Work Text:
Act I
When Queen Natsume, of an unnamed coastal kingdom, gave birth to Toge, the people celebrated for seven days and seven nights.
A prince! They'd rejoiced. The land’s prosperity is secured for the ages to come!
A babe with starlight hair and eyes clearer than the rarest cut of amethyst, Toge was the prophesied child to bring fortune to his kingdom…or to be their executioner.
His earliest memory—his earliest rebellion—against his Fate happened before his body even changed.
When he didn’t even know the details of the prophecy.
Toge had run from his tutors, hidden away in a corner of a garden where nobody ever frequented. Where unmarked graves lay, their sins and identities unknown. Even as his nose stung from the biting cold, or when his stomach ached and growled from being empty, Toge refused to return.
His nursemaid found him either way, when the sun set low on the horizon, and his parents deemed it late enough to send out a search party for him. Hoisting him against her hips, she took him back to his room, where a bath and dinner had been arranged for him.
“It is a burden you must bear, young prince.” Her tone had come out harsh, as if Toge had no right to be upset at his situation. “You are our first prince—our only prince. It is natural for that many eyes to be on you.”
And Toge, still too young to understand what was natural and what wasn’t, could only nod at his nursemaid’s half-baked attempts to console him, resuming tutorship the next day.
He closed off his heart thereafter, concluded that there were no allies for his cause. Even if he chattered and complained about his plight to his nursemaid, he never held hope that his situation would ever change.
Yet, ever so often, Toge’s mind would drift, and he wondered what it would be like to have a life for himself. A life away from prophecies, politics, and admirers.
Toge cringed. His admirers. Calling them his ‘worshippers’ would’ve been a better term.
Men often strung partridges and turtle-doves and game fowls a plenty; piled the flesh of heifers and hares and paired them with bottles of wine. Nobody seemed to care that Toge had yet to reach maturity—the King and Queen always accepting them, accepting their shallow affections, in his stead, brought them out to indulge at mealtimes while he sipped on water and the occasional fruit juice.
They emptied the temples and crowded at his gate, sang praises and recited prayers, every hymn sounding the same as the last: O' Starlight Prince; Lovelier than Aphrodite of Beauty; Warmer than Hestia of the Hearth; Radiance shining brighter than Apollo of the Sun; Mind sharper than Athena of Wisdom.
Toge wished to needle his eardrums. How could he, a mere mortal, ever be compared to the Gods themselves? Surely, it’s blasphemy!
His family, unfortunately, was of one mind with their kingdom.
It didn’t matter that the mid-year sun scorched the lands, or that the deep winter cold threatened to freeze their extremities—the King and Queen took every opportunity to host lavish banquets, inviting princesses, duchesses, and other foreign dignitaries to admire Toge as if he were a bull trussed up for auction.
A never-changing song and dance, Toge would trade his time, exchanging boring conversation and feet-numbing dances, his family reaping the benefits of the beauty he’d inherited from the Queen in the form of land deeds, gold, jewels, and meat.
And yet… despite the fuss and fanfare over his beauty, over the radiance and warmth many claimed he had, not a single person had asked for his hand.
Not the princesses, not the duchesses, not even the men who serenaded him with praises had offered themselves to him. Even the plebeians, who’d been the most enthusiastic of the caste, admired him from afar.
It was easy to despair when his sisters, both charming in their own way, despite lacking the same qualities Toge had, have married well:
The eldest, to a neighbouring King, who had signed a trade agreement to provide five heifers and five bulls each month in exchange for a fraction of their catches;
The second, to a Spartan prince who nearly bankrupted his inheritance paying her bride price, with a promise of protection with an established army by their borders.
And frankly, Toge tired of it all.
He didn’t want to be some pivotal force of a prophecy, couldn’t care less if his kingdom perished or prospered. He’d rather be like his sisters—marrying well, and living a quiet, stable life with the person he loved.
For what good was his beauty, when he yearned for a genuine connection, but only instead, received shallow flattery?
“Your parents have sent word for you, young prince.”
Toge sits up from prostration, the temple floors solid against his knees, the chill of smooth marble seeping through his clothes. There’s a stillness in the air, like a weight bearing down on his shoulders. It wasn’t suffocating, simply just… there.
He thinks it might be indifference—a slow detachment developed over the years—but it might also be exhaustion. He’s seventeen now; the earth has made five orbits since he’d received his first gift from the masses. Since he first bore the weight of his world.
Five years, he thinks with his gaze still on the temple ground, is a long time to be scorned.
“Toge,” the priestess warns from behind him, her voice low. Insistent. “You have to leave. Now. Before the state finds out and assumes the worst of us.”
And Toge stands, dusting his robes, the scent of rose and incense clinging to expensive fabric—the only gift he’d kept from a nameless admirer. There was something special about the chiton, dyed in the exact shade of his eyes, the hem and neckline embroidered with words of a foreign tongue, threads glittering in the starlight likeness of his hair.
Toge often wondered what the words meant, fingers tracing over intricate lines and curves. Curiosity pushes him to scour the kingdom’s libraries for a dictionary. He'd found none; there hadn’t even been a hint of what it could be. Toge then wrote to the Library of Alexandria—surely, with thousands of archives, there’d be at least one record of it, right?
The Library returned his letter within the month.
Turns out, there had been exactly one record on the language. The bad news was that it’d only been mentioned in passing as an ancient language. A tongue so old, that it was surmised to have existed before the land itself.
Toge loses all hope.
He’d wanted to know the person who saw him. But how could he, when he didn’t have any traces to even find them with?
His admirer would either have to be extremely well-read, with a legacy so old they could only have descended from the Gods, while having the strong desire to never be seen, or they’d have to be a God.
Neither options appealed to him.
If they didn’t want to be found, Toge could hound the archives larger than the Library of Alexandria for even a whisper of information, and he’d find nothing.
If they were a God—well… Toge didn’t have the best relationships with them.
“The temple will always be your sanctuary, Toge,” promised the priestess, her words bringing him out of his memories. They sounded like lies, ringing hollow in his ears. “The masses may have forgotten who their patron goddess is—disparaged her and made you the scapegoat—but we haven’t. You haven’t.”
Toge turns then, expression stoic and gaze unbelieving. His heart has long since chilled, shielded from idealistic words that everyone loved. “But you don’t think me important enough to rebel against the state,” he replies.
The priestess silences, and Toge knows he’s hit a nerve.
Aphrodite may be his Patron Goddess, but his family had never been one for religion. It’s a ridiculous kind of irony—one that his parents held onto when it benefitted them most. They would believe a prophecy that granted them a boon, but ignored one that brought a bane; would take part in festive rituals, but scorned others for being in devout service.
Such exemplar sovereigns.
No matter, Toge has long decided that this would be his final offering to the offended goddess. It’s clear Aphrodite was much too upset to relieve him of his people’s transgressions, nor did he want to push his luck further than he was allowed.
“Five years,” he whispers with another gaze to Aphrodite’s statue—a towering monument of radiating beauty; his final look, “truly is a long time for anything.”
Toge’s return is swift, his movements concealed within labyrinthine catacombs. A young slave had shared it with him—long before he’d even dedicated himself to the temples—said she’d found it by accident while tending to the royal tombs.
He’d used it to sneak away ever since.
His nursemaid—the only other person Toge trusted with his outings—waits by the entrance with a wet cloth. And when he emerges, cheeks smeared with dust, and hair stuck out in every wayward direction, she wipes him with quick, attentive strokes while herding him toward his room.
“I’ve managed to delay your arrival with news that you’ve taken a midday bath,” she says, as they round the corner, crossing the royal gardens. The slaves greet him with quick, succint nods, well familiarised with Toge's presence. He trusts that they won't mention a word, either. “The Queen ordered for you not to be disturbed, but she seemed quite anxious, so it’s best not to have her wait longer.”
Toge nods. He would have to make do with a quick rinse, ensuring he hadn’t tracked back any dirt. They hasten their steps, slinking past guards patrolling the halls, their breathing light and footsteps lighter. As far as most people knew, Toge mid-bath in his chambers.
It wouldn’t do them well to get caught.
And once they’re back within the safe confines of familiar walls, he’s quick to be rid of his robe, carefully draping the precious fabric over his bed. His nursemaid frets over the bath, filling the tub with buckets after buckets of chilled water. Toge steps in with a shiver, submerges himself until the waterline covered half his face.
“You're pensive,” his nursemaid observes, by way of easing the silence in the room. There’s a rustle behind him, before a ladle of water pours itself over his head. “More so than usual, of course.”
Toge brings his knees to his chest, hugging them tightly as she rinses ash and dust from his hair. He still smells of rose and incense. “I’m not going to the temple anymore,” he says.
Another ladle of water, before thin fingers comb through his hair. “Has something happened?”
Toge shakes his head.
“It was about time, then." His nursemaid nods. "In a few seasons, you will come of age. By then, your responsibilities will have grown and you’ll have lesser time to partake in such frivolities.”
Toge wants to argue that praying to Aphrodite hadn’t been a frivolity. It was an act of respect; it was repentance he’d undertaken on behalf of his people’s sin of idolatry. Repentance that everyone took for granted.
He holds his silence, knowing she’d never understand. Nobody did. They’d brush it off as a phase, or that he was thanking the goddess for her blessings. Toge wishes he prayed for the bravery to mar his face with the King’s branding iron stead.
Surely, he’d receive her favour then.
“We will continue this conversation when time favours us, Toge,” his nursemaid finishes. “We can't keep the King and Queen waiting.”
And Toge nods, standing from the bath, watches the droplets rolling off his body. He dries himself with the linen his nursemaid provides, wrapping the absorbent material around his shoulders as he carefully steps out of the tub.
It takes a moment longer for him to dress. The new robe is roughter against the previous, the material sticking to damp skin. He pulls, and he wrestleds the fabric into place, pinning the blasted thing at the shoulders before smoothing it out with a huff. His nursemaid, meanwhile, dries his hair before smoothing it down with oil.
There wasn’t much to prepare—men weren’t consumers of makeup, and Toge had long grown sick of looking at gifted jewellery and clothes that didn’t suit him in the very least. He didn't want any of them on his body.
His nursemaid nods, either way, satisfied with his appearance. “It’ll have to do. Now, go. Your parents are waiting.”
Toge leaves without question or hesitance, only with a quiet thought about what they wanted him for.
Silence haunts the main annex, the halls void of every guard, every slave. The curtains were drawn shut, despite it being midday, bringing about an unnatural chill in the shadows as if Thanatos had swept past, shrouding the area in a cloud of death and grief.
Toge shivers, turning into the last hallway that beheld the throne room.
Something must’ve happened. In a palace where guards and slaves worked through disasters—and once, even an epidemic—this was an unusual occurence. To be exact, it has never happened before—his parents believing the lack of workers hindered any kingdom’s ability to propagate.
Yet, the unease grows as Toge nears the open doors to the throne room, hearing the barely there whispers escalating into harsh hissing of his parents. He creeps close, presses his ears against a gap between door and wall, listening in.
“Surely, there must be some other way. It’s too soon for the prophecy—”
“Who cares about the prophecy! A monster, my King! The Gods want my son wedded to a monster!”
Toge scowls, crossing his arms. The prophecy. How long more will they hang that over his head, forcing his hand as if it were a bid against his freedom?
Maybe he should just leave, head east towards Anatolia, a distant land where he'd be unknown. Toge's resourceful, he'd have no problems starting over as a commoner. He thinks he'd make a small name for himself, and he'd find love, and he'd be free to pursue every interest he couldn’t, and it'll be quiet.
Quietly impossible, Toge shakes his head. Such idealistic hopes didn't exist for him. Not when his existence itself was bound to duty.
“It is Fates’ decree that he enter divine matrimony.” A light, feminine voice chimes out from behind the door, interrupting Toge’s thoughts. A priestess, perhaps? He can’t be sure; they were never far from their temple, and the nearest temple dedicated to the prophetic Gods were in the next town over. “Should the lords attempt to supersede their authority, it is within divine will to raze the land to what it once was.”
Oh. Toge does not like the sound of that. Divine matrimony. A marriage. To a monster at that, or so he's implying from his parents' hysterics.
His life against the hundreds in his kingdom. It wasn’t much of a hard choice to make, really.
While there was no love lost between him and his people—not since he turned twelve and was monikered 'The Second Becoming of Aphrodite'—this was still his home, or it will once be, and it was his family’s legacy. He may not wish to return once wedded, should he be wedded, but his sisters would.
Toge could, at the very least, give them that.
Head high and gaze straight, Toge enters the round room, walls painted with vibrant murals against natural stone, ignoring the helpless gaze from his parents in his periphery, steadying his gaze on the shrouded priestess glowing under the sunlight. Shadows crawled out from the walls, undeterred by the shining light, bringing a chill in its wake as they reached towards the priestess.
As if her presence were an ill-omen.
Veiled and masked and crowned, she turns upon hearing his footsteps, her unfocussed eyes staring, sharp and stony, as if she were the legendary Medusa, wiry dark hair billowing like the snakes of a gorgon.
Toge recognises her as Rika, the Oracle of Delphi. Someone was a long way from home, he thinks.
“So, this is the prince,” she drawls, taking a step forward, then another, and another, until she circles him with narrowed eyes, “the one who caused the people to forsake their patron goddess.”
Toge doesn’t rise to the bait. He’s been warned of Rika in the early days of his service, has heard whispers whenever she visits, of a nickname others are forbidden to speak. The Mad Oracle, they called her, answering to nobody, but one.
And it wasn’t Apollo.
“It’s no wonder my master’s taken a liking to you.” Rika’s sing-song voice feels like thousands of ants crawling under his skin, and Toge bites his tongue, stopping himself from frowning or expressing any form of emotions. “You truly are as spectacular as the masses say.”
Thunder rumbles, a warning reverberating in the air, as if admonishing Prophetess Rika for her blasphemous words. A mere Oracle, speaking as if she were on equal footing with the Gods. Such impiety.
