But the person in the doorway isn’t Florian. Instead, a small boy stands at the entry, wire-rimmed glasses taking up half his face. He walks briskly towards their table before stopping by the king’s side.

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” the boy says with a slight bow. “I am here to inform you that Prince Florian isn’t feeling well today, and is unable to join you for breakfast.”

“Is that so,” the king says. “Bring up a tray for him, Ren. And tell him that there’s a fine line between working hard and working yourself to an early grave.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Another slight bow, before the boy departs from the room as swiftly as he’d come.

Aster stares down at her half-eaten pastry, appetite all but gone. 

Was Florian really unwell? Or was he just…

Stomach protesting, Aster forces herself to pick up her pastry again, even if it tastes like cardboard in her mouth.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

“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.”