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“Checkmate,” Sylvain said smugly, leaning back into his chair with an almost palpable swagger. Hubert stared in horror at the chessboard, trying to figure out what had just happened. “Best two of three?”
A muscle in Hubert’s jaw twitched. “I have work to do,” he said icily as he rose and glided out of the room.
It had started when von Riegan had canceled their weekly chess game and suggested Hubert invite Sylvain instead. (It was beyond foolish for the future Duke to play chess with the spymaster of an enemy territory, but Hubert had flattered the man’s ego to get him to agree to the initial match and provided a steady drip of plausible misinformation during their games that was just enough for von Riegan to feel that he was the one taking advantage of the situation.) He had low expectations of a quality match from the red-haired buffoon, but Sylvain’s close relationship with the Prince posed several interesting avenues for manipulation, so he had agreed and extended the invitation.
The first match was exactly what he’d expected. Sylvain moved his pieces around casually with no forethought, pursuing the easiest possible target on every move and falling into every one of Hubert’s traps. He supplied little in the way of useful information, either, telling inane stories about the poor quality of the food and the excellent physical qualities of the cooks in Fhirdiad. Sylvain was shocked when he lost and good-naturedly demanded a rematch, to which Hubert reluctantly agreed, this time focusing on more targeted questions to try to salvage some useful piece of information from the miserable evening.
The second match got off to a similar start. Sylvain had learned somewhat from the last game and didn’t lose quite so many pieces in the opening moves, but was still moving his pieces around almost randomly as he complained about how His Highness needed to loosen up a bit and get laid. This seemed like a more promising avenue of conversation, so Hubert was focused on how to get Sylvain to expound on the subject as he sprung his trap and captured one of the enemy pawns. Then Sylvain pounced. He closed in on Hubert from all sides, covering every possible defense he could mount. Hubert realized that he’d overextended himself badly while he focused on their conversation, but it was far too late to salvage. Sylvain checkmated him without losing another piece.
The infuriating thing was that strategy never would have worked if it had been the first game they’d played. Only Sylvain’s sloppy first game, coupled with his idiotic ramblings to make Hubert underestimate him, lowered Hubert’s guard enough to make him vulnerable to such an attack. The whole evening had been one long gambit. From this, Hubert could deduce three things.
- Sylvain Gautier was much, much more intelligent than he let on.
- The only reason to hide one’s intelligence like that was to commit nefarious acts.
- The target of those acts was Lady Edelgard.
Admittedly the third point was not yet grounded in evidence, but as Her Majesty’s loyal servant it was his duty to anticipate and prevent any threats against her person. He opened his notebook and began writing down what he knew of Sylvain’s schedule in coded shorthand to plan his surveillance strategy.
Hubert quickly established that Gautier wasn’t working alone. He was constantly sneaking around with the Fraldarius heir—ducking away after class, going to each other’s rooms late at night, even lying to their friends. On more than one occasion, he’d told Ingrid that he was going to go spar with Felix, then had met with Felix in his room rather than the training grounds. Honestly, their ruses were so transparent it was like they didn’t even expect anyone to be conducting surveillance on them. Still, bungling assassins had succeeded before despite themselves, and he vowed that they would never hurt a hair on Lady Edelgard’s magnificent head while he drew breath.
He’d been biding his time and gathering evidence before letting Lady Edelgard know of the plot against her, as she had appeared irritated of late the past several times he’d given her early warning about potential threats against her person, but he could wait no longer once they started escalating the plan.
He rapped sharply against Her Majesty’s door and heard a whisper inside. He burst into action, trying the locked door—surely they hadn’t struck so soon, he’d just left them in the training grounds—and was just about to launch a spell at the door when he heard Lady Edelgard’s exasperated voice say, “One moment, Hubert.”
Several moments later, he heard the lock click and a slightly flushed and disheveled Edelgard opened the door to greet him. Behind her, Dorothea scowled at him from Edelgard’s bed. He scowled back.
“This had better be important,” Edelgard said brusquely.
“It is of the utmost importance,” Hubert replied gravely. “It concerns an imminent threat to your life.”
