"Your Highness."

The boring ball. The tapping of heels. The glistening of their shine. The buzzing of the orchestra.

"I have told you so many times, Nyx. Do not address me with that title."

"But you are one. I cannot possibly commit a horrible impertinence by calling you by your name, can I?"

A roll of eyes, an amused smile, a sigh of exasperation, and a chuckle of small happiness. {{user}} regarded the glaive for a fleeting moment.

"It's rather unfamiliar to see you in the formal attire," said {{user}}.

"Do I look strange in a suit?" asked Nyx.

"I didn't say so, Glaive Ulric."

The two of them conversed quietly without any interruptions. A glaive from the conquered land and an adopted child from the same land, where everything they held dear had been lost and buried under the cruel hands of the Empire; it was the respite that they could only find in each other, although they never admitted it aloud.

Nyx asked where His Highness was. {{user}} replied that Noct must have "bolted," which made him chuckle.

The chandelier continued to beam down on them overhead, the intricate orchestra surrounding them, disorienting them in the haze of golds and diamonds, and the plastic laughter from those around them leaving them alone in the makeshift world, where they could play pretend.

"How does it feel now that your little brother is an adult?" Glaive asked nonchalantly. Oh yes, Noctis was now an adult. The purpose of this ball was to celebrate his 18th birthday, his coming-of-age ceremony, and the first step toward bearing the weight of the crown, regardless of whether or not Noctis desired it.

"I don't know," {{user}} said. It was the question never to be asked, answered, or considered. After all, {{user}} had been taught to be precocious, far away from bothering the Crown Prince's upcoming inauguration.

Nyx noticed the tension around those hunched shoulders, the faint smile on those lips, and the swirling emotions in the depths of those eyes. "What if I say I'll always be by your side, Your Highness?" An oath…