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Chapter Text

Balls were something that were not customary of the Kremnoan royalty. Affections and pleasantries were spread through combat and contests, not dolling oneself up to stand at the side of a room, waiting to be plucked up by a possible suitor. But a prince was a prince, so Mydeimos had been forced to oblige in the stuffy ballroom, forced into a suit that felt far too tight, and forced to wander around aimlessly to try and avoid the gazes of the young maidens clamouring for his attention.

He had taken a small refuge, standing out on one of the many balconies, glancing at the darkening sky that erupted the twinkling lamps across the city that one day he would have to rule. His father was adamant in him finding a bride, a guarantee to carry on their bloodline. Mydeimos’ mother was more understanding, noticing the way that her son’s eyes were drawn to the retracting sweating muscles of the male form. Not that he had ever spoken of it, or confided anyone with it, Gorgo simply considered it a mother’s instinct.

Mydeimos had no interest in appeasing young women, his mind was on the goblet of pomegranate juice in his hand, silently wishing the night to pass him by like this. The cold air felt good compared to the scorching interior, lava pools and all. Mydeimos had been trained to withstand intense heats, but at least his usual attire left more space for him to breathe. He caught his reflection in one of the windows, taking in the pure white suit and the fur cape that hugged his form close. The fur had been taken from a victim of the prince’s hunts, a sign of his prowess and dominance on the battlefield. It was the one article of clothing that Mydeimos actually liked to wear.

But the sounds of voices soon reached his ears, pulling him away from his moment of peace. He groaned to himself, half debating how well he could jump from the balcony and not shatter his ankles. Much to his dismay however, the spikes and spires on top of the castle’s many roofs would make his endeavour more trouble than it was probably worth. So, instead, he stood there, waiting for his demise while trying to make up an excuse of an early night to retire to his bedroom. He had always considered that small talk would be the death of him anyway.

“Mydeimos. There you are.” Eurypon sighed in exasperation at the sight of his son, clearly avoiding him.

“Father.” Mydei muttered in response, his head declining slightly in the smallest bow he could muster.

“Come back inside at once. We’ve lined up some marvelous choices for you. You will at least dance with them.” His father gave him a disapproving frown. Mydeimos had half the thought to make a snide retort about the way Eurypon had met Gorgo, how their love had sprouted on the fields of war despite their differing backgrounds.

The words died on his tongue however and he followed his father back indoors, grimacing as he immediately felt all of the eyes on him, especially from a small group of ladies who had clearly been in the middle of a heated discussion about the prince’s hand.

Mydeimos sighed to himself as the first lady was led over to him, begrudgingly offering his hand. At the very least, Kremnoan women were the closest a woman could get to his type. They were headstrong, determined, skilled warriors and combatants, and they disliked small talk as much as he did.

There was a mutual respect in that regard at least as Mydeimos prepared himself to dance with the first woman. They did not speak, much to his relief. However, he realised after a while as he danced with each woman his father had deemed worthwhile, this was a competition, between the ladies at least, and he was the grand prize.

At the very least. He quite enjoyed dancing.

Phainon of Aedes Elysiae was a humble man in most regards. He was a renowned fighter, known for his mastery of the sword. A small village boy who had risen to the heights of the greats, with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Even so, he went about his life with a carefree smile.

He wasn’t exactly noble, he was somewhere in the middle he supposed. After a terrible accident that had befallen his home he had been left as an orphan, navigating the world on his own. Along the way he had been picked up by a fairly affluent family who had trained him in the art of sword fighting, they fed him, clothed him, and treated him as one of their own. He had always been grateful for that.

What was most unexpected though was when he had received an invitation from the famed Castrum Kremnos, a kingdom known for its dominating war presence. The Kremnoans didn’t exactly have a good reputation, their names often whispered in fear and their footsteps often followed by blood. But aside from that, Phainon did know much of the nation. He knew there was a king, a queen, a prince, and that was about it.

His adoptive mother had gasped in shock at the sight of the letter and had immediately taken Phainon around their resident city of Okhema to give him an entirely new wardrobe. But Phainon was still baffled about the nature of this invitation. After all he had never spoken to a Kremnoan, not that he knew of anyway, and he had never fought against them either. So how would the royal family of Castrum Kremnos know who he was?

Perhaps attending this ball would offer him some answers. Or perhaps it was a deadly trap.

Phainon always did like a surprise though.

So here he was. Walking through the halls of the royal fortress. He was at least thankful that his mother had not gone overboard with his outfit. He didn’t often wear black but he was thankful for once to not stand out. His suit had accents of armor, a sheathed sword at his side. A necklace with a small sun sat around his neck, and his tie was a dark blue to bring out his eyes. He had even done his hair which was a rarity in his daily life. Not to sound too full of himself but, well, he looked good.

The invitation letter was still tucked in his pocket in case anyone doubted his presence here. But the name of Phainon of Aedes Elysiae was more well-known than he had first thought, especially when people looked at him and started whispering in curiosity. Phainon felt the awkwardness creeping up his neck, ah he really wasn’t used to this attention. But his carefree smile remained, nodding his head and greeting everyone that looked at him politely.

Two guards opened the doors to the main ballroom, Phainon’s eyes widening immediately at the grand splendor of the venue. He also felt more thankful for his mother’s choice in outfits, noticing that the nobility of Castrum Kremnos had also vied for similar looks, armor adorning their formal wear, mixing war and pleasure into one style.

What Phainon didn’t expect was that, in the center of the ballroom, a man in a pure white suit was holding back an attack from a young woman in a striking red dress.

Mydeimos continued to dance, this must have been the fifth woman now. She threw her punches with skill, but her movements were too slow, the prince effortlessly dodging them with a calculated look on his face. Her actions were too predictable and Mydeimos easily countered her attack, spinning her around to pin her hands behind her back. He looked to his father, Eurypon sitting on his throne with an unsatisfied expression.

“Next.” He said, his voice laced with boredom. The next lady, a woman that had neglected a dress for her own set of armor, walked to the center of the room, a sword in her hands. Mydeimos watched her carefully, bowing his head politely to signal the start of the duel, and their dance began.

Phainon watched with an incredulous expression as Mydeimos blocked her sword with his arms, the blade cutting through the sleeve of his suit. His dumbfounded look must have been quite obvious as an inquisitive man walked over to him.

“Is everything okay sir?” He asked politely, Phainon quickly shaking his disbelief away.

“Yes! My apologies but-” Phainon shot another glance at the scene before him. “What is going on over there?”

The man tilted his head and chuckled. “Why, they are dancing sir.” He said with a smile, his words somehow confusing Phainon even more.

“Dancing?! That is not dancing.” Phainon whispered as Mydeimos used his hands that grabbed on the blade to snap the sword in two, the woman frowning and aiming a precise kick that knocked him stumbling backwards.

The man smiled. “Ah, I imagine you’re not from here.” He chuckled. “That over there is Prince Mydeimos, his father, King Eurypon, is very determined to find him a bride.” He hummed with a smile. “So, all of the brightest warriors in the kingdom have gathered together to try and prove themselves strong enough for his affection.”

Phainon had decided whatever preconceived notions that he had about the Kremnoans might as well have been thrown out the window as he watched this ‘dance’ happen. The guests of the ball were all crowded around, whispering to each other as Mydeimos got back to his feet.

“You have power.” He said to the woman, nodding in acknowledgement. His expression gave nothing away, but it must have been a sign of great respect at the way the woman’s face turned a light pink.

“Your highn-”

She was instantly cut off as Mydeimos used that moment to kick from under her feet, sweeping her to the floor. He allowed himself a small grin then.

“You got distracted.” He said, his tone almost teasing. He looked to his father then, analysing his expression, still unsatisfied.

Sighing to himself, Mydeimos helped the lady up, bowing to her. “You fought well.” He said politely. “So far you were the closest to beating me.” He said with a small smile that elicited a blush in at least eighty percent of the room, and Phainon had to admit, even from his spot near the back of the room, he had felt a small hint of pink creeping up on him too.

King Eurypon folded his arms and beckoned for Mydeimos to come closer to him. After a short conversation lacking in any clear pleasantries Mydeimos glanced at the sleeve of his suit jacket that was now in shreds, blood seeping from a small cut. For a short moment Phainon could see the signs of bright red tattoos on the prince’s skin before he gave a curt nod to his father, disappearing from the room.

The small group of ladies soon dispersed but Phainon caught himself walking over to the woman in the armor. “Ma’am! If I could have a moment of your time!”

The woman glanced up at him, face polite but clearly masking over her disappointment. Her eyes widened in recognition at the sight of him.

“You. You’re Lord Phainon.” She whispered. “What do you need?” She asked then and Phainon smiled.

“That I am, but please, tell me your name first.”

The woman looked a little surprised but nodded “Chironome.” She replied, her lips curling into a smile.

Phainon nodded. “Chironome.” He hummed in reply and looked to her. “My apologies but I just have to ask. What was all that about just now?” He asked.

Chironome chuckled. “You mean with His Highness?” She asked and looked at the shattered sword in her hand. “Well, we were dancing. I thought I had the better of him for a moment, but alas, perhaps if I am given a second chance to prove my worth to the King…” She muttered and sighed. “They are looking for a princess. I imagine in most other kingdoms this would be done over chatter and frilly dresses but as you may have gathered, Castrum Kremnos does things rather differently.”

“I must admit I did not know much of your culture.” Phainon’s eyes were full of interest as he spoke. “The Prince seems like a mighty warrior indeed.” He had only ever heard small rumors about Prince Mydeimos of Castrum Kremnos. He was quiet, not good at speaking his mind, and had killed thousands of beasts and men alike. The earth quaked at his feet and he was willing to do anything for victory. The stories had painted him as more monster than man, a ready intent to kill and an immortal body that prevented him from being killed. Phainon found it rather difficult to believe, if anything the man had seemed rather polite, respectful too, at least between the ‘dances’ that Phainon had watched.

Chrionome offered him a goblet of pomegranate juice that Phainon quickly took, not realising how warm it was in the room before taking sight of the small pools of lava that decorated the interior. He quickly made a mental joke to not drink too much, lest he meet an early end to his own heroic tale.

“Well, thank you Chironome. I’m still trying to figure out why I was invited here personally.” He said with a sheepish grin. Looking around, the room was clearly full of Kremnoans, and if Phainon were not wearing his current garb, he would have stood out far too much for his liking. The Kremnoans weren’t exactly known for their hospitality to outsiders, especially since Phainon was a resident of Okhema. But Phainon was determined to not let these thoughts cloud his judgement of the people here.

“You are a very renowned warrior. I remember reading an article that detailed the sword techniques of the man that helped to bring down a Titan.” Chironome said quickly and added not long after. “It was a source of inspiration for my own technique.”

Phainon blinked at that and rubbed the back of his neck. Ah right, slaying the Titan. Of course word had gotten around about that. But enough to garner the notice of the Kremnoan royal family? Phainon still found that hard to believe.

His pondering was soon interrupted as the doors opened once more, Prince Mydeimos returning to the room in a change of clothes. He still wore his cape around his shoulders, but his pure white suit had been swapped to a robe colored in golds and dark reds, styled into the illusion of formalwear. A servant quickly hurried over to give Mydeimos his goblet back, the prince taking it with a small word of thanks as he surveyed the room with a golden gaze.

For a split second his eyes met Phainon’s, an eyebrow raising in curiosity. But the look was gone as soon as it came and he walked away from the crowd to stand beside a younger man with long dark hair. They whispered to each other for a short moment, Mydeimos nodding his head to whatever it was they were whispering about, and then they both left, slipping through the crowd before the King would notice.

Phainon’s curiosity was burning inside of him, and he knew that following the Crown Prince of an enemy nation to eavesdrop on him was probably the worst thing he could possibly do. However, impulsion compelled him. He bid a polite goodbye to Chironome before he was off, weaving through the crowds to walk down the hallway that the prince had taken.

He didn’t get very far however, as a flash of muscle pushed against his chest and had him pinned against the wall, golden eyes almost glowing in the encroaching darkness.

“Why are you following me?” Mydeimos asked, Phainon’s eyes shocked at the sudden movement.

“My apologies, Your Highness, I was simply trying to find the restroom.” Phainon offered the best excuse he could muster under short notice, Mydeimos’ nostrils flaring in indignation.

“I don’t recognise you.” Mydeimos said with a frown. “Let me guess, an assassin sent from Okhema? Here to slit my throat before I can ascend the throne?” His gaze was piercing, flammable, like two miniature suns searing themselves into Phainon’s flesh.

“No no! Not at all!” Phainon said quickly and reached for the letter, but the movement of his hand to his pocket only goaded Mydeimos more, the prince glaring at him as he reached to Phainon’s pocket himself, pulling out the letter.

He scanned through the words, clearly trying to find any hidden messages or commands in the invitation, or any form of forgery. But no, that was his father’s seal, as clear as day. His eyes narrowed.

“Phainon of Aedes Elysiae.” He read out, backing away from him to allow Phainon to recover his bearings.

“Guilty as charged.” He gasped with an exasperated sigh, immediately catching the wrong choice of words as Mydeimos looked ready to strike again. “I mean! Yes that’s me!” He amended himself quickly and Mydeimos folded his arms, handing the letter back to him.

“The Titan Killer. I’ve heard about you.” Mydeimos looked Phainon up and down, his face contorted permanently into that displeased frown. Phainon couldn’t help but blush a little under his scrutiny.

“My apologies if I frightened you.”

“There is no word for fear in the Kremnoan language.”

Phainon tilted his head. “My apologies again then.” He offered, running through everything he could say to put himself back in the prince’s neutral graces.

Mydeimos sighed. “You must be a fool to think that you can approach me like this.” He shook his head. “And yet you seem painfully sincere.”

“Is that a good thing?” Phainon hummed, pushing his luck a little.

“Doubtful.” Mydeimos grunted. “But I can tell you’re a bad liar. So, you don’t pose a threat.”

Phainon sighed in relief and gave Mydeimos his signature soft grin. “I’ll leave you now, I’m sure you wish for some time alone, it must be absolutely suffocating to be in there being who you are.”

Mydeimos nodded slightly, his gaze not lessening in intensity and suspicion.

“Hmph.” Was the only reply he got, but it was better than nothing he supposed.

Mydeimos stayed where he stood, leaned with his back against the wall. The moon had slowly started to rise by this point, illuminating the hallway in its milky glow. The light framed him even more in the darkness, the suns of his eyes becoming even more prominent.

Phainon felt that cursed blush returning. “Farewell then Your Highness. Take care.” Phainon said and quickly turned on his heel to escape back to the ballroom that had suddenly turned into a sanctuary from the tension that radiated from the prince.

Phainon dusted himself off, breathing out a small sigh as he finished his pomegranate juice in one swig, watching the ballroom as the festivities changed to dancing as Phainon knew it. The sound of lively music filled the air, mixed with chants and cheers as the Kremnoans celebrated with each other.

The young hero’s smile soon returned as he watched from the sidelines, finding himself chatting to various fighters about his stories and techniques. Some even asked about what it was like in Okhema, which had shocked Phainon. He regaled them in tales of his home, the city, the true home he longed for still residing in the back of his mind. That he would not speak of though, not to people he hardly knew. Everything else was fair game though, the Kremnoans drinking up his words as much as they drank through the reserves of the royal pantry.

By the end of the night Phainon felt his exhaustion take hold as he bid farewell. But before he had the chance to leave he was stopped in his tracks by Queen Gorgo herself, her expression gentle as she looked at the man.

“Sir Phainon. I am glad that you made it.” She greeted, her voice loud but not too rowdy from the events of the night.

“Ah, thank you, Your Majesty! May I assume the invitation was from you?” He asked, looking at the, now crumpled, letter in his hand.

“It was.” She chuckled. “I have heard the tales of your bravery, I wished to see what the warriors from outside the Castrum were like. They seemed to like you, the people.” She said, looking relieved at the success of her plan.

“Of course! I have heard many things about the Kremnoans but I never would have expected all of this.” Phainon smiled, replaying the events of the night in his mind. There was just one small bump in the road, the matter about Mydeimos.

Gorgo noticed that instantly. “I was hoping that you would have a chance to bond with my son. He needs more friends.” She admitted, looking at the door that Mydeimos had disappeared from. “He’s not exactly accustomed to these kinds of gatherings, he spends most of his time away if he can. It displeases Eurypon but I at least would not force him to keep up with these theatrics.” She spoke candidly, her voice warm and fond as she spoke of her son.

“I thought perhaps if I invited a man his age with a similar background in battle, that he would find something to talk about. But I may have overestimated his longing for small talk.” She chuckled and shook her head.

“But thank you, Phainon. It was an honor to meet you. I will keep you in mind. A way to bring Castrum Kremnos and Okhema together, I am hoping that I can find an answer before Mydeimos ascends the throne.”

Phainon bowed politely to her. “I am sure that you will.” He said gently. “Peace is rare these days, but I fear we need it now more than ever.” He assured her. “Have a good night Your Majesty, and please pass Prince Mydeimos my regards.”

Gorgo nodded and bowed her head politely in return before returning to the hustle and bustle of the ball.

Phainon smiled to himself as he left the fortress, walking down the streets until he found himself at a small inn, it would be too late to make the trip back to Okhema now after all.

The room wasn’t at all impressive but Phainon hardly cared as he stripped out of his formalwear, settling down in the bed. A friend to the prince huh? With the way things had been in their first encounter Phainon found the notion ridiculous. He was to blame for that he would admit, even the notion of being able to speak to the members of the royal family was crazy enough to his mind as he laid down, staring at the ceiling.

Phainon had fought monsters that most people wouldn’t even be able to conjure up in their nightmares. He had battled an infamous Titan, returning to be able to tell the tale. But this? Becoming friends with Prince Mydeimos? That was somehow even more unbelievable.

Chapter Text

The morning rose over Castrum Kremnos, clouds obscuring the sun from view. Mydeimos laid on his back, a scowl on his face as soon as he had woken up.

Thankfully his morning routine kept his mind off of things, he rose to bathe, brushing through the tangle of his hair. His usual armor sat ready for him as he discarded the formal attire from the night before into his battle garb, he always felt more comfortable that way. Gazing at himself in the mirror he seemed satisfied enough, after all he was due for training within the hour, he’d be enough of a mess after that anyway.

Pancakes topped with fruit awaited him as usual, the servants giving the prince gentle smiles and kind words as he ate through the plate, invigorating himself for the day ahead. He ignored the bags around his eyes, his mind was clear, he was sure of that.

Anything to stop thinking about the conversation that he’d had with his father before retiring to bed.

Heated words had turned to hushed arguments so as not to alert the guests in the fortress. Mydeimos could not understand it, he had danced with the women had he not? But his father’s dissatisfaction had irritated him, Mydeimos’ lack of interest in his future prospects having irritated his elder in return. It baffled him, after all, the traditions of Castrum Kremnos did not place bloodlines and marriage in high regard. The throne was claimed through battle and patricide, not through mind games and political flirting.

Mydeimos rolled his eyes at the thought, he would never understand his father.

The pancakes provided a small measure of peace to his mind however, muttering his thanks to the servers and to pass on his regards to the kitchen staff as always. They could serve the prince charred coals and he would thank them regardless. Though at times he would enter the kitchen alongside them, aiding them in their work for the sheer joy of it.