Edelgard looked apologetically back to Dorothea, sighed, then opened the door wide. “Come in, then.” She took a seat next to Dorothea on the bed—incredibly disrespectful to make Her Majesty share her own bed, he’d have to address that with the singer later—while Hubert stood by the door.
He took a closer look at Edelgard, then frowned, though it was a concerned one rather than the disdainful glowers everyone else received. “Your Majesty, are you well? You’re breathing heavily and look rather flushed, should I get Manuela?”
“Imminent threat, you said?” she asked, too loudly for the small space.
Very well; he would respect her wishes if she was determined to deflect his concern, but he would make sure to pay extra attention to her health over the next few days. “Indeed. I’ve obtained evidence that the Kingdom is plotting your assassination.”
Edelgard stiffened. “Are you sure?” she asked sharply. “What evidence do you have?”
“I’m certain, my lady. It came to my attention that Gautier has been concealing his true intelligence with nefarious purposes. I began to investigate—”
“Is this about him beating you at chess?” Dorothea interrupted rudely.
“Of course not,” he snapped, though his cheeks would have tinged pink with embarrassment had he not possessed perfect control over his autonomic nervous system. He’d certainly hoped that Lady Edelgard would not hear of that catastrophe, though if Dorothea knew, Her Majesty likely did as well. They’d been spending far too much time together recently for his liking, and Dorothea loved to gossip; he made a mental note to put a tail on her to ensure she wasn’t running around spilling state secrets to anyone who would listen. “As I was saying—” he glared at Dorothea—“my investigation revealed that Gautier and Fraldarius are secretly plotting an assassination attempt against you, Your Majesty.”
Edelgard and Dorothea turned to each other and shared a look; Dorothea tried to muffle her giggles with her hand, while Edelgard struggled to keep a straight face. “Is that so? What, ah, what evidence do you have?”
Her Majesty was rarely so dismissive of threats against her life, and it was disturbing to see her act so now. Dorothea really was a bad influence. He would allow Her Majesty to make her own choices, but he would step in if necessary, as always. “Fraldarius and Gautier have been spending excessive amounts of time together in secret, even lying to their friends to conceal their whereabouts. I’ve witnessed Gautier passing notes to Fraldarius. Fraldarius always looks around to ensure nobody else saw, makes a strange expression when he reads it, then burns them afterward. I’ve yet to recover any legible fragments from the ashes, but I will have hard proof of the assassination attempt as soon as I do.”
“Hubie—” Dorothea interrupted again, but he continued as though she hadn’t spoken.
“Most damningly, I witnessed Gautier buying a rare Albinean dagger from Anna this morning. He concealed it under his cloak after purchasing it. They appear to be planning to pass the attack off as an international political assassination, likely with the aim of starting a war between Albinea and Adrestia so Faerghus can take advantage of the political turmoil to stage a coup.”
Edelgard pinched the bridge of her nose like she had a migraine. He would have to restock his complement of healing herbs from the greenhouse to be prepared for any of Her Majesty’s needs. “Hubert, I really don’t think that’s what’s going on with those two.”
Dorothea, on the other hand, lit up like she’d had a revelation. “Why don’t you go talk to Ferdie about your suspicions?”
Hubert was about to scoff at the absurdity of the idea, but Edelgard spoke first. “Good idea, Dorothea. I hope it may be an… enlightening… conversation for both of you.”
“Very well,” Hubert said stiffly, then exited the room. Ferdinand. It was a ridiculous idea. The man was impossibly loud and self-centered; espionage was hardly his forte. Nevertheless, he would follow Her Majesty’s instructions.
Hubert rapped on Ferdinand’s door, then entered swiftly without waiting for a response. “Ferdinand,” he said coolly.
Ferdinand’s face lit up in that irritating smile he always wore. “Hubert!” he said cheerfully, then looked down in horror. He was in bed, reading an incredibly dry-looking treatise on agricultural surveying. Correction—he was shirtless in bed. He immediately blushed and tried to cover himself with the book, a losing proposition given his excessively broad chest no matter how thick the book was.
Hubert turned to face away from him, for some reason feeling heat rising in his cheeks as well. “Put on some clothes,” he hissed. “Threats to Lady Edelgard’s life will not wait for you to finish wantonly lounging around like a common whore.”
