There's a Difference Between Serving Cake and ✨Serving Cake✨ - dziuplag - 原神 (2025)

Chapter 1: Butterfly Effect

Chapter Text

Wriothesley wasn’t the kind of man that enjoyed having a routine.

Routine allowed for others to anticipate one’s actions; to lay traps, to strike at uncovered fronts, or to just hide from one’s sight. It was a vulnerability and in Wriothesley’s path of life, a vulnerable man was as good as dead.

These meetings though…

Neuvillette’s schedule was so packed that it made Wriothesley tired from just thinking about it. The Chief Justice didn’t have time for paranoid administrators of underwater fortresses to burst into the Palais Mermonia whenever they felt like it, though, and that’s how Wriothesley found himself coming to the surface every Thursday, like a dog following a tug on his leash.

He immediately scolded himself for the thought. In no shape or form was he anything like a trained pet. If anything, he was more like a stray who, out of his own independence, chose to come to his favourite human for this week’s dose of atte- that’s not better, fuck.

Maybe he should just stop thinking. It worked so well for the people all around him, after all.

As usual, he entered the Maison Gestion’s office space just a few minutes before the end of the lunch break. The Gestionnaires were all there, full and procrastinating on going back to work - and most importantly, they were talkative.

As unusual, he was greeted by the sight of his Archon. Naturally, she held the attention of everyone present in the palm of her hand while Clorinde dutifully guarded her shadow.

“Ah, Duke Wriothesley! Just the man I was looking for!” she called out, cutting down his hopes of avoiding the spotlight.

He wasn’t one for useless theatrics, but he’d rather that than offend the Archon. He greeted her with a deep bow. “My Lady.”

“My apologies for this innocent little ambush. May I invite you to have tea with me on this fine afternoon, Your Grace?” She asked in the sort of tone that allowed for only one answer.

Wriothesley’s eyes flitted towards Neuvillette’s office.

“Oh, don’t worry, I know you’re here for a meeting with him.” She waved away his worries. “I’d just like to have a little chat, hm?”

He suppressed a sigh. “In that case, it would be an honor, my Lady.”

He followed Lady Furina and Clorinde to a break room upstairs. A pot full of fragrant black tea and an arrangement of desserts were waiting for them on a round table. They each took a seat on one of the plush chairs.

“What did you want to talk about, my Lady?”

“Don’t worry, nothing serious. Please, help yourself.” She poured each of them a cup and served herself a cupcake.

Did it have chocolate in it? It looked like it would have chocolate in it. Life would be so much easier if only he could differentiate brown. He made eye contact with Clorinde. Her fingers hovered over a small fruit tart for about two seconds before she took one of the cupcakes for herself. Wriothesley picked the tart.

Lady Furina observed Wriothesley with interest. Her next words almost made him choke on his tea. “It’s thrilling to finally meet the man my Iudex keeps talking about.”

“O-oh?”

“He’s never any fun on Thursdays,” she childishly whined, rolling her eyes. “I can’t even talk to him in the mornings, because he needs stuff done before meeting with you. He works through lunch. Then has the meeting with you - seriously, how does he even manage to spare two hours each week? What do you even do with all that time?”

Wriothesley was about to answer, but Lady Furina barrelled on. “Yes, yes, secret project you’re not sure will work so you don’t want to tell me about it, whatever. He’s little better even afterwards, you know? No matter what topic I bring up, he always somehow makes it about Your Grace.”

Wriothesley stuffed his mouth with the tart - mmm, blueberries - so it would stop hanging open. Neuvillette arranged his whole day around him? Talked about him? Thought about him? Surely, this meant that Neuvillette also… no, no, there’s no point in giving himself false hope. The skin of his cheeks and neck prickled nonetheless and he used his Vision to hide his blush. What was a man supposed to say to something like that?

He finally settled on, “Are you bothered by this, my Lady?”

She smiled gently. “No, of course- okay, maybe a little bit, but I’m glad that he’s finally found someone.” That earnest expression disappeared in a blink of an eye, as if it was never there. “How do you like the tea? I hear you’re quite the fan.”

Just how many things had Neuvillette told this woman about him? “Almost as good as back home. In fact, it’s the very blend I’ve sent you. Except… “ He took another sip, for dramatic effect. “You used different water.”

His companions’ eyes went wide. Clorinde blurted out, “You can tell?”

“Of course I can, I see Neuvillette weekly, after all.” He winked. Waited a long second. “Nah, just kidding. But I bet you didn’t use Meropide’s filtered pisswater, anyways.”

He hid his smirk behind his teacup. The look on the ladies’ faces was so worth it.

Clorinde sighed fondly. “Seriously, Your Grace?”

Lady Furina huffed, diverting her gaze. She ostentatiously cleared her throat. Oops. Clorinde’s presence made him feel too casual.

“Nevermind,” he said. His gaze flitted around the table in search of something that wouldn’t make him put his other foot in the mouth. He took another tart. “By the way, these are delicious, my Lady. Have you baked any of these yourself?”

“No, no!” She laughed elegantly. “The duties of an Archon keep me too busy to indulge in such time-consuming hobbies. I am an expert appreciator of all confectionaries, however, and I always choose the best for my dear guests. What about you, Your Grace?”

“I admit, I’m not that much of an appreciator.” Hard to taste around when he couldn’t tell if a dessert would kill him and wasn’t fond of advertising his allergies. His solution to that had been baking his own treats, but… he failed to hide a wince. “Nor a maker.”

“That’s a shame.” There was a glint in Lady Furina’s eye. “If it’s any consolation, Your Grace, I think that my Iudex would love to try your cake,” she said, then giggled at her own remark.

Wriothesley frowned. What did Neuvillette have to do with anything? Was this some weird overworld lingo?

His tongue got ahead of his brain. “He finds that impressive?”

Lady Furina’s smugness fizzled out with all the speed and grace of an untied balloon. “W-well, yes! I’m pretty sure he does!”

Clorinde raised a brow at him. “Isn’t it obvious?”

It really wasn’t, especially since Wriothesley was absolutely sure he was missing something. He was about to ask, but then the door swung open and an authoritative voice interrupted their conversation.

“Lady Furina.”

There was only one person in the land that could get away with scolding the Archon. A shiver ran up Wriothesley’s spine. Neuvillette’s voice was deep and sonorous, with an angry edge to it, hot, smooth, heavenly, powerful, elegant, beautiful, did he mention hot, mesmerizing, hot-

“Ah, my dear Iudex!” said Lady Furina with the expression of a five-year-old caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “I hope you don’t mind that I-”

“Of course I mind. The Duke and I have something urgent to discuss.” If looks could kill, Lady Furina would’ve dissolved into a pathetic puddle.

The man stopped right by Wriothesley’s shoulder, making his hair stand on end. He inhaled sharply. The familiar salty scent went straight to his rabbiting heart and warming belly.

“Wriothesley.” Neuvillette’s stern face softened immediately once their eyes met. “Come with me, please.”

Anytime, he thought, and then, wait, what? “Sure.” He eagerly stood from his seat and threw a hasty goodbye over his shoulder. “Have a nice afternoon, ladies!”

Neuvillette sure hated wasting time, huh. In the span of a few seconds, he and his slim long legs forced Wriothesley to jog a few steps. They kept the tempo until the door of the Chief Justice’s office closed behind them.

“What’s so urgent, then?” Wriothesley asked.

“Urgent? No, that’s… that might have been a slight exaggeration on my part.” Neuvillette glanced away, then strode further inside. Wriothesley followed like a dog at his master’s feet. “I didn’t want Lady Furina to cut into any more of my time with you. There’s only so much of it, after all.”

Wriothesley smiled involuntarily. That’s so in character for him, he lacked words to describe it. The sight of Neuvillette’s embarrassed expression was rare and all the more precious for it, so Wriothesley imprinted it into his memory the best he could. It lasted barely a breath; as expected of a man whose middle name was ‘Impartiality’.

“I brought this for after we’re done with the business stuff,” Wriothesley said, partially sliding a book out of his coat’s pocket. The cover claimed it contained authentic Remurian folk tales - Wriothesley couldn’t wait to share his thoughts and listen to Neuvillette’s.

He could see the same eagerness spark in the other man’s eyes. “In that case, let us begin immediately. Come, sit.”

From then on, the meeting progressed as expected, temporarily pushing Lady Furina’s words out of Wriothesley’s mind.

Chapter 2: Don't Rye This at Home

Chapter Text

Wriothesley groaned, massaging his eyes. A small stack of forms lay on the desk before him.

He hadn’t been able to get anything done today. His thoughts kept circling back to his and Neuvillette’s meeting - which wasn’t anything new for a Friday, to be fair - but then, then he always remembered the conversation with Lady Furina and Clorinde.

Apparently, Neuvillette talked about Wriothesley a lot; maybe even as much as Wriothesley would like to talk about him. Just the thought made his stomach tingle. Life had shaped Wriothesley into a cautious, suspicious bastard, but fuck, he couldn’t help it - he had hope now.

And according to Lady Furina, who had known and worked with her Iudex for centuries, Neuvillette found baking impressive. If Wriothesley was a bit more skilled, he could surprise the Chief Justice with something of his own making and just maybe secure himself a date, right?

Or could Lady Furina’s words be an allusion to Neuvillette’s weird tastes? Wriothesley eyed an empty glass on the other side of the desk. Sigewinne’s creations were the most vile things he’d ever had. The milkshakes, in particular, had a thick consistency, as if stuck somewhere between liquid and solid, and they slid down the throat like slime. They were salty and sweet, tasting of spinach and some fish, and had pieces of gelatin floating around in them.

He looked away from the glass. Deep breaths, Wriothesley. Think happy thoughts. Think Neuvillette and the way he went off on a tangent about ancient water springs, or how his long fingers delicately turned the page of the book, of how he, too, cherished these meetings, just like Lady Furina sa- ugh.

Once, when they met here instead of in the overworld, Sigewinne came by and “treated” each of them to a shake. Neuvillette not only took his with genuine thanks and eagerness, but he also savored that thing like it was one of his premium imported waters.

That alone was a hint of his inhuman nature, but Wriothesley didn’t think that Neuvillette was a Melusine. If he had to guess, he’d say the Chief Justice was some sort of shape-shifting water creature, like an oceanid or a sea snake. So his tastes were weird, but not Melusine weird, and even the Melusines liked cake, anyway…

Wriothesley glanced at his clock and sighed. Wasting time ruminating like this wasn’t his style - maybe he just needed to busy himself with something.

That’s how half an hour later, Wriothesley found himself borrowing a station in the cafeteria’s kitchen, wrist-deep in eggs and flour and all that crap. He was alone - the food for supper had been pre-cooked and stored already.

Suddenly, someone else poked their head into the kitchen. Wriothesley went into fight mode instantly. He was halfway into Summoning his gauntlets before he recognised the tall, dark-haired woman as a newly-hired Garde, hard-bodied but soft-hearted, as evidenced from the almost-incident from two days ago. He calmed down. From what he recalled, she’d been hesitant to discipline a rowdy inmate, which escalated into a fight - in which she tried not to fight. Fortunately for her, Wriothesley was nearby to save her ass. He was honestly surprised that she hadn’t resigned yet.

“Good afternoon, Your Grace,” she said meekly, playing with her long ponytail. “May I ask what you’re doing?”

“Good afternoon. You’re Guinevere, right?”

“Yes!” She nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, that’s me. I… didn’t expect you to remember.”

Wriothesley shrugged. The alternative was bringing up the incident report he’d filed half an hour prior, and he’d rather spare her dignity.

“I just got off my shift. I was about to head home, but Maupoil said that he saw you enter the kitchen, and mentioned you might need some help if you’re baking…” Her voice somehow got higher and quieter at once. “So I thought I might… join you…?”

Perhaps Celestia saw his pitiful efforts through all that water, metal and misery and decided to intervene. He smiled, trying to look approachable. He liked his usual appearance and the conveniences it brought him - how inmates would think twice before taking him on, how normal people would scurry out of his path. It was a twinge annoying when he scared his own staff, though.

“Sure. Come on, I don’t bite.” He winked. “How good are you at baking?”

She did come closer, but she kept silent for a suspiciously long second. “...I’ve always wanted to learn. I-I’m sure you’ll be able to teach me a lot, Your Grace!”

Oh, nevermind then. “Two heads are still better than one, I guess.” He sighed. “Sorry, but you’ve got it wrong - I barely know what I’m doing, let alone can teach you anything.”

“We can just learn together! What’s the recipe?” she asked as she inserted herself into his personal bubble to get a good look at the cookbook.

It made Wriothesley’s hackles rise, but he stayed still. Guinevere seemed more comfortable already now that they broke the proverbial ice. He’d rather this than have her go back into being a stuttering mess.

“You’re flushed,” he noticed. “Are you sure you shouldn’t go visit Sigewinne instead?”

“No, no! It’s just a little hot in here, is all…”

She really must’ve been speaking the truth - she took off her uniform’s coat and undid a few buttons. Wriothesley couldn’t feel it, but that was likely due to his Cryo Vision, which he used semi-consciously sometimes. He didn’t pay it any mind.

They followed the recipe to the letter. It proved to be an unexpected challenge, though, given that those letters formed phrases like “just a bit”, “not too roughly” and “until it looks right”.

“I think something may have gone wrong,” Guinevere said as they both peeked through the oven’s glass door. The something in question was worryingly flat despite being almost done.

“...let’s just take care of the cleanup for now.”

At last, the timer binged and Wriothesley took the fruit of their labor out and cooled it down with his Vision. He poked with vitriol at the supposed ‘sponge cake’. He was pretty sure it shouldn't be comparably hard to a sandbag.

Ice cold eyes glared at the offending grain-creature so hard they almost cut it. How dare it not rise after having been given a nice, warm oven to chummy up in? How dare it ignore all their effort? It was an insult to the people who ground its flour and the chickens that gave up their eggs. It should be ashamed of itself. It wasn’t even close to good enough to impress- cough, good enough for Wriothesley’s tastes.

“Bummer,” Guinevere groaned. “Want to try again?”

He sighed. “Not today, I’ve a lot of, uh, stuff to catch up on. Don’t let me keep you. We did our best.”

“Sure! If you ever want to do it again, or something similar, maybe, you can just ask… um, have a nice rest of your afternoon, Your Grace!”

“Yeah, you too.”

He eyed the cake with distrust. Maybe he could just feed it to Sigewinne and her sisters…

Upon the first look, it was just another day in the Fortress of Meropide. Under the surface, however, pun fully intended, there were some super secret important things that needed doing.

“We’re only doing a brief check-up on the core’s integrity today,” Wriothesley said as he and Clorinde stood before the Administration Tower’s maintenance exit’s sluice.

“Let’s begin immediately, then,” she said and he couldn’t agree more. He paid her by the hour, after all. She was easily his second favorite person from the Court of Fontaine; straightforwardness was hard to find up there.

They each took a diving suit in hand and exchanged a look, then put them down. It would take them more time putting the suits on and off than they’d be out and about, so they reckoned their Visions would be enough.

Both of them were familiar with this route by now. The light of their pneumosia torches pierced through the murky depths of the seabed and shone on Meropide’s metal walls. This part looks like it’s sound , Wriothesley thought as he absentmindedly scratched at his neck.

“How’s it on your side?” he called.

“All stable. To be honest, I’m more confident in this wall’s integrity than your social skills. When are you going to finally take that man out?”

“That was uncalled for,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes. The unrequited crush he had on Neuvillette was his business alone. “And just so you know, this part right here is more stable than your and Navia’s entire relationship.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Wriothesley scratched at his neck again. Irritation surged in him when the itch didn’t stop. He doubled down until his skin hurt, but the feeling only spread... wait.

He shone on his own hand. The skin was tinged red. This was supposed to happen over hours, not minutes.

Fuck. “Clorinde!” he called. “We’re getting out of here, now!”

She looked at him in confusion, but then her eyes widened in realization. She’d connected the dots, too. Wriothesley clipped the torch to his belt and put all the focus his now-foggy mind had left into swimming upwards. Clorinde would be alright. He only paid her her ridiculous fee because he knew she could handle herself.

His own heartbeat drummed like thunder in his ears. Was it so fast due to the poison, or just his own panic? Fuck, he couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter. The sun’s rays reached him now, so he was close, so close, he could already see the sluice gate in his mind’s eye - or his real eyes?

He crashed into the wall with his head. The sharp wave of pain helped clear his mind, giving him a bit of the precious clarity needed to open the entrance. He wasn’t sure when Clorinde caught up with him, or if she’d fallen behind at all, but they both managed to get inside. Their labored breaths soon filled the small chamber as the water was drained away.

They stumbled out into his office hanging off of each other’s shoulders, until they collapsed by his desk. Wriothesley smacked at the EMERGENCY button hidden underneath, hitting it on the fourth try.

The dubious state of his mind made it hard to tell seconds apart from minutes, but he knew for a fact that Sigewinne arrived as soon as she could. He’d told her beforehand what he and Clorinde were going to do today.

“Your Grace! Miss Clorinde!” she called out as soon as she saw them. “What happened? Nevermind- ugh, I told you to take the diving suits! Up, up!” Her small legs kicked his chest. He hissed when one of them poked him right in between the ribs. “And get out of these clothes, they’re soaked in the Primordial Seawater, too!”

They had no time for modesty. To be honest, though, they were too high on both Sinthe and adrenaline to care. They practically tore their clothes off with their uncoordinated hands and Sigewinne helped get his boots off.

As soon as they did, they got blasted by a wave of cold Hydro.

“What was that for!?” Wriothesley didn’t whine. He laid flat on the hard metal floor, naked and shivering. He didn’t look at Clorinde out of respect, but he doubted she was faring much better.

“To wash the remnants of the Seawater off of you, you dummies! And to wake you up. Up, I said!”

She handed each of them a towel and helped them over to the couch. Once they dried themselves down, she had them slather themselves in anti-inflammatory salve.

“I don’t get it,” Sigewinne said, “why couldn’t you be more careful? We still don’t know if exposure over time has any side effects, and look at you! You’ve never been this sick before.”

“We were fine last time,” Clorinde cut in bravely. “We were out for hours and only got a little-”

“I don’t care!” Sigewinne cried. “Have you considered that you might’ve become less resistant to it? Or that the concentration has increased? Or that you might pass out in the water and- and-”

Guilt gnawed at Wriothesley’s stomach. He dried his hands on the towel Sigewinne had thrown in his lap. He held her petite shoulders as they shook with each sniff; his hands were so big compared to her it might’ve even counted as a hug.

“I’m sorry, Sigewinne,” he said quietly. “You’re right, Clorinde and I weren’t thinking and what we did was really fucking stupid. We will use the suits next time, promise.”

Sigewinne shook him off, but she wasn’t crying anymore, so he took that as a win. She rummaged around her bag for a bit, then took out two bottles and placed them on the coffee table with a pointed clink. “Maybe I’ll forgive you if you drink these.”

Oh no. “No, no, no - I already had one earlier today!” Wriothesley protested but the look in Sigewinne’s eyes made him stop.

She glowered at him with her hands on her hips. “Drink. It.”

Wriothesley knew a lost battle when he saw one. With a resigned slump of his shoulders, he passed one of the milkshakes to Clorinde. Poor woman. She’ll never be the same afterwards.

Clorinde opened her bottle. She sniffed it and immediately cringed so hard, it made Wriothesley crack a brief smile.

“What is this?” she asked with disgust.

“An extra nutritional shake! After the stunt you pulled, you must drink all of it.” Like a shark to blood, Sigewinne must’ve sensed Clorinde’s hesitation. She fluttered her eyelashes innocently. “Don’t tell me you’re like a kid that doesn’t want to take their bitter medicine? His Grace drinks them all the time, you know.”

A competitive spark lit up in Clorinde’s eye. Damn Sigewinne and her manipulative tendencies. Wriothesley held out his bottle and said, “Race you to the bottom?”

Clorinde clinked it with her own. “You’re on.”

Wriothesley won, of course. He’d perfected drinking these things into an art; he only needed one short break to breathe and not gag. Clorinde put up a good fight - too bad, though, that now she looked like she was about to spit it back out.

…It would probably be best if he let her hog the whole couch. He used up his last wisps of strength to drag over his desk chair. Misery loves company and all that.

Neither of them could do much else but stew in it. Sigewinne left them alone for a while to get them IVs and spare Garde uniforms, but neither could be bothered to put on more than underwear and a shirt. Their skin was awkwardly, but blissfully numb. At least Sigewinne made them tea before leaving with a promise of a check-up in a few hours; not that they’d be able to drink it, but the smell was nice.

Wriothesley was too sick to move and too weak to stop his thoughts from wandering in unwanted directions. He didn’t even notice when he mentally stepped into cake territory; all he knew was that on his own, he wouldn’t manage to woo Neuvillette in this century. His unfocused gaze landed on Clorinde. She used to date a girl that had her personal assistants drag a portable oven literally everywhere. There’s no way she hadn’t rubbed off on her at least a little bit, right?

“Hey, Rinde,” he slurred. “D’you wanna teach me baking?”

It took Clorinde an understandably long while to answer. “I don’t see why not, but… I also don’t see why yes.”

The easiest way to engage Clorinde was by mentioning her woman. “We could get Navia into it. You two made up, right?” No answer. Way to go, Wriothesley, let’s bring up the ex who broke up with her after Clorinde killed her father. Fuck, why did he say that? “Come on, we could make this into, like, a whole thing. Like-”

“It’s complicated,” she groaned. “What’s this about? Wait- is this ‘bout what L’dy Furina said?”

She really knew him too well if she was able to recognize his bullshit even in this state. “No! …kinda. It reminded me of…” he lowered his voice, just in case someone was listening in. “The Clog Incident.”

Their hazy eyes met. “Did I hear that right? The Clog-”

“We don’ talk ‘bout The Clog Incident, Rinde - ah, fuck.” He was too high for this conversation. Or maybe just high enough? “But anyway, she reminded me o’that an’ I feel like I needa make up for it.”

“By baking?”

He nodded.

“Is it, like, a matter of stupid man pride or something?”

“It is,” he said, like a liar. That was totally all it was, yup, not a single half-truth in this room and no man-shaped probably-sea-snakes involved. “So… you think she’ll be up to it?”

Clorinde sighed with her whole chest. Her eyes wandered away from his; wherever she was now, it was not the Fortress of Meropide.

“We have been tryin’ t’reconnect recently, but it’s been sooo awkward,” she mumbled. “Maybe you’re onto something. Maybe we just need a buffer.”

So he was going to third-wheel now. Yay. “Actually, could I also invite one other person?”

“Don’ see why not,” Clorinde said softly, then slipped into her fantasy world completely. Well, at least one of them was having fun, judging by the stupidly wide grin on her face.

Wriothesley sighed. Good for her.

Chapter 3: Leave the Pastry Behind

Chapter Text

The door to the courtroom swung shut behind Neuvillette. He allowed himself a moment of privacy to calm down. His scales were all ruffled and they itched beneath his constricting clothing. This case - nay, the very motive behind the crime irked him to the core. To think that woman tried to frame another person as her accomplice, because she thought that once in Meropide, the subject of her affections wouldn’t have anywhere to run from her was… truly despicable and preposterous. Wriothesley would’ve never allowed such behavior in his fortress.

Neuvillette had judged the innocent Madame Rose as not guilty, of course, but the case left a bad taste in his mouth. It never should’ve come to this. He would give the Maison Gardiennage a piece of his mind regarding stalker cases.

He left the staff-only passage for the Opera House’s lobby and waited by the railing, observing as the room below slowly filled with agitated audience members. Many of them gathered in circles to discuss instead of leaving.

There was someone Neuvillette wanted to find. He’d been rethinking many things since Kiara’s case, when Wriothesley claimed that Neuvillette was an integral part of Fontainian society. Just a few sentences from that devious man’s mouth were enough to make Neuvillette question his way of life. Those events also brought back memories of his and Vautrin’s not-quite-relationship. Had Vautrin’s case not proven that Neuvillette was able to stay impartial even in the face of bias? Was there really any point in keeping himself isolated?

It was difficult for him to move on from that heartbreak, that’s true - but would the people really be worried about his impartiality if he were to get close with someone? Was he actually the only one stopping himself? For centuries now, he’d been observing people come and go without meaningfully engaging with any of them. Everything from fifty years ago and more had merged into a blob of a memory, like a never-ending dream where moments spent with his dear daughters were like bouts of clear awareness. What if staying in this stasis was actually the worse choice?

Neuvillette couldn’t know how many people he had hurt by trying to maintain his impartiality this way, either. There was one instance, though, that he was aware of and had yet to make proper amends for. Had he been spending more time with humans and understood them better, then maybe he would’ve known to cancel that fateful duel…

“Monsieur Chief Justice!” Someone startled him away from his thoughts. It was that pink-haired journalist, Charlotte. “Can I ask you a question or two?”

Neuvillette considered her inquiry. It wasn’t often that he entertained reporters. He got a bit carried away after the verdict was announced, however, so it’d be for the best if he addressed that. All because he couldn’t help but defend Wriothesley’s honor… he agreed to the journalist’s request. It would only take a moment.

And it indeed did, for he spotted the characteristic hat he’d been looking for in the corner of his eye, then immediately excused himself from the conversation. People parted before Neuvillette as he descended the stairs and crossed the room. He sparked an unwanted trail of lively murmurs as he passed. Disgruntled, he picked up the pace.

The sharp eye of Navia Caspar spotted him easily, and her assistants - Silver and Melus, was it? - stood at attention, too. She immediately understood he had business with her. “Monsieur Chief Justice. Has something happened?”

Neuvillette shook his head. He spoke loudly, making sure the crowd around would hear. “I wanted to thank the Spina di Rosula for their assistance in this case. We couldn’t have solved it without you.”

He ‘patted himself on the back’, as humans said. Those words would surely spread with how well-received Madame Rose’s trial had been and help rebuild the Spina di Rosula’s reputation. It wasn’t much, but a brick was a brick. Truthfully, he surprised himself by coming up with a plan so cunning. Was this, too, due to Wriothesley’s influence?

Miss Navia brightened at his words. He could only hope that they made up for his past mistake, even a little bit.

“Don’t worry about it, Monsieur,” she said. “It was our duty and pleasure. I surmise you will also need us to submit evidence of Miss Ellen’s stalking behaviors?”

“It would greatly assist the Maison Gardiennage if you did so. Miss Ellen’s trial will be held soon. Madame Rose deserves to feel safe.”

“It seems we’re both of a similar mind, then. I’m glad that this matter will be put to rest.”

Falling into a professional conversation was easy, but Neuvillette’s goal was more ambitious today. He still had amends to make - and he was allowed to get close, he reminded himself.

Navia frowned at him. Right, he’d been silent too long. This time, he spoke quieter, so that outsiders would have to strain to hear him. “I’m aware that we haven’t exactly gotten along in the past, but I was hoping you’d join me for tea to celebrate a difficult case closed?”

She was visibly surprised, but got over it and smiled. “I would be honored. Lead the way - and please, it’s all water under the bridge.”

He led her and her assistants through the crowd and upstairs. “Are you sure? Your father…”

“My father made his choices. His plans wouldn’t have succeeded if it wasn’t for that duel, so I’ve made my peace with it… if anything, it’s me who should apologize for taking it out on you. It’s not like you had bad intentions.”

This wasn’t at all how Neuvillette had predicted this conversation to go. Weren’t humans supposed to hold onto grudges their entire lives and even murder because of them? Once again, the view he had of humanity cracked. He never would’ve thought that Miss Navia might forgive him on her own, so… what now? Could he cross ‘amends’ off his agenda?

“In that case, thank you for being so considerate,” he said in the end.

They passed through corridors not accessible to the public, then entered the tea room that Lady Furina liked to take breaks in. As instructed the day before, the opera staff had laid out a lidded plate of simple pastries; all Neuvillette had to do was prepare the tea.

“Let me, Monsieur!” called one of Navia’s attendants.

Neuvillette observed, bemused, as the man turned on the heating pad and measured the leaves with utmost care. Well, at least Neuvillette was spared polluting the water with his own hands.

“Thank you, Melus - oh, don’t mind them, they’re just used to taking care of such things,” Navia said, playing with her gloves. “So, how has life been treating you lately?”

Neuvillette’s thoughts halted. It occurred to him that he hadn’t considered what to do once he came this far. Humans made friendliness look so effortless. What even happened this past week or ten that was worth speaking about? Surely not Madame Rose’s trial, Navia’d been there for the whole thing. His scales rippled under her expectant gaze. She would wait even longer for him, he knew, she was polite like that - but that just made him feel bad for exploiting her patience.

“It’s been business as usual.” Literally. He hardly had any personal life outside of his job. The only things that might even qualify as such were Furina’s nagging and his post-meeting talks with Wriothesley; the latter of which he’d rather keep to himself, and sharing the former would strip the Archon of her dignity. It’d been months since he last visited the Merusea village, too. “Forgive me… it seems I don’t have anything to add to the conversation.”

“Nothing to forgive,” Navia said.

He didn’t sense any insincerity from her. Perhaps he was overthinking things again, as Wriothesley loved to point out.

“Tea is ready, Demoiselle, Monsieur!” Melus announced. The two attendants busied themselves with serving it with flourish.

Navia didn’t pay them much mind, like she had other people pour tea for her every day. Well… she probably had. “I’m sure something will come to mind later. I could tell you about the weekend I had.” She sighed. “Clorinde took me out on a double date.”

“This again, Demoiselle?” Silver teased.

She blushed. “Oh, hush, you. Well?”

“It relieves me to hear that you and Miss Clorinde are on better terms than you used to be,” Neuvillette said. “I will listen to all you’re inclined to share.”

The concept of a ‘double date’ was a peculiar one. Perhaps there were some intricacies he missed, but to him, it was very similar to ‘hanging out’. Humans really had a fondness for creating specific words for everything… He was hoping to understand better with more context.

“May I ask who was the other couple, then?”

“Sure! It was Duke Wriothesley and Gwen, his girlfriend.”

His what.

“Oh dear!”

Neuvillette looked at the table. His hand was still holding the broken handle. A puddle of tea and porcelain spread where his cup used to be.

He cleared his throat. “My apologies. I… really don’t know what came over me.” With barely a wave of his hand, he directed the water out of the cloth and into another cup. Unfortunately, a stain remained.

“Should we replace the tablecloth, Monsieur?”

Neuvillette shook his head. “It would be appreciated, but I’m not sure where the replacements are kept.”

Melus laughed heartily. “Don’t worry about that, Monsieur, we’ve brought our own.”

“It is our job to ensure that Demoiselle Navia is prepared for every circumstance!” added Silver.

“Oh, you two…” Navia said, but did nothing to dissuade them from their self-assigned task. They were surprisingly efficient about it; Neuvillette hadn’t known it was possible to fold a cloth this fast. Navia put a demure hand on her red cheek. “So, about that date…”

Clorinde approached me on Saturday to invite me. She said that the Duke and one other person wanted to bake with us, and of course, I agreed! To be honest, I was worried that it would be just as awkward as the other times we tried to reunite, but having other people as a buffer turned out to be just what we needed.

Have you ever imagined Clorinde in a dress, the long and flowy kind? Exactly. She hates these dresses, and she still wore one! It hugged her just right in the right places and she put on my favorite lipstick, too. It felt kind of like when we began dating for the first time… It was even just as awkward at the beginning, too, but thankfully the Duke is really good at breaking the ice.

“Just call me Wriothesley,” he said, “there’s nothing graceful about what you’re going to witness.” And indeed, there wasn’t! That’s for later, though.

“Then you can also just call me Gwen, Your- Wriothesley.”

I never thought about the Duke’s taste in women, like why would I, but they fit just right, you know? Both are tall, muscular and a bit intimidating, but actually sweet on the inside. Later, I noticed that Gwen had marcottes braided into her hair. So cute! They had these nervous new couple vibes and honestly, I’m not sure if they’re a thing yet. He was too shy to even touch her.

I know, right? I couldn’t believe it either, but they just kept making eyes at each other the whole afternoon! It made me feel like I was reading a romance novel. It might sound weird, but their awkwardness actually gave me courage! ‘Cause sure, Clorinde and I weren’t much better, and we didn’t talk that much with each other in the end, but it’s been even longer since we did something together without ripping open old wounds. Maybe we could even go back to playing tabletop games, really just like old times, and wait, that’s actually a great thing to do on another double date…

Yes, yes, getting back on topic. Apparently, the Duke can whip up egg whites just as quickly as he can ruin them? Hah! He and Gwen both, they were too brutal with them! It didn’t even occur to them that you shouldn’t hit the bowl or switch between directions when mixing, or you’ll break the air bubbles.

“Why doesn’t the recipe book say so, then?” he asked.

“Because it’s just not something you do with egg whites, ever. Every baker knows that!”

He gave me this flat look that made me shiver, but Clorinde laughed, so it was so worth it. It was really entertaining to watch them fumble together… We laughed so much I feel a bit guilty about it. She and I both could make a basic sponge cake like this with our eyes closed, but those two were excited like puppies when their turned out alright. I’ll have to check how they’re doing in a month, maybe, but I have a good feeling! It’s important to share interests with a partner, and they’ve already got that down, so-

“I think that’s enough,” Neuvillette gritted out.

Another teacup lay in ruins before him. He leaned back in his chair, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. What was wrong with him today?

“Are you alright, Monsieur?” Navia asked with wide eyes. “Have I said something wrong?”

“Not at all,” he assured her. He glanced nervously at the attendants. “You know I’m not the best when it comes to feelings…”

Thankfully, Navia caught on. She clapped her hands. “Melus, Silver, earmuffs out, please!”

“Yes, Demoiselle!” they replied in unison and immediately complied. Then they set about cleaning up a mess, again, and pouring Neuvillette a cup, again.

Navia smiled at him kindly, patiently, holding her own saucer and teacup. “They won’t hear us this way unless we yell. They won’t take them off until I order them to, and we’ve got a special signal for that. Whatever you say will stay between us, you have my word.”

“Thank you.” He breathed deeply in and out. His scales were itchy and restless again; what a bother.

It’s not that Neuvillette was completely oblivious to his feelings, but he had trouble describing and acting on them. This one was familiar; the aggravating burning in his chest that appeared whenever he thought too long about Furina having his Authority, on how she didn’t even use it, on how it never should’ve been hers, or Egeria’s for that matter. This time, though, the feeling was a bit different. It reminded him of that one time Furina had the audacity to claim his time with Wriothesley to herself.

“I suppose I’m just envious,” he admitted. “It’s not something I feel often. Frankly, I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Ah, I understand. Well, for one, you could just bear it, but it doesn’t really work in the long run. You should get the thing you’re envious about, if it’s possible. It really depends on the situation.”

“It sounds simple and obvious when you put it like that. But…” he heaved a small, irritated sigh. “I’m not sure what it is that I’m jealous of.”

Rationally, it didn’t make any sense. The feeling flared up whenever Navia mentioned Miss Guinevere or her relationship with Wriothesley. However, it had never appeared before when he thought of or met any other couple. What changed? Was it that now that he got a taste of what it’s like to be close with a human, he wanted more? But then, why didn’t Navia and Clorinde’s relationship bother him - was it the fact that he was so used to the idea? Was he simply caught off guard because he hadn’t expected Wriothesley to change his single status? He drowned that last thought before it got anywhere. It was incredibly inappropriate.

“Okay, so I’ve never really entered the dating scene, but I’ve helped out a few friends here and there. Forgive me my curiosity,” she played with her glove, “but what’s even your type?”

“My ‘type’? As in, what I would want in a partner? I haven’t thought about it much.” Ideally, that partner would be another human-bodied Dragon Sovereign, but that was literally impossible. Just a human-dragon hybrid would be a good choice, but those resided in Natlan and no way was Neuvillette flipping a single fin in that direction. “My species is rare. There are no others in Fontaine that I know of, so I never really saw the point in wondering.”

“Really?” Navia raised her brows. “Does it matter that much when you’re humanoid? Haven’t you been interested in a single human in all of your however many centuries of life? Never felt any… desire towards one?”

Ah, a euphemism. Humans did love using those when talking about death and sex. “I’ve never copulated with a human, nor had the desire to do so. Perhaps I would’ve liked it if I tried, but… you see how problematic this question is for me.”

“I mean, it’s nothing a little experience can’t fix.”

Neuvillette dropped his teacup. It shattered miserably on the floor.

Navia gasped. “No, no, whatever you’re thinking of, I think you’ve got it wrong! What I meant is - there are ways to check your tastes without any… direct contact, so to speak. I wanted to offer you some help with that."

“My apologies. I will hear you out, then.” He cleared his throat. “But first, could you tell them not to give me more tea? I don’t think it’s a good idea, considering today’s record.”

“Of course! I want them to listen if we’re going to make arrangements, anyway.”

She tugged at Silver’s jacket and mimicked taking something off her head. They both caught on; how ingenious.

“What can we help you with, Demoiselle?”

“Me and Monsieur Neuvillette are going to make some plans. Silver, schedule. Melus, these are the supplies we’re going to need…”

Wriothesley slumped in his chair, a copy of The Steambird in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. It was warm, milky and slightly bitter - just the way he liked it. Yesterday was accounting night, so he allowed himself a slow morning. While Wriothesley had no doubt that he’d have no need for a newspaper if something serious happened, he’d rather know what the general public was talking about. He focused his clammy eyes on the front page.

Then, he promptly choked on his coffee when he saw his name on it.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

The papers loved talking about him, for some reason - as if he was on some sort of “shit to bring up when reality’s too boring” list. They would speculate about his origins, appearance, relationships, age, et cetera - and they almost never got anything right. Even if they did, the correct conclusions blended in with the others. Wriothesley did his best to keep it that way. All his employees had to sign an NDA and he got his few friends to promise not to talk about him in public.

The Steambird rarely reached for that list, though. Add to that the mention of Neuvillette… Yes, this was worth his attention. He took another sip and flipped to the right page.

He skimmed over the article, which was a detailed retelling of a court case of one Madame Rose, whose stalker committed some good ‘ole burglary and framed her as her accomplice - all for the purpose of trapping them together in the Fortress of Meropide. Wriothesley rolled his eyes. As if Neuvillette could’ve ever let something like this slip through his fingers. What Wriothesley saw on the cover turned out to be merely one of the subtitles, so he skipped to it.

Though your plan to exile yourself and Madame Rose might seem cunning to an uninquisitive eye, its foundation was built upon a crucial misconception: that Madame Rose would have no protection nor escape from your harassment once trapped in the Fortress of Meropide. You were wrong. The Fortress is not a lawless place. It is administered admirably and has its own rules. The Warden protects all from needless violence and suffering. Had Madame Rose filed as much as a single complaint to him, you would’ve been put on a watchlist and moved to a different part of the dormitory. This whole endeavor has been foolish from the very start.

Wriothesley put away the paper and buried his face in his mug. His rapid heartbeat was all due to the caffeine, he was sure. A speech. Neuvillette gave a whole ass speech vouching for Wriothesley’s character and apparently, he did so unprompted. It wouldn’t be incorrect to say that he even went out of his way to give it.

Something deep inside Wriothesley made him pick the paper back up. Did Neuvillette have something more to say about him? If yes, what? A small shiver ran through him; he needed to know.

I meant everything I said. Duke Wriothesley is guided by a strong sense of justice and has proven himself to be a caring and capable man. I rest easily knowing the Fortress is in his hands.

These words paint a completely different picture of the mysterious Duke than most imagine, don’t they? There are accounts, however, of similar sentiments voiced by Meropide’s reformed inmates-

Wriothesley threw the paper over his shoulder and hid his face in his hands. It was burning to the touch. His feelings were all over the place and dragging him along for the ride; to the gut mortified with embarrassment, to the chest where his lungs bloomed with pride, to the heart rabbiting with excitement.

What was wrong with him? He knew for a fact that all those things were true. The respect he and Neuvillette had for each other went unvoiced, but not unacknowledged. Why, then? Why were those words affecting him so? Why was his heart demanding that he go see Neuvillette right now and demand that Neuvillette repeat all those words to his face, no, to tell him every opinion about him hiding in that pretty head of his.

It didn’t make sense - Wriothesley thought that he’d made himself immune to praise. People loved to lick his boots and it was an important part of his job to ignore them. How was Neuvillette any different? Why did hearing sweet words from him feel more like a need than a want? It’s like suddenly, a ravenous beast emerged from the depths of Wriothesley’s soul after decades of slumber. What did Neuvillette think about his coat? Did he like his cologne? His jokes? Did he appreciate Wriothesley’s punctuality, would he thank and praise him for always being on time?

That beast was demanding a meal. Wriothesley would also love to know why, to his mortification, was its hunger making his blood rush south.

Chapter 4: Tart of the Process

Chapter Text

Neuvillette’s next meeting with Wriothesley was… something. They didn’t have much business to talk about, as Wriothesley wanted to hold off his Wingalet report until he had a few more facts straight. Next time, he said.

Neuvillette didn’t mind. They retired from the desk to the tea table much earlier than usual, though, so it meant that Neuvillette had more time than he probably should to wonder about Wriothesley’s private life. It was already embarrassing enough that he’d allowed himself to sniff the air around him when Wriothesley leaned in a bit closer while reaching for the confectioner…

(Bergamot fragrance covering hints of metal and machine oil. Nothing to suggest he’d been touchy with anyone recently - or maybe the perfume was just so strong?)

Neuvillette quietly regarded the man sitting opposite of him. What would he be like as a partner, theoretically? Would he be cautious and shy, like Navia said he was, or would that be just the beginning? Maybe with a bit of time, he’d become as devious and cunning as he was with his jokes, stealing kisses when his partner least expected him to?

“Teyvat to Neuvillette,” Wriothesley teased. He was taking full advantage of having the couch just to himself, resting one arm on the backseat and holding his teacup in the other hand. “Even you don’t get so lost in thought you accidentally stare another person half to death. Or am I just that captivating?”

Neuvillette self-consciously averted his gaze to his own lap. Yes, Wriothesley was captivating, but admitting that would cross the professional boundaries between them. He was tempted to do so regardless by an urge he didn’t understand. That would’ve been foolish. He promised himself to hold off any rash impulses until after his and Navia’s plans went through - by then, he would hopefully understand himself better, so this was the logical course of action.

“Sorry, that was too much.” Wriothesley said. “Seriously, though, what’s on your mind?”

Indeed there was another thing related to Wriothesley, but not implicating him directly, that Neuvillette had been intensely thinking about. “I’m not too sure if it would be appropriate to ask.”

“We’re friends, right? I promise I won’t be offended, whatever it might be.”

Right, friends. Shouldn’t this label feel more satisfying? Neuvillette looked up at Wriothesley again. The man’s posture was relaxed and his face graced by a small smile. His inner waves of emotions lapped at the shore with openness and curiosity, so perhaps it would truly be alright to ask…

“I’ve been wondering about how humans choose their romantic partners and what is the mysterious rationale behind those decisions?”

Wriothesley’s brows climbed his forehead and he scratched at his chin. “How do I unpack this… first of all, there is little to no ‘rationale’ to speak of whenever love is concerned. Where did you get that idea?”

“People arrange marriages all the time. That alone implies the existence of a set of criteria that a potential partner must meet, no?”

“Huh. Has no one ever proposed to you before?”

Neuvillette cocked his head to the side. “Well, yes… however, I have turned all those people down, seeing as I did not feel the same way they did.”

He always did his best to be kind about it, even if those offers felt a little, as humans said it, out of the blue. Sometimes it was someone well off, who he met a few times during different events, but sometimes it was complete strangers, people he’d talked to only once or never at all. He’d received a few of those requests by post, too.

Wriothesley stared at him in bewilderment, then chuckled. “Has it occurred to you that those criteria you speak of didn’t have anything to do with you as a person, but everything to do with what they would gain from you?”

“Do not make me sound like a fool, Wriothesley.” Neuvillette’s scales ruffled at the thought. “I am aware of people’s attempts to get into my good graces for economical and social gains. I have entertained this possibility, of course. However, I came to the conclusion that it can’t be it. If it was true that people made a farce of a holy ritual symbolizing the binding of two souls together so commonly, that would be… depressing.”

“The world is a pretty depressing place sometimes, though, isn’t it?”

Neuvillette looked down at his lap again. That also was true. “So you’re saying I’m wrong.”

“Yeah, sorry… chin up, though! It’s only some rich bastards that ruin this for themselves. They just love money more than they love other people.”

Right… even as the Duke of Meropide, Wriothesley never considered himself part of high society, which is where, admittedly, most arranged marriages occur. He had yet to publicly appear as the Duke a single time, and so it made sense for him to have such views. Neuvillette disagreed, however. “I have seen many arranged couples happy and in love. Whatever those unions are based on, it seems to be working - so there must be some criteria that are used to decide.”

Wriothesley shrugged. “Well, I wouldn’t know. I’m just saying things the way I see ‘em.”

“What is the way you do see them, then?”

That question gave Wriothesley pause. He shuffled closer to refill his teacup and stayed hunched over. Something about him seemed less playful and more, dare Neuvillette say, defensive. “Well, to start off, my foster parents’ marriage was a prime example of a pure business relationship, yet they had everyone from the outside fooled. Wouldn’t be surprised if the peerage played similar games, too. I’m not saying it’s impossible to, like, fall for your spouse after you marry them, I’m just saying I’ve never seen anything like that in action.”

Neuvillette liked to think that could read Wriothesley’s emotions even without relying on his powers. Either way it was clear that he’d disturbed him. “My apologies for reminding you about them.”

Wriothesley shrugged him off. “It’s alright. Made my peace with it.” He said that, but, well… Neuvillette could only hope to one day understand the reason why Wriothesley so often hid how he was feeling inside. “But to answer your question - love is something that just happens. There’s no set of criteria that decides if someone’s a good partner or not. There are definitely some that will tell you if someone is a shitty one, like… being abusive and stuff, but that’s not a topic for now. My point is, people fall for those who compliment their own person in some ways, and they don’t know what ways that would be until they find them. They just know that with them, they feel complete.”

That sounded very reasonable, Neuvillette mused. There was one big inconsistency in what Wriothesley said, however, one he knew as the centerpiece of many operas. “Why would unrequited love exist, then? If one person compliments the other, then it must also work in reverse, no?”

“That’s a tricky one, but if people could control who they loved, that would make even less sense, no?” Wriothesley pondered for a longer while. He added another sugar cube to his cup and stared into it as he stirred the contents. Finally, he heaved a deep sigh and said, “There’s as many reasons as there are besotted fools out there, I’m sure. Someone you fit with might fit better with someone else, or they might be such an amazing person that there is nothing you can offer them, or you might be someone that no one wants in return. Like I said, endless possibilities.”

