"So, if you consider me your partner,

  receive him as you would receive me. If he has

  wronged you at all, or owes you anything, charge that to my account."

  - Book of Philemon, ESV 1:17-18

  If there was one thing Nicodemus hated more than silence, sitting absolutely still was probably it. Nicodemus— in only two days—had gained a new hatred for oil paint and getting his portrait done. He sat down on a stool wearing a cream colored chiton, over that a rather heavy deep purple chlamys, and to top it all off a golden head wreath. This wasn’t his usual style. In fact this entire get up had never belonged in his wardrobe. All emperors or empresses got their portrait taken, and after it was fully dried and revised it would get locked up in a room with the others. Then copies would be made from the master copy. Getting as many details was important the first time. The exact color of his eyes, the way the sun shines in his hair, to the shape of his nose and eyebrows and the small mole under his left eye.

  He felt his back slowly curve and his eyes get heavy, his shoulders relaxed and he could feel himself drifting off.

  “Your majesty.” A voice woke him. He quickly fixed his posture, and turned his head. He pouted, and his eyes got glossy, he mouthed a small "Help me."

  “Good morning. As much as I wish I could, the artist still needs to finish. Would you like a break before hand?” Samyaza smiled.

  “Samyaza, I’ve been sitting here for two days! It’s boring, I told the artist that realistically I could care less how bad or good I look.” He got up and threw off the chlamys.

  The artist squealed and ran to pick it up off the floor. Samyaza laughed. He walked over and saw the painting. Nicodemus was a young man now, no longer a young child. Samyaza gazed over to where he was standing, he seemed to be deep into thought.

  “It’s only one portrait. You’ll survive. I think you look quite handsome. You’re indeed your Father's son. You have his height, and nose.”

  Nicodemus walked over and examined the painting. He was surprised how someone can capture so much just by staring at him. He felt pleased with the painting so far. He even noticed how his dark circles were almost non existent in the painting, it was inaccurate. He threw a gold chip at the artist, the man was quick to catch it and bowed down on all fours. Nicodemus waved his hand in the air, almost begging him to stop.

  “Please, no need. We can finish this tomorrow.” He put on a cloak, and walked out with the other man. The two of them strolled down an empty hallway. Their silence felt nice, although Samyaza walked a bit slower than usual. Nicodemus in the past had been chased down many halls by him, once before even chased through the gardens. It was odd for Samyaza to ever show pain or discomfort.

  “How come you haven’t gotten your portrait painted yet?” Nicodemus asked.

  “I have.”

  “Not recently.”

  “Your majesty, do you forget how old I am?” Samyaza looked down at the boy. Nicodemus shook his head, he knew Samyaza was a lot older than he appeared. He taught his mother how to sword fight, and was her lieutenant. Empress Silas once made a joke that Samyaza came with the land the palace was built upon.

  “Ancient.”

  “ You've hurt me, I may be ancient despite that, I have looked the same for years.” Samyaza clutched his heart, he pursed his lips before turning his head. Nicodemus laughed and cheekily ran forward before turning and stopping Samyaza in his tracks. He crossed his arms.

  “I doubt you looked the same back then, why not take advantage that the artist is here and get a new portrait.”

  “Nico— I do not think my portrait would be the one to matter most. Besides, if you can barely hold still what makes you think I’ll last even longer? At least your hair is black and easier to paint. Mine’s almost white. Wouldn’t that be harder to capture?” Samyaza questioned. In all reality, Samyaza had always had light hair, at least in Nicodemus’ memory. He had mentioned how the first artist tried to find the perfect shade and how many grunts were heard that night.

  “I guess, maybe you’re just upset they keep adding all your wrinkles.”

  “I cannot handle all this torment! I have not one wrinkle or dent on my face!” Samyaza lightly pushed Nicodemus to the side, his chest rose and he pointed his nose up. In the past, Nicodemus didn’t get many opportunities to tease him. His mother would always stop him or summon Samyaza for duty. That was one of his many jobs: to be there when called upon. Samyaza later then became an almost father figure for him, after his birth father’s passing.