“You have my apologies,” Ferdinand said distractedly as he hurriedly pulled a shirt over his head. “Actually, no you don’t. You came into my room without knocking! What I wear to sleep in my own room hardly counts as wanton—wait, a threat against Edelgard?”
Hubert spun around and his breath briefly caught in his throat. Ferdinand was standing close to him with pink cheeks, mussed-up hair, and his shirt askew so that it revealed one of his collarbones and nearly hung off his shoulder. It was indecent and distracting; yet another reason he despised the man. He cleared his throat, gathered his thoughts, and began the briefing. “I see you are capable of listening after all. Yes, I am investigating an assassination plot.” Ferdinand gasped softly, dismay clear on his face. Hubert rolled his eyes; Ferdinand was hopeless with the way he wore his heart on his sleeve. He was sure to be more of a liability than an asset in this investigation. Yet Her Majesty’s orders had been clear, so he continued. “I’ve uncovered evidence that Fraldarius and Gautier are plotting to assassinate Lady Edelgard.”
Ferdinand frowned at that. “Hubert, are you sure? That seems rather unlikely, wouldn’t you think?”
“I was surprised myself, but the evidence is incontrovertible. For reasons that are beyond me, Lady Edelgard has insisted I involve you in the investigation. I obviously can’t trust you with any covert duties, given your…” He looked Ferdinand up and down disdainfully. “You. Nonetheless, I will abide by her wishes and keep you updated on my findings.”
Ferdinand bristled. “I’m perfectly capable of subterfuge if—”
“No, you aren’t. You’re the center of everyone’s attention whenever you’re in the room. People can’t stop looking at you. You are utterly unsuited for this kind of work.” Ferdinand blushed slightly again, which was odd. Perhaps he had a fetish for being insulted. Hubert made a mental note to add this to his index of blackmail topics later.
“Fine,” the red-haired man said, slightly flustered. He sat back down on his bed and gestured for Hubert to take the desk chair. “What evidence do you have so far?”
“Item one: Gautier has been concealing his intelligence so he will not be suspected of being the mastermind of this plot.”
Ferdinand’s brow furrowed and he leaned forward to place a comforting hand on Hubert’s knee. “Hubert, is this about—"
Hubert immediately jerked back, but his knee still burned with the memory of Ferdinand’s touch. “This is not about chess,” he hissed. Did everyone in this blasted school know about his humiliation at the hands of the Gautier imbecile?
Ferdinand lifted his hands apologetically. “Please, continue.”
“Item two: Fraldarius and Gautier have been spending time together in secret recently, even concealing their whereabouts from their classmates.” Ferdinand nodded seriously and Hubert continued. “Item three: Gautier has been passing Fraldarius notes that Fraldarius destroys immediately after reading, clearly instructions for the assassination plot. Finally, item four: Gautier purchased an Albinean dagger at the market this morning and attempted to hide evidence of the purchase.”
Ferdinand frowned as he processed the information, then looked back up to Hubert. “That certainly is troubling. However, I cannot help but wonder if there’s an innocent explanation for all this. If Felix and Sylvain have been spending a lot of time together of late, is it possible that Sylvain purchased the dagger for Felix?”
Hubert scoffed. “Obviously. If one of them is going to wield a blade against Her Majesty, it will of course be Fraldarius. Gautier is completely incompetent with edged weapons.” Though, upon reflection, he should perhaps question that assessment as well. He would not allow that philandering fool to catch him off guard again.
“That’s not what I meant—” Ferdinand sighed, defeated. “Very well. I will assist you in this investigation. I’m still not entirely convinced of the threat, but I would be a terrible Prime Minister if I ignored a potential threat against Edelgard’s life.”
“You’re not the Prime Minister,” Hubert replied dryly.
“I’m not the Prime Minister yet ,” Ferdinand corrected him. “But I must act in a way befitting my future duties, or I would not be Ferdinand von Aegir!” Hubert sighed.
