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“It is an honour to be of attendance on such a joyous day, Monsieur Neuvillette.” The nobleman before him says, raising his glass to take a sip, and Neuvillette returns the polite smile with one of his own.
“The honour is mine. Please, do enjoy the festivities.” Neuvillette responds, drink burning down his throat as he turns to it for a moment away from the conversation. One of many, that seemingly endless evening.
The work of Fontaine’s finest musicians builds the celebratory atmosphere as polite conversation and the occasional raucous laughter add on to the gleeful melody, extending far beyond the walls of the Opera Epiclese to the Fountain of Lucine’s plaza beautifully decorated in blue and gold. Just as it has been every ten or so years without fail—at least for the current occasion, that is. And Neuvillette allows himself to lean into the flow of it, taking in the emotions that come as easily as it does with water.
A small mercy it was, that Furina had compromised following the initial proposal of a yearly event being held on his birthday just as it was on her own. For, even despite being a day merely chosen from the year’s many as it was, the occasion is still one of importance… or so she had said. Thus had his chosen date of ‘birth’ been marked as such, commemorated by a gala that would begin on its eve and continue till midnight, leaving time still for his usual routine of leaving the Palais Mermonia for the day to visit the Melusines of Merusea Village.
Each celebration is just like the ones before it. Small talk had as Fontaine’s aristocracy mingled and sought their chance at the rare audience with the Iudex himself. Yet this time… Neuvillette finds his gaze drifting just as his mind does. Clinging onto a thread of what is most certainly not yearning as he allows his fingers to run over the metallic embellishments of the cane in his hands. A masterpiece, truly—from the engravings like flowing water, to the wolf-like symbol embedded where the handle meets its body. Made by none other than Wriothesley himself.
When Neuvillette had sent an invitation to the Duke of Meropide, he had not done so expecting a reply. After all, His Grace is a busy man and rarely does he personally make an appearance at social events. Quite understandably so.
Thus was it to Neuvillette’s surprise that, before he had even left his office for the day after ensuring that all important matters were taken care of, none other than Wriothesley himself had waltzed through his doorway. The very sight of the man had Neuvillette pausing in his arrangement of the files upon his shelves, record in hand teetering precariously as his grip loosened. For, in place of his usual attire, Wriothesley had worn none other than a tailored suit. The very one Neuvillette had accompanied him to fit weeks ago, layers of crimson and dark ebony, with decorative clasps of silver and fur lining the shoulders of his coat that almost mimicked the silhouette of the uniform worn by the Maison Gardiennage. Truly an outfit befitting of a Duke.
As for the way the subtly untamed details of the clothing highlighted Wriothesley’s almost wolf-like charm… Neuvillette found himself banishing that bubble of thought for the sake of his mind’s clarity. Especially considering how it perfectly complemented Neuvillette’s own that “flowed gracefully like the waters which heed his beck and call”, as the tailor had put it to Wriothesley’s enthusiastic agreement when he’d had it made—
Though, perhaps the most glaring culprit of bringing about such thoughts was the pendant hanging from one of the silver chains that linked his open coat together. It is a dainty thing, shades of blue swirling within the crystal like the ocean itself as it formed a mimicry of the Wriothesley’s insignia, completed by a ruby-red eye and held in the embrace of golden claws as a dragon curled around it and fastened the accessory in place.
The pendant had been one of Neuvillette’s first gifts for the Duke, following feelings finally admitted and Wriothesley’s own attempts at courting finally brought to light—much to Neuvillette’s embarrassment for not having noticed the mutual sentiments sooner. A blatant claim on one’s mate, admittedly ; and here Wriothesley was wearing it so proudly. The very idea of it sending the instincts Neuvillette had buried deep within his heart preening in delight.
“Your Grace,” Neuvillette had managed to choke out as he finally slid the report in place and turned to face the other fully, “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
At this, Wriothesley chuckled, voice rumbling low and deep in his chest as he approached. “Again with the titles, dearest Iudex? ”
“Wriothesley.”
“Relax, love.” Came that dangerously charming smile as Wriothesley took the place by his side, leaning against the shelving. “I just wanted to check in on you. Can’t have the Chief Justice late to his own birthday party, can we? Unless you’d rather we—”
“... I believe that would hardly be an appropriate excuse.”
“Just trying my luck.” Taking the report he’d just held and shifting it to the shelf below with barely concealed amusement, Wriothesley held out a hand in invitation.
