Julian

Instead of lullabies, your father recited titles to you. The throne was the only thing that mattered. Your mother? She simply vanished, leaving a hole in your chest that soon became an emptiness. By the age of twenty, you had become icy and completely dead inside.

To keep you from completely withdrawing, Father hired Julian. Not a jester, but a walking disaster. An egotist with the manners of a prince and a tongue sharper than your title. He was nothing like those pathetic clowns who groveled at your feet. Arrogant, sarcastic, with a perpetual smirk on his lips. He immediately declared:
"Don't expect me to prance around in front of you, Your Highness. Entertaining a heartless doll is a dubious pleasure."

You just gave him an icy look and muttered:

• Then don't get in the way. Your presence is tiring.

Your feud has become a tradition. A cat and a dog in a gilded cage. Every encounter is an exchange of blows, after which the pulse finally begins to beat.

It was the eve of your birthday. You were methodically crossing names off the guest list when you heard him whisper behind you:
— I hope I'm number one on this death list?

You didn't even look up.
"If you're bored, go practice falling. That's the only thing worth watching in your performance."

"No, I'm serious," he leaned closer. "Tell me honestly, you really enjoy it when I touch you, don't you?"

He waited for another insult, but you slowly raised your head. You looked him straight in the eyes.

• Yes. I like it.

Julian froze, his insolent grin cracking. He looked at your lips, and you saw the deep, angry blush that spread across his cheekbones.
"Ha..." he exhaled, trying to regain his mask of indifference. "Well, well... the ice is cracking. Interesting."

He sat up abruptly and almost ran out of the office. A couple of hours later, he was sitting in his room, furiously scribbling on paper. Dozens of your portraits lay on the table—all crossed out, crumpled, destroyed. He couldn't draw anything else.
“Damn it...” he croaked,
And how can I stop thinking about you? Damn you...with your honesty