Alas, there was no time today, Mydeimos had already had enough conflict to last him for a week. He didn’t need Krateros hounding him either.

The training area beckoned the prince forth as he walked past the groups of soldiers and warriors honing their skills. Krateros stood in the corner, looking focused as he practiced a precise strike on a training dummy.

“Teacher.” Mydeimos greeted politely, pretending not to notice the way Krateros stumbled in surprise at the sudden interruption.

“Ah, Your Highness-” Krateros said quickly, turning around to face him. He scanned his face, raising an eyebrow at the dark circles under his eyes. “You look tired.”

Mydeimos huffed. “I’m not, I’m ready to train.” He said simply, not bothering to pick up a sword. He clenched his gauntlets, ripping a hole through the training dummy with his hands.

“Of course.” Krateros replied, knowing better than to question him at that moment. He had heard whispers from the guards about the exchange between the prince and the king, but of course he was not looking to end up like the broken training dummy now lying at Mydeimos’ feet.

“Mydeimos!” An all too familiar voice yelled out and Mydeimos felt all the tension leave his body as he turned around to look at Hephaestion bounding over to the pair.

“Good morning! I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” Hephaestion panted softly, taking a moment to catch his breath. Mydeimos blinked and quickly walked over to offer him an arm to lean on.

“Don’t push yourself.” He urged with a sigh. “What’s the matter?” It must have some level of urgency if Hephaestion was the one delivering the message and not Leonnius.

“I’ve heard… Rumors.” Hephaestion frowned. “Your mother. Apparently you are being appointed a… Bodyguard.” He said between deep breaths.

What?!

She couldn’t be serious.

He was one of the most formidable warriors of Castrum Kremnos. Why out of everyone would he need to have a bodyguard?

Mydeimos tapped his foot in irritation but helped Hephaestion to sit down, calling for somebody to bring him a pitcher of water. Krateros watched the pair and shook his head.

“I have heard the same rumors.” He admitted. “But I heard them slightly differently. Something about a… Cultural exchange?”

That somehow confused Mydeimos more. “Has she lost her mind? This is Castrum Kremnos? Why on earth would we need bodyguards? Or contact in a ‘cultural exchange’?”

Krateros sighed and a servant quickly ran over with some water which Mydeimos gave to Hephaestion. “This is ridiculous…” He muttered to himself.

“They are only rumors.” Hephaestion urged after finishing his share of water, looking more refreshed. “I’m sure the truth to it makes more sense. After all you’re right, the notion that you would need someone to protect you is almost absurd…”

“Not only that, such rumors would put doubts into the nature of the Prince’s strength.” Krateros agreed.

Mydeimos only seemed to frown more as he listened to the both of them speak. “I will consult my mother about this.”

“Later. Despite your strength your training is still important Mydeimos, especially if these rumors prove fruitful.” Krateros urged and Mydeimos felt that tension return to his body, just as it had been when his father had confronted him the night before.

But, he supposed, tearing apart some training dummies would prove to be a decent stress reliever, but Mydeimos thought to himself that a hunting trip would be in good need after this whole ordeal was over.

“Let me spar with you.” Hephaestion spoke up then, getting to his feet.

Mydeimos blinked and nodded slightly. “Of course.” He replied, the edge in his voice fading away at the presence of his closest friend. That must have been obvious to Hephaestion too as his face inflicted with concern turned to a gentle smile.

Krateros nodded to the both of them. “Very well. I’ll supervise the sparring then.”

Mydeimos nodded and got prepared, letting any worries disappear from his mind as he prepared his fists for Hephaestion’s onslaught, allowing himself to only feel the thrill of battle.

The sun had slowly poked out from behind the clouds by the time Mydeimos walked through the fortress to where he knew his mother would be at this hour. She was partaking in her own food, the spread of lunch in front of her inviting to the eye. But Mydeimos quickly brushed the thought of eating away as he walked over to the table.

“Mother.” He said in greeting, but also as a very clear ‘we need to talk.’

“Mydeimos.” She hummed in return and gestured to the chair next to her. “Sit.” Gorgo smiled but she already knew why her son had decided to seek her out.

“You are here about the rumors I presume. I imagine they have reached your ears by now.”

“I don’t understand.” Mydeimos started with his signature frown. “I am not in need of any guarding.”

“Of course, I am not doubting your strength or skill.” Gorgo quickly replied, not wanting him to feel offense to her decision. “I simply think this would be good for you.”

Mydeimos cocked his eyebrow in a mixture of curiosity and annoyance.

“Bodyguard is not the right word anyway. He would not be guarding you. But I think you could learn a lot from him.” She offered as an explanation. “It is a… Peacekeeping opportunity. Tensions with Okhema have been high as of late, and… I do not wish for this mess to be on your shoulders once you ascend the throne. Neither do I want us to be plunged into another war. Perhaps it sounds wrong for me of all people to be saying this but… Surely you understand what I mean.”

Mydeimos was silent as he listened. Yes, he did agree. While Castrum Kremnos was a nation of war and military might, he had never wanted to be in charge of a pointless war over something as trivial as national politics. Peace was always an option, and Mydeimos had always planned to be a peaceful king. Violence was never the only path outside of a conflict, despite how simple and easy it was. But Mydeimos was not as battle crazy as the tales made him out to be, he believed that violence was most necessary when it was used to protect the lives of the innocent, not out of a sadistic glee of killing your enemy. He had always agreed with his mother about this.

Perhaps she did have a point.

“So what? You have invited an Okheman here to… Guide me?”

“Not guide no, I simply think he could offer you a fresh perspective. You are in dire need of more friends Mydeimos, a king has to be worldly in some shape or form.”

Mydeimos tapped his foot against the floor, the rhythm calming him as he mulled over her words.

“You are throwing a lamb to a pack of wolves. The Kremnoans will not accept an Okheman, especially not close to their royal line.” Mydeimos decided in the end, no matter how strong this supposed Okheman ‘guard’ was, he would be powerless against a horde of angry Kremnoans who refused to see outsiders in their good graces.

He knew it was the same in return however, he had heard stories of Kremnoans in Okhema, the way they were shunned and looked at with scorn. This was precisely why his mother was suggesting this idea, and she must trust Mydeimos to, if anything, be the one to protect this Okheman.

An envoy then.

“Does father know of this plan?” He asked then, addressing the proverbial dromas in the room with them.

“... Somewhat. He does not know the full truth of my intentions. I’m sure he would argue against trying to foster any peace.”

“Let me rephrase then. You’re throwing the lamb to the lions. Father would tear that man to shreds as soon as he stepped foot in the fortress.” Mydeimos already knew how that conversation would go, almost shuddering at the thought. Though Eurypon always was susceptible to Gorgo’s words, perhaps she could speak some sense into him. Perhaps.

“Are you sure about this?” Mydeimos’ voice was quieter, his thoughts running circles around his head.

“Truth be told, I am not. But he seemed rather amenable to the idea. I am sure he knew the risks too when deciding to take this on board. But of course, if you do not wish it then I will drop the subject and make sure these rumors are dispelled.”

Mydeimos looked lost in his head then, considering the overwhelming options of possibilities.

“Who is this man that you speak so highly of then? I wish to know before I make a decision.”

Gorgo chuckled softly at that, lowering her glass of juice. She rested her chin on her hands as she looked to her son. “I am sure you have heard of him before, in fact he was here yesterday.”

“Sir Phainon of Aedes Elysiae.”

Mydeimos was thankful that he had not deigned to help himself to a plate of food, because if he had, he surely would have choked on it at that very moment.

Huh?!

The morning after the ball Phainon had been of a mind to return home as swiftly as possible. He had gotten changed into the simple travel clothes he had made sure to bring him with him for the journey back and had gathered his limited belongings into a small bag. The door of the inn had swung open for him to make his grand exit when a soldier carrying a letter had miraculously appeared at that very moment. His eyes had widened in surprise underneath his helmet, recognising Phainon’s face instantly as he held the letter out to him, the same royal seal placed on the paper, just like the invitation to the ball.

Phainon’s eyes had narrowed instantly but he had quickly opened the letter, scanning the contents to see if he was being arrested, banished, or executed for his conduct.

What he hadn’t expected was an offer of… Employment?

A companion to the prince… So the queen hadn’t been off her rocker the night before, or perhaps she still was. It was absurd, surely. The prince had made it quite clear that he wanted nothing to do with Phainon in their limited interaction in that dark hallway.

A bargaining chip for peace. Phainon felt himself chewing on his bottom lip at the thought, a bad habit he had tried to stop himself from doing. He was being asked to offer himself up as some manner of pawn in whatever this plan was to bring the two nations together, not in war but in harmony. Even the thought of it was ridiculous.

The thing about Phainon though, something he could at least accredit himself to. He was nothing if not painfully optimistic.

His messenger still stood next to him, clearly expecting an answer to bring back to the queen.

“I… Will return home.” Phainon said then, calm and deliberate in his words. “If His Highness wishes to agree to this deal then consider me on board. But I will need to inform my family of this turn of events and seek their approval of course.” Phainon nodded to himself, yes that sounded right.

“Yes. If Mydeimos agrees with his mother’s terms, then I will return as swiftly as time will allow.” He said aloud again, as if to convince himself that this was what he wanted to do.

An optimist.

Castrum Kremnos would surely eat him alive.

Chapter Text

Begrudgingly Mydeimos had accepted his mother’s proposal about the esteemed Phainon of Aedes Elysiae. She had seemed very fond of the idea and well, Mydeimos was known as quite the mother’s boy. Not that it was a difficult choice between the mother who loved him and the father that tolerated him as some manner of tool. Mydeimos had always been at his mother’s whim, and he for sure trusted her opinion more than anybody else's.

So here he was, stood in front of the fortress, guards littering the grand stairs that led up to the structure. The guards were albeit useless, and so was the man that was coming to ‘aid’ the prince in the buildup to his ascension to the throne. A peace offering… How absurd. Mydeimos was certain that peace between Castrum Kremnos and Okhema was nothing more than a distant dream. But he was determined to make it work, for his mother at the very least. There was no war he could not fight on his own, but peace did sound better than tearing through hundreds of thousands of enemy soldiers.

So here he stood, waiting for this well-renowned hero. Who was late?

Mydeimos was the picture of stoicism as he stood at the top of the stairs, but even he could feel a slight sense of irritation becoming him.

Around a table the night before Mydeimos had sat amongst his closest friends, having regaled the situation to them with a mixture of annoyance and exasperation.

“Well dear Mydeimos I must admit your mother is right. You need to talk to people more! You only have the five of us around the majority of the time. Who knows, perhaps adding a sixth would make for some more thrilling company.” Hephaestion had laughed, clapping a hand against the prince’s back as he drank his pomegranate juice.

“I personally can’t help but be concerned about this whole ordeal… Fostering peace is of course a grand undertaking but, would this truly help move relations forward?” Ptolmey had leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand as he turned to look at Mydeimos, twirling a piece of game between his fingers.

“If you think about it though. We have the future of the crown right here with us tonight! And that Phainon is very popular back in Okhema, he’s one of their greatest heroes and warriors! Surely if those two hit it off then it would dispel some of those awful rumors that we have against each other.” Leonnius pointed out, folding his arms. He was the most experienced out of the group of them with tales about Okhema, clearly privy to the harsh rumors about the Kremnoans.

“It’s better than simply sitting around waiting for the next war to break out.” Perdikkas hummed. “Not that I mind a good war, as we all do. But perhaps we could witness a historic change to the future of our nation happening right before our very eyes with our dear king in the making.”

Ptolmey had nodded to that, biting into his food with a thoughtful expression.

“And what are your thoughts Peucesta?”

That had gotten the attention of the last man who had remained silent, watching the discussion move back and forth with a calculating gaze. He tapped his fingers on the wooden table in a short rhythm as he contemplated his answer.

“Whatever the prince deems the right choice, I will follow him.” Peucesta decided before becoming invested in his food again, Hephaestion chuckling at the sight.

“Aye, I believe we can all agree on that.” His voice was chipper, laced with the slight scent of alcohol as he turned to look back at Mydeimos, the prince’s gaze lost in thought as he stared into his goblet of juice.

Hephaestion’s smile faded a little at that, his hand rubbing Mydeimos’ back in short movements.

“Do not fear my prince. No matter what, the five of us will stay by you throughout this whole ordeal. Whatever you say goes. Even if you wish for us to kill the gentleman.” It was a joke, albeit one in rather bad taste but the sentiment made Mydeimos snort, looking up from his drink.

“I will keep that in mind then.” He looked around the table at the friends that he held so close, his heart feeling at peace for a short moment. These were the times when he felt happiest, not that he would say it out loud of course. But the small group of men knew each other well enough to know how he felt.

“I do wonder how similar he is to the tales. Killing the Titan is no short feat after all.” Leonnius hummed, swishing the liquid in his own goblet.

“Doesn’t matter. I could have done it.” Mydeimos huffed which elicited laughter from around the table.

“Well of course you could! No one’s denying that.” Perdikkas chimed up. “Though I wouldn’t want to be the one tending to those wounds after the fact. Let’s be grateful he got to it first.”

“I would be interested in asking him about his techniques.” Ptolmey’s eyes lit up in excitement. “Of course there’s hardly anything written about the Okhemans in the grand library… Perhaps I could write something myself from his accounts.”

“Well if you do I’d keep that on the down-low. I’m sure His Majesty wouldn’t appreciate it.” Leonnius replied and that set Mydeimos’ thoughts back to his father, tapping against the table in time with Peucesta’s rhythm.

“That is the only troubling thing… My father…” Mydeimos grunted and all the attention turned back to him, faces contorting to concern and sympathy.

“Do not worry Mydeimos, with your mother vouching for the idea I am sure he would at least allow it. But I’m sure she wouldn’t tell him the full truth of the plan.” Hephaestion offered, putting a hand over Mydeimos’ to stop his tapping.

“Besides, if all the stories are true then that Okheman can definitely handle his own around here. No one would dare touch him in your company too.” Leonnius’ smile was warm and gentle as he looked to the prince.

“I suppose so…” Mydeimos muttered, swinging back his goblet and letting the juice into his system.

“There’s nothing to do now other than wait. I can only imagine he’ll quit and go running back home within the first week.”

Perdikkas barked out a laugh then. “Shall we make bets then Your Highness?”

That could at least improve his mood, Mydeimos thought as he nodded. “Very well.”

“He’s late.” Mydeimos muttered to himself, the guards around him awkwardly shuffling at their posts.

Despite his outwardly bad temper, Mydeimos was, in fact, not a man easily scorned. But his limited interactions with this Phainon had already proved to him that this was, in fact, a man that easily irritated him. He lacked decorum for one thing, a possible lack of common sense was the other thing. Too nosy for his own good, and wide innocent eyes that he thought he could get away with everything with. That was Mydeimos’ first impression of him anyway, and it had not left him impressed by the Titan Killer.

Combat prowess? Sure, he could agree that he was far more than capable. However, the very foundation of this deal was the fact that they would be making peace, not war. So, Mydeimos would have to deal with Phainon as the person, not the warrior. And that might just be the most difficult thing about this arrangement to him.

As if on queue as the magnet of Mydeimos’ disdain, Phainon arrived. The line of guards started to part ways for him as the incredulous looking Phainon walked up the long stairs to the entrance to the royal fortress. Mydeimos’ eyes twitched at how carefree he seemed, but kept his stoic, serious, and most of all princely expression as the other man finished his climb right in front of him.

“Prince Mydeimos.” Phainon practically beamed, the sun’s rays bouncing off his pale skin and bright white hair, he may as well have been glowing.

How irritating.

“Lord Phainon of Aedes Elysiae.” Mydeimos greeted in reply, the two lowering their heads in a bow as a sign of respect for the other. On the upper steps Mydeimos’ bow set his eyesight on the top of Phainon’s head, noticing the small tuft of hair that sprung up on its own like the sprouts that could be found in the soil of the royal gardens. A slight smirk of amusement flashed across his face but disappeared as soon as he raised his head, golden eyes clashing with bright blue.

“Welcome, formally, to Castrum Kremnos.” Mydeimos’ voice did not waver as he spoke, loud and booming for everyone to hear but not so much that he was shouting in the poor Okheman’s face.

“Thank you, Your Highness. I look forward to attending you.” Phainon’s eyes were practically sparkling with amusement as he watched the prince. Mydeimos almost wanted to grumble at him to assure him that he knew that he wasn’t going to be his attendant or servant or anything of the matter. But he knew that Phainon already knew that and was just playing it up for the crowd.

A people-pleaser. Of course he was.

Of course the people of Castrum Kremnos would assume that Phainon was some manner of servant to the prince, to proclaim Mydeimos’ strength and prove himself as better as Okheman’s mightiest warrior. Mydeimos hoped that Phainon would prove them wrong, not out of betterment for the other man, but just knowing that narrative would only prove to annoy himself more. He could almost picture his friends parroting that nonsense as a way to tease him.

But as much as he wished to, Mydeimos did not roll his eyes. He simply stepped to the aside to allow Phainon to walk up the last of the stairs. Phainon cocked an eyebrow at the motion.

“Should I not be the one following your back, Your Highness?” That voice. Mydeimos no longer needed to pretend his friends were laughing at him, because this cursed man already was. His voice was practically dripping with humor at his situation, perhaps he truly was an idiot.

“Very well.” Mydeimos sighed and walked up the rest of the stairs to the main door of the fortress, Phainon watching with interest as all the bolts and chains became undone for the door to open. The mechanisms clearly interested him, Mydeimos putting that on the list of possible things to talk about when the silence became unbearable.

However, for now, the silence was more than welcome as Mydeimos led Phainon inside, a small group of guards quickly following them in case Phainon suddenly changed his mind and stabbed the prince in the back right there and then.

Yet, Phainon was no better than an excited tourist as he gazed around in awe.

Mydeimos sighed. “This way.” He said simply and walked towards his quarters. Phainon had been allocated one of the very simple guest bedrooms for the guests of the prince. These rooms were usually only inhabited by Mydeimos’ friends, or the very rare time that he had a diplomatic meeting. Usually those kinds of events were restricted for his parents only.

Phainon was clearly imagining what kind of royal room he would be inhabiting in his time here. Mydeimos was starting to think that was the only reason that Phainon had agreed to this deal. Especially when he saw the way Phainon’s face fell when he saw the reality of his lodgings. Mydeimos rolled his eyes, the bedroom was still large. It had a four poster bed, a vanity, more than enough space for his clothes and belongings, and a window that beheld the view to the wider city. All in all it was a rather spectacular room, it was Ptolmey’s favourite in fact.

“No golden ornaments or crystal chandeliers?” Phainon joked as he lowered his first and only bag onto the floor by the bed.

“So you could steal a few souvenirs?” Mydeimos asked, eyebrow raised and arms crossed as he leaned against the doorframe.

Phainon blinked. “Of course not!” He quickly replied and chuckled. “Why are you always convinced I’m around you to perform some manner of crime, Your Highness? After all, I am here to look after you.”

“You’re not here to look after me.” Mydeimos’ brows knitted together into a frown. “You are here as a… Companion. As my mother phrased it. In reality you’re a bargaining chip for peace. That’s the only reason the Council of Elders in your city agreed to this exchange. You are not a servant, do not make it sound like you’re some kind of prisoner of war taken here to serve me.” Mydeimos shook his head.

