Archive of Our Own

1.

"Jessie Venetiaan."

The moment they first officially met, Cédric had called out to him, his elegant Riesterian accent shaping around the letters of his Venetiaan name.

Jesse had been in an awkward position back then—reaching his arms through the railings of the leftmost balcony of Stroda Palace, where he had climbed up thanks to the help of Demy's wayward vines.

The poor child had been crying out throughout the evening, and despite Jesse's wishes to ignore him, he had eventually conceded; rushing out of his carriage despite Benjamin's concerned cries to scale the overgrown plants, in an attempt to coax the divine beast away from the palace's balcony. The only thing that reassured his slight fear of heights was the fact that his priest’s formal attire had the ability to absorb the impact of a moving carriage—so even if he fell now, he would pretty much be alright.

A little further away, the Spring Ball was taking place in full stride. Through the slight crack in the open balcony door, he could hear the beautiful music and the muffled noise of the esteemed guests attending the ball.

Jesse wanted none of that—wanted to avoid as many people as possible—but, well... there he was.

"What are you doing here?"

The tip of a black polished dress shoe immediately entered his peripheral view, and Jesse had no choice but to freeze up, startled by the sound of the deep voice that called his name in the faint accent that was distinct to Riester.

He suppressed the shivers that ran through him, upon hearing that voice—low, smooth and clear, as if he was directly listening to it through earphones. A perfect voice for an ASMR that would guarantee the best of brain tingles.

And when Jesse finally looked up, he found his breath nearly stuttering in his throat.

Hair that was as black as the abyss, strands of the darkest obsidian ebony; eyes that looked as if they were blazing garnets, small candle flames that flickered minutely as they stared at him and the small red panda just a little further away.

A face that seemed to perfectly blend the best aspects of classical and modern beauty, so flawlessly made it seem as if he belonged in the Musée d'Orsay rather than the Louvre—though he was sure that if given the opportunity, both museums would've fought tooth and nail merely to receive the honour of including a single painting of his splendid face amongst their gallery displays.

Jesse's heart fluttered. Surely, it couldn't have been anything but fear.

This was the second person Jesse had wanted to avoid at all costs, after all.

The male lead of <I Quit My Job, then I Became the Princess Bride> — His Imperial Highness, Prince Cédric Riester.

If Ganael said that ten-out-of-ten people would stop and turn to stare if Jesse walked by, then the Imperial Prince would not only evoke the same reaction, but would also see to it that any passerby would surely drop whatever they were doing just to chase after him.

He was just that handsome, and Jesse felt his face flush—from fear, of course. Fear and panic, nothing else.

He really hadn't intended to meet this man at all, especially face to face like this.

“I was told that you were not planning on attending the ball.”

“I am not," Jesse quickly confirmed, heart rapidly racing at the mere idea. "I just happened to see this baby red panda here while passing by, Your Imperial Highness.”

Peaking upward, Jesse could see the Imperial prince smirking, as if the other man found something amusing about this situation—and Jesse could only flush deeper, his face heating up in the strangest way.

So he merely ignored it, choosing to focus on releasing his ether instead, hoping to try and entice Demy to quickly come back to him so that Jesse could finally leave, and never see the other prince ever again.

(Of course, that never ended up happening.)

2.

"You," Cédric's deep voice called, drawing Jesse's attention to him almost immediately.

Jesse has noticed this, by now, that, apart from their "first" official meeting on the balcony during the Spring Ball, the Imperial prince had taken to avoiding his name.

In all fairness, however, Cédric did that to pretty much everyone, even young Lady Christelle, despite her being destined to become his future lover. Jesse still didn’t understand why they only continued to call each other so stiffly and formally up till now (and in Cédric's case, not at all, damn caveman brute that he was), but still, he remembered the wise words of Jung Eunseo and regained peace of mind. His sister did tell him that they had a rather “arranged marriage, enemies-to-lovers, slow-burn” type of development—so it was easy to chalk it up to them still being in the early development stages of their budding relationship.

