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The palace guard looks at Phainon like he’s just announced he’d like to be shown to the nearest set of gallows, please and thank you, and to gather a crowd to throw rotten tomatoes at him while he’s at it, just for shits and giggles.

“…I said, I’m here to fight your prince,” Phainon repeats, slightly more hesitant. “Um, Prince Mydeimos? From the Nikador line? I want to challenge him to a duel.”

“The challenge has been changed,” she says, looking at him quizzically. “His Highness’s hand is no longer available through conquest. Instead, prospective suitors must retrieve the necklace with the royal crest from—”

Phainon nearly trips over nothing. “Sorry,” he interrupts, his eyes wide. “You said his hand? In marriage?”

The guard’s expression grows even more complex. She looks him up and down appraisingly, like she’s trying to evaluate his candidacy.

“I’m not here for that!” Phainon splutters, waving his hands wildly. He’s probably making a fool of himself. In fact, he’s definitely making a fool of himself. His sword hangs limply at his waist like a useless belt. “I’m not—oh heavens no, I’m not trying to become the—the royal consort, I’m just a country boy, really, um, I just want to fight him. For unrelated reasons.”

The other palace guard is staring at him too. Actually, he’s pretty sure everyone near the palace entrance is staring at him. Phainon’s starting to sweat a little.

“Hey, so, what’s your name?” he asks the guard, giving her his most charming smile. “I’m Phainon.”

“…Mnemosyne,” she says at last. “Pardon, but why would you want to fight His Highness if you do not wish to compete for his hand?”

Phainon’s face heats up. He clears his throat and stands taller. “For fun…?”

Mnemosyne looks at him like he’s asked her to personally pick out the most rotten tomatoes and the most disgusting cabbages at the market and to throw them at him with her dominant arm.

“I’m aspiring to become a knight,” he explains, gesturing vaguely to his sword. “I want to fight the prince so that he can help me improve. Doesn’t he need a sparring partner?”

Mnemosyne sighs and leans in slightly closer. “Kid,” she says, her voice gentler than before, “you do understand why the suitors’ contest was changed?”

Phainon tilts his head.

“Because no one can beat Prince Mydeimos.”

Phainon lights up. “Really?” he asks, already standing straighter. “I heard the rumors, but I wasn’t sure if it was really true. Is he as incredible as the people say? Does he truly have the build of a lion and the mane of one, too? Can he sweep the floor with five of the city’s finest warriors all at the same time?!”

Mnemosyne looks at him with a wry smile. She opens her mouth.

“Why don’t you find out?” someone asks from behind the gates.

Phainon nearly jumps.

Standing at the gates of the castle, with his arms crossed across his chest, is the most gorgeous man Phainon has ever seen in his entire life.

Granted, his life has consisted mainly of living in his small farm town, and then journeying to the capital city of Styxia for his coming-of-age. But still! He’s a very beautiful man! Perhaps Phainon’s life experience is a bit lacking, sure, but he’s certain that this man would rank among the top ten most beautiful people in all of Amphoreus. Perhaps higher!

The man stares at him. Phainon stares back. The entire crowd around the palace gates seems to have fallen silent.

“So?” the man asks, looking Phainon directly in the eyes. “Will you fight?”

You’re gorgeous, Phainon tries to say, and then, You’re beautiful, and then what he says is, “You’re gorgiful.”

The man blinks.

“Um,” says Phainon. His face is burning. He shifts on his feet and draws himself into the most awkward curtsy in the history of curtsies. It is particularly awkward in that he is a man, and that he also isn’t wearing a dress to hold the fabric of. In the end he performs some sort of weird half-bow with his hands out at his sides. He stumbles back to his feet, blushing something fierce. “Hi. I’m Phainon of Aedes Elysiae.”

“Hm,” says the most gorgeous man alive. Then, casually, he picks up his right fist and decks Phainon across the face.

Phainon stumbles back, entirely caught off guard, and hits the ground with a smack.

“There,” he says, looking down at Phainon with his eyes narrowed in a tiny, victorious expression. “Your fight. Congratulations.”

And then he walks back into the palace like he owns the place.

…Like he owns the place.

Phainon watches him go with a sinking feeling in his stomach. He thinks he knows, all of a sudden, who that was.

Oh, fuck.

***

Phainon is new to the capital city of Styxia. It’s built along a gorgeous river, split in two by its rushing rapids. The palace spans both sides of the river; the front palace is for receiving guests, and the back palace is reserved for private affairs.

Phainon, of course, looked at an apartment on the front palace side and immediately balked at the price. Then he found himself a nice, slightly-run-down place on the back palace side, with a charmingly dilapidated garden kept by a woman named Jacyntha, a retired warrior with a prosthetic leg. She offered him lower rent if he were to help complete her shopping each week. Phainon, being a broke country boy from an even more broke family, instantly agreed.

So now here he is, balancing three shopping bags full of groceries on his shoulders and trying to read items off of Jacyntha’s list. Her handwriting really is illegible. And he thought Cyrene’s cursive was bad.

“And—sorry, um, half a kilo of cherries? Wait—a full kilo. Hold on—” Phainon readjusts the bags on his shoulder for the twelfth time, giving the shopkeeper his most winning smile. “Yes! A full kilo. Thanks.”

The shopkeeper looks at him skeptically. He packs up the kilo of cherries.

Phainon reaches into his pocket. Then he frowns. He checks again. No dice.

His wallet isn’t there.

“I seem to have misplaced my wallet,” Phainon says, still smiling. “I’m sure it’s here somewhere! Give me a second…”

He sets down the bags and starts rummaging through them. Carrots, rice, brown sugar, cheese, more cheese, oil, wax paper, and—

“Aha!” Phainon digs his wallet out of the bottom of the bag. He stands up awkwardly, leaving the bags on the floor. “There we go. Thank you so much for waiting. One second…”

The minute he opens the wallet, something darts between his feet.

Phainon glances down, perplexed. It’s a cat. An orange cat with red-tipped ears and a small, squished nose.

“Hello,” he says, looking down at it delightedly. He didn’t know they kept cats in Styxia! He’s more familiar with dogs, himself, but he’s no stranger to any animals. “Where did you come from?”

The cat looks up at him disappointedly. Then it bites his ankle.

“OW,” Phainon cries, pulling his leg up. But then of course the cat goes for the other ankle, and then Phainon tries to pull that one up too, and—

Ah. Right. The ground. He needs two legs to stand on it.

In the ensuing commotion of falling flat on his ass, Phainon drops the wallet. It wouldn’t ordinarily be a big deal; he only drops it about two inches away from his hand, and he can nearly touch it. He reaches out for it.

But before he can make contact, the cat grabs it in its teeth and bolts.

“HEY!” Phainon yells, scrambling to his feet again. He swears cats aren’t supposed to be that fast. He grabs his shopping bags and hauls them onto his shoulder again. “Someone—anyone—that cat stole my wallet! Please help out!”

A few people in the market look sympathetic and attempt to help. Phainon even sees a cheesemonger about to stop the cat. But then the cheesemonger takes one look at its distinctive fur pattern and pauses in his tracks, and the cat gets away again.

Phainon huffs. He runs faster.

He chases the cat through the entire market, all the way down the long set of stalls draped in fabric roofs. He runs past the spice bins, the medicine stores, the barrels of pistachios and almonds, the seafood vendors. Then, finally, he reaches the river, where the cat turns around and looks at him with his wallet in its mouth.

Phainon doubles over and pants for breath. “You really know—whew—how to—hah—run away,” he says to the cat, like it can understand him. “Can I—have my wallet—huh—back yet? It’s not very full, you know.”

The cat looks up at him with wide, golden eyes. Slowly, it lowers the wallet to the ground again, releasing it from its teeth. Then it looks up at him expectantly, holding very still.

Phainon leans down and picks up the wallet. “Thanks,” he says, nodding to the cat. Then he glances at the riverbank, rushing past their feet. “…Hey, this spot is pretty nice.”

The cat meows pointedly, like it’s offended.

Phainon laughs. “Yeah, yeah. Of course you’d know good spots. You’re a cat. You’ve probably lived here your whole life. Longer than I have, at any rate.”

The cat’s fur settles against its skin, like it’s relaxing after a long period of tension.

“Hey, mind if I join you and catch my breath?”

The cat flicks its tail vaguely in his direction, then perks up, facing him.

Phainon takes that as a yes. He sits down on the riverbank next to the cat.

“Hi,” he says, giving it a little wave. “What’s your name?”

The cat meows and turns its face up toward him. As it turns, Phainon notices something peeking out from its messy mane of fur, something he hadn’t seen before. It’s a gold and blue pendant, wound around its neck like a collar. He frowns and leans closer.

The cat’s fur bristles. It hisses at him.

“Woah, relax,” Phainon says gently, holding his hands out in surrender. “I’m just checking to see if your collar says your name on it. Let me touch, okay?”

The cat looks up at him like he’s crazy.

“I won’t hurt you,” Phainon coaxes, moving ever so slightly closer. “Here. I’ll only touch it for a moment, okay? I promise.”

The cat hisses again, but weaker this time. When Phainon inches his hand closer, it doesn’t back away.

“Good kitty,” Phainon murmurs, reaching out. “Just let me see it, okay?”

The cat finally stops baring its teeth. It makes a low, strange noise in its throat, half-threatening and half-satisfied. Then, strangely, it tips its head up, letting him touch the necklace.

“Huh,” Phainon says, blinking. “Do you understand me?”

The cat looks at him. It blinks once, slowly.

Phainon just smiles. What does it matter if the cat can understand him or not? Maybe all of the farm animals at home could understand him, too. He’ll never know.