Schemes were afoot. Fortunately for Hubert, Ferdinand was a creature of routine, so he went straight to the stable to update the red-haired nuisance on the latest developments. True to form, Ferdinand had just returned from a trail ride with Marianne and Leonie. Hubert marched up to him, grabbed his elbow in a punishing grip, and said, “My room. Now.”
Ferdinand inexplicably blushed deeply and started sputtering, which was only made worse by Leonie’s wolf whistle. Hubert glared at her, but she just gave him a cheeky wink. She was one of the few students who wasn’t afraid of him. Perhaps a light poisoning was in order.
“Hubert, I can’t simply leave, I have to untack Beauregard and—”
Hubert switched his glare to Marianne, who ducked her head to avoid his gaze but gave a tiny nod. “There. Marianne will take care of it. Now come.” He started off towards the dormitories, dragging an apologizing Ferdinand behind him.
When he finally released Ferdinand in the safety of Hubert’s room, Ferdinand smacked him lightly on the arm before rubbing his elbow. “What on earth was that about, Hubert? It had better be something incredibly important to justify how rude you were to Marianne.”
Hubert ground his teeth. Questioning the importance of his actions had apparently become quite the popular pastime lately, as though his every action weren’t calculated to maximize the best possible use of his time in protecting Lady Edelgard. “Silence. The plot has evolved. They are now planning to use poison to target Her Highness.”
Ferdinand paled. “Are you certain? That seems quite underhanded, but I suppose it would be harder to trace to the source. What have you uncovered?”
“Fraldarius purchased bergamot tea at the market this morning.”
A beat of silence. “That’s it?” Ferdinand asked doubtfully.
“Fraldarius hates bergamot tea, but it is one of Lady Edelgard’s favorites. What other reason could he have for purchasing it?”
“Well, I believe bergamot is one of Sylvain’s favorites as well. Is it possible that it was a gift for Sylvain?”
“Nonsense. Why would someone purchase a beverage they detest as a gift?”
“I seem to recall one occasion where we exchanged beverages we detest,” Ferdinand said with a smile.
Hubert grimaced. That whole incident was deeply embarrassing, and he wished Ferdinand would stop bringing it up so often. “I questioned Anna afterwards, and Fraldarius has never purchased bergamot tea before. They have been friends for a long time; there’s no reason for Fraldarius to suddenly start purchasing Gautier gifts now.”
“I suppose so,” Ferdinand said, frowning in concentration. “Still, it’s just tea. What of the poison?”
“Ah, the poison.” Hubert smiled wickedly. “From the market, I followed Fraldarius to the greenhouse where I observed him enter furtively, then leave moments later concealing something under his cloak. Upon investigation of the greenhouse, I noticed that several hydrangea stems had been freshly cut from the plant. Even a child knows that cyanide can be distilled from hydrangeas.” Ferdinand gave him a look that fell somewhere between baffled and concerned, which he ignored. “I’ve used those plants for the same purpose myself several times, though I had the common sense to take flowers from the back of the bush.” Ferdinand’s look was just concerned now.
“Well—” Ferdinand cleared his throat uncomfortably. “That is, ah, alarming. But could the flowers not also be a gift? That is a traditional use of them, I’ve heard.” He flashed that ridiculous smile at his own jest.
“Are you seriously suggesting that Felix Fraldarius gave flowers to someone?” asked Hubert, incredulity dripping from his tone.
Ferdinand’s face fell. “I suppose not. My apologies, perhaps you are onto something after all.”
“Of course I am,” Hubert snarled. “Meet me back here after dinner. We will warn Her Majesty at that time.” Ferdinand turned to leave at the dismissal, but Hubert remembered he had one item of unfinished business. “Wait.” He picked up a slim vase containing a single, perfect sunflower and shoved it roughly at Ferdinand.
Ferdinand looked at it and then up to meet Hubert’s gaze. His expression was soft with surprise and delight. “For me?”
“It’s nothing. I grabbed it in the greenhouse because it reminded me of you.” Ferdinand gave a dazzling smile. “Obnoxiously cheerful,” Hubert clarified.
Despite the insult, Ferdinand’s smile grew. “I shall treasure this, Hubert. Thank you very much.” He started to turn towards the door, then paused and joked, “This one doesn’t have cyanide in it, does it?”