The only firm exceptions to his short range of vocabulary and unwillingness to use as less words as possible, were (unsurprisingly) his mother, Empress Frédérique Riester; and his godmother, Cardinal Aurélie Boutier—both of whom were the only people that held higher ranking than Cédric himself. Had Her Majesty the Empress' father—the great previous prince consort Stanislas—not left the palace a while back following his wife Empress Céline's passing, no doubt Cédric would have naturally treated his distinguished blood relative with the same respect, as well.

But still, it was sometimes a little jarring to hear him call out "you" and "hey", or without any pronoun or indicator at all, and leave everyone in his vicinity to scramble and figure out whoever it was that he was talking to.

Now, however, it couldn't be all that clear. Cédric had taken to joining Jesse's afternoon tea time on the balcony of his bed chambers—nearly startling him when he suddenly appeared before him, having scaled the sides of Juliette Palace and jumped over the railings.

"Yes, Prince-nim?"

"You," Cédric said, and Jesse almost could've laughed because it was always you, you, you, and now that he's noticed Cédric's habit, he was no longer able to unnotice it. "Haven't drank the tea."

Jesse blinked. "... Tea?"

"The tea," Cédric reaffirmed, his words stressing at the end as if he had gritted his teeth. And Jesse was certain he had, because his gloved hands tightened around his solid biceps, from where he had his arms crossed.

"... Ah." Jesse's mind whirled to the memory of a servant from Romero Palace, who had recently visited and brought along with them a singular caddy of dandelion tea.

"It was a precious gift," Jesse smiled, lightly bowing his head in thanks. "I made sure to share it evenly amongst my attendants—they all enjoyed it." Much like the rest of the tea that the Riesterian prince often took to sending. "Thank you very much for that kindness, Imperial Prince Cédric."

No matter how flowery or patient his words were, perfectly courteous and befitting of someone of his position, it seemed nothing would have been able to deter the growing frown that had been spreading across Cédric's face. It was deepening the more he talked, and Jesse had the small urge, deep down, to reach out and smooth out the wrinkles of the prince's masterfully crafted face—to run his fingers between the crease of the other man's sharp dark brows, like a master sculptor moulding the features of a delicate clay bust.

But Jesse was no sculptor, nor was the other prince made of clay—and so Jesse dared not muster the audacity to insert himself into the personal bubble of the precious Son of the Empire, opting to keep his fingers to himself lest he commit an imperial offense.

"You," Cédric called again, and Jesse sighed subconsciously in response.

"You," Jesse parroted, a small flicker of exasperation rousing in his chest—spreading through him just like the faint heat of the teacup he held at his fingers. "Surely Prince Cédric knows my name."

It was only until a few seconds passed that Jesse was hit with the sobering realization of just how petulant he sounded, just then.

Face flushing, the heat from his head spread as far down as his chest—and maybe even as low as his navel—quickly coating him like a thick layer of varnish, capturing the painting that was his embarrassment underneath its dusting red brush.

"Nn— Oh, pardon my manners, I—"

"Jessie."

His jaw closed with a light click— apologies quickly slipping back down his tongue.

Something high and strangled filled the ensuing silence between them. Only a moment after it was released did Jesse realize it came from him.

"J—" he stuttered, voice feeling oddly wobbly, hesitant. "Jessie..?"

The prince's eyes snapped quickly to his, orange pupils flickering like bright flames.

"Is that not your name?" Cédric nearly seethed, grip around his crossed arms tightening even further.

Purple eyes as precious as amethyst flickered over every inch of Cédric's face, trying, futilely, to find even the slightest trace of jest on his expression, because there was no way that the Imperial prince actually thought that was his name, right?

"Prince Cédric… I thought I mistakenly heard you, the first time we met—officially," Jesse reiterated, remembering all the times when the little mosquito who called himself Sadie rudely burst into his room demanding ether from time to time. "But that's.. not exactly my name?"

Cédric's gaze finally left the sight of the gardens surrounding Juliette Palace, and slowly, finally met Jesse's.

"So?"

Realization struck Jesse like a flash of lighting.

".......... Mph—"

Two little suns burnt in irritation—piercing him like searing daggers, but it only made Jesse's shoulders quiver even harder, because for all the Imperial prince glared at him, not once did it burn.