  Nicodemus was an only child, and the maids’ and guards’ kids usually played amongst themselves. Truthfully, he had always enjoyed being left alone. Spending most of his time in the palace’s library, or with his father, Nicodemus knew little about people, especially how to read them. He was raised to show respect to everything around him, animals, the maids, guards and especially Samyaza. His father would spend days with him showing him how to read maps, coordinates and learning how to read the stars. Together the two of them would prepare dinner and organize the banquet for when his mother would return from trips. All of that required detailed knowledge and organization, which his father was best at. His father was educated the best he could be, so he tended to value education more then physical strength.

  Emperor Demetrius was rumored to have wooed the Empress with his natural charm. He came from a smaller village in Avernita, not from a known family or riches. Nicodemus loved the story of how his father won over his mother, of course there was some exaggeration at which his mother would then laugh and admit it was false. The three of them became almost inseparable, from holidays, to family trips, Nicodemus' parents always made sure one of them was available to help keep their son in check. When Nicodemus was twelve, Demetrius passed on a night in winter, Nicodemus remembered how his mothers cried. It was the first time the palace was quiet. His portrait was covered and soon put away. It was still unknown how he passed.

  Samyaza took on the role of his father with months passing, nonetheless he refused the crown despite the council offering it. It was the first time the empire had a widow, and many questioned her ability to rule and raise a child. The day of the emperor’s passing, Silas took a vow to never re-marry, and closed off her heart. She raised Nicodemus alongside Samyaza, both taking fair turns in education and teaching him skills. Samyaza became Nicodemus’ first true friend, and although he was lectured and constantly forced to study, the two of them learned to get along and always count on one another.

  Making their way to the gardens, Nicodemus noticed the light steps Samyaza took. He paid close attention to the way he carried himself almost in pain, it was easier for him to hide it earlier, now it looked as if each step needed deep concentration. He ran to him and put his hands on his shoulders.

  "You look sick. I don't mean this as a joke either, are you in pain?"

  "I'm alright. Your Majesty, perhaps will you allow me to rest for a bit? I did save you after all from the torments of oil paint." he reminded Nicodemus.

  "You've been acting this way for a few days now, has Buer not checked on you?"

  "He has, I'll be alrig-" Samyaza coughed, he squeezed his chest and he began to hyperventilate. Nicodemus stepped away in fear, he felt his heartbeat race. He looked around and screamed for help. Two maids rushed over and checked his pulse, sitting him down he tried to not worry them.

  "I'm alright-I- I just needed to sit down for a moment, Nico, go on without me."

  "No! Whats going on? Why aren't you telling me things?" He raised his voice.

  "Your majesty, I’ll be fine. Please excuse me this once, I will explain things soon." One of the maids called for backup, and Samyaza was carried by his shoulders back to his room. Nicodemus stood still and watched. His heart dropped, he felt a wave of anxiety fill his head and body.

  Nicodemus waited outside Samyaza's door, the air felt heavy and his throat itched. Maids walked by offering him a pillow, chairs or even food. He declined them all. Hugging his knees he turned his head closer to the door to hear if anything was going on. Realizing the entire room was sound proof he cursed under his breath. He looked down to the floor. They were clean, shiny and his reflection was visible. He saw himself in the white tiles, his eyes puffy and his nose red. Nicodemus had followed the maids and nurses up the stairs although, he was not allowed in.

  Buer opened the door accidentally hitting Nicodemus' head with the door handle.

  "Who in the Hell- MY LORD! What in the heavens are you doing on the floor?" he leaned down helping Nicodemus get up. Nicodemus rubbed the side of his temple.

  "How is he?" he asked

  "Samyaza will be alright. He needs to rest. My lord, you also must rest. I’ll send the girl to visit you."

  "No need. I will find her instead, where is she?"