His fingers brush against the pendant. He lifts it up to the light.

The pendant doesn’t have a name, or a contact address, or anything. It’s just a necklace. A very pretty necklace, with an interesting crest on it—something like a sword, a cat, and… a butterfly? Weird. He didn’t think those items really went together. Anyway, no name. He sighs and lets the pendant go again, falling back to the cat’s fur.

The cat’s eyes snap open. It looks up at him and meows, once, quite loudly.

“What?” Phainon says, raising his eyebrows. “I’m done now. The necklace didn’t say your name or anything. It just had a few symbols on it.”

The cat meows at him again. Then again. Then it headbutts his leg.

“Okay, okay,” Phainon says hastily, getting to his feet. “I’m going already! You don’t have to tell me twice.”

Then he gathers up his shopping bags, staggering under their weight, and makes his way back toward the market.

Behind him, he swears he hears the cat meow again, like it’s eager to see him leave. Or maybe like it still wants something from him. Like there was something he forgot to do.

Phainon shrugs it off and heads back through the market. He doesn’t have time to worry about some street cat, even a cat with a pretty necklace. He’s got shopping to do! How important could one cat be, anyway?

***

“Boy,” Jacyntha says, walking into the kitchen with her cane. “You didn’t happen to piss off any of the royal family members, did you?”

Phainon, halfway through unloading his groceries, feels all the blood drain from his face. “Why?”

“Just got special mail for you,” she says, sliding something across the table to him. “From the royal family themselves. Got their crest and seal and everything.”

It’s an envelope. Phainon picks it up, turning it over. Staring right back at him is a wax seal of the same symbol on the cat’s necklace: a sword, a cat, and a butterfly, entwined along a crown. “This is the royal crest?” he asks nervously. “I thought it was a sword and shield.”

“The shield is the Nikador family symbol,” Jacyntha says, sitting down at the kitchen table with a heavy and somewhat alarming clunk. Her prosthetic leg always makes that sound on the wooden chairs; Phainon has yet to get used to it. “The Styxian royal family has three lines: Nikador, Zagreus, and Thanatos. When the three kingdoms united, they combined the symbols of all three lines to create their crest.”

“Huh,” Phainon says vaguely, still staring at the symbol. There’s no way he actually chased a royal cat through the market. Royal cats probably have better etiquette. They don’t go around stealing wallets and chasing down poor, unsuspecting country boys. “Well, maybe it isn’t for me!”

Jacyntha gives him a look. She takes the envelope from him and turns it around. Sure enough, it’s addressed to: Phainon of Aedes Elysiae, residing with Jacyntha Aquila, Skybridge Lane.

“Well,” he says faintly. “That’s definitely me.”

Jacyntha snorts. She leans her elbow on the table. “Go on, then. Let’s see.”

Phainon, suddenly feeling a bit nervous, rips open the wax seal and opens the envelope. A single sheet of rich, tan paper falls out, emblazoned with red lettering.

“Nikador,” Jacyntha says helpfully. “They’re the only ones who use red ink.”

Phainon’s heart sinks into his stomach. He carefully picks up the piece of paper from the table.

“‘Phainon of Aedes Elysiae,’” he reads, his voice higher-pitched than usual. “‘You are hereby summoned to the Calamity royal court tomorrow afternoon for an honorable duel. You need not bring a sword, but be sure to bring your incredible audacity. Yours, His Royal Highness Prince Mydeimos Nikador.’”

Jacyntha slams her fist down on the table and bursts out laughing.

Phainon sets down the letter, his hands shaking with jitters. “Holy shit,” he says, his eyes wide. “I can’t believe that worked. He really wants to fight me? What do I do? What do I wear? Jacyntha, what do I wear?”

Jacyntha’s laughter finally dies down in her throat. She looks at him through crinkled eyes. “Boy,” she says, her smile sharp. “You are so fucked.”

***

“You look too happy for someone about to get beat into the ground,” says Prince Mydeimos, the second time Phainon meets him.

Phainon just beams. “Hi, Prince Mydeimos!” he says brightly, walking right up to his side. “Are we going to the training grounds now?”

The prince looks at him sideways. “You don’t have to call me that.”

“But everyone does,” Phainon says, a little lost.

The prince sighs heavily through his nose. “Just—call me Mydei,” he says, his face faintly pink against the contrast of his blue necklace. “You’re not like everyone else. You should know that.”

Phainon supposes that’s true. The prince—Mydei—probably wouldn’t give an invitation like this to just anyone. “Well, thanks for agreeing to fight me,” he says, trying to get back to familiar territory. “I’m from a farming family, but I’m hoping to train as a warrior! Fighting you would help a lot, I’m sure. I’ve heard you’re really good. Is it true?”

“Yes,” Mydei says. He doesn’t elaborate.

“…Okay,” Phainon says, still walking alongside him. “This isn’t the way to the training grounds, is it? I thought the training grounds were off to the right.”

“We aren’t going there. We’re going to my private courtyard.”

“Oh,” Phainon says, suddenly a little nervous. He laughs awkwardly. “Right! Of course.”

Mydei looks over at him briefly, then looks away. The flush has spread down to his collarbones. “It’s more suitable for this sort of thing.”

Phainon blinks. He didn’t know duels were unsuitable for the public eye. But who is he to protest the whims of a prince? “Yeah,” he says confidently, pretending he has any clue what’s going on. “Obviously this duel should be private. I mean, you wouldn’t want anyone to see their prince getting his ass handed to him, right?”

Mydei raises one eyebrow. “Cocky.”

“Optimistic,” Phainon corrects.

Mydei’s mouth quirks up at one corner. “You do recall that none of my other suitors were able to best me in combat?”

“Yeah, of course,” Phainon says automatically. Then, blinking rapidly, “Other?”

“In fact,” Mydei continues, ignoring him, “they were so soundly defeated that they demanded I change the contest for my hand. Now, instead of winning against me in a duel, they must retrieve my necklace.”

“Okay,” Phainon says, failing to see how any of this is relevant. “Can we circle back to the part where you said other suitors? I’m pretty sure I never—”

Mydei pauses at the entrance to the courtyard, his arms crossed over his chest. “Do you fight with a sword, or shall we compete hand-to-hand?”

Phainon’s voice dies in his throat.

“Worry not,” Mydei says, looking him right in the eyes. “I will best you regardless of which battlefield you choose. Take your pick, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae.”

“…Hand-to-hand,” Phainon says, his mouth faintly dry. He’s too busy looking at the bulge of Mydei’s chest beneath his crossed arms to take stock of the weaponry available. “How many rounds are we going to fight for?”

Mydei raises his eyebrows. “Rounds?” he says, scoffing. “We’ll fight until you collapse from lack of stamina. But if you want to bet on how many rounds it’ll take, be my guest.”

Phainon stares at him. “Until I collapse?” he says faintly.

Mydei adjusts the braces on his wrists. He nods.

“And what if you collapse first?”

Mydei’s smile sharpens. “I won’t.”

Then he beckons Phainon forward with one hand.

Phainon is so entranced by his easy confidence that he has no choice. He follows Mydei’s call and gets into position. He stares at Mydei, eyes wide. He can’t quite remember how to form words in his mouth.

And then Mydei lunges.

This time, Phainon has enough warning to fight back. He springs out of the way and hooks his ankle around Mydei’s. But Mydei latches onto his arm and spins their positions back around, so that they’re face to face again, right back where they started.

“Oh,” Phainon says, a little lost. Mydei’s eyes are prettier than he remembers. Gold and shimmering and perfect.

Mydei raises one eyebrow at him. Then he takes hold of Phainon’s arm again and twists it around, trying to force his position.

Phainon combats it by twirling around with him, so that they spin in unison. He ends up shoulder-to-shoulder with him, and shoves him down by the contact point. Mydei stumbles, but before he can land on the ground, he wraps his leg around the back of Phainon’s knee and pulls him down with the force of gravity, slamming them both onto the ground to brawl together in the dirt.

And so it goes, back and forth and back and forth. For every move Phainon tries to pull, Mydei has the perfect counterattack. For every successful evasive maneuver Phainon manages to execute, Mydei has another offensive tactic ready to go. Phainon has never been challenged like this. Never had to let his body learn the movements of his own defeat.

True to Mydei’s word, they don’t stop at one round. They don’t stop at two, either, or three, or four, or five. They duel until the sun is beginning to dip below the horizon, and then long after. Mydei wins every single round, but Phainon puts up a fight, and doesn’t go down easily.

Eventually, long after the sun has set, Mydei starts to look at him strangely. He hesitates above Phainon, not getting up after he yields.

“What?” Phainon rasps, still short of breath. “Thinking of giving up already?”

Mydei scoffs. “Of course not,” he replies. He offers his hand to Phainon on the ground. Then his expression falters slightly. “Don’t you need to return home? It’s almost midnight.”

Phainon just grins as he takes his hand. “Trying to get me to give up on a technicality?”

The unease evaporates off of Mydei’s face. “Just trying to preserve your dignity,” he says loftily. “You’ve lost how many times now?”

“And each round you’re taking longer and longer to win. I’m going to get there. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Hm,” says Mydei, tightening his wrist braces again. “We’ll see about that.”

Then he hurls his fist at Phainon’s face, and they begin again.

Phainon has no idea how long they stay like that, fighting in Mydei’s private courtyard with nothing but their bare hands. He has no idea how many times he ends up on his back, or pushed up against the wall, or caught between Mydei’s hands. All he does know is that he isn’t done yet. That’s all that matters. He isn’t done yet. He isn’t giving up. He’s almost there—he can feel it.

And then, just as the first rays of dawn are shining into the courtyard, Mydei sends him hurtling to the ground.