“Mmmmm so what will we do then to garner peace Your Highness?”

“I don’t know.” Mydeimos breathed out another sigh, tapping his foot in the same rhythm Peucesta had introduced to him the night before. “I suppose it is my job to teach you about Castrum Kremnos, prove to you, and through you the Okhemans, the truth about our nation, to dispel all those rumors of us. At least that is what my mother told me to do for now…”

“Oh? And where is the Queen? I would love to speak to her again now that I’ve arrived!” The more Mydeimos looked at Phainon, the more he likened him to some manner of small puppy, or the chimeras that he had heard about in the Holy City.

He had always been more of a cat person.

“She’s busy at the moment. I’m sure she’ll want to talk to you later. I’ll make sure I’m out of earshot… I know the two of you would probably talk for hours with no end.”

Phainon laughed at that, a loud hearty sound that startled a bird that was sitting on the windowsill.

“Oh you already know me so well Your Highness!” Phainon’s voice was practically a coo, his eyes creasing with his smile.

“I fear that you’re just predictable.” Mydeimos sighed. “But if we are to do this then you will have to refer to me as my name.”

“Hmmm? Would that not be disrespectful to you?”

“We’re meant to be friends, from what I’ve been told.”

Phainon chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck, Mydeimos’ eyes not missing the sun tattoo on his skin.

“Very well then. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance Prince Mydeimos.” Phainon offered his hand out in greeting, inviting him in to shake his hand.

Mydeimos blinked at the gesture but reached his hand out all the same, letting Phainon grab it and shake their grip up and down. “A pleasure I’m sure.” He huffed in reply, doing his best to ignore the sound of his name on Phainon’s tongue. It felt different, a side effect of his heritage no doubt.

The contact soon ended and Phainon sat down on the bed to make himself comfortable. “So I’m predictable, hm? What have you predicted?”

“That you’re lazy, lacking in common sense, a mighty warrior, and too cheerful for your own good. That this place will eat you alive and that you’ll be gone within the first week.” Mydeimos spoke plainly, his voice flat and monotone. In hindsight this must have added to Phainon’s humor of the whole situation as he sparkled at his reply.

“Then it seems I’m not as predictable as I thought. I’ll just have to prove you wrong then Mydei~”

Mydeimos blinked.

Mydei?!

Chapter Text

Phainon’s first day on the job as “International Peace Deliverer” was rather… Uneventful. He wasn’t too sure what he had expected but, much to his shock, he had been left to his own devices.

Gorgo had bidden him to stay within the confines of the royal fortress for the time being, not wishing to risk a diplomatic catastrophe within the first day cycle. Phainon had been more than happy to oblige, eyes wide with innocent interest at the pure craftsmanship of his new abode. The architecture was vastly different to what he was used to in Okhema, the buildings towered with grand stature, spires of gold reaching up to the sky. Most notably above all these achievements stood the blade, glimmering and gleaming over the royal arena. It shone perhaps even brighter than the sun, a golden glow reminiscent of its majesty and the reverence that the Kremnoans paid to the weapon, the ultimate symbol of strength. That sword would cut down the kingdoms up in the heavens, that was the mythos that Phainon was familiar with at least. He made a note to ask around when the tensions weren’t so high.

Mydeimos had been whisked away by his teacher not long after the entry hour had arrived, Phainon’s aimless wandering the proof of this fact. The stares and whispers were customary at this point, the young hero responding to them all with a cheerful smile and a wave of his hand, it was the least he could do to not reveal his anxieties to them. In truth he was incredibly nervous about this feat, but fear was the enemy of the Kremnoan people, the nation that faced strife and death with open arms for their glory. To cower before anything was seen as blasphemy and traitorous, to be frowned upon and scorned by their god.

If Phainon faltered even for a second, he would be sure that he would be the next sacrifice offered to satiate that bloodlust.

So, he kept his head held high, continuing his expedition in exploring the fortress. His eyes roamed over detail that they could, taking in the small pools of lava, the flags that adorned each wall, the statues of the mighty lions that represented the Kremnoan royalty. Flames and chains mixed in with majesty and splendour, it was truly fascinating to behold, especially to Phainon who had always been fond of history and appraisal. It had been a hobby turned into a passion amidst the matters of the world becoming more complicated as he grew up. To learn from history was the best way to avoid future mistakes, that’s what his mother had always told him. How partial would Kremnos be to such a notion however was the question that had been left unanswered so far, but if the intentions of the queen were anything to go by, then Phainon was optimistic.

To his left a door had been propped slightly ajar, small murmurings weaving their way through the air that separated the two rooms. Eyes almost sparkling in curiosity, Phainon walked over to the door and pulled it further open, a grand room full of books opening itself to him. The room itself was rather devoid of people apart from two men hunched over a table, explaining the voices from their hushed discussion over the text in front of them. The shelves were lined full of volumes, but most of them had been left without the love and care that books often needed. Dust coated the air, this library was clearly not used often, Phainon mentally stopping himself from making assumptions about the Kremnoans literary skills. He was better than that of course, even if the people of Okhema were not.

His interest had clearly knocked the two men off guard, awkwardness settling between them as Phainon stepped into the library, admiring the sheer collection of the Kremnoan royal family.

“Can we help you?” One of the voices asked, inquisitive and not entirely trusting. There was something else underneath however, a glimmer of excitement that stayed out of reach until Phainon reached his bearings.

The man’s hair was fairly short, styled with a golden laurel leaf. His clothing was simple yet elegant, his chin resting on his open palm. The man next to him was slightly broader, long dark hair and a silent demeanor becoming his stoicness.

“Ah, apologies for interrupting! I was just looking around.” Phainon’s smile was gentle and inviting, the two men sharing a knowing look before turning their attention back to him.

“You’re Lord Phainon, are you not?” The short haired man asked, leaning back in his chair to get a better look at him. “I was wondering when I would eventually run into you.”

Phainon blinked at that, brows furrowing then lifting before reaching their usual resting spot. He looked around the room, his chuckle failing to hide the rising flush on his neck.

“I must stick out like a sore thumb around here.” Honest and appreciative, that could be worked with at least. “That is indeed my name, and may I have the pleasure of knowing yours?”

A few seconds passed, the man analysing his countenance with a faint intrigued smile.

“Ptolemy. And this is Peucesta.” He tilted his head towards the man standing next to him. He had scarcely moved throughout the whole exchange, hand holding the book down as he leaned over the table to look over the pages with his, Phainon assumed, friend. “We are companions to His Highness, such as you are if what I hear is correct.”

Phainon’s tension eased for a moment, his smile becoming easier and more relaxed. “It is my honor to meet you both. In fact your company might be just what I need to find out more about this place, and Mydeimos of course.”

The lack of formalities surprised the pair, yet they did not make it known. Given the circumstances of Mydeimos’ predicament, it seemed only natural that they would operate on a first name basis. Yet it had taken years for the small group of five to have warmed up to the prince in such a way, even now they still often felt compelled to endow him with titles and niceties, despite how much he tried to wave them away. This was different though, Ptolemy surmised, in the nature of diplomatic partnerships and keeping up appearances, it made sense for him to simply be ‘Mydeimos’, though the discomfort of the unfamiliarity was difficult to shake.

“I was hoping to meet you. I just did not expect it so quickly.” Ptolemy spoke with politeness, closing the book in front of him after silently prompting for Peucesta to move his hand off the pages. “I have heard of your feats, as many others have, and I would love to hear your own accounts. Literature about the Okhemans is rare, you see, penning my own account of your trials would make my day.”

The flush on Phainon’s neck creeped up to his face, pale skin at the mercy of light pink, even moreso with the contrast of striking blue that decorated his figure.

“Of course!” Phainon beamed as he walked over to the table, pulling up a chair to sit across from Ptolemy. “A trade of stories sounds marvelous for me getting the ropes about this place.”

Peucesta watched the two silently, pulling away from Ptolemy’s side to grab his own chair. The fact he had not been standing in the first place led Phainon to believe that the meeting between the two companions of the prince must have intended to be short-lived, but the arrival of the unknowable factor being himself had shaken those plans off of their foundation.

“Ah but- we don’t need to do that now. I’m sure you’re both busy.” The sheepishness returned, but it was only met with a soft laugh from Ptolemy who shook his head almost fondly at Phainon’s boyish innocence.

“Do not fret, you weren’t interrupting anything. If you had, in true Kremnoan fashion, there would have been a spear lodged into your shoulder by now.”

Phainon balked at that, it was difficult to tell what was a joke and what wasn’t within the Kremnoan customs. But at the very least Ptolemy seemed like he would shed some light on that subject for him, as long as Phainon paid him with his own stories in return.

Stories from Phainon was the most currency he had he found as Ptolemy asked him question after question with the wide eyes of a scholar. Life in Okhema was easy to speak about, the numerous battles and acclaims to fame under his belt were even easier, after all he had told these tales word for word half a thousand times by now.

The Titan, naturally everyone always asked about The Titan.

That was one story that Phainon was not ready to tell, in all its entirety at least. He could lavish his prose in gory details of golden blood and crumbling stone. He could spout about the howl of battle in the air, the cracking of bones, the swing of a sword with the undying vigor of a mad man. The truth behind that day however, he could not share that yet. There were too many unanswered questions of his own, ones that needed to be met before he could make his peace with that battle.

But Phainon was a performer when he wished to be, and it was clearly working as Ptolemy soaked up every word he said, hastily writing down every note that he could.

Peucesta hadn’t moved the entire time the two had been speaking, but something about him kept throwing Phainon off. His eyes could completely see through him, that much was obvious. He could feel the gaze of him boring into his very core, searching for the truths behind his words. Any questions he had though died on his tongue, not deigning them crucial enough to speak into existence. The suspicion was there though, coming from a place of complete validation in Phainon’s opinion. He had simply waltzed through the door and upturned the days of two of the Crown Prince’s closest confidants, though nothing was keeping Peucesta from simply leaving the room and being done with the farce playing out in front of him.

Yet he remained, and Phainon kept talking.

Ptolemy’s answers in return were nowhere near as grandiose. When Phainon asked about the Prince then he would tell simple facts, most likely afraid of saying something wrong and facing Mydeimos’ wrath for going behind his back. He spoke of milk in pomegranate juice, the days he spent training the young kids, the future of Kremnos. He told him stories from the detachment, their campaigns in the neighboring cities, felling foe after foe in the name of the Prince, not the King. Eurypon was a forbidden topic, Ptolemy would not utter a word about the man, Gorgo on the other hand was a clearly welcome subject, the Queen’s kindness, skill in combat, and the love the people had for her came off his tongue as easy as breathing air.

There was clearly more behind his words. Phainon did not know much about the internal politics of Kremnos, nor would he pry, but he knew that those who held the King in respect would more often than not disapprove of Gorgo’s actions. A kind Queen could be seen as a weakness through the might and merciless behavior that Kremnos practiced. No doubt there were those who deemed the Prince to be cut from the same cloth, that despite the strength of his fists a kind heart would be the downfall of the Kremnoan people. They had only been whispers from the Council of Elders back in Okhema, but Phainon had kept those words in the back of his mind throughout the journey back to Kremnos. He would not meddle of course, he would simply be wary, especially as his post here placed him directly with the Prince.

“I have to admit, I’m not entirely sure what I’m meant to be doing here.” Phainon chuckled lightly. “It is a rather crazy idea isn’t it… I have not been given a specific task persay, I am simply to accompany the Prince. But the Prince disappeared first thing this morning and I have not seen him since he left me alone the afternoon before.” Phainon tapped his fingers against the wooden table, expression distant as he spoke.

“I imagine he wants nothing to do with me. He didn’t seem pleased about this arrangement after all.”

Ptolemy thought for a moment, remembering his discussions about the matter with Mydeimos in an effort to attempt to dispel Phainon’s doubts.
“He is not against it. His issues lie more with the King than with anything you could do.” Peucesta looked up then, giving Ptolemy a look to warn him from saying more.

“What I am trying to say… Do not carry doubts around yourself, doubts are the true killer around here. The Prince is learning to adjust just as you are. You seem a good man with a kind soul, he will not completely disregard you despite how he may approach you. It is simply the way he is. We have known him long enough to tell you that much.”

Phainon listened carefully, tucking every word from Ptolemy’s mouth in a small corner in the back of his mind.

“When do you believe I can expect to hear from him?”

The laugh that passed between the three men caused shock between them too as they turned to the source of the sound rumbling from Peucesta.

“You will hear from Mydeimos when he wishes for you to hear from him. That’s the first lesson of dealing with him.” The silence returned to Peucesta as quickly as it was interrupted, expression serious and unyielding. Ptolemy looked almost as shocked as Phainon before his own face shifted into a fond amusement.

“My quiet friend speaks true. The Prince has a habit of being in the right place whenever he considers it the right time. Until then I’m sure he just wants you to remain out of trouble and not to accidentally cause a full out war as long as you reside in our halls.”

Phainon looked between the both of them, his own smile not far behind. “I don’t plan on it. I suppose I was simply hoping for a warmer reception, he’s convinced I’m going to quit within the first week.”

A quieter laugh echoed from Ptolemy. “Well yes, we placed bets on how long we thought you would last here at dinner.”

“Huh?!” Phainon gawked at him, eyes wide and mouth hanging open as he considered his words and the truth behind them, almost groaning in embarrassment.

“Please tell me someone bet longer than a week!”

Ptolemy’s eyes creased with his smile, nodding his head. “I believe I said a month, Peucesta here wagered two months if I’m remembering correctly.” As if on cue the other man nodded his head, not deigning to open his mouth again.

“Leonnius didn’t place an exact time, he believes that you will do quite well here. Perdikkas has already lost the bet considering he thought you would have ran away within the first night. Hephaestion decided the same as His Highness, as he often does, both of them claiming a week as their bet and that they would split the earnings if it came true.” Ptolemy looked amused as he recalled the conversation, folding his arms over his chest. “Naturally it was all in jest and we’re all convinced that Leonnius will take all of our earnings. We have high hopes for you truthfully, as does the Prince. But I believe that is moreso along the lines of not wishing to disappoint his mother.”

Phainon, to his credit, felt much more relieved after that answer, nodding his head. “Well I don’t look to disappoint any of you.” He offered with a smile that carried all the sincerity he could muster.

“Thank you for speaking with me today Ptolemy, and you too Peucesta. Truly, you are the first to look at me in a while without measuring my worth.”

“Oh? Well we were both definitely measuring your worth.” Ptolemy retorted with a playful grin. “But not to your detriment, simply for the sake of His Highness.”

“Then I can drink to that, potentially sometime.” Phainon offered it as an olive branch, wishing to leave Kremnos with as many positive connections as he could.

“Maybe.” Ptolemy hummed, watching Phainon get to his feet and brush the dust from his clothes.

“I’m sure you’ll meet the others some point sooner rather than later. We’re a friendly bunch I assure you.” Phainon doubted that assertion but didn’t say anything of it. Perhaps as friendly as the closest detachment to a warrior Prince could be. Despite merely claiming to be a self-proclaimed bookworm, with Peucesta being a musician in tow, they were still Kremnoans, still warriors seemingly fit to have been hand-picked by Mydeimos.

Phainon reminded himself for the upteenth time since entering that room to not get on their bad sides.

“Thank you for indulging us with your stories Phainon. I’ll make sure to treat them well.” Ptolemy’s voice met Phainon at the door where he turned back to look at the two men lounging around the table.

“Of course. If you do make anything of my words then I want to be the first to read it.” Phainon practically beamed at them, the smile as true as the inked sun on his neck.

“I can make that deal.” Ptolemy chuckled in return, raising his hand in a wave of parting.

“Take care out there Lord Phainon. I’m sure Mydeimos will relieve you of your freely used boredom soon.” It was said in jest but Phainon knew that was true, when he was needed then Phainon’s skills would be put to the test before the Prince. The thought didn’t scare him, in fact the prospect of sparring with Mydeimos sent a blaze of excitement coursing through his veins, to show the Kremnoans what he was made of, well that he could surely do.

Phainon stepped through the library door and back into the hallway he had walked those few hours ago now, waving one last time before pulling the door shut behind him.

A successful first day then, that he could be proud of.

Chapter Text

The dawn rose from the horizon earlier than usual, the rays of the sun causing a grumble through the young prince. The comfort of blankets fell away, the morning chill soon subsiding with the warm glow of the morning. Mydeimos shuffled to his feet, walking to the window to gaze upon his dominion. If he strained his ears then he would be able to hear the world blaring to life down in the city below, merchants and hunters coming alive with the promise of good coin.

A sigh filled the empty room as Mydeimos accustomed himself to his own routine, donning golden armor and blood red robes. He caught sight of himself in the mirror, frowning slightly as a finger curled around his growing strands of hair. At this rate, if left unattended, they would get in the way during battle, falling into his eyes, making his neck itch and all the other distractions that could mean death on the path of strife.

He made a mental note to cut it.

Mydeimos’ thoughts had been racing the whole night after a particular unexpected conversation with Peucesta who had materialised behind him as ghosts were often one to do, that customary stoic expression never revealing his intentions.

“Ptolemy and I met with Lord Phainon today.” Peucesta had spoken plainly, leaning against the wall next to Mydeimos’ chambers.

The scowl on the prince’s face must have been obvious at the way Peucesta’s shoulders tensed.

“He does not seem the bad sort.”

“I know that. My mother would never have dreamed of suggesting him otherwise…”

“Of course.” Peucesta had quickly agreed. “I believe he is looking to spar with you, to bridge the gap. He has found himself rather… Aimless.”

Mydeimos almost scoffed. Any regular person could only dream of being left to their own devices inside of a royal vessel.

It was no matter truly, after all Mydeimos had found the prospect of testing Phainon’s strength to be the most compelling part of this arrangement. To determine if he was stronger than the Titan Killer, he had no cause to doubt his own abilities, but Phainon was too unknowable of a factor to get a good read on him.

“If it is a fight that the hero wants then it is a fight that the hero will get.” Mydeimos spoke simply, hand resting on the doorknob to his bedroom.

“I take it you will all place bets again?” Mydeimos asked, blazing golden eyes meeting Peucesta’s gaze.
“As is custom for our group, I imagine the others will relish in the opportunity.”

Mydeimos chuckled under his breath, a small smile upturning his lips.

“Good. It will give me a chance to remind the people of my skills. I have been feeling their doubts recently… My father’s fault I’m sure.” Mydeimos tapped his finger against the doorknob, matching the rhythm that the musician had taught him. Peucesta clearly recognized the beat, his facade softening just a little bit.

“Victory will always be yours Mydeimos. You have my bet at least.”

“It would reflect on me poorly to waste your coin. I’ll see to it that I return triumphant from this little sparring match.”

The conversation had been short-lived, as most conversations with Peucesta often were, but despite that news had spread like wildfire of the duel between Crown Prince and Foreign Hero. Leonnius was surely to thank, or perhaps blame, Mydeimos hadn’t decided yet.

So much so that when Mydeimos finished his food to meet Krateros in the arena, a large crowd had formed in the spectating stands, Mydeimos’ brow raising as he took in the sight.

“Any bets? Any takers? Mydeimos versus Phainon! Make sure to get your bets in!”

