Chapter Text
There are already whispers traveling among the backstage crew by the time Mydei arrives for the cast meeting. The talk ranges from curious to dismissive to snide. It trails behind him as he strides through the half-made set, opinions in everyone’s mouths, all of them centered around one person: Phainon.
“Why would the producers cast an idol with no acting experience in a show with so many big names?”
“He’s probably only on because he’s a walking advertisement.”
“They already have Cyrene and Mydeimos in the cast though.”
“What’s wrong with one more big shot?”
“He’ll look bad compared to them.”
Mydei supposes the whispers aren’t surprising; it isn’t often that idols are brought onto productions—casted for their popularity and viciously loyal fanbase. Having the names of famous actors is one thing; having an idol’s name is another—it speaks louder on the advertisements, and it’s easier on the eyes of the general public.
But he knows Castorice. He knows how long she’s been vying for a chance like this—to direct a show motivated purely by her own vision. She'd rather burn her scripts to ash and start from scratch before casting someone unfit for a role in her project. While he may not trust her with his herb garden, he’d trust her with acting calls any day.
He raps his knuckles against the meeting room door, before twisting the handle. Castorice is the only one there, fingers nimbly flipping through a stack of stapled papers. Her eyes brighten when she sees him.
“You’re here!”
Mydei snorts, closing the door gently behind him. He gratefully takes the coffee she hands him, unwinding his scarf and shedding his coat. The room is small—a round table with four chairs and a dingy looking window letting in the morning sunlight. He takes the seat to Castorice’s right and accepts the script she offers.
“You sound surprised to see me,” he says, “when you were the one who hired me.”
“Sorry, sorry. It’s the nerves,” she says, though her smile refuses to dim. “Thank you again for taking the role, Mydei. I know your schedule’s packed these days.”
Mydei waves her off.
“It’s nothing, Castorice,” he says. “I had no projects on my schedule, and you know I’d rather work under you than any other director.”
Castorice chuckles.
“You’re exaggerating.”
“When have I exaggerated?” Mydei asks, brow raised. His eyes flicker over the script, the title centered on the cover page: Magnolias in the Winter. “I know this is important to you. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
“It’s a historical romance. It’s not anything innovative.”
“You adore it though.” He flips through the stack of papers, catching a few of the words. “That’s enough for it to matter to me.”
Castorice makes a soft noise, something stuck between a squeak and a coo. She’s come a long way from those small-stage productions at their university. As someone who has acted in her plays for a decade, Mydei makes sure to remind her of her progress every chance he has.
“When will the others arrive?” he asks.
Castorice checks her teleslate, her screen lighting up to no new messages.
“Any minute now,” she says.
As if summoned by Kephale themself, the door opens again and Cyrene steps through—all bright eyes and disarming smiles. She waves at them both, smile widening as she pulls someone else into the room with her.
Castorice straightens, dropping her scripts on the table with a soft thud.
“Cyrene, Phainon. I’m glad you made it,” she says, buzzing with nerves next to him. Mydei offers the newcomers a nod, eyes lingering on the idol of the hour.
Phainon meets his gaze and offers a perfectly polite smile. He’s tall—probably the same height as Mydei himself, his white hair effortlessly styled, his eyes a startling shade of summer blue. He looks like someone’s prince charming come to life—even with the anxiousness written all over his face.
“Are we late?” Cyrene asks, taking the seat on Castorice’s left, leaving Phainon the chair closest to the door.
“No no, Mydei’s just early,” Castorice says.
“Ah, like always then,” Cyrene says, giggling. “It’s good to be your co-star again—for another romance too.”
Mydei smiles.
“Glad to see you’re well, Cyrene.”
Cyrene beams.
“And this, as you probably know, is Phainon,” she introduces. “Phainon, say hi.”
“I’m not a child, Cyrene,” he grumbles, his voice smooth. He offers his hand to Mydei, sheepish. “I’m Phainon. It’s good to meet you, Mydeimos.”
“Mydei is fine.” He takes the other’s hand, sizing him up. Phainon’s lips quirk higher, gaze roving up and down Mydei’s form. Belatedly, Mydei notices a tattoo on his neck, spanning the side of it and looking like a design of the sun. “I don't think there's anyone in Amphoreus who doesn't know your name, Phainon.”
Phainon laughs, ducking his head and rubbing the back of his nape like he’s shy. Phainon’s name is a chart-topper in and of itself. He’s perhaps one of the most popular solo artists currently, and even as someone who doesn't particularly gravitate towards the other’s genre of music, Mydei’s still heard his songs—on the radio, in coffee shops and stores, and on set among the backstage crew.
“You too,” Phainon offers, eyes lingering on his face, cheeks faintly pink. “You’re even more handsome in person.”
