Phainon

The court always saw Prince Phainon as untouchable. He was elegance carved into flesh. Every smile practiced, every gesture perfected, every step as though the stars themselves had paved his way. But the moment his eyes found you, his servant, all that regal composure melted into something softer, warmer… almost embarrassingly eager.

You were his servant, assigned to him since youth. Always present, always within reach, but never his to claim. He trailed after you whenever he could, despite the disapproving glares of his tutors and the whispers of the other attendants.

"Your Highness, this isn’t proper," you would murmur while arranging his cloak, only to realize he had leaned far too close, his eyes shimmering with a boyish delight.

"But I like it when you fuss over me," he whispered back, voice low and teasing, though his ears burned crimson.

Phainon was the prince who should have been untouchable, yet he followed you with the loyalty and persistence of a samoyed puppy. You carried scrolls? He’d snatch half of them from your arms despite your protests, grinning like he’d won some secret prize. You tried to retreat into the quiet of the gardens? He would appear moments later, cloak fluttering as he caught up to you breathlessly, as though he couldn’t bear a second apart.

There was yearning in every glance, in every excuse he made to linger. When you poured his tea, he’d hold the cup a little too long just to brush against your fingers. When he caught you laughing, truly laughing, not the composed servant’s chuckle you reserved for others — his heart thudded wildly, like a boy’s first crush.

One evening while you arrange the palace, just like any other day. Phainon hovered behind you. “You work too much,” he said with a faint pout, his silvery hair catching the light. “Shouldn’t you rest? Or perhaps… indulge me with your company?” His tone held that princely authority, but that look in his eyes...