“Hmm…” Though tragic, it made sense. Somewhat. “In that case, why continue to love? Why don’t people just wait until the feeling passes, or find someone else?”

“Most do just that, I guess, but the thing is that it feels good to be in love. It’s not easy to walk away from something like that.” Wriothesley huffed and smirked bleakly. “And I mean, if you wouldn’t have a chance with anyone else, anyway, then why bother?”

Humans were so complicated… but did Neuvillette have the right to say that when the more he discovered about them, the more it seemed like he was similar? He’d had feelings that may have been love once and did nothing about them. Objectively, that didn’t make sense either, did it? Yet, no other option had occurred to him at the time.

The thought sat low and heavy in his belly. Neuvillette had always considered himself a calm and rational person, but what if he’d just been fooling himself? He always saw humans’ actions as things with reason behind them. Had he been wrong this whole time? The epiphany hit him like a bullet. Was this the key to understanding humanity, the fact that they didn’t always want the logically optimal solutions? More importantly, was he the same?

“You have given me a lot of ‘food for thought’, Wriothesley. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’m happy to be of help.”

Neuvillette closely observed the man before him. Something was off. Outwardly, Wriothesley seemed relaxed and like he was going to crack a joke any moment now, but his emotional resonance didn’t match that at all. Could he be… no, surely not with that woman…?

“Are you unrequitedly in love, Wriothesley?”

Those words made Wriothesley tense. Immediately, Neuvillette realized his lack of tact and attempted to backtrack, but he was interrupted before he even began. Wriothesley laughed out loud, clutching at his belly as if Neuvillette had just told him the best joke of his entire career.

“No, I’m not,” Wriothesley said. “Don’t worry about me.”

Neuvillette tried to parse the meaning behind the storm of emotions in Wriothesley’s person, but even that method failed him. Had Neuvillette reminded him of something unpleasant again? The most respectful thing he could do was shift away from the topic.

Wriothesley did that for him, though. “Is it just me or are the clouds looking particularly ominous right now?”

“Hm? No, they’re normal.” Neuvillette was just pensive. “There won’t be any rain right now - in the evening, if at all.”

“Well, I didn’t take an umbrella, so I think I’ll head back early just in case. Or is there any business that we forgot to talk about?”

Neuvillette looked at him questioningly. Wriothesley had never excused himself early without a concrete reason before, and even that was rare. “I don’t think there is, no.”

“Well, in that case, thank you for the tea, it was delicious as always.” Wriothesley got up, collected his coat and sent Neuvillette another fake smile. “I’ll see myself out, Monsieur. See you next week and all that.”

“Until next time, Your Grace,” Neuvillette said reflexively. He put away his water and shot up from his seat. He reached out a hand and tried to think of something, anything proper to say that would keep him here longer, but he took too long.

Wriothesley hurriedly shut the door behind him and that was that. Maybe it would rain after all.

A week had passed since that tea party at the Opera House.

“Girls’ night!” Was apparently the solution to all of Neuvillette’s problems.

He’d frowned at Navia. The more she explained the concept, the more his doubt grew. “How is it going to be a ‘girls’ night’ if I’m a man and you’re the only ‘girl’?” Wait. “You’re going to be the only ‘girl’, right?”

“Of course! I promised to keep this between the two of us, you know!”

“And Silver and Melus.”

She puffed out her cheeks. “Th-they don’t count! And besides, it’s not really about gender, it’s about the activities!”

…what?

In any case, that’s how Neuvillette found himself in his quarters at the Palais Mermonia at eight in the evening on a Tuesday. He’d cut his work day short specifically so he could make it. He’d been jittery all day, anticipating this… girls’ night. Hopefully, he would get the answers he needed tonight.

A knock on his front door pried him away from his thoughts. He secured the nightrobe around himself. He’d been advised to wear something comfortable - he didn’t mind foregoing his judicial garments in private, but he drew the line at showing off his inhuman features, so he coupled the high-collared robe with long cotton gloves and socks.

Having heaved a deep, calming breath, Neuvillette opened the door.

A greeting froze on his lips. Navia and her attendants, he’d been expecting, but he couldn’t say as much about the wall of boxes and bags that arrived with them.

The young lady curtsied with a playful, “Hello, Monsieur!”

“Bonsoir.” Neuvillette stared. Hesitantly, he opened the door in an invitation; however, once Navia stepped through, he blocked the path of the other two. He bristled at the mere thought of letting these strange men get anywhere near his nest.

Silver was quicker to get over his bemusement. “Excuse us, Monsieur, we only want to assist in bringing in-”

“That is unnecessary. I will take care of them on my own, thank you.”

The attendants exchanged looks and backed off. “We’ll stay here for now just in case you change your mind, Monsieur.”

Unlikely. Neuvillette nearly huffed, but kept his decorum. He then unceremoniously picked up the biggest box - heavy for a human, perhaps - and carried it inside and into the sitting room. In the middle of his way back for another, he noticed Navia was still standing in the foyer, fiddling with a bag. He stopped and looked at her questioningly.

“I, I was wondering where’s the bathroom? To, you know, change into something more comfortable! Haha… ha…”

How uncouth of him - his guest had just arrived and he’d already made his first blunder. He ensured his tone was as mild and accommodating as it could get. “The bathroom is here; the kitchen space is right around the corner, connected to the sitting room. You are welcome in these rooms. Please, take all the time you want.”

“Thank you, I will.” She sent him a tight-lipped smile and disappeared behind the bathroom door.

Neuvillette’s rhinophores drooped and a whine got stuck in his throat. He had to make it up to her.

He dealt with the rest of the baggage swiftly, then rearranged the coffee table and the collection of pillows he had on the couch. Satisfied with the symmetrical look, he turned to the water cabinet. It was only polite to get his guest something to drink. Should he go with one of his long-time favorites, like the Liffey or Erinnyes springs? Or maybe he should bring out something more special, like Apam Woods, Springvale Lake, or Narukami…?

The bathroom door opened in the distance. Neuvillette grabbed the latter choice and eagerly turned towards his guest. “Miss Navia. Come here, please. There’s something I’d like to share with you.”

She did, looking around the room with thinly veiled curiosity. Fair enough, Neuvillette supposed. The decor of his quarters was similar to that of the public parts of the Palais, with the major difference being black walls replacing white. The furniture was made of gray wood and embellished with golden accents, meanwhile the couch, carpet and curtains were the same deep blue as his official robes.

“Just Navia is fine. Honorifics fit better in more official settings, I think,” she said once she took an elegant seat on the couch.

Neuvillette tilted his head in thought. He’d never been particularly attached to the concept of honorifics, but most humans were, and so he got used to using them.

“I’m inclined to agree,” he said, perusing another cabinet. He removed two crystal goblets from behind a glass display and cracked the bottle open. He smelled the contents and hummed in satisfaction. He poured some for each of them. “Inazuma’s rainwater can be quite fickle, but I have a good feeling about this one.”

“You have rainwater imported from Inazuma? Whatever for?”

He was so glad she asked. “For tasting purposes, of course. There’s a lot of factors that impact the taste of the water and most of them depend on where and when it was sourced. Humans tend to be most sensitive to changes in the mineral and organic contents, I’ve observed.”

Navia accepted one of the goblets with a curious expression. “Okay… you said it was fickle, somehow?”

Nuevillette nodded and joined her on the couch. “This water was gathered from one of Narukami Island’s infamous thunderstorms, and no such storm is quite the same. The water is exceptionally clear, but carries the aftertaste of thunder and notes of fear and admiration of the people caught in the deluge.” He swirled the water inside his goblet and took a sip. A shiver went down his spine and he took another. His rhinophores were likely glowing. “Yes, this is proving to be an exceptional batch.”

Navia followed after him; she swirled the water, took a sip. She tasted it with her eyes closed and brows furrowed.

It’s not like Neuvillette wanted to rush her, but… he kind of wanted to rush her. “What do you think?”

“It does taste like the air just after a storm, but I can’t taste the other things you described at all.” She smiled. “I can tell you’re having much more fun out of it than me. Sorry if I disappointed you.”

“Not at all. It’s already exciting that you were able to taste this much. Like I said, humans generally can only tell the difference in organic and mineral contents.” Navia was also much more amicable about it than some others, who thought he couldn’t hear the whispered ridicule from across the room.

Navia reached for the bags that Neuvillette stacked next to the table earlier. She then proceeded to unpack a multitude of macarons, cookies and finger sandwiches; from the boxes she took out stacks of albums, books and three crates of wine.

Neuvillette observed her with bemusement. “Isn’t this a bit excessive?”

“Well, I didn’t know what kind you like, and I’ve also heard that the Liyuen Adepti need a lot to even get tipsy…” She cleared her throat. “So, what’s your preference?”

“I don’t really partake of alcohol.” Ah, but that was rude, wasn’t it? “But since you’re offering, I’d like some white and half-sweet, please.”

Following a minor struggle with a corkscrew, the two of them found themselves with full glasses. Navia was sitting cross-legged, a position most unbecoming of a lady, and yet she didn’t seem to think it was anything unusual. Perhaps she, too, was less put-together than she liked to appear. The thought made Neuvillette relax his spine and lean back on the pillows. After a whole day of stiff movements in constricting garments, this was delightful.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, Navia, because I enjoy spending time with you, but when are we going to take care of the issue we talked about last time?”

Said issue refused to resolve itself on its own. During the nights Neuvillette had to self-reflect on his feelings, it only got worse. He’d been craving Wriothesley, for lack of a better word, for some time now. Craving his presence, time, attention. Craving the crooked smiles, personal anecdotes, sly jokes Neuvillette didn’t always catch. Craving Wriothesley’s smell, bergamot and machine oil, and the warmth he ignited in his belly. Craving, craving, craving.

The very thought of that woman getting all these things instead of Neuvillette made the deepest parts of him crave to tear her apart.

Neuvillette had distanced himself from his dragon self by choosing to live with humans. He didn’t regret it - they were the most curious creatures, and he still had a lot to learn, about them and about himself. Yet, he kept wondering - if he’d declined Focalors’ invitation and stayed with the Melusines or Vishaps instead, then maybe he wouldn’t have any trouble deciphering the meaning behind these primal urges.

What was done was done, though, and all that was left was the path forward. The path that, right now, was upholstered with pornography. Navia handed him an album. He opened it - and cracked it shut. How had his life led to this moment, again?

“It has just occurred to me that I’ve never seen a naked human before,” he said.

Navia failed to smother a giggle. “I’m sorry, sorry, just - yeah, I should’ve expected that. But, never? Really?”

“Not unless anatomy textbooks, art displays and criminal evidence count.” He took a deep breath. “I’m alright to continue, it was just my first impulse to look away out of respect.”

He opened the album back up, stubbornly staring at the picture of the woman. She sat with her legs to the side, displaying her chest. She was dark-haired and chubby, with a mole below her pink lips. Her eyes were green. Neuvillette admired the strokes of her eyeliner.

“You’re staring like you want to set the page on fire,” Navia teased. “Well? Do you like her?”

“I suppose? I…” Neuvillette sighed. “I know, rationally, that she consented to having her picture taken, yet I can’t help but feel that I’m intruding, somehow. I can’t look anywhere but her face, even though I know that’s not what this photo was taken for.”

Navia cooed. “That’s actually so sweet. Anyone would be lucky to have a man as respectful as you, Neuvillette!”

“I think it’s rather a matter of practice, or lack thereof, but… thank you.”

“It might help if you drink some of that wine. Even just a bit of liquid courage can go a long way!”

The logic of that argument was only partially sound, in Neuvillette’s opinion, but she was the human expert here. He took the aforementioned glass in hand with trepidation. The sweet, fermented smell made his nose scrunch up. If he already had to drink it, might as well make it swift, he thought - then downed the whole glass in one go.

“Oh wow! I thought you said you don’t like wine?”

“Exactly.”

Navia laughed. He failed to see what was so funny.

Nevermind. Neuvillette moved his focus back to the album. He flipped to another page, then another, and the reflexive shame did indeed leave him to a degree. It was somewhat interesting to observe the human body in such a raw, natural state. Some bodies were easier on the eyes than others. In the end, however, the photos were all depicting the same thing, and Neuvillette found himself bored.

When Navia asked how he was enjoying himself, he shrugged, and handed the album back to her. She brushed some crumbs off her fingers and accepted it with a laugh.

“Okay, I think I know what this is about.”

Neuvillette raised a brow at her, but she didn’t explain any further - just sipped her wine and gave him another album.

The first photo was of a shirtless man. It was taken from a low angle, putting an emphasis on the way he spread his legs and put a hand on his crotch. Neuvillette flipped the page, unimpressed. More photos of aesthetically pleasing men followed. Similarly to last time, it began as a curious experience, especially since their hairy, scale-less bodies were so similar, yet different, from Neuvillette’s - but again, they were all the same.

He was about to give the album back, but then his gloves caught on scratchy paper, nothing like the glossy Kamera film. Intrigued, he flipped to that page. His breath caught when its contents greeted him.

His wide eyes were drawn to the charcoal mop of hair and light gray eyes. The man in the drawing was kneeling with one hand on the floor and the other between his muscular thighs. Neuvillette’s gaze wandered over different body parts until it reached the face again-

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This wasn’t Wriothesley - it never was, and yet Neuvillette saw, no, wanted to see him there. He was being ridiculous, indecent, unprofessional - his gut burned with both want and shame. Deep breaths. This wasn’t him.

Neuvillette allowed himself to look again. The model’s physique was similar to his , but more differences revealed themselves the longer Neuvillette observed. The face shape was completely different. The neck lacked scars. The hands were smaller, their knuckles not as rough, and in regards to what one of them was holding… how would he look down there? Where did he hide his other scars, how did they look?

“Ooh, what’s so special about this one?” Navia asked, leaning in to see better.

“Nothing,” Neuvillette said quickly.

He flipped the page - only to be greeted by the same model, drawn by the same artist. Here, however, the man was debauched, sitting astride someone’s hips, and-

Neuvillette cleared his throat and handed the album back. “Perhaps we should try something else.”

He had no idea what to make of Navia’s expression, though he sensed curiosity and bemusement from her. “If you say so,” she said with a shrug. She rummaged through the stacks of books on the table. She chose one of them, then picked the page before giving it to Neuvillette.

Having caught a few keywords, he already knew what was coming. “Could you refill my glass, please?”

“Sure! Want a macaron, too?”

“Might as well.”

She handed him a plate and a full glass, the latter of which he downed at once, just like before. He wasn’t sure if the alcohol worked, but he figured he could use it just in case it did. The soft sweetness of the chocolate macaron at least helped get rid of its acrid aftertaste. He put the dishes away and focused his attention on the book.

In Neuvillette’s honest opinion, the act of sex was inherently disgusting. He could never imagine himself doing it with anyone, so it was with apprehension that he read the text before him. It described intercourse between two men in a frankly embellished manner.

He forced himself to read. The characters involved expressed emotions that would’ve been much more compelling had Neuvillette not been forced to read as the men exchanged fluids that were not meant to be exchanged. They chased each others’ pleasure and comfort, and professed their love in their gestures, not just words.

It suddenly dawned on him that he had greatly underestimated how important sex was to humans. It wasn’t just pleasure and procreation. It was gross, it meant vulnerability - but that was the point, wasn’t it? What greater measure of trust was there than letting your partner see you in this state, then them allowing you to see themselves in turn?

With renewed interest, Neuvillette read as the characters connected their bodies into one, confessed their feelings and climbed to the peak together. He kept reading as one of them ended up much more drained than the other and needed his partner to take care of him - which he did without even being asked. They cleaned each other and fell asleep in an embrace.

That - Neuvillette craved that. What would it be like, to return to his nest after a long day and have someone waiting for him there? Someone that was just his, that wanted nobody but him? Neuvillette’s mind welcomed a specific someone into this fantasy, but this time, he didn’t stop it. Oh, how he craved to hold Wriothesley close and make him incoherent with pleasure. He’d treat him so good he’d never want anybody else. Neuvillette would show him all his fins and scales, and Wriothesley would be honored to scratch and wash them. They would curl up in Neuvillette’s nest and there, Wriothesley would let him burrow his head into his scarred chest, then weave his big strong arms around him. They’d spend the night together. They would part, but then Wriothesley would come back and they’d do these things all over again.

“Are you okay?” Navia asked softly.

“I…”

Neuvillette sighed and gave her the book back. His suspicions were correct. Wriothesley was right - humans weren’t always rational and apparently, so wasn’t Neuvillette. He’d been ignoring and misinterpreting not only other people’s intentions and feelings, but also his own, all because of some misguided attempt at cracking a universal code that applied to everyone. What did it matter that his feelings had no apparent reason behind them or that they messed with a professional relationship? Neuvillette had been so, so foolish for a long time and now, it was too late. Wriothesley found himself someone else.

“Thank you.” Neuvillette said quietly. “You helped me open my eyes and see that which I tried to deny myself.”

“That sounds good, but… why do you look like you’re about to cry, then?”

I am crying, he didn’t say. She didn’t need to know the true cause behind the droplets of rain that quietly splattered against the windows.

“Come on, hey, you can talk to me. I promise it’ll stay between us.” She put away her plate and gave him her full attention. “I haven’t done anything to upset you, right?”

“No, of course not. Like I said, you helped me greatly, it’s just…” Should he trust her? He wasn’t sure, but the truth squeezed his lungs and itched in his throat. “I don’t want just anyone, Navia. I don’t want to find someone to date, I want Wriothesley. ”

“Okay… oh.” Navia’s eyes widened with the realization. “Oh no, I’m so sorry. Do you want a hug?”

Neuvillette shook his head. He didn’t want her. He grabbed the closest pillow and curled around it, burying his face and claws in the cool soft fabric.

“Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”

“I think I need some space to think about it. I’m sorry, I’m… not being a good host right now.”

“Please, don’t worry about that - I understand. I can take care of myself just fine. Do you need help cleaning up?”

Neuvillette accepted the offer with a gracious nod. Navia put the barely touched mountain of snacks in the fridge, while he finished the water and cleaned the glasses. Even though the flavor was the same, he found he couldn’t enjoy it so much anymore. Together, they set up the couch so it would be comfortable to sleep on. Neuvillette left Navia to it and retired to his nest.

It was exactly as he left it this morning. Familiar, comfortable. Empty. Neuvillette often rearranged its contents, aware that something wasn’t right about it. Would it be better with Wriothesley in it?

Oh, who was he kidding, of course it would. No nest was meant for one.

Neuvillette climbed under the covers. He hugged a pillow that was too cold and couldn’t reciprocate. He manifested his own tail and wound it around himself, but it was not as warm as he desired.

It rained all night.

Chapter 5: No Joking Batter

Chapter Text

“Neuvillette!? What’s the meaning of this!?”

“Ah.” Neuvillette froze mid-motion. It dawned on him that perhaps, he should’ve prepared an explanation for exactly this scenario. Scenario being Navia Caspar leaving his quarters in the morning after spending the night there, her two assistants carrying out boxes of stuff, and Furina visiting uninvited.

“Lady Furina!” Navia offered her an elegant bow while a smile strained her cheeks. “I promise this isn’t what it looks like. We were just… talking!”

“Sure, ‘just talking’,” Furina mocked. She looked meaningfully to her right, where fat heavy rain battered at the window. “You know, it really makes me wonder just what you were talking about that has Neuvillette in such a great mood.”

“Furina.” Neuvillette sighed. He really had no energy to argue with her after a near-sleepless night. “Your fervor is appreciated, but misplaced. I was having a… personal issue that Miss Navia offered to help with, and we both thought that a private setting would be more suitable. That’s all.”

“Please. There’s plenty of space in literally any other part of the Palais to hold a confidential meeting, so this had to be on purpose- wait.” She gasped. “You had your first ever sleepover, and you didn’t invite me?”

Navia loudly cleared her throat and put on a perfect diplomatic smile. “Monsieur Neuvillette asked me for help with a private matter, but that’s because I was already involved. We didn’t intend to slight you, my Lady.”

Furina crossed her arms, closely observing them both. “Alright, Neuvillette, keep your secrets. Just tell me, are you okay?”

“I will be, I think. Right now I just need some time to reflect on the matter. And if there are any developments…” He wasn’t sure whether he would want to share them with anybody if there were any, but if he did, then Furina was on top of that list. “Should I ever host another girls’ night, I’ll be sure to invite you, if you’d like.”

Furina’s eyes lit up and for a split second she looked like she’d agree. But then, she stopped herself halfway through opening her mouth. A sort of pensiveness drowned out the spark and she nonchalantly checked her gloves. They were perfect as ever - her whole appearance was, in fact. Not a hair out of place. It occurred to Neuvillette that he’d never seen her the slightest bit disheveled. “Sorry, my dear Iudex, but on second thought, I won’t be able to attend such a thing - Archon duties, you understand. I won’t mind if you have fun without me, though~ consider this my benevolence.”

For the life of him, Neuvillette could not understand this woman. He couldn’t even parse her emotional resonance, courtesy of her divinity. Just… why? Why would she approach him, then build a wall out of flimsy excuses once she got close?

“Glad that’s one matter out of the way.” Neuvillette said bitterly. He was so sure she’d be delighted to join him, considering how she loved to insert herself into his days when she was bored. Had he misjudged Furina’s feelings towards him? Were they not as close as he thought? “Could you get to the point of why you decided to come bother me this morning? I’m about to be late.”

“I wasn’t going to bother you! I wanted to just- ugh. Forget it,” she huffed, then turned on her heel and stormed over to the elevator. A long, awkward silence passed as she waited for it to arrive. Neuvillette was content to let her steep in this creation of hers, and focused on calming himself down until she was gone.

“Is she okay?” Navia asked once the elevator door shut behind the Archon.

“Hm? Ah, yes, I suppose so. She’s always been…” He searched for the right word and failed. “...like this. Apologies for losing my composure. I simply lack the energy to deal with her right now.”

“It’s alright,” Navia’s words didn’t match her resonance, but Neuvillette was too rattled to think about it. He decided he’d just send her an apology gift for being a terrible host later.

Life in the Fortress had been boring lately. Or not, depending on who you asked. What Wriothesley meant was, with the Harbinger around, he could forget about stepping into the Pankration ring. Since then, the man had disappeared, but that didn’t really change much in this regard. Now Wriothesley had to deal with the Fatui’s child soldiers and the Traveler sniffing around his territory. It was kind of nice that they were conducting an investigation on the Harbinger for him. So maybe they didn’t know that as soon as they were done, he was going to, ekhem, interrogate their results out of them, but what they didn’t know couldn’t hurt them… for now.

But yeah, he’d still rather not step into the ring with them around. He had to be content with beating up the old sandbag he kept at the bottom floor of his tower.

Wriothesley could pummel a dummy for only so long before he got bored, though. That’s how he found himself in the kitchen earlier than usual. He helped out the staff on a whim - a few lucky bastards would get to taste his specialty ribs today - then assisted with the clean-up and practically threw said staff out.

Wriothesley was about to pull out the eggs when someone knocked on the door. He put them away with a sigh and went to see what that’s about. He wasn’t expecting to see the Traveler and Paimon, out of all people.

“Hi, Your Grace!” The fairy waved enthusiastically, her voice as high-pitched and jarring as ever. The Traveler, Aether, gave him a short bow. “Are you baking right now?”

Wriothesley’s heartbeat spiked. How did they know? “Oh? Whatever gave you the idea?”

“One of the Gardes said that you threw everyone out of the kitchen after lunch and asked us to help you in case you were baking. Something about preventing another Clog Incident?”

Ah, that. Wriothesley inwardly winced. But hey, at least they weren’t spying on him (probably)! Wriothesley considered his options. While he might not like sharing his weak spots, however small, he was still a beginner and this was the Traveler. According to the stories, he could do literally anything. Go out on a jog, slay a dragon, and still be back early enough to make lunch, stuff like that. Wriothesley took that with a large grain of salt, thanks very much, but he wouldn’t throw away the opportunity to see for himself.

“You’re just in time, then, I was about to begin. Come on in.”

The duo followed Wriothesley to his chosen station.

“What’s the Clog Incident?” Paimon asked.

Wriothesley smothered an irritated sigh. “Paimon.” He glared. “Ask about it one more time, and I’m going to ensure you and the Traveler get the worst Welfare Meals ‘till the end of the week.”

Paimon screamed in terror. “No, no, Paimon’s sorry! Paimon will never again mention the-!”

In less than a blink of an eye, the Traveler smacked a hand over her mouth. He gave Wriothesley a thumbs-up and a radiant smile, while the fairy let out enraged, incoherent noises from under his grasp.

Wriothesley shined his sweetest smile. “Now that that’s sorted out, are you helping me out or not?”

The Traveler nodded and let go of Paimon to sign something out. Paimon caught her breath, then translated for him. “Aether says we should go with- ooh, yes! Cookies!”

Cookies. Really? What had that Garde told them that made them think he needed help with damn cookies? Or did the Traveler want to just do damage control, and didn’t care about teaching him anything? Wriothesley let his doubt seep into his voice as he spoke. “Starting with the basics, I see.”

“Of course! How are you supposed to get good at something if you skip the basics? Have you ever even made cookies?”

“Of course I have.”

Paimon suspiciously narrowed her eyes, “Were they any good?”

“They were fine, but - doesn’t the same principle apply to all cookies, and isn’t quality just a matter of good ingredients?”

“Oh yeah, so why weren’t yours that good, huh?” Paimon had no business smirking at him like that.

Wriothesley smothered a sigh. Didn’t he just say it’s a matter of ingredients? Looked like her and the Traveler were set on the idea, though, and Wriothesley knew how to pick his battles. “Fine, whatever, we’re making cookies first, but then you’re helping me with something else. Oh, and just saying - no chocolate. Hate the stuff.”

“What!? How can you not like chocolate? Wait - is that why there’s never any in the cafeteria!? Oh, you’re terrible!” Paimon screamed, kicking at the air.

Wriothesley raised an eyebrow and glanced at the Traveler, who looked just as peeved at Paimon’s tantrum… or the chocolate ban.

To be honest, Wriothesley had tried chocolate only once in his life and had an allergic reaction so severe he had to be hospitalized. That was around three decades ago, maybe even more. He vaguely remembered that it tasted good, but the memory was tainted by almost dying, so, yeah. He’d rather not know what he was missing out on.

These days, Wriothesley never stocked up on it and forbade the kitchen staff from using any that they might’ve bought at Rag n’ Bone - all to ensure he’d never be served some by accident. It was a common misconception that he did so to make the inmates’ lives more miserable. The very idea made him want to roll his eyes; when he was an inmate, all chocolate had to be smuggled in, anyway. Prisoners were just softer these days. They should rejoice that they could legally buy it at the miscellany shop, damn it.

Without a reaction from Wriothesley, Paimon calmed down soon enough, and he and the Traveler went to work. Making the batter was laughably easy, though the Traveler had them use more butter than was reasonable.

“Now we need to let it cool for a while, so it doesn’t stick to the roller,” Paimon translated.

Wriothesley considered her words for a moment, then mentally reached for his Vision. With just a smidge of power, the ball of batter stiffened.

“Oh! That works, too. Let’s turn on the oven! Oh, oh, what cookie cutters do you have? Paimon hasn’t seen any.”

Wriothesley set the oven and sent her a flat look over his shoulder. He took two identical metal cups out of a cupboard and put them on the table with a pointed clink! “We’ll be using these. We’re in a penitentiary, not a kindergarten.”

Paimon whined. “But it shouldn’t matter, every kitchen should have at least a few!”

“See, that’s why we have a few. This one’s the moon, and there’s also a cheese wheel, a Mora coin, a bulle fruit-”

“Argh! Paimon has had enough of you!” Paimon yelled, then flew away and hid behind the Traveler. Her shoulders were suspiciously shaking and it was obvious what was about to happen. The Traveler clasped his hands as though in prayer and looked at Wriothesley with big, pleading eyes.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Wriothesley wasn’t a good man, but still not the kind to make a kid cry. On purpose.

Wriothesley considered all the tools at his disposal. There really weren’t many options, it’s not like they had heart-shaped cups lying around, or something. There had to be something he could use, but what? Knives - they could cut out all the shapes manually, he supposed - spatulas, forks… No, no. His handcuffs were useless, and so was his Vision, unless… Hold that thought.

Wriothesley clasped his hands together and focused his power. Stuff like this really wasn’t his thing. In a fight, there were few blows as devastating as a well-timed, messy explosion of power, but that was a completely different type of precision. What he was doing now was more akin to tinkering, except he wasn’t using his hands, exactly.

The result of his efforts was… dubious, but better than nothing, and he was in a time crunch here. “Hey, Paimon, look at this. What do you think?” he asked, showing her the cookie cutter he made of pure Cryo.

The fairy reluctantly peeked over the Traveler’s shoulder. She perked up, though, once she saw it. “Ooh! Is that a flower?”

“No, it’s a machine cog.” Wriothesley looked at it. Literally the machinest of cogs.

Paimon was about to say something more, but then her eyes settled on the Traveler signing something. “Aether says it’s a flower. He also says that it’s too thick to cut and only you can use it, or it will melt and ruin the batter.” Paimon gave Wriothesley a side-eye, her arms crossed. “Paimon agrees. You suck!”

A vein on Wriothesley’s forehead throbbed. “Well?” he asked the Traveler. “Do you have any better ideas, then?”

The Traveler stretched his arms with a smug smirk. He clasped his hands, never once breaking eye contact with Wriothesley. A few seconds later, he showed off a perfect Geo cookie cutter in the shape of a wolf’s head.

Wriothesley couldn’t help it - he barked out a laugh at the audacity. “Son of a bi- bird. Wanna bet I can make something Paimon will like more? The winner…” He thought quickly of something that wouldn’t sway Paimon to the Traveler’s side. “The loser has to make an entire batch with the winner’s cutters just for Paimon. If I win, you’ll just replicate my cutters. How about that?”

The Traveler crossed his arms and confidently nodded. They were on.

Wriothesley jumped the gun a bit, he’d admit in hindsight. It’s not often he made bets with the odds stacked against him, but the stakes were low, and the adrenaline delectable as ever - but nevermind that. The metaphorical ball was in his court, now. Something that Paimon was likely fond of, but still simple enough… Half a minute later, Wriothesley finished a cutter in the shape of a sunsettia.

“Aww, Paimon hasn’t had a sunsettia in so long… now Paimon’s sad! And it’s not even made well!” Ouch. “Show him how it’s done, Aether!”

The Traveler did, creating a cutter in the much cleaner and more complicated shape of a bunch of grapes.

Okay, time for a change of tactics. No more food. What did kids universally like these days, anyway? Well, you could never go wrong with a cute animal… not that long after, Wriothesley showed Paimon a cutter in the shape of a blubberbeast.

The fairy cooed loudly, to the Traveler’s visible dismay. Just a few seconds later, he proudly displayed a seahorse cutter, raising a smug brow at Wriothesley when it immediately grabbed Paimon’s attention.

Time for Wriothesley’s trump card. There was no creature cuter than a leisurely otter. He was glad that Paimon agreed - the fairy was enchanted with this cutter. He placed it down next to the others, close enough to affect it with his Cryo, and paid the Traveler back with a challenging look of his own.

The Traveler seemed more determined than irritated now. He ostentatiously tightened his gloves and got to work, brows furrowed in focus. It’s the most effort he’d put into something since the start of their bet and Wriothesley watched every twitch of his fingers with a bated breath. After a few minutes, he revealed the cutter he made; a marcotte.

Wriothesley was… not stunned speechless, but impressed. The flower’s long stem had multiple buds and leaves growing out of it. The Traveler’s elemental mastery must be insane to make something so thin and delicate and not have it break immediately.

Paimon considered it for a longer while before delivering her verdict. “It’s pretty, but it’s still just a marcotte. It’s not cute at all!”

The Traveler’s shocked, indignant face was priceless. Wriothesley would be lying if he said it didn’t embolden him further; his next creation was in the shape of a fat little finch.

“Ah! So cute!” Paimon squealed.

The Traveler responded with a swan - or a goose? - with a beautifully long, bent neck.

“Wow! So elegant, so… regal! Paimon’s sorry, she can’t decide which one she likes better.”

So they’re still tied… Wriothesley better think of something special. Another cute animal, or a toy, maybe? Or a fish - Paimon loved eating them, at the very least. Food had proven to be risky, though. Maybe something that reminded her of herself or the Traveler, like her crown, or-

“Good afternoon, Wrio- Wriothesley!?”

Wriothesley turned towards the voice. Right, it was about time that Gwen got off her shift. “Ah, here you are. I was wondering when you’d come.”

Much to his bemusement, Gwen swung the door shut so heavily he feared it’d fly off its hinges. She marched towards their kitchen station like he owed her serious money. “This is… is this something you just do with every girl you meet?”

Wriothesley didn’t know what to say. What on Teyvat was she talking about?

“Excuse you?” The Traveler signed something, and Paimon dutifully translated for him. “ He says ‘I’m imprisoned in the Fortress of Meropide, not gender norms’. Ooh, burn!”

Gwen halted and her eyes went wide as saucers. “Oh, um, I’m- I’m so sorry, I just… assumed…”

The Traveler crossed his arms and leveled her with a flat look.

Wriothesley took it upon himself to loosen the atmosphere. “Anyway, this is Guinevere. She’s one of the Gardes here at the Fortress and we’re baking buddies. Gwen, this is the Traveler and Paimon-”

“The Traveler and Paimon!?”

The celebrities basked in the attention. “We got sentenced here for two months for unintentional diplomatic misconduct. Fontaine’s justice system is really harsh sometimes, if you ask Paimon!”

Gwen nodded along, shiny eyes and all. Was it just his mood today, or was she more annoying than usual? “As I was saying, Gwen and I have been figuring stuff out together. We’ve had some help already, but neither of us would say no to another skilled teacher when he’s offering.” He sent her the glare he usually reserved for the most raucous troublemakers. “Would we, Gwen?”

“Of- of course! I’m sorry again, Traveler, Paimon, I’ll make it up to you, promise!”

“Glad that’s settled. Now, where were… we…” Wriothesley sighed heavily.

Paimon looked at him questioningly. “What’s wrong, Your Grace? Why are you- ahh! ”

Wriothesley’s grip over his Cryo must’ve slipped sometime during the conversation. The cookie cutters he’d made had all halfway melted, flooding the table and ruining the rolled batter.

“Unforgivable!” Paimon screeched. “That’s it! Paimon’s decided - you lose! ”

Wriothesley’s jaw clenched. Seriously? He’s been going with the Traveler toe-to-toe, he’d been about to win, and that’s what makes him lose? Fucking hell.

“Fine. Fine, let me clean this up, and we’ll get to it right away.”

“What ‘we’?” Paimon huffed. “You lost the bet, you have to make the cookies by yourself. Paimon certainly isn’t going to help you!”

“Of course, I wouldn’t dare assume otherwise.” He rolled his eyes. “But I’m sure Gwen won’t mind helping out her buddy in need, hm?”

Gwen nodded vigorously.

Paimon went red in the face. “Hey! You can’t dump your part of the bet on someone else!”

“Oh? I don’t remember that being in the rules. Besides, with two people working on it, you’ll have your cookies much quicker. Don’t you want that?”

The Traveler sent him an unimpressed glare, but Paimon caught the bait. “Okay, Paimon can forgive you in that case. But you really have to be quick, hmph!”

As promised, Wriothesley swiftly got rid of the mess, and then he and Gwen together got busy with the remaining batter. He almost punched Paimon when she complained they weren’t going fast enough while floating over his shoulder. He swore, the marcotte shape was the worst. It took slow, careful movements to keep the flower from tearing apart.

Thankfully, the batter wasn’t infinite, and they eventually finished. With Paimon mollified and munching on her cookies, the adults could finally focus and between the three of them, they baked up a storm that afternoon. They made a traditional sponge cake, but also muffins, breadsticks and even Liyue-style mooncakes. Wriothesley took out most of his bad mood on the poor egg whites, and by the time they were finished, he was much calmer - sleepy, even.

“Have as much as you want,” he told the others. “There’s so much, the cafeteria’s probably gonna have to organize a sale to get rid of it all.”

“You don’t have to tell Paimon twice!” The fairy said, as if she hadn’t been steadily inhaling anything that came out of the oven.

Wriothesley, too, packed up some to take to his office before he said a goodbye to his companions. Sigewinne was going to be delighted to have another tea party so soon.

Somewhere far above the water level, in the privacy of a luxurious bathroom, a scaly tail thumped against a bathtub’s wall. It splashed hot water to the accompaniment of soft slaps of skin on skin.

“Mmm, Wrio- ah! Hah~”

Neuvillette was too far gone to stifle these embarrassing sounds. He’d used bergamot-scented oil on himself, so similar yet different to the real thing. He had both his hands between his thighs, vigorously pumping, but in his mind, his fantasy, they weren’t his - or rather, they weren’t hands at all.

He’d been haunted, in a sense, by those sketches of a man resembling Wriothesley. He only saw them for a few seconds, but it’d been enough. Perhaps it was even better that he didn’t remember the details and could fill in the gaps with what he desired.

He leaned back on the bathtub’s smooth wall. Like this, it was easier to pretend that Wriothesley was above him, with an expression just as blissed out as Neuvillette’s must have been. The Wriothesley of this fantasy wasn’t bothered by the dragon's anatomy; he’d climbed into his lap already aroused and took all of him like a good mate. His hole was snug and stretched perfectly smooth and his powerful thighs hugged Neuvillette’s hips.

He’d begun slowly, with leisurely grinds and steady thrusts. His cheeks were firm but soft in Neuvillette’s grasp and Wriothesley faintly gasped whenever he squeezed them. But he was insatiable. All that Neuvillette had to give, he wanted, needed, begged for it. Now he was wildly bouncing up and down, lost in the chase of his own pleasure. Tears leaked from those beautifully overwhelmed ice-blue eyes, too unfocused to meet Neuvillette’s own.

Not-Neuvillette’s not-hands squeezed just right . “Wri- Wriothesley… !” Neuvillette whined brokenly into the humid air and finally tipped over the edge.

In his mind, Wriothesley was coming, too, clenching tighter than before. Hot cum spilled on Neuvillette’s chest and belly, yet neither stopped. They thrusted in tandem, chasing more friction, more pleasure, both struggling to breathe.

And then, Neuvillette made the mistake of opening his eyes, and the fantasy slipped away from him like a dream.

He was still in his bathroom, sitting in a partially filled tub. His body still buzzed with the aftershocks of his orgasm, he was still painted with cum. Yet still, Neuvillette whined in distress. The most important piece of this scene was missing. There was nobody sitting in his lap. The facsimile of Wriothesley’s scent hung in the air, painfully incomplete.

Neuvillette carried on with his nightly routine in silence. He hadn’t been able to get Wriothesley out of his mind since that epiphany hit him, so much so that he kept daydreaming about him even during office hours. He stepped into his bedroom dressed in just a robe, freshly dried hair falling down his back. Fantasy alleviated the loneliness somewhat, but that relief was temporary. Now, with a clear mind, Neuvillette couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping alone in his nest again.

He sat at his vanity instead, absentmindedly brushing his hair for the night. This wasn’t the first time Neuvillette felt like this about somebody, though he was much more clueless back then. He hadn’t fully grasped, yet, just how fickle humans could be; how easy it was to lose one.

Hundreds of years ago, Neuvillette had been fascinated by a human man, who he met in the line of duty, with dark hair and a strong sense of justice. It felt so obvious, then, to have him at his side. Neuvillette let himself get stuck in that pleasant limbo; never quite distancing himself from him, but not reaching out, either.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d lost until it was too late. He was forced to exile Vautrin to the Fortress of Meropide, where the man stayed for the rest of his life.

They never spoke again. Neuvillette couldn’t subject himself to hatred from the eyes and lips he’d learned to cherish, and so he never visited. Vautrin never once contacted him, either - as for why, the secret was lost to time, because according to the records dug up by Wriothesley, Vautrin never actually hated him.

Neuvillette had spent countless nights wondering what he could’ve done differently. Perhaps he should’ve let another judge take over Vautrin’s case. He could’ve apologized, if not in person, then at least in a letter. Most of all, though, Neuvillette couldn’t stop thinking about the little time they could’ve spent together, but didn’t.

Never again, Neuvillette had sworn to himself, would he subject himself to such suffering.

But it was happening again anyway. Neuvillette became fascinated by a human man with dark hair, who held himself to a strict moral code despite - or rather because of - the blood on his hands. They were close, yet never quite crossed the boundaries imposed by the professional nature of their relationship. They only met up in each other’s offices. Their meetings were written down in their work schedules. They used honorifics in their correspondence or whenever someone else was present.

Never again, Neuvillette had promised, yet history was repeating itself. He couldn’t undo what had been done, but he could learn from the past and change the future. He wasn’t going to just let Wriothesley leave him without having tried to make him stay, first.

Was it immoral to pursue a man that had probably just begun a relationship with another? Was it unbecoming of him as the Iudex? Perhaps, but it wasn’t illegal. Frankly, Neuvillette couldn’t be bothered by whatever outsiders may think when he knew just how much was on the line.

Finished with his hair, Neuvillette uncovered one of the windows to let in the moonlight. Even his eyes had trouble reading in complete darkness. His copy of Courting Displays for the Noble laid on the vanity - he had Sedene purchase it earlier today. He wanted to ensure that the knowledge within was up to date.

Neuvillette couldn’t be sure that Wriothesley cared for such rituals, but he figured he’d rather be safe than sorry. After all, he was the one who publicly fought for Wriothesley to be titled. For Neuvillette, specifically, to disregard the Duke’s social standing in such important circumstances would be the highest form of disrespect.

Their next meeting was tomorrow. Neuvillette didn’t know how exactly he was going to go about it. He needed something simple; a descriptor rarely, if ever, associated with things fancied by the peerage. Finding what he needed might take him the entire night, but so be it.

One way or another, he was going to make Wriothesley wish he was his.

Chapter 6: Fortune Flavors the Bold

Chapter Text

The Thursday meeting came and began without any surprise visits from gods this time - the clouds were looking particularly ominous, though. Wriothesley left his umbrella by the door.

Neuvillette was pensive. His face was even more expressionless than usual, so Wriothesley couldn't be absolutely sure, but he swore that the man was uncharacteristically quiet. He even swirled his water with little to no enthusiasm. Whatever happened, it must've been something serious to keep him in such a sour mood for the whole meeting. Wriothesley acted as if nothing was off - if Neuvillette wanted to open up, he'd do so once they put business matters to rest.

“I have the engineers’ report here, if you’d like to know more than I can explain.” Wriothesley placed the document on the desk. “But long story short, the Arkhium generator has passed all safety tests and is being installed as we speak. At the current rate, the Wingalet will be ready in months, and I’m thinking of hiring some outside workers to speed things up.”

“What changed?” Neuvillette asked. “You’ve said that you want to keep the project as confidential as possible.”

“Yeah.” Wriothesley sighed. “That actually touches on another matter I wanted to talk about. The concentration of Primordial Seawater dramatically increased during the last month.”

“Oh?”

Wriothesley stopped a frown. There was something in the way Neuvillette looked at him that made him seem like he expected Wriothesley to give him a particular set answer - but that couldn’t be it, could it? He kept his tone light, as if nothing was amiss.

“A routine test two weeks ago revealed that the concentration has tripled, and some more tests since then have confirmed that it wasn’t a freak accident. It’s never happened before - not in my time, anyway. I’ve been trying to think of causes that aren’t tied back to the prophecy, but with the recent events… I’m afraid we’re running out of time.”

After the truth about the Seawater’s properties came to light during the Fatui magician's trial, it took the two of them just one conversation to connect the dots. Wriothesley had had a theory about the so-called 'Egeria's secret' and while it was satisfying to be proven right, he'd also rather not have the Primordial Sea under his bedroom - or his Fortress, for that matter.

Neuvillette stayed silent a while longer, as if he was waiting for Wriothesley to elaborate. When he didn't, he said, “Test results, you say? Do tell me more.”

Wriothesley frowned. “That’s all… for now, at least.”

“See, Wriothesley, I’m asking because I received a most curious letter from Sigewinne this morning.” Oh. Uh-oh. “She told me how you ‘conducted’ that ‘test’. Wriothesley, I’m… I cannot put into words how irresponsible of you it was.” That fucking little snitch! She must’ve known what they were going to talk about today. “Please, you must be more careful.”

“I know. That day was eye-opening.” That face Neuvillette made, frowning and glaring with a down-turned mouth - Wriothesley didn’t like this face at all. He never should have put it there. “I mean,” Wriothesley drawled, ostentatiously sprawling himself on the couch, “we can’t have the Meropide Warden falling short so close to the climax, now, can we?” He winked. “You know I’d never.”

Neuvillette didn’t look amused. He put his goblet down roughly, spilling some of the contents. “That’s not what this is about, Wriothesley. I’m worried about you. You didn’t tell me last week, you tried to hide it from me today. Why?”

Wriothesley’s heart made a flip. Instead of answering, he got up and wiped the mess with his handkerchief. He did so attentively - fortunately, even the report didn’t suffer much - then made the mistake of looking up. Now that he was closer, he had a better look on that face he caused.

“Well, I…” He swallowed. His voice was quiet - dare he say weak. “I didn’t think you’d care to hear about something that isn’t important to the matter at hand.”

“On the contrary, Wriothesley. I find your well-being very important, regardless of the topic.”

Fuck, what did he even say to that? His nape went hot and he used his Cryo on himself to stop it from sweating. How did this man make him feel like an utter fool, yet so warm inside? “I mean, what good would it do? At best, I’d just needlessly worry you, as we can see, and I’m perfectly fine now.”

“I understand your reasoning, but have you considered that by having a history of hiding such matters from me, you might make me worry that you’re hiding something serious at all times?”

“Overthinking as usual, hm?” He said that, but really, it was just endearing. “Notes taken, though. I’ll be sure to never omit something like this in the future.”

Neuvillette’s soft, relaxed expression was worth a thousand suns. “Thank you. It relieves me greatly to hear this. Having said that, I agree with your earlier point. Will you need the Palais Mermonia’s financial support to hire the engineers?”

Wriothesley nodded. “The Wingalet already sucks up all of our surplus, so it would be appreciated.”

“I can write the Research Institute’s rector. I’m sure there are students and graduates who will be eager to help once they hear about the project.”

Wriothesley sighed deeply - that’s one less problem on his shoulders. “Thanks a lot, really. Well, do you maybe have a favor of your own to ask? I think I’ve already said all I wanted to.”

Neuvillette inclined his head. “The Maison Gardiennage will need more Meka than usual - something took out many of those in the wild, but there’s not much to say. The request should reach you by post soon. So, if there’s no more business to be had…”

Here it is. Wriothesley’s mood instantly lifted - it looked like Neuvillette had something he wanted to talk about, and Wriothesley would never get tired of listening to him, so he waited. Neuvillette just needed a while to get going, sometimes.