"Why are you laughing?"

"Prince-nim..." Jesse's lips were curled awkwardly, quivering delicately at the corners—clearly a product of trying to hold himself back from smiling, from grinning so largely it would definitely piss Cédric off into igniting the cloth of the table into flames.

"Prince Cédric, could it be—"

"Don't."

"—that you haven't been calling my name—"

"I said don't."

"—because you weren't sure if you—!"

Hands reached out to him from over the table, clattering a few of the plates from where Cédric had slammed one of his hands onto it, while the other had pulled Jesse by the collar until his body pressed against the side of the table.

From his peripheral view, Jesse could see his long-cooled cup of tea seeping into the white fabric of his table cloth.

He paid it no mind, however, too absorbed into the wildly blazing orange eyes of the Imperial prince before him, trembling like boiling pots of Fanta. Their faces were so close that Jesse could smell the burning scent of his fire attribute threatening to flare up.

But it was also precisely because they were so close that Jesse could see them— The tips of Cédric's ears, just faintly, barely tinged pink.

Eyes slipping back to stare into Cédric's, Jesse could no longer hold himself back.

His chuckles poured out of him in peals of laughter, fingers shaking as they grabbed lightly at the sleeve of the arm that was currently gripping at the front of his robes. Cédric's hold had already long loosened, gloved hands merely holding at his collar, as if he just wanted to make sure Jesse would stay right where he was—giggling so brightly he could see the mirth rolling off him from up close.

But finally, Cédric seemed to have had enough of being made fun of, his jaw clenching tight as he looked back into the gardens below them, heat radiating off of him as he finally let Jesse go.

When Jesse regained his breath, he was slumped against his chair, boneless from his mirth.

Cédric was nowhere in sight, but he swore he could feel his warmth linger—though it also very much could have just been the evening sun.

3.

"Jesse," he gently told Cédric the next morning—correctly, this time, in the proper Venetiaan accent.

They had bumped into each other while Jesse was on his usual stroll—greeting the gardeners with the names that he had finally memorized, until a tall dark figure appeared before him, so suddenly, though Jesse didn't even flinch.

They had stared at each other for perhaps a minute, their attendants respectfully giving them distance, and the silence only broke when memories of the evening before flooded back into Jesse's head, and he was unable to hold back his voice.

Cédric glared at him hotly for the two minutes he had spent giggling, and Jesse only stopped when he saw smoke slowly begin to singe the prince's gloves.

Hands covering his face in a weak attempt to smother his laughter into nonexistence, Jesse finally looked back up at Cédric, weakly peeking at him through the gaps of his fingers.

(The sight Cédric saw before him was a simple one: Jesse's cheeks, flushed pink and a little sore from smiling, eyes faintly squinted, still uplifted from his short burst of glee.)

Releasing a breathless sigh, Jesse lightly slapped his cheeks one last time, making sure to collect his expression so that his amusement wouldn't appear so obviously on his face anymore. He shouldn't risk getting on the Imperial prince's nerves any more than he was sure he had.

Slowly inhaling, Jesse calmed himself with a steady exhale.

"It's Jesse Venetiaan, Prince Cédric." 

Cédric's face briefly twisted.

He didn't speak for a good few seconds, and just as Jesse was about to accept that the other prince would probably never call his name again in his life, his ears finally caught on to that low, unique voice that smoothly sent a faint tingle of shivers down his spine.

"... Yeh-soh," Cédric tried, his Riesterian accent still trying to properly grasp the Venetiaan letters. 

Heart flipping oddly in his chest, Jesse ignored how much the pronunciation resembled his actual, Korean-given birth name. He was aware, of course, that Jung Yeseo didn't exist in this world—that only Jesse Venetiaan did—and so Jesse didn't feel the need to tell Cédric anything about that.

His secret to keep, of course, until he couldn't.

"The Divine Kingdom seems to pronounce letters completely unlike how they appear."

Jesse merely shrugged, a small grin still faintly present in the light squint of his eyes as he responded to Cédric's dry words.