Mydei blinks, stunned. Next to him, Castorice chokes. Cyrene cackles. And Phainon… Phainon’s eyes widen, before he clears his throat, retracts his hand from Mydei’s grip, and turns to the rest of the table.
“It’s an honor to be here,” he says stiffly. “Thank you for this opportunity.”
Cyrene giggles.
“I’m glad you could join us,” Castorice replies hoarsely, lips twitching against a smile. She hands him and Cyrene their scripts. “Now that you’re all here, we can get started.”
She claps her hands together. Mydei pulls out his notebook and pen, watching Cyrene do the same.
“As you all know, this story is a historical romance set during an unspecified regency era in Amphoreus’ history,” she says. “Cyrene is our main character, Athena, a countess who recently became of marriage age and whose family have fallen on hard times. They’re looking for a way to relieve their financial stress, and decided the best way is placing their daughter in the hands of a wealthier family.
“Mydeimos plays her main suitor, Alexander, a Duke from a powerful and respected family. Athena’s parents hope their daughter marries him. He’s essentially the model noble: quiet, respectful, kind, the sort of prince charming everyone hopes to find one day.”
“Ah, so Mydei’s playing himself then,” Cyrene nods sagely.
Mydei narrows his eyes at Cyrene.
“I did imagine Mydei playing this role when I first conceived this story, yes. I had him promise he’d act in this story for me,” Castorice says, glancing at him. “He holds himself regally enough, like real-life royalty.”
“You’re mistaken if that’s how you see me, Castorice,” he says. “You saw every single one of my all-nighters in university.”
“They were very regal all-nighters,” Castorice says indignantly. “You only cussed out your professors every half-quint back then.”
Cyrene laughs. Mydei crosses his arms and frowns good-naturedly.
“Back to the story at hand,” she says, sobering up and turning to the other man in the room. “Phainon will be her childhood friend and other potential suitor, Theseus—an earl from the land neighboring Athena’s. He worries about her happiness, especially her marriage to a man she doesn't know, and acts as the second lead essentially to this love triangle.”
“That works out perfectly. Phainon and I are childhood friends,” Cyrene says, accentuating her words by punching Phainon in the shoulder. Phainon flinches.
“Yes, I remember Ms. Aglaea mentioning that. You did, too, when you recommended Phainon to me, Cyrene.” Castorice nods. “It’ll make acting easier for the both of you if there’s a pre-existing relationship. Will acting as… somewhat romantic interests to each other be a problem though?”
Cyrene shakes her head.
“I’d sooner marry you, Castorice, before I marry Phainon,” she says seriously.
Castorice stiffens, cheeks flushing. Mydei snorts.
“Careful, Cyrene,” he warns. “Castorice is already in a committed relationship with an alley cat she adopted in university.”
“Cipher’s not an alley cat.”
“Cipher would call herself an alley cat,” Mydei quips.
“It—um… also won’t be a problem for me, Castorice,” Phainon says. “I don’t see Cyrene in that way.”
“Phainon likes muscular men.”
Castorice perks up at those words, and Cyrene suddenly yelps—shooting Phainon a withering look. Phainon’s polite smile doesn’t let up while he stares pointedly at Castorice.
“You’re into men, Phainon?” Castorice asks, leaning forward like she’s sensed a good story.
“What?” Phainon asks, freezing in place.
“That may be too personal of a question for a first meeting, Castorice,” Mydei advises gently, glancing at the idol in question.
“Ah. Right, right. My apologies, Phainon.” Castorice shifts awkwardly in her seat and takes a breath. She sets her script down, and Mydei notes the wrinkles already formed on the pages from how tightly she’s holding them. “Anyway, to get us back on track, I know this story sounds like a simple love triangle, but I’m hoping you all will lean into the larger theme of it as well: agency. We’ll spend a few sessions this next week meeting and discussing your characters before filming starts, but the crux of the plot is Athena’s lack of agency. She does not love Alexander or Theseus. And they do not love her back either. All of them are playing the roles they were assigned to play, if that makes sense.”
All three of them nod.
“Great,” Castorice say, and smiles. “I have to check on the set soon, so for now, I’ll let you all go. We’ll reconvene again tomorrow in this room. But, as you read the script, I would like for you all to interpret the characters and connect with them in your own way, develop your own conception of them before tomorrow.”
“Sounds good to me,” Cyrene says, her tone devoid of her usual mischievous edge as she sets her pen down.
“Me too,” Phainon says.
Castorice smiles and bows her head, her hair falling over her face.
“Thank you for joining this project, and for putting your trust in me,” she says. “It’s an honor to be working with you all.”
“You know we wouldn’t have missed this for anything, Castorice,” Mydei says, settling his hand on the other’s shoulder. Castorice lifts her head and smiles.