In the end, he must’ve decided to go with an action instead of words. He took something out of one of the cupboards and placed it on the desk’s surface. It was a box about the width and length of a dinner tray and not exceptionally high. Wriothesley observed as Neuvillette’s deft fingers opened it and showed him the contents. His breath hitched when he saw them.

“It was an impulse purchase on my part. It reminded me of you and I couldn’t help myself. I’d like you to have it.”

Wriothesley picked up one of the cups. Nobody but Neuvillette would ever impulse buy a whole tea set, he thought hysterically. It was the good porcelain, too. He gently took out each element to see them better, quiet awe present in his every move. Every cup had wolf pups painted on them with painstaking detail. They were playing together, stretching or just sitting down. The saucers had toys and grass on them, while the pot sported a painting of a majestic pair of adult wolves, watching over their cubs.

“Neuvillette, this is beautiful.” Wriothesley cautiously put down the pot and looked into Neuvillette’s eyes. “Are you sure you don’t want to keep it?”

Neuvillette shook his head. “It should be used as intended by someone who can appreciate it fully, instead of gathering dust here. Please, take it.”

“In that case, thank you. I’ll take good care of it.”

“I’m glad. I was also wondering… would you like to take a walk with me?”

Wriothesley’s brows climbed his forehead. Neuvillette, going out into the sunshine? He wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity like this, so he agreed without thinking about it. “Sure, I’d love to. What do I do with this, though?” He gestured at the tea set.

“Ah, it would indeed be too troublesome to take it with you on the walk. Apologies for that oversight. You can leave it here and come back for it later.”

“Then give me a second and lead the way.”

Wriothesley put each piece back into the box. Neuvillette was already ahead of him, waiting by the door. He opened it for him when he approached.It was a bit of a weird feeling to have the Chief Justice treat him like a butler would. Now that he thought about it, it might be the first time they were exiting his office together like this - they always said their goodbyes by the desk or the door, or met somewhere else altogether. Was Neuvillette this polite to all his guests?

Well, duh, it was Neuvillette. Probably had something to do with the pompous etiquette of the Court’s peerage, which Wriothesley didn’t give half a rat’s ass about. He remembered that Neuvillette gifted him, what, five separate books on it, on the day of his nomination as Duke? He opened each of them 0.4 times on average.

But nevermind that. Neuvillette was right here and now, at his side. No point thinking about some stuck up ‘noble’ manners.

“Where are you taking us?” Wriothesley asked as they left the Palais.

“Just over to Mermonia Park.”

“Huh, I actually haven’t been there for some time. Sounds good, let’s go.”

They set off at a leisurely pace. On habit more than anything, Wriothesley’s thoughts wandered back to their meeting. The whole prophecy of doom thing had been on his mind a lot lately. Even if the Wingalet worked, that’s only up to a thousand lives saved, and that’s assuming that all the rescue protocols go off without a hitch-

Wriothesley was dragged away from these musings by a silk-clad hand catching onto his. Instantly, he tensed and looked for the source.

"Ah, my apologies." Neuvillette said. "I hope this is alright? My hand is cold..."

Neuvillette's hand was as ridiculously slender as the man himself, so much so that when Wriothesley enveloped it with his, tips of Neuvillette's fingers poked out of the grasp. Even gloved, they seemed delicate like porcelain.

"Don't worry about it," Wriothesley said calmly, when in reality, his mind screeched to a halt. Surely, Neuvillette knew what it looked like? It was hard to tell which human customs he was familiar with, sometimes.

Neuvillette's smile was faint, but still the widest Wriothesley had ever seen on him. "I'm glad," he said, entwining their fingers. At that exact moment, clouds above them parted, as if the universe itself was in a mocking mood today. Gentle rays of sunshine hit Neuvillette's pale skin and hair, making him simply radiant.

Wriothesley swallowed heavily and hoped Neuvillette wouldn't feel his rabbiting pulse somehow. Yeah, no, there was no way this was just some friendly hand-holding, was there? Fuck it, Wriothesley thought - if he wasn't sure of something, all he had to do was check. What was the most obvious pick-up line he knew, one even Neuvillette would recognise?

"Well..." Wriothesley leaned in so close that their shoulders touched each other. "It's an honor to hold the hand of someone like you."

Neuvillette's eyes caught his. This close, Wriothesley had a perfect view of the man's slitted pupils and sinfully long lashes.

"Someone like me? What do you mean?"

"Someone so breathtaking, that if being handsome was a crime, they'd be guilty as charged," Wriothesley said with a wink.

Neuvillette frowned slightly. "Such a law, if it existed, would be inapplicable. There would need to be a way to objectively assess a person's attractiveness, which would already be difficult since, as humans say, 'beauty is in the eye of the beholder'. The matter gets more problematic when you consider that it's impossible for a human to drastically alter the appearance they were born with - so not only would they be punished for something they have no control over, but would have little to no ways to repent for their crime. Would you have every attractive person in Fontaine disfigured or exiled forever, Wriothesley?"

How. How did it go so sideways...?

Neuvillette must've seen something in Wriothesley's stupefied expression, because he shyly looked away. "Also, if I were to trust your opinion... This law would render not one, but two of Fontaine's figureheads detained until further notice."

And now he's complimenting Lady Furina???

Wriothesley laughed out loud. He couldn’t help himself - this was the most Neuvillette thing he’d ever heard, except maybe the water rants. “Then it’s good that it doesn’t exist, yeah? No need to worry your pretty head about it.”

Well, there was his answer, Wriothesley guessed. Neuvillette was staring at the ground ahead, embarrassed and… come on. He had no business looking so adorable right after rejecting Wriothesley's attempt in the cutest, most roundabout way possible.

On second thought, it was kind of obvious that Neuvillette didn’t mean it that way. Sometimes, he said things with brutal straightforwardness and other times, he’d fail to catch the most obvious of jokes. Interpersonal interactions were difficult enough for Neuvillette without him making them harder for himself. If he said his hand was cold, then his hand was cold.

Comfortable silence settled between them. Wriothesley used the opportunity to bask in Neuvillette’s touch and presence while the latter led them through the park. It was nearly empty - understandable, considering the hour and threat of rain. The weather was getting better fast, though. They walked leisurely along the elegant pathways, soaking up the sun rays that got stronger with every minute.

Wriothesley chanced a glance at Neuvillette. He was the kind of man that liked to just stand in the rain from time to time, no umbrella, nothing - embracing his inner otter, or something. Yet, he made no indication that he’d rather go and hide inside. Maybe he, too, really wants this to last lon- Wriothesley froze that thought right where it stood. No need to give himself hope.

He’d still rather have Neuvillette comfortable, though. His eyes scanned the surroundings - he was so lost in thought that he’d barely noticed it when they entered the park. It looked just as Wriothesley remembered; all wide stone-laced walkways and hedges perfectly curated into clean shapes, a tree here or… there. His eyes stopped at an ideal spot.

“Hey, Neuvillette, let’s sit here.”

Neuvillette looked at the bench Wriothesley was pointing at. “Very well. You have a good eye, Wriothesley.”

Instantly, a blush started crawling up Wriothesley’s neck. He Cryoed it back into submission before it reached his face. Oh, he was so gone for this man. They sat next to each other with their hands still entwined. The bench was placed near a tree, allowing Wriothesley to sunbathe while Neuvillette took cover in the branches’ shadow.

“Wriothesley,” Neuvillette said, and all of Wriothesley’s attention was immediately on him. “In her letter, Sigewinne also said that you’ve been baking her a lot of treats recently. She’s had a lot of fun hosting tea parties for other Melusines thanks to you.”

“Yeah, and with those parties, there’s been a mysterious influx of stickers on my things.”

The comment made Neuvillette smile even wider. Wriothesley stared, enchanted, as Neuvillette moved closer and enveloped his hand with both of his. Their thighs and shoulders touched, making Wriothesley’s insides burn and tingle. He unconsciously shifted so his upper body faced Neuvillette. This close, the floral smell of Neuvillette’s shampoo reached his nose and halted his thoughts.

“Thank you for taking care of her, Wriothesley.” He squeezed his hand tighter. “It means a lot.”

“Anytime. It’s my pleasure.”

Sometimes it really wasn’t, but if it made Neuvillette look at him like this, Wriothesley would drink every milkshake she made.

“Would you like to visit?” Wriothesley asked.

“Visit…? Thank you for the invitation, but I know the rules. I wouldn’t want to disrupt the inmates.”

Fuck the rules. “We can have one of those tea parties in my office, how about that? You won’t disrupt anyone this way. Besides, I’m sure Sigewinne would be delighted to see her father again. Or, father figure? Whatever, my point stands.”

“Your point stands, indeed.” Neuvillette’s chest shook, as if he was hiding a chuckle. “Our species are related, and I do consider the Melusines my successors. They’re the pride and joy of all of Fontaine, and now you’ve made me miss them, you devious man.”

“Once a sly dog, always a sly dog,” Wriothesley cheeked.

“It seems like things are going to go the sly dog’s way, again. I’ll write to tell you what’s the earliest break in my schedule. Are evening hours alright?”

“Sure. You can come anytime.”

“I already can’t wait.” Bless Neuvillette and his blindness towards accidental innuendos - or maybe it was just Wriothesley that needed to get his head out of the gutter. Neuvillette sighed. “Unfortunately, there’s a lot of official matters I have to take care of today. It’s about time we went back.”

Right - they’ve been out for a good chunk of time. They stood up together and Neuvillette immediately glued himself to Wriothesley's whole arm. He hadn’t hesitated at all, as if he did right what he was supposed to do, as if this was the natural order of things.

Wriothesley’s head was a mess. This was not just friendly behavior. But earlier, he’d been so sure… was he wrong? He needed to retreat and analyze all their interactions with a clear head, which, for obvious reasons, he couldn’t do right now - and what about right now? Was Neuvillette hitting on him? How could he check without exposing his own feelings and potentially making things awkward between them?

He’d ask Neuvillette about it once he’d had some time to mull it over. So for now, he acted as if this was normal. Didn’t push Neuvillette away, but didn’t invite him closer, either. Bless Lady Furina’s hat, the walk was short.

Wriothesley only put space between them once they entered the Palais. He talked with the bureaucrats here roughly once a week and knew perfectly well how bored they got; Neuvillette didn’t deserve being thrown right into their rumor mill. They still earned themselves a few curious looks walking through the Maison’s open office, but that’s probably just because Neuvillette rarely ever left his.

Much too soon, they were alone and standing by Neuvillette’s desk. Neuvillette picked up the tea set’s box in both hands.

“This time, I hand it to you properly,” he said. “Thank you for your time today. Your company was a delight, as always.”

Wriothesley accepted the box. His face went numb with how hard he Cryoed his blush away. “At your service, Monsieur.” He cleared his throat. “And it’s been my pleasure. I’d like to do it again, sometime.”

“Then I’m glad that we agree. Something can certainly be arranged, like the tea party you proposed. Remember to keep an eye out for any correspondence from me.”

I always do. “I never forgot.”

“And be careful on your way back.”

“‘Course I will, I’d never risk breaking this tea set.”

“I meant that you should be more careful in general.”

“Right, that. Will update you if I so much as sneeze. And-” Wriothesley rushed to say, seeing Neuvillette opening his mouth already, “I’ll pass on your regards to Sigewinne.”

Neuvillette blinked in surprise, then shone one of those precious small smiles, warming Wriothesley’s chest as if he was the sun itself. “Thank you, Wriothesley.”

“You’re welcome.”

Wriothesley didn’t have anything more to say, but he was unable to tear himself away from Neuvillette. He just stared wordlessly into his eyes like the besotted fool he was. For a human, it might’ve been rude or awkward. For Neuvillette… who knew. He seemed perfectly content in looking right back and waiting for Wriothesley to pull himself together.

Which he did, but only once the clock struck four. Neuvillette had a lot to do; it was nigh time for Wriothesley to get out of his hair.

“Until next week, then. Or sooner, hopefully.”

“We will see. Farewell, Wriothesley.”

Wriothesley forced his body to turn around and exit the office. He cradled the gift to his chest, as if the slightest bump could damage it. He traveled the route to Meropide’s entrance with one half of his mind in the clouds and a half less than usual looking over his shoulder.

Even the elevator ride back into the dark underworld didn’t feel that ominous. The warmth that Neuvillette ignited in his chest didn’t waver once. Meropide wasn’t half as cold with its company. Wriothesley passed the nihilistic receptionist, the bored Gardes and menacing Meka like they weren’t even there, then entered the Administration Tower and his quarters on the ground floor.

‘Quarters’ was a big word, one certainly bigger than the two rooms it described. They were just big enough to house a cramped bathroom, bed, a wardrobe and a kitchen corner. Small cabinets were squeezed in everywhere between. He placed the tea set on the counter reverently. He’d decide what to do with it later, once his head was in a working state.

For that purpose, he re-entered the general floor. His quarters plus the storage rooms took up half of the space, while the other remained boringly empty. That was on purpose - no one would suppose that there’s anything Forbidden with a capital F lying beneath the floor - but nevermind that. Wriothesley dragged his trusty old sandbag out of storage and hung it in the empty space.

The thing was likely older than he was, but it still held strong. It bore many signs of wear and tear - and even more stickers. Sigewinne loved it the first time she saw it; Wriothesley had painted a dumb face on it so it’d be more satisfying to hit, crooked eyes and a stuck-out tongue and all. She dubbed it “Dave”. At that moment, the sandbag became her favorite thing to glue stickers onto, and her Melusine friends followed. Wriothesley had stopped getting rid of them, because there really was no point. Dave’s lower half was entirely covered in them. The higher, the thinner the sticker layer became and only the ‘face’ was left completely untouched.

Wriothesley took off his coat and had a short warm-up. He secured his bandages, eyes raking over Dave’s oblong, swaying form. Insolent motherfucker. One of them was getting pounded tonight, and Wriothesley was going to make it Dave’s problem. He greeted him with a double punch, then fell into the familiar rhythm of punch, dodge, kick.

He hammered at the bastard until his own thoughts sharpened, muscles burned from the burden of exercise and the warm mess in his chest settled. He replayed the meeting with Neuvillette in his mind, taking each action and word apart. If it was anyone other than Neuvillette, there’d be no doubt. But Neuvillette… was Wriothesley really going to discredit him by thinking that he wouldn’t have enough social literacy to know the meaning of the things he did? Missing social cues was nowhere near the weight of giving gifts and holding hands.

Am I really going to do this to myself again? Wriothesley thought as a particularly mean hook shook Dave’s chain. It’s been decades since he’d last let someone get close enough to betray him, which they did. The wounds may have healed, but the scars were still there. Was he sure that he wanted Neuvillette to touch them?

…yes, yes he was. He didn’t remember the last time someone just held him the way Neuvillette had today. Besides, this was Neuvillette, the Chief Justice of the fucking Nation of Justice. If there was a single person in the entire world who Wriothesley could trust to always do the right thing, it would be Neuvillette. They might hurt each other, but they were adults. They’d just talk it out. If Neuvillette wanted to, too, which he probably did, they could make it work.

Fuck, but Wriothesley wanted it to work.

Chapter 7: Truffle Afoot

Chapter Text

Not even beating Dave’s stupid face made it easy to pull himself together the next morning. Wriothesley had one of those dreams with Neuvillette in them, and the following rendezvous with his hand just reminded him that he hadn’t gotten laid in too long.

For fuck’s sake, he was acting like a damned teenager. Guess that’s what he got for spending his actual teenage years in a traumatic blur; normal people that age were out there dating and making friends while Wriothesley was too busy surviving homelessness and scheming to kill his parents. The years spent in old Meropide didn’t help him in that regard, either.

Now here he was, technically an adult, but with more issues than he had fingers. Relationships were always something that others did, while he just observed from the side. First person view was a whole different beast, as he was learning - but he would learn. He just needed to catch up with the others.

That’s how Wriothesley spent his forenoon - sore, horny and lost in his head. The wolf-themed tea set was his biggest spotlight and detriment at once; each look and sip made him forget all his woes, but it did so by reminding him of Neuvillette, which then sent him down the teenager spiral all over again. That is to say, he barely got anything done.

He left the Administration Tower to get some lunch and immediately, he tensed as he walked past the usual Gardes and their eyes fell upon him. He ignored it - but then, everyone else was looking at him like that, too. It wasn’t just his paranoia flaring up, he did catch multiple people glance at him when they thought he wasn’t looking.

Rationally, he knew he was safe. If his people had organized a coup against him or something, they wouldn’t be so obvious about it. He didn’t get malice from them either - curiosity, if anything. But why were they looking at him like that? It wasn't because of his clothes - he wore his uniform today, so the chance of color miscoordination was none. He discreetly checked if Sigewinne managed to sneak a sticker on his butt or back, but found nothing - and it’s not like that was such an unusual sight, anyway.

He’d even caved in and asked a Garde if they had another Clog-like incident on their hands, which the man vehemently denied. “There’s just some new rumors floating about you in the overworld, Your Grace. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Wriothesley sighed. Right. Some paper must’ve decided there’s not enough shit going on in Fontaine and decided to pull his name through the meat grinder. He probably owed it to The Steambird for reminding people of his existence.

By the time Wriothesley got to the cafeteria, it was mostly empty. He disregarded the meal that Wolsey put aside for him and got a random one from Bran, instead. Trout - eh, he’d live. He wolfed down the small serving and headed to the kitchen, fishing a book out of his pocket on the way over.

It was an actual recipe book with a whole section dedicated to desserts. Its back was broken in multiple places and some pages had stains on them, but honestly, Wriothesley was just glad it didn’t have mold on it. He’d found it in Meropide’s library, after all.

The chosen recipe seemed simple enough. Wriothesley carefully separated the yolk from the whites, which he put in a bowl. He grabbed a whisk and imagined he was beating up a journalist. In his mind, the whites became the kamera, then the lens, then finally that pesky vulture themselves.

He sighed in contentment and readied another bowl of whites - and those, too, he finished before he knew it. Everything was fine. He added in the sugar and a pinch of salt, mixed it all according to the recipe, then formed the white puff into cute little dollops. Making meringue was surprisingly simple. It took hours to bake, though, so Wriothesley unhurriedly got around to cleaning. He wasn’t sure how long he’d spent in the kitchen, but Gwen walked in just as he was about to finish the dishes.

“Hi there,” he threw over his shoulder and turned his attention back to the sink.

“Hi,” she said that and… nothing else. Weird - she hadn’t been this meek around him for some time now.

…She was looking at him like that, too, wasn’t she. Wriothesley and Gwen didn’t know each other well , but somewhat. Just what did the rumor mill come up with that sounded reasonable enough for her to consider?

“A Mora for your thoughts?” he asked.

It took her a moment too long to answer. “It’s nothing serious. There’s just been a weird new rumor floating around.”

“Now you’ve made me curious. Is it something funny, at least?”

“Depends on the sense of humor, I guess? But not really, no. It’s just distasteful in my opinion.”

Wriothesley dried his hands and turned towards her. Her nose was scrunched. She took something out of her pocket and passed it to him - a shiny magazine,

His eyes widened the second he unfolded the cover. Right there on the front page was a picture of Neuvillette and himself sitting and nigh-cuddling on a bench together.

IUDEX CAUGHT WITH ROGUE PARAMOUR! IMPARTIALITY COMPROMISED?

the title read.

“The fuck,” Wriothesley hissed and flipped it open. There was one more picture inside; a shot of their backs, made on their way back to the Palais, if he had to guess. He skimmed the article in search of his name or title and fortunately didn’t find them. Guess the magazine would rather print and sell this literally the next day than do any research. “Gossip rags,” he muttered, rolling his eyes.

“So it’s not true?”

“No, it’s not. We’re not an item, or anything,” yet. Unfortunately. “And even if we were, whatever’s written in there is probably just bullshit. Neuvillette’s character is unimpeachable. Impartiality compromised? Oh, give me a break.”

“That’s a relief,” Gwen said with a smug smile. “I mean, not that I believed any of that, obviously. Neither did the others! The pictures are just so misleading, it got everyone curious, I guess.”

Wriothesley looked at the cover again. He and Neuvillette were close, turned towards each other, and their bangs covered most of their faces - Wriothesley’s badge wasn’t visible, either. Not exactly what he’d call good journaling. His scars and signature boots were on display, though, so no wonder that his employees recognized him.

The paper crinkled as he gripped it tighter. What did it matter that people didn’t know his name or face, if they knew his general appearance and the exact time and place of his visits? This could be the beginning of an end to his anonymity. He had to ask Neuvillette if distributing his pictures without consent was illegal. It sounded like it should be, but the law sure loved to lag behind new inventions.

Wriothesley caught Gwen’s eye and mentally backtracked a few seconds. “Wait - why are you so relieved to hear this?”

“Well, it’s always nice to have confirmation, even if I never believed it in the first place.” She played with the ponytail that fell over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, I know you’re not the kind of man that would do this to me.”

Do what? What on Teyvat was she talking about? She was still playing with her hair, staring into his eyes with a gentle smile on her face. Her behavior made no sense, it’s not like they were… oh.

Oh no.

He was exactly the kind of man who would do that to her. When and how had he ever given her the impression that he was interested - scratch that, that they’re a thing? More importantly, how did he navigate out of this mess? He softly put the magazine onto a counter and took a deep breath, then regarded the woman before him.

She was still looking right at him, now with a blush dusting her cheeks. Her fingers fiddled with the front edge of her jacket, as if they were itching for another pair of hands to grasp. They stilled, though, as the silence stretched between them. Her eyebrows twitched downwards.

“Look,” Wriothesley began carefully, his tone level. Took another deep breath. “I don’t know what you think I’m like, but I certainly wouldn’t date my employee.”

“That’s not going to be a problem! I know I’m not fit for this job and… I admit I stayed partly because I wanted to get to know you better, but I was always going to resign after the first month.”

“You’re not unfit for the job, you’re new, trust me when I say that I see it. You just have to get in the right mindset.”

“I know, and that’s exactly what I mean.” She looked away into the distance, her voice getting quieter. “I thought I could do it ‘cause I’m fit, you know? But having strength is one thing, using it on others to ‘put them in their place’ is another. To become actually good at my job, I’d need to learn to use it without hesitation. I put some thought into it and decided that I don’t want to become that sort of person.”

Huh. He might’ve actually invited her for tea to talk about life if it wasn’t for this weird one-sided thing between them.

“While I respect your decision, your words just now make me even surer that it’d never work.”

She wouldn't approve of his methods. She must’ve not heard how he came into power, yet, because otherwise she wouldn’t have said, “How so?” She crossed her arms. “Why are you so intent on giving up without even trying?"

“Because I’m gay, Gwen.”

Gwen stayed silent for a few blinks, then frowned. “...no, you’re not.”

“I’m-” She didn’t- there’s now way she just said that. Wriothesley blinked a few times, but the image before him stayed the same and Gwen didn’t take back her words. He crossed his arms over his chest.“Excuse me?”

“W-well, it’s, you’re just… not! You have this aura around you… you always dominate the room. You’re confident, calm, well-built and, well, very handsome…” She cleared her throat. “My point is, I know many gay men and you’re not at all like them.”

“Really,” Wriothesley deadpanned. “And here I thought liking it up the ass was as gay as it got. Maybe I should have my Celestia-Approved Gay Man Certificate taped to my back at all times? Do you want me to show it to you as proof?”

Gwen’s face chalked. “Stop joking around!”

He stayed still and let silence do all the talking for him.

“Oh… But you… so you’re really…” She hung her head, then wobbly asked, “Just, if that’s so… why did you take me on that date, then?”

What? He narrowed his eyes - she was actually referencing something, not just pulling it out of nowhere. They baked together a lot, sure, but that doesn’t equal dating. “What date?”

Her head snapped back up and she spat out the words, “The double date with Navia and Clorinde, what else?”

Ooh, that. He barely remembered Gwen was there, too - he’d been too focused on practice. “That was a date?”

“It was! They thought so, too!”

Wriothesley smothered a sigh. Just throw her out, his mind whispered. While that sounded incredibly tempting, heartbreak was already a bitch and a half. She didn’t need him to make it worse for her, she really didn’t and he shouldn’t, and yet his next words cut through the air like blades.

“Well, I didn’t. I’m really sorry for the whole misunderstanding, but can you drop it already?”

Gwen was about to say something more, but stopped herself halfway through. Her eyes shone with tears, ones she wasn’t willing to show him. She sharply turned around and stormed through the room. She slammed the door open - or she would’ve, if there weren’t anything between it and the wall.

“OW!” screamed the unfortunate bastards that caught the swinging door with their faces. Gwen disappeared in the distance while Wriothesley stared at the small crowd gathered at the threshold. A very eavesdropping crowd, if he had to guess. The people in the front froze once they noticed they’d been caught. Wriothesley could single out Wolsey, Maupoil, Etienne and Monglane.

Someone in the back stage-whispered, “A bottom?” The words carried in the spacious, empty kitchen, making the group collectively flinch.

Wriothesley’s face went red and his jaw twitched. First that journalist, then the article, now this - he’d had enough .

“Get the fuck out.”

The crowd scrambled without a second’s hesitation. This whole damn mess of a situation already gave Wriothesley a headache, and it was only the beginning. He slumped on a stool and hid his face in his hands.

By tomorrow - scratch that, in an hour - the Fortress was going to be buzzing with the news that their Duke is bending over for the Chief Justice. Which wasn’t that unwelcome of a thou- that wasn’t the point.

He shouldn’t have chased them away - now he didn’t know who was in the group, exactly, so it’d be harder to track down potential sources of… misinformation. He should’ve also dissuaded everyone from connecting the dots that didn’t exist.

Could’ve, would’ve, should’ve, whatever. There was bound to be some unrest after this; Wriothesley really loved his job, sometimes. But for now, he had to wait for the meringue to finish. It wouldn’t hurt if he beat up some more whites and made a sponge cake with them.

Wriothesley relaxed with a cup of chamomile and his favorite spinning crystal for company. Sue him, but he deserved it after that shitshow, and he still had yet to even read the damn article. He reckoned that he should, just on the off-chance that it accidentally got something right - it still didn’t sit right with him that he didn’t notice they were being followed.

There was more, but Wriothesley didn’t bother. What utter garbage. That’s exactly why he usually made it a point to avoid magazines like this. As to what he was going to do next - it’d be for the best if he just waited the gossipmongers out.

For now, he’d just send a friendly notice to all his staff that reminded them of the non-disclosure agreement in their contracts. Some really nasty rumors were going to spread around the Fortress, but as long as they didn’t get out, he’d manage.

Wriothesley’s lips twisted with distaste when he realized he’d need to cancel his and Neuvillette’s next meeting; he’d bet his gauntlets that at least two journalists were going to try and ambush him there. With a sigh, he grabbed a pen and sheet of paper. Might as well let Neuvillette know right away.

“This is unacceptable!” Furina fumed, pacing around Neuvillette’s office. She flopped onto one of the couches, forearm dramatically resting on her forehead. “How can you be so calm!? Hellooo, they’re literally saying you’ve been corrupted!” She waved the magazine at him for emphasis.

“My reputation will defend itself.”

Furina gasped. “Don’t tell me you’re letting them get away with this!?”

Neuvillette slammed a stamp on the document before him. “On the contrary, I’ve just finished compiling a lawsuit against them. Their editor will receive it first thing tomorrow morning.”

With the speed of a child on a sugar high, Furina sprang up from her seat, crossed the room and slammed her hands on his desk. “Let me see!”

He did - the ink needed some time to dry, anyway. She grabbed it eagerly with both hands and began reading, twitching on the soles of her feet.

Neuvillette’s eyes were drawn to the distasteful cover of the magazine that laid to the side. He growled lowly at the sight. This was his Duke, his precious memory, his courting attempt. How dare they…!

Every other noble in Wriothesley’s position wouldn’t hesitate to sue over this kind of slander, but those other nobles would also delight in the attention a lawsuit such as this could bring them. Wriothesley, meanwhile, couldn’t defend himself without revealing his identity; and so, Neuvillette would gladly go to battle in his stead.

Unfortunately, the Maison Ordinalice wasn’t done with drafting and passing all necessary kamera-related laws, so the best he could do was sue the magazine for defamation - but he had a lot of ground for that as well. It was a dismissable mistake to question Neuvillette’s impartiality, but fabricating the accusations about him abusing the justice system was ten steps out of the line. Perhaps defending himself was an unorthodox way of fighting for his chosen one’s honor, but it was also the only way to keep Wriothesley out of the light.

“Oh, this is great,” Furina giggled. “I’m signing under this, too - that’ll show ‘em just who they’re messing with!”

Neuvillette was pretty sure they didn’t need Furina’s signature for that, but he let her have her fun.

Only a day later, a magazine known as The Poodle withdrew their latest edition despite how well it was selling, then published a formal apology to the Iudex in the next. Mister Laurent got painted black and fired. The case never reached court.

Dear Duke Wriothesley de Meropide, Warden of the Fortress of Meropide,

While it is a shame that our meeting is postponed, I understand and respect your decision. I should be able to clear a spot on Monday three weeks from now. In the meantime, I think we might be able to turn this situation to our advantage, however.

While I could fill in the gap that our canceled meeting left in my schedule, I shall free my entire afternoon and evening, instead. You could host that tea party you promised then. Do tell me what you think.

Sincerely,
Monsieur Neuvillette, Chief Justice of Fontaine

Chapter 8: Whipped

Chapter Text

As requested, Sigewinne hopped up the stairs to Wriothesley’s office in the afternoon, a few days before the tea party was scheduled to take place. In one hand she held a milkshake, in the other - a list.

“For your old bones!” She said as she placed the shake right next to his hand, still holding a pen.

Wriothesley sighed but dutifully put down the pen. Took a deep breath, ignored the cute straw and downed the whole thing in just a few gulps, then quickly washed it down with tea. Sigewinne took the glass back. She frowned a little at the unused straw, but knew better than to test his patience and just handed over the list. Written on it were all the snacks she wanted him to prepare.

He looked over it and said, “Nope.”

Sigewinne gasped. “What!”

“Sigewinne, there’s like twenty items on here and one of them is tidalga muffins.”

“What’s wrong with tidalga muffins?”

Everything. “I am not touching any chocolate or jellyfish. Why don’t you think it over some more and cross out some stuff? We won’t even be able to eat all of this.”

“But that’s what I did!” She stomped her foot. “These are some of my sisters’ favorite foods. We can’t cross any of them out or someone might not get their favorite, and that would be just sad, wouldn’t it?”

Wriothesley narrowed his eyes. “Sigewinne… How many of your sisters have you invited, again?”

“All of them, of course! Hey, what are you making that face for? You said I could invite anyone I want.”

“Anyone doesn’t mean everyone.” He sighed. “How many are going to be there?”

“The usual squad and the Melusines living in the Court all confirmed, but I haven’t received any response from Merusea, yet.” She shyly looked at her feet. “Now that I think about it, it might’ve not occurred to them that they should respond… and the responses won’t make it back in time if I ask them again… Sorry. We’ll know when they get here.”

“Great.” Wriothesley was the type of man who prepared for the worst and hoped for nothing - said worst being a Melusine siege in this case. It was going to be a terrible hassle preparing the space for all of them to fit, nevermind the food and drink. He should’ve declined. Sigewinne’s puppy eyes had won her more battles than he ever had in the Pankration ring, though, and they were not breaking their streak today. “Fine, but we’re slaving over these together, understand?”

Listen, it was a calculated decision. This tea party was his chance to impress Neuvillette and he was going to do it from every angle possible - organization, tea, food, dress and of course, making sure all his daughters had fun.

“Loud and clear! I should be able to get someone to cover for me.” She squealed happily and began jumping in place. “This is going to be the best tea party ever!”

Something warm woke up in Wriothesley’s chest as he observed Sigewinne leave his office skipping and humming, very much like the child she wanted people to mistake her for. He sighed wistfully. An old dream resurfaced from the depths of his mind, unbidden. It was full of skin sunkissed into a tan, of another’s hand in his and laughter coming from the backyard.

Wriothesley derailed that train of thought before it could get any further; scrapped the cars and buried the rest in the back of his mind. No point in wondering.

When someone came knocking at the Administration Tower’s door with a request for an unscheduled audience, Wriothesley was immediately on alert. When that someone turned out to be Gwen, he relaxed only slightly.

She came into his office blushing and clutching a sheet of paper in her hands. Wriothesley sent a quick prayer somewhere upwards that it wasn’t a love letter.

“Hello, Miss Guinevere,” he said, keeping his voice polite but emotionless, and played with the rim of his teacup. “How can I help you?”

“Your Grace.” She curtsied and swallowed heavily. “I wanted to apologize.”

Oh? Alright then. He lifted an eyebrow and sipped on his tea - black with bulle fruit - and waited for her to elaborate. (And if he did this to watch her squirm, that’s only for him to know.)

“I was terribly rude to you and I’m so, so sorry.” She hung her head and folded her hands. “I had expectations and got mad when you didn’t fit into them, and I’m sorry for that, too. I’ve had some time to think and, well…” She looked back up. “I wish you and Monsieur Neuvillette good luck, is what I wanted to say. For what it’s worth.”

“Thank you.” Wriothesley surprised himself with how much he meant it. A warm feeling spread through his chest. Call him sentimental, but it never got old to see someone own up to their mistake. “Tea?”

“Sure.” She walked up to his desk in tiny steps, observing his hands pour the tea for her. “That’s a beautiful tea set, Your Grace.”

Wriothesley smirked. “A gift from Monsieur Neuvillette.”

Her hand froze halfway to picking her cup up. “Oh, um, is it alright if I…?”

“I offered it to you, didn’t I? I promise I won’t bite.”

“Of course! Of course.” She took the cup, then a sip and promptly scalded her tongue. He pretended he didn’t notice. “A-anyway, Your Grace, I actually came here to give you this,” she said, then handed him the paper sheet. A resignation letter.

She did say she was always going to resign after the first month. Wriothesley put it on his to-do pile. “I still think it is a shame you didn’t find what you were looking for in the Fortress of Meropide - though at least you learned something from our personal conflict, it seems?”

“I did! I-I’ll go touch grass the moment I’m out of here. I won’t stop until my hands go green!” She declared, fists clenched and a determined spark in her eyes. “And then, I’ll burn all my light novels!”

Wriothesley kept his body carefully motionless. “That… may not be necessary. You could sell them, if you don’t want them - maybe even donate them to our library.”

“No, no, no.” Gwen vehemently shook her head. “Those books contain harmful stereotypes. I wouldn’t want to spread them, well, especially here, you know!”

“Is that so…” Wriothesley made a mental note to keep an eye on the contents of the fiction books that got imported into Meropide, since there was usually a poll for such things. “Thank you for your consideration. I wish you good luck on your personal journey, Miss Guinevere.” Wait, did he just condone book burning? Huh. Never took himself for the type.

“Thanks so much, Your Grace! I already can’t wait, haha…”

She smiled, he politely smiled back and they drank their tea in a companionable, if somewhat awkward silence. Once Gwen reached the bottom of her cup, she placed it down, then bowed deeply. They said their goodbyes.

Then she left, and that was it.

A day before the party, Wriothesley and Sigewinne had spent their entire afternoon and a chunk of nighttime in the kitchen. He cussed at himself for indulging- ekhem, going along with her idea. He’d straight up collapsed on his bed, slept in, didn’t have time to shower in the morning and now here he was, unkempt and smelly half an hour before their guests were set to arrive. He left her to finish setting up stuff in the office while he cleaned himself up - served her right, in his opinion.

He got out of a hot shower that failed to relax him as much as he would’ve liked. Maybe he should’ve had a wank, but too late for that now. He swiped the fogged up mirror, pulled out a razor; try as he might, though, his shaving cream was nowhere to be found. It couldn’t be an accident. He always kept it in the same spot, and even then, the jar he kept as back-up was gone, too. He slammed the cupboard shut - was this another one of Sigewinne’s pranks? If so, it wasn’t funny. He needed to look good today.

Having put on his boxers for decency’s sake, he poked his head out of his quarters. “Sigewinne?”

“Up here, Your Grace!” she called from the office.

“Have you seen-”

“Can’t hear you!”

“I’m the one supposed to be going deaf with age, here!” He rolled his eyes, but still climbed the stairs. Better check whatever she was up to. Coming up, he addressed her again, “Have you seen my-”

Words died in his throat the moment he beheld the office before him - or who was in that office, to be precise.

“Monsieur Neuvillette!” He laughed awkwardly. “You’re here already?”

Neuvillette didn’t respond. His eyes were round like Mora coins, flitting between Wriothesley’s face, chest and lower body. He struggled to respond, gaping like a fish, before he sharply turned his head away and cleared his throat.

“My apologies. Sigewinne needed someone to rearrange the samovar and I offered to help…”

Wriothesley glanced at the mentioned setup. Together with Sigewinne, they’d arranged multiple low crates in a U-shape next to the coffee table and covered them with cloth, thus creating the ideal Melusine-sized table. Instead of chairs, each would have a pillow to sit on. Sure enough, the samovar towered over the dishes and cutlery from a different place than Wriothesley remembered. The change was meaningless overall, though.

“What did you need me for, Your Grace?” Sigewinne asked innocently.

Wriothesley glared at her. “You wouldn’t happen to know where my shaving cream disappeared off to, would you?”

She played ignorance better than an Epiclese-grade actress. “I think I do, actually. It must’ve gotten misplaced last shipment. I know where it is, so just wait here a bit, I’ll go fetch it.” She broke her facade to send him a wink and a thumbs-up from behind Neuvillette’s back, then hopped down the stairs and out of the Tower.

That little gremlin… whatever his feelings were, he couldn’t deny that she’d served him an opportunity on a silver platter. He’d be a fool not to use it. While Neuvillette was too busy being polite, Wriothesley lowered the line of his boxers just a bit, to better display his V-line and hairy stomach.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s just an accident. If anything, I should be the one apologizing for exposing you to such… undesirable sights.” Yes, he was fishing for a compliment. Sue him. “Let me get a drink for you.”

“Thank you. However, the sight-” Neuvillette got cut off by his own gasp. At that exact moment, Wriothesley sauntered into Neuvillette’s field of vision. He caught the other’s eyes; wide, intense, ravenous. Everything slowed, as if the Goddess of Time herself had indulged them and made this second last several.

The moment stretched and then it snapped, and reality resumed as if it had never paused. Wriothesley smirked and carried on like nothing happened, passing by Neuvillette. This way, he gave the other a full view of his backside and the tattoo of a three-headed wolf that covered his entire upper back.

He opened the cabinet he kept his tea sets in and pulled out one of the fancy water bottles that he’d stocked up on just for Neuvillette. They were kept on the lowest shelf, so of course, he had to lean down with his ass up. “What about the sight?”

Neuvillette’s voice was comically strained. “Anything but undesirable. Impressive.” Fuck, but the comment made Wriothesley’s belly tingle. “Concerning.”

Okay, he wasn’t expecting that. He straightened out and poured some water for the poor man. “How so?”

“Your scars are a testament to your strength. I won’t ever not be impressed by what you’ve pulled through.” The words were followed by a rustle of fabric and the click-clack of approaching heels. “They also remind me of your tendency to get into trouble, however.”

Wriothesley’s witty remark died on his lips when something suddenly touched his shoulders. It wrapped around him - his breath hitched when he realized it was Neuvillette’s coat. It wasn’t near wide enough for his shoulders, but that didn’t stop the man from trying; he wound his arms around Wriothesley’s torso, keeping the coat from falling off. Their back and chest met. Just when Wriothesley thought Neuvillette couldn’t possibly want to get any closer, he buried his face in Wriothesley’s hair.

Wriothesley’s hackles settled even as his heart was doing its damndest to beat out of his chest. The instinct to push away faded. His body was on fire, but his mind was the good kind of quiet. He just… was. Neuvillette’s breath tickled his ear, his arms held him tight and secure, his salty floral perfume wafted off his coat - or was that just his smell? Didn’t matter. Wriothesley barely noticed it when tension bled out of his muscles. He settled into it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I know you’ll go through more,” Neuvillette whispered. “It’s part of your job and who you are, I know that, I just…” The embrace tightened. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Wriothesley could barely believe his ears. He placed his hands over Neuvillette’s arms, hugging him back the best he could, and murmured, “Hey, where’s that coming from? You’re not losing me any time soon, I’m not gonna allow it. Promise.”

“...Thank you. I’ll hold you to your word.”

“Oh yeah? And what’re you gonna do if I don’t, kill me?”

Neuvillette’s ribcage shuddered against him - and after a moment, a wheezing chuckle broke through his usually impeccable composure. “Wriothesley.”

Wriothesley was on a high. There was no other explanation for what he said next. “I love your laugh. Wish you did it more often.”

What. Was that. Neuvillette must’ve been surprised too - it took him a while to respond.

“You do…? It’s not another joke?”

Well, he already was in this hole. Wouldn’t make a difference to dig a little bit deeper. “It’s not. Why would it be?”

“Nothing, it’s just… other humans have described my laugh as ugly and disturbing, so I learned to suppress it. Laughing doesn’t fit my image as the Iudex, in any case.”

Each of those people deserved a knuckle sandwich, in Wriothesley’s humble opinion. He opened his mouth. Hesitated, licked his lip, decided to fuck it. “Aren’t we past the point of being just Iudex and Duke to each other, though?”

“Yes, I suppose that we are.” Neuvillette hummed - wait, did he purr? Wriothesley couldn’t tell, especially not after one of Neuvillette’s hands wandered up to his jaw, glove catching on the hair there, and tilted his head to the side. Neuvillette’s mouth was now practically in his ear. “I didn’t know you had such handsome facial hair, Wriothesley. It’s a shame you always shave it.”

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck. “You think?”

“Hmm. It suits you.”

“Thanks. I’ll leave it as it is now, then.” He was never shaving before an overworld trip again. “In any case, I really should get going…”

“Of course. My apologies.”

Neuvillette pulled himself away - left his coat behind, though. Wriothesley held onto it like a kid would a blanket. His heart was hammering, his whole body was flushed - not just because of the shower anymore. He cleared his throat.

“Anyway, have all the water you want, I’m just gonna…” He made a vague gesture with his hand and really, he was going to leave, but he faltered at the sight of a coatless Neuvillette.

He wasn’t wearing anything outrageous underneath, just a white shirt and a decorative vest, but that’s not what was interesting. Wriothesley’s eyes focused on the long blue strands that jutted out of Neuvillette’s sides and went down past his knees.

What the hell were they? “Wait, those aren’t part of the coat?”

Neuvillette shook his head. “They’re my fins. They’re too big to hide them under clothing like the others. The tailor has done an impeccable job hiding them in plain sight, no?”

There’s others? Wriothesley’s eyes rove up and down Neuvillette’s form, imagining where they could be. They looked so soft… he wondered how they’d feel under his fingers. The beginnings of a daring plan hatched in his mind. “You’re not worried you’re sharing your secret identity with me?”

Neuvillette shrugged. “They’re not a secret. I haven’t always had these robes… though I suppose that the humans who would’ve seen me without them are long gone now and the matter has faded from public consciousness.”

“Is that so… What would you say to a deal?”

Neuvillette thought it over - or perhaps he was waiting for him to elaborate. “I know better than to blindly agree to whatever you may be proposing.”

Wriothesley huffed. “Okay, fair. Nothing nefarious, though. I was thinking I could show you all my tattoos, tell you the stories behind them and such.” He had quite a few besides the one on his back, and not all as obvious in meaning.

On cue, Neuvillette’s gaze went on a quick journey through those he could see - the ones on Wriothesley’s calf, hip, chest, collarbones, arm and knuckles. “Under what conditions?”

Wriothesley smirked. He stepped closer, his voice turning low and husky. “That in return you show me your fins and whatever other surprises you’re hiding under there.” Wriothesley trailed a hand down Neuvillette’s collar, pulling it down just slightly, and checked out his neck. “It’s only fair, no?”

Wriothesley dared look up. Neuvillette was stunned speechless, his pupils were blown wide; he looked hungry and Wriothesley was eager to provide. His thumb caressed the bit of skin he’d uncovered. It was smooth like a rock polished by waves.

A sudden call from downstairs popped their bubble of a moment. “Your Grace!”

Wriothesley pulled away with a sigh. “What is it, Sigewinne?”

“I’ve got your cream! Also, I’m pretty sure that everyone’s already here and they’re waiting for your approval to be let in.”

Fuck, right. Tea party. “Put it wherever and let them inside. I’m gonna finish getting ready.”

“Got it!”

He and Neuvillette were still close, very close - and they were also out of time. “Well - the offer stands, if you’d like to take me up on it later. Just don’t overthink it too much.” He winked. Regretfully, he pulled away and began shrugging the coat off.

“Keep it.”

Wriothesley stopped. “Uhh, okay? Why though?”

“You seem to like it and I have many more, regardless. There’s no harm in it.”

“I suppose there isn’t?” Wriothesley would unpack that later. He really needed to get ready. “Thanks? Excuse me…”

Wriothesley crossed the room in a few strides. He couldn’t help himself - he threw a look over his shoulder. Neuvillette was unabashedly staring at him with the satisfied smile he made when drinking his favorite waters. Was Wriothesley imagining stuff now?

He rushed down to his quarters. He could think about that later - though he really had no idea what he was supposed to do with the coat. Couldn’t wear it, wouldn’t sell it… should he use it as decoration? That’d be so weird. For now, he hung it on the door of his closet.

Regarding the closet - Wriothesley reached for the suit he’d meant to wear today. It was the ceremonial one - and the only one he owned that actually fit his title. He hadn't bothered with getting more since he skipped all the fancy events with dress codes anyway. It was sleek and elegant, with embroidered accents and decorative buttons and such. It made even a scarred brawler look regal.

Aren’t we past the point of being just Iudex and Duke to each other, though?

Perhaps he’d be better off choosing something more casual.

Wriothesley still wanted to wear something special, though, and Neuvillette had already seen him in every decent outfit he owned, which… only left the indecent stuff… which might not be that bad of an idea, actually, given whatever the fuck just happened upstairs, right?

With that in mind, he settled on what Clorinde had dubbed the fucking outfit. An apt descriptor considering that it had a history of working well. It consisted of a crimson shirt (Clorinde insisted on the word crimson) of which he always rolled the sleeves up over his elbows and never bothered with the top three buttons, tight light gray pants, a thigh holster and his usual black boots. Wriothesley also forewent his wraps - couldn’t let Neuvillette forget about the tattoos and the deal associated. He accessorized with a simple silver pendant and a chain earring.