A familiar voice perked up from the crowd, Mydeimos groaning as he weaved through the gathering onlookers to face Leonnius, hands on his hips, prominent frown on his features.

“Ah! Your Highness! Here to give a little wager?”

“What in Nikador’s name are you doing?”

“Fanning the fires of friendly competition of course!” His enthusiasm was practically radiant, Mydeimos’ scowl the downpour to drench that flame. Or at least he had hoped, instead the man simply laughed at his foul mood, knowing he was one of the very few that would be allowed the privilege of doing so.

“This is ridiculous.” Mydeimos sighed, blinking in shock as he noticed Ptolemy lingering by the stands, scribbling down the bets of the gamblers. He nodded to their voices, while Hephaestion stood next to him holding a pot that silver and gold were tossed into at leisure.

“Is this a team effort?” He balked then, shaking his head while dragging a hand down his face.

“Well is our mission not to make the Kremnoans warm up to the Okheman? What better way to do it than in pure Kremnoan fashion?”

“A fight to the death?”

“Well no, not exactly. We can’t exactly have Phainon dying on our hands, Your Highness. That would put a wrench in your mother’s work.”

“The Kremnoan soldiers would laugh in the face of a battle that does not end with death. So, in the name of keeping up appearances, I will simply kill him.”

Leonnius studied his face, never being quite able to tell when Mydeimos was joking or not. He nervously laughed all the same, eyes darting to Perdikkas who was stood nearby with medical supplies on hand, a look of warning signifying that they might need a lot more antiseptic by the time this ‘friendly sparring match’ was over.

“I hope at the very least all five of you have placed your bets on me.” Mydeimos huffed, folding his arms over his chest as he glanced around the festivities.

“Of course, Your Highness! We would never doubt you…” Leonnius’ voice trailed off, eyes travelling as swiftly as his feet as he jogged off in the direction of Perdikkas before Mydeimos could question him further.

“Oh for the love of…”

The prince’s lamentations were cut off as loud raucous cheers filled the air, signalling the arrival of his opponent.

Phainon looked even more baffled by this turn of events, in truth it seemed like the man had just crawled out of bed, which wasn’t entirely unbelievable. His hair was a mess and he was still wiping the residue of sleep from his eyes, yet somehow managed to look inquisitive and invigorated all the same. He was dressed in simple garb in comparison to the armor adorned coat he usually wore, prepared for the early morning spar, but less prepared for the spectacle that it had become.

“Good morning Mydei!” Phainon exclaimed in delight, Mydeimos’ eyes twitching at the nickname.

Thankfully nobody else had heard the greeting, apart from a bewildered looking Krateros that stared at the young hero as if he had just denounced Nikador themselves.

“This is quite a charming little gathering. Have all these people truly come this early just to see me fight?”

“They’re looking to see you get beaten up.” Mydeimos groaned in return, signalling to the tally of bets on Ptolemy’s person. “Your odds are about one to one hundred.”

“Well I can’t say I’m surprised, I am in enemy territory after all.” Phainon joked as he looked around, giving a wave to the viewers that sat around them.

Just out of earshot Mydeimos could hear Hephaestion’s voice, a shrill chuckle at a comment that Ptolemy must have made to him:

“Well perhaps there’s still room for the Prince and I to win our bet.”

Mydeimos supposed that he was right, if he somehow managed to kill the Deliverer of Peace then that would send him home rather quickly, yet the second day was closer to Perdikkas’ original bet of the first night, he would surely bring that up in protest.

“My apologies.” He muttered in a moment of earnestness. “If I had known they’d do all of this I would never have entertained the thought.”

Phainon tilted his head to the side, his expression settling on puzzled. “What ever do you mean Your Highness? The energy of this place is really getting to me. I can feel the excitement to fight burning inside my very soul!”

Mydeimos shook his head and sighed. He was going to die for sure.

“Testing! Testing! Can everyone hear me?” The traitorous sound of Leonnius’ voice boomed over the crowd from where he stood with a hailer, garnering the attention of the Kremnoans.

“We’re here this fine morning to witness a historic clash between Castrum Kremnos’ own Crown Prince Mydeimos!” Leonnius paused for the crowd to roar with energy, beating their chests and pumping their fists in the air as they hollered for their royalty.

“Versus! Lord Phainon of Okhema!” To both of their surprise Phainon was offered the same treatment from the soldiers around them, the loud rumble of voices and shouts carrying the spirit of competition.

“This morning all you lucky people will get to witness the clash between the two young promises of enemy nations! Make sure to get your bets in because you won’t want to miss out!”

Mydeimos rolled his eyes at the audacity of his chosen friend group as he walked to the middle of the arena. He turned his head, the blood rushing through him and finally allowing himself to grin with the thrill of an upcoming battle. He raised his fist to the sky, the people quickly following in kind, and Phainon, pure and blundering Phainon, pumped his own fist in return, a spring in his step as he joined Mydeimos, offering him his outstretched sportsmanship.

Mydeimos looked down at Phainon’s extended fist, cocking an eyebrow in question but bumping him all the same with his golden gauntlet. In the spirit of fairness Mydeimos discarded the decorative armor, tossing it to the side where Perdikkas quickly gathered up the gold before moving them to the pile of medicine in waiting.

A distant bell rang, signifying the start of the fight as Phainon’s eyes lit up in joy, taking the moment to grab Mydeimos’ fist and slam him down. In return Mydeimos was quick to sweep his legs into a kick, knocking Phainon off balance and tumbling to the ground. The hero laughed at the impact, springing back to his feet as he circled the arena, Mydeimos mirroring him as the two measured each other’s worth.

Mydeimos was more experienced in hand to hand combat, while Phainon found a comfort in wielding a weapon, that and with the familiarity of the locale and the people, Mydeimos was clearly at an advantage under these conditions. Phainon would need to think carefully about his movements as the two warriors looped each other, waiting for who would make the next move. If Phainon’s bearings on the prince were correct, and he was confident they were, then Mydeimos would grow tired of the idle pacing and seek to overpower Phainon in brute strength alone. He was certainly able to, they both knew that.

It was a bait, to anger the lion into impulsivity. To cloud his better judgement and leave him open for an attack. With the booming expectations of the Kremnoans on his shoulders, he would surely bite.

“Getting scared Deliverer?” Mydeimos sneered, a smug look plastered over his face. He was goading him, his own bait.

“Of course not! But I’m smarter than knowing I can just charge at you head on.” Phainon offered a bright smile in return, fists tensed at his sides.

Mydeimos simply hummed. “I’m feeling nice.” He said, glancing upwards to the other man.

“In the name of goodwill, I’ll let you hit me. But hit me as hard as you’ve got.”

Phainon blinked at the proposition, stopping in his tracks to stare at the prince with a confused expression.

“That sounds like the most obvious trap in the world.”

“The Kremnoans do not utilize traps and scheming in their battle techniques.”

“I figured, that explains why you’re so bad at it.”

Phainon’s attempts at riling the other man up seemed to simply bounce off of his countenance. Instead he just looked amused at his retorts.

“Just hit me Phainon. You wouldn’t want to disappoint this crowd right?”

At that moment Phainon became very aware of the restlessness within the crowd, the yells and cheers for the two fighters to do something worth watching. Distraction became him then, just for one moment, a split moment. But even that was a falter too drastic as the prince surged forward to barrel into him, knocking Phainon down with the force of a bull.

The hero choked in surprise, landing on his back in a small cloud of dust.

“You said- it- ah- wasn’t a trap-” Phainon wheezed as Mydeimos stood next to him, rolling his eyes.

“It wasn’t. I stated a fact. You got distracted.” There was a glint in the prince’s eyes, smugness, Leonnius’ voice commentating over Phainon’s error.

For a split second Mydeimos glanced up at his friend in admonishment, but any expression soon became unreadable as Phainon’s fist made contact with skin, the hero quickly scrambling to his feet to land another blow.

“I could say the same to you.” Phainon chuckled as the prince stumbled backwards to regain his balance, holding his cheek with a frown.

The two were unleashed then, punches thrown between, bruises blooming on skin, sweat dripping from brows as they proved their strength to the other. Mydeimos was more agile than Phainon had given him credit for, his mistake on assuming the Kremnoan would only rely on brute strength. Yet Mydeimos had been willing, perhaps even eager, for Phainon to demonstrate the true force of his power on him, the easiest and most satisfying method to weigh him on the scales of battle.

In truth, Mydeimos was calculating, analytical. The hunter never charged in on an impulse, they stayed in waiting for the prey to be at its most vulnerable before overwhelming it in one swift movement of death and destruction. But Phainon was no prey, he would not allow his weaknesses to be so easily exploited, not with his reputation on the line like this.

There was no artful grace to this fight, not in the way that Phainon had been taught in the ways of the sword. In a swordfight there were rules and etiquette to abide by, reminiscing fondly on his lessons with Lady Aglaea. In comparison the Kremnoan brawls were a bloodbath, Mydeimos revelling in the rushing sensation of blood dripping from his nose. Left, right, left right, Phainon’s punches were slowly losing their power, muscles tensing with incoming soreness. Mydeimos’ body must be made from some manner of steel, he was hardly making a dent. In return the prince’s punches were brutal, a crack of Phainon’s nose spraying his eyes with pure gold.

If Mydeimos’ body would not yield then… Phainon took a gamble, reaching his hand not for the prince’s face, but instead the makeshift ponytail he had fashioned from his growing hair. Mydeimos’ eyes widened as Phainon tugged at the lion’s mane, his expression contorting into something unrecognizable to the haze of Phainon’s stare. Instead of a groan or a pant, the noise that escaped the royal heir’s lips was more akin to a… Whine?

That was the last thing Phainon registered before Mydeimos knocked him out cold.

The bell rang again, registering the prince’s victory as Kremnoan chants filled the air, Mydeimos staring down at the now unconscious hero sprawled across the floor. His hand idly drifted to his ponytail, the pressure that the pull had left on his scalp still searing into his senses.

Perdikkas wasted no time in striding over to the pair, leaning over Phainon and waving a hand in front of his face.

“Woah… You got him good, Your Highness.” An airy chuckle accompanied the statement, Perdikkas looking up at the clearly very distracted victor.

“Your Highness?”

Mydeimos shook the feeling away, blinking several times to focus his vision as he looked down at his companion.

“He’s strong.” Was all Mydeimos could muster, taking the wet cloth that Perdikkas offered him to wipe his face and to clean the now drying blood from his nose. The medic got to work, wiping the blood from Phainon and gesturing for Peucesta to help carry the unconscious hero to the infirmary. The latter soon arrived, hoisting Phainon up and over his shoulder and starting to walk away. Perdikkas lingered however, eyes focused intensely on the prince.

“You seem out of sorts Mydeimos. Perhaps we should get you checked up too.” His voice was kind, reaching a hand out to pat Mydeimos’ shoulder.

“Come, let us get away from the noise.”

The prince simply nodded in return, hand still tracing his ponytail as he followed Perdikkas inside. He cast his gaze back for a moment to smirk at the predicament that Ptolemy and Hephaestion had found themselves in being hounded by the rowdy Kremnoans for their money. Leonnius had sprinted over to the commotion, hailer in hand, but the thrill of victory plastered over the trio’s faces. Until Leonnius realised that he had lost his betrayal of a bet, his expression turning to panic and despair at Phainon’s loss.

“That’s what you get for not believing in His Highness!” Hephaestion’s reprimand was the last thing Mydeimos heard before the arena doors swung shut behind them.

The infirmary was a welcome sight as Mydeimos allowed himself to relax, not having realised how tense he was until that moment. Peucesta stood by the bedside as Perdikkas dashed around to start treating Phainon, applying creams and ointments to the storm of bruises now littering his upper body. Mydeimos watched, eyes distant and unfocused, but alert enough to notice the golden blow that now eclipsed Phainon’s sun tattoo like a cloud soaked with blood.

Despite Phainon’s perceptions of an indestructible body of steel, Mydeimos had suffered a number of bruises himself. His would heal without any work from Perdikkas however, the marks of battle never deigning to make their stay on his skin. Sometimes he found himself wishing they would, the scars and the memories of battle that they brought. They were a show of pride for Kremnoans, carrying the will of war with them. Mydeimos had been in many memorable clashes, his detachment bearing the wounds to tell the tales of their conquest. And yet, even though Mydeimos’ skin was destined to stay clear of any blemishes, the memories remained.

This fight however… Mydeimos would do well to forget it.

At the very least he would silently pray upon Nikador’s majesty that no one had heard that noise.

Mydeimos really needed to cut his hair.

The worst part was that Phainon had most definitely heard it, if his look of shock was any indicator. Mydeimos could only continue to pray that the concussion Phainon was currently dealing with would rid him of that particular embarrassment.

Mydeimos’ face flushed, groaning as he rested his head against his arms to forestall his incoming headache.

Phainon’s sheer audacity had cost him the victory, and at least Mydeimos could live in peace for a short while at having defended his honor in front of the crowd. Surely nobody would have been able to hear him over the sound of Leonnius’ commentary and the rallying of the masses.

That was the least he could do to comfort his peace of mind.

Chapter Text

The sound of voices and pained groans welcomed Phainon back to the waking world. Groggy from his unconsciousness the hero sat upwards, hoisting himself to steady on his elbows as he looked around the room. The scent of antiseptic filled his nose, causing his face to scrunch in discomfort at the clinical smell.

His body ached.

“Oh Sleeping Beauty’s finally awake.” A familiar voice hummed, Phainon’s eyes casting to the side to take in the form of Perdikkas, a large toothy grin on his face. He raised a hand, rubbing his eyes to become accustomed to the lighting, before nodding to the medic who chuckled and got back to work.

“We weren’t sure how long it would take for you to get up. His Highness got you good with that punch.”

Phainon’s head spun, recalling the events that had led up to his apparent hospitalisation. The spar, the cheers from the crowd, the low blow of using the prince’s hair as a weapon. And…

Oh. Right.

Phainon’s face flushed at the memory.

He had most definitely deserved this fate.

To distract himself Phainon quickly observed the room once more, tilting his head to the side to rest on his pillow as he looked up at Perdikkas.

“We? You’re the only one here.” He inquired, Perdikkas smiling at something to himself before returning his attention to the patient.

“The others were here. They left not too long ago. His Highness’ wounds didn’t need attending and he decided that he needed to get drunk for some forsaken reason… He will be fine I’m sure, the rest of our little entourage quickly followed him, naturally drinks with the Prince means drinks that are well paid for.”

Phainon watched Perdikkas as he walked around the room, doing the rounds for each poor soul unfortunate enough to be laid in the beds in the infirmary. Phainon, at the very least, seemed to be the only one currently fully conscious, the light from the window indicating that the sun had not yet set on them.

“How long was I out?” He asked, brushing past the thought of Mydeimos’ alcoholic endeavors.

“Hmmm… A few hours, five or six I believe.” Perdikkas perched on the windowsill by him, kicking his legs with the whimsy of a young boy. “I also believe this is the first time we have spoken one on one, much to my credit.” He looked pleased, gesturing to Phainon’s face, and more specifically his nose.

“Though not many have taken a punch from the Prince and lived to tell the tale.” A joke, Phainon could at least hope it was. “Your spar is the talk of the entire Castrum however, it was a good thing that his Highness won, otherwise I would dare not think of the consequences…”

Phainon blinked at the insinuation, eyebrows raising in surprise.

“Consequences?”

“Well yes, to his reputation. As you are fully aware Castrum Kremnos admires and reveres strength above all else, we are the nation that follows Strife. To be the royal family is to be a warrior of unmatched skill and potential. If his Highness had lost, that would be dire in itself, but to lose to an outsider, no offense, Mydeimos would have become the mockery of the people. Which would be of much displeasure to the one truly running the show.” Perdikkas sighed to himself, tapping his fingers across his arm as he spoke.

“My apologies. I suppose I didn’t think of the politics behind a combatant spar…” Phainon mumbled against the fabric of his pillow.

“Hm? Well no one would expect you to. It wouldn’t have been the end of the world if you had won but this outcome definitely provides the least headaches… Especially since the King is still adamant on finding a match for Mydeimos…”

Phainon looked confused then before the memories began to flood back after the haze of his concussion.

“You mean like what happened at that ball right?”

Perdikkas nodded his head, leaning back against the wall. “Yes, like what happened at the ball.” His expression seemed troubled for a moment, something lingering in the corner of his mind. Yet it disappeared as soon as it came, flashing Phainon a warm smile.

“It does not matter. Not now anyway.” He assured the young hero, lifting himself to his feet to stand beside the bed.

“You can stay here as long as you wish, or you can return to your room to rest if you would rather. Considering what I’ve heard I assume you’re the type to hate being cooped up in places for too long.”

Phainon laughed softly, stretching his arms above his head.

“Did the Prince tell you that?”

“Oh? No. Just an intuitive guess. I suppose you remind me of a restless puppy.”

Phainon felt the pink blush returning to his complexion, almost coughing on air at the comparison. “I- um- I’ll get going.”

Perdikkas graced him with another wide grin as Phainon worked on gathering his composure. He slipped his shoes on, recovering the pieces of armor he had discarded before the spar. He nodded to the medic who seemed all too amused by his sudden embarrassment, but waved to him as he marched to the door.

“If you need anything else you know where to find me.” He hummed, Phainon giving him a thumbs up before stumbling through the infirmary door.

In truth he had no idea how to find his way to the infirmary, or back to his room for that matter. He had been knocked out the entire trip there, and was still struggling to even make sense of the layout of the Prince’s quarters, let alone the entire fortress.

The return to aimless wandering then.

And when movements became lacking in direction, so does the mind.

Phainon couldn’t help but think about the events of that morning. The noise that had escaped in that moment hadn’t been one of pain or annoyance. It had been a whine. The kinds that Phainon had only ever heard in his, quite rare, rendezvouses in the bedroom. It had clearly shocked Mydeimos to his core, the mixture of fear and discomfiture mixing into the sudden reaction that had left Phainon sprawled across the floor. The Prince had clearly known what it had meant, and it was that panic that had left him with a temporarily broken nose.

It was not Phainon’s place to pry, in fact it was not Phainon’s place to be in any close proximity to his Highness despite his formal job title. Mydeimos had clearly been avoiding him since his arrival, though it seemed that the Prince would avoid everyone apart from his tightly knit circle of friends.

Phainon wasn’t blind, neither was he deaf. His senses worked keenly enough to hear the whispers from the halls at night, the creak of a door that would not be opened again until morning. It was obvious that Mydeimos, or Mydei as Phainon had taken to calling him, had some manner of nocturnal visitor. Someone that had to be kept a secret, hence why he had not pried.

Surely somebody that the King would not approve of.

Had that mystery visitor also heard Mydei whine like that?

Dangerous thoughts, dangerous territory, dangerous subject.

Phainon quickly willed the thought from his mind, instead regaining focus on where his steps were leading him. Yet when all of the corridors and the halls looked the same in the Castrum, he could be quite frankly anywhere in the abode.

Yet as soon as he started to find the will to focus his mind once more, the sudden disturbance of shouting echoing down the halls disrupted whatever coherent thought Phainon had been about to form. Treading carefully Phainon walked closer to the noise, raised voices completely covering gentle steps. The answer to his question about his current location was soon answered, the towering grandiose doors to his left could only belong to one room after all.