Rika pays them no heed. Not to Zeus, nor to Toge, nor to his parents who quivers and cows in their corner by their throne as she prowls around the sparse room.
“Master has graciously given you three days,” she exclaims, her eyes lighting with crazed laughter. "Isn't he the best?"
Toge doesn't allow her to scare him, as he clenches his fists, watching from the sidelines as she hums and sways, reciting a prophecy by heart with a voice harsher than gravel, “surrender the young prince to Seer’s Peak; where darkness reigns and spirits speak; lest flames consume the kingdom’s thread; and river run with burning red.”
Lightning strikes through the skylight, setting the oracle’s chair, where Rika had refused to sit, aflame. Hidden guards flood in, their weapons at the ready, while screams from his mother pierce the air, followed by the urgent orders from his father to douse the flames. Rika’s cackling haunts their senses, her voice clear despite the chaos exploding around them.
And she leaves with her head thrown back, the remnants of her mischief hanging in its wake, turmoil neverending as the Queen reaches for Toge, sinking her nails into his skin as she fusses and cries over the state of his future.
Yet, amidst the mess, only one thought cycles itself through Toge’s head.
The prophecy has been spoken. and it was now time to pay due price for the longevity of his kingdom.
When Toge next awakens, he is already far from home. And panic, he finds, doesn’t come.
He searches his memories for something. Anything. He remembers dinner, a solemn, quiet affair. Mourning before he’s even left. He remembers his parents pouring him a goblet of grape juice. Odd tasting. Bitter. He hadn’t questioned it. He’d excused himself for bed afterwards, unusually tired when he’d been alight with nerves before his destined leave upon Seer’s Peak.
The last thing Toge felt was a gust of wind—unusual, for his room didn’t face the breeze—then, nothing.
Had they drugged his drink?
Toge scowls. This was extreme, even for his parents; he wouldn’t have escaped even if they gave him the chance to.
He braces himself against the ground, then pushes up.
The earth is soft underneath his palm, the grass wet as if it’d just rained. Toge didn’t think a deity’s abode could be affected by weather, sitting far beyond the clouds, away from the reach of mortality. Toge sits, a drop of white in a field of red, the nauseating scent of roses causes his stomach to roil.
He’s already received enough to last a lifetime and the next.
Toge stands, allows the wreath of laurels to slip off his head, taking a cautionary glance around. There’s a sizeable palace in the distance, larger than his own, the greens squelching under his leather sandals as he wades through the sea of flowers.
He sheds the himation, the cloak they’ve draped over Toge as if he were deceased—because he might as well be, bound for life to supposed monster—scrapes and slices his unblemished skin against the thorns, relishing in the stings and pricks and the itchy after effects.
For the first time, at the height of his youth, Toge feels alive.
He breathes like it’s the first lungful of air after being submerged under murky waters, clear and quenching, his heart soaring for the boundless skies. The weight that he’s shouldered since birth eases, and like the first bluebell of spring after a dreadful winter—Toge wonders if this was what hope feels like.
He doesn't mind receiving it through such an absurd union.
Toge reaches the edge of the field, kicks off mud-trodden shoes and brushes any stray leaves from his robes. He stretches his toes against cold stone, drags and digs his feet against arenaceous floors, reaching his fingers out to feel the smooth, outer wall of the estate.
He looks up.
It’s high. Really high. Toge knows the palace hidden behind these walls would reach higher.
Toge follows the perimeter, admires the waterfall of trailing greens spilling over the top, the stone rough, but harmless. These were the kind of luxuries Toge admired, rather than the superficiality of dyed silks draping the walls, or the gold embedded into marble back home. They were nice, he would agree, but disturbingly distasteful when considering how much they cost.
How much more could they have provided the kingdom, should his family let go of such superficialities?
The master of this palace, to Toge's relief, seemed to favour naturality.
An archway soon splits the wall, trellises brimming with blooming myrtles—as he recognises from the Temples of Aphrodite—leading into another garden. It’s well-manicured, every flower in full bloom.
And that’s the oddest part, isn’t it? To be confronted with such a disconnect from the mortal realm. A constant reminder that none of this was quite…temporal.
In the royal gardens, fruits and flowers bloom in one season and perish in the next. No matter how often he toiled in the heat or cold, they were delicate creatures fated to wilt in his hands. Such is the fate of mortality, Toge knows that much.
Now, faced with his new reality, of seasonal blooms appearing in this garden, fresh and never-dying, Toge feels the first pricks of apprehension. Would he share the same torment as these flowers, to be encased in the amber of immortality, never to wither away, his life tied to that of his husband?
A husband who lived far too extravagant to be a monster. A God, most likely, but not a monster. It softens the doubt brewing within him.
For now.
Toge isn’t given the chance to dwell on his thoughts, for a phantom touch lands on his shoulders, urging him forth, guiding him past columns of gold, past fountains and shallow pools with blooming lotuses, past pavilions and statues and more archways.
It should be frightening, to not have full autonomy and forced to walk a guided path with the scents of flowers trailing after him. He could’ve been drowned, hanged, or even thrown over the railings into Hades.
And panic, this time, would’ve come, had it not been for a voice speaking to Toge, “treat my home as you would yours, for my entirety is at your disposal.”
There's kindness within the disembodied voice, warm against his skin like the first rays of sunshine after a winter storm. It must belong to his husband, Toge deduces; he couldn’t think of anyone else who would dare place their hands on him. Not with the same intimacy. Definitely not while declaring themselves to be the master of the house.
Toge finds himself trusting the faceless man, realises that with every step closer into the heart of the palace, his worries displaces itself.
Only… Toge doesn’t know if the trust came from him, or if it was forced on him.
For from the stories he’s heard, certain Gods have been able to dictate and direct the emotions of anyone they wished.
And Toge could only hope his husband wasn’t one of them.
Dinner takes place in an open-air courtyard, circled with more marble columns and smattered with blooming spring boxes. The table, adorned with a feast of fish, grains and fruits.
Fish, for a prince of a seaside kingdom, was commonplace during his meals. Chefs at the Crown Prince’s Palace often prepared sardines and bream, for they were easy hunts, while tuna and cods were reserved for lavish events.
Evidently, such conservation didn't apply to Gods, for Toge’s dinner table had been laden with silver platters of fish, grilled and roasted and salted and fresh, while an unseen orchestra filled the emptiness of still air.
Toge didn't think he was worth such extravagance.
He was merely another human—a prince barely in name, only in blood; it felt wrong to indulge, when the reality of his kingdom's food scarcity weighs heavy in his mind. Toge may have surrended his right to the throne, along with its responsbilities upon marriage, but he was still a son of royal blood, his sense of duty an ingrained trait.
Paradoxically, it was also his duty to survive in this gilded paradise, his own life tied to his kingdom's. He can't be stubborn about morals now, can't fall back into the same altruistic habits he'd kept as prince, where he'd give up pieces of himself for his people.
(Even if this union was one of them.)
And so, Toge eats, his fingers digging into soft fillet and ripe fruit, salty and sweet, firm and soft, served onto his plate with a side drizzle of honey. He picks out the bones, and spits out the seeds, oils and juices running down his arms in a translucent sheen, though he pays it no heed.
Whispers and giggles join him mid-meal, a series of tinkling chimes echoing around him. Never appearing, never touching. They call for him, calls for his name but never his title, and that alone eases the tension in his shoulders. Just a little.
“The nymphs are excited to serve you. They’ve never met a prince before,” his husband whispers into his ears.
A Prince. Not a mortal. Did that mean Toge wasn’t the first here? Had his husband been married previously? And if he was, to whom? And what happened to them?
Would he end up like them?
The nymphs urge him with more food, summons goblets of wine to wash everything down until he could no longer maintain his train of thought. He reaches for water instead.
Food, Toge thinks, is a good distraction.
Toge drags his feet to the baths after the meal, his stomach full and his mind in a better state than before, as he takes in the steam-filled room with drooping eyes.
Everything about his new home was massive. Which, he thinks, was appropriate for a God.
It’s a long room, longer than the royal dining hall, and the walls twice as high, with columns of gold holding up a missing ceiling, and serpentine vines circling its circumference. Sconced yorches light up the darkening room, as the setting sun disappears overhead in a fiery glow, though Toge’s eyes remain glued on the figure in the center of it all.
A statue of a woman with unmatched beauty nestles itself in a bed of myrtles and roses, short hair framing strong features that looked off to the side, while steaming water flows from an upturned amphora in her hands, the scent of minerals drifting in the heat.
It’s a familiar face—a face he’s worshipped for the last five years.
And Toge’s heart drops.
This was a home that worshipped Aphrodite, and by his guess? It must’ve belonged to one of her children, or even someone closely associated with her.
The Fates must be laughing at him. For all he’d done to appease her, eventually ceasing worship, accepting that he’d never receive her forgiveness—he now finds himself within her territory, bound to one for eternity.
How cruel.
“Is this your mercy, or your retribution?” Toge mumbles, his words dissolving into the breeze.
His Patron Goddess hadn’t deigned to answer any of his prayers in the last five years, simply watching as the world treated him as a trophy to be won.
So… why now?
Toge doesn’t get an answer, nor did he expect one, as he turns his back on the eyes of the goddess to strip, the nymphs and their cold touch assisting, as some gathers his fallen tunic, while others help him into the heated water, stepping deeper, and deeper, until he’s waist deep in the middle of the pool.
All while avoiding the eyes of his merciless Goddess.
Toge rests on one of the many benches, and fatigue, he realises, catches up quicker than he expects it to.
Act II
Washed and warmed, Toge settles into a room in a quiet corner of the palace, half a room bigger than his own, with a balcony overlooking the skies beyond. More marble walls, vine-circled columns, and a painted ceiling with an unknown hero slaying a monster stretches above him, the room carrying the same polished grandeur as the rest of the estate.
The floors are cold under his bare feet, made of the same, smooth stone as the temples, the bed mounted on a circular dais, lit with a handful of familiar sconces. Seems like his husband likes uniformity.
Toge takes extra caution to not trip over covers or canopies, the mattress dipping under his weight when he sits, soft enough that it moulds to his shape, yet firm enough that he doesn’t feel like he’s sinking.
Toge flops onto his back, then turns on his side to stare out the balcony through flowing draperies.
In the far distance, sits Mount Olympus under a starlit sky, an overwhelming complex of interconnecting buildings. An estate where Toge saw neither beginning nor end. A thicket of clouds shroud the very details of the estate, torches glowing an orange so intense Toge would’ve thought everything was on fire.
Would his nameless husband be there now, tending to the whims of his family while Toge waits, shackled to an empty home with nothing but the company of a few nymphs?
Or… His expression darkens. Is he with another?
Monogamy was another concept ingrained into his mind, one more significant than duty—that a man and wife, while bound in matrimony, should never seek the eyes and arms of others. It was heavily enforced within his kingdom, and Toge has seen his father send men to the gallows as punishment for adultery.
But the morals of humankind have never applied to the divine, did they? Unbound and unchallenged, the Gods lived life on various whims without the same consequences as mankind.
And Toge sighs, slipping his eyes closed. He doesn’t want to think about the details surrounding the oddities of his marriage. He was here as a sacrifice, as a reminder of his people’s transgressions against their Patron Goddess.
He wasn’t bound to another in the name of love.
It would be sabotage to even ask for it.
“What ails you so—” Toge startles into an upright position, finding himself shrouded in darkness, the torches put out and the drapes blocking out the faintest sliver of moonlight, “—heaving a sigh so heavy that it shakes the foundations of Mount Olympus?”
Toge doesn’t answer, his mind still reeling in the fact that someone has intruded into his private space. His next thought, coming much slower, was that this mysterious intruder sounded much like his elusive husband.
In silence, the space next to him dips, radiating warmth pinpointing his husband’s location. Toge doesn’t flinch when a large hand caresses his cheeks, skin chilled from the night wind. But, he doesn’t lean into his husband’s touch either.
This close, Toge can smell incense from his husband. Warm. Woodsy. Just like home. There was a faint trace of something sweet, like honeyed fruits amongst other delicacies. He doesn’t know if it belonged to another Goddess, or to a dinner he'd deigned not to share with Toge.
Toge doesn’t want to know about it, either.
“You’re cold,” his husband observes, gently breaking his train of thought. “I was sure the nymphs were instructed to give you a warm bath.”
And Toge, unafraid, simply hums. “I am only human, my Lord—”
“Yuuta, please,” his husband—Yuuta—interjects, “call me Yuuta. There will be no need for formalities between us.”
A name.
One unlike any other Gods have. One sounding so much like Toge’s. One that sounds almost…human. A fake name, perhaps? To hide his identity? What for then—was the use of their marriage, if such a thing as identities were hidden from each other?
Then, Toge pauses, reminded that this wasn’t any normal union, but one borne out of a prophecy. It was natural for them to keep secrets.
(But that didn’t mean he had to like it.)
“The nymphs have already bathed me,” Toge replies instead, trying to hide his petulance, to hide his disappointment at his husband’s occlusion. Fortunately, his voice comes out steady enough. “But I am only human—and in a palace above the clouds, my body is sure to chill after a while.”
“I apologise,” Yuuta says, drawing back and taking the warmth with him. Toge’s cheek feels colder now. “It was my error to not adequately warm the abode when night fell. Forgive me?”
Does one ever forgive a God? Can one even accuse the Gods of erring, when they were the creators of the universe? From the earth to the sky—even the very basis of time and human emotions stemmed from the creations of Gods themselves.
To accuse, or even agree that they’ve been mistaken—the idea of it seemed preposterous.
“Would you answer my questions, then?”
It’s a deflection. One that Toge admits isn’t as strong as he could make. He thinks it’ll work either way; Yuuta, despite being a God, seemed mild-mannered enough to forgive this small transgression.
“Ask away.”
Toge swallows, hoping he hasn’t bitten more than he could ever chew. “Why me? And why now?”
It’s a dangerous game that he was playing. To question a God’s motive was to undermine their authority. And in the momentary silence that falls on them, fear begins to gnaw at certainty.