To finish, he slicked back his damp hair and sprayed himself with a bergamot cologne. He gave himself one last look-over in the mirror. The Melusines weren’t going to care, but Neuvillette…

Wriothesley left his quarters and set his sights on the staircase. Noises of shuffling around and mixed voices were coming from above. Could a host be fashionably late to his own party? He certainly hoped so. No point in stalling, anyhow. Wriothesley took a deep breath and placed his boot on the first step.

Time to impress.

Chapter 9: Bit of an Ovenkill

Chapter Text

Wriothesley took two steps at a time with a witty apology for his lateness waiting behind his teeth, only to falter once he actually reached the top.

There were Melusines everywhere. Well, not literally - Neuvillette was at Wriothesley’s desk, stopping them from messing around with it - but they treated every other part of his office like an art gallery exhibit. The furniture, what little paraphernalia he had lying around, the table and snacks, pots and cups, all of it. Should he be flattered…?

Feeling a heavy stare on himself, Wriothesley glanced at Neuvillette just in time to see the man close his mouth and swallow, then politely look away. Wriothesley puffed out his chest. His fingers itched to grab Neuvillette by the chin and force him to look his way. His dearest guest might’ve hidden his gaze, but the blush on his cheeks and ears was very much still there.

Hm. He’d get Neuvillette to look at him yet - for now, he had a tea party to host.

Wriothesley clapped his hands. The sound echoed off the metal walls and a second later, he had tens of pairs of big eyes studying his person. The room was so full that, should he try and come inside, he could accidentally trample over a Melusine.

“Welcome to the Fortress of Meropide, ladies and gentleman. I am Duke Wriothesley and this is my humble abode. If you would be so kind as to each take a seat, I’d prepare some tea for you right away.”

The Melusines listened right away - some with a wave, some with a “Okay!” or “Sure, Your Grace!” - and Wriothesley let out a quiet breath. It had been some time since he last made an effort to be this polite.

That heavy stare was on him again. He caught it and this time, Neuvillette didn’t look away - no, he held Wriothesley’s gaze resolute and unblinking, so much so that the Duke’s skin tinged red under all the attention. Wriothesley swallowed. If this kept up, he would have found himself swallowed whole and devoured, he was sure of it. A shiver passed through his whole body. He tried not to think about how good it felt.

Wriothesley looked away first, heart drumming in his chest, and turned his attention to his other guests - wait, they were already waiting for him? He sold them a wide smile and walked up to their table. He looked over the seating arrangement and didn’t found any empty space. Lady Furina’s hat, so they all came?

“The leaves are my own, personally favorite blend,” he said conversationally as he filled the first pot with hot water from the samovar. The pots were spread out evenly, so that every Melusine would have at least one of them nearby. “Sigewinne, could I bother you to lend me a hand?”

“Not at all!” He wasn’t sure where she appeared from, but she was taking care of another pot just a few seconds later. “Ah, Monsieur Neuvillette, leave this to us. I saved you a seat on the couch.”

Neuvillette did take his seat… for about five seconds. Then, a Melusine asked him to pass her a cupcake, another one wanted a croissant, another a piece of cheesecake… After all, the Melusines had such unwieldy short arms, and Neuvillette could never ignore a Melusine’s plight.

Once he was done with the tea, Wriothesley didn’t even try to convince Neuvillette to sit down. He sighed fondly and joined him in handing out the cakes, instead. They kept at it until their plates were the only ones left empty. Wriothesley glanced at Neuvillette - the man didn’t look particularly eager to try anything.

Wriothesley asked, “Well, what about you? What would you like?”

Dacquoise with mouth-twistingly sweet base and rich nut cream? Simple banana bread, a fruity trio? Or perhaps the classic, deliciously buttery croissant?

Neuvillette’s eyes flitted from dessert to dessert. “I’m not sure.”

“Have you ever had one of Sigewinne’s chocolate tidalga muffins?” Asked Blathine, who was in the middle of munching on one. “You both should, they’re great!”

“We shall then, thank you,” said Neuvillette. He took one of them for himself and went back to his seat on the couch. He seemed perfectly content with getting nothing else.

It was fine! Totally fine. It’s not like Wriothesley ran himself rugged in the kitchen to prepare something that would impress the Iudex of Fontaine, or anything. Wriothesley took a calming breath and picked a slice of cheesecake for himself. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass. I don’t like chocolate.”

“That’s a lie.”

Wriothesley’s eyes found Blathine’s. She said it so offhandedly, like she was commenting on the weather or the tea, not literally calling him out. She didn’t elaborate, just took another bite out of her muffin.

Well, if she wasn’t going to press, Wriothesley didn’t feel inclined to explain anything. He gave her an ‘if you say so’ shrug and circled around the table to get to the couch. Sigewinne and Neuvillette were already there, with free space in between them waiting for him. Wriothesley took it and pretended he didn’t see the latter’s questioning look following him.

And if it was a bit of a squeeze and Wriothesley just had to keep his arms glued to his sides and pressing his pecs together, well. Neuvillette certainly wasn’t complaining, even though he dropped the muffin into his lap. Wriothesley passed him a napkin with a smirk.

Neuvillette cleared his throat. “Did you actually lie, Wriothesley?” he asked with genuine curiosity.

So much for pretending. And really, when was the last time Wriothesley denied Neuvillette anything? “...yeah. Actually, I’m allergic.” He directed his next words to everyone gathered at the table. “Don’t go around and advertise it, please. I keep it a secret for a reason.”

“I like secrets,” giggled a Melusine sitting somewhere to the left.

“Humans only tell secrets to their friends, don’t they? Are we friends now, Your Grace?” asked one in a simple dress and with flower patterns on her arms and feelers.

That was a bit of a simplification, but close enough, Wriothesley thought with amusement. “Sure. What’s your name?”

“I’m Serene! Nice to meet you.”

Just like that, they fell into some easy conversation. Neuvillette joined in, asking about some affairs in the Merusea village - turned out Serene was something of a village head, even though she got embarrassed when asked about it. A Melusine called Verenata enthusiastically recalled how Serene introduced her to the Traveler and Paimon who helped her out with her potions. Menthe and Blathine chatted about what they were going to do next time they were on vacation.

Wriothesley was happy to be in the background of all those conversations, listening to the stories and making sure nobody’s cup ran dry.

“You’re so nice,” said a single-color Melusine, Kiara, when he passed her a strawberry shortcake. “How did Monsieur Neuvillette find you?”

Wriothesley raised a brow at the choice of words. What was he, a puppy picked up off the street? Nonetheless, he had expected that someone would ask and had prepared a sanitized version of the story to tell, though he faltered once it actually reached his lips. It would be awkward to get caught on a lie a second time today.

“Oh, during His Grace’s trial, I think,” said Menthe, sipping on her tea. Wriothesley’s eyes swiveled in her direction, glaring. “Sorry, was I not supposed to say that? I thought I’d help you out in case you couldn’t remember, since I was the one assigned to your case and all.” Wait, really?

The words caught Serene’s ear. “Wait, aren’t you supposed to be a good guy?”

Kiara gasped. “You lied!?”

“Girls.”

Just like in a courtroom, one word was all Neuvillette needed to bring back order. He cleared his throat and, in a calm tone this time, continued speaking.

“Some things from the past are best laid to rest. In our case, it’s the second meeting that really counts, I think.” His body addressed the room, but his face tilted towards Wriothesley. “He’d just taken over the Fortress of Meropide and I visited to sort out the… changes in management. Young but wise, hardened but compassionate, with a strong sense of justice and mind so sharp, he cut down all my doubts as to whether he would be able to accomplish what he needed to. That day, as well as over the following few months, he’d impressed me so thoroughly that I decided he shall be awarded the title of Duke.”

The Melusines ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ing all around, but Wriothesley barely noticed it. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Neuvillette. He lost control of his heart the longer he stared, until it was rabbiting as if he was in the middle of a workout. Subtle Cryo from his Vision doused his blush and kept him from sweating, but he could only use so much of it without it becoming obvious, and his skin was already going numb.

“I didn’t take you for such a flatterer, Monsieur,” Wriothesley joked weakly.

“I’m not. I merely said what I think.”

Of fucking course he did. Fuck. Seriously, what did Wriothesley expect his answer to be?

“Don’t listen to His Grace, Monsieur Neuvillette is right!” called Sigewinne. “The Fortress has always had its ups and downs, but it never got as bad as it did during the previous Administrator’s time. His Grace could’ve just left, you know, he’d finished his sentence to the day, but he chose to stay and fix things. I’ll always be grateful for that.”

Her words brought back memories, some good, most bad. Sigewinne was there in most of the former. Back in the olden days, she had perfected the art of deceiving the Administrator. She could lie right to his and his peoples’ faces without flinching, regularly omitted charging for treatments she pretended to not have administered, and somehow, she knew exactly who the babblers were and how to avoid them. During all his years underwater, Wriothesley hadn’t heard of a single instance of her getting caught.

Wriothesley vividly remembered the day she came up to his office and shyly asked if she could invite a few of her sisters for tea. She hadn’t seen any of them in decades at that point, too busy to ever leave, victim after victim of shitty conditions and policies stumbling into the infirmary.

Now, here she was, sitting at his side, swinging her legs and munching on baked jellyfish-sugar monstrosity. The image was hard to reconcile with those dreary memories, but he’d never forget. She’d saved his life too many times for that.

Okay, he’d admit - he was a little choked up now. He cradled his cup in his hands and sipped at it. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome! You deserve it. It’s really no surprise that you and Monsieur Neuvillette are such close friends.”

And just like that, Wriothesley was back to being hyperaware of the man at his side. Close friends, indeed - did Neuvillette lean in when he was distracted? Wriothesley’s gaze flitted from Neuvillette’s eyes to his gentle smile and back up again. The tips of his ears tingled.

Fuck, where was his tea? Wriothesley poured himself some of the vanilla blend and hid- ekhem, busied himself with sipping on the hot beverage.

Another Melusine gasped like she’d just had the epiphany of her life. “Monsieur Neuvillette! Are you and His Grace going to give us more sisters!?”

Scalding hot tea attacked Wriothesley’s breathing pipe. He clumsily put his cup down as coughs racked through his upper body. He accepted a napkin from Sigewinne and used it immediately. Fuck, some of it went up his nose.

Neuvillette watched him calm down with one hand on Wriothesley’s arm and another between his shoulder blades. Once Wriothesley’s breathing went back to relatively normal, he addressed the Melusine. “That was an inappropriate question, Talochard.”

“I’m sorry!” she cried and hunched her back. “I didn’t mean to be rude, Your Grace, but… I don’t really understand why what I said was rude. Don’t humans talk about their children and other humans’ children all the time?”

“Yes, but the difference lies in the fact that those children already exist,” Neuvillette explained calmly. "Your question suddenly brought up sexual matters, however, which is a topic that most humans consider very private. That’s why it was rude.”

“Ooh! That makes… some sense! Humans are so silly sometimes,” Talochard giggled. She partially covered her mouth and whispered to Neuvillette, “Well, are you going to make more of us?”

Neuvillette sighed. “Whispering in company is also rude. Especially to talk about someone present, especially when that someone can still hear you, my dear.”

“You’re right. Double sorry, Your Grace!”

Wriothesley cleared his throat - it was unpleasantly sore. “All’s forgiven.”

Wriothesley was still hung up on the fact that she asked that question in the first place. Did she even know how sexual reproduction worked? He doubted it, considering how she apparently thought him and Neuvillette compatible. Or did she mean adopting? Creating more Melusines, however that worked? Wriothesley had no idea, but he knew when to keep his mouth shut. An impromptu sex-ed class was the last thing he wanted right now.

Fortunately, finally, Talochard dug into her fruity trio and let the matter rest.

Then, from the corner of his eye, Wriothesley saw it: an opportunity. Neuvillette’s plate was empty. Wriothesley wondered how to naturally seam his question into the conversation, then thought better of it. Subtlety only made room for misunderstandings and chocolate jellyfish abominations.

“Hey, Neuvillette - why don’t you try something I made?”

“With pleasure. Which ones are of your making?”

“Most of them - those that don’t have chocolate or tidalga in them.”

“Really?” Neuvillette’s eyebrows went up. “There’s so many… I thought you ordered it all from a bakery?”

“Why, thank you for the compliment, Monsieur.” Wriothesley showed off his teeth in a grin and leaned in dangerously close. “You do seem determined to drown me in them today.”

“What? I’d never- ah…” A faint blush spilled on Neuvillette’s cheeks. “You’re much more qualified to make a choice… anything moist is fine by me.”

Want a surprise, huh? “Close your eyes,” Wriothesley whispered straight into Neuvillette’s ear and delighted in the way the man’s breath hitched.

He leaned away and eyed the table before him. Many Melusines were watching him - watching them. He kind of forgot they were there… That was awkward. They seemed more curious than anything else though. Right, Melusines. Did they even care about PDA?

Anyway, moist cakes. The cheesecake was already gone, so there went that; Wriothesley considered the options with lots of cream. There were quite a few of them, though it was undoubtedly the dacquoise that took the most time and effort. He cut a slice, putting great effort into not messing it up, then returned to Neuvillette’s side.

“Open up.”

Neuvillette did. This tiny show of trusted shouldn’t have gotten to Wriothesley the way it did, but fuck, there was something about his serene face that made Wriothesley’s stomach flip. With bated breath, he fed him the cake and watched closely as Neuvillette’s lips closed around the fork.

The expression crumbled as he chewed, though. It twisted in a grimace and the eyes snapped open. In the span of a few seconds, Neuvillette grabbed his cup and downed it in one.

Wriothesley immediately put the plate away. “What’s wrong?”

Neuvillette shook his head. “My apologies, that was just a lot of sugar in one bite. Also, the meringue has a very dry texture inside…” He shuddered. “I’m sorry, I think I’m going to abstain from desserts for the rest of today.”

“No, I’m sorry. I really thought you’d like it.” Wriothesley longed to phase through the floor and get dissolved in the Primordial Sea. Focalors’ soggy cunt, how could he mess up so badly?

The Melusines shared his sentiment. Sigewinne, Blathine, Talochard and a few others sent him judgemental looks.

“Oh, oh! I know what will lift Monsieur’s mood!” Serene jumped out of her seat. “We should do his hair!”

“Great idea, dear. Thank you.” Neuvillette left Wriothesley’s side, swiping one of the couch’s pillows on the way out. He gracefully weaved through the sea of small bodies and placed it on the floor, then knelt on it. This way, the Melusines could easily reach even the top of his head. “Did any of you bring a brush?”

“I did!”

“Me too!”

A whole group of them gathered at Neuvillette’s back. Turned out they had deep pockets and carried not only brushes, but also hairclips and mechanical components. Wriothesley wasn’t sure how they intended to make use of the latter, but he knew that he wanted to touch Neuvillette’s hair, too - if he was allowed to after that blunder, that is. An idea sparked to life in his mind.

He slipped away downstairs while everyone was busy and returned before most of them noticed, clutching a small wooden box in his hands. Neuvillette watched Wriothesley approach and kneel on his level. He glanced questioningly at the box.

“So… I got these on my last trip to the surface.” The goal of that trip was to visit a jeweler and get something for Neuvillette in return for the tea set. He was so in love with it that his own mind wouldn’t let him rest until he reciprocated - it would take some time before his order was ready, though. “Caught my eye when I passed by a boutique and… well, see for yourself.”

Neuvillette gave him the widest smile of the evening that dispelled any traces of his earlier distress. “I would love to accept this gift from you, Wriothesley.”

He just had to say it like that, didn’t he? Wriothesley had to use Cryo on himself again. He passed Neuvillette the box and anxiously watched his reaction - he’d rather not mess this up, too.

Fortunately, Neuvillette seemed pleased with the contents. The Melusines who were close enough to see them let out sounds of approval, too. Inside laid three silk ribbons with a golden pattern embroidered along the edges. One was black, the other sky-blue, and the last ‘baby pink’, whatever that was - but that’s just what the tailor said would compliment a blue outfit.

“I know!” said Sedene. “What if you did Monsieur Neuvillette’s hair, Your Grace? Can he, Monsieur?”

Neuvillette looked to the side, abashed. All eyes in the room watched him intensely, and for a long few seconds, it was deathly quiet. “...yes, he can.”

The Melusines moved away from Neuvillette, looking at Wriothesley with wide eyes and mouths shaped like ‘o’s. The stares ignited an itch under his skin - why were they acting as if he’d just passed some rite of passage? Wriothesley slowly took their place, sitting on the floor behind Neuvillette.

Sedene passed him a brush. He hadn’t noticed her in the crowd before - she must’ve been sitting somewhere far away. She noticed his hesitation. “Don’t worry, Your Grace, if you don’t know how to do hair, we can guide you.”

“Thanks, but I’ll handle it. I’ve done plenty of this stuff before.”

“Oh, alright then! Do you want some components?”

As amusing as the thought of putting tubes and gears into a hairstyle was, Wriothesley also had no idea how he’d do that. “Maybe later.”

“Do you have a sister?” asked Talochard.

Wriothesley glanced at the Melusine. Should he indulge her? She really was just an innocently curious creature, even if her timing left something to be desired.

“I used to,” he admitted.

The memory of her pigtails and gap-toothed smile flashed before his eyes. She’d taken to him immediately, before their ‘parents’ could warn her away from him. He wasn’t sure what she saw in the quiet kid that no one liked and who only opened his mouth to spew rude remarks. She was much younger than him - he’d thought that once he returned to save her and the others, she’d still be there, but he was wrong. Hells know what happened to her.

“What was her name?” asked Neuvillette.

“...Amelie.”

Wriothesley had already grieved her plenty. He’d rather not get lost in the past right now. In search of a distraction, he took a brush from Serene and carded his rough hand through Neuvillette’s hair. It was the softest thing he’d ever touched. The strands flowed through his fingers like the currents of a mountain stream, washing his turbulent feelings away.

“Be careful with my rhinophores,” said Neuvillette. “They’re sensitive.”

Wriothesley figured he was talking about the fleshy blue thingies sticking out of his head. “Rhino- what? What are they for?”

“They are sensory organs suited to navigating water currents. On land they serve mostly as detectors of vibrations and chemical components in the air.”

“Could’ve just said ‘feelers’.”

A gentle laugh rolled soundlessly through Neuvillette’s chest. “I suppose.”

Wriothesley played some more with the hair while he decided what to do with it. The few times his fingers brushed against the feelers, Neuvillette shivered and Wriothesley would need to take a deep breath - unrelated, of course. He loosely braided parts of the hair to reacquaint himself with the motions, then brushed them out again.

“What do you say, girls? Which ribbon should I use?” Each Melusine called with a different answer. Wriothesley huffed. “Alright, all of them, I guess.”

Wriothesley divided the hair into three parts and tied one ribbon into each, then braided them together. His movements were slow and careful, making sure not a single strand escaped and, he’d admit, he also just drew it out. All the while, the Melusines cheered him on and some of them passed him hair clips or something of the sort, which he dutifully weaved in, too. Yes, he did end up adding in a small gear or two.

There’s only so long that making a braid can take, though, and at last he was done. He caressed the final result, knowing it was his last excuse to touch.

“Sorry, I don’t keep a hand mirror around,” he said and pulled away.

“It’s alright.” Neuvillette gently palmed at the braid, laid it on his shoulder and turned halfway around. “How do I look?”

Wriothesley stared, enchanted. There were no words that could hope to encompass Neuvillette’s beauty, nor the feelings it stirred in Wriothesley’s chest. Thankfully, the Melusines were eager to voice their opinions for him.

“You look like a painting, Monsieur!”

“Beautiful!”

“I didn’t know it was possible to be this pretty!”

Neuvillette blushed just a bit. “Thank you, girls - and thank you, Wriothesley.”

Wriothesley’s insides melted just a bit more. “It was my pleasure.”

While most Melusines were admiring Neuvillette, there was one that turned her attention to Wriothesley and just… kept staring.

Wriothesley didn’t consider himself good with kids - why would he? He had little to no contact with them. The Melusines weren’t exactly children, though, all of them were centuries old, but they kind of also were children. When you magically appear in the world one day and never physically mature or age, are you a child or an adult?

He had no answer to that, but from his experience, the Melusines working in the court tended to have more characteristics that a human would consider mature. Judging by her clothes, this Melusine wasn’t one of them.

“What’s up?” he asked. “What’s your name?”

“Cosanzeana.” She stared at him some more. “You’re very big, even for a human. Is that another reason why Monsieur likes you so much?”

“Maybe. I haven’t asked him.” He shrugged. Then, an idea popped into his head. “Have you ever wondered what everything would look like if you were tall?”

“I haven’t. Is this really that much of a difference?”

“It is.” He still remembered the day he walked past the Opera Epiclese for the first time since before and how shocked he was that he could see the tip of the fountain from up close. “Well? Would you like to see for yourself?” She nodded. “Arms up, then!”

He held onto her sides securely, then lifted her into the air and onto his shoulders. She was very tense at first, but relaxed a bit once he steadied her legs and she grabbed at his hair - which, a little ouch, but he’d live. This was only the beginning. Wriothesley stood up and straightened to his full height.

“Whoa! You’re right, everything looks different now!”

Their shenanigans caught the attention of everyone else in the room, including Neuvillette, who was looking at them with wide eyes.

“Look, Monsieur, look, I’m tall now!” Cosanzeana called. “I’m taller than even you!”

At that, Neuvillette pursed his lips, his chest shook a little - then he broke out in full-blown laughter. He wheezed and screeched and snorted, and by Gods above and beyond, it was the ugliest fucking thing Wriothesley had ever heard. He was absolutely in love with it.

“Hey!” Sigewinne frowned at him, hands on her hips. “How come you never picked me up like that?”

“You never asked.”

“Well, I’m asking now!”

Wriothesley fondly rolled his eyes. “What’re you waiting for, then? C’mere.”

She hopped right over. It was a bit of a juggle, but he picked her up by the scruff like a kitten and held her against his chest.

“Wow! Cosanzeana was right!”

Of course, the other Melusines wanted in on the fun. “I want up, too!”

“Me too!”

“Pick me! Me too!

It was at that moment that Wriothesley realized just what he’d gotten himself into. “I only have so many arms - three at a time, please.”

He picked Talochard for the third seat, just because she was the closest.

“Are you just going to stand here?” she complained, then pointed in a direction. “Go there!”

“What am I, your horse?”

“Yes!”

Wriothesley snorted. She had a point, though, so he went on a circle of a trip around the office. A gaggle of Melusines tagged after him during that walk and begged with puppy eyes to give them a ride, too.

Wriothesley looked for help in Neuvillette - and Neuvillette, who had calmed down by then, was set off all over again. His face went red and he doubled over, screeching and cackling even louder than before. Wriothesley was on his own.

To be fair, it was kind of fun and he did his best. Serene, Sedene and Kiara got lucky next, then Menthe, Blathine and Verenata, then Tristane, Sluasi, Iara… They demanded he go again and again and again , and who was he to deny them, especially when their father was watching?

Fortunately, Neuvillette eventually got over himself. He chuckled one last time and cleared his throat. “If I may, I have a more efficient idea.”

The girls were lovely, but playing horse lost its charm after the first eight times. “Idea allowed. Please proceed, Monsieur.”

Neuvillette’s hands, feelers and fins glowed blue. The air got thick and a bit hard to breathe in, and Wriothesley quickly realized it was because Neuvillette filled the room with tiny droplets of Hydro. The glowing intensified, and then-

Wriothesley yelped as he lost touch with the ground and started going up. His limbs scrambled for purchase.

“How are the girls taking it better than you, Wriothesley?” teased Neuvillette. He was floating in the air, too - all of them were, at around the same height.

The girls were, indeed, taking to it a lot better than him. They laughed with delight and some of them started swimming through the wet air as if it was water.

“Well…” Wriothesley wasn’t breakdancing like a fish on dry land anymore, but that didn’t mean he felt any less unsettled. He was tense and his heart was beating like crazy - but not in a good way this time. “Have you considered that no one’s picked me up since I was, I dunno, twelve?”

Air wasn’t safe. Air was being treated like a sack of potatoes, fingers grabbing him too tight and lifting him up by the hair. Weightlessness was waiting for the harsh, inevitable impact.

Neuvillette swam up to him and the smirk faded from his face. He reached out a hand, which Wriothesley didn’t hesitate to grab. “Would you like to be let down?”

“I’m-” He wasn’t sure which option would be worse - to stay like this or to peace out and appear weak. Surely, he’d get used to it? “No, just…” He squeezed the hand tighter.

“Ah. Of course, whatever you need.”

Neuvillette gently tugged him forward and led him in a circle not unlike those rides Wriothesley took the Melusines on. Wriothesley held on for dear life and stubbornly kept his eyes up. Despite his fears, though, he didn’t fall down and the worst impact he’d suffered was a Melusine bumping into his leg.

“We will go higher now, alright?”

Wriothesley looked into those beautiful reptilian eyes and nodded. His breath hitched when a magical current lifted them, but he wasn’t about to back down now. Fuck, but he’d never really considered just how high the ceiling in his office was before. Don’t look down, don’t look down…

“Ooh, Monsieur, Monsieur! Make us a swirl!” called Serene.

“Yes! A swirl, a swirl!”

Neuvillette glowed brighter and a few seconds later, there was a spiral staircase-like current running up, then down and up again in a loop. The Melusines gleefully let it carry them while Wriothesley and Neuvillette remained stable in the middle, like an eye of a storm of children’s screams and giggles.

Wriothesley observed all those happenings with his mouth hanging open. This thing Neuvillette was doing right now was far past the capabilities of any Vision bearer and he didn’t seem the least troubled by it. Just how powerful was he?

“Is this something you’ve done for them before?” Wriothesley asked.

“During my visits to Merusea, yes, though I admit the ‘swirls’ I usually make there are much bigger and not necessarily so… curly. Unfortunately, the one I made here might be too weak to carry you reliably through all the turns, if you wanted to try it.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m really content just watching.”

With a bit of searching, Wriothesley spotted Sigewinne, curled in a ball and barreling down the descending current. He snickered when she nearly knocked another Melusine out of it. She waved at him when she noticed him looking and he waved right back before she blended in with the others.

The small size and curly shape of the current meant that the Melusines got dizzy just a few minutes later, though. Neuvillette let them all down gently and dispersed the extra Hydro as if it was never there. Wriothesley’s boots touched the sweet stable ground and he let out a sigh of relief.

And just like that, Wriothesley was back to host duties, brewing more tea - his stash would need restocking after this - and serving the sweets.

Though the Melusines were visibly tired, they were much less hesitant in chatting him up now. He learned that Cosanzeana had her own garden on the outskirts of Merusea and was growing some seeds of a Sumeru Rose - a gift from the Traveler, she said. Serene was kind of the village chief, Flo loved human fashion and Granna dreamed of joining the Marechaussee Phantom.

The party lasted well into the night free of any more shenanigans. Wriothesley only took note of the hour when Menthe dozed off on the table. He delicately replaced her plate and cup with a pillow.

A yawn escaped Wriothesley’s lips. The party was fun, but it was too much, and he had too little sleep beforehand. He ducked out of the Administration Tower for some blankets - more and more Melusines were falling victim to the eepy.

Neuvillette was the only person in the room who didn’t seem all that tired, probably courtesy of whatever creature he was. More than that, he didn’t seem overwhelmed by the Melusines’ attention at all, and he’d received it even more than Wriothesley. Throughout the evening, he’d indulged their questions and whims, but knew how and when to shut down potentially chaos-inducing behavior. It was a painful joy to see him be so good at what he did.

Right now, he was sitting cross-legged on a pillow with his back leaning on Wriothesley’s desk and loosely embracing Sigewinne, who fell asleep on his lap. Wriothesley was facing him, legs strewn around and elbows resting on the Melusine’s part of the table. The edge dug into his back, but not hard enough to make him change positions.

Perhaps it was the late hour’s fault, perhaps he was going soft and losing the grip he had on himself, because he opened his mouth without much thinking. “You’re a good father to them.”

Neuvillette looked up. “You think so?”

“Yeah. I can see how much you care about them.” He didn’t mean to sound so wistful and raw, but… whatever. “You love them, don’t you?”

“Of course. How could I not?”

He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world, the way things were supposed to be - and they were, weren’t they? Wriothesley was the one fucked up here. Parents loved their children. Children loved their parents.

“You know, before I became Head Administrator, I…” he began, but faltered.

Somewhere in the depths of his mind, the surface of a frozen lake cracked and something slithered out through the fissure. It was weak and limp from all the times he’d tried to kill it. Still, it whispered. A backyard. Children’s laughter. A hearth.

Neuvillette was silent, patiently waiting for him to elaborate - and somehow it was enough. Wriothesley hadn’t told another soul about this - but since when was talking with Neuvillette anything less than effortless? And so, he took that weak creature into his arms, brushed a tear off its cheek and let it speak.

“I used to dream that I’d properly start over once I got out of Meropide. Find a house and someone who’d want to become fathers with me - build a proper foster house and all, but…”

Wriothesley was very aware that this fantasy was a construct of his tattered soul yearning to mend what was broken. Did it make him a good person, or at least not a bad one, if what he truly sought was just healing himself? Did it matter, if he gave a bunch of kids another chance at a happy family, anyway?

Neuvillette’s words were so soft, he couldn’t call them an interruption. “But… what?”

“But nothing.” Wriothesley shrugged. “I took charge of Meropide. I couldn’t abandon all those poor bastards after they put so much faith in me, you know? There was no one else that could take the job and actually fix things. I’m practically tied here, so there’s no point in wondering anymore.”

Neuvillette’s brows twitched. He looked to the side for a moment, searching for what he wanted to say, then back at Wriothesley. “Isn’t there, though?”

“Uhh… what?”

“Isn’t there a point in wondering?” He repeated. “While I cannot stress how much I admire your choice to stay and do the things you’ve done, you won’t lead the Fortress of Meropide forever. What about your retirement?”

Wriothesley scoffed. “Yeah, like I’ll live to see it with the Prophesied Flood around the corner and all.”

“Wriothesley… you promised me you’re not going to leave me soon, didn’t you?” Neuvillette raised his voice enough he was risking waking someone up. “Lady Furina has a plan, you have the Wingalet, and… your worries are valid, but there’s still hope.” He breathed deeply in and out, regaining control of his volume. “My apologies.”

“No, you have a point.” Wriothesley wasn’t sure how long he’d last even if he survived the Flood, given that there were always power-hungry bastards nipping at his heels, but nevermind that for now. “Sorry for bringing down the mood.”

“Apology accepted.” Neuvillette rearranged Sigewinne’s head to take some burden off her neck. He let silence fall over them like a blanket, just to brush it aside a moment later. “I was also wondering… would you tell me more about this dream of yours?”

“Haven’t I already?”

“Indulge me, please. What would the house be like?”

Wriothesley hummed. There was little left that he remembered - many details had frozen and fallen off, leaving only the core intact. He tried to reconstruct them on the fly. “Somewhere in the countryside. We’d have a vegetable garden and enough space for the kids and dogs to run around - did I mention that I’ve always wanted a dog?”

He didn’t think he’d be able to do it, but the thoughts slid off his tongue before they fully formed in his mind. The house would have a large porch, perfect for sitting down with a newspaper and a cuppa while watching the kids. It could also serve as just a sunbathing spot, or somewhere to bring out foldable tables and have a family dinner, if the weather was nice. They might host the birthday parties there - no kid deserved to miss out on that and Wriothesley would be delighted to make them a cake and some sweets every now and then. He’d also teach the kids all he knew - from financial responsibility, through cooking to self-defense. Not gardening, though. That’d be his… the other father’s job. Wriothesley only trailed off to get some tea once his throat got too dry

“I don’t think there’s anything outlandish about this dream,” Neuvillette said.

Wriothesley huffed. “I haven’t been paying myself enough to even afford the house. The Fortress is just about scraping by, really. I’d need to snag someone rich, and since when do any of those folks care about stuff like this? Oh, no need for that long face, I’m at peace with it. Really.”

“Wriothesley.” Neuvillette looked up, aiming those slitted pupils right at him. “Perhaps I am being too presumptuous, but should you ever change your mind, tell me. I’ll do everything in my power to make this dream a reality.”

Had Wriothesley been drinking at that moment, he would’ve choked. He put his tea down to hide the shaking of his hands and laughed awkwardly. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

“You know I don’t.” Fuck, but he knew. He listened with utter bewilderment as Neuvillette carried on. “Fontaine’s foster system is nearly nonexistent, so it is in the government’s best interest to fund initiatives like this. Even if Lady Furina doesn’t agree, well… I’ve been the Iudex for centuries. I have accumulated some wealth on my own.”

Wriothesley openly gaped at him. “I’m- you can’t possibly…” Couldn’t he, though? Did he know what it sounded l- oh for fuck’s sake, of course he did, he was socially hindered, not an idiot.

How was it so easy for him to take Wriothesley’s heart in his hands and say everything it wanted to hear? Wriothesley blinked away the sting in his eyes and tried to hide behind his usual smirk, but it was brittle and too late, anyway.

“Thanks, I… I’ll let you know if I ever intend to take you up on that.”

Neuvillette just smiled at him gently. “The offer will stand as long as you need it to.”

This was… a lot. A lot more than Wriothesley ever hoped he would get and certainly more than he deserved. “Thank you.” He wanted to say more - but even if he had the words, he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to keep his voice from breaking. “Thank you.”

They fell into comfortable silence after that, interrupting the Melusines’ sleep no longer. Neuvillette closed his eyes, caressed Sigewinne’s head and hummed a lullaby. He was far from an Epiclese-grade singer, but Wriothesley was enchanted by him regardless, defenseless against the spell that put him in a warm daze and made time a suggestion at most.

But even the good things had to come to an end. They didn’t want to wake the girls up, so Wriothesley brought over some more blankets and they tucked them in together. Neuvillette himself ended up seated in the middle of that giant soft pile.

“Have a good night, Wriothesley,” he said once Wriothesley turned off the light and reached the stairs.

“Thanks. You too.”

Wriothesley went back to his quarters still in that pleasant daze and fell down on his bed. The images from his dream made themselves at home on the forefront of his mind; he couldn’t bury them back down if he tried. So he didn’t. He let them replay again and again, a little bit different each time, but always with Neuvillette in them. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so warm before.

One of Wriothesley’s hands wandered up and laid on his chest, right above the vigorously beating heart. It pumped the hot blood from the tip of his head to his toes, powered by something he wasn’t ready to name. He knew what it was, though - and he promised himself that one day, he would say it.

Chapter 10: Loaf Is in the Air

Chapter Text

The remains of lunchtime hustle and bustle lingered around the cafeteria, watching their Duke from the corners of their eyes. It wasn’t unusual to see him traipsing through his domain, but he rarely lingered. Yet here he was, glued to a spot in the corner for no discernible reason.

Said reason was simple: he had a meeting with Wolsey, except the cook was late. It was a well-known fact that the Duke valued his time, though, so the people staring might just as well be concerned for whoever it was that was making him wait.

The attention made Wriothesley uncomfortable. Days like these reminded him exactly why he hadn’t made a single public appearance as the Duke of Meropide yet.

The sour taste of the soup he’d had for lunch lingered on his teeth. More time passed and Wolsey had yet to appear. Wriothesley probably should be annoyed about that, but… he had better things to think about. His elbow laid on the table and his cheek rested on his fist, meanwhile the fingers of his other hand tapped out the waltz. Oh, but to have Neuvillette in his arms, to have his salty smell in his nose and soft hair under his fingers as they spun together to music coming from one of Wriothesley's spincrystals...

"I am so terribly sorry, Your Grace!"

Wriothesley blinked rapidly as he came back to reality. It was Wolsey that startled him - and wow, when was the last time something like this happened? Was Wolsey even trying? The cook had bowed and remained folded in half instead of just straightening up.

The man rambled, having received no response. "It'll never happen again, Your Grace, it was an emergency and I did everything I could to arrive as-"

"Rest easy," Wriothesley interrupted him. "Emergency, you say? I hope everything's been resolved?"

Wolsey raised his head to answer. "Y-yes, Your Grace."

"Will there be an incident report on my desk later?"

Wolsey shook his head. "It didn't escalate."

Wriothesley shrugged. "Then that's all I need to hear. Now come sit before your back pops and let's get to the point. The inmates liked the soup well enough. What did it take to cook?"

Wolsey’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his face, but he listened without protest. They discussed the newest addition to the cafeteria's menu. The soup used blood and vinegar instead of meat, so it was very cheap while also being very nutritious. The only thing Wriothesley had worried about was the taste - the efforts to feed his people would be worthless if they just wouldn't eat them - but that worry had been assuaged, so he and Wolsey went over the supply changes they'd need to implement. Wriothesley would have to iron out the numbers on his own, but that could wait for the next accounting night.

Their meeting wasn’t long - they spent less time talking than Wriothesley did waiting, actually. Wolsey had relaxed once he realized he wouldn’t be punished for his tardiness, but he still seemed, oh how would Wriothesley describe it… bewildered?

“Something on your mind?” he asked Wolsey once they wrapped up.

“Nothing much, I was just wondering… Your Grace is very easy-going today.”

Huh. “Am I really?”

“Well… yeah. What’s got you in such a good mood lately, Your Grace?”

Wriothesley pondered the question for a moment, then shrugged. There was no way to concisely and adequately sum up all his thoughts, but if there was, it would be, “The world is a bright place. The warm light reaches even the farthest corners and darkest hearts, sometimes.”

Wolsey blinked a few times. “What?”

Wriothesley just laughed and clapped him on the shoulder on the way out. “Nevermind. Keep up the good work, Wolsey,” he said.

He returned to his office, put his notes on the to-do pile and put on the kettle. His fingers traced the rim of the teacup he'd chosen for today - one with two wolf cubs playing with a stick. Wriothesley's hand wandered to his breast pocket on its own. It took out the letter hidden within and unfolded it. The faint smell of roses wafted from it as he did so. He was re-reading it before he knew it.

Dear Duke Wriothesley de Meropide, Warden of the Fortress of Meropide,

I hope this letter finds you well. You and Sigewinne seemed to be in high spirits the last time we saw each other, and so was I. I must thank you once more for organizing that tea party. It will shine like a pearl amongst the seabed of my other memories.

I write to you with a purpose in mind. You see, while our meetings have been rescheduled, there’s one more gap this reshuffling left behind. I would be honored if you were willing to spend this time together. An old classic will be reenacted at the Opera House that day, a Snezhnayan musical titled "Snowflake". It's a favorite of mine, in a way. Its subject has kept me awake for more nights than I’d admit to Sigewinne.

That was a joke. I’m actually resting as much as I should, so please don’t unnecessarily alert her. However, it is true that this show always leaves me in a ponderous mood. It touches on some matters that might be relevant to you, and our relationship as well. Please tell me whether you are amenable to attend.

Yours,
M. Neuvillette, Chief Justice of Fontaine

Wriothesley's thumb traced the word 'relationship'. How did he bag this man, again? The elegant handwriting looked out of place next to Wriothesley’s scarred, rough hand. He still barely believed what was happening. How was he supposed to not act out of character when Neuvillette invited him to a date?

A Snezhnayan play called Snowflake didn’t sound interesting in the least, but Wriothesley would’ve accepted the invitation even if Neuvillette invited him to a paint-drying show. For now, Wriothesley readied himself for a quick trip to the overworld. He had a jewelry shop to visit.

If asked, Wriothesley would say that it took him ten minutes, fifteen at most, to prepare. He just threw on a suit, slicked back his hair and was out the door.

He wouldn’t speak about the hours and Mora he’d spent on a tailor, the efficiency with which he took care of all his duties in the morning or how he scraped his knuckles taking the tension out on Dave. Or how he didn’t have the time to take it down because he groomed and picked at his beard until the last minute.

Everyone he passed on the way out did a double take; a few Gardes even wished him good luck. Gone was the casual suit, thick boots and fur coat that made his figure seem larger. The vest and coat were new - his old stuff was apparently so out of fashion it was embarrassing - black with dark red patterned sides, adorned with silver thread and fancy buttons. The tie was red and actually tied properly so that the white collar of his shirt would cover the scars. His favorite coat could be recognizable now so he replaced it with a similar half-cape and hung his Vision at his breast.

Everything about this get-up was unfamiliar in an uncomfortable way. Nothing dangled from his belt. His neck was cold without the fur and the sleek shoes were so light, he felt like they’d slip off his feet each step. The gloves he wore instead of his wraps were an especially vexing point. He didn’t like having no support for his wrists and his sense of touch dulled by the leather. They were beautiful, yeah, but he would’ve rather admired them on someone else.

Covering all of his scars and tattoos like that felt a lot like lying.

Wriothesley kept fidgeting for the whole aquabus ride and inside the elevator. The tie made him feel stifled so he kept pulling at it, wishing he could just rip it off. It was almost enough to distract him from the fact that holy fuck, Neuvillette was going to see him like this. Deep breaths, Wriothesley. It would all be worth it.

At last, the elevator’s gears turned one last time and the door opened. Wriothesley greeted the sweet fresh air with a deep breath, a delightful change from the smell of machine oil and sweaty bodies. The steady thrum of waterfalls reached his ears, much more pleasant than the groans carried by metal pipes. Getting out of Meropide never got old.

Neither did seeing Neuvillette. Wriothesley rushed up the stairs leading out of the depression. This was it, he thought. Just three, two, one more step and - there he was. With cane in hand, white hair falling loosely down his back and his usual judicial garb covering his form, he looked like he’d ducked out of the courtroom during recess.

“Wriothesley,” he said breathlessly in lieu of greeting. His eyes widened at the sight of him and wandered up and down, judging, appraising. “You cut quite the figure tonight.”

“And you look dashing as always.” Wriothesley winked, trying his best not to let disappointment show. It was just dress. Maybe Neuvillette had just gotten off the clock, having rushed to finish the day’s work so that they could meet. Wriothesley should be grateful instead of getting lost in silly expectations, no matter if they made him feel silly for putting so much effort into his own appearance.

Neuvillette’s forehead twitched in displeasure as Wriothesley approached. The Duke was about to ask, but as soon as he stopped a socially appropriate distance away, Neuvillette crossed it to correct his tie.

“There,” he said as he took a step back to admire his work.

“Thank you and please excuse this ruffian for his uncouth manners.” Wriothesley winked. Blood rushed to his cheeks and he unconsciously Cryoed it away. “Is he presentable now?”

“Perfect,” Neuvillette purred. Then, to Wriothesley’s surprise, he teased back. “He’s too kind and pleasant to be around to call him that, though. Please don’t insult him.”

A giddy grin stretched Wriothesley’s cheeks. “Oh yeah? And what would you do if I didn’t?”

“I would have you on your knees, begging for forgiveness,” Neuvillette said without a stutter. “Hopefully, that would work, and I wouldn’t have to resort to any drastic measures.”

Wriothesley’s mouth was this close to hanging open. The image of himself, face level with the other man’s crotch, doing everything he could to be forgiven… He swallowed heavily as a shiver ran down his spine. Where the hell did Neuvillette learn to talk like that?

“Ah, my apologies. That was too far, wasn’t it? Please forget I ever said that.” Impossible, but for the sake of Neuvillette’s pride, he could pretend. Neuvillette held out his arm.

“Oh? Is the cold hand syndrome back?”

“Y-yes…”

Neuvillette glanced away and his feelers drooped. He would’ve drawn his arm back, but Wriothesley caught him by the wrist and put something in his hand.

“For you,” he said. He watched with bated breath as Neuvillette examined the small box from all sides. He lifted the velvet lid and…

“Wriothesley.” Neuvillette purred out his name the moment he saw the contents. He carelessly removed the cravat pin he was wearing and threw it in a pocket, then expectantly held out the box.

Yes! Wriothesley itched to pump his fist, but he was not so far gone that he’d lose control over himself. He eagerly took the cravat pin from the box and carefully pinned it to Neuvillette’s jabot. The jewel was made of aquamarine cut into the shape of a lumitoile, laid in gold.

Feeling bold, Wriothesley brushed Neuvillette’s fringe from his face. “How do you like it?”

“It is exquisite.”

Suddenly, Neuvillette tugged him closer and his heart skipped a beat. This is it, he thought as slim gloved fingers grabbed his jaw. But then they tugged his face away from Neuvillette’s and before he could even wonder why that was, the judge was rubbing his cheek on Wriothesley’s neck and shoulder. Their bodies were connected from the waist up; Wriothesley felt Neuvillette’s purrs in his own chest.

Wriothesley was stunned speechless. He remained pliant as the ever put-together Monsieur Neuvillette rubbed their cheeks and necks. Wriothesley clumsily reciprocated and the moment he did so, the purrs’ volume notched up to that of an engine.

He should be weirded out, probably. He found it endearing, instead. Neuvillette would’ve never behaved like this in public - was Wriothesley the first human he did this with? The thought made him feel like he was floating.

Neuvillette pulled away after what felt like hours. He held out his arm and smiled like an otter that got the oyster. “Shall we?”

“We shall.” Wriothesley tangled their arms immediately.

They walked together through the bridge and the passage. They entered the Opera House from behind - Neuvillette had made arrangements with the staff, he said, so they could head straight for their seats instead of risking an encounter with a journalist in the lobby. They winded through different staff-only passages, only some of which Wriothesley was familiar with.

The last door they walked through was the one that let them into the upper audience. Neuvillette looked around like a kid that just stole a cookie from the jar. Wriothesley couldn’t help but snicker.

Neuvillette noticed his reaction, of course, and turned to him with a barely-there pout. By Gods, Wriothesley urged to kiss it off his lips. He might’ve, had Neuvillette not tugged them forward and into one of the private boxes.

There, they had a couch all to themselves - and, well, to all the strangers’ stares. Despite their name, the boxes weren’t very private. Maybe they should’ve arrived later, once the lights would have dimmed. Nape tingling with the weight of stares, Wriothesley untangled himself from Neuvillette as they sat down and reached over his shoulder to mess with the fur of his cape, only belatedly realizing it wasn’t there. He ended up awkwardly scratching his neck.

Wriothesley observed the rest of the audience from the corner of his eye. It offered him some relief to see that he wasn’t overdressed compared to the others, but that feeling was overshadowed quickly. People were pointing at them and leaning in to whisper.

“Do people always point at you like that when you go watch a show?” Wriothesley asked.

“I honestly do not know. I’m used to the staring, I suppose.”

A kamera went off somewhere in the audience. Neuvillette growled at the sound. Wriothesley added it to his mental library of Neuvillette sounds, with an annotation how it made arousal spike in his lower parts.

“I shall have a word with them,” Neuvillette said lowly. He rose from his seat, but Wriothesley’s hand put him back down. “Wriothesley?”

