“Tell that to yourself, if it helps you sleep at night.”

“You're quite a nuisance, sometimes…”

Anything else Davis said became a blur to Lance.

Lance highly doubted that, only shrugging his shoulders in response. It wasn't like Davis' love life was much of his business to begin with.

Plus, he doubted his older brother even told Marsyas — whoever they were — that he was visiting.

•⚔️°─────────°⚔️•

When Davis finally arrived at Night Raven College, his top priority was to look for Marsyas. Nothing else.

Any ass-kissing from Dire Crowley? Promptly ignored. Any unwanted attention, he stopped with only the tip of the sword currently hanging from its hilt.

Most of the students just assumed Davis was there for diplomatic reasons, but he didn't bother answering their questions because they didn't matter.

He was in the school looking for Marsyas, not to make pleasant chit-chat with imperial ass-kissers.

This was not a good thing. Especially to Marsyas themselves.

At the moment, they were currently in their true form ‘Cybele’: A form that, fortunately, Davis had yet to properly know them as.

Unfortunately, Cybele thought to herself while walking through the different corridors of Pomefiore, trying to distract herself with little success. That prince won't stop at nothing to find me.

Any concerns from Vil, Rook, Victoria, or anyone — completely out of the question.

His constant correspondence isn't of any help, either, Cybele thought, pursing their lips.

One thing Cybele knew was that she was going to get herself out of Pomefiore and… Hopefully, avoid Davis the rest of the day.

That plan failed. Miserably. It drove itself off a cliff.

Why? Well, much to Cybele's chagrin, she just happened to run into Davis on her way out of Pomefiore.

They both stopped in their tracks in front of each other, staring intently into each other's eyes.

Davis into Cybele's light brown set. Cybele into Davis' amber set.

“... Apologies,” Cybele tried to make her way past Davis, but the latter had to unsheath his sword, using it to block their path.

Davis hummed. “I would also like to apologize for blocking your path,” he lowered his sword. “If I may ask, do you happen to know where Marsyas could be?”

They're standing right in front of you, Cybele answered his question in her own thoughts but didn't dare say it aloud.

Clearing their throat, Cybele composed herself, bringing back that elegant and poised demeanor that Vil always insisted on having her maintain. “I'm afraid not.”

Davis arched a skeptical brow. “Are you sure?”

“Positive, Your Highness.”

“So you know who I am?”

“I certainly know of you. Who wouldn't?”

He clicked his tongue, not quite finding pleasantry in the way Cybele said that. How meticulous, he must've thought.

“Are you quite sure you know where Marsyas is?” Davis continued with his inquiries, cocking his head to the side.

“I have no reason to doubt my sureness,” Cybele's eyes squinted, taking a slight — ever so subtle — step back from Davis.

He responded to that by taking a slight step forward. “Then why do you appear… Anxious?”

“Do I? Pray tell, why would you accuse me of that?”

“You're rather expressive,” Davis put his sword back into its sheath, his hands now behind his back in a militaristic stance.

I have reason to doubt that, Cybele remarked in her own thoughts.

Akin to her squinted set of eyes, Davis narrowed his own. Tilting his head to the other side, feeling curious.

“I've never seen you before.”

Cybele hummed, avoiding his intent gaze, maintaining her poise. “This is the first time we've interacted, your highness. I have reason to believe you've never seen me once in your entire life.”

“Not quite what I meant,” Davis interrupted. “But I do suppose you make your point.”

“But what I mean, is that I've never seen you during my previous visits.”

His previous visits were as tedious as his current one, Cybele believed. But she was wise enough to not say that to Davis' face.

“Your previous visits?” It was her turn to ask, this time, feigning cluelessness.

She couldn't get a read on Davis' expression of neutrality, but she could at least hope he was buying into her act.

“I've been visiting someone I hold dear to,” Davis elaborated. “He’s quite special to me, really. But I can never understand why they're so… Avoidant.”

“Perhaps they don't trust you?” Cybele didn't intend to say it aloud. But when they did, she tried not to show how anxious she felt about how Davis would respond to that.

“.... Perhaps, so.”

It was Davis' turn to step back, bowing his head in respect, acknowledgment, and apology to Cybele.

She held her head up high, her eyes on the sky above to hide the relief that resided in them.

“Forgive me for wasting your time, My Lady.”

Cybele pursed her lips. “... You need not heed an apology for my sake, Your Highness.”

Davis' lips quirked up to form a smirk. With his hands still behind his back, he only took one of them out to gently hold Cybele by the back of her head, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

Cybele stiffened, unsurprisingly pulling away from Davis' unexpected touch with an apprehensive yet… Intrigued look.

“What…” She paused, trying to find her words before clearing her throat to compose herself further. “What was that for, Your Highness?”

“Something I might like to do if we ever go beyond acquaintances, My Lady.”

Before Cybele could even begin to ask questions, Davis turned his back on her — finally making his way out of Pomefiore, and Night Raven College, in turn.

Right when he was to be transported out of Pomefiore, Davis gave Cybele one last look. One of amusement, of endearment. And said:

“Until we meet again, Marsyas.”

… What?

†•°•══════ஓ๑「⚔️」๑ஓ══════•°•†

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