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Summary
Saparata can’t help the puff of a chuckle that he lets out. It’s perhaps the first semblance of happiness he’s shown in weeks. “Is that a tiara? Like the one princesses wear?” He remarks - amused and so, so oblivious to who he was teasing.
“Is that a bathrobe?” Fluixon sneers with a raised eyebrow. His nose is wrinkled and he has his arms folded over his chest. However, his demeanor of offense quickly crumbles when Snowbird334 hits Saparata at the back of his head.
“Is that any way to talk to the crown prince, Saparata?” That elicits a tiny oh! from Saparata. He straightens himself so quickly it’s almost painful, before he scrambles to courtesy just in the way Micro taught him to. Fluixon almost smiles, but he holds back.
Saparata clears his throat. “It’s my greatest honor to be in the presence of the young star of Aculon. I humbly extend my greetings as the Prince of Theria.” His tone is boxy, almost robotic. Like he’s rehearsed this a thousand times.
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Or, is old love meant to last in the face of supreme duty?