> I never thought something as simple as proximity could drive me mad, and yet like everything else I had held as a fact, he eroded it as easily as breathing. It was infuriating as much as it was exhilarating, and in those earliest days I genuinely could not decide whether I wanted him close or needed an escape. He threw my perspective of normalcy out the window, and looking back, I spent as much time trying to hold on to my sense of propriety as I did lamenting his refusal to adhere to cultural norms.

Following the tour of the hangar and another hour or so of polite discussion with Menelaus and the others, Arthur had been released to his own devices by the Leos Patriarch, who had been called away to a meeting he could not put off.

As a result, Arthur found himself some thirty minutes later standing in his seemingly freshly cleaned apartments while Circe Leos eyed a set of new attire he had been ostensibly bullied into modeling with the look of a woman on a mission.

For the sake of propriety, she was not alone.

Instead, she had a small army of female staff with her.

Most of them were maids, to Arthur’s understanding, though there was a blonde woman in an ankle-length one-shoulder dress who served as the official stylist and wardrobe manager—which was not nearly as insane as he might have initially thought, his Zacaris memories told him—for Circe herself.

“Turn around, Arthur.” Circe commanded.

Arthur swallowed an objection and did as she bade.

She had dressed him in a black loose-fitting shirt made of some kind of breathable and soft material, which felt pleasantly weighty on his frame without being stifling. The hem went down to his hips, where it met the waistband of a pair of dark gray jeans with a silver-buckled black belt holding them up.

A pair of black combat boots laced halfway up his shins completed the look.

“Definitely the loose long-sleeve, my lady.” the stylist said approvingly. “It defines his muscles well when it catches, and the wind will tease it across his frame most excellently when you’re out and about.”

“I’m not certain if it’s not almost too casual, though.” Circe muttered.

“We could try a tighter fit, my lady, or perhaps an overcoat and breeches over a body-sleeve.”

“In black?” Circe asked with a glance over when Arthur turned back around.

“Of course.” the blonde-haired stylist responded primly. “It’s important that he be associated with House Leos at a glance.”

“He isn’t sworn to us yet, though.” Circe murmured while turning to peer at Arthur without fully seeing him.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Not to overstep, my lady, but from what we’ve all heard it’s largely just a matter of time, is it not?”

“Mmm.” Circe hummed without answering, and while still regarding Arthur critically.

“Does the mannequin have an opinion here?” Arthur asked with a twinge of impatience.

“Not really.” Circe commented idly. “Your only duty is to stand there looking handsome while we make sure you won’t embarrass me this week.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows at her words.

“So, you think I’m handsome?” he teased her.

Circe didn’t even blink.

“If you weren’t, your gene-tailoring would have been an immense waste of money.”

Arthur sighed at her complete dismissal of his teasing and folded his arms across his chest, while pointedly ignoring the appreciative looks he could see coming from the maids in his periphery.

“You’ve already had me try on multiple togas—”

“Chitons.” She corrected with a thoughtful look while he spoke.

“—along with tee shirts, blazers, formal tunics, overcoats, dinner shirts, some nightmare of ruffles I will burn before I wear, and several other things besides.” he continued without missing a beat. “Pick something, if you insist on me adhering to your preferences, and let us be done with it.”

Circe sighed at his words and turned to look down at the almost comically shorter stylist. “I’ll send you a list of what to fill his wardrobe with. These apartments don’t have a walk-in, so make sure it’s arrayed properly. We’ll be out visiting the village for a few hours, so you and the maids will have time.”

The blonde and the maids curtsied to Circe elegantly at her words.

“It will be as you desire, my lady.” the blonde assured her.

Arthur sighed heavily, and waited while the women trooped from the room before turning back to Circe.

“That was painful, I’ll have you know.”

“You’re being dramatic.” she chided while moving closer to idly pluck at the fabric of his shirt with narrowed eyes.

“This isn’t what I imagined when you talked about teaching me your culture.” Arthur said wryly, while he tried not to think about her fingers brushing down along his shoulders, or the fact he could feel the heat of her body at their current proximity. “I somehow envisioned more books and time spent lounging under trees overlooking the water, or burying my head in books in the library.”

“How naive you are, oh mighty Knight, if you fail to appreciate the importance of fashion.” Circe said with a mock-pitying smile.

The memories of Zacaris within his mind told him she was absolutely correct.

Arthur pointedly and studiously ignored them.

“Yes yes,” he declared airily, “I am a profound degenerate, my lady.”

When Circe ignored him and continued fussing with his shirt, his patience ran out.

She was hyperfocusing, he knew.

He lifted his hands to lightly grasp hers by the wrists, and she froze while looking up at him, like a deer caught in headlights. She was remarkably beautiful, he realized a moment too late, and she was extremely close.

Her lips were slightly parted in a surprised inhale.

Arthur felt his pulse quicken and focused on her eyes.

Her wrists were warm and smooth and deceptively delicate despite her physique.

At such proximity, he could smell her. She was like mint, lilacs, and vanilla all in one.

“Now,” he asked far more calmly than he felt. “Can we go?”