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    Summary

    Hubert and Ferdinand crash against one another as the war draws to a close.

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    “It would be pleasant,” Ferdinand had suggested earlier that day, fingers curling in the long lines of hair that tumble towards his elbows. A giveaway befitting only the grandest of fools. “If you would join me in my chambers tonight. We could speak tactically about the next steps to befall the Empire's army and prepare thoughts for the Emperor herself, when her chariot arrives in two days' time.” His eyes had glistened in a roguish deviation from his title. “Or if you tire of such discussion, we could taste Aegir's wines and speak more freely.”

    Indirect as Ferdinand may be, to Hubert his point had been a clear one: I want you alone, so that I may taste you again.

    Language:
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