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The first indication of something amiss is the rowdy murmurs of the jailors. The Royal Inspector that should be arriving at the prison for Anaxagoras’ third round of interrogation is an esteemed rank but hardly one that would inspire this kind of excitement. Seated on the floor of the cell, wrists bound by golden cuffs resting in his lap, the cat’s head lifts, feline ears swiveling towards the sound.
…Did that warden just say prince?
Anaxa doesn’t wait for confirmation. Without hesitation, he eradicates all sign of the alchemical script he furtively inscribed over the past hour with two lazy sweeps of his tail, softly scraped away by the decorative metal cuff halfway down the furry length. It was a precaution anyways, one that he shouldn’t need if all goes according to plan, though there already seems to be a hiccup in them.
A faint chorus of “Your Highness” echoes down the hall, followed by the clank of armored boots against stone.
It seems this special favor for “Big Sis” Cipher has gotten more complicated.
At least Trouble is easy on the eyes. The lion prince that stops in front of Anaxa’s cell is as handsome as rumored, dressed in the favored Kremnoan style of having gratuitous musculature on display. The royal red robe secured at one shoulder with a golden pauldron is more decorative than anything else, doing little to cover the expanse of tattooed skin.
“Sage Anaxagoras of the Grove of Epiphany,” Mydei greets him. “I am Mydeimos, Crown Prince of Kremnos.”
“An honor, I’m sure,” Anaxa drawls. “And to what do I owe the privilege of this personal visit, Your Highness?”
Mydei inclines his head at one of the wardens, who comes forward to unlock the cell door, holding it open for the prince.
“The thief has been identified as an impostor who took your appearance to commit the crime. You have our sincere apologies for the mistake.”
Feline ears perk. “I’m free to go then?” The performance has begun, even if this co-actor of his may not be aware.
“Not quite. I’ve read your testimony that you were at the wrong place at the wrong time—"
The right place at the right time, more like. It seems it won’t be so easy to pull the wool over this prince’s eyes
“—but your location along the criminal’s escape route requires further investigation.”
Anaxa narrows his eyes. “I hardly think being present in the city—after admittance through the proper visitation procedures at the gate, might I add—is grounds for arrest. What charge are you holding me for?”
“Accomplice to theft. Per Kremnos legal procedure, you will be held until your name has been cleared.”
“Guilty until proven innocent.” Anaxa scoffs. “You Kremnoans have such an outdated, unjust system.”
The warden at Mydei’s side bristles, unable to contain his outrage at Anaxa’s disrespectful tone anymore. “Watch your mouth, you—!”
His protest is stopped by the lift of Mydei’s hand. Seeing the warden settle down, Mydei tells Anaxa evenly, “These are the laws you agreed to abide by on entering our city.”
“What exactly was stolen that has Castrum Kremnos in such a tizzy?”
“…That information is confidential.”
“Doesn’t the defendant have a right to know what they are being accused of?” Anaxa demands coldly, ears pinned back. “Who was it that implicated me? Surely you know at least that much, crown prince?”
Mydei studies him for a moment before saying, “Cifera.”
Anaxa frowns. “The legendary thief? I suppose it would take someone of that caliber to be mad enough to test Castrum Kremnos security.” A thought occurs to him, fur beginning to fluff up in affront. “Is that why I’ve been dragged into this? Base prejudice,” he sneers. “All cats are thieves, is that it?”
“Your race has nothing to do with it,” Mydei says, as stolid as the stone of his city’s walls.
“Then what? You’ve no other leads so you’re harassing an uninvolved party?”
“We have yet to learn why Cifera chose to use your identity. Your cooperation until we have solved the case would be greatly appreciated.”
Anaxa arches a brow, letting the clink of his chains speak for him. “You have a strange way of showing your appreciation. How much longer must I enjoy your hospitality?”
“That’s what I’ve come to address. I understand that our actions may seem unreasonable to you, but the item that was stolen was one of grave importance to Kremnos.”
Important enough that Cipher would involve Anaxa, when she has always been exceptionally careful in hiding their association—a promise she made to his sister. Whatever Cipher took, it must be for that old weaver hag. That’s the only explanation. He has no desire to aid that woman in anything, but he does owe her a debt. With this, it can be considered paid.
