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Sylvain was made for parties. He’d fashioned himself a man of the people, by the people, and for the people. Even as he slipped the thematically-required hood and mask over his face, obscuring his identity and leaving just his smile bared, he knew that was all it took. What he couldn’t say with his words, what he couldn’t body language into implication, his smile had covered. He’d be the belle of the ball in under an hour if he wanted, have the ladies and gentlemen alike eating out of his hands.
On one hand, it was gratifying to feel confident in himself outside the bounds of his name. All else equal, he knew these days what he was good at: manipulating people. Malicious or not, it would serve him perfectly here.
Every guest of the masquerade had been provided with a handmade mask of their choosing: they were ivory white, animal faces pulled over their own, and looked solid from the outside, providing an eerie effect of never knowing where someone’s eyes were looking, or if they lined up with their mask’s eyes at all.
The craftsmanship was admirable, and Sylvain had to hand it to the host for such a beautiful twist on the masquerade. A dark dresscode and request to cover as much skin as possible while remaining fashionable gave a striking impression when he stepped onto the dance floor and took the ball in. Ivory heads flowed through the ballroom, surrounded by black on all sides, the warm lighting pushing it just on the near side of the uncanny valley.
Sylvain’s own mask resembled a sheep, a far cry from his usual approach but a fitting one: He wasn’t here to charm a partner into his bed, or to rub elbows with potentially powerful people while they didn’t know whose ears he might whisper into later. Tonight, he was harmless. He nicked a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, and made his way into the crowd.
— x —
He played it safe, for the most part. Instinct made him flirt more often than not, but he never lingered on anyone he wasn’t looking for, used them to find another target and left as quickly as he’d arrived. The first hour of the party was, ultimately, useless outside of identifying a few people who had the danger of recognizing him by voice alone.
It wasn’t until he’d left the dancefloor and idled by the refreshments that he found another partygoer watching the revelry with a careful interest. Sylvain’s gaze flicked down to their left hand– and spotted what he was looking for, a ring around their middle finger that was attached to the sleeve of their shirt. About damn time.
Sylvain stayed casual as he leaned against the table near them, keeping his tone light as he said, “Did you hear they’re serving lion meat?”
The person paused as they were lifting their drink to their lips, and tilted their head curiously for a silent moment before answering: “It's dangerous to hunt a predator.”
Bingo. He’d found his contact. The man was around Felix’s height but a little broader, held himself with the confidence of a warrior and the preparedness of someone who didn’t see parties as remotely safe– yet he’d shown a flagrant disregard for the dress code by wearing a shirt that was half made of sheer material, teasing glimpses of a bare chest beneath. There was some facial hair barely peeking out under his vulpine mask, and quirk of his mouth that was only meant to resemble a smile.
Sylvain made sure the contact had clocked his own identifier – Sylvain’s gold lipstick, to go with the code phrase to identify himself – before lowering his voice to an appropriate level. “What should I call you?”
“Fox’ll do.”
“Fair enough. Guess I’ll be the harmless little sheep, then.”
Fox snorted, and drained the rest of his drink before handing it off to a waiter and reaching his hand out to Sylvain. “Nice try, Wolf. Shall we dance?”
— x —
Sylvain wanted to lead the dance, but Fox had other ideas, deliberately moving Sylvain’s hands for him to reposition. It was smooth but firm, enough that he didn’t try to reverse it again– if Fox wanted to take the lead in something that didn’t matter, he could play right along as he took the lead in what did.
He moved his feet along to the music and kept himself close to the stranger, intimately close, their legs brushing together in a mimicry of soon-to-be lovers (to his credit, Fox played along, though he never got a centimeter closer than Sylvain had already pushed).
“Let’s get right to business, shall we?” Sylvain’s voice was low so they had to lean in to hear each other, insurance against any wandering ears nearby– this wasn’t the sort of talk that needed to be getting around. “I’m here to make sure the future of the Kingdom goes in a direction that works for everyone.”
Fox tucked away a smile. “And you’re planning to give me a hand in that direction?”
“Don’t get too excited. Maybe you can do some nudging, but I’m not letting you take more control than you need.”
He didn’t like that answer, though if it weren’t for the slight tension in the fingers at Sylvain’s waist, he might not have guessed it. Fox tilted his head a bit before answering, “That’s a pretty bold stance. I can’t help you if you don’t help me, and limiting my control is no way to help me.”
Sylvain shrugged, unbothered. “No one person gets to decide the fate of Fódlan. Not even in that shadowy underground of yours.”
Another pause, but Fox hid it again by spinning Sylvain in their dance. “What about a handful of people?”
“Maybe so. Guess we’ll find out. I’ve got terms, and if you can’t agree to them, you can try this scheme without me.”
