Chapter Text
Fate Season
Month of Balance - Day 12
Phainon
“What?” Phainon says, utterly surprised at Aglaea’s words.
“I won’t repeat myself, nor will I accept your humility. This is an honour and it is a task I know you are more than capable of.” Aglaea says, a small smirk twitching on her otherwise neutral face.
“So I…will be the head ambassador for Okhema’s Department of Trade? Me? Just like that?” He repeats Aglaea’s previous words, fitting them in his mouth to help understand their weight.
“Just like that.” Aglaea repeats. “I need not bolster your ego, but now that our previous ambassador has stepped down to retire, I cannot think of anyone more well-suited. And don’t worry, I shall not fit this in with your current duties. Those tasks will be reassigned to other knights, leaving you with ample time to dedicate yourself to this new matter.”
Phainon nods, not daring to disobey his boss—no, the ruler of Okhema’s commands, and despite being only a rank beneath her, her presence alone is enough to intimidate him regardless of rank or title. Though, a part of him is a little sad that he won’t have the time to help citizens around the city with menial tasks like carrying groceries or moving furniture, he’s actually grown quite fond of those odd jobs.
Though Okhema has no actual monarchy, Aglaea, being the leader of this nation, saw it fit in her time observing Phainon over the years to appoint him with a title befitting his honour. After serving in the general army, studying and reaching commendable achievements, and supporting the citizens of the city for so many years, it was only natural that he’d be promoted to a royal knight position. He was given the honorary title “Prince of Okhema” by Aglaea and her council, and he is often called “Prince” or “Deliverer” by the people of the city, with the latter title referring to his commitment to delivering peace and prosperity to his nation.
He dares not make a fool of himself, at least, not in this way. He collects himself, willing his mind to stop spinning. He knows this, he’s studied it in the lonely nights within his chambers, old notes and scrolls dimly lit by candlelight. He has the theory down to a science, but in practice? What might happen when he’s face to face with Lord Krateros, the current Head Negotiator for Castrum Kremnos’ own Department of Trade. And what about the other nations? Castrum Kremnos comes to mind first since it is nearly their sister nation, the two cities being close allies for several decades now, and if he can’t find comfort in trading with what feels like a close friend, how can be branch out and discuss trade deals with distant nations, nations that may disagree with him?
It all fizzles in his head, makes his everyday princely uniform feel warm, his choker too tight around the neck. His palms sweat and he swipes them against the fabric of his navy blue jacket. “I won’t let you down, Aglaea.”
· ─ ·✶· ─ ·
Month of Balance - Day 27
Phainon spends the next few weeks burying himself in the old notes he saved whilst attending Okhema’s top educational institution, The Grove of Epiphany, trying to refresh himself on International Trade Theory, reminding himself of Okhema’s top imports and exports, all while trying not to spiral over his new position. He sighs, wondering when his first trade meeting will be. After a couple weeks that feel closer to months of revising, he takes a chance to do some research on Castrum Kremnos.
At the very least, Phainon knows Aglaea won’t push him into something she knows he’s not ready for, and right now, he feels entirely unprepared to face any nation besides his familiar sister city. The research he does on his allying city is not entirely fruitless, and though most of this was information he already knew about, the refresher is still appreciated.
It’s during a quiet evening in Okhema that a set of knocks at his door startles Phainon from his nap. He startles, peeling a scroll away from his cheek that happened to stick there after falling asleep at his desk again. In a fret, he rushes to his door.
“Good evening, Prince Phainon.” A royal guard greets him with a kind salute. Phainon nods, ever so awkward around those that treat him with such high regard. “Her Excellency Miss Aglaea requests a word with you.”
“Oh, at this hour? Well alright, I’ll be there shortly, thank you.” Phainon nods to the guard and closes his door for only a moment to reach towards his blazer, throwing it on haphazardly before leaving his chambers.
As much as Aglaea had wished for Phainon to live in Okhema’s Grand Palace, housing only the most esteemed officials, Phainon had ultimately decided against it, wishing for a little more personal freedom, privacy, and an escape from all the bureaucracy. It’s strange how time passes, it’s been several years now since Phainon made his way to Okhema from his small countryside hometown of Aedes Elysiae, and yet, something about the grandness of the city still feels foreign to him. Perhaps it’s impossible to remove the simple desires of a once-country boy from a now city-accustomed man.
The streets are quiet at this hour of the night, sheltering no more than a few people in some late-closing shops here and there. Eventually he makes his way to Aglaea’s residence within Okhema’s Grand Palace and knocks on her door. Footsteps patter for a moment before he’s met with the shimmering turquoise of her glazed eyes. She’s in her usual attire, yet something about her feels softer than usual. It’s a bit strange, yet oddly inviting.
“Phainon, excellent, you’ve received my invitation. Please, come in.” She says. She makes way for Phainon’s entrance and he enters her living room sheepishly, having never stood in her personal quarters till this very moment. The space is almost unnaturally tidy, yet fills him with a sense of security as well. “Care for some tea? I’ve already put the kettle on.”
“Yes, that would be lovely.” Phainon says, admiring the view of the city from a nearby window. Aglaea leaves him to fuss about in the kitchen for a few minutes before returning.
After a few moments, Aglaea returns with two cups of tea, steaming before her. She places them atop the small table at the centre of her living space and gestures for Phainon to sit across from her. She picks up her mug and inhales the steam before speaking.
“Chrysanthemum tea, splendid for relaxing the body, and mind.” She begins. Phainon gives her a small nod before bringing the mug to his nose, appreciating the soothing scent.
“So, for what reason did you require my attention, Miss Aglaea? Based on your demeanour, I take it–or hope nothing unfortunate has happened?”
She takes a small sip, letting her eyes close for a moment. Her patience in speaking almost unnerves Phainon.