Phainon hits the dirt with a wheeze. Mydei leans down over him, panting for breath, his face glowing with sweat and exhaustion. And he forgets, somehow, to pin Phainon down.

“Do you yield?” Mydei asks, his voice raspy.

A single bead of sweat drips from his cheek down onto Phainon’s face. Phainon feels it land on his skin, awestruck.

Then he kicks his leg up around Mydei’s hips and slams him down to the ground beneath him, switching their positions and keeping Mydei trapped.

Mydei stares up at him, baffled. For the first time, he looks like he’s been caught off guard.

Phainon straddles his hips, utilizing as much of his weight as he can. Then he pins both of his arms above his head, and looks down at him, flushed and victorious.

“No,” he says. “I don’t yield.”

Mydei’s eyelashes flutter. His pulse races in his wrists, straining against Phainon’s hold. He pushes up against him. Phainon grits his teeth and holds him in place with all his strength.

At last Mydei’s head falls to the dirt and he groans. “Damn it,” he grumbles, turning his face to the side. His cheeks are flushed bright pink. The first rays of morning sunlight fall onto his face, illuminating the color. “I yield,” he says quietly.

Phainon looks down at him, bewildered. He squeezes his wrists tighter.

“I said, I yield,” Mydei mutters. “Now let me up.”

“Louder,” Phainon says, his head spinning.

Mydei blinks. His chest is starting to flush red to match his face. “What?”

“Louder,” Phainon repeats. “I want to hear you.”

Mydei groans and struggles to free himself. Phainon, maybe pettily, holds him down with all his force.

“Fine,” Mydei snaps, letting his wrists fall back to the ground. “I yield to you, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae. Happy?”

“Very,” Phainon says, and he lets go of his wrists.

Mydei takes his hands back quickly. He shoves Phainon off of him and pushes himself up unsteadily. His face is still burning. “You did well,” he declares, looking a little starstruck. “You are worthy.”

Phainon, halfway through dusting off his pants, blinks at him. “What?”

Mydei turns his face away from him and makes an odd noise. “Never mind,” he says, strained. He drags himself to his feet. “Face me again. I’ll prove that I am your match.”

Phainon just grins. “Bring it on.”

***

“And then he pummeled you into the ground,” says the owner of the vegetable stall, looking pointedly at his many bruises.

Phainon sighs dreamily. “Uh huh,” he says, staring off into space. “And then he said I should come back next week to see him again! I must be the luckiest guy in this whole city.”

“Or the unluckiest,” the shopkeeper says, raising her eyebrows at him.

Phainon just smiles.

“Your chard and your potatoes,” she declares, sliding the wrapped vegetables over to him. “Try not to let Prince Mydeimos kill you.”

“Thanks,” Phainon says, passing her the balance coins. He takes the vegetables and puts them into his third shopping bag. It’s his last stop on the grocery run, so he’s heading back home.

And then he nearly trips over something beneath his feet.

Phainon yelps and looks down. It’s a cat. Not just any cat, either. It’s the same cat from before, with the strange red-tipped fur and the royal crest on its necklace.

“Oh,” he says, looking down at it. “Hi.”

The cat looks up at him with its piercing gold eyes and meows.

“Sorry for nearly stepping on you,” he says, stepping out of the way. “I’m just heading home now. I’ll be out of your way soon.”

He sets off toward his street. Behind him, there’s a series of annoyed meows, and then the pitter-patter of quick feet following him.

Phainon turns around. Sure enough, the cat is right there behind him.

“You want to follow me home?” Phainon guesses.

The cat meows twice.

“Okay,” Phainon says. “I’m just over this way. It’s the yellow house with the garden. Can you get up the steps, or are they too tall for you?”

The cat looks at him judgmentally. Then it leaps up two stairs at once. It stumbles slightly on its tiny paws, but manages to get up the entire half-staircase. Then it sits at the door and turns around to look at him.

“Impressive,” Phainon says, nodding at the cat. “Want to come in? I have to put away all the groceries, but you can sit out here and wait for me. Or you can follow me inside, as long as you promise not to scratch anything up.”

The cat steps into the doorway. Then it lays down on its back and rolls over, putting its little legs up in the air.

Phainon smiles. He’s missed having animals around. While pets aren’t uncommon in Styxia, they aren’t nearly as prevalent as they were in Aedes Elysiae, where he could go greet the horses and sheep and dogs whenever he wanted.

He sets the grocery bags down, then comes back to the entryway. The cat is still flopped on its back by the door, looking peaceful. Phainon sits down cross-legged next to it and reaches out to scratch its ears.

The moment his hand makes contact with the cat’s fur, it makes an odd squealing noise.

“Hi,” Phainon says softly, retracting his hand. “I’m just giving you some pets! You won’t mind if I pet you a little, right?”

The cat blinks open its eyes and looks at him oddly.

“Just a little bit…”

The cat meows softly and closes its eyes again.

Phainon takes this as permission. He gently lowers his fingers into the cat’s fur and scratches lightly behind its ears. The cat’s expression grows more pleased, its eyes lingering halfway between open and shut. It rolls over on its back and nudges up into his hand.

“You want me to scratch lower?” he asks, moving on to the scruff of its neck. He scratches gently around the fur there, letting the cat relax into his hold. He smiles and brings his other hand to the other side of its head, petting both sides in unison.

Then his hands hit something metal.

Phainon pulls on the metal, letting his hands trail along the chain. It’s the gold pendant with the royal family’s crest.

“Oh,” he says, holding it in both hands. He had forgotten about that. He lets the necklace slip out of his hands and fall back into its fur. “That’s the royal crest, isn’t it? Do you belong to the palace?”

The cat looks at him and blinks slowly.

“You know, I think I remember something,” Phainon says, frowning slightly. “Didn’t Mydei say his courtship challenge was about finding his necklace?”

The cat meows loudly and nudges the chain back into his hands.

Phainon’s fingers brush against the pendant, but he doesn’t take it. Instead, he just smiles down at the cat. “Did you steal his necklace?” he asks, his voice low. “But Mydei’s suitors have to find it! You can’t court him. You’re a cat.”

The cat bats at his hand with its little paw.

“Oh, I get it!” he says, leaning in conspiratorially.

The cat looks up at him. Its golden eyes are wide.

“You’re Mydei’s cat,” Phainon says in an undertone. “And you don’t want him to court anyone, so you stole his necklace to prevent anyone from finding it! So clever!”

The cat makes a long, exasperated-sounding meow and flops down into his lap.

Phainon just laughs. He pets idly down the cat’s spine. “Don’t worry,” he says, shifting his legs to make a more comfortable cat nap spot. “You’re hiding the necklace very well! Your prince won’t be courting anyone anytime soon. He’ll still be able to pay lots of attention to you.”

The cat makes an odd noise in its chest. It closes its eyes again.

“Yeah,” Phainon says, scratching behind its ears again. The cat’s eyes scrunch shut in delight. Phainon smiles down at it. “You like that, huh?”

The cat sighs and relaxes into his lap.

“You can rest,” Phainon says, still petting it idly. “I don’t have anywhere else to be today! You can take a little nap if you want.”

The cat nudges the necklace chain into his hands one last time. The effort is much more lacklustre this time, like it’s already half-asleep.

“Mm-hmm. I know.”

The cat makes one last resigned meow. Then it falls asleep in his lap.

Phainon looks down at it, charmed. He keeps petting it, even once it’s clear that it’s fast asleep.

***

“Back again?” Mnemosyne says, already looking amused.

Phainon stands up tall and gives her his proudest smile. “Yep! Here to fight your prince!”

Mnemosyne shakes her head, still smiling. “I don’t know what it is with you. Do you like getting beat up?”

“Well, I won against him once last week. So this week maybe I’ll win again! There’s only one way to get better, right?”

Mnemosyne’s smile slips away from her face. “You won?”

“Just one round,” Phainon says, waving his hand dismissively. “So I’m hoping I’ll win a few more rounds today. What about this weather though, huh? Looks pretty ominous.”

“You won a round,” Mnemosyne says flatly. “In a duel against Prince Mydeimos.”

Phainon flushes under her attention. It seems like she’s making too big of a deal out of this. “It wasn’t even in the sparring grounds. It was just hand-to-hand in his private courtyard. It hardly counts.”

Mnemosyne’s jaw drops. “In his private courtyard?”

Phainon shifts on his feet, suddenly a bit embarrassed.

“Zeph,” Mnemosyne yells to the other palace gate guard. “This man—Phainon, right?—he beat Prince Mydeimos in a duel. In his private courtyard. And then the prince invited him back.”

Zeph raises his eyebrows and whistles. “Congratulations,” he says, dipping his head in Phainon’s direction.

Phainon isn’t quite sure what that means. “Thanks,” he says anyway, smiling awkwardly. Then he remembers. “Oh! Do you know if Mydei has a cat?”

Zeph stares at him like he’s asked if the sky was blue.

“I saw a cat with his necklace,” Phainon explains. “At least, I think it was his. It had the royal crest on it. Anyway, it kept trying to get me to take it. I figured I should tell someone at the palace that the cat stole the necklace!”

“Phainon,” says Zeph slowly. “The prince doesn’t have a cat.”

Phainon blinks. “He doesn’t?”

Zeph clears his throat. “Not quite. In fact, the whole royal family are—”

“—Are cat lovers,” Mnemosyne interrupts hastily, stepping on the other guard’s foot. “The cat on our crest is from the Zagreus line. It was probably one of Princess Cipher’s.”

“…Right,” says Zeph. “Of course. Princess Cipher’s cats.”

Phainon frowns. He opens his mouth.