Fox smirked at him. “Go ahead. If you aren’t worth it, I’ll be better off without you.”
It was tit for tat, they were just peacocking for each other, proving they weren’t afraid, but it was a necessary display. Sylvain was expecting to speak to someone from Abyss, and he knew how Abyss worked; if he let a pecking order get established, he’d already lost. “It’s easy enough: Obviously the Kingdom’s well-being is important, or we wouldn’t be talking. But significantly disadvantaging the Alliance isn’t an option either.”
Fox whistled with clear amusement. “Easy, to add a whole separate nation in? You’re funny.”
“Take it or leave it.”
“How about a question? Why the Alliance, but not the Empire? Is it peace you’re after, or something else?”
Now that was a difficult question to navigate. Sylvain hummed, running a sensual hand down Fox’s side as a teasing distraction while he thought about it. “Ideally, sure,” he leaned closer, his leg slotted between Fox’s as the dance slowed, “peace is great. But the Alliance has someone who’s important to.. the future of Fódlan. We can’t do anything without them.” If Fox noticed the hesitation before Sylvain described the person he was thinking of, he didn’t show it. Maybe the distraction was working, even if it did have Sylvain thinking about that other person quite a lot.
“Let me guess,” Fox quipped, “Goneril?”
Sylvain grinned, “Not quite. But you’re not getting another word out of me until I hear an agreement.”
Fox’s hand slid to the small of his back, as if he could use Sylvain’s tricks against him. “I promise to keep the Alliance’s well-being at the forefront of my mind.”
— x —
Fox ended the dance by nudging them away from the crowd, and now that he had his promise, Sylvain wasn’t inclined to argue. The hand stayed on his back, and he wasn’t sure if it was to guide him or to make sure he didn’t try anything dangerous as soon as they were alone. Joke was on Fox– Sylvain hadn’t brought any weapons, but he did have magic if he wanted to cause problems.
The mansion they were visiting had a sprawling garden to wander, and they weren’t the only duo out that night (though likely the only ones talking about the future of two countries, rather than that night’s sleeping arrangements). Sylvain kept his eyes peeled, but Fox appropriately kept their meandering walk to well-lit areas.
“So if this guy is so vital,” Fox finally asked (had Sylvain said it was a guy?), “if he’s got the whole continent in his hands– why not work with him directly?”
“I… don’t wanna tell you that,” Sylvain admitted flatly.
“Oh come on, it’s important! If I might be working with him, I need to know what roadblocks you’re facing.”
Sylvain let out a long sigh, weighing how much he could tell this person. If Fox was really one of Yuri’s people, he was right: He needed to know the problems Sylvain was having, and why he couldn’t do this above-board, issues with Gautier succession aside. That said… “Honestly, it’s..” The urge to ruffle his hair to release tension was outdone by the hood firmly secured to his head, so he dropped his hand and just grimaced. “I’ve kinda been putting the moves on him. Pretty hard. And it’s not going well.” Fox was already sporting a grin of amusement, but he had to finish. “Just– listen. If I approach him now about the future of all of Fódlan…”
“Ha. You think it’ll come off like a last ditch effort?”
“Kinda?”
“You’re right, that would be a pretty pathetic move,” Fox laughed.
“Well it’s not the move I’m making!”
The tense air had come totally unraveled, and Fox’s hand had left his back to gesture freely, waving off Sylvain’s huffiness. “Alright, Wolf, no need to get bitey,” he teased, and Sylvain could hear the wink in his tone. “You sure he’s not just shy? Or maybe your lines suck.”
“I’m not using lines,” it wasn’t the best rabbit hole to go down, but Sylvain couldn’t help himself– he hadn’t been able to talk to anyone about his little crush for months, and maybe a stranger at an anonymous party was exactly the right outlet.
“You sure? With how handsy you were getting on the dancefloor,” Fox mimed their dance with his hands noticeably ass-height, “you strike me as exactly the kinda guy to use lines.”
Sylvain laughed through his protest, “My hands were not that low! I’m sorry if my expert dancing inspired certain feelings in you, but for the record, I only use lines on people I’m not interested in. I’m genuinely flirting with him! Compliments, making sure everyone listens when he talks, meaningful glances, all the important stuff.”
Fox gave a questioning hum that said he didn’t believe Sylvain one bit, but his next smile lacked any of the wicked edge shown so far. They’d made their way back up to the balcony surrounding the house, and Fox leaned against the railing, clearly in no rush to go back inside. “Well… maybe he’s been flirting back, and you’re the oblivious one.”
