Chapter Text
The palace had always been too quiet for Freodore.
Not silent, never silent. Servants walked through marble halls at every hour of the day, guards stood watch outside every doorway, advisors flooded meeting rooms with endless conversations about diplomacy and reputation.
Yet somehow, despite all the noise, it still felt empty.
Every morning began the same way.
“Your Highness, your breakfast.”
“Your Highness, today’s schedule.”
“Your Highness, the council awaits.”
Freodore smiled when he was expected to smile. Nodded when he was expected to nod. Sat through lectures about duty and responsibility while the golden walls of the palace seemed to close tighter around him day after day.
The first thing he had ever learned is that a prince did not belong to himself.
The second was that princes were never supposed to want more.
Which was unfortunate for Freodore, because wanting more was all he ever did.
Especially on nights like this.
The kingdom’s Lantern Festival glowed far beyond the palace gates, spilling warm light across the distant streets below the hill. Even from his balcony, Freodore could hear faint music drifting through the evening air.
Laughter.
Real laughter.
Not the polished, controlled kind heard during royal banquets.
His fingers tightened around the balcony railing.
Down there, people were dancing freely in crowded streets, eating sweet festival food, singing without worrying whether their posture was correct or whether their words would embarrass the crown.
Down there, nobody cared that he was Prince Freodore.
The thought settled heavily in his chest.
Behind him, the doors to his chambers opened.
“You’re staring again.”
Freodore glanced over his shoulder to find the queen,his mother, Uki leaning against the doorway, dressed elegantly even at this hour. Beside him stood the king,his father, Fulgur, arms crossed as he observed the festival lights below.
“You should be resting,” Fulgur said.
Freodore offered a small smile. “I could say the same to both of you.”
Uki walked beside him, resting his elbows against the balcony railing. “You’ve been distracted lately.”
“I’m fine.”
“You say that every time,” Uki replied gently.
Freodore looked away.
Because the truth was harder to explain.
How could he tell them that every day inside the palace felt like breathing through silk? Beautiful, soft, expensive silk that still somehow suffocated him all the same.
Fulgur studied him carefully.
“The responsibilities of the crown will only grow heavier from here,” he said. “You understand that, don’t you?”
Freodore did understand.
That was the problem.
He understood that his future had already been decided for him long ago.
He understood that one day he would inherit the throne.
He understood that princes did not disappear into crowded festival streets simply because they wished to feel normal for one night.
And yet as the music from the city drifted higher into the night sky, Freodore found himself wondering what would happen if, just once, he ignored everything he understood.
About an hour later, Freodore was climbing out of his own bedroom window.
The streets were brighter than he imagined.
Lanterns floated overhead like fallen stars, strung between buildings in glowing lines of gold and orange. Music echoed from every corner of the city, guitars, drums, cheerful singing blending together into something alive.
Freodore pulled the hood of his borrowed cloak lower over his face as he moved through the crowd.
Nobody recognized him.
Nobody bowed.
Nobody called him “Your Highness.”
For the first time in years, he could breathe.
“Watch it!”
Freodore barely managed to step aside before someone crashed directly into him.
Flowers scattered everywhere.
“Oh no. Seible, you absolute disaster! ”
“I said I was carrying too many!”
Freodore blinked down at the armful of flowers now scattered across the street while two strangers argued in front of him.
One of them, shorter, bright-eyed, clearly dramatic, immediately pointed accusingly at the other.
“This is YOUR fault.”
“How is it my fault?” the taller one shot back. “You walked backwards into a person!”
Only then did both of them finally notice Freodore standing there awkwardly.
“…Oh,” the shorter one said.
“…Hi,” the taller one added.
Freodore stared for a moment before unexpectedly laughing.
A real laugh.
The kind that slipped out before he could stop it.
And somehow, that was exactly where everything began.
“These took me hours to arrange,” he complained. “Do you know how hard it is to make bouquets look casually beautiful?”
“You say that like you didn’t shove every flower together and hope for the best,” the taller one replied.
“I have artistic vision.”
“You have no depth perception.”
Freodore laughed again before he could stop himself.
The two strangers turned toward him immediately.
And just like that, the laughter faded from Freodore’s lips.
Because people usually reacted differently to him.
Nobles lowered their heads. Servants straightened nervously. Guards stood at attention.
But these two only looked curious.
The shorter one stood first, brushing flower petals off his sleeves before holding out a hand.
“Well,” he announced proudly, “since you’ve already witnessed my humiliation, I guess introductions are necessary. I’m Seible.”
Freodore hesitated for half a second before taking his hand carefully.
“...Freo.”
Not technically a lie.
The taller one snorted softly. “That’s suspiciously vague.”
“Kaelix,” Seible interrupted dramatically, “some of us have manners.”
“Some of us walk backwards into strangers.”
“I was multitasking.”
Kaelix rolled his eyes before glancing back toward Freodore. “Sorry about him.”
Freodore shook his head quickly. “No, it’s alright.”
Kaelix tilted his head slightly then, studying him closer beneath the lantern light.
And suddenly Freodore became painfully aware of himself.
The expensive stitching hidden beneath his plain cloak. The careful posture years of royal lessons had carved into him. The way his speech naturally sounded too polished compared to everyone around him.