“Calm your mind, it is nothing unfortunate, though, it still requires our attention. You remember Lord Krateros, the Head Negotiator of Castrum Kremnos, yes?”
“Yes, I do, he’s been on the Trade Council for quite some time now.”
“Presicely, though, that fact has now changed. I’ve just received word that he’s stepped down from his position. There is no word on if this is simply a retirement or a voluntary leave…” She trails off.
“What!? But how could he suddenly do that? Surely the King must have some qualms over this, no? And for this to happen at the same time as our ambassador…”
“I would have naturally assumed as much as you, however, in addition to this news, I’ve heard that the King’s son, Crown Prince Mydeimos, has stepped up to fill the role of Head Negotiator in Lord Krateros’ stead. You remember him, yes?”
“Crown Prince Mydeimo–Oh, yes, I do, though it’s been a few years since we last held a banquet that he actually decided to attend. Isn’t he quite young for such a responsibility?” Phainon asks, genuine concern washing over his expression.
Aglaea can’t help but let out a soft chuckle at Phainon’s deduction. “My Phainon, how you jest. Have you already forgotten that the two of you are of the same age? And not only that, but that I’ve appointed you to the exact same position that he now carries as well?” Phainon’s expression blanks at her words. Has it really been that long since he last saw the Crown Prince? Truth be told, Phainon can’t help but picture the current prince looking the same way his mind remembers last, entirely grumpy and uninterested in his surroundings. Though, to the prince’s credit, he was just barely a man the last time they saw each other, and what a brief meeting that was, anyways. Maybe in another life, one where there are far more forces that work against Okhema and Castrum Kremnos, would the two soldiers have become intimate allies, knowing each other’s every strength and protecting each other’s vulnerabilities. However that is not this life, and Phainon has had near nil chances to even be in the same room as the renowned part-time warrior they call Mydeimos.
“So…we’ve both been appointed as the leaders of our respective trade departments, huh?” Phainon works out the implications in his mind, realizing that his future debates and meetings won't be with Lord Krateros, but with the Crown Prince himself. And is the Crown Prince really up for this task? Is he not more occupied with commanding his knights or following his father’s orders? Phainon’s mind searches for answers, but at this very moment, he’s stumped, unable to draw any conclusions.
“Not only this…It has been several weeks since I appointed you, I should believe you are more than ready for your first assignment? And what better way to break in your new role than alongside the Crown Prince? I believe starting somewhere familiar will help your chances, and so, your first assignment will be in trading with our sister city, Castrum Kremnos.”
Phainon is smart enough to understand that Aglaea’s intent on having him begin with their sister city, was more than inevitable, and he knows Aglaea wouldn’t dare squander such an opportunity for him to get out on the field and put his studying to work. He collects himself, holding onto his lukewarm mug, too nervous to continue sipping from it, despite its floral flavour.
“What do I need to do?”
· ─ ·✶· ─ ·
Month of Evernight - Day 04
Less than a week after his late night meeting with Aglaea, Phainon is sent a debriefing package, detailing the terms and category of the trade he will attempt to persuade Castrum Krem–no, Mydeimos with. For his first assignment, Aglaea has seemingly gone easy on him, detailing that she only wishes for Castrum Kremnos to agree to an Agricultural export trade, where in return, Okhema will export and distribute luxury goods, made by the citizens of Okhema. It’s a straightforward enough trade pretense for Phainon to wrap his head around. Everyone has stakes in Agriculture, given everyone requires food, and luxury goods? Well, despite knowing that the people of Castrum Kremnos are not as swayed by material belongings as Okheman’s are, he knows that they have good taste. And his nation’s goods are of such fine quality, that vendors have come home empty-handed, pockets full of money, every time they’ve held commercial goods fairs in the main city of Castrum Kremnos. He knows his city’s goods are worth it, now he simply has to convince the Crown Prince of this.
The rest of his package goes over some logistical information regarding the duration of his stay in Castrum Kremnos, some extra notes, and (thankfully) added persuasion tactics. As well as that, it contains the legal contracts that the two leaders would sign, provided they come to an agreement. Phainon flips through it all, anxiously awaiting the day of the trade, approaching ever so soon. He sets out early tomorrow, leaving his city behind before even dawn can break the horizon, all in an effort to maintain an efficient schedule.
· ─ ·✶· ─ ·
Month of Evernight - Day 08
The journey to the Capital of Might is a longer one than Phainon remembers. He can only blame his memory, however, since the last time he made this trip was more than a few years ago. Regardless of the long journey, he is eternally grateful towards the coachman driving his carriage. They’ve made three nightly stops so far, and now they are on their last nightly stop. Tomorrow, they shall reach Castrum Kremnos well before noon, with the trade meeting taking place the day after his arrival to allow Phainon a chance to rest before it all.
Phainon has been almost incessantly flipping through the pages of his package, letting his eyes scan the terms of the contract, still feeling like all of this is above him and his abilities. He wills his nerves down, reminding himself that perhaps he won’t be the only one in the room who feels a bit unprepared. His mind thinks of the Crown Prince and wonders how prepared for all of this he might be. From what he can recall, the prince’s focus has never been on diplomacy and politics, and yet there he is, waiting for Phainon to arrive so that they may take their time to discuss such “riveting” matters such as trade. Though it interests Phainon to some degree, even he can’t deny that most people would find all of this rather dull. He wonders if he can use that to his advantage.
· ─ ·✶· ─ ·
Month of Evernight - Day 09
The first flares of the morning sun crack through the half drawn shades inside his carriage. Phainon and his coachman leave just before sunrise after having a brief breakfast, and to the Okheman’s surprise, their trip only lasts a couple of hours before Phainon sees that grand castle in the near distance. The sight is much more grand than he remembers, gold detailing captures the edges of the buildings and reflects a blinding sun outwards from them. Red banners hang from nearly every window and archway, too. It is no doubt an imposing city to gaze upon, and one that Phainon is eternally relieved is an ally to him and his own city.