Toge’s breath hitches when Yuuta shifts, jumps when a hand touches his, as Yuuta runs a warm thumb over Toge’s knuckles. And when he speaks, his voice is soft, “in it’s simplicity, I wanted only you. Nobody else can compare. Is there a need to complicate emotions?”
Toge knows there was more than just simple want. “There is when you’re immortal and spoiled for choice. You could’ve had anyone and everyone.”
Yuuta hums, his thumb stopping at Toge’s ring finger. “But nobody has moved my heart like you did. Your struggles, your sorrows—you kept them all in to worship your Patron Goddess, praying to ease her fury as if it was the most obvious thing to do.”
Because it was the most obvious thing to do. Toge scrunches his face. When one is angered, isn’t de-escalating the situation the first thing that should’ve been done?
Granted, Toge’s been de-escalating the same situation for five years.
“And no one, for as long as I’ve lived, has been able to keep up with even a fraction of your selflessness.” Yuuta brings Toge’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against Toge’s ring finger. An unspoken vow. “That’s why I chose you.”
Toge thinks he’s far from selfless, despite his efforts.
He didn’t pray on behalf of his kingdom; he prayed for the peace of his own future.
He certainly didn’t care for a flimsy prophecy; he simply wanted to get away from the confines of a gilded cage.
Toge wasn’t selfless. Everything he did—every last thought and prayer—had been out of selfish intent. He didn’t make it this far by being a saint.
“Why now, then?”
Why now, when Toge had finally begun to accept everything that would be, that being nothing but a pawn for his kingdom was all that he was worth?
Every complaint, every opinion—Toge kept them all in. Let them simmer with bubbling resentment until it became nothing but a quiet, dissonant hum in the back of his mind. With this marriage—this… interference—Toge feels everything threatening to unleash itself once more.
And as silence draws once more, cold disappointment begins to seep through the cracks splitting in his heart. Was Toge meant to leave one gilded cage for another, his freedom tied to Yuuta’s immortality?
“I cannot say.” Yuuta’s voice is quiet, almost a whisper, but no less devastating. “Just this once, I ask that you trust me, that current circumstances do not allow me to speak much.”
Toge bites his lips. “I don’t know if I can.”
He ignores the sting in his heart when Yuuta pulls away, leaving his hand cold against the sheets once more. “I understand,” his husband says. And Toge thinks it’s the end of… whatever this is. That there will be no hope in cultivating a proper marriage.
Only to flinch when Yuuta cups his cheek, as he brushes the pad of his thumb against Toge’s eyes. “But know that you’ll always have a choice here, Toge. You’ll have a place here,” Yuuta promises.
The shadows pulled from the night doesn’t hide the barest flicker of blue. A blue so bright and pure, that it could only reflect the sky, even within this dark abyss. Toge’s breath catches in his throat, suddenly feeling bare under Yuuta’s gaze.
“Know that in this immortal life of mine, I have chosen you, and it will only be you. I hope you can take comfort in that. And despite circumstances keeping us apart in the day, I swear on my true name that I’ll be here at night.”
When day comes, sunlight streaming through the slivers in the drapes and Toge reaching for a God that wasn’t there, he doesn’t fret.
The sheets are warm, proof that Yuuta had been by his side until the last moment. But ambivalence is a heavy weight in his mind, cultivated from years of having everything yet nothing at all. Where his mind tells him it’s safe to trust Yuuta—the husband who’d chosen Toge out of uncountable others—his heart tells him it’s much too early for risks.
And Toge didn’t like taking risks.
They led to pain; they led to disappointment. His attempts to appease Aphrodite had been a risk, and look where it took him—sold off to an unknown God for the safety of his own kingdom.
A kingdom that probably didn’t realise the gravitas of their situation. That would never realise the lengths their Prince had gone to save them.
It made their asinine fawning all the more ridiculous.
“The Master has taken a liking to you,” the nymphs say through giggles, greeting him at bedside. “Said that you’re free to roam and do as you’d like, no permission needed.”
Toge nods. At least Yuuta is nice, he thinks, allowing himself to take comfort in that, at the very least, as he shucks the bed covers off himself. Unsurety may be poison in his mind, but logic has always been its antidote.
He didn’t have to trust Yuuta—he simply needed to observe his husband before coming to any conclusions.
Toge washes and freshens in a nearby basin, where spring water flows from a tap in the wall, before the nymphs dress him in new robes, lightweight silk fluttering whenever the wind blows, its quality better than anything else he’s worn.
He takes breakfast in the garden he’d come through the previous day, the quiet chatter of the nymphs trailing behind him; the naiads, too far from their springs, do not join him. Toge didn’t mind; it gave him more head space to think about his future moving forward.
The first, in his long list, was Yuuta’s lack of presence. Was Toge only to meet his husband at night, where they could freely speak and touch, yet never to behold him? Were they to consummate like lovers at nightfall, then return to strangers at daybreak? Would they even consummate? They would have to, right? In order to preserve the sanctity of their marriage.
That was a lonely thought. A horrifying thought.
Yuuta mentioned it was due to unspeakable circumstances—circumstances that would have Toge running for the hills and the oceans far beyond. Toge, on the other hand, thinks his husband is a tad bit dramatic.
Yuuta had taken Toge away from the burden of a supposed prophecy slated to happen—one that Toge still isn’t sure what it fully encompassed, his parents banning the people from speaking on it, while punishing whoever that dared to; until Prophetess Rika—gave him a home and the freedom that came with.
And that, really, should’ve been enough for Toge to stay and dedicate the rest of his mortal life to Yuuta.
So, why was his traitorous, bleeding heart hoping for more?
It wasn’t a love match—Toge had long given up on such frivolities; neither was it political, for he’d offered nothing in the exchange. Was that it then—a desire to prove that he had something to provide?
But I’m a man; I can’t even carry a child. Toge sighs, leaning the back of his head against the edge of the chair. His meal, long abandoned, now tasted sour in his mouth.
He stares up at the sun, wondering, wishing—as if it could solve his problems with a simple prayer. The wind, as if in reply, picks up, clouds billowing like fish swimming along the currents. Always in motion. Always adapting. There was little use wallowing in his thoughts, seeking answers that weren’t there.
He sits up, gaze drifting towards the sundial in the corner of the courtyard. He must’ve been in the garden for hours now, Toge deduced, by way of observing the moving shadows. Time always did seem to slip through his fingers whenever he ruminated.
The nymphs too, Toge realises belatedly, have gone quiet, their presence dwindled to a mere whisper drowned in the wind. He calls for them, and noise picks up once more.
“We didn’t want to disturb,” one says, when he asked. “It seemed serious.”
And perhaps, when Toge had been consumed by his thoughts, it had been serious. It shouldn’t have been, he now realises. He’d been here barely a day, had barely decided hours ago that he’d give his husband a chance, and it’d taken mere moments for everything to crumble.
Loneliness was truly the poison of one’s psyche.
Toge has the nymphs accompany him to the outdoor pools, where the naiads join, materialising from the waters for a mid-day soak, exchanging giggles and gossips with the aurae, as they drifted up from the world below:
An adulterous couple meeting in Hera’s temple, their hands and lips wandering in her presence;
A small town that worshipped Poseidon mysteriously getting washed away in the middle of the night, without rhyme or reason;
There was even a woman who’d gotten mysteriously pregnant. Though, the baffling twist was how she’d insisted she’d been male.
Toge doesn’t really understand gossip, even when he leaves the pools surrounded by their giggles. He doesn’t dissuade them from speaking either, knows it’s how they connected themselves to the mortal grounds.
It’s definitely an eye-opening pastime, that much he could admit, as the nymphs dresses him in new, fine quality robes.
With his body cleansed and purified, Toge could now step into Aphrodite’s temple, bearing an armful of offerings: bundles of rice; a small bouquet of roses; a plate of watermelons and a cup of wine—the same items Toge offered most during his short-lived service.
This time, the nymphs don’t follow him in, their once excited chatter now subdued into fearful whispers.
“The Lady doesn’t like noise,” one whispered. “We stay outside.”
And Toge thinks it made sense.
In his memories, silence reigns within the temples, punctuated only by the occasional crack of fire and prayers from the priestesses. Even then, the clergy were careful of the lengths that they spoke at, for mindfulness was a virtue most treasured by Her Ladyship.
He prepares the altar with the same, quiet serenity, hands moving with the ease from experience, arranging offerings and lighting incense. A sacrificial pyre has already been set up at the foot of Aphrodite’s statue, crackling fire burning steadily, saving Toge the bit of trouble.
If he were truthful, Toge doesn’t know what compelled him to return. Habit, perhaps? It seemed silly, in hindsight, when he’d been undeniably determined just days prior. Or maybe it was the idea that through his marriage to Yuuta, Aphrodite was now, by extension, his family.
Whichever it is, he hoped it’ll leave a positive impression.
Hours later, when Toge has had enough of wandering bare halls, he returns to his chambers, hoping to squeeze in a nap before dinner. And on the bed he finds the silk chiton he remembers leaving back home, folded neatly atop the covers. He picks it up, fingers the soft material, idly wondering how it appeared in here.
And if the scent of myrrh and roses emanates from it—well…sometimes it’s better to be ignorant.
That night, when Toge retires to bed just as the moon crests in the sky, Yuuta joins him.
He appears in a gentle gust of warmth, mattress dipping as he lay down next to Toge. They do not speak. They do not touch. Merely just existing within the proximity, until Yuuta clears his throat.
“Does being in Aphrodite’s service bring you comfort,” he asks, after a pause, voice no higher than a whisper.
Toge, who had been drifting off, slowly blinks awake. “What?”
Yuuta repeats the question, louder, adding, “I worry you may find living here tiresome; my home is not exactly appropriate living for humankind.”
“Tiresome,” Toge repeats, the word sounding foreign on his tongue. Do birds, caged its entire life, find the endless skies tiresome? Or a child, who has spent their entire life being controlled, find freedom tiresome? Did fish, raised in captivity, find the sudden vast ocean tiresome? “Your home is an unmatched luxury, and you’re worried I’d be bored?”
And Toge tries not to laugh at the absurdity of it all. A God with the world in the palm of his hands, and he was afraid his home was, what—not up to hosting standards? His parents' efforts—for all their extravagance in hosting galas and gatherings—seemed to pale in comparison.
“It’s not often I have guests,” his husband admits, almost sheepishly. “Especially not humans, and none of them matrimonial partners.”
“Have you really—“ Toge yawns, “have you really never thought of marrying? Before me, I mean.”
Despite his efforts to stay awake, Toge feels the pull of sleep once more. Yuuta’s voice was a lullaby, his warmth a comforting blanket draped over him. They’ve yet to be intimate, but Toge thinks it’s what Yuuta would feel like—secure; protective.
“There have been offers, though none were sincere. None of them were you, either,” Yuuta says, though his words were coming out in a blur. Toge can’t really tell what his husband was speaking of anymore, his eyes growing heavier as the moments pass.
And as his eyes close, and his mind drifts into dreams, Toge feels something warm pressed against his forehead, followed by a prayer of blissful sleep.
Thus, was how Toge spent his days, rarely straying from routine.
He would spend his mornings with the nymphs, munching on his favoured treats, and listening to their gossip from the world below. Sometimes, he’d even chime in with some opinions, and they’d giggle with glee, delighted that Toge seemed to be in a better mood for conversation.
Mid-day would come, and he’d soak in the pools before the nymphs dress him for prayers, and he’d enter the temple alone.
With the weight of his kingdom’s sins off his shoulders, Toge finds his daily prayers and rituals to be therapeutic. He remains ambivalent—that wouldn’t change overnight—though without the pressure or guilt, Toge finds it’s easier to connect with Aphrodite.
To seek answers from her. To pray for a future with Yuuta.
He isn’t completely hopeful it’ll work, but he tries.
At the end of his prayers, Toge would spend the rest of the day exploring the massive abode. Contrary to Yuuta’s worries that Toge would find himself with a lack of things to do, Toge did find himself thoroughly entertained.
The nymphs were of excellent assistance, directing him to various rooms of the palace, opening doors to places where they think he’d enjoy spending his time.
In his first week, Toge discovers the library, along with its attached balcony, recommended by the nymphs for stargazing. The scale of it all—walls to walls filled with books, each thicker than the last—is enough to put the Library of Alexandria to shame.
Toge spends most of his time here, perusing the books, gently flipping through aged papers that smelled faintly of Yuuta. Despite his abhorrence towards his tutorship, Toge truly found joy in reading. He’s learned from them, filling lengths of parchments with information that has never been seen, even within his kingdom.
And when his eyes tire from squinting at letters, he stretches, leaving the room to find other activities. He picks up the flute once more, learns the intricacies of plucking strings from a lyre, the nymphs dancing with glee whenever he picks up an instrument. He paints and he writes, and he arranges the blooms into undying bouquets.
And when evening falls, when he returns to Yuuta’s embrace after a fufilling dinner, Toge shares it all with his husband. Every discovery, every opinion, every word spoken, Yuuta hangs onto them with quiet rapture, keeping them close to his heart as if it were a secret to treasure.
Within the month, Yuuta had adapted, asking thought-provoking questions that encouraged Toge’s learning, but never providing direct answers. They have discussions and small debates, and when they're done with those, Toge would share the tales of the mortal world, as told by the nymphs.
And, and, apparently in certain cities, they have a pyre within their dining suites and I want that with you too, and I don’t think that much food is always needed when it’s only me eating, and I love the stationery you provided for my learnings, but even if you’re a God, it’s much too expensive—!!
Every offhanded request, every little complaint, even moments of gratitude hidden under thinly veiled petulance—Yuuta listened while nodding intently, his arm a steadying weight over Toge’s waist, his hand rubbing comforting circles against the small of Toge’s back. Toge would snuggle closer every time, the emptiness in his heart shrinking with every passing night.
They haven’t consummated. Not yet. And while Toge thought it odd, for it’s almost been a season since his arrival, he doesn’t question it.