“We don’t know who it was or whether they actually took a picture of us. Even if they did, we’ll get much more bad press from making a scene right before a show than we’d get from just being seen watching it.” Wriothesley sighed. “I don’t like it either, but it’s not worth it.”

He said that, but he also fought with the urge to check his hair and tie. All that rubbing earlier didn’t loosen his collar and expose his scars, right? He’d hate it if the rumors of Neuvillette being swayed by a ‘criminal mastermind’ came back.

“Still…” They held eye contact for a few seconds, and only then Neuvillette relented. “If that is your wish. In any case, if that really is a journalist, they’ll think twice before publishing your picture.”

“How so? Nothing stopped them last time.”

At that, Neuvillette's ears tinged pink and he sheepishly looked down at his lap. Wait a damn second.

“Do I not know something, Neuvillette?”

Neuvillette cleared his throat. “I was… deeply insulted by that article, especially the picture it painted of you, so I threatened to sue them if they didn’t acquiesce to my demands.”

“Oh yeah?” Wriothesley lifted his eyebrows. His voice pitched lower as he said, “And what did the great Iudex of Fontaine demand for offending him so?”

“That they cancel their current edition, fire the author of that article and publish an apology. I… thought you would’ve seen it.”

Wriothesley wasn’t sure why something he hadn’t even witnessed had such an effect on him. No one had ever stepped in to protect him or his name from anything - was that how it felt to be on the receiving side? Because damn, it was addictive. Wriothesley considered accidentally getting into trouble sometime in the future. In front of Neuvillette. Accidentally. Fuck, but if they weren’t in a public space, Wriothesley would’ve climbed into Neuvillette’s lap right then and there.

“I don’t need to.” He took Neuvillette’s hand and brought it up to his lips, then with an anxious heart, placed a gentle kiss on the knuckles. The gesture pulled a delightful gasp from the other man. Wriothesley winked and said, “I’m swooning with just the knowledge of what you did, my judge in shining armor.”

Neuvillette no longer paid any mind to the rest of the audience. Wriothesley preened under the weight of his undivided attention. And what a weight it was. It rested on him far heavier than any cape ever could; it was more secure than, but equally exciting as, a pair of handcuffs. Wriothesley’s gaze flickered between Neuvillette’s ravenous eyes and adorably thin lips. He bit his own lower lip.

The lights around them dimmed and Wriothesley’s breath stuttered. Maybe now-

But Neuvillette eagerly turned towards the stage. He grabbed Wriothesley’s hand, but wouldn’t look at him. Wriothesley’s shoulders sagged. It was… fine. This musical was very important to Neuvillette, his behavior was only understandable.

Just a few deep breaths later, the curtain parted and Snowflake opened with a song.

The spotlight found a beautiful young woman, standing on a small platform in the center of a set-up of a bedroom. A few other women, all wearing aprons, danced around her while trying different dresses on her. They were, essentially, dressing up a live doll - a very picky one, too. With every option presented and rejected, they exchanged rhymed verses and soon, the reason for the lady’s pickiness was revealed. Her father was a textiles merchant and she was going to model for him during a meeting with a client. She had to look perfect. The sentiment reminded Wriothesley of the lengths he went to to prepare for today, not gonna lie.

The lady finally settled on something and disappeared behind a curtain. The stage lights shifted to the part of the stage stylized to look like a snow-covered forest. The song switched to a more somber tune. A line of five people in white masks, which looked like uncannily expressionless faces, stood knee-deep in the ‘snow’. Holding hands, they sang of the cruelty of winter. It wasn’t hard to figure out that they were some sort of supernatural beings living in that forest.

The one on the far right drew Wriothesley’s attention. He was the only one not swaying to the rhythm. Then, as his companions droned on and on about how sad and cold everything was, he butted in right in the middle of a verse and twisted the lyrics, rhyming beautiful with not merciful. The other four obviously didn’t like it and the song shifted into them throwing passive-aggressive remarks at the outlier, who paid them back in kind.

Unlike some certain others, we know

Unlike some certain others, I know

The eternal winter is cruel,

Humans lost in the forest all die;

Well, I think it's worth being the fool

And having no frozen branch up my-

Bartek!

The audience snickered and giggled. The song ended on a playful note while the outlier, Bartek, took off his mask and threw it over his shoulder, which drove a round of shocked gasps from his companions.

Well, Wriothesley still had no expectations for the plot, but if the other songs were as good as this one, they alone would make the watch worth it.

And so he watched that meeting between the lady, Anushka, her father and a client play out. The young lady was mostly just there, happy to put on different furred coats like a glorified mannequin. It was all going great, it seemed.

Then, the client had the audacity to demand Anushka’s hand in marriage as part of the deal. The father had the audacity to agree almost immediately, without asking for his daughter’s opinion. The two men agreed to ‘exchange goods’ at a later date.

As soon as the client was gone, Anushka protested. Her father argued that she’d given him permission to find her a husband. She pointed out that there’s a difference between find and choose and he knew it very well - but he didn’t seem to care. He guilted her into agreeing to the deal for the sake of their family.

Wriothesley’s mouth curled in distaste. It was just fiction, he reminded himself, and rich people bullshit besides. He glanced at Neuvillette to see what his reaction was. The judge was watching the events play out with the same focused expression as everything else.

Notes of a song brought Wriothesley’s attention back to the stage. Anushka was alone, singing about her doubts and the toll it took to be the perfect daughter. Wriothesley didn’t want to sympathize with her, but he had no choice in the matter. He used to have parents like hers, after all. Ones that put up appearances, leveraged their children’s need of affection to demand perfection from them, rationed their love to keep them wanting more - and in the end, they only cared about what they’d get from selling them… okay, so maybe he got a little bit carried away there. What was the song about, again?

The living soul, still anxious, reaches

For more than book or reason teaches;

On the other half of the stage Bartek appeared, also alone, and joined the song.

A longing, unfulfilled desire

For something grander, something higher,

Then, the two of them shared a verse:

Tho' earthly hopes may reach their goal;

Still unsatisfied the soul.

Wriothesley’s breath hitched. This was a love story between a human and an immortal, wasn’t it? Just like that he became hyper aware of Neuvillette’s statue-like presence at his side. It touches on some matters that might be relevant to you, and our relationship as well.

There was no doubt in Wriothesley’s mind that Neuvillette wanted to say something by showing him this play, so he watched with double the attention than before. Anushka and Bartek finished their song together and call him biased, but he was so rooting for them now.

It paid off to keep up with the political subplot. The noble that had been begging Anushka’s father for her hand had heard about her engagement and became the frontrunner for the villain of the story award. He bribed one of her family’s cooks. The next time she visited one of her friends working there, the cook ‘accidentally’ spilled boiling jam over her.

She lived, but spent a long time in recovery. The douchebag noble had the audacity to ask after her. Her fiancé spouted some bullshit about her father sabotaging their deal and the whole sentiment was so stupid Wriothesley didn’t bother unpacking where that man went wrong. Anushka’s maids were the only ones that expressed genuine concern for her, but they were mostly worried about keeping their job.

Anushka recovered, but now sported an unsightly scar on her face, and so everything changed.

Everyone talked behind her back. The dastardly noble was satisfied with the results and made it well-known that he didn’t mind Anushka’s sullied beauty. Her father’s face twisted in disdain whenever he saw her. She lost the thing that made her valuable in their eyes and suddenly the people around her stopped caring - or pretending - that she was a person.

Predictably, the fiancé broke off the engagement. He had one look at her, judging, appraising, then turned to her father and told him, “Our deal can’t go through if damaged goods are all you can offer.”

That line punched the breath from Wriothesley’s lungs. What a fucking asshole. Who the fuck did he think he was to call another human being-

Damaged goods.

Deep breath in. Hold for four. Breathe out. That man was just a character in a story, Anushka was just a character in a story, Wriothesley told himself as he clenched his fists so hard, the raw skin of his knuckles burned and ached. Was the author of this play some kind of visionary that foresaw his existence and decided to take inspiration, or what?

He was drawn out of his thoughts by Neuvillette placing his hand over Wriothesley’s. Their eyes met.

“It will get better,” Neuvillette whispered, then turned his attention back to the stage.

Neuvillette couldn’t know what was going on in his head. How did he notice? He must’ve thought that Wriothesley was just disturbed by the story - which he was, in a way. Wriothesley caressed Neuvillette’s hand with his thumb. As he wasn’t looking at it, he could pretend that there were no barriers between them.

Just that simple touch was enough to make Wriothesley’s blood thrum faster, chasing away the weight in his gut. He let out a deep shaky breath. It will get better indeed. Did Neuvillette know of the impact he had on him? Wriothesley wondered. If this was what just holding hands felt like, what would it be like to kiss? He yearned to find out; and he would, he resolved, by the end of tonight.

Wriothesley must’ve missed some of the plot while lost in his head, but he honestly didn’t care about whatever the assholes in Anushka’s life were saying about her.

He came out of his head just in time to watch Anushka run away - and didn’t that hit home too close again. He held Neuvillette’s hand tighter - into the forest and break into a mournful song. The four masked forest spirits appeared from behind trees and somberly hummed along.

Wriothesley had already immersed himself in the first few verses when a familiar head poked out from behind a bush. Wriothesley smirked. There he was.

Bartek joined the song just to change up the rhymes for something silly and nonsensical. She continued singing, but with much less conviction than before. When she faltered, Bartek snagged the opportunity and told her a joke that was so stupid, it was a wonder that it made her laugh.

The music picked up the tempo. Bartek asked Anushka to dance and she hesitantly agreed. The moment their hands touched, he whisked her into a swing and a dip and spilled more silly rhymes. He just kept going. But then it was Anushka that surprised him with a joke of her own that had him so stunned, it was no trouble at all for her to steal a kiss on the cheek.

They promised to see each other again. As Anushka turned away and walked slowly back to her house, the curtain covered the stage once more. Just a few seconds later, the lamps all around the Opera House lit up; it was time for recess.

Watching those two, fictional as they were, warmed something inside Wriothesley’s own heart. And he just couldn’t help but think - Neuvillette was kind of his Bartek, too. He might not be the kind of man to cheer him up with a dance, but just his presence was a balm on Wriothesley’s soul.

“You were right,” Wriothesley said with a sappy smile on his face. “It did get better.”

“It will get worse again. This is not a happy story, though I suppose it depends on who you ask…” Neuvillette shook his head. “My apologies, I… it feels like I deceived you somehow. I only wanted to reassure you and I acted before I remembered that you don’t appreciate white lies.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Wriothesley caressed the hand with his thumb again in hopes it would convey the sentiment better than words could. “I appreciate that you tried and that you’re being honest with me now.”

“I still feel like I need to make up for it.”

“You don’t have to - really. If anything, it’s good that the story makes me feel things. It’s more meaningful this way.”

That and… Neuvillette has surely noticed the similarities between Wriothesley and Anushka. Is that what he wanted to say by showing him this? That no matter his background, no matter what other people decreed Wriothesley’s worth to be, he was still worthy of love, Neuvillette’s love?

It made him tear up. Fuck. He berated himself for appearing weak in front of Neuvillette, and all those other people in the audience besides; he was all too aware of the glances sent their way. He aggressively blinked the tears back.

Neuvillette looked like he was about to ask, so Wriothesley pressed his lips to the man’s knuckles and excused himself to the restroom.

Once inside, he took care of his business - it would be weird if he didn’t, wouldn’t it, and he didn’t want to stand out - and washed his hands. He lingered before the mirror. At least he didn’t look like he was about to cry; the opposite, even.

He’d trained himself to control his expressions, yes, but it still unsettled him to see the casual smile that belied the mess inside his chest. He kept looking at that… strange person. A well-born gentleman that had never gotten into a fight in his life. The only crack in this illusion was the faint scar under his right eye.

I dressed myself up like cattle to be judged and appraised.

Wriothesley splashed his face with cold water. What the fuck was he thinking? He was supposed to be over it. He dressed up for Neuvillette and Neuvillette liked it, ergo there was no issue. Get a grip.

In spite of the itch under his skin, he returned to Neuvillette’s side and daringly sat much closer than it was appropriate for friends. Entwining their hands together felt as natural as breathing. Or even more so, seeing as his lungs had to keep pace with his heart. The other’s presence helped soothe that itch down.

“Ah, you’re back. Good, the recess will be over soon,” Neuvillette said. He welcomed Wriothesley’s touch, twining their fingers together. “There’s something I want to tell you before it ends.”

Wriothesley swallowed heavily. Their faces were so close. Surely, now…?

“I know you’ve mentioned that you don’t want me to tell you anything about the play so that you may form your own opinion - but there is something that I think you’d actually like to know about its title. It seems banal, but there is some cultural nuance hidden within.”

Ah. Wriothesley tried not to let his disappointment show. There would be another opportunity tonight. Besides, he was actually curious now.

“I admit I haven’t thought much about it - and to be honest, I dismissed it as just an unimaginative nod to the Snezhnayan setting, so hit me.”

“In Snezhnaya, it is widely believed that each and every snowflake is unique in shape. I am unsure about the veracity of this belief, but it’s something to keep in mind while watching.”

Wriothesley waited for Neuvillette to continue before he realized he wasn’t going to. “Wait, that’s it?”

“Why wouldn't it be?” Neuvillette made a thinking face. “It might make more sense later, now that I think about it.”

“Alright. I’ll trust you on this,” Wriothesley said, then mentally reeled back. This sentiment rolled off his tongue with the ease of a practiced lie, yet it was anything but. It unnerved and elated him at once.

He didn’t have the time to say anything more; the lights dimmed and the curtain was going to part any moment now. Wriothesley surreptitiously stared at Neuvillette while the other man turned his attention to the stage. Did he know just how much trust, for things big and small, he held in his hands? Was he aware how rare it was?

The next scene took place in the forest, where the forest spirits tried to convince Bartek to abandon the human girl. At first, the spirits appealed to everything that was wrong with Anushka - starting with her looks, much to Wriothesley’s dismay - and the whole of humanity, as if she was the kind of person to kill her whole family for the sake of riches or something.

Bartek had told them to cut the bullshit - Wriothesley’s mouth twitched into a smirk at that - and they first called him a dumb idiot in a thousand flowery ways before getting to the point. They sang,

She is a snowflake that will melt in your hand.

She is a snowflake that will melt in my hand.

Why do you repeat? Do you not understand?

I do! That's why I refuse to heed

The advice you seem to think I need;

I will not care about cruel words,

I will give her the love she deserves.

And then you will regret forever

This whole mistake of an endeavor;

You'll remember you have been warned

Once you're alone and back in the cold.

Those last verses struck a chord within Bartek. He faltered at a loss of what to say; but at the same time, Anushka entered the forest and called out his name. Just like that, he swiveled and ran towards her as if nothing had happened, then took the young lady on a tour of his favorite spots. The other spirits shook their heads at the sight and faded into the background.

A snowflake was beautiful but ephemeral, so if Anushka was being compared to one… Wriothesley could see where the play was going.

He tuned out the characters throwing lovey-dovey verses at each other. If Neuvillette was his Bartek, then Wriothesley was Neuvillette’s Anushka. He’d always known that Neuvillette would outlive him, obviously, but he hadn’t given much consideration as to what would happen afterwards.

Neuvillette was determined to spend their lives together, he knew that - he wouldn’t have promised to spend Wriothesley’s retirement together otherwise - but then what? Eternal grief? Old worries rose up. The Prophecy was coming to fruition. Even if he survived that, Wriothesley wasn’t giving himself much time left. Who’s to say some power-hungry bastard wouldn’t overthrow him just a few years from now? He was only getting older, after all.

Anxiety squeezed Wriothesley’s insides. They were undoubtedly going to talk about this after the show. He focused on the happenings on stage for the moment.

The protagonists deserved a happy ending and Wriothesley was so caught up in their story that he forgot what Neuvillette said about things getting worse again.

The end began with Anushka’s father, the bastardly noble and the fiancé, who changed his mind and did actually want her as his wife again. Their petty squabbling was amusing but tiring. Anushka must’ve thought so too. She said it straight in their faces: she wasn’t going to marry either of them. Her father dismissed her words and convinced the two that she was going to make up her mind by the next day. He even visited her in her room to basically threaten her.

She did make up her mind, but not in the way he expected. She packed her things and slipped away to the forest in the cover of the night. Bartek found her almost immediately and they fell into each other’s arms. While Bartek was ecstatic with her decision to stay with him, everyone back in the household was much less so.

The suitors convinced themselves that the young lady was just overwhelmed and confused because she had feelings for both of them. Thus their solution was to “save” her and impress her one last time so that she could decide between the two of them.

Figures.

They followed the trail she left in the snow and found her and Bartek together. For a moment they thought she’d been abducted, but she swiftly dismantled their delusions. It was only when she declared that she wasn’t going to marry either of them again that it finally got through their thick skulls.

They weren’t amused. Wriothesley somehow wasn’t surprised when their answer to that problem was violence.

Bartek jumped in front of Anushka to defend her, but was quickly overwhelmed. Wriothesley watched with bated breath as he did his best despite that. He fought admirably - really, the talent of those actors was something else - and the fiancé was about to deal the last blow when the other forest spirits sweeped in and turned the tide.

It was easy to miss, Wriothesley supposed, that their argument with Bartek wouldn’t have happened in the first place if they hadn’t cared about him.

The humans had no chances against their magic and numbers. In just a few seconds it became obvious what the outcome would be - and that’s when the noble did the stupidest fucking thing yet.

He raised his crossbow one last time and shot a bolt at Anushka, who became careless in watching the battle unfold from behind a tree. The bolt struck her right in the chest. Wriothesley’s hands had never itched to strangle a fictional character so strongly before. Bartek immediately ran to Anushka’s side with a cry of No! while the other spirits tore the human men apart in their wrath.

Wriothesley’s heart wept as he watched the young lady die in her lover’s arms. Neuvillette squeezed his hand, likely in an attempt at comfort, but it made Wriothesley’s gut sink even further.

Did Neuvillette know that Wriothesley didn’t have much time left? Or was he charging into this relationship convinced the two of them would get to have decades of blissful cottage life together? Every point of contact between him and Neuvillette carried the weight of an anvil.

The show’s last song was short and bittersweet. Bartek knelt at Anushka’s grave and the other spirits joined him only to tell him basically ‘we told you so’ and tried to give him back his mask, but Bartek slapped it away and responded:

A heart cold like yours simply can't comprehend

The value lying in that which has an end

You give in to the misery of today

Don't even notice as the joy runs away

You fool yourselves into thinking you're wise

While the truth stares right into your eyes

Bartek had been wailing his lungs out just a moment ago. What truth? Wriothesley thought bitterly. He couldn’t stop thinking about how, one day, this would be Neuvillette, wailing at his grave, left to remember him for longer than they had known each other. It would happen either way, they were too close for it not to. But would it be worth it? Wriothesley honestly doubted it.

He had done Neuvillette a cruelty, he realized.

Wriothesley was knocked out of his thoughts by the audience’s applause for the curtain call. He clapped his hands absentmindedly.

“What do you think?” Neuvillette asked.

Wriothesley shrugged, faux-nonchalantly. “It was good, the songs especially.”

Neuvillette’s brows faintly twitched upwards, but at least he didn’t dig more. “I’d rather talk about it in private, too. Shall we?”

“Sure.”

They left the Opera House by the ordinary route. Strangers’ gazes clung to them like tar. Wriothesley had hoped to fade in Neuvillette’s shadow, but he noticed that people were recognizing him, too - or taking note of him at least. He sped up with a grimace. Thank fuck Neuvillette picked up on his mood and kept the tempo.

They both breathed in relief once outside. Neuvillette took his hand - a tradition at this point - and led them forward at a leisurely pace.

“What did you think of the play?” Neuvillette asked again.

Wriothesley took a deep breath. He wasn’t getting away without giving him an honest-ish answer. “It’s good. The characters are compelling and got me to care about the plot.” He paused, then decided to bite that bullet. He looked Neuvillette in the eyes and asked, “Do you think the grief is worth it?”

Neuvillette smiled faintly, perhaps bitterly. His eyes clouded over. “I’ve been pondering this exact question for centuries now.”

They stopped by the Fountain of Lucine. Whatever it was that Neuvillette wanted to tell him must’ve been giving him trouble, but Wriothesley didn’t rush him. For him, he could wait the whole night.

“The people of Fontaine asked me that question a lot when this play debuted in the Opera Epiclese,” Neuvillette finally said. “I answered truthfully, of course. I didn’t like the play because for the life of me, I couldn’t understand Bartek’s character, and it seemed that nobody in the whole nation agreed with me.”

Oh. Perhaps Wriothesley should’ve expected Neuvillette to share his opinion, since that happened fairly often. The raging bonfire of hope he’d been carrying inside his chest for those past few weeks wilted. Still, it was big enough to make him ask, “But that was in the past, right? What about now?”

Wriothesley was met with another long silence. He grit his teeth in frustration. If this was what it looked like and this was Neuvillette, what, breaking up with him, then what the hell was his behavior the past few months? The gifts, the promise, the heated looks? It made no sense.

“Would you be willing to listen to something of a story?” Neuvillette asked quietly, barely louder than the flow of water. “I promise it will all make sense… I hope.”

Just give it to me straight, Wriothesley thought but bit his tongue. “Alright. I’m listening.”

Neuvillette thanked him with a nod and began speaking. “This play always reminds me of a relationship I once shared with a man named Vautrin. You should remember him, yes?”

“Sure do. Ah, so you were…” The puzzle pieces in Wriothesley’s mind fell into place. For Neuvillette to say that about a man he had convicted himself… “I’m sorry. It must’ve been rough for you.”

“It was. Thank you.” Neuvillette sighed softly, absentmindedly staring into the fountain and its water that glistened with the light coming from the Opera Epiclese. “I suppose it wouldn’t be incorrect to call what we had a ‘snowflake’ in context of this play. We had so little time together, it feels like barely a blink… to this day, he remains my biggest regret. Over the centuries, I simultaneously wished we had more time and to forget that we ever met.”

That sounded utterly miserable. It made sense that the Fontainians didn’t share Neuvillette’s views - who were they to comprehend the weight of immortal regret? Who were they to compare it to a moment’s bliss?

“I swore that I would never subject myself to such suffering again, and so I have kept away from humans until now. Maintaining my impartiality was only part of the reason. Pertaining to that, I…”

Wriothesley knew deep in his gut what was coming. It just fit as a natural conclusion to the whole evening. There was nothing he could do to change reality, to stop Neuvillette from uttering those words. But that didn’t mean that he was ready to hear them. He might’ve just as well had his wrists bound behind his back and helplessly watched a fist fly at his face.

Neuvillette nervously glanced at him before he turned to face him fully. Their eyes met.

“Recently, I’ve resolved to not repeat the same mistakes with you.”

Wriothesley couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, as if his lungs had frozen over and a lump of ice was blocking his throat. He looked into Neuvillette’s eyes, at his face, his posture, all in search of something that would prove him wrong, but he found no love. Only determination.

Oh.

Neuvillette shifted on his feet. Uncertain, or just awkward? “My apologies… I can’t tell if I made my intentions clear.”

Wriothesley’s analytical mind went into overdrive, because surely, Neuvillette’s actions over the past few weeks must’ve meant something, right? But to his horror, the longer he thought, the more he realized that wasn’t the case at all. Neuvillette never said anything outright. Had it all really just been Wriothesley’s wishful thinking? He desperately clung to those cozy delusions, but they all unraveled in his grasp.

It was obvious, it was all so obvious. Neuvillette didn’t dress up for their date because it wasn’t a date. His hands were often cold. He got rid of the tea set to free up space. He promised to help Wriothesley retire because he liked the initiative, not because he wanted to join him.

“Yeah,” he said faintly. Swallowed. “Exceptionally clear.”

Tension left Neuvillette’s shoulders. “I’m glad,” he said with a small smile.

Get you head out of your fucking ass, Wriothesley, he scolded himself. Neuvillette had just confided to him about something he might’ve never told another soul, and here Wriothesley was, making it all about himself. It didn’t matter how he felt right now. He had to show Neuvillette his support, at least until they parted ways for the night - and most importantly, he should respect his wishes.

By Gods, but Neuvillette must’ve felt so awkward when Wriothesley kept flirting and being handsy with him throughout the evening. Now that he thought about it, not once did Neuvillette return that touch, did he? Fuck. He shouldn’t have been so polite. Or maybe he waited until the end of the show on purpose, to make sure Wriothesley would understand. After all, he had never been great with words.

Neuvillette opened his mouth and Wriothesley dreaded what would come out this time. Would he request that they cease meeting so often? Or that they go back to using their titles with each other?

“Would you like to accompany me to the Court of Fontaine and have dinner together?”

“W-wait, what?”

Wriothesley’s heart skipped a beat. What the hell was Neuvillette getting at? Did he fancy himself an Archon of mixed signals?

“Is that… not what humans do? From what I understand, it’s customary to eat together before or after a performance.”

Wriothesley sighed and internally ordered his stupid blood pump to calm down. Right. It was just Neuvillette fumbling a social thing again.

“Not necessarily,” Wriothesley said. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t know you’d want to go, so I didn’t put aside enough time. There’s, uh, a Pankration fight scheduled for tonight. The Duke can’t exactly skip a duel, now, can he?”

It was a low blow and Wriothesley knew it. The Pankration Ring was the method through which the Duke re-established his position at the top of Meropide’s food chain. Though effective, it was also a gamble. If Wriothesley ever lost a fight, or worse, chickened out of one, there was a real chance of a riot breaking out. Neuvillette knew all of that, which is why he didn’t even question the excuse.

“Of course, I… Forgive me, Wriothesley. I should have asked beforehand instead of being so presumptuous with your time.”

“It’s alright, just remember next time,” he said as if there was ever going to be a next time and ostentatiously checked his pocket watch. “Excuse me - we’ve already been out longer than I expected. I should go back.”

“Let me walk you back, at least.”

Ah… there was no polite way to turn him down, was there? Wriothesley put his hands in his pockets, which wasn’t very polite by itself, but fucking whatever, and set out already. “Let’s go,” he threw over his shoulder.

His strides were as long and fast as they could be without getting classified as running. Fortunately, the other man walked behind Wriothesley and was too far away to attempt to grab his arm, and their walk past the Opera House and through the bridge passed with no further damage to Wriothesley’s heart.

“I guess this is goodbye,” Wriothesley said with one foot in the depression.

“So it is. Thank you for the evening and for hearing me out,” he said with unconcealed relief in his voice. In a more playful tone, he added, “Now go and win, and please tell me if you get hurt. Sigewinne will, if you don’t.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t dream of breaking our promise.” Wriothesley forced one last smile onto his face and bowed sloppily. “Have a good rest of your evening, Monsieur.”

“Farewell, Wriothesley.”

Wriothesley fled down the stairs and disappeared behind the elevator door. He slumped against a wall as soon as he was out of sight. Fuck. Earlier today, he set out convinced that he’d come back boasting about their relationship becoming official. What a pathetic fool he’d been. It felt like every bump down the ride was going to make him burst at the seams, but he couldn’t fall apart. Not yet.

The reception area was only filled with meka - Monglane had retired for the night. Wriothesley scribbled his name in her book and boarded a boat.

He walked off the gangplank with an empty smirk on his lips and a thumb hooked on a pocket. He didn’t think about the jewelry box that laid inside just hours ago.

Predictably enough, Wriothesley drew attention of all Gardes he passed - seeing him return was probably the second most interesting thing that happened their whole shifts, the first being the sight of him setting out. Many of them asked how his evening was. In lieu of response, he’d just catch their eye, smirk wider and carry on, hoping it would sell the lie. His throat was too tight to utter a single word.

The second the Administration Tower’s door shut, he threw himself at the sandbag fists first. Right hook, strong entry. It pulled at a muscle in his back, but Cryo numbed the pain.

Stupid.

The chain rattled and Dave shook, then was met with a barrage of quick blows when it swayed back in. Wriothesley blinked back the salty sting in his eyes. Stupid, stupid, how could he have been so stupid? How could he think that anyone would… Didn’t he have enough evidence for the contrary?

You’re too standoffish, too smart, too old and not pretty enough to make up for it, a scream echoed in his mind. Nobody wants you and you’ve made it our problem!

See, he’d noticed a pattern. No one from above the surface could or wanted to handle his baggage; those from below saw him as a means to their own end. Yet for some unfathomable reason, he ignored his own experience and flayed himself open like an encyclopedia before a blind man, or maybe like an overripe tomato before a connoisseur.

Cryo crackled to life on his knuckles. Ice tore through stickers on the next punch, then the next and and next one, and before he knew it, sand exploded out of the bag on every hit. He pummeled at it with wild abandon. He put his whole body into it, and when another muscle in his back pulled, he just Cryoed it into numbness and doubled down.

Why did he make himself go through it again, he asked himself, but he knew the answer. All his reasons and sentiments could be summarized by one ridiculous fantasy that for a moment there, he’d deluded himself into thinking was possible. He didn’t even have to rip it apart this time; Monsieur Chief Justice had already done so on his behalf. A wheezing laugh broke through Wriothesley’s lips. How considerate of him. All that was left to do was bury the ruins back where they belonged, beneath that frozen lake in the back of his mind.

On the next punch, Wriothesley’s fist slid off. He stumbled. His shoes somehow found purchase on the sand-covered floor and he rose back up with an especially mean hook, one that rattled his own bones, and followed it with just as devastating a punch. Another. Another.

A few hits later he missed again. Why the fuck was it suddenly so hard to aim? Can’t he do even this right? Sweat mixed with hair gel dripped into his eyes. It stung like a bitch and made his sight blurry. Stopping the tears wasn’t an option this time. He threw himself at the sandbag again as if that would hide them.

His calves burned, his back was numb, the ice on his knuckles went pink at some point and he was only getting sloppier.

He paused for less than a second to wipe the tears. His gaze refocused on the sandbag itself; the torn up stickers (they’re from Sigewinne, you ruined Sigewinne’s gift) and the silly mocking face. It was laughing at him, just like Fate, just like the whole universe-

Enough.

His Vision flashed and the next thing he knew, Cryo burst out of him with a deafening crack.

For a long second, all was silent. He stared at the wreckage, uncomprehending, the arm that dealt the blow still extended forward. It was shaking - his whole body was. His breath was visible in the cold and Gods, had he ever made this much Cryo at once?

Behind him, the Tower’s door groaned open.

“Your Grace, is every- Your Grace!?”

Ah. Wriothesley could guess that he didn’t look very put together at the moment. He turned his head just enough to see the Garde from the corner of his eye.

“Nothin’ to get your balls in a twist about,” he said flatly. “Return to your post.”

The Garde stayed still. “Are you sure, Your Grace? You don’t look-”

Something inside Wriothesley snapped. He bared his teeth and seethed, “That was an order.”

The Garde flinched, then obediently ducked out and slammed the door shut.

Wriothesley’s eyes turned back to the mess of sand, leather and stickers in its icy grave. His breathing started going down. Now that the tension had boiled over, the layer of cooled down sweat made him shiver. When was the last time he felt so cold?

Suddenly, his whole world swayed. His back caught the railing, and with a screech similar to that of metal on metal, he slid down to the floor. Where did that sound even come from? His right leg was still up and he gingerly rested his wrist on the knee. Yeah, he… probably overdid it.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, shivering and trying to focus on his breathing. That mix of incredulity, terror and ache of an icicle piercing his heart, of love blurring into hate, he’d felt it all before. Betrayal was cold and bitter with a metallic aftertaste, just like he remembered.

Except Neuvillette never actually promised him anything. Never requested his trust. Wriothesley lived a lie, but this time, it was one he’d built himself.

He didn’t even notice when more tears slid down his cheeks and froze halfway. A tiny movement drew his vacant stare. Ice had fallen off his knuckles and now they were bare; a drop of blood gathered, slid down his index finger and hung for a split second on the tip. It fell, then was replaced by another.

The scars on his neck itched and throbbed. His other hand wandered up to them and forced the buttons open to feel the smooth but jagged surface. The cuts had been clean, but weren’t given proper conditions to heal. Poetic, he used to think, that these were supposed to be his last deed. It was the only thing his younger self could think to do, kneeling before two bodies that his own two hands had just ripped the souls out of. He would never forget the way his and theirs blood pooled together on the floor, one indistinguishable from the other. And why would it be?

Three gashes, three lives, three sinners.

Or, that’s how it was supposed to be. A child’s scream had rang out somewhere behind him. They were innocent, they shouldn’t see… another sin added to his count. Turn away, he didn’t have the strength to beg, don’t look. But the child kept screaming and calling, and they tugged at his sleeve-

“...Grace? Wriothesley!”

He flinched, sucked in a breath. Meropide.

He slapped off the hand holding onto his sleeve and barked, “What?”

Then he realized that he was in his Tower, that this was Sigewinne. He didn’t need to hide behind a layer of anger, not here, not with her. He turned his head in her direction and sure enough, she came alone. His shoulders slumped as he let out a deep breath.

“...Sorry.”

“It’s alright. I’m just glad to see you’re back with me.” She took his hand in two of hers and examined his knuckles. The skin was torn and the flesh purple. Wriothesley cringed. This was the exact reason he always reached for his gauntlets first, Vision second; he’d never had the need to use either on a sandbag before. Evidently, he hadn’t been thinking clearly. Sigewinne sent him a look. But at least he knew that Sigewinne knew and Sigewinne knew that he knew, so they could both quietly revel in their wisdom and spare what little was left of his dignity.

“Are you able to stand?” she asked instead.

Just straightening out his back made him hiss. He gripped at the railing behind and slowly, one excruciating move after another, pulled himself upright. Suddenly, something large unlatched from his back and crashed on the floor. He instinctively flinched away from the sound. His eyes found broken spikes and clumps of ice. Wait, that was on his back?

“Let’s get you to your bed,” Sigewinne said.

Wriothesley sighed with relief. This was Sigewinne - of course she understood that he wouldn’t want his employees to see him like this on the way to the infirmary. He let them inside his quarters and cautiously took a seat at the edge of the bed. To his surprise, she let his hands be and had a closer look at his back, instead. She cut the remains of his cape, vest and shirt off him.

“You have second degree frostbite, Your Grace.”

Oh. “I see.” That… Hm. “I suppose I overdid it a bit.”

Sigewinne didn’t say anything. She went back to her bag, messed around with it and came back with- of course. She popped the bottle open, mixed in some powdered medicine, put in a straw and forced it into his hand. His tongue must’ve gotten frostbite, too, because it tasted less terrible than usual.

Now that he was a bit warmer, feeling returned. Sigewinne’s Hydro washed through him, quelling the worst of it, but the skin still burned, tempting him to just claw it off. She worked quietly; used a sharp-smelling disinfectant and a salve, then applied bandages that ended up covering his entire chest area. Once done with that, she took back the empty shake bottle and shifted her attention to his hands. The treatment method was more or less the same.

“What happened?” she asked while washing off the blood. Her big eyes flickered up to meet his before returning to her task.

“Nothing.” She paused in her ministrations to lift an eyebrow at him. He sighed. “No, really. Literally nothing happened, I just… overreacted.”

“Maybe I would’ve believed you if you were anyone else, Your Grace. Did it have something to do with Monsieur Neuvillette?”

“I mean it,” he said, quietly begging that she’d drop it. “Our evening went fine. I was just lost in my head, and then afterwards something unrelated happened that ticked me off. I’m sure it won’t happen again.”

Sigewinne frowned at his words. Whether she saw through them or not, she didn’t like what she found. “But if it was something else, then what could it be that got you so… so…”

For the life of him, he couldn’t get mad at her if he tried. She just cared so much… too much. Sweet, sweet Sigewinne, who saw the dust swept from the Court of Fontaine’s unblemished streets and for some reason decided it deserved being cared for. When she had a skewed view of what was worth the effort and what wasn’t, wasn’t it on him to get out of her hair and spare her the pain?

With a pang of guilt, Wriothesley realized that to her, too, he was a ‘snowflake’. She knew him better and liked him more than she did her other patients and once he passed, she would mourn and regret. Gods. Couldn’t he have gotten attached to a mortal nurse? How come his very existence was a cruelty to those he loved?

Maybe it was his Fate to hurt the people around him. Whichever Celestial bastard it was that assigned it to him must be having a comedy show of their lifetime.

Sigewinne finished up and, for what must’ve been a first time, recommended him to make himself some tea. To warm up, she said, so he wouldn’t get a cold. He used the opportunity to make a joke that distracted from his disheveled state and though it didn’t really work, it made her understand that she wouldn’t get anything out of him and stopped her prodding.

Sigewinne tried only one more time, right before she left, but Wriothesley stayed silent. Her feelers drooped at the lack of a reaction. She disappeared with barely a sound.

It was better this way, Wriothesley reminded himself. He was doing her a kindness.

He tossed and turned most of the night. The burning pain didn’t let him catch a break even despite the painkillers and his mind wasn’t far behind.

What right did he have to judge and resent Neuvillette for something that only another immortal could hope to comprehend? He was just keeping himself safe. Wriothesley should watch and learn, really. That, he thought, was something an immortal and an unlovable piece of damaged goods had in common: getting attached to other people would always end in hurt. Hopefully, Wriothesley learned his lesson for good this time.

It’s not like he needed anyone, anyway. He was successful and respected enough to do everything he needed to do, and if he got sad behind closed doors sometimes, it wouldn’t matter and nobody would care. He’d run the Fortress as best as he could and then he’d die, his body just another one thrown away for the deepwater horrors to devour. Neuvillette and Sigewinne were going to move on, and everyone else to forget.

That’s how it was always meant to be.

Chapter 11: Damned If You Do, Damned If You Doughn't

Chapter Text

Neuvillette was over the moon. He hummed under his breath while he watered the flowers on his office’s windowsill and his mind ran away from him.

Wriothesley really was shy when it came to romance. Oh, he was a force to be reckoned with when it came to flirting, but following Neuvillette’s confession… suddenly the big bad wolf of Meropide turned into a fumbling puppy and it - he - was utterly adorable. All bark no bite, Neuvillette had been tempted to call him, but he couldn’t tell whether that would be too far. Hopefully he would become comfortable with touch soon. Neuvillette wasn’t sure if he could stop himself from scenting him the moment they were in each other’s vicinity again.

Something about the fact that Wriothesley wore Neuvillette’s scent to a duel, one he’d undoubtedly won, scratched some itch deep inside him; woken up dragon instincts he hadn’t even known were there. Wriothesley’s own mark on him was the only thing keeping him sane, he was sure. He was going to wear this lumitoile-shaped cravat pin for eternity or until Wriothesley gave him another one.

Soon, Neuvillette told himself; their next meeting was only in three days. He couldn’t wait to make more memories together; no more ‘what could have been’s, no more regrets. Just the two of them, together, for as long as Fate would allow. Oh, but to gently ease Wriothesley out of that shell of his, to make a smile bloom on his face with a kiss, to claim him only for himself…

Neuvillette had no idea why Wriothesley was so shy. It didn’t really fit with the rest of his character, so Neuvillette had a feeling there was more to it - or maybe he just didn’t know that kind, devious man as well as he thought.

After all, Neuvillette didn’t really know what to make of Wriothesley’s feelings the last time they were together. To him, they seemed all over the place. He could only guess what caused each of them, if he managed to parse them out in the first place. Wriothesley was disturbed and disgusted by some events presented in the play, excited then hurt when it turned out they couldn’t go to dinner together, sympathetic to and grieving because of Neuvillette and Vautrin’s history.

All of that was secondary, though. The most important were the warmth and adoration and awe that rose up within him during every interaction between them. They reassured Neuvillette that Wriothesley wanted the same things as him. To trade jokes and anecdotes about themselves or just the things they found interesting; share tea, water and meals; make a nest together and mix their smells; belong to each other and nobody else. To have that house with a porch and a garden where they would care for a gaggle of children and a dog.

Neuvillette was drawn out of his head by the water in the pot spilling over. He flinched. What was left in his watering can splashed against its walls at the sudden movement. With a sigh, he used his powers to remove the excessive water from the pot - this was a pansy, not a pluie lotus. He needed to be more attentive if he were to learn gardening sometime in this century.

That said, Neuvillette moved on to the next plant and promptly drowned it, too.

Wriothesley was managing. He’d wasted the entire last day in bed, but that was the nurse's orders and everything was fine now. Today would be normal. He was calm, his heart cool with relief that might’ve been emptiness. No more breakdown-induced training sessions - no more breakdowns, period. His upper back hurt, but he refused any painkillers because the pain made it hard to think about anything except fucking ouch , he shouldn’t have reached with his arm that far.

Because Wriothesley was managing, it was no struggle at all to get out of bed and boil water for a morning cuppa. He also wasn’t stuck kneeling in front of the opened cabinet, he just wasn’t fully woken up, yet.

The wolf-themed tea set was the only one he drank from these days and it became a habit to choose a different cup each day. He picked up the one with a cub rolled onto its belly before he realized what he was doing. His arm froze mid movement. The kettle crackled somewhere in the background. He swore under his breath. It was just a teacup. Why the hell was he hesitating?

Of course he knew why but his ego wouldn’t let him admit it, but it also didn’t stop him from realizing he couldn’t just bulldoze through his routine. This was a gift from Neuvillette, after all, but Neuvillette said- he didn’t-

Break it, something whispered, making his hand tremble. Show him just how little he matters to you.

Wriothesley put the cup back. He was managing, he reminded himself, not throwing a fit first thing in the morning.

The tea set faux-innocently laid in its place, taunting him with memories of all the times he got lost in his head thinking about Neuvillette. The judge had seemed so earnest in giving it to Wriothesley. What did he say? Something something bought it on a whim, but it ended up gathering dust.

Figures that Wriothesley would end up with his trash. The notion that this was a meaningful gift given to him on their first date was laughable now. An icicle pierced through his heart at the reminder. Neuvillette had pretty much glued himself to Wriothesley that day and half of Fontaine had seen the photo that proved it. Did it really mean nothing?

I’ve resolved to not repeat the same mistakes with you.

Maybe Wriothesley wasn’t actually deluding himself at the beginning. Maybe he fell victim to Neuvillette leading him on and then nipping whatever it was they had in the bud. The result was the same, though, so what did it even matter? Wriothesley bared his soul. Neuvillette saw it and decided he didn’t want it.

The end.

Wriothesley buried his face in his hands. He’d had enough of lying to himself, accidentally or otherwise. He wasn’t managing. Like, at all. Here, he admitted it - wasn’t that supposed to make him feel better, or something? Tears tried to bully their way out of his eyes, making them sting. Well, it wouldn’t hurt, it’s not like anybody could see…

He’d meant to let free just a tear, maybe a few, but a floodgate opened instead. Suddenly his whole chest was spasming with sobs he couldn’t control. His throat ached with the effort not to make a sound. Wait, no, no, that was too far - why couldn’t he stop? What the fuck was wrong with him? He roughly wiped his eyes but they just wouldn’t stop fucking leaking. Pathetic. He dug his fingernails into the meat of his thighs. He wasn’t sure whether that helped, but it gave him a distraction, one he could control.

With a bit more time, the emotions seething out of his chest calmed and all that was left was silence. Wriothesley was drunk on a fresh dose of that cold, hollowing relief. His eyes dried. Nobody would ever know; he’d stay in the office until all signs of that moment of weakness faded. He wrapped himself in that knowledge like a blanket.

In the end he buried the tea set in the depths of the storage room. Soon it would become little more than an afterthought, given he didn’t forget about it altogether; a perfect mirror of what Wriothesley was to the Iudex.

Wriothesley left the room and the door clicked shut with a finality that made his breath tremble. Goodbye, he thought, it was good while it lasted.

By the time he returned upstairs the water was lukewarm.

Wriothesley barged into the cafeteria’s kitchen before the lunch break even began. Wolsey, even though used to his baking-related antics, exchanged bewildered glances with his new-ish helper, Cuistot, before ordering him to let the Duke take over one of the stations. Wriothesley didn’t think much about it.

Baking was the only outlet for emotions he had besides boxing and he was smart enough to not attempt that in his state, regardless of Sigewinne’s nagging. He took out the eggs, flour, sugar… he flitted through the recipe book for something that wouldn’t require him to whip anything up.

There was plenty. His mind wandered while eyes slipped over the words. Ironic how he sought reprieve in the very activity he picked up for the Iudex’s sake. How could he ever think that he’d suddenly become desirable just because he could make the same thing Neuvillette could buy in a bakery whenever he wanted? Laughable, really. There wasn’t a single thing Wriothesley could offer him that he didn’t already have. Except his plethora of issues, maybe.

A bitter smile sneaked onto his lips. He didn’t even manage to impress him in the end, first with the muffin and later the dacquoise. While Wriothesley didn’t regret the tea party itself, the way he flayed himself open at the end, like a total idiot, and he even thought that… ah, nevermind.

“Erm, Your Grace?” Someone hesitantly disturbed him. Ah, Wolsey. “Could I maybe help you with something?”

It took Wriothesley a second to catch his meaning. Right, he wasn’t the kind of person to space out like that. Wolsey must’ve been worried and Wriothesley actually considered his question. Wolsey was safe. He’d been here almost as long, had witnessed the fall of the old Administrator, was among the first to celebrate when the new one was bestowed the title of Duke. Most importantly, he only traded in non-personal information.

Still, Wriothesley refrained from answering; Cuistot was still loitering around the dishwashing station. He and his buddy Laverune were Meropide’s biggest gossips. They would’ve made for decent information brokers if it wasn’t for their love of drama; when sharing information caused an interesting result, the two of them considered that payment on its own.

Wolsey followed his line of sight and thankfully caught the meaning. “Thank you for today’s work, Cuistot. Now go, I’ll finish up here.”

Cuistot eyed the mountain of dishes that no one in their right mind would actually want to take care of. It wasn’t hard to conclude that they very much didn’t want him here. He looked like he wanted to argue, but he faltered under the Duke’s glare and left them alone with barely a grumble.

“Can I ask what’s troubling you now, Your Grace? You were in a great mood just yesterday, and now you’re… not.”

“Yeah.” He let out a heavy breath, shoulders slumping. They’ve known each other for so long, it didn’t feel right to leave Wolsey without an explanation. But Wriothesley wasn’t exactly keen on opening up, either. “There’s not much to talk about. It just turned out I was being led on.”

Maybe. Possibly. It could’ve been all Wriothesley’s delusion, but he wasn’t going down that rabbit hole of explanations right now.

Wolsey winced in sympathy. “That sucks, Your Grace.” He scratched his chin in thought. “I don’t get it. I would’ve thought you’re the type who can have just about anyone. You’re a good man and the way the papers talk about you, Your Grace, you must be the most eligible bachelor in the land or something.”

There was no hoodwinking this guy, was there? Wriothesley should've figured considering this was Wolsey he was up against. “Not eligible enough for the Iudex, apparently.”