After making his way inside the inner city walls and into the main foyer of the castle, some guards and other officials give him a brief rundown of how the proceedings will go. Phainon realizes only after speaking with them that, to his luck, they didn’t bother to berate him about Okhema’s previous trade ambassador. Clearly, Aglaea sent word that he would be present in the retiree’s place moving forward, leaving no room for animosity to stir within the walls of the castle.
After his debriefing, two guards guide him to the chambers he will reside in for the next couple of nights. The room he’s guided to sports a wide open door, giving him a full view of the inside. While the decor is somewhat minimal in this presumable guest room, the decor and furnishings that do exist within it look to be well crafted and ornate. Though this city is known for its more brutish personality in comparison to Okhema’s more docile nature, they do not spare any effort in their decor. The culture of Castrum Kremnos is no doubt rich and beautiful, and it’s reflected in every corner, every moment that Phainon’s eyes land upon.
“You must be quite exhausted, Lord Phainon. Inside your chambers you will find everything you need to accustom yourself during your stay. Should you require anything, don’t hesitate to ring the bell by your door.” One of the guards says, before the two bow before him and walk off.
He gives a faint smile and nod, and enters the room, letting the few belongings he's brought along drop near the door. His eyes land on a dining table near a window, already prepared with food, no doubt set out just a short while ago in preparation for his arrival. Decadent cheeses topped with various fruits sit atop a wooden platter, a savoury chickpea spread lays next to a variety of breads, cured meats sit stacked on a golden plate, and carafes of both water and wine welcome him as well.
“Don’t mind if I do…” He muses, hunger taking over him as he hastily picks up a fork to cut into some of the thick cheese atop the wooden board.
The familiar taste of goat cheese coats his tongue, thick, tangy, and undeniably rich. The rations he shared with his coachman along their journey pale in comparison, and he takes his time trying all of the flavourful appetizers. He wades by the table for a few minutes, making an effort to taste every bit of it; he hums in delight when he takes a particularly large bite of bread dipped in that previously noted chickpea spread.
“Enjoying the refreshments?” A low voice calls out somewhere behind him.
Phainon turns on his heels in a quick action and is met with the sight of a young man leaning against the open door frame of his chamber, arms crossed, expression mostly neutral, yet his eyes look somewhat hopeful. Phainon’s eyes immediately gravitate towards the mane atop the man’s head; the fade of soft, warm, almost pinkish blonde ebbing into a crimson red at its tips, it’s incredibly striking. Trailing lower, the man wears a blazer ensemble not too dissimilar to his own suit, only accented with reds, golds, and blacks, as opposed to his own silvers, whites, and blues. He also takes note of the crimson tattoos that line his neck and lead beneath his collar, interesting. And though the sight before him is somewhat surprising, an air of familiarity ebbs around the man, and Phainon uses what few context clues he has available to surmise that the man before him is none other than the Crown Prince of Castrum Kremnos, also known as Mydeimos.
“Tghey’reh...mdelishgis!” Phainon garbles out, forgetting he has a mouth full of bread.
He chokes once, then swallows the bread. He awkwardly reaches for the entire carafe of water and chases down the bread, wincing as the huge bite he took slowly makes its way down his esophagus. Partly distracted by his efforts to wash down his food, he thinks he sees the man crack a smirk and let out a scoff, but can’t quite tell over the sounds of his gulps. With a large gasp, he sets down the carafe and wipes at his face with a nearby napkin.
He clears his throat once more before attempting to speak again. “Ahem, my apologies! You caught me in the middle of a bite…it’s all quite delicious!” He rubs awkwardly at the nape of his neck with a hand, feeling sweat start to prickle up under his fingers. Of course, he just had to embarrass himself in front of the Crown Prince like that after having spent the last few days of his journey hoping to make a good first impression, well, technically, a good second impression.
The blonde man only raises an eyebrow, leaving Phainon to pick up the pieces of this awkward debacle. “What brings the esteemed Crown Prince to my chambers?” He asks, hoping to change the subject away, very far away, from food.
The Crown Prince muses for a moment before stepping forward, unclasping his arms, and oh, the action reveals that his frame did not appear large due to his posture, but entirely because he is terribly well built. His jacket stretches over his biceps in a way that diverts Phainon’s attention from wherever it was previously, and Phainon thinks that perhaps all the talk of his efforts in battle, truly is rooted in reality. It only takes a few steps for him to draw near the edge of the dining table, leaving just a few feet between the two men.
“I only wanted to make sure you were settling in well. I know Castrum Kremnos is no mere trot across the courtyard when making haste from Okhema.” And wow, with the Crown Prince so much closer, Phainon is afforded the privilege of having his deep voice more clearly reverberate around him. He names it a distracting sound, for the moment anyways. “Worry not, lunch will be served within the hour, these appetizers were never meant to solely satisfy your hunger. Do leave room for a more substantial meal, unless, that is, of course, you are satiated only with spread-smeared bread?”
Oh dear, the Crown Prince’s golden eyes pierce Phainon’s as if he can read his thoughts, and curses, he wanted to move away from the topic of food, Gods have mercy on him. The distance between them is unnerving, and Phainon hates the way his emotions and expressions betray him. None of this interaction has been conducive towards intimidating, or rather learning what he can about the Crown Prince preceding their meeting tomorrow. In fact, much the opposite has happened, with him making a fool of himself before his theoretical opponent. What hope does he have of actually securing the trade deal–his first assignment that he cannot fail–now?
At this point all he can do is nod along and hope the Crown Prince doesn’t start cackling in his face. He beams his classic Deliverer smile, hoping it’s bright enough to distract the Crown Prince. And for whatever his manufactured smile is worth, it seems to pull the blonde’s attention away from the table.