"Unfortunately, I am not responsible for the different cultural and linguistic differences throughout the continent."

"Cheeky," Cédric scoffed, a little curl to his nose that resembled a light sneer—but his hands were no longer gripping tightly from where his arms were crossed over his strong chest, and his gloves seemed to still be intact and spared from cinders.

And from the very depths of his chest, wiggling around the cage that was his ribs, Jesse felt in his heart spark the existence of a small, mischievous urge to throw back a quip.

"That still isn't my name, Prince Cédric."

"You," Cédric deadpanned, and the resurgence of Jesse's grin could've lit up the entire garden.

"Neither is that."

"Prince."

"That one, too, isn't—"

The warm leather of Cédric's glove had quickly reached out to slap itself over Jesse's mouth.

Benjamin and Ganael gasped loudly behind them. Though Ganael, the traitorous teen, immediately stifled out a laugh before promptly disguising it under an ashamed cough.

With the Imperial prince's palm sealed over his lips and his fingers gripping the sides of his cheeks—thumb separated from all the others—Jesse was certain that, even then, Cédric would still be able to feel his smile through the material of his glove.

The black of Cédric's leather was a stark contrast against Jesse's pale skin, and it only served to make his amethyst eyes glitter more vividly—squinted in so much mirth, not a single audible laugh was needed to know that the Royal prince would be laughing, had he been allowed to.

(And for a second, Cédric's breath caught, his hand so large it felt like Jesse could've been made glass, knowing just how different their gap in strength was—though Jesse's lips were plush and so very soft as they quivered beneath his palm, and for some reason that fact alone managed to seep all of Cédric's strength away.)

It was an undignified sight for the two princes, Imperial and Royal, to be caught in such an odd predicament in the middle of plain sight. One could only imagine the sort of gossip that would arise from seeing the Crown Prince grabbing the face of a Royal Priest in such a scandalous manner.

But no matter how much Benjamin and David called from the sidelines reminding them to watch over the image of the Imperial Family, they were ignored—the princes much too distracted by the other's gazes.

"Prince Jessie," Cédric would lowly growl, though without any real heat, as he reverted to old Riesterian habits. "Stop. laughing."

And Jesse could only let out an amused huff, his smile still squished underneath the other prince's palm—though the grip of Cédric's hand around his face remained light when Jesse nodded.

When Cédric eventually, cautiously, let go, Jesse merely took to smiling up at him, his gentle amusement still very much present in the curl of his eyes and lips.

But even so, Jesse refrained from correcting Cédric again on how to pronounce his name.

(And Jesse, a little sheepishly, didn't exactly find himself minding it.)

The Riesterian pronunciation of his name was rather lovely.

4.

"Squirrel."

Christelle's face twisted upon hearing Cédric's voice, and she scowled.

"Are you calling me a squirrel?"

The frown that Cédric responded with to the Rambouillet heir was smouldering.

"It would be flattering, y'know, if it came from anyone but you."

"When have I ever mentioned this being about you?"

"Then who—" Christelle's eyes trailed to the side, where Jesse was walking alongside her mother Isabelle, Johann, Sand, and Joanne—the latter whom was teasing the priest about how round his cheeks were when he ate so happily.

… Okay, fine. Very much like a squirrel, Christelle had to admit. A very, very cute squirrel—that's what Prince Jesse was like.

But still, she huffed. "I think Prince Jesse fits a moon rabbit, more. Or maybe even a newborn deer."

Cédric openly scoffed at her words, and Christelle's brow twitched.

Wow. She was really spending the wonderful evening in the Gigolt night market with this overgrown brat, wasn't she? It was good that the others were further away enjoying themselves despite the heat of the desert, because Christelle was certain that just being near Cédric would warm the temperature even more.

Christelle was about to throw another quip at the Imperial prince in disguise, before she saw the look on his face and felt her mood darken.

"You…" Christelle started, sending him an accusatory look before she remembered a bit of her manners. A prince was still a prince, after all, no matter how annoying they were. "Your Highness, why do you look like you're seriously considering my deer comment in such a suspicious manner?"