Wolsey raised his brows. Neither of them was expecting Wriothesley to admit to that. “He must not be into men, then.”

With the way he talked about Vautrin? “He is.”

“Then his expectations are Celestia-high and he’ll be lonely and miserable forever, and none of that is your fault.” Wolsey punched him in the arm and smiled. He had a point; expecting your lover to be another immortal alone narrowed down the dating pool to, like, twenty people across the whole of Teyvat. “Your Grace will put yourself out there and find yourself the perfect sweetheart in no time, I just know it.”

“That second part is questionable, but… yeah. Yeah, you’re right. And hey,” Wriothesley punched him back. For all his grumbling, he did feel a bit better. “At least now no one can accuse me of bending over for the Court of Fontaine, can they?”

Wolsey definitely caught onto which exact rumors he was referencing. His face twisted into something pained. “That has to be the shittiest optimistic take I’ve ever heard.”

Wriothesley rolled his eyes. “It’s called a ‘silver lining’.”

“It really looks more like zinc from where I’m standing.”

“Zinc has its charms.” He sighed. “Let me have this.”

That shut him up. Wriothesley put the untouched baking ingredients back in their place - he wasn’t in the mood anymore - then helped Wolsey with those dirty dishes. Quiet thank you and all that.

Once they were done, Wriothesley left the kitchen with his sights set on the Administration Tower. He had yesterday’s workload to catch up on.

Little did he know, Fate wasn’t done with him yet.

“HA! I told you!” someone yelled the moment Wriothesley left the kitchen. It was an older inmate he vaguely recognized; the man stood in front of a crowd, pointing a finger at him. “I told you he was back to his wicked ways!”

What the fuck was this guy’s deal? Wriothesley considered just ignoring him and carrying on with his day, but the crowd made him pause. Less than a hundred, but not by much. The situation would only escalate if he left it on its own.

Wriothesley addressed the man directly. “Is there a problem?”

“Your Grace,” the Garde closest to him approached him quickly. “They were waiting for you, pretending they lingering after lunch-”

“Sure there is a problem, and it’s you!” the man screeched.

Wriothesley glared at the man, using his height to the full advantage. The Gardes stationed around tensed. Nobody disrespected the Duke. Nobody.

“Well, luckily for you, I’m free now. We can head to the Pankration Ring right away.” The old man gulped, eyes wide, and the people around and behind him fidgeted nervously. Wriothesley chuckled condescendingly. “Why the wide eyes? You’ve been acquainted with the rules of this place for longer than me, Jean-Pierre.”

Wriothesley had always respected this man, in a sense. He’d been sentenced at a young age; not many would’ve been able to survive here for so long they were wrinkled and grayed, maybe not even Wriothesley himself. But evidently, Meropide had left a mark on this man’s sanity.

A figure stepped out of the crowd. Wriothesley still remembered filing her papers - Simone, murdered her husband and mutilated his lover. No sympathy for cheaters, but he’d winced reading that.

“You’re not proving anything by beating up an old man!” she yelled.

“Yeah!”

“That’s right!” the crowd agreed, suddenly much more agitated.

Ah, crap. Senile or not, Jean-Pierre had garnered support, and this was getting out of control. Wriothesley caught the eye of the Garde from earlier and secretly signaled to him that they might need backup. The inmates didn’t seem to notice, at least. Now he’d have to calm the situation down - or stall until help arrived, in the worst case. He still didn’t know how and why Jean-Pierre was doing this. It didn’t sit right with him.

“Well, it doesn’t have to come to this,” Wriothesley said calmly, setting himself as the reasonable one in the room. “Have I unintentionally offended you somehow? Whatever it is, I’m always up for negotiations first.”

“I won’t fall for your tricks. Unintentionally, negotiations, my ass!” He crossed his stick-like arms. “I remember your early days. I was there when you took over by force, and I was there when you poisoned all those poor people! You like to pretend that you’re the high and mighty Duke, but you’re just a damn coward,” the old man spat.

What?

“I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wriothesley said.

“A coward and a liar!” Jean-Pierre fumed. “We literally caught you red-handed. You were in the kitchen! How many inconvenient people are you planning to get rid of this time, huh!?”

Then it clicked. Gods have mercy on me.

Wriothesley had honestly hoped that this stain on his honor would fade with time, but he’d been sorely mistaken. His gut twisted with embarrassment at the memory of that failure. Still calmly, but with a strain in his voice, he said,

“I assure you the incident you’re referring to was an accident and that nobody got seriously hurt.”

“Yes, ‘cause that was a test run, and now you’re doing it again!”

“I’m not trying to poison anybody.” Wriothesley rolled his eyes before he could stop himself. “The contrary, even. Just who do you think has been making all those desserts you lot buy from the cafeteria?”

Somewhere in the background, an inmate froze with a cupcake halfway to his mouth. People in the crows whispered, much of their fervor dissipating into confusion.

“What? But that can’t be possible…” Jean-Pierre muttered. “They’re too good. You couldn’t have made them, the poisoned inmates clogged all the pipes in the Northern wing last time…” Please stop talking. “Ha, I know! You’ve just been training!”

The crowd behind him murmured in agreement. And, well. He has been training, but not in fucking poison brewing.

“I vouch for His Grace!”

This voice belonged to Wolsey. The man stood on Wriothesley’s side, arms on his hips and face frowning. Focalors’s soggy cunt, Wriothesley could kiss him right now. “I’ve personally seen him make those desserts, nothing less, nothing more. I even sampled and sold them. He’s just been spoiling the Melusines, not preparing some… some weapon of mass destruction!”

“You’re one of his, you don’t count,” Simone dismissed him. “You’re probably the one who actually made them, ain’t you?”

Temperature in the room suddenly dropped. Those standing at Wriothesley’s side flinched away from the wave of cold that came from their Duke. All this mess over some bullshit accident from the past? Seriously?

“You seem to have forgotten something.”

The Duke took slow, menacing steps in the crowd’s direction. Jean-Pierre and Simone unconsciously shifted backwards; the rest did too, though very consciously. Wriothesley stopped within an arm’s reach from the old man, then smirked.

In a blink of an eye, he grabbed Jean-Pierre by his neck and lifted him into the air.

“Do you really think I’d bother with poison ?” The Duke scoffed.

No one was trying to stop him. Members of the crowd closest to him had flinched farther away; now they were either staring at the Duke or nervously glancing around. They were starting to realize that they had been fooled by an old man’s ramblings; they might as well have been frozen in place. The message was clear.

If the Duke wants somebody dead, he needs no justification.

He waited a few more seconds for his point to sink in, then let go. The old man collapsed to the ground, coughing and clutching at his throat. Guilt welled up in him, but Wriothesley smothered it down. This was necessary. The moment this man had used that silly, humiliating anecdote to undermine the Duke’s authority, it stopped being just about pride.

Most of the inmates gathered their wits and backed off from the scene, but the most stubborn few remained.

It was obvious to everyone now that no, the Duke wasn’t secretly trying to off anybody. But he still wasn’t pleased and this time, it was about pride. How long would it take people to forget that mistake? Would they ever? Would he have to spend the rest of his reign aware that everyone shared it behind his back? No thank you.

Smothering hadn’t worked, so overshadow it had to be. Wriothesley needed something so shocking, so grand, that it would be the only thing people would think of whenever ‘His Grace’ and ‘baking’ appeared in the sentence together.

And Wriothesley had just the idea.

“What was all that about?” One of the Gardes stage-whispered to his colleague once the situation was resolved and they were returning to their post.

The colleague just shook his head. “We don’t talk about the Clog Incident, Jared.”

Clorinde spat out her tea. “A competition?”

Wriothesley nodded and smugly swirled his own cup. Each of them was sprawled on the other end of the couch and they were sharing a new, exceptional blend of chestnut tea. But instead of the wonder and respect he’d expected, Clorinde laughed in his face.

“What in the hell possessed you to come up with that idea? Is it even yours, or are you claiming it because of your man pride?”

“Why, thank you for your overwhelming support,” he drawled with a roll of his eyes. “I meant to invite you as a judge, but I changed my mind. I’ll just get Navia in on it.”

That made Clorinde pause. Ha! The sacred rule of ‘mention woman, get attention’ held true. “...I won’t charge you the usual rate for my time.”

“Oh yeah? But you’ll charge me something, won’t you?”

“I mean, it’s only fair since I’ll be giving you extra points.”

Wriothesley’s demeanor turned deadly serious. Their gazes clashed. “Eighty percent off.”

“Are you kidding me? I might as well be paying you at this rate. Thirty.”

“You’ll be essentially going on a date with free entertainment and dessert. Seventy.”

“Meropide is the last spot I’d ever pick for a date and Navia’s baking is better than all of yours combined, anyway. Forty.”

“Sixty. Don’t pretend you’re ever going to let me live it down.”

“You’re right, I won’t.” A pause and… “Forty five.”

“Oh, come on! Is my dignity worth only five percent to you?” Yeah, he better not give her the time to answer that. “Fifty five, that’s my last offer.”

“Fifty and a box of whatever this blend is.”

Tempting, but… it was also Wriothesley’s new favorite. But maybe that vendor hadn’t sold out yet, and he could still buy himself more. “Deal.”

They shook on it. Wriothesley put on the kettle. He was going to brew more of the tea while he still could - they’d never specified that it had to be a full box and he only had the one. And what was Clorinde gonna do, not take it?

“Alright, so when are you planning this thing?”

“Next Sunday.”

Clorinde’s lips thinned.

Wriothesley groaned. “Don’t fucking tell me you’re working on a Sunday ?”

“I’ll be shadowing Lady Furina. Someone has to do security detail for her, and I’ve already used up my paid vacation this month.” This sucked ass. Why would an Archon even need security detail? Well, she probably didn’t and it was just another part of her privilege. “A shame. I was already looking forward to laughing at you.”

“Har, har.” He lazily pointed a finger at her. “You’d be amazed at what I can do. I’ve made incredible progress, I’ll have you know.”

“Enough not to poison anyone, sure, but to win a competition?”

Wriothesley schooled his face. This wording was an accident, right? There was no way someone told her about the Clo- that incident.

“In the right circumstances, sure, why not?” He shrugged nonchalantly, as if he wasn’t the one literally writing the rules.

She huffed. “That’s how it is.”

He just sent her a wink.

Organizing a whole competition in less than two weeks was a challenge that Wriothesley welcomed. He had to urgently ship in ingredients, prepare the venue, write the rules, invite the judges, sign people up… He paid for everything out of his own pocket. It took a blow but he had standards; the event was for the sake of his pride, not the Fortress of Meropide.

Wriothesley needed his victory to be - and look, at least - as legitimate as possible. He wasn’t throwing in all that cash and effort just for his people to remember him as a cheater. In the three days preceding the event the competitors would be able to pay a fee, for ingredients and babysitting, for access to the kitchen. Wriothesley’s victory wouldn’t be all that impressive if everyone else was baking for the first time in years, if not decades.

He kept an eye on those he deemed worthy opponents. Jean-Pierre and Simone were amongst the first contenders to sign up, because of course they knew that the event wasn’t what it said on the tin. The former used to be a baker’s apprentice; Wriothesley wasn’t sure about the latter, but either way, she definitely had it out for him.

Even if Wriothesley didn’t win in the end, those two would best him over his dead body.

On a lighter note, a lot of people joined in just for the fun of it - and the prize reward didn't hurt either. In the days following the announcement, his people reported the inmates to be in higher spirits, united in anticipation and friendly competition. Sigewinne especially loved the idea. She’d been excitedly rambling about it for the whole time she checked on his wounds last time. It was good for everyone’s mental health, she said.

Well, there were a few, namely two inmates that signed up for nefarious reasons. If the Fatui twins weren’t going to use the event as a distraction, Wriothesley would eat his gloves. He was confident they wanted to infiltrate the infirmary - it would be the perfect occasion, seeing as Sigewinne would be looking over the contestants. Jokes on them. He’d appointed Jurieu and Lourvine to cover for her, so whoever came in faking sickness would either magically recover or get actually sick from listening to their bullshit.

Wriothesley himself was practicing too, of course, at times when nobody would bother him. He wasn’t going to cheat, no, but he’d admit that he’d made things easy for himself. He had much more time to practice than everyone else. Category was sponge cake, which had become Wriothesley’s specialty. Navia Caspar and two of her attendants would be the judges; hopefully they’d be biased towards him.

Every waking moment that he wasn’t completing his organization or standard duties, Wriothesley was practicing. It was the perfect distraction from the sad excuse that was his personal life. One of the categories on which the judges would assign points was presentation, so he picked a single design and attempted it over and over again until he was banging his head on the wall. He was going to be a one trick pony, and his one trick was going to blow everyone’s hats off, dammit.

He was good with his hands in every sense of the word, so he had no doubt that he could do it. Just… next try would be it. Right?

Fucking Monday.

Wriothesley hadn’t had a proper meeting with the Chief Justice in a longer while, so no matter how tempting it was, he couldn’t just cancel this one. It would be simply irresponsible of him as the Duke. And so, he put multiple protective layers of professionalism and indifference around his heart and to the Palais Mermonia he went.

The Chief Justice’s office was different. It took Wriothesley a moment to put his finger on it, but then he saw it everywhere. Plants. On the windowsills, tables, between the couches.

“Excuse me, Your Honor, but I just have to ask,” he said as he approached the desk. “Did the Marechaussee Phantom raid a florist’s, or something?”

The Iudex demurely covered his face with a hand and let out an ugly, beautiful laugh. Wriothesley’s heart skipped a beat, the traitor.

"I’m glad you noticed. But it’s not as extreme as you make it out to be." The twenty-something different plants scattered around the office begged to differ. "You could say that I have discovered something of a green thumb. My affinity is to Hydro, so it was something of an unexpected discovery, but there is something... ineffable about it. Have you ever tried it?"

“In the Fortress of Meropide?” Wriothesley raised an amused brow. “I like the sun and I guess I have the patience for it, so if I ever move out, maybe…” the vision of a cottage with a large porch and a garden invaded his mind- abort, abort! “Nah. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“I didn’t either, to be honest. I asked Cosanzeana for pointers and she’s been an incredible help - she even shared her Sumeru Roses with me. You two got along just fine, from what I remember.”

What the hell was Wriothesley doing? He and Neuvillette were supposed to be keeping each other at a distance, now, so how did they fall into easy conversation so quickly?

“Maybe I’ll take her up on it one day, but we’ve got stuff to sort out, Monsieur Chief Justice.” With those words, Wriothesley dramatically removed a whole stack of paper from his messenger bag and smacked it on the desk.

The Iudex blinked in surprise. They always began their meetings with business - was he just not expecting Wriothesley to change the topic so abruptly? It seemed a bit out of character, but they were keeping distance so Wriothesley didn’t dig into it. The meeting progressed as it was supposed to.

Wriothesley kept watch on the grandfather clock in the corner of his vision. He stalled, hashed the same stuff a few times, talked in circles. Not much, they did have a lot to catch up on, but enough so that it took them exactly the two hours they had.

“A shame,” Wriothesley said as the clock rang four o’clock, already slinging his coat over his shoulders. “We’ll have to catch up next time, it seems.”

“Not at all.” The Iudex smiled. “Seeing as we never seem to have as much time as we want, I’ve allotted three hours for us in my new schedule. Please, take a seat - I’ll prepare the tea.” What?

“Sure,” Wriothesley said because he was an idiot and denying a cup of tea went against the very core of his being.

Fuck.

He took a seat at the usual couch like a good boy. There was a book and two plants on the table; one was some flower in a pot and the other was a… no, not a rainbow rose. A lily or a tulip or something.

“So,” The Iudex asked conversationally while preparing the leaves. “Did you win your duel?”

Wriothesley almost asked what duel but then he remembered the lie. “Oh, yeah, of course. I got a few bruises and pulled muscles, but you should see the other guy. Nothing left of ‘im.” Literally. Rest in peace, Dave. “Besides, Sigewinne did wonders on me and I’m all healed up now.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said, sounding much too genuine for someone who was only being polite. “And how is Meropide faring?”

“Well…” If Neuvillette really cared to hear it… he wasn't so petty as to deny such trivial knowledge. “I’m organizing a competition.”

Neuvillette wheeled over the tea service and sat across from him. “A Pankration tournament?”

“Solid guess, but no.” Wriothesley poured them the freshly-brewed green tea, then sipped it to hide how he hesitated with saying the next words. Was the Chief Justice really that interested in what people got up to beneath the waves? He was looking at Wriothesley expectantly, so it seemed that yes, he was. So he described it. Not the real reason it came to be, but everything else. The enthusiasm, the rules, other contestants.

“I never would’ve expected this from the Fortress of Meropide…” Neuvillette said, his voice soft with awe. “When is this event taking place? I’ll ask Sedene to write it into my schedule.”

Wriothesley almost choked on his tea. He’d prepared for the eventuality, sure, but he wasn’t… he didn’t dare assume.

“This Sunday.”

Wriothesley’s shoulders sagged with relief; Neuvillette’s too, but with disappointment. Wriothesley had chosen that day specifically because he knew that while the Chief Justice was technically free, he spent Sundays on diplomatic meetings, which could be even harder to postpone than trials on a good day. On such short notice? Impossible. A true Fontainian noble would pass down that grudge to the next generation.

“Ah. I’m afraid I won’t be able to attend.” Neuvillette’s excitement died down, his feelers sagged. Guilt came; Wriothesley reminded himself that it was necessary. “Could Lady Furina go in my stead? It sounds like something she’d enjoy.”

“Why not,” Wriothesley said just to make Neuvillette feel better. It’s not like the high and mighty Archon would dare step foot in the land of the exiled, anyway, and Neuvillette perked back up a little, because he was the kind of person that was at his happiest helping others. How could he be simultaneously so distanced and so kind? How was Wriothesley supposed to not eat it the fuck up?

“I suppose I’ll await the news of your victory, then.”

“That you will.” Wriothesley winked and raised his teacup in a mock toast. Neuvillette awkwardly, adorably, treated it seriously and clinked their cups together. Wriothesley’s insides melted just a little.

Neuvillette picked up the book. It was blocked from his view by the potted plant before, but now he could read the title: The Seven Love Languages. Sounded like a cheap romance story, but so had Snowflake, so Wriothesley refrained from judging.

“When I asked Sigewinne for advice on understanding humans better, she recommended this book to me,” Neuvillette explained. “I found it enlightening, but haven’t had the opportunity to double-check that knowledge. I’ve had many assumptions about humanity proven wrong recently, so I’d rather check to be sure.”

“And lemme guess - you’re telling me this because you want to test it on me?”

Neuvillette nodded shyly, and Wriothesley sighed. He should just walk out instead of entertaining him, but… even now, he was very likely the only human close enough for Neuvillette to ask, and since when could he deny him anything? Fuck.

And so against his better judgment, he said, “Go ahead.”

“Splendid. So…” Neuvillette’s slender fingers gripped it excitedly. “This is a book written by a Vahumana scholar, and it is based on a hypothesis that humans express their love in specific ways, which the author compares to speaking a language. He writes that a human will feel unloved if their loved ones don’t express their feelings in the language that person ‘speaks’, so to say. So?” The way he tightened his grip on the book betrayed his excitement. “What do you think?”

Wriothesley scratched at his chin. He could kind of see it. “I… guess? Different people like different things, obviously.”

“The author provides a test by which one can check - would you like to try it? The results will be most reliable if you don’t fully know what it is about, I think. After that we can dive into the concept further and compare your results with mine.”

Wriothesley shrugged. “Sure, whatever. Hit me.”

Neuvillette flipped to a bookmarked page. He prepared a pencil and spare piece of paper. “We’ll be operating on a scale of one to five, where one is ‘disagree’, three is ‘neutral’ and five is ‘agree’. You’ll be telling me how much you agree with each statement - is that alright with you? ”

“So far so good.”

“Very well. The first statement is thus: I feel loved when I receive a thoughtful gift.”

Wriothesley tried very, very hard not to think about that tea set. He failed, so he used laughter to distract them both. “Who doesn’t?” Neuvillette didn’t answer, though, just waited. Wriothesley shrugged. “Five.”

Neuvillette dutifully scribbled down his answer and carried on. “I feel loved when people close to me give me a hug.”

Fuck, this again? Wriothesley didn’t remember ever being hugged, except by Neuvillette. He was pretty sure his parents didn’t like physical affection. Maybe his siblings did? For the life of him, he couldn’t remember.

Considering he had little point of reference, the fairest answer was, “Three.” Even if hugging Neuvillette was pretty fucking amazing.

“I feel loved when my partner shares what they appreciate about me.”

Wriothesley Cryo-ed his cheeks into submission. There was a particular edition of The Steambird that he kept tucked away in a drawer for, uhh, personal reasons. But he was never admitting to that. “Two.”

“I feel loved when my partner kisses me tenderly.”

That was… fair. A fair question. Why was he getting worked up by a fair question? He’d agreed to help Neuvillette with this whole… thing. But he’d also never been kissed tenderly. Who the fuck would ever kiss him tenderly? But that was the kind of sappy shit that romance was supposed to be about, right? “Uhh, four?”

“I feel loved when my partner takes the time to discuss my future goals with me.”

Now that was just a slap to the face. Wriothesley focused his eyes on some random flower to the side while he swallowed the lump in his throat. Just rub it in, sure, why don’t you, he thought bitterly. But this wasn’t about him. Just… Neuvillette and his test. So Wriothesley forced himself to casually smile and look in the other man’s eyes and reminded that he was himself and safe in his inner kingdom, where no one would ever see.

Wriothesley didn’t have another point of reference, of course. He wasn’t the kind of person who even had loved ones. The one time he thought he actually had one, well…

“...five.”

Unfortunately, Neuvillette noticed something was amiss. Congratu-fucking-lations, or something. He lay down the book and his notes.

“My apologies. I didn’t mean to cause you distress.”

In another world, he would’ve admitted to the cause of the feelings making a mess of his chest, but that was a world where the two of them were equals and partners, and Wriothesley didn’t hide them in the first place. He never should’ve agreed to take that fucking test. Hadn’t he humiliated himself enough over the past few weeks?

He couldn’t let Neuvillette see, so he slapped on his carefully curated ‘calm, confident leader’ smile and very consciously relaxed his posture.

“It’s fine, I just don't think I’m the right person to be helping you with this.”

Neuvillette wasn’t pleased. Wriothesley wasn’t sure how he could tell - there was something in the position of his brows, in the way he scrutinized his face.

“Please stop doing this, Wriothesley.”

Wriothesley raised his brow in honest confusion. “Doing what?”

“Exactly this. Pretending you’re alright when clearly, you’re not.”

Wriothesley wasn’t clearly doing anything, thanks very much. He chuckled. “I really don’t know what you mean, Monsieur.”

“Please, Wriothesley. It hurts to see.”

“And how come you fancy yourself privy to what I’m feeling, huh?” The words came out in an abrupt snarl, more defensive than intended. Fuck, this entire meeting had been a bad idea.

Neuvillette put a pensive hand on his chin. “I… Have I really not mentioned it before…? Water is an excellent conduit for emotion. As a Hydro elemental being, I am naturally sensitive to them and, well, humans are so very full of water.”

Wait, he couldn’t mean-

Wriothesley put down his tea. He would’ve spilled it otherwise. “Just to clarify,” he said, chuckling awkwardly, hysterically, “You’re saying you have some sort of emotion-sensing, emotion-reading power?”

“Exactly.” Neuvillette nodded, unaware - or no, extremely aware of the turmoil in Wriothesley’s heart. “There’s no need to hide. I promise you can tell me whatever is on your mind.”

Wriothesley opened his mouth. Closed it. Finished that cup of tea like a shot of vodka, but didn’t really taste it, and smacked the cup back down. It failed to calm his nerves.

He ignored Neuvillette’s request. “So, what, you’ve just been casually looking into my head?” he seethed.

“No!” Neuvillette looked at him in a way that was new, that was undecipherable. “No, it’s nothing as complex as that. I just know what you’re feeling. Is… is that such a bad thing?”

“Yes.” And before he could stop himself, he added, “It’s creepy. Stop it.”

What a fun way to find out that the armor he’d wrapped his heart in earlier today was emperor’s clothes. This isn’t right. His breathing was fast, hackles raised, muscles tense. A whole damn mess of emotions raged through his mind and body and he couldn’t name them if he tried. Could Neuvillette? Did he know more than even Wriothesley himself did?

Neuvillette knew how heartbroken he was that night and still expected him to go for dinner together, didn’t he? And he was fully aware of Wriothesley’s feelings when he asked him to take that love test. But best of all, Neuvillette hadn’t the faintest idea that what he was doing was wrong. Wriothesley was but a bug on the soles of his divine shoes, so insignificant that the Iudex kept stepping on him without realizing it, or maybe without caring.

It hurt. It made Wriothesley want to scream, to cry, to hit something, but this was not his friend and he’s had enough of being treated like a case study. He wouldn’t show weakness, but hiding was no use either, was it? So there was only one thing he could do; mold his emotions into fuel for the one that made him stronger.

Anger.

“I’m sorry,” Neuvillette said, voice trembling. “I can’t. It’s not something I can control, it just… is, like- like the sense of smell or, or hearing.”

Wriothesley’s voice was cold and steady like a blade. “There’s plenty of things that can dull either of those.”

“I don’t know any,” his voice broke. “I embraced it, I never really tried to… not. It’s part of who I am.”

“Well,” Wriothesley snarled, baring his teeth. “Then I don’t want anything to do with who you are.”

Wriothesley didn’t want wait to see if his words struck true, just grabbed his coat and bag. He was going to be sick.

“Wr-Wriothesley?” Neuvillette asked with utter incredulity in his voice. “Where are you going?”

“Out.” He bowed shortly, inelegantly. “Thank you for the tea, Monsieur, but it’s nigh time I went on my way.”

“What? But…!” Neuvillette kept the tempo right behind him as he stomped through the long entrance. “I’m so terribly sorry, Wriothesley, I swear I thought you knew, I- I didn’t think it would be an issue…!”

He caught up when Wriothesley paused for just a second to get the door open, and placed a hand on his shoulder. Wriothesley flinched around and slapped it away.

“Give me some space, would you!?”

Neuvillette recoiled. He cradled the hand to his chest and looked at Wriothesley with wide eyes, like- like a kicked puppy or something.

Wriothesley turned his gaze away from that pitiful sight. Throat tight, voice weak and on the verge of breaking, he said, “And stop toying with me.”

He got out of that damned office, slamming the door. It opened behind him just a second later.

“Wriothesley!” the Iudex called, desperate.

Wriothesley didn’t acknowledge him. He got out of that damned palace, drawing validation from the people that scattered out of his way. He got out of that damned court and away from its pretty people and pristine streets.

By the time he descended back to the Fortress of Meropide, the rain had soaked him to the bone.

Chapter 12: Blood, Sweet and Tears (pt 1)

Chapter Text

Wriothesley didn’t mean the words he’d said. Well, he did, but he also didn’t. He certainly wished he hadn’t said them. Or did he?

Fuck if he knew.

He had other things to think about, anyway. If anything in the Fortress blew up because he was too distracted by the competition to keep track of things, he’d stop calling himself the Duke of Meropide. He had little time to gallivant and had been essentially chained to his Tower, but he wasn’t feeling social lately, so he didn’t mind that much.

What time he had left, he spent perfecting his trick cake. It was Saturday; only one day left, but also a work-free day in the Palais Mermonia’s offices, so he wasn’t expecting much paperwork. So, color him surprised when he sat at his desk with a fresh pot of tea and found that the letter on top of the pile had been delivered from the palace. It was probably Neuvillette, he realized with dread. What did he want this time?

Arguably, it was worse. Because right there, in unfamiliar handwriting as flamboyant as its author, it read Lady Furina de Fontaine, God of Justice Focalors, Regina of All Waters, Kindreds, Peoples and Laws.

Wriothesley quickly broke the seal and began reading. He skimmed through the too-long greeting and a paragraph of pleasantries.

You’re close with my dear Iudex, are you not, Your Grace? He has been doing nothing but moping around lately. I’ve been wondering about the reason, but whenever I ask, he just looks at me like a drowned sea otter. Does Your Grace know the reason why, perhaps? I would like for us to talk the next time we meet.

Wriothesley didn’t know what to do with the information that Neuvillette was distraught after he blew up on him. He’d been harsh, hadn’t he? There had to have been a way to explain himself calmer and better. The way things were now, Neuvillette probably still didn’t understand why he was in the wrong, or even that he was. Wriothesley grimaced. He was probably going to have to spell it out to him, and that meant flaying himself open again. Oh joy.

Lady Furina’s request sounded reasonable, if unpleasant. But they didn’t see each other often, anyway, so hopefully Neuvillette would get over it by then and Wriothesley could avoid this conversation altogether.

It’s not going to be long from now for I, Furina de Fontaine, have decided to bless the Fortress of Meropide’s baking competition with my presence!

Wait, what.

It truly is a blessing for You, a gift from the Gods. Imagine my surprise, after all, when despite the Iudex extending the invitation to me, I have not received an official invite from the host himself! I am truly shocked by Your Grace’s presumptuousness. I don’t even know the name of the competition, or the prize! How ridiculous.

Fortunately for Your Grace, I am a merciful God. I am willing to overlook the disrespect just this one time given that Your Grace makes up for that mistake, for I have deigned this event worthy of my attention. Tell me the time and I’ll be there, and I’ll bring a two-person security team along. I trust that no more will be needed in His Grace’s domain, no? I look forward to watching Your Grace bake his cake off from my promised position as the Head Judge.

Regards,

Lady Furina de Fontaine, God of Justice Focalors, Regina of All Waters, Kindreds, Peoples and Laws

Fuuuuck.

There was a question that had been nagging at Wriothesley the past few hours. He considered asking Clorinde, but quickly scrapped the idea; there was a non-zero chance she’d realize what he was getting at and he couldn’t have that. Another opportunity presented itself soon, though.

Wriothesley listened to the newly promoted Garde captain, Estienne, report on the overall situation in Meropide. The man was proving to had been a right fit for the job. He was charismatic, kind and loyal, but firm and resolute when he had to be.

Once Estienne was done, Wriothesley said, “That will be all, but I’d like you to answer a personal inquiry of mine before you go.”

“Of course, whatever Your Grace needs,” the man said with all seriousness.

“Relax. It’s… silly, really.” No use in stalling. Wriothesley ripped the bandaid off. “Do folks in the overworld use the word ‘cake’ for ‘ass’?”

Estienne’s cheeks reddened. “Yes, um, sometimes? Where did you- I mean, why is Your Grace asking?”

“Something a friend said.” Wriothesley shrugged faux-nonchalantly. “Is it offensive? Kinky?”

“No, just- a more elegant way of putting it, I-I suppose.”

Estienne’s nervousness didn’t make sense. Right then and there Wriothesley decided he didn’t want to know, though, as he already had what he wanted. “Thank you, you’re dismissed.”

The man bowed and high-tailed it out of his office. Wriothesley didn’t really pay attention.

He sat, unmoving, elbows on the desk and chin resting on twined hands, as the realization and all it entailed hit him like a pie to the face.

"If it's any consolation, Your Grace, I think that my Iudex would love to try your cake," Lady Furina had said.

He thought of the Guinevere situation and the way they accidentally got Navia and Clorinde back together. He thought of all the times he beat egg whites into submission. Thought of Jean-Pierre and the Clog Incident. He stared at the financial report of the competition, innocently laying on the desk before him.

Nobody could ever know.

Everything was going according to plan. The location was set up, the Gardes had their orders, nobody had died yet. The fact that the plan was half-baked at best due to last-minute changes was of no concern.

Lady Furina wasn’t Wriothesley’s Archon, not really. But while the Fortress of Meropide’s governance was fully autonomous on paper, it was dependent on resources from the outside - most of Meropide’s business partners were Fontainian and they were very much their ruler’s subjects and he’d rather not find out how far a miffed Archon would go.

But even ignoring all that, she was going to be the head judge of his efforts today. If he pissed her off now, he’d be throwing away all the effort he put into this competition before it even began. And so he acquiesced to her expectations.

That’s why the competition was now named ‘The Great Meropide Bake-Off’, why the hastily-soldered ‘cog-cake’ statue was added to the prize pool, and why he forced himself to read a book on etiquette, or at least the chapter dedicated to interacting with the Archon. Why the hell did she have her own set of rules? What a bunch of rich people bullshit.

Anyway.

That was how Wriothesley found himself leading a reception ceremony. It was extremely humble by noble standards, but so was the whole of Meropide, so the high and mighty Lady would have to deal. It was only him, two Gardes and a row of meka. They were waiting right at the first elevator’s landing, in the room with the giant window. The thing contended for the prettiest sight the whole of Meropide had to offer, so Wriothesley decided to use that.

The elevator rumbled to life. Wriothesley fiddled with his attire. His usual wraps were a bother to shuck off and he’d rather not have them on in the kitchen, so he settled for long sleeves and gloves for the ceremony. It wouldn’t do to hurt the Lady’s sensibilities with his arms, after all; big, scarred and tattooed like the rest of him. Overworlders tended to be prejudiced especially against the latter. He coupled that with his favorite coat, also easy to shrug off, and a boring gray suit covered by an apron. Yes he was riding on the excuse of being a contestant to wiggle out of dressing up, so what? The Lady would understand. Hopefully.

But he had no more time to stress about that, for the door opened and out walked the one and only Navia Caspar. She was absolutely stunning in a frilly black and yellow dress accented with blue jewelry, so much so Wriothesley barely noticed Estienne and her two attendants trailing behind her.

“Mademoiselle, Messieurs,” Wriothesley greeted with the appropriate small bow.

“Your Grace,” Navia curtsied back, then immediately followed it with a laugh. “Is it really necessary, though?”

“Nah, you know me.” He smirked and offered a regular handshake. She accepted it eagerly. “I’m happy to host you today - you too, Silver, Melus. I get to show off my progress to you today.”

“We can’t wait to see it,” Melus assured him.

Following an exchange of more pleasantries, Wriothesley got Estienne to lead the guests onto the aquabus and into the Fortress, then sent one of the other Gardes to the surface to greet Lady Furina there. He was expecting her to arrive first. Maybe she thought she was fashionably late, or something.

Of course, it was at the precise moment that thought passed his mind that the elevator activated. There she was.

The moment the door opened, she stepped out, a booming call on her lips. She was wearing her signature hat, a dark pantsuit sewn with gold thread and a truly voluminous royal cape lined with fur. A heavily ornamented sword hung by her hip.

“Duke Wriothesley, my most honorable citizen! What a joy it is to see you again.”

Flattery? What on Teyvat was she hoping to accomplish here? He filed that observation for later to bow and kiss the hand she’d offered him. One of her gloves was white and the other black. “The pleasure is all mine, my Lady.”

As promised, she’d arrived with two bodyguards in tow, Clorinde and another woman he knew from somewhere but couldn’t quite put his finger on it. She was dressed unprofessionally, to put it kindly, in a short skirt and a blouse with wide, long sleeves. She had no weapon on her that he could see. She was looking around with the face of a child for whom Fontinalia came early in a strong contrast to Clorinde’s calm, watchful eye. But who was Wriothesley to question his Archon’s entourage-choosing wisdom, anyway?

Then Wriothesley glimpsed the kamera hanging on her hip right beside a Cryo Vision and suddenly became wiser than the Gods.

“You didn’t tell me you were going to bring along a journalist, my Lady.” Because of course that’s who she was. “May I ask why the change of plans?”

Lady Furina laughed. The sound echoed around the large room like a cacophony of bells. “It’s simple, really. Miss Charlotte will be responsible for keeping my image safe today - is that not what a security team does?”

That was the biggest pile of bullshit Wriothesley had ever heard. The Archon must’ve expected him to not give the competition any media coverage, which every event worth her presence absolutely required, apparently. In literally any other circumstance, Wriothesley would’ve admired her cunning. Now it just pissed him off.

“I see,” he said neutrally. “That’s not what I was expecting, to be honest. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind if I had a word with Miss Clorinde to hash out a few details?”

“Of course not.” The Lady smiled and dismissed them with a wave of her hand. “We’ll admire the sights in the meanwhile.”

“The light here is unique!” added Charlotte. “I’m sure we’ll take some amazing photos, my Lady.”

Wriothesley and Clorinde left them to it. They rounded the elevator for a semblance of privacy and spoke in hushed voices. Immediately, he asked,

“How offended is she going to be if I don’t let the journalist in?”

“Very.”

“And if I do, but without the kamera?”

“Not sure. You have better odds at making a deal with the journalist herself. Why are you so vehemently against the idea, anyway?”

Wriothesley leveled her with a flat stare. Sticking in their noses and sniffing out secrets was how that lot literally put bread on the table. Did he really have to remind her that he didn’t like them?

Clorinde sighed. “If it matters, Charlotte is the young idealistic type and she has strong opinions on the ethics of journalism. If you can tolerate any one of them, it’s her.” He must’ve appeared utterly unconvinced because she kept needling him. “Come on, it’s gonna be fun. With someone documenting everything, the stakes will be higher and the whole event will feel grander.”

“Won’t the presence of an Archon be enough for that?”

“Not if you piss her off and she leaves,” she said with a look on her face that told him he was being a stubborn old man about this. It made him want to scoff. Wriothesley was only ten years older than her and- yeah that made him sound like an old man, didn’t it.

Like the reasonable adult he was, Wriothesley changed the subject. “I saved you a seat at the judges’ table. Do you want it?”

She playfully raised a brow. “I’m not on your payroll, you know.”

“Obviously. You’re still getting paid for your time, though, so I don’t see the issue here. Come on, it’s gonna be fun,” he mocked. It did not impress her. Sacred rule, go. “Also, you’re gonna be there with Navia.”

“Deal.”

They shook on it.

When they returned to the others, it turned out that no one had missed them. The Gardes looked honored to breathe the same air as their Archon, the meka didn’t care and Charlotte was busy photographing Lady Furina, who was utterly captivated by the leisurely otter hanging out on the other side of the window.

"Who's a cute little critter?" she cooed. It swam in a circle and knocked its shell on the glass. The Archon had stars in her eyes, like a kid seeing a wild animal for the first time. "Yes, you! You are!"

Wriothesley cleared his throat, squaring himself for the unpleasant exchange that was going to follow. “Everything has been settled, my Lady.”

She flinched away from the glass and remembered herself. In a blink of an eye all traces of that childlike wonder disappeared, giving way to the self-assured smirk of a God who had everything under control.

In that second, something inside Wriothesley’s mind clicked. He knew perfectly well what it was like to put up a strong front for your people, even if you had no idea what you were doing and it was eating you up from the inside. Granted, it used to happen a lot more often freshly after his rise to power, but everyone had bad days, unless they were a God or something.

Hold that thought. Surely, the Archon was too powerful and experienced to share struggles with him, a mere mortal? But then if she did, that’s exactly what she would’ve wanted him to think. The way she got her composure back in under a second spoke of practice. More than that, he only noticed her gauging everyone’s reactions to her slip-up because he knew what to look for. Really, had he not known better, he would’ve thought that Lady Furina had played up her reaction to the otter for the pictures’ sake.

Right then, when Wriothesley looked into those mismatched blue eyes of the deity that symbolised everything wrong with Fontaine, he saw a woman who was trying her best. So she had incredible Hydro powers. And what? What use actually were they when the problems her nation faced weren’t some outside threats to be slain?

Just like that, all thoughts of throwing Charlotte out by her hair if he had to simply vanished. Neuvillette had diplomatic meetings today, Wriothesley remembered, so Lady Furina was likely supposed to be there, too. It simply wouldn’t do for the Archon not to show up just so she could watch some convicts bake down in the Fortress of Meropide. No, the God of Justice was not allowed to neglect and disrespect her people like that. The Great Meropide Bake-Off, however? Now that sounded like a cultural event worthy of her attention.

Or maybe Wriothesley was deluding himself and Lady Furina was just a self-obsessed hedonist that took the opportunity to wiggle out of doing her job. He tried to find confirmation for either in her gaze, but Lady Furina’s mask - if there was one - was back in place, so he kept his sudden realizations to himself. He was probably wrong, anyway, but… call it a gut feeling.

“There should be no more complications,” he said. His gaze settled on the journalist. “I only request that Miss Charlotte not take any pictures outside the venue, or of persons that do not consent beforehand.”

“Of course!” She put her arms on her hips like she was offended at the mere suggestion that she’d do otherwise. Guess Clorinde’s judgement was spot on.

“In that case, please follow me.”

Just like that, he led them to the venue, ignoring the way Clorinde’s bewildered eyes were trying to drill a hole in his head.

Wriothesley carefully eyed the journalist. He didn’t want to answer the questions. In fact, he didn’t want to talk to her at all. But if he didn’t, she’d find someone else and judging by his luck lately, it would be motherfucking Jean-Pierre. No thank you. So he said,

It’s a bit of a story. There was conflict brewing between a few inmates. Usually such matters are settled in the Pankration Ring, but seeing as one of the inmates involved was an old man, solving the problem with a fight didn’t seem right. I proposed a duel of skill. They agreed and soon it turned out that many other people liked the idea and wanted to participate, too. It was already a competition then. So I thought, why not add a little flair and make it into something to look forward to? And here we are.

“You’re competing, too, aren’t you, Your Grace?”

There wasn’t much to say. He nodded.

“You seem very confident, huh…” Charlotte’s lips twisted into a sharp, teasing smile. “Why, it begs the question whether the competition is going to be fair at all!”

Wriothesley rolled his eyes. “There’s no way for me to cheat unless I swap out my cake or gain unfair favor from the judges and you know that. ”

“Yes, regarding that - have you maybe wanted to invite Monsieur Neuvillette as a judge, but changed your mind when you realized that people may doubt his impartiality?”

Where the fuck did she get that idea? Ugh, journalists. “No.”

She pouted, but got back on track. “How would I know if someone was cheating, though?”

Wriothesley shucked off his gloves and coat and rolled up his sleeves. A Garde took them away and handed him an apron, which he tied around his back. Everyone was in place, so they could start any time he gave the signal, which meant right now. He was nervous, but he couldn’t show it by dallying. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth when- oh, for fuck’s sake.

“My dear citizens!” boomed Lady Furina’s voice. She was standing on a crate - wait, where did she find that? - and addressing the audience. One of her hands was raised, while the other rested on the decorative hilt of the sword by her hip.

The speech was met with as much applause as whispers. Sure, coupons were great, so was cred and a statue, but a chance to be hired as a fancy-schmancy chef? People normally needed at least a dozen years of working the job to get an opportunity like this and everyone gathered here knew it. Just like that, an atmosphere of camaraderie turned into something cutthroat. Well. Guess Wriothesley should thank the Archon for enlivening the crowd.

Lady Furina looked right at him, smirking. She knew exactly what she was doing. Wriothesley held his head high and accepted the challenge.

“Start the countdown!” Wriothesley yelled, spurring everyone into action.

All contestants rushed towards the kitchen as one. The entrance became a bit of a bottleneck and for a terrifying second, Wriothesley thought that was going to be it; someone would get trampled by the crowd and the whole event would need to be cancelled. His worry was for naught, fortunately. Meropide folk were hardier than most and ‘accidentally’ elbowing others in a crowd was not only a valid tactic, but an expected one.

Since he’d kept watch on everyone entering the kitchen, Wriothesley was the last one who reached his station. Some people took longer than they should’ve, given that the chart with everybody’s placement had been hanging right there in the cafeteria for a few days. The layout was random with a few exceptions; the Fatui siblings had their station smack in the middle, with Wriothesley behind and the Traveler in front. If they tried something - and they absolutely would - the Traveler’s hero complex would stop them from causing any harm. But if Wriothesley’s suspicions were correct and the Traveler was in on their latest scheme, then he himself would be there to keep an eye on all of them. The twins’ neighbor was a man named Gaspard. He wasn’t the brightest tool in the shed, but the twins would have trouble intimidating that bald mass of muscle.

It didn’t really matter that Wriothesley lost like a minute keeping an eye on everyone, but explain that to his anxiety. Before Lady Furina announced her attendance, he’d been pretty calm. He only needed to beat Jean-Pierre and Simone, who were good but not extraordinary - Wriothesley’s people kept tabs on all competitors for him and no one else seemed to hold a grudge for him. Since the risk was low, he’d let himself experiment.

And now here he was, with only one trick in his repertoire; one that he’d have to make changes to or come across as an asslicker. To add salt to injury, Wriothesley’s recipe didn’t use any chocolate, which Lady Furina had publicly stated multiple times was her favorite sweet.

“Could I disturb you for a moment, Your Grace?”

It was the young idealistic journalist herself trying to pull Wriothesley’s attention away from separating the yolk from an egg white. He didn’t even meet her eyes. “No.”

“Awww.”

Two stations over, someone ostentatiously scoffed. They started muttering under their breath, but with the volume of someone whose hearing was worse than they thought. “Cheater, and a rude one at that. A liar and a brute. I’ll show him how it’s done.”

Jean-Pierre’s hogwash vomit was nigh impossible to pick up on in the noisy kitchen, but Charlotte must’ve developed some sort of sixth sense for drama over the course of her career. Wriothesley resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose when she approached the old man. He still had eggshells between his fingers. One wrong move and his whites were ruined.

“It seems that you are under the impression that His Grace is cheating, mister. Would you like to explain why?”

“They youths don’t know no manners these days,” the man grumbled. “You haven’t even asked my name, young lady!”

“S-sorry! I’m Charlotte, a columnist for The Steambird. And you are?”

“Jean-Pierre.” The man was, amazingly, placated. It probably had something to do with the facts that Charlotte was easy on the eyes and not Wriothesley. “Of course the duke is cheating! He didn’t tell anybody about the honorable Archon being a guest judge. He’s prepared to cater to her preferences while the rest of us was left in the dark!”

Wriothesley wished he could audibly roll his eyes, just so the two of them would know of his annoyance without him needing to say anything. He knew, though, that the situation would only escalate were he to get involved. It’d be better to count on Jean-Pierre tangling his own legs.

Wriothesley didn’t have to wait long for that.

“Really? I haven’t seen any cocoa at His Grace’s station.” Thank you.

That gave Jean-Pierre a pause, but he still bludgeoned on like the stubborn old man he was. “Remember he’s a Duke. I bet that he’d chummied up to her before today. It’s just that he knows something we don’t.”

“You’re right that it’s likely they’d had some degree of contact before today. However,” oh how Wriothesley wished he could see Jean-Pierre’s face. “I think it’s foolish to act like Her Ladyship is incapable of impartiality, don’t you think?”

“Erm…”

“And she’s only one of five judges. No one knows what their tastes are, likely not even His Grace. I’ve heard they’re reliable people, too, so they shouldn’t be swayed much by personal biases.”