“Noted…Dear Crown Prince, I look forward to our meeting tomorrow. Also…I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but I am terribly curious as to how you ended up in this position.” Phainon begins. “I’m also sure word has already gotten out about my own, let’s say, ‘predicament’.” Phainon sing-songs the last word, hoping to emphasize that this isn’t truly a predicament or travesty to him, only that it’s somewhat sudden and unexpected, and perhaps the blonde man before him also shares some of that sentiment.
“‘Predicament’ or not, it is the Crown Prince’s duty to fulfil each and every desire of the King. A day ago, it might have been to slaughter a hundred men on the battlefield, tomorrow it will be a slaughter of one man, only on a different kind of field, both are undeniable duties I am to fulfil.” The Crown Prince grits out.
Phainon blinks at his words, is that really what the Crown Prince gets up to when not stuck dawdling around the castle? He knows him to be a fierce warrior, of course, but the way he casually describes such violent happenings, makes him feel a bit uneasy. Also, did he just compare tomorrow’s meeting to a slaughter?
“I–I beg your pardon? Are you trying to convey that you intend to slaughter me at tomorrow’s meeting? Why would you bother when there is mutual benefit to be gained here?” Phainon’s eyes widen, clearly his presumption set off a nerve within the Crown Prince, no doubt obvious from the way his brows furrow in an almost amusing way, telling of a mild annoyance bubbling under the surface.
“That is not for you to decide, but rather for me to discern from your paltry words and lame rhetoric. We will have much time to discuss,” The Crown Prince begins. “I suggest you prepare yourself, for I have no intention of conceding to the half-witted persuasion tactics of a HKS.” The Crown Prince chides, his bravado nearly setting Phainon off.
“A hai-what now? Did you just say something in Kremnoan?” Phainon asks, befuddled by the Prince’s words.
“Think nothing of it, I’m only likening you to a weak hyena.”
“What!? You!—“
Not wanting to cause a commotion, Phainon remains level-headed, bites his tongue before he can explode, though a fury simmers in his chest at the Crown Prince’s words. ‘Why does he have to be so difficult? Don’t the people of Okhema and Castrum Kremnos want the same things? What is there to even argue about?’ The Crown Prince is clearly withholding information, but Phainon isn’t ignorant enough to believe that he’ll give him any clues.
“We shall see about then, won’t we?” Phainon throws out a small curiosity, hoping to nip this conversation where it stands. He needs the Crown Prince to get out of his face, get out of his room entirely.
The Crown Prince only offers him a near-silent ‘hmph’ in response before turning on his heels and leaving his room, bastard. Phainon doesn’t even know what truly set him off, but it’s clear now that this won’t be a friendly discussion, but a difficult debate. Phainon only hopes he can make it out in one piece.
· ─ ·✶· ─ ·
The rest of Phainon’s first day in the nation of Strife is relatively calm. His lunch and dinner, though undeniably delicious, somehow manage to leave a sour taste in his mouth after his brief conversation with the Crown Prince. Truth be told, he hasn’t been able to get the blonde’s words out of his head since it happened. Perhaps it was all a ruse, words that were merely meant to confuse him before the big day. Phainon didn’t think the Crown Prince could stoop to such a level, but of course, he’s essentially a stranger to him, he doesn’t know anything real about him. And he guesses there’s no rule saying royalty can’t play dirty?
The Prince’s words repeat in his mind, the subtle bite to them, his utter lack of sympathy for Phainon despite being in such a similar position to him. And that Kremnoan curse he called him…hai-whatever it was, it keeps popping up in Phainon’s head. ‘I’m not weak, or a hyena, just you wait, Crown Prince.’
Phainon sighs, he surmises that for whatever reason, the Crown Prince is sensitive about matters relating to his duties, the city, and most importantly, King Eurypon, hence his little outburst towards him earlier.
King Eurypon…Phainon has only had the luxury of meeting him once, at what coincidentally was the same event where he had first met the Crown Prince at. A yearly banquet held in Okhema that celebrates the many allyships built over the decades. Various nations make the trip and stay a few days to discuss trade strategies, resource management, military funding, and other related topics. And when the government officials aren’t talking shop, they can be found dining on vast spreads of foods and sipping on expensive wines, a reprieve from the monotony of their daily lives.
It was at this such event that Phainon happened to briefly meet with the King, and by proxy, his son. Phainon was made well aware beforehand of the Queen’s passing only three years prior, hence her absence at that very banquet. The meeting itself is mostly a blur now though, having been about seven years ago. Phainon can only merely recall the stern and ever-intimidating presence the King commanded. And of the Crown Prince? Well, there isn’t much to recall aside from his scornful face, looking as though he’d rather be anywhere but that banquet. Gods, they were both so young back then, who knows what might have been on the young Prince’s mind. Phainon doesn’t necessarily loathe him for whatever might have been running through his head at the time, but having recently been appointed as the unofficial Prince of Okhema, and having known that the Crown Prince was now of the age to participate in his official duties, a small part of him had hoped they could get along, perhaps share their troubles and worries over their assigned roles, and maybe even become friends.
Such events, unfortunately, did not transpire, and after their brief visit, the King, his son, and their guards went off without much notice. Since that banquet seven years ago, only a few government officials from Castrum Kremnos have bothered to make the trip to the yearly banquets, saving the utterly uninterested King and his reluctant son the trip. That’s how things have worked thus far, officials traveling in their leader’s steads, all in service of trade, and of preserving the strength of their cities.
Despite this, it’s not as if Aglaea is reluctant to travel, only that the King wishes not to discuss matters of government with her…with a woman. Yes, the King of Castrum Kremnos, even in this day and age, still holds onto such outdated and bigoted views. There are women in his government, however, they hold only small roles. He entirely entrusts the most sensitive tasks in his city to his men, which happens to work well in his case, having a son instead of a daughter. A son whom he can entrust his world to, provided he proves his abilities in combat and in office, and can also ensure that their lineage will continue on after his own death.