“I told you I will not go through with this!” Mydeimos’ voice was rumbling the very walls, a fierce roar from the young lion. As if Phainon needed the Prince to distract him even more from the present situation that he had found himself stuck in.

“And I told you that you will!” Phainon’s blood ran cold at the unfamiliar but unparalleled power that the King Eurypon commanded over his dwelling.

Mydeimos groaned, anger pulsing through him.

“This is ridiculous father! To think that you would even consider such a route is preposterous! Have you forgotten where you came from? Where I came from? How mother entered your life? The blood of Kremnos is not forged through shams and schemes, it is earned in the heat of battle, with blood in our mouths and death at our throats!” Mydeimos gritted his teeth as he argued, glaring at his patriarch.

“You are a hypocrite father.” Mydeimos snarled, fists balled at his sides.

Phainon did not need to be stood by the door to hear their quarrel, the guards standing around doing their very best to act like they could not hear a thing. A smaller figure stood out from the rest gathered by the door, one that Phainon recognised instantly as Hephaestion, one of Mydeimos’ closest friends. His eyes shot up to meet Phainon’s, wide and uncertain as he glanced back at the door for a second before turning his head to look further down the hall.

He was certainly nervous about something, a direct contrast to the bright energy that had fuelled him during the spar that morning.

“And you are a spoiled boy that does not understand what’s at stake!” Eurypon yelled in retaliation, Hephaestion flinching at the outburst. Phainon carefully walked over to him, putting a hand on his shoulder with comforting eyes asking, ‘Are you alright?’

“So you will ignore everything else I said and treat this as some childish rebellion when you are the one that has lost his way!” Mydeimos hollered. “You seek only mindless destruction… And you would doll me up as your weapon of war… I am not some show hound to be shipped off with Nikador knows who.” His voice was firm, confident, standing his ground as he faced the wrath of his father.

Hephaestion sighed from where he lingered next to Phainon, expression downcast as he turned on his heel to walk further down the hall. Phainon quickly followed after him, the cacophony of familial tension serving as backing vocals to their exchange.

“What’s all that about?” Phainon asked in a hushed whisper, Hephaestion looking left and right to make sure nobody was too close to eavesdrop.

“His Majesty he…” Hephaestion pinched the bridge of his nose. “He wishes to arrange a marriage for his Highness.”

Phainon blinked in surprise. With the way they had been yelling he had quite honestly expected something rather different, a cry for war, a pig to the slaughter.

“His Highn- Mydeimos, he is rejecting the motion entirely. Says that it is absurd considering how his parents met. Eurypon was never pressured into a marriage, he had fallen for love and love had been found in battle with Gorgo. That is the Kremnoan way. But he is certain in the fact that his father has lost this way over time… He has become obsessed with carrying on his bloodline within the Kremnoan royal family, a bloodline that only continues to flourish because of death and patricide.” Hephaestion looked focused as he talked, Phainon not missing a single word that he uttered.

“So what you’re saying is…”

“What I am saying is that we have reason to believe the King has gone fully mad with power over time. And that he will not rest until he’s ensured that his bloodline will continue to prosper in royalty.” Hephaestion groaned, shaking his head at the thought.

“Naturally Mydeimos does not want that. He believes in our nation’s traditions, that love will be found and forged in Strife, the meeting of his parents has always been an ideal for how he views romance…” Hephaestion’s voice trailed off, a flash of longing appearing in his eyes for one brief moment before it was locked away.

“The fighting won’t stop then.” Phainon offered in return, glancing back at the way they had just come.

“Definitely not. I don’t think either of them will back down. Perhaps if the Queen becomes involved then it may be quelled but… I don’t have high hopes.” Hephaestion looked distant, awkwardly scratching at the skin of his arm.

Phainon scratched his chin, looking at Hephaestion with a soft smile, as if he understood the hidden intricacies of feelings that could not be spoken. “And how are you handling this?” He prompted, expression kind, eyes inviting.

Hephaestion visibly tensed at the question, staring up at him in bewilderment. “I beg your pardon?” He asked, voice practically trembling.

“Well, you’re his closest friend, no? Surely it’s troubling to see him in such a situation where help for him seems out of reach.” Phainon was careful with his words, not giving anything away but doing his best to get his consolation across.

Hephaestion was quiet for a moment as he mulled over Phainon’s words, nodding his head slightly before he opened his mouth. “Of course it is… I wish for nothing more than to make sure His Highness is at the best he can be. This whole farce the King is planning…” Hepahestion trailed off, refusing to speak the blasphemy on the tip of his tongue.

“I cannot talk of this Phainon.” He concluded, taking a step back to keep walking down the hallway, muttering to himself.

Phainon accompanied him a few paces behind, almost sheepish as he walked. “If we cannot speak of that subject matter then… Can you help me find my way back to my room?” He asked, eyes creasing with an ashamed laugh.

Hephaestion blinked but the tension evidently left his face as he nodded, a small smile appearing on his face. “Of course.” He almost chuckled as he beckoned for Phainon to walk with him.

Mydeimos slammed his bedroom door behind him, allowing himself to finally sink to the floor as he buried his head into the firmness of his knees. The adrenaline was still bursting through his veins after the row with his father, the anger still clouding his better judgement, the audacity causing a small crack in the wall where the door hinged from.

He was truly at his wits end with this entire situation. It was those advisors, he was sure of it. They whispered poison in his father’s ears, had done so since the days where he was a simple newborn. A way to control the Prince, to stop him from lashing out, to forestall the eventual patricide for as long as they could while feeding into Eurypon’s delusions of grandeur. The title King of Kremnos was no grandiose bequeathment, it was simply the title of King Butcher, of who could kill the most men, of who could conquer and command with an iron fist. Those advisors were the serpents tempting fruit of immortality, putting the King on such a pedestal that he would fall into a murderous tantrum over anyone who would try to get too close, even his own son. That pride and cowardly demeanor would be the downfall of Kremnos, Mydeimos had always believed that.

This was a new low in his opinion. He would have to go to his mother and pray that she would be able to talk Eurypon down. The headaches for the days to come were already seeping their mental exhaustion into him, hitting his head against his knees with a loud groan.

A knock on the door interrupted his paroxysm of annoyance, Mydeimos narrowing his eyes as he clambered to his feet.

“Who is it?” He asked with a frown, ready to punch whoever was on the other side of the door if need be.

“It’s me!” A familiar voice called out. “Phainon-” he quickly added as if that cheerful blundering idiot wasn’t also a cause of Mydeimos’ stress enough to recognise the voice at the first syllable.

“What the hell do you want?” Mydeimos grunted, hand on the mechanism that would unlock his door.

“I wanted to talk to you.” Phainon sighed. “About this morning, and well this afternoon too. I was with Hephaestion, we heard what happened with your father. I just wanted to see if you’re-”

The sudden opening of the door took Phainon by surprise, staring at the Prince with a gawking expression.

“Alright-” he finished, quickly looking away from Mydeimos’ stern expression.

“Hephaestion heard all of that?” Mydeimos asked, brows knit together in frustration.

“I’m not sure if he heard all of it. He at least heard as much as I heard.” Phainon babbled quickly, preparing himself to defend from any sudden attack that the Prince could spring on him.

Mydeimos simply sighed, placing a hand on his forehead as he closed his eyes. “Fucks sake…” He frowned, voice exasperated and vexed.

“I’m fine.” Mydeimos shrugged his shoulders before raising his eyelids to look at Phainon, golden eyes in a dark hallway reminding the hero of the first time they had met at the ball.

“Are you sure?” Phainon urged as delicately as he could, worry written all over his face.

“Extremely sure. Now leave me alone.” Mydeimos was about to turn to retreat back to his room but tensed when Phainon surged forwards to grab his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

“Like it or not I’m here in the first place to help you. That was the job your mother gave me. So why don’t you just talk to me?”

Mydeimos raised an eyebrow. “You’re one to say that.” He huffed, turning his head to glance back at him. “I don’t think I’ve heard you say a genuine word since you got here. Also your ‘job’ is to be a glorified trophy to prove that we won’t kill an Okheman citizen, but if you keep pushing it then maybe I just might.”

“Trying to scare me won’t stop me from caring you know.” Phainon muttered, eyes not leaving the other man’s face as he spoke. “You’re all talk, you wouldn’t do something like that.”

Mydeimos was silent, Phainon’s grip on his arm not loosening.

“For being the Deliverer of Peace you’re sure sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.” Mydeimos’ voice was serious, gravelly, but he could not hide the fatigue that laced his every word.

“Well about this morning then-”

“We are not talking about that.” Mydeimos raised his voice into a hushed whisper, glaring daggers at Phainon.

“Fine fine… We won’t.” Phainon sighed as he retracted his grip, standing in the hallway as he watched Mydeimos fiddle with the mechanism for his door.

“Goodnight then Mydei. I hope you sleep well.” Phainon extended the branch to him, Mydeimos staring at him as if he was unsure whether to grab it or not. He gave a curt nod before he recoiled from the door and over to his bed, the doorway becoming blocked off from the probing hero.

“Goodnight.” Mydei grunted to the empty room around him. He didn’t even have the energy to mull over Phainon’s words before his head hit the pillow and sleep took him instantly.

Chapter Text

The next morning instead of Mydeimos’ usual servant greeting him at the door to his bedroom he was welcomed instead by a far too cheery looking Phainon.

“Good morning Your Highness!” Phainon puffed his chest as he chortled at the top of his voice, Mydeimos certain that he had scared off any birds in the vicinity.

“Why are you here?” Mydeimos groaned, folding his arms with only a vague annoyance.

“We’re spending the day together. It’s about time we did so.” It wasn’t a question or an offer, Phainon was treating it as fact.

“An order from my mother?” Mydeimos sighed, leaning against the doorframe as he watched Phainon pace up and down the small stretch of his door.

“Not at all! I simply believe that if this whole plan is going to work then we should actually get to know each other. I’ve spoken with your friends more than I’ve spoken with you and our last encounter… Well… You punched the river Styx out of me.”

Mydeimos rolled his eyes but did not argue against the proposition. A day with Phainon wouldn’t kill him, he figured, and if it got the young hero off his case for a while then he would gladly take that chance.

Phainon smiled at the silent acceptance. What he wouldn’t tell Mydeimos was the concern that had been eating away at him since the prior afternoon with Hephaestion. He knew the life of a prince was hardly a simple one but still, Phainon often struggled to turn a blind eye to the suffering of others. Some company would do the prince good, or at least he could hope.

“So! Show me the Crown Prince’s daily routine!” Phainon practically beamed as he set off down the hallway, beckoning for Mydeimos to follow.

“You’re going to shadow me?” Mydeimos asked, following behind him with careful yet powerful steps.

“Well if anything you’re shadowing me right now.” Phainon chuckled, turning his head to look at the other man. “Shouldn’t you be the one walking in front, Your Highness?”

Mydeimos simply grumbled to himself, walking past Phainon with what could only be described as a playful nudge. A smile broke across the hero’s face as he became the follower, taking note of the route they were walking through the fortress.

“Seems like someone woke up on the right side of the bed today.” Phainon mused, smile widening.

“Don’t push your luck.” Mydeimos grunted in return, walking down a series of outdoor archways atop a balcony. Phainon looked amazed by the architecture, taking a moment to lean over the edge of the railing to look at the vast view before him. It was a truly marvelous sight, and surprisingly Mydeimos had stopped in his tracks to wait for him to be done.

“You’re not going to try and push me?” Phainon teased, Mydeimos raising an eyebrow at the insinuation.

“Do you really take me for some manner of brute?” He replied, tapping his heel against the marble. “Perhaps some time together is needed to rid you of such misconceptions…”

Phainon blinked and straightened his back, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “Apologies! I didn’t mean to offend you-”

“You didn’t.” Mydeimos stated simply, taking a moment to glance at the early morning view of Kremnos. A sense of pride rested on his expression for a small moment, he clearly had a lot of love for his land, his people. That in itself was proof that Mydeimos would be a better ruler than his father, Phainon thought, keeping that sentiment under strict lock and key.

“Come on.” Mydeimos gestured Phainon closer. “If you’re joining for breakfast then I’m sure you won’t want to eat cold food.”

“I’m allowed to join you?” Phainon asked, almost incredulous as he walked back indoors with Mydeimos, stepping closer towards the kitchen quarters.

“You wished to see a day in my life, no? Surely that accounts for breakfast. Plus anyone in the fortress can get breakfast from the kitchens, my mother’s decree.” Mydeimos spoke as he walked.

The walls slowly became adorned with paintings as they walked closer to the living quarters. Art depicting Kremnos in all its glory, soldiers adorned with armor, charging into battle. Art of landscapes of blood and glory, victory in the palm of their hands. Art of the royal family, Phainon’s eyes widening at what must have been a portrait of young Mydeimos, ripping off the tendrils of a sea monster.

Mydeimos must have noticed the gawk as Phainon stared at that particular painting.

“Is this… Historically accurate?” Phainon asked in awe, eyes flitting from the likeness to the real thing, the prince raising an eyebrow at his question.

“Would you even believe me if I said it was?” His only retort before he walked to the end of the hallway, the smell of bread wafting through an open door.

The shocked Phainon quickly followed, lured in by the promise of food. He had expected a grand dining room with a table as long as Kephale plaza adorned with a feast for the royalty. What he had not expected was for Mydeimos to visit the kitchen personally, nodding and exchanging pleasantries with the cooks before putting on an apron of his own.

Phainon lingered by the door, unsure of what to do as he watched the Crown Prince start to prepare food amongst the laborers. Mydeimos snorted at the disbelief writ plain across his face.

“What? Can’t cook?” He sneered, looking smug as he prepared a pancake batter.

“N-no I can!” Phainon quickly amended himself. “I just, I guess I didn’t expect that you would make your own breakfast.”

“A soldier that can’t put together his own meal is as good as dead on the battlefield.” Mydeimos said simply. “Such is to say, I enjoy cooking. I prefer to do it myself than leave it to the chefs here.” Mydeimos explained as he cracked an egg into a bowl, Phainon slowly edging into the kitchen.

“So what you said about food getting cold was a trick?”

“Not at all. I said your food would get cold, not mine.” Mydeimos chuckled to himself, looking more relaxed than usual. Phainon was used to seeing him tense, torn up in the duties of a prince, or simply not seeing him at all.

Phainon thought to himself, an idea manifesting in his mind.

“How about we have a competition?” He asked, Mydeimos immediately perking up with interest.

“Do tell.”

“A pancake making competition!” Phainon suggested, the chefs around them staring between the pair with a mixture of surprise and a little hint of fear.

“You’ll lose.” Mydeimos huffed definitively as he started to mix the batter with incredible vigor.

“Won’t know unless I try.” Phainon winked, snapping his fingers with newfound inspiration. He sidled into the kitchen, washing his hands before grabbing the leftover batter ingredients that Mydeimos hadn’t used.

“What does the winner get?” Mydeimos asked calmly, not breaking his tempo as he whipped the spoon.

“Pride?” Phainon asked, admittedly not having thought that far ahead. “I don’t think there’s an awful lot that I’d be able to give you that you wouldn’t be able to get yourself.”

“So you’re already prepared to lose.” Mydeimos grinned, flashing his teeth as Phainon stumbled over his blunder.

“No! It was a hypothetical!” Phainon groaned as he made his own batter, Mydeimos smirking as he poured his batter into a pan.

“Yet your first thought in this hypothetical was one of your loss.”

Phainon huffed to himself, watching as Mydeimos effortlessly flipped the batter in the pan, not so much as making a splash. Ah, perhaps he had gotten in over his head.

“Since you’re already so sure that you’ll lose. I’ll tell you what you can do for me.” Mydeimos spoke plainly as he worked, looking almost casual about it.

“And what would that be?” Phainon couldn’t deny that he was curious about what the Crown Prince would want as a prize.

“I want you to tell me the story about the Titan.” Mydeimos glanced to catch his reaction, Phainon’s eyes widening and brow immediately furrowing.

“Then I’ll make sure I definitely win.” Phainon said with all the confidence he could summon, Mydeimos smirking at the newfound conviction.

“That’s more like it, don’t disappoint me hero.” Mydeimos turned his attention back to the pan, looking to Phainon every once in a while to revel in the amusement of watching him flounder around the kitchen.

Things were simpler like this, without an audacious outsider trying to pry into his personal business. He hadn’t meant to be harsh with Phainon the night before, but genuine emotions were difficult, especially when he was hardly acquainted with the man. Phainon himself was an entire bundle of mysteries that he refused to reveal, and that wasn’t Mydeimos’ issue with the hero persay, but moreso that he felt that Phainon wore a mask every time he spoke with the prince. His true feelings were always buried far beneath, the visage of a perfect warrior taking the place of the man named Phainon.

Of course he had been hesitant to trust him, he still didn’t.

But Phainon had been right about one thing, getting to know each other more would be beneficial for their arrangement.

“Is that the delicious scent of His Highness’ pancakes?” A familiar voice called out as Hephaestion poked his head into the kitchen, beaming at the sight of the prince.

“Oh and Phainon too! What a pleasant surprise!” Hephaestion looked a little surprised at seeing the two men together, but by no means disappointed.

“Hephaestion… Good, we’re in need of an objective judge.” Mydeimos hummed as he plated up his pancakes, Phainon starting to pour his own batter into the spare pan.

“Objective?! He’s your best friend!” Phainon scoffed.

“Well everyone here is technically my subject, correct? So in your mind then everyone would be biased.” Mydeimos pointed out, leaning against the counter with a small smirk.

“How can I know that Hephaestion won’t subconsciously favor you?”

“Hmm… I doubt it would be subconsciously, I already know I have the better pancakes out of the two of us.” Mydeimos looked at Phainon with an absolute certainty in his eyes, Phainon narrowing his in return.

“And how are you so sure about that?”

“Well, for one, you haven’t flipped your batter yet, that side is already burnt.” Mydeimos commented, Phainon’s eyes widening in shock as he quickly flipped the batter, a drop splashing onto his hand.

“You got distracted, Deliverer.” Mydeimos chuckled, moving to decorate his own pancakes with spare fruit and a drizzle of honey.

“Damn you Mydei!” Phainon groaned, already prepared to admit defeat.

Hephaestion blinked at the nickname and quickly got to his feet. “It’s not over yet Phainon! There’s a solution that can recover the burnt bits!”

Mydeimos blinked at the sudden betrayal as Hephaestion rushed into the kitchen to stand next to his competitor, helping Phainon to soak the pancake and remove the residue. Phainon watched with wide eyes, gasping and sparking soft “Woah!”s under his breath at Hephaestion’s work. Any doubt of objectivity had surely vanished in that moment, Mydeimos watching them both from the small wooden table in the corner.

“There! Now those are pancakes to rival His Highness!” Hephaestion spoke proudly, Phainon quickly working on decorating his own plate as Mydeimos’ friend quickly joined him back by the table.

“You helped him?” Mydeimos inquired, Hephaestion giggling at the look of accusation in his eyes.

“Well someone needs to take you down a peg or two Mydei~” He cooed, watching with glee as the mortification settled on the prince’s face. “Don’t worry, your pancakes will still be outmatched I’m sure, but I was promised an objective viewpoint was I not? It’s only safe to make it fair, as two chefs in the kitchen still couldn’t match your own skill.”