“You shouldn’t keep His Highness waiting,” Zeph says, motioning toward the open gate. “Go ahead.”

Phainon wants to ask, but they’re right: their meeting time has already arrived. “Thank you,” he calls, already vanishing through the palace halls. He’s got to find his way to Mydei’s courtyard before—

A fat raindrop lands on his nose.

Ah. Before the storm.

Phainon brushes the raindrop off his face and continues. He’s not far now. Only a few more steps before he gets to the courtyard…

Oh.

The courtyard. The open-air, roofless courtyard.

Phainon stares at the empty courtyard in front of him. Another raindrop lands in his hair, and then four more. He doesn’t bother wiping them off. He just stares.

Just his luck. Mydei probably figured they were going to cancel because of the weather. And now here Phainon is, standing in the rain like an idiot, waiting for someone who’s probably never going to—

“For fuck’s sake,” says Mydei from behind him.

Phainon whirls around. His hair drips water with the movement. “Mydei,” he blurts, relieved. “Are we still going to duel? This weather isn’t particularly welcoming.”

Mydei rolls his eyes. “Of course not. Now get in.” He steps aside from the doorway, revealing a room full of glinting metal and sharp edges, just off the courtyard.

“An armory?” Phainon asks, his voice breathier than usual. He turns around, gaping at the shimmering silver and gold swords hung from floor to ceiling along the wall. “Mydei, when you offered to give me a sword, I thought you meant something standard-issue! I didn’t know you had all this!”

“You’re welcome to use them,” Mydei says, quieter than usual. He clears his throat. “As my—partner.”

Phainon didn’t know sparring partners had such generous privileges! “It’s beautiful,” he says, looking at the very top sword on the shelf. It’s a greatsword with a heavy silver blade and a golden gem-studded handle. He glances across his shoulder at Mydei, opening his mouth to ask about it.

When he makes eye contact, he finds Mydei already looking back at him.

“…It’s beautiful,” Phainon repeats, his voice softer. What was he talking about, again?

Mydei coughs and looks away. “Come in and dry off your hair. You look ridiculous.”

Phainon reaches up for a strand of his hair. His hand comes back dripping wet. “I didn’t even think it was that damp.”

“You were standing out in the rain,” Mydei points out, exasperated. He takes Phainon’s hand and pulls him down the hallway.

Phainon stumbles down the hall after him. He’s helpless to do anything but follow when Mydei drags him into the royal dining room, complete with a beautiful polished wooden table and the most gorgeous chairs Phainon has ever seen in his life.

“Wait,” Phainon blurts, stumbling over his own feet. “I shouldn’t really be here, should I? It’s just—this isn’t even the place to receive guests, this is the private dining room, isn’t it? For the royal family?”

“I am the royal family,” Mydei says casually, like this negates everything. Then he grabs one of the pristine fabric napkins from the table setting and begins toweling Phainon’s hair off with it.

Phainon yelps and scrambles away from him.

“What?” Mydei asks, crossing his arms. “You can hardly go to dinner looking like that. I’m only helping.”

“You can’t just use one of these napkins to—wait,” Phainon says, looking at him through his soggy mess of hair. “To dinner?”

Mydei scoffs. “You think I’d let you walk home in this storm?”

“Well,” says Phainon, because he did, in fact, think that. He clears his throat. “You could just have someone escort me home?”

“No,” Mydei says. “You’re having dinner with us.”

Then he returns to roughly toweling Phainon’s hair with the fine fabric napkin. Phainon sighs and resigns himself to his fate.

***

When Mydei said dinner, Phainon was imagining that he would eat with the palace guards, or perhaps with some of the staff. Something nice, but not terribly formal. He was not expecting to be sitting directly across from Queen Castorice.

“Hello,” says the queen, with the suggestion of a smile. “You must be Phainon. We’ve heard of you from Mydei.”

“Heard lots,” says the princess, leaning forward with a devious glint in her eyes. “Hey, is it true you chased him through the whole—”

“Cipher,” Mydei hisses, his face flushed bright red. He coughs halfheartedly. “Phainon, these are my older sisters, Queen Castorice and Crown Princess Cifera.”

“But you need not use our titles,” the queen says, dipping her head. She has white flowers woven into her hair instead of wearing a proper crown. “Please, just call me Castorice.”

“And no one calls me Cifera,” says the princess, leaning her chin on her elbow. “No one I like talking to, anyway. Just Cipher is fine.”

“…Okay,” Phainon says. He thinks he’s starting to sweat through his shirt. “Mydei is one thing, but I really should refer to both of you properly.”

“Oh, so he’s special,” Cipher—Crown Princess Cifera, he reminds himself—mutters darkly. Her mouth twists into a pout. “And here I thought people were supposed to listen to their royal family.”

“I’m actually from the Fate Kingdom, not Calamity…”

Mydei glances over at him. “You are?”

Phainon nods. “I’m just studying here. Not a lot of warriors in Fate. Most disputes are settled through the court system. You know, with the Talanton line in charge…”

“Ah,” says Castorice, dipping her head. “Cerydra has always been like that. She doesn’t like violence in anyone’s hands but her own.”

Phainon just nods. He doesn’t feel quite right speaking on his monarch’s character, but he can admit that much. “But Cyrene and I are planning to study at the Grove of Epiphany in the Creation Republic next year, so we won’t be in Fate for a while.”

Castorice’s eyes light up. “The Grove?” she asks eagerly. “Oh, wonderful! I studied there myself before I became queen. I’ve been encouraging Mydei to go as well, but he’s got his ongoing courtship challenge, and it has to be sorted out before he can do anything else—”

“But you’re planning to stay,” Mydei interrupts, his voice firm. It isn’t a question.

Phainon shifts awkwardly in his finely upholstered chair. “For a little while.”

Mydei’s eyebrows knit closer together. “What does that mean?”

Phainon squirms under the intense eyes of all three monarchs. “I’m going home eventually,” he says, quieter than usual. “It’s traditional for young people in my hometown to leave home for a year and study their trade abroad. I have about six months left here before I go home, and then to the Grove.”

“Six months,” Mydei repeats. His mouth narrows into a line. “And you only thought to tell me now?”

“I didn’t think it was relevant.”

“Not relevant?” Mydei snaps, slamming his hands onto the dining table. “You—you went to all this trouble, you touched the damn necklace and even beat me in combat, and you’re not even staying?”

Phainon falls silent.

Mydei’s expression darkens. Then he smiles thinly, without his eyes. “Forget it,” he says, standing from the table. “I don’t even care.”

Then he stalks out of the dining room in a swirl of red fabric and dense ire.

“Wait,” Phainon cries, standing up from the table hastily. “Mydei, wait—”

Then he looks back at the table, where two more royals are watching him with carefully curated expressions.

Slowly, with trepidation, Phainon sits down again. He swallows the sudden, nervous lump in his throat and looks at them both. He awaits his judgment.

It’s Cipher who opens her mouth first. Phainon braces himself for the scolding of a lifetime, maybe even a restraining order, a ban from the kingdom for angering her dear brother, or even—

“You beat him in a duel?” she asks, her grin stretching wide across her face.

Phainon blinks. “Um,” he says. “Yes…?”

Cipher whistles appreciatively, leaning back in her chair. “Old-fashioned Nikador style, huh? No wonder he likes you.”

“Not only that,” says Castorice, smiling slightly, “you also managed to retrieve the necklace. You completed both of his competitions. He must be very impressed.”

“Necklace?” Phainon asks blankly. Then it clicks: the cat, the pendant, the crest. “That wasn’t me!” he splutters, waving his hands wildly. “Or—it was me, but I didn’t mean to touch it! And I didn’t take it! I only checked the pendant to see if the cat had an owner, or a place to return it to. I didn’t mean to interfere with the courtship thing.”

Both women look at him in silence.

Phainon’s definitely sweating now. He adjusts his legs again. “I really didn’t mean it,” he says weakly.

Cipher’s eyes are nearly wide enough to reflect his own face in them. “You didn’t?”

“No!” Phainon cries, dropping his head into his hands. “I just wanted to fight him, and then I ran into this cat that stole his pendant, and—well, it’s all a huge misunderstanding. It was an accident. It’s the cat’s fault. Not his.”

Cipher makes an odd snort that she quickly disguises with a cough.

“There’s something you ought to know,” Castorice says delicately. “About the royal family’s cats.”

Phainon looks up from the table.

“They are—well, they’re quite intelligent,” Castorice says, like she’s trying very hard to choose her words. “If this cat ran into you, it was not an accident.”

“Yeah,” says Cipher, leaning on her hands. “Definitely not an accident. That cat really wanted to see you.” She snickers to herself.

Castorice shoots her a look. “Cipher…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cipher groans, sitting up again. “Whatever. Anyway, let Mydei have his little temper tantrum. You should still eat dinner with us.”

Phainon stares at them. He opens his mouth to protest.

“We’re having venison and sea bream,” says Castorice, looking at him pointedly.

Right on cue, the dining hall flashes with lightning. Then a thunderclap resounds through the room, loud and ominous.

Phainon sighs. “In that case,” he says, “thank you for having me.”

***

Eventually it becomes clear that Mydei isn’t coming back. At the end of the five-course dinner, complete with a delicate honey-almond meringue for dessert, Phainon stands up from his seat and thanks them for the meal yet again, and then decides he’s going home, storm be damned. Castorice prepares him a carriage and sends him back. He arrives home safe and dry and warm.

It’s already late, so Phainon busies himself with the usual evening routine. He washes off the dirt of the day and writes in his training journal. The rain patters incessantly at his window. He lights a candle and sits at his desk, beginning a sketch for his weekly letter to Cyrene.

The rain patters more insistently. Phainon ignores it.