Hubert snorted. “Hardly. The worst one can do with a sunflower is extract a tincture that causes unbearable itching.”
“Oh. Well. That’s good.” Ferdinand left, holding the vase a bit further away from his body than before.
Hubert and Ferdinand stood in Edelgard’s room, providing an update on their efforts in recent days. Hubert finished detailing the results of his surveillance, then waited in anticipation for Edelgard’s response.
It wasn’t what he expected. She put a hand to her head as though it were paining her and muttered something that sounded like, “I’m surrounded by idiots.” He could relate to the feeling, particularly with both Ferdinand and Arnault in the room, but he would have preferred Lady Edelgard were a bit more concerned with her own well-being. She was fortunate he was so vigilant.
“Never fear, my lady. I will take care of the problem.”
“NO!” Edelgard and Dorothea shouted in unison. Edelgard cleared her throat and composed herself before continuing. “No. They are Kingdom nobility, we cannot act rashly or we risk causing an international incident. Swear to me that you will not take any actions against them without my express permission.”
“But Lady Edelgard—”
“ Swear , Hubert.”
“… Very well. I give you my word.” Her Majesty had rarely asked him to swear to follow her orders before, and he would not break that trust. He just had to be extra vigilant on her behalf. “But please, my lady, do not drink any tea that is offered by those two. Actually, don’t drink any tea that is not prepared right in front of you. Perhaps it is best if you avoid any tea that I haven’t personally—”
“Yes, yes,” Edelgard said as she shooed him and Ferdinand from her room. “No tea, understood.”
“And keep working with Ferdie!” Dorothea sang from inside the room as the door slammed shut behind them.
Hubert and Ferdinand shared a look outside the closed door. “That went rather more poorly than I’d hoped,” Hubert said glumly, casting his eyes down to the floor.
Ferdinand grabbed his hand, causing him to look up in alarm. He was about to rebuke Ferdinand for taking such casual liberties, but the warm expression on Ferdinand’s face stayed his words. “Don’t worry, Hubert. We’ll keep working on it, and we’ll find the proof you need. Come, let’s plan our next steps.” For some unfathomable reason, Hubert allowed Ferdinand to lead him by the hand back to Ferdinand’s room to strategize.
Ferdinand, finally, was making a useful contribution to their joint venture. He’d cleared the way for Hubert to search Sylvain’s room by requesting the assistance of his fellow loud, obnoxious, ginger-haired horse boy with the heavily pregnant mare in the stables. The ruse worked better than he’d hoped; when he walked by to verify that Ferdinand had not fumbled the simple task given to him, there was a huge commotion around the horse’s stall with two redheads in the center of it all. A stroke of luck, as Ferdinand had insisted that he not dose the horse with herbs to start its labor early and ensure he would have adequate time for his search.
Infiltrating the room was a trivial task, as Sylvain had neglected to put even the most basic of supplementary locks on his door, but Hubert faced a dilemma upon entry. He could not detect the slightest trace of a trap or security device, not even a carefully-placed hair to alert the owner if a drawer was opened. Surely a man as intelligent as Gautier who was planning such a nefarious deed would take some precautions–-the easily-bypassed door had to be a ruse to lure any investigators into a false sense of security. (He was truthfully concerned that he’d fallen prey to that very trap, but could detect no sign of security measures around the door either.) Fuming with rage but unwilling to be bested by that idiot again, Hubert reluctantly limited himself to what he could glean from a visual inspection.
Little of value could be determined from the cursory search, with one notable exception. The bergamot tea that Felix had purchased sat on a side table, next to a teapot and a vase of hydrangeas. For a moment Hubert almost wondered if Ferdinand’s absurd idea that it was a gift could be correct, before realizing the obvious explanation. Obviously Gautier would be the one to prepare the poison–-Fraldarius’s interests began and ended with swords, and he certainly didn’t possess the alchemical skill to turn flowers into deadly cyanide. As far as hiding them in plain sight, it was, Hubert begrudgingly admitted, another stroke of genius. Bergamot tea and hydrangeas, carefully hidden where the owner clearly didn’t want them to be found, were suspicious. Bergamot tea and hydrangeas on a tea tray were as innocent as could be. If Hubert hadn’t already known of their plot, he wouldn’t have thought twice about their presence.