Mydeimos waved off his flattery, grumbling to himself about adulation and how it wouldn’t get Hephaestion anywhere with him, a bold-faced lie of course, everyone knew that Hephaestion was long since Mydeimos’ favourite for exactly that reason.

Phainon marched over to the both of them, plate of fluffy pancakes in hand.

“Let the taste test commence!” Phainon cheered, pushing his dish towards Hephaestion, Mydeimos mirroring his action as he leaned back in his chair.

Hephaestion chuckled as he glanced between the two. “You’re both staring holes into me.” He joked as he took his fork, stabbing it lightly into Phainon’s handiwork first. “Didn’t realise that Phainon would somehow bring out an even more competitive side to you Mydeimos.” Hephaestion smiled before putting the fork in his mouth, chewing and swallowing Phainon’s work with careful contemplation.

His face betrayed no emotion as he turned to Mydeimos’ plate, taking a similar sized portion and doing the same, bringing a hand to his chin as he debated his options. He took it in turns, bite after bite until there was half a pancake left on both side. The two men leaned in with anticipation, Hephaestion closing his eyes as he rated each result the best that he could.

“Apologies Phainon, His Highness won this round.” Hephaestion chuckled sheepishly, Phainon standing to his feet so quickly that he knocked his chair backwards.

“I object!”

“Oh?” Mydeimos looked smug, gesturing towards the plates. “Then try it yourself Deliverer, let’s hear your verdict.”

Phainon’s hands trembled with the playful rage of competition, quickly taking his own fork and sampling the two dishes.

After a few moments Phainon slammed his fist down against the wood. “Damn it!” He cursed, pouting to himself as he pulled his chair back up, sitting down and folding his arms across his chest. Mydeimos’ pancakes were as if they had been handcrafted by Mnestia themselves, the texture as fluffy as the scholars theorized the clouds to be, the taste as sweet and rich as the gold locked away in Zagreus’ treasure troves.

Phainon was a defeated man, Mydeimos’ victorious laugh almost echoing throughout the fortress.

“Well at least you can admit when you’ve lost.” Mydeimos grinned as he dusted his hands. “What’s that? Two losses under your belt now?” He was clearly referring to their spar the other day, Phainon once again pushing down any comment about the ending of their altercation.

“I will find something to best you in one day.” Phainon grumbled instead, immediately getting to work thinking about the next challenge he would issue to the prince.

Mydeimos simply hummed as he finished what remained of his breakfast, nodding his thanks to the chefs for the allowance of their space. Phainon quickly did the same, stuffing the rest of the pancakes in his mouth before bowing his head politely to the workers. Hephaestion chuckled as he watched the pair.

“Well I’ll leave you both to it, I have to go and meet Perdikkas.” He looked between them, eyes softening as he turned to the door.

“Next time you place a bet please make sure to invite me.” He walked out of the kitchen with a giggle, waving his hand as he did so.

Phainon looked from the exit back to the prince who was currently washing down his meal with a goblet of pomegranate juice. “So, are you going to lord your victory over my head now?”

“Of course I am.” Mydeimos smirked. “But not here, you wished to see my daily routine, so we’re on to the next step.” He got to his feet, Phainon quickly doing the same, trotting behind him as the prince walked back into the hallway.

“Usually I’d have training around this time, but today I have extra duties to take care of.” Mydeimos explained as he walked, he seemed to be in a lighter mood after the thrill of contest, seeming almost happy that Phainon was in his vicinity.

“Extra duties?” Phainon asked, tilting his head as he followed behind Mydeimos, blinking when they walked towards a courtyard. A small pen stood there, a few dromases standing within it, feeding and resting.

The bright blue scales of a particular dromas raised its head at the sight of the impending prince, a joyful noise sounding through the air.

“Phainon, this is ‘The Fierce Beast of Kremnos: Kokopo The Third’ yes that is his full title and he is to be referred to as such.” Mydeimos explained with a straight face, not unaware of the faintly held back laughter threatening to burst from the other man.

“It’s a- pfft- pleasure to meet you… What was it again? The Fierce Beast of Kremnos.” Phainon tried his hardest not to laugh right in the dromas’ face, lest he gets a kick straight to the abdomen. “Kokopo… The third. What happened to the other two?” Phainon asked, tilting his head to the side as Mydeimos rolled his eyes.

“Show some respect HKS.” Mydeimos grumbled, walking into the pen to give food to his steed.

Phainon watched, blinking at what he had just said. “HKS?” He asked, doing his best to mimic the pronunciation.

“It means hyena. It’s an insult.” Mydeimos huffed as he stroked his hands through azure scales, eyes softening at the presence of his pet.

“I see… I believe that’s the first native Kremnoan word I’ve heard.” Phainon chuckled, sitting down on the grass outside of the pen so as to not disturb the prince.

“It’s been used less and less over the years.” Mydeimos said with a frown, “in comparison to other nations our language is more disjointed… It lacks words that would be difficult to explain amongst our terms that the Okhemans use freely. It’s easier in battle to become accustomed to the more common tongue, to better understand our enemies.” Mydeimos explained as he hugged ‘The Fierce Beast of Kremnos: Kokopo The Third’s neck… Phainon would never get used to that name.

It was endearing, he would admit.

“So… Do the dromases fight?” Phainon asked curiously, trying to envision the act of a dromas in battle.

“Of course, they are Kremnoans just like the rest of us. They have the blood of warriors flowing through their veins. ‘The Fierce Beast of Kremnos: Kokopo The Third’ has accompanied me through countless conquests, unwavering in the face of war.” Mydeimos spoke with pride, the dromas clearly recipient to the tone as he struck a pose for the onlooking hero.

Phainon nodded his head and smiled. “I’ve never heard of anything like that before… In Okhema the dromases are used as transport mostly, I’ve never seen one in battle before…”

“Well if you ever step over a line I can give you a demonstration.” Mydeimos joked, but Phainon could tell it was not all in jest. Ever to be careful of course.

Phainon raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll be sure to not get on your bad side then Your Highness.”

‘The Fierce Beast of Kremnos: Kokopo The Third’ seemed satisfied with that answer, turning back to his redsoil feed as Mydeimos exited the pen to look down at Phainon with a small hum.

“Don’t start lounging just yet. My itinerary for the day is a long one.” Mydeimos looked to the sky, noting the angle of the sun to tell the time for the both of them. “We have to go into the city next.”

Phainon jumped to his feet with a confident nod of his head. “At your service Your Highness!” He noticed the way Mydeimos’ nostrils flared, chuckling at the reaction. “Let’s go then.”

The day was a long one, filled with far more tasks than Phainon had anticipated. Mydeimos took him to the city, showing him around the main attraction points before taking him to an ancient forge, the entire presence of the place domineering and suffocating. Mydeimos had appraised a set of weapons and shields for the battles ahead, Phainon giving his own opinion on the craftsmanship too. That had surprised Mydeimos a little, Phainon admitting he had a knack for historical analysis, and that he had forged a weapon or two back home. Either way a hero would need to know his stuff, knowing how best to handle the tools of battle.

They stopped for lunch after, a crowd of Kremnoans approaching to ogle at them throughout the meal, hounding the both of them with questions, Phainon moreso than the prince. Mydeimos must have been a fairly commonplace sight within the streets of Kremnos with the way the people reacted to him, Phainon proving to be the one worthy of being considered an oddity in the environment.

After the meal they returned to the fortress, Phainon joining Mydeimos as he sat with Ptolemy in the library, speaking of maps and plans for Mydeimos’ personal detachment of the Kremnoan army. Phainon may as well have been a fly on the wall during that meeting, not wishing to interfere in the slightest. Instead he had joined Peucesta at the side of the room, looking over scrawled sheet music with a bright smile, the musician silent to Phainon’s humming.

That meeting had brought them close to supper, which Mydeimos had decidedly skipped. He took the time to go to the training grounds for the first time that day, Phainon stepping up to be his practice partner. Their scuffle had ended with no clear victor, Phainon making sure to keep his hands far away from Mydeimos’ growing hair, the last thing he needed was to be sent back to Perdikkas concussed once more.

The sun had set by the time they were finished, Mydeimos admitting to the draw as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. The moon poked over the towering formidable fortress, Mydeimos looking to it with a distant expression. They were now alone in the training grounds, everyone else having retired for the night. Comfortable with that fact, Mydeimos allowed himself to sit on the floor, gesturing for Phainon to sit beside him.

“Well? Enjoy your look into my life?” He asked, stretching his arms above his head.

“I don’t know how you do this every day…” Phainon chuckled, taking a sip of water as he laid back against the ground, staring up at the night sky.

“Because I have to.” Mydeimos hummed. “For my people, for the future of Kremnos.” He huffed, taking his own sip of water.

“I much preferred the start of our day… I felt like… That was when I got to witness the true you underneath all those royal formalities.”

Mydeimos blinked and nodded his head slightly. “I suppose so…”

He seemed lost in thought for a moment, looking focused as he mulled over his words, turning his head to look at Phainon with curiosity in his eyes.

“Speaking of this morning… You owe me a story.”

Phainon sighed, the heavy weight of his past resting upon his shoulders. The Titan… Perhaps it was about time he lifted that story off of the crushing pressure upon him. Perhaps… If he told Mydei, then he could feel understood, even just a little. Not as a hero renowned by all, but as a young boy from a small village lost to time.

“Very well, the story you will have.” Phainon turned to look at the prince, taking another sip of water for good measure.

This would be a long night.

Chapter Text

The fields of Aedes Elysiae sprouted within Phainon’s dreams, manifesting themselves into Phainon’s account. The golden wheat fields that encompassed the distant Kephale’s majesty as they held the weight of the world on their shoulders. The sky had the same resplendent gleam, not having been taken by the darkness. Cyrene would run through those fields, hand outstretched for her dearest friend, and Phainon would take it every time, jogging alongside her until they reached the azure sea.

He would dream of the schoolhouse, the children of the village crammed into one small room where Miss Pythias would tell them stories of the world, of the titans, of the great heroes that stood above all else. Piso would look at Phainon with sparkling eyes:

“Hey ________ do you think we have what it takes to become Chrysos Heirs?!”

Livia would laugh at the comment and turn in her seat to face them both. “You? A Chrysos Heir? No way! If anyone was going to be a Chrysos Heir it would be me for sure!”

Children would always dream of things much greater than their tiny hands could grab. Phainon had never believed in the promise of grandeur and glory, all he had truly wanted was to live out his days peacefully in the little village residing in the corner of the world. Cyrene had mentioned it once, her eyes filled with interest as she spoke to Phainon about the prospects of becoming a hero.

“But I don’t want to be everyone’s hero! I just want to stay in this village with everyone I know!” Phainon had pouted, adamant in his decision to which Cyrene had simply giggled at his headstrong outlook on the idealistic dream.

Phainon had never wanted to leave. If fate had been kind he would have spent his life amongst the people of Aedes Elysiae, frolicking with the fairies in those rich fields. He would join Galba with the hunters eventually, learning the trade from him to better serve the people of the village. He would come back, wooden sword in hand. The little hero of Aedes Elysiae, that is all he had truly wanted. The proud smiles of his parents, his elders ruffling his hair at the sight of him, the kids hanging off his arms and laughing as he swung them around.

He had never wanted to be anything more.

Yet, when the Black Tide settled in, as it always did. The screams of terror were no match for the play sword of a false hero.

“________ ! Run!” His mother had begged, the monsters closing in on them. He had tried to grab her arm, helping her to her feet, but her ankles twisted, Audata collapsing to the ground.

“Please… You have to live on my child… Run… And don’t look back.” It had been a plea, desperate and sobbing next to the corpse of Hieronymus.

Phainon’s heart had fallen to the pit of his stomach. The village he loved so much imploding in on itself, the yells and cries of the people he had promised to protect echoing in his ears step after step, the sound of ripping flesh, the scent of blood and rust.

This was hell, Phainon was sure of it.

“Cyrene?! Cyrene!” A yell amidst the chaos, Phainon hopelessly calling out for the one person he had left.

In those golden fields now burnt black from flames, his best friend lay by the tree she loved so much, a sword heavier than the weight of the world lodged into her chest.

“________…”

The black robed swordsman yanked the sword away, golden blood splattering against the wood. He turned his head, looking down at the quivering young boy at his feet, Phainon stared up, eyes wide with the realisation that his death was now at hand. The figure was silent, unmoving as it stared down at the child, face covered by a mask that would not budge.

And yet, when Phainon stared down at the puddle of his tears, the black robed killer stared right back at him.

To start from the beginning was merely customary when lording the tale of the young hero to his Highness. Mydeimos listened with rapt attention, golden irises glowing against the light of the moon, miniature suns boring into Phainon’s flesh.

Phainon’s hands shook as he spoke, steadying himself as he steered himself towards the true goal of his words. Mydeimos had not asked to hear the sob story of his life up until now, and the way his brows creased with concern sent a pang of guilt straight to Phainon’s heart.

“...Anyway.” He took in a breath, tearing his gaze away from Mydeimos’ expression to survey the empty training grounds around them.

“I ended up in Okhema.” Phainon sighed, inhaling and exhaling as he mulled over his words, memories dancing as wisps before his eyes.

“I was hardly older than a boy, was taken in by a foster family who were aiding the refugees after speaking with Aglaea. They have a fairly important status within the city, working for the Council, so by default I was thrust into a life that I had not been prepared for.” Phainon rested his chin on his fist, not blind to the way Mydeimos shuffled in his position, staying silent to allow Phainon his space.

“The tale you have heard is far from the truth of it.” Phainon felt the secret in the waves of his countenance, slowly rising to the surface after so long submerged in Phagousa’s tide. It had been so long, Phainon had almost started to believe the story too.

“In honesty, I did not kill the Trickery Titan.”

Mydeimos visibly tensed, body as stiff as stone as he stared straight through Phainon’s soul. His mouth hung open, desperately fishing for words to fill the silence.

“You did not?”

“I did not.” Phainon confirmed, gaze distant as he looked to the horizon.

“The people of Okhema would celebrate the demise of a Calamity Titan, Zagreus most of all.” Phainon explained, hugging his knees. “We set out to defeat them, to take their power once and for all and to celebrate the Coreflame.”

“Come on Phainon!” Cipher had sneered from above him, using her tail to hang from a railing. “At this rate they’ll be dead before we get there.”

Phainon had quickly followed as best as he could, not having the same agile build as Cipher as she launched herself from platform to platform. She looked smug at the sight of his struggle, mimicking checking a watch, whistling a tune while tapping her foot. Phainon had chuckled at her antics, eyes wide with admiration as if he was a schoolboy again, watching the older kids show off their skills to their juniors.

They weren’t necessarily close, having only worked together a handful of times underneath Aglaea’s ever-watching eyes. Even further behind had been Hyacine, clinging to her staff as she tiptoed her way through debris. The three of them had set off on this quest, after all, a godlike power of trickery and deceit was a pain to counter at best, whether they be fooled by lies and ruses that the titan would surely delight themselves in when facing death’s door.

Phainon stopped every once in a while to wait for Hyacine to catch up, little Ica ever so diligently flying between them. Cipher had groaned in response about how long the pair were taking but did not seem angry, her countenance revealed unease, an urgency to her steps. The coreflame was more important than anything and with it so close, in the tip of her grasp, its pull was irresistible to the thief.

They had finally made their way to Zagreus’ abode, the titan watching them with keen interest, amused by the prospect of the trio that would claim their head.

The plan had been simple: use the titan’s tricks and greed against them to lure them into a trap, taking the chance to jump and take their own prize. Yet… Zagreus had granted them an offer that had stunned the group to silence. Cipher would take the coreflame, Phainon would take the glory, and Hyacine would have access to a collection of untold tales that could not be found even in The Grove.

Sometimes an offer was too good to refuse.

And thus, Zagreus died.

And thus, Cipher had woven a lie.

Returning a hero, Phainon had been thrust into the limelight. Cipher had been more than happy to snicker from the shadows, slinking away with her newfound power. Hyacine’s eyes did not betray the guilt she felt, but she kept a warm smile at the reception, Phainon reassuring her that they had not chosen wrongly.

Only they would know that Zagreus still wandered the realm, using their ‘demise’ as a cover for being able to ascertain even more lucrative treasures by Cipher’s side. They had sworn to never speak of what had occurred that fateful day, a promise Phainon had sworn to and kept… Until now, he supposed.

Unveiling his deepest darkest secret to the future ruler of an enemy nation was foolish at best, especially after a bet over pancakes of all things. Phainon sighed softly, knowing that his admittance of the truth could earn him Zagreus’ ire, or at least a lecture from Cipher as soon as he re-entered the borders of Okhema.

Mydeimos was unmoving, his eyes locked onto a pillar in the distance as he thought over Phainon’s account, focused and analysing.

“I see.” Was all he muttered after a lengthy silence that clawed at Phainon’s throat.

The false hero’s eyes did not leave his face, taking in every angle, every bump, every healed over scar. Something in Phainon’s heart settled, an assurance that Mydei would not betray him. He did not seem the type. Despite his station he was honest and true, far more than Phainon was at the very least. The Prince of Kremnos… Who would have thought.

“So you’re not gonna sell me out?” Phainon spoke with trepidation, idly picking at the skin of his hands.

“Huh? Why would I do that?” Mydei huffed, almost looking offended at Phainon’s insinuation. He tore his gaze from the stone monument to look at Phainon, the golden blaze of his eyes still as paralyzing as the first time Phainon had encountered him in that hall.

“I do not take you for a backstabber.” Phainon laughed nervously, not wishing to ruin the first sincere moment he had shared with his Highness.

Mydei, or Mydeimos, simply rolled his eyes, his line of sight focusing on the floor. “Any warrior that faces a titan and lives to tell the tale is worthy of the title of hero.” He spoke.

“They call you a hero and it fills you with fear, you believe you do not deserve the praise. You are worried of being found out through the lie that Zagreus weaves. That when the facade falls away you will simply just be… You.” Mydei’s voice was steady, though Phainon could tell that some semblance of the message was written from experience.

“You want to be enough for them, you want nothing more than to be enough for them. To make up for the times that you weren’t, that is why fear settles when you think that they will see through you…”

Mydei sighed, drumming Peucesta’s rhythm onto the flesh of his leg. “You see how they look at you, the stories they whisper about you. The myths that are written in legend. Even those closest to you look at you with stars in their eyes, believing you to be above them, when you want nothing more than to step down from the pedestal and embrace them as equals.”

Yes, this was not about Phainon anymore.

“I understand you, to some extent.”

More of an extent than he would admit.

“That is why I will not sell you out, Deliverer. After all, you are here to help me too.”

Phainon opened his mouth. “If they were to find out then-”

“Then any peace between Kremnos and Okhema would be dead within the hour.” Mydei muttered in mutual melancholy. “I am aware.”

“My apologies for putting you in this position, Your Highness.”

“Don’t be. I’d rather you have told me if this partnership was going to be fruitful.”

Phainon ignored the small lurch of his heart at the concept of a partnership.

“I appreciate your council, and your candor even more.” Phainon chuckled, rising to his feet with a smile that did not reach his eyes.