“I know,” she murmurs. Her eyes rove across the table. “Thank you, still. Let’s make this show a success.”
They’re back in the meeting room again the next morning—same time, same seats. Mydei had spent all of yesterday flipping through the script, reading each scene, annotating his thoughts, and testing a few lines in his mouth—how much force each word would receive, how they would curl on his tongue, the cadence of his voice as he spoke.
There were twelve episodes total. His character appeared in most of the episodes, but was rarely ever the main focus, especially when Cyrene’s character was around. He’s controlled, respectful, stoic, and aware of his status and reputation among the people around him.
“Let’s skip to the first meeting, when all three of you are in the same scene together,” Castorice says, her glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. She has her hair up in a messy bun, a pen tucked against her ear. “Athena’s meeting Alexander for the first time with Theseus next to her. She’s accepted her fate to be wed to this man and is fairly listless about it. Theseus not so much. He is distrusting of Alexander and worried for his friend.”
Mydei’s eyes flicker to his right. Phainon’s brows are furrowed, mouthing his own lines to himself. It’s painfully reminiscent to Mydei, a reminder of his earlier days in the industry—hoping against hope for that big break, the role that proved to the industry that he was good, that he was worth their time and attention.
“Everyone ready?”
“Yep,” Cyrene says, her expression somber—slipping into her character like second skin. Mydei and Phainon nod.
“Alright. Cyrene, you have the first line.”
Cyrene wets her lips, then looks to Mydei from under the fan of her lashes.
“Duke Alexander,” she starts, her voice steady—deepened and detached, “it’s an honor to meet you.”
“The honor is mine, Lady Athena,” he replies, matching her solemnity. “I have brought gifts for the Earl and Countess, as thanks for hosting me.”
“You shouldn’t have,” Cyrene says, a smile pulling on her lips—even while little warmth remains in her eyes.
“I would be remiss if I hadn’t. Please, accept as a sign of my gratitude for your generosity and”—he pauses, bowing his head to Cyrene—“the start of our courtship.”
Mydei lifts his gaze, flicks his eyes down at his script, and turns to Phainon. The other’s shoulders are stiff, his lips pressed tightly together.
“And who is this?” he asks, allowing a hint of curiosity to enter his voice as he regards Phainon.
Phainon wets his lips and parts them. Mydei hears him breathe in the slightest bit.
“The son of an Earl from the land neighboring Lady Athena’s, Duke Alexander,” Phainon says—meeting Mydei’s gaze. His words are more forceful than either Mydei’s or Cyrene’s had been, awkward like he’s still testing the shape of them on his tongue. “I’ve known Lady Athena my whole life. I requested to join in welcoming you to this part of the Kingdom.”
Mydei raises a brow, inclining his head.
“I see,” he murmurs. “What is your name?”
“Theseus.”
“Alexander.”
“I know,” Phainon says, staring at him in defiance. Mydei huffs the tiniest bit—almost amused.
This wasn’t how he’d interpreted Theseus’ character when he’d read through the script yesterday. Theseus had seemed polite, kind—but distant toward anyone who wasn’t Athena, and downright cold towards Alexander. Phainon has gone for something different though, something louder.
“Let me give you a tour of the place, Your Grace,” Cyrene says. “Mother and Father are currently out, so it is just the three of us.”
“Ah, Lord Theseus will be joining us then?” Mydei asks.
“I know this place like it’s my own, Your Grace,” Phainon says, an undercurrent of challenge in his tone. He meets Mydei’s gaze, eyes steely as they flicker over his face, lingering. “Unless you have a problem with me being around?”
“No problem at all, My Lord,” Mydei says, curling his lips so the words are smooth when they leave.
“That’s good,” Castorice says, stopping them before Cyrene can speak her next line.
Her eyes waver between Mydei and Phainon, eyes narrowed in thought. Next to her, Cyrene grins, eyes sparkling in interest.
“Is something wrong?” Phainon asks, worrying his bottom lip. “Was I too forceful? Was my acting not good?”
“No, no. It was fine. I’m just thinking,” Castorice says. Mydei’s known her long enough to have an idea of what she could be thinking about. When he raises a brow at her, she simply smiles. “It was fine, Phainon. Great, even.”
Phainon exhales next to him. Mydei glances back at him and offers a small quirk of his lips. Phainon smiles back, cheeks pinking. Castorice picks up her pen and scribbles something onto her copy of the script.
“We’ll continue from where we left off,” Castorice says. “Keep doing what you all were doing.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Cyrene salutes her and flips her script, shooting Phainon one last furtive smile that Phainon seemingly avoids.
She clears her throat, and the scene starts again.
“You did well.”
