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“Would you mind a dance, Your Majesty?”
Wilbur and Tommy turned in unison to face a man who dared to ask the King for his first dance, without even introducing himself.
They’re met with a young face. Dark eyes, dark hair, mischievous smile. The man was dressed in a simple but elegant black tailcoat and red vest underneath. A piece of red cloth is comfortably tied around the stranger's neck. No ribbons, embroidery, orders, anything that usually scatters clothing of noble guests. Only golden buttons imply that he’s definitely not a commoner.
“And who are you..? I believe I wasn’t lucky enough to be introduced to you yet.” Wilbur says with a neutrally-polite smile. Though he is quite amused by the audacity of the stranger and Wilbur wants to smile wider. But he decides to suppress his amusement so as not to break any rules of etiquette.
The smile on the man’s face grows wider. He bows before Wilbur in a careful and measured way. Wilbur notes to himself that it is a manner of a man, who is quite used to balls and conversations with the aristocracy.
“You can call me Quackity, Your Majesty. I accompany Duke Schlatt of Weselton. One may say I’m his right hand.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Quackity.” Wilbur dips his head just a little, to show respect. He can’t bow lower since he’s a King and low type of bow would be appropriate for other monarchs only. “You are quite brave to want to steal the King of L'Manburg's first dance for yourself.”
Quackity smiles politely and moves his hand to fix his tailcoat after bowing.
“Why not? Does His Majesty want to deny such an honor to his closest trade partner?” He looks Wilbur straight in the eyes with something that resembles a predator. ”Besides, I can assure you that you won’t regret dancing with me.”
Wilbur smiles a little wider, but immediately stops himself and turns his face into seriousness. He feels cold, the type of cold that surrounds his hands under the gloves.
“I appreciate your invitation, but I don’t dance.”
“What?! But It’s your first ball! You can’t not dance!” Tommy’s loud voice comes from Wilbur’s right and he quickly turns his head to his little brother.
“Tommy, I’m not…” Is the only thing he manages to say as Tommy’s arms shove him into the ballroom.
“Go and dance, you can’t say no!”
Wilbur’s eyes go wide and he grits his teeth as Quackity leads him into the center of the dancing crowd.
His breath gets slower and his chest gets heavier with each step.
He feels cold under the gloves and a shiver runs down his spine.
His whole body tenses.
It is dangerous, too dangerous .
“I promise, this dance will not disappoint you, Your Majesty.” Quackity’s face is right in front of Wilbur’s as the King dips his head a little. He almost feels Quackity’s warm breath. Wilbur’s heart starts beating faster and his worry must be obvious as Quackity raises his eyebrows questioningly. But then he smiles predatorily again, leaning closer to Wilbur’s face. “Your Majesty, allow me a bold guess, do you not know how to dance? Is that why you're that worried?”
Wilbur exhales with relief and nods hesitantly. He knows how to dance. Knows perfectly, in fact. It was a quite important discipline in his long preparation for a place on the throne, since the King must be perfect in every way and dancing is essential to the royal court. But Quackity doesn’t need to know that. For Quackity, the new King of L’Manberg worried because he doesn’t know how to dance, not because under only one layer of cloth sits dangerous power that threatens to kill Quackity and all the people around if Wilbur loses control over himself.
“In that case, I’m going to teach you.” Quackity’s left hand grips Wilbur’s right arm and he feels warmth, a contrast that jolts him back to the present. He even thinks for a second, that the cold underneath the glove has disappeared. But Wilbur knows too well — the cold is still there. It’s always there.
Quackity moves Wilbur’s free hand to his shoulder and then puts his hand on Wilbur’s back.
“Hold your hand there, I will lead the dance. You need only to remember the steps…” As Quackity talks, Wilbur stops listening. He focuses on containing his powers as best as he can. He focuses on the heat in the places where their hands entwine, on Quackity’s breath, on the attentive gaze that flickers from their feet to Wilbur’s face.
Tension slowly leaves from Wilbur’s muscles and he calms down a bit, relaxing in Quackity's careful arms.
“You’re a quick learner.” Quackity completely takes his eyes off their feet and now looks strictly into Wilbur's eyes, smiling slyly as they dance around. ”Almost as if you knew how to dance already.”
Wilbur thinks that there is something predatory in Quackity’s smile right now. As if he won some competition or found out something that he wasn’t supposed to. Something childish and mischievous ignites in Wilbur’s chest. He can’t let Quackity feel like he won something. Two can play at that game.
“The King must know how to quickly learn and adapt to new circumstances,” Wilbur smiles smugly and they sway with the music.
“That’s quite the talent to have. What other talents do you hide behind those huge closed doors of your soul?” Quackity leans closer. “Speaking of doors, I was always curious why they were closed for so many years.”
Wilbur sees what Quackity is trying to do. The question sounds harmless and casual, but at royal balls people are not invited to dance unless their partner is trying to get some information about them. Or about something that only they can know. Luckily, Wilbur already got a long-prepared answer, which he gives without wasting a second of thought.
“As you may know, my parents passed away two years ago. Tommy was distraught and so was I. We needed time to heal in peace. Hence, the castle doors were closed. Besides, that way I could prepare for the reign without thousands of prying eyes, that’s all.”
“Oh, really?” Now Quackity is even closer. “Because I heard rumors that they were closed for far longer than that.”