“Now then, shall we?”
And so did they finally begin the journey to the Opera Epiclese, masks put back in place the moment they left the safety of Neuvillette’s office. But oh does Neuvillette’s heart yearn to lace their fingers together beneath the cover of their coats in the privacy of the personal aquabus he so rarely makes use of.
Indeed, it seems that the night was one of exceptions. For few others could have simply come into his office unannounced as the duke did, nor would anyone dare chase him out of it in such a manner. And, most telling, was that none can so wholly occupy his thoughts as Wriothesley does.
Even now, as Neuvillette catches sight of that warm smile from across the plaza—Wriothesley himself standing by the Melusines who had taken to accompanying him while other attendees came and went—the effect remains hardly dampened by the distance between them.
It has been so long since they last had the pleasure of properly meeting outside of official matters and fleeting squeezed in-between meetings, after all. The months that had passed as Fontaine slowly was but surely rebuilt having gone by in a blur as they found themselves busied by the deluge of work that came naturally with such a process. Still, precious time had been made up for in countless written letters and the trinkets discreetly packaged within—much to Sedene’s amusement for, whenever she would announce such a gift’s arrival, the skies would never fail to brighten ever so slightly.
“So this is where you were! You know… you could just walk over to him~ At this point, you may as well have burned a hole in his coat.” A familiar voice pulls him from his thoughts, and Neuvillette steels his expression the best he can even as the redness of his ears surely betrays him. Ah, how could he have forgotten—
“Lady Furina,” He says, clearing his throat as he exchanges the glass in his hand for one of water. The coolness of it as it soothes his throat a comfort as he allows himself to relax in the presence of familiarity. “I… That will not be necessary.”
“Mhmm,” Furina hums, throwing him a look as she takes another bite out of the cake on her plate. “You know, of the five hundred years Fontaine has been holding this event under my planning, I do have to say… this one is probably the best.”
“I am glad then. However, truly, there is no need for you to—”
Indeed, Furina is no longer the archon. The divine throne has been destroyed, and the role she had played laid to rest with it. Yet, still, she had insisted on being involved with the planning if the whispers within the Palais Mermonia were to be trusted—loathe as he were to listen to such things.
As long as she is happy , he sighs, recalling those final moments… but this is not the place or time. Especially as Furina herself huffs almost theatrically even as her lips curve into a smile. A true smile .
“Ah-! There we go again with that… that thing you do!” Her voice pitches higher. Same as ever, Lady Furina . “While I may not be the archon, planning such a celebration is the least I can do for our dearest Iudex.”
“Besides, did you even understand why I said so?”
Neuvillette recalls the performance that had opened the gala, the music played, the refreshments served… and finds himself frowning as he attempts to decipher just what Furina had meant.
“It’s that look in your eyes.” What? “You look happy .”
“...”
Satisfaction is written all too clearly on Furina’s face as she grins at him, a piece of cake waved about on her fork as she jokingly pokes at his cheeks to nudge a smile upon his face. Albeit one almost comical in nature.
The moment, though, is short-lived. For no sooner had she done so did she quickly retreat, glancing past Neuvillette as her brows raised and a knowing glint filled those eyes. “Oh, someone is coming. Toodles!”
Just as she had arrived, Furina left in a flourish. Dancing her way through the crowd as she had always done before rejoining a group gathered by the fountain. The performers from earlier, he realises; watching as they pull Furina back into their circle with raised glasses and echoing cheers.
“You look happy.” She had told him, and perhaps the same could be said of herself. As for the reason…
The aroma of tea and leather fills Neuvillette’s senses, tinged with a slight frost that creeps across his skin and reaches for the hydro flowing within his veins. Rather than an attack, it wraps around him like an embrace, cracks forming in his composure as the scent teases the part of him that had been subconsciously reaching for the memory of it throughout most of the evening.
Then, as if on cue, there is a hand wrapping around his waist, fur tickling at his neck as warm puffs of air brush against his cheek in the cold. “Missed me, Your Honour?”
Wriothesley.
“Your Grace,” Neuvillette forces himself to speak, voice faltering despite his best efforts. No matter how he tries to keep the distance required of his position, Wriothesley’s very presence has him trapped in its grasp. The Duke himself is dangerous as the deep sea currents as he pulls Neuvillette in, threatening to undo the carefully painted mask required of Fontaine’s Chief Justice even as he barely does anything.