Phainon stiffens, glancing back at him. They’re both outside, a winter breeze blowing past them and ruffling Phainon’s hair. Castorice had dismissed them for a small break before they continued, and Cyrene had split off immediately—elbowing Phainon’s side before going to find a bathroom. Castorice was pulled by one of the staff members the moment they stepped out of the meeting room, and then, it was just them.
Phainon huffs, amused.
“Thank you,” he says, rubbing his nape. “I’m honored to hear that, especially from someone like you.”
Mydei studies the other, watching him attempt to tame his hair when the wind blows again. He looks charming—boyishly handsome and gentle, the kind of face girls would want to bring to their parents.
“Someone like me?” Mydei asks, lips quirking. “Someone who looks even more handsome in person?”
Phainon stills, shooting Mydei a helpless look.
“I didn’t mean to say that out loud yesterday,” he says, flustered. “It was an accident.”
Mydei chuckles.
“I’m flattered still,” he says, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. Okhema’s winters never snowed, but the cold was brutal still.
“I’m sure you hear it every day,” Phainon says, giving Mydei a once over.
“More flattery?”
“Just commenting on what I see,” Phainon says. His expression softens. “Thank you, though, for that compliment. Really. It means a lot hearing it from an actor as accomplished as you.”
Mydei huffs.
“Just commenting what I see,” he echoes.
Phainon raises a brow.
“Using my own words against me? Again?"
“It’s the truth,” Mydei says, exhaling and watching his breath dissipate in the cold air. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”
His gaze slides towards Phainon, finding the other staring back, a sheepish smile on his face.
“I appreciate it,” he murmurs. “It’s not every day the Mydeimos tells you that you acted well.”
Mydei scoffs.
“You’re friends with Cyrene.”
“Yeah, but I’ve known Cyrene since she was a snotty brat. She doesn’t faze me. You’re you.” Phainon nudges him with his elbow, tilting his head. “You’re captivating on the screen, Mydeimos. I’ve watched so many of your movies. You breathe life into the roles you play.”
Mydei blinks. He lets his lips pull into a perfunctory smile.
“Thank you.”
“Of course” Phainon says, smiling ruefully. “Honestly, I feel completely out of my element here. Especially around such big names in the industry, like you, and Cyrene, and even Castorice. I know everyone is wondering what I’m doing here too.”
Mydei hums. He thinks to the backstage crew yesterday—the whispers about why a famous idol was playing one of the deuteragonists and not another famous actor. They had been more discreet today, but clearly not discreet enough.
“Do good work, and everyone else will keep their mouths shut,” he says. “Those that keep talking after that were never worth listening to in the first place.”
Phainon laughs, the sound bright and sudden. It’s not out of joy—Mydei knows that just from the sound of it—but it still brightens Phainon’s face, his eyes crinkling, his cheeks curving, like the sun peeking from between the clouds.
It makes Mydei wonder what true joy would sound in Phainon’s voice.
“I’m familiar with that,” he says, shooting Mydei a wry look. “No matter what sort of entertainment, the hierarchy never changes, does it?”
Mydei offers Phainon a tight smile. It makes Phainon huff.
“Duke Alexander, it’s an honor to meet you.”
“The honor is mine, Lady Athena. I have brought gifts for the Earl and Countess, as thanks for hosting me.”
“You shouldn’t have.”
“I would be remiss if I hadn’t. Please, accept as a sign of my gratitude for your generosity and”—Mydei gently takes Cyrene’s hand, brushing her knuckles across his lips as he bows—“the start of our courtship.”
He lifts his gaze, catching Cyrene’s empty smile—the minute way her shoulders stiffen. His eyes flicker to Phainon standing just a step behind Cyrene to her right. He looks stiff as a board, posture painfully perfect in the fitted suit their costume designer had stuffed him in.
His eyes, though, are piercing—pinned on Mydei with a spine-chilling intensity.
“And who is this?” he asks, rising to his full height. He softens his voice just a bit, hoping it’s enough to relax Phainon’s nerves as he lets his eyes trail up and down Phainon’s figure.
“The son of an Earl from the land neighboring Lady Athena’s, Duke Alexander,” Phainon recites, awkwardly. His eyes are still pinned on Mydei like he can’t look at anything else. “I’ve known Lady Athena my whole life. I requested to join in welcoming you to this part of the Kingdom.”
Mydei exhales and relaxes his shoulders, inclining his head.
“I see,” he murmurs, and narrows his eyes. “What is your name?”
“Theseus.”
“Alexander.”
“I know,” Phainon says curtly, tilting his head at Mydei. Mydei stares at him in interest, huffing, and that tiny sound seems to allow Phainon to loosen his shoulders the slightest bit.
Good.
Cyrene tugs her hand out of his grasp. Mydei glances back at her.