It’d taken Toge a month before he warmed up to the idea of sleeping with with their hands held—three before he could even broach the subject of cuddling. It had been his own hesitance, his own worries that Yuuta may not wish to be intimate; barring the first night, his husband hadn’t touched him at all.
He’d meant for it to be an off-handed, casual remark. An observation. But when Yuuta reaches out, covering Toge’s hands, it demolished every mental barrier Toge had over the situation.
It doesn’t matter, Toge thinks, breathing into Yuuta’s warmth, his husband already fallen into deep sleep. We have my lifetime together, and there’s no rush for more.
And even if the words sound empty in his ears, even if Yuuta stopped him when Toge tried to initiate for more, Toge repeats them again, and again, and again, until it sounded like nothing but the truth.
Their relationship shifts, unexpectedly, on a midsummer’s night.
With the end of spring, daylight begins dragging into nightfall. Where Toge usually enjoys the warmth of summer, for his parents often permitted him more freedom, he now detests the burning star, for it shortened his nights with Yuuta.
His Yuuta, who has only gotten more comfortable being with Toge.
His Yuuta, who revealed himself, piece by piece, baring his heart out to Toge.
His Yuuta, who was currently sprawled over him, his body a reassuring weight with his face buried in Toge’s chest. Yuuta has never been this attached—Toge does most of the clinging. He doesn’t mind, finding it endearing, though troubling, for he isn't sure what warranted such uncharacteristic behaviour.
“Yuuta,” Toge coos, running his fingers through silky strands. “You’re clearly upset about something.”
“No, I'm not,” Yuuta says, despite the pout in his voice. Toge doesn’t think it’s nothing, though he doesn’t push, either way. Continues running his finger through Yuuta’s hair, until his husband speaks again, “the elders were just being ridiculous; it’s nothing new.”
Understanding dawns. Seems like the others have gotten themselves involved again.
It was a common occurrence, incidences piled high that Toge had lost count. The twelve Olympians were the ultimate governing bodies of universe; they were the be-all and end-all. And while they were—mostly—welcoming to Toge, Yuuta’s businesses with them ran deeper. His visits would always leave him a little more tired, his warmth going a little colder.
Toge didn’t like it, but he understands it. Duty, as he’s experienced, has always been unforgiving.
“Had I been brought up in conversation?” The question spills out before he’s even realised it; Toge doesn’t even know what’d made him ask it. He normally wasn’t one to pry.
Yuuta, in reply, lets out a strangled sound.
“Yuuta—”
“They urged me to remarry.”
Toge stills. Then, he shakes, as if the foundations he’d built upon were crumbling beneath his feet. “Dare I ask why,” he whispers, the calm stability of his voice belying the anxious pounding of his heart.
His thoughts fly. Every doubt he thought he’d caged, every last nagging feeling he’d shoved to the back of his mind now floods like a tidal wave. Had he offended a God? Hera, perhaps? Or was it…Aphrodite?
Toge thinks of everything he’s done, thinks of moments whereby he could possibly offend someone. He’d been diligent with prayers—never missing a day, never missing a step. Yuuta had even praised him. Admired the way Toge conducted himself.
For Gods were one for whims, rather than routine.
Was this one of their whims, then? To prove that they could?
Blood roars in Toge’s ears, resembling crashing waves amidst a storm, muddling noise into loud dissonance. A deafening mess. A net thrown over his head, keeping him under the waters. He nearly misses Yuuta’s next words, “they’re critical that we have yet to produce an offspring.”
And all at once, the waves calm. Silence reigns. Toge knows that he should say something, but his tongue is heavy in his mouth. His words stuck in his throat. He tries, anyway.
“Would,“ Toge swallows, clearing the thickness from his throat, “should I have pushed for more? I know we’ve barely gotten to know each other—“
“Through no fault of yours, Toge,” Yuuta promises, rising to his knees to grasp Toge’s hands. Then, he sighs. “If anything, it’s mine.”
Toge doesn't like how Yuuta blamed himself. Marriage was a partnership—even for one as half-baked as theirs. It was a delicate balance, and personal blame only tipped the scales. Toge squeezes Yuuta’s hand, never realising how big they were until now.
“You must’ve a reason for doing so,” Toge says, words sounding empty against the wild stampede of his heart. Doubt creeps in, as if it were a cold front making landfall, its frigid breeze icing his blood despite the summer heat. “Though, if it’s because you find me undesirable—”
“Perish the thought. In fact, perish every thought,” Yuuta demands with thinly veiled fury. Warm hands cup Toge’s face, and Toge finds it terribly unfair that Yuuta could see the horrible expression he was making, yet it wasn’t reciprocal. “There will be no other husband, wives, or concubines. You. Are. It. Do you understand?”
Toge swallows past the stone lodged in his throat. “But, without consummating, our marriage is as good as void.”
He detests the way his voice shakes. Detests how he’d caused his insecurities to fester by hiding them away. Toge knows he was stronger than this—yet when the issue had arisen, he’d shrunken into a timid, self-doubting version of himself.
He detested the helplessness, and it made him want to fight back.
Yuuta sighs, though it’s unlike before. He sighs like he’s being tested, like it was taking everything to be at peace with himself. “A God I may be, but I’m a weak man, Toge. Once I have you, I will never let you go. Not even if you beg and scream and cry.” Yuuta’s thumb brushes the apples of Toge’s cheek, and a shiver runs down the length of Toge’s spine at the implication of his words. “I’m giving you an opportunity that, on the off-chance, should you decide to return to your kingdom, you can.”
“And I want to—I’m ready!”
He wasn’t, but Toge refused to be another liability. Refused to let Yuuta take the blame for something he’d done out of care. He thinks his declaration had been confident enough, his voice steady enough, but his husband has always been perceptive, with time had only maturing their feelings for each other.
Yuuta sees through everything.
He drags a finger down the side of Toge’s face, and the shiver becomes almost electrifying as heat begins pooling in Toge’s gut. It’s hot. Something twitches. “I don’t want you to hate me,” Yuuta whispers into the space between them, sounding so small, so broken. Toge's heart twists. “You’re everything to me.”
You mean everything to me too. The words hang at the tip of his tongue, even as Toge reaches for his husband, mapping the path from wrist to forearm, then up the solid muscles of his biceps until he reaches Yuuta’s face.
Five months—it’d taken five months for them to have this conversation; five months to finally get a proper moment of intimacy.
How laughable.
Toge mirrors his husband, brushes the apples of Yuuta’s cheeks with the pad of his thumb, feels the featherlight touch of Yuuta’s lashes as his eyes flutters shut and he leans into Toge’s palm. His husband, reduced to putty under his touch.
Butterflies erupt within his stomach. He wants more. He yearned for it.
“I could never hate you,” Toge insists. His thumb moves lower, lower, until he brushes against Yuuta’s lips. It’s smooth against his touch. “There will be no other husbands, wives, or concubines.” Yuuta’s breath hitches. "You’re it for me, too.”
Summoning every last bit of bravery, Toge ceases all thoughts, and pressed his lips against Yuuta’s own.
The kiss—Toge’s very first—is nothing but a mere clumsy attempt at pressing his lips to Yuuta’s. It was definitely harder than it looked, and Toge’s seen plenty, with how often his sisters snuck nameless men home.
But Yuuta seemed to be enticed, groaning against Toge’s lips, pressing back and moving with such urgency that it knocks them back into the pillows with a grunt. Toge gasps, and Yuuta slips his tongue into Toge’s mouth, tasting like fruits, and honey, and something else almost bittersweet.
This—Toge moans, when Yuuta brushes their tongues together, a slick entanglement of desire—so this is what it’s like to be kissed.
It's an odd feeling—to be desired. Wholly. Desperately. Unconditionally. To be loved, rather than lusted. His people would sleep with him, but they'd never want to actually be with him. But this, with Yuuta—Toge feels the difference and his heart soars.
Hands roam, Yuuta’s slipping into the space between silk and skin, tracing the curves of Toge’s chest. It's a featherlight touch, and Toge almost expects himself to flinch, had the coarse pad of Yuuta’s thumb not brush against sensitive, hardened skin, pulling a quiet moan from Toge instead.
Toge’s dizzy, and they haven’t gone further than kissing and touching. "Yuuta—"
“You’re doing so well, dear Toge,” Yuuta says, interrupting broken moans and hiccuping groans. He presses his lips against the line of Toge’s throat, sucking gentle marks into soft skin. “Focus on what your body wants, and let instincts guide you.”
Toge listens, body writhing, arms pulling, hands gripping, until there was only a sliver of space between them. Not enough, Toge whimpers when Yuuta bites against the column of his neck, electricity thrumming in his veins as if he were out in a lightning storm—it’s still not enough!
Blood fills his cock, hardening and leaking and dampening the front of his robes, and Yuuta, perceptive Yuuta who notices the way Toge's hips bucked and twitched, connects his groin with Toge's in one, smooth roll.
Light fractures, stars spilling from his eyes as Toge’s back curving into an elegant arch, a drawn out moan spilling from his lips. “Yuuta,” Toge gasps through mounting pleasure tightening in his gut. “Yuuta—”
“Here—” Yuuta makes a strangled noise, and oh, he’s so big, and he’s so hard, pressing against Toge’s hip. “I’m here.”
Toge whimpers when the weight eases. He’s desperate now—so, so, so desperate and why is Yuuta moving away, why has he moved away, was his body unsatisfactory, was it due to his inexperience, but they’d been enjoying their time together, so—
“Breathe.”
Yuuta cups Toge’s jaw, the pads of his fingers and thumb right above Toge's pulse. A firm anchor. He squeezes lightly, and Toge moans, seeing stars again. Lips engulf his senses, and this time, Toge sinks into it, swallows everything Yuuta has to give. It soothes and it calms, and when Yuuta separates this time, Toge doesn’t panic.
“Good boy,” Yuuta says. His voice has gone rough.
Heat boils Toge’s blood from within, curling, radiating from his core to his extremities. It’s hot, absolutely sweltering, with droplets of sweat beading over his skin, and it’s a belated realisation that Toge was burning.
“S’hot—” The robes are in his way, material suddenly rough against sensitive, dampening skin, and he paws and pulls at unforgiving silk, wrestles against the constricting fabric until he frees himself. The summer air, despite its oppressive heat, cools his skin by a margin. “S’ still so hot…”
“I know, I know,” Yuuta says, before he lets out a string of words. Ancient Tongue, Toge recognises even through the haze of delirium. Toge doesn’t know what it means, though he enjoys the lilting words slipping from Yuuta’s lips. He sounds good. More than good.
And when hands return to warm, sweat-slicked skin, they’re cool to the touch. Toge shivers. "You're gorgeous," Yuuta says, the length of his hand wrapping around Toge's cock, stroking gently.
“Hmn…” Squelches pierce the quiet night, deafening in Toge’s ears as his moans, Yuuta's groans, their panting, their bed rocking—their everything melds into one, cacophonous melody. Where it ends, and where it began, Toge doesn’t know. He could barely think beyond the cottony haze of pleasure.
Yuuta gathers Toge's legs, hugs them and lifts them to rest Toge's ankles against broad shoulders, his own heat a brand against Toge’s skin. Exposed and bent in half, Toge didn’t think he could burn hotter than he already did.
Were…were they going to consummate? They were, weren’t they? Yuuta wouldn’t have him in such a vulnerable position otherwise. And despite his earlier bravado, his confidence rapidly dissolves into dust in the face of reality.
Toge really, really, really wasn’t ready.
Yuuta, possibly sensing the way Toge stiffens under his touch, runs his palm over the top of Toge's thighs. “This will not be a consummation,” his husband rasps, the gravelly husk of his voice the epitome of restraint, “I stand by my words, Toge. The elders can be ignored, your needs cannot. Do you understand?”
And Toge, with his heart in his throat, whimpers. “Yes.”
“Good,” Yuuta replies, and Toge feels something warm and hard in the space between his thighs, slipping between his balls. His breath hitches. This is Yuuta’s—
“Now, remember to breathe.”
Toge barely manages to catch his breath, when Yuuta slides his cock between Toge’s thighs, thrusting with enough force that it pushes Toge deeper into the mattress.
This—Toge gasps, feeling the way his cock drips at the slide of skin against skin, sticky arousal cutting friction into almost nothing, pooling against the flat of his stomach—This was what I needed!
“Yuuta,” Toge moans, clinging and digging his nails into Yuuta’s biceps.
“Yuuta—” Toge chokes, when Yuuta tightened his hold on Toge’s legs, thrusting deeper, thrusting harder, thrusting faster.
“Yuuta, Yuuta, Yuuta—!” Toge cries, when the pressure becomes too much for him to withstand, the last dredges of his lucidity melting into liquid desire that flooded his veins.
“That’s it, Toge,” Yuuta groans through erratic thrusts, grip nearly slipping, as Toge’s cries pitches higher and higher. “Trust in your instincts, and just let go.”
Toge shatters. His body shakes, his muscles going taut, his ears ring as pleasure crests and colours explode behind his eyes. Toge screams his throat hoarse, his nerves set alight as liquid warmth sprays a pattern across damp skin. Yuuta follows immediately after, his own release coating Toge’s skin, until it lay as a muddled mess on Toge’s stomach, his hips stilling when he’s emptied himself.
Silence descends over them once more, bearing quiet witness to a new bond forged in trust, their gasping breaths proof to the shadows listening in.
“Are you alright?” Yuuta asks, brushing his hands over wet strands stuck to Toge’s face. They were shaking, too.
Toge nods, circling his hands around Yuuta’s wrists. His fingers just touched. Toge should probably call for the nymphs; he had to wash himself and change the covers, and fetch an extra robe for Yuuta, who must’ve also soiled his. But his lids are heavy with sleep, and surrounded by the smell of incense, Toge’s consciousness begins drifting.
“Rest,” Yuuta says, his voice low. Lulling. “Let me take care of you.”
Toge doesn’t reply, he could barely react before he succumbs to his dreams. The last thing he remembers, however, was the press of Yuuta’s lips against his forehead.
And then, nothing.