Finally something claps against his window like hail. Phainon finally glances up, exasperated, and then does a double take.

Sitting on the ledge outside his second-floor window is the cat.

Phainon immediately drops his pen. He hurries over to the window and pries it open, struggling against the wind and the pelting raindrops. Then he reaches out and picks up the cat with one hand, wrenching the window shut with the other.

“Hi,” he whispers, shifting the cat to sit more securely in both arms. “What are you doing here?”

The cat looks up at him through its trembling, damp whiskers. It meows once, pathetically quiet. Then it makes an odd shivering motion and sneezes.

“Oh!” Phainon says, cradling the cat closer to his chest. “Your poor fur! You’re all soaked from the storm, huh?”

The cat looks up at him. It shivers more intensely in his arms.

The poor thing must be freezing! Phainon rushes downstairs to the bathroom. He starts drawing hot water into the tub immediately. “Don’t worry,” he says to the cat, setting it down on the side of the tub. “I’ll help you out. You need to get warm and clean all the mud off your fur.”

When Phainon lowers the cat into the water, it doesn’t protest. It just sits in the warm water, eyes sliding closed, and slowly ceases its shivering.

“There you go,” Phainon says, gently scratching behind its ears. “Good kitty. You didn’t even complain about getting wet.” Then again, he supposes the cat’s already soaked from the rain. It can’t get much wetter.

He runs his hands through the cat’s fur, scratching lightly with his nails to clean out the dirt. The cat’s eyes squeeze further shut, like it’s pleased. A slow rumble starts in the cat’s chest, barely audible over the quiet splash of the water.

Phainon smiles. “Are you purring?” he asks, flicking a drop of water at the cat’s face.

The cat immediately stops. Then it blinks open its eyes and hisses at him halfheartedly.

“Aw, I know,” Phainon says, smiling wider. “Now that the mud is out of your fur, I’m going to use a little bit of soap, okay? I don’t know if cats are allergic to soap…”

The cat looks at him. It meows once, then closes its eyes again, relaxing into the warm bathwater.

Well, it didn’t seem alarmed at the prospect of getting washed! Good enough for him. Phainon foams up a small amount of soap between his hands. He reaches out and brushes it into the cat’s fur with his hands.

The rumbling starts in the cat’s chest again. This time, it’s more suppressed, like the cat is trying not to purr but just can’t help itself. Something softens in Phainon’s chest. Even once the soap is all rubbed out, he keeps petting the cat, just to soothe it.

“You must have had a hard journey from the palace,” Phainon murmurs, as he soaps up his hands again to wash its paws. “It’s not easy to travel in this storm. Queen Castorice had me escorted in a carriage, even though it’s close enough to walk when the weather’s nice.”

The cat stretches out between his hands. When it settles again, it presses up into Phainon’s touch. His hands, still slippery with the soap, slide along its fur, hitting the chain of the necklace again.

Phainon withdraws his hands like he’s been burned.

The cat looks up at him with its strange, familiar eyes.

“Sorry,” Phainon mumbles, carefully taking its paw in his hand. “It’s just—Queen Castorice said I messed up the courtship challenge by touching the pendant. I should keep my hands off of it from now on.”

The cat meows loudly, pointedly. It splashes out of his hold. Phainon yelps and scrambles out of the way of the water, but the cat leaps up onto the edge of the tub, facing him. It sticks its chin out, putting the pendant on display. Then it looks him right in the eyes.

Phainon swallows thickly. For some reason he can’t quite comprehend, he reaches out for it.

The cat meows. It nudges the pendant into his hands, then stays perfectly still, letting him keep holding it.

“You want me to take it?” he asks quietly.

The cat blinks once.

Phainon exhales heavily through his nose. He lets go of the pendant. “This is pointless,” he says, leaning against the back of the tub. “I didn’t mean to ruin Mydei’s courtship competition. Maybe that’s why he’s mad at me.”

The cat flops down into his lap and lays across his legs. It’s still wet; the water soaks through his thin linen pants.

“He probably already has someone in mind,” Phainon continues, staring up at the ceiling. His chest feels heavy for a reason he can’t quite place. “He’ll probably just give the pendant to the person he likes. They won’t even have to try. He’ll just put it right into their hands.”

The cat practically yowls at him. It headbutts him in the stomach repeatedly. Then it shoves its head into his hand, pressing the necklace chain against his wrist.

Phainon laughs weakly. “Yeah,” he whispers, rubbing his thumb across its ears. “I know, kitty. I know.”

The cat relaxes into his rhythmic touch. Its fur is damp, and his thumb comes back wet.

Phainon sighs. “Let me dry you off,” he says, already reaching for a towel. “I can’t have you catching a cold because of your wet fur.”

The cat sits obediently still as he towels it off. Phainon makes sure it’s completely dry and fluffy before he’s done. Then he changes into dry pants and heads back up to his room to go to bed.

The cat follows him up the stairs. Then, when he pulls back his blanket, the cat leaps up onto his bed and curls up beneath his pillow.

Phainon looks at it, amused. “You want to sleep here? But I sleep here.”

The cat meows into the pillow, like it can’t even be bothered to look up at him.

Phainon sighs. “Come on,” he says, lifting it into his arms. “I’ll make you a little bed on the floor, okay? I can make a blanket nest for you.”

The cat meows and paws at his shoulder. Its claws graze against his collarbone, not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to warn.

“Ow! Okay, okay,” Phainon says quickly, pulling the cat further away from him. “I get the memo. No sleeping on the floor. But I really can’t give you my whole bed. I need to sleep well to recover.”

The cat looks at him pointedly. This time, when he sets it down on the bed, it lies down next to his pillow, carefully leaving space for him to rest his head.

Something softens in Phainon’s chest. “Oh,” he whispers. “You’re lonely, huh? Of course I’ll keep you company.”

The cat makes an odd, quiet meow into the pillow. When he breathes out, it ruffles the cat’s fur.

“Come here,” Phainon says quietly, reaching out for the cat. He carefully moves it to sit below the pillow, curled against his chest. “I’m pretty warm. You should be comfortable here.”

The cat makes a pleased sigh and stretches closer to him. It settles against him, pressed snugly to his chest in a tiny ball of warm fur.

Phainon laughs softly. He settles one hand on the cat’s back and pets it rhythmically. Slowly, the cat starts purring again. Then it grows louder, strong enough that he can feel it resounding in his chest every time he breathes.

“Yeah,” Phainon mumbles sleepily, tucking his hand closer. “Good kitty.”

Then his eyes slip shut, and he smiles.

When he wakes, the cat is gone again. The only sign it was ever there at all is the small dip in his bed and the warmth lingering by his heart.

***

This time, as he’s heading toward the palace to see Mydei, a different cat approaches him.

Phainon squints at it in the afternoon sunlight. This one has rich gray fur with a hint of white along its ears, and two small golden anklets on its front paws. Its eyes are a bright, piercing blue, and its gait is easy and light. He’s never seen it before.

“Hi,” Phainon says, kneeling down to offer his hand for the sacrificial sniffing session. “Are you a royal cat, too? Your jewelry is very pretty.”

The cat looks up at him with its bizarre eyes. It meows. Then, right in the middle of the street, it flops onto its back in a boneless puddle of joy.

Phainon laughs. “Are you asking for pets?”

The cat meows delightedly.

“Alright,” Phainon says, raising his eyebrows. He’s never known a cat so eager to interact with people. But maybe this cat has heard good things about him from Mydei’s cat! Or, well, Cipher’s cat? He isn’t quite sure. The guards did say Mydei didn’t have any cats of his own…

Oh, right. Mydei…!

“Sorry,” Phainon says hurriedly, standing up again. “I’m off to meet your prince, and I’m in kind of a hurry! I’m late, and he’s already mad at me. If I don’t show up to this spar, he might never forgive me.”

The gray cat sighs through its nose. It stands up and leaps onto his arm, then somehow gains enough leverage to hop up onto his shoulder easily.

Phainon gapes at it. “How did you do that?”

The cat meows and performs what Phainon can only describe as a self-satisfied stretch. It settles along his right shoulder like a bag strap, laying lazily without a care in the world.

“Wow,” he says, blinking at the cat. “Castorice wasn’t kidding. The palace cats really are amazing…”

The gray cat meows delightedly. It pokes its paw twice into his shoulder, as if to say, Get going already.

“Right, of course,” Phainon says, and hurries toward the palace. “I can’t keep him waiting!”

The cat keeps an easy hold on him even as he runs down the main road. Several people do a double take when they see the gray cat perched on his shoulder, but he’s already late to see Mydei; he doesn’t have time to stop and answer questions!

At last he reaches the palace gate. He waves to Mnemosyne and Zeph, then slips right through the open gate.

“Wait,” Mnemosyne calls, her voice strained.

Phainon grinds to a halt. He sighs, but turns back around. “I’m already late to see Mydei. Can it wait until later?”

“It’s just,” says Mnemosyne weakly. “On your shoulder…”

Phainon glances at the cat. It looks peaceful and happy, like it enjoys his company. “Oh,” he says. “I just ran into it on my way here! Is it a palace cat, too? I can return it home while I’m here.”

“…” says Mnemosyne.

“…” says Zeph.

“Mrrow,” says the gray cat.

Phainon straightens out the cat on his shoulder, rebalancing its weight. “Anyway, I gotta go,” he calls. “See you both later! Thanks for opening the gate!”

Mydei’s private courtyard isn’t far from the gate. Phainon runs through the covered outdoor hallway, practically flinging himself around corners to get there faster. The cat’s claws dig into his shoulder and it yelps, but holds on admirably well.

