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It had been nearly a year since Rome was away from the palace.
Nearly a year of endless meetings, political negotiations, and settling disputes in Shohei. Nearly a year of the chattering of people who did not know their place. Nearly a year of staring out unfamiliar windows and wishing to return.
His only salvation was the letters arriving every few weeks, written in elegant script. They were never particularly interesting, containing only summaries of the Kingdom’s state of affairs. And yet, Rome found himself rereading them before bed under warm candlelight, the pads of his fingers tracing the neat strokes of ink on the worn parchment, along the delicate slope of the signature at the bottom.
It truly was a little pathetic of him, he mused, clinging to diplomatic letters like they were some sort of confession. And yet here he was, the letters packed neatly in a carved wooden case, along with his most treasured possessions.
Nonetheless, mere parchment was not enough of a substitute. Over time, the ache in his chest simply grew too sharp to ignore. And his patience, after every ridiculous meeting he was forced to tolerate, thinned like a string pulled too taut.
Fortunately, right before he considered truly drastic measures just to return, he received a wedding invitation from his brother, along with an official royal summons. Rome stepped on the carriage back immediately. Not just because his brother had finally gone against traditions by marrying Peach, but also because he looked forward to the reactions of those old fogeys in the royal council to a “mere commoner” wedding into royalty. He had always detested them, along with their ridiculous insistence on traditions.
But perhaps most importantly, it was because Rome could finally meet him again.
The one behind all those letters.
His beloved orchid, hidden away in the palace gardens.
…
The palace came into view.
The familiar white stone greeted him, banners embroidered with the Arseni royal crest fluttering in the wind. His carriage passed the knights standing guard at the palace gates, saluting at his presence.
Then, he entered the courtyard. Dozens of servants stood in neat rows. Somewhere in the distance, trumpets blew loud and celebratory.
“His Highness the Second Prince has returned!”
He stood at the cabin door. Like instinct, like the inevitable pull of gravity, his gaze landed on the man bowing slightly at the foot of his carriage.
Mok.
His Mok.
Rome descended the carriage steps, stopping before him.
Mok looked almost the same as when Rome had left him—the same thin-rimmed glasses, the same elegant cut of his suit, the same ornate sword at his hip.
But Rome noticed the differences. Mok’s hair was longer. The bags under his eyes more pronounced. Not by much. But enough that the full weight of their year apart crashed against Rome’s ribs at the sight of it.
Then, Mok straightened from his bow. “Welcome back, Your Highness.”
Their eyes met.
And Rome burned.
The claw of yearning gripped his throat and squeezed. He wanted to step closer. To bridge the distance. Melt in that voice, map that skin, drown in those eyes. Proper etiquette be damned.
Rome closed his eyes. Centred himself.
Not now. He reminded himself.
Not for propriety’s sake, but for the man standing before him.
But, alas, Rome could never fully restrain himself. He stepped closer. Just a little, more than what was allowed.
Close enough to notice the way Mok’s eyes wavered. The way his fingers tightened against the folds of his sleeves.
Rome smiled. He murmured—a soft, private thing.
“I’m back, my orchid.”
And he watched as Mok froze.
A crack. Just for a moment. Just enough for Rome to know the nickname still affected him.
Then Mok lowered his gaze. Smoothened his expression once more into perfect composure. He stepped back slightly, restoring the distance between them. “Please allow me to accompany you to the dining hall.” He said, gesturing towards the palace gates. “Their Majesties and the crown prince await.”
Rome nearly laughed—a year apart, and still Mok’s response was to pretend he had said absolutely nothing.
Some things never changed.
He nodded. “Lead the way.”
The sounds of their footsteps echoed in the sprawling palace hallway. There were few servants here, most of them stationed in the courtyard to welcome his return, leaving the corridor unusually quiet.
It was private here. A moment between just the two of them.
Mok walked a few steps ahead, guiding Rome towards the dining hall, his pace measured.
Rome trailed behind, watching.
“I’m pleased my brother thought to gift me such a fine attendant,” Rome mused. His gaze followed the line of Mok’s back, lingering on the dip of his spine. “It would be a shame not to keep you close a little longer.”
Mok did not break his stride. “His Highness has assigned me to your household for the wedding preparations.”
“How generous of him.”
A sigh, barely concealed. “I would appreciate it if you asked him to reconsider.”
Rome laughed. “Why would I?”
“Because there are others better suited to the task.”
“Better suited?” Rome echoed. “After the year we spent apart, I find your presence dearly needed. Nonsensical, even, to suggest otherwise.”
“You exaggerate.”
“Do I? Twelve months, and all I received were reports.” He let the words settle. “Allow me this much, at least.”
A pause. Then, quieter than before, “I did not think you required anything more th—” Mok stopped himself. “—Nevermind.”
There it was. The flush climbing up the nape of his neck, the one he could never quite hide.
The Mok he had missed.
Rome let the silence stretch, savouring it, before he spoke again. “Careful, orchid. One might think you were about to say something you’d regret.”
“I misspoke.”
“Mm. A shame. I was rather enjoying it.” Rome’s gaze never strayed from his back. “Though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised my brother arranged this. It seems he, too, wishes for me to pursue my heart’s desires.” His lips curled. “How thoughtful of him.”
Silence.
Then, several steps later, “I believe His Highness assigned me here because he deemed my use more valuable in this household.”
Neither an agreement. Nor a denial.
How interesting.
Rome let it go. After all, his return had given him something precious: time. Time to stand beside Mok again, to remind him of what lingered unspoken between them, and perhaps, at last, to learn whether Mok would ever allow himself to admit it.