Hubert’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. There could be more to Sylvain’s actions. The scarcely-locked door, the instruments of murder left out in the open; Gautier was toying with him, he realized. Perhaps his red-haired nemesis had started the chess rematch without his knowing. He would seize control of the game, he vowed as he swept out of the room with a swirl of black cloaks and rage.
“I’m not questioning your intelligence, Hubert, I merely think you’re being a bit paranoid!” One unforeseen consequence of his distraction was that Ferdinand’s resolve towards the Gautier boy softened after they rescued a horse together. His orange-haired nuisance was pacing around his room, talking expressively as Hubert ignored him and worked on the security of his room. If Sylvain’s traps were undetectable to the naked eye, his had to be superior. “We spent hours helping Vivienne foal today. That hardly seems like how an assassin would spend their free afternoon. Incidentally, have I told you how lovely the foal is yet? He’ll grow up to be a fine horse. I admit I’m rather struggling to name the dear thing. I was thinking perhaps Atticus. What do you think–”
“No horse talk,” Hubert growled. It was one of the ground rules they’d set at the start of the year, once they’d begrudgingly accepted the necessity of them coexisting civilly for the good of the Empire. Ferdinand was not allowed more than one sentence at a time about horses, and Hubert tried to refrain from poisoning people in Ferdinand’s presence. They both found the limitations imposed on them ludicrous, though Lady Edelgard insisted that was the sign of a good compromise.
“My apologies, it’s just exhilarating to experience–-ahem.” Ferdinand swallowed his monologue at Hubert’s glare. “As I was saying, perhaps we have been overly quick to read ill intent in their actions. After spending several hours with Sylvain today, he appears to be a perfectly good and noble man.”
Hubert looked up from the spring-loaded blade he was concealing in one of his desk drawers with a scowl. “And how, pray tell, do you explain the weapons? Or the poison? Or the fact that they’re concealing their activities from others?”
“There are other explanations than plotting an assassination, Hubert. One could even say that we are behaving similarly! We are certainly spending more time together of late, and often do so covertly. By your logic, we are plotting to make someone very itchy.”
Hubert raised an incredulous eyebrow and stared disdainfully at Ferdinand. “So, you propose that they are spending time together to thwart another assassination plot? How many assassination plots do you believe are in progress?”
“Perhaps they simply enjoy spending time together. Has that ever crossed your mind? Or are you incapable of conceiving that people could get pleasure from someone else’s company?” Ferdinand looked annoyed with him. It was frankly surprising they’d managed to work together for this long without Ferdinand getting unreasonably agitated about something.
“Maybe it would be easier to conceive if I were in company that was at all pleasurable,” Hubert hissed.
A brief flash of hurt crossed Ferdinand’s features. “I shan’t continue to torture you, then.” He turned abruptly on his heel and left. Irritatingly, the look of hurt on Ferdinand’s face stayed with Hubert, even as he rigged a guillotine over his window.
After sleep eluded him for several hours, Hubert made an espresso and took it to the shadows at the end of the dormitory hallway to conduct surveillance. His efforts were quickly rewarded when he heard whispers and faint sounds of motion emanating from Sylvain’s room. He crept closer and placed an ear to the door. It was too faint to make out the words, but he heard Felix’s voice in addition to Sylvain’s.
He debated taking advantage of the opportunity to search Felix’s room, but without knowing the purpose of their late-night rendezvous, the risk was too great that it would end shortly and Hubert would be discovered. Instead, he retreated to the shadows and listened intently, trying to make out what was transpiring behind the closed door.
A physical struggle appeared to be taking place, based on the sound of movement inside the room and the slaps, whispers, and gasps he faintly heard. It soon escalated and he could hear the bed frame begin banging against the wall. His initial thought was that a fight had broken out between the men, which would have been excellent news; there were few better opportunities available to turn an enemy than discord in their ranks. The sounds were wrong for that, however; the banging was too rhythmic and their voices were taut with desperation, but not rage. A spar, then. One Sylvain seemed to be winning, if Felix’s muffled cries were any indication.