He offered a hand to the prince, expression morphing into something almost tender. Mydei grumbled something under his breath before taking the outstretched hold, allowing Phainon to pull him to his feet.

“It’s getting late Mydei.” The prince no longer scowled at the nickname. “If that routine of yours is anything to go by then you should be getting to bed.”

Mydei simply nodded, looking lost in thought as they walked in stride with one another. At the very least the heir knew the route like the back of his hand, Phainon not having to be worried about getting lost within the maze of the fortress.

They strolled in silence, a comfortable one in favor of the awkward. Mydei’s thoughts were clearly rushing through his mind, taking a glance at his escort every once in a while as if to confirm whatever was lingering in his mind. Phainon would simply flash a characteristic smile, or mime a small wave at his leisure, the prince in return making sure to exhale just a little louder than he usually would.

Eventually they returned to the prince’s quarters, the man in question unlocking the mechanism to his bedroom.

“Pancakes in the morning?” Phainon mused as he watched him, the small lilt of a joke on the tip of his tongue.

“If you’re up for the challenge.” Mydei muttered in return. “If you’re willing to unveil all of your deepest secrets to me that is.”

“You’re so confident that I will lose.” Phainon teased, even if he knew he was the subject of any humor between the pair. “Hephaestion gave good advice, you know, I’m sure I’ll be better than you in no time.”

“If those five end up teaming up with you rather than me then yes I have no doubt you will.” Phainon could not tell if that was sarcasm or not, for the sake of his dignity he would assume not.

Mydei almost snickered as he stepped into the confines of his room, already working the mechanism to lock behind him.

“Goodnight, Phainon.” His voice was almost a hum, a small smirk forming on the corners of his lips.

“Sweet dreams, Mydei.” Phainon retaliated before the door closed itself between them.

The walk to Phainon’s own abode was a short one, merely a couple of doors down the hall. He focused on his own lock, sauntering into the room and flopping down on the bed. He could not describe the mixture of emotions settling within him, the fear, the unease, the relief. It was an odd combination, one that would no doubt prevent him from getting a decent night’s sleep.

He remembered the Professor’s lessons of counting dromases when sleep availed you. A small simple task in order to increase drowsiness within the brain. Phainon did his best to settle, the dromases in his mind taking the visage of ‘The Fierce Beast of Kremnos: Kokopo The Third’, Phainon would never be used to that name.

Perhaps it was a comfort to know the prince had that childish side to him, Phainon had to admit it had been rather cute how adamant he was about addressing the dromas with his full title. The image of Mydei charging into battle astride the steed, roaring his name as a battle cry, it was an extremely amusing sight at the very least.

Phainon almost chuckled as his mind wandered, the pathetic sound echoing against the walls of his room.

The fortress was silent, peace settling in the cover of nightfall far from Kephale’s dawn device. Like this, Phainon would be able to see the distant stars twinkling in the expanse of Aquila’s domain. It almost reminded him of home, another thing he had not expected to speak about with the prince that night. The absence of such an integral thing made his heart ache, longing for something forever out of reach.

Phainon’s eyes lowered, closing the curtains and shutting away the stars lest be become too upset. He rested back on the Kremnoan sheets, finally allowing his eyes to drift closed after a long day of aiding the prince.

And sleep almost would have claimed him too.

If a familiar voice hadn’t screamed into the darkness of the night.

Chapter Text

Phainon sprung to his feet like a lightning bolt coursing through the sky. His reaction was immediate as he ran down the hallway, swears and grunts echoing against the empty halls. He could hear Mydei’s voice from inside his room, strained and frustrated with the sounds of a fight.

His fists banged on the door, clicking his tongue at the prince’s lock in place. The sound must have alerted his companion however, the sounds of the lock mechanism slowly falling out of their rigid structure. The door slid open, and whatever Phainon had been prepared for fell short in the way his skin instantly paled at the sight.

Mydei was backed against the wall, fists bared in the middle of combat. Red crystals littered the room, the manifestation of his power. His belongings were strewn across the floor, having been knocked over in the clash. The door to his balcony was forced open, shattered glass on the floor. His assailants, multiple, stood in the middle of the room, temporarily trapped by the prince’s crimson restraints, donned in tattered black cloaks that sent Phainon right back to his nightmares.

No.

The memories came rushing back, the screams, the fire, the reeking smell of death. Mydei seemed to recognise the resemblance from Phainon’s story, eyes narrowed in concentration but also a short glance of concern being directed his way.

Not here. Not now.

These were not the same entities. If Phainon jumped at any sign of darkened cloth then he would never survive as an honorary hero.

Only one thought settled in Phainon’s mind as he grabbed the hastily retrieved sword at his side. He needed to protect the prince.

In hindsight, Mydei didn’t need much protection. He had always been clear about this fact since the rumors of a bodyguard had first rumbled within the masses. To need to be protected was a weakness for a Kremnoan warrior, Mydei bashing his fists together in a battle cry.

But even he, the great Mydeimos, could not be prepared for the destruction that nightmares brought. Phainon hurried inside, pushing the prince behind him as he pointed his sword at the figures so similar to the ghosts that haunted him.

“You will not harm him!” Phainon hissed, fighting back tears as the voices resounded in his ears.

“________ ! Run!”

“Please… You have to live on my child… Run… And don’t look back.”

“________…”

The whispers of the dead would never release him from their shackles. Not while the monster still lived. He could not allow the nightmares to take him here, not when the prince was vulnerable.

“Haikas! I can handle it!” Mydei snapped at him, visibly angered by Phainon’s interference.

“No you can’t!” Phainon yelled, bracing his stance for the first attack from the recovered assassins. Steel clashed, sparks flying in the depths of the night, neither side allowing the other to make any advances.

Mydei watched from the wall, gritting his teeth at Phainon’s insistence. They were in a mirrored stalemate, Mydei taking the chance to harness his own strength, charging at the third assailant while Phainon dealt with the other two. Red crystals pierced human flesh, a loud pained wail reverberating around them.

Blood splattered across the wall, Phainon's eyes widening with a mixture of shock and horror as the corpse fell to the floor with a decisive thud. The prince raised his head, glaring at the other two that had quickly stepped back from Phainon's assault. His guard took the opportunity, Phainon stabbing his sword through the first and grabbing the second in a chokehold.

In Kremnos it was to kill or be killed, Mydei's eyes confident as Phainon choked the assassin until they fainted in his strong grip.

“We’ll interrogate this one.” Phainon heaved between pants, eyes darting between the two dead bodies on the floor. Crimson seeped into black attire, pooling onto the floor of the prince’s chambers.

“Assassins…” Mydei grunted, kicking the body closest to him away. “It's not the first time.” He huffed, wiping the sweat from his brow.

He was playing it cool, but there had been a genuine fear in the man before. That scream had been real, and had shaken Phainon to his core.

“Your Highness-” Phainon tried to find his words, lowering his head to the unconscious man that he was still holding.

“Are you unharmed?” He decided on, trying not to indicate any thought that he could consider him weak.

“Of course.” Mydei rolled his eyes. “They caught me while I was asleep.” He laid back down across the edge of the bed, groaning at having been awakened.

He stayed there for a while, thoughts racing as he stared at the ceiling. Phainon in turn started to clean the room, making an annoyed noise at the corpses still spreading blood across the floor.

“What do we do with them?” He asked awkwardly as he polished his blade clean.

Mydei raised his head ever so slightly to glance at his savior, counting the options in his mind.

“Throw them off the side of the balcony.” He spoke plainly, voice betraying no emotion. “It's better if nobody finds out about this.”

“But surely if we did that they would be discovered by civilians-”

“Let me rephrase.” Mydei sighed, “It's better if nobody in the fortress finds out about this.” His face was completely serious, clearly having come to his own conclusion.

“My detachment will handle this situation, no one else can know.” Mydei muttered, sitting up to rest his head in his hands.

Phainon walked to the doors to Mydei's balcony, the crisp night air filling the room. Kremnos slept underneath them, Mydei watching the way the wind tousled Phainon's hair, the way the light of the moon illuminated the doorway.

“Bodies on the streets are not a rare thing here. And those that sneak around in the dark are detested amongst our people. They will not be missed, and the rats will dispose of them before anything else can.” Mydei spoke from experience, a troubled and troublesome experience.

“Whatever you say.” Phainon nodded as he pulled the first corpse onto the balcony, staring into the chasm of what laid below his window.

“If you aim right they could end up far below the city, that would be beneficial.” A small chuckle, almost a challenge of competition that reminded Phainon of their contest in the kitchen. Of course under much more dire circumstances.

“Shouldn't we inform your mother of this? An assassination attempt isn't something to make light about.” Phainon's voice echoed from the balcony, Mydei rising to his feet to join him.

“Not a good idea. If my hunch is correct then… This cannot leave my inner circle.” Mydei leaned against the railing of the balcony, looking up to the moon with distant eyes.

“That man… He’ll never learn…” Mydei muttered to the night, only for the ears of Phainon and the dead.

Phainon had his suspicions of the true meaning behind Mydei's words, but knew better than to question him. He hauled the body up onto the railing next to the prince, before disposing it into the abyss of the night.

Mydei watched the flash of flesh amidst shadows until it completely disappeared from view. He was chewing on his lip, teeth digging into the chapped skin of his mouth. The scent of blood was rife in the air, a trail of red leading to where the two men stood shoulder to shoulder.

“Let's get the other one.” Mydei muttered, using his own hands to bring the other corpse to where the first fell. Phainon watched, eyes intense at the view of the prince dirtying his hands with the blood of his enemies. The princes in fairy tales were brave and courageous men, but they were also merciful, their stories never being drenched in blood.

Mydei was different, he embraced and embodied what his home meant to him. The Strife of Nikador that he worshipped, he filled himself with the traditions of Kremnos, but did not let them become him. It was admirable, and Phainon could not help but admire.

After what felt like an eternity of silence Mydei spoke once more. “I fear you’ve gotten mixed up in all of this.” Mydei muttered, a look akin to guilt shimmering in his eyes.

“Huh? What do you mean?” Phainon blinked at the statement, putting a reassuring hand on Mydei's shoulder.

“This assassination attempt… As feeble as it was…” Mydei grumbled to himself, folding his arms over his bare chest.

“Whoever was behind it was looking to frame you for my death.”

Phainon felt as if a bucket of ice cold water had just been emptied over his unsuspecting head.

“That is why nobody can know what happened tonight.” Mydei followed up, tapping his fingers against the tattooed skin of his arm.

“We will carry on like nothing occurred here. This altercation never happened. Whoever planned it will know that it failed but… If there is no evidence.” Mydei's eyes flickered to the balcony. “Then nobody will know, and any claims will be considered folly.”

Phainon listened to him, not missing a single syllable that passed through his lips.

“You’re speaking from experience… Aren't you…?”

Mydei paused, eyes travelling to the closed bedroom door before glancing back to Phainon.

“This is not the first time somebody has been unhappy with the company I keep.” Mydei breathed out a deep sigh, staring at the dried blood on his hands.

“Killing me and framing you would be a massive boon for the forces I oppose. The war on Okhema would be immediate and you would be the scapegoat for killing the Crown Prince that only sought peace. Okhema would be the aggressors, though they would have done nothing deserving of the title. And the entire force of Castrum Kremnos would rally behind that narrative.”

Phainon lingered by the balcony doors, eyes resting on Mydei's face with a sympathetic expression. He wanted to reach out, to comfort, to offer any aid in the slightest. He felt helpless here, unable to provide anything for the prince in case he was pushed away.

“I won't let that happen.” Mydei muttered, eyes blazing with determination as he made eye contact with Phainon, pinning him to the spot.

“Which is why… I will officially make you my bodyguard.”

Phainon gawked at the other man. “Mydei I- are you sure that's a good idea?”

“They will be looking for you to slip up. They’ll be looking to place any blame on you. If I personally claim that you are here to guard me, that admittance in itself will help your standing.”

Mydei leaned back on his elbows, his eyes not leaving Phainon's own.

“Besides, it doesn't make much of a difference in the eyes of the common soldier. You were here under the pretense of being my companion anyway were you not?”

Phainon stuttered over any words he could muster, cheeks flaring a bright pink. “Well yes- that is true but-”

“So there's no issues? Perfect.” A small grin tugged at Mydei's lips before he looked at the state his abode was in. His belongings were a mess, blood slowly setting into his furniture.

“Haikas…” He groaned, not to Phainon, but to the circumstances of his night.

“I can help you clean everything.” Phainon offered quickly, finally finding something he could actually help with.

“We can't call for the servants right?” Mydei nodded his head in response, a small annoyance settling as he realised he would have to do all of this himself for the sake of the secret.

“Very well.” He huffed as he reluctantly left his bed, leaving any hope of sleep behind.

Mydei started to survey the room, deciding on where he needed to start as Phainon restrained the unconscious assassin, skillfully tying his wrists and ankles together in knots. Mydei watched him out of the corner of his eyes, mouth opening to make a comment that died on his tongue.

Once his handiwork was complete Phainon stood up straight, joining Mydei in looking at what needed to be done.

“Seems like we won't be getting much sleep tonight.” Phainon chuckled. “I can take care of the blood, I don't know where your things go after all.” Phainon offered a small smile, not wishing to step over a line while invading Mydei's personal space.

The prince nodded his head as he started to pick up the books that had been knocked from the shelves during the fight. Phainon couldn’t stop the smile widening as he fiddled with the lock mechanism for Mydei's door.

“I’ll be back in a moment, I need to get some things to clean with.”

Mydei seemed rather distracted as he read the front covers of each books before placing them back in the right order. It seemed to be by theme, and then alphabetical in each genre. Phainon couldn't help but be reminded of Aglaea, a small chuckle escaping him as he left the room.

Yet elation was not in the air, a heavy weight still bearing on Phainon's conscious as he darted to the servant’s quarters. In that moment he had frozen with fear at the memory of his own trauma. Mydei was strong but… If Phainon had allowed his fear to become him and faltered in combat… If the prince had gotten hurt because of him…

Phainon would not have been able to live with himself.

His own weakness would never cause someone else to get hurt. Never again. He has promised himself as much when arriving in Okhema. All of his training, everything he had fought for, he had done so to be a protector, to never let there be another Aedes Elysiae. He would never be the young man who could do nothing but run from the horrors of the world, to never be the young man that left his family and friends to die with their pleas.

If Mydeimos wished for him to formally become his bodyguard. Then Phainon would shield him with his own life. But those nightmares… Phainon needed to do something about those nightmares, otherwise his shield may as well be made from cardboard.

The servant’s quarters were littered with cleaning materials at the very least, Phainon sighing in relief as he filled a bucket with hot water. He took a moment to wash his face, dousing any fatigue away from his person for the long night ahead.

He mixed the soap in with the hot water, grabbing a mop and a couple of rags that he tucked in the crevice of his armpit. He tested the weight of the bucket, doing his best to not spill any of the water as he trotted back to the prince’s bedroom.

Phainon set the bucket down to unlock the door once more but paused in his steps when the sounds of unusual noises came from the gap in the door. Phainon’s brows furrowed and he quickly leaned in closer, tense and ready for another fight if needed.

What he hadn’t expected to hear from the prince’s abode was a sniffle.

He was… Crying?

Phainon’s hand hovered over the lock mechanism, mentally debating on whether he should disturb the prince or not in his moment of vulnerability. The sobs were practically silent, he could hardly make them out, a sniffle and a swear, a low groan of frustration. It was Phainon’s turn to anxiously chew on the skin of his lip, glancing to the bucket of water at his feet.

After a few moments silence fully returned to the night, Phainon bracing himself as he unlocked the door, hauling the bucket inside.

The prince looked the same as always, only a slight reddening of his eyes that could be chalked down to exhaustion and not the uncharacteristic tears that he had just been shedding. Phainon quickly donned a mask of innocence to placate him, setting down the cleaning equipment that he had brought.

“Are you well Mydei?” Phainon asked cautiously as he dipped the mop into the bucket.

“As well as I can be.” A fair answer, Mydei muttered, having finished cleaning up the books. He had moved on to the clothes that had been knocked out of his wardrobe, putting them on hooks and folding what wouldn’t be hung up.

A comfortable silence fell between them, Phainon cleaning any trace of blood while Mydei worked on restoring his room to its natural state. It would have felt almost domestic if there wasn’t a tied up assassin in the corner of the room, not having awoken yet.

“Will you tell your friends?” Phainon asked after a while, using a cleaning rag to wipe the walls.

“Of course.” Mydei sighed, glancing at the hostage. “Perdikkas will most likely handle the interrogation. He’s good at that kind of stuff.”

Phainon tilted his head to the side, picturing the young medic in his mind, he had been witty and cheerful, cracking jokes at Phainon’s expense when he had been recovering in the infirmary. He also remembered his serious analysis of Kremnos’ politics, the sharp look in his eyes when discussing the prince’s welfare. The more he thought on it, the more it made sense.

“Let me guess, he’s as good with poisons as he is with medicine?” A small joke but one that clearly carried the truth with the way Mydei scoffed in reply to his jest, rolling his eyes.

“You’d still be surprised even after guessing that.” Was the only answer he got, Mydei did not speak another word of the subject.

After a couple of hours of cleaning and idle chatter Mydei’s room looked practically spotless. The prince looked satisfied as he sunk into the mattress of his bed, sighing in relief at the chance to rest.

“Might have to push back my schedule tomorrow… Could really do with a late start…” Mydei muttered, resting his head on the pillow.

“I would agree with you but wouldn’t that make everything all the more suspicious?” Phainon asked, standing by Mydei’s door.

“I know… I know…” Mydei waved off his concerns, looking to the forgotten third figure in the room with them.

“I’ll take him with me.” Phainon answered the question before the prince could ask it. “I’ll call for your detachment in the morning, tell them of the situation, and give the prisoner to Perdikkas under your orders.”

Mydei thought it over in his head, but was honestly too tired to come up with a better plan. So, he let it be, watching through lidded eyes as Phainon walked to lift the assassin over his shoulder. Phainon’s expression was gentle, double checking that the windows and doors were locked before he carried the captive over to the bedroom door.

“I’m sure you can get away with an extra hour of sleep.” He hummed with a light chuckle, eyes softening at the tiredness overcoming the prince’s face.

“Goodnight your Highness, I’ll be just down the hall.”

Mydei nodded slightly, raising a hand in farewell as the door closed once more behind Phainon. He would be asleep in no time, Phainon had no doubt about that.

His eyes immediately narrowed as soon as he was out of the prince’s eyesight, taking the assassin back to his own room and setting him down in the corner. He double checked the restraints, making sure they were as tight as possible before allowing himself to sit down on his own bed, staring a hole in the wall as his mind raced.

Assassins after the beloved Crown Prince… The thought left him incredulous. Sure he and Mydei had started off on a rocky patch but that pretense had melted within days of knowing each other. The heir was a kind man with a love for his place and people deeply rooted in his heart. A warrior admired by all, with strength and skill renowned across all of Amphoreus. There were legends and hymns about the man, a valiant show of what a man was meant to be, what a man was meant to strive for.

The fact that anybody would scheme against him in the dark was well and truly baffling, especially with what Phainon had grown to know about the Kremnoan people. They despised snakes and schemers, putting their pride in settling their disputes in the heat of battle, not under the cover of night with daggers at throats.

