Prince Charming

“The moon is friend for the lonesome to talk to.”

— Carl Sandburg

. . .

“Sorpresa, sorpresa per la mia principessa!” he cheered as he popped up from behind her overlarge, mahogany desk, take out bags from the Heavenly Goods Shoppe dangling nicely in each of his hand as he posed dramatically, “…I HAVE COME BEARING GIFTS!”

Meanwhile, from the wide-open doorway, still dressed in AST’s standard school uniform and matching coat, as well the usual wrist-length gloves, Cassandra only blinked at him, one hand still resting on the doorknob while her bodyguard–Anton… Anthony… was it? –was lingering a few steps behind her as they both stared at him in clear shock and confusion. They obviously hadn’t expected him to be there.

Cue the crickets chirping.

He stood there, still in a welcoming, celebratory pose with both of his arms splayed out, a now strained smile on his face at their prolonged silence.

“Er… cupcakes, everyone?”

Seriously, isn’t his princess going to react–or even say something? Wasn’t she supposed to cry tears of joy or at least have the decency to act happy to see him?!

He… he did bring her favorite cupcakes!

Vanilla and cinnamon, right?

Wait.

Is she just… going to stand there?!

A few hours earlier, before Cassandra comes here straight from the academy for work (seriously, she needs a hobby), he had called Cyan ahead and informed him of his plan to surprise the unica figlia of the Lunamor family since he arrived way ahead of schedule and Cyan had given him the green light to get in the building, laughing hysterically over the phone as he did so.

Now he understood why the little brat was laughing, that little traitor…!

Cyan knew this would happen!

Meanwhile, Cassandra only stared back at him with that atypical, blank look on her face that could mean a whole lot of other things.

"Signorina Lunamor... devo rimuoverlo dall'ufficio o devo chiamare la sicurezza?" her bodyguard suddenly asked when the lady boss didn’t so much make a sound or a single reaction–like a freaking normal person for once.

And when he did process, did translated what the man just said, he immediately turned as white as a sheet of paper, “Huh? W-W-Wait… you'll what?! EXCUSE ME BUT WHAT THE FUCK?!”

Cassandra–freaking finally–let out a huff as she dismissively waved a gloved hand at her bodyguard’s direction, “…Non sarà necessario, Anton. È un mio amico d'infanzia.”

At such a dispassionate response, he made a good show of crossing his arms with a feigned pout, although he was still mindful as to not to disturb the good ole cupcakes (because hell yeah, he recommends these doses of awesomeness and happiness combined, a ten out of ten) from their containers, “Just a friend, princess? Or have you forgotten that we’re supposed to get married this year?!”

Anton’s eyes widened almost comically while his lady boss only shot him such an unimpressed stare. “No need to announce something that’s never going to happen, stupido.”

He clutched at his heart, “So mean!”

“Since when was I nice?”

“Naturally,” he smirked as he placed the bags down on her desk. “…that’s why I got us food to celebrate it being called off! Good thing I didn’t brought you a ring just for you to give back, eh?”

Cassandra casted him one of those irritated glances that eerily reminded him of Colorado for a few seconds but didn’t ignore the treats placed in front of her judging by how her glance lingered at them, “Celebrating this is terribly inappropriate, your highness.”

“But dating your prof and making a big show of it isn’t?” he retorted, shaking his head at her with feigned incredulity, “Man, your morals are getting real fucked up with age, huh?”

She paused.

His smirk widened.

Hook, line. Sinker.

“Never underestimate the power of social media, darling,” he drawled with a shit-eating grin before he whirled away to longue on her seat like it was a throne, “Oh man, you should have seen the look on your grandfather’s face when my dear ole mom dropped the bomb on him over tea–PRICELESS!”

She leaned a bit closer to him, interested. When she spoke, her voice was a tad quieter than normal, so her bodyguard would not hear:

“…did you get pictures of it?”

He howled, nearly doubling over in laughter at that, “Nah but Willie sure as hell does! I’ll have her send them to you later if you want?”

Her lips curled into a smirk, “Grazie.”

Still hovering by the doorway, Anton surreptitiously cleared his throat, making him raise his eyebrows at her in silent question. His answer was only a brief roll of her eyes, making him grin, “So… aren’t you going to introduce me to your latest shadow, Cass?”

From what he remember, the last one fell victim to food poisoning in Celestial Palace, after all. The poor thing… he wonders how long this one will last under her.

“Oh, where are my manners?” Cassandra suddenly says, not quite removing the faint traces of that pleased smirk from her face when she finally turns slightly to address her guard, “Anton, this is Prince Damian of Celestine, second in line to the throne of the United Nations of Albion–he was a childhood friend of mine and my brother.”

Anton hurriedly inclined his head into a proper bow upon realizing he's in the presence of royalty, “Pleased to meet you, your highness. I apologize for earlier.”

Damian waved a gracious hand in Anton’s direction, his smirk shifting into his usual charming grin that the media loved to shoot pictures of, “It’s fine. It was just a misunderstanding, after all… say, can you leave the two of us for a few minutes? I wanted to catch up with my ex-fiancé for a moment. We haven’t seen each other for so long and I just missed her so much.”

Sadly, the man (like any other from the Lunamor patriarch’s employees) is far too professional to appear visibly confused or even uncomfortable at such a questionable statement.

Or as Damian liked to say: killjoy.

“I am afraid I cannot do that, your highness. My orders are not to let the signorina out of my sight at all times,” Anton answers, quite solemnly.

“Oh? Why is that?”

“Security reasons, I’m sure you understand.”

“Wait, so now you can’t have some privacy, not even with little ole me?” Damian asks, laughing a bit too loudly as he directs all of his attention to Cassandra with a well-veiled sneer, “No wonder you decided to cheat on me… with a commoner–no less! The pressure must have gotten to you really bad, huh?”

His only response was a challenging stare.

“Well, are you having fun with your little teenage rebellion so far, darling?” he goaded, his lips curling into a grin that was all teeth.