The palanquin's polished wood gleamed under the midday sun as it rolled forward, its rhythmic creaking marking time like a metronome. Regulus adjusted his grip on the carrying poles, his shoulders burning with familiar strain. Nyx had apparently grown bored of the self-propelling enchantments—or perhaps she simply enjoyed watching him sweat.
A new sound cut through the forest quiet—ragged, wet panting coming from his left. Regulus turned his head to see Dimos, the boy's small frame trembling with effort as he pushed against the palanquin's side. The kid couldn't have stood taller than Regulus' waist, yet he was putting every ounce of his being into moving the impossible weight.
"Dimos," Regulus said between measured breaths, "you good?"
The boy's head snapped up, his dirt-smudged face twisting into something between a snarl and a grimace. "What do you think?" he spat, his voice cracking mid-sentence.
Regulus opened his mouth to retort, then closed it. The kid had a point.
The memory of how Dimos had come to be here flickered through Regulus' mind like a half-remembered dream. He could almost see it—Vespera's crowded streets, the scent of roasting meat and spilled ale thick in the air, the way the boy had been snatched from the shadows of an alleyway while his parents bartered for grain. Then the cart ride, the ropes biting into his wrists, the cold realization that no one was coming for him.
Dimos had escaped, of course. Because Dimos was the kind of kid who always escaped. He'd slipped his bonds, stolen a knife, and vanished into the wilderness, surviving on stolen apples and the occasional unlucky rabbit.
And then he'd tried to pick Nyx's pocket.
Regulus still remembered the way the goddess had looked at the boy—not with anger, but with something like amusement. She'd dragged him along, not out of kindness, but because she found his scowling defiance entertaining. And because, as she'd put it, "Every moth needs a smaller moth to torment."
Now, Dimos pushed against the palanquin with all the fury of a boy who had been wronged by the world and was determined to make it everyone else's problem.
The palanquin's curtain twitched aside. Nyx's voice floated out, honeyed and dangerous: "Are my precious moths tiring already?"
Dimos immediately straightened, wiping his brow with exaggerated vigor. "No ma'am! Just... building character!"
Regulus bit back a laugh at the kid's survival instincts. Smart boy. Annoying, but smart.
The curtain fell back into place as Nyx hummed her approval. Dimos shot Regulus a look that clearly said this is all your fault before returning to his futile pushing.
Above them, a lone finch darted between the branches, its song bright and careless. The road stretched onward, its destination no clearer than Dimos' future. But for now, they pushed forward together, three unlikely travelers bound by circumstance and the whims of gods.
Nyx's voice rang out, bright with mischief. "Little moth! How is your new squire treating you?"
Dimos' head whipped up so fast his neck cracked. "I am no one's squire!" he protested, his voice cracking mid-sentence. His small hands clenched into fists against the palanquin's lacquered wood.
Regulus didn't miss a beat. "Terrible," he sighed dramatically, adjusting his grip on the poles. "Because it means I can no longer make you moan at night."
The forest seemed to hold its breath. A leaf drifted lazily between them as Dimos' head swiveled toward Regulus with mechanical slowness, his eyes wide with horrified comprehension. His mouth worked soundlessly like a fish pulled from water.
Inside the palanquin, Nyx's smile shifted - not wider, but sharper, like a blade being turned to catch the light. "Oh?" The single syllable dripped with dangerous amusement. "So my little king has grown defiant?"
Regulus grinned, unrepentant, sweat glistening on his brow as he matched Nyx's playful tone. "Not at all," he countered easily. "I am merely telling the truth." He winked at Dimos, whose face had become a masterpiece of conflicting emotions - terror warring with reluctant admiration at Regulus' sheer audacity.
The silence stretched for three heartbeats before Nyx's laughter spilled from the palanquin, rich and uncontained. "Oh-ho! The mouse grows teeth!" Her hand emerged from the curtains to pat Regulus' cheek with mocking affection. "Tell me, little king, do you enjoy playing with fire?"