"What deer comment?" came Jesse's voice not too long after, nearly jolting Christelle out of her skin. There might be a lot of people around them in the night market, but it was still startling!! Though she gratefully accepted the meat skewer he handed her, of course (she didn't know when he had ever gotten the skewers, but she could see Johann a little further away, putting his money pouch back into his robes).

Christelle cautiously looked back at Cédric, only to find the ether pig slowly looking Jesse up and down, a glint in his eyes that she would very much rather not describe right now.

".......... Prince Jesse, let's go somewhere else, shall we? See those performers right there? They're dressed as clowns right now, but they also seem to be Holy Knights with fire attributes! Actually, you'll find that they're much better than this rotten guy—"

"You."

Jesse stilled, his attention easily caught, and Christelle could already sense the conversation that would play out, and she could've chewed her handkerchief out with how annoying that fire fox of a crown prince looked, sending her that smug smile of his.

"You still call me by 'you'," Jesse sighed, but he almost—Christelle would dare say—sounded fond.

"Jessie," Cédric then said, and his baritone voice seemed to grow even huskier. 

Christelle wanted to cry because it personally grated on her ears.

"Do you prefer 'Squirrel' or…" And the expression on Cédric's face impossibly became even more smug, just then. Not unlike a cat who finally figured out how to get cream.

“'Deer'?"

"..........."

Jesse's face lightly flushed pink, his mouth opening and closing a few times. It was hard to tell if it was due to the desert heat or not.

"D— What? Dear?"

Christelle, no, Ham Ga-In really wanted to cry now. Part 2, Now in Theatres—though there was no way such a cheesy prequel could ever get the green light for a second part in the first place.

This was a night market, no? How could these two even begin to start with their PDA in front of all these people!!!!!!!;!? Fuck her life!!!

(4.5)

Later on, Jesse met a young girl with curly ivory hair and emerald green eyes, to whom he told her to call him "Ahjussi".

She was clearly lost and upset, bawling in the night market like that. But when Jesse, disguised as "Sérénité", asked for her name, she didn't answer.

She merely said she hated him, hated his name, as if the very essence of it was something that she wanted to tear out like hair. It was almost as if there was something else she wanted to hear from him and that she had given him one last chance to remedy it all, but in the end, had failed to deliver it to her all the same.

And then she left, just like that—pushing him so hard he fell on his behind to the ground, fallen snacks becoming dusty, and even punching futilely at Cédric's legs before she had enough, disappearing into the crowds of the night market.

It felt a little like…

(One hundred long nights—far, far away.)

... une chère Amie d'antan.

(The odd sensation of sadness that the encounter left him with, perhaps, should've been the first sign of what was to come.)

5.

The sky was cracked when he died.

Cédric should've seen it coming, when he felt that familiar etheric flow be swept away like a disaster.

He should have seen it coming, when he reached the end of Labyrinthus, only to recoil a step back, nose numbly scrunching up at the thick scent of blood lingering at the tip of his nose.

Prince Jesse.

The sound of his boots across the puddles of clotted blood on the ground sounded hollow in comparison to the ringing in his ears.

Jessie.

"Wake up."

Lithe body cold, arms limps as his thin wrists fell to the ground. The golden shine of his hair had been dimmed with blood, and similar damp splatters had spilled over his clothes. The lips that used to smile at him so warmly were now cold and blue, stained in an unsightly red. The amethyst eyes that shone like stars while laughing at him were now hidden beneath long lashes—tightly shut, as if they would never rise again.

Everywhere he touched was cold.

There was no pulse.

"Sérénité."

There was no answer, either.

"Don't fuck—"

—around.

(The word caught in his throat.)

Just a while ago he had grabbed him by the neck and talked about their future.

It felt like his heart was about to burst—beating so strongly when the one that mattered most could only remain silent.

It hurt so much.

He'd rather pull it out.

If it was only going to cause him pain, it would be better to just separate it from his body.

(It was a reality too hellish to accept. He didn't want to accept it. He couldn't accept it.)

Cédric's eyes burnt hot, and he glowered at the sight of the wretched man in his peripheral, crumpled on the ground a little further away with a cut on his stomach and a dagger in his hands that announced him as the perpetrator.