Jean-Pierre spouted something incomprehensible in response. Charlotte thanked him for his input - though Wriothesley noticed she hadn’t written down anything past the first answer - and started looking for her next target. Wriothesley immediately turned back to his eggs. She ended up targeting the Fatui twins - whose third sibling was missing from the venue, as expected. Wriothesley would’ve felt bad for trapping him in one room with Jurieu and Lourvine if it wasn’t so damn funny.

Now this was a duo nobody expected to find there, I bet! The two and only Lyney and Lynette, in the flesh. They earned themselves a place in Meropide for, as they put it, “a street performance gone wrong”. Unfortunately, they didn’t want me sticking around - a magician guards all their secrets, indeed.

The Fatui twins were determined to be an absolute nuisance. They used a loophole in the rules, the one that forbade sabotaging other competitors but not helping them. Armed with that fact, Lynette had signed on and not requested a single ingredient. She didn’t even get her own station and shared one with Lyney, instead.

Really, had he not put that loophole there in order to make participating too much of a seemingly perfect opportunity in the siblings’ eyes, Wriothesley would be grinding his teeth right now. As it was, he was embarrassed for their Father for being so predictable.

Predictable and horny.

“Stop drooling over the ingredients, you dumbass,” Lynette hissed at her distracted brother. “Ugh, just let me.”

Credit where credit was due, Lyney had the decency to at least look sheepish before he was once again utterly captivated by the Traveler.

“Traveler and Paimon, hello!” Charlotte approached the worldwide known celebrities like she was greeting just another friend.

“Hi, Charlotte!” Paimon waved at her. The fairy had used the same loophole as Lynette to be allowed inside. The traveler kept working while the other two exchanged some pleasantries. Wriothesley noted that they must've known each other for some time now.

“How are you feeling about your chances in the competition?” Charlotte finally asked.

Wriothesley had no way of knowing, but he’d bet his right gauntlet that the Traveler had an obnoxiously smug smirk on his face. He shrugged, then put on what could only be called a show. He did tricks with each of his eggs; rolled one over both of his shoulders, and spinned another on the tip of his finger. Charlotte caught him juggling the other three on Kamera.

“How am I supposed to compete with that? ” Someone from behind Wriothesley whined.

“He’s just so good at everything,” another one grumbled. Oh, that was Simone. “I’ll put that smirk in the fucking ground.”

The contestants didn’t each have an oven. They were going to use the cafeteria’s large ovens all at the same time. It had taken a bit of logistical work to make a system preventing mix-ups, but Wriothesley was quite proud of it.

Soon all the cakes were baking. No rest for the wicked, though - it was time to make frosting. It was about halfway through the allotted time slot when a sudden yell rang throughout the kitchen.

“You ruined my icing, you Fatui whore!”

Wriothesley immediately turned his attention to the scene. He trusted his men to handle it should it get out of hand, but it couldn’t hurt to have him as backup. The Traveler also paused in his ministrations to watch the situation unfold. The yell had come from the twins’ bald neighbor.

“What’s the problem here?” A Garde named Jared approached them carefully but firmly.

“This bitch,” the man spat, pointing at Lyney. “Stole all of my cream and made me mess up my ingredients!”

Lynette backstabbed her brother without hesitation. “You should’ve been more focused. Maybe then you wouldn’t have scattered our things all over the place and this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Lynette…!” Lyney whined. He cleared his throat, red in the face. “I’m really sorry, mister… Gaspard, right? I saw your name on the chart. I-I’m sure we’ll find some sort of solution!”

“Don’t worry, mister. If you can’t tell cream from yoghurt, you wouldn’t have won anything, anyway,” Lynette said dismissively.

That was the last straw. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

Everything happened in just a few seconds. Gaspard grabbed a cake knife and lunged at the siblings. The Traveler launched himself over the counters to tug Lyney out of the way of fire, but Gaspard barreled at Lynette, instead. She ducked behind Jared. The Garde blocked the strike with his forearm instead of his baton like the heroic idiot he was.

Wriothesley sighed.

A blink of an eye later Gaspard and Lynette were encased in ice up to their chins, with just a bit of give in the chest area. Good thing about it was that Wriothesley wouldn’t risk accidentally killing them. Bad thing about it was that the bald inmate was even more pissed off than before and shouting expletives was the only outlet for anger he had left. Jared used the opportunity to back off a step or five, clutching at his arm. Ah, he was bleeding. How clumsy. He was not getting a raise come the end of the quarter, that was for sure.

The clack of heels on metal approached in the distance. Wriothesley was blessed with the second to last person he wanted to see right now. Unfortunately, everyone else involved in this mess of an incident was too preoccupied to notice. A shame. Some of them could use a fucking grip.

“I’ll drown before I’ll lose to this fucking twink!” Gaspard yelled, spit flying. Lyney looked more concerned by a few droplets hitting him than literally being assaulted.

Wriothesley poured more Cryo energy into the vices, making them cold enough to burn. He was all too aware of the divine gaze on the situation. This time, it was him who raised his voice. “That’s enough. ”

The knife fell from the man’s shaking hand and cluttered on the floor. “Fuck,” he swore, but this time aiming it at himself. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, no! Your Grace, please give me another chance. I’m just- I just really need that job. Please.” The bald man looked around erratically, like he was searching for support amongst the crowd. “Lady Furina,” he breathed the second he spotted her. “My Lady, please, I never would’ve hurt him! I- I just lost my head for a moment, is all.”

She looked like she was actually considering it. Wriothesley relieved her of the burden of replying to that plea.

“The Great Meropide Bake-Off is an event organized in order to bolster camaraderie. However heated the promise of special awards, ” he sent Lady Furina a look that made her flinch, “may make you, I’m afraid that disregarding both the rules and spirit of the competition cannot go unpunished. Gaspard and Lynette - you’re both disqualified.”

“What!?” Lyney cried. “My sister didn’t do anything wrong!”

She did and they both knew it. As the Duke, Wriothesley had to show everyone that such behavior would not be tolerated. “What have I just said about the spirit of the competition?”

The magician pursed his lips, but said nothing more. Wriothesley looked around the room, praying for the sake of his nerves that someone had thought to call over Sigewinne- oh thank fuck, there she was. “Once you calm down, I’ll let go of the Cryo and you’ll be escorted out. Is that clear?”

“...Yes, Your Grace,” they both said.

“Great!” Sigewinne clapped her hands with her usual innocent, bubbly persona dialed up a notch. “I advise you not to take too long. I can’t heal your limbs if they freeze off!”

Sigewinne’s newest patients paled a bit at that. It wasn’t long before they did- well, calm down wasn’t the exact descriptor, but it was close enough. The Gardes dragged them out and away. They weren’t going to go to the infirmary; Sigewinne knew better than to let Lynette in there. She would just give them a brief check-up and send them to the dormitories to change into warm dry clothing.

“I apologize for the commotion, my Lady,” Wriothesley said to Furina. She had the decency to guiltily look to the side. “The situation has been dealt with and the competition will now resume with five minutes added to the clock as recompense.”

The Archon nodded and left, meanwhile everyone got right back to work. One of the perks of being the Duke of Meropide - here, his words were fact. If the competition were to resume now and five minutes were to be added to the timer, then his people would make it so, be it Garde or inmate.

Damn Lady Furina and her games. This was supposed to be something fun, not whatever this was. She probably was never even planning on going through with her promise and didn’t think it would be a big deal. Those like Neuvillette and her were wont to play with the lives of mortals. They were too far above them not to.

The Fatui, the Knave in particular, counted as such as well. Wriothesley doubted the siblings were aiming for any of the prizes anyway. No, they just wanted a commotion that would make him too busy to think about their unaccounted for sibling. Gaspard was unlucky enough to pay the price. While the initial mishap could’ve been an accident, the escalation certainly wasn’t.

Not a word was spoken after that. Wriothesley cursed at himself for getting ahead. What he wouldn’t give to whip his cream up all over again, but noo, he had to delicately mix in the vanilla.

What a drag.

Chapter 13: Blood, Sweet and Tears (pt 2)

Chapter Text

Once the cakes were baked and frostings mixed, next came the cooling part. Normally this would be the most time-consuming part of the process, one that would make the three hour limit impossible to fit in. However, Wriothesley had a plan.

It was pretty simple. He sat on a chair and had all the baking forms and bowls placed around him on every surface available as close to him as possible. Then all he had to do was activate his Vision and chill out. He may have not shooed anyone out, but no one stuck around once he unleashed the power of his Vision, leaving the whole kitchen to himself. Well, almost. There were the two unlucky Gardes swathed in blankets, who had to stay on babysitting duty. And Jean-Pierre’s wrinkled face plastered to the window. And Charlotte.

Miss Journalist happened to be the only person in the building also possessing a Cryo Vision, and she’d joined him under the pretense of helping with the cooling. Which, to be fair to her, she did, but she also didn’t even try to hide her true agenda. After all, she had him right where she wanted him - but whether she knew it or not, he had her right where he wanted her, too.

The first thing she did was snap a picture.

“Hey! What did I say about no unconsented pictures?”

“Sorry, sorry, my hands were faster than my head!” She scratched her neck sheepishly, then shook out the picture as her kamera printed it out. “I can destroy it right now if you want me to, but actually, maybe you’d like to keep it as a souvenir?”

He shrugged. A few moments later the picture was ready - and Charlotte let out an unladylike snort the moment she saw it. He raised an eyebrow in question, but she just handed him the film.

Yeah, okay, it was actually pretty funny. The Picturesley looked wholly unimpressed, the beginnings of a hostile frown marring his forehead. He also had flour in his hair. When did that happen? That, and being surrounded by a ring of cakes and bowls did look ridiculous out of context.

“So, while we’re waiting anyway… could I have a quick interview with you, Your Grace?”

Perfect.

“An interview with the mysterious and elusive Duke of Meropide would be quite the scoop, huh?” He scratched at his chin thoughtfully, pretending that he was still considering his options. “I don’t know, Miss Charlotte. It’s not the Meropide way to give out something so valuable.”

“I assure Your Grace that you can deny any questions you don’t want to answer, and I’ll confirm the final draft with you before having it published!” she said, already taking out a notebook and dictaphone.

Wriothesley rolled his eyes, keeping his tone deliberately casual. “I could comment on the weather and the people would still be interested enough to buy the paper. That alone is worth a favor. If you want me to give you something of actual substance, that’s another.”

Charlotte’s enthusiasm dimmed. “I’m not sure where you’re going with this, Your Grace, but if you’re going to request that I publish a lie or cease investigating something, I’m going to have to decline. It’s just not right.”

Huh. That complicated things a bit, but maybe he could still make this work. “Of course. I wouldn’t request anything like that.” He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Just two unspecified favors in the future. You may deny completing them like I can deny some of your questions. How’s that sound?”

She put one end of the dictaphone to her chin and frowned. The clock was ticking, however. Wriothesley had allocated only thirty minutes for the cooling break.

Finally, she nodded, and somewhat hesitantly said, “That sounds reasonable.”

“Splendid!” Wriothesley clasped his hands. “I would like to cash one of them in right now.”

“Wh-what?”

“You see, this competition will make big news with you and Lady Furina being here and everything. I don’t want you to lie, just… omit something.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?” she asked skeptically.

“The knife attack, or at least Gaspard’s name.”

He could see the calculative look in her eyes. She would lose some of the sensationalism, though hopefully the interview would make some of it back.

“But why would I do that? Don’t you think people have a right to know?”

Because I’m asking you, he stopped himself from saying. “You see, there’s a lot of people down here with anger issues. Got mad, committed crime, that kind of stuff. Unfortunately, most of them are unwilling to admit there’s something wrong with them, and once released they come right back. There are therapy programs in place to help them, but you can’t force someone to be helped.” Wriothesley sighed. “Gaspard, though, is not one of those… stubborn ones. He hasn’t gotten into an incident in years, and he’s soon to be released. I really think he has what it takes to re-enter society as a better person.”

“Ah… you think the pressure of the competition was too much for him?” Now she had a sympathetic frown on her face.

“Especially the surprise job prize,” he affirmed, his shoulders losing some of their tension. “Former convicts are heavily stigmatized in the overworld. It’s hard enough to find honest work as is up there, but if you get painted as violent and dangerous in a high-profile article? You might just as well stay down here forever.”

Charlotte was silent for a longer moment. She twirled the dictaphone between her fingers in a surprising display of agility. “Are you absolutely sure that what you’re saying is true? That Gaspard is a good person?”

Wriothesley placed a fist over his heart and inclined his head. “I give you my word.”

“Then we have ourselves a deal, Your Grace!”

“Yeah, yeah, just don’t mention to anyone that you’re doing this for me.”

They shook on it.

But just because it’s a high-profile competition doesn’t mean people won’t slip up! On the contrary, stress makes it easier to make an error here and there. For example, Mr. Lyney has been leaving his things all over the counter, and another competitor mistook one of the twins’ ingredients for his. Normally a silly mistake like using yoghurt instead of cream for your icing would be just that, a silly mistake - but this time, it almost came to blows! Miss Lynette antagonized the competitor that felt wronged by her brother, and before anyone knew it, the two of them had to be separated.

Duke Wriothesley saw fit to intervene and punished the two troublemakers personally. In his words:

The Great Meropide Bake-Off is an event organized in order to bolster camaraderie. However heated the promise of special awards may make you, I’m afraid that disregarding both the rules and spirit of the competition cannot go unpunished.

I didn’t want to agitate anyone further, so I didn’t dig deeper at the time - but when I talked to Mr. Lyney after the results came out, this is what he had to say about this stage of the competition:

I think I knew I was done for when Lynette got disqualified. The two of us are like a well-oiled machine, you know? So of course I would mess up doing something alone that we had practiced together! I mean, for the longest time I didn’t even realize that because that man took all my yoghurt, I would have to use his cream, instead. Oh, what a mess that was…

“I’ll curate our conversation for the article, so speak freely - if you’d like something cut out of the final version, I’ll do it. Now, let's get right into it!” The journalist clicked the dictaphone on and smiled. “You see, Your Grace, there are lot of speculations floating around you and-”

“No personal history,” he cut in.

The journalist choked on air, which was totally fair. It probably wasn’t often that people were this straightforward - or rude - with her. Wriothesley was playing with fire here, but he needed to set up some boundaries.

“I can do that,” she said calmly, though she was clearly disappointed. She flipped through her notebook - had she prepared questions for him? Either bold or presumptuous, Wriothesley had yet to decide. “Alright, then how about this... Ever since Your Grace was made Duke, you've been a point of interest of the whole nation, yet you haven’t made a single official public appearance. Why?”

Though that incident was quite scary, everyone managed to peacefully finish their decoration prep after that. While we were waiting for the cakes and frostings to cool, I even managed to catch Duke Wriothesley himself for an interview! It went like this:

C: Thank you so much for agreeing to this interview, Your Grace. It is an honour.

W: The pleasure is mine, Miss Charlotte. I figure it's nigh time I did one of those, huh

C: I'd say! Ever since Your Grace was made Duke, you've been a point of interest of the whole nation, yet you haven’t made a single official public appearance. Why?

“I don’t like the spotlight.” He admitted.

Charlotte raised her brow, as if to ask, Is that it?

“What do you want me to say? The Fortress is my home and I like it here. That’s all there is to it.”

“But it’s not like you never go out, right?”

“Well, yeah, but that’s none of your business.”

Charlotte sighed. “Let’s try that again, shall we?

W: While it is a shame that I’m missing many social events, keeping the Fortress of Meropide running smoothly takes a lot of attention and care.

C: That makes perfect sense! I have a feeling some of our readers might find themselves perplexed, though. Surely just one party wouldn’t hurt?

W: Maybe, but I'm not taking that chance.

C: It sounds like you spend the majority of your time down here in the Fortress.

"I mean... I live here." Duh.

"Yes, yes, I'm just leading into the next question.” Charlotte waved her hand like she was swatting a fly. “You are the most knowledgeable about the Fortress of Meropide out of anyone alive, aren't you, Your Grace?"

He nodded. "I know the most out of any humans alive, at least. I have discovered historical records that have gone unnoticed since forever, and there's a lot I could share. That's for a whole other conversation, though."

Wriothesley would never tell the populace about the dangerous, uncertain stuff like the Primordial Sluice, but there was a lot more to the Fortress than its foundations. The Meropide watchers of yore appeared to have been a spiritual bunch, and they left behind a lot of philosophical texts, poetry and even art.

It was a doozy and a half when Wriothesley, as one of the few inmates who could read, discovered that Meropide's library was full of priceless historical artifacts just sitting there on the shelves. They were in varyingly deteriorating conditions, and he had them all conserved and moved into the archives beneath his office once he took charge of the place. He tried not to think how much was lost due to ignorance.

"What's a simple fun fact you could share as a sort of a teaser, Your Grace?"

W: I do, and I know it like the back of my hand. Want to hear a fun fact?

C: Of course!

W: For the majority of its existence, the society of Meropide was a theocracy.

C: The lawless land of the damned, a theocracy? No way!

W: It's not that surprising, actually. Lady Egeria had this place built so that sinners could repent here, and she kept an eye on it. It was only after her death that the system got turned upside down, into the ‘survival of the fittest’ environment that most people associate with Meropide today. In no case is it lawless, though.

C: Really? Could you tell me more about how the Fortress of Meropide is governed today?

W: Yes, gladly. I've been hard at work to make the Fortress of Meropide what it used to be - a place of rebirth, where criminals are given a fresh start, a community and a chance to reconsider their choices. They can learn new skills and the value of hard work to help them lead a normal life once they return to the overworld.

C: That sounds really inspiring.

W: Tell that to the inmates. Obviously and unfortunately, not everyone recognizes the opportunity for what it is, and some of those who do just don’t take it. But while in the end it’s a matter of choice, it all starts with hope.

C: You’re not going to try if you don’t believe things can get better, right?

W: Exactly. And it’s my job to make people believe it can get better - that they can get better.

Instead of firing off the next question, Charlotte took a moment to just look at him contemplatively. Such undivided attention from her made his stomach twist, so to hide his discomfort, he raised his brows in question.

"Sorry, sorry." She smiled apologetically. "You, um, you have flour in your hair, Your Grace."

Ah, right, he saw it in the picture. He palmed at his fringe to get it out. "And now?"

“Perfect. Now, where were we?”

C: That’s a curious thing to say, considering you’re rumored to be a former convict yourself, Your Grace.

W: I am.

C: Well, that was straightforward!

"Why wouldn't I be? It's no secret and I feel no shame for it."

“Can I ask what you were convicted for?”

“Homicide.” Seeing her freeze, he added, “Isn’t that, uhh, public knowledge?”

Charlotte shook her head, speechless.

“I thought you would’ve looked into me.” A beat of silence passed with them just staring at each other. “Really? Nobody ever found that out?”

“Well, no!” Charlotte put her hands on her hips. “And obviously, I looked everywhere. All I found is that there used to be a whole noble house of Wriothesley, but the last of them died more than twenty years ago after the family experienced a fall from grace.”

Oh, one of Wriothesley’s favorite theories. It was incredible luck that the noble guy whose name he stole from a random obituary was the last of his line, because otherwise he’d have angry, entitled rich people poking their noses into his life. As it was, many people nowadays thought that Duke Wriothesley was that long-dead Earl’s bastard son, which would explain why the Duke didn’t inherit anything except the name from him. Well, not that there was much to inherit at that point. The theory had just as many critics as proponents, though, because it was simply unwise to the point of idiocy for the Earl to not welcome a bastard child into the family to prevent it from dying out.

All those coincidences and ambiguities were just too perfect to ever clear up. Wriothesley tried his best not to smirk. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing better than a professional sniffler following a long, complicated trail just to reach a dead end.

“I’m surprised you haven’t found me in the Maison Ordalie’s public records, is what I mean,” he said instead. Him being a former convict was kind of an open secret, after all.

“I tried.” Charlotte’s face took on a serious, contemplative expression. She noted something down, then pressed on, “I suppose I’ll try again. I must’ve missed something, but enough of that. On to my next question.”

Now that was curious. He’d have to bring it up with Neuvillette some time. For now he was just glad he hadn’t said that he killed his parents.

W: Why wouldn't I be? It's not a secret and I feel no shame for it.

C: Doesn't anyone mind that you were convicted once?

W: Not at all. It is precisely because I started at the bottom that my people respect me as much as they do. They know that I do what I do for the betterment of Meropide and not my own gain, like my predecessor did. They also know that I didn’t get where I am by being weak. Everyone understands that at least.

C: Well, it's not just them! While we’re on this topic, I heard that Monsieur Neuvillette was the one who nominated His Grace for the title. He wouldn’t have it any other way. Can you tell me something more about that?

“Well, it’s not just them!” Charlotte said. “Now that I got to know you a bit, I think I get what Monsieur Neuvillette sees in you, Your Grace.”

Wriothesley suppressed a wince. It would be a lie to say that he hadn't expected the conversation to shift onto the Neuvillette territory, but he still kind of hoped it wouldn't. He’d rather not think about the things Neuvillette must think about him; ephemeral, emotional, foolish, weak.

For some reason, Charlotte continued that line of thought. “I still remember very well that time he gave a speech about you at the end of a trial. I tried to translate his passion into written text, but I don’t think I succeeded… It was so obvious how much he admires and respects you, Your Grace. Looks up to you, even.”

Wriothesley tried to shake off her words like she was just another bootlicker. That was easier said than done, though, when those words were the elemental burst to his weak little slime of a worldview. Not for the first time that day, he was glad for his stony facade. She had to be mistaken. There was no point in getting emotional over whatever she said, he told himself.

Charlotte carried on, “While we’re on this topic, I heard that Monsieur Neuvillette is the one who nominated you for the title. Can you tell me something more about that?”

“Uh…”

W: There is nothing to tell. The Iudex was impressed with my reforms and decided to reward me. Why exactly, I have no idea. You’d have to ask him.

C: And what does His Grace think of Monsieur Neuvillette?

“We are on good terms. After all, the Fortress of Meropide works closely together with the Maison Ordalie and the Maison Gestion.”

Charlotte didn’t fall for the distraction. Ugh. “And how does His Grace and Monsieur fit into this? What do you think of him?”

Wriothesley was going to tell her to stuff it and be satisfied with what he’d already said - until he realized that he could use this. Neuvillette had expressed interest in the bake-off, so he was probably going to read the article, wasn’t he? Wriothesley considered his next words carefully.

W: We’ve been business partners for a while and I admit we’ve become good friends somewhere along the line. It’s kind of what happens when you’re both reliable people valuing the other’s opinions and you respect each other despite all the differences. Though we disagree on some things, we prefer to talk it out, and we’d rather agree to disagree than let something like that ruin our friendship.

Charlotte’s eyes widened with sudden understanding. Had she heard of their argument, somehow? In any case, she didn’t press.

Wriothesley’s feelings on the whole thing were a mess, and it didn’t help that he’d been blocking them out. He and Neuvillette couldn’t and would never stay on even ground. Well, unless he considered what Charlotte just said, but- ugh, nevermind. The circumstances weren’t Neuvillette’s fault, and neither was the fact that Wriothesley had deluded himself into thinking they were equals. But Wriothesley owed Neuvillette an apology for blowing up on him, at the very least, and maybe they could return to being amiable business partners or something.

He still didn’t know what he was going to do, but this wasn’t time to think about what would come after. He had opened up the option now and that’s what mattered.

“Aaand I think that’s a wrap!”She turned off the dictaphone and put her notebook away right at the half-hour mark. “This is just my personal curiosity so feel free to not answer, but why the choice of apron?”

“Nobody else ever wants to wear it, even though it’s a perfectly good apron.” Wriothesley shrugged. He was pretty sure it used to be Wolsey’s. The cook got it from someone as a gift, but donated it to Meropide the very next day. “Why ask?”

Charlotte had the face of someone who really really wanted to point something out, but didn’t want to offend the Duke. Usually this happened when he had a sticker on his butt. Fortunately for him, younger folks tended to have a loose grip on their tongues, and he only needed to appear friendly enough.

“You look like a dad whose kids roped him into playing with them, except it’s not two kids but twenty,” Charlotte blurted out, then blanched. “Um. Your Grace.”

“Oh.” Wriothesley’s heart sped up with excited longing. He looked away, scratching at the scar under his eye. He was so thrown off, he didn’t notice that his face reddened just slightly and a corner of his lips had gone up. “Really?”

He was imagining it before he could stop himself. A cottage somewhere in the countryside, five kids in the kitchen with him, preparing sweets for someone’s birthday. Him explaining gently that mixing sponge cake batter takes a delicate hand and you mustn’t change directions or hit the bowl, small fingers stealing freshly mixed frosting the moment he turned away to the sink…

Charlotte let out a relieved breath at his reaction. “Really. I think this look quite suits you, Your Grace. Are you sure you don’t have some secret children hidden away from the public eye?” she teased.

“Quite sure.” He chuckled. “Unless the Melusines count? They quite like me.”

Charlotte nodded seriously. “Of course. You never could’ve gotten so close to Monsieur Neuvillette if they didn’t.”

The words were the sobering cold shower he’d sorely needed. Those thoughts were supposed to be buried for a reason. He would never get to become a father with- oh for fuck’s sake, this wasn’t the time. What a new damn low for him to get so vulnerable in front of a journalist, all because she accidentally pressed just the right button.

“Now, if you could send word to the Gardes to let everyone back in? It’s about time the competition resumed and as you can see, I’m somewhat stuck here.”

“Of course!” She nodded enthusiastically and put away her journaling stationery, then got to her feet.

Unfortunately, that's a wrap! The cakes had finished cooling and it was time for the competition to enter its penultimate stage: decorating! It is arguably the most difficult part of making a good cake. I didn’t want to spoil any surprises, either, so I left them alone this round - and that’s how we reached the last stage, the appraisal!

Wriothesley sent a quick prayer to the Hydro Archon that no more bullshit happened during this stage. Whether she would actually hear it was anyone’s guess, but he’d take what he could get.

One hour of peace. It couldn’t be too much to ask for, right?

No time to wonder, though - he had to focus on his work. Wriothesley had used a baking form of slightly smaller diameter than was standard, so his sponge was a bit taller. The shape was nice, sure, but what he really cared about was more room for error in cutting the layers. For all the practice he'd undergone, they always turned out somewhat crooked.

Once he had finished layering the sponge with lemon and vanilla cream, it was time for his trump card.

Wriothesley activated his Vision. He knew he could win this - after all, what could beat the top two desserts in the world if not a combination of them? It took great elemental control to keep the ice cream at just the right temperature between melting and becoming solid. Then, he’d need to carefully freeze the whole thing through; he had learned the hard way that going too fast would form ice crystals inside the layers and, well, nobody wanted to bite into that.

“Half hour!” yelled a Garde on duty.

Not ideal, but Wriothesley had just finished freezing the cake, so he could do this if he sped up. If only it wasn’t the most difficult part that was up next.

Wriothesley lost a few seconds to staring at his sponge with trepidation. At first, he was going to make his cake a homage to Lady Furina’s iconic hat - it was universally recognized, he could easily get reference pictures of it and most importantly, it was cake-shaped. Even if someone didn’t recognize it, it was pretty enough to make an impression. But because Wriothesley was the universe’s favorite punchline lately, he’d come across as an asslicker if he went through with that design.

He would still make the cake look like a hat, but it would be a hat, not the hat. It would be easier if he was a fashion designer, but what choice did he have, really? So he grabbed the white chocolate ganache tinted light blue, slowly pouring it on top of the sponge in a way that made it flow down the side. The Cryo Vision on his back glistened. The decorations would fall off the side if he froze the ganache too quickly, but if he was too slow, the whole thing would just slide right down, and he also needed to divert part of his focus to keeping the sponge’s temperature stable.

So yeah, this was why he’d needed to practice until he was dreaming of eating hats.

Wriothesley could decorate surprisingly well under such intense time pressure when he knew what he was aiming for, but right now, he absolutely didn’t. The cream wasn’t waiting for him, though. He tossed chocolate chips and sweet pearls at the sides to make them cover the whole thing more or less evenly. By the time the sides were done, he’d run out of both, so he smeared the leftover vanilla cream on top of the cake-hat.

Some of the ganache had slid down to the bottom, but that was alright - Wriothesley poured the rest of it in a circle around the cake-hat, and shaped it into its rim the best he could. Which was uneven because he had five minutes left. He still had yet to use up the lemon pieces cut into small triangles, so he began arranging them along the sides on the rim.

Right then, a Garde started the countdown. “Ten!”

Shit shit shit shit shit.

“Nine!” The audience joined in. “Eight!”

Oops, this one was crooked, but nobody would notice, right?

“Seven! Six! Five!”

Wriothesley’s hands worked like he was back to slaving away on the production line, one delay away from having his fingers smashed to a pulp.

“Four!”

Done!

“Three!”

God fucking damnit, he was going to remember this sight if he ever forgot why he shouldn’t be a designer.

“Two! One!”

In a last-ditch effort, Wriothesley waved his hand above the cake, spraying a mist of tiny ice crystals above it.

“ZERO!” Outside, the audience hollered like it was aiming to drown out the Garde. “All contestants must put the lid on now!”

A few especially stubborn people had to be wrenched away from their cakes, but fortunately no one fought too much. Perhaps the Gaspard situation was fresh in their minds and they didn’t want to get the boot so close to the end. Maybe it was the Hydro Archon’s influence, on behalf of Wriothesley’s prayer. He didn’t really care, but sent her a quick thanks regardless. He took one last look at his creation, which now glistened like it was covered in glitter, before he covered it with his own metal lid.

Nothing to do but wait. And keep the temperature down.

The same Garde that started the countdown cleared his throat. “I’m going to read everybody’s names in alphabetical order. When you hear your name, take your cake and leave the kitchen, then let a Garde direct you to where you should be standing. Please be careful; we’d hate it if anyone’s hard work was ruined now. Does anyone have any questions?” A beat of silence. “Splendid. First up, Aether.”

And so it went. Wriothesley knew he was last, so he just focused on his breathing so his mind wouldn’t wander. It wasn’t long before his name was called and he left the kitchen.

The contestants were standing opposite the judges’ table in a line; small crates were placed before them for the cakes to make sure nobody dropped theirs. Wriothesley took his place at the leftmost place in line. The judges must’ve seen the crowd starting to thicken, and they waited a few minutes for spectators to gather. Lynette had wriggled her way to the front, even though she looked like she was being coerced into watching. Maybe she felt she owed it to Lyney, or something.

Once the crowd was big enough for Lady Furina’s sensibilities, she spouted another short speech and finally announced the final stage of the competition. “And now… give applause for Aether, the Traveler!”

The crowd’s reaction was deafening. Cheers, whistles and claps drowned out everything else, and the Traveler ate it up. He threw his braid over his shoulder, then straight up sashayed over to the judges. Paimon and him both were wearing a pair of matching obnoxiously smug smirks. He placed the cake down and gestured for the spectators to quiet down. It took them a moment, but they did get it in the end.

“My Lady, Mademoiselle, Miss, Messieurs… we present to you…” Paimon made a dramatic pause, during which the Traveler pinched the lid’s handle with two of his fingers. He lifted it just as she announced, “The timeless masterpiece, La Lettre a Focalors!”

Everyone collectively gasped. What the fuck, Wriothesley thought. That is the most perfect La Lettre a Focalors I’ve ever seen.

“What the fuck?” swore the inmate to his right.

“That…” Navia stuttered in her shock. “That is the most perfect La Lettre a Focalors I’ve ever seen!”

Wriothesley scrutinized it like he had become a cake surgeon sometime in the last five minutes, but there literally wasn't a smidge of cream out of place. Seriously, it was like a recipe book illustration but in real life, except better. Somehow.

The Traveler ignored everyone’s reactions and once Charlotte took a picture, cut it up for the judges.

“Let’s see if it lives up to its promise, huh?” Navia rubbed her hands.

Melus was first in line to take a bite. The moment he did, his eyes flew wide open and he stayed silent for a few long seconds. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

Charlotte, who took the occasion for a picture, prodded, “In a good or bad way?”

“Good. Very good!”

Silver and Navia couldn’t let that endorsement just lie there by itself, and tried the cake, too.

“I see,” Silver said faintly.

Navia held onto her cheeks, smiling. “Oh, this is… truly exquisite! It’s the first time ever that a slice of cake struck me near speechless. The texture is excellently smooth, the cake itself looks straight from an artisan bakery, and the taste… you mixed in the tiniest bit of cocoa to enhance the coffee, didn’t you?”

The legendary duo looked like they had already won. “That he did,” said Paimon.

“You say it like it’s something unheard of.” Lady Furina rolled her eyes. “You can’t use just any cocoa in La Lettre a Moi, you know. The Palais chefs have been perfecting the recipe for… oh, it’s got to be centuries now.”

The Traveler signed something, not losing his confidence. Paimon translated, “I urge you to try it before you judge it, my Lady.”

“Fine, fine. It is my duty, after all.”

Wriothesley watched in real time as her expression changed from bored to shocked to delighted to disbelieving in the span of a few seconds. The Archon shot up from her seat. Her chair screeched and toppled to the ground with a crash, but she paid it no mind. She had stars in her eyes, and her hands were entwined over her heart.

“How?” She asked, her voice strangely vulnerable. Her gaze shifted from the cake to its maker. “This… this might just be the best La Lettre a Focalors I’ve ever had.”

Clorinde took a bite, too, but her silent, thoughtful reaction was completely overshadowed. The spectators and competitors alike broke out in whispers, most of which were “How is that possible?”, “I can’t believe it!” and “The Traveler is incredible!”.

The judges scribbled their scores and on three, revealed them to the audience. The Traveler got literal tens across the board, except-

“Clorinde?” Navia gasped. “Didn’t you like it? Why haven’t you said anything?”

Clorinde, who judged eight in texture, nine in taste and six in decoration, shrugged. “I did like it. It’s a bit heavy for my liking, though, and the design is unoriginal. If anything, I think you’re overestimating the Traveler simply because he’s the first to come forward - no offense, my Lady.”

“None taken,” the Archon waved her off. “It’s good to have a critical voice to balance things out. That said, the Traveler and Paimon open the competition with a score of… one hundred and forty three!”

Maybe Wriothesley couldn’t win this, actually.

The Traveler and Paimon made a show of thanking the judges, then bowing and waving to the audience. Watching them do all that was like being locked in a trance. When Lady Furina called forward the next competitor, Wriothesley didn’t even register their name.

The next person - a twenty-something woman - had her name called twice before she left the line. She took one, two steps forward, before she turned back and collapsed on her knees, breaking out in tears.

“I-I’m sorry,” she cried, red in the face. “I can’t d-do this! I can’t…”

The Traveler was at his side in a second, kneeling beside her and placing a sympathetic hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t worry! It’s not just about winning, right?” said Paimon. The woman hesitantly nodded. “You came so far, you can’t let your effort go to waste now!”

“But it’s…” the competitor sniffled. “It’s not even close to as good as yours…”

“That doesn’t mean it still isn’t good.”

Paimon’s argument seemed to convince the woman. She wiped her face clean and steadied herself. She apologized to the judges and gathered the courage to step forward.

She got a pretty good score of ninety nine. One hundred, actually, since Navia totally inconspicuously (“What do you mean it’s crooked? It’s always been a six!” ) corrected her five in decoration to a six after the scores were counted up. The woman returned to the line with her eyes still red, but also a faint smile.

Competitor after competitor followed. Each offered something else; from simple vanilla or chocolate cakes to more complex ones, like that one with fruit jello on top, which even crossed the one hundred mark. Only one cake scored higher than hundred and thirty, though.

It was Jean-Pierre’s.

“Delicious, original but traditional!” Lady Furina had summed up the judges’ opinions. “Exactly what I meant in my opening speech!”

Cold sweat broke out on Wriothesley's neck. He’d known, of course, what Jean-Pierre would be making - bulle fruit sponge and glaze with chocolate cream - but he’d never expect it to be that good, or original for that matter. It was, after all, a classic combination. He wished he could see for himself whether reversing the tastes of cream and sponge actually changed that much, but alas, he was allergic.

That and he was too busy realizing he’d need to reach at least a hundred and thirty six points to retain his pride. The old man was glaring at Wriothesley like he’d thrown him off his Administrator’s chair already.

Second after Jean-Pierre was Lyney, who at least promised a good distraction. He approached the judges with a sharp smile and a spark in his eye.

And what better way to open it but with a bang and a spark? That’s right - you wouldn’t guess what Lyney and his sister had cooked up!

[fig 4, Lyney and Lynette bowing together like they do after a performance; Lyney holds his hat against his chest in one hand, and his sister’s hand in the other]

Lynette, that rat, used her Vision to get past the Gardes. She reached her brother’s side right as he placed his cake before the judges.

“Wait,” shouted Lady Furina. “Why are you here? You’re disqualified!”

“Don’t worry, my Lady, my assistant is not here to compete.” Lyney winked. He pinched the lid’s handle between his fingers, lifted it just a bit, but then held it back down. “Oh! But what about you, dear sister of mine?”

Lady Furina questioned Lynette’s presence immediately, but Lyney vouched for her. He teased revealing his cake, but backed down at the last moment. But what about my dear sister? he’d said. And just like that, with Lynette saying they should save that trick for next time, they bowed and bid the judges adieu!

“But- but!” Navia protested. “The cake!”

“Next time~” Lyney sang. He plucked it up from the table, swirled Lynette around, and the cake somehow disappeared while they did that. The two bowed elegantly like they’d just finished a performance. With a wink, Lyney called, “I bid you adieu!”

In an explosion of Pyro sparks, the duo disappeared.

The magician duo had left the judges quite perplexed. They discussed the possibilities of disqualifying Lyney and asking Duke Wriothesley for counsel.

“Should we give them any points?” Silver wondered.

“We didn’t even get to see their cake, much less taste it!” Lady Furina argued passionately.

“I’d give them a ten for the auda- I mean, the decoration.” Navia said. “I’m still considering whether they deserve it.”

“Absolutely not,” Clorinde said. “...It’d be funny, though.”

Following a heated discussion, the judges decided to award Lyney ten points for decoration each, fifty in total. That mad lad - not that I wish for him to be in Meropide a year from now, but I totally want to see the magician twins compete in the bake-off’s second edition!

The twins’ stunt was followed by not so noteworthy contestants. That wasn’t to say the competition got boring - rather, no crazy surprises happened. Two more people crossed a hundred points, but none came close to Jean-Pierre and the Traveler, not even Simone.

Wriothesley became weary of her after Jean-Pierre’s surprise, but unfortunately for her, she had chosen to bake the same cake as the Traveler, except her La Lettre a Focalors was vastly inferior to his. She seemed to know this before she even approached the judges, looking resigned but calm. They awarded her a mediocre score of eighty one, which she accepted without fuss. Her attitude was commendable, if nothing else.

While he considered himself a patient man, Wriothesley became twitchy as he waited. His grip on Cryo hadn’t slipped, right? It might’ve, during the Traveler or the twins’ turn. Oh hells, what if his cake melted? It wasn’t like he could check through the lid. He went hot beneath his suit. At least no one blinked twice when his Cryo output increased.

He felt like he was going to jump out of his skin once it was the penultimate contestant’s turn. Fuck winning with the Traveler, Wriothesley could still lose to Jean-Pierre. Instead of a tale of victory overshadowing that of a failure, the Clog Incident story would get expanded to include this loss as well and this time, it would really haunt him forever.

His neighbor came back. Wriothesley hadn’t even paid attention to him - he got a seventy something. Lady Furina cleared her throat, then announced:

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, applause for our final contestant, the Duke himself - welcome Wriothesley de Meropide!”

The inmates made arguably more noise for him than they did for the Traveler. Among the vaguely familiar faces in the crowd were those he could name - Wolsey, Cuistot, Laverune, Meilhat, Fourmon… The excitement lighting them up was the nudge he needed to step forward with only partially fake confidence.

He placed his cake on the table, but before he uncovered it, he addressed the judges themselves. Something something it would be improper of a Duke to not give his noble guests the proper attention.

“I trust you’ve been enjoying yourselves so far, my Lady, Mademoiselle Navia?”

“Very much so!” Lady Furina nodded enthusiastically. “I have to say, this competition was a wonderful idea. I’m already looking forward to the next edition!”

Wriothesley blinked blankly. There’s going to be another edition??

“Me as well,” added Navia. “Now, what has His Grace prepared for us?”

In lieu of a response, Wriothesley removed the lid and bowed shallowly, eyes closed. Confidence may be key, but actually looking at his own cake was a bit much. It was only once the judges had oohed and aahed over it that he could breathe with the knowledge he hadn’t brought them a half-melted monstrosity. Indeed, it looked just like it had the moment he covered it up.

He first checked for Clorinde’s reaction. She was uncharacteristically thrown-off, wide eyes and all. Their eyes met.

“I’m not seeing things, am I? Your Grace made it look like a hat?” Lady Furina asked. He nodded. “Huh. It’s kind of shaped like mine.”

“Except kind of ugly,” Clorinde added.

“Oh, shush!” Navia swatted her arm. “I’d wear it if I could! Such a shame we have to cut it up.”

“You’re being too nice. It’s messy.”

“Oh sorry, did you mean to say ‘epitome of free artistic expression’?”

Silver and Melus exchanged amused glances while the two ladies bickered and Charlotte took a picture. A moment later, Estienne approached the table to drop off the cup of boiling water with a knife inside.

“Oh, thank you- wait, what’s that for, again?” Navia asked.

“Cakes are commonly cut with knives, didn’t you know, Demoiselle?” Clorinde teased, to which Navia rolled her eyes.

“Of course, silly me. How could I have forgotten?” Navia dramaticized her despaired reaction, placing a forearm on her forehead. “It’s not like I’ve spent the last, what, hour of my life watching people cut slices of cake for us?” She then swayed on her feet and fell face first into Clorinde’s chest. Her hat slipped off, but was caught by Silver before it hit the ground.

Wriothesley covered a snort with a cough at the sight of Clorinde’s red face and Navia’s victorious smirk. She twisted her face up to stare into Clorinde’s eyes. They laughed it off a second later. Wriothesley couldn’t wait to tell Clorinde she had a make-up stain on her shirt. If nobody beat him to it, that- oh nevermind, there Melus went, offering her a handkerchief.

Their theatrics distracted everyone from himself, but once the two of them deigned to remember where they were, so did the others.

“So, Your Grace,” Lady Furina said. “Would you explain what you need a hot knife for?”

“I’d be glad to,” he said as he used said knife to cut the cake. Ice cream didn’t look much different from ordinary cream, he guessed. “However, I think it’d be better for the honorable judges if I wait with my answer.”

As always, Melus and Silver were the first to get a taste. Their eyes widened once they did.

“Oh, Of course!” Melus said. He looked at the knife. “It’s so obvious now…”

“It’s ice cream!” Silver finished.

That revelation got the other judges to taste their slices immediately. Lady Furina hummed gleefully around her fork.

“I know I’ve praised you today already, but you have a truly genius mind, Your Grace! This is the single best use of a Cryo Vision that I’ve seen. I have got to get the Palais cooks to replicate this!”

“I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting this, Your Grace,” Navia said. “Not just the idea, but-” She took another bite.

“It literally melts in the mouth,” Melus filled in.

“And the sweet and the sour balance each other very well,” Silver added.

Wriothesley, chest puffed up, looked expectantly at Clorinde. He was expecting her to sigh or roll her eyes or something, but she just said, “It’s good.”

“Why thank you for the praise,” he said. Now she rolled her eyes.

Wriothesley’s confidence wilted a little once the judges actually got to writing down their scores. They deliberated for just a few seconds before revealing them.

His heart skipped a beat when he saw that everyone gave him a ten for texture. He also got eight to ten for taste, and for decoration, two tens, two sevens and a six, the latter being courtesy of Clorinde.

“Wait-” he realized aloud as he stared at the numbers. “That’s-”

“One hundred thirty seven!” called Lady Furina. “Congratulations, Your Grace.”

Two points more than Jean-Pierre. Two points more than Jean-Pierre! Wriothesley’s jaw dropped and a disbelieving laugh left him. The burden and stress melted off his chest, leaving him feeling light as a feather.

He thanked the judges before he returned to the other competitors, still in a daze.

That’s not all the rewards, though, as an attentive reader may remember. There is one more thing to be won regardless of one’s place in the competition - the job in Palais Mermonia’s kitchen, awarded by Lady Furina personally!

Wriothesley cherished the breather he got while everyone waited for the Traveler and Paimon to be done with the congratulations and pictures - after all, there was one more award to be handed out. Once the Traveler was finally back in line with the other contestants, Lady Furina addressed the crowd in her typical fashion - with a grand speech.

“My dearest citizens! It was a great joy to be witness to your labors, to see you spill blood, sweat and tears in pursuit of the art of baking! But as all things, this competition is coming to an end and it is time to reveal the winners! In third place…”

[fig 4, Jean-Pierre’s cake.]

The third place was earned by Mister Jean-Pierre, who used to be a baker while he was still living in the Court of Fontaine. While his cake was a traditional combination of bull fruit and chocolate, he’d swapped things around - the sponge was bull, and the cream chocolate! The idea was very well executed, too. The scores were balanced across categories, earning him 135 points.

[fig 5, Wriothesley’s cake.]

With just two points more, Duke Wriothesley placed second! He received tens across the board for texture, as he used his Cryo Vision to make the cake an ice cream cake. According to the judges, the vanilla lemon combination was very well balanced. They differed the most in their opinions on decoration - His Grace was awarded from six to ten points in that category.

[fig 6, the Traveler’s cake.]

Nobody thought it possible, but the Traveler and Paimon presented the judges with - and I quote Lady Furina - “the most perfect La Lettre a Focalors ever made”! They have utterly amazed the judges in all categories, losing only a few points to minor criticism. And so, they blew everybody else out the water with a final score of 143!

[fig 7, the Traveler and Paimon, both smiling, with the Traveler holding the cog-cake statue. On a table before them is their cake.]

“Congratulations, Traveler, Paimon,” Lady Furina said as she shook their hands. “However, before you celebrate, I need you to know that you have not won my special award.”

“Wait, what!?” Paimon’s squeaky yell cut through the bewildered whispers.

The Archon remained unbothered. “My decision is not a slight against you. Rather, having considered your past exploits, I came to the conclusion that a stable job, although prestigious, is not - to put it simply - your style. Am I correct?”

Paimon translated, “Yes, my Lady. I was prepared to ask that you give that award to somebody else.”

“Splendid! We agree that this reward should not go to waste.” Her mismatched eyes met Wriothesley across the room. “It would be most fair to bestow it upon the runner-up, but something tells me it is not something His Grace desires either, now is it?”