Yuuta keeps his word from that night, never consummating their marriage.
He does, however, indulge in exploratory touches, licking over Toge’s body, drawing out moan after moan, sucks and bites and leaves marks over pale skin that has the nymphs and naiads blushing red.
Toge finds his neck to be most sensitive, followed by the inside of his thighs, and Yuuta made sure to leave more marks there, drinking in the sounds Toge made as he comes over himself, over and over again.
And Toge enjoys the marks—the proof of their devotion.
It bolsters Toge’s confidence, as he learned to leave marks, learned to reciprocate and mirror Yuuta’s actions. Toge learns to suck and to lick, drawing out groan after groan, his heart swelling with pride when Yuuta’s voice echoes into the night, his cock sinking deeper into Toge’s throat. Yuuta was most sensitive just below the navel, his skin stretched taut and his pulse beating strong.
Pleasure, as Toge experienced, is a drug—it’s addicting, and it’s no wonder his sisters indulged before their marriages, despite the shame it could bring were they to be exposed. It has him craving more—feels the way Yuuta returned for more too.
Toge only wishes he’d known of such pleasantries sooner, if only so that he could spend more time with Yuuta.
Summer passes in a haze of post-coital bliss, and autumn comes in like a soothing breeze.
The heat has cooled into a temperature more bearable, and the hours evenly balanced, which meant having more time to spend with Yuuta. The nymphs, on Toge’s encouragement, have also begun to spend time in the world below. They bring home their own anecdotes, their own observations, sharing their gossips over mealtimes while Toge nods with amusement.
Home—never has he felt strongly for the word until now. In Yuuta’s abode, now his own, Toge has finally found the peace and tranquility he’d been craving for as long as he’d known.
Contradictingly, it was moments like these, as he soaks in the pool, that his mind wanders.
Time passes slower here, his only company the barely-there splash of the fountains and the ever changing sky stretching far into the horizon. Toge had sent the nymphs away just moments earlier, where they’d been eager to watch the changing of the leaves. In their neverchanging abode, where the leaves always remained green, such a sight must've been a novelty for them.
Toge sighs, elbows resting against the edge of the pool. Silence has always been a welcome reprieve, one that had always been harder to come by. But now, in an estate far too large for a presence as small as his, it feels almost…lonely.
Had this been Yuuta’s life, before Toge’s appearance?
Toge thinks it was, especially during days when Yuuta hadn’t been summoned to Olympus. He doesn’t like it. Toge loved the nymphs, loved the abode he’d come to recognise as his home and, if he were to privately admit, he loved Yuuta too; but Toge could also admit that such a solitary life, hidden away on a mountain distanced from Olympus was a sad one.
He was sure that Gods, just like humans, weren’t meant for solitary living.
Toge sighs again, his mind preoccupied with the muddled mess of emotions, missing the way water sloshed behind him.
Closer and closer the intruder comes, their movements slow, so as to not further disturb the water surface. And Toge notices much too late, when the light touch of silk brushes over his skin, and darkness falls over his eyes.
Expectedly, he jerks. He startles and he struggles, water splashes everywhere, because the naiads weren’t here, and neither were the nymphs—it could never be Yuuta either, for his husband never visited when it was daylight, and Gods, was he about to be kidnapped by some creepy old—
“You’re going to hurt yourself if you continue struggling.” Yuuta’s breath tickles the sensitive skin of his neck, the tip of his nose nudging and teasing the underside of Toge’s jaw. All at once, Toge stills.
He couldn’t believe it.
“Yuu…ta?” Toge doesn’t dare breathe, afraid that if he made any sudden movements, this would simply collapse as if it were a dream. He reaches out anyway, hands grasping at the air as he struggled to pinpoint his husband’s location. Yuuta catches Toge’s swatting hands, places them on his face.
And Toge just…knows.
“What…what are you doing here?” He asks, his pulse drumming loudly in his ears. In daylight?
Yuuta chuckles, warm puffs against the sensitive patch against Toge’s neck, as if he hadn’t just scared his own husband halfway to his grave. “Would you believe me if I said I’ve missed you?”
That had been the teller that told Toge something was off. Yuuta—his Yuuta—would never break his own oath, one he’d made for the sake of their relationship, for the likes of loneliness; it was everything that stood against his words.
He’d retire earlier in the night, yes, but he’d never appear when it was daylight.
Yuuta was many things, but a liar he was not.
Which only had Toge drawing two conclusions; one: something had possessed Yuuta, something that had him acting out of the usual; two: something had happened, and it was related to Toge. Neither option appealed to Toge, though he thinks it easier to deal with a possessed husband, than with another incident weighing on his shoulders.
(There shouldn't be any incidents upon his marriage.)
“You could’ve waited until evening,” Toge says instead. For as much as he speculated, he refused to jump to baseless conclusions. H
e trusts Yuuta.
“Indulge me, just for this moment,” Yuuta replies, before crashing his lips against Toge’s.
And Toge hums, circles his arms around Yuuta’s, his fingers catching onto soft, soft strands at the nape of Yuuta’s neck. They kiss like lost lovers, like it’s been many moons since they’ve last met. Which, obviously, isn’t true; they’ve never spent a night apart in months.
But something was off; that despite the affection Yuuta was giving, Toge detected underlying desperation.
He senses it in the way Yuuta pulls him in, until their bodies fuse into one, connected silhouette; he senses it in the way Yuuta licks into his mouth, dominating, rather than caressing; he senses it in the way Yuuta shakes while holding him, as if he were afraid Toge would disappear into nothingness right before his eyes.
Toge senses it in every small oddity wrapped within unsuspecting idiosyncrasies.
“Wait—mhn,” Toge winces when he feels the edge of the pool dig into his back. “Yuuta, wait—”
Yuuta doesn’t wait.
He pushes and he takes, and he slots his thigh between Toge’s legs, brushing solid muscle against Toge’s hardening cock, drawing out a moan that was more confused than not. Toge doesn’t feel the same spark as before, but it was a spark that lights the fire nonetheless. Yuuta sweeps Toge into a selfish embrace, painfully unlike the first night—an anguish wrapped in pleasure’s grace. And Toge…
Toge doesn’t like this version of Yuuta.
“Yuuta!”
Rage unleashes, as he pulls on dark strands, wrenching Yuuta away from his proximity.
“Ow, ow, ow—”
“I told you to stop, didn’t I!” Toge sucks in a deep lungful of cool air, gulp after gulp, after gulp, until his racing heart slows. He feels for his surroundings, feels for the ledge that Yuuta had set him upon, and huffs.
At least his husband had to good sense to move them away from the free edge.
The same husband, it seems, also had the good graces to feel shame.
“M’sorry, I’m sorry,” Yuuta sighs after a moment. “I’m not sure what came over me.” His hand brushes Toge’s cheeks, and while still upset at his husband, the inferno tempers within
And he sighs too, leaning into Yuuta’s touch.
Soft—he’d definitely gone soft in the time he’d been here. It wasn’t that he lacked the drive to fight; there was simply no need to fight, or even prove, anything. Everything he’d wanted, Yuuta gave. And perhaps, it’d be more accurate, to say that Toge has been spoiled instead.
And perhaps, Yuuta had gone soft and spoiled too, for he now wears his heart on his sleeve and bares his vulnerabilities to Toge without resistance.
“Your sisters have been asking for you,” Yuuta quietly reveals, that despite his efforts to remain firm, his voice still wavers. And Toge freezes, the water around him suddenly much too cold. Goosebumps erupt over his skin, as if the mere mention of his family was a bad omen. Yuuta continues, “your parents told them everything, and they’ve been at Aphrodite’s temples ever since.”
Toge clenches his fists. He didn’t know what his sisters were up to, but he knows they weren’t praying out of their own volition. He doesn't remember a time when they entered a temple willingly, their piety non-existent—in that same vein, it’d been the reason why their marriages had been easy to arrange, one husband agnostic, the other an atheist.
Even his 'love' for his sisters, was one borne out of duty, for they were further in age and saw Toge as a threat to their privileges.
“Aphrodite is free to ignore them,” Toge says, feeling sick to his stomach. One moment of peace, just one moment for himself, and they had to ruin it. “If it’s my sisters asking, then it’s never anything good.”
Any bystander, even one without prophetic blessings, could tell the princesses harboured ill-intentions.
And Toge' lungs fill with water, drowning him ever so slowly. He wants to leave. He has to leave. The pools—his haven—feels desecrated now. He pushes against Yuuta, though his husband doesn’t budge.
“I understand your reluctance—” Toge scoffs “—I truly do, but there’s no proof they’d leave you alone should you ignore them,” Yuuta says, brushing his nose against Toge’s jaw. Just below his ears. Where he knew Toge was most sensitive.
Cheater. Toge rolls his eyes. He tilts his head anyway. He should be angrier about this, should’ve reacted more and demanded his sisters remain far from this life he’d built for himself—but logically, he knew Yuuta was right.
His sisters wouldn’t give up. Not until they’d seen his situation for themselves.
“Besides—” Yuuta’s voice drops, his hands sliding past the curve of Toge’s shoulders, down to the dips in his waist, leaving a trail of shivers in its wake. He presses a firm kiss against Toge’s pulse. “Happiness is a virtue worth showing off.”
Another kiss, and Toge melts. Well, how was he supposed to argue against that?
Despite circumstances, Toge refused to pay his sisters more attention than necessary. “Three hours,” he negotiates. Then, pauses, sucking in a breath when Yuuta sucked a mark into his neck. “Three hours—and I expect Yuuji to take them back, no questions asked.”
Yuuji, Toge learned—and met—was the messenger god of Olympus, carrying the divine name Hermes. He’d been the one who brought Toge up to Yuuta’s abode, who brought gifts and gossips on occasion, moreso after Yuuta had all but cursed the pantheon for even suggesting a remarriage.
Yuuji was kind, and he was young. The youngest of them all.
He loved mortality more than he did divinity, spending uncountable hours surrounded by humans. He abhorred conflict despite being close brothers with Ares, even bearing scars from their sparring here and there. It was an odd sort of paradox, but Toge liked him anyway.
Plus, Yuuji made for good company whenever he visited, his cheery mood always uplifting.
“Okay,” Yuuta acquiesces with a final kiss to Toge’s lips. “Three hours—no more, no less.”
Though, of course, Toge rather he’d not entertain his sisters, or the idea of them at all.
The princesses descend upon Toge’s home days after, shortly after his mid-day bath, in a flurry of leaves, petals, and blades of grass.
They land in the courtyard, where Toge often took his lunches and dinners, screaming and whining in indignation. And Yuuji, with his fluffy pink hair and bright eyes, gives Toge a respectful bow and a mischievous wink, before disappearing in another whirlwind of dust and debris.
Toge bites his tongue, swallowing the laughter threatening to escape.
“The gall! We’re his older sisters, and yet we’ve been roughed up by some insignificant herald!” Ayame, the eldest, fumes, her voice sharp and scathing. Of the siblings, she was the only one who inherited their father’s dark hair—a muddy brown that now curled haphazardly like a bird’s nest atop her head.
They shriek when another gust of wind nearly knocks them over. Toge thinks it’s Yuuji’s petty revenge at being called an insignificant herald.
I’ll have to prepare more offerings for Yuuji tomorrow, Toge muses, stepping out from the shadows of a nearby willow. He’d donned the purple chiton, his favourite chiton, as if it were his battle armour, because that was probably what he’d classify a meeting with his sisters—a war of wits.
Chinatsu, his second sister, quietly picks the mess in her hair. Despite inheriting their mother’s golden locks, Chinatsu had inherited their father’s dull eyes—dark and sunken, as if perpetually fatigued.
Compared to his sisters, Toge truly was a vision worth marvelling.
“Sisters,” Toge greets. “Have you been well?”
“Don’t ask the obvious, Toge,” Chinatsu scolds, biting words belying her frail beauty. “I doubt you’re ignorant about the state Sister Ayame and I are in.”
Toge doesn’t take her words to heart.
Ayame may be the oldest amongst them, but it had always been Chinatsu who directed their dynamics.
As the middle-child, she’d been hardened to fight for her own resources—Ayame being spoiled for being the first born bringing prosperity to the land, while Toge received the state’s attention and good tidings to ensure he didn’t tilt the fragile balance. She didn’t share, nor did she yield when it came to the things she wanted.
And Toge, as the youngest and the most protected, grew to be wary, rather than fearful, of his sisters.
“My mistake,” Toge says, even if the words held no meaning. He’d known better than to start pointless arguments. “If sisters wouldn’t mind, the nymphs will take you to the baths to freshen up.”
They do not deign him with a proper answer. Instead, they huff and puff, grumbling with quiet complaints as the nymphs lead them to the baths in silence.
Toge exhales. At least now, he’ll have a moment of peace and quiet.
He moves towards the table, where a small spread of refreshments lay, as per his request. They were everything his sister detested—fruits dried and fresh, and washed vegetables, barely seasoned with a dribble of honey. Toge thinks it’s a surefire way to keep them repelled.
And by a stroke of luck, they were Yuuta’s favourites, too.
With an empty plate, Toge sections a fraction of each dish, piling them onto the plate until he has a small mound atop his hand. He takes it to the hearth built into the middle of the courtyard—one Yuuta had built early into their marriage, after Toge had shared his desire for one—where a fire burned steadily, flames flickering hungrily in anticipation for an offering.
Toge dumps the food into the fire. Grumbles a whispered complaint to Yuuta. His husband’s voice filters into his mind, a calming wave, accompanied by a chuckle, “It’s only three hours, Toge. Though, if they’re truly unbearable, I’ll send for Yuuji in a bit?”
Toge sighs. He’d wanted to act out a little—just a little bit—against his husband for persuading him into this meeting. But Yuuta was a literal saint, so painfully accommodating that the tiniest prick of guilt pierces Toge’s heart.
“It’s fine,” Toge dismisses. He returns to the table, seating himself at the head, whispering, “I can handle three hours.”
Toge couldn’t handle three hours.
