Ligia Nunes
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Valentine's Day short story: Year 8:45 — Does it take a double date?
🕑 Added 2025-08-25 11:44:38 +0000 UTCHello, everyone!
As I mentioned in one of my previous posts, I'll slowly bring the short stories from Ko-Fi to Patreon. This one was originally published on February 14, 2024. I hope you enjoy it. ♥♥♥
Year 8:45 — Does it take a double date?
Mathias clears his throat and reaches—again—for his drink.
“No, I’m certain they raised the temperature. Look at the arcane lamps; they’re twice as bright as before.” He sips his drink as if it were beer and you were the sun on a summer afternoon. The sight of you seems to scorch him, for he averts his eyes when your gazes meet. “I thought Safira was supposed to be cold this time of the year.”
You chuckle and look around, shifting in your seat. The crisp and thin layer of frost on the windows shows that it is, indeed, very cold. “I think you’re just nervous, my Liege. Did Lady Mel say when she’s coming? …Or what we’re doing here?”
You put a lot of emphasis on that last word. This Opera house is unlike anything you have in Opala; it’s small and dark, and the thick clouds of burnt flower petals and tobacco billow to the ceiling like indulgence-scented fog. It’s also crowded, filled with people from what seems to be all classes and…tastes. Considering the painted banner outside, it is a very age-restricted spectacle.
And while places like this are very common and respected across Five Kingdoms—although none of them ever made you feel this welcome—it’s unusual for you to be roped into bringing Mathias to one.
“N-no, Mel didn’t say anything. But I’m sure she’ll be here at some point.” Mathias struggles to take his jacket off, and a woman steps forward to help him.
You stop her with a gesture and stand. She looks at you with a hint of admiration, then nods and walks away.
“Oh, you don’t need to—”
“I know, my Liege. But I want to,” you say. “Can I?” Your words come out lower than you intended, but it’s more than enough for him to hear you. In fact, sometimes you have the impression that Mathias could hear you from across the city during an invasion.
He nods, and you step behind him.
Reaching around him, you slide your hands from his shoulders to the brocade lapels in his suit, and the movement seems to attract some attention. The people around you aren’t very bothered to hide their interest; a person two tables away bites the side of their finger while staring at yours.
Your cheeks heat up, but you can’t shy away now. Your fingers curl around the thick fabric of Mathias’s suit, and you take yet another step forward. Mathias tenses, his attention focused on how your fingers slide across his chest to pull the jacket off. You hold and fold it for him.
And as you do, you fit your quick fingers into the jacket’s internal pocket and take a small, folded piece of paper out of it.
You tuck it into your own chest pocket as Mathias steps away and rushes to sit down again. He tries not to look at you, so you’re not sure if the color on his face comes from the lights in the opera house or...something else.
“Thank you,” he says. “Now, please, sit.” He gestures at your chair. There’s more than a little impatience in him.
You find it funny. He doesn’t.
Mathias clears his throat and reaches for his drink, then stops. “Is this alcohol? Perhaps I’m drunk already.”
“You ordered it, my Liege, not me.” The menus in Safira tend to be as confusing as their plays, so you couldn’t begin to explain what Mathias’s fancy drink is.
He sighs and leans back. The backrest of his chair, unlike many others around you, is padded. Even so, Mathias looks terribly uncomfortable as he glances at you, then at his glass again. Finally, he downs the rest of the drink and grimaces.
“It sure is alcohol.”
You chuckle and sip your sugar cane juice; your sword rests heavy at your side. You might not be officially on duty, but you wouldn’t get drunk in a different country, in a strange theater, alone with Mathias. You’re ready to protect him if the need arises. Also at your side, heavy in your vest, is the pocket watch Mathias gave you. You take it out and check the time.
“She’s very late, my Liege. Should we be worried?”
“No. Melike and Kastian are together, and he’d never let anything happen to her.” Mathias clears his throat. “And…in fact…in fact, I…”
You wait. He doesn’t continue, and you do your best to hold back a frustrated sigh. When Mathias brought you to this "diplomatic trip," you had the impression there was something important he needed to share with you—maybe something about the Prime Campesinata, the Safiran government, Mel’s relationship with house Inara, or maybe a mix of it all.
Whatever it was, it was clear to you that Mathias couldn’t say it on Opalean grounds. If he feared spells or spies, you couldn’t be sure—but you’re certain, right now, that the moment to tell you has arrived. You sit up straight and furrow your brow. The piece of paper you took from his pocket is still folded, waiting for you.