He looked away first.
“Anyway,” Seible said brightly, shoving the rescued flowers back into Freodore’s arms without warning, “congratulations.”
Freodore blinked. “For what?”
“You’re helping now.”
“What?”
“We’re late delivering decorations to Zeal’s café.”
Kaelix frowned. “Sei, you cannot just recruit random strangers off the street.”
“Sure I can. Look at him. He looks responsible.”
Freodore stared down at the flowers now trapped in his hands.
Then, slowly, a smile tugged at his mouth.
Nobody had ever handed him flowers and assigned him chores before.
“I suppose I can help,” he said carefully.
Seible gasped dramatically. “See? Responsible.”
Kaelix muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “we’re going to get murdered one day.”
And somehow, despite knowing he should return to the palace before anyone noticed he was gone, Freodore followed them anyway.
The café sat near the edge of the festival district, tucked between glowing storefronts and crowded streets.
Warm music drifted through the open windows.
The sign above the door read:
“HEARTBEATS CAFE”
Freodore barely stepped inside before being hit with the scent of coffee, cinnamon, and fresh pastries.
The room glowed gold beneath hanging lanterns. A small stage sat near the back corner where musicians played soft acoustic melodies while customers laughed around crowded wooden tables.
It was warm.
Not physically warm.
Alive warm.
The kind Freodore had never felt inside the palace.
“Finally,” came a voice from behind the counter. “You two took forever.”
The man standing there looked slightly older than the others, sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows as he wiped down cups with practiced ease.
Sharp eyes landed immediately on Freodore.
Then narrowed.
“...And who’s this?”
“Our new employee,” Seible declared proudly.
“I’m not-”
“Temporary employee,” Kaelix corrected.
Zeal sighed deeply. “One day, you’re both going to drag home an assassin and smile while doing it.”
Freodore froze for half a second.
Zeal noticed instantly.
Interesting.
“Relax,” Zeal said, amusement flickering across his expression. “Anyone willing to carry Seible’s flowers voluntarily probably isn’t dangerous.”
“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about me,” Seible sniffed emotionally.
“It wasn’t about you.”
Kaelix leaned against the counter. “Freo helped after Sei crashed into him.”
“Ah,” Zeal said knowingly. “So you’re tonight’s victim.”
Freodore tried (and failed) to hide another laugh.
It felt strange.
Easy.
Like he’d somehow stepped into another life entirely.
Zeal eventually took the flowers from him, arranging them around the café while Seible immediately disappeared toward the kitchen after spotting desserts.
That left Freodore awkwardly standing beside Kaelix near the stage.
Up close, Kaelix was unfairly pretty.
Freodore noticed that first.
The second thing he noticed was the guitar resting against Kaelix’s shoulder.
“You play?” Freodore asked quietly.
Kaelix glanced down at the instrument. “Sometimes.”
“You sound unsure.”
Kaelix shrugged lightly. “Music doesn’t pay enough to sound romantic about it.”
“But you still do it.”
“Yeah.”
There was something soft hidden beneath his voice then. Something honest.
Freodore understood that feeling more than he wanted to admit.
“Do you play anything?” Kaelix asked suddenly.
Freodore’s stomach dropped.
Princes were expected to learn instruments. He’d spent years practicing piano, violin, harp and more.
Too many things a commoner likely wouldn’t know.
“A little,” he answered carefully.
Kaelix hummed like he didn’t fully believe him.
Before Freodore could panic further, someone near the stage called Kaelix’s name.
“You’re up!”
Kaelix groaned quietly. “Right. Work.”
Freodore blinked. “You perform here?”
“Sometimes,” Zeal answered from behind the counter. “Mostly because customers keep requesting him.”
Kaelix muttered, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It becomes a bad thing when they stop ordering drinks just to stare at you.”
Seible reappeared immediately. “To be fair, I get it.”
“Traitor,” Kaelix sighed.
Freodore smiled faintly as Kaelix stepped toward the stage.
The café lights dimmed slightly.
Conversations softened.
And then Kaelix began to play.
The entire room changed.
Freodore had heard court musicians perform hundreds of times before. Technically flawless melodies crafted to impress nobles who barely listened.
But this, this felt real.
Kaelix played like every note meant something.
Like music was less of a performance and more of a confession.
The crowd slowly quieted around him, drawn into the warmth of his voice as he sang.
And somewhere between one lyric and the next, Freodore realized he was staring.
Not politely watching.
Staring.
Kaelix caught him almost immediately.
His fingers faltered against the strings for half a second before recovering smoothly.
But Freodore noticed.
Their eyes met across the café.
Something unfamiliar twisted softly in Freodore’s chest.
Then Seible leaned dramatically across the table beside him and whispered:
“Oh no.”
Freodore nearly jumped. “What?”
“You’re doing the look.”
“The what?”
Seible pointed subtly toward his own face. “The hopelessly fascinated look.”
“I am not.”
“You absolutely are.” Seible teased.
Heat climbed immediately into Freodore’s face.
Across the room, Zeal watched the interaction with longing eyes caught in the way of Freo and Seible going back and forth while Kaelix plays his instrument on stage.