“Well, if you are interested in information from this long ago, I'm afraid you'll have to ask my parents.” Wilbur looks him straight in the eyes and answers with serious intonation.
Quackity snorts and laughs a little.
“Oh shit.” He immediately stops himself. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh…”
“It’s okay. After all, those were my words.” Wilbur smiles widely, absolutely forgetting about all the etiquette and which kind of smile would be more appropriate.
They sway to the music again.
"You’re no aristocrat, Quackity. Who are you?"
Quackity frowns a little. "Well, I might be one day. I just need to work hard enough, that’s it."
Wilbur snorted. "That’s it? You can’t become an aristocrat by just working hard. Who said such a thing to you?” Quackity doesn’t respond and Wilbur continues. "You become an aristocrat by being born from descendants of people who fought wars and revolutions to achieve power. It’s gained from swords, blades, steel. Though you can’t use those tools because nowadays we all deny such barbaric methods."
“Or if a royal would be generous enough to give their loyal servant a title and place in the court. It is an option too, with historic precedents even.” Quackity narrows his eyes and although he speaks calmly Wilbur can sense some annoyance in him.
“Royals never give their servants a title, why would they want to?”
Quackity’s gaze became darker. “What are you implying, Your Majesty?”
"Nothing really. I just think that you’re wasting your potential on impossible goals. I think you would be able to achieve truly great things if you changed your focus.” Wilbur looks to the crowd and then to Quackity again. “Let me– Let me ask you another question — why are you speaking to me right now? Why not your Duke?"
Quackity's face cringes a little.
“Duke Schlatt… Was distracted by some business.” Quackity’s gaze flickers to the side and as Wilbur follows he sees a nobleman with thick sideburns, busy downing what is clearly not his first glass of wine during a loud conversation with one of the servants. “But I’m sure that soon enough the Duke will come to congratulate you on the beginning of your reign in person.”
Quackity puts a strained smile and Wilbur realizes that the Duke will probably not come up. Most likely, he simply decided to dump all official duties on his subordinate.
“Of course he will, I'll be looking forward to seeing it.” Wilbur smiles and their eyes lock again. “Though from the side it sure looks like he just sent you to do all the work for him.”
“That’s what you need right hand man for, Your Majesty. I assume you’re not familiar with that perspective since you’re royal already, but for men like me it’s hard work that gains you a position.”
“On the contrary, I’m quite familiar with the perspective of people like Schlatt.” Wilbur leans closer. “If the servant is working hard and doing all you ask, why make him something more? You’d just lose a perfectly useful tool.”
As Wilbur leans away he sees the way Quackity brows furrow when he glances away, into the direction of Schlatt.
He waits a few moments, until Quackity looks back to him, his expression still dark, and then Wilbur smiles. “Though even if it’s just due to Schlatt’s neglect, I am glad that it was you who came to me.”
Quackity’s eyes widened a little and then the music suddenly stops. It'd almost felt like, just for a moment, it was just him and Quackity in the ballroom. As if all the people have disappeared.
For a few moments they just stay like that, bodies close to each other, hands entwined, eyes focused on only each other. Silence all around.
“I’m glad I came to you too, Your Majesty.” Quackity smiles.
“You can call me just Wilbur.” He feels that it’s too much over the boundary, too much trust placed in a person he’d just met, too much of vulnerability. But at the same time Wilbur feels that he wants to trust Quackity.
“Okay, Wilbur.” Quackity says softly and they stay quiet for a few moments, until cheerier music suddenly comes from the direction of the orchestra and Wilbur sees Quackity's head turn sharply in that direction.
Quackity smiles wider.
“I like that music much more!” Quackity’s hands press Wilbur closer and then suddenly lower him so Wilbur now sees all the ballroom upside down. He notices Tommy, who is giggling while looking directly to Wilbur from somewhere near the orchestra. ”You will see that they don’t call me 'the Little Dipper’ for nothing!”
Wilbur smiles and laughs quietly, while Quackity lifts him back up.
“I have no reason to doubt your…” Wilbur moves his gaze to their entwined hands and freezes.
No.
No. No. No. No.
He feels as if he is being doused with a bucket of cold water.
As if his heart is falling somewhere into his stomach, pulling all his insides down with a terrible force.
As if his whole body is covered in goosebumps from the fear that has filled his entire consciousness.
Frost had escaped from under his glove and began to spread along the edge of his sleeve.
He got distracted.
He let himself forget.
He let himself let go of control.
Wilbur abruptly pulls both hands out of Quackity's grasp and presses his right hand to himself, covering his sleeve and glove with his left hand.
Quackity furrows his eyebrows questioningly and looks up at Wilbur's face. Wilbur exhales and smiles, as polite and calmly as he possibly can. He can’t show his fear and worry. To no one. And definitely not now. He can let himself fall into little pieces all he wants later in his room, when he locks the door tightly.
“I must give my apologies, I got distracted too much. I, as a King, need to continue welcoming guests and I can’t be absent for such a long time.”
“One dance won't make a difference. Wilbur, do you really have to leave?” Quackity extends his hand and looks at him with an almost begging look.
And gods know, Wilbur wants to say yes. He wants to stay.
But he feels the frost under his glove.
“Have a good evening, Quackity.”