“Though you will have to remain, your stay doesn’t have to be uncomfortable,” Mydei continues. “Given your status and the unusual circumstances, you’ll be given accommodations in the palace. Whatever requests you have will be met within reason—"
Anaxa’s expression doesn’t change, but he laughs coldly in his heart. It certainly sounds magnanimous, only… afraid benevolence isn’t this prince’s real reason in moving him.
“—If all goes well, we hope to have you exonerated by end of week. At that time, you will be compensated for the trouble.”
“Hah. I don’t know how much more of Kremnos’ generosity I can stand to receive.”
Mydei ignores Anaxa’s scorn, holding out a hand. “I’ll escort you to the palace. Can you stand?”
Anaxa eyes the outstretched gauntlet. Unfortunately, the answer to that question is no, not without assistance. Disgruntledly, he puts his chained hands in Mydei’s palm, letting him pull him up. The pins and needles in his legs promptly make themselves known. Anaxa totters, falling against Mydei who catches him with an arm around his waist. For a second, Anaxa isn’t pretending at all, legs going weak with his face planted in Mydei’s chest, because that scent, as warm as sunlight with an earthy primal musk that makes him want to drown himself in it.
“Are you alright?” The chest under Anaxa’s face rumbles.
“…Yes,” Anaxa manages, strangled, wondering what is wrong with him. It takes a good minute before he is able to push away from Mydei.
When Anaxa is standing on his own two feet, Mydei hesitates, and then says, “My apologies, Sage, but I’ll need to search you again.”
“You lions pawing at me once wasn’t enough?” Anaxa curls his lip. “You don’t have to invent an excuse. I’m your prisoner after all, Your Highness.”
Mydei looks slightly uncomfortable at this. “I’ll be quick. Please pardon the offense,” he mutters. Tugging off his gauntlets, he tosses them to the warden to hold for him.
The hands that move over Anaxa, patting down his chest and back, cupping and sliding down each limb, are large and rough, tipped with sharp, neat feline claws. Mydei’s search is more thorough than the first, turning up a golden coin carved with the symbol of the Phantom Thief from Anaxa’s left trouser pocket.
Anaxa’s lips thin. “That is not mine. That Cifera must have planted it on me.” Really, when did she do it? He hadn’t sensed her near him in the city.
“A calling card,” Mydei murmurs to himself. He turns the coin between his claws.
“After subjecting me to this indignity, you had better catch that accursed thief and see that she gets her comeuppance.”
Mydei nods. “We will.” He turns to the warden, trading the coin for his gauntlets which he tugs back on. “Put this in a sealing box and deliver it to the mages for analysis. Remind them to take every precaution. Cifera is blessed by her patron god Zagreus, so it may have Trickery’s curse.” He has the warden bring Anaxa out, gathering the guards to leave additional instructions. Anaxa’s unusually sharp hearing picks up “search” and “cell”.
This prince is either meticulously vigilant… or he harbors suspicions of Anaxa’s involvement. Curious. He shouldn’t have reason to. Though Anaxa is well known throughout Amphoreus as the Blasphemer, he has no known association with criminal elements.
This prince… he is a bit interesting.
**
The chamber Mydeimos leads Anaxa to is spacious and refined with a modest kind of luxury. Floor to ceiling windows let in evening light that highlights the soaring ceilings. Lush rugs sink beneath his feet, covering the cool-toned marble floor. The imperial red and gold accents are restrained, most prominent at the brocade drapery framing the windows and the large canopy bed on one side of the chamber, complemented by carved furnishings of rich, dark wood. A sitting area contains a cozy couch and armchairs surrounding a low redwood table, a dining nook to the side.
The space has a distinctly masculine feel and, despite being tidied, gives Anaxa the sense of being lived in.
“I heard the Castrum Kremnos of today is one of integrity and principles,” Anaxa says mildly, strolling through the room. “It just goes to show that hearsay can’t be trusted.” He circles his way over to the bed, trailing his fingers over the luxurious coverlet. Hopping up lightly, he perches on the edge of the mattress and crosses one leg over the other, chained hands casually folded in his lap. He regards the prince with chilly disdain. “A lovely room, Your Highness. Is it yours?”