When his sisters returned to the table, washed and dressed in the finest of silk, their necks and wrists adorned with gold and jewels befitting of queens, they bring more complaints with them than he’d ever expected.
"Why was there a statue of Aphrodite in the baths? That was in poor taste!”
“The baths were too warm—it’s bad for our skin.”
“Not a single slave in sight—how disappointing. The nymphs make for poor helpers.”
Toge feels the quiet thrum of tension blooming at the base of his skull. Even as guests, his sisters had many a words—unsolicited criticism—to share. He’d offered them the best bath house, the best clothes, the best of everything—and even then they weren’t satisfied.
And for inconsequential matters, too.
The nymphs, slighted by his sisters’ ludicrous words, tattles to Toge. They crowd and they cried, their chimes and chatters reduced to harsh wailing he’d never before seen.
"The Dark One is too loud,” one complained about Ayame.
“The Dull one is too critical,” another cried about Chinatsu.
“We only want to serve our prince!” They’d unanimously decided.
Toge has to bite his tongue, swallowing laughter and hiding his smile by scooping food into his mouth, while his sisters rambles their complaints about the food laid out.
“Goodness, Toge, you’re living in luxury, and yet, here you are—shovelling grass and sipping on grape juice!” Ayame, seated to Toge’s right, turns her nose up at the sweet drink in his cup, hers half-full with diluted wine. Chinatsu, on Toge’s left, ate quietly, occasionally picking at her fruits.
She’s never liked fruits.
Unlike most families, who separated mealtimes by gender, Toge often ate with the women in his family—his mother and sisters holding considerable sway within the court. It was something Ayame, with her pride, had staunchly pushed for. And it’s only been that way ever since.
Toge had never thought it odd—he’s even using it to his advantage at the moment. Never did he think that it’ll backfire on him.
“And where is your husband?” Toge freezes mid-bite. His sisters have never been interested in his life—why were they bringing up such questions now? “He’s the one who demanded you marry him in exchange for our kingdom’s safety, yet he’s nowhere to be seen now. Does he realise our parents have been worried sick? Thinking you’ve perished?”
Toge’s stomach nearly empties itself, though not from worry, but from the audacity they had to bring such issues to his doorstep.
In the months he’s been here, he’s never received a single prayer for his well-being. None that Yuuta, or the nymphs had told him of. Even Yuuji, who spent his time between worlds, had no news to bring. Bile rises to his throat, and so do his suspicions, as he swallows his food, replying dismissively, “he’s busy. Hunting. Someone has to provide for the family.”
“Hunting?” Chinatsu, finally speaking, looks up with a critical frown. Her gaze, full of derision, pierces into his heart. Toge’s pulse skips a beat. “It’s nearly the cold seasons—he’d have no need to hunt.”
“He hunts smaller animals,” Toge blurts, silently cursing his sister’s perceptiveness. “Turtle-doves, partridges—oh, and he fishes too.”
“It’s too cold to fish.”
Toge flushes, realising his efforts to cover up Yuuta’s identity has now unravelled.
Like a hound to blood, Ayame shoots forth, snatching Toge’s wrist, grasping tightly. He tries to move, tries to leave her hold, but her nails sink into skin, and Toge knows he’s caught in the vulture’s claws.
“Tell us the truth, Toge,” she demands, her voice low. “If you’re being threatened, we’ll get you out of here.”
“I’m not being threatened—”
“You haven’t consummated, have you?” Ayame continues pressing. “Should you still be pure, you still have a chance to escape. You’re a prince—you’d marry well!”
“I—”
“Do not forget, Toge.” Toge’s heart lurches when Chinatsu grips his other hand. The piece of dried fruit in his hand clatters onto the table, rolling off the edge and onto the floor. “The prophecy spoken by Rika foretold that your husband was a monster. A monster hunts everything—including mortals like us.”
“He wouldn’t—”
“No?” Chinatsu raised a brow, the corner of her lips quirking upward, and Toge realises the gravity of her words. Of what she was pushing him towards. She stands, gold screeching against tile as the heavy chair drags against the floor.
“Then, there won’t be any issues with your presence at the next harvest festival, yes?”
But Toge couldn’t hear anything over the deafening beat of his own heart, their words trapping him like spider’s silk.
Hours after his sisters leave, after visiting for barely two hours, Chinatsu’s warning still echoed in Toge’s ears. Haunting. Cursing.
“Should you not present yourself, we will storm every temple, topple every statue, destroy every offering until they grant us your return.”
Toge spends his days and nights agonising over his sisters’ words.
It’s been three days since their visit, and in another three days, his kingdom would begin the start of the harvest festival. As a man, Toge hadn’t actively taken part in the rituals; that had been exclusive to the women; as the Crown Prince, however, he’d learned to oversee the other aspects of the week-long celebration.
Though, it wasn’t comparable to his current predicament.
Toge wishes to confide in Yuuta, wishes to tell Yuuta that his sisters were threatening him, that he wishes to remain safe and hidden from his kingdom. And Toge knows that Yuuta would make it happen—just as he’d done to every wish prior.
But his sister’s words ring in his mind, reminding him of what was at stake.
Should Yuuta keep Toge safe and hidden, his kingdom would raze every temple, and desecrate every altar just to prove that they could. Toge doesn’t want to call their bluff. It wasn’t an option, but an eventuality. His sisters had been favoured heirs before his own birth.
Toge doesn’t want to think of the alternative either—one where Yuuta would raze his kingdom to the ground instead, just to grant Toge peace. It was a counterintuitive plan, and it goes against the basis of their marriage—to ensure the longevity of Toge’s kingdom.
It was always going to be him, or it would be Yuuta.
And in an idealistic world, Toge would’t have had to choose. The decision comes easy, anyway.
“You… wish to return to the kingdom?” Yuuta asks, his voice high in disbelief.
“Only for a day,” Toge reassured. His finger brushes over a furrowed brow. “My sisters insisted on my presence, to prove that I am unharmed.”
Toge feels the way Yuuta’s lips pulled downwards. It’s a new habit Toge had cultivated—fingers mapping Yuuta’s features, imagining what he looked like as darkness blanketed his eyes. He found relief in the motion, that at least, he could feel what Yuuta felt.
Contrary to his sisters’ venomous words, words he knew they’d spoken out of envy and jealousy, Yuuta wasn’t a monster; Toge was confident in that. Lying about his appearance brought his husband no benefit—he held the advantage as is—and even if he were, Toge would love him, anyway.
Yuuta had proven himself to be a capable husband—a wonderful husband. A husband who listened, and cared, and indulged, and provided, and there will be no poison strong enough to ever sway Toge otherwise.
“I don’t like the idea,” Yuuta says. “Agreeing to your sisters’ summons wasn’t a decision made on a whim. In my own home, I can intercept any danger posed to you,” he pauses, “but your kingdom is not within my control. Should anything happen to you—”
Yuuta’s words break off once again, as he releases a shuddering breath. Toge doesn’t want to think about what could possibly happen, either. Yet, he doesn’t think any harm could befall on him, either. He's still Royal by blood.
There may have been an odd citizen or two, barring Toge’s admirers, but it was nothing a prison sentence couldn’t deter. He thinks it’ll be safe.
“What can I do to ease those worries?” Toge asks, instead. He brushes Yuuta’s hair from his face, his husband nuzzling into his gentle touch, warm lips pressing into the middle of a cold palm.
Yuuta answers after a moment of silence. “That purple chiton you have—can you wear it?”
“I can, but—” Toge pauses, his brows furrowing. “How… did you know about that?”
He hasn’t worn that robe in Yuuta’s presence, if at all, the only exception being his sisters’ visit. It's been tucked away in his trunk ever since, hidden until he needed strength from his nameless admirer. Toge’s heart skips. Realisation dawns.
Was Yuuta…?
And his husband sighs, confirming Toge’s suspicions. “I didn’t want to tell you like this.”
Something akin to hope blooms in Toge’s chest, burning strong, burning bright as he rises to sit straight. He wants to hear this—he has to hear this. Years of never knowing who his mystery admirer was, and now the answer was in front of him.
“Tell me,” Toge pleads, his fists gripping the sheets. Tell me it’s you who gave it to me. Tell me it’s you who genuinely loved me.
Toge thought he knew desperation. Thought it would feel like their first night together, where he’d been half-delirious and begging for more. Thought it’d just been a nagging in his head, always whispering. Always encouraging.
He didn’t realise it would be utter madness—that if he had to wait another moment for Yuuta’s reply, he might just get violent. Toge didn’t realise that it was a parasite under his skin, crawling, and burrowing, and fighting to take control of his body. It left him restless, and it left him with the urge to scream his throat raw.
But he holds it all in, his self-control ironclad, because this was Yuuta’s secret to share. Not his.
So, he waits. And waits. And waits.
And after a long, agonising silence, Yuuta finally speaks. “You didn’t have a choice in your marriage; the least I could do was give you the choice to leave.”
Toge holds his breath—
“The chiton was not meant to be a shackle, but proof of my affections.”
—as his emotions goes supernova.
It hits him all at once, crashing into him like a tidal wave—love; negligence; consideration; ignorance. From years of being unseen, now to a lifetime of always being seen—it’s too much for Toge to handle all at once, the conflict of emotions deeply ingrained, and tears spring from his eyes. He sniffles, and Yuuta shifts, jolts upright, his hands gripping Toge in alarm.
“Are— are you crying? Are you upset? Have my words upset you?” Yuuta frets, but it didn’t stop Toge’s tears. If anything, it amplifies them, and it brings about an onset of giggles. “Toge? I don’t understand—you… are you happy?”
Toge snorts, uncharacteristically loud and ugly. “What do you think?”
And Yuuta must’ve opened his mouth, ready to answer, when he lets out a choked sound as Toge swings a leg over to straddle him. Their hips meet, as Yuuta’s hands settle themselves on Toge’s waist, squeezing gently.
“To-Toge?!”
This close, Yuuta’s scent surrounds Toge, wrapping around him like warm linen drenched in incense. Nothing could come close to this little paradise they’d built for themselves. No words had the capacity to describe the depth of everything he felt.
It was raw. It was inexplicable. It was his.
“You have—” Toge hiccups through wet laughs, resting his forehead against Yuuta’s. “You have no idea how long I’ve been trying to find you.”
Yuuta’s hands tightened. “Toge…”
“Your gift stood out amongst the hundreds. It felt like it was made only for me. Every visit I made to Aphrodite’s temple, every dinner, every banquet—I sat through them all with that robe. It was my armour. It made me feel safe—feel seen. And I’ve always dreamed to know the person who saw me first.”
With every word Toge pours out, his own little secret, the pressure within his chest eases. He’d held those words in for the longest time, doesn’t even remember when he’d begun thinking of them, only that he’d saving them for the person who would declare themselves to be the creator. And for that creator to be his husband—the God that Toge had cultivated his affections for—he’s giddy beyond reason.
And Yuuta lets out an unsteady breath, his arms curling around Toge’s waist to press his face into the crook of Toge’s neck. “You hold onto my heart, Toge. More than you could ever know,” he confesses, voice cracking. A quiet vow. A unwavering oath. “Your safety, your happiness—everything about you matters to me.”
Toge believes him. He would always believe Yuuta. “Will you ever tell me what the words mean?”
“Soon,” Yuuta promises. “But not tonight. In three days, when you return to me from your kingdom, I’ll tell you then.”
And maybe Yuuta should've been the God of Trade instead, with how easily he negotiates with Toge.
“You offer a harsh exchange,” Toge grumbles, even as he acquiesces, “but I’ll accept it.”
Yuuta chuckles, kissing Toge sweetly. Their kisses have always been sweet. It melts everything away, leaves them in their little bubble called Paradise. Toge curls his fingers into Yuuta’s hair, pulling him closer, but they do not stray beyond the press of their lips.
Tonight, it will just be this.
“Think of it as an incentive, to return to me early,” Yuuta says when they separate, as he brushes the wayward strands of Toge’s hair.
And what a sweet incentive it was, that Toge almost considers not leaving, had it not been for his sister’s threat that could very well ruin whatever life he’s built thus far.
Act III
Three days later, as Chinatsu had declared, Toge descends into his kingdom.
Leaving hadn’t been easy, though it hadn’t been any fault of Yuuta’s; his husband had sent him off before the sun rose, just like any other morning, pressing his lips—a reminder to don the gifted chiton—against the warmth of Toge’s forehead.
No, the problem had come from the nymphs and, unexpectedly, Yuuji.
The nymphs, in an uncharacteristic move, had refused to assist him in washing and dressing. They’d whined and they’d cried, and despite his words of assurance, they’d insisted that Toge were to be leaving them.
“The dryads told us,” one cried when Toge tried to understand where their speculations stemmed from. “They said if you went down, you’d never come back!”
Their words chilled him, sent shivers down his spine. It wasn’t often Toge took their words to heart; the nymphs often gossiped, a pastime he’d knowingly encouraged, if only to beat the boredom. However, when Yuuji showed up at the stipulated time, an unreadable expression souring his face, it alerted something deep within Toge.
Had the nymphs been spot on?
Toge doesn’t dare entertain the thought. He tries to reason their odd behaviour—a manifestation of spending their days together, a bond they’d weaved with care, one memory at a time. He tells them that there was no need to worry, that as a Prince, he’d have authority above all else.
They’d been inconsolable, either way.
Yuuji lands Toge at the foot of Seer’s Peak, hidden within the forest located behind the royal bedrooms. Toge recognises it—it’s what he sees whenever he looked out from his room. Yuuji doesn’t speak, but Toge knows he wanted to—could see it in the way Yuuji’s expression turns solemn, the bright smile now dimmed into a thoughtful frown.
Yuuji opens his mouth, and Toge waits. And waits. And waits. Stares at the young God as he processed his thoughts. But Yuuji decides against it, leaving in a gentle breeze after giving Toge a hug. And Toge stares after him, watches as Yuuji's figure shrinks into the distance, before making the quiet trek out of the forest.