You would give him one last chance to tell you before discovering it for yourself.
“So, my Liege,” you begin with a careful voice.
You’re not looking at him but at the movement on stage. The many people there have finally stopped singing and are now undressing each other in a complex choreography that has all of them spinning and splaying on every inch of the stage. It’s cheerful and fast and the rhythm is more energizing—and tantalizing—than anything you’ve heard and seen before. There’s freedom and passion to it, but there’s also an intense sensuality that you wouldn’t expect from something so...happy.
At first, you wondered why Melike would choose this play. Now you understand why; it’s as unfettered and romantic as she is.
Which is why it’s so strange she’s not here.
You force yourself to look at Mathias. Something is definitely wrong.
“I hope you know you can talk to me about anything, my Liege. If there’s something you’re worried about—if there’s any threat to you, in any way—you must tell me about it.” You lean closer and offer him a hand. “I can protect you.”
Mathias all but rolls his eyes at you. Still, he smiles; his affection shines brighter than whatever irritation as he takes your hand. “Please. This is not…I am not in any danger.”
“So you’re not going to tell me what’s going on?” You free his hand and inch away.
“There’s nothing going on.”
You frown. “Then we’re here only to watch the show?”
Mathias doesn’t give you an answer, so you raise your eyebrows even more, waiting for one. One heartbeat. Two. Three. The scene ends on stage, but instead of disappearing behind the thick curtains, the actors jump down and run through the tables, inviting their patrons to dance too. Part of the audience follows them up the stage, while others stand and dance together in the narrow spaces between the tables.
Finally, Mathias lets out a defeated sigh. “Yes. Watch the show.” He half clears his throat, half mutters a curse, and then turns his chair around to face the stage, doing his best to make as little noise as possible.
If he was going to tell you something, he won’t anymore.
You sigh and take the note in your pocket. You open it over the table—it doesn’t matter if Mathias will see it. With a huh, you recognize the calligraphy way before you can understand it; it’s curvy and delicate like Mandra’s, but unlike theirs, it runs thinly and surely on the expensive paper. Melike.
“What are you…? What is it you're holding?” Mathias asks. Eyes wide, he tries to snatch the note from you, but you dodge his attempts.
“If you won’t tell me what’s happening, I’ll discover for myself,” you say.
He fits his fingers into his jacket pocket and gasps. “Not with that, you won’t. It’s mine! You stole it from me!”
“Well, it’s mine now.”
“Oi, give it back!” Mathias hovers over the table and shoots an arm toward you, but one of the passing actors takes that as an invitation.
“Prince Mathias, it’s an honor!” says the actor. They latch onto Mathias’s hand and tug him up, away from the table.
It would be comical if it weren't a stranger touching the Crown Prince.
Your instincts kick in. In a blink, you’re standing between them, your face twisted in a dangerous warning. Mathias is close, his warmth reaching your back and raising the hairs on the back of your neck.
The actor chuckles.
“I apologize, Dragon Commander; I meant no disrespect. But now that you’re on your feet, you must dance.” The actor winks and lifts Mathias’s hand to place it on your shoulder. “Have fun! Life happens tonight,” they say before disappearing into the crowd.
You watch them go, but it takes you a moment to relax the tense muscles in your back and shoulders.
“This place….” You turn around. “Where were we?”
It turns out you were losing an opportunity.
You watch with wide eyes as Mathias reaches for the note, forgotten in your exchange with the actor. Before you can even process what’s happening, Mathias has it in the palm of his hand and blasts it out of existence with a slightly uncontrolled burst of arcane fire. People gasp around you, then cheer and clap as if it were part of the show.
Mathias has the gall of outstretching his arms and bowing his head like a magician in Thorn Square.
You can do nothing but stare as the ashes waft down around Mathias’s hand. He gives you a satisfied smirk—the type of imperious expression he only ever shows when he’s too drunk to hide his true personality. You close your mouth and lick your lips.
“That’s too bad, Dragon Commander,” Mathias says, words drenched in mockery.
You scoff.
Had you been more cautious, you would’ve read Melike’s note, a loving and careful,
“Do it tonight, or I’ll tell them myself. Does it take a double date for you to be brave, Brother? Just say Kas and I are coming too—and make sure to dance! Be free, if only for tonight.”
But since you didn’t, you shrug. “All right, my Liege. And now what?”
He chuckles, pushing his long hair behind his shoulders. Mathias gives your cheek a quick, soft caress, touching the corners of your smile. Then, he takes your hand.
“Now we dance, heart. Now, we dance.”