The entire prospect is not lost on Phainon, though it’s something he’s never had to worry about, given the fact that Okhema is not an actual monarchy. In fact, it’s something that Aglaea has never even brought up, presumably content with Phainon building his life and future family as he sees fit, with the potential to retire or pass down the mantle after some decades of hard work. With whatever choices he decides to make, he is at least grateful that the choice of who he may one day marry is entirely up to him. And regardless of his seemingly brash temperament, and of knowing nothing else about him, it’s something Phainon pities the Crown Prince for, and suspects it’s not something he is particularly happy about.
Such thoughts plague his mind as he tries his best to drift off to sleep. His bed, carefully made by some Kremnoan housekeepers, is fresh and silken. It’s near impossible to stay awake for much longer when such plush fabrics caress him, and lull him into unconsciousness.
· ─ ·✶· ─ ·
Month of Evernight - Day 10
Phainon wakes to the sound of a bell gently ringing, its chime singing through his sleeping quarters.
“Lord Phainon, if you do not rise now, you shall not have any time for breakfast before your meeting this morning.” A maid says from the doorway of his room.
Stirring from his rest, he rubs at his eyes, and lets the waking world fill his vision again. As he tries to sit up in his bed, the silken sheets that once rested over his body, slide down, revealing his bare chest.
“Oh! My apologies, Lord Phainon!” The maid says in an embarrassed tone, swiftly turning around to avoid the sight of his bare torso. “I only wanted to ensure that your grace had a proper breakfast, as I was instructed by Miss Aglaea that you become cranky when famished!” She adds, nervousness coating her words.
He barely registers why the maid acts so bashful, sleep still clinging to his bones. “Hmm? Oh, I see, I will rise now and eat something…thank you for waking me.”
So Aglaea put in a word for him, how embarrassing, yet, how endearing. To be treated like a son whilst far away on an important trip, to advise the staff of another nation to care for him. It’s funny, he thinks, Aglaea would never do such a thing in his presence, but whenever he leaves Okhema, the turquoise-eyed ruler of Okhema always finds a way to care for him in silent ways.
Without any more protest, he rises from his bed, letting the silken sheets drape off his body, lets his nude figure soak in the soft rays of the morning sun, pouring in through the windows. He laughs to himself, a small thing under his breath. ‘Thank goodness the sheets only fell to my waist, or else I fear that that maiden would have fainted.’ Padding over to his dining table, already set with food whilst he slept, he surveys his breakfast, and wastes no time before scarfing down a quick breakfast of porridge, followed by a few figs.
After a satiating meal, he dresses quickly and makes his way out of his chambers, remembering to bring his meeting notes with him. Making his way down the long halls of the castle, he looks for any indication of where the meeting is being held. Holding only vague memories of this place, he has no recollection of the layout.
“Prince Phainon! There you are!” A gruff voice calls out from behind him. Phainon turns around and is met with the familiar, yet intimidating face of Lord Krateros. He sports a sharp beard, cut into by an aged, thick scar that trails up his face, passes over his blind left eye, and ends on his forehead. It is quite difficult to forget such a noteworthy face. Regardless of the faint scars that cover his face and body, he looks to be in good health for his age, and Phainon wonders why he has decided to retire so early.
“My Lord, it’s been a while, have you been well?” Phainon starts, testing the waters and hoping the older man is in a good mood. Lord Krateros makes his way forward until he’s stood in front of Phainon, with a faint smirk on his face.
“Come now, let us skip the formalities. You were just a boy the last time we met. But now…not only are you a young man of many accomplishments, but you are also in quite the similar spot as my successor—have you met him yet? Prince Mydeimos?”
“Yes…we briefly spoke yesterday, though if you recall, we did meet some years ago at one of Okhema’s yearly banquets. I believe you were also there, though not anywhere near the Crown Prince or the King?”
“Ah yes, I recall it. I did not want my appearance at the banquet to be of note, so I stood in the sidelines, watching over his Highness and his son.” Lord Krateros recalls, agreeing with Phainon’s version of events. “The King…he is of a unique existence, and of an ever commanding presence…I hope you do not feel that way near myself, Prince Phainon. In fact, when it’s just us, you may simply call me ‘Krateros’.”
Krateros’ words bring some peace to Phainon’s mind. The older man has only ever been kind to him—serious and stern at certain moments—but kind nonetheless. It is a stark contrast to the way the King treats his subjects, and Phainon almost wonders how such a decent man could find joy working under such an oppressing force.
“In that case, you may simply call me ‘Phainon’ at all times.” The younger says, offering him a soft smile.
Krateros nods before speaking again. “Well then, Phainon, shall we head to the meeting room?”
The two walk together in near silence, only interrupted by Krateros pointing out random things of note on their way to the large board room. Phainon wonders for a while how such a man could be so friendly with him, whereas the Crown Prince seems to take this entire ordeal as a competition. Just what is the Crown Prince’s deal anyways? He has to guess that if he truly was appointed due to Krateros’ sudden retirement, then perhaps he sees this as a role he must excel at, rather than one he’s spent a decent amount of time readying himself for. Phainon sighs to himself. ‘The reason doesn’t matter anyways, all I’m here to do is reach a mutual agreement.’
After a few minutes of walking through long corridors, they finally reach a pair of tall, mahogany doors. This is no doubt the entrance to the meeting room. Before Phainon can take a breath in to ready himself, Krateros swings open the doors. The doors open up to a large board room with a dark wooden oval table in the middle, with some sheets of paper and writing utensils both ready at either end of the table, should either leader need to take notes. Near both their respective note taking materials, sit familiarly shaped carafes, though one of them is filled with a creamy pink liquid, and the other with water, and near both the carafes sits a plain but faintly decorated glass. Clearly, whatever that pink drink is, must be favoured by the Crown Prince, and he assumes the placement with water is his side.
