A. Green

The western side of the palace, while not open to just anyone in the general public, was less strictly guarded and had much more foot traffic than the east, where the royal family frequented. The west was inhabited by physicians, philosophers, and artisans; people the court invited to come stay and work within the walls of the palace, either for utility or entertainment purposes.

Where could be more perfect for a phantom to enter? No one looked twice at the well-dressed human man that strolled confidently through the doors. He even greeted the one guard stationed at the entrance as he passed. Janus could only be pleasantly surprised by just how easy it was to get inside.

His cane clacked against the stone floor as he admired the décor. If he had a permanent home, he’d be beyond tempted to take some of the paintings from the walls. One in particular he liked was of a pair of intertwined apple trees on a hill, a beautiful sunset bleeding across the sky behind it. He stopped to look at it, imagining what it would look like positioned above the bed in the room he frequently daydreamed about having. Or maybe it would be better for a library.

Someone cleared their throat behind him. Janus turned around, putting on his most charming smile and greeted them with a polite: “Hello, sir!”

It was Logan. The clothing he wore was of high quality, but his sleeves were rolled up past his elbows and he wore a vest with no coat. Their eyes met for a split second, and Janus was suddenly overcome by a wave of intensity rolling off of the other man.

His gaze was piercing, like he could see straight through Janus’ disguise. Not just his clothing and demeanor, but the magic that made him look human too. Surprisingly, Logan looked away before Janus had the chance to sweat. Unbeknownst to the shapeshifter, Logan was much more uncomfortable than he was.

“You are in the way.” He stated dryly.

“Oh, excuse me.” Janus’ reply left him in a rush of semi-relieved air. He stepped to the side, regarding Logan with disguised weariness.

“You don’t belong here.” Logan said.

“P-pardon?” Janus sputtered.

“This is the entrance to my private workshop. I don’t know you. You are in the wrong place.” He clarified.

“Oh, yes, I see.” Janus chuckled, steadying his breathing. How bizarre. He’d never felt so close to being found out before. He was usually very good at responding convincingly, but for some reason Logan was throwing him off. A lot.

Roman had spent his entire life admiring the people that served his kingdom. Every child in Acorius grew up hearing the stories about the gleaming silver armor and the bright red capes the knights wore into battle. Every little boy seemed to have a phase in which they told their friends and family they were going to grow up to become one of them. Roman, however, never outgrew that. He talked about it so often that he drove people insane. 

He’d gone so far as to actually read a book, something he tended to avoid like a serious allergy. Anyone who wanted to join a lance in Acorius had to whole-heartedly dedicate themselves to the code of the Rainbow Order of Chivalry which, unfortunately, meant dedicating a series of strict rules and philosophies to memory. 

He’d heard it said that recalling the things from that book was the easy part and that truly living by the code was an altogether different beast. But the truth was, Roman usually found that second part to be quite easy. It was simple, really. Some of the things in the code didn’t even seem worth writing down. They were just givens. 

Of course a knight was supposed to put his life on the line for the sake of others. They were Acorius’ greatest heroes and if they didn’t do that, they wouldn’t be heroes at all. Some things were a bit more complicated; like, what did it matter if he tucked his shirt in or not when he wasn’t wearing his armor? And if he would be wearing a helmet during battle, why should anyone care about the length of his hair?

Regardless, when he was only twelve years old, he decided to follow every law and mantra written into the chivalry code of the Acorius knights and by the time he was in his twenties, he had never strayed. He’d never even given in to try alcohol when he had come of age. Beyond the code of chivalry that he held so dear to his heart, he had also committed to becoming as physically fit as he could. 

His little village was settled at the base of a mountain. The western border was marked by a river and the eastern one by dense forest. Roman trained day and night, season after season, year after year, utilizing his advantageous access to these natural structures to work out every muscle and skill he could think of to practice; running, climbing, swimming, lifting. Hell, he’d even mastered the ability to bound from branch to branch and ledge to ledge like he could walk on the air between them.

He couldn’t count how many times his mother had scolded him for tearing his clothes or staying out far too late, but she had relented as it became more obvious just how passionate Roman was about becoming a knight. He was an upstanding member of his little community. Everyone in the village knew him to be dependable and quick to help, whether it be for the smallest inconvenience or a monumental undertaking. 

There was only one thing he had never gotten to practice. Real sword fighting. He had certainly tried, especially as a child. He and the other kids chased each other around town with sticks in their naive imitations of battle. The problem was, Roman did not come from a wealthy place. It wasn’t even large enough to have its own dedicated defenses. There wasn’t a real sword in the entire village, nor anyone who knew properly how to use one.

Roman was never one to let things like that get to him, though. He was hopeless with a bow; he’d given it three solid years but could never quite seem to measure up. He was quite certain he’d injured himself more times than he hit the targets with any measure of finesse or accuracy. He still had a scar on his right forearm to prove it. After finding no luck with that, he turned to a tradition of little villages like his all across the nation; stick fighting. 

He had taken to carrying two side-handled batons on him at all times, hanging them from loops of fabric fastened to his belt. He’d also trained with a proper staff, which he brought with him when he finally left home. 

Anyone who wanted to become a knight would have to make the journey from their home to the capital city Rainelight and present themselves to the Acorius House of Chivalry. If they could prove themselves worthy, they might be selected by a knight to be his squire until such a time they managed to impress the nobility. At the age of twenty-two, Roman set off on his own, on foot, armed with three sticks and an adventurer’s pack, determined to realize what he was certain to be his destiny.

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Read the full fic on Ao3

My curtains stay drawn at night when I sleep, so I usually wake up when the first rays of sunlight fall over my face. It's the perfect way to gently rouse myself from sleep and start the day off with a little bit of joy.