By the time he finally reaches Mydei’s courtyard, Mydei is already waiting for him in the center of it, gauntlets in hand.

“You finally made it,” he says, louder and more formal than usual. “Phainon of Aedes Elysiae, I challenge you to a proper duel, each using the weapons of our… choice…”

Phainon blinks. “What?” he asks, tilting his head. “Is there something on my face?”

“…On your shoulder, more like.”

Phainon had, somehow, nearly forgotten about the cat. “Right,” he says, gently separating its claws from his shirt and lowering it back to the ground. It stretches out its spine and winds itself around his ankle, intent to watch. “I met this friendly cat on my way here! It’s been really sweet. Didn’t even protest when I pet it.”

“You pet it,” Mydei says, his mouth twisting oddly.

“Well, only a little,” Phainon says, suddenly a bit nervous.

“And you carried it here,” Mydei says, his voice growing even stranger.

“Yeah.”

Mydei looks at him, then at the cat, then at him, then back to the cat. He sighs heavily, rubbing his one non-gauntleted hand over his face. “Leave us alone, please,” he says.

Phainon frowns. But then he notices Mydei isn’t looking at him at all. He’s looking at the cat.

The cat meows at Mydei, winding its tail around Phainon’s ankle.

“Please,” Mydei repeats, increasingly exasperated.

The cat meows again.

“You can watch from the armory,” Mydei bargains, crossing his arms. “No one gets to come into my courtyard without my permission.”

The cat meows thrice, seeming very defensive.

“Fine,” Mydei says, closing his eyes. “Just don’t get in our way.”

The cat leaps into the air, almost like it’s jumping for joy. Then it scampers away toward the armory.

Phainon stares after it, watching it disappear into the palace. “You can talk to the cat?”

“You can too,” Mydei says offhandedly, looking down at his second metal gauntlet. “Anyone can talk to her. It’s just a matter of whether she listens or not.” He glares vaguely in the direction of the armory.

Phainon just smiles slightly. “You must be really close.”

Mydei sighs through his nose. “Yeah,” he admits, like it pains him greatly. “But don’t tell her. She’ll get a big ego about it.”

Phainon didn’t know cats could get big egos. He thought they all had big egos to begin with. He opens his mouth.

“Anyway,” Mydei says, louder. “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, you can fight with the weapon of your choice today. I’ve chosen these, obviously.” He holds up his gauntlets, flexing his fingers within the metal. “You can pick whatever you like from the armory. Any weapon I own is yours to wield.”

His gaze is oddly intense. Something in Phainon’s stomach twists pleasantly when Mydei looks at him like that. “Yeah,” he says, a little too breathy. “Um, let me look around. I’ll pick something out.”

Phainon practically runs into the armory. He’s still faintly out of breath, and he gets the feeling it isn’t from the running. His face is on fire.

He looks up at the wall of swords, trying to find the heaviest ones. He can lift a lot of weight; Mydei’s gauntlets will be weakest against something with a lot of force behind it, like a greatsword. They’re all high up along the shelves. He finds a stool and slides it over, tiptoeing on top of it to reach the highest sword on the—

“Hey.”

Phainon yelps and nearly topples over.

Cipher laughs from behind him. She crosses her arms, looking up at him in amusement. “Need a hand there?”

Phainon, still wobbly and somewhat ashamed, just grins apologetically. “That would be great. Thanks.”

“No problem,” Cipher says brightly. Then she clambers on top of the stool and actually jumps to reach the sword.

Phainon shrieks and closes his eyes tightly. If the princess dies trying to get a sword for him, he at least wants plausible deniability…

Something lands in his hand.

Phainon blinks open his eyes. It’s the hilt of the greatsword he had been eyeing.

“One heirloom Nikador family treasure,” Cipher sings, giving him a little bow with a flourish. “You’re welcome!”

“Wait,” Phainon says weakly, turning the sword over in his hands. “Nikador family heirloom? Mydei said I was welcome to use any weapon here.”

“Uh huh,” says Cipher, grinning at him. “All these swords are treasures from the most honorable warriors in his family lineage! Take your pick. Every single thing in here is a royal heirloom.”

All the blood drains from Phainon’s face.

Cipher sighs, looking amused at his suffering. “Aw, don’t worry so much! The little lion wants you to use them. Didn’t he tell you that his partner gets full access to his armory?”

“…Yes,” Phainon says slowly. He turns the sword over in his hands. It’s the most beautiful weapon he’s ever held in his life. Its hilt is encrusted with topaz stones and a tiny opal, and its blade gleams silver-gold in the sunlight. “It seems like a lot of privilege for a sparring partner.”

Cipher’s smile widens. “Right,” she says, too casually. “Sparring partner.”

Phainon frowns slightly. “What?”

“Nothing,” Cipher sings through her enormous, mischievous grin. “Have a good time!”

Then she waltzes out the doorway, and she’s gone.

Phainon stares at the doorway where she’s vanished. Come to think of it, how did she get here so fast? How did she know exactly when he fell? It’s almost like she’s been here the whole time. But no one was in the armory except for the little gray cat that Mydei banished…

“Take your time,” Mydei yells from the courtyard, sounding exasperated.

Phainon glances at the doorway one last time. Then he picks up his greatsword and goes back out into the blinding sunlight, and prepares to face Mydei one more time.

***

One moment Phainon is washing dishes at the sink, and the next there’s a bundle of fur hurtling through the open window and directly into his soapy hands.

“Hey!” Phainon chides, dumping the cat onto the ground quickly. “You might not be allergic to regular soap, but dish soap is stronger! It might ruin your fur.”

The cat shakes off the suds and looks up at him. It sits down stubbornly and meows up at him expectantly.

Phainon sighs and finishes cleaning off his hands. “Alright,” he says, looking down at it. “Well, I should probably rinse the soap off of you. Are you okay to take a bath again?”

The cat meows. It flops down on its back, maintaining eye contact.

Phainon stares at it, bemused. “Okay,” he says, raising one eyebrow. “Well, come on. I can rinse you off.”

He walks over to the washroom, expecting the cat to follow. But instead of the pitter-patter steps he expects, all he hears is a single, lengthy meow of protest.

Phainon turns around. The cat is in the same exact position it was when he started: sitting down and looking up at him expectantly.

“Huh,” he says. “Is something wrong?”

The cat meows again.

“Shh,” Phainon says, leaning down to hoist the cat into his arms. He secures it in both arms, cradling it to his chest gently. “It’s okay, kitty. Just come with me. Is that why you came here? Because something hurt you?”

The cat tucks its head further into his chest. Phainon just smiles.

He draws a cool bath this time, since the summer weather is getting hot. Once it’s full, he carefully lowers the cat into the bath. When he scrubs his hands over its fur, the water soaps up like he’s doing dishes in it. The cat looks at the bubbles with a distasteful expression.

Phainon laughs. “Sorry,” he says, scrubbing a little more forcefully. “I’ll get fresh water to rinse you off, and then you can soak for a little while in there.”

The cat closes its eyes, looking appeased.

Once all the soap has bubbled up, he drains the water and fills the tub again for a rinse. The cat doesn’t appear to like the cool water as much, but doesn’t protest.

After the rinse, Phainon takes it out again and places it on a towel, expecting it to shake off some water. But instead, it just sits down on the towel and looks up at Phainon, waiting.

Phainon hesitates, but picks up the towel and gently scrubs its fur dry. Then he brushes his fingers through its fur to straighten it out again. For good measure, he adds a little scratch behind the ears, which makes the cat’s eyes scrunch shut in delight. He watches, amused, as the cat delights in his attention.

The cat’s fur is still slightly damp, but the summer is warm, and it’ll surely dry quickly. Phainon keeps petting it for a while longer, just feeling its fur. It’s very clean, with no sign of dirt or an excess of oils. It must be very well taken care of. Maybe that’s a benefit of being a royal cat, he supposes. It also seems used to getting bathed; maybe it has scores of attendants at the palace, ready to keep its coat pristine.

“Okay,” Phainon says, withdrawing his hands. “That’s enough. You’re dry now. Sorry for getting soap on you.”

The cat slowly blinks its eyes open. It sits back down on the towel and closes its eyes again.

Phainon stares down at it, confused.

The cat opens one eye and meows. It stretches its feet out, elongating its whole tiny body.

“…Do you want me to pet you?”

The cat looks up at him distastefully. Then it stretches further, putting its whole spine on display.

Phainon smiles, just a little. “No need to be so proud,” he teases, letting his hand run gently down its spine. “You can just admit that you like it.”

The cat makes a halfhearted meow of protest, but the rumbling in its chest has already begun. Its eyes are in that strange half-open, half-closed state again, like it’s so relaxed that it can’t decide whether it’s asleep or not.

“You weren’t injured at all,” Phainon accuses, his voice quiet and almost amused. “You were stretching just now, and you’re totally fine. Why did you make me carry you in here?”

The cat just turns its face further toward his arm, burrowing closer to him.

Phainon’s smile softens. “Mm-hmm,” he says, running his nails gently along the cat’s vertebrae. It shivers under his touch, looking delighted. “You just wanted the princess treatment, huh? Wanted to be treated like the royal kitty you are?”

The cat meows into his arm. He feels more than hears the noise.

“You’re kind of growing on me,” Phainon whispers, like it’s a secret. “Don’t tell the sheepdogs, but maybe I should get a cat to take home with me.”

The cat leans closer into him. Once again, it nudges into his hand, pressing the chain of its necklace against his palm.

“Silly,” Phainon chides, letting the metal slip away again. “Don’t you know that’s your prince’s courtship necklace? I’m not supposed to mess with it anymore.”

The cat sighs out a short, exasperated puff of air. It settles back down, giving up.