Dimos had gone preternaturally still, his small frame pressed against the palanquin as if hoping to disappear into the wood grain. His wide eyes darted between them, clearly calculating whether he should run now or wait for the inevitable explosion.
Regulus merely adjusted his grip again, his grin never faltering. "I've found some fires are worth the burn."
Another beat of silence. Then Nyx's fingers snapped, and suddenly the palanquin felt twice as heavy. "Then you won't mind carrying extra weight," she purred before letting the curtain fall shut again.
Dimos mouthed 'what is wrong with you' at Regulus, who responded with a shrug and mouthed back 'worth it'. The finch above them chose that moment to take flight, its wings beating frantically as it fled the palpable tension rising from the road below.
The oppressive silence broken only by the crunch of dirt beneath their feet and Dimos' shallow, disbelieving breaths. The boy leaned closer, his whisper barely audible over the rustling leaves.
"Were you just bragging?"
Regulus smirked, shifting the weight of the poles on his shoulders. "No," he said, voice low and conspiratorial. "I said nothing but the truth." He glanced toward the palanquin's drawn curtains, then back at Dimos with a wink. "In fact, she loves my hands so much that she asks for it every night."
Dimos' face twisted in horrified fascination.
"Even lets me stop calling her 'Lady Nyx' so she can get it."
A strangled noise escaped the boy's throat. Inside the palanquin, there was a sudden, ominous silence—the kind that came before a storm.
Then, like the crack of a whip, Nyx's voice cut through the air.
"Regulus."
Not little moth. Not my king. Just his name, sharp and unamused.
Dimos flinched so hard he nearly dropped his side of the palanquin. Regulus, however, only grinned wider.
"Yes, Nyx?"
The curtains trembled. The air grew thick with the scent of ozone.
And then—laughter. Rich, delighted, dangerous laughter spilled from inside, the sound sending a shiver down Dimos' spine.
"Oh, you wretched little liar," Nyx crooned. "You'll pay for that one."
Regulus' grin didn't falter. "Looking forward to it."
Dimos, caught between awe and terror, could only whisper:
"You're insane."
Somewhere above them, a lone finch took flight—as if even the birds knew when to flee the coming storm. And Regulus spoke up.
''But Nyx, I didn't say anything untrue did I?''
The palanquin came to an abrupt halt as Nyx's hand shot through the curtains, seizing Regulus by the collar. Her eyes burned with dangerous amusement as she pulled him nose-to-nose with her.
"Clever little moth," she purred, her breath warm against his lips. "You didn't lie. But you let him believe something far more... entertaining than the truth."
Dimos had gone completely still, his small hands frozen on the palanquin's frame. The forest around them seemed to hold its breath.
Regulus met Nyx's gaze without flinching, his smirk never wavering. "And what is the truth, then?"
Nyx's free hand came up to trace his jawline with razor-sharp nails. "That these hands of yours," she murmured, "are only good for one thing - massaging my feet after a long day of tolerating your insolence."
A beat of silence.
Then Dimos exploded. "THAT'S WHAT YOU MEANT?!" His voice cracked spectacularly as he threw his hands up. "I thought-! You made it sound like-! Gods damn you both!"
Nyx's laughter rang through the trees as she released Regulus, her eyes gleaming with triumph. "Oh, but his face was worth it, don't you think?"
Regulus straightened his tunic, still grinning. "Every second."
Dimos looked between them, his expression cycling rapidly from outrage to betrayal to grudging admiration. "You're both monsters," he declared, before stomping ahead to kick at a pebble in the road.
The finch that had been watching from a nearby branch chirped once - a sound suspiciously like laughter - before taking flight. Nyx settled back into her silken nest, still chuckling to herself as the palanquin began moving again.
Regulus adjusted his grip on the poles, his shoulders lighter despite the weight. Some fires were indeed worth the burn.
And so they continued down the path - the unrepentant King, the terrified boy, and the goddess who delighted in them both - their shadows stretching long behind them in the afternoon sun.