  "She went to check on your prisoner. If I may ask, why do we keep that boy alive?" Buer reached in his bag and pulled out a warm bag, he placed it on Nicodemus temple. "It will help the pain. I sincerely do apologize."

  “It's alright, I might have deserved it. As for Micah, I don't know what to do with him. Killing him does not feel right, although setting him free also wouldn't make sense. I should perhaps check on him." Nicodemus bowed quickly at Buer taking the hot pack with him. He felt a bit embarrassed by what had happened, and had high hopes to be able to see Samyaza, then yell at him for not telling him what was going on. But for now, he would allow him to rest.

  The palace was big, sometimes Nicodemus thought it was too big. He always found new rooms and discovered new hiding areas. It had tall golden columns, high painted ceilings and chandeliers hanging down every few steps. Palm trees and many other exotic plants were scattered around, it had high arches that led to doorways and windows. The sea could be seen from the western side of the palace. Nicodemus avoided that side. He made his way into the guest suites, where there were twenty empty rooms. During Avernita's holidays, his parents would invite guests, who each got their own room with personal staff. Nicodemus didn't know when his home would ever be filled again.

  He drew a deep breath, and knocked on the door. If Ruth was there, she would most likely allow him in. He had the capability to open it for himself, although after his last visit he wasn't fully aware what he would walk into. Just as planned Ruth opened the door. She moved out of the way allowing him access into the room. Micah sat down on a stool with his back freshly bandaged up. Nicodemus cleared his throat. Micah turned around and raised an eyebrow.

  "Lo lamento, your Majesty, for now I cannot bow at your gracious appearance. I am stuck keeping my back straight." Micah said, he looked pissed off as if Nicodemus ruined a moment. Instant regret filled Nicodemus' head. He felt the need to turn around and walk out, but before he could Ruth had already stepped out and closed the door. Nicodemus sighed, and turned back around to face Micah. He had his arms crossed and a frown. 'I'm the emperor...why am I afraid of this guy?' Nicodemus thought. He took a few steps inside and faced Micah, both of them made long lasting eye contact. Nicodemus truly had no idea if he had done anything wrong.

  "Hah? So you act all tough and mighty? Vete al demonio Nicodemus. First you act all nice and for once I think, perhaps he isn't so terrible as he seems. Then not once could you have checked up on me?" Micah got up and looked up at Nicodemus who had a blank expression on his face. He huffed and shoved him away. Nicodemus tried to process what had just happened. Twenty-one years and not once had anyone ever raised their voice at him, not once had someone ever laid hands on him or even faced him this directly. He bit his tongue holding himself from laughing. Nicodemus did not know whether to laugh or get angry at this form of treatment.

  "If you wished to see me, all you had to do was ask." Nicodemus stated.

  "Why would I want to see you?"

  "Then why are you upset I did not visit?" Nicodemus tilted his head, his lips curled upwards. He got closer to Micah who was flushed in the face. Nicodemus thought he was a funny guy. He clearly seemed bothered yet, refusing to say why made no sense. Micah always spoke his mind, he definitely wasn’t one to hold his feelings back.

  "I couldn’t care less. I’d much rather have Ruth. She at least brings me baked goods and makes sure I've eaten."

  "Is that so? Are you hungry now? Have you eaten, dearest guest?" Nicodemus leaned in. Nicodemus didn’t know what he was trying to accomplish with getting so close to Micah. He had reminded him of a sulking cat, one could only get so close before claws attacked your face.

  "Alejate!" Micah commanded, he put both his hands up, stopping Nicodemus from getting any closer, the frown on his face became more noticeable. Learning to speak Alvon was never on Nicodemus’ bucket list, never did he think it would be a useful language to learn. Now he had wished he spent some time learning, perhaps then could he have an idea of what Micah was going off about.