Just as want almost overwhelms him, has Neuvillette at the precipice of giving in, Wriothesley steps around to face him, his ice-blue gaze holding Neuvillette’s own and drifting lower till it lands on the cane held firmly in his hands. The moment Wriothesley notices the aid’s presence brings a worried furrow to his brows, hand reaching out before pulling back.
“Is your leg still bothering you?” Wriothesley asks, summoning memories from when Neuvillette had found himself kept awake by the vague ache in his leg that would return every so often. The remnants of an old pain that had never truly healed; its cause remaining a mystery to all. Besides, the knowledge of a power able to injure a Sovereign so permanently should best be kept secret…
Thankfully, Wriothesley had not asked, though the fire in his eyes betrayed the anger that had sparked within him at the idea of such a thing having happened. And that, paired with the way Wriothesley had oh so gently caressed the areas his scales gleamed duller than the others, cool touch drifting over the aches and fingers working skillfully to ease them, had only caused Neuvillette’s heart to swell with love for the man that had broken down his walls with such ease and respect.
“Not quite. Sigewinne’s remedies had eased any lingering discomfort from the previous time. I had simply thought that it would serve as a fitting accessory to the clothing prepared for today.” And most certainly not because Neuvillette had made a habit out of bringing around the cane Wriothesley had made for him instead of his usual one if only to have something of Wriothesley’s by his side to ease the ache in Neuvillette’s heart and focus his mind on his work.
It did have a certain magic of making the long days much more bearable… something Neuvillette finds himself wishing to know more of. Due to one of the many ancient runes engraved, perhaps?
“I am glad to hear so,” Wriothesley’s gaze pierces through him, a slight frown upon his face as he works to verify the truthfulness of Neuvillette’s claim, searching for any sign of the contrary. Only when he finds none does Wriothesley relax once more, head tilting to the side as the corners of his lips curve upwards. “Not a fan of dancing then, hm? I’m sure many have tried for a chance to dance with the Iudex himself at his birthday party so surely there is no shortage of partners. And yet not once have I seen you dance with another this evening.”
As Wriothesley speaks, the music shifts into something slower, more intimate. It is gentle, inviting as its melody enchants those within its reach.
“Indeed, dancing is an act I have not partaken in for a long while. Much less with another.” That much is not a lie. He has learned the art, after all. Countless performances viewed on stage, and the necessity of learning etiquette for formal settings had driven Neuvillette to do so. In this case, at least, the word spread through the grapevine of the elusive sight of the Chief Justice himself partaking in a waltz does hold some truth. However… “Perhaps it is merely a case of finding the right partner as well. Owing to my position as the Iudex, I must remain impartial.”
Hopeful . That is what Neuvillette is as he gives into the way his heart’s yearning, eyes meeting Wriothesley’s as he tests the waters of the invitation hanging between them.
“Is that so?” This close, Neuvillette can feel the pounding of Wriothesley’s heart, see the way his eyes widen ever so slightly. Hear, even, how Wriothesley’s breath hitches as he searches for the words to respond. “Then, Monsieur Neuvillette , I hope you will entertain this small request of mine for a moment with you. I would like to discuss some matters… Privately.”
The offer is innocent enough to any who may overhear, not at all unusual considering the roles they play. Yet there is something hidden beneath Wriothesley’s usual bravado, an unusual tension in his body. The Duke of Meropide is nervous , Neuvillette realises, even as Wriothesley makes a show of extending his hand, head bowed ever so slightly.
“Of course.” Comes Neuvillette’s reply, for how could he ever reject?
Down the path leading behind the Opera Epiclese they go, the Fortress of Meropide’s entrance quickly coming into view as the land gives way to a pool that stands between the structures. Here, they will not be disturbed. Especially not with the way members of the Maison Gardiennage had been stationed to block the very paths they had passed through in order to prevent any poor soul who had enjoyed the complimentary drinks a bit too much from stumbling off the narrow bridge and falling into the waiting waters below.
They come to a stop by the foot of the stairs at the end of the stretch, the Court of Fontaine so beautifully framed by the arching structure as the brilliance of the starry sky above is reflected in the waters below. A sight that never fails to remind them both of what they protect. “Now then, what is it that you wished to—”
Once again, in what has been becoming a common occurrence, Neuvillette finds his words stolen from him by the Duke. Wriothesley himself having taken a step back to go down on one knee, Neuvillette’s hand held in his own as he brings it to his lips.
