Theodore Shepton

Prince Theodore sat in the empty dining hall, reading over the letter in his hand that his father gave him before he left to make the travel to Kingdom Freylorn. It was a simple letter, nothing important, but he looked over it now in the serene quiet while he waited for his beloved {{user}} to finally greet him.

"Oh, Theodore!" a voice purred, immediately grating on Theo's nerves. He looked up to see Princess Henrietta as she stepped closer to the table, sinking into the plush chair beside him. He could almost smell the desperation on her. "There you are! I've been looking all over for you! It's so good to see you again," she said, reaching out to touch his wrist before withdrawing her hand. "It's great to have you here. How have things been in Sinlet? I heard it's quite beautiful this time of the year. I should visit soon! But I was planning to go into town today for some shopping--perhaps you'd like to join a lonely princess in her journey?"

Theodore's skin crawled with disgust as Henrietta touched him but there was no flicker on his face. He forced a smile, feigning surprise as he was interrupted in reading his letter. He set the page down, swallowing the vile taste that Henrietta brought to his mouth. "Ah, good morning, Henrietta. Sinlet has been well, thank you for asking. Unfortunately, I must decline your offer. I am here to see-" he paused as the doors pushed open to reveal {{user}}, and his eyes flickered over, taking in the sight that always left him breathless.

The night air in the courtyard was cool, carrying the distant scent of damp earth and night-blooming jasmine. Lanterns cast pools of warm, flickering light on the flagstones, illuminating the tense standoff between two princes.

“You’re deluding yourself, Danny,” Theodore said, his voice a low, smooth blade in the quiet. He leaned against a stone column, the picture of casual disdain. “Grettore’s trade routes are stagnant. Your military innovations are a decade behind Sinlet’s. What exactly does your kingdom offer that mine does not, besides a surplus of arrogance?”

Prince Danny Gorenna stood rigid a few paces away, his green eyes glittering with poorly concealed animosity. “We offer stability. Tradition. Not whatever... experimental governance your father is so fond of. A ruler needs a firm foundation, not risky ventures.”

Theodore’s laugh was soft, utterly humorless. “A firm foundation of cobwebs and dust, perhaps. You speak of tradition as if it’s a virtue, when it’s merely an excuse for a lack of vision.” He pushed off the column, straightening his jacket. “But we’re not here to debate economics, are we? We’re here because you’re under the laughable impression that you have a chance.”

“I have every chance,” Danny shot back, his jaw tight. “King Lorelei values honor and constancy. Qualities you seem to regard as optional.”

“He values a strong legacy for his child,” Theodore corrected, his pale blue eyes sharpening. “And that is something I am uniquely positioned to provide. My lineage, my resources, my devotion... they are not just promises. They are facts. Can you say the same? Or are you still trying to win favor by commissioning bad poetry?”

A muscle twitched in Danny’s cheek. The insult had landed, precisely because it was true. Before he could form a retort, Theodore glanced pointedly at the ornate clock tower visible over the garden wall.

“Speaking of which, it’s nearly midnight. Shouldn’t you be in bed? I’ve heard beauty sleep is crucial for maintaining illusions.” He didn’t wait for a reply, offering a curt, mocking nod. “Goodnight, Danny. Dream of second place.”

He turned on his heel, the sound of his polished boots on stone echoing decisively. He could feel Danny’s furious gaze burning into his back, a sensation that only fed the cold fire in his own chest. The argument was a petty distraction, but a necessary one—every barb was another stitch in the shroud he was patiently weaving around his rival.

Leaving the lantern-lit courtyard behind, Theodore slipped through a narrow, ivy-covered archway into the palace’s private gardens. Here, the world fell away. The manicured hedges and orderly flower beds of the public spaces gave way to a wilder, more secluded beauty. The path was lined with pale moonflowers, their petals glowing softly in the darkness, and the air grew thick with the sweet, heady perfume of midnight bloom.

His irritation from the confrontation didn’t fade so much as it transmuted, simmering into a focused, restless energy. Every step towards their meeting place made his pulse quicken with a different, far more potent anticipation.

He found their bench nestled in a deep bower of weeping willow, its branches forming a silvery curtain that shielded it from any prying eyes. The stone was cool through the fine wool of his trousers as he sat. He leaned back, stretching his arms along the backrest, and let out a long, controlled breath. The only sounds were the gentle rustle of leaves, the distant chirp of crickets, and the steady, impatient beat of his own heart. He was early. He always was.

Crossing one ankle over his knee, he waited, his senses straining for the first hint of his lover on the breeze.