The winner was irrelevant. The question was why, and the answer was clear. Though he did not know how, Sylvain had realized that he was aware of the poisoning plot. He should have seen it earlier: the scarcely-locked door, the evidence laid out in plain sight. The game had been advanced, a new strategy adopted. It appeared that they were now plotting an attack directly against Her Majesty’s person. A new defense was required.
Hubert stole down the hallway, unlocked the door to Ferdinand’s room, and slipped inside. (He’d made a copy of the man’s key as soon as he realized that Lady Edelgard had inexplicably decided to put her trust into the competitive fool. The flimsy dormitory locks were hardly an impediment, but streamlining his surveillance routine allowed additional time for additional plotting.) He froze as he saw Ferdinand’s form sprawled shirtless on the bed, showing off those absurd muscles of his. Moonlight streamed in through the window and gleamed silver off his figure. He looked like one of the marble statues decorating Enbarr’s gardens. Ridiculous, Hubert scoffed.
“Ferdinand.” He spoke in a low voice to conceal his presence from anyone listening outside the door. The other man didn’t wake, just frowned slightly in his sleep. Hubert scowled, then brought his face down within inches of Ferdinand’s, unwilling to raise his volume. “Wake up," he hissed.
Ferdinand’s warm amber eyes fluttered open and, for one brief second, he smiled up at Hubert. Damn the Saints, did the man even wake up smiling? Hubert didn’t understand how one person could contain that much positivity without exploding from the inanity of it all. Then Ferdinand’s expression fell into a frown, and Hubert remembered the ridiculous feelings he’d expressed earlier.
“What do you want, Hubert?” Ferdinand whispered harshly. At least he had the common sense to keep his voice down. “I suppose it’s something important, given how much you evidently loathe my presence.”
Hubert scowled down at him. “This is not the time for your ridiculous insecurities. The threat may be imminent.”
To his credit, Ferdinand set his foolish emotions aside and blinked the sleep from his eyes, face focused and battle-ready as his eyes reopened. “What happened?”
Hubert explained his findings and Ferdinand nodded seriously along, frown deepening through his report. “What do you propose?” he asked once Hubert finished.
Hubert let out a breath and his shoulders slumped slightly. “There is little we can do. Lady Edelgard made me swear to take no action against them. I’m unaccustomed to being so helpless when it comes to matters of her well-being.”
“You’re not helpless,” Ferdinand said firmly. “I know you, you’re never helpless. If you can’t prevent them from taking action, surely you can at least be ready if they do.”
Hubert looked up and his breath, irritatingly, caught in his chest as his eyes met Ferdinand’s. They were so close, and something in the moonlight made them feel even closer. Before he could think better of it (though that was a poor excuse, as he never acted without thinking), he said, “I may require your help. I have not slept yet tonight and may not be able to maintain an appropriate level of vigilance all night.”
Ferdinand bristled next to him. “Surely, there’s someone available who’s less distasteful to you.”
He scowled deeply. Apologizing was against his very nature, but in this instance, Her Majesty’s welfare was at stake. Not to mention how inexplicably distracting this latest rift with Ferdinand was. For the good of the Empire, he muttered, “That statement was… inaccurate.”
Ferdinand raised an eyebrow at him. “Why Hubert, if I didn’t know you better, I would almost think that was an apology.”
“Take it as you will,” Hubert spat as he stood to leave. “Will you assist me or not?”
“Only because you apologized so nicely,” Ferdinand said with an incredibly obnoxious grin.
Hubert momentarily shut his eyes tighter at the bright light and shifted uncomfortably against the wall at his back, before his eyes flew open as he remembered the prior evening. Lady Edelgard. The plot. He was about to bolt up in what would have been called a panic in lesser men, when he heard her laugh through the wall of his room. She was, naturally, with Dorothea, but sounded happy and safe. He relaxed and finally took stock of his own surroundings.