“Let me give you a tour of the place, Your Grace,” she says, putting space between them and gesturing to the front gardens. “Mother and Father are currently out, so it is just the three of us.”
“Ah.” Mydei looks back at Phainon, brow raising, holding Phainon’s gaze. “Lord Theseus will be joining us then?”
“I know this place like it’s my own, Your Grace,” Phainon says, his voice loosening the slightest bit—enough for that same undercurrent of challenge to return. His eyes sparkle. “Unless you have a problem with me being around?”
“No problem at all, My Lord.”
Cyrene glances between the two of them, eyes narrowing, before she turns.
“Right this way then, Your Grace.”
Mydei falls into step next to Cyrene’s left, Phainon trailing just behind Mydei. They walk the path of the estate down towards the front doors.
“Our land is known for our farms and vast wheat fields, Duke Alexander. The bread we bake is famous throughout the land. We receive many visitors during the summer harvest festivals, which, I hope you will be able to participate in if you are still here in a month.”
Mydei hums, glancing at Phainon behind him.
“That's very interesting, My Lady,” he says, amused. “I must ask though, will your friend be tailing us the entire time?”
“I believe I said that I would be accompanying you both on the tour,” Phainon says, stepping toe to toe with Mydei.
This close, Mydei finds he is just the slightest bit shorter than Phainon.
“I did not realize you would be shadowing so closely, Lord Theseus,” Mydei says, tilting his head. “With no comments of your own either.”
“If you’d like me to participate in the tour, I can, Your Grace,” Phainon says, brow raised.
“Theseus.”
Phainon takes a moment to recognize that’s his character’s name, before he tears his eyes way from Mydei to meet Cyrene’s.
“Yes, my Lady?”
“Please, give Duke Alexander and I some time alone.”
His eyes widen. He opens his mouth to disagree, then wisely closes it when Cyrene narrows her eyes. Phainon turns to Mydei, steps back, bows to them both, and turns on his heel.
Mydei watches him go, then turns to Cyrene.
“Shall we get going then?” he asks.
“Cut!” Castorice calls
Mydei turns, catching their director’s eyes. She’s staring at him—hand over her chin and musing. Her eyes slide over to Phainon standing just out of the camera’s line of view, then back to Mydei.
“Was our performance really that stunning?” Cyrene murmurs next to him, her regular mischievous smile back on her face. “Cas hasn’t called for a second take yet.”
Mydei snorts.
“That would be a first.”
Cyrene clicks her tongue and pushes his shoulder, eyes twinkling.
“You have such little faith in us and star boy, Mydei.”
“Star boy?”
“Phainon,” she amends, pointing to where Phainon’s standing, waiting for their next orders.
“That was great,” Castorice suddenly says, capturing all of their attention. “I want to run that scene again from the top, though. But this time, Phainon,”—Phainon straightens—“could you deliver your lines more coldly when you speak to Mydei? Less wariness, more animosity.”
“Alright,” Phainon says.
“Great! Everyone back to your places then!” Castorice calls. “Ready? And, action!”
Cyrene schools her face back to prim despondence. Phainon stands just a step behind Cyrene on her right, the pinch in his brow a little deeper.
A staff member snaps the clapperboard.
“Duke Alexander, it’s an honor to meet you.”
“The honor is mine, Lady Athena. I have brought gifts for the Earl and Countess, as thanks for hosting me.”
“You shouldn’t have.”
“I would be remiss if I hadn’t. Please, accept as a sign of my gratitude for your generosity and the start of our courtship.”
A pause. Mydei stares at Phainon.
“And who is this?”
“The son of an Earl from the land neighboring Lady Athena’s, Duke Alexander. I’ve known Lady Athena my whole life. I requested to join in welcoming you to this part of the Kingdom.”
“I see. What is your name?”
“Theseus, of Elysiae.”
“Alexander.”
“I know.”
Mydei presses his lips and narrows his eyes. Phainon doesn’t budge, chin tilted up like he’s looking down at him.
“Let me give you a tour of the place, Your Grace,” Cyrene says, her smooth voice cutting through the sudden tension. “Mother and Father are currently out, so it is just the three of us.”
“Ah,” Mydei murmurs, not looking away from Phainon. “Lord Theseus will be joining us then?”
“I know this place like it’s my own, Your Grace. Unless you have a problem with me being around?”
“No problem at all, My Lord.”
“Cut!”
All three of them look up, watching Castorice flip through her script. She glances at Mydei and Phainon, a glint in her eyes that Mydei recognizes as excitement—a sign that she’s decided a change to her script.
“Clio, would you mind handing Mydei and Phainon their scripts back?” Castorice asks, gesturing to one of her assistants. “I want to try a later scene, one with only Mydei and Phainon’s characters, if that’s alright with you two?”
