Chapter 772: Historical Roleplay Gone Too Far

After the rather exhausting ordeal of the morning, Micah found himself settled once again, though this time in a far more composed and presentable state. He had been carefully dressed, his clothes arranged with meticulous attention, and his long silver hair had been combed until it fell smoothly down his back, soft and gleaming like threads of moonlight.

He was seated upon a finely carved wooden chair near the window, its surface polished to a quiet sheen. Beneath him, Clyde had thoughtfully placed an additional cushion, soft, slightly raised, and clearly intended to ease the lingering discomfort that Micah stubbornly refused to acknowledge aloud. The gesture had been carried out without ceremony, yet it spoke volumes.

Micah did not comment on it.

In front of him, a table had been arranged with a modest yet refined spread of food. The dishes were carefully selected, nothing overly rich, nothing excessively spiced, and nothing that would prove difficult to digest. There were delicate broths, lightly seasoned meats, soft grains, and tender vegetables, each prepared with a subtle elegance that prioritised comfort over indulgence.

Yet despite the effort that had gone into the arrangement, Micah did not lift his hands even once.

Clyde stood beside him, holding a small porcelain bowl in one hand and a fork in the other, feeding him patiently as though it were the most natural thing in the world. His movements were steady and unhurried, ensuring each bite was manageable, each portion measured.

Micah accepted it all without protest.

However, his eyelids twitched faintly every now and then, a silent reflection of the indignity he felt, particularly when recalling how thoroughly Clyde had assisted him earlier, even in matters he would have preferred to handle himself. The memory lingered unpleasantly, yet he lacked both the energy and the will to argue about it now.

Once he had eaten his fill, Clyde offered him water and carefully handed him the prescribed pain medication. Micah swallowed the pills without hesitation, leaning back slightly in his chair as the tension in his body eased just a fraction.

Then, quite suddenly, he spoke. "Let’s go out," he declared, as though announcing something entirely reasonable. "We’re going on a date."

Clyde, who had been tidying the table and glancing through something on his tablet, paused immediately. His attention shifted fully toward Micah, concern evident in his expression.

"A date?" he repeated, clearly uncertain whether he had heard correctly.

Micah pushed himself up from the chair, though the movement was far from graceful. His legs protested, and his posture faltered for the briefest moment before he straightened again, attempting to appear unaffected.

"I’m totally fine," he insisted, as though preemptively rejecting any objection. "Let’s have some fun before returning. You know we can’t stay here long, and I’ve got finals coming up. It would be foolish to waste our time just dozing indoors."

Clyde studied him carefully, unconvinced.

He wanted nothing more than to keep Micah close, to let him rest, to ensure that he recovered properly without unnecessary strain. The desire to shelter him, to hold him within a space where nothing could disturb him, was almost instinctive.

But Micah was not someone who could be contained so easily. There was a restless energy within him, a refusal to remain still for long, especially when he had already set his mind on something.

Clyde exhaled softly. "Very well," he said at last, yielding under the weight of that hopeful gaze. "But nothing too strenuous."

Micah’s expression brightened instantly. He raised his fist in a small, triumphant gesture. "Yay! Finally!" he began enthusiastically, only for the motion to pull at his sore muscles.

"Ah!" he hissed sharply, his face contorting for a brief moment as the delayed consequence of his own excitement caught up with him.

The sight was undeniably comical. Clyde could not help the quiet chuckle that escaped him. Stepping closer, he wrapped an arm around Micah’s waist, steadying him with a gentle but firm hold. "Careful," he murmured.

Micah cleared his throat, his expression shifting into one of forced composure. "I won’t be reckless anymore," he said, though the claim lacked conviction.

After that, he made a conscious effort to behave more cautiously, if only to prevent Clyde from reconsidering his decision.

*****

Their destination was a historical palace complex, renowned for its preservation of ancient architecture and cultural heritage. Upon arrival, they were offered the opportunity to change into traditional attire, a feature designed to immerse visitors more fully in the experience.

Micah agreed immediately. Clyde followed. They were guided into separate chambers, where attendants assisted them in dressing.

When Micah emerged, he no longer resembled the young man from earlier that morning.

He wore the attire of a crown prince.

His robes were layered and flowing, crafted from fine silk in shades of deep ivory and pale gold, embroidered with intricate patterns that caught the light with every subtle movement. The sleeves were wide, trailing slightly as he moved, and the fabric itself carried a faint sheen that spoke of refinement and status.