“Yeah,” Phainon says, quieter. He sighs too. “I’m not going to take the necklace.”

The cat meows softly in protest.

Phainon smiles sadly down at the cat. “Mydei should be able to give that necklace to whoever he wants,” he tells it. “I shouldn’t be able to just… take it. Even if I want to.”

The cat suddenly snaps its head up to look at him.

Its eyes are intense and strangely familiar. Phainon’s hand freezes in its fur. Its eyes almost look like… like…

“Never mind,” Phainon says, pasting on a smile again. “Lay back down. I’ll pet you some more, and then you can go back to your prince and tell him to take this pendant back.”

The cat looks at him for another long moment. Then it lays back down and accepts his touch.

Phainon pets the cat and thinks vaguely about that necklace. Imagines Mydei giving it to him. Imagines his face, flushed dark under the sunlight, and his eyes unable to properly meet Phainon’s. Maybe his voice would falter a little, or he’d act overconfident to mask his nervousness. Either way, it would be cute. Phainon would watch him, delighted, and smile his most charming smile, and then he’d take it from Mydei’s offered hand and sweep him into his arm and kiss him, sweet and full of life.

The cat meows at him.

Phainon abruptly realizes his hand has come to a standstill. “Oh! Sorry,” he says, feeling his face flush a little. He resumes his petting, slightly more flustered. “I got a little distracted.”

The cat settles back down, looking satisfied.

“It won’t happen again,” Phainon promises, and then he pets the cat until it melts into a little puddle in his washroom, so relaxed that it can’t keep its eyes open anymore.

***

One day Phainon comes home from a private training lesson with Zeph and Mnemosyne and finds someone already in the living room. He shrieks.

The short girl in the living room turns around and sees him and shrieks too.

“Calm down,” Jacyntha yells from her ground-floor bedroom. She sighs and comes hobbling out of her room without her cane. “You kids don’t know how to keep quiet. Don’t you know an old lady’s trying to get her rest?”

“Grandmother,” says the girl, her voice shaky. “There is a strange man in your house.”

“Jacyntha,” says Phainon, just as shakily. “There is a strange—wait, grandmother?”

“Phainon, this is Hyacinthia, my granddaughter,” says Jacyntha, motioning towards her. “Hyacinthia, this is Phainon, my tenant. He’s studying here and living in the guest quarters.”

“Oh,” Hyacinthia says, blinking at him slowly. “I didn’t know he’d be so tall. And… intimidating.”

Phainon beams at her. “You think I’m intimidating?” he asks excitedly. “That’s great! I’ve been trying to build up that warrior aesthetic, you know? But I’ve been told I usually look too friendly for it.”

Hyacinthia looks at him. Her mouth twists into a strange expression, like she’s trying to hold back a laugh.

“Anyway,” Phainon says, offering his hand. “Hi! I’m Phainon of Aedes Elysiae.”

“Hello,” she says. “I’m Hyacinthia, but you should call me Hyacine!” Instead of shaking his hand, like he expects, she instead gives him the cleanest high-five known to man. The sound rings through the entire kitchen like a tolling bell.

Phainon stares down at his palm. It still kind of stings. He didn’t know someone so small could pack so much force.

“I’m going back to bed,” Jacyntha says, waving her hand vaguely. “You kids have fun.” Then, using the wall for support, she goes back into her room.

They stare each other down for a moment. Phainon nurses his still-stinging hand.

“Well,” says Hyacine, lacing her fingers together. “I just arrived back home from the Grove, so I was planning to shop for more hot-weather dresses in the market…”

“The Grove?” Phainon says incredulously. “You mean the academy in the Creation Republic?!”

Hyacine’s eyes light up. “You’ve heard of it?”

“Heard of it? I’ve been dreaming about visiting for years! Cyrene and I both want to attend next year, once we’re done with our year abroad.”

“Really?!” Hyacine asks, standing up taller. “You should absolutely enroll! It’s been incredible for me. I’m part of the Nousporists, but there’s also six other schools of thought at the Grove, and we all have a huge debate competition twice a year…”

Phainon stares at her, starry-eyed. “You have to tell me about it.”

Hyacine just beams. “Want to come to the market with me? We can take turns asking each other questions! And I can buy my dresses, and we can buy ingredients for dinner tonight.”

“I think,” says Phainon, already opening the door for her, “we’re going to be friends.”

***

“—And my sister’s studying at an Oronyx temple in the capital, but they don’t really have warrior training unless it’s under the Imperator, and I didn’t want to deal with her regimens,” Phainon is saying, when suddenly there’s a loud and rather alarmed meow from behind him.

“Oh!” Hyacine says, turning around immediately. “Is something there?”

Phainon glances down at his heels. It’s the usual cat again, with Mydei’s pendant wound around its neck. “Don’t worry,” he tells her, leaning down to scratch behind its ears. “This happens to me all the time.”

Hyacine kneels down to look at the cat. Then she does a double take and withdraws her hand immediately.

Phainon looks over at her. “What’s the matter? Are you allergic?”

“Nope! I just don’t want to risk touching the necklace and earning its ire.”

“Oh, this?” Phainon says, holding the pendant in his hand.

Hyacine gasps.

But nothing happens. The cat even makes a pleased sound and nudges the pendant closer into his hand.

“It’s no big deal,” Phainon says, putting the pendant back. He returns to petting the cat’s back, stroking along its spine. “I know it’s Mydei’s, but no one seems to mind when I touch it.”

“Oh,” says Hyacine, suddenly sounding faint. “The prince…? You call him by name?”

“Well, yeah,” Phainon says, standing up again. The cat steps next to him, walking right beside his foot. It stays between him and Hyacine, like it’s trying to keep Phainon all to itself.

Hyacine looks pale.

“Oh! He told me to,” Phainon explains quickly. “When I sparred with him for the first time, he said I should call him by name. So he’s Mydei to me.”

“You sparred?” she squeaks.

“Uh huh.”

“And you call him by his first name.”

Phainon doesn’t see where this is going. “Yeah.”

“And you can touch the necklace.”

“Yeah.”

“And he follows you to the market for no particular reason.”

Phainon blinks. “No,” he says, tilting his head. “Mydei and I only see each other at the palace, really. Well, last week he took me to his favorite blacksmith for maintenance on the Nikador heirloom sword I usually use.”

Hyacine actually stops in her tracks.

Phainon stops too, turning back to look at her. She looks unwell. “What is it?”

“That’s him,” she says.

Phainon frowns. “Where? I don’t see him.”

Hyacine looks him right in the eye and says, “Phainon, the Calamity royal family are cat shapeshifters.”

Phainon drops the bag of groceries onto the ground.

“The,” he says, his voice weak. “What?”

“That cat is Prince Mydeimos,” Hyacine continues, unbothered. “It’s traditional for the Nikador family line’s hand to be won through conquest, but no one could defeat Prince Mydeimos, so he allowed his challenge to be changed. Instead, the conquest is in his cat form. He wears the pendant around his neck and scratches up anyone who tries to touch the… Phainon? Phainon, are you listening?”

Phainon is staring at the ground. The space where the cat had been just moments before is empty.

“Phainon?” asks Hyacine more cautiously.

“That’s him,” he says faintly. “I’ve been—I’ve been talking to Mydei all this time. As a cat. And I’ve been—oh my god, I’ve been touching the pendant for ages. I touched it the first time we met! And—fuck, he let me touch it. He didn’t scratch me at all…”

Hyacine swims into view, vaguely alarmed. “Phainon? Are you alright?”

“I’m just great,” he says pleasantly, and then he faints forward, right on top of his dropped grocery bag.

***

“So I’ve been seeing Mydei as a cat,” Phainon says to the wood of the kitchen table.

“Mm-hmm,” says Hyacine.

“And I’ve been dueling him in person.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And I accidentally succeeded at not just one of his courtship challenges, but both.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And then I told him I wasn’t planning to stay and that I didn’t know why it would matter to him.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And then he came to visit me in the middle of a storm and slept in my bed with me all night.”

Hyacine pauses and turns to him. “He did what?”

Phainon ignores her. He groans and lifts his head from the table. “Hyacine, I might be an idiot.”

“I don’t think that point is in contention.”

“Hey!”

“I speak only the truth,” Hyacine says loftily, like she’s delivering a grand prophecy. “Anyway, pick yourself up and come help me out. I don’t know how to season these.”

Phainon stands up from the kitchen table and stares at the vegetables on her cutting board. Halved brussels sprouts, sliced leeks, and then at least two things he doesn’t recognize. “Um,” he says. “Salt?”

Hyacine raises her eyebrows. “Why did you buy the vegetables if you don’t know how to cook them?”

“They looked interesting.”

Hyacine gives him a look.

“I can make them into a salad?” he offers helpfully, giving her a thumbs up.

Hyacine just sighs. “Tomorrow,” she says, “I’m doing the grocery shopping instead.”

***

When Phainon shows up at the courtyard, Mydei is nowhere to be found.

Phainon stares at the empty courtyard, surprised. He’s a couple minutes early, so maybe this is to be expected. He sits down on the edge of the round, sunken arena, and waits.

Mydei doesn’t show up.

Phainon sits there for a long while, waiting. He never comes.

Eventually, when the shadows grow long, Phainon realizes he should probably get up. Maybe have dinner. Hyacine won’t be expecting him; he usually spends the whole evening fighting with Mydei, and comes home either in the dead of night or the following morning. He could go out in the city and find somewhere to eat…

Just as he’s dragging himself to his feet, something nudges against his ankle. Then he hears a meow.

Phainon’s heart skips a beat. “Mydei?”

The cat sits back, looking mildly offended. It’s the gray cat again.