Wriothesley shook his head ‘no’, stunned. He had honestly expected her to just give the Traveler all the awards and be done with it.

Lady Furina clasped her hands beneath her chin, smiling. “And so, I would like to bestow my special reward onto Mister Jean-Pierre! Congratulations on the job of your dreams!”

All eyes turned to the elderly contestant. He was standing still, staring at Lady Furina wide-eyed. As seconds passed, Wriothesley started worrying that the declaration had given him a heart attack. He was already looking for Sigewinne when the man finally responded. With a shaking hand, he took off his hat and held it to his chest, then bowed as low as his back allowed.

“My Lady, this humble servant is honored, truly honored, but unfortunately…”

The Archon gasped. “Y-you don’t want the job at the Palais Mermonia!?”

“I do!” Jean-Pierre clarified immediately. “It’s just- I am old, My Lady, and I am set in my ways. I honestly doubt I’ll do this opportunity justice. And so, if you can forgive the audacity…”

A situation most unprecedented unfolded during the award ceremony; while it surprised no one that Lady Furina chose who earned her favor regardless of the final scores, nobody expected the lucky man to reject her offer! Mister Jean-Pierre, who was the appointed winner, requested that he instead have the privilege to choose who receives the reward. In her benevolent wisdom, Lady Furina agreed to hear him out.

“M-me!?” A voice rang out in the crowd.

There was no mistaking it - Jean-Pierre was looking straight at her. The mass of people shifted around Simone, pushing her to the front without her noticing until it was too late. Lady Furina measured her with a careful, mismatched gaze.

“She has scored below a hundred points, hasn’t she?” the Archon said critically. “As much as I would love to fulfill your wish, my dear citizen, it goes against my ideal as the God of Justice to condone something so unfair and irresponsible.”

Fucking hell, thought Wriothesley. Is anybody going to get this damn award at all? As in all times when counting on others failed him, he counted on himself.

“Now, let’s not be so hasty with our judgement, my Lady,” he said, stepping forward. “Mister Jean-Pierre won this award fair and square, and he has chosen Madame Simone in his stead. We have to trust that he knows better than us what she is capable of, and that she wasn’t at her best today. This, I think, resolves the issue of unfairness. If only my Lady would be so kind as to explain what is irresponsible here?”

“I command Your Grace’s wise words. However,” she shook her head, “this is no ordinary kitchen job we’re talking about. The Palais Mermonia employs the best chefs in the nation and demands a quality of results that simply could not be achieved by someone without a lifetime of experience. I am simply concerned that Madame Simone would… struggle to meet that standard.”

“I see… In that case, would twenty-five years of cooking for the people of Meropide be enough? While I admit that our diet isn’t exactly fancy, that should count for something, right?”

Now Lady Furina was intrigued. She stayed still for a few long breaths, one hand on the hilt of her sword, the other on her chin. Nobody dared speak; only distant creaking pipes and Charlotte’s furious note-taking were audible in the room.

“Should the Fortress of Meropide put forward a candidate such as this, I will gladly grant them an interview with our Head Chef.” She narrowed her eyes. “It sounds like Your Grace already has someone in mind, no?”

Could Wriothesley have just said what he wanted to say? Yes, but clarity was not the virtue to call upon when trying to change Lady Furina’s mind. With his whole chest, he called out the name of, “Wolsey!”

Murmurs broke out among the crowd. Jean-Pierre’s mouth gaped like a fish, and he seethed, “You- you would dare, your own lackey-”

“Quiet.” Wriothesley leveled the man with an icy look. The inmate flinched and gulped, likely remembering what happened the last time he stepped out of line.

“Your Grace!” gasped Wolsey like he’d just ran here from the factory, and not a handful of yards. “It’s- I’m-”

“Wolsey, this is Simone. From this day onward, she will be your personal assistant, and don’t you dare trap her at the dishwashing station. You’ll teach her everything you know. Understood?”

Confused but loyal as ever, Wolsey bowed. “Loud and clear, Your Grace.”

Then Wriothesley turned his head to address Lady Furina. “Madame Simone will finish serving her sentence in twenty five years. I surmise we have reached an agreement, yes?”

Lady Furina broke out in hysterical laughter. “Oh- oh, my!” she wheezed through the heavy breaths, swiping a tear off her cheek. “Your Grace is full of surprises today. What a thrilling plot-twist!” She giggled one more time, then cleared her throat. “Just for that, I am inclined to agree to your request. Now - Madame Simone, if you would step forward.”

Simone, Jean-Pierre and many others all stared at the Duke and the Archon with bulging eyes. Were the lucky woman not shaking like a leaf during a storm, Wriothesley would’ve thought she hadn’t heard anything that was being said. It was only after Lady Furina beckoned her to come forward again that she crossed the distance between them in jagged moves, then fell at the deity’s feet.

The Archon placed the hand clad in a white glove on Simone’s head, then announced with a booming voice:

“I, Focalors, the God of Justice, hereby impart my blessing unto thee, my faithful subject. May you strive forward and not disappoint the hope I have in you!”

The whole cafeteria erupted in cheers and whistles. Wriothesley used the opportunity to slink back into the crowd while Simone babbled watery thanks at the Archon. It didn’t give him anonymity by far, but it was still a relief to leave the spotlight. Lady Furina could hog it all she wanted.

And that is how Madame Simone became the first person to win a job opportunity. Seeing how the first edition of the Great Meropide Bake-Off turned out, there’s nothing more to do but wait for next year!

Even though the Great Meropide Bake-Off was reaching its close, Wriothesley wasn’t celebrating yet. Something had to be done with all the baked products and he’d be damned if now of all times a real fight broke out.

Each of the competitors returned to the line they stood in earlier, where the judges and spectators alike formed queues before them. Wriothesley’s line was one of the longest, so he took care to cut thin slices, but even then, the cake hat was gone before he knew it.

The cafeteria filled with friendly chatter as people mingled, drunk on a good spectacle and free dessert. Even Lyney and Lynette made an appearance - if Wriothesley had to hazard a guess, it had something to do with the Traveler, who he spied on a balcony of the dormitory area dragging a seemingly unconscious Freminet away from the infirmary. The twins, meanwhile, made a show of revealing their cake. It was the shape of a cat’s head adorned with a wide, toothy grin. From the bits and pieces Wriothesley caught, they went with double chocolate, so he didn’t even bother approaching.

It was… nice. Relatively calm, as well.

I did it, Wriothesley thought, not sure whether he was closer to crying or collapsing from relief. Once he finally retired to bed after today, not even the Primordial Sluice breaking open was interrupting his beauty sleep.

“Your Grace~” sang Lady Furina. “Congratulations again on this wondrous event! Now, would you mind if we stepped aside for a little chat?”

He’d praised the day before sundown, hadn’t he.

The two of them moved away from the crowd, hand in hand to create the idea of normalcy. Wriothesley took extra effort to appear calm while his mind was in shambles. He had no idea what he was going to say. Why the hell hadn’t he thought it over before? Oh right, because he didn’t know Lady Furina was coming until the last minute and he was too busy reorganizing everything to her expectations. Of course.

They took a seat at a table in the corner of the cafeteria. Clorinde would take care of anyone trying to approach them, so they could talk in semi-privacy. He had no doubt that Clorinde herself would hear everything, but she was deeper in his shit already than Lady Furina, so whatever.

“I’ve heard that you had an argument with my Iudex,” Lady Furina began. Straight and to the point despite her well-known love of theatrics. Either they didn’t have much time or she wanted to make a bigger point later.

“That we did,” he admitted. There was no hiding it. “What about it?”

“Look, Your Grace.” She sighed. “I know I am dancing on a boundary right now, so I won’t force you to tell me anything. But I know you had some sort of severe disagreement and aren’t talking right now, so I wanted to ensure you had the full perspective.”

Wriothesley considered the situation. The Archon seemed genuine, but he’d already had a taste of her cunning today, and there was no telling what she was aiming to get in exchange for information.

“And why, exactly, are you telling me this?”

“Is it that hard to believe that I may care for the wellbeing of my companion of the last five hundred years?” She said dryly. “If it helps, pretend I’m just doing this because it’s beneficial to all of Fontaine for you and Neuvillette to get along.”

Damn. She was either an insanely good actress - and he knew she was - or actually genuine. Consider his curiosity piqued. “Alright, I’ll bite.”

“Neuvillette has always been a loner. He got it into his head that in order to maintain the ultimate impartiality, he couldn’t engage in an active social life. While I have to admit there’s some logic to that, it mostly means that now he just doesn’t understand humans very well. I would not be able to count all the times I saw him accidentally offend a conversation partner and not realize it, then innocently ask if they’re alright.” She cracked a smile. “I’ve heard him described as ‘savagely sarcastic’ because of that.”

Wriothesley snorted. Neuvillette, sarcastic? “No way, how have I not heard of that?”

Lady Furina rolled her eyes. “Because you never come to any parties?” Yeah, that tracked. “Anyway, what I am getting at is that he cares a lot, but he is prone to causing misunderstandings. Whatever he did or said to upset you, it’s probably just that: a misunderstanding.” She pressed a fist to her chest and said, “I swear on my name as Furina de Fontaine that my Iudex never intended to slight nor hurt you.”

Oh fuck, she was serious. “I know.” Wriothesley said, because he did know. He’d already known the things she’d just told him. “But that only shows the size of the chasm between us, doesn’t it?”

“What chasm?” The Archon lowered her fist and raised her eyebrows. “I’ve never seen him as close as he is with you with any human, ever. You match him in station and your passion for justice. He admires you.” She said it like she was spitting facts, twisting a part of her long fringe around a finger. “Frankly, you’re the closest thing to an equal he’s ever had.”

Wriothesley scoffed. Yeah, right. To Wriothesley, Neuvillette will be there his whole life. He could retire with him, have kids together, all that sappy crap - but no matter what he did, to Neuvillette he’d still be there for the equivalent of a few days. A fickle, inconsequential thing to be played with now and forgotten about in the future.

His chest hurt and he didn’t notice himself get distracted. His next words came out in an uncontrollable rush.

“If I was, he wouldn’t have asked me to-” he cut himself off with a fake cough. Heartbeat spiking, he immediately blinked back the sting in his eyes. “We wouldn’t have had anything to argue about.”

He’d lost his composure for a second, maybe even less, yet when he looked into her eyes, he knew that she saw. And yet her face held none of the delight it would during a drama-filled court case.

“Will you forgive him?” she asked simply.

“Maybe. Dunno if I even want to.” He sighed. He let some of that heartbreak seep into his tone. She’d already seen, anyway. “I’m not exactly eager to stick with a man so grand, he doesn’t even notice when he squashes me under his foot.”

Lady Furina only nodded in understanding. “Thank you for your honesty, Your Grace. It’s all I could’ve asked for. Now!” Her sudden magazine-worthy smile cut the intimate moment to pieces. “We wouldn’t want anyone to miss us too much, now would we?”

“Of course not,” he agreed, stuffing his turmoil away to be dealt with later. He puffed out his chest and kept up a smirk of someone just thoroughly complimented by his Archon in private, all while he kept turning the conversation over in his mind. He’d already implied through Charlotte that he was willing to try, but how much actual trying would that entail? He’d gotten burned so many times already. Why in the hell would he allow that again?

Would one more time make a difference, anyway?

They walked back arm in arm, where she left him to mingle with the crowd. Everyone was vying for her attention, and it suited him just fine.

“Wriothesley.”

He turned towards the call of his name. It was Clorinde, turned toward him, but keeping her eyes on the people surrounding Lady Furina. He knew better than to waste her time. “Yes?”

“My words as a fly on the wall are this: you and Neuvillette are doing a better job at being a married couple than most of the actual couples I know. I don’t think it’s possible to screw this up, but in case you do, expect me to beat your cake into a smoothie, you hear me?”

Without waiting for a response, she left him alone with his thoughts to resume her role as the shadow guarding Lady Furina. He stared after her, all thoughts halted. Why… How was everyone convinced that he and Neuvillette were guaranteed to make up if they just tried, yet he himself had made peace with aiming for an amicable business relationship? Charlotte, Furina, even Clorinde - three was a pattern. Sure, they could be all mistaken, but…

He needed a pot of chamomile tea. Like, right now.

Alas, it wasn’t meant to be. It would be impolite and all that shit to leave his guests to themselves; he was expected to stay at least within their range of sight. What he could do, though, was instruct his staff to start the clean-up - and bring him that pot of chamomile, while they were at it.

And so he enjoyed the party by sitting in a corner and sipping on that sweet, sweet tea. Sigewinne joined him at some point. It was probably bordering on too much for her, too, and his table was a good enough vantage point in case something happened.

Even Navia was busier than him - he was pretty sure she was recruiting for the Spina di Rosula. In retrospect, it was probably the reason she’d agreed to come at all. The people of Meropide were a unique bunch, one that making contact with was nigh impossible on a normal day. He didn’t mind, though he made a note to warn her about Meropide’s gangs and prominent troublemakers later.

He told Sigewinne as much in case he forgot. The adrenaline high he’d been on all day finally went down and the tea wasn’t helping. He rested his elbow on the table and his chin on his hand, clammy eyes fighting to stay open.

But Fate wasn’t finished with him yet.

“Your Grace?” A trepid male voice grated at his ears.

Wriothesley considered banging his head on the table, but it wasn’t worth it right in front of Sigewinne, so he just turned his head towards the speaker. It was an inmate with small eyes, thin brows and a dark buzzcut, holding a plate with some cake in his hands. Wriothesley was sure he was one of the contestants, but for the life of him, his name escaped him. Duncan, Daniel, Dick…?

He settled on, “Yes, Richard?”

“It’s actually Deakin, Your Grace.” Oops. Too bad Wriothesley was too tired to care. “I wanted to ask if- I mean, I would be honored if Your, Your Grace would…”

“Take a deep breath and think before you speak,” he said - not unkindly, hopefully.

At least Deakin listened. He took a deep breath, steeled himself, then placed the plate he’d been holding before Wriothesley, and bowed. “I would be honored if Your Grace tried my cake!”

Thank fuck that was it. Wriothesley did not have the energy for one more emergency today. Some calories might actually help him make it through the day.

“Sure.” He shrugged and took the fork. “What’s in it?”

"No-nothing unusual, I don't think! O-ordinary wheat flour, and, and cream and cherries. But no peanuts or things like that! I have a terrible peanut allergy, haha, ha..."

Wriothesley put the clearly nervous man out of his misery. Without preamble, he took a bite.

His eyes flew open. This taste, sweet, rich and somewhat earthy, complemented by the cherries... he immediately took another bite and to his amazement it was just as delicious as the previous one.

“No, seriously, the hell did you put in this?” he asked before gobbling the rest of the small slice up. It was milky yet kind of bitter, just how he liked his coffee, but with a sweet overtone. The cream practically melted in his mouth and it made his tongue feel so…

“R-really? I’m not that much of a baker, I got last place, I think… it’s just a chocolate cake, straight out of a recipe.”

…tingly.

Wriothesley froze. His wide eyes met Sigewinne’s.

He threw Deakin a glare sharp like daggers and growled, “Why didn’t you start with that?”

The inmate stuttered. "Well, it's- I'm- I didn't think it was worth mentioning! And, I mean, Your Grace saw me present it to the judges, right?"

It dawned on Wriothesley, then, that the cake was probably as brown as they came and also, he was an idiot.

“Yeah, you’re right… thank you for the cake and don’t undersell yourself.” He clapped Deakin on the back. The tingle in his mouth was getting stronger. “Now, I’m sorry but you just reminded me of something Sigewinne and I were going to do, so if you’d excuse us…?”

While Deakin stuttered through thanks and goodbyes, Sigewinne slid down the bench and under the table. There, she grabbed his arm, exposed his vein and administered a shot. Wriothesley kept his expression cool. He wasn’t sure what was in that thing, but he did know that he wouldn’t suffocate within a minute thanks to it.

Wriothesley picked Sigewinne up to hold her in his arms and walked as fast as he could while still appearing nonchalant. He gave the Gardes guarding the entrance to his tower an order to not let anyone else in, then he and Sigewinne disappeared inside.

His throat was swelling and it was getting hard to breathe. The nurse had one look at him and requested to be put down, which he did.

“What now?” he wheezed.

“You have to spit it back out.” She pointed at his bathroom door. “We don’t know what will happen if you actually digest it.”

Wriothesley kneeled at the toilet, but even though he was trying his best, it was to no avail. Feeling Sigewinne’s gaze on him, he cracked a weak smile.

“Have I ever told you that I trained myself out of the gag reflex?”

“No…? Wait, but why would you eve- oh.” Her whole face scrunched up like she’d chewed on a lemon. She then grinned devilishly and conjured a pipe from Hydro. "Well, in that case~ I'm sure you'll have no trouble keeping yourself nice and open, yes, Wriothesley?"

Maybe it would’ve been better to just die already.

Chapter 14: Distance Makes the Heart Grow Fondant

Chapter Text

Sunday 27.10.504

To Monsieur Neuvillette, Chief Justice of Fontaine,

I’ll get straight to the point. I won’t be able to attend tomorrow’s meeting - I had a bit of an accident during the competition. I’ll recover no problem, but Sigewinne’s keeping me bed bound for a few more days. I attached the reports I meant to talk over with you to this letter. Acquaint yourself with them at your leisure and we’ll talk about them next time we see each other.

Regards,
Duke Wriothesley de Meropide, Warden of the Fortress of Meropide

Sunday 27.10.504

Dear Monsieur Neuvillette,

How have the changes in your environment been treating you? Sedene told me you’ve written up a watering schedule for the plants in your office, and you’ve been doing better at taking breaks because of them. I’m very happy to hear that! I’ve read that the color green has a calming effect on humans and I hope it works on you, too. Do you have many flowering plants? If not, you should consider adding some. Aromatherapy is a thing, you know.

I’ve been doing alright, though I’m worrying about His Grace as always. I also have to admit that this time, I have an ulterior motive in writing to you. It’s about His Grace. I hope he told you about his accident - if not, I’m telling you now - but I just wanted to assure you that he’ll recover fully, so don’t worry about his physical health. Instead, I wanted to talk about his behavior.

He’s been acting weird lately, you see. I wanted to give him some time before I told you, but it’s only worsened since then. It started the evening he returned from your date at the Opera Epiclese. I was called into his office because… well, the Gardes say he came back in a good mood, but there wasn't much time between his return and the Garde fetching me, and when I saw him, he was distraught to the point of unintentionally hurting himself. The worst thing about it is that he clammed up completely. He wouldn’t tell me anything about what happened and he’s been cold and distant to me since. I can’t think of anything happening in the Fortress that could be the cause. You don’t have to tell me if you know what happened. I just ask that you try to relieve His Grace of this burden.

Well, whatever is going on with him, right now he’s bored out of his mind and supposed to be resting. I’m afraid that he’ll do something stupid. So, I have one more thing to request of you; your time and attention have always been very precious to him. I don’t think he wants any company right now, certainly not mine, so could you write to him, please? Let your quill loose, the more the better - I’m serious. He needs something to occupy him and he loves listening to you.

Take care,
Sigewinne

P.S. Have you heard of any bakeries opening in the Court? Recently, I’ve heard many Gardes discussing the display of one bakery, but when I asked if I could maybe buy something for you from them, one of them got very embarrassed and the other laughed. I still don’t know what that’s about.

(A cutesy Melusine sticker was glued next to the signature, a syringe and shark stickers in the margins.)

Neuvillette had called for an emergency meeting, but girls’ night. Emergency girls’ night? Emergency meeting, girls’ night edition? Ah, the name didn’t really matter. What mattered was that he needed counsel and he needed it fast, before this delicate thing he and Wriothesley had cultivated together fell utterly apart. If it hadn’t already.

The cancellation of their Monday meeting meant that Neuvillette could get ahead of his duties for once, and since he was always the busiest of them, the others made time for him despite the short notice.

Furina was as eager to attend as she was annoyed that he wouldn’t outright tell her what had caused a whole week of rain, but he’d insisted that he wouldn’t be discussing the matter more than once. He’d been nervous denying her - he liked to think that she cared about their friendship more than whatever inhibitions held her back last time, but his recent track record with assuming things had not been very good. It felt like imitating Wriothesley, testing her like this. But to his relief, she came to visit his abode come evening, as did Sedene and Navia.

They had some snacks ordered last-minute from a bakery and no alcohol. They were strewn around the furniture of his living room, wrapped in a number of blankets that ranged from crêpe (Neuvillette) to “the elements fear me” (Sedene).

Neuvillette fiddled with the edges of his blanket, feeling his guests’ eyes on him. Embarrassingly, he didn’t really know how to start. Faced with his silence, Navia took it upon herself to distribute the plates of snacks throughout the group.

“Alright, Neuvillette, out with it.” Furina rolled her eyes. “We don’t have the whole night.”

“You and His Grace had an argument, right?” asked Sedene, side-eying the Archon like she wanted to say that actually, they did. “What was it about?”

“About some of my… abilities. The way I can sense emotions in water and people, to be exact. He was mad at me for having them and he- he said-” Neuvillette schooled himself, trying his best to keep his voice steady. “He said that he doesn’t want anything to do with who I am, in those exact words. Then he demanded that I give him space, and that I stop toying with him.”

Navia’s macaron tumbled back onto her plate. His friends’ mouths hung open. A heavy silence settled over them, accompanied by the rain knocking on the windows.

It was Furina that interrupted it first. “Toying? In what way?”

“I… don’t know,” Neuvillette’s voice broke. “I don’t know.”

“Clearly, some sort of misunderstanding happened here,” Navia mused out loud, picking her macaron apart as she focused. “Could you walk us through the meeting, like, chronologically? Maybe we’ll notice something you didn’t.”

“Alright.”

So he did. He told them how Wriothesley commented on his plants, how they caught up on business and then he agreed to stay over for tea, and how Neuvillette convinced him to take that love language test.

“That’s when it started to go wrong, I think. He was upset and his mood only worsened the further into the test we went, but he didn’t say anything. I paused the test and asked him what’s wrong, and he just said that he shouldn’t be helping me with it.” Neuvillette tugged the blankets tighter around himself. The pressure reminded him of the comfort of the seabed. “I tried to convince him to tell me what’s wrong, but he just snapped at me.”

“Aha! I think we have our culprit. Something definitely happened here!” Navia announced. “Can you show us that book?”

Neuvillette had expected their conversation to turn this way, so the book was laying right there on the coffee table and he just needed to point to it. The piece of paper with Wriothesley’s answers on it was tucked in between the pages. Navia opened the book and together, the women and Melusine compared them with the questions.

The president of the Spina di Rosula was focused but confused. “...Huh. And you’re saying he got upset because of these questions? Is there anything else it could be?”

“No. He’d been open and relaxed when we began. I am as clueless as you are.”

“How strange… the only option I can think about is that the test has reminded him of something unpleasant, but I still don’t see what could it be. How does thinking about kissing your boyfriend make you upset?” Navia groaned. “It’d only make sense if you were exes, but you’re literally the opposite! Or… were. Sorry.”

Furina gasped. “Wait - what if he was thinking about an ex?”

Sedene frowned. “Why would he be thinking about an ex with his boyfriend right in front of Monsieur? I mean, you’ve done all those things with each other, right? Those he answered, at least.”

But to the surprise of everyone in the room, Neuvillette said, “No. We haven’t kissed yet.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Navia straightened her spine. A spark shone in her eye. “If that’s so - then is it possible that he was using someone other than you as the frame of reference for this question?”

“Yes, he… did look unsure of his own answer to it.” Neuvillette’s breath hitched when the puzzle pieces clicked together. “We haven’t been courting for long. It’s entirely possible that he was thinking of someone else, simply because there wasn’t much to go off of from just our relationship.”

“And he didn’t want to tell you why he was upset, because he didn’t want to admit he wasn’t thinking about you!” Furina claimed, waiving a sticky finger in the air.

“That seems rather silly,” Sedene voiced Neuvillette’s doubts. “I would’ve thought His Grace to be more mature than that.”

“Oh, he can be pretty immature alright,” Furina waved the concerns away. “You wouldn’t believe the jokes he makes in polite company!”

“It’s the only lead we have right now, so let’s go forward with a grain of salt,” Navia decided. “Alright, what happened next?”

Neuvillette took the time for a few deep, calming breaths. The obstacle that seemed utterly incomprehensible just fifteen minutes earlier was starting to make sense. Somewhat. The hypothesis didn’t fit the picture as much as he’d like.

“Wriothesley was deeply disturbed,” he said. “Could remembering a past partner really upset him so much?”

“Maybe they’re dead?” Sedene offered.

“Or just an asshole,” Navia countered.

“Or abusive.”

“Could be both,” Furina saw fit to point out, mouth full of another macaron.

“I get your point,” Neuvillette interrupted. “I don’t think it’s right of us to be guessing like that and it doesn’t matter right now, anyway. Should Wriothesley ever want to tell me, I will listen.” He might never. It was a very likely option given what a private person he was. “In any case, while your reasoning is sound, I don’t think you’re right. Something just… doesn’t fit.”

With those words, he pulled out Sigewinne’s letter from the pocket of his nightrobe and mentally apologized to Wriothesley for what he was about to do. In his defense, he was left with no other options.

“I didn’t want to tell you about this out of respect for Wriothesley’s privacy, but if those two events are connected…”

Neuvillette started with a retelling of that evening at the Opera Epiclese. An understanding shone in his friends’ eyes when he told them they watched Snowflake, describing how moved Wriothesley was by the musical and what Neuvillette had requested of him after; to let them spend the rest of Wriothesley’s life together. How he agreed, but couldn’t go to dinner because he had to hurry down to Meropide for a duel.

Then he read the relevant part of the letter to them.

A metaphorical light bulb went off in Navia’s head. “Oh! I think I know what you’re getting at. Wriothesley and Sigewinne’s accounts of the night are inconsistent with each other! He said he had a duel, but she’s talking like he just went straight to his office.”

Neuvillette nodded. “Exactly. Sigewinne is present for all scheduled Pankration duels due to the nature of the sport. She would’ve mentioned it if it had really taken place, I think. Additionally, the next time we met, Wriothesley was in recovery, and claimed he’d sustained his injuries in that duel.”

“But if it never happened, then it means he dealt those injuries to himself and was hiding that fact from you,” Navia finished somberly.

Neuvillette looked at his lap, fingers playing with the frilly edges of his blanket. “I thought that surely, I must be wrong, because this whole situation makes no sense, but now you’re confirming my suspicions. Why did he lie? And how did he go from happy to distraught in such a short amount of time without leaving his office?”

Sedene groaned. “This would be so much easier if we had Sigewinne here.”

After a long while of frowning and picking her macaron into crumbs, even Navia gave in. “I’m sorry, but you’re right. We’re missing some crucial detail here. Let me think… if his weird behavior back then really is connected to the thing that upset him during your meeting, we might find some clues if we go over it again.”

Neuvillette had to admit that she was right. He retold everything, unpleasant as it was, though this time, he mentioned every little detail that came to mind.

“It irritated me that he was pretending to be alright. He does that a lot, he’s very good at it too, and I’ve always hated that he wouldn’t let himself be helped. It’s something I hoped would change now that we’re courting. So I…” He sighed. “I apologized for making him upset, but he kept denying that he was upset in the first place. It was so silly. So I pressed. He didn’t even answer the question, just lashed out at me and…”

And it turned out Neuvillette hadn’t told him about his empathy powers. They weren’t common knowledge, but not a secret either. He still couldn’t believe that he hadn't mentioned them during one anecdote or another over all these years - or maybe he had, but too vaguely. Wriothesley knew him so well by now, it just felt so obvious to Neuvillette that he’d know that, too. Evidently, he’d been wrong. Wriothesley hated that he hadn’t told him, hated that he had those powers at all. Neuvillette told his friends as much.

Somber silence settled over the room. With nothing to distract him, Neuvillette kept berating himself inside his own head. Would he and Wriothesley had ever grown close together, had the latter known from the beginning about this power? Because if so, was there even a point to this discussion?

“What can we even do?” Sedene asked in a defeated tone. “He’s already made up his mind.”

“Maybe he didn’t mean it…?” Navia offered weakly.

“I assure you that he did. Never have I felt such strong negative emotion from him, not even during his own trial.”

Neuvillette shuddered at the memory of that measured voice, eyes like a wall of ice through which he’d glimpsed the tornado of a snowstorm within. The room went quiet again, as if the cold he’d just remembered froze the room’s occupants in place.

He searched his companions’ faces for a sign of… he didn’t know, really. He had to double back to make sure he wasn’t seeing things, but he knew he’d found what he was looking for when he saw Furina. She was the only one whose emotions he couldn’t resonate with. Her divinity drowned out everything else. He didn’t consider himself adept at reading her the human way, either, but…

Neuvillette had seen Furina laughing through tragedies, irritated to the point of outrage, making her boredom everyone else’s problem. None of those times was she as quiet as she was now. Her body was facing him, but her head was turned to the window battered by the rain, her dull gaze glued to the glass.

“Do you know something I don’t, Furina?”

She moved her gaze onto him lazily, then sighed and returned to staring at the window. “Humans are complicated creatures,” she began, her voice uncharacteristically subdued, dare he say vulnerable. “But if I were to hazard a guess… do you know the fairytale about the emperor’s clothes?”

Neuvillette shook his head no.

Navia perked up. “I remember it very well. My father used to tell it to me a lot,” she said. The emotion radiating from her was the Snezhnayan sea after a storm; gentle, but carrying bitter floes with its waves. “Ever the practical man, he liked that it was both entertaining and a cautionary tale. May I, my Lady?”

Furina nodded.

“It’s a children’s tale about a fictional emperor that absolutely loved clothes. He’d change coats several times a day and parade in front of his people in them, and he spent a stupid amount of time in his dressing room. One day, two swindlers came into town, sensing an opportunity. They claimed that they were weavers that could make a cloth so magnificent, only the worthy could see it, while in reality, the cloth didn’t exist at all.

“The emperor hired the swindlers. He was concerned that he couldn’t see the cloth, as it told him he was unfit for his station. However, he still saw it as a useful tool to use on his own people, for he worried that those worthy of seeing it would be a danger to his position. He could already see it everywhere - none of his close confidants would admit to not seeing the cloth, as they didn’t want the emperor to think they were unworthy of standing at his side. They only further convinced him of the cloth’s properties. And so, the emperor made an event of his new outfit’s reveal. He intended to weed out any and all threats to his position.

“But as you can guess, he walked out among all his people dressed in nothing but false confidence and his underwear. He only realized that he’d been thoroughly hoodwinked once everyone laughed him out, but by then everyone had seen and there was little he could do. When he came back to the palace, the swindlers were long gone… the end.” Navia sipped her tea and cleared her throat. “All that said, I admit I’m at a loss as to why you brought this up, my Lady.”

“It just fits together too well,” Furina said. She looked Neuvillette in the eyes. “That evening in the Opera Epiclese, you said he left your date distraught. Yet, the Gardes had seen him in a good mood and Sigewinne says she’d seen him in a sad state right after.”

She shrugged the way she did whenever she rested her case in court, but contrary to her expectations, all three of them kept looking at her expectantly. She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? He was miserable at the end of that date, but wanted to hide that and lied so he could retreat into a safe space. Neuvillette saw through him pretending to look happy, but the Gardes didn't.”

This fit… surprisingly well into what Neuvillette knew of Wriothesley. He was still missing something, however. “I’m sorry, but I’m still not seeing how all this has anything to do with the fairytale.”

“You said it yourself, didn’t you? That he was upset, but when you pointed it out, he kept pretending that he wasn’t. Doesn’t it remind you of something? How he was putting on a metaphorical mask, not knowing that to you, it might as well not exist?”

“He was wearing emperor’s clothes, thinking his feelings were out of sight. And then I… Oh.”

“You said that he was angry, but anger is most often other emotions first. Try to remember.” Furina kept looking straight into his eyes, her voice the quietest he’d ever heard it. “Wasn’t he ashamed? Unsettled?” He could’ve sworn that at some point she stopped talking about Wriothesley. “Scared?”

“I…” Neuvillette was at a loss for words. His heart sank. “I… don’t know. His feelings were so sudden and intense, and confusing, and he stormed out right after.”

“Then the only thing you can do is talk to him about it.”

Neuvillette put his head in his hands, gripping at his hair. “But what- he… I… How do I even…”

Furina wasn’t done, though. “You know… when I went to the Fortress of Meropide for the bake-off, I managed to catch His Grace alone for a minute.” Neuvillette’s breath hitched. Was she about to introduce one of those ground-shaking plot-twists she loved so much? “He said he was upset with you because you asked of him something that you shouldn’t have. Whatever it was, I gathered from the conversation that he’s under the impression that he’s inferior to you in some ways.”

Wriothesley, beneath him? The notion was so ridiculous, Neuvillette couldn’t choke out a word. But then again, Wriothesley was an intelligent and cunning man. He wouldn’t assume something like that with no basis, and that basis must’ve been whatever it was that Neuvillette had asked of him on the evening of their date.

He wracked his memory. It could be many things - Neuvillette had asked him to hold hands, to not go through the main entrance like what would be expected of a courting partner, to go to dinner afterwards… to help Neuvillette not repeat the mistakes of his past.

Neuvillette’s lungs froze over. No… it couldn’t be…

“Um, Monsieur?” Sedene called his attention. “What’s wrong?”

The dragon’s head swayed as the pieces clicked into place against his will. Everyone was looking at him with worry and concern as the once thin rain now crashed against the glass with the force of a waterfall.

Was that actually it? Did Wriothesley feel inferior and toyed with because Neuvillette had offered to spend the rest of his lifespan together, and then he got upset when the test reminded him of that? But then it meant… Wriothesley hurt himself because of Neuvillette. He stopped talking to Sigewinne, because of Neuvillette.

“What do I do now?” He choked out. “ Can I even do anything?”

“I don’t know, but if you could show him that you don’t think any less of him because of what he was hiding,” Furina said, her voice trembling imperceptibly. She cleared her throat. “Then it would go a long way.”

She acted like it was nothing, but honestly, he - Navia and Sedene, too - couldn’t have done it without her. It was like he was seeing a whole other side to her that he hadn’t noticed before, somehow.

“Since when are you so wise, anyway?” he asked half-jokingly.

“Excuse you? I’ve always been this wise!” Ah, and here was the loud, dramatic Lady Furina he knew. She crossed her arms and everything. “It’s on you if you haven’t noticed until now!”

“My apologies.” He cracked a weak smile. “And thank you.”

Navia wagged a finger at him, “And remember that not all is lost. Actually, have you read the latest Steambird ?” Neuvillette shook his head no; that edition was all about the baking competition, and he’d already heard all about it from Furina. “Well, you should.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“You’ll see,” she smiled slyly and knocked teacups with Sedene.

The plan of action was already unfurling in Neuvillette’s mind. First, read the Steambird. And then… what? Wait for his and Wriothesley’s next meeting? His eyes widened and his heart skipped a beat when he remembered Sigewinne’s request.

“Of course,” he breathed. “Thank you, everyone. I know what to do.”

(The letter arrived on Wednesday morning with a bouquet of orchids and hyacinths, and a large package in tow. The flowers were white, pink and blue - not that their recipient could tell.)

Tuesday, 29.10.504

To Duke Wriothesley de Meropide, Warden of the Fortress of Meropide,

I wish you a full and swift recovery. While I regret that we didn't have a chance to see each other yesterday, I place no blame on you. The reports you have sent are succinct. We shall talk about them next week.

First, I would like to offer you my sincere congratulations for achieving second place. Lady Furina came back singing your praises and regaled me with a retelling of the whole event. She even mentioned that should you ever desire a change in career, she’ll hire you as her personal chef. I’m pretty sure it was a joke. Nonetheless, I told her that you treat your duties very seriously and have made other plans for your retirement already.

I apologize if this was a transgression, but I am nearing my limit in putting up with her complaining at this point. She has been bemoaning the inability to eat another ice cream cake and insisting that I ask that you bring one with you on your next visit. Palais Mermonia’s bakers have been trying to replicate your recipe, but Furina says that the ice cream’s texture isn’t right when it’s made with Cryo machinery. That said, please don’t feel pressured on her behalf. She’ll get over it eventually.

All that aside, you’ve probably noticed that a parcel has arrived with this letter. As your recovery will take some time yet, I suspect you might find yourself with too much time on your hands, so I took the liberty of providing a solution to that. I procured the gifts on short notice, so I hope you’ll like them, and please don’t feel obligated to pretend you do if not. In any case, please keep the bouquet at your bedside unless the smell irritates you. Also, don’t hesitate to ask Sigewinne about aromatherapy. It’s a deep, interesting topic, but unfortunately I don’t know much about it.

The other gift is a ship model, but it’s not just any ship - nor just any model. It’s meant to be put together by hand, but not put inside a bottle. The Liyuean merchant I bought it from told me all about its real-life counterpart, the Alcor. The ship is supposedly named after a star in the Captain’s constellation, which is told to be an omen of death. I wish nothing of the sort on you, of course - I just thought you’d appreciate the thrill of putting it together by hand.

Ah, I hope you don't mind my rambling. I thought the topic would interest you. Regardless, I saved the most important matter for last.

I am incredibly sorry for not telling you about my, as you succinctly called them, empathy powers. I don’t know how to prove to you that I really thought you knew and weren’t bothered by them. I don’t know how I made that mistake, either. I never meant to hide them from you, and I hope you’ll be able to forgive me.

I know my words don’t make up for the hurt I’ve caused. I understand that you may feel uncomfortable in my vicinity now. You should know, however, that if you want to know what I feel like at any given time, too, you’ll just need to check the weather. That should put us on equal footing, no?

Kind regards,
Monsieur Neuvillette, Chief Justice of Fontaine

Tuesday 29.10.504

Dear Sigewinne,

Thank you so much for your concern and the things you’ve told me. I cannot begin to describe how helpful they’ve been.

Regarding aromatherapy, I do indeed have many flowers in my office and I can confirm they have a calming effect on me, though I am not sure how much of that is due to the smell. I’ve been getting great satisfaction from nurturing them in general. The flowers I sent Wriothesley are some of mine - I hope he feels better soon.

Did my gift and letter work? I tried my best to fulfill your requests. In any case, don’t hesitate to tell me if either of you needs anything. In return I ask that you tell me should his mood worsen. I’m afraid that I’ll make another blunder and he’ll be too polite to tell me.

Oh, and about that bakery - I have failed to discern which establishment the two Gardes were talking about. As far as Lady Furina knows, no new bakeries have opened in the Court recently.

With love,
Neuvillette

Wednesday 30.10.504

Dear Monsieur Neuvillette,

Thank you so much for your help! Whatever it was that you told him, it took some major weight off of His Grace’s shoulders. He looks much lighter now, though he’s still somewhat pensive.

His Grace might not say it, but he’s absolutely enamored with that ship model you got him - he’s been picking away at it since the moment he finished his paperwork, and he’s more than halfway done already. He even genuinely smiled! Don’t worry in case he doesn’t respond right away. He still tires easily and I wouldn’t put it past him to fall asleep with his face in the instruction manual.

That, and he’s been nicer to me, too! When I came back to check on him this morning, he asked me about aromatherapy. It feels like forever since we've last talked about anything that isn’t his immediate health or Meropide business, so again, thank you. Just keep doing what you’re doing and it'll be alright.

Take care,
Sigewinne

P.S. By the way, His Grace has been keeping the bouquet from you with him when he goes up to the office or back down to his quarters. He claims he’s “trying out the whole aromatherapy thing”, but I totally saw him suppress a blush!

Thursday 31.10.504

Dear Monsieur Neuvillette, Chief Justice of Fontaine,

I’ve been thinking of this response the whole of yesterday and honestly, I still don’t know what to say. I am as honored as I am baffled by the trust you put in me. My apologies if I pressured you to reveal the secret that you have - I will take it to the grave should you want me to.

The gifts you have sent are nothing short of extraordinary, I assure you. The flowers are lovely and I can’t wait to display the finished mini-Alcor in my office. You were absolutely correct in thinking I’d enjoy the “thrill” of having a replica of a death omen in my hands. I’ve read a lot about the Crux fleet, but I had yet to see what their ship looks like. What would Captain Beidou think of the Wingalet, I wonder?

Ah, but nevermind all that. I accept your apology, but if it’s alright with you, I’d rather talk about this matter in person. There’s some things I’ve been reconsidering lately that I can’t put into words alone.

One more thing - in the parcel attached to this letter is something I made with you in mind. Consider it a thank you, as well as a token of my appreciation. It’s a timekeeper, but it’s special. Just set it, place it on the edge of your desk and away from anything fragile, wait and see. You’ll have no trouble taking breaks now, as per doctor’s orders.

Your dear friend,
Duke Wriothesley de Meropide, Warden of the Fortress of Meropide

Friday 01.11.504

To my dearest friend Duke Wriothesley de Meropide,

I full heartedly agree that we should talk about our situation the next time we see each other. For now, I will say this: going forwards, should a discussion of ours touch upon a topic that disturbs you, I promise that you can tell me you don’t want to talk about it and I won’t pry.

All that aside… Wriothesley, you know I adore this sharp mind of yours. Yet I have to ask - what possessed you to modify that timekeeper the way you did? It releases the most aggravating sound I’ve ever heard. But no matter how horridly ingenious, as Sedene put it, it was to make it ride around my office, I’m afraid it was a single use item. It seems I was too zealous in shutting it down and damaged it as a result. My sincere apologies.

Although I appreciate the level of thought and care you put into the gift, I’m happy to inform you that I’ve been better at taking breaks recently. The plants I keep in my office require a strict watering schedule. By sticking to it diligently, I am successfully taking at least one break unrelated to eating per day.

Yours,
Monsieur Neuvillette

Saturday 02.11.504

Dear Monsieur Neuvillette,

I’m glad that we agree and I appreciate your concern. I agree to tell you when something we’re discussing becomes uncomfortable for me - in turn I ask that you not shy away from topics preemptively. I am not so fragile that you need to treat me like an egg.

As to that timekeeper, heh… must’ve been Sigewinne’s influence. I only got the idea because she was complaining about your work habits, after all. It’s good to hear they’re improving. If you haven’t thrown out the remains, I can try to fix it up. Then you can give it to someone who pissed you off recently. Sounds good?

Yours,
Duke Wriothesley de Meropide

The steady stomp stomp stomp of boots hitting metal floors announced Wriothesley’s presence no matter which part of Meropide he went to. It was a handy thing. All residents have long learned to listen out for them; Wriothesley could inspire fear or calm before he even entered a room just by changing the pace and heaviness of his steps.

Not many knew this but by angling his feet a bit, he was also capable of walking near soundlessly. That’s what he chose to do as he approached the infirmary on Sunday night. He quietly observed the Head Nurse as she sanitized some of her tools while two inmates with IVs were sleeping on the beds.

Wriothesley had been avoiding her for a reason, but now that he was having doubts about its validity, he was completely lost. He had no idea what would be the right thing to do, anymore.

Out of nowhere, Sigewinne turned her head in his direction and her eyes found his with pin-point precision. “Is there something you need, Your Grace?” she asked in a stage whisper.

“...Yes. I could use your perspective on something.” He glanced at the occupied beds. “Are your patients going to be okay if you leave for a while?”

She nodded. “They’re not in for anything serious. I’ve just finished cleaning up and was planning to retire for the night in a moment.”

She hopped off her stool and followed him out of the infirmary, then into his office. He invited her to sit with a gesture of his hand, then approached the kettle. The water had boiled just as he was leaving.

“Really?” she asked as he poured water over the tea.

“Calm your feelers, Head Nurse.” Wriothesley rolled his eyes. “This is just some rooibos, not a lick of tannin or caffeine or other evil substances in it. Would you like some?”

“In that case, sure. Thank you.”

A few moments later they were sitting side by side on the couch, both with a steaming cup of tea in hand. Wriothesley whiffed at his own, savoring the rich aroma with a hint of honey as the hot steam tickled his nose.

“So, I assume you heard that Monsieur Neuvillette and I had an argument?” he began.

Sigewinne nodded. “From Sedene.”

“You see, we said… things. But we also exchanged some letters, and they were… nice.” He sighed, blowing on the tea. “For a moment I thought I couldn’t trust a word that comes out of his mouth, but everything else points to him having good intentions and I just- I have no idea what to think. I wish I could just ask him, it’s just…” I don’t want to give him more room to toy with me. “You know him the best out of all people I trust, so please be honest with me - what does he think of me?”

“Of course, I have no idea what you said to each other last time and how it could’ve affected his opinion of you. However,” she stuck a finger in between his ribs, “having said that, I can confidently say that he loves you.”

Wriothelsey’s head whipped around in her direction as the rhythm of his heart was knocked askew.

“How- what does he even love about me?” he asked as air rushed out of his lungs.

Sigewinne looked at him like he’d just asked a silly question. She counted on her fingers as she said, “He loves who you are as a person. He loves that you offer the kindness that you yourself were denied instead of making others suffer with you. He loves how you treat and value me and my sisters, how he can be himself around you, and…” She paused for a moment, frowning at the last finger left. “Just about everything about you, I think.”

Wriothesley sank into the cushions behind him. So it was him that had been in the wrong this whole time? He who misunderstood Neuvillette’s words and ascribed the worst of intentions to him? What a fool he’d been. A terribly foolish fool that dragged Neuvillette down with him.

“Thank you, Sigewinne,” he said quietly.

“I’m glad I could help. Do you want me to leave you alone now?”

Wriothesley sighed in relief, glad that he wouldn’t have to think of an excuse to make her leave. It was nice being known, sometimes. He hovered a hand over her cup and with his Vision, cooled the tea to just the right temperature. “Yes, please. Just finish your drink first.”

She drank the rooibos down with gusto and put away the cup. “Have a good night, Your Grace.”

“Goodnight, Sigewinne.”

She paused mid-movement at the sound of her name. She didn’t say anything, just looked into his eyes and gave him a small smile before finally, she turned away and left Wriothesley alone with his thoughts.

It was a long night. And on Monday morning, a letter came.

Sunday 03.11.504

Dear Duke Wriothesley de Meropide,

Of course I haven’t thrown away your gift. And while I’m glad you’re not too upset about its… sudden demise… I don’t want to give it away even if you do fix it. Then there’s the matter of “remains” being the most adequate descriptor. In any case, I can’t think of anyone who has earned such ire from me - at least no one I could give the timekeeper to without diplomatic consequences. And before you ask, I am talking about Lord Arlecchino.

Knowing the time of our next meeting fills me with excitement, but also anxiety. I’m afraid we’ll end up hurting each other again. No matter my words tomorrow - or today, as you are reading this - please remember that I hold no ill will towards you.

Yours,
Neuvillette