He tries not to think of their odd behaviour, reasons that Yuuta had deemed it safe enough for his return, even if momentary. And Toge trusted Yuuta—would even relinquish his safety into his husband’s hands.
It didn’t stop his stomach from churning.
Toge wipes the anxiety against his chiton, as he carefully navigated the slippery slopes of the forest. This deep into the colder season, the trees have lost their leaves. Red and brown and orange litter the ground, crunching under Toge’s feet as he emerges from the trees.
Nobody notices him, not even as he slips between rows upon rows of cold stone, weaving his way through an architectural maze towards the amphitheatre, where the festival often took place. Narrower, and narrower, the gap between the houses shrink the closer he gets; closer, and closer, the noise grows, drowning out the white noise of mundane errands.
The odd churning in his stomach grows.
And when Toge slips out from shadowed alleyways, he finds himself surrounded by a group of imposing men. Men whom he’d recognised after years of seeing their faces in front of his gates—towering over him, backing him into the darkness of the alley, their eyes trailing over his figure, pausing at the slight curve of his hips.
And Toge’s heart plummets. Oh, no.
He knows that look—he despises that look—and Toge been wary of that look ever since he were thirteen and someone thought it appropriate to slide their palm over the swell of his behind. It’d only been one incident, just one, happening right as he’d been making his way back from the temples. He’d refused to roam the kingdom unaccompanied ever since.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Toge growls, his voice pitched low, glaring up at the men leering at him. Their features are unremarkable—looking more like scholars than hunters, their bodies leaned-muscled rather than heavyset.
Toge couldn’t fight them off either way, not when he was outnumbered.
He thinks of Yuuta’s hesitance, of his reluctance to send Toge down; he thinks of the nymphs, who’d received word and warned him; he thinks of Yuuji, sweet and caring and helpful, who tried to say something, but decided otherwise.
Gods, was this what they were referring to? Had they seen something he hadn’t—tried to tell him only to be brushed off? And for what reason?
He should’ve listened to them.
Toge schools his expression instead, taking deep, quiet breaths to calm the storm swirling in his mind. The thunderous beating of his heart. Toge can’t show them any signs of weakness; not here, not now. He clenches his fists.
“Don’t act as if you weren’t waiting, little prince,” the biggest man drawls. “You wouldn’t be sneaking around like a whore otherwise—in this dark. Remote. Alley.”
Bile rushes up Toge’s throat as the man prowls forth with every word spoken, anger simmering under his skin. The gall of these men—reducing him to nothing but a common prostitute!
“How I move around my kingdom is none of your business,” Toge snaps, slapping a hand that tried to reach out. The sound cuts through festive noise. The man’s smile only grows. “I am still your prince—”
“Ah—but you’ve abandoned the kingdom,” the next man, with a hooked nose and a scar over his brow, interrupts. “For a monster, no less.”
At that, Toge bristles. “My husband isn’t a monster.”
The men bursts into laughter, their voices projecting and echoing within the alleyway. It startles Toge, who has found himself backed into a wall, rough stone digging into his skin, silently cursing upon the predicament he was in.
“Husband, he says!” The last man—the stockiest of the three, with a missing eye and claw marks striking across his face—guffaws. “You don’t have to lie, little prince. The princesses have spread the news that you’ve yet to consummate. There is no husband.”
Claw Face’s words douse Toge sober, like a bucket of cold water over his head. His sisters. Of course they’d get involved. He should’ve expected this.
Simmering anger lights like fire to fuel, rushing through his veins until he was positively shaking. The absolute audacity for them to interfere with his life—first in his new home, and now this? And for what—petty jealousy? Envy? Greed? When Toge had upended his life for them?
He should’ve let Yuuta run this ungrateful land to the ground.
Big Man grips his chin, forcing his gaze upwards. And Toge, in a fit of disgust, spits at him. The man doesn’t recoil, merely wipes the offending spit from his face. His expression changes. Darkens. His grip turning harsh as that same hand now circles around Toge’s throat, pinning him to the rough wall.
Toge chokes. And he struggles, sinking his nails into the man’s forearm while kicking his legs out.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, little prince,” Hooked Nose sneers. “We’re the reason you’re even keeping your title right now.”
Toge furrows his brows, stares at them through the black dots prickling the corners of his narrowing vision. What on Zeus were they talking about?
He nearly jumps out of his skin when Big Man’s nose brushes itself against his cheek, goosebumps prickling every part of his exposed body. He kicks some more, though the man is undeterred. “You see, my prince, your sisters have declared that your title would be safe, as long as you married a citizen,” he reveals. “And what better way to speed up the process, than through consummation?”
Toge gags when Big Man slides a hand up his thigh. His fury explodes, burning brighter than the sun Apollo chariots. He glances down. He aims. And he kicks the man right between the legs.
The repulsive man crumples to the ground with a groan, his hands cupping his bruised privates. And Toge squeezes himself through the gap between wall and body, nearly escaping had Hooked Nose not caught him by the hair, throwing his smaller body onto the ground.
Toge grunts, landing on his front, scraping his hands and knees against gravel when a heavy weight settles itself on him.
“You shouldn’t have done that, little prince,” Hooked Nose says, his hands reached out to restrain Toge. Toge fights back, either way—he would rather perish than have these beasts defile him. “You’ve just made things worse for yourself.”
“Have I?” Toge rears his head back, connecting the back of his skull to Hooked Nose’s face with a sickening crunch.
The man yells, shifting his weight backwards, and with his hands free, Toge twists his body to throw a fistful of sand into the man’s eyes, blinding him. “Ugh—you whore!” The man yells again, flinching away from Toge.
Toge frees himself, distantly hearing the sound of cloth ripping, but he doesn’t care, sprinting out of the dark and into the sun, nearly tripping over his feet in his haste to escape.
“Someone get that whore!” Claw Face’s voice cuts through all the noise, and every pair of eyes in the surrounding area, irregardless of who they belonged to, turns. They widen. They point. They yell. And Toge curses, realising the entire kingdom must’ve been in on his sisters’ schemes.
“It’s the Prince!”
“Someone get him!”
“Don’t let him escape—the princesses promised us a boon!”
Toge doesn’t look back. He knows better than to look back as he zig-zags through labyrinthine streets. His lungs burn. The wind stings his eyes. But Toge runs with his life on the line, his heart crying for Yuuta.
Save me—take me away from here—Yuuta!
He doesn’t think, allows his body lead as his legs directs him to a place he knew all too well, where he knew he would be safe from harm—its pointed roof growing larger, and larger as he nears it.
Toge slams his body against the wooden doors, throwing them open with a loud bang, the sound almost deafening in a hall known for its silence.
The temple is bereft of people, the priestesses already gathered at the amphitheatre to oversee the festival while the initiates are hidden away, unseen until determined otherwise. Toge catches a moment of reprieve as he leans against the open doors. It burns, it burns, it burns—he gasps, hunched over himself, his hands supported against his knees as he swallows precious lungfuls of air.
It burns, but it would ease—Toge stumbling forth, his footsteps echoing against stone floors, every last cut and scratch prickling and stinging, nearly tripping over his broken sandals as he kneels in front of Aphrodite’s statue, where the pyre sat.
A set-up identical to the temple back home.
With neither food, nor flowers, nor monetary offerings, Toge reaches for the ritual knife he knew the priestesses keep on the side—used only for blood offerings. He’s never seen anyone use it—there was never a need. Until now. With unsteady hands, he presses the edge of the blade against the width of his palm, gritting his teeth at the bite of pain radiating from the line of beading red.
He’d cut deeper than expected.
Hovering his hand over the fire, Toge watches his blood drip, crimson droplets sizzling over burning wood, barely drowning out the desperation in his voice, “My Lady, if you can hear me, just this once, let my words reach Yuuta. Tell him that I’d misjudged, tell him to bring me home—that I wish to return, that I’ll be waiting for him in these unsafe times.”
Toge wishes he could say more, even wonders if he should say more, but his pursuers are nearing much quicker than he’d expected. From a mass of muddled noise, to strings of clear sentences, their voices grow at an alarming speed that has Toge shooting up from his position. His breath catches in his throat.
They’re here!
He snatches a nearby branding iron—kept for the animal sacrifices—wielding it like a sword. Heat radiates from the metal, well stoked by the fire, as Toge backs himself further into the temple. It’ll be too late to reach the catacombs now. If he tried and they caught him—
“Little Prince, you can’t hide from us.”
“The temple won’t shield you, not when you’re currently defying Her.”
“Little Prince, why deny yourself the blessing Aphrodite has granted upon you?”
The men were loud, even at a distance away, their voices reaching even the depths of the quiet temple. He hears every depraved thought, harboured and hidden within their hearts since his debut into society. Hears their plans—what they wanted to do with him, and to him.
Toge tightens his hold on the branding iron, fear steadily creeping up his spine.
He fears, not at the thoughts they wished to enact on him. The men didn’t deserve his fear—not his fear, nor his beauty, and definitely not his pleasure; they didn’t deserve his anything.
He fears, due to the implications it will have on Yuuta, on their incomplete marriage. The pantheon had questioned their marriage once—Toge fears that should they rob his chastity, he’d be separated from his husband for eternity. Both by his own kingdom, and by the Gods.
That itself, was a Fate worse than assault. A Fate worse than Death.
It absolutely cannot come to fruition.
“Little Prince, it’s time to show your pretty face. We’ll make sure such a blessing gets passed down for ages to come.”
Laughter drifts, mocking, haunting. As poisonous as his sisters’ words. As if they’d decided Toge had no means no escape them. Never realising they raised an epiphany: the men had never cared for Toge, not truly, and not beyond his beauty; he was a novelty piece in a trove of treasures, another pretty face meant to look look at but not provide any value.
Just another pretty deer meant for the wall.
If I didn’t have this face, Toge thinks, looking down at the branding iron. Would they leave me alone then?
Once, it'd been a recurring thought, a passing thought over the years that has never bore fruit due to circumstances. Until now, with Toge sinking to his knees, resolve steadying his hands as he brings the iron to his face. He doesn’t look at it. Doesn’t give himself the chance to change his mind. It’s an intense heat, and it warms the air between them. It doesn’t scare him.
Toge inhales. Closes his eyes. And presses it into his cheek.
Nothing could ever prepare Toge for the white-hot, all-consuming pain as the branding iron seared his skin. Sweat pools in his palms as he grips the piece of metal with white-knuckled desperation, saliva dripping from the mouth that fought back every scream and sound from escaping, stomach churning, bile rising as the smell of burnt flesh engulfed his senses.
It burns, it burns, it burns—it burned and Toge was half-delirious from the pain, but never has pain felt as satisfying as this. As liberating. Cathartic.
If such was the price of freedom, then Toge will gladly pay for it with everything he had.
Lightning strikes at the base of his feet, knocks him backwards into the plinth of Aphrodite’s statue, bruising his back against intricate carvings, the rod clattering uselessly at his side. Toge coughs as burning ozone suffocates within its radius, stinging eyes blinking rapidly as a form materialises from the cloud of dust.
A towering figure emerges from the point of impact as dust settles. Armoured. Armed with a spear. Dark hair chopped just below their ears. They turn, and Toge realises who they—or rather, she—was.
“Athena…” Toge exhales, the pain in his cheek a ghost of its past in the face of the Goddess of War.
Athena was an exact replica of her statues. Power wrapped in femininity, coexisting but never conflicting. Her cropped hair only emphasised her strength, dominance rolling off her in waves. Toge’s pursuers, crowded by the entrance, backs away in fear, finally realising the magnitude of the situation. She pays them no heed, turns to scrutinise Toge with—was that respect in her gaze?
Toge isn’t sure what he’d done to earn her gaze.
“Seems like Yuuta has good taste, after all.” She gives Toge a once-over, pauses on the imprint scarring his cheek, red and raised and raw. She steps close, kneeling to meet his eyes and gently brushes the edge of the burn. He’d already gone numb. Her expression softens. “We’ll get you fixed up, Toge.”
“Where—” Toge croaks, then clears his throat. “Where’s Yuuta?”
Surely, if Athena was here, it’d meant Aphrodite had heard his call? Right…?
Athena opens her mouth to reply, when a masculine voice pierces through the chaos swallowing the temple. It alerts Toge—he could recognise Yuuta’s voice from anywhere.
“MAKI!”
Athena—perhaps, Maki?—stands, brushing her dusted tunic as Toge’s husband, in all his furious worry, swoops in through the temple’s skylight.
And suddenly, everything fades into the background. Dissonant chaos reduced to nothing as Toge’s mind fixates itself on his husband.
“Yuuta…” Toge’s lips wobble, tears gathering in the corner of his eyes, his heart swelling with a multitude of emotions that he feels like it was going to burst. And Yuuta, with his dark wind-swept hair and ruffled feathers, lands with shaking hands, reaching out to assess the harm on Toge.
Toge’s dishevelled hair, sticking out in every angle, much unlike how he’d left earlier; the blistering, red circle on his cheek; his chiton, Toge’s first gift from Yuuta, now ripped at the hems and splotched with black.
Yuuta's hands don’t touch him, merely hovering. As if he were afraid.
“How—who—” Yuuta’s eyes—Toge could finally meet his husband’s eyes—burned with cold fury, blue so dark it reflected the very depths of Tartarus. Yet, sharp edges were soft with underlying worry, as they assessed for more injuries. Thankfully, there were none, barring the scratches and cuts scattered over his body.
None of which Toge felt, Yuuta’s presence a balm to his distressed soul.
Toge shakes his head, reaches to grip Yuuta’s hands with waning strength, as adrenaline ravaged his body with tremors. He doesn’t want to talk about anything now, the incident much too fresh. “Just…Just stay with me—please,” he whispers. “Just for a bit.”
Yuuta’s throat bobs. “Can…Can I embrace you?”
Toge throws himself into Yuuta’s arms in lieu of answering, clutching his husband’s—bless Olympus they could still be husbands—neck in a suffocating embrace.
And Yuuta gathers Toge with unbearable gentleness, his hands secure against his body as if Toge was one touch away from disintegrating in his hold. He stands, then turns to Maki, expression dark with such fury Toge didn’t know Yuuta capable of.