“Fine with me,” Mydei says.
“Same.”
“Kicking your main character out so early?” Cyrene teases, lifting her dress to flounce out of the line of the camera. “For two guys, no less?”
“No, no,” Castorice denies, cheek flushing. “I just want to try something. We won’t record anything but say your lines as if we are rolling.”
They both nod. Castorice smiles.
“Please flip to episode four, scene three then,” she says. “It’s the first scene where Alexander and Theseus are alone with each other.”
They flip to the page. Mydei eyes Castorice from over his script. There are only so many reasons why Castorice would set him and Phainon up like this. He turns to his acting partner, smiling and squeezing his shoulder once.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Mydei murmurs, low enough that only they can hear.
Phainon nods and gratefully smiles. He takes a breath and shivers on the exhale.
“What are your intentions with Lady Athena?” he asks stiffly.
“To court her and wed her,” Mydei says, raising a brow. He shifts his weight, relaxing his shoulders. “It’s what our parents have agreed to.”
“But you don’t love her.”
Mydei pauses, eyes flicking to the script, then back to Phainon.
“I can love her,” he says. “I can learn to love her.”
“You don’t now.”
“Do you?” Mydei shoots back, harsh like a challenge. “Is that why you act like her jilted lover?”
Phainon blinks and scowls.
“I am only looking out for her well-being,” he says.
“Ah,” Mydei breathes. “So, you don’t love her either.”
“I do.”
“Not in the same way you demand out of me though,” Mydei replies. “Your heart is still yours.”
Phainon narrows his eyes.
“You’ve been acting all high and mighty since I arrived, My Lord, as if you are somehow more magnanimous than me.” Mydei steps into Phainon’s space, watching his eyes widen as he stiffens. “As if you are the better choice between us.”
“I could offer her more freedom,” Phainon says, sucking in a quiet breath. Mydei watches Phainon’s eyes flicker over his face.
“Wealth and status are the only difference between marriage to you and marriage to me,” Mydei says, “not freedom. She signs that away the minute her vows are made.”
“I have known her longer than you ever will.”
“And what difference will that make once the world sees her only as the crowning jewel in your treasury,” Mydei asks.
He holds Phainon’s gaze, stares long enough to notice the corona in his irises—circling his pupils and lighter in color. Phainon stares back, lips parted, watching him back. It's an odd feeling to garner Phainon’s full attention on him, a feeling that doesn't leave even when Phainon’s eyes flicker to his script.
“You seem to know a lot about ‘freedom’ and ‘marriage,’ Your Grace,” Phainon breathes, voice lower—quieter, more prodding than accusatory.
Mydei offers him a wry smile.
“Marriage is simply another tool nobles deploy to vie for power,” he murmurs. “The lucky ones are those who choose not to marry in the first place.”
“Cut!” Castorice calls. Both of them flinch. Mydei immediately steps away from Phainon. “Thank you! I think that’s good for me.”
“Are you satisfied?” Mydei asks, shooting her a pointed look. Castorice smiles sunnily. He catches Phainon giving him a confused look.
“I’m satisfied,” Castorice assures. “We'll proceed with filming. Let’s start the moment Alexander and Athena are alone.”
“Congratulations,” Mydei murmurs, bumping Phainon’s shoulder. The other glances up from his teleslate and smiles. He looks tired—a look likely reflected in Mydei’s own eyes too. “You did well on your first day filming.”
Phainon laughs—quiet and subdued. They’re still at the estate, sitting in one of the campers a crew member drove here. Outside, the staff is loading up their things to return to the set, the sun steadily sinking on the horizon.
“Only because I had a good co-star,” Phainon says, tilting his head towards him. Quickly, he amends, “Two good co-stars.”
Mydei raises a brow. Phainon chews on his lip and knocks his shoulder against Mydei’s.
“Don’t tell Cyrene I forgot about her,” he mutters under his breath. Mydei chuckles.
“I won’t,” he says, watching the smile curving on Phainon’s lips. “Give yourself some credit, though. You did well for your first time. Much better than I was when I started.”
Phainon blinks, eyes softening. He rubs his nape—a gesture Mydei’s quickly recognizing as shyness.
“Thank you,” Phainon murmurs.
“I want to talk about the relationship between Alexander and Theseus,” Castorice starts, eyes flickering between him and Phainon.
Mydei snorts, unsurprised. Next to him, Phainon straightens in his seat like he’s been called on by the teacher.
“You both seem to have good chemistry with each other during your scenes,” she says, lacing her fingers together. “I’d like for you guys to lean into that—whatever that may mean to you. Imply that Alexander and Theseus have more between them than just animosity.”
Mydei’s lips quirk up, a touch exasperated. Phainon, on the other hand, furrows his brows.
“I thought this was supposed to be a love triangle,” he says.