"I freed that pitiful thing. Be grateful."

A smile full of bloodied satisfaction appeared underneath the hood—

And Cédric saw red.

With a sword that was close to exploding, he butchered an arm and leg into the air—unable to even hear the screams.

(The blood around his feet was only a puddle—but he still felt as if he was going to die drowning.)

+1

They say he had fallen out of a tear in the sky—a single wing on his back, just like an Angel.

Everything about it sounded surreal.

Cédric had held Jesse Venetiaan's limp corpse—felt his cold skin, his nonexistent pulse. Aurélie had even ensured that his body would be preserved—or at least, well taken care of, when they found out the Royal prince's corpse wasn't deteriorating at all. So instead, they surrounded the prince with flowers within his Juliette Palace, and the Empress, his mother, even allowed Eva and Gerrit to pluck the precious purple tulips that had specially been grown on the palace grounds so that they could give them to the prince who looked as if he was merely sleeping.

And Aurélie had read books to him, so very often, right by his bedside. Her beloved disciple, who was the son to the mother that she had never been—up until he arrived one day and became someone who she could affectionately call hers.

And the Royal Prince Consort of the Holy Kingdom had taken him away from them.

(Riester's declaration of war on Venetiaan was immediate—since then, the war between the two countries had been raging on for the entire duration of the four months he had been gone.)

And Cédric always carried it with him—the holy stone necklace that person had gifted him on his birthday.

Once, it had been the most beautiful piece of jewellery in the Imperial Palace. Now, it was cracked and empty, embedded with preservation magic that would prevent its further deterioration, even with damage already done. It was something that man had given him, after all, and so there was no fitting place for it to remain, other than beneath Cédric's shirt, hanging right near his heart where it swayed periodically, mimicking a heartbeat that couldn't be found anywhere on the continent—

Until it could.

The sky that had been dark for entire months suddenly cleared, ceasing in striking the Holy Kingdom from the heavens;

Divine beast that had been in a deep sleep, finally awakening at the slightest pulse of familiar ether, ignoring the precious body resting amidst flowers in the cold palace in favour of looking East;

There, at the borders near the Honing Village which had become a military outpost—a brown-haired man dressed in peculiar clothing, with a pretty face and a nice, familiar voice that evoked longing;

The shyly muttered name of 'Heineken', as if embarrassed;

—and Charlemagne, his loyal horse who recognized that man faster than he did.

The first time Cédric saw him, Cédric wanted to reach out and break that volunteer's neck as soon as he stretched out his lithe hand—even if the man was innocent.

He thought of that unknown fool as an arrogant commoner.

He thought—

(Cédric had never drank alcohol in his life, but at that moment, it felt like he knew intimately what it was like to be drunk.

He had hardly been sane. It was hard to be, in that situation. He had gone five months without receiving a single priest's either, relying solely on the power of the Sword of Wisdom from the Flaming Star—so after feeling the brief but clear ether that couldn't have belonged to anyone but his prince, the only thing his mind could do was chase after it, unable to even think of anything else.

He didn't care if his body was torn and bleeding. Because he knew what he felt and he knew it couldn't have been anyone but——

'Eunseo.'

The memory of a blonde man reaching for an unusual place torn between the dark autumn sky.

"They say he had fallen from the sky," David, ever the dutiful attendant, told him.

——And Cédric finally knew.)

Dashing south to follow the carriage Bacary had sent him on, after several months of dark, starless skies, Cédric finally found himself as a flare reaching to grasp at the long-lost moon.

"... You."

The brown haired man stared up at him with a deer-in-torchlight expression that was all too familiar, and Cédric's heart lurched.

"Why..."

Why didn't you tell me?

Why didn't you tell me sooner—

On that beautiful pale face, a wobbly, hesitant grin that he knew too well, mustered itself together to greet him.

"... Always with the 'you', Prince-nim," he said, guilt and apology and relief deeply engraved into his voice, and Cédric wanted to strangle Jesse Venetiaan so very much.