“Finish them, and leave no one alive,” he orders. Cold. Detached. A side of himself he’d never shown Toge. He doubts Yuuta had ever planned to show this side of himself.
Maki scoffs. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”
“Look away, my heart,” Yuuta whispers. Toge obeys. He tightens his hold around Yuuta’s shoulders, hides his face in the crook of his husband’s neck, where he knew Yuuta’s scent would be strongest. “We’re going home now.”
And the last thing Toge hears before Yuuta shoots for the sky, were the cries of his citizens begging for mercy as Maki lands her first blow with a squelching crunch.
Yuuta sets Toge down at the edge of a natural spring, water flowing in a steady stream from a tap in the wall.
Toge’s tears have dried now, the burn in his cheek long dulled into a quiet throb. He wobbles, the echo of adrenaline draining the last bit of energy from his body, then steadies under Yuuta’s supporting hands. The water laps at his ankles, warm but not boiling, even as steam rises in delicate curls off the surface.
Hands reach for the pins securing his chiton, Yuuta unpinning the robe with reverent care, each brush of his hands featherlight. And Toge nearly flinches when hands skirted too close to this thighs, his mind still at war with logic—still caught up with the phantom touch of his pursuers. They’d been too close.
Yuuta doesn’t mention anything. Doesn’t touch Toge more than he needs to.
The chiton falls away, slips from his shoulders in a tattered heap of purple, as Toge wades deeper into the water, submerging himself until only his head peeks out. His wounds sting in places unknown to him, then dulls as the minerals work its magic on his skin.
Words remain unshared, the silence a salve to his mind. It gave him space to think, to properly assess everything that had happened thus far. His kingdom’s betrayal. His sisters’ betrayal.
Toge truly didn’t think they’d ever go this far.
He understood that siblings had their own differences, their own idiosyncrasies that made them unique, and that it might not be understood by all. But at the end of the day, they were family. They were meant to support each other. And for all his grievances against his kingdom, Toge would have never done such a thing against his sisters, either.
Though it seems his idealistic hopes have been dashed, the reality of his sisters’ actions hitting him harder than the wound he’d put on his face.
Warm hands land on his shoulders, squeezing lightly, and it’s with belated realisation that Yuuta had come up behind him. His husband was still afraid, his touch tentative, until Toge turns to face him with head tilting curiosity.
The air is cool against Toge’s wet skin, but his heart has never been warmer.
Finally—finally, there was nothing separating them. Nothing hiding them. The sun reflects off Yuuta’s face in a golden glow, highlighting the sharp but gentle features Toge’s memorised by heart. His wings, more pearlescent than white, stretches around them like a protective shield.
Yuuta looks exactly as Toge had pictured, like the final piece slotting into place in a puzzle.
He reaches out to cup Toge’s face, his thumb skimming the boundary between unmarred and charred skin. His brows scrunches, his lips pulled into a frown so familiar but also not, while Toge’s only thought was how endearing his husband looked in worry. He still hasn’t quite accepted that the gorgeous man in front of him was Yuuta.
If this was a dream, meant to soothe the nightmare from earlier, then Toge wishes he’d never wake up.
“I’m okay,” he promises, circling a hand around Yuuta’s wrist, the disparity glaringly obvious that he stares. Toge knows, of course, that there was a gap between their builds. He’d spent months mapping, memorising, each dip, each callous, could even feel for it with his eyes closed. Matching memory to sight, however, seemed to leave a disconnect in his brain.
Not that it mattered, anymore. Now, they truly had a lifetime together.
“How did Maki know I was in the temple, anyway?” Toge asks, by way of easing the tension. He doesn’t really expect Yuuta to reply, his husband seemingly still in shock. “I didn’t expect her to be there.”
His free hand cups the water—realises the cut he’d made earlier had already closed, healed into a discoloured scar—before reaching upwards to rinse the grime off of Yuuta. He starts from shoulder, carefully avoiding the wings, massages down biceps, then to forearms, easing stiff tension in hard muscle.
The motion seemed to snap Yuuta out of his stupor, for he drops his hand from Toge’s face, then mirrors Toge’s actions. “The chiton,” he says, gently washing the dust off of Toge’s shoulders. “The scripture I had embroidered were protective runes, blessed by Hecate herself, meant to alert me if you were in danger.”
And the garment had split right at the hem, where the runes held its place. Toge hums.
“And if it’d been an accident?”
It was a long stretch, of course. Toge had spent his juvenile years sneaking around the kingdom, running from guards, jumping from trees and balconies—clumsy is the last thing he’d ever be.
But possibilities were always endless.
“Which is why there had to be a second criteria before I involved myself,” Yuuta says, rinsing Toge’s skin with another handful of water. “Do you know what’s the first thing humans do in their time of need?”
Toge tilts his head, questioning. And Yuuta smiles—his husband truly was gorgeous, Toge thinks, his pulse skipping, and he idly wonders if Yuuta could hear the crescendo beating of his heart this close in proximity—reaching for Toge’s hand.
“They tend to pray to their worshipping Gods,” he says, lightly running his thumb over the scar on Toge’s palm. “Despite your complicated feelings towards her, you took comfort in Aphrodite’s worship. That was my second criteria.”
And everything had played out by Yuuta’s expectations—the chiton had been torn in his haste to escape, and the first place he had run to had been Aphrodite’s temple.
“You misjudge, though,” Toge says, giggling when Yuuta’s expression crumples into confusion. “I didn’t take comfort in Aphrodite’s worship—I took comfort in the fact that she was the quickest and closest way to reach you.”
Yuuta’s lips part, the words he’d kept on the tip of his tongue vanished into the wind. Of the words he’d expected Toge to say, this was not part of it. He’d been away from home, only visiting at night like the coward he was, for he feared Toge would only love him for his looks. Feared him for who he was.
Just as the others had been.
And Toge finds himself drinking every expression Yuuta has to offer, every thought that he showed on his face. Thinks that he wouldn’t mind drowning in them. They were candid. Refreshing. Human. It made all those months of waiting all the more worthwhile. He reaches up to cup Yuuta’s cheeks, gently coaxing him downwards until their foreheads touched.
“You are my husband, my love, my Eros,” Toge whispers into the space between them, smiling at Yuuta’s little gasp. “You were the one who created this haven for me, and I will forever hold onto this dearly.”
Yuuta lets out a shaky exhale. Toge lets out a chuckle.
Yuuta, who embodied Love—who was the literal personification of Love—acting as if his heart would burst from its confines. Never in all the millennia of existing had he felt this way. Not until Toge. Sweet, self-sacrificing Toge whose heart was battered and bruised. Who had much love to give under layers of protection.
“What did I do to deserve you?” Toge lets out small huffs of laughter, his eyes rolling in—what Yuuta would eventually learn to be—exasperated affection. His hands were much smaller than Yuuta’s own, yet they’d done the unthinkable to keep their flimsy marriage intact.
And that held greater might and strength than what the Gods could ever shoulder.
“I want to kiss you,” Yuuta says instead, staring into Toge’s eyes, reflecting pure want. “Can I kiss you?”
And Toge’s eyes curve into the prettiest crescents, as he leans in to press the sweetest, mind-numbing kiss against Yuuta’s lips.
They leave eventually, Yuuta drying Toge with a piece of cloth much softer than linen, though not exactly cotton, exchanging quiet words while they dressed each other.
Yuuji had come by earlier with the towels and robes, his face uncharacteristically solemn as he exchanged unheard words with Yuuta. Toge has no doubt it was about him—not with the way Yuuji had glanced over, his expression crumpling when his gaze focussed on the mark left behind.
Did Yuuji blame himself too? He must’ve, for he’d been the one to bring Toge down.
“The original prophecy has been fulfilled,” Yuuta says, his hands busying themselves with draping the new robes over Toge’s body. “With that, you’re truly free, and have nothing to worry about anymore.”
What was once the words Toge longed to hear, the words he’d prayed for every night for the longest of years, now sent him into a bout of scrunched-brow confusion. The nagging suspicions he’d kept boxed away months ago, now resurfacing in a multitude of questions.
“What do you mean original prophecy ?” Toge asks. “Was the prophecy Priestess Rika spoke of not the only one?”
And Toge knows something didn't add up, when Yuuta reflects the same scrunched-brow confusion back at him. His husband’s hands hang in the air, his mind a frozen landscape that had just begun to thaw, as he speaks again with slow seriosity, “the target of the prophecy wasn’t meant to be you. It was meant for your second sister.”
Toge doesn’t understand. The prophecy had been meant for Chinatsu?
“But…” Toge swallows, his tongue heavy in his mouth. “But wasn’t it meant for the third-born?”
Yuuta sighs, realising the depth of the kingdom’s deception. “Contrary to what everyone had led you to believe—you are, in fact, the fourth born. The second prince.”
Toge searches for something within Yuuta’s eyes. A sign, maybe a flicker, that he had spoken in jest. He finds nothing. Yuuta has never lied—that was a fact Toge had known for the longest time, even defended his honesty in front of his sisters—nor was he the kind to joke about such an issue.
It’d be a cruel thing to joke about.
“I…” Toge furrows his brows. Averts his gaze to the ground. “I don’t…?”
“The fault lies within your mother,” Yuuta continues, securing the pin to a shoulder. “In her desperation to ensure the prophecy doesn’t come true, she’d made a grave misinterpretation, thereby terminating the first prince, which ended up pushing Fate into motion.”
Toge sucks in a breath. His vision swims, his extremities going cold, and memories of an isolated, unmarked grave flits through his mind. Had that been…all this time…?
“And…what did the original prophecy foretell?”
Reluctance prompts Yuuta to speak slowly. He fixes the other pin, then, smoothes out the creases in Toge’s robes. “That even if our marriage brought destruction to your family’s doorstep, it was ultimately your sister’s decision whether to open the gates, or close them.”
And by forcing Toge’s hand all those days ago, scheming and pushing him into a corner with a threat against Yuuta, then left him no choice but to inflict an irreversible injury on himself just to protect the sanctity of his marriage—they’d inadvertently tipped the scales, and sent the kingdom to the brink of destruction.
A scorned God was a God filled with vengeance, and his sisters had slighted the most unforgiving of them all.
After all those years of propping me up high, trying to preserve the kingdom, their efforts led to their downfall, Toge huffs, finding himself unexpectedly accepting of the situation. Or rather, perhaps it was more of a relief, that he’d finally receive a proper answer to all those unanswered questions.
“And…” Yuuta bite his lips, suddenly unsure. Toge nods, encouraging. “Your sisters’ bodies were found by the rocks,” he reveals, expression solemn. “Yuuji suspects they’d fallen during their attempt to reach our home, thinking he’d be there to lift them. That with you gone, I’d be open to take them as wives.”
Toge sighs, closing his eyes in a quiet prayer. Cold seeps into his body, despite the robes’ efforts to keep him warm. And he finds, that in place of despair that often came with death, there was a low, buzzing dissonance instead.
What did he feel? What was he supposed to feel?
Pity?
Regret?
Should he have cried? Yelled? Mourned?
Should he have held onto an idealistic hope that he could’ve dissuaded them?
Toge knows he couldn’t. Call it ego. Call it pride. Even call it a complex, for he knows they wouldn’t listen; they never did; they never will.
“What about my parents? What did they think about this mess?” With an incident this large, involving both the princesses and many of the townsmen, Toge doesn’t think his parents would remain ignorant.
Unexpectedly, Yuuta shakes his head. “Maki found them in their bedrooms. Seems like your sisters got to them before we did.”
And Toge sighs again, tension flaring at the base of his skull. Where did their greed begin? Where did it end? How could they have even gone to such lengths for a land who gave them everything?
They were his sisters, yes, and he’d looked up to them once upon a time—but they’d been dishonourable. Even beyond that: Blackmail; Patricide; Matricide; Aiding and abetting; Treason against the crown; Attempted infidelity; Sacrilege! The list only continued to grow the longer Toge thought about it.
They were his sisters, yes, but they’d taken that entitlement and besmirched it.
“What would you like to do?” Yuuta asks, cradling the back of Toge’s head. It eases the discomfort blooming there, and Toge’s answer comes easy.
“Leave them for the sea.” His voice comes out firm, though no higher than a whisper. He wraps the belt around his waist, tying it securely with a secure knot. “They died as criminals; the kingdom, or whatever’s left of it, wouldn’t allow a state funeral, nor would their marital families.”
The temples wouldn’t dare touch them either, for their gruesome deaths would heavily pollute divinity. Even if Toge were willing, there wouldn’t be a chance to slip a coin into their mouths for the Ferryman. They were doomed to wander for their sins.
Yuuta nods. His hands wander, a comforting weight against Toge’s skin, lacing their hands together. “And what of the war that will happen as a result?”
Toge lifts a questioning brow. “Would that be in comparison to divine punishment?”
In other words, their conflicts were unrelated to him.
Yuuta laughs, then presses a kiss to Toge’s forehead. And Toge, now a man free to live and love, leans into Yuuta’s touch. Nothing mattered; the prophecy has been fulfilled, the kingdom now an echo of the past. In his years of confinement—because that’s what he’d been, confined to the palace—he finally had a choice. A real choice.
And he was going to choose Yuuta.
Fingers brush his cheek, a gentle touch over the scab on his face where he’d maimed himself. “Are you certain on not receiving treatment? We can still—”
Toge shakes his head. “It’s a reminder,” he says. “That we’ve survived this nightmare.”
And his husband could only let out a heavy sigh, masked by a helpless smile, while giving in to Toge’s request. Yuuta would blame himself for times to come, but Toge would be there every step of the way, soothing with a hand on his cheek, reminding him that it was all in the past. They were together now, without prophecy or duty hanging above their heads like an axe, surrounded by every form of love to ever exist.
And when the sun rises each day, casting a warm glow against Yuuta’s features, their children’s cries drifting from the distance, Toge knows that everything had been worth it.
That the love he’d been waiting for was there the whole time.