  "My deepest apologies. I cannot understand your native tongue. You speak clear Avernician, where did you learn?" Nicodemus stepped back slightly, dealing with Micah felt like handling a viper, although pretty to look at venom would be spit. The other boy did not answer. Nicodemus felt confused. It had only been a week since Nicodemus last visited Micah, with him needing to complete multiple tasks he barely had time for himself. He scratched his chin before reaching out to gently tap Micah's shoulder. The man flicked his hand away. Nicodemus frowned, it was one thing to let him get away with raising his voice, now he was being childish. He thought about leaving, it would have been much easier to open the door and walk away. He owed him absolutely nothing, besides this was Nicodemus’ home. He hated how he felt about the entire situation. It did not sit right with him to just walk away. He thought for a moment, perhaps the boy was just hungry? As delicious as Ruth could cook, nothing is better than a full meal. He sucked up his pride before finally asking Micah to have dinner.

  "Micah. Would you like to join me for dinner?" he felt weird asking a prisoner who was technically his guest, had no freedom to travel and couldn't leave his room, out to dinner. Originally, Micah should have been placed into a cell, and made to eat only scraps and leftovers. Yet now, he was being treated almost like a full guest. He waited for a response. Micah looked down at his arms, the silver cuffs covering his entire wrist. He turned his head back, his voice was soft and his Alvon accent escaped through. Nicodemus was more aware of his accent than ever before.

  He wondered if it was always this strong or only when he was upset. When they first met his voice was pained, he spoke carefully and chose his words. Now Nicodemus felt as if Micah was showing his true self, his unguarded self. He would never admit how funny he thought he was, especially when he was clearly showing no respect to who was in front of him.

  "What would your servants think when they see a prisoner with cuffs out with the emperor? I'm still under strict surveillance."

  "Their opinion does not phase me."

  "I decline. If you want dinner with me, let’s eat here."

  "As you wish." Nicodemus smiled. He opened the door and let himself out. He couldn't help but laugh a bit at the whole interaction inside the room. 'You're an interesting man Micah.' He thought.

  Nicodemus made his way into the kitchen, it was not far from Micah's room. He could have also asked someone to come and take their order, nonetheless, Nicodemus needed a bit of space and time to relax before he had to head back and meet up with the venomous cat. All the cooks welcomed him and offered him all kinds of fresh meats and produce, the servant boys had recently gone out and picked the best berries from the gardens, and much more.

  He asked the main cook if he would have someone drop food off to Micah’s room, explaining where it was and what he thought Micah would probably enjoy most. The staff all looked over as if they heard something foreign. The chef also looked a bit puzzled yet decided it was best to not ask questions, besides it was not uncommon for him to have weird requests of food or dining spots. Nicodemus grabbed fresh hibiscus juice and put some in a jar, one cook handed him freshly cleaned glasses.

  Slowly, he made his way back to Micah’s room, he knocked and let himself in. Micah’s head turned and he made room for Nicodemus on the floor. There was a tapestry laid out and some pillows for them to sit on. Nicodemus felt bad for not requesting a table be put in the room, he made a mental note of it and sat down. They sat by the fire place, it was awkward at first, the two of them both stared into the fire. The crackling sound of the wood was all that could be heard for a while.

  "I did not think you would come back." Micah broke the silence.

  "I like to keep my promises." Nicodemus responded. He handed Micah a glass and poured him some juice, Micah took the first sip. Hibiscus was freshly grown in the garden, it was dried up, boiled down and sweet sugar was mixed into it. It was Nicodemus’ favorite drink. He looked over at Micah who also seemed to enjoy it, there was a side of satisfaction Nicodemus didn’t know he could feel. He reached out to grab the jar as Micah made his way for it as well. Micah pulled his hand away.

  “Please, have some more.” Nicodemus gestured.

  “You first.”

  Nicodemus grabbed the jar, he took Micah’s cup and poured him some more before grabbing his own cup and filling it up. The two of them sat in more silence, this time there was a bit of timidness in the air.

  “I assume my apology was accepted?” Nicodemus raised his glass

  “Not yet.” Micah said.