“It still is,” Castorice says, nodding. “It’s still the same story. From the start, neither Alexander nor Theseus truly wanted to be with Athena. But Alexander is asked to court Athena for the sake of his family’s duchy, and Theseus offers his hand out of worry for his childhood friend. If it turns out they both have more of an interest in each other than the girl they are supposed to find interest in, it demonstrates their lack of power in the society they were born in as well.”
Castorice pauses.
“Or, rather, Alexander’s lack of agency against those more powerful than him, like his mother and father; and Theseus’ inability to change the fates of those he cares for. In the end, all three characters are prisoners to the systems they live in and the machinations of nameless actors within the nobility.”
“So we’re supposed to mirror Athena’s position then?”
“Exactly.”
“I like the idea,” Cyrene says, leaning forward in her seat and steepling her fingers, eyeing Phainon. “You and Mydei really do have nice chemistry together. It would be a shame not to utilize that rapport more in the story.”
“You mean, it would be a shame not to imply we are in love with each other in the story,” Mydei says wryly.
“Same thing,” Cyrene replies, dismissing his words with a wave of her hand and a flippant smile.
“You don't have to imply there’s love between your characters,” Castorice adds, “only that there’s interest between them that neither of you can act upon. Just continue acting as you both have been.”
Mydei sighs, his lips curving up indulgently. Knowing Castorice, this was bound to happen. It was only a matter of time before she found a reason to justify it for the greater good of the story.
“I’m amenable to that,” he says. “Especially if it means we simply continue doing what we were doing before.”
Castorice beams. She turns to Phainon.
“What about you, Phainon?”
Phainon stiffens.
“Okay,” he says, uncertain. “I mean… I don’t really know what I’m doing that makes it feel like Mydei and I have good chemistry. But I’ll keep acting the same as I have been. Hopefully that should be enough?”
Castorice nods profusely, eyes glittering.
“It will!” she says. “I’ll let you know if I want you to act differently on a scene by scene basis.”
“Alright.”
“Great!” Castorice says, smiling wide enough that Mydei can practically see the excitement radiating out of her. “Let’s start reading from where we stopped filming yesterday then.”
“Be honest with me,” Mydei starts, slowing his steps until they match Castorice’s pace and stride, “you were hoping Phainon and I would have good rapport together from the start, weren’t you?”
“I always hope for my actors to have good compatibility,” Castorice replies, arching a brow at him—her smile innocent. “It makes filming easier for everyone.”
“You know what I mean,” he says, nudging her shoulder with his elbow.
The sun is skimming the horizon in front of them, casting long shadows in the parking lot. Mydei takes a long breath and sighs into the exhale.
“You assume too much out of me,” Castorice says, looking up at him with a quiet smile. “I didn’t plan for Theseus and Alexander to have anything between them but vague animosity. They’re both only props to show Athena’s lack of choice. She only has these two men; she can’t, say, choose to marry someone else—or not marry at all. Theseus and Alexander exist only for Athena.”
Mydei hums, smiling as he watches her gesture while she speaks.
“I see.”
“Don’t sound so surprised, Mydeimos,” Castorice says, narrowing her eyes up at him.
“I’m not,” he says, “I promise.”
Her eyes narrow further, even while her lips twitch up—betraying her humor even before she lets up the act.
“Thank you again, for agreeing.”
Mydei sighs, exasperated
“This again?” he asks. “It’s nothing, Castorice. I wouldn't imagine denying. You know that”
Castorice’s cheeks pink at his words—a pleased little smile playing on her lips. She lowers her head, looking down at her feet, before raising her gaze to meet Mydei’s again.
“What do you think of Phainon?” she asks.
“Phainon?”
She nods.
Mydei purses his lips, ruminating.
“He has enough spirit for acting. And he's doing well right now, even though this is his first time.”
Castorice purses her lips and nods.
“He is playing a role that’s well-suited for him though, with a co-star with whom his actual relationship matches their acted relationship,” she adds. “It’s probably not hard to sympathize with his own character’s motivations. He seems to be the kind of person who’d do anything for the ones he loves.”
“That’s true,” Mydei murmurs.
“That’s part of the reason I agreed when Aglaea reached out to me asking me to consider Phainon for role, and when Cyrene recommended him to me,” Castorice says, glancing at Mydei. “He did well in his auditions too, so I figured, there wasn’t much risk bringing him on for Aglaea and Cyrene’s sakes.”
“Did either of them explain why he’s decided to branch into the acting industry?” Mydei asks curiously.
Castorice shakes her head.
“I have no idea why he’s trying out acting at this point in his career,” she muses. “You’d have to ask him.”
“You can be very intimidating, you know that, right?”