Sylvain sighed, and leaned next to him. “Not a chance. He’s basically all I think about now, I’m getting genuinely bad at my job as a result.” And that was no exaggeration– meetings that happened to include Claude took up all of Sylvain’s capacity, and he’d caught himself more than once favoring plans that made Claude happy over ones that achieved the Kingdom’s goals directly. Seeing the well-hidden relief on his face when something finally went right, when there wasn’t opposition when he’d expected it…
Sylvain’s thoughts were interrupted by a quiet, “I dunno,” from Fox, and then the feeling of his hand on Sylvain’s cheek, pulling his attention down towards him. “I think you’re doing pretty great.”
And suddenly, the familiarity of that smile, how it drew him in and made spilling his guts just a little easier, clicked.
“Ah, shit,” Sylvain said under his breath. “I just made a huge fool of myself, huh?”
Claude laughed under his fox mask, and shrugged. “Little bit, yeah. But I mean, not as much as you have been for months. Sylvain, I sent you flowers.”
Sylvain threw his hands up, trying to compensate for how his cheeks burned. “They were addressed to ‘the margrave,’ that’s the least sexy note I’ve ever gotten!”
“Oh I’m sorry, should I have drawn us making out on the back?”
“Wouldn’t have hurt!” He fell into exasperated laughter, reevaluating the night through new eyes and quickly deciding that wasn’t worth the bruising to his ego.
Claude grinned, and said, “Now that your secret is out, lemme grab us some snacks and we can actually talk business.”
Sylvain waved him off, and true to his word, Claude disappeared and returned with a plate of fruits, leading them into a darker corner of the balcony for even more privacy. Now that they knew each other’s identities, at least Sylvain’s concern about knives in the shadows was gone. They resettled, body language changing from casual to comfortable, and before he started in on the serious talk, Claude held up a chocolate-covered strawberry.
“Want a bite?”
Sylvain smiled, and leaned in to accept the flirt, glad that his mask didn’t get in the way of Claude feeding him. Again, he had to thank their host– the food was exquisite, and he licked his lips with a pleased hum. “Thanks. So do you work with Abyssians often?”
“This’d be the first time. Not that I don’t trust them to be good at what they do… I just don’t know where the Alliance figures into the big picture for them.”
Sylvain nodded. “That was a concern for me, too. Yuri’s got a soft spot for the Kingdom, but a soft spot is about as far as his loyalty goes above-ground.”
He couldn’t see Claude’s expression behind the fox mask, but the tilt of his head read as surprise. “So this is a Yuri operation.”
“Oh, it’s gotta be.” He slid the plate over towards himself and picked out a few blueberries. “Catch.” Claude smiled before dutifully opening his mouth. Sylvain tossed the first fruit (total miss) and the second (bounced off the side of Claude’s mask) before he had to pause as Claude started laughing.
“I thought you were aiming for my mouth.”
Sylvain huffed. “I’m wearing a mask! It’s hard to aim!”
“Suuure. Keep it up, you’ll get there.”
They had blueberries to spare, so Sylvain did just that, tossing another to purposefully smack harmlessly against Claude’s fox-forehead instead. “Anyway, I was serious about the Alliance thing. I don’t know your plans for the Kingdom, but between us and Yuri I think we can figure something out that works for everyone.” One more toss, and Claude caught it neatly, politely clapping while Sylvain celebrated with a fist-pump and a quiet, “yes!”
Claude tossed a few berries into the air himself, catching them all easily (showoff), and finally nodded. “It’s good to hear. I didn’t want to cut the Kingdom out of my plans, though I’d have been just as happy to pull Gautier over to the Alliance if I had to.” It was less-than-ideal news for the Kingdom as a whole, but that it was just a theoretical allowed Sylvain’s heart to flutter shamelessly.
“We’ll have to save the bigger plans for when we get our hands on Abyss for real, but I’m excited to get started on crafting the future.”
Claude’s hand found his, fingers laced together. “You’re so right. I would love to bring you back to my room to… talk politics.” Claude’s smile was harmless, but Sylvain could hear the wink in his voice.
He laughed lightly, accepting Claude’s hand without a second thought. “I bet you say that to all the boys.”
“Only the ones in sheep’s clothing.” He pulled Sylvain down for a kiss, but teasingly nipped his lip instead, and at that point Sylvain would have followed him off a cliff. Instead, Claude drew them towards the guest rooms.
As they went, Sylvain spotted a flash of purple under one of the hoods in the sea of black, and whipped his head around to see Yuri: maskless, and wearing gold lipstick. Yuri winked, waved to show the ring around his middle finger as well, and disappeared into the crowd before Sylvain could say anything.
He felt Claude squeeze his hand lightly before asking, “You see something?”
Hmm. “Nah, it’s nothing.” That was a problem for tomorrow morning Sylvain.