That hair which used to be golden blond was now a neatly combed brown. The precious amethyst eyes were also no longer in sight.

But his voice—the very moment Cédric heard it, even if he didn't want to acknowledge it, back in Honing—he had known it was the same.

"Are you going to leave again?"

"What?"

"Are you going to abandon this place again?" —Abandon me?

"Prince Cédric, I didn't want to die. I didn't leave because I wanted to, which is why I did my best to come back—!"

Franticity and hysteria arose within the both of them—they could sense it in each other's voices, in their respective postures. Emotions that have been left simmering since four months ago finally reached the bottleneck and desperately wished to be let out, and between the two of them—desperate, tired, exasperated, relieved—Cédric allowed himself to admit he caved in first.

"Prove to me that you won't be leaving again."

Brown eyes that were both foreign yet so familiar, finally met his.

It was an urgent situation, but that guy still found the energy to smile, eyes crinkling sadly, happily—and suddenly it felt like there were stars, again, in the sky.

Cédric hadn't realized how dark it had been, until now.

"... Do you remember my name?"

The familiar words, said in a teasing tone that he had long missed, were almost enough to make Cédric roll his eyes.

But Cédric ignored the cheeky, grinning visage before him for now, and he finally dropped himself onto one knee, kneeling before the only one in existence worthy of such a right.

[ "Imperial Descendant of the Great Riester Empire and son of Frédérique Riester." ]

Cédric spoke slowly, clearly, watching raptly as Jesse's eyes began to shake—widening in realization.

[ "In the name of Cédric Mercedes Riester, I propose to make a covenant." ]

"Wait. Your Highness—"

[ "You will be my patron saint, my Holy Guardian, and I will walk down the same path as your soul for all of eternity." ]

"Prince—!"

Cédric grabbed hold of Jesse's warm hand, planting a soft kiss over the knuckles—and Jesse's voice stuttered at once in his chest, the air punched out of him so seamlessly he was left breathless.

"Sérénité," Cédric said, voice so unusually soft, reverent, so unlike anything and everything it has ever been like before, as if his words were melting into honey with every kiss he brushed onto Jesse's skin.

"Make a Holy Contract with me."

Looking up, he realized those brown eyes had become purple—traces of the Almighty God's blessing, swirling back into existence as Jesse released his ether, spinning around them in a bright golden circle.

Jesse's expression was pinched, however, crumbled in a way that made it clear he was thinking deeply about something, teeth contemplatively chewing on his lip.

"Your Highness…"  he eventually said, a quiet chuckle finally escaping him, almost a little exasperated—almost a little fond. "I know you gave me that title yourself, but it's still not my name.."

This time, as he let out a sigh through his nose, Cédric truly did end up rolling his eyes.

"Jesse Losna Veneti—"

"Jung Yeseo."

Cédric stilled—looking up to meet a soft, gentle gaze, the same one that stole his breath countless times ago in the past.

"Could you… call me that instead?" Jesse— Jung Yeseo smiled, a quiet, almost fragile little thing.

It was a combination of names Cédric had never heard be paired together, not even once before in his life. But he knew by now, that Jesse wasn't exactly Jesse, and that the priest hid so many secrets from him while pretending to be the prince he was not—but it also meant that Yeseo, even if it was just a small part of him, even if it was just by the way the names were similarly pronounced, was still a part of the Jesse Venetiaan he had known for a whole year and yearned for during four bleak months.

"Jung Yeseo," Cédric finally murmured, testing the sound of the name on his tongue.

It felt a little odd, foreign vowels and consonants unfamiliar in his mouth, and even more odd, because despite everything it felt so naturally right.

"Jung Yeseo."

But now, as he knelt before Jesse, he could only reminisce over their first meeting—not on the balcony the evening of the Spring Ball, but the very first time the Royal prince had spotted him in the training grounds, from all the way up by his window in Juliette Palace, where two little suns met the moon.

"Become my soul companion."

I will never let you go.

(It was the first time that name had been spoken in this universe, by someone other than its owner.)

Yeseo's smile was enough to brighten an entire night sky—a silver crescent that had finally returned to its place amidst the stars.