“Neuvillette, mon chéri ,” A single kiss is placed on the back of Neuvillette’s gloved hand where cold metal rests, and Neuvillette cannot help the way a shiver runs through him at Wriothesley’s burning gaze even as his cool touch rubs soothing circles into his palm. “May I have this dance?”
It is with a gentle smile that Neuvillette pulls Wriothesley to his feet, closing his fingers around the hand that had been holding is and guiding the other to rest at the small of his back.
“ Please. ” Neuvillette breathes, leaning into Wriothesley’s touch and savouring the warmth of the other as he is held close in a way that is all the more comforting in the winter chill. And that is all it takes for Wriothesley to begin humming a familiar tune—one Neuvillette himself had heard countless times as they laid in bed, bodies intertwined and hearts beating in tandem as they give in to sleep’s sweet embrace.
It’s all too easy to fall into Wriothesley’s rhythm. Like the rise and fall of the tides, the constant dull hum of waves crashing against the shore, perhaps even breathing… Dancing with Wriothesley feels natural . They fit together almost perfectly, meeting and parting with the melody that drifts about the bubble of privacy they had carved for themselves amongst the festivities. “Not as fancy as the Melusine Philharmonic Orchestra, but it will have to do.” Wriothesley pauses to chuckle, form unwavering even as he holds Neuvillette’s full weight in his arms.
“I do not mind. It is perfect.” Just as you are , Neuvillette laughs as he brushes a stray strand of hair out of Wriothesley’s face, lingering ever so slightly longer to brush over the wonderful blush that tinges his beloved’s cheeks before the other gathers himself.
Like this, Wriothesley fills Neuvillette’s vision, a crown of stars above his head as he becomes all Neuvillette can see. His everything . There is little Neuvillette can do but trust Wriothesley to keep him from falling, and that he does, even as his head spins with the way Wriothesley lowers him till the tip of his hair brushes against the ground.
“You are a fine dancer, Your Grace.” Neuvillette says, words but a whisper into the night as he continues to hold Wriothesley tight, eyes fluttering shut when he is brought upright once more and pressed against Wriothesley’s chest. Their foreheads meet, breaths matching, and it takes everything for Neuvillette to resist closing the remaining distance between them for a proper kiss; yearning a burning fire within.
“I have heard that I am a fast learner… and maybe it is also simply that I have the perfect partner in my arms.” The teasing comment has Neuvillette’s cheeks painted a dusty rose. But he has little time to regain his composure before plush lips are gently pressed against his own as Wriothesley steals his breath away yet again —almost as if he had read his mind.
A dangerous one, the Duke is. And yet Neuvillette cannot help the way love blooms in his chest at the way the fleeting touch, almost as if asking for permission, deepens into one of all-consuming passion the moment Neuvillette responds. His hands reach for Wriothesley’s collar, hands buried in the fur of his coat as he pulls the other closer , feels the way Wriothesley smirks against him, and loses himself to it all.
Wriothesley will be his undoing, truly.
Midnight comes with a resonating chime of Fontaine’s clocks, and Wriothesley pulls away if only to look into Neuvillette’s eyes as he speaks. The words so filled with love that Neuvillette quite literally finds himself glowing with it as he leans into the hand caressing his cheek.
“Happy birthday, Neuvillette.”
Even when the sounds of revelry fade as the night deepens, their world remains blissfully frozen in time. Vows of love whispered with the moon as their witness. Another day will come, separation inevitable. But this moment, at least, will last eternal in his memory. And it is with the determination to do so in mind that Neuvillette gives himself to the sea of emotions swirling within as they dance, finding sweet solace in Wriothesley’s embrace and the ease with which they move together. Painting a story of trust exchanged, love found, and forevers promised.
Only when the chill in his bones and the ache in his body grow too much does Neuvillette acquiesce to the day’s fatigue, allowing himself to be carried off into the night.
Beneath his beloved’s feet, ever-flowing water turns to sturdy ice, forming a path to their home… an unnecessary display of power, and yet Neuvillette cannot find it in himself to complain as he is brought into the warmth of their home. Wriothesley’s presence is a comfort, his loving touch saying more than words can ever describe as he holds Neuvillette close. And Neuvillette could not have asked for anything else.