Mydei dismisses the servants waiting at the side with a gesture, the great doors closing with a quiet, definitive click. He comes to a halt, leaving an unthreatening span of distance between them.
“It is,” Mydei replies, not rising to the provocation. So much for the tales of a young, hot-blooded lion. “I’m sure that you, the savant of the school of Nousporism, have already guessed the reason we’re here. Anaxagoras, Chosen One of the patron God of Reason Cerces.. and the sole mortal in Amphoreus who has ascended to part-divinity.”
“Why don’t you enlighten me as to this purpose, prince? As the disadvantaged party, far be it for me to make assumptions.”
“We don’t have a place sufficient to detain a demigod, should you prove to have ill intentions,” Mydei states bluntly.
“A demigod?” Effervescent laughter fills the room. “You think too highly of me. I’ve but a scrap of divinity on the rest of you Chosen, for what little good it does me. I am but a frail scholar.” It’s mostly true, though Mydei’s concern… isn’t entirely unwarranted. “I didn’t expect that the Anointed of Nikador, God of Strife, would be so tentative.”
“Think what you will. There isn’t anyone else suitable to watch over you. You’ll have to tolerate my presence for the duration.”
Coming from the Undying Prince, being assessed as such a dangerous threat is quite the compliment. Anaxa would be flattered if it wasn’t so troublesome. “As an educator, I must correct you on one point: I have never been one of the Chosen.”
Mydei is startled. “Then how…” His gaze drifts to the delicate crown of branches that curve atop Anaxa’s head. It gets in the way, but at least Anaxa’s ears don’t hurt if they brush against them, the bark smooth and pliant, the green leaves soft.
“Cerces unilaterally foisted their bough upon me without my consent, bestowing a portion of their divinity I neither wanted nor asked for.” The subsequent envious and outraged faces of his colleagues was rather satisfying. “Which only goes to show that They are no less a lunatic than myself.”
“I’m… sorry?” Mydei doesn’t seem to know how to respond to this counterintuitive revelation; a person who would reject the prospect of being granted divinity.
Anaxa shrugs. “I bear no resentment towards Cerces, unsolicited as their actions were. They restored the life I paid in my final transmutation for the Grove. That, in itself, is of little consequence, but the experience and abilities I obtained has opened new avenues to pursue for my research.” He meets Mydei’s thoughtful gaze. “As for tolerating, I hardly have a choice, do I?”
“No. However, I won’t make things difficult for you. I’m only here to monitor your actions and make sure you stay in the city. No harm will come to you.” Mydei pauses. “The bed is yours for the night; I’ll take the couch.”
What a serious little prince. It makes Anaxa want to tease him. Business first, he reminds himself.
“If you are to be my warden, then who is in pursuit of the thief? I don’t have the leisure to languish here indefinitely. I’ve things to do.”
“As do I. You don’t have to worry about that. The one taking up the hunt in my stead is more capable than me.”
More qualified than Mydeimos? It couldn’t be. “Are you saying Her Majesty, the Lioness herself, is in pursuit?”
Mydei answers with silence.
Laughter bubbles up in Anaxa’s throat, spilling into the room. It’s a blue moon when Cipher is the one receiving trouble instead of doling it out with glee. She’ll have to run very fast to escape this huntress, King Gorgo in the flesh. He shakes his head in amusement. “I’ve no objection on that count then. And the one investigating this case?”
“Krateros, the King’s Aegis. He reports directly to me. Is that to your satisfaction, Sage?”
“It’ll have to do.” Anaxa taps his fingers together. “You should know what I will ask next, prince.”
“…Your request for access to the restricted Royal Collection in Garbaniphoro Library; your stated purpose for entering the city. Your initial inquiry was misplaced—”
Sorted into the junk pile by the mailroom more likely. Anaxa’s name is well-known, and not in a good way.
“—but has been recovered. I’ll review the list of references you asked for. If there is no problem with them, I’ll bring you to look at the selection tomorrow.”
Not bad. Though appearing unfavorable on the surface, Anaxa’s current predicament has some unique advantages. “Acceptable.” The mint tail sways, tone turning coy. “There’s still several hours until the rest period. Whatever shall we do in the meantime?”
