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.