To Phainon’s relief, the room is also mostly empty save for a few of Castrum Kremnos’ government officials who are only present to monitor the meeting and provide support to both leaders when needed. He lets out that sigh he didn’t get the chance to a moment ago, thankful that he’s able to prepare himself without the Crown Prince’s bitter aura to sully his confidence.
“Provided this is both you and the Prince’s first meeting, I shall be watching from the back. Should you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask me.” Krateros assures Phainon, then makes his way to some chairs that line the edge of the room.
Phainon makes way to what he guesses is his side of the table, eyeing the carafe filled with a mysterious drink across from him. He sets his notes down, and takes the chance to do a final check of his agenda for this meeting.
He refreshes himself on what he’s set out to do here: Okhema has come to Castrum Kremnos in good faith, looking to set up a new trade deal, wherein Castrum Kremnos will supply Okhema with their most popular Agricultural resource–namely, grains. And in return, Okhema will cultivate and export luxury goods of every fashion to the city of Castrum Kremnos, no doubt aided by their previous trades in minerals and metals with their sister city. It’s simple, it makes sense, and he knows it will be of benefit for both cities. Phainon feels confident in his persuasive abilities, and feels ready to take on this new challenge given to him.
Whatever amount of self-assurance he had dies in his throat a few minutes later, when the tall doors creak open and he spots that familiar head of blonde hair that fades into crimson. The Crown Prince walks in, holding no more than a couple sheets of paper. An assistant follows behind him for a moment before making their way to sit near Krateros. The Crown Prince confidently makes his way to sit at his end of the table, and before speaking, pours himself a full glass of that mysterious pink liquid. He takes a few swigs of the pink beverage, leaving the sound of his faint gulps to fill up the otherwise silent meeting room.
Phainon looks around awkwardly, wondering if this is part of normal processions. Are they not supposed to greet each other or shake hands? None of that? He stays seated, waiting for the young Prince to say or do anything. With a faint exhale, the Prince lowers the cup from his face, and plops down into his seat, setting down his notes before him.
The Crown Prince cocks an eyebrow before speaking. “Good morning.” His voice is deep and steady, though lethargy drips from his mouth, much like a few drops of that pink juice tints his lips. Phainon’s eyes can’t help taking a glance, admiring how the drink has stained the Crown Prince’s lips, their colour not all that different from the pink tulips that grow just outside the very castle.
And though Phainon had hoped to receive a warm greeting, something to help them open up a dialogue, the greeting he does receive doesn’t feel so welcoming, rather, it feels like an invitation to a challenge. Phainon is not one to step down from a challenge, no, never. It’s only that in the face of such important matters, and in front of–though not many–this many bystanders, something inside him feels unnerved, as though he is destined to lose.
“Good morning as well, Crown Prince.” Phainon starts, trying to rid his mind of their brief impasse yesterday. He desperately needs the Prince to put it behind him as well. They’re both adults, can they not at least find some common ground?
“Enough of that, you may call me ‘Mydeimos’, or ‘Mydei’ for short from now on. Official titles are cumbersome, especially when we are to hold many long conversations in this very room. I also do not intend to use any special titles or honorifics for you–Phainon.” Phainon swallows dryly at hearing his name in Mydeimos’ pitch, all low and overly composed. Phainon wonders if he’s attempting to play mind tricks on him, anything to ensure Okhema’s failure today.
In a way though, this change does work in his own favour; at least now he won’t have to force himself to act entirely professional around the Crown–no, Mydeimos, anymore. And Phainon for one is nowhere near sold on being referred to in such magnanimous ways. Though ‘Mydeimos’ is also a bit of a mouthful, perhaps he should skip his full name entirely and be more efficient about it.
“Sounds good to me. Well, shall we begin then, Mydei?” Phainon suggests coyly. He takes note of the way Mydei’s brows twitch at the unexpected use of his common name, though he doesn’t relish in the blonde’s reaction for too long. He lets his eyes drift to his papers, taking note of what he’d like to cover first.
· ─ ·✶· ─ ·
“As you may know, Okhema has been self-sufficient in our Agricultural department for some time now. Though, due to some unforeseen circumstances–those of which I’m not currently at liberty to share, though wish to in the near future–our seasonal harvests of specifically grain, have begun to dwindle.” Phainon begins his exposition. “Our key produce is fresher than ever, but it is our grains that suffer currently. Typically speaking, we have a large boon of grains that are nearly ready to harvest by the end of the Month of Reaping, however, we’ve found that due to that aforementioned unforeseen circumstance, a large portion of the grains are not reaching maturity, but instead dying out before reaching peak maturity in the Month of Weaving.” He adds, waiting for Mydei to chime in with any thoughts at this point.
“So you want our grains, is that all? With the fervour you brought in here today, I had imagined you’d have wanted much more than that.” Mydei deadpans.
“I’m just trying to paint you a picture. Had you been more invested in Okhema’s news, I may not have needed to bore you with my exposition.”
“And who’s to say that I am not up to date on all that transpires in my city, or yours, or all of Amphoreus?” Mydei bites back, clearly a bit offended at Phainon’s assumption.
“My apologies Cro–I mean, Mydei. I meant no offense, it’s just that it has been many years since you’ve attended Okhema’s yearly banquets, I simply assumed you had lost interest in that sort of thing.” Phainon frets, not wanting the conversation to go down an eerily awkward path, as it did yesterday.
“You’re not entirely wrong. I lost interest in the banquets and frivolities. But do not mistake me, I have paid close attention to the ever-changing factors of our cities.” Mydei starts, expression turning from stern to neutral. “So do not bore me with your recaps, get on with it and tell me what you want.”