The lion is unmoved; truly a bore. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to hear about your research. It would be helpful for evaluating your requests. Over dinner, perhaps?”
**
Dinner is a royal five-course spread taken on the terrace. Eating with the cuffs restricting his wrists is manageable, if inconvenient, the dishes pre-cut into small bites for him. Notably, it’s not the typical Kremnoan fare of red meat, red meat, and more red meat. Instead, there are light, flavorful appetizers and tart palate cleansers with a savory main of black cod in garlic herb butter sauce.
As if tailored for a certain cat’s palate, perhaps? The dead giveaway is the final course served up, a dessert bowl of refreshing mint ice cream, rich and sweet.
“You’ve done your homework,” Anaxa comments archly, nearly purring as he savors the milky frozen treat. It’s been some time since he has enjoyed it, having been on extended sabbatical from the Grove, chasing down obscure leads on his research.
“It’s the least I could do to make your stay more tolerable,” Mydei responds noncommittally.
This prince looks a little more pleasing to the eye now. Unsurprisingly, Mydei’s knowledge of soul theory is lacking but he is willing to learn, listening well and asking good questions.
The next daily activity that is turned into a hassle by Anaxa’s shackles is his evening bath. Mydei’s solution is to remove one cuff, attaching it to his own wrist. The unlocking mechanism is complex, Mydei purposely obscuring Anaxa’s sight of the process. Anaxa memorizes the sound of it, the pattern of catch and clicks of the two ward keys. He briefly amuses himself with the thought of pickpocketing the keys with the skills Cipher taught him. Alas, it’s not an option given this particular warrior’s reflexes.
Not that he intends to escape and land himself on Kremnos’ wanted list. He’d rather have his name cleared—there’s no real evidence to be had for them to keep him and, despite his accusations, the Kremnos of today is just—but one never knows what the future may hold.
One hand now freed, Anaxa is able to undress and bathe while the other remains securely attached to his captor.
“Is this necessary, Your Highness?” He isn’t used to having someone in his space for an extended period of time. If this lion is going to be attached to his side for a week, the probability that he will murder someone becomes a nonzero number. “I’ve agreed to cooperate. A show of good faith would be appropriate.”
“Your gift for alchemy is world-renowned,” Mydei answers obliquely.
“Hmph.” As if there’s anywhere to hide a transmutation circle in the prince’s own quarters. “Was this what the dinner bribery was for?”
Mydei doesn’t deny it, gaze fixed on the far side of the room as Anaxa changes into a bathrobe. Anaxa is none too gentle when he yanks on the chain as he moves about, but Mydei offers no complaint about the rough treatment.
In the bath, Mydei sits at the side, face turned away while Anaxa washes up. Having to drag Mydei’s wrist around is a nuisance. Taking the prince’s hand, he puts it on his wrist. “Hold here. If you were going to insist on something like this, couldn’t you have fashioned a longer chain?” he complains.
Hesitantly, thick fingers encircle the cat’s slender bones. “The material to forge for suppression is hard to find.”
The golden cuffs are certainly of interesting make, able to suppress Anaxa’s powers until he can barely sense his elemental energy. Whether they could hold up under his full strength though, is doubtful.
For a while, there is only the soft splash of water echoing off the tiles while Anaxa rinses his hair and scrubs himself down, sighing at the pleasant heat of the water. His nose twitches at a light fragrance in the air, tart and sweet… pomegranate? He casts a thoughtful glance at the prince’s back.
It’s part genuine need and part willfulness that has Anaxa saying, “Help me wash my back.”
“…Pardon me?”
“If you would be so kind. I can’t do it myself, tied up like this.” The angle is awkward for Mydei as well, but he is better positioned and has a greater reach.
Anaxa is gratified to hear the soft sound of the prince’s gulp.
“Washcloth?”
Anaxa hands it to him, amused by the way Mydei can’t meet his eyes. There’s a tinge of color in his face, though that could be blamed on the steam of the bath.
Mydei runs the cloth over Anaxa’s back, featherlight.
“You can use more strength. I’m not that delicate.”