Phainon blinks down at it. “…Cipher?” he guesses.

The cat meows and jumps in delight. It circles around his ankles rapidly, weaving between his feet as he stands. Then, out of nowhere, the cat poofs out of existence, and Cipher appears before him, looking exactly as she usually does.

“Hey,” she says, grinning at him. “So you finally heard about it, huh?”

Phainon nods.

“About time!” Cipher says, stretching her arms out above her head. “I was getting tired of always being in human form around you. This stuff gets old, you know. It’s way more fun to be a cat.”

“Maybe it is,” Phainon says gloomily. He sits back down, plunking himself to the ground. Then he drops his head into his hands.

Cipher sighs and sits down next to him. “Hey, don’t do that. What is it? What’s wrong?”

Phainon smiles at her wryly. “Mydei stood me up,” he says quietly. “Do you think he doesn’t want to see me anymore? That must be it.”

Cipher blinks at him slowly.

Phainon’s stomach drops. He sighs into his hands. “It’s all my fault,” he mumbles miserably. “Mydei found out that I like him and now he never wants to talk to me again. I touched his necklace so many times, too…”

“Kid,” Cipher says, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Mydei thought you found out that he liked you. And that’s why he’s avoiding you.”

Phainon stares at her. “But I—and he—and I—”

Cipher sighs exaggeratedly. “Who put the necklace in your hands?” she asks, rolling her eyes. “Who didn’t scratch you up when you took it? Who asked you to come back to the palace? Who showed up at your house in a storm to apologize to you? Think about this for two seconds! Sheesh.”

“Wait,” Phainon says slowly, looking up at her hopefully. “You mean to say that Mydei… wanted me to take the pendant?”

Cipher groans. “Come on! How many times do I have to say it? My baby brother wants to date you. My little baby brother wants to kiss you on the mouth! Hah! What a loser, am I right?”

Phainon’s face flares warm. “He wants to what?”

“Kiss you on the mouth,” Cipher says helpfully, before poofing back into a cat. She circles around his feet energetically, leaping up into the air occasionally, like her steps are light enough to float. Then she scampers around a corner, back through the palace.

Phainon sits there staring at the ground.

He thinks again, unbidden, of Mydei offering him the necklace. He’d always imagined it with Mydei looking like he always did. Maybe it would happen after a spar, or while they were having dinner together. But, Phainon realizes, his face heating up, it’s already happened. It’s already happened a dozen times. Mydei has given him that necklace so many times that he can hardly recall them all. He’d pushed it into Phainon’s hands, for fuck’s sake. And Phainon hadn’t even noticed. He’d just laughed it off, time and time again. Like he didn’t even care.

Cipher pops back around the corner, this time in human form. “You coming?” she asks, raising her eyebrows. “I was trying to lead you to Mydei’s hiding spot. But if you’d rather stumble around the palace for three hours failing to find him, be my guest.”

Phainon scrambles to his feet.

Cipher just grins. “Thought so,” she says, and then she poofs back into a cat again and runs off.

***

Cipher seems intent on leading him around the entire palace. She disappears down hallways, through strange corridors that have to be private, up an entire flight of stairs and then right back down, and even through the kitchens, weaving between the chefs’ legs. All the while Phainon follows her, sweating and struggling to keep up and nearly tripping over everything in his way.

Eventually Phainon starts to wonder if she’s been leading him on a wild goose chase. He opens his mouth to ask about it.

Cipher meows before he can say anything.

Phainon shuts his mouth. She’s come to a stop in front of… an administrative door in the library? This can’t be their final destination.

But then, from the other side of the door, he hears a second, quieter meow. A familiar one.

Phainon’s heart leaps in his chest. He recognizes that sound.

Cipher meows again, much more insistently. This time, she paws at the door gently, keeping her claws tucked in to avoid scratching the door.

On the other side of the door, someone sighs. There’s a puff of air like something faintly magical happening. Then the doorknob turns, and Mydei—entirely human again—walks out of the door.

“What?” he asks sharply, looking down at Cipher. “I distinctly remember asking you not to bother me. And if he comes by, tell him I’m ill and I can’t see him. In fact, tell him I can never see him again. That’s how ill I am, Cipher—”

“Mydei,” Phainon interrupts.

Mydei freezes. Slowly, he looks up from the cat on the ground until his eyes finally meet Phainon’s. Cipher scampers away from between his feet. He doesn’t appear to notice. Instead he just glances at the exit.

“Wait,” Phainon says quickly, reaching out to take hold of his wrist. “Don’t go. I need to talk to you.”

Mydei sighs and lets himself be held in place. “I don’t think you do,” he says flatly. “You’ve made it abundantly clear that you aren’t interested.”

Phainon’s pulse races in his hands. “I never said that.”

Mydei’s expression falters. “You didn’t take the necklace,” he says, a little weaker. “Even once you knew what it meant.”

“I didn’t take it because I wanted you to give it to me.”

Mydei blinks at him. “You… what?”

“I wanted you to give it to me,” Phainon repeats, unable to stop himself. “I wanted you to hand it to me after a spar. Or maybe while we were out on the town. I wanted you to pull me aside and blush all pretty and press it into my hands like you wanted me to keep it. Mydei, I just—I wanted you to choose me. I didn’t want to make the choice for you.”

Mydei looks at him like he’s never seen him before. His hand reaches up to touch the pendant around his own neck. His own neck. How could Phainon be so stupid? Not noticing that Mydei’s blue pendant matches the cat’s blue pendant exactly?

“And I know it sounds stupid,” Phainon continues, still nervous. “But I think—well, if you kept giving it to me in your cat form, you probably wanted me to take it, right? You wanted me to bring it in and court you?”

Mydei looks at him for a long moment. He steps closer.

Phainon can’t shut his mouth for the life of him. “But maybe that was all a coincidence!” he says, waving his hands wildly. “I don’t know. Maybe you didn’t want me to take it at all! Maybe you were just—”

“For fuck’s sake, Phainon,” Mydei says, and then he grabs Phainon by the shirt and hauls him in to kiss him.

Phainon yelps and freezes up. He stands there awkwardly as Mydei kisses him, his eyes wide and his mouth stuck in a disbelieving, slack expression.

Mydei pulls back and glares at him. “Well?” he says, his face flushed bright red. “Do you want to kiss me or not, idiot?”

Phainon blinks himself back into awareness. “No! No, I mean, yes? I do! I do want to kiss you.”

Mydei huffs and tugs his wrist free of Phainon’s grip, like he’s going to leave.

“No, wait,” Phainon says, and takes his face with both hands and kisses him soundly on the mouth.

Mydei makes an odd, muffled noise and leans in closer. His hands settle at Phainon’s waist and he kisses back, slowly and almost hesitantly, like he doesn’t want it to ever end.

Phainon grins against his mouth. Then he starts laughing, a low rumble in his chest that spreads through his whole body, warming him up.

Only when he breaks away does he realize that the rumbling isn’t from him at all.

Phainon grins even harder. “Mydei,” he says, dropping his voice, “are you purring?”

Mydei’s face flushes darker. “Shut the fuck up.”

“That’s not a no!”

“Whatever,” Mydei sighs, like it’s the greatest suffering known to man, “I don’t even like you,” and then he’s kissing Phainon again, and Phainon is laughing against his mouth, and he’s so charmed that he doesn’t even mind when Mydei’s fingernails dig a little too hard into his waist like he’s still got claws.

***

GROVE OF EPIPHANY REGISTRATION
ON-CAMPUS LIVING FORM

Type: SINGLE ROOM

Occupant(s): PHAINON KHASLANA, MYDEIMOS NIKADOR

This is an official Grove of Epiphany communication. Please ensure all details are correct before your arrival.

Signed:
Anaxagoras Cerces, Sage of the Nousporist School of Thought
Stamped:
Aglaea Mnestia, President of the Creation Republic

***

The receptionist at the Grove living quarters looks up from his paperwork and raises her eyebrows. “I think there’s been a mistake,” she says. “You’ve requested a single-bed room, but you have two occupants listed.”

“Nope! It’s correct,” Phainon says, giving her his brightest smile. “Mydei’s right here. We only need one bed.”

The cat on his shoulder meows in confirmation. Then it settles more snugly into the dip of his neck.

The receptionist looks at him oddly, but just shrugs. “Suit yourself.” She hands back the paperwork, stamped and completed. Phainon takes it with a nod.

“Phainon!” yells a familiar voice from down the hall. Cyrene’s head peeks out from around the corner. “Come get your bags before I hurl them all out the window! And take mine, too! I’m not carrying the mattress pad.”

“And Mydei’s, please,” Hyacine calls, sounding apologetic. “I can’t quite lift the two big red ones. Oh, and could you possibly get mine as well? Just the green one…”

Phainon sighs and readjusts the cat on his shoulders. “More strength training, huh?”

The cat meows up at him, looking pleased.

Phainon looks down at the intimidating pile of bags belonging to all four newly-moved-in Grove students—Hyacine, Cyrene, Mydei, and himself—and then grins at the cat. “Good thing I have a strong competitor to help me move all of these.”

The cat huffs and hops down to the ground.

“Winner gets their hair combed and washed by the loser,” Phainon proposes, hoisting one of the bags up into his arms.

A poof, and Mydei reappears, this time in human form with a mischievous smile on his face. “A convincing offer,” he says, already reaching for the handle of his largest suitcase. “In that case, prepare to lose, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae.”

Phainon just grins. “Ready?”

Mydei’s smile sharpens, showing his teeth. “I was born ready.”

Then Phainon races down the hallway, with bags in his hands and wind in his ears and an exhilarated fondness singing in his chest, and with Mydei at his side, right where he belongs.