“Your Highness,” says Ren. “Weren’t you supposed to be unwell?”

“Do you think I have the time to be sick?” Florian doesn’t bother looking up from the mound of paperwork on his desk, too busy flipping through a status report on the knights.

Good, good, nothing seems to be amiss.

“What did I tell you about bringing work into your bedroom? What’s the use of a study if your place of rest serves the same function?” Ren’s voice is exasperated as he carefully shoves aside some of the papers, making space for the silver tray he sets on the table.

“Is that breakfast? Thanks, Ren.”

“It’s courtesy of His Majesty. He also told me to inform you that there’s a fine line between hard work and working yourself to an early grave.”

“Did he now? That’s nice, makes me feel all warm and fuzzy,” Florian says tonelessly. “Wouldn’t want more than one son kicking the bucket too early; heirs don’t grow from trees after all.”

“Your Highness.” Ren’s weary tone belies how many times they’ve gone through this age-old song and dance.

“I jest, Ren. I jest.” Satisfied with the report, Florian sets it aside so he can reach for the next document in the pile. A hand slaps over the stack before he can.

“Eat,” says Ren.

“Is that any way to speak to your charge?” Florian jokes. Like he’d ever mean it. He’s never expected decorum from Ren. Not then, and not now.

“Please have some breakfast, Your Highness, before I toss all your paperwork into the kitchen’s furnace.”

“Can’t have that now, can we?”

Ren doesn’t let up on his pointed stare, nor does he remove the hand that’s resting over the papers.

Florian finally turns away from his work begrudgingly. “You can’t tell,” he grumbles sulkily as he plucks a strudel from the tray. “But I’m quite upset with you.”

“Oh dear,” Ren says flatly. “That’s unfortunate. Should I ask why?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you upset, Your Highness?”

“There’s an unwelcome guest at breakfast today, that’s why.”

Ren stares blankly at him for a few seconds before it registers. “Ah. I should’ve known that would be the reason for you acting up.”

“I am not acting up.”

“You’re skipping breakfast just so you won’t see your fiancé, Your Highness. If that isn’t ‘acting up’, I don’t know what is.”

“You didn’t tell me she was coming!” Florian bites into his pastry bitterly.

“I was under orders not to.”

“Were those orders from my mother?”

Ren doesn’t answer.

Florian takes another bite, chewing furiously all the while. “I can’t believe you were informed of it and not me. Does my mother place so little trust in me?”

“Coming from the person who’s faking illness just to avoid his fiancé, I’d say it’s warranted.” Ren looks surreptitiously away as Florian stares daggers at him. “How did you find out anyway, Your Highness? It was supposed to be a surprise you know. A charming little reunion at breakfast complete with heart-shaped sparkles and birdsong.”

“I knew skipping was a good idea.”

“Did you hear about it from one of the servants? I’m certain that extra care was taken so you wouldn’t find out, but I suppose it’s impossible to keep people from talking.”

Florian tosses the rest of his pastry into his mouth, buying himself a handful of precious seconds as he chews extra thoroughly. "Well..." He meanders eventually. 

"Well?"

“I met her last night." He's careful to avoid Ren’s hawk-like gaze.

“You visited her chambers?” Stark disbelief colours his voice.

“Oh, you wish.”

“Of course I do. I’m sure Her Majesty feels the same.”

Florian snorts. “Sorry to burst your little fantasy, but I met her in the gardens. She must’ve been taking a walk.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“It wouldn’t be out of character for her.” He curses himself for the slip of tongue when Ren quirks an eyebrow at him. Florian forces a nonchalant shrug. “People don’t change much.”

“Do they now?” The weight of Ren’s piercing gaze on him makes his skin itch. “So how was it?”

“How was what?”

“Meeting her again.”

Florian gives up another shrug, all I-could-care-less. “Nothing special.”

“I think a moonlit rendezvous warrants more than just a ‘nothing special’.”

Against Florian’s best wishes, a memory flashes through his mind: of a garden cloaked in winter chill, awash in the light of the moon. Only instead of topiaries and the back of a dark cloak edged in fur, what comes to mind is this: the sounds of a distant ballroom and the gentle burbling of a marble fountain; a high, hesitant voice rising above all of that.

“Hey.” She looks at him with wide violet eyes, concerned and bewildered all at once. “Are you-“

Florian pushes the tray away from him abruptly, appetite soured. “The use of the word rendezvous would imply both parties actually intending to meet each other,” he says distastefully.

“So why were you out so late last night, if not for a rendezvous?”

“What, a guy can’t take a midnight stroll around his own gardens?”

Ren rolls his eyes skyward. “No, no, of course you can. I’m sure they’re even more of a sight to see under the moonlight.” A quiet huff escapes him as his gaze falls away from Florian.

There’s a brief note of silence, a pause filled only by the clicking of ceramic as Florian reaches for his cup of coffee.

“You were wrong though,” Ren says eventually. “About people not changing.” Florian quirks an eyebrow at him as he sips, waiting for him to elaborate. “I’ve heard stories from the head steward you know; stories about the palace before I started working here. Some were about you, naturally.”

“Stories about what an angel I was, I bet.”

“He said that Lady Vastein was all you used to talk about.”

Florian swallows harshly, his coffee going down the wrong way. “I was a kid,” he manages to bite out.

“He said that you used up all the paper in your study to write her letters. That you couldn’t sleep the night before you visited the Vastein Estate, only to end up making a fuss the next morning because you were worried about looking awful in front of her. That—”

“That’s all in the past.” Florian’s voice comes out sharper than intended. When he meets Ren’s gaze, what’s reflected in his eyes makes Florian’s stomach curl.

“Then what changed, Your Highness?”

“You know what changed.” His words come out bitter, tasting of resentment and the acrid sting of caffeine. Florian’s cup clatters back into its saucer.

Ren sighs. “How long will you cling to past grievances? Just because of what happened when you two were children-“

“You know it’s more than that!” His hands ball themselves into fists on the surface of his desk. “It’s more than just a past grievance and you know it.”

Ren looks unflinchingly back. “Then for how long will you keep running away? From reality? From your fiancé?”

“Don’t you start with me, Ren.”

“What if there’s more to what happened all those years ago?”

“The last thing I want to hear from her,” Florian spits. “Is an excuse.”

“Perhaps. Or maybe, it could also be the truth.” Ren’s voice remains damningly even. “She’s already here, Your Highness. Will you face her properly this time? Or will you keep running?”

Florian clenches his fists, tight enough that he’s sure of the angry half-moons etched into the skin of his palms. “Get out,” he says through gritted teeth.

“So you’re running.”

“Get. Out.”

“Your Highness— no, Flynn-”

“Don’t make me turn it into an official order, Ren.”

Silence. He hears a sharp intake of breath; an attempt at maintaining composure. “I’ve overstepped,” Ren says coolly. “As you wish, I shall take my leave now. Please enjoy the rest of your breakfast, Your Highness.”

Fading footsteps, before the door closes behind him with a resounding click. Florian pinches the bridge of his nose as he slumps backwards into his seat.

Shit. He shouldn’t have pulled the royalty card on Ren.

He presses his palms into his face with a sigh, the beginnings of a raging headache already throbbing at the base of his skull.