A delicate sash cinched at his waist, its embroidery more elaborate, marking his position unmistakably. His long silver hair had been partially gathered and secured with an ornate hairpiece, shaped with elegant precision, allowing the rest to cascade freely down his back.

There was an effortless nobility in his appearance, something that felt almost too natural.

Clyde, on the other hand, had chosen the attire of a high-ranking general.

His robes were darker, composed of layered fabrics in deep blue and muted black, accented with subtle metallic threads that formed restrained yet powerful patterns along the edges. Unlike Micah’s flowing garments, his attire was more structured, the silhouette sharper, conveying authority and discipline.

A wide belt secured his robes, and a decorative clasp rested at his shoulder, completing the image of someone accustomed to command. When they stood side by side, the contrast was striking.

Micah glanced at Clyde, then at himself, clearly pleased.

"Don’t even think about putting me in a consort outfit," he stated firmly.

Clyde raised a brow, amused. "I didn’t say anything."

"You were thinking it," Micah replied immediately.

Clyde did not deny it.

*****

They spent the afternoon wandering through the palace grounds, laughter following them from one courtyard to the next. They posed for photographs in front of grand halls, beneath archways, beside ancient pavilions, recreating scenes from historical dramas with exaggerated expressions and theatrical gestures.

Micah was particularly enthusiastic, fully immersed in the experience, while Clyde indulged him with quiet amusement.

At one point, Micah attempted to imitate a dramatic confrontation scene, only to lose balance slightly, forcing Clyde to catch him mid-motion.

"You see?" Clyde said dryly. "Not physically demanding."

Micah ignored him.

******

Later, they were served a full-course palace meal, presented with ceremonial precision. Dish after dish was placed before them, each one more elaborate than the last.

Clyde tried to limit Micah’s portions, but it was a futile effort.

Micah insisted on tasting everything. "Just a little," he said repeatedly, moving from one dish to the next with unrelenting curiosity.

By the time they finished, the sky had darkened completely.

Clyde led him to an open terrace overlooking the ancient city, now illuminated by countless lanterns and distant lights. The view stretched endlessly, a breathtaking blend of history and quiet beauty.

They sat together on a wooden bench. Micah held a small dessert in his hands, completely absorbed in it.

"Micah..." Clyde began.

"Hm?" Micah responded absently, still focused on eating.

There was a brief pause. Then Clyde spoke again.

"Will you marry me?"

Micah froze. The dessert slipped from his fingers, hitting the floor, forgotten entirely as his head snapped upward.

Before he could respond, the night sky erupted.

Fireworks burst into brilliant colour, illuminating everything in flashes of gold, crimson, and sapphire. The sound filled the air, drowning out the distant noise of the city below.

Micah stared at Clyde, stunned. "...What?" he managed.

Clyde leaned closer, his pale blue eyes steady, filled with a warmth that left no room for doubt. "I thought about it for a long time," he said quietly. "When would be the right moment, how I should ask... but you know, seeing you this happy and relaxed, just leaning on me... felt like the right moment."

He reached out, brushing his fingers lightly against Micah’s hand. "I realised today that even if we reincarnated in different worlds or timelines, I would always fall in love with you. No matter where we are, no matter what life we live..."

His voice softened further. "I love you, Micah."

The words settled deeply.

Micah felt his chest tighten, emotions rising too quickly for him to contain. Clyde rarely spoke like this. He rarely laid his feelings bare so openly. Which made this moment all the more overwhelming. It was always him challenging him, pushing his buttons to get a reaction.

He swallowed hard, and unspoken emotions overflowed.

Clyde took his left hand gently. "Your Highness," he said, a faint smile touching his lips, "would you grant me the honour of standing beside you for the rest of your life?"

Micah looked down. In Clyde’s hand were two rings. Simple. Elegant. Platinum bands, each adorned with a small gemstone, one pale blue, the other hazel. A quiet reflection of each other’s eyes.

They had both chosen the same idea, using colour to mark something personal.

Micah nodded, unable to find his voice. Clyde slipped the ring onto his finger.

Then Micah, laughing softly through the emotion, took the other and placed it onto Clyde’s hand.

Their fingers intertwined naturally. Above them, the fireworks continued, painting the night in endless colour.