Mydei’s boldness takes Phainon aback. He had worried for so long that he would have to fight to be heard, but now, for some odd reason, Mydei is letting him speak plainly, and not fight for it?
“Well, as mentioned, Okhema would be indebted to Castrum Kremnos, if you were to approve the export of grain into our city. In return, we would supply your city with an abundance of luxury items, and not only luxury in appearance, but in quality and use.” Phainon explains.
Mydei nods along with Phainon’s words, seeming to understand the basis of the trade. “And for how long would this trade last?”
“Her Excellency Miss Aglaea has stated that she would ideally like this to be a recurring deal. One that would be renewed each calendar year from the date its contracts are signed–that being today if we both approve.”
“Every year?” Mydei asks.
“Yes…we mean to monitor the quality of our grains in the meantime and find a solution as soon as possible. But, if such a solution does not reveal itself so soon, we would like to ensure that we still have grains coming into our city.”
“And what of the other nations? Why ask Castrum Kremnos?”
Phainon chuckles. “Of course, there is always the option of asking another city to trade with us, however, there is no denying that Castrum Kremnos has become a close and dear ally of ours. I believe this trade–amongst the many that preceded it, and those that have yet to follow–will only strengthen our bond. Beyond this, Castrum Kremnos sits atop some of the richest soil beds in Amphoreus, your grains are no doubt reliable and sturdy; it’s not an opportunity we are looking to pass on willingly.”
Mydei remains lost in thought for a few moments, seeming to run Phainon’s words through his mind. Phainon waits patiently as the blonde deliberates, noticing how dry his mouth has become from speaking—or rather his nerves—he takes a long swig of water after having spoken for the majority of their meeting, then meets Mydei’s eyes once more.
“I accept…your trade offer.” Mydei says plainly, scribbling something onto his notes a moment after, entirely missing the way Phainon’s face lights up in excitement.
Has he really done it? Succeed in a trade deal after his first attempt? He almost wants to run to Mydei’s side and have him pinch him, reminding him that this is actually happening.
“Y–you’re serious? Don’t play a ruse on me, Mydei.” Phainon warns.
“I am serious.” Mydei says. A few claps of hands can be heard in the distance as Krateros and a few other assistants nod in agreement to the trade. “Now come, let us sign the contracts and seal this deal.”
Phainon swiftly stands from his chair and brings the contracts over to the centre of the table. Mydei meets him halfway, and pulls at two of the sheets, skimming through the terms before jotting down his signature on his personal copy, and the other for Phainon. Phainon does the same, still feeling elated in his success, and he can’t help the smile growing on his cheeks as he pens his own signatures on his and Mydei’s copy.
Phainon hands over a copy signed by himself to Mydei and the blonde hands over one of his own copies. The two now hold a contract bearing their own, and the other’s signature “Excellent! I will have Aglaea review this upon our return and then we will send word of when we’d like the shipments to begin later this year.” Just as he is about to turn to gather his other items, Mydei speaks.
“Before you go, you should be reminded that Castrum Kremnos has its own tradition regarding the binding of contracts.”
“Oh? Did I forget something? I can’t recall having missed anything from the latest edition of ‘Castrum Kremnos: Traditions of Trade and Legal Documentation Vol 4’.” Phainon says, his mind searching for whatever he forgot.
“That’s because it was removed after the printing of the first volume. Despite this, it is still something practiced here, only its existence is kept a secret, as it is a physical ritual that some may find…odd…” Mydei trails off, his eyes now wandering around the room–looking anywhere but Phainon, it seems.
“Oh…you’re not going to tell me we must engage in some sort of blood ritual, those of which I’ve only heard gossiped about in the dregs of Okhema, heh…” Phainon chuckles nervously, seriously hoping he isn’t right about that.
“No, and I seriously recommend that you rid your mind of that nonsense. This ritual is entirely harmless, and takes only a second to complete.” Mydei’s voice is deep as usual but something lilts at the edge of it, something unfamiliar to Phainon.
“Well then alright, if you say it’s harmless and quick, what must I do?” Phainon chirps, both relieved and now curious.
“First, we must stand atop this podium.” Mydei gestures to a small piece of raised stone flooring in the room, the size can easily accommodate a few people should they need to stand atop it. Mydei moves to stand on it, waiting for Phainon to do the same. The two face the front doors, and stand shoulder to shoulder for a moment. “Then, we must face each other...” Mydei adds, turning slowly. Phainon repeats the action and his eyes widen at the lack of proximity between them. The two stand in front of one another atop the podium, their chests nearly brushing.
“Umm…what now…?” Phainon asks hesitantly, suddenly feeling very warm and uneasy with how close Mydei is to him. Though it’s at this moment he’s able to notice the faint advantage of height he has over the Crown Prince. For all his attitude and spiteful words, there’s nothing he can do about Phainon’s 2cm height advantage. An advantage that makes next to no difference in their line of sight, yet Phainon enjoys nonetheless.
“Now…we are to draw near each other's faces…” Mydei says, this time, his voice is quieter, softer. The blonde leans closer and Phainon follows suit until their noses nearly touch. With them standing so close now, it’s next to impossible to look anywhere but forward. As intense as it is, it does allow Phainon a chance to study Mydei’s eyes. He’s known of their golden vibrance since yesterday, but now, with him so close, he’s afforded the chance to peer at Mydei’s light brown eyelashes, much too long for any grown man to have, especially when they frame his eyes so nicely.
Whatever this ritual is, Phainon hopes it’s over as quickly as Mydei had assured him it would be, because right now, for whatever reason, Phainon can barely stand to be so close to the Crown Prince, to feel the blonde’s breaths fan over his face, his cheeks, his mouth…
“Now what…?” Phainon asks, his voice shaking ever so slightly as his breathing quickens. The sound of his words also drop to a near whisper, and well, for what reason would he need to shout when Mydei stands so close, his entire presence filling his field of view?
