Chapter Text
“Absolutely not. I already told you I wasn’t going.”
Ardent closes their eyes, in an ineffective effort to shield their heart from Fost and Aaravi’s combined puppy-dog eyes. They elaborate: “I told you when you took the throne that I had played enough political games for a lifetime, and I’m certainly not about to take it back to go to a ball, of all things. I’m enjoying my retirement from sweet-talking rich people. Besides, I don’t have anything to wear. I sold all my noble pandering clothes to fund the throne you’re sitting on.”
Silence. Surprised at the lack of argument coming from two of the most convincing people they’ve ever met, Ardent cracks open one eye to see Fost and Aaravi looking at each other knowingly, having some kind of silent conversation. Ardent, curious, takes the bait: “What?”
The silent conversation between them ends, and Fost nods, prompting Aaravi to retreat wordlessly into the side room where Fost’s obscenely large walk-in closet lurks. Ardent quickly forgets this, as Fost starts speaking.
“Listen, I knew you’d say that—”
“So why are you still asking me?” Ardent’s tone is flat, but the genuine smile they bear betrays their fondness for their two comrades in arms horrid coworkers.
“You’re interrupting your king?” Fost pretends to be mad, before being distracted by his own point. “So, I knew you’d say that, which is why I made it a masquerade ball! Nobody will know who anybody else is. No political stuff. Just a party, and the real shark tank will be the dinner on the following night.”
Ardent is pleasantly surprised, and definitely not touched by his thoughtfulness. “Okay, but how many people in the great noble houses do you know who are purple and have six-inch horns? They’re definitely going to remember me, and then I’ll be getting questions about which incredibly progressive lord hired me as an assistant, and then my peaceful librarian days will be over. You’ll get letters.”
Fost grins, and something sinks in Ardent’s stomach. “Excellent point. Incredibly good observation. Thank the gods my lovely butler is incredible and thought of that, so we’re enchanting all the masks with illusions and memory modifiers so nobody will recognize anybody. Unless they verbally tell each other, which would ruin the fun, so that’s banned. Orders of the king. Any other concerns?”
After this abnormally and touchingly detailed description, Ardent, for the first time in many years, has absolutely zero valid concerns. They stay silent, still frowning at Fost on principle.
“Excellent.” Fost claps twice, hands off to the side in a move they perfected before Aaravi was even hired, back in the times when they were just pretending to be an important noble entourage. On cue, a mannequin on wheels rolls into the room, and oh.
Hanging on the mannequin is an elegant red hanfu, all neat panels, black and red, embroidered with spider lilies that glitter faintly with metallic gold thread. It drips from the model, outer layer sheer to reveal the rich material underneath. Even on the lifeless mannequin, it commands attention. Even while they were posing as any number of conceited nobles, under disguise spells, chatting people up at balls and tea parties, Ardent never wore anything as bold as this. Always trying not to draw too much attention, not to compromise the mission. There’s even a set of-
“Did you pierce the fucking mannequin’s ears?”
Fost’s grin grows to Cheshire proportions. Aaravi pops out from her spot hidden behind the mannequin and interjects: “Does that mean you like it?”
And her smile is so genuine, so proud and hopeful, that Ardent can’t do anything but nod. It’s a gorgeous piece. After Liadon burned, all the traditional shops turned into ash, so tracking down a specialized tailor to custom order this must have been unimaginably difficult, must have cost insane amounts of the kingdom’s mon-
Aaravi step forward and grabs both of Ardent’s hands. “Stop that. I can see you thinking too much. We wanted to do this.”
Fost speaks up, suddenly looking concerned, unsure in a way he never is outside this room, outside their company. “And really, Ardent, you don’t need to go. It’s completely fine, I don’t have a job for you there or anything, you can keep the clothes too. We just thought it might be nice to do something fun after. You know. Everything.”
Everything.
Everything after the revolt, the planning of which consumed all of them entirely for five years. Everything after Fost took the throne, needing to fix all the problems his father caused during his reign, needing to secure allies and loyalties and revenues and rebuild burnt bridges. Every day spent doing endless paperwork, sending endless letters and spending endless hours in the “war room” redistributing the budget. Every night spent lying awake, still sleeping in the same room to watch each others’ backs, worried about their old friends still out in the field, worried about the battle that comes after the victory. Everything.
After everything, Aaravi and Fost spent months of planning and unimaginable amounts of resources behind Ardent’s back just to plan a party Ardent would feel comfortable attending. To give them all a chance to breathe, just for a night, before starting the hard work of maneuvering each and every single invited guest into doing business with the still-infant New Erembour Kingdom. These are the people Ardent trusts implicitly, beyond words, beyond common sense. Beyond everything.
Ardent smiles, something steady blooming in their chest. “No, it’s okay, you’re right. I think it’ll be fun. Plus, you two worked so hard making sure I couldn’t say no.” This last part, teasing.
“Awh, Ardent, is that a tear I see in your eye?”
Ardent Brinstaras, the Royal Librarian, punches His Majesty in the shoulder while Head Butler Aaravi Inagym laughs.