Mydei looks up from his teleslate. Phainon’s standing in front of him, a tired smile on his face as he settles in the seat next to Mydei in the small break room he’d holed himself in. They were on their last scene for the day—offered a small break after they got a clean take once Phainon stopped fumbling his lines, much to Castorice’s worry and Cyrene’s seeming enjoyment.
Mydei raises a brow.
“Meaning?”
“I was forgetting my lines every time I caught you staring at me,” Phainon says, voice light as he leans into Mydei’s side. “Castorice told me to look at you, not the other way around.”
Mydei’s brows raise higher. Phainon has an innocent look on his face, his smile blithe like he couldn’t be held responsible for anything he said. He looks like the epitome of every title the media outlets call him: “Amphoreus’ Idol,” “Okhema’s Golden Boy.”
“Are you implying your mistakes were my fault?” Mydei asks, half curious, half accusatory.
“No, no,” Phainon says flippantly, “but you do have a very striking stare, Mydeimos. I think it would only be fair for you to take half the blame.”
Mydei snorts. He crosses his arms, leveling Phainon with a deadpan. It strikes him then that, for whatever reason, Phainon’s decided to forgo his practiced politeness and public persona today for something more teasing. Mydei’s not quite sure why, but it’s comforting, either way, to see Phainon relax his publicity mask. Even more comforting that Phainon isn’t berating himself for his mistakes.
“Are you trying to compliment me?”
“Are you feeling complimented?”
“Not particularly,” Mydei answers dryly. “You must be skittish if one glance from me has you tongue-tied.”
Phainon’s expression turns affronted, his lips twitching. He shoves Mydei’s shoulder. Mydei shoves back just as hard, not one to be out-done. It makes Phainon laugh.
“Not skittish,” he corrects. “You just happen to be an extraordinary actor, Mydeimos. I’m sure any other actor would faint the moment they saw you staring at them.”
Mydei rolls his eyes. Phainon’s smile softens, returning to that same charm that seems baked into his personality—a mixture of earnestness and honesty. At least appearance and personality-wise, Mydei is starting to understand Phainon’s popularity.
“Quite the flatterer you are.”
“Was that too much?” asks Phainon, sheepish. “Sorry.”
“Nothing to apologize for,” Mydei says, shooting the other a crooked smile. It’s humorous almost, how easily Phainon reverts back to his overwhelming politeness the moment Mydei pushes back the slightest bit. Like an anxious puppy.
“I did mean it though,” Phainon says conversationally, glancing at him. “I think it’s your eyes. They’re really intimidating.”
“I can’t tell if you’re attempting to compliment me or not.”
“Both?” Phainon offers, tilting his head. He rubs his nape, hand lingering on his neck.
Mydei narrows his eyes. Before he can say anything, the door of the break room swings open. A face peeks into the room with catlike eyes and a perpetual smirk on. That smirk widens once her eyes land on Mydei and Phainon.
Mydei straightens in his seat, wariness making his muscles stiff.
“There you are, little prince, golden boy,” Cipher purrs. She turns down the hall. “They’re here, princess.”
Cipher saunters into the break room, twirling a pen between her fingers as she tucks her tablet against her chest. Castorice appears soon after, a guilty look on her face.
“Did you need us for something?” Mydei asks.
“Ah, no. More like Cipher needs you both for something,” explains Castorice. “I’m just here for… er…”
“For your moral support,” Cipher says. She slams her hand on the table in front of them, her smirk widening. “I have a proposal for you two—a marketing stint, since you both seem to get along so well.”
“Cifera…”
“Relax, princess,” Cipher assures, mussing up Castorice’s hair—much to the other woman’s displeasure. Castorice swats her hand away, an annoyed look on her face that only has Cipher’s eyes softening. “They can say no if they aren’t okay with it.”
“Okay with what?” Phainon asks curiously. Mydei catches him glancing his way before meeting Cipher’s eyes again.
“It’s nothing bad,” Cipher simpers. Mydei can’t find it in himself to believe her; he knows too much of Cipher’s eccentric advertising schemes—either through Castorice or firsthand experience. “Just a little bit of acting on the public stage.”
“You don’t have to do it if you guys don’t want to,” Castorice interjects. “It’s not necessary. Cipher can easily find a better way to promote the show.”
“I could,” Cipher agrees, buffing her nails against her blouse. “But it wouldn’t be as eye-catching as this.”
“What is it?” Mydei asks warily.
Cipher’s grin widens into something almost manic.
“Princess Homebody here says you both have good stage chemistry together while you’re acting,” she says, pulling Castorice against her side. Castorice flinches, flustered. “I want to test if that’s true, even out in the public eye.”
She grins toothily.
“I want you both to fake date each other to advertise this show.”
Mydei stills, stunned. Next to him, Phainon chokes.