“Now…we draw close enough to meet in the middle, for just a moment, then the ritual is complete.” Mydei says, his own breaths coming out at an uneven pace.
Phainon blanks at his words. ‘He doesn’t actually intend to–.’ Phainon blinks rapidly a few times before noticing the way Mydei’s eyes direct themselves to look around his face and then down, down, down, low enough to observe where the place where sound escapes him as he speaks. And suddenly, Phainon can’t help but mirror the action, letting his eyes wander over Mydei’s face, as close as it is. His eyes search until he’s met with that familiar sight of juice-stained lips.
He couldn’t deny it when he walked into the meeting room earlier, the pink juice sitting prettily in that carafe did look quite intriguing, inviting even. With Mydei so close, he can almost imagine the scent of that mysterious, yet delicious looking drink. And if he is to go off the colour of the blonde’s lips, then perhaps that alluring flavour still dances there, waiting to be tasted.
Before his thoughts can spiral any further, and before he can even attempt to close his eyes, Mydei leans in, and presses his lips to Phainon’s, leaving his own eyes open in the process. The blonde's lips remain firm and unmoving, yet decidedly warm against his own, but for only a moment.
And as quickly as they pressed to his own, do they leave him. Mydei pulls back with a swift action before speaking again. “That concludes the ritual…” Phainon stutters for a moment, shocked at how quickly the entire thing ended, lasting no more than a second or two at most. He tries to rid his mind of the faint noise their lips made when Mydei pulled back, in favour of some more intelligent, and useful words.
“Um..thank you…for showing me that ritual!” He exclaims, plastering a smile on his face in hopes that it distracts from whatever heat has built up on his cheeks. “I am very pleased to have learnt about something not mentioned in any of my Kremnoan textbooks!”
Mydei stands back even more so now, affording the two of them their personal space again. “Think nothing of it, however, you must keep in mind that this tradition occurs at every meeting that results in an agreement. If such a ritual perturbs you, I suggest you find a replacement for your position.” He adds, looking in Phainon’s general direction, though seeming to avoid direct eye contact. Perhaps that was a bit much just then, there’s no need to force Mydei to look at him forever.
“No! I can assure you I am up to any task I am given, and this? This was just one of the many tasks that I will grow accustomed to in my new position.” Phainon assures Mydei. “Your Kremnoan traditions may be misconstrued by random citizens, but their truths do not scare me.”
“Hmph, very well then. That shall seal our contract, and thus, conclude the end of this meeting. I wish you a safe journey back to Okhema.” Mydei says.
Phainon doesn’t even get the chance to thank him or bid him a farewell before Mydei gathers his notes and exits the meeting room swiftly. With the Crown Prince gone, the few assistants who sat in the back also start to make their way out of the room, leaving only Phainon and Krateros behind. Phainon blinks, stares at his contracts and notes, utterly speechless at what just happened. Then, reminded that he isn’t the only one in the room, does he look up to Krateros with a bewildered expression.
“Phainon…” Krateros tries, but is interrupted by the younger man.
“Did you know that was going to happen? No–wait. You’ve done that before! And you didn’t think to tell me!?” Phainon shouts across the room, not all that loud, but still with enough vigor to stress his exasperation.
“Yes…and yes…I have partaken in the ritual in the past, the very same one that just happened. It has been a tradition for some centuries now.” Krateros admits.
In the wake of the older man’s honesty, Phainon is left nearly speechless. “How could I have missed such an integral part of the Kremnoan’s contract-sealing traditions?”
Krateros sighs. “It’s as the young Prince said, it was edited from succeeding editions of the textbook due to its rather…peculiar nature. My apologies Lord Phainon, I only withheld its existence because I knew it would affect your performance today. And as I had hoped, the Prince at least had the manners to explain it to you before initiating it.”
“I’m not even sure I know what to say.” Phainon admits.
“I know it must be extremely out of the ordinary to do such a thing at an official meeting, but it truly is seen as natural here, I can assure you that no one will think less of you for partaking in it, as they know it is part of the position.”
Krateros’ words only half quell the confusion in Phainon's mind. “If anyone from Okhema were to see such a sight…I truly don’t know what would happen, or how I’d even explain it. If Myd—the Prince was to ever travel to Okhema for a trade meeting, our officials would not be as impartial as the ones here…”
“Fret not, Phainon, for if you wish, you may continue to travel here for your meetings. I can also have your current chambers converted to a reserved space, ready for you at any time, and available long term should you require extended stays here in Castrum Kremnos.”
“I suppose that would be helpful in the meantime…Thank you for all your help, Krateros.”
“Think nothing of it, I only wish to help you as needed, and perhaps quell what uncertainties lay between you and the Prince. I may be blind in one eye, but even I can tell that the foundation of your relationship is unsteady.”
Phainon chuckles at that. “Truly nothing gets past you, huh?”
Krateros gives him a faint smile before nodding and leaving the meeting room. Now standing entirely alone in the meeting room, he lets out a long sigh. If he is to make it a habit of visiting Castrum Kremnos each time a trade deal is suggested, and if he is committed to ensuring Mydei never makes the trip to Okhema for a meeting, then all of Krateros’ offerings will turn out to be rather useful.
He also has to agree with Krateros’ earlier words regarding Mydei’s behaviour during the ritual. That Mydei was at least courteous in his initiation, giving him ample time to back away if he felt any discomfort. Still, not in 33 million years would Phainon have ever expected that to be their ritual for sealing contracts. Could what they shared for a moment truly be considered a…kiss?
He shakes his head, trying to rid himself of everything that’s happened thus far. Right now, all he wants is to return to his chambers, have a comforting meal, take a long rest, be on his way back to Okhema, and to perhaps, distance himself from all of this nonsense, at least for a little while.