The prince had said he was unharmed, and he may have been. But that doubt was surely rooting itself in the back of his mind. He seemed confident of the truth behind the attack but… Phainon had questions of his own, he just did not know if it was his place to ask them.

Phainon laid back against the Kremnoan bedsheets, covering his eyes with his forearm. He could only hope that Mydei’s friends would be able to provide him with some insight on what the prince was thinking. He felt a stirring of something unknown in the pits of his chest, an insecurity that took hold of fears that lingered in dreams.

A plan of arranged marriage… Arguments between father and son… Assassins in the night and betrayals under the guise of justice…

Phainon could not help the laugh that echoed against the walls of his room, baring a grin at the unconscious man propped up in the corner.

“I fear you’ve gotten mixed up in all of this.”

Truly what had he gotten himself into?

Chapter Text

Unlike the sleeping beauty just down the hall, Phainon had not slept at all. The insomnia was partially responsible, the nightmares too. But if he was to be a bodyguard then what kind of guard would he be if he left the assassin unattended?

It was a small price to pay to ensure the safety of the prince. Phainon had drafted a letter, scribbling a message to Hephaestion to gather the cohort of five, to hurry to the prince’s chambers at intervals, so as to not to rouse suspicion. The messenger had been confused but had diligently performed his job, Hephaestion being the first to arrive at Phainon’s door.

He had been shocked as he had perused the letter, brows knitted together in concern at the urgency of Phainon’s missive, about the lack of details and what it could possibly mean. To need all five of Mydeimos’ closest friends… He had hardly been able to rest either after informing the others.

As soon as the sun had risen Hephaestion had practically leapt out of his bed, rushing himself into his day clothes to not waste any time. He had barged out of his door, making for the fortress with haste, waving a good morning and giving his signature smile to all those who greeted him. He was hardly a rare sight in the royal lodgings, making excuses for himself with each stride.

“Pretend everything is normal. Prince’s orders.”

Hephaestion’s blood had cooled with that line in particular, the fear crawling at his skin lasting far longer than the vestiges of the letter that had been burnt in his fire. Phainon had also told him to ensure that any evidence of their correspondence be destroyed after it had been consumed, Hephaestion passing on the same sentiment to the others too. To pretend everything was normal was proof that things were not, something had happened in the night, and they had been none the wiser, unable to lend their support.

The guilt settled in Hephaestion’s heart. He had not been there when his prince had needed him. The rational part of his mind argued why would he be in the prince’s quarters late at night? Well at least… Not anymore. Hephaestion chewed at the inside of his mouth, not letting his mind wander there at the very least.

After the argument with Eurypon… There had been no more visitors in the depths of darkness. A risk too lofty to be taken, a heart that did not wish to be broken. Mydeimos’ voice had almost been a plea as they had sat across from each other, begging his nearest and dearest to understand his point of view. Hephaestion had taken the parting with grace, but that did not distill the love in his heart, he feared it never would.

“I can’t risk you getting hurt Hephaestion.” How ironic when his prince had been in danger while he had laid blissful in his bed.

But Phainon… Phainon was trustworthy, he was strong and diligent. He had been there to defend the prince, to stand in between him and harm’s way. Hephaestion owed him a debt of gratitude far too great for such a feat, and he would make sure to act on it once he knew what had occurred.

The route to Mydeimos’ chambers was ingrained into his legs, chewing his lip and picking at skin as he walked. Thoughts flooded his mind as he walked down those familiar halls, wondering about his friends, his prince, and the unknown variable that had entered all of their lives. To pass Mydeimos’ door without entry felt odd, Hephaestion pushing back any thoughts that reared their heads at his good conscience. Phainon’s door stood at the end of the corridor, Hephaestion breathing a sigh to himself as he gently rapped on the surface.

The man in question soon opened his bedroom door, eyes softening at the sight of the familiar friend. His hair was slightly messy from a restless night, strands sticking up from his head like sprouts, a slight darkening in the underpass of his eyes.

“Hephaestion. A good morning to you.” Phainon’s smile creased, polite and cordial as he always was. The man in turn did not look convinced about the “good” nature of the day but smiled in return, performing for the empty hallway, inviting himself into Phainon’s room.

The first thing he noticed was the restrained man in the corner.

Phainon looked left and right before carefully closing the door behind them, leaning against the now closed entrance. His facade instantly fell, seriousness settling into both expression and tone.

“An assassin.” He spoke plainly, eyes narrowed. “They attacked the prince during the night, we kept one alive for interrogation.”

Hephaestion paused, taking in his words with a calming expression. “What do we know?” He asked quietly. Assassins were seen as a lowly means to the battle-hardened warriors of Kremnos, possibilities quickly forming in his mind.

“Not a lot.” Phainon admitted. “Mydei said he has suspicions, but he is still resting.”

Hephaestion once more did not bring up the nickname, lowering himself to sit at the rickety chair at Phainon’s desk. He drummed his fingers against the wood, eyes unfocused as he stared through the window.

Mydei…

Such tones of familiarity were rare among Kremnoans. Cute nicknames were seen as insults, the greatest honor being the use of one’s own title. And yet… That time in the kitchen… The prince had not rejected the notion.

Hephaestion slowly blinked, a smile creeping onto his lips as he turned to look at Phainon, eyes gentle and kind.

“It sounds like a stressful ordeal. Thank you for defending Mydeimos, even if he told you that he could handle it himself.” A light chuckle breached the air between them, Phainon pushing his hair back with a tired grin.

“That he did… That he did…” Phainon beamed at the smaller man, allowing himself a moment of reprieve. It would not be wise to mention the emotions that had come over the prince the night before, memories of tears and screams searing into Phainon’s mind.

A light knock interrupted them, Phainon glancing to the door that he was leaning against. He turned on his heel, messing with the mechanism until the halves parted, revealing their visitors. In front of him stood Ptolemy and Peucesta, the pair sighing in relief at the sight of Hephaestion.

“What did I say about travelling separately?” The latter sighed as he stared at the two, Phainon quickly stepping to the side to allow them into the increasingly cramped room.

“You say that but would it not seem stranger for the five of us to arrive at different intervals? After all we’re all close are we not?” Ptolemy perched on Phainon’s bed, Peucesta huffing and leaning against the wall by the door.

“I’m surprised you got here before Leonnius.” Phainon offered sheepishly, Ptolemy’s laugh echoing around the room.

“Trust me, he’s only swift on his feet when he needs to be. He’ll be along, probably picking up Perdikkas.”

Phainon opened his mouth to argue about the urgency of “needing” to hurry when the prince’s life had been at stake but figured it was best not to. They all had the impression of Mydei’s strength, knowing him to be immortal both in and out of battle. Their worries were not of his life, but of his standing in the royal family. It made sense when they had known him for so long, something that Phainon knew he must learn in stride with them if he were to remain close with the group.

“So, who’s this buzzkill?” Ptolemy looked curious as his attention turned to the captive, Peucesta’s eyes narrowing in kind.

“Exactly that, a buzzkill.” A familiar voice spoke from the door, Mydeimos standing there with bags under his eyes. The tension in the room obviously lessened at the sight of him, the prince sighing at the sight of them all.

“No need to stare.” He grunted, sidling inside to stand next to Peucesta.

“You still have time to sleep Myd-”

“I’ve been awake since dawn.” The prince groaned in response to Phainon’s suggestion. “It’s fine. The sooner we get this over with the better.” He pointed his chin towards the stirring assassin, trying to hide the stress toying with himself.

As if on cue a loud knock on the door alerted everybody.

“Are you guys in there?” Leonnius’ voice called through the door, a muffled noise coming from the companion behind him. “What? We don’t need to be discreet with them!”

“I gave them all basic instructions…” Hephaestion muttered under his breath, watching as Peucesta moved to open the door for their latecomers. Leonnius looked to them with a big smile, Perdikkas trotting in behind him.

“So nobody listened to the ‘travel separately’ order…” Hephaestion sighed, looking to Phainon with a small shrug of his shoulders at their terrible compliance.

“Not like it matters, no one is ever around here in the morning.” Ptolemy pointed out, glancing at the small bag that Perdikkas carried with him.

A small inclusion in the order, one that Mydeimos had given him.

“Bring some tools.”

They talked amongst themselves for a few moments, Mydeimos standing in the corner with a frown. He watched them all, eyes careful and calculating, Phainon moving to poke at his shoulder with an inviting smile.

“There’s no need to fret Mydei. We’ll sort this out together.”

The prince merely scoffed at his attempt at comfort. “You think too little of me to think that I’m worried.”

“Quite the opposite in fact! It’s because I hold you in such a high regard that I want to make sure you’re not addled by these disruptions.”

“It takes more than that to sway me.” Mydeimos waved him off, taking a few steps forward to stand in the middle of the room. Phainon chuckled slightly, settling in the spot he had taken by the window.

The room fell silent as Mydeimos took his station, all eyes turning to look at him as he cleared his throat.

“As I’m sure you know by now. Last night three assassins broke into my chambers and attempted to attack me.”

Any levity was automatically doused out, the men frowning at the implications. A protectiveness from friends and subjects both. A pride of homeland, bonds of companionship formed on the battlefield in war and conquest. Phainon couldn’t help but feel like an outsider in this discussion, keeping quiet as the others grumbled their discontents.

Mydeimos turned on his heel, tilting his chin towards Phainon as if he could sense his doubts. “This Okheman saved me.”

A lie. Mydeimos had not needed saving.

The prince quickly regained his focus, addressing each of them equally.

“Two of them have become food for the rats as those that scheme in the dark deserve. The other is in the room with us.” Mydeimos narrowed his eyes, accentuating the dark shadows underneath his lids as he turned to look at the waking assassin.

“I have my own suspicions as to the nature of this attack. But I will not blindly point fingers until I have proof. And that… Is why you’re all here.” Mydeimos pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing in exasperation.

“This cannot leave this room. No one else can know, not even my mother.” Every eye in the room was glued to his figure, pacing around them with an expression as serious as stone.

“Is that understood?”

A chorus of assurances filled the air.

“Of course Mydeimos!”

“You have my word, Your Highness.”

“We’ll get to the bottom of this Mydeimos.”

“I promise.”

“Your wish is our command, you’re our leader after all.”

“Yes, my prince.”

He seemed satisfied with that at least, walking to where the now very conscious prisoner sat. Mydeimos leaned over, eyes practically glowing in the way they did when he wished to instill fear.

“You might as well tell it to us now. You’re not leaving this room otherwise.” His voice was gravelly and tired, but with all the dominance a crown prince could command.

The gulp could be heard by every man in the room.

“Perdikkas. He’s all yours.” Mydeimos signalled, retreating to sit on Phainon’s mattress. “I’ve sent word to my attendants that my schedule for the day has changed. I will not need to depart for a while.”

The medic nodded his head, opening the bag and rummaging through it.

“Let’s start with something easy.” Hephaestion rose to his feet, striding over to their captive who watched him with apprehension.

“Who sent you? Who wishes for Mydeimos to die?”

An expected silence.

“I’m not telling you anything.” The assassin muttered after a moment. “They’ll kill me if I do.”

“And we’ll kill you if you don’t.” Leonnius replied swiftly, shooting a glare from where he lingered near Perdikkas’ side.

“Trust me. I’d rather it be by your hands than theirs…” The man hissed, blinking when Perdikkas walked to his side.

“Well how would you rather it then? Hemlock? Nightshade? Or would you rather feel the might of our weapons on your flesh?” Perdikkas held up several vials, tilting his head in an innocuous way. “I can assure you none of those routes would be pleasant for you.”

“If you comply we might find reason to protect you.” Ptolemy hummed, clearly finding enjoyment in the way he squirmed. “After all, a well behaved informant would be rather useful to us.”

“A common form of entrapment. You want me to trust you, to think that there’s a way out so I divulge my secrets before you stab me in the back.”

“Ah! You’re not Kremnoan then. Though we had already figured that.” Ptolemy looked smug as he watched the way his eyes widened at having somehow given something away.

“A Kremnoan does not fear weapons in their back.” Peucesta muttered, gaining a nod from each Kremnoan in the room.

“So, that leaves us a few options. There aren’t many city states left that have the manpower for assassins… Aidonia, Styxia, Okhema, perhaps Janusopolis…” Ptolemy mused to himself, Leonnius raising his head.

“The eye of twilight?” He asked.

“Doubtful. They have little to no care of conflict upon the earth, and have their own internal struggles.”

“But why would any of these places care about the fate of the Kremnoan prince?” Phainon asked. “If it is a nature of war then surely the warmonger of a king is the ideal target.”

“Because this isn’t a matter of outside forces plotting against Kremnos.” Mydeimos huffed, making eye contact with his now bodyguard.

“You think it’s an inside job?” Hephaestion asked, eyes wide with surprise. “But… That would mean…”

Mydeimos looked back to the assassin, gritting his teeth. “Somebody within Castrum Kremnos hired a band of killers from an outsider source. These men travelled here with the intention to slay me under the pay of Kremnoan coin.”

His shoulders tensed slightly, Perdikkas picking up on the movement in their prisoner instantly.

“His Highness speaks the truth.”

“Where he comes from doesn’t matter. What matters is who hired him.” Mydeimos grunted, Phainon looking lost in thought.

“Then surely this man is… Okheman.” Ptolemy spoke as he found his own thought trail. “The narrative is perfect, Okheman assassins coming to kill the next promise of the Kremnoan throne. It paints them as the firestarters and puts Lord Phainon’s standing in a precarious position.”

Mydeimos nodded. “That is the conclusion we arrived at last night.” He looked to Phainon for confirmation but found that he was not listening, mumbling to himself before he raised his head with the look of sudden realisation.

“You’re a Cleaner, aren’t you?”

The assassin visibly scowled at him.

“Cleaner?” Mydeimos asked, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

“I should have known from the garb but it has been a long time since I have seen one.” Phainon frowned, striding across the room to take Perdikkas’ place in front of the hunched figure. “They’re an order from all around Amphoreus, but I have encountered them in the walls of Okhema working for our Council.”

“So, a contract killer?” Hephaestion asked. “Then that doesn’t reall-”

“Not just any killer.” Phainon interrupted, looking at him with an apologetic expression. “They… Their main targets are those called Chrysos Heirs.”

“The ones chosen by your prophecy.” Mydeimos rested his head in his hand, propping himself up by his knee.

“They fight for a purpose, they aren’t just blind mercenaries.” Phainon glanced to Mydeimos’ arms, eyes trailing along the rivers of his veins. “They would have needed a reason to come after you.”

“I speak the truth. Don’t I?” Phainon whispered, antagonistic daggers glaring into the Cleaner at his feet.

“I have no idea what you’re talking abou-” the denial was met with a swift kick to the chin, a loud crack filling the room as blood sprayed from nostrils.

Phainon was the very picture of a warrior, ridding himself of that boyish charm. “I apologise.” He spoke, voice cold and dripping with malice. “It has been a while since I really intended to hurt a human, most of my moves are used on titankin these days… Perhaps I overdid it.” Phainon’s tone lowered, dropping to one knee. He beckoned for Perdikkas to hand him one of the vials, holding it up to the assassin’s eyes.

“Let me repeat myself. I speak the truth. Don’t I?” The Cleaner frowned, realising that Phainon truly meant business with him as the blood slowly dried. Survival instincts was something no true human could reject.

“If I kill you here, no amount of alchemy from that order of yours would be able to remake you. You’ll join your friends from last night. There will never be another you. You will die here, and remain dead until Amphoreus is no more.”

The cohort exchanged wary glances between Phainon and their prince, trying to gauge his reaction to Phainon’s sudden change in persona. Mydeimos did not appear troubled, nor did he appear displeased. In fact, it was the most content they had seen him all morning, a flicker of something unknown in his eyes.

“Yes. You speak the truth.” The Cleaner gave up eventually, sighing in relief as Phainon lowered the vial of poison.

“So, who gave you the tip? Who sent you after the prince?”

Perdikkas looked well and truly stumped at how his interrogation had been overruled by the people around him. He dropped his bag gently to Phainon’s feet, the young lord giving him a nod of appreciation.

The assassin squeezed his eyes closed, having accepted that his fate was doomed either way.

“As if I would tell a Chrysos Heir.” He muttered, spitting venom at Phainon’s boots.

“Would you tell any of them?” Phainon asked, gesturing to the prince’s companions around the room.

“No… They are all tainted by your golden blood…” The Cleaner hissed, glaring up at him. “You’re nothing more than a usurper, stealing power for yourself and leaving everyone else to rot.”

“My my what pretty pictures are they painting of me in the Holy City during my absence? Last time I checked I had done nothing of the sort.”

“I’m not telling you anything more than I already have.”

Phainon nodded his head and rose to his feet, looming above him as his lips turned upwards into a smile.

“Very well then. You’ve given us more than enough already.” Phainon took a step back, gesturing for Perdikkas to resume his post.

“I say we keep him for three days, let the hunger get to him. If he still does not talk we put him out of his misery.” Leonnius hummed, propping himself up against Perdikkas’ shoulder.

“Do we not have some magical potion that can force him to tell the truth?” Mydeimos groaned, laying back on the bed with a frustrated countenance.

“I’m afraid such an item does not exist, Your Highness.” Ptolemy chuckled.

Peucesta stood by the window, analysing the movement of the sun. “You should go about your day Mydeimos, it is fast approaching lunch.”

The prince seemed quite less than happy about the thought of attending to royal duties, not wishing to leave his companions alone in such a tense situation.

“Phainon you can go with him.” Hephaestion chirped up, looking more than happy to pair them up on an escapade. “After all you’re his official bodyguard now, aren’t you?”

“Ah- not quite yet.” Phainon rubbed the back of his neck with a shy face as if he had not been threatening the assassin merely minutes prior. “We have not actually announced anything.”

“Well then perhaps that’s something you can put on the list! I’m sure Her Majesty would be delighted at the prospect.”

Mydeimos sighed and reluctantly got to his feet, moving to stand by Phainon’s side. He folded his arms as he looked at Hephaestion, consulting his tone and the way his smile shifted between the two of them.

“You’re up to something Hephaestion.”

“Not at all! I just think it would be safer if the prince has an escort. And Phainon is clearly the best candidate if we are to remove any suspicion from his shoulders!”

Mydeimos glanced at the slightly taller white-haired man at his side. “I suppose…” He couldn’t exactly argue with his friend’s logic, the reasoning was sound.

“So go, go! If there are any updates then we will send Leonnius for you immediately!” Hephaestion practically pushed them to the door of Phainon’s bedroom, shooing them out with a bright smile.

“Do not worry! We have this perfectly under control!”

Mydeimos waved him off, grumbling something under his breath as he trudged back down the hall to his bedroom. He was still wearing his bedclothes, hair still a mess and bags still glaring obvious under his eyes.

Phainon stood gawking in the middle of the hallway, about to open his mouth in protest before Hephaestion squealed a hasty “Goodbye!” and closed the door to his own bedroom right in his face.

“I… Bye?” Phainon looked puzzled but quickly shadowed Mydeimos’ steps, following the prince back to his chambers.

Hephaestion exhaled a breath of relief when he could hear the sound of retreating footsteps. He leaned his back against the door and turned to his comrades, giving them a small thumbs up.

“Now that he cannot see… It gives us a perfect time to demonstrate our loyalty to the fullest.”