Chapter Text
After Courfeyrac’s tattoo reveal, Combeferre made her way to the nearest servant’s bathroom and locked the door behind her. She ran water for a few moments, feeling the flow turn from lukewarm to cold under her fingertips, then splashed it onto her flushed face. Gazing into the chipped mirror above the sink, Combeferre grinned at her reflection, looking more carefree than she had in years, ever since her father had passed away, forcing her to leave school to find a job at the palace. Every paycheck since then had gone to support her mother, who was unable to find a stable job due to her wheelchair-bound status.
Her brother had wanted to leave his schooling instead of Combeferre, but he had been in training to become a lawyer, and that had more long-term potential for the family than Combeferre finishing high school. Then the endless war that their country was in had intensified, leading to another round of drafting, resulting in Combeferre’s brother being shipped away, a mere month away from taking the bar exam. Combeferre and her mother had heard nothing about him, despite Courfeyrac’s attempts to get answers from her parents.
But their troubles were close to being over now. She and Courfeyrac had a legal right to marry now, and her mother could come live in the palace. Financial stability was within Combeferre’s grasp, not to mention marriage to the love of her life. Of course money didn’t buy happiness, precisely, but it would go a great deal of the way towards contentment for Combeferre and her mother.
How would Combeferre tell Courfeyrac about their matching tattoos and soulmate status? Combeferre imagined herself bursting out of the bathroom door and dashing towards the dais at which Courfeyrac sat, tearing off the sleeve of her own palace uniform and allowing the cameras to capture the image of the dark tattoo on her arm. Anxiety twisted her heart for a moment and she shook her head at her reflection. That bold of a maneuver was unlikely to go well, and could make Courfeyrac uncomfortable.
No, the best course of action was probably to get the princess alone, and explain things. Combeferre smiled to herself, looking down at her hands. She could imagine the look on Courfeyrac’s face, shock followed by an affectionate smile, arms wrapped around her. Combeferre took one last look in the mirror to make sure that she looked poised, then turned and unlocked the door, stepping out of the bathroom to return to the party and to her soulmate.
-
Courfeyrac looked out over the lights of the capital city below, breathing in the cool and slightly damp air of the night. Her arm had yet to stop tingling from the appearance of her tattoo, and she frequently brushed her fingertips against it. The person she was meant to love would have this same mark on their skin, and until she met them, it was the only connection that they had, so she was unable to prevent herself from touching it.
She felt a couple of fingertips on her shoulder and started, turning to see a handsome man smiling at her with straight white teeth and shining green eyes. He had long blonde hair tied back, with a couple of loose strands trailing and curling against his black suit. “Hello,” he said, and the sound of his voice made Courfeyrac shiver.
“Hi,” Courfeyrac said.
“You looked lonely out here,” the man said.
“I’m alright,” she said. “Just thinking.”
“Of course,” he said, “it’s been a big night for you, princess.”
Courfeyrac nodded, biting her lip to avoid smiling widely from the way he said her title. “Certainly is. It almost makes me regret being a princess, you know?”
“Except for all of the privileges you get from your position, of course,” the man said, not cruelly.
Courfeyrac giggled, shrugging her shoulders. “Yes, that’s true. I really shouldn’t complain that much… What was your eighteenth birthday like?”
“You think I’m older than eighteen?” The man stuck out his lower lip, but his eyes still twinkled at her. “I’m offended.”
“You’ve aged well,” Courfeyrac said, winking.
“Really?” The man said, raising an eyebrow.
“Mhmm,” she said, “you’re very handsome. Distinguished, even.”
The man laughed and held out his hand. “My name is Felix Tholomyes.”
Courfeyrac placed her hand into his, preparing to shake it, but then he raised it to his lips and grazed them against the top of her hand. “Antoinette Courfeyrac.”
“Of course,” he said, slowly lowering her hand, finally releasing it. Her hand felt warm, tingling against the cold air, and Courfeyrac bit her lower lip.
“So,” Courfeyrac said, “your eighteenth birthday?”
“My parents had a small party,” Tholomyes said. “Only friends. We ate cake after my tattoo came in.”
“May I see it?” Courfeyrac said. “The tattoo, I mean.”
Tholomyes grinned at Courfeyrac. “What else would I be showing you?” He folded up his suit coat jacket’s sleeve, slowly beginning to roll up the white dress shirt as to not wrinkle it too badly.
Courfeyrac stared at the forearm that Tholomyes was revealing, her eyes wide. “Holy shit,” she said, looking up at Tholomyes, who bore a sun and moth design etched into his skin. “You’re my soulmate.”
-
Combeferre walked around the boundaries of the dance floor, ducking her head to avoid attention. She knew where Courfeyrac would be; the balcony where she always went to take a break when she was stressed out. Her steps quickened as she reached the French doors, and she slipped through them to the cold air outside.
Courfeyrac was there, but she was not alone. She and a tall blond man were comparing tattoos, the man’s on his forearm and Courfeyrac’s on her shoulder. Combeferre hesitated by the door, unsure of whether or not to interrupt her princess, who had not noticed her entrance. Then Courfeyrac smiled brilliantly up at the man, reached up on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck, and kissed him full on the mouth.