He was sitting on his bed, back against the wall, having shamefully fallen asleep while on surveillance the previous night. And on his shoulder, illuminating the room with a blinding copper glow, was a head of brilliant orange hair. Ferdinand. The man was fast asleep, even leaving a spot of drool on his shoulder, but he somehow couldn’t bring himself to be angry with the man. After all, Hubert had failed their surveillance task too, even though they’d stayed up late into the night talking about anything they could think of to stay awake. At some point, it seemed like he’d even been more focused on Ferdinand than on their mission, which should be enough to make him despise the man, but somehow he couldn’t.
Ferdinand frowned slightly in his sleep as Hubert’s shoulder moved underneath him. Hubert instinctively stilled and reached a gentle hand out to brush a loose strand of Ferdinand’s hair out of his face. The crease in his brow relaxed and a faint smile touched his lips instead. Hubert felt his lip twitch towards a smile in response before he remembered that he didn’t do that.
Irritated by the sudden bout of sentimentality he’d apparently been afflicted with following the poor night’s rest, he gently eased Ferdinand off his shoulder and onto his pillow. He turned and left swiftly, decidedly not lingering on the image of Ferdinand’s beautiful hair sprawled against his bed. He’d heard Lady Edelgard’s voice depart down the corridor moments before; he could brief her about the latest developments at breakfast.
As Hubert approached the Black Eagles’ table with his morning coffee, he groaned at the sight of a pink head of hair at their table. Hilda occasionally sat with Dorothea during meals when they had particularly exciting gossip to share. They had their heads together, talking about their nonsense in low voices; Lady Edelgard sat next to Dorothea, pretending to ignore them but with an attentive ear on the conversation. He sat on Edelgard’s other side, putting as much distance between him and the rumor-mongering nuisances as possible.
“Your Majesty,” he began in a low tone, ready to update her about the night’s developments (at least the ones related to the plot against her life; he certainly had no intention of revealing the compromising circumstances in which he’d awoken that morning). He was shortly cut off by Dorothea rudely leaning around Edelgard and grabbing his wrist in excitement, like they were friends.
“Hubie, did you hear?” she asked excitedly.
“I know I didn’t hear you call me Hubie,” he said icily as he jerked his wrist back.
Undeterred, Dorothea continued. “Sylvain and Felix are together! Isn’t that wonderful?”
His coffee cup froze halfway to his lips as he started to analyze the recent turn of events. He’d spent a considerable amount of time over recent days anticipating Gautier’s next move, but this was a surprise. What possible benefit was there to this scheme? Upon initial reflection, the only immediately obvious advantage to the absurd ruse was to encourage him to drop his guard, as though such a thing would ever happen. Still, he’d learned not to underestimate Sylvain, and he would continue to work on his next move in their deadly game. He looked over to the Blue Lions table, where Sylvain had an arm wrapped around a furiously blushing Felix as he attempted to feed the other man from his fork. An intriguing development, to be sure.
“Lady Edelgard,” he said softly, “do not let this distraction lower your guard. This is a transparent attempt to seem less threatening, but-–”
“Saints, Hubert!” She put her teacup back on the saucer with a rattle. Given their mutual devotion to destroying the Church of Seiros, she rarely swore to the Saints unless she was truly agitated. “They’re not trying to kill me, they’re dating.”
“Your Majesty,” he argued, “do I need to remind you of the multiple plots I have interrupted–-”
“There are no plots! ” Her voice was far too loud for such sensitive discussions, and he tried to admonish her as much as was appropriate with a glance. “They are giving each other gifts and spending time together! That’s what people do when they are in love! Like me and Dorothea!” That would have been a surprising enough sentence, if not for her next one: “Or you and Ferdinand!”
Hubert scoffed, but the sound died in his throat as her words sunk in. Assuming she was correct… his mind drifted back to the many comparisons Ferdinand had made over the last week to their behavior and the supposed assassins. To the flower he’d gotten Ferdinand because it made him smile in the way only Ferdinand did. To the hurt on Ferdinand’s face when Hubert said he didn’t enjoy his company.
Oh.
Oh.
“I have to go find Ferdinand,” Hubert muttered as he stood abruptly and left the dining hall, ignoring Edelgard and Dorothea’s delighted giggles following him from the room. He had important business to attend to, after all.