The touch firms, even pressure between his shoulders, then stroking down his spine. Anaxa hums in pleasure, back arching in response and tail curling, the soft fur unintentionally brushing against Mydei’s thigh. The scent thickens, the rich underlying tones of sunshine and musk confirming the source.
“I’m done,” Mydei says, voice like gravel, and hurriedly stuffs the washcloth back into Anaxa’s hand, turning away.
The back of the lion’s neck is red.
**
Freshly bathed and dressed in clean clothes provided by his host, Anaxa feels much more at ease. Relaxing on the couch with a cup of tea, he notices that his nail polish is chipped, the imperfection a nagging annoyance. The accessories and turquoise lacquer he asks for are promptly delivered to the room.
Once again, there is a small problem. To put it simply, Anaxa’s claws are too long, and the limits of his chains too short, essentially the same issue as before. Finished removing the polish, he glances at the lion’s figure, diligently reviewing papers at the corner desk.
The responsible party should rectify this situation, shouldn’t they?
“Your Highness, it seems I require your assistance again.”
Mydei tenses but doesn’t turn, tone wary. “What is it?”
“The shackles are too restrictive. I can’t paint my nails like this.”
Mydei lets out a long exhale, his patience sorely tried. “I’ll have our Grand Craftsman adjust the length tomorrow.”
“Alternatively, you could release one hand for me to use as before,” Anaxa suggests helpfully. Except Mydei has been taking great pains not to let Anaxa get a good look at the ward keys. The limiting step of transmutation is comprehension of form and composition. Once that is accomplished, one only needs an appropriate material to transmute into the desired item.
Since receiving Reason’s crown, Anaxa no longer requires a circle to perform transmutation. Unfortunately, instant transmutation with divine power tends to be rather… flashy, making it inconvenient for covert action.
“It can wait until tomorrow,” Mydei says firmly.
“Didn’t you promise me every accommodation? It wasn’t even a few hours ago and you’re already going back on your word?”
“Within reason.”
Anaxa snorts contemptuously. “Is this beyond your ability, crown prince?”
Not bothering to hide the headache Anaxa is giving him anymore, Mydei leans his forehead on his palm, a low growl in his throat. The fluff of the lion’s tail smacks against the side of the chair.
“It won’t take long.” Having applied the stick, Anaxa offers a carrot. The notion of this pretty prince attending him is becoming more and more attractive, such that he is willing to extend a minor concession for it. “You can ask me about the texts I requested. With how esoteric their content is, I’m sure you have questions.”
“…”
The subsequent sigh of defeat has the cat smirking in triumph.
**
For such a steely warrior, Mydeimos can be surprisingly endearing. He is as grimly diligent in the trivial task of grooming Anaxa’s claws as he is in everything else. Seated facing Anaxa, there is a slight furrow in Mydei’s brow, head bent over the delicate hand held in his own. The coarse hand gripping the small brush is steady and smooth, shifting the graceful fingers in his rough palm to paint Anaxa’s claws, one at a time.
While waiting for each layer to dry, Anaxa answers a few questions. Each time, some notations are added to the papers Mydei lay on the coffee table. On finishing the top coat, Anaxa skims the page on top. Three quarters of the list has been approved.
Setting the bottle on the table, Mydei rises, ready to return to his desk.
Anaxa examines his claws. A most satisfactory job. “Going already? You’re only half finished.”
The lion’s tail twitches in irritation, golden gaze slanting over his shoulder to see the cat has lifted his bare feet onto the couch cushions, wiggling his dainty toes.
“You have a few more questions, don’t you?” Propping his chin on a hand, Anaxa leisurely admires the shift of defined muscles in Mydei’s broad back as his chest expands and contracts in a deep breath, the lion’s gaze boring a hole into the far wall.
Mm. He has no complaints about the view in this room.
Mint ears perk up in pleasant surprise when Mydei stalks back over. He looms over Anaxa, jaw tight.
“This is your last favor.”
“For the night,” Anaxa agrees breezily. “We were speaking on the philosophical concept of Nous: everything is in everything. Shall we continue?”
Reluctantly, Mydei drops down onto the couch. “Can’t believe I asked for this,” he mutters to himself. Snagging the base coat bottle from the table, he takes a pretty foot in hand.