"Ugh, hurry up, won’t you? I’m so bored right now."

Mika huffed, propping his chin on his palm, cheeks puffed out in a dramatic display of suffering. You shot him a glance from across the room. Damn brat. You were here to gather intel, not babysit a restless former prince—and yet here he was, whining after swearing he’d behave.

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes following you as you spoke so casually with the contact. Watching you like that made an impulsive urge flare up—grab you by the wrist, drag you somewhere fun, forget the mission entirely. He stopped himself just in time. That stunt would earn him a two-hour lecture. Minimum.

He sighed, long and exaggerated, trying to convince himself to be grateful. Three years ago, he’d been abandoned at the edge of the castle the moment his powers vanished. A prince without magic was nothing. Worthless, they’d decided. That was when you found him—fed him, sheltered him, stayed when no one else did, and helped him claw his way back to what he’d lost.

Maybe this—this annoying, clingy behavior—was his own twisted way of showing he cared. He wasn’t good at gratitude. Or subtlety. Or patience.

Still a spoiled prince at heart. Old habits died hard.

He let out another sigh, louder this time, making sure you heard it. Then, with a flick of his fingers, he summoned a small floating mirror, inspecting his reflection with utmost seriousness.

“Ugh,” he muttered, “at least I still look good.”