The first thing I do when I get out of bed is light the fire under the water basin and add in mung bean powder. I make sure it's filled up every night so that I don't have to bother with it in the morning. By the time I've managed to get out of my nightclothes, the water is usually warm enough to use.

Phoenix managed to get me a real, honest-to-goodness sea sponge from Effervescence, so that's what I use now. It's much softer and squishier than the loofahs they make out of gourds and my skin is really sensitive, so it's much better for me. He also got me a bar of castile soap, but since that's expensive I only use it twice a week.

After I'm done washing, the basin gets dumped out the window, but I'm not strong enough to do that, so it sits here until I'm done and someone else gets rid of it for me. I usually splash a bit of rose water on my skin, but hibiscus is in season right now, so I think I'm going to use that today. By the time I'm done with my hair, my skin is usually dry enough for me to put on my clothes.

I washed my hair a couple days ago and since I keep it really short, I don't have to wash it more than once a week. But, I do dampen it with some rain water I keep in a jar. Rain water is better for hair than the regular water around here. Phoenix says its because of minerals or something like that, but I like to think its because whatever god puts the clouds in the sky loves me.

Then, I use this special oil blend I put together. It's camellia, hibiscus, and bay leaf. I dip the comb in the oil and run it through my hair. It keeps it soft and shiny, but it doesn't have as intense of a scent as you would think. So, I use more floral water, usually the same one I put on my skin after cleaning up.

After that's done I have this beeswax balm. It's got aloe and apricot oil in it. I'm not sure why, I was just told that's best and I like it. I very gently rub that in to my arms and shoulders and my neck and face. That keeps my skin from getting damaged or blemished throughout the day and keeps me from drying out.

Then it's time for me to get dressed. Most people in this village have simple and practical clothing, but not me. My big brother always makes sure I have the best of everything and that includes clothes. Usually, I wear a dress, but I think today I'm going to wear my favorite jeogori top. It's an ivory colored cotton short-sleeve with a scattered rose pattern.

I'll throw on a high-waisted A-line skirt that's made with the same cloth over some plain white stockings. It's one of the more plain ones but it will look cute with the whole outfit. I usually prefer ones with layers of tulle over them or the silk ones with patterns, but not when I have a patterned top.

I'll layer that with my cerise underbust corset. I just switched out the laces on it. It came with ones that matched the coutille, but I thought the ivory color was better. The pink on pink just wasn't doing it for me.

Then I have a sash that goes right at the base of the corset. I prefer the bow to be at the side rather than the back, because I just think that's cute. I have a choker in the same fabric and color so I'll put that on. And now I have to figure out what shoes I'm going to wear.

I have silk slippers that match the corset I'm wearing, but I think I might want to go out on the docks later and these are definitely not for outside. I have these little ankle boots but there's so much white and ivory below the waist that adding to it just seems like a bad idea. So, I think I'll go with these adorable flats.

And after all that, I'm still not done, because now it's time to put on my face. Like most boys, I mixed my own foundation. I know most people just do beeswax and apricot oil for the base, but I switched out half the apricot for peach oil and the smell is absolutely divine. The pigments are a little complicated but I put in a little cinnabar to give me a rosier complexion.

I know you're supposed to match your skin tone pretty perfectly, but I already know I'm capable of doing it, so I'd rather just do whatever I want. I gently rub it into my face with my finger tips and then when there are no more streaks, I wipe my fingers off with a scrap of cloth and then go into my blush mix. It's red wine, madder root, and wax.

I put it high up on my cheekbones because it makes me look more cheerful and my brother looks plenty severe enough for the both of us. I have a similar color for the lip stain that I use and I do a pretty basic job with my brows, going over them with a bit of wax to make them lie flat and plucking out the hairs that I don't want to bother with.

I can't help but to reflect on my strange relationship with this book of stories. I was drawn to it first by the allure of the foreign cultures included. In what other way would one of my status manage to learn the intimate details of those mysterious places beyond our island, especially those nations which lie on the other side of the great scar. The very first story recorded in the book drew me in the same way a fish might be taken by a hook and line.

One might expect, then, that my favorite one of the lot would have been one of exotic origin; from the northern sky islands or the Trinity nations by the grey line. But, it was the story from my home that has planted strangling roots in my mind.

If one were to read back over my previous entries and count the times I made reference to The Prince of the White Mountain or her angel, I'm sure thought put to the other stories would amount to naught but the blood in a bird's foot.

It's strange to think that I had forgotten the story for some long time. Four years of my life, and certainly the darkest of them, had me set aside the story that had guided my life; had me set aside the idea that, though I had been born in a stream, I too could be a dragon.

Since I have escaped that birdcage, The White Mountain has taken purchase in my mind again. Moreso since I met my own angel. It keeps my head turned up to the stars when it ought to be on a pillow. It's difficult to understand why.

It doesn't tell me the things I want are within reach, because the story is led by someone who could never understand the obstacles I face. Many of the stories are told as though the world I want is already real.

They are made up of people who are just like me: Jupiter's shepherd and the thief on the floating island. I should like them more. If I stood beside them, we could be mistaken for brothers. If we spoke to one another we would agree on many things, chiefly that we only ever wanted to be recognized by what we could do and not how or to whom we were born.

Though, they are also not like me. Because they live in the world that I wish for, not in the one I am wishing from. I think, perhaps, the other stories in the book soothe my itching hands, but the White Mountain forces my eyes to be high. It's a challenge. And when I read about the prince it makes my stomach ache.

No one on this island would write a story about me. They would not read it either. I want them to look at me the way they would have looked at her. But, there is no story that can make that